Nick's car was parked near the house, at the edge of a circle of light cast by a bulb over the front door. Not too bright, but enough, Sybille exulted. Just fine. And no other car was near Nick's. Targus wasn't there. She was in time.
She parked as far as she could from the nearest streetlamp and, holding the rifle against her body, walked to a nearby clump of sumac
trees. It was not as fine as she had thought: the wind was high, tossing the thin sumac branches and blocking her vision. It won't last, she thought; it will die down. She rested the rifle beside a tree trunk, and stood perfectly still, waiting.
Once she saw movement through a window of the house; someone walking across the room. Otherwise the windows were blank, secretive, making her an outsider. She visualized Nick moving about inside, perched on the arm of a chair, biting into an apple, opening a newspaper. Before she could stop herself, she imagined him in bed with Valerie. Damn it! She smashed their image in her mind. Maybe Fll kill him too. And her. They deserve it.
A car pulled up and she tensed, but it belonged to someone in another house. He took a bag of charcoal from the trunk and went inside. In a few minutes, the acrid smell of kerosene wafted to her in her hiding place, and then the smell of burning coals. She visualized a family, having a barbecue. She was not at all hungry.
A woman walked by with a dog on a leash; a child rode a tricycle, with her father walking behind. Teenagers crossed the street, giggling. They'd better stay out of my way, Sybille thought angrily. And then another car drove up, and parked beside Nick's, and she watched Targus get out.
She raised her rifle, aiming at his broad back as he slammed the car door and walked up the front walk. But the wind was still high, whipping the branches in front of her. Angered, she shoved them away with the gun. He was ringing the doorbell; she was almost out of time. The door opened. She aimed again at his back. The branches tossed in front of her, but there was nothing she could do about them. She fired.
She heard a scream as Targus fell, and she saw him try to raise himself Enraged because her aim had been off"—the damned wind!— she fired again. But in that second, no longer than a heartbeat, Lily had rushed forward to help Targus, and she was the one whom Sy-bille's second bullet struck.
"^Lily!" Sybille screamed. Nick and Valerie pulled the two bodies into the house and slammed the door. Sybille stood for a moment, frozen. And then she fled.
Chapter 30
m M ^ ^^^ dawn when Nick reached home, bringing
1 ^J Valerie and Rosemary with him. He took Rose-
.^ ^^r^ mary to the third-floor suite, carrying the small
i^ ^W bag she had packed before they left. She had been
I I trembling uncontrollably after the shooting, saying
she could not sleep in that house that night, she had to go somewhere else, and Nick said it was very simple: she and Valerie would come home with him, for as long as they wanted.
He settled her on the third floor, made sure she was comfortable, and went to his own room. Valerie was in bed when he got there, and when he joined her they clung together in silence, wanting comfort and the closeness of knowing they were together, and would be, from then on. They slept that way, in each other's arms, until, an hour later, they woke at the same moment.
"We should call the hospital," Valerie said.
Nick was already reaching for the telephone. He dialed the intensive-care unit. "Lily Grace," he said. "She had surgery a couple of hours ago; we'd like to know how she is. This is Nick Fielding." He
held Valerie close with one arm. "Not a relative, no; she has none. But she lives with us; we're responsible for her."
'Tes, I remember now," said the nurse. "She's stable, Mr. Fielding. We won't know more than that for some time. If you want to call back in two or three hours..."
"Thanks," Nick said. "We'll be there by then." He lay on his side, bringing Valerie with him, her legs between his, her breasts crushed against his chest, her lips soft and open below his. "I love you," he said, kissing her with slow kisses. "I've dreamed of waking up with you. This isn't the kind of morning I dreamed of, but it's infinitely better because you're here. I want us to be married; did I tell you that yesterday?"
She smiled. "I took it for granted. Probably because it's what I want, too." They moved together, desire briefly holding at bay the memory of the night before. Slowly, Valerie moved her legs so they were no longer between Nick's, but encircling them, and very simply, as if continuing their talk, he came into her, smoothly, deeply, filling her as she opened to him. Lying on their sides, embracing, they smiled at each other with a look that was both somber and joyous, a promise that this was what they would always bring to each other: love and gladness to buoy them even in the midst of tragedy, warmth and closeness to sustain them in bleak or fearfiil times.
They lay almost still, yet their bodies moved in an imperceptible rhythm that brought them to a climax all the more explosive for being so quiet. They kissed again, and lay still in the quiet house. Home, Valerie thought. Wherever we're together. She smiled to herself, thinking of the passion for pleasure that had once ruled her life, and how it had expanded and changed. It was not that she loved pleasure any less, it was that her passion now was for living well and ftilly. She had lived only partially, she thought drowsily, never discovering all the things she could do: that she could work, and work well; that she could love, and love well; that she could give of herself, and do it well. I should tell Lily; she^d understand. All her sermons have been about believing in ourselves, and what we can be, that we can be better than we think we are, better than others think we are...
She stirred, thinking of Lily, and of all the loose ends she and Nick had to take care of "I love you," she murmured, her lips on Nick's heart, "and I wish we could stay here all day, but we really have to get up."
He smiled. "One of these days we'll stay here as long as we want.
and have trains of servants bring us food and drink, and play soft music in the next room."
"And take all our telephone calls." Valerie laughed. "I like your fantasies."
"I have more. But right now we have to think about Chad, and then Lily. And Bob."
'We should bring him something," Valerie said, reluctandy sitting up. "Books? Food? Magazines? What do you think?"
"Probably all of the above. I can't think of anything that will make him happy right now, can you?"
"No. He doesn't have a lot to look forward to." She shook her head slowly. "It's so terrible. So hard to comprehend, and so awfiil..." She stood for a moment, the memories coming back, then shook her head again. "I'll just be a few minutes." And she went to take a shower, leaving Nick sitting up in bed with his own memories of the night before.
The police had been all over the neighborhood. By the time they arrived, three minutes after Nick's call, it was too late to cordon off the park, or any streets, but they searched everywhere while three of them went to Valerie's house. Nick fended them off". 'We'll be at the hospital; we have to know about Lily. You can talk to us there." Then he and Rosemary and Valerie followed the ambulance carrying Lily and Targus to the hospital.
Two other emergencies had been brought in ahead of them, and the emergency room looked to Nick like unmanageable chaos, but somehow the doctors and nurses sorted it out. Targus, who was not critical, with a bullet wound in his shoulder, was taken to a room. Lily was taken immediately to surgery.
Valerie and Nick and Rosemary waited in an alcove off the main corridor, fiirnished with foam-padded ftirniture, steel floor lamps, and magazine racks. The magazines were ragged, with the covers falling off and advertisements and recipes torn out; the crossword puzzles were half finished. Rosemary deliberated, then took two and sat in an armchair. "I have to," she said almost apologetically. "I can't bear to think about Lily, or what happened. It's impossible. Nothing like that ever..." Her voice trailed away, and for the next few hours she alternately read and dozed.
Nick and Valerie sat on a narrow cou
ch and held hands. "The police will be here," Valerie said. "We have to tell them we recognized Sy-bille's voice, don't we?"
He nodded. "There's no way we can avoid it. We'll talk to Chad
before any reporters get the story. Good God, what can we tell him? There's too much..."
"You're sure it was her voice, Nick? I thought so, but..."
"I've heard her scream a few times," he said dryly. "And she had a reason to try to stop Bob from seeing us. I should have thought of that." He stirred restlessly, and stood up. "I'm going to call her again."
At the pay telephone in a corner of the room, he dialed Sybille's number and listened to it ring. "No answer." He sat beside Valerie and took her hand again. "Still driving back from a shooting spree in Falls Church."
They sat quiedy, absorbed in their thoughts. "I wonder what will happen to LUy," Valerie said. "She'll have to find a way to live on her own. I don't think ^he ever has."
Nick nodded. "She has more growing up to do than Chad."
Valerie thought about it. "I'm not sure. Lily knows a lot more then she lets on. Or she doesn't even know how much she knows. Sophie said once that Lily sounded like someone in a trance. I think she's lived that way. And now she has to wake up. Can you imagine what she'll be then? She has such power to move people; I wonder how she'll use it."
"You'll probably be a part of it, whatever it is. She adores you; do you really think she won't come to you for help? My poor darling, you'll have Chad and Lily to think about before we ever have children of our own."
Valerie smiled. "We'll figure that out."
'"We'd better do it soon. I don't want to wait; do you?"
"No, how can we? I'm thirty-four, and I've been wanting children for a long time."
"Once you weren't sure."
"Once I was very young, and didn't know what a family with you would mean to me."
They kissed gently; passion was out of place there. And then the police arrived.
They had one question: who had a reason to shoot Bob Targus and Reverend Grace? From what Valerie and Nick had told them, the sniper had gone after Targus first; he was alone when he was hit. But as soon as Reverend Grace was there, she was shot, too. So, who had it in for both of them?
"We got some eyewimesses," said one of the policemen. "There was a scream in the park, some teenage kids heard it. You probably did, too. Sounded like 'Lee,' they said; close enough to 'Lily' to make no difference. They looked over there, and they saw a woman carrying
what could have been a rifle get into a car. A Testarossa. Italian. There probably aren't a half dozen of them in the D.C. area, but you can bet every teenage boy knov^s what they look like. So we oughta be able to track that down, no trouble. You know anybody who drives a Testarossa?"
"Yes." Nick felt Valerie grip his hand more tighdy, "Her name is Sybille Enderby."
"Enderby. You hear her scream?"
"Yes. We recognized her voice."
"Who is she?"
Nick felt a wave of helplessness wash over him. Who is she? A television producer. A former wife. A mother of sorts. Possibly the power behind Graceville. A woman whose ruling passion was envy. An angry woman. "She produces The Hour of Grace' for television. Bob Targus was the pilot for the Hour of Grace corporate plane, until the plane was sold a few weeks ago. He was coming to Mrs. Sterling's house to talk about Sybille's—Mrs. Enderby's—possible involvement in a plane crash a year and a half ago."
The policeman frowned deeply. "I don't get the connection. Reverend Grace and a plane crash?"
'We're still figuring it out," Nick said. "There's a lot we don't know yet. We can't tell you anything about Sybille Enderby we're not sure of"
"Why not? Everybody else does. Give us guesses."
"No. Ask her."
"We will, don't worry about that. You know where she lives?"
"At Morgen Farms, in Middleburg."
When they left, Valerie and Nick sat close together while Rosemary skimmed magazines and murmured about Sybille, remembering when she employed Sybille's mother as her dressmaker. Sybille, just a child, always sat nearby, silent and watchfiil, playing with scraps of fabric and listening to everything that was said, intent, observant and unsmiling, as if storing everything in her memory. When Rosemary gave her clothes Valerie was tired of, she took them without a word of thanks, just a look from those strange pale eyes, until her mother reminded her, and then she would say her thanks in a short, breathless kind of way. "She gave me the shivers," Rosemary murmured. "Or am I only thinking that because of what I know about her now?"
After three hours, the doctor came. Lily had been taken to the recovery room. Her vital signs were good; she had come through the operation well. She was young and strong. And lucky. "You should go
home," the doctor said. "There's nothing more I can tell you, and you can't see her now. Tomorrow, maybe. Give us a call in the morning."
And so Nick drove through the pale, ghosdy streets of Georgetown. Home, Valerie thought.
The whole night seemed clearer to Nick now, sitting in bed while Valerie showered, than it had in the hospital. Then he had been too overwhelmed by events to think about details. Her car, he mused. A Testerossa. She had always reveled in visible signs of wealth. It probably never occurred to her that it was like carrying a red flag.
"Dad? You awake?" Chad's voice, charged with early-morning energy, came through the closed door.
"Just about." Nick pulled on a robe and opened the door.
Chad looked past him at the tumbled bed, and Valerie's slacks and striped shirt on the chair. He looked at Nick. "I didn't hear you come in."
"We were very late. Something happened last night; we want to talk to you about it. We'll be down for breakfast in fifteen minutes. I'd like you to wait for us."
"Sure. It sounds like it's something bad."
"We'll talk about it in a few minutes."
"It's not about you and Valerie, is it? I mean, you're okay?"
'We're fine. We're wonderfiil. We'll tell you about that too."
Chad shot another glance at the bed. "I guess I already know." He grinned. "That's pretty great. See you downstairs."
Nick watched him leap down the stairs, so hill of life and anticipation of a new day stretching before him that even the prospect of something bad could not slow him down. Nick's heart sank. What am I going to tell him?
"You can help," he said to Valerie when she came from the shower, a towel twisted into a turban around her head. "My God, you are so beautiful; how can I think of anything but you?"
"You're thinking of your son," she said smiling. "Keeping your priorities straight. I can help with what?"
"Talking to Chad." He watched her take clothes from her suitcase. "Fd like us to do it together."
Valerie paused. Slowly she shook her head. "I don't think you mean that. I think you'd like to talk to him alone. There's nothing I can do to help, Nick; I can't tell Chad how to feel about his mother, and I can't tell you how to talk to him about her. Anything I say would be irrelevant."
"You're never irrelevant. But you're right; this has to be between us.
You're a wise lady." He held her briefly, her cool body against his warm one, her slender strength molding itself to him. Then he let her go. "I'll take a quick shower and get down there. Do you want to wait here.>"
"I'll go upstairs and see how Mother is. We'll be down later."
So Nick was alone when he walked into the kitchen ten minutes later. Chad's face fell. "Where's Valerie?"
"She'll be here soon. Good morning, Elena," Nick said as Elena finished squeezing oranges and handed him a glass of juice. He sat beside Chad on a cushioned banquette at the maple table in the breakfast room. "Her mother stayed here last night, on the third floor, and Valerie wanted to spend some time with her and bring her down to breakfast so she wouldn't feel strange."
"Her mother? Whafs she here for?"
"Something happened at their house last night. I was with them." He watched a
bsendy as Elena put a plate of pancakes and a thermos of coffee in front of him, and refilled Chad's plate.
"I'll be in the pantry," she said. "Call me if you want me."
"So what's this all about?" Chad demanded through a mouthful of pancakes.
"It's about Graceville," Nick began slowly. He saw Chad stiffen, pause in his eating, then go on, chewing steadily. But Nick knew he was listening. 'Tou've been watching all the news reports about television ministries; you know what's going on. There's evidence that the Foundation that runs Graceville may be guilty of the same kind of fraud, and maybe a few other kinds as well. We don't know—"
"So is this about Mother too?"
'We don't know for sure. We think it is."
"She doesn't do things like Tammy Bakker does, like they showed on tv... you know, she had this air-conditioned doghouse and her closet was as big as my bedroom, bigger maybe, and it had this huge chandefier thing... Mother doesn't have any stuff like that."
"I'm sure she doesn't. I don't know how she spends her money, Chad, but there does seem to be evidence that she and some others are involved in a scheme to take money from Graceville, and the Foundation that runs it, for their own use. Thafs all anybody knows right now. But a lot of people are going to be investigating it, and the more they learn, the more attention television and the newspapers will give it. You know how that works. Nobody can hide when that happens. Sybille can't, and you can't. You have to figure it's going to be a tough time."
Chad speared the last piece of pancake with his fork and carefully swirled it around his plate, making a pattern in the syrup. "That's what happened last night? You heard about all this stuff)"
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