All She Ever Wanted

by Barbara Freethy

  "I'll probably die alone, too."

  "I don't think so." She paused. "Well, I'll consider it. The tryouts aren't until next week, and I need to practice anyway. Hey, do you want some coffee?"

  "I would love some." Natalie followed Laura down the hall and into her large, bright kitchen. She took a seat on a stool at the island counter. "This is a beautiful room."

  "Thanks. We remodeled a couple of years ago."

  Laura started the coffeemaker while Natalie looked around. The photos on the refrigerator were held in place by magnets and colorful alphabet letters. Everywhere she looked there were signs of a family. Even though there were obvious problems in Laura's marriage, she still had a pretty nice life going.

  Natalie's heart twisted at the thought that she might never have this kind of normal life. And it suddenly hit her that she wanted it. For the past ten years she'd thought of nothing but her career. Now, after one moment in Laura's family kitchen, Natalie suddenly wanted to have more, specifically a husband, children, and a home of her own. She shook her head, trying to dislodge the image from her brain, because the man in the picture looked a lot like Cole, and that really was a crazy idea.

  "What's wrong?" Laura asked.

  "Nothing."

  "While we're waiting for the coffee, let's go downstairs. I have some things in the basement I bet you haven't seen in a while."

  Laura led Natalie down a flight of stairs just off the kitchen. The basement was a semifinished room, one half of the room devoted to arts and crafts, the other holding numerous boxes, suitcases, and trunks. On a table in the middle of the room was a stack of books. Natalie's heart quickened at the sight of those familiar books. Laura had always been the scrapbook queen, and she'd chronicled just about every second of their days in Santa Cruz.

  Natalie picked up a book and opened it. The first few pages were filled with photos from their freshman year in the dorms. "Oh, my God, look at my hair," she muttered. "It's huge."

  Laura laughed. "You have always had great hair, thick and curly. People pay a lot of money to get what you try to straighten."

  Natalie turned the page to see the first photo of the four of them together taken out in the hallway in front of their dorm room. They'd done a typical girl pose, arms around each other, each one pulling up the edge of her shorts to reveal more leg. They were totally different from each other—tall to short, blond to brunette to a redhead, but on their faces were matching smiles and grins. What a look of innocence, Natalie thought, feeling a rush of emotion. They had no idea where they were heading, what they would go through, how long they would actually have each other. Her gaze zeroed in on Emily's bright smile full of promise and joy. She bit down on her lip. It was so hard to look at Emily now, to know that her promise would never be fulfilled.

  "Em looks happy," Laura commented. "But then, she always did. I still can't quite believe that anyone deliberately pushed her off the roof. Everyone loved her so much. How did her tragic death turn into a murder mystery? And how did you become the prime suspect?"

  Natalie had been thinking about that a lot. "Emily must have said something about me in her journal, something that led Malone to believe we were fighting that night."

  "Or he just made it up. That's why he called it fiction instead of nonfiction."

  "Actually, I think he just did that to make it more difficult for me to sue him." She paused, hesitant to broach the subject of Drew again, but she couldn't leave any stone unturned. "Don't you find it odd that Drew is not mentioned in the novel?

  How did he escape Malone's notice? He was with us a lot. And Drew doesn't like me. When Cole and I dropped by the other day, he told me I'd let you all down, that he had no time for me. I didn't quite get it, Laura, because I don't remember Drew and I having some big blowout or anything. We were never that close, but we weren't enemies back then. Yet we seem to be now. Unless he said things to you that I didn't know about."

  Laura glanced down at the scrapbook, obviously debating an answer. Natalie felt her pulse quicken. Laura knew something, but what?

  "He didn't dislike you back then, Natalie, but I think you reminded him of things he didn't want to think about," she said finally.

  "Okay, now I'm totally confused. What are you talking about?"

  "Drew grew up in a trailer park. He came from nothing, Natalie, just like you. He was ashamed of his background, his parents. When he got to college he wanted to be someone else, someone important. I think he was afraid to get close to you, afraid you'd expose him in some way. He always used to tell me how smart he thought you were."

  Natalie sat down on the chair by the table, floored by Laura's latest statement. "Why would I have wanted to expose Drew? I didn't even know about his past. Nor did I care."

  "I know that. I've been with him for more than ten years. I've learned the way his mind works, and he likes to be with rich people. He likes to pretend that he's always been someone with money and the luxuries of life. We've seen his parents probably five times in the last ten years. We've never been back to Modesto, where he grew up. It's as if he wants to erase that part of his life."

  "I can relate to that," Natalie said with a better understanding now of the complexities of Drew McKinney. "He had me fooled. I thought he was just an upper-middle-class beach boy who was going to party his way through college."

  "That's what he wanted everyone to think."

  "He did a good job reinventing himself," Natalie said.

  Laura frowned at her words and gazed into her eyes with a troubled expression. "I walked right into that one, didn't I? I just don't think it's him, Natalie. I don't think Drew is Malone."

  "Well, you know him the best," Natalie said carefully.

  "Yes, I know him the best," Laura echoed with conviction. "I think our coffee is ready now. Do you want to bring the scrapbooks upstairs?"

  Natalie glanced down at the photo of the Fabulous Four and shook her head. "I've seen enough."

  "Are you sure? There are photos of you and Cole in there."

  The last thing she wanted to see was a photo of her and Cole. A vivid snapshot of their young, passionate love was only going to make it that much harder to keep him at arm's length now.

  Chapter 13

  Cole's mother was being discharged when he drove up to the ER entrance at Good Samaritan Hospital, located across town from St. Timothy's. He thanked God for that small favor. The last thing his mother needed today was to run into Natalie. Getting out of his car, he jogged over to where his dad was helping his mom get into their car. She was obviously upset, her cheeks red from crying, her brown hair matted from sweat. When she saw him, she practically fell into his arms.

  "Oh, Cole. I'm so happy to see you," she said tearfully.

  "I'm happy to see you, too," he muttered. His mother had always been small and slender, but today she felt frail in his arms, as if she could be easily broken. It occurred to him that he'd spent the first part of his life worrying about his little sister and the last decade worrying about his mother. At least his father was strong, except when it came to his wife. She was his Achilles' heel. As he looked over his mother's shoulder, Cole could see the worry in his father's eyes.

  "We should get you into the car, Janet," Richard said. "It's breezy out here. The last thing we need is for you to catch a cold."

  Janet pulled back and put her hand against Cole's cheek, a sorrowful look in her brown eyes. "You look tired, Cole. Are you all right?"

  "Hey, I'm the one who should be asking you that question. Dad said you collapsed."

  Richard gave Cole a warning shake of his head, but it was too late to pull back the question.

  "I couldn't believe what those reporters at the house were saying about Emily," Janet replied. Her expression pleaded with him to tell her it wasn't true, that it was all a horrible nightmare, and he wanted to do just that, but he couldn't.

  "We're going to fix it," he said instead. "Don't worry about anything. Just take care of yourself and feel better."


  Her eyes blurred with tears. "I thought it was over, Cole. It should be over. Why isn't it?"

  "It will be," Richard Parish said with authority. "We'll find out everything we need to know, Janet. But you need to go home and sleep now. That's what the doctor said. Lots and lots of rest."

  "Will you come to the house with us, Cole?" she asked. "We can still have dinner as we planned."

  "Don't worry about dinner. Rest tonight and we'll talk tomorrow."

  "All right. Don't work too hard." She got into the car and Cole shut the door behind her.

  "Is she really okay?" Cole asked his father.

  "She's never okay, not when it comes to Emily," Richard said with a heavy sigh. "We were having such a good trip, too. She was happy in Italy. She loved Venice. I couldn't get her out of those gondolas. But she got a little stomach bug the last few days. Combine that with the long flight and the reporters waiting for us at the house—it was just too much for her. When she heard those words about Emily being ..."

  His father's face turned pale, and he shook his head, obviously unable to finish the sentence. Cole didn't blame him. He'd had a little longer to deal with the situation, and he still flinched every time he thought about Emily being pushed off that roof.

  "The doctor prescribed a sedative," his father continued a moment later. "I want to get her home and into bed, so she can sleep for the next twelve hours."

  Cole nodded. "That sounds like a plan."

  "What's happening with the case? Have you found out anything yet? Have you spoken to the police?"

  "Not yet."

  "Why the hell not?"

  "Because we need to find Malone first."

  "And you don't think the police can help with that?"

  "I've got Hinkley working on it," Cole replied. "You've said yourself he's the best. I was trying to avoid publicity."

  "Obviously you weren't successful. There were reporters from all the networks at the house. We're the biggest news story in town. Speaking of which, are we covering ourselves?"

  "Marty wrote up a neutral piece stressing the process of investigating the situation. It will be in tomorrow's paper."

  "What about Natalie Bishop? I can't believe I didn't see this possibility sooner. I thought she and Emily were friends."

  "They were friends."

  "Maybe they weren't. You broke up with her. Maybe Emily had a problem with her, too."

  "It was different between us," Cole started to explain, but his father interrupted.

  "I don't give a shit about your relationship with her. I want to know what was going on with Natalie and Emily. When I get home, I'm calling Detective Boland. With any luck he's still working for the Santa Cruz Police Department."

  Cole was relieved when his mother opened the door to ask if there was a problem. "No problem," he lied. "We're just talking business."

  "I'll be right there," Richard said, closing her door again. "Is there anything else I should know?"

  "Do you know anything about a journal that Emily might have kept at school?" Cole asked.

  "I don't, but your mother might. Is it important?"

  "It could be."

  "I'll talk to her about it when she's feeling more calm." His sharp eyes narrowed. "Is the journal where Malone got his information?"

  "It's possible. I went through Emily's closet yesterday to see if I could find it in the boxes of her things that we brought back from Santa Cruz, but there was nothing there." He paused, seeing his mother once again look at them with concern. "You better go. Take care of Mom. I'll handle this problem."

  "Don't let me down, Cole. More important, don't let your sister down."

  As Cole watched his parents drive off, he knew that he'd already let his sister down once, and he wouldn't do it again. He'd find out the truth about Emily's death once and for all. And he wouldn't stop until he did. But first he had to warn Natalie that his parents were home, and his father wanted someone's head on a platter, preferably hers.

  * * *

  When Natalie returned to her apartment just before two o'clock, she saw several reporters and cameras in front of her building. She parked down the street and walked tentatively toward her home, wondering with each step if it wouldn't be better to retreat. But she couldn't stay away forever. She'd have to go past them sometime.

  A woman saw her, called out her name, and suddenly the group swarmed toward her, firing questions like bullets from a gun. There was a camera this time and a man holding a microphone. Good Lord! Was this going on television?

  Her head spun. She couldn't hear the questions. They were one big blur of glaring, accusatory noise. Words jumped out at her—murderer, crime, victim, tragedy, Emily, best friends, Fabulous Four, followed by why, why, and why.

  "Natalie." His voice rang through the air loud and clear like a foghorn leading a floundering ship home. She searched the crowd for him. And there he was.

  Cole barreled his way through the reporters, grabbed her hand, and pulled her down the sidewalk. They sprinted toward his car, the reporters following close behind. Thankfully, Cole managed to pull away from the curb without hitting anyone, which Natalie considered a minor miracle. For long moments they didn't say a word. She felt like she'd just run a marathon. She couldn't catch her breath. Her heart pounded against her chest.

  "Okay?" Cole asked.

  She shook her head. He put a hand on her knee. "It's going to be okay."

  She shook her head again. It wasn't going to be okay. Everyone thought she was a murderer—a criminal—a horrible, horrible person. The worst thing was that she couldn't even deny the crime with one hundred percent certainty. She had no facts, only a belief in herself.

  "Trust me," he said.

  God, she wanted to. She wanted to trust him more than anything. "Why were you at my apartment?"

  "I thought you might run into trouble with the press."

  "It's like feeding time at the zoo. How long is this going to last?"

  "Hopefully no more than fifteen minutes."

  "It's already been longer than that." She frowned, realizing that this type of event was part of Cole's daily life. "Did one of those reporters belong to your paper?"

  He sent her an apologetic glance. "Yes."

  "You're covering this story in the Tribune? How can you do that, Cole?"

  "I don't have a choice."

  "I see." She stared straight ahead for a long moment, computing the facts. "What are you saying about me?"

  "The article is about Emily, my family, and the book. It's short and to the point."

  It was a nice explanation, but she wasn't buying it. She turned back to look at him and saw him avoid her gaze. "Come on, Cole. I'm the most interesting part of the story, the beloved sorority sister turned killer. That's why the reporters are hounding me. The fact that I'm now a doctor makes it even better. You know, I was asked to take a leave of absence today. My boss told me to fix this quick. Please tell me you have some good news."

  Cole pulled over to the side of the road on a quiet neighborhood street and tinned off the engine. "I wish I did," he said, turning in his seat. "My parents arrived home to the same feeding frenzy you just faced. My mother collapsed with chest pain and was rushed to the hospital. She's okay," he said quickly. "Just very stressed out. My father is crazed. I can't think of a better word than that. He's going to call the Santa Cruz Police, and he wants me to find you."

  "You didn't tell him you already had?"

  "It wasn't the right time."

  She nodded. "They hate me. Your parents hate me.

  "They don't understand what's going on."

  "So what do we do next? Any brilliant ideas?"

  "I think we need a break. I don't know about you, but I need to get off this treadmill and catch my breath. I can't tell you how I felt when my father called and said my mother had collapsed. A picture flashed into my mind of my mother lying on the ground just like Emily." He leaned his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes. "I c
an still see her." He paused for a long moment. "When Josh and I arrived at the house, we heard music and then what sounded like a scream. I didn't know what it was until I saw everyone running into the side yard when we got there. Emily was on her back. She looked like she was sleeping, but there was blood running out of the corner of her mouth. I leaned down to wipe it away with my sleeve, but it kept coming." His voice caught in his throat.

  "Don't go there, Cole." Natalie put her hand on his arm, knowing she had to stop him right there. "Don't do this to yourself."

  His eyes opened and he gave her a long, searching gaze. "Did you see her that night? Did you see her before they covered her up?"

  Natalie tried to swallow, but there was a huge lump in her throat as she remembered the crowd of people gathered in the yard, everyone screaming and crying. Madison had her by the hand. She'd pulled her out of the bathroom and down the stairs saying they had to get to Emily. But no one would let them through. Finally, they got to the front. Natalie saw Cole kneeling beside his sister. Dylan and Josh hovered on the other side, watching the paramedics try to save her life, but it was too late. She had died on impact.

  "The only thing I could see," she said haltingly, "was Em's beautiful brown hair spread across the white cement the way it used to spread across her pillow when she slept." She tightened her grip on his arm, feeling the need to hang on to him. "I couldn't get closer to her than that. I couldn't even believe it was happening. It seemed like a nightmare. For weeks I kept trying to wake up."

  "Me, too," he said huskily, putting his hand behind her head and pulling her close. He rested his forehead against hers. "I still want to wake up, but I can't. I'm stuck there. I think I've moved on and then something yanks me right back. How do I let go?"

  "I don't know." They'd tried to run, but the past had hunted them down with a vengeance.

  "I can't go through it again," he murmured. "I can't lose my mother, too." He pulled away so she could see his face. "That year after Emily died, I was afraid every second that my mother would hurt herself or just give up on living. I felt helpless to make it better. What if the same thing happens now? What if she can't get past this?"