“She’s dead!” Lily blurted, tears spilling over her pale cheeks. “Tam is dead.”
Sheriff Meredith appeared. Oliver Peyton was only about five foot ten and Meredith seemed to tower over him. “Mr. Peyton, your daughter is dead,” he said quietly. “I’m very sorry.”
“I want to see her.”
“No, sir, you don’t.”
“Why?” Oliver demanded. “You don’t even know if it’s my daughter.”
“It is, Mr. Peyton,” Natalie said. “I saw her.”
Oliver looked at her indignantly. “And who are you?”
“Oh, Dad, it’s Natalie St. John.” Lily sounded as if she were reaching the end of her endurance. “She says it’s Tam and her body is not in good shape. You see, there were these vultures—”
Her voice broke. Oliver’s smooth face blanched. Sheriff Meredith’s eyes flashed sympathy but his manner remained businesslike as the chain saw continued its relentless grinding in the background. “Mr. Peyton, we don’t know exactly how your daughter died. It looks like lightning struck a limb and it fell on her.” Natalie’s gaze cut to his. He paused for a couple of seconds, then went on. “Why don’t you take your daughter home? We’ll be here a while and then we’ll take the body in for an autopsy.”
Oliver and Lily winced. Natalie glared. Did this guy have to be so brutal? Lily was right—he was a jerk.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Oliver announced.
“Dad, please,” Lily said weakly. A sheen of perspiration covered her ashen face and her hands trembled. “I have to get away from here and I can’t drive.”
“Oh, darling.” Oliver seemed to really see Lily for the first time. “I need to stay. Can’t Natalie take you home?”
“No, Dad, I need you. I want to go to your house—our house. Please. There’s nothing we can do here.” She handed a set of keys to Natalie. “You can drive my car home.”
Natalie nodded although she couldn’t drive a four-speed. She didn’t want to burden Lily with worries about the car, though. She’d leave it in Tamara’s driveway and get a ride with someone.
“There’s nothing you can do here,” the sheriff said in a gentler tone. “Please take care of your daughter, and I’ll stop by your house later with any news.”
Oliver wasn’t looking well himself and reluctantly he nodded. Natalie and Sheriff Meredith watched as the two trudged to the Lexus and drove slowly away. Then Meredith turned to her, pinning her with a pair of the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. “You don’t think Mrs. Hunt was killed by a falling branch.”
“No, I don’t. I believe this stray dog was around the body last night. It has dried blood all over its neck. Sometimes dogs and wolves will stretch their necks over the neck of one of their kind or a person to protect them. I think that’s what this dog did with Tamara, but as I’m sure you can see, there’s no way it could have gotten in position to do so with Tam under the limb. The limb fell after Tam was down.”
Meredith frowned, looked at her, looked at the dog, looked at the area where Tamara lay, then looked back at Natalie. “I never heard of dogs doing anything like that. Why?”
“Because a predator goes for the throat. The stronger one protects the weaker one’s throat from attack.”
“How do you know all of this?”
“I’m a veterinarian.”
“Are you sure that’s what happened?”
“No, I’m not sure. Not all dogs do it. This dog doesn’t have blood around its mouth as if it had killed and eaten something, though. The blood is only around the neck, but there is no injury in the neck area. And there’s something else.” From the pocket in her slacks she withdrew the note Lily had found. “Take a look at this.”
“ ‘Their throat is an open tomb.’ ” Meredith’s blue eyes flashed back at her. “Where did you get this?”
“Lily found it right over there.” She nodded to the spot. “There were some leaves lying over most of it or rain would have obliterated the typing. I think that’s blood on the edge.”
“You think this note was left on her body?”
“Blood on the dog, blood on the note. The wind could have blown the note off the body.” Meredith gave her a piercing look. She suddenly felt ridiculous, standing here spouting theories, but she couldn’t stop. “The wind probably couldn’t have blown the note free if it were trapped under all that foliage, though, so I think the limb fell later, after Tam was dead. Or injured,” she trailed off, wilting under the intense blue gaze.
A piece of the limb crashed loose and the chain saw stopped. Natalie and Meredith watched as a male deputy dragged away debris and a female deputy moved closer to Tamara’s body. In a moment she turned around. “Sheriff, I think you’d better take a look.”
Meredith glanced at Jimmy Jenkins, who hovered nearby. “Jimmy, go home.” Then he looked at her. “Dr. St. John, you stay here.”
“I’ll stay with you,” Jimmy said staunchly. “You look like you could use a man around.”
“Thank you,” Natalie said, appreciating his offer. She kneeled by the dog, fondling its ears, talking to it, trying to shut out the horror of the situation. The dog licked her hands as if in gratitude. Gratitude for a few kind words and a gentle touch, Natalie thought, her throat tightening. Poor Tam. Poor dog. God, what a wretched day.
Gravel crunched beside her. She looked up. Meredith stood straight and tall, his strong-boned face grim. “I think you were right, Dr. St. John,” he said, his voice without inflection. “Her throat has been slashed.”
II
Tamara’s throat had been slashed? Slashed?
Natalie stood up, her lips slightly parted in shock. She’d known Tamara hadn’t been killed by a falling limb. She’d even been fairly sure Tam hadn’t been struck by lighting. But this?
Meredith watched her intently. “Dr. St. John, do you know anyone who might want to murder Mrs. Hunt?”
“Murder?” Natalie repeated incredulously. “Murder Tamara? My God, no! No one could want to hurt her.”
“Someone did. I don’t need a medical examiner to tell me her throat wasn’t cut in an accident.” He seemed to notice Jimmy for the first time. “I told you to get going, boy!” Jimmy hopped on his bike and sped away, although he looked totally unabashed by the sheriff’s harsh tone. “Dr. St. John, I asked you about Mrs. Hunt,” Meredith said.
Natalie raised her hands helplessly. “I can’t tell you anything. I haven’t lived in Port Ariel for years. I’m only back for a visit.”
“Maybe her father and sister will know something. Or her husband. Is that all the family?”
“Her mother is dead. There are aunts, uncles, cousins, but I don’t know where any of them live.”
Meredith wasn’t taking notes, but Natalie had no doubt he would remember everything she said. She glanced back at the location of Tamara’s body. People cleared away the remaining leaves and chunks of wood. Emergency technicians pushed a gurney. Everyone moved slowly and quietly because Tamara was a lifeless, mutilated body headed for a morgue instead of an emergency room. Had there ever been a chance? How long had she lived after someone had ripped open her slender white throat?
“Dr. St. John?” Sheriff Meredith’s voice sounded as if it were coming from far away. She looked at him, noticing for the first time a thin two-inch-long scar that slashed above his right eyebrow and the slight bump high on the bridge of his nose as if it had been broken. He also had a strand of silver hair along one temple. Lily had said something about him coming to Port Ariel because of a tragedy in New York City. Had he been injured? “Are you all right?” he asked.
“Not really.” She suddenly realized how weak she felt. “Could someone take me home?”
“I thought Miss Peyton left her car keys.”
“Her Corvette is a four-speed. I can only drive an automatic. My father tried to teach me to use a manual but I just couldn’t seem to learn. He got so frustrated—” She broke off. “I need a ride.”
“I’ve done all I can here
for now. I’ll take you.”
The emergency technicians were carrying the gurney past them. The road was too rough to wheel it. A sheet covered Tamara’s body, but Natalie still averted her eyes.
“Did you bag her hands?” Meredith asked.
“Yes,” a deputy said. “You told us twice.”
“Got a handkerchief?”
The deputy looked at him blankly for a moment, then withdrew a white square from his pocket. The sheriff took it, put the note inside, and handed it back. “Put this in an evidence bag. We’ve already got three extra sets of prints on it. We don’t need any more.”
“What is it?” the deputy asked.
“A note that might have been left on Mrs. Hunt’s body. Hysell, I’m going to take Dr. St. John home. I’ll be back at the office in half an hour.”
“Okay, Sheriff.” Then: “Natalie?”
She looked up and recognized Ted Hysell. He’d been a couple of years ahead of her in school. “Damned shame, isn’t it?” Ted said. “Knew Tamara for years. She was a real sweetheart.”
“Yes, she was.”
“Pretty as a picture. I used to have a crush on her. Of course that was a long time ago. She never went out with me, but she was always real nice to me. Helped me through French class. I would have failed without her. Anyway, we’ll find who did this, Natalie. We won’t stop until we’ve got him and—”
“Thank you, Hysell,” Meredith said repressively, clearly annoyed by Ted’s chattiness. “Get back to headquarters as soon as possible and don’t talk to any reporters. I’ll prepare a statement for later.”
Ted’s eyes flicked with resentment before he marched back to the patrol car. The sheriff had been a bit sharp with him, but Ted’s nonstop talking would fray anyone’s nerves.
“All right, Dr. St. John,” Meredith said. “Let’s get going. You don’t look so good.”
Natalie took a couple of steps toward the sheriff’s car, then looked back at the dog. It lay on the grass, its amber gaze fastened on her. She hesitated for a moment, then tapped her thigh. “Come on, girl.” The dog immediately ran to her.
Meredith stopped. “I thought that wasn’t your dog.”
“It isn’t, but it’s hungry and in need of medical attention.”
“It’s also not too clean.”
“Are you saying you won’t let it in your car? Because if so, I can call my father.” Natalie was afraid he’d tell her to do so. “Dad is at the hospital now—he has a patient in critical condition—but I guess I can wait out here for him.”
Meredith sighed, and she thought he half-suspected she was lying. “Okay, both of you get in. I can’t just leave you here.”
Thank goodness, Natalie thought. Meredith opened the rear car door. The dog hesitated. Natalie slid in and patted the vinyl seat. The dog hopped up beside her.
After Natalie told him her address, they drove in silence for a few minutes. Finally Meredith said, “You going to put an ad in the paper for that dog?”
“Maybe.”
“You don’t sound too anxious to find its home.”
“I have a feeling it was dumped. Lost dogs usually have a collar and tags.”
“And you’d like to keep it.” Natalie looked in the rearview mirror and saw him smiling. He held his head low, tilted, and looked up at her with those incredibly blue eyes. “You remind me of my daughter.”
“How old is she?”
“Eleven. Her name is Paige. She wants to take in every stray she sees.”
“So did I. Bunnies, baby robins, you name it. Does Paige have any pets?”
“A male cat. Ripley. Last year an elderly woman’s house was burglarized. She was afraid to live alone afterward. Went to stay with her daughter who wouldn’t accept the cat.”
“So you took him in for your daughter.” Natalie thawed toward him a fraction. “That was nice of you.”
“The kid was driving me nuts begging for a pet.” Even though he referred to his daughter as “the kid,” his voice was warm with affection. “So you’re a vet. Where do you practice?”
“A big clinic in Columbus called Anicare.” To which I might never return because it means working with Kenny, Natalie thought. “There are ten veterinarians on staff and we only take referrals for difficult cases. I’ve lived in Columbus for twelve years.”
“But you grew up in Port Ariel.”
“Yes.”
“Come back often to visit?”
“Twice a year.”
“And you were friends with Tamara Hunt.”
“She and Lily are twins. I’ve known them since I started first grade. We also shared an apartment in Columbus when we attended Ohio State.”
“And you’ve stayed in close touch with Lily and Tamara since then?”
“Yes. They’ve both visited me in Columbus. I talk on the phone with Lily every couple of weeks. Tamara about once a month.”
“So you know Mrs. Hunt’s husband. What’s your impression of him?”
Natalie hesitated. She thought Warren Hunt was a pompous bag of hot air, but her opinion was largely a matter of instinct. “I attended their wedding and I’ve been around him maybe five or six times since then. I wouldn’t say I know him.” She ran a hand over the dog’s head. “Is Warren under suspicion, Sheriff Meredith?”
“Nick,” he said absently. “And it was just an idle question.”
Natalie doubted this. He was making friendly conversation—even telling her to call him Nick—because he wanted to put her off guard. But how could he possibly suspect Warren? He wasn’t even here. Still, hadn’t she heard on police shows that the spouse was always the prime suspect?
“Turn left here,” Natalie directed. “It’s the stone house up ahead.”
“Nice place. I’ve admired it ever since I moved here.”
“Thank you. My father designed it.”
“Architecture a hobby of his?”
“Yes.”
“That his Jeep Wagoneer in the driveway?”
“Yes.”
“Guess he finished with that critical patient sooner than you expected,” he said dryly.
Natalie didn’t answer. Even if Andrew had been home earlier, she hadn’t wanted to call him from Tamara’s. She would have had to answer a dozen questions, then wait for him to arrive when she wanted desperately to get away from the scene of Tamara’s murder.
Meredith opened the back door for her. She got out and coaxed the dog to follow. “I may need to talk to you later,” he said.
“Fine. Phone number is listed. Thank you for bringing me home.”
As she climbed the steps to the front porch, her father swung open the door. “Before you left I specifically asked you not to get in trouble and here you are two hours later delivered home by the sheriff himself.” Her father’s voice always boomed when he was tense. “Was there a wreck? Are you hurt? You look awful.”
“Dad, lower your voice and let the dog and me come in because if I don’t sit down and have a cup of coffee—”
“You’re going to pass out. There’s not an ounce of color in your face.” Andrew put his big hand on her arm and drew her inside the coolness of the entrance hall. The dog lingered uncertainly on the porch. “You, too. I didn’t mean to scare you. You both look like you need some tender loving care.”
While her father poured water and laid out leftover bacon from breakfast for the dog, Natalie sat down at the kitchen table and stared out at the lake. Sunlight flashed over its glassy surface. In one direction she could see no shore—only water. It looked so calm, so soothing.
Andrew set a mug of coffee in front of her. “Take a drink of that and tell me what’s going on.”
Natalie sipped, then drew a deep breath. “Dad, Tamara is dead.”
“Dead! Then there was a wreck!” Andrew burst out. “Lily drives too fast. Always did. Are you hurt?”
“There wasn’t a wreck.” Natalie raised anguished eyes to her father. “Tamara was murdered.”
“Mur—wha—murde
red!” Andrew’s face registered profound shock. “Natalie, what are you talking about? How? When? Murdered!”
The dog quit eating and looked at him. “Dad, please stop blustering,” Natalie said. “Lily hadn’t been able to reach Tam by phone so we went to her house. The windows were open and the draperies damp from the storm last night. The doors were locked. We walked down Hyacinth Lane. Tamara was lying on the road beneath a tree limb. It looked like the falling limb had killed her, but when the police cut it away, they saw that Tam’s throat had been—” She drew a deep breath. “Slashed.”
“Dear God,” Andrew breathed, sitting down heavily. “Who?”
“They have no idea. Mr. Peyton came and took Lily home before the police discovered that her throat had been cut, so they don’t even know yet that she was murdered. Neither does Warren. He’s at a convention in Cleveland.” She shook her head. “Dad, the dog led me to her body. It was horrible. The vultures had been at her eyes.”
Andrew reached out and covered her hand with his surprisingly slender one, the hand of a gifted surgeon. “Go ahead and cry, honey.”
“I can’t. The tears won’t come.”
“They will in time.” He patted her back in a clumsy attempt at comfort. “How’s Lily?”
“Alternately sobbing and dry-eyed. Shaking. A wreck.”
“Did she see her sister?”
“No, I wouldn’t let her.”
“Good. That would be a sight she’d take to her grave.”
Natalie sighed. “It will be a sight I’ll take to mine.”
4
I
SUNDAY AFTERNOON
Charlotte Bishop realized she’d been staring at the same page of her Danielle Steel novel for ten minutes. She started over. Two sentences later her mind drifted again. Normally she devoured the novels, losing herself in the stories. She pictured herself as every impossibly beautiful, virtuous, and brave heroine. But not today.
She tossed down the book and looked around her bedroom. Large. Sumptuous. Adolescent. It hadn’t been redecorated since she was fifteen when her favorite color was pink. Blush pink, shell pink, antique pink, strawberry pink. All shades surrounded her in nauseating abundance. And the doll collection! All those rosy-cheeked little creatures staring at her with big, blank eyes were driving her crazy. Abruptly she picked up a delicate crocheted afghan, also done in the ubiquitous shades of pink, and tossed it over the offending dolls. That was better. Slightly.
Don’t Close Your Eyes Page 5
