Before the holidays she’d told Ames she wanted Jeremy to move in, but Ames had begged her to let Jeremy stay until after Easter. “I’d miss him too much on long, dark winter evenings,” Ames had said. But today had changed a lot of things. Even if this body did not turn out to be Dara’s, the fear that it had been was likely to throw Ames into a depression Jeremy didn’t need to be around. And it sounded as if Patricia wasn’t home much, although she rarely went out of her way to entertain Jeremy. While Christine forced down half a cheeseburger she didn’t want, she decided the time had come for Jeremy to move in with her.
“You’re hardly eating,” Jeremy commented. “You usually eat as much as me, maybe more.”
“That is not true!” Christine retorted heatedly, then noticed Jeremy’s twitching lips. He was trying to get her to smile. She obliged. “I happen to be watching my weight, smarty. I haven’t been going to the gym as much as I need to.”
“But you’re not fat. Just tall.”
At five feet, ten inches, Christine had always felt like an Amazon beside petite Dara, in spite of her vigilant maintenance of her weight. Danny Torrance, the gym manager, told her she was perfectly proportioned although she needed to be more diligent about her workouts to build strength. But then, Danny had been a family friend for years and could be counted on for a compliment.
As soon as he’d finished the very last drop of his ice cream, noisily scraping the sides of his glass dish, Jeremy looked at her and frowned. “I don’t really want to sleep at Ames’s house tonight. I’d rather come to your house. Is that okay?”
“Sure,” Christine said promptly. “And it’s our house.” Jeremy beamed. “I’d be glad for the company, and I know Rhiannon will be happy to see you.”
Months after Dara had disappeared, when Christine graduated from college and moved out of the house, she had taken Dara’s black cat, Rhiannon, because Patricia detested her. So did Patricia’s obnoxious little dog, Pom-Pom, who never gave Rhiannon a moment’s peace.
“I can’t wait to see Rhiannon,” Jeremy said enthusiastically. “And can I watch Buffy the Vampire Slayer?”
“Certainly. I like it, too. But you have to call home first to let them know you’re with me. If no one is there—”
“I know. Leave a message on the machine.” Jeremy sounded like a beleaguered teenager. “I don’t have to be told stuff a million times, Christy.”
“Sorry. I didn’t know you were so sensitive.”
“It just wears me out when you say things over and over.” Jeremy sounded slightly cranky, something Christine didn’t want to deal with tonight.
“I won’t keep repeating myself. I promise.”
“Good.” Jeremy wiped his mouth and scooted out of the booth. “Now I’ll make my call.”
“Where are you going?”
“To the pay phone.”
“Where’s your cell phone?”
Jeremy’s face reddened. “I left it at the store.”
“Jeremy, it’s very important for you to keep the cell phone with you.” She stopped. She was about to deliver a lecture he’d heard a hundred times. “Sometimes I forget mine, too. Do you have—”
“Money for the pay phone? Yeah,” Jeremy said over his shoulder as he headed toward the front of the restaurant and the pay telephone. “For Pete’s sake, Christy!”
Christine smiled to herself. When others treated Jeremy like a child, she got annoyed, but she did it herself. Constantly. It irritated him with good reason. He was twenty now. It was time for her to stop hovering over him.
“It looks like this is the place to be tonight.”
Christine looked up to see Sloane Caldwell standing beside her booth. Sloane was an associate in Ames’s law firm, and a few years ago they’d been engaged. She’d broken off the engagement only weeks before the wedding, but they’d remained friendly, if not close. “The place does seem to be doing a booming business tonight,” she said. “I think it’s so gloomy, people hate to go home. Have a seat. Jeremy’s gone to use the phone.”
“Forgot his cell phone again?”
“Yes,” Christine said without defensiveness. Sloane had always been kind to Jeremy, and during their engagement he’d seemed happy at the prospect of having Jeremy live with him and Christine. Not many men would have been so accepting of a woman’s mentally challenged younger brother. “He’s decided to spend the night at my house and wants to let Ames know.”
Sloane sat down. He was a big, rugged-looking man with broad shoulders and a deep, booming voice that served him well in court. He had thick, curly brick-colored hair, an open smile, and a dozen lines shooting from the corners of his dark hazel eyes as if he’d been looking into the sun too long. His nose bore a bump from a long-ago break and a thin scar traversed his chin, both imperfections the result of his playing high school football. In spite of the designer suits he favored and his flawless manners, Christine had always thought Sloane looked like he should be spending his days hunting in the mountains instead of sitting behind a desk in a law office. He’d never married after their broken engagement.
“You look beautiful, as always, Chris, but I can tell when you’re troubled,” he said kindly. “Want to tell me what’s wrong?”
“You’ll hear soon enough, if you haven’t already. A body wrapped in plastic washed ashore today. They think it might be Dara.”
Sloane’s lips parted and he stared at her for a moment, his eyes seeming to go flat with shock. “Good God! One of the secretaries told me a deputy came to the office looking for Ames. I guess that’s what he wanted to tell him.”
Christine nodded. “He tracked Ames down at the store. Ames demanded to be told right in front of everyone, then he insisted the body couldn’t be Dara’s. He was badly shaken, though. I was glad Wilma Archer was there. She’s like a mother to him, you know.”
“Yes, she is,” Sloane said distractedly. “Did this deputy tell Ames the body was definitely Dara’s?”
“It was Michael Winter, that new guy from Los Angeles, and he didn’t say the body was Dara’s. He said it was the right height and had long black hair, but there was a lot of decomposition in spite of all the plastic wrapping. After all, if it is Dara, she would have been in the water three years.”
“If she was wrapped in plastic, she didn’t drown accidentally. She was murdered,” Sloane said. “But she could have been murdered later—weeks or months after she disappeared.”
“I hadn’t even thought of that possibility. If she did run away and came back a while later, though, no one saw her.”
“At least no one who came forward.”
“That’s true. You’re always so good at seeing all the angles.”
“It’s part of my job,” Sloane answered. “Sometimes it’s necessary in a client’s defense.”
“Yes, I guess it is.” Christine ran a hand over her forehead. “Anyway, the body was sent directly to the medical examiner’s in Charleston. Ames is there now to see if he can identify her. I think it’s cruel to make him look at the body if there’s been massive decomposition.”
“There’s no point in blaming the police, Chris. It’s procedure.”
“It may be procedure, but that doesn’t make it less awful,” Christine said dully, feeling like a cold wind was blowing over her.
Sloane shook his head. “Someone should have gone to Charleston with Ames.”
“Me. I should have gone. But there was Jeremy to deal with—”
“I didn’t mean you, Chris. I’m the one Ames should have called.”
Yes, Christine thought, Sloane was incredibly strong. It was so easy to lean on him. But leaning on Sloane became a double-edged sword. It made him think he was in charge of every situation, a trait Christine had learned she couldn’t live with and that was partially responsible for making her decide she couldn’t marry him three years ago.
“I’m sure he’ll be all right if there’s no way he can be sure the body is Dara’s,” Christine said with more hope than certainty.
“And he won’t be alone when he comes home. He has Patricia.”
Sloane pulled a face. “Yes, the devoted and sensitive Patricia, who couldn’t stand Dara. She’d probably be a great comfort.”
“Jeremy says she’s gone all the time anymore.”
“Is she getting bored with the good life already?”
“Maybe. She’s a lot younger than Ames, and he hasn’t exactly been a barrel of laughs since Dara disappeared.”
“Chris, I doubt if Ames was ever a barrel of laughs.”
“No, that’s not his style. Still, he’s gone from serious to gloomy. God knows how he’ll be if this body turns out to be Dara’s.”
Jeremy appeared at the table. “Hi, Sloane.”
“Hi yourself. Haven’t seen you for a while.”
“I’m really busy at the store. You heard about my job, didn’t you? I’m not just a stock boy. I get to design jewelry.”
“Of course I heard about it. Ames is really proud of you.”
“Did Christy tell you about Dara?”
“She said a body was found, but no one’s sure it’s Dara. Don’t think the worst, Jeremy.” Sloane stood up quickly and Christine was glad he wasn’t going to linger on the subject. “I’ve got a ton of work to do tonight, so I’d better get going. It was good to see the two of you. Drive carefully tonight. Those roads are treacherous.”
“Christy drives real slow,” Jeremy complained. “It takes us forever to get anywhere.”
“Well, it’s better than going too fast, having a wreck, and not getting there at all. Good night, folks.”
Jeremy scooted into the booth after Sloane left. “Nobody was home, so I left my message.”
Christine knew Ames was in Charleston, but where was Patricia? She should have been with Ames, of course, to help him through this horrible experience. Instead, no one seemed to know where she was. She might not have even heard about the body.
“You look sad,” Jeremy said.
“Too much rain and too many gray skies.”
“And too much bad news. About the body in the water. It’s creepy.” He looked away for a moment, then said with one of his abrupt changes of subject, “I want to go home and see Rhiannon.”
“Me, too. But don’t tell her you had a banana split or she’ll pout all evening.”
Jeremy’s deep laugh boomed and his whole face seemed to light up. He looked like a male version of their beautiful mother, and Christine often felt bad when girls approached him based on his striking adult male looks only to find they were talking to an adolescent. But Jeremy rarely seemed to mind, thank goodness. He was remarkably adept at accepting his life.
Christine paid the bill and they set out for home. The rain had tapered off to a drizzle, but she still drove slowly while Jeremy listened to the radio, bobbing his head and singing along with even more gusto than usual to “Fly Away” by Lenny Kravitz, which happened to be his favorite song. Jeremy loved rock music and his voice was fairly good. Unfortunately, music annoyed Ames. Jeremy had to content himself with a boom box and a karaoke machine she’d bought him for Christmas, and even those things Ames had banished into a dingy back room of his basement.
When they entered Christine’s large modern stone and sand-colored wood house the cat shot from behind a chair and flung herself at Jeremy’s feet, rolling upside down and stretching her legs into the air.
Jeremy dropped to the floor and picked her up. “Rhiannon, I missed you!” The cat rubbed her mouth along his jaw to leave her scent. “Everybody thinks Dara just named you for that song she liked so much, but I know Rhiannon was really a witch.”
Christine was surprised Jeremy recalled Dara telling him about the witch of Celtic legend, but then, what he remembered often surprised her. “Rhiannon is happy to see you,” she said as the cat lolled happily in Jeremy’s arms.
“I miss her all the time. I sure wish she could stay with me at Ames’s house, but Patricia won’t let her. She only likes Pom-Pom.”
Christine, who loved almost every dog she saw, definitely found Pom-Pom an exception. The dog was eight pounds of sharp teeth, ear-shattering yips, knotted grayish-white hair, bad breath, and bad temper. Christine had no idea what misbegotten canine mix had created the ankle-biting monstrosity Patricia inexplicably adored and no one else could bear.
“You got any clean clothes for me to wear tomorrow?” Jeremy asked.
“I have some older things, but I just bought two new pairs of slacks and two shirts at the Gap three days ago.”
Jeremy brightened. “You did? Are they downstairs in my room?”
“Yes. And I’ve just about finished decorating it. Run down and see what you think.”
With the cat still in his arms, Jeremy immediately dashed to the kitchen and the upstairs entrance to his basement “apartment.” Christine hoped that within a month he would be living here full-time.
Christine walked into her kitchen and felt a rush of pleasure at the sight of gleaming chrome appliances and the walls painted in cheerful shades of pistachio green and lemon yellow. Ames, with his inflexible traditional taste, didn’t like the modern lines of her home, but he had almost quailed at the sight of this shining, vibrant room. Christine remembered having trouble hiding her amusement at his efforts not to express his overwhelming dismay that she’d spent so much money on a house he considered a frightful concoction of strange angles and loud colors.
While she poured water into a huge fern hanging at a window, Christine gazed beyond the deck and into the backyard, which she hoped would be a riot of colorful flowers come summer. On this dismal evening, though, that scene was hard to imagine. The wall of evergreens bordering the back of the lawn raised dripping limbs against a gunmetal sky. A forlorn sparrow sat on the edge of the bird feeder, and rain had beaten down the heads of six daffodils that had bloomed too soon, tricked by a few early warm days. Water stood in all the cracks between the flagstones of the walk leading down the slope to the patio outside Jeremy’s basement entrance, a patio she hoped would accommodate some summer barbecues.
Christine filled the coffeemaker, and in a few minutes the smell of Jeremy’s favorite raspberry-chocolate blend coffee filled the kitchen. She took his favorite thermal mug out of the cabinet and her own sturdy earthenware cup she favored over china.
“The place looks so cool!” Jeremy exclaimed as he bound up the basement stairs and into the kitchen. “You didn’t tell me you got me a Ping-Pong table!”
“Early birthday gift,” Christine managed as Jeremy gave her a bear hug. “You can have your friends over to play.”
“Like Danny. Since he doesn’t live beside Ames anymore, I hardly ever get to see him. And I’ve got my own door to the outside, too. People don’t have to go through your place to get to my place!”
“I’m glad you like it.”
“It’s super. Hey, will that coffee keep me awake? ’Cause I have to go into the store early tomorrow.”
“We’re not opening until ten.”
“I have to go earlier.”
“Why?”
“It’s a secret. Let’s go watch TV.”
Christine pretended to concentrate on shows that seemed to enthrall Jeremy, but she really wasn’t paying the slightest attention. All she could think about was Ames in Charleston viewing a ravaged body that might be his daughter’s. At ten o’clock she felt ready to scream with tension when the phone rang. She leaped from her chair and grabbed up the receiver. “Hello?”
A ragged voice emitted a couple of agonized sounds before Ames said, “H-her.”
“Ames? I can barely hear you.”
“The body. It’s . . . it’s Dara.”
She’d been sure ever since Deputy Winter told them about the body being washed ashore that it was Dara’s. Now her mind did not want to accept it. “You can’t be sure,” she said quickly, wrenched by the sound of his tormented voice. “Not until they’ve run tests. They have to do DNA testing—”
“The ring.”
“What
about the ring?”
“In the plastic wrapping they found her ring. The ruby-and-diamond ring I gave her for her high school graduation.” He sounded like he was choking before he ground out, “It had her initials engraved inside. DMP. Dara Marie Prince. And the graduation date . . . Oh God, Christine—”
“Ames, are you on the road?”
“No. Home.”
“Is Patricia there?”
“What? I don’t know.”
“If she isn’t, I’m coming right over.” Jeremy stood by her side now, his expression frightened. “You shouldn’t be alone.”
“Don’t come over.”
“Yes, I insist—”
“Don’t come, Christine.” Patricia’s voice, crisp and cold, had replaced Ames’s. “I’m here. I’ll take care of my husband. You look after Jeremy. We don’t need him here on top of everything else.”
The phone clicked in Christine’s ear.
And so the hope Ames had held on to so fiercely for three long years had been crushed on a cold, rainy March day when the Ohio River washed up the forlorn remains of his once-beautiful daughter and left them on a soggy bank like a grotesque offering.
A desolation that surprised her washed over Christine. She turned her face into Jeremy’s chest and cried.
2
An hour later they’d trudged off to their respective bedrooms. Christine had finally controlled her weeping, and Jeremy had retreated into silence. He took Rhiannon downstairs with him, though. Christine knew he would find comfort in Dara’s little black cat, who always curled beside him to sleep.
As she changed into a nightgown and washed her face, Christine was certain the sleep she wanted so badly wouldn’t come for hours. She was too disturbed and shaken. But after she forced herself to read a few pages of a less than gripping murder mystery, the book toppled from her hand and she slid sideways against her stacked pillows.
She was dreaming of arguing with Dara over Sloane Caldwell. The dream was a playback of the last contretemps she’d ever had with Dara, when the girl had openly flirted with Sloane and even sat down on his lap during a party, stroking his face, rubbing her breasts against him, and licking his ear. Christine had been furious at the display, letting her temper get the best of her as she called Dara a tramp. Dara had laughed at her. “It’s not my fault you can’t hold on to Sloane,” she’d jeered. “He’d rather have me and you know it!” Sloane had looked acutely embarrassed but said nothing.
If She Should Die Page 5
