“No wonder she was getting jittery,” Christine said dryly. “I wonder where she was making love with S.C. when the Brain came to the door. S.C.’s house?” She pictured Sloane’s house on the other side of town. Had Dara spent evenings there while Christine was at the library? Could that explain her flagrant flirting with Sloane and his lack of rejection? Christine pulled herself back to the present as Streak began to read again: “ ‘I know I went too far this time. Tess’s party. I drank before I went, because I was so nervous; then I drank too much there. Tess was drooling over Rey. Christine was like a giant Goody Two-shoes with her fiancé. I made a real spectacle of myself. I danced all by myself; I sang raunchy songs; I sat on Sloane’s lap and kissed and fondled him. Amazon and Rey went ballistic. Amazon broke her engagement. Tess told everyone about the party. I think the whole town knows. Rey is furious. S.C. is furious. The Brain is furious, which is worse. And I’m scared.’ ”
“Oh, that party,” Christine groaned. “It was awful.”
Streak tapped ashes off his cigarette. “Was she really so bad?”
“She was horrible. And she didn’t appear drunk. Just . . . manic. I hadn’t thought of that until this minute, but her behavior wasn’t just outrageous. It had a frantic quality. Maybe Sloane realized something was wrong and that’s why he didn’t get rude with her.”
“He never explained himself?”
“Oh, he offered a couple of excuses, but I was too angry to listen.” I was too desperate to grab onto any excuse to get out of marrying him, Christine thought again with a prickle of shame. “But Dara says S.C. was furious. If Sloane was furious with her, he sure didn’t act it. And she sounds more worried about the reaction of the Brain.” She sighed. “I’m getting a headache.”
“No wonder. We’ve only got one more entry. Let’s get it over with. It’s dated March twenty-fourth.”
“The night before she disappeared,” Christine breathed with a rush of foreboding.
“ ‘I am so tired. Nightmares about whoever is following me, what they want to do to me. Or maybe I’m so strung out from not sleeping that I’m hallucinating. The looks Amazon gives me! They’d be funny if I wasn’t so spooked. I can’t stand everybody being so mad at me, even Daddy. He said something about me being like Mama after all. What did that mean? Then, to top it all off, I find out this! How could I let this happen? I didn’t take the pills right, I guess. Too buzzed on vodka to keep track. I told him. Don’t know what I expected. But there are no proud fathers in this family. He said I have to get rid of it, but I’m afraid I’ll die. And I don’t know how to arrange things like that. Practical things. Messy things life makes you do to keep going. But he’s so mad. And if anyone else finds out—
“ ‘I wish my mother were here because without her, I’m lost. It’s all gone wrong and I just know now that no matter what I do, I won’t be around this time next year.’ ”
Streak slowly closed the diary, his dark eyes sad. “And she wasn’t around at that time the next year. Or even the next week,” he said with a gravelly edge to his voice. “Damned exasperating high-spirited girl.”
Christine swallowed hard, her own pity rising. Dara was not only frightened by the idea that someone was following her and wanted her dead; she’d also found out she was pregnant. The pills she hadn’t taken properly were birth control pills. She’d told the father, who clearly had been less than thrilled. And when she’d written that passage, she’d been reduced to a frightened little girl who thought only her mother could protect her.
Dara had been selfish, greedy, and appallingly careless with her life and the other lives she touched. Christine had seen for herself, though, that Dara had been reared to believe she could have whatever she wanted. Her father rarely said no to her. Probably her mother hadn’t, either. She’d been beautiful, adored, and indulged to the point where her personality never matured beyond that of a spoiled child. She didn’t seem to understand the concept of accountability. Still, no matter what her human failings or how she’d come by them, the state she’d reached when she wrote her last diary entry was tragic. The hot tears Christine now felt blurring her vision, though, were caused only partly by pity. She also felt at fault, as if she’d been indirectly involved in what happened to Dara, although she couldn’t figure out quite how.
“I never guessed she was pregnant,” Christine finally said. “And obviously afraid to have an abortion.” Streak stared off, his cigarette smoke circling in front of his eyes. “Did you know she was pregnant?”
Streak seemed to snap back to the moment. “Pregnant? How would I have known that?”
“I thought maybe she said something down at the creek that made you wonder.”
Streak’s voice was harsh. “She didn’t. I told you she didn’t talk about her love life.”
“Okay,” Christine said mildly. “What do you think Ames meant about her being like Eve?”
“Like Eve? Well, Eve was an extrovert. I was shocked half to death when Ames brought her home to marry. He was so staid—good, kind, trustworthy, but staid. Eve was just the opposite. After a few years, their personality differences began to take a toll on the marriage. Eve went from being an extrovert to being flamboyant, flashy, and . . . well, sort of familiar with men.”
“Familiar?”
“Flirtatious. She just seemed to come alive around them and she had this way of acting like she knew you intimately. Even Ames couldn’t ignore her behavior, although there were never any public scenes that I heard of. I know he didn’t approve of the way she acted, but I never doubted he loved her. I’m not sure Eve loved him after the first few years. I think she got bored with him. Then she got cancer. For almost two years she went downhill, until there was very little of the old Eve left.”
“Do you think before she got sick she had affairs?”
“No.” Streak’s voice was clipped. “But then, I don’t seem to know much about women.”
He sounded faintly bitter, as if he’d been hurt. Most women did not want to get involved with such a reclusive man. Also, he hardly went anywhere to meet women. But what about Eve? She would have been in his immediate circle. He was a handsome man. A brilliant man. The romantic wounded war hero. Could Eve have turned to him when she got frustrated with her aloof husband?
“Something wrong?” Streak asked sharply.
“No. It’s just hard to take all of this in.”
“Yes, it is. But we wanted to know what was in the diary. Now I almost wish we didn’t.”
“So do I, but we know it’s important that the diary go directly to the police, not to Ames,” Christine said. “With the information about Dara having three lovers, I don’t think he’d let it into the hands of the police.”
“He definitely wouldn’t.”
“We can’t even let him know about it now, much less trust him to turn it in himself. I’ll take it to Deputy Winter tomorrow. The sooner I get this thing out of my possession, the better I’ll feel. At least I think I will.”
“I hope so.” Streak stood up from the table and stretched. “It’s two-thirty and you look tired enough to fall on the floor, Chris. Time for me to go home.”
“I’ll drive you.”
“It’s only a mile. And I didn’t get my run out tonight.”
“Streak, taking this diary to the police is the right thing to do, isn’t it?”
His forehead furrowed. “You having doubts all of a sudden?”
“Yes. Ames will see it as the act of a traitor.”
“I’m afraid he will.” He paused. “But the police should see it. We both know that.”
Christine nodded. “Okay. It’s settled. Sure you’re not too tired to walk home?”
“Not too tired to run home. The old guy’s got some life in him yet. Good night, Chris. Try to get some sleep.”
Christine closed the front door after Streak. She could hear him padding rhythmically down her front walk, not a hint of fatigue betrayed by his steps. When she could no longer hear him, she went
back to the kitchen and picked up their coffee mugs. She hadn’t drawn the vertical blinds against the sliding glass doors leading out to a wooden deck, and she noticed that the mist had grown even heavier, frothing under the dusk-to-dawn light.
Something glinted sharply through the mist, and she stopped, her eyes narrowing as she peered into the night. Perhaps it was someone with a flashlight looking for their pet, she thought. The people who lived two houses down had a cocker spaniel who occasionally wandered into Christine’s backyard. She walked slowly to the glass doors and slid one back, listening. No one called for a dog. She called, “Buddy!” a couple of times, but the ancient cocker spaniel didn’t come to her as he always did if he’d gotten lost.
Christine stood at the open door, casually looking for what had caused the glint of light. She heard nothing. Of course, if someone was walking in the patch of woods behind her house, he would be stepping on a carpet of wet ground covered with rotting pine needles and soaking dead grass. She couldn’t expect to hear anything. It had probably been nothing—
With an abruptness that startled her, Christine felt naked, totally exposed to a spying, unfriendly world. Her neck tingled as if someone touched it lightly, teasingly. The same frightening sensation of being watched she’d had in the creeping mists around the creek rushed over her.
Rhiannon let out a loud hiss behind her, and she choked down a scream. She jerked around to look at the cat, who sat on the table, her golden eyes fixed on the mist beyond the door, her tail bushed out in alarm.
Christine grabbed the handle of the sliding glass door, slammed it shut, flipped the lock, and slid in the safety bolt at the top. The cat now let out a low growl followed by an eerie yowling sound that triggered a primitive, unreasoning fear deep within Christine. Danger. The cat sensed it. Christine sensed it. Rhiannon hissed again. Her sharp white teeth showed and the gleaming black hair along her spine stood up. Then she leaped off the table and ran from the room.
Christine reached for the cord and yanked, sending the heavy vertical blinds swinging into place. Glass and plastic and cloth, she thought. Fragile shields against the night and what lurked beyond the glow of the dusk-to-dawn light, a light she’d always found too bright and that now seemed maddeningly feeble. Still, whatever was out there didn’t want to come into its glow. Whatever? Christine folded her arms across her chest and backed away from the doors, telling herself she was being ridiculous. Whatever was probably only a squirrel.
Only it wasn’t. Rhiannon wouldn’t have reacted so violently to a squirrel, a mouse, or even an opossum. The presence out there was human. And still watching with malevolent eyes.
My God, Christine thought, chilled to the bone. This is how Dara must have felt during the last weeks of her life.
2
A tap at the car window awakened Reynaldo with a jerk. He blinked, rubbed his eyes, and looked out to see a crinkled elderly face peering in at him with a mixture of annoyance and concern. Rey rolled down the window. “Yes?”
“Locked outta your room?”
Rey frowned. Then the weathered board siding of the Riverside Inn came into focus. “No.”
“Then what’re you doin’ here?” The old man peered closer. “Hey, I know you. Used to come here all the time.”
“Yes.”
“Recognized the car. It’s a beauty. Thunderbird. Nineteen fifty-six?”
“Nineteen fifty-seven.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Sure would give an arm and a leg to have her. So, what you doin’ back after so long? Used to see you here ever couple a weeks. Never stayed the night, though. Only a couple a hours.” He tapped his temple. “See? Memory ain’t goin’ yet.”
“It sure isn’t.”
“Your name’s Orman, ain’t it? I remember that.”
“Yes,” Rey said to the false name he’d always given.
“And I remember one time you speakin’ to that pretty girl you used to bring. You called her Farrah. Like Farrah Fawcett on Charlie’s Angels. I sure did love that show, but the wife never let me watch it.”
Rey remembered the time Dara had trailed into the office while he was registering. In his surprise, he’d slipped and said her name. “Yeah, that was it,” he told the old man. “Farrah.”
“So why ain’t I seen you around for a while? Get married?”
“No. Not to . . . Farrah.”
“Oh.” The old man gave his version of a leer. “I sure wouldn’t a let that little honey get away. Maybe you didn’t have no choice, though. That’s the way it goes. When I was young, I had me a real looker. But she took off with a no-account that had a lot more money than me. Years later he dumped her when her looks failed her. Guess I shouldn’t a felt bad for her, but I did. Never told the missus. She woulda been jealous.”
“I’m sorry. About the looker, I mean.”
“That’s life.” The old man frowned. “Look, I hate to be an old crab, but the missus doesn’t like you just sittin’ out here. Gives me hell when I don’t do what she tells me. I gotta ask you to move on if you ain’t gonna take a room, even though it’s not like we’re full-up or anything. And I figure you’re just reminiscin’. Ain’t no harm in that. But she don’t wanna hear it.”
“I was reminiscing.”
“Yeah. Had that look on your face. And I’m real sorry about makin’ you move on. But the missus, you know. She can make things awful uncomfortable if I don’t toe the line. You know how they are. Or maybe you don’t.”
“Unfortunately, I do.”
The old man cackled. “No wonder you’re thinkin’ back to better times. So do I, only even at her best my gal wasn’t quite as good-lookin’ as Farrah. ’Course, I wasn’t no movie idol like you, neither, even if you’re lookin’ awful pale this morning. You didn’t get no bad news, did you?”
“Real bad,” Rey said, turning the key. The Thunder-bird started with a satisfying purr. “I got some real bad news from the past.”
The old man shook his head. “That’s the trouble with the past, son,” he said dolefully. “Just when you think the worst of it’s long gone, it jumps up and slaps you right in the face. Yes sir, right in the face.”
Tess Cimino’s eyelids snapped open. Immediately she reached over to touch her husband, Rey. He was gone. Then she realized a clatter in the kitchen had pulled her from sleep. She glanced at the digital clock by the bed. Five thirty-five.
Tess climbed from bed, threw on an old blue flannel robe, and went into the kitchen. It was dark and she flipped on the overhead light.
“God, turn that thing off!” Rey snapped, shielding his eyes. “It’s blinding.”
“It’s no brighter than usual and there’s no other light in here.” Rey squinted at her. His ebony eyes were bloodshot and circled by mauve hollows. He hadn’t shaved since yesterday, and his skin looked pasty beneath dark stubble. “You’ve been drinking.”
“A little.”
“More than that.”
“I’m not drunk.”
“I didn’t say you were drunk. You were drunk about three hours ago. Now you’re sobering up and obviously feeling like the devil. I’ll make some coffee.”
“Whatever.”
Tess began dumping grounds into the coffeemaker basket. “Where have you been?”
“I told you. Having a drink.”
“Since ten last night? The bars closed hours ago.”
“I got it to go.”
“And drank it while you were driving around?” Tess flipped on the coffeemaker. “You could have been arrested.”
“I went somewhere private.”
“Where?”
“I have places. If I told you where, they wouldn’t be private anymore.”
“Well, aren’t you the mysterious one?” Rey shrugged. “What you mean is, if you told me where they are, I’d be able to track you down.”
“Sometimes a man needs to be alone, Tess. You always come looking for me.”
“You make me sound like a bloodhound.” He shrugged
again. “You took the Thunderbird. You drive that car about four times a year.”
“I want to keep it looking new. Is that coffee about ready?”
“Two minutes. Then you need a shower. And a change of clothes. The bottoms of your pants are damp.”
“Thank you, dear, for telling me when to shower and change clothes.”
Tess looked at him as she poured milk in his coffee cup. Even in his current state, he was still the handsomest man she’d ever seen. She’d fallen in love with him the first time she met him. He looked like he’d stepped from the pages of a fashion magazine. With young and beautiful Dara on his arm.
“Rey, don’t you think this excessive mourning over Dara is just a tad inconsiderate of you?”
“Inconsiderate?”
“Inconsiderate of my feelings. I’m your wife, now. And you’re going off the deep end over another woman.”
Rey’s dark eyes flared. “A woman who was murdered.”
“Three years ago. And don’t say the idea never occurred to you. That she was dead, at least. But I don’t see anyone else going on alcoholic benders because of it.”
“And just how many people have you seen since we got the news?”
“None.” She poured the coffee and set it in front of him. “You rushed us right home after you heard about the body, jittered around here until ten, then took off without a word. I was so worried, but I’ll bet you never gave me a thought. I knew you’d go off and drink.”
“Why would you know that? I hardly ever drink.”
If She Should Die Page 10
