Christine looked shocked. “What makes you say that?”
“Well, I told you about that day I heard her with somebody in the barn. I kind of knew the guy’s voice, but I couldn’t get who it was.”
Michael couldn’t keep the excitement from his own voice: “And now you think it was Travis?”
“I’m still not sure, but maybe.”
Michael had not told Christine about identifying the owner of the boom box the police had found in the barn loft. He could see that the idea of Travis Burke being Patricia Prince’s lover was a new thought for her, although she’d told him Jeremy was certain Patricia had a “boyfriend.” “If you think about it some more, could you remember for certain?” Michael asked Jeremy.
“I don’t know, but I’ll try really hard. But if someone did want Travis to die, who would it be?”
Bethany, Michael thought. If she knew. Ames Prince. If he knew. He wanted to get Jeremy off the subject before these disturbing possibilities cropped up in his mind.
“It could have been an accident, Jeremy. The pathologist—” Jeremy frowned. “The doctor who looked at Travis’s body after he was dead did a test on his blood that revealed he’d been drinking. Maybe he just got careless.”
“I try really hard not to be careless, but I am sometimes,” Jeremy said earnestly. “But you don’t think someone like Travis would be careless. With snakes.” He shivered a little. “I sure hate snakes.”
“Some are harmless,” Michael said, “but it’s best to be careful around all of them.” He looked at his empty plate. “I can’t believe how many of those cinnamon rolls I ate. They were great, Christine.”
“Why, thank you. I took the dough right out of the can and put it on the cookie sheet all by myself. I’m exhausted.”
Jeremy laughed. “Christy makes some stuff really good, but not this kind of thing. Her cakes come out all lopsided and her cookies are hard as rocks.”
“I never claimed to be a good cook. Our mother was wonderful. I think being a good chef is a gift, like being a musician or an artist.”
“Wouldn’t know myself,” Michael said. “I’m prone to opening a can of beans and eating over the sink.”
“I love to do that, but Christy won’t let me!” Jeremy exclaimed.
Michael laughed again, realizing he felt happy—too happy to worry about being cautious. He wanted this evening to last forever, as silly as he knew that was. But he didn’t feel like worrying about being silly, either.
The beautiful weather had not held. Although the rain did not resume, the day had been gloomy and was now spinning down into an early dusk.
Jeremy finally retired with Rhiannon to his room, vaguely claiming he had “stuff to do.” When he’d gone, Christine said, “He has a TV show at this time he never misses, but he didn’t want to seem rude.”
“I don’t mind being abandoned for a TV show,” Michael said. “Everyone has priorities.”
“Television is one of Jeremy’s. But I’m glad. He watches quite a range of shows for someone with his IQ and he learns from them, although I haven’t quite gotten him to watch more than a little of PBS.”
“A little PBS is fine. But you need action/adventure and fantasy as well.”
Christine poured the last of the coffee into his cup, then said thoughtfully, “Even in all the excitement, I didn’t miss your asking Bethany if she had a Polaroid camera,” she said. “You were thinking about the photos I got.” He nodded. “You can’t think Bethany would send pictures like that.”
“I’m just trying not to overlook any possibilities. And let’s not forget that the camera belonged to Travis, too.”
“What possible reason could he have had to send those pictures to me?”
“The same reason someone attacked you in the gym and made that phone call to the hospital. To scare you into a shell, to make you stop nosing into who might have killed Dara Prince. And I’m pretty sure the S.C. in her diary did refer to Travis.”
“You think he was one of her lovers.”
“Yes, and I’m guessing Bethany suspected it. And his other infidelities.”
“I hate that for Bethany.”
“I do, too. Why risk a marriage by fooling around, especially when you have a child?” He shook his head. “Anyway, back to the photos. I did some investigating I haven’t had a chance to tell you about. The card they came in was put out by a company named Wonderland. The only place in town I’ve been able to find Wonderland greeting cards is Ned’s News. No one there could remember who had bought the card, although I showed a copy of the cover to the staff. The owner said they sell thirty or forty Wonderland cards a month. So I’ve hit a dead end on tracing the buyer of the card.”
“And I’m sure there weren’t any fingerprints on it.”
“Nope. The sender was careful.”
“I’ll bet if you could get those letters supposedly from Dara away from Ames, you wouldn’t find any fingerprints on them, either.”
“I’m pretty sure of that, too. I think they were sent by whoever killed her to stop an intense investigation by making everyone think she was still alive.”
“She isn’t,” Christine said flatly. “I know that body in Charleston is hers. Her ring, the pregnancy . . .” She shook her head. “In spite of the way Ames is treating me, I feel so sorry for him. There can’t be any greater pain than losing a child.”
“There isn’t,” Michael said softly.
“You sound as if you’ve experienced it.”
He nodded. “My little girl, Stacy.”
Christine paused a moment before saying, “I assumed her mother had gotten custody after your divorce. You mean she’s—”
“Dead. At two years old.”
“Oh, Michael, I never dreamed!” She reached out and touched his hand. “I’m so sorry. How did it happen? No, forget I asked that. It’s none of my business and the memory must be terrible for you.”
“It is, but I feel like I need to talk about it if you don’t mind listening.”
“Of course I don’t mind, Michael. Talk all you need to.”
He reached out and took her hand, holding it tightly. “Stacy was such a beautiful child. She looked like her mother—auburn hair, green eyes. Lisa is an actress. Well, she wants to be an actress. So far all she’s gotten are commercials. But she’s driven where her career is concerned.”
Michael drew a deep breath. “One day she was giving Stacy a bath. The phone rang. We had an answering machine to screen calls and normally Lisa wouldn’t have answered while Stacy was in the tub, but it was her agent. So she left Stacy in the water, answered the phone, and got completely carried away when she heard she’d been given an audition for a situation comedy. We had a cordless phone. She could have stayed with Stacy while she took the call, but she didn’t. Apparently Stacy tried to get out of the tub by herself and fell, hit her head, and knocked herself unconscious. She slid back into the water and drowned.”
“Oh, Michael. How terrible!”
“I didn’t get the truth out of Lisa for a couple of weeks. She said she’d only left Stacy alone for a minute while she went to get a towel. Then one day her agent called and I picked up the phone. The agent was abject. She said if she hadn’t called exactly when she did, if she hadn’t gotten Lisa so involved in conversation, the accident might not have happened. I confronted Lisa and she broke down.” He closed his eyes. “She could have been prosecuted for negligent homicide, even with the towel story, but I had a lot of good friends on the force and they backed off. They knew how much I loved Lisa, and they thought I’d been through enough. But it was the end of my marriage.”
Christine squeezed his hand. “You must have been through hell the last couple of years.”
“That’s why I left Los Angeles. My grandfather lived in Winston all his life. When he died, he left his house to me. He always worried about me in LA. He thought I’d be safer here. You might have known him. Corbin Winter.”
“Corbin Winter was your grandfath
er?” Christine exclaimed. “He owned that old-fashioned general store and played Santa in the Christmas parade.”
“The very one.”
“I met him right after Jeremy and I moved here. Jeremy loved to go into the store.”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Michael said slowly. “He wrote to me about a boy and his sister who had just moved to town. He said the boy was like my cousin. I don’t think he ever called Jeremy by name, but he must have been talking about you two.”
“Yes!” Christine giggled delightedly. “Can you believe that we actually met?”
“Fate or chance?”
“I have no idea.” Christine smiled. “Jeremy was so fond of Mr. Winter.”
“The feeling was mutual. Anyway, my grandmother died years before Grandpa. When he died, he left his house to me. I planned on selling it. It had been on the market for nearly a year when Stacy died. I left LA a month later and came here. I’d spent a lot of time with my grandparents in Winston when I was a kid. I liked it here. And I had to get away from Los Angeles. I needed a new start.”
“Has moving here helped?”
“A little. But I still haven’t shaken the memory, the sadness.”
“You never will, Michael,” Christine said gently. “Jeremy and I adored our parents and I can tell you that the pain will dull, but it will never completely go away. That doesn’t mean you can’t rebuild your life, though. Giving up would be a betrayal of Stacy.”
He looked at her and she saw a slight glimmer of tears in his eyes. “You think so?”
“I know it would. The people who loved us would want us to go on, even if they couldn’t go on with us.”
“I’d like to believe that.”
“I know it sounds kind of sappy, maybe too easy and just an excuse, but remember Stacy and how much she must have loved you. Then you’ll believe it. She wouldn’t want her daddy to give up and never be happy again.”
Michael closed his eyes. Then he brought Christine’s hand to his mouth and kissed it lightly on the palm. “Thank you for giving me that thought. It helps.”
Christine’s hand tingled from his kiss. When he looked at her, his mahogany eyes were soft, penetrating. She felt as if he were gazing into her soul. She’d never had that feeling before. Not with anyone.
They heard Jeremy pounding up the stairs from the basement. He arrived in the dining room breathless, his face red. “Christy, someone’s outside hanging around, looking in.”
“You saw someone?” Michael asked.
“Yeah. Well, Rhi saw him first. She was sitting in the window and she growled like kitty cats do. Then I looked. He went behind some trees, but I don’t think he ran off.” He pointed at the sliding glass doors leading on to the deck. “He would’ve been looking right in that window.”
“Damn,” Christine muttered. “I should have shut the blinds, particularly after what happened the night Streak was here. Someone can stand out there and see everything going on in the kitchen and dining room.”
“You two stay here,” Michael said, rising. “I’m going out.”
“No, don’t!” Christine was surprised by the fear in her voice. “He could have a gun!”
“So do I. Jeremy, you keep your sister safe.”
“Yes, sir!”
“Michael, please . . .”
“Christine, I’ll be fine. Just don’t either one of you follow me. I’m going out the front door and around the house. Don’t stand in front of the window. Get back into the living room just in case he’s armed,” Michael said, then gave her a glancing kiss along the cheekbone before heading for the front door. Christine was too surprised to protest any further. She touched her cheek as Jeremy took her hand and pulled her toward the living room.
“I should go help him,” Jeremy said after a few minutes. “He shouldn’t be out in the dark all by himself.”
“If you go out, he won’t know it’s you. He might shoot you,” Christine said, grasping her brother’s arm. “You stay in here out of the way. With me. I need you.”
Jeremy put his arm around her protectively. They sat on the floor, out of the range of windows. Christine was just beginning to feel silly with their crouching and hiding when she heard Michael yell, “Stop! Police!”
A shot rang out.
For the first time in her life, Christine knew what it felt like to have her heart literally skip a beat. A quick pain in the chest, cessation of breath, then a hard thud as the heart jerked to life again against the ribs. Jeremy gasped and squeezed her harder.
A minute later, someone banged on the sliding glass doors in the dining room. They both froze until Michael called, “It’s me! Open the doors!”
They scuttled into the dining room. Jeremy reached the doors first, unlocking one and sliding it back. Michael stumbled inside, breathing raggedly. “I didn’t get him,” he said weakly. “But he got me.”
That’s when Christine noticed the right side of his uniform shirt. It was drenched with blood.
CHAPTER 19
1
“I’ll call nine-one-one,” Christine said in a high, thin voice.
“We can make it to the hospital faster by just driving,” Michael answered. “If I can have a towel or something to press against the wound, I’ll be fine. Damn. I’ve dripped on your carpet.”
“Of all the silly things to worry about,” Christine snapped the way she always did when she was frightened. “I think we should call nine-one-one. They’re trained. You could bleed out before we even get you to the hospital—”
Jeremy had already gotten a towel, forced Michael to sit on a chair, and pressed the towel against his shoulder. “Christy, stop talking and let’s get going,” he said. He looked at Michael. “She always talks like crazy when she’s scared.”
Michael looked at her. “I’ll be okay, Christine. I just need to get to the hospital before I pass out.”
“Pass out?” Christine cried. “Oh, my God.”
“Christy, chill out,” Jeremy said, using a new phrase he’d learned from Ginger. “I’ll carry Deputy Michael to the car.”
“I don’t need to be carried,” Michael protested as Jeremy began to lift him. “Just let me lean on you.”
Half an hour later, Christine and Jeremy sat in the hospital waiting room. Jeremy had been to the candy machine three times while Christine sipped a cup of bitter coffee. “They have crummy food here,” Jeremy said.
“Hospitals aren’t known for their fine cuisine.”
“What’s cuisine?” Jeremy asked. “Food?”
“Exactly.”
Two policemen showed up just as Jeremy was debating on whether or not to have another candy bar. “ ’Evening, Ms. Ireland,” the younger one said. “We heard you had some trouble at your place this evening.”
“That’s putting it mildly. How did you know?”
“A neighbor called.” Christine immediately knew that neighbor had been the ever-vigilant Mrs. Flint. The younger, good-looking one gave her a smile. “My name is Lasky. My partner is Anders. Mrs. Flint told us there was a policeman with you. One that has been at your house a lot lately.” Christine felt her color rise although the deputy’s voice was neutral, even kind. “Was it Winter?”
“Yes. Deputy Winter had come by to update me on his search for the person who sent me Polaroid photos of Dara and Patricia Prince.”
“We know about the pictures and the card,” Lasky said.
“Then you know he hadn’t been able to learn much, yet, but he knew how worried I was and he wanted me to know the police hadn’t dropped the matter.” That wasn’t exactly a lie, Christine told herself virtuously. They had talked about the cards, although that’s not really why Michael had stopped by.
“Anyway, my brother saw someone lurking outside on my lawn, looking in windows, sort of hiding behind trees. Deputy Winter felt it wasn’t just someone passing through the yard. He made Jeremy and me stay inside while he went out to check on things. We heard him say, ‘Stop! Police!’ Something like
that. Then a gun fired. We thought Deputy Winter had shot someone. But when he got back to the house, we saw it was he who’d been shot.”
At last a doctor emerged from an examining room to speak to them. “Deputy Winter wanted me to apprise you of his condition. Luckily, the bullet didn’t hit any bones or major blood vessels. He’ll have limited use of the arm for a few days, but he should make a full recovery. We’ll keep him here tonight.”
When the doctor finally allowed visitors in to see the patient, Michael asked to see Christine and Jeremy first. Michael smiled, but Christine thought he looked extremely pale. “Are you sure you’re all right?” she asked. “You’re not just playing tough guy, are you?”
“He is a tough guy,” Jeremy corrected reprovingly. “The toughest guy I know.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Jeremy, but to be honest, I’m not feeling all that tough tonight. I was lucky. They recovered the shell casing. It was a twenty-two.”
“A twenty-two?” Christine repeated. “Isn’t that considered a kind of wimpy caliber?”
Michael smiled. “You wouldn’t think that if it had hit you in the shoulder.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to minimize your injury.”
“It’s okay,” Michael laughed. “You’re right. A twenty-two is usually used by a woman. Or the Mafia when they want to shoot someone in the head at close range. The bullet just bounces all over the place in the skull, tearing up the brain.”
“Oh. How interesting to know,” Christine said, trying to smile to hide her distress over Michael’s condition.
“Sheriff Teague called and insisted on being put through even though they were still working on me. He’s not too happy about this, but he has a brilliant theory. He thinks I might have been shot by hunters.”
“Hunters?” Christine replied blankly. “In a residential neighborhood? What were they hunting? Cardinals?”
“Maybe skunks,” Jeremy said seriously. “I saw a skunk in the backyard once.”
“I don’t think skunks rate high on the hunters’ list of favorite prey,” Michael said, then yawned.
If She Should Die Page 33
