“Driving While Intoxicated, you dope!” Morris shouted back.
“Ain’t had no dope, neither. I’m clean as a whistle! Dope’ll rot your brain!”
Christine went to Morris, handing him a packet of tissues from her purse. “Press these to your forehead. I have a cell phone. I’ll call nine-one-one.”
“Thanks,” Morris said. “And tell them to send backup. This drunk is going to do more damage if he’s not put away fast.”
While Christine called, the drunk stood in the middle of the street, waving his arms in rage as he insisted this was no way to treat a veteran of Desert Storm. Christine hovered, not sure what to do next except entreat Morris to sit down in his car. “Can’t,” he said tersely. “This guy might drive away.”
“Well, you can’t stop him in your condition. Besides, I’ve written down his license plate number.”
A faint smile passed over Morris’s battered face. “Good work.” His smile passed. “God, I feel dizzy.”
Morris consented to sit in his car with the door open just as Christine’s cell phone rang. She answered with a distracted, “Hello?”
“Christine?”
“Jeremy! I’ve been looking for you! Where are you? I’ll come get you right away.”
“I . . . I’m over on the island.”
“The island?”
“Dara’s island. I came looking for her, only I fell. I think I broke my leg.”
“Jeremy!”
“You gotta come get me. I don’t think I can cling on much longer, it hurts so bad. Oh, uh, the bone’s stickin’ out.”
Christine’s hands began to tremble and perspiration popped out on her forehead in spite of the cool air. “Where are you on the island?”
“I’m not sure. Over near the river, not the creek.” His voice sounded slurry with pain. Maybe he was losing consciousness, she thought frantically. “You know where the biggest mound is, the one Dara saw the people dig into and find the bones? I think I’m near that one.”
Christine didn’t remember the exact location, but she’d find it. “All right. I want you to lie very still, Jeremy. Don’t do anything that might further injure your leg. You’re going to be all right. I’m coming to get you right now!”
“Okay, Christine. But hurry. I really need you.”
2
Christine turned to Morris. “That was my brother. He’s on the island—I mean, the land across from Crescent Creek where the Indian mounds are. He’s hurt. I have to go to him.”
“I can’t go with you.”
“It’s all right. I can find him by myself.”
“You’re not supposed to go anywhere by yourself. Let me call this in. We’ll get some other patrolman to go with you.”
“I don’t have time for that, Deputy. My brother’s leg is broken. He’s bleeding. I’ll call nine-one-one on the way.”
“An emergency van can’t get across that old bridge. It would collapse.”
Christine was almost breathless with panic. “We’ll work out something. I have a first-aid kit in my trunk.”
“You can’t drive across the bridge, either. Don’t you understand me? The damned thing will crumble into the creek!”
“I have to go, Deputy. I have to!”
She heard him calling after her, weakly over the shouts of the drunk and his still-shrieking female companion, but Christine blocked out the words. She knew how rickety Crescent Creek Bridge was. But she couldn’t leave Jeremy over on the island, injured, bleeding. She’d drive to the bridge and walk across. Run across. Swim the creek. Anything to get to him.
As she raced through town, ignoring speed limits, she did call Streak. Maybe he had an idea. But he didn’t answer his phone, and she knew he wasn’t merely screening her out. Not for something this important.
Next she dialed 911. They told her the accident had already been reported by Deputy Morris and for her to wait at the bridge for aid. She wondered what kind of aid they could offer. Not something involving an EMS van that couldn’t cross the bridge.
Desperate, she tried Sloane Caldwell’s number. No answer. She tried Reynaldo and Tess’s number. Busy. Dammit, where was everyone when you needed them? Busy with their own lives. Busy when the life that was most important in the world to her might be fading away on an eerie deserted piece of land that should have been left to the ancient Indians who’d buried their dead there to slumber in peace.
She drove down the rutted lane to the bridge, then stopped the car. The site of the mound to which Jeremy had referred was at least a quarter of a mile away. She could make much faster time in a car than on foot, not to mention that she would have a way to get Jeremy back to the mainland and a hospital.
Christine looked at the bridge in the car headlights. The boards were gray from years of suffering through the elements unprotected by paint or wood treatments. Part of the railing had fallen away, and a hole was visible in the flooring.
She looked back at her car. It was a Dodge Neon, one of the lightest cars made. The bridge could never support an EMS van, but possibly it could support her car. She knew trying to cross the bridge in a vehicle would be incredibly risky, but Jeremy was worth the risk.
She got back in the still-running car, put it in drive, and cautiously crept onto the bridge, cringing as it creaked beneath the car’s weight. Halfway across, something groaned and she tensed, waiting to be dumped into the high-running creek. But she had the sense not to take her foot off the accelerator. She shot forward so fast she barely knew what was happening. She felt faint with relief when she bounced off the boards and landed in the mud on the other side. Another light tap on the accelerator sent her up onto solid ground.
Christine leaned forward and rested her forehead on the steering wheel for a moment. She’d made it this far. Now all she had to do was find Jeremy.
She raised her head and looked ahead at total darkness, the moon obliterated by drifting clouds, the land growing ghostly from a fog creeping in from the river. The only light came from her headlights. She started out slowly, at first remembering only that the mound was near the Ohio River and somewhere to the north, meaning that she needed to veer right. The car bounced over ruts and holes, then over patches of smooth land, all of which archaeologists believed had once been a Mound Builders’ village nearly 600 years ago.
Finally Christine thought she must be near the mound and stopped to get her bearings. She got out of the car, leaving the headlights on and the doors open for more light. Armed only with a flashlight, she walked around the ghostly deserted land, repeatedly calling Jeremy’s name. At last she reached the mound where Dara had watched archaeologists unearth the skeletons. Hadn’t there been eight? This place had been almost sacred to her. And to Jeremy because it had meant so much to Dara. Odd what Jeremy would latch on to as important. Singing. The mounds. Star Trek.
Christine stopped. Star Trek. When they were young, he’d thought up a secret code word for them. “Whenever one of us is in trouble and can’t say so out loud because bad people are listening, we’ll say a word from Star Trek,” he’d told her. “We’ll say Klingon. The Klingons are the big enemies of Captain Kirk.” Her mind fled back to the phone call she’d gotten from him at the store. “I don’t think I can cling on much longer.” And Christine. Twice he had called her Christine. Ever since he’d learned to talk, he’d called her Christy. Never Christine.
“Christine, is that you?”
She whirled and saw Sloane Caldwell. “Sloane! What are you doing out here?”
“I got a call from Jeremy. He said he was in trouble. Hurt. I came immediately.”
Christine looked at him with a rush of relief. Then her thoughts seemed to slow and reorganize themselves into a dark, damning realization. Jeremy wouldn’t have the number for Sloane Caldwell’s cell phone. Why would he? He had little contact with Sloane these days. Something was wrong. But she couldn’t show it, although her heart felt as if it were going to crack a rib with the force of its terrified beating.
“I’m so glad he called you,” she said in a high voice. “I’ve been out here all by myself looking for him. He said he thought he broke his leg. I called nine-one-one. The police will be here any minute.”
Sloane gave her a long, steady look. “You never could lie, Christine. You were just rotten at it.” He paused. “You should have taken lessons from Dara. She was as good at it as my mother.”
Christine had begun to shake, but she couldn’t think of anything to do except keep talking until she found out where Jeremy was. “Your mother? Catherine? Wasn’t that her name?”
“No, it was Lula. Lula was well known in certain circles as a woman of many exotic talents. Or perhaps I should more accurately say erotic talents.”
Christine was at a loss. Sloane had told her all about his parents, lovely and graceful Catherine, handsome and prestigious Preston. He’d told her of his beautiful younger sister, Amelia, an artist. He’d described the majestic ancestral home they’d lived in so idyllically on the impressive River Road. His hazel eyes had filled with tears when he’d talked of the threesome’s tragic deaths in a car wreck while he was away at Harvard. She’d even seen his photograph album. There was a picture of him at age twelve splashing in the family pool. Another had been taken when he was a teenager and clowning in front of a strip bar in the French Quarter. But her favorite had been an unforgettable image of the four of them together, posed in front of their Greek-columned white home, Sloane at least twenty, Amelia clinging to his arm, all of them looking so happy. What on earth was he talking about?
“I don’t understand, Sloane,” she said, trying to keep her voice kind and calm. “Who’s Lula? Your mother was Catherine Caldwell.”
“I think I know who my mother was,” he said sarcastically. “My father is a different matter. My biological father, that is. I know very well who lived with Lula from the time I was four. Bobby Ray. He lived off her ‘earnings,’ called himself her husband, and ‘reared’ me with a gentle wisdom that included frequent beatings and constant badgering and belittling.”
“But you showed me photographs. The house, your family . . .”
“The photographs are of a family named Devereaux. I started helping the gardener with their lawn work when I was twelve. They were wonderful people and they became quite fond of me. They always told me how smart I was, how ambitious, how handsome, how they wished they had a son like me. Amelia loved me and her parents thought that was fine. I believe they had plans for us to marry. Amelia was delicate. She needed someone strong to look after her.”
He seemed to drift off into his memories for a moment before snapping his attention back to Christine. “They treated me like family, Chris. They even sent me to Harvard. I was there when they were all killed in that car wreck. I thought I’d die, too. But they’d always been thinking of me, always looking out for me. In his will, Preston left money for me to finish my education, to go on to law school.” Sloane laughed harshly. “Don’t think Lula didn’t try to get that away from me! She tried every trick in the book, but Preston had anticipated her. That will was ironclad. She didn’t stand a chance. And so, I became a graduate of Harvard Law School.” He looked at her and smiled. “That’s why Dara called me ‘the Brain.’ ”
“Oh, my God,” Christine breathed. “So you were one of her lovers.”
“One being the operative word.”
The clouds had moved across the moon, and Christine realized how big Sloane looked against the silvery landscape. Big and cocky and a little crazy around the eyes. “Sloane, where is Jeremy?” she asked gently.
“I never dreamed Lula would find me in a place like Winston,” Sloane went on as if he hadn’t heard her. “But somehow she got the money for a private detective. I don’t think it could have been her former means of employment, given what she looked like by that time. Especially with AIDS. And Bobby Ray was long gone. I’ll give it to Lula, though. She always was wily. She hunted me down like a bloodhound when I’d been here less than a year. Wanted money. A steady income or she’d let everyone in this town know what I really was—the illegitimate son of a prostitute. So I had to kill her. It was remarkably easy. I should have done it years earlier.” He looked around. “She’s buried over here. I can’t remember exactly where.”
Christine’s mouth had dried to the consistency of cotton. She felt her vision dim, as if she might faint. She clung to consciousness fiercely, though. As much as she would like to simply fade out of this nightmare scene, there was still her brother.
“Jeremy,” she almost whispered. “Sloane, please tell me you didn’t . . .”
“Can’t quite get it out? Didn’t what? Kill him?” He stared at her and she felt weightless, without substance, hung suspended in the night with a cold breeze that had come out of nowhere. “Christine, I pride myself on personally dispensing only with worthy adversaries. Dear, dim-witted Jeremy hardly falls into that category.”
Her breath came out in a rush. “Where is he?”
“At my house. Drugged. I stopped at the fitness center after work and saw him. A plan just fell into place like it was meant to be. I offered to take him to your house so you wouldn’t have to bother, but I said I needed to pick up something at my place first. Then I offered him a cup of that nasty hot chocolate he likes, only I’d put a little something extra in it—forty milligrams of Valium. Then I held a gun on him and made him call you.” He smirked. “He was quite obedient about it.”
“He trusted you, Sloane. He’s always looked up to you. How could you do that to him?”
“I can’t help it if the fool trusted me.”
“Did Dara trust you, too?”
His smirk vanished. “At first.”
Christine swallowed. She’d caught a dim glimpse of the gun Sloane held by his side. If she tried to run for her car, he’d shoot her. The only thing she could do was keep him talking until, or rather if, the police could get here. “Did you begin seeing her before or after we were engaged?”
“After.”
“Did you love her?”
“Love Dara?” He shook his head. “I loved Dara’s looks. I loved Dara’s expertise in bed. But I did not love Dara.”
“Then why?”
“Because I didn’t love you, either. I didn’t even find you all that appealing.” Christine recoiled. “So why the proposal? Because you were the perfect wife for the rising young lawyer. Excellent background. Excellent student. Behavior beyond reproach. And a very attractive trust fund.”
Christine asked in a small voice, “Didn’t you love me at all?”
“No, Christine, I didn’t. But I wanted you to be Mrs. Sloane Caldwell. I would have had to put up with Jeremy for a year or two before he had an unfortunate, fatal accident, but having a class act like you, and Ames Prince for a pseudo-father-in-law, would have been worth the trouble.”
Christine felt as if her heart had turned into a small chunk of ice. “You planned all along to kill Jeremy?”
“Well, I certainly couldn’t put up with him for long. Aside from being an embarrassment, he set my nerves on fire. You don’t know the strength it took for me to be nice to him. But if it was what I had to do to have you, then I made myself do it.”
“You didn’t love me, but our engagement, our marriage, was important to you.”
“Extremely.”
“But you had to have Dara, too.”
“Dara was an unfortunate carnal lapse on my part. Very unfortunate.”
“She thought someone was following her around in the last weeks of her life. Was that you?”
“I’m embarrassed to say that it was. I knew she had another lover. Oh, not Reynaldo. I knew she kept him around for show. But there was someone else who really meant something to her. And that bothered me. She finally even stopped having sex with me. Claimed she had an ovarian cyst that made intercourse painful. And then she turned up pregnant.”
“She told you that?”
“Oh yes. It seems the little bastard’s father refused to marr
y her. She was terrified of abortion, certain that it would kill her. And she couldn’t stand the thought of marrying Reynaldo because she knew if she did, he’d never let her have a divorce. She’d never be free of him. So she came to me. She said we only had to stay married a year and then get a divorce. I refused. After all, I was engaged to you, and if I married Dara, I’d lose you forever. So finally she tried to blackmail me. ‘Marry me or I’ll tell everyone about us,’ she said. ‘My father will fire you. Christine will never have anything to do with you again. You’ll be finished in this town.’ ”
“And that’s when you snapped and killed her?”
“Not then. I did try to be reasonable. I tried to scare her first, scare her so badly she’d have an abortion. But after she made a spectacle of herself at that party, after she did everything except announce her pregnancy and you walked out on me, I knew what I had to do. In just a week the perfect time rolled around. The night of the Black Moon. She talked that witchcraft shit all the time, and I knew she’d be down at the creek. So I paid her one last visit.”
“You killed her and your unborn baby.”
“It wasn’t my baby, Christine. It belonged to either Cimino or the other guy she was screwing. What a whore. Just like my mother.” Disgust twisted his face for a moment. “Then I wrapped her in the plastic I’d brought along and threw her in Crescent Creek.”
“Why didn’t you bury her over here with your mother?”
“It was flood time. I wasn’t sure I could get over here with her and back safely. Besides, she loved this place. She didn’t deserve to be buried somewhere she loved.”
“You smashed out her teeth. You cut off her fingertips. All that so she wouldn’t be recognized. But you left her ruby ring with the body.”
“That was an accident. It must have fallen out of my pocket while I was wrapping her up. I was nearly in a frenzy to get back to the house and gather up some of her stuff so it would look like she’d run away and they wouldn’t launch a full-scale investigation immediately. I didn’t realize I didn’t have the ring until I got home.”
If She Should Die Page 37
