If She Should Die

by Carlene Thompson

  “And the notes that have come to Ames from around the country?”

  “A friend, or rather a man on whom I have some damaging information, has obliged me by sending those notes Ames sets such store by.”

  He stepped closer to her. Dear God, she wondered, where are the police? She knew a 911 call had been placed. They should be rushing to her rescue. Then she remembered the bridge. And she thought about the police cruisers. Crown Victorias. They weighed approximately two thousand pounds more than her car. They’d never make it across Crescent Creek Bridge. If the police were coming, they were coming by foot.

  “Who was Dara’s other lover?” she asked suddenly. “Didn’t you ever find out?”

  Sloane glanced away for a moment. The wind lifted his thick hair to expose a high, noble forehead. So much for facial features revealing the mind, Christine thought dryly. “I’m rather embarrassed to admit it, but I didn’t know who it was at the time. She assured me she’d stopped having sex with Cimino, and by the hangdog expression that had become habitual with him I was certain she was telling the truth.” He looked at her, then reached out and delicately touched her cheek. She forced herself not to draw away, not to show fear or revulsion. “Actually, Christine, Jeremy finally told me who the lover was.”

  “Jeremy?”

  “Yes. ‘Snake Charmer,’ Travis Burke. He was supposed to be my friend, but suddenly it all made sense. Dara used to talk about his class. Then suddenly she stopped. I didn’t notice at the time. Now I know she’d become wary. And of course, she said in the diary she was in love with S.C. I learned that by listening outside the night you were reading the diary with Streak, even though I still didn’t know who S.C. was.” Sloane sighed. “Then he compounded his error with Patricia.”

  Christine’s lips parted in surprise. “You were involved with Patricia, too?”

  “Well, I had to pass the time with someone until you calmed down enough to come back to me. You see, I never gave up on the goal of marrying you. But I wasn’t meant to be a monk.”

  “There are other women in the world besides Ames’s daughter and wife,” she said waspishly, and immediately regretted it when he looked as if he were going to hit her.

  “I know that, Christine, but they were convenient. And attractive. And for a while, quiet about our liaisons.”

  “But then Travis took Patricia away from you, too.”

  “He did not take her away from me,” Sloane said harshly. “I was through with her.”

  “Not jealous?”

  “Worried. You see, I’d kept a few things of Dara’s. That ring of her mother’s she always wore on a chain around her neck. Her mother’s crystal ball—by the way, that’s what I crushed her skull with.” Christine thought of the beautiful crystal ball crashing down on Dara’s head, covered in her blood and strands of her hair, and her stomach turned. “I never washed her blood off that ball,” Sloane said, smiling. “I kept it wrapped in plastic along with Dara’s hair. She had such lovely hair, and I cut about six inches of it off. Tied a red ribbon around it as a keepsake.”

  He was quiet for a moment. “Then, one day near the time I was about to end things with Patricia because her lovemaking had lost its luster, she stopped by my house with that horrible little dog. I’d left a closet door open. While I was talking to Patricia, the dog went in the closet, climbed into a box, and started trying to gnaw through the plastic to the hair and the blood-covered ball. Before I could stop her, Patricia had dashed into the closet after the damned mongrel. I wasn’t sure how much she’d seen or if she’d even realized what she’d seen. After all, the ball was covered with blood that had turned dark. And what’s a bit of hair and an unremarkable little necklace? I decided not to worry about the incident.

  “Then I learned Travis was Patricia’s new lover. He thought we were friends, the fool. He told me in that annoying way he had—like a sniggering little boy getting away with something bad. He even went into details about how he left notes for her in her garden under the statue and how they met in the loft of the barn and made love while listening to music on his boom box. It was so ridiculous, I almost laughed in his face in spite of my anger, but I listened. I always listen, and I always remember.

  “By this time, Patricia had begun acting jumpy around me. I thought her nervousness could have something to do with our affair, but that answer didn’t feel right. I think after the body turned up and she was sure Dara had been murdered, she’d begun to dwell on Dara’s last weeks, on the way Dara had begun to act around me, and figured out that I’d been involved with her. And perhaps she’d gotten an inkling of what she’d seen in my closet. Black hair, a spherical object, a grayish ring on a chain. So I decided not to take any chances. I pushed Patricia out of that barn loft and set up Travis with his very own boom box I’d taken out of his car and left playing as loud as it would go in the loft.”

  “But you had an alibi the afternoon Patricia died,” Christine said weakly. “You were in that deposition. How many people were witnesses to your presence?”

  “Christine, don’t be stupid. We do take lunch breaks. That day we took two hours. I billed for one of those hours, though. Old lawyer’s trick, adding on billable hours.”

  “How clever.”

  “Don’t look so disapproving, dear. It’s almost expected these days.” He seemed faintly amused; then his face abruptly turned bitter. “It was at Patricia’s funeral, when your brilliant brother blasted out that Travis was S.C., that I realized he’d been Dara’s lover and probably the father of her baby, the baby that had forced her into trying to make me marry her, into the flagrant behavior that drove you away from me, into the position of having to kill the little bitch.”

  My God, he sounds peevish, as if he’s the injured party, Christine thought. The man she’d thought was so strong, so stable, so kind, so generous, was actually a lunatic. A lunatic she’d almost married.

  A cold anger washed over her and she said in a steady knifelike voice, “So first Travis took Dara from you, and then he took Patricia. But why should you have cared? You said you didn’t love them.”

  “I didn’t, but they were mine. I don’t give up what is mine until I’m ready to, Christine. All my life I’ve had to fight for every good thing I have, and I will not give up unless I’m forced to, and then not without retribution.”

  “And Travis got his.”

  Sloane smiled. “Oh yes. I was a frequent visitor at the Burke home. I knew where he kept the keys to the snake house and picked up a set during a casual visit. I came back in the early hours of the morning, entered the snake house, and opened the cages. I know how to move slowly, smoothly, quietly, so as not to set off the damned things.”

  He frowned. “It wasn’t as easy as setting up Patricia’s murder, but I had quite a sense of accomplishment when I made it out of the snake house unscathed. I’d left a window slightly raised in Travis’s study. I just went back in, deposited the second set of keys in his desk, and went home for a good night’s sleep. And the next day was a triumph. Travis’s death was exquisitely gruesome, just as he deserved.” He laughed. “He didn’t die looking like any girl’s dream man.”

  Christine felt a wave of nausea so strong she almost retched. “You are so sick, Sloane. I can’t imagine what your childhood must have been like to make you like this.”

  Sloane’s gaze seemed to turn inward. “I don’t know why Lula didn’t give me away. It would have been the kindest thing. Maybe that’s why she didn’t do it, although I remember her babbling something about a man she was with who wanted a child. Clearly he didn’t want one for long, because he was gone before I was old enough to remember him. And then Lula found out I could actually help in the money department. At first, I was a cute little kid begging on street corners and outside of shopping malls. Later . . .” He shuddered. “Some men like little boys, you know.”

  Christine went cold to the bone. “Oh God.”

  “Yes. I used to ask that powerful gentleman to help me, but appar
ently he’s selective when it comes to handing out help. I’d given up on him when I met Preston Devereaux. I’m surprised he gave me the time of day. I was scared to death of him at first, rude and hostile. But he understood me. He was patient. And he changed things for me. He taught me how to dress well; Catherine taught me manners; Amelia tried to teach me about art and literature. I’m afraid I didn’t have any natural proclivities for the arts, but I took in everything they said. I watched all of them; I copied Preston’s style, his speech, his ways. I tried so hard to become a gentleman.”

  Christine remembered how conscious Sloane had always been about always doing what was socially acceptable, always dressing to perfection, always worrying about making a good impression. His strict protocol had annoyed her during their months together, making her feel stifled. But now she understood from where it sprang. None of it came naturally. All of it was learned and therefore adhered to more strictly than if it had been a natural part of him.

  “Life was looking good to me back then,” Sloane went on in an almost dreamy voice. “Life suddenly wasn’t squalor and gutter-mouthed women and cheap liquor. It had beauty, and grace, and limitless possibilities.” He smiled bitterly. “And then that good fellow, God, took them all away. So, I started over. Preston taught me that when life knocks you down, you don’t stay down in the mud. You get up and fight. So that’s just what I did here in Winston. I had a good job, the perfect fiancée, respect, and limitless prospects. And just when things were looking up again, along came Dara.”

  “I’d say Dara suffered more at your hands than you did at hers,” Christine muttered.

  “You didn’t always have such a smart mouth, Christine.”

  “Maybe I just didn’t used to say what I felt.”

  Sloane frowned. “Well, perhaps that’s true, because after Dara died, I saw a side of you I hadn’t known existed. Like insisting to the police that Dara hadn’t taken just the right things with her if she’d run away. Then digging, digging, digging into her death years later. Coming up with that diary and giving it to the police. Pointing the finger at me as S.C. You were wrong about that, but I’m certain at some point you would have found something damaging to me.”

  He shook his head. “I didn’t want to murder you, dear, I really didn’t. That’s why I tried to scare you off by calling you and playing tapes of Dara singing that I’d taken from the Prince house. And the photos inside the card. And then the stunt at the gym. I did get a little carried away with that one. I came very close to raping you, but I’d already wasted enough time on you that morning. But I think the final blow was when I saw your interest in that cop. I saw it at Patricia’s funeral. You walked right past me to talk to him. And the way you looked at him . . . You never looked at me that way. Not ever.”

  “Sloane, I cared for you. And I didn’t mean to slight you at the funeral. I’d just thought of something I had to tell Michael—”

  “Michael, is it? Just stop, Christine. Nothing you say can change what’s going to happen to you.”

  “And what is going to happen to me?” Her voice was surprisingly strong given the fear coursing through her. “Are you going to shoot me, then run back over the bridge right into the hands of the police?”

  “I am not going to shoot you unless I have to. You are going to have a terrible accident. You’ll end this night in the river. In your car.”

  A black wing of panic fluttered in Christine’s chest. “In my car? Why would I be in my car?”

  “This peninsula inclines as it nears the river, as I’m sure you know. There’s a drop of fifteen or twenty feet into the river. You will go speeding across the peninsula and drop right off into the Ohio at flood time. You won’t remain in it as long as Dara did, but you’ll be just as dead.”

  Christine stared at him, picturing the scenario he’d created. There was a flaw in it. “No one would believe I was over here just cruising around. And they’d never think I’d commit suicide and desert my brother.”

  “Do you honestly believe I didn’t have the reason for your uncharacteristic behavior figured out? It will seem that Jeremy indulged in some alcohol and some Valium, then got the bright idea of luring you over here to the land of the Mound Builders to look for his precious Dara. Only his game backfired. Blundering around on unfamiliar ground on a foggy night, you drove right into the river. And poor old Jeremy, retarded to begin with, drunk and drugged on top of it, decided to run away, only he collapsed on the train tracks outside of town. Of course, I will have placed his unconscious body on the tracks, where it will be severed by the one o’clock A.M. run. Double tragedy. The town will be talking about it for months.”

  “Double tragedy?” Christine asked, hating the shakiness of her voice. “A little too coincidental, don’t you think? You know, Deputy Michael Winter just hates coincidences.”

  “Back to Michael. I hear his ex-wife is back in town. His gorgeous ex-wife who is living in his house. I don’t think he’ll be so persistent when it comes to you as he has been. You were a passing fancy for a lonely man. And Ames sure as hell won’t be as concerned about your case as he was his daughter’s. He’ll probably be glad you’re gone.”

  “You’re wrong,” Christine said fiercely. “Michael and Ames will know something isn’t right. And have you forgotten Rey and Tess and Bethany?”

  “Dear heart, Rey is too sunk in misery over his marriage to think about much of anything else. And Tess is too obsessed with him, and no doubt glad that one more competitor for Rey’s attention is out of the picture. And Bethany? What can we say about weak little Bethany? She’s lost her husband. She has a little girl to care for. She’s not going to waste time delving into the deaths of you and Jeremy.” He shook his head. “You’re flat out of luck, girl. So let’s just walk over to your car.”

  My car. The agent of my death, Christine thought. “No.”

  “Yes. I’m certainly not going to carry you. You’re not exactly a dainty little thing, Christine. That’s another thing about you I never liked but I was willing to ignore.” He laughed softly; then he reached in his pocket and withdrew a gun and pointed it at her head. “I said walk!”

  Christine slowly headed for her car, her mind madly searching for a way out of this. She could run, but he would shoot her. She’d still end up in the river. She could turn and fight him for the gun, but she knew how strong Sloane was. Much stronger than he looked. She could never wrest the gun away from him.

  “Walk faster!” he commanded.

  Because the land of the peninsula had once been used for farming, few trees littered the area except for some locusts, which seemed to spring up everywhere with the determination of weeds. The clouds had moved across the moon again, throwing the land into darkness. Between the shadows and the fog, she could hardly see where she was stepping. Most people would not have trouble believing that on such a dark night, on unfamiliar land, and distracted by panic over her brother, she had plunged off the edge of the peninsula into the water. Sloane had worked it all out quite well, but then, she’d always known he was smart. She just hadn’t counted on his wiliness.

  “You’ve come up with a brilliant plan for disposing of me and Jeremy,” she said. “No wonder Dara called you ‘the Brain.’ ”

  “Compliments won’t help you, dear. Ah! Here’s your car!”

  Christine turned to face him. She had nothing to lose now. “What are you going to do? Handcuff me, put me in the car, and send it over the cliff?”

  “The bank isn’t high enough to qualify as a cliff,” Sloane said in irritation. “Besides, your being handcuffed wouldn’t exactly make this look like an accident, would it?”

  “I suppose not. But I’ll make a bargain with you. I will not fight you. I’ll let you kill me without a struggle if you let my brother live.”

  Sloane rolled his eyes. “I can’t let him live after having him make that call to you.”

  “You’ve said it yourself. He’s retarded. Half the people—probably more than half the people—in
this town wouldn’t believe a word he said. But you have an excellent reputation. Who’s going to believe that you of all people kidnapped my brother, drugged him, and forced him to make a call luring me here? They’ll think he’s just making an excuse for playing a game with me that ended in disaster. On the other hand, you might be seen placing him on the train tracks at one in the morning. Or he might come to and move out of the way. Or the conductor might get the train stopped. A dozen things could go wrong with your plan for Jeremy.”

  She had him. He looked like he was thinking over what she’d said, weighing the pros and cons, realizing just how hard it would be to place the body of a six-foot-three, almost 200-pound man on the tracks without something going amiss. A surge of hope rose in her only to be immediately dashed.

  “I don’t plan to dump him here in town, Christine. About two miles out ought to do it. No houses. Few cars passing by at night, but not too far for him to have wandered by himself. He has enough Valium in him to keep him out until morning. And as for the conductor miraculously stopping the train in time, just look at this fog. He won’t even see Jeremy. But you’ll have the comfort of knowing that Jeremy literally won’t know what hit him.”

  “You bastard,” Christine hissed.

  “Yeah,” Sloane agreed, smiling. “But I’m a smart one.”

  His hand shot forward so fast she barely saw it coming. Then he slammed her on the side of the head with the gun barrel and she fell, slipping into merciful unconsciousness.

  Christine awakened behind the wheel of her car. The car was moving. Her head hurt violently and for a moment she had no idea where she was or what was happening. Then the memories came rushing back as quickly as the edge of the peninsula came rushing at the front of the car Sloane had put her in. He had started the car and placed her foot on the gas pedal and a heavy rock on top of it. Then he’d thrown the car into drive and sent her flying toward the river that would swallow her in its murky depths.

  “Stop!” she heard someone shouting dimly behind her. “Caldwell! Police! Stop running!” And then a shot.