Suspicion of Malice

by Barbara Parker

  "Jesucristo. No. No, this won't happen."

  "Please go get me some towels ... in case. Please." Her breath caught on another wave of pain. "Hurry."

  He shouted to her from the bathroom. "It's going to be all right." She heard the panic in his voice. "Maybe it's nothing."

  "It's the same as before. Oh, God. It hurts so much."

  He dropped to his knees beside the bed, looking into her face. "Corazon, todo va a salir bien. I promised you. Don't you remember? It's going to be all right." He pulled her closer, murmuring prayers she couldn't understand.

  She cried into her hands. "I wanted it so much."

  "It's going to be all right. I won't let anything happen to you." His voice broke. "I promise."

  "I'm so sorry."

  "Shhhh." He kissed her forehead and circled an arm around her.

  The vibration of the engines changed, and Gail felt a shift in weight as the boat accelerated. They were moving again.

  "We're going back, you see? Full speed. They must have Diane onboard." He stood up. "I have to tell them to radio ahead for a doctor."

  "Don't leave."

  "It won't take long. You need a doctor. Maybe they can stop the contractions."

  Gail knew that there wasn't time. She reached out her hand. "Please stay."

  He knew it then, too, and he hit the door so hard the bulkhead shook. "I wish you had never seen what you saw. I would rather Diane had drowned than this happen. God forgive me for saying that." When he looked back at her, his eyes were tortured. He knelt beside her again and buried his face in the pillow alongside hers.

  Gail gritted her teeth against the pain, and when it had subsided a little, she took a breath. "I have to tell you something. Anthony, I've never said this to you before, and I'm not sure I know how. I used to be happy before I met you. At least I thought I was. You made me so miserable and so alive at the same time. I've never hurt as much with anyone else, and I've never loved anyone as much as you. When it was over between us, I died a little, just enough not to hurt anymore, and then you were there again, and all I could think of was how afraid I was that I'd lose you."

  "You won't." He gently pressed his cheek to hers.

  "I'm not afraid anymore. Whatever happens . . . I'm not afraid, but... I do love you. So very much."

  "I will never leave you." He grasped her hand and brought it to his lips. "I swear it on my life."

  The pain clawed at her again, and she felt that she might be pulled down into it, but Anthony was holding on tightly.

  "Te quiero tanto. Te juro, no te dejare. Nunca."

  Chapter 28

  Claire closed the magazine on her lap. She had read the same page over and over. She turned back her cuff.

  From his bed Porter asked, "Why do you keep looking at your watch?"

  "Well, if the nurse gets here, I thought I might go to Diane's. She's having a housewarming for her new condo."

  "You told me." He coughed. "I don't like that nurse."

  "You liked her last week, Porter."

  "Well, I don't like her now! I don't want that damned woman in here." His tongue moved inside his cheek, under his lip. "Give me some water. I'm thirsty."

  Claire got up. He opened his mouth, waiting for her to bend the straw exactly right. His eyes rolled to look at her. They were yellow, and she hated to see them, but she thought it was important to maintain a pleasant expression.

  "What are you laughing at?"

  She sighed. "I'm not laughing at anything. There's nothing to laugh at."

  "That's for damn sure." He sucked up some water, and Claire stared past him out the window. The ocean was pretty today, bright turquoise. The light came in so that Claire could see a vague reflection of herself in the glass. How old I look. Old and ugly.

  Diane had invited her, but surely she had done it to be polite. Claire did not believe that Diane would ever forgive her.

  When Porter finished, Claire patted his lips dry and set the glass and the straw back on his bedside table.

  She stole another look at her watch. Two-thirty. The invitation had said to drop in between two o'clock and five. Claire supposed that everyone would be there, all Diane's friends.

  If only the nurse would come. Porter wouldn't let her leave until the nurse came. She sat down and opened her magazine, staring at the page. A little while later Porter started to whimper. "Claire! I'm hurting. I need a shot."

  "I can't give it to you, Porter. The nurse has to."

  "Goddamn it, you know how."

  The room smelled like a hospital. Claire slept in another room now, although Porter had protested about that. He liked to see her there all the time. She dreamed that he would never die. That she would grow old with long white hair, waiting for release. Maybe it was her punishment.

  "Give me a goddamn shot!"

  "I can't."

  "You're still mad at me, aren't you? Come on, now. I didn't tell Ted to do anything. He construed it the wrong way."

  Claire shouted, "Then why did you give him a promotion?"

  "Services rendered." Porter laughed. "Go on, call the police. They could take me away. I could die in jail. You'd like that, wouldn't you? You never saw what a bad son you had. He hated me." Porter touched his belly. "Oh, Jesus. I'm eaten up with it. Make it stop, Claire."

  He started crying, and she looked at him without pity. She could tell what she knew, but they would say he was sick and crazy. They already blamed Liz. Let it stay that way. Liz had seduced Ted, and he had killed Roger for her. Ted had done it for Porter, too. And maybe for himself.

  Gradually the whimpering stopped. Porter said, "Stop looking at me that way. I know what you're thinking. I never touched Maggie! Roger lied. I never touched her, and you know it. She was a little tramp with all the boys at school."

  "No, she wasn't, Porter."

  "Shut up! I know what I'm talking about. A tramp. Claire! I want a shot. Now!"

  Claire stood up and laid the magazine on the nightstand. "The nurse will be here in a little while. Go back to sleep."

  "What are you doing?"

  "I want to see Diane's new apartment. I won't be gone long."

  "You're not going anywhere."

  "Yes. I'm going to Diane's. My granddaughter." The idea made her heart leap in her chest with such force that she thought she might cry. "My granddaughter is waiting for me."

  "I'm hurting. I'm in pain!"

  "I'll be back soon. Lie still, Porter."

  He was still yelling as she shut the door.

  Chapter 29

  The ocean stretched out below them in variegated bands of blue, from crystalline turquoise to deepest cobalt. This time of year, in early winter, the perfectly clear skies and slanting light made the water uncommonly brilliant, as if diamonds had been scattered across the surface.

  Anthony leaned his elbows on the railing. "This is a fantastic view.”

  Gail agreed that the view was nice, but Karen wanted a yard.

  "You know you can come to Clematis Street, both of you, anytime."

  She smiled at him. "I know."

  They were still dueling over that and other things. She was elusive. She liked to see him suffer. Anthony drew her closer, wrapping her inside his jacket. Thirty-two stories above the ground, the air could be chilly. The wind played with her hair. He breathed in the sweet, fresh scent of it.

  This condominium belonged to Diane Cresswell. Diane's father had bought it for her before moving to the French West Indies. Diane still called Dub Cresswell her father. The woman she had once called mother was forever cast out. Anthony had never met or heard of a woman of such brazen confidence, one who would attempt murder under the noses of three dozen people. Who would ever suspect that Elizabeth, such a loving mother, had a motive? Unfortunately for her, the truth had already begun to rattle its cage, and she had not heard it.

  Unfortunately for the truth, too much of it would remain with the dead.

  The walls of Diane's new living room were pale blue, a
nd on one of them Diane had hung the painting of herself done by Margaret Cresswell and lit it with small spotlights. Maggie had guarded her secrets well.

  Still looking through the open doors, Anthony noticed his daughter sitting on Bobby Gonzalez's lap. This annoyed him, but he had learned to hold his tongue. Complain, and it would drive them closer. He had at least persuaded Angela not to move in with Bobby. The line had to be drawn somewhere.

  Gail's daughter was no less of a challenge. He watched as Karen tried ballet steps in a pair of Diane's pointe shoes. Oh, Karen. Anthony needed the wits of Machiavelli, the patience of a saint. And on occasion, some discreet bribery. So far Karen had accepted him back. If not, her mother would be impossible.

  Diane looked out onto the terrace and waved at them, then separated herself from her guests. She slid the door shut and the noise level dropped.

  "I haven't properly thanked you both, have I? I owe you so much."

  Gail smiled at her. "No, just be happy."

  "Do you want to hear something odd that I've never told anyone else? I believe that Maggie was looking out for me that day on the boat." Diane made a small laugh. "I keep calling her Maggie. It's just too strange to call her my mother. Maybe I will someday, but for now she's Maggie. When I was in the water, I heard her. She told me she would hold me up until someone rescued me. Do you believe in things like that?"

  "Anything is possible/' Anthony said.

  Diane turned to look at the portrait of herself. "I invited Aunt Claire to come today. I want her to see this. I hope she comes, but it's hard for her to leave Uncle Porter now that he's so sick. I look like her, don't you think? I can see it so clearly now. Aunt Claire and I have been talking a lot about the past. I know who my father is."

  They looked at her, waiting.

  "He was a French boy who was over here on vacation one winter with his parents. His name was Jean-Louis. Maggie never told them his last name, but Aunt Claire remembers he was from a good family. His father was a wine maker in Bordeaux."

  Gail nodded and glanced at Anthony. They both knew that her grandmother had spun a story where reality was too grim to bear. It was more likely that Diane was either the product of incest or the child of a murderer.

  Anthony smiled at her. "A French boy. Yes, I can see a certain . . . French influence in your face. But after twenty years it would be impossible to find him."

  "I'm afraid so." Diane looked from one of them to the other. "I'm sorry for what happened to you, too. Losing the baby. I hope someday you try again. Is that all right to say?"

  A shadow passed over Gail's face, then vanished in her smile. She kissed Diane's cheek. "Yes, of course. Thank you."

  When Diane had gone back inside, he put his arm around Gail and said, "We could do that, if you want."

  He had expected a quick no, but she walked to the railing and looked out to sea. "I don't know. Maybe we could just wait and see how it goes."

  "Would you take that risk?"

  She looked over her shoulder at him. "Maybe."

  "Maybe." He sighed. Across the space between them he said, "What are we going to do with ourselves, corazon?"

  She smiled. Her eyes caught the blue of the sky, the blue of water behind her, and the aquamarines at her ears.

  Acknowledgments

  I depend on practicing lawyers (and a judge) to help me remember what it was like: Milton A. Hirsch, Bruce H. Fleischer, Alfonso J. Perez, Juan Ramirez, Eugene W. Sulzberger, and David Waksman. For details of police procedure, I am grateful to crime-scene technicians David Gilbert and Gerald J. Reichardt; Detective Ramesh Nyberg, Miami-Dade Homicide Bureau; and Reinhard W. Motte, M.D., Associate Medical Examiner. Physicians Jodie Boggs and Ayse-gul Ozbek provided medical information; Jill B. Shave and Ken Rampone shared their knowledge of boats; Leslie Curtis and Shari Little made the world of ballet come alive; and Jill Cannady and Bob Sinde-lir helped me create the art gallery at Coconut Grove. Many thanks to you all. For correcting my Spanish, gracias to Alicia Abreu, Liced Abreu, and Vivian Llanos. Tete Portela gave me lovely details about Anthony's grandmother. And finally, Bobby Gonzalez sends his appreciation to James, Jennifer, and Valerie, who put the words in his mouth. Any errors of fact or interpretation are mine.

  All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2000 by Barbara Parker

  Cover design by Open Road Integrated Media

  ISBN 978-1-4804-9939-3

  This edition published in 2014 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

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  New York, NY 10014

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