She felt herself beginning to tremble now, the way she always did when she thought about that night before Thanksgiving. She glanced at the clock hanging on the wall across from her. Eight P.M. At least three hours before she could go to bed and hope sleep would come. It usually wouldn’t without a sleeping pill. Lord, when had she started looking forward to the oblivion of sleep? How she used to love cuddling up to Chuck on the couch and watching their favorite comedies. Looking back, she realized he’d always seemed faintly restless, never as happy as she, particularly in their last year together, after the stillbirth of their daughter, after the doctor had to perform an emergency hysterectomy.
Crystal still couldn’t believe Chuck was gone. Every time she came home from the grocery store or running the few errands she still bothered with, she expected to see him sitting in his favorite chair watching the sports channel on television. Sometimes she forgot and set a plate for him at dinner. He always liked her cooking. Plain and simple food. Joyce was probably a gourmet cook. No doubt she served all kinds of fancy pasta dishes and things like artichoke hearts and escargots, which Chuck would hate…
Oh, what was she thinking? That Chuck would return to her because he liked her cooking better? It was stupid, but then she’d never been known for her mental prowess. Not like the other Six of Hearts.
Which reminded her she had more important things to think about than cooking, or stupid magazine articles, or how soon she could go to bed and lose herself in sleep. She went to the old chest standing in the corner, opened a drawer, and withdrew the Polaroid of Angela. She shivered. What fury it had taken to beat that beautiful woman into the bloody mess in the picture, a fury that compelled the killer to keep bludgeoning the body long after Angie must have been dead.
The doorbell rang. Crystal let out a little shriek and dropped the photo on the floor. She quickly picked it up, dropping it back in the chest, slamming it shut. The doorbell rang again. And again. She stood rigid until Chuck shouted, “Crystal, I know you’re in there so open up!”
He’s come back! she thought joyfully. He’s come back to me. I knew he couldn’t stay away, not from me, not when he knows how much I love him! She wished she had on something nicer than sweat pants, that she’d bothered to put on some makeup and cologne…
She flung the door open and her heart fell. Chuck looked at her stonily, the clean lines of his face hard, the blue eyes narrowed. He pushed past her into the living room, leaving her standing, openmouthed, in the doorway.
“Chuck, what’s wrong?” Crystal asked tentatively.
He turned. “Shut the door.” For a moment she felt a prickle of fear. They’d had arguments over the years, but she’d never seen him look so coldly furious. As if reading her mind, Chuck said, “I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to talk.”
She relaxed a bit and closed the door. “Do you want something to drink? A Coke? A beer?”
“Nothing.” He wore a well-tailored raincoat over a navy and white cable-knit sweater and gray flannel slacks. What had happened to his old jeans, flannel shirts, and stained down jacket? Crystal wondered. Gone, of course. Tossed away as easily as he’d tossed her away. He sat down without removing his coat. “Why won’t you sign the papers?”
“What papers?”
“Don’t play dumb, Crystal. The divorce papers.”
She clasped her hands. They were freezing although the room wasn’t cold. “I don’t want a divorce.”
“I do.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“You don’t? I left you months ago. I’ve never considered coming back.”
“That’s because you’re confused.” She looked at him, desperation in her eyes. He was more handsome than ever. Her Chuck. “We’ve had some setbacks. Your problem finding the right job. Me losing the babies. But Chuck, we love each other.”
“No.”
“We love each other. We always have.”
“No.”
“Yes. Since we were teenagers. We were meant to be together.”
“No one is meant to be together, Crystal. That’s a lot of romantic nonsense.”
Crystal came and knelt in front of him. “It isn’t nonsense and you know it. Some people are meant to be together, like us. You’re not meant to be with Joyce. You were just frustrated with our life and she came along with her money and her kids. But we could adopt children.”
“No we can’t. Not with my job record.”
“Oh, we can talk our way out of that. People understand—”
“Crystal, this is not about Joyce’s children.”
“But you don’t love her.”
Chuck sighed. “Crystal, stand up and stop this.”
“I won’t! Everything I’m saying is true. You don’t love her, you love me! You belong to me!” Chuck looked at her, his blue eyes seeming to lose focus for an instant. He was realizing the truth of what she said, Crystal thought. “Chuck Landis, you look me right in the eye and tell me you don’t love me.”
His eyes refocused. He looked at her piercingly. “I—do—not—love—you.”
Crystal sat back on her haunches, feeling as if he’d slapped her. “Chuck, there’s so much between us,” she persisted weakly. “So much you could never share with Joyce—”
“Stop it! What we had I don’t want to share with Joyce.” He stood, towering over her. “Sign the divorce papers.”
Her throat tightened and she shook her head.
Chuck’s face turned red with fury. “Dammit, you sign those divorce papers or…” His breath came quick and hard. “Just sign them, Crystal. For your own good sign them and have them at the lawyer’s office on Monday morning. This is the last time I’m warning you.”
He slammed out of the house. Crystal sat motionless on the floor for almost a minute. Then she lowered her head and sobbed as she’d never sobbed in her life.
3
Monica fixed another glass of scotch and soda and returned to her bed. She knew she’d already had too much to drink, but she couldn’t sleep. The inactivity of the last couple of days was driving her crazy. She was accustomed to working twelve-hour days. She enjoyed working until she was ready to drop. It was certainly better than having all this time to think.
When she left Wheeling to go to college on scholarship, she’d expected never to return. She’d forced herself to send her great-aunt an occasional letter. The old woman sometimes returned a cold, sanctimonious little missive, always lecturing Monica about her failings. When she died ten years ago, she’d left everything she owned to charities. Monica sent a small basket of flowers but did not attend the funeral.
Although Monica did not admit it to Crystal, Denise, or Laurel, the old lady had always been suspicious about Monica’s part in Faith’s death. She’d known about the Six of Hearts. Monica’s fingers tightened on her glass. She’d underestimated the snooping, meddling bitch. While Monica was at school, she’d conducted daily searches of her room. She’d eavesdropped on Monica’s telephone conversations. She’d played astonishingly adroit little word games in order to elicit information from her great-niece. Monica had eventually become as clever at the games as the old lady, but not before she’d accidentally given away some crucial information.
The problem was that Monica didn’t know how much of that information the old bat passed on. She hadn’t worried about it at the time of the woman’s fatal stroke. Three years had passed since Faith’s death and there had been no repercussions. Now, ten years later, things were different. Her career meant everything to her. Her career and John Tate. They were inextricably bound because no matter how good a lawyer she was, she knew in her heart she would never have achieved her impressive position in the firm at such a young age without John’s help.
Impetuously she picked up the phone and dialed John’s private number in his study at home. After two rings, he answered.
“John, I’m so glad I caught you,” she said a trifle breathlessly. She was afraid he’d be angry. He didn’t like for her to c
all his home.
“I just happened to be in my study getting some papers.” His voice was precise, clipped, and totally without accent. He’d told her it had taken a year of training to completely free himself of the Mississippi accent he hated. Now no one could guess his roots from his speech. To her relief, he also did not sound angry. “The Goldsteins are here for dinner.”
“How’s everything at the office?”
“Dull without you.” He’d had a few drinks himself or he would never had said anything so personal over the phone in his home. “When are you coming back?”
“My friend’s funeral is Monday.”
“Then we’ll be seeing you Tuesday.”
“Maybe. I might need another day or two.”
“Why?”
“Just to tie up loose ends.”
“Loose ends? You weren’t Angela Ricci’s lawyer.”
“No.” Monica suddenly felt nervous and took another sip of her drink. “I just need a couple of days.”
“Monica, you haven’t forgotten Kelly Kingford, have you? The trial is in two weeks.”
“Of course I haven’t forgotten her. I’ll be ready. I always am. What about Stuart Burgess?”
“Out on a million dollars bail.”
She hadn’t told the others her law firm was representing Angela’s ex-husband and she didn’t intend to. “Has he admitted anything to you?”
“No, and if the wacko did kill Angela, I don’t want to know. We’ll probably have to put him on the stand and we can’t suborn perjury by having him say he didn’t murder her if we know he did.”
“He didn’t.”
John laughed softly. “We have to do a good job for our clients, but we don’t have to believe in them.”
“You think he’s guilty.”
“Yes, but your belief in his innocence despite his having been your friend’s ex-husband will help if you wrap up the Kingford mess in time to be second chair when Burgess goes to trial.”
It was the chance of a lifetime. Angie was an internationally known celebrity, Stuart Burgess an eccentric millionaire. The media would be all over the case. “I intend to be second chair,” she said fiercely.
“Then you’d better get back here as soon as possible.”
“I—”
Monica heard a woman’s voice. “Darling, you’ve abandoned me and our guests. Is there a problem?”
“No problem,” John said hastily. “I’ll be right down.” After a moment, he spoke to Monica quietly. “I have to go.”
“Yes, certainly.” “Darling,” she’d called him in her light, honeyed voice. Sweet, passive, lovely Luanne Tate, John’s sweetheart from high school. He’d never leave her and his two children. “I’ll be home as soon as possible,” Monica said.
“Good. Got to go now.”
“John,” she said abruptly. “I love you.”
“Uh, yeah. See you soon.”
She hung up and flopped backward on the bed. He didn’t say he loved you because he was afraid Luanne would hear him, she told herself. Then she laughed harshly. Sure, Monica. All this scotch has fuddled your brain, made you sloppy and romantic. John had never said he loved her.
But then neither had Chuck Landis. Laurel had thrown her for a loop the other night by saying Monica once had a crush on him. She’d never suspected Laurel or anyone else sensed her attraction to Chuck. She’d wanted him so badly she’d offered to let him become her first lover. She’d been so certain sex was the the way to pull him away from Crystal. She had never been so humiliated in her life as she was when he turned her down. She never told anyone she’d been besotted with a man clearly her intellectually inferior, even though savage jealousy tore through her whenever she saw him with Crystal or any other girl.
Nevertheless, her pursuit of Chuck had set a pattern she’d been following ever since. Her psychiatrist told her she only wanted men who were committed to other women because she was trying to re-create her childhood. Her father had deserted her for a woman. Ever since then she’d been trying to triumph over “the other woman,” looking for a man who would choose her, but it never happened, not with Chuck thirteen years ago, not with five married men who followed, not with John now. John was attracted to her physically. Emotionally he admired her. He respected her quick mind, her legal prowess, her dedication to her work.
Admiration and respect were a long way from love, but they were all she had. She couldn’t stand to lose them, which meant John could never learn about Faith Howard and the Six of Hearts.
And he wouldn’t, no matter what she had to do to keep the secret.
Seven
1
Laurel spent another restless night. At two in the morning she awakened bathed in sweat, kicking under the covers. She’d been back in the Pritchard barn, reaching for Faith who swung lifelessly through the leaping flames. The dogs, alarmed by her thrashing, jumped up on the bed, licking her face as if trying to bring her back to reality.
She got up, went in the bathroom, and splashed cold water on her face. Her amber eyes were slightly bloodshot, the lids swollen from lack of sleep. “You look just great for a party tomorrow. Or rather, today, in about eighteen hours.”
She’d never felt less like going to a party in her life, but she’d told Denise she’d come. Besides, maybe Neil Kamrath would be there and she’d get one more chance to talk to him.
Laurel dressed quickly and arrived at the store even earlier than usual. Until this morning she’d completely forgotten about the shattered glass shelves and the mess left after Zeke’s attack on Mary. She would have to find someone to help her clean up before opening time.
She entered through the back door and walked straight into the showroom without removing her coat. Sun streamed through the front windows and she pulled up short.
All the wreckage was gone. No glass or metal. No crushed silk flower arrangements or broken ceramic bowls and vases. Only an odd navy blue throw rug on the gray-blue carpet. She knelt and pulled it aside. The smell of carpet cleaner wafted up to her and she touched a damp spot.
“We couldn’t get up all the blood.”
Penny and Norma stood just outside the kitchen door. “I think one more scrubbing will do it, or maybe a professional cleaning,” Norma said.
“What happened to the shelves?” Laurel asked.
“My husband, Cleet, came over last night in the pickup truck and took them away. They were ruined, Laurel. Cleet said they couldn’t be fixed.”
“Oh, I knew that.” Laurel stood. “I’ll have to buy a new set. Thank you so much for cleaning and hauling away the shelves.”
“We wanted things to look nice this morning.”
“How’s Mary?” Penny asked.
“Concussion, bad cut on the scalp. At the time I left yesterday they were going to do a couple more tests, but I think she’ll be okay. If you two don’t mind looking after the shop for an hour this morning, I’ll run over to the hospital to see her. I didn’t get to last night.”
“I’m sure we can hold down the fort for an hour,” Norma said. “We’ve got all the decorations done for the Price party tonight. You’ll be going over today, won’t you?”
“Yes…” Laurel frowned. “But someone usually goes with me to help with the decorating. I can’t leave just one of you here. That’s too much work.”
“Cleet said he’d drive the delivery van over and help you. You’ll have to tell him what to do. He’s real good at taking orders.” Norma grinned. “He’s been taking them from me for thirty years and never realized it.”
Laurel laughed. “Your family are lifesavers! I’d really appreciate his driving the van because I have to run home and pick up something before I go to the Price home. I told them I’d be there around eleven.”
“I’ll call Cleet and tell him to come by here about ten-thirty.”
“Great. And I think we’ll close around three o’clock today. We’ve been working hard.”
Norma and Penny looked pleased at the prospect of an
early quitting time. No wonder. Cleaning up the mess last night must have taken at least two hours.
Laurel went back to the kitchen and put on coffee. She wanted things to seem as normal as possible today. Then she looked over their orders for Saturday and Sunday and phoned her own into the wholesaler, asking if it were possible for them to deliver a bit early today because of the three o’clock closing time. At ten she left for the hospital.
Mary sat propped up in bed staring at the television. A morning talk show was on with the host gushing over an actor unfamiliar to Laurel. “Good morning, Mary.”
Mary turned to her. Her eyes had a glazed look. Five small bandages decorated her face and above her left eye spread a garish purple bruise. “I didn’t bring flowers because I thought you probably got your fill of them at work.”
Mary forced a smile. “You’re right. Besides, I’m going home in a couple of hours.” Her lips trembled slightly. “Laurel, do I still have a job?”
Laurel’s eyes widened in surprise. “Of course! Don’t tell me you were worried about that.”
“I was.”
“Well, forget it,” Laurel said firmly, her doubts about Mary submerging beneath her pity. “I couldn’t get along without you. We’ll both be tottering around Damron Floral when we’re in our nineties.”
Mary looked incredibly relieved. “Just like the Lewis sisters. I don’t suppose they came back to buy their wreath, did they?”
“No. I think they’d had enough excitement to last a month. I may just take one to them as a gift.” Laurel pulled up a chair. “How are you feeling?”
“Tired. They wouldn’t let me sleep because of the concussion. I also have a few aches and pains.”
“No wonder.”
Mary glanced at her sharply. “Papa didn’t mean to hurt me.”
“That push into the shelves looked pretty deliberate to me.”
“He didn’t know what he was doing. I told you he’s been strange lately. Old age, I guess.”
“Maybe.” Laurel paused. “Mary, why was he quoting all those Bible verses to me?”
“He always quotes from the Bible.”
In the Event of My Death Page 11
