At Risk (12 page)

“All right, I’ll think about it. But I’ll be honest. I don’t have much respect for shrinks. The doctor I saw when Russell and I were in the process of divorce was useless. She kept suggesting that I be more sympathetic to Russell’s gambling addiction. Easy for her to say. He put us thirty thousand dollars in debt and took a second mortgage on the house. And he cheated on me. Repeatedly. Once, Katie came home from school and found her father and his receptionist in our . . .” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. Russell is history.” She finished her coffee and stood up. “We should get back to school.” She leaned over and hugged her friend. “I don’t know what I’d do without you and Sydney.”

“You know we’re here for you. If you need anything, or if you just want to talk, don’t hesitate to call me, day or night.”

Liz sighed and nodded. “Okay.”

“And you’re in no shape to teach. Take the rest of the week off.”

“It’s too close to the end of the term.”

“Then take a few days.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

“No maybe about it. I’m right. No one in administration will give you any hassle.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“No, promise me that you’ll do it. Three days, at least.”

“Yes, Mother. I’ll take a few days off.”

“Three,” Amelia insisted. “You can load the kids up with work for the weekend.”

“They’ll love me for it.”

Amelia dumped her purse on the table, opened a compact, and freshened her coral lipstick. “It’s not a popularity contest. And they adore you.”

“Not all of them. Someone’s threatening me.”

“You said it was Cameron.”

“I said I thought it was Cameron.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Amelia squeezed her lips together. “Either him or a disgruntled student. Are you failing anyone?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Any students who look capable of building a bomb?”

“Thanks a lot.” Liz grimaced. “Now I should worry about being blown up every time I start my car?”

“Why not? You’re a fan of the
Sopranos
. Isn’t that how Tony gets rid of his enemies?”

“Michael and Jack both think that Tracy was killed by her ex-boyfriend. And now it looks as though he might have committed suicide. I doubt I have a murderer stalking me.”

“Isn’t that what I’ve been telling you? All this is probably some moron’s idea of fun. They’ll soon tire of the game and find someone else to pester.”

“But they broke into my house! How would you feel if—”

Amelia rose. “I promised you scones and I never even offered them—”

“No, thanks. Honestly. The coffee and the shoulder to cry on were what I needed. Your scones are fabulous, but I’m not hungry.”

“All right, but I’m not letting you off. Call Dean Pollett’s secretary and tell them you won’t be in for the rest of the week.”

“Two days,” Liz offered.

“Three.”

Liz chuckled. “You drive a hard bargain.”

“I know. Thomas says that all the time.” She poured herself another half cup of coffee. “More?” Liz shook her head. Amelia crossed to a wall phone, punched in the number of the dean’s office, and handed the receiver to Liz.

When she’d finished with the call and assured the secretary that she would return on Friday, Liz passed the phone back to Amelia, who hung it up.

“Now, wasn’t that easy?” Amelia asked.

“I suppose, but I feel like a shirker.”

“Don’t. Go shopping. Buy shoes. I’ll give you the number of that counselor, and I want you to make an appointment as soon as possible.”

“I’ll think about it,” Liz said.

“Good, and think about visiting us at the beach house. Any time, for as long as you’d like.”

“That, I’ll gladly accept. I’m looking forward to it.” She stood and picked up her briefcase. “I’ve already bought a new bathing suit in Ocean City. That shop I was telling you about—where they make the suits to fit you? It’s a blue and green leafy print, two-piece.”

“Great. Buy another one. You’ll need it. I’m a beach fanatic. I toast on one side, then oil, and bake on the other.” Amelia chuckled. “As if my tan needs it.” Her eyes narrowed. “And I’m serious about you coming to stay here in this house for a few days. I want you to consider it.”

Liz shook her head. “I can’t. People have been trying to drive my family off Clarke’s Purchase for hundreds of years. I ran away when I was seventeen. I won’t do it again, not if it kills me.”

“That’s comforting, considering what just happened.”

“Michael’s loaned me one of his guard dogs. And he’s just down the road. He says I have nothing to worry about, no matter who killed Tracy. If the murderer had wanted to cut my throat, he could have found me there any morning. I can deal with slimy Cameron, but—”

Liz broke off in mid sentence as her cell phone rang. She checked to see who was calling before answering. “Russell? How did you . . . ? Never mind.
What
is it?”

“I need to talk to you, honey. Can I come by the house?”

“No, you cannot come by my house. And I don’t want you calling my cell. Katie shouldn’t have given you this number.” She glanced down at her watch. “What do you want? If it’s money, you can—”

“This is urgent. Please, Liz. If I can’t come to the farm, meet me in Dover. Dinner? Tonight?”

“Impossible.”

“Coffee, then. That restaurant at the mall. We’ll make it early. Five o’clock. Please, I wouldn’t ask, but—”

“Russell, I work for a living.”

“Please, for old time’s sake.”

“Fifteen minutes. Not a second more.”

“Great, you’re a lifesaver. Tonight. Five sharp. I’ll be there.”

“Idiot,” Liz said when Russell hung up. “I’m an idiot.” Why did she still let him manipulate her? It was always some dire emergency, which turned out to be a plea to borrow money. “Comic relief, I suppose,” she muttered, “but which one of us is the clown?”

Hours later, amid a steady stream of mall patrons, Liz glanced at her watch. Russell was late. What did she expect? Russell was Russell.

Had it ever been good between them? After Jack broke her heart, she hadn’t dated anyone for over two years. She’d convinced herself that education was what mattered. Not men, and not the life she’d put behind her. She’d sworn she’d never be “one of those Clarke girls from out in the sticks” again. She’d vowed to become a woman of taste, sophistication, and independence.

Inevitably, in trying to choose a man as different from Jack as bay water from champagne, she’d allowed herself to believe she could be happy with Russell Montgomery.

Educated, attractive, upper-class, and worldly . . . and a lying sack of shit.

“Liz!” He leaned forward to kiss her mouth. “You look great.”

She turned her head so that his lips brushed her cheek. “You’re late.” He was impeccably dressed, as always. Brown hair styled in a medium cut, a steel-gray, single-breasted Prada suit, and Bruno Magli shoes. Russell’s striped tie matched his pinstriped maroon shirt perfectly.

“Sorry about making you wait.” He flashed his gold Rolex. “Traffic on I-95 was a bitch; backed up all the way from the train station to—”

“Fifteen minutes,” she reminded him. “Not a minute more.”

He took her arm as they entered the restaurant. Liz decided that her ex’s taste in cologne hadn’t changed. Too much and too expensive.

“Certain you’re not hungry? My treat.” He motioned to the hostess. “A booth, please.”

Russell had put on a few pounds around the middle since she’d seen him last. And his hair was definitely thinning, but it showed not a hint of gray. If he was dyeing it, it was a professional job. Russell’s locks had a hint of curl, and Katie had inherited the same rich brunette color, her father’s dimple, and his beautiful blue eyes. Fortunately, Russell had passed on to his daughter little else.

It took exactly six minutes for Russell to dispense his quota of charm and move on to his temporary cash-flow problem. From there he swept enthusiastically to his opportunity to purchase the property his business had been leasing. “A once-in-a-lifetime deal,” he assured her. Desperation showed in his eyes. “The heirs want—”

“Russell, are you gambling again? Not one cent. I don’t have any money to lend you. I wouldn’t give you any if I did.”

“I don’t need a penny from you. All I want is your signature. You co-sign the loan and I—”

“Have you lost your mind? Sell your watch. I wouldn’t co-sign a note for you if—”

“God, Liz. Danielle said you’d be like this. I’m not asking for—”

“No. Nada. Not a cent.” She opened her wallet and counted out three dollars and laid it on the table. “I’ve gone this route too many times, Russell. I’m finished.”

“Don’t walk out on me,” he said, pinning her hand with his larger one. “I need—”

She jerked free and glared at him. A bead of sweat glistened on his upper lip. “Go to hell, Russell.”

“Liz!”

She dodged a chubby brunette waitress carrying a full tray of drinks and food and walked swiftly to the restaurant entrance that opened onto the parking lot. Russell followed her, but not fast enough. She reached her vehicle, unlocked the door, and got in. He approached just as she was putting the car into reverse, and she missed backing over his shiny new shoes by inches.

“Liz, wait!” he shouted.

She raised a middle finger in salute and drove out of the mall and onto northbound 13.

Twenty minutes later, Liz slowed and pulled into a parking spot beside the dock where the Raffertys moored their boats. Even with the air-conditioning on, she could smell the salt water, the not unpleasant odor of diesel fuel, and the oily scent of newly caught fish. She put the car in park and sat there sipping a warm Diet Pepsi and listening to the Stones as she tried to summon enough nerve to go in search of Jack.

Across the lot, a sport fisherman tightened the straps that held his nineteen-foot Grady White securely to the boat trailer. His buddy emptied beer cans and paper into a black container bearing a smiley face and a notice stating “NO BOTTLES OR CANS” and climbed into the cab of the big Dodge truck. As Liz watched, the driver got into the Dodge and pulled slowly away, leaving her alone in the lot.

The parking area, with its public ramp, was surprisingly free of trash. A yellowing life preserver and a coil of rope hung from a post at the water’s edge. At the base of the pole, a calico cat trailing two bedraggled kittens tore hungrily at a trout skeleton. The song ended, and Liz turned off the ignition and put down her window part way. She could hear the purr of an outboard in the distance and the slap of waves against the pilings. An odd sensation of peace seeped through her. She’d been away so long, but she could still feel at home here. She closed her eyes and let the familiar sounds and smells soothe her troubled soul.

“Hey, girl!”

Startled by the hard rap on the front passenger window, Liz nearly spilled her soft drink.

“Elizabeth Clarke? It’s me, Nora!” The woman laughed and knocked again on the glass. “Well? Are you going to sit there? Or are you coming out to give me a hug?”

Liz got out, and Nora hurried around the vehicle and threw her arms around her. “God, you look good, girl!”

“You too,” Liz said. “You haven’t changed a bit.” Jack’s mother was stuffed into a too-tight pair of blue jeans and a men’s plaid cotton shirt that hung over her ample belly. High-top black sneakers with a hole in one toe completed her ensemble.

“Like hell I haven’t. Forty pounds and a head of gray hair. But you could pass for twenty-five.”

“Now who’s throwing the bull?” Liz asked, smiling back at her. “You’ve been around those sons of yours too long. You’re beginning to sound just like them.”

“Thirty-five, anyway.” She hugged Liz again. “Come up to the house. Jack’s out with a charter, but supper’s nearly—”

“I can’t,” Liz protested. “I didn’t intend to intrude on your—”

“When did you know me not to make enough food to feed an army?” Nora’s disheveled ponytail bounced with indignation and her glasses shifted forward on her nose. “Lima beans and dumplings,” she said, pushing back the frames. “And you can’t pass on fresh trout.”

“Fried?”

Nora laughed heartily. “Is there any other way? My doctor says my cholesterol worries him, but I told him that there’s no sense in both of us getting ulcers. Come eat with us. I insist. Jack’s dad’s making biscuits.”

“I don’t know,” Liz teased. “Arlie? Sounds risky.”

“Old Arlie’s softenin’ up a little in his golden years. Suddenly decided my pies and biscuits weren’t like his mother used to make, so he started messin’ in the kitchen.” She winked. “His biscuits are better than mine, but don’t you dare tell him. He’ll get so big-headed that he’ll not fit through the door.”

“You haven’t changed,” Liz repeated. “You never do.” She smiled affectionately at Jack’s mother and then grew serious. “I’m so sorry about what happened to Tracy. I wanted to talk to you at the funeral, but—”

“I wasn’t at the funeral. I don’t do funerals. I thought I could do more for Tracy by cooking for her wake. It was a terrible thing that happened to her, and terrible that you had to come on it.”

“You knew?”

Nora’s pleasant face grew strained. “For all its growing up, this is still a small place. Not much happens in Kent County that I don’t know. And Jack—”

“He told you.”

Nora nodded. “Jack feels he’s partly to blame. He took her to school that morning.”

“No more than I do. She was meeting me. That’s why she came so early. My car wouldn’t start, but if I’d been on time, Tracy might be alive.”

“I doubt it. What’s supposed to happen usually does. Like George gettin’ caught. I suspected he was up to no good. His charters brought in too much money, and he always had more cash than he should have. Arlie didn’t suspect, but I was worried about him for a long time. I tried to talk sense into him, but you know George.”

“It must be terrible for you and Mr. Rafferty.”

“Not as bad as it could be. Ten to fifteen years they gave him, but Georgie will be out in eight or nine, tops. He’s still got time to turn his life around. If Arlie doesn’t kill him when the state turns him loose. It about tore his daddy to pieces. He can’t abide drugs. Seen too many young lives destroyed by them.”