Beautifully Damaged (42 page)

"Cool, and I want to learn how to make those cake-pops, they are so yummy."

Trace and I looked at each other before we both started laughing as he managed to say through his mirth, "You've corrupted us both, Ember."

After dinner, Chelsea went to her room to read while Trace and I cleaned the dishes. My thoughts kept circling back to Vivian. I didn't want to believe she was a killer but, at the same time, she knew more than she was saying. We really needed to talk with her.

"Trace, I'd like to meet with Vivian."

He looked up from the pot he was cleaning, and I could see the question in his eyes, before he asked.

"Why?"

"She's the common denominator in both cases. I think she knows more than she's saying."

He stopped scrubbing and just looked at me. "What is it you're trying to learn, Ember?"

"There are too many unanswered questions, too many holes, and though your dad was an animal I think your mom, my mom, they deserve more than to have their murders unsolved. And maybe in the solving of your mom's death, you'll find a bit of peace."

His hands were still soapy when he wrapped them around my face before pulling me in for a kiss that was about more than love and, when his eyes found mine, I felt my knees go weak at the depth of emotion looking back at me.

"No one ever has, or ever will, know me the way you do. You're inside me, Ember, you are my heart..." he pulled his one hand through my hair as his eyes followed the motion before he returned his gaze to mine "...and you are my soul."

I covered his hands with my own when I offered softly, "It's that way for me, too."

He smiled as his thumb caressed my cheek. "I know."

Vivian Michaels was a hard woman to track down, being that she was a part of so many charitable organizations and committees, but we did eventually lock her in for a luncheon. I couldn't argue that she had come a long way from Teresa Nolan when she arrived dressed to the nines in Armani.

Trace stood and pulled out Vivian's chair. She smiled in thanks as she took her seat.

"I was so happy to get your call, Ember." Her eyes moved to Trace before she added, "And for Trace to be joining us, how delightful."

I suspected she wasn't going to feel that way when lunch was over but she'd held onto whatever it was she knew for far too long. We waited for the waiter to take our orders and then I just got right to it.

"Vivian, we know you are Teresa Nolan."

She visibly paled as her hand clenched her martini glass.

I leaned over and whispered, "You knew my mother, and you knew Trace's parents; we know this already. You're the only person still alive that can possibly lend some insight as to what happened."

She looked positively ill when her blue eyes lifted to meet mine and it was an almost inaudible hiss when she replied, "Why are you doing this?"

"Because my mother is dead and so is Trace's and we want to know why."

I didn't think it was possible but the woman paled even more before she managed to ask, "You don't think I had anything to do with their deaths, do you?"

Trace was stunningly frank when he replied, "The thought has crossed our minds."

Vivian lifted her martini, downed the entire contents and signaled for another, before she turned and met our unwavering stares.

"What do you want to know?"

"Were you getting scripts from Dr. Grant to drug Victoria?"

It was guilt and shame that covered her expression before she answered, "Yes. It was Doug's idea but, yes."

"You and Doug grew up together."

"Yeah. We were dirt poor and then along came the Michaels and we saw a taste of how the other half lived and we wanted it; we wanted to live like the other half."

Trace's arms came to rest on the table as he leaned closer to Vivian. "So you planned, from the beginning, to ingratiate yourselves into Charles and Victoria's lives."

"Yes."

His voice grew hard when he asked, "...and the drugging of my mother?"

"Doug told me Victoria was having trouble sleeping but she was too embarrassed to go to the doctor. She didn't want rumors to circulate that a Michaels was a pill popper because she had been conditioned by her family that private matters stayed private. I didn't realize what he was doing, I honestly didn't, and then I met Charles and really fell for him. I left Fishtown not long after that and went to New York with Charles."

She reached across the table and covered Trace's hand with her own.

"I didn't know what was going on in that house. I swear to you I didn't know. I wanted a different life and that is what I've done. On the few occasions that I reached out to my past to touch base, Darlene never made mention of anything going on so I just assumed all was well."

"Wait, what's this about Darlene?" I asked.

"Darlene, Doug and I were like the three musketeers ever since the fourth grade."

Trace's reaction to that matched my own.

"Are you saying that Darlene and Doug hung out even after he married my mom."

"Yeah, she loved him and was really pissed when he married Victoria. He told me once that Darlene was getting too possessive and that he was going to tell her to stop coming around but after I moved to New York they started spending more time together not less."

"She failed to mention that." Trace hissed.

It was genuine surprise that flashed over Vivian's face. "You found Darlene?"

"Yes, why?" I asked.

"She just dropped off the face of the planet after Doug and Victoria died. I always wondered what happened to her."

"Did you know about my mother?" I asked.

"I knew your mom had suspicions, particularly after Darlene mentioned that Mandy knew about the scripts. I also knew that Darlene was nervous, scared even, of what Mandy might uncover. I should have paid better attention but I was very self-centered then; hell, I still am."

"Did you know my mom was trying to get DHS involved and that she was trying to get Trace and Chelsea out of that house?"

It wasn't feigned surprise that flashed over Vivian's elegant features. "No, I didn't. Your mom suspected what was happening?"

"We think Victoria told my mom that she feared for her children's safety but before my mom could make anything happen she was killed in a hit-and-run by a car that matched the description of Douglas' car."

Vivian looked downright sick. "Oh, my god."

"What?!" Trace all but barked.

"Douglas rode around on a motorcycle; Darlene had been using his car."

"Shit." I said as Trace reached for my hand. "That explains why your dad had that newspaper article and the receipt to the garage. He really was trying to get proof. How much do you want to bet Darlene was blackmailing him? Take out the person who could potentially take away the man she loved and use that crime to bind that man to her."

Trace's voice was so very soft when he said, "I'm sorry, Ember."

I leaned over and pressed a kiss on his mouth. "Silver lining, Trace, I got you."

Uncle Josh called a few days later with news on Mrs. Fletcher and, sadly, when I learned what he had uncovered I wasn't all that surprised since it was what I had suspected.

"She's dead, Ember, she died in 1994 in a car crash after someone ran a light." As soon as the words were out of his mouth I needed to sit since my legs were refusing to hold my weight.

"That seems suspect." I said.

"I agree. Who was she?"

"...their cook. Trace really bonded with her and it was she who taught him everything he knows about cooking. She discovered Doug's secret and then she just stopped coming to work."

"Jesus." My uncle hissed through his teeth. "He has had more than his share of shit."

My gut told me that Darlene was responsible: another way for her to protect Doug while at the same time binding him more tightly to her.

Trace and I had not yet shared what we learned from Vivian because once my dad and uncle learned of it, Darlene would be in some serious shit.

It seemed probable that it was Darlene who killed Douglas and Victoria in a jealous fit of rage but the only thing that kept me from completely getting behind that theory was the police report or, more to the point, the lack of victim-identification. We were missing something and until we knew why Detective Vincent Gowan withheld certain information from his report, I couldn't take that final step.

That night, while Trace and I got ready for bed, I told him about Mrs. Fletcher.

"Trace?"

He was already dressed for bed and was standing at the counter in the bathroom brushing his teeth. His eyes found mine in the mirror as I approached. I waited for him to finish and turn to me before I reached for both of his hands.

"I asked my uncle if he could find out what happened to Mrs. Fletcher."

I felt, as well as saw, the tension that entered his body in reaction to my words but a part of healing was closure and he needed to know that Mrs. Fletcher wasn't one of the angels who saw, heard and spoke no evil. I wasn't sure how to break it to him so I decided to just come right out and say it.

"She died, Trace, in 1994 when her car veered into a median to avoid a car that had run a light."

It took him a minute to comprehend my words but when he finally did, I saw his eyes turn moist as understanding dawned. His voice was hard when he said, "Silenced?"

"If Mrs. Fletcher learned Douglas' secret, and Darlene was the one to kill my mom, then it would follow that Darlene would want to silence Mrs. Fletcher to protect Douglas," I said.

"She was a good woman; she had a family."

"I know where she's buried, Trace, if you want to visit her."

I watched as fury quickly replaced sadness. Trace pulled from my hands and, in one swipe, knocked everything from the bathroom counter: the sound of shattering glass filling the silence.

"How many goddamn lives had to be ruined?"

Every muscle in his body was flexed as his anger rolled through him. There wasn't anything I could say and knew he just needed time to process it, so I slipped from the room and headed down the hall for the pan and brush. He was still standing there with his palms flat on the counter when I returned. His head was hung low and the scroll work of his tattoo was rigid and flexed. I knew what he wanted, he wanted to walk because he needed to vent. He needed a fight but he wasn't going because he vowed that he would never walk out again but this was different because he wasn't walking out on me.

"Go, Trace." He lifted his head as his eyes found mine in the mirror.

"I'll clean this up. Go."

I could see his confusion so I added, "I understand the draw of the fight for you, it helps you cope, so go. I'll be here when you get back."

He turned, pulled me into his arms and kissed me hard on the mouth.

"Thank you, Ember."

"I'm sorry."

He said nothing, only kissed me again, before walking out of the bathroom. I heard him moving around for a few minutes before I heard the sound of the front door closing. I cleaned up the mess and then settled into bed with a cup of tea and a book. An hour later, the phone rang.

"Hello."

"I was asked to check in on you."

"Hi, Rafe. Tell him I'm fine. How's he?"

"When he first called me, not good, but he's better now. He's always better when he gets to work out his issues with someone else's face."

"Tell him I love him."

"I will. Goodnight, Ember."

"Night, Rafe."

I was dreaming about pie-pops, more specifically wondering if it was actually feasible to make a pie-pop or would the juice drip out of the hole where the stick was inserted into the crust? I grew rather warm in my dream, so warm that I was seriously thinking about jumping into the lake of cold milk that existed in the cake-pop forest. I felt desire stirring in my belly and little shots of electricity shooting down my arms and forced myself to wake up because I realized why I was growing so warm.

Trace's naked body was covering mine as his mouth glided over the skin of my neck and shoulder. I was still half asleep and hadn't realized that he had already divested me of my clothes until I felt him slide into me in one, long, smooth stroke. My hips lifted as the heels of my feet dug into the mattress. I wrapped my arms around him as I trailed my fingertips up and down his back. He moved so slowly and each roll of his hips ignited a fire in me. His mouth found mine as he very deliberately brought my body to bliss and, as I floated back down, I slipped back into sleep.

I awoke the next morning to the smell of bacon and peeled my eyes open to see Trace standing before me with a breakfast tray.

"Good morning, sleepyhead."

"Good morning," I sat up and settled against the headboard.

"Hungry?"

I smiled. "Yes."

Trace settled down next to me and handed me an egg sandwich that was loaded with bacon and cheese. I took a hearty bite and watched as he did the same, before I asked, "How are you feeling?"

"Better. Thank you for understanding."

I leaned over and brushed my lips over his before I took another bite and chewed.

"This is delicious."

"Ember, I would like to visit Mrs. Fletcher's grave."

"Okay."

He held my gaze before he whispered, "Thank you." I knew the thank you wasn't just for going with him to the gravesite but also for looking into what happened to her.

"You're welcome."

"How was your evening?"

He asked this with a knowing smile so I answered, "Uneventful."

He looked almost hurt before he asked, "Are you certain?"

"...yes. I had a most excellent dream though."

He leaned up and looked at me with a grin. "Really, and what was this dream about?"

"Pie-pops."

"What?!" He moved the tray, luckily for me I had already finished my sandwich, before his body covered mine.

"Is this sparking your memory?"

I purposely looked clueless before I said, "No."

He looked positively put out so I decided to cut him some slack.

"...any time, Trace."

"...any time what?"

"...you want to wake me like that, any time."