Bleeding Heart (32 page)

“Well? Was he right?”

“Honestly? If I were to be absolutely, brutally straight with myself? Probably, yes. I left around midnight and went home and tried to sleep, but I kept worrying about that damned pledge. I didn’t want anyone to find it and see what he’d done with it. In the morning I went back up to the house. I was going to lie to him and tell him I was sorry, anything to get the damned thing back. But he wasn’t there. The pledge wasn’t either. I searched all over his bedroom suite. I was in a real panic! That’s when Eleanor came in—and when you must have heard us fighting.”

“Where do you think he was during all this?”

“I don’t know!” Gwen said plaintively, standing up again. I could tell she felt too restless to sit still any longer. I stood as well, and we started to walk up toward the haying meadow. “He’d been so erratic those last couple of weeks. And he wasn’t sleeping well. A couple of times I woke up and found him gone. He’d tell me that he’d been for a walk. He really loved your garden. I think it was the
only thing that made him happy in the end. He liked watching the sun rise over the valley.”

“So, he might have just gone out for a walk like you said,” I told her. “Maybe he took the pledge with him and was thinking about signing it. Chloe or Lachlan probably went through his things at the hospital and tossed it.”

“No, that’s what’s really weird,” Gwen said. We’d reached the top of the meadow. From there we could see Powell Mountain rising over the town and Mackenzie’s sprawling house near the summit, the wall of windows glinting in the noonday sun.
The gardens must be overgrown ruins at this point,
I thought. Now that I knew how Mackenzie had died—and why—the place looked like an eyesore to me. As ugly in its own way as the torn-up countryside around Shalesburg. What a waste of time and money and property! For a moment, preoccupied with my own thoughts, I lost track of what Gwen was saying.

“I’m sorry?” I said. “What happened?”

“Someone sent the pledge back to me in the mail. Taped back together. No message. Typed envelope postmarked ‘Woodhaven.’ But why would somebody
do
that? To relieve my mind? Or to put me on some kind of notice? It just feels so creepy! And I know this is going to sound kind of paranoid, Alice, but I feel like I’m being watched. Watched and judged.”

I
knew exactly what I was doing later that afternoon when I showered and put on the black lace-trimmed bra and panties I’d been keeping in the back of my lingerie drawer. Gwen had encouraged me to buy them a year or so ago when we saw the matching pair on sale at the outlet mall.

“What for?” I’d asked her then.

“I think you mean
who
for,” Gwen had replied. “Well, you just never know. Maybe it will be like
Field of Dreams
. Buy it and they will come.”

I turned around in front of the full-length mirror in my bedroom. Gardening is great exercise, keeping me toned and limber, and my hair was shot through with blond highlights from working outside all summer. All in all, I decided I didn’t look too bad for someone who was going to be a grandmother in another few months. I knew Tom liked to keep things casual, so I pulled on a pair of faded chinos and a lightweight cashmere sweater. But I purposely chose clothes that would feel good to the touch and that, yes, would slip off easily. Just as when I brushed my hair up into a
loose French twist, I was really thinking about how it would look when it tumbled down again around my shoulders, Tom pulling me closer to breathe in the perfume that I applied with a liberal hand.

I’d been to Tom’s house only once before, earlier in the summer when we’d stopped by to pick raspberries. This was when we’d first started seeing each other, and he hadn’t asked me inside. I’d appreciated his reticence as well as the glimpse he’d given me of where and how he lived. I was intrigued by the simple but extensive single-story structure he’d designed and constructed for his family, built halfway down a wooded rise overlooking Powell Mountain Brook. He’d planted a large fenced-in garden in the sunny field to the north of the house, with dozens of raised beds and rows of berry bushes and fruit trees. And he’d proudly explained that the house was totally green and off the grid: solar-powered, built with sustainable materials, and including energy-saving lighting, eco-friendly fixtures, and composting toilets.

It was almost dark by the time I arrived, and as I walked down the stone steps leading to the front entrance, I could see Tom working in the brightly lit kitchen, moving from sink to stove, an apron tied around his waist.

He met me at the door with a glass of wine and a kiss. I held the glass at my side while I let the kiss lengthen into something more than just a greeting—and with the promise of more to come.

“Okay,” he said, taking me in with a broad smile when I finally pulled away. We were both a little breathless. “Sure you want dinner?”

“How could I pass up seeing you slave over a hot stove in your apron?”

“Actually most of the cooking’s done,” he said, putting his arm around my waist as he led me down the hall. “I’m at the assembly stage.”

“Oh, Tom, this is lovely!” I said when we reached the kitchen, which I now saw opened up on a spacious dining area with a row of floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the falls. Outdoor floodlights illuminated the cascading water and the surrounding banks and trees. A long wooden table by the window was set with silverware, cloth napkins, and candles. A jug of giant sunflowers sat on the long butcher block countertop that separated the kitchen from the dining area, and several bottles of wine, a tray of cheeses and crackers, and bowls of olives and nuts were arrayed along its length.

“Hold out your glass,” he said, lifting one of the bottles. “You’ve got a little catching up to do. I had some while I was getting things ready.”

I sat on a stool with the glass of wine in front of me on the counter, watching Tom slice tomatoes and shred basil, as we talked about my trip to Shalesburg. His movements were practiced and economical, those of a man who’d single-handedly cooked and cared for four children and an ailing wife for many years.

“Mara told me they planned to hold the funeral yesterday,” I told him. “Can you imagine anything sadder? Poor Danny!”

“At least he’s probably too young to remember his mother all that well,” Tom said, as he whisked together the salad dressing ingredients. “I know this will probably sound a little harsh to you, but from what you tell me, Mara’s sister wasn’t ever going to get better, right? I don’t find it sad, then, that she died. To me, it’s a great relief. The family can finally stop hoping for a miracle and start to move on again.”

I suspected that Tom was talking about his wife’s death, as well as Mara’s tragedy, and I appreciated how frank he was about his painful past.

“You’re right,” I said as we carried the salad bowl, plates,
and wineglasses over to the table. We sat, looking out on the brook.

“I’m sure going to miss her, though,” I went on. “And Danny.”

“So you really don’t think she’ll be coming back?” Tom asked.

“What for? It would mean facing some really tough questions about what she did. I know she didn’t mean to kill Mackenzie. But—though I’m no legal expert—I’m pretty sure she’ll be looking at jail time. Who would take care of Danny if that happened? What kind of future would she face with a prison record? There’s nothing left for her in Shalesburg. I think it would be better for her just to take off with Danny and try to start again fresh somewhere.”

“You make it sound so easy,” Tom said. “But once you tell Erlander what she did, don’t you think the authorities will be putting on a full-court press to find her? They’ll be tracking her phone records, credit cards, you name it. These days, it’s harder and harder to disappear into thin air.”

“Well, speaking from experience, I know it
can
be done. Even when you manage to walk away with two hundred million dollars that doesn’t belong to you. Mara’s smart and very savvy with computers. I have a feeling she’ll know how to cover her tracks. At least I hope so for her sake.”

Tom cleared our salad bowls and then served the main course of grilled salmon, couscous, and green beans freshly picked from his garden. It all looked simple enough, but I could tell that he had put plenty of thought into the meal.

“I just hope you’re not sticking your neck out too far for her,” Tom said as he took his seat again.

“You mean with Erlander?”

“Yes, though I guess he’s going to be feeling pretty relieved to have the whole thing solved for him. He’s totally bungled this investigation, as far as I’m concerned. If he’d bothered to look a little
more closely into Mara’s background he would have discovered the connection between her and Mackenzie himself. Instead, he’s taken a scattershot approach, intimidating everyone with his off-the-wall guesswork. He circled back to me the other day, by the way, trying to imply that
I
killed Mackenzie because he’d shut down my wind power initiative.”

Tom threw down his napkin and rose abruptly from the table. He walked across the room and grabbed the corkscrew and another bottle of wine from the counter. Though I’d barely touched my own glass, I’d noticed Tom had been drinking pretty steadily over the course of the dinner.

“A little more?” he asked as he took his seat again and started to uncork the fresh bottle.

“No, I’m about ready for some coffee, actually,” I told him.

“But I thought we were celebrating,” he told me, refilling his glass.

It occurred to me that he might be nervous about what lay ahead. I was nervous as well, though I knew that drinking wasn’t the answer for me. I wanted a clear head when I went to bed with Tom. I was looking forward to giving myself over to physical pleasure—something I’d thought I would never have a chance to experience again. And I wanted to feel every single wonderful sensation. But I understood that Tom might be worrying about how well he was going to perform. It must be different for a man, I thought. Much more of a physical test and display of virility. And we were both probably a little rusty. Perhaps he thought the wine was going to give him the courage he needed.

“Didn’t Erlander imply something like that earlier in the summer?” I asked, hoping to change the subject.

“Did he?” Tom said. “I guess so. We’ve been around the issue a couple of times. But he recently got his hands on a video of the
meeting Mackenzie and I had with the selectmen that got pretty nasty. He quoted back to me some of the things I’d said that weren’t very nice. I admit that I did kind of lose my temper. But we all do at times, don’t we?”

“Of course,” I told him. “You know what I said to Mara when she told me about Mackenzie’s check bouncing? I actually told her I was going to have to kill him if I didn’t get the money.”

“There you go!” Tom said, banging his fist on the table. “And honestly, Alice? I think I would have understood it if you
had
done it. If my life had been ruined by one swindler and then I’d gotten ripped off by another? I know I’d be in a rage. Who wouldn’t be? Who wouldn’t need to fight back? Sometimes you have no choice but to act. If I saw Mackenzie standing there looking out over the valley—as if he owned it, as if he owned the whole fucking world?—and all it would take was one little push? I’d have done it myself. He deserved to die. We both know it.”

“No, I don’t think so,” I said, staring across the table at Tom. It seemed to have happened in a split second, though I realized now that he had actually been working up to it for a couple of hours. He had allowed himself to get a little drunk, and now he was spouting a lot of ugly nonsense. “Nobody deserves to die. And nobody has the right to kill.”

“Where are you going?” Tom asked as I got up from the table.

“I’m sorry, but I think I better head home.” And I
was
sorry. I’d had such high hopes for the evening. Tom had been pressuring me for weeks to take our relationship further. Perhaps, when it got right down to it, he himself wasn’t ready. Though I understood his ambivalence, I felt terribly let down and hurt. But I had no intention of sleeping with him in his current condition.

“Why?” he said, looking up at me. “I thought you were staying. I thought we were—”

“No, not tonight,” I told him. I didn’t want to antagonize him, so I softened the blow with a white lie. “I’m sorry, but I’m just exhausted. These last couple of days have really taken it out of me.”

Tom followed me down the hall and out the front door. The cool late-summer evening had turned blustery and colder. Trees groaned as the wind pushed and pulled at their limbs. The stone steps were slick with freshly fallen leaves, and I descended them with care. At one point I heard Tom stumble behind me, swearing to himself.

“Are you okay?” I asked, turning around.

“What?” he called back.

“I’m fine on my own,” I told him as I reached my car. But Tom came up behind me as I clicked my key chain, unlocking the doors.

“Why are you going?” he asked.

“I told you, Tom. I’m tired.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I think I upset you.” The climb appeared to have sobered him up a little. He steadied himself against the side of my car. But his tirade kept running through my mind as I climbed into the driver’s seat and closed the door. I started the engine, but then I lowered the window.

“What makes you think Mackenzie was pushed?” I asked him.

“What do you mean?” he asked, staring down at me.

“I thought he collapsed under the waterfall—in the heat of the day—from the effects of the digitalis. As far as I know, nobody’s said anything about Mara pushing him off the ledge.”

“You’re right,” Tom said. He took a step back. “I’m not sure what made me say that. I guess I must have heard somewhere that he liked to look out over the valley from that spot. That’s all.”

But Tom’s vague answer didn’t ring true, and I think he saw my puzzled expression as I turned and started to back down the driveway. I felt uneasy as I drove home. Falling leaves tumbled through my headlights and slapped against the windshield. The evening had
been such a disappointment. Tom had exposed a side of himself I’d never seen before. And one I hoped never to see again. It could have just been the falling temperatures, but I felt chilled to the bone.