From Cradle to Grave (27 page)

Astrid shook her head patiently. ‘No. He was just . . . trying to change things. He said we were addicted and we had to make the break. But you can’t break away from a love like that. He’d tried it before. He spent years in Europe. I’d tell Dick I was going to see my grandmother in the Netherlands and I’d rush to Guy. Guy never could resist. He came back to me every time.’

Morgan stared at the double image of Astrid which shimmered before her eyes. She spoke, in a slurred voice, but gently, almost as she would to a friend. ‘’S over, Astrid. They’ll find out.’

Astrid stood very silent and still for a moment, as if she was listening to a voice that only she could hear. Then she said, with a sad solemnity, ‘It doesn’t matter. I don’t have anything left to live for.’

Astrid reached into the pocket of her coat and pulled up a fistful of something twisted that gleamed in the moonlight. It was difficult for Morgan to focus her eyes. All at once, Astrid swung it, and Morgan saw that it was a circular length of chain. She put up her trembling hands, thinking Astrid was going to hit her with the chain. Instead, Astrid tossed the closed loop of the chain over Morgan’s head like a clunky lariat. She gave it a tug and Morgan felt the chain pulled tight against her neck. Adrenalin jolted her, too late, out of her drugged state. Morgan tried to get her fingers between the chain and her neck.

‘I borrowed this from Lucy’s porch when I went by her house today. It’s a choke chain she has for those dogs of hers. I bought it for her. It’s to make them obey. She never uses it, of course. Now, if you don’t get up and walk,’ said Astrid, through clenched teeth, ‘I’ll strangle you right here.’

Morgan gagged and tried to jam her fingers between her neck and the chain. Tried to pull it away. Astrid jerked the chain.

‘Come on. Get up,’ said Astrid. She tugged at the chain. ‘Come on. Once you get into the water, it will all be over quickly.’

The water, Morgan thought? Oh no. Her drugged-up heart began to hammer. She was in the grasp of a killer. No time left. Now, she thought. She staggered to her feet, and as she did so, she reached into her coat pocket, fumbled around for the scissors and pulled them out. She reached out as best she could, and jammed Astrid’s hand, with all the strength she could muster.

Still gripping the end of the chain, Astrid turned on Morgan with rage in her eyes. For one second, Morgan thought that it had worked, that Astrid would let go, that she could pull free. Astrid let the blood run and didn’t flinch. She batted the scissors from Morgan’s hand as if they were a buzzing fly. She renewed her grip on the chain and began to pull. Morgan had no choice but to try and follow her, crawling and stumbling along, trying to avoid being choked to death. It was no use. Astrid was pulling on the chain with a terrible fury.

Sick, weak, dying, Morgan could not move fast enough across the sand to save herself. She felt freezing cold water rush up, lap over her hands and recede. Astrid gave the chain a mighty tug and Morgan gagged for air, and saw black spots in front of her eyes which were darker even than the darkness. And then, she saw nothing at all.

THIRTY-TWO

F
itz stepped out of the bathroom after his shower, wrapped in a towel. He hunted around the bedroom for his pair of lounging pants with the Las Vegas gambling motif. His thirteen-year-old niece, Kathy, had given them to him last Christmas and couldn’t stop giggling when he opened the box. They were made out of the usual light flannel, but were decorated with playing cards, neon signs and poker chips. Fitz had good-naturedly held them up to his jeans, modeling them, making everyone laugh. But the fact was, he wore them all the time. Fitz found them hanging over the back of a chair, and pulled them on, along with a T-shirt. Then he went out to the living room to see if there was a game on the tube. He picked up his phone, automatically checking, and saw that he had a voicemail. From Morgan.

For one moment, he thought about deleting it without even listening. That was what she deserved. He had done everything he could for her, and still, she kept trashing the people he cared about, and acting like she was the only one who could possibly understand what was going on. She thought she was so smart because she was getting a doctorate. In fact, it had been through his connections that she was able to come up with the idea that Claire might have made a false confession. Why did I try to help her, he thought? All I got was grief.

Tonight when he called her, she said she couldn’t talk and had given him that vague ‘I don’t feel good’ excuse. Wouldn’t even commit herself to the idea of talking to him tomorrow. The hell with her, he thought. A lot of girls liked him. He didn’t need Morgan Adair.

But that was her number on the phone. Maybe she’d regretted her snottiness. He knew that no matter what he told himself, he liked her more than the other girls he knew. Much more. There was something about her that touched him. He liked her thick, chestnut hair and her great shape and her keen eyes. But it was more than that. He felt . . . protective of her. Of course, she’d blow him off if she ever knew that he saw her that way. He had asked Claire about her, after that tumble they’d had at the wedding. Claire had said that Morgan’s parents were killed in a bombing in some godforsaken country when she was young, and that Morgan had never gotten over it. She was reluctant to trust anyone. ‘Don’t go after her,’ Claire warned him, ‘if you don’t mean it.’

He had taken the warning to heart. After all, he wasn’t really looking for something serious. What if, in the end, he found that he didn’t want a commitment with Morgan? He didn’t want to mess up his relationship with Claire and Guy, by hitting on Claire’s best friend and then dropping her. So, he didn’t call. And, he reminded himself, she didn’t call him either.

Fitz stared at the number. Ironically, after all that had happened, now he did know what he wanted. He would happily admit his feelings to her now that she detested him. Today, at the Lobster Shack, before she started spouting lies about Guy, he was feeling sure that there was a spark on her side as well. She had seemed happy to see him there, and let him hold her hand without a word of protest. It had felt like Christmas to be walking along the water’s edge with her, holding her hand. And then she started in on Guy. She wouldn’t have done that if she were really interested. She would have known better. Maybe there was absolutely nothing there on her part. Hell, he hadn’t even kissed her during this whole miserable time.

He looked at the phone again. Still, she had called him back. He wished he could put the phone down and walk away. But he couldn’t. He knew he couldn’t.

Fitz played the voicemail and listened. He had expected to hear her voice. Instead, he heard someone retching. Sick as a dog. And then a cacophony of sounds. Shouting voices. Something thundering in the background. Fitz broke out in a sweat. What was this?

Maybe it was nothing. This afternoon he had jokingly put his number on speed-dial on her phone. Maybe she had hit it by accident, and he was just listening to normal life going on around her. But it didn’t sound normal.

He scrolled back and replayed the message, listening carefully. A woman’s voice, harsh and strident, was demanding that she give up the phone. Threatening her. And Morgan, sounding as if she could barely summon the strength to speak, was refusing. He heard the crashing background again. This time he was able to place it. He had lived by the sea all his life. It was the sound of the ocean. Morgan was on the beach with this other . . . person. His heart was pounding as he listened to it again. This time he heard Morgan say it. Astrid. And then the phone went dead.

Fitz stood there, holding the phone, trying to think. Astrid? Why would Astrid be with Morgan? Threatening her? He knew instinctively not to ask Dick Bolton. Whatever was going on here was going on behind Dick Bolton’s back. Which would not, Fitz admitted to himself, be anything new for Astrid. She seemed like the nicest lady in the world. Always helping Dick and fussing over Lucy. Guy was the only one who hadn’t seemed to buy her act. One time he and Guy were talking about Astrid. Fitz remarked that she was great-looking for her age, still attractive. She knows it, Guy said bitterly. She cheats on my father all the time. Fitz had been stunned to hear this. Are you going to tell him, Fitz had asked Guy?

No fucking way, Guy had said. And if I ever hear that you said anything . . . Fitz had promised to remain silent, and so he had. But it was not hard for him to imagine, now, that whatever Astrid was doing, Dick knew nothing about it.

He thought about calling the police, but what would he say? He could play them the voicemail that he had received, but they would probably laugh at him. Two women fighting over a cellphone. Hardly a police matter.

They were somewhere by the ocean. Well, he thought. That narrows it down. To the coast of Long Island. But even as he thought it, he surmised that they weren’t far away. Morgan sounded as if she were really ill. She wouldn’t have gotten far.

Fitz hesitated. Part of him wanted to just forget about it. It would serve her right. But at the same time he couldn’t take a chance. What if she needed his help? Morgan may have reached out to him. Now was no time to let her down. Well, the first, most direct thing to do, he reasoned, was to call back. He pressed the call-back number and waited.

After a number of rings, a voice answered, sounding breathless.

‘Morgan?’ he said.

‘No,’ said the voice. ‘She’s not feeling well. She’s lying down.’

Fitz hesitated. ‘Astrid?’ he said.

There was a silence at the other end. Then Astrid’s voice said warily. ‘Yes. Who’s this?’

‘It’s Fitz.’

‘Oh hello, Fitz. I think she said she was going to call you tomorrow. She’s just feeling so sick tonight. She’s got an awful headache. I was just about to leave.’

‘Where are you?’ said Fitz.

‘At the Captain’s House. Where Morgan is staying. I was just about to head home. I brought her some soup and she ate and then she fell asleep. I thought she might wake up but she’s out of it so I’m going to go. I don’t think you should bother her again tonight.’

‘Oh, all right,’ said Fitz. ‘Well tell her I called, will you?’

‘I will,’ said Astrid. ‘I’ll leave her a note.’

‘OK, thanks,’ said Fitz. ‘Bye.’

Astrid gave him a pleasant goodbye and hung up.

Fitz stood there, thinking about the conversation. Astrid had answered Morgan’s phone. So, Morgan was obviously unable to use it. Maybe that was because she was sick, or maybe it was something else. All the time Astrid was talking, Fitz could hear the roar of the ocean, the waves breaking close to her. Wherever she was, it wasn’t the Captain’s House. The Captain’s House was near the ocean, but that sound he heard was the surf. The water’s edge. Which meant Astrid was lying.

Fitz was pulling off the Las Vegas pants as he returned to his bedroom. He pulled on his jeans and a shirt, and grabbed a warm jacket. Then he stuck his phone in his pocket, and found his keys. If they were somewhere on the coast road, he knew he could find them.

Once Morgan had been choked unconscious, the rest of it was simple, Astrid thought. They were ankle deep in water when Astrid gave that last furious tug of the chain. Once she had her in the water, the waves did the rest. The tide had just crested, and was going out. Astrid had checked that before she set out tonight. The tide would carry Morgan’s body out, away from the beach, out into the dark ocean, and by the time they found what was left of her, there would be no explaining how she got there.

Astrid gave the girl’s inert form a gentle shove. Morgan’s eyelids fluttered for a moment. Even unconscious she may have been aware of the shock from the cold water. Astrid had a moment’s fear that the water might revive her. But her eyes closed again, and Morgan began to float, little by little, away from shore. Astrid watched the first few waves start to take her.

She knew what she would say if, by chance, the body was found, and they found that load of barbiturates in her system. The barbiturates which Astrid had dissolved in the hot chowder. Astrid would sadly suggest suicide. Say that Morgan had expressed desperation, depression, hopelessness, when Astrid visited and brought her the chowder.

Astrid took one last look at the body, peacefully floating. She could still see Morgan’s white face, and the rest of her was dark. Her clothes, even her hair was turned dark by the frigid water. Morgan would not be turning over any more stones on Claire’s behalf, and uncovering family secrets. And Morgan’s death would torment Claire, who would be left without her champion. Astrid shuddered when she recalled this afternoon – Fitz asking her about Guy being a rapist. All these years, Lucy had kept that precious secret for Astrid and now, thanks to Morgan, it was being bandied about. She had to be sure that it was never exposed as the lie that it was.

For one moment, watching Morgan being carried out into the water by the waves, Astrid was almost tempted to wade in there herself, to let the water take her also. Not for the first time, Astrid was tormented by the memory of how her plan had backfired so horribly. She had meant for Guy to find his baby murdered, and to blame Claire. All the while she planned it, Astrid imagined that Guy would banish his wife to prison and turn his back on her forever. Instead, the finding of their dead child had caused Guy and Claire to get into a physical scuffle and he, improbably, had fallen, hit his head and died. More of Astrid’s endless tears seeped from under her eyelids at the thought of it. Guy. Gone forever. She still couldn’t imagine her life without him. Couldn’t bear to.

Somehow, of course, she had always known that they were doomed. There was a time, early on, when he had begged her to hire someone to kill Dick, so that they could always be together. Astrid was always, nobly, against it. Even the times when he pleaded with her, she resisted, soothed him. Their desire was fueled by the impossibility of their situation. She knew that better than he did. Without frustration, it might end up being ordinary. She couldn’t bear that. She knew that she would lose him that way.

And then he met Claire. Like an alcoholic newly committed to AA, Guy had told her that he had found a new kind of life. A life he wanted. He said he was through with their affair for once and for all. She expected him to falter, to come back. But a year had passed, a baby was born, and still he stayed, insisting he was devoted to Claire. And then Claire’s depression over the baby had arrived, like a gift in her lap. Astrid had hatched her plan, but she had miscalculated, and now her life was hardly worth living. She reminded herself that she had to stay alive to see Claire sent to prison. Hear sentence pronounced on Claire who had bragged to everyone how much Guy loved her.

Astrid dared not linger here too long. Her own shoes, socks and pants were wet up to the knees and she had to get out to the car and change into the dry clothes she had brought with her. Change, and then quickly drive away. Just before she turned away from the sight of Morgan, floating out in the direction of the dark horizon, she took Morgan’s phone from her pocket, and looked at it. Would someone who was suicidal take their phone with them to their death, she wondered? She hesitated, thinking about that, and then decided that they probably would, simply by force of habit. Having decided that, Astrid threw the phone as far and as hard as she could into the water.

Then she turned and began to trudge back toward her car, and the dry clothes which awaited her there. She walked up the beach, her pants getting heavier with every step, weighted down as they were by water and sand. Her hand, which had been washed clean by the ocean, began to bleed again. She approached the car from the back and opened the trunk. She rummaged around and pulled out the dry pants and shoes she had brought along. She closed the lid, and met the implacable gaze of Fitz, staring at her.

‘Fitz,’ she exclaimed breathlessly, trying in vain to sound normal.

‘Where is Morgan?’ he said.

‘I guess at the Captain’s House,’ said Astrid. ‘Did you try there? I was just out for a walk.’

‘By yourself?’ he said.

‘Well, yes, of course, by myself.’