Light in Shadow (23 page)

He nodded. “There were rumors at the time that her husband might have pushed her, but nothing was ever proven and the authorities did not go out of their way to pursue the investigation.”

“Do you think she was the victim of domestic violence?”

“It's very possible.” He picked up the Foote journal. “This is her husband's journal. According to what I've read, he feared that she was having an affair with a man named Jeremy Hill. He was outraged because she invited Hill to a large weekend house party here at Nightwinds. The place was filled with guests. Camelia died sometime during the first night. Her body was found in the morning.”

“Who found it?”

He was impressed. “Good question.”

“I've heard that the police always take a close look at whoever discovers the body. I know they certainly asked me a lot of questions that day when I found Preston.”

“It's very often the killer who reports the murder. And it could well be that is what happened here.” He opened the journal to one of the last entries. “Foote found Camelia that morning. Here's what he wrote a few weeks later.

“. . . I still cannot believe that she is lost to me, all of her beauty, charm, and spirit extinguished forever. I walk through the house and see her lovely, laughing ghost everywhere I turn, mocking me. . . .”

“Sounds like an inconsolable husband,” Zoe said softly.

“I think he was distraught, all right.” He closed the journal. “But the part about the lovely, laughing ghost mocking him is interesting.”

“Do you think Foote was suffering pangs of guilt and that he believed Camelia was haunting him?”

“Maybe. I haven't finished the journal yet.”

“You've got some doubts?”

“A few, yes.” He put the journal down on the desk and scooped up the notebook in which he had written his observations concerning the Foote case. “There is some confusion with the time line. Camelia was very visible off and on throughout the evening until sometime around midnight. No one recalls seeing her after that. But earlier Camelia and Hill had disappeared together for a while. Foote notes in his journal that he saw them returning to the house. He was sure they had made love.”

“Did Foote confront them?”

“According to his journal, he was so depressed by the knowledge that he could not compete with Hill for his wife's affections that he went to his bedroom and finished off a bottle of scotch. He remembers nothing more until he awoke the next morning, went for a walk to clear his head, and found Camelia's body.”

“His claim that he had passed out in a drunken stupor and slept until the next day does sound like a convenient excuse.”

“Could be. Or it could be the truth. None of the servants saw him after he went into his bedroom. No one recalls seeing Camelia after midnight.”

“If Foote didn't come out of his bedroom until the following morning, that leaves you with all the house guests as suspects.”

“I don't think so,” he said, “I think it leaves Jeremy Hill as a definite possibility. The problem is that although Camelia vanished from the party, Hill was seen by many people throughout the course of the evening until the household finally went to bed around three. But he must have gone out a second time because one of the servants saw him return to the house through the gardens shortly before dawn. Hill was alone. Said he'd gone for a walk.”

“The lover. Why would he murder her?”

“Because he wanted her very much,” he said quietly.
“And she refused to leave her rich husband for him. But like I said, there's a problem with the time line. The only two people who are missing from the party at the same time are Camelia and Abner Foote.”

“That settles it. I'm betting it was the husband. Such a common pattern.” She studied him. “How will you ever get at the truth?”

“Jeremy Hill married a couple of years after Camelia died. Evidently he drank heavily. His wife divorced him and later remarried. Hill fell ill and died a short time after the divorce, leaving no offspring. I'm trying to find some of his ex-wife's descendents to see if there are any letters or journals that might shed some light on her first marriage. I'm also trying to find some letters written by people who were guests here that night.”

“Good heavens, you could spend months or years tracking down the facts.”

“There's no hurry,” he said.

“But it's worth it, isn't it?”

He shrugged. “Like I said, it's something to do in the evenings.”

“No.” She looked at him with deep, knowing eyes. “It's a lot more than that. It's a calling.” She walked to where he stood and touched his jaw with her fingertips. “When you do get the answers, you create a little justice. You balance some invisible scales somewhere. Even if no one knows or cares, you've done a good thing, Ethan.”

She understood, he thought. His hobby intrigued some people and repelled others. A few took an academic interest in it. But until now he had never met anyone who understood deep down why he investigated the coldest of cold cases.

She raised her mouth and kissed him. He put his arms around her.

He heard the click and felt the rush.

The screams in the walls pierced the drug-induced fog in which she had been drifting all morning. She stopped abruptly, digging in her heels. Frantically she tried to get her bearings.

There was an open door in front of her. Dr. McAlistair had a hand on her shoulder, urging her to enter the room. To her right, a burly-looking man in a uniform watched her with a grim expression. She had a vague recollection of someone having addressed him as sheriff.

“No, please,” she whispered. “I don't want to go in there.”

“It's all right,” Dr. McAlistair said. “You're not alone. I'm here with you.”

“No.” She tried to escape the hand on her shoulder. Dr. McAlistair tightened her grip.

“You only have to enter the room for a couple of minutes,” Venetia McAlistair said coaxingly. “Just
step inside and look around. Tell me what you sense.”

“No.”

The man in the uniform scowled. “I don't know about this, Doc. She seems real upset. You sure you need her input?”

“I'm extremely interested in her reactions to the crime scene.”

“She looks like she's gonna be sick. I don't need her messing up the evidence.”

“She'll be all right. The drugs I gave her should keep her reasonably calm.”

“She doesn't look calm to me,” the sheriff said.

Damn right, I'm not calm.
She opened her mouth and shrieked.

“Stop it,” Dr. McAlistair shook her. “Stop it. You're losing control.”

Whatever. Anything to keep from having to enter that room.

She screamed louder.

“Get her out of here,” the sheriff snapped. “I haven't got time for this.”

Dr. McAlistair reluctantly guided her back toward the car.

She continued to scream. It seemed to be having the desired effect. McAlistair was taking her away from the house with the shrieking walls and that was all that mattered.

“Stop it,” McAlistair said, furious now. “Stop it immediately, do you understand?”

“Zoe, stop it.
Wake up. You're dreaming.”

She came awake in the middle of a muffled sob, opened her eyes, and saw Ethan leaning over her. Perspiration was growing cold on her body. She could feel her heart racing. It took her a few frantic seconds to remember where she was. Then she saw the silhouette of a giant swan wing.

Oh, damn. Another nightmare. At this rate, he was going to conclude that she really was a basket case.

She sat up, clutching the sheet. “Sorry. I told you this might be a problem. If I'm going to stay here with you, I'd better sleep in one of the other bedrooms.”

“I don't want you sleeping in another room.” He levered himself up against the pillows, reached out, and pulled her into his arms. “I want you in my bed. What was the dream?”

“Just another bad one from the days when I was locked up. Trust me, you don't want to hear the details.”

“Yes, I do. Tell me about it.”

Maybe it was because it was the middle of the night and he had not turned on the lights. Maybe it was because he had made slow, passionate love to her before they fell asleep. Maybe it was because he had told her about his hobby and she had looked into some deep places inside him that she sensed he did not reveal very often.

Maybe she just needed to talk to someone about the dream.

“I told you there was a doctor who took a special interest in my case.”

“McAlistair. The one who did some consulting work for some of the small-town cops in the area and tried to find out if you could do the woo-woo thing at crime scenes.”

She winced. “You've got a good memory.”

“This McAlistair was in your dream?”

“Yes. The dream was about an incident that happened while I was at Xanadu. McAlistair was consulting on a murder case. She managed to sneak some meds into my food that morning and then she drove me out to the house where the crime had been committed. Tried to make me go into the room where two people had been murdered. I balked.”

“Understandable.”

“She tried to force me to go inside. Told me I had to learn to control my anxiety.”

“As if not wanting to enter a room where people had
been murdered was just some kind of normal phobia. Something to get past.”

“Yes. Anyhow, the sheriff was afraid that I might throw up all over his crime scene. When I started screaming, he ordered Dr. McAlistair to take me away. I could tell that she was very frustrated and angry but she drove me back to the Manor.”

“The sheriff ever find the killer?”

In spite of the fact that her pulse was still trotting along at a brisk clip and her breathing had not yet returned to normal, she smiled. She should have expected that question, she thought. Ethan liked answers. More than that, he
needed
them.

“I saw a newspaper in the hospital library a few days later,” she said. “There was a picture of the house and a headline about an ex-husband having been picked up on suspicion of murder.”

“Did Dr. McAlistair ever try to pull that kind of stunt again?”

“One other time. With the same results. I started screaming and I kept on screaming until the cops ordered her to take me away. After that, I think she realized I wasn't going to respond to that sort of therapy.”

“It wasn't therapy. She was trying to use you.”

“Uh-huh.”

He settled himself more comfortably against the pillows. “I don't like McAlistair, but I can't see that she has a motive for killing Grady.”

She sighed. “You've got a one-track mind, you know that? What does my dream about McAlistair have to do with finding Grady's killer?”

“Nothing probably. I'm just trying to make connections. My gut tells me that Grady's murder relates to your situation.” He slid one hand down her arm to her hip. “Think you can get back to sleep or shall we go for warm milk?”

She kissed his bare chest. “I've got a better idea.”

“Yeah?”

She kissed him again, closer to his firm, flat belly, and
moved her hand down the front of his body. He was hard and heavy.

“Yeah,” she said.

He shoved his fingers through her hair.

“Definitely a very good idea,” he said. “Best I can remember in a long time.”

She took him into her mouth.

“
Excellent
idea.”

His hands clenched fiercely in her hair.

She felt him go hard and tight.

And then he was hauling her up alongside him, rolling her onto her back. When he entered her, she was ready for him. She wrapped herself around him and hung on for dear life.

At eleven o'clock
the following morning, Zoe put down the pencil she was using to make a sketch of a living room layout for a client and looked at Bonnie.

“You must be getting pretty bored,” she said.

Bonnie closed the romance novel that she had been reading and smiled. “Don't worry, I'm not bored. Actually, it's rather pleasant to spend some time with another adult female. I haven't had a chance to meet too many people yet here in Whispering Springs.”

“It's always hard moving into a new community.”

“I'm getting involved with some activities at my sons' school and that helps. But what I'd really like to do is find an interesting part-time job. Financially, we're okay, thanks to my husband's insurance policy. But I need to get out of the house more.”

“Trust me, I understand. Got any ideas?”

“Before I married, I worked as a librarian,” Bonnie said. “I've been out of the field for a while, but I'm going to
submit an application to the Whispering Springs Public Library and also to the local community college library.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Zoe said.

“How did you get into the interior design business? Were you a designer before Forrest Cleland shipped you off to Candle Lake Manor?”

“No, I got a degree in fine arts. I was working in a small art museum when I met Preston. He had a special interest in a particular painter we both admired and asked some questions. The next thing I knew—” She stopped.

“You were in love and making plans for a wedding,” Bonnie concluded.

“Yes.”

“That's how it was for Drew and me, too.” Bonnie sighed wistfully. “The first year after he was gone was hell. But in the past few months, I've noticed that I'm starting to think of my marriage as an event that happened a long time ago.”

“Another lifetime.”

“Yes. It would have been so difficult without Ethan. Especially for the boys.”

Zoe fiddled with her pencil.

Bonnie watched her doodle for a moment.

“You're wondering why Ethan and I never moved beyond our current relationship, aren't you?” she asked.

Zoe cleared her throat. “You do seem very close, and his affection for Jeff and Theo is obvious.”

“Ethan and I will always be good friends, but that is all we will be.”

“You sound very sure of that.”

“Some things you know from the start. I think of him almost as the big brother I never had. It works both ways. Ethan views me as a sort of sister, not a potential wife.” Bonnie glanced at the photos of Nightwinds. “Did you take those?”

“Yes. I was out walking with my camera that day.”

“Great shots. The house looks like it exists in a parallel universe. Very otherworldly. Do you do portraits?”

“Not professionally. Photography is just a hobby.”

“Much more than that, at least judging by those pictures of Nightwinds. Rather like Ethan's interest in solving old murders.”

“He told me about that last night.”

“Is that right?” Bonnie studied her intently. “Did it strike you as a little weird?”

“No. It struck me as very Ethan-like.”

“Ethan-like.” Bonnie chuckled. “Yes. That is exactly what it is.”

“Ethan needs to pursue answers and balance the scales the way other men need to drive fast cars or search for gold. It's part of who and what he is.”

“That's almost exactly what Drew used to say about him.” Bonnie leaned forward in her chair and folded her arms on her knees. “None of Ethan's previous wives understood that about him.”

Zoe wrinkled her nose. “I'd rather not discuss Ethan's previous wives, if you don't mind. It brings to mind the fact that, because of me, he will soon have a fourth ex.”

“Not necessarily.”

Zoe blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Ethan has done a lot of things for his clients in the past, but he's never married any of them.”

Zoe waved that aside. “Probably because he never saw the necessity to go that far. My case is somewhat unusual.”

“Ethan has had some very unusual cases. Something else you should know about him. He doesn't sleep with his clients, either.”

Zoe was starting to feel cornered. “Yes, well, I wouldn't read too much into the fact that he and I are involved in a relationship. It was just one of those things, you know?”

Bonnie said nothing.

Zoe felt a tingle of inexplicable panic.

“Well.” She put down her pencil and got to her feet. “I don't know about you, but I could use some coffee. There's
a little place around the corner. Why don't we take a short walk?”

“Good idea.”

 

Singleton Cobb showed
up at two.

Zoe was interested to see that Bonnie suddenly seemed a bit more animated, almost as if there was some extra energy running through her. For his part, Singleton had a hard time looking away from her. He seemed oddly flustered.

He turned to Zoe. “Looks like I'm your company until closing time. I'll drive you to Nightwinds after work.”

“Okay,” Zoe said, trying to appear pleased. This business of having a constant escort was going to get old fast. She wondered how Arcadia was making out with Harry Stagg. Maybe the phrase
making out
was not the best way of putting it.

Singleton cleared his throat. “Ethan invited me to join the rest of you for dinner. Heard tell we're ordering in pizza and salads.”

“The basic food groups,” Bonnie assured him. She collected her shoulder bag and found her car keys. “I'd better be on my way or I'll be late to pick up Jeff and Theo. See you all later at Nightwinds.”

 

At five o'clock
Zoe locked the door of her office and dropped the heavy doorknob key chain into her tote.

“I need to stop by my apartment and pick up some things,” she told Singleton.

“No problem.”

They walked together to the small lot where Singleton's large SUV was parked. He opened the passenger door for her with a touching gallantry and then he climbed in behind the wheel and fired up the big engine.

“This business of having a constant companion is
probably starting to wear thin,” he said, reversing out of the parking slot.

“How did you guess?”

“I know how I'd feel if I were in your shoes.” He gave her a reassuring smile. “Don't worry. I don't think this situation will go on for long. Ethan will get it sorted out.”

“Probably.”

“You and Truax going to give your marriage a chance?”

Great. He'd brought up the very last subject she wanted to discuss today.

“This isn't what you'd call a marriage,” she said crisply.

“Yeah? What would you call it?”

“Ethan's notion of an expedient solution to a pressing problem.”

“Truax says you've got a license and had a ceremony and everything.”

“That doesn't make it real.”

“Can't argue that,” Singleton said. “Makes it legal, though.”

“Makes this whole situation very strange, is what it makes it, if you ask me. And getting stranger by the hour.”

“I talked to Bonnie while you and Truax were in Vegas. We both think the two of you sort of fit together somehow. Why not let things go on as they are for a while after this is all over? What have you got to lose?”

She was getting that panicky feeling again. Time to change the subject.

“Turn left here,” she said firmly. “You can park in front of that green wrought-iron gate.”

“Sure.”

Singleton did as instructed. She opened the door and jumped down from the high passenger seat before he could get around the front of the vehicle. She walked quickly to the green gate and reached into her tote for the key chain.

Singleton eyed the brass doorknob. “Heck of a key chain ornament. Isn't it a little heavy to haul around in a purse?”

“I'm used to it.”

She opened the gate, led the way through the small garden, and unlocked the lobby door.

“You can wait here,” she said. “I'll be down in a few minutes.”

“Take your time.”

She hurried up the stairs to the upper floor, trying to remember all of the items she wanted to transport to Nightwinds. When she reached the top, she turned and went down the hall. She stopped in front of her door and inserted the key into the lock.

The door of the trash disposal room opened behind her. Startled, she turned to greet whichever neighbor had just finished getting rid of his garbage.

But the man who rushed out of the small room crossed the narrow hall in a single stride and grabbed her before she realized he was not a neighbor.

Ron.

“Gotcha, bitch.”

He wrapped one arm around her throat, cutting off her air and slapped a palm over her mouth. Her shout to alert Singleton died in her throat.

Another man emerged from the doorway of the vacant apartment on the left.

Where Ron went, Ernie was sure to follow.

“Get her inside,” Ernie muttered. “Hurry.”

“Take it easy.” Ron dragged her across the threshold of her apartment. “None of the neighbors are here.”

She struggled, trying to grasp the edge of the door frame. Darkness hovered at the edge of her vision.

“There's someone downstairs in the lobby.”

“Got the needle?” Ron demanded.

“Yeah, sure. Just get her inside where we can do this in private.”

She became conscious of the weight of the brass doorknob dangling from the key chain clutched in her fist. It centered her as nothing else could have done. She carried this sucker around for a reason, she reminded herself. Her brain cleared a little and some of her training in
self-defense kicked in at last. She could almost hear her instructor,
about time you started thinking.

She swung her arm up and back as far as she was able, aiming the doorknob at the side of Ron's head, praying she would not strike her own skull instead.

She was not sure of her target but she did connect with some portion of Ron's anatomy.

“Shit.” He jerked back reflexively, briefly loosening his lock on her throat. “She's got something in her hand.”

“Singleton.”

Ron tightened his arm around her throat again, hurting her.

She swung a second time, a wide sweeping arc that would have caught Ernie in the chest if he hadn't hurriedly stepped back.

“Just wait, bitch,” Ron hissed in her ear. “Just wait until we put you in those stirrups back at the Manor.”

“You got her?” Ernie asked nervously.

“I got her. Stick her. Hurry up, damn it, someone's coming.”

Ernie closed in, syringe in hand.

She swung the doorknob again, wildly, trying to hit his arm and managed to knock the syringe out of his hand.

The front door of her apartment slammed open. Singleton burst into the room, roaring.

“Let her go.”

He grabbed Ernie, hauled him around, and slammed a fist into his face. Ernie hit the wall.

“Get outta here,” Ron shouted furiously at Singleton. “She's crazy. We're taking her back to the hospital. We're medics.”

“Yeah, she's dangerous, man.” Ernie scrambled to his feet, clutching his jaw. “We gotta take her in.”

“Bullshit,” Singleton said. He rounded on Ron.

“We're medical professionals,” Ron snarled.

Zoe swung the doorknob up and back a second time, striking solid flesh again. Ron's ribs, maybe.

“You crazy bitch.”

He let her go so suddenly that she had no chance to catch her balance. She tumbled to her knees.

“Let's get outta here,” Ron shouted to Ernie.

Ernie did not respond. He was already barreling toward the door. Singleton seized him just as he started through the opening and hurled him back into the room. He slammed into Ron. The two hulks went down like bowling pins.

“Come on.” Singleton grabbed Zoe's hand and hauled her to her feet.

Together they ran out into the hall. When they were clear, Singleton stopped, whirled around, and yanked the door shut. He held it closed with a two-handed grip on the knob.

“Call 911,” he bellowed. “Then call Truax.”

She dug her phone out of the fallen tote and started punching in numbers.

 

They ate cold
pizza and salads on the patio beside the pool. Jeff and Theo had finished their dinner while Ethan shepherded Zoe and Singleton through the police questioning process. When they got back to Nightwinds, the boys had disappeared into the theater to watch television on the big screen.