Quiet as the Grave (10 page)

But his mind was throwing on the brakes. What the hell was he thinking? She said they
were
free, but he wasn't now. Not really. At any minute, his son might wake up and come downstairs in terror.

Even more deadly, at any minute the doorbell might ring, and a cop would be standing there, holding a warrant for his arrest.

And besides, Suzie hadn't said she
wanted
to have
sex with him, just that there would have been no obstacles preventing it if they had wished to.

In fact, the one time he had asked her to have sex with him she'd said
hell, no
so fast it still made his head spin to remember it.

She was offering friendship, that was all. She couldn't know that he was so damn lonely, and had done without the comforting release of sex so damn long he'd gone half-mad and was thinking all kinds of impossible things.

“So, what do you think?”

He organized his mind with effort. “I think it's crazy. I think you should go home and forget about all this. Quigley isn't really after you, Suzie. He's after me. You're just the tool that's closest to hand right now. If you go away, he'll find some other tool.”

“Yeah, well, I'm not going away, so he'll just have to get used to that.”

“Suzie, this is a very generous gesture, but I really think—”

“Hey. You're just a dumb jock, remember, Frome?” Her voice was saturated with the saucy, bossy tone he remembered so well. “So you'd better let me do the thinking. After all, I'm the geeky freak who got blessed with a big brain instead of a big bra.”

He smiled and somehow kept his gaze from dropping to the curve of her firm, high breasts. He didn't know a single sane man who would say she wasn't designed just exactly right.

“Suzie, I can't let you—”

“
Let
me?” She frowned. “Have you forgotten who you're dealing with, Frome? Last time I checked, you weren't the boss of me. So stop being noble, and help me. We'll make better progress if we put our heads together.”

“You think so?” He couldn't help smiling. God, he had missed that determined line that showed up between her eyebrows when she got fussy. “Even if one of the heads belongs to a dumb jock?”

The furrow smoothed out, and she chuckled. “Well, that may have been a slight exaggeration.”

She moved past him, on a breath of wind that smelled like the past, like the freshly mowed lawn of Summer House and the earthy moisture of Natalie Granville's greenhouse. It made him ache for all the things he'd lost, because he had been the biggest fool God ever created.

Just inside the door, she turned.

“I've always been sorry I said no when you asked for my friendship the last time, Mike. I was—very selfish. Maybe I can make it up to you now.” She held out her hand. “Friends?”

He took her hand. It was warm, and even stronger than it used to be.

“Yes,” he said. “Friends.”

I
N SPITE OF EVERYTHING
,
Suzie felt almost lighthearted as she drove through the rain to Mike's office the next morning.

For one thing, she'd just had one of the best night's sleep she could remember in years. Mike hadn't wanted her to go out hunting for a hotel room by herself, given how late it was when they finished talking. He couldn't go with her, because of Gavin. So they'd compromised by throwing sheets and a blanket over the sofa. Mike had offered to take it himself, but Suzie had pointed out how disturbed Gavin would be if he woke in the night, came searching for his dad and found a strange woman in the bed.

“How do you know he'd find that disturbing?” Mike had given her a playful grin. “How do you know it doesn't happen all the time around here?”

“Puh-lease,” was all she'd said. And that had settled that. She'd wrapped herself up and fallen asleep instantly, lulled by the sounds of the water, and the rocking of the moonlight on the walls.

By the time she woke, Gavin and Mike were already in the kitchen, cracking eggs for breakfast. Gavin accepted her presence without surprise, and Suzie wondered what Mike had told him.

They were full of news. Mike had made a decision
in the night. He was going to drive Gavin up for a visit with his grandparents in Firefly Glen.

Gavin wasn't thrilled. While they ate their surprisingly good omelets, Gavin had argued against it. He didn't want to be away from his dad. He didn't want to miss school. He was learning to play Hugh's drum set, and they'd been planning to practice this weekend.

Mike had handled it well. From the beginning, it had been clear who was boss. But Mike brought the boy around, until, by the time they were washing dishes, Gavin seemed to be looking forward to the trip.

That's when Mike asked Suzie for a favor. He wanted to stay at the boathouse to help Gavin pack, but he needed some blueprints from his office. He asked if Suzie would mind driving over there, only a couple of miles, to pick them up. The office was closed, but he could give her a key and specific directions for how to find the blueprints.

She'd agreed without hesitation, glad to be put to use. Plus, Gavin seemed to take it for granted that Suzie would come along on the Firefly Glen trip, which meant Mike couldn't try to leave her behind.

All around, a very good morning so far. She hummed as she ducked through the rain and let herself into the small, attractive gray-shingled building whose plaque pronounced it the offices of Sheltering Shores Inc. Docks, Slips And Boathouses By Design.

It was modest but tasteful, exactly what she expected from Mike Frome, the professional. His father was a doctor back in Firefly Glen, and his offices were much like this. They'd probably hired the same quietly elegant decorator.

Mike's office was at the front, the big office with
the wide bay window. His desk was covered with books, papers, blueprints and models of boathouses they either had built or were hoping to build.

The papers were right where he'd said they'd be. It was organized chaos, a lot like her desk at home. It was the desk of a man who loved his job.

A photo of a grinning Gavin, taken back when his front teeth were still missing, dominated the credenza behind the desk. Suzie smiled back at it—she'd be willing to bet everyone smiled back at that goofy kid.

It wasn't until she was leaving the room that she noticed something lying on the seat of the guest chair.

It was a gun.

She started, taking a step back, and then she bent over to get a closer view. It didn't look like any gun she'd ever seen before—although, since she hated guns with a passion, that wasn't saying much. It was black. Large and clumsy-looking, with a canister on the underside.

She knew she was getting paranoid when her first thought was…
someone planted this here
.

Someone is trying to frame Mike for Justine's death.

But that wasn't only paranoid—it was illogical. Justine hadn't been shot, she'd been bludgeoned.

So what the heck was this thing doing here? She took one edge of her skirt—once again, she'd seen enough episodes of crime TV in which the innocent moron incriminates himself by picking up the gun that just shot his wife and leaving fingerprints everywhere. She wrapped the fabric around the gun, lifted it and held it toward the window.

She laughed out loud. With better light, she could finally see what was inside that odd canister. And it wasn't bullets.

It was paint. About two dozen little green and yellow balls of paint. She'd seen Mike and Gavin playing this game in the empty yard behind the boathouse. They'd seemed to be having a blast.

She dropped her skirt and held the gun normally. She put her finger on the trigger, testing it.

Nope. She still hated guns. Even this kind.

She was deciding whether to leave it here or bring it to the boathouse when she heard a door open in the back of the building, followed by the sound of voices.

Two people, a man and a woman. They were arguing. Or at least the man was. The woman's voice was so tearful it was hard to tell what she said.

“Just listen to me, listen to me,” the man ordered harshly. “Come here, damn it. If you're going to keep me on a short leash, don't you think you owe me—”

Suzie heard a whimper, followed by scuffling noises. Something that must have been made of glass fell with a loud, shattering crash.

“Oh, yes, you will,” the man said, and then Suzie recognized the voice. It was Rutledge Coffee.

She picked up the paintball gun and headed to the back of the building.

The people were so noisy she had no trouble finding the right room. The woman was still crying and scuffling. Rutledge had stopped talking, which wasn't a good sign.

Suzie flung open the door.

“Get away from her,” she said, pointing the gun at Rutledge. She tried not to let her face show how ridiculous she felt. It was a fairly Rambo moment, the kind of thing she seemed to be doing far too often these days.

Apparently she'd arrived just in time. Rutledge,
who was wearing only a pair of hideous Hawaiian print swim trunks, had the woman up against the wall. Her red face was streaked with tears, and her shirt was torn on one side, exposing a white lace bra. His left forearm was jammed up against her throat, and his right hand was digging around in his trunks.

Disgusting bastard
. He was probably so lathered up right now he hadn't even heard her. So she raised her voice.

“I said, get away from her.”

“What the—?” He whipped around. His arm fell from the woman's neck, and she bent her head forward, gasping for air. “Who the hell are you and what the hell do you think you're doing?”

“Gosh, Rutledge, I'm hurt that you don't remember me. I'm Suzie Strickland.” She aimed the gun at his crotch. His penis had almost escaped, and was peeking pinkly over the waistband of the trunks. “And I think I'm doing my good deed for the day.”

“Shit, put that gun down, are you crazy?” He crossed his legs and began shoving his personal parts back where they belonged. She didn't shoot, but she squinted one eye shut, to assure him that, when she did pull the trigger, she had no intention of missing.

“I might be,” she said. “But then, I'm not the one slapping people around and trying to rape them, so maybe not.”

He tried to laugh, but his voice was wobbly, and Suzie realized he was probably drunk. At noon? God, Rutledge Coffee was grosser than ever.

“Rape? You're still clueless, aren't you, Suzie-freaka? Deb here is my girlfriend. We live together. What kind of games we play is no one's business but ours.”

Games?
Like hell
. She glanced at Debra, who still hung her head and wouldn't meet Suzie's eyes. She might be afraid to contradict Rutledge, or she might simply be embarrassed.

“Fine,” Suzie said coldly. “You run on home, then, and if Debra wants to
play
any more, she can meet you there.”

He was recovering. He obviously had figured out that she held only a paint gun, which couldn't really hurt him. And Debra wasn't disputing his claim that what Suzie saw as a struggle had actually been consensual sex.

So if Rutledge decided to claim that she'd assaulted him, Suzie didn't have much of a defense. She could tell he was growing more confident by the second, sure she wouldn't shoot.

But she had embarrassed him. Like all bullies, he couldn't let that pass.

He smiled, a tipsy attempt to be sexy that failed completely. “Mike told me you'd turned into a looker. Nice legs, he said.”

He scanned her body while rubbing at his chest with such drunken self-satisfaction that her finger trembled on the trigger.

“Not bad,” he said, returning his gaze to her face. “Kind of flat chested for my taste, but what you do have looks nice and tight. Maybe we could think of a game all three of us could play. Would you like that?”

“Sorry,” she said. “Can't. Haven't had my shots.”

He flushed. “Suit yourself.” He reached out and threaded his arm around Debra's waist. “If you'd rather watch, I'm cool with that.”

Suzie cast one last look at Debra.
Come on
, she thought.
Time to get a spine.

Debra's cheeks were still wet with tears, but finally she met Suzie's gaze.

“Are you any good with that?” She nodded at the paint gun. “Can you hit a very,
very
small target?”

Suzie smiled.
Atta girl
.

“I can try,” she said, and pulled the trigger.

 

M
IKE AND
S
UZIE ENDED UP
staying in Firefly Glen much longer than they'd intended, though not, as Suzie had feared, because Gavin got clingy and wouldn't let his father leave.

Gavin clearly loved the Glen. Why not? Mike's parents doted on their only grandchild. The little boy had a tree house, a bicycle, a skateboard and a fort, all on the Frome estate. He also had his own room, complete with TV and video games and about a million books and CDs.

Plus, he had friends all over town. The Fromes had already invited the cousins over, three of the four little Quinn boys, all of whom hero-worshipped Gavin and let him order them around mercilessly. Cordelia Tremaine, Parker and Sarah's daughter, had shown up, too, but she was just about Gavin's age and insisted on being treated as an equal.

Gavin was up in the tree house now, plotting something with Cordelia, while the Quinn rascals climbed up and down the ladder, bringing them soft drinks and popcorn. He didn't even seem aware that his dad was still there.

No, Mike and Suzie hadn't stayed to comfort Gavin. They stayed for the same reason a man lost in the desert might linger at an oasis. They stayed because they felt safe here.

They had all eaten an early dinner on the back lawn, and Mike had gone off with his father to discuss the arrangements one last time. Suzie found herself sitting
with Ellen Frome while she graded the music theory workbooks turned in by her piano students.

The room was comfortable, with the sound of the children seeping in through the open window alongside the warm, slanting rays of the approaching sunset.

Maybe too comfortable. Suzie was getting sleepy. Rubbing her eyes, she stood and walked over to where the fresh air could touch her face. The fat summer trees were like black balloons silhouetted against the golden sky.

“I'm glad you're here for Mike right now,” Ellen said suddenly. “He needs a loyal friend.”

Suzie looked back at the older woman, wondering what to say. She'd always liked Mike's mother. Back in the old days, when Ellen used to chaperone field trips and dances at the high school, she'd been one of the few adults to treat Suzie like a real person. Suzie had always assumed it was because Ellen, too, was a little different. As the wife of a very successful doctor, she didn't need to work, but she always did anyway. “I'd go crazy if I had to lunch for a living,” Suzie had once heard her say.

Suzie decided to be honest.

“I'm not sure how much help I'm really going to be,” Suzie said. “At first, I was just mad, and I got this fever to set things straight. But deep inside I actually do realize it's not going to be that easy.”

Ellen laid down her red pencil and smiled. “You don't have to
do
anything in order to help him. You really believe he's innocent. That's the gift you bring.”

“Oh, that.” Suzie laughed. “You say it as if believing in him is a choice. But it's not. He
is
innocent. Anyone who knows him knows it. It's just a fact.”

Ellen shrugged. “You'd be surprised,” she said softly.

Her gentle face, with its dark eyes so like Mike's, looked sad. Suzie wondered if she'd heard something. It made Suzie angry to think it possible. Hadn't this family—one of the most decent in the Glen—been through enough?

“You know,” Ellen said, her eyes running thoughtfully over Suzie's face. “Once, a long time ago, David and I thought that maybe you and Mike…”

Suzie held her breath. Again, she wasn't sure what to say. Sometimes all that seemed so long ago—and so little had ever been spoken, really.

When Mike found out that Justine's baby was his, he had come to Suzie's house so emotionally wrecked that she couldn't tell whether her heart was breaking over her own pain or his.

He had tried to tell her something, something about his feelings, but, in her tormented disappointment, she had refused to let him speak. He was going to marry Justine, so
goodbye
and
good luck
. He was going to create a family with that screaming baby and that conniving bitch, and that was the end of it.

Suzie had hated him so much at that moment she had hardly been able to keep from crying.

But Ellen didn't seem to be waiting for an answer. She even seemed to have forgotten what she'd said. She seemed mesmerized by the sight of the children pouring down out of the tree house, laughing and stumbling like puppies.