Quiet as the Grave (6 page)

“No, I didn't,” he said. “Just one of my many mistakes.”

 

S
OMETIMES
M
IKE BELIEVED
that if he hadn't let Justine talk him into leaving Firefly Glen, everything would have been fine.

There was magic here. The Sunday after Suzie's visit and her disturbing news, he went home for Spencer Fairmont's sixteenth birthday party. And as he watched his son playing touch football on the front lawn of Summer House, he felt his whole body relaxing.

Though there were about two dozen Glenner children out there, Mike couldn't take his eyes off Gavin. Look at that smile. He hadn't smiled like that since his mother's body had been discovered, almost a month ago.

Magic
wasn't an exaggeration.

And it wasn't just the magic of “home.” Mike knew that, when faced with your first mortgage payment, your first endless, numbing workweek, or your first real personal crisis, it was easy to get all misty about the innocence of youth.

But Firefly Glen was more than that, and he'd always sensed it, even as a child. Firefly Glen was special. Nestled in a small Adirondack valley, the town was ringed by wooded mountains and spangled with flowers, waterfalls, rivers and birds. It was peopled by gentle eccentrics who argued constantly, and yet stuck together with a loyalty that seemed to belong to another century…or a fairy tale.

Many of those quirky townsfolk were Mike's own kin. He was a fourth-generation Glenner, and his parents and grandparents still lived here. His cousin, Natalie Granville Quinn, had once owned Summer House, though the crazy old villa was now open to the public as a historic site—and rented out for parties, like this one.

“Can you believe how grown-up he is?”

Mike looked up and saw Natalie standing over him with a cup of punch in each hand. He wasn't sure which kid she meant. Birthday boy Spencer had come to Firefly Glen as a scared little boy of six. And of course Gavin had left here, ten years ago, as an infant. Three of Natalie's own four boys were out there, too—the fourth was still in diapers, too young to romp about with the big kids.

Mike took the punch. Natalie gathered her full yellow skirt under her knees and sat down on the step beside him. “Aren't you glad someone else is mowing this monstrosity now?”

He glanced around at the smooth carpet of grass, which was glowing with gold highlights as the afternoon sun began to drop in the west. “You bet I am. Aren't you glad someone else is in charge of the repairs?”

Natalie made a swooning sound and leaned her elbows back against the marble gracefully. “Giving this place up was the best decision I ever made.”

Just then Matthew walked by, their youngest son in his arms, and ruffled her hair. Both males made loud, wet kissing noises. Natalie kissed back, then grinned at Mike. “Make that second-best.”

Frankly, it was hard to believe that this happily sex-crazed blonde was now a thirty-eight-year-old mother of four. She hardly looked a day older than she had at Mike's wedding ten years ago, while he felt about a hundred.

Guess true love really was the fountain of youth, he thought, trying not to be bitter.

“You make marriage look easy,” he said. He glanced around. Now that twilight had settled in, the
band up on the balcony had begun to play slow songs. Couples were swaying together in little love pods all along the front courtyard. Spencer had a new girlfriend, and they looked so sweet, foreheads touching, hands folded between their bodies as if the dance were a prayer. Ward Winters, who was nearly ninety, was in a lip-lock with Madeline Alexander. Griffin and Heather Cahill were nuzzling like newlyweds. It just went on from there.

He turned back to Natalie. “You
all
make it look easy.”

Natalie's brown eyes were gentle. “It is easy,” she said. “If you're married to the right person. You can't judge from your experience, honey. That was…well, it was like getting caught in a freak storm at sea.”

He noticed she didn't say Justine's name. As if there were a conspiracy to shelter him, whenever Mike entered the town limits, the problems of his “real” world dropped away. They had welcomed Justine back while the marriage lasted, and after the divorce no one ever said a word against her, especially not to Gavin. In fact, they rarely mentioned her.

Sure, occasionally crusty Theo Burke would begin to make some snarky comment, or maybe Ward Winters would start to grouch about Mayor Millner, but someone would always poke them hard, or stomp on their feet, and they'd swallow the words with a gruff apology, and the comforting cocoon would remain unbroken.

“Hurricane Justine wasn't completely unexpected,” Mike corrected. “Plenty of people warned me. I just wasn't listening.”

Natalie patted his shoulder. “That's not entirely your fault, either. You just had a really bad case of TB.”

He gave her a curious look. Natalie had always been eccentric. All Granvilles were. You rarely had any idea what she'd say next. He was actually kind of glad that he was only one-sixth Granville. He had troubles enough.

“TB?”

She nodded. “Testosterone Blindness. It afflicts young men from the ages of twelve to about twenty. Its symptoms include bad judgment, night sweats, following some gorgeous girl around with their tongue hanging out, and—”

“Are you guys talking about Granville?” Parker Tremaine, the Glen's favorite local lawyer, plopped down on the other side of Mike. “Because, much as I like your grandfather, Mike, I honestly think he's too old to be having quite so much fun dancing with Suzie Strickland.”

Natalie made an excited sound and immediately began scanning the dance floor for her irrepressible great-uncle. “That old devil,” she said, chuckling. “I didn't even know Suzie was coming. Is he really making a pass at her?”

“I might not go that far, but he certainly is enjoying himself.” Parker raised one eyebrow. “Can't say I blame him. It's been a couple of years since I've seen her. She looks
amazing
.”

Natalie glanced back at Parker irritably. “But of course she looks amazing, dummy. Didn't you know she always was a beauty under all that goop?”

“No,” he said flatly. “I didn't. I knew she was cuter than she wanted to let on, and of course she was always a work in progress. But this—”

“There they are! Hmm…oh, dear. This may be the beginnings of a Granville moment.” Natalie scrambled
to her feet, dusting off her yellow skirt. “I'd better go throw some cold water over him. Later, boys. Be good.”

Mike had located his grandfather and Suzie, too. He watched her smiling up into the old man's face, accepting his ridiculous flirtation with sardonic good humor. She was wearing red jeans and a halter top that had a surprisingly sexy updated-Grecian look, with ribbons crisscrossing her breasts, then falling with a seductive flare around her hips.

She still looked different from everyone else, but she didn't look wrong anymore. She just looked special.

As the music swelled, Granville dipped her, in old-style ballroom elegance. He bent over her arched body, nearly putting his nose in her cleavage. Mike felt annoyance squeeze his gut briefly…
Granddad, you dirty old bastard
.

But when Suzie straightened up her eyes were sparkling with laughter, and her cheeks were almost as red as her clothes. She put her hand on Granville's chest and pushed, removing him to a respectable distance. But she didn't look mad. She looked…

Amazing
might be an understatement.

Parker was watching, too. He looked over at Mike. “Did you know? Have you seen her lately?”

Mike nodded. “Actually, I saw her a few days ago, for the first time since I—left town. I was shocked. I'm like you. I knew she had something, but at the same time I didn't know…this.”

Parker smiled. “Obviously she didn't want anyone to know. I guess she wanted us to appreciate her deeper qualities.”

Mike laughed. “Like her sweet personality?”

“Well, no.” Parker laughed, too, and the two of them had a moment of silence, remembering just how little sugar Suzie had bothered to apply to life. “Like her brains, I mean. Her talent. And her spunk. I never knew anyone with more spunk.”

Both men watched as Natalie grabbed Suzie and spun her into a bear hug. The two women had always been great friends.

When Parker spoke again, Mike observed that the older man's voice was carefully casual. “So you saw Suzie again for the first time just recently? That's quite a coincidence.”

That's exactly what Mike had been thinking. He'd been home to Firefly Glen frequently during his decade of exile. He'd brought Gavin here as often as possible, so that at least some of the magic would rub off. But he had never run into Suzie. Her parents still lived here, and he heard she was in town fairly frequently. Though they didn't exactly run in the same circles, it was hard to believe they hadn't ever bumped into each other—unless she planned it that way.

She might have needed to ask him whether he'd avoided her deliberately while she painted Gavin, but he didn't need to ask her about this. Ten years of dodging him in Firefly Glen could not have been a coincidence.

And, hell, he didn't blame her.

So why, all of a sudden, would she abandon that plan and show up at this party? She had to know he'd be here.

Somehow he dragged his gaze away from the dance floor. He couldn't let himself get distracted by Suzie. He had something important he needed to say to Parker.

It wasn't going to be easy. He liked the protective oasis the Glenners had offered him. It had always been such a relief to be able to pretend, even temporarily, that there was no Justine.

But, deep inside, he'd always known the oasis was a mirage. Now he had to give it up. He'd finally met a battle so big, so uniquely his, that no one else could fight it for him. Not even the entire town of Firefly Glen.

“Parker, I need your help,” he said. “I think I may be in some trouble.”

Parker was about fifteen years older than Mike, and had always been like an uncle to him. He had called Mike immediately after Justine's body was found and offered to recommend a criminal attorney, just for safety's sake. Mike had been naive enough to say thanks but no thanks.

Parker looked concerned now, but not shocked. “It's Justine, I suppose. You've been questioned, I'm sure. Did it go badly?”

“I didn't think so. But they've been back twice, asking the same things over and over. They asked if they could look at my car. The one I was driving the day she disappeared.”

“Did you let them?”

“Of course I did. I don't have anything to hide.”

“Did you retain counsel?”

Mike shook his head. He had trusted that innocence was everything. He had believed in the system. He still believed in it, at heart, but…

“I didn't think I needed one. I thought it would look bad if I got a lawyer.”

Parker sighed. “So many people make that mistake.
But everyone needs representation. Even innocent people need help handling the system.”

He reached into his pocket. “Here—this is Harry Rouge's card. I brought it today because I had a feeling you might need it. I knew Harry in D.C. He's good, and he's got some experience with murder trials.”

Mike felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. “Surely you don't think this is going to get that far? To a murder trial?”

“Of course it will, with any kind of luck. She was murdered—there's no getting around that.” Parker smiled grimly. “But Harry will make sure it doesn't go to trial with you as the defendant.”

Mike took the card. It all felt like a bad dream. Even the card felt unreal. Or maybe it was just that his fingers were numb.

“Thank you,” he said. “I appreciate it.”

“You're welcome. Now you do me a favor, okay?” Parker pointed to the back of the courtyard. “See my poor beautiful wife over there being bored to death by Bourke Waitely?”

Mike looked. Sure enough, Sarah was sitting next to Bourke, a polite smile plastered to her face like a bumper sticker. She looked desperate.

“Yes,” Mike said. “I do.”

“Well, go save her, would you? Ask her to dance. I'm going to see if I can pry the amazing Miss Strickland from your grandfather's clutches.”

Mike stood, then held out a hand to help Parker to his feet, too. He looked over at Suzie, but he'd barely begun to formulate his idea even in his own mind before Parker began shaking his head.

“Bad idea,” Parker said softly. “The last thing in the
world you need right now is to appear interested in another woman.”

Mike frowned. “For God's sake, Parker, I'm not—I mean Suzie's not ‘another woman.' I've known her forever. She's just a friend. She's just…Suzie.”

“Wrong,” Parker said flatly. “She used to be
just Suzie
. Things are different now. Look at her, Mike. Now she's a motive.”

“O
KAY, NOW…MAKE SURE
you're balanced, and that your legs are touching the wall, right?” Suzie, who was standing on her head, took a quick look over at Gavin, who had just arranged himself, also upside down, next to her along the wall of Summer House's back porch. “You comfortable enough?”

Gavin wobbled, but steadied himself. “I guess so. This marble is pretty hard on my head.”

“Yeah, it helps if you have grass, or a pillow or something. But we'll just have to make do. Now, the whole point is to stare at something interesting.”

She used one hand to fold up the loose part of her shirt, which was dangling down over her face, and tuck it under her chin. Good thing she'd worn jeans to this party instead of that skirt she'd been considering.

“How about the stairs that lead to the grotto?” She pointed. “Right over there, with the statues on each side.”

Gavin moved his hands for better purchase. “Yeah, the statues look goofy upside down. And look—there's Cordelia, way out there. Hey, weird. I didn't know she looks like her mom, but when you see her like this, upside down, you can tell. And she's really got crazy hair.”

Suzie smiled, which was actually easier while you
stood on your head. Gravity worked with you for a change.

She hoped it was making Gavin smile, too, or at least distracting him a little. When she'd run into him a few minutes ago, here in this secluded corner of the back patio where she'd come to hide from Granville, he had seemed upset. He hadn't wanted to talk about it. He'd been willing to say only that one of the boys at the party had been a jerk.

But he had appeared on the edge of tears, so she'd pulled this old game out of her hat. It was the kind of crazy thing sensible people rarely did, so she hoped it would shock him out of his distress.

Her gaze caught on something nearer, something red and pointy. It was her fancy shoes, which she'd taken off before she'd stood on her head.

“Hey, look at my shoes. Man. I had no idea they were so plug-ugly.”

“Yeah!” Apparently Gavin was too young to know he was supposed to disagree. He laughed, which made his legs wobble again. “Those spiky heels look like knives, like weapons or something.”

Well, he was right. They did.

“I need new shoes, that's for sure.” She brushed them aside. “But that's the point, see? Sometimes, when things start to get you down, you need to step back and view the world from a new perspective.”

“Hey! There's Dad! It's like one of those movie tricks, where he seems to be walking upside down.”

Suzie watched Mike coming toward them, climbing the stairs with the physical grace that marked everything he did. Viewed this way, it was even more apparent. His body seemed to belong to him in a way hers had never belonged to her. She was always
tripping on her own feet and flinging her elbows into things. He was a thoroughbred racehorse, and she was a just-hatched duck-billed platypus.

He was squinting, as though he couldn't quite understand what he was seeing, and she saw his smile dawn as he finally comprehended. She briefly considered scrambling to her feet, but realized that would just look even dumber.

Better to brazen it out, even though she could tell that his gaze was locked on her bare stomach. Damn it, the blood had been flowing to her head for five minutes now, but he'd probably think she was blushing because of him.

“Hi, Dad,” Gavin said. “We're getting a new perspective.”

“It's a game we used to play in art school,” Suzie put in, trying to sound rational in spite of her bare feet and her hair pooled all over the marble. Also, with her lungs pressing into her throat like this, she sounded like Daffy Duck.

“Yeah?” Mike was still smiling.

“Yes. It helps you to start seeing what's really there,” she explained, “instead of what you're expecting to see.”

“Okay. So, what do you think, Gavin? Does the world look better from that angle?”

That was all it took. Gavin, who obviously had remembered his earlier distress, did a kind of backward somersault—just as gracefully as his father might have—and leaped to his feet.

“Dad, where've you been? I was looking for you. I want to go home.”

Oh, well. It had been worth a try. Suzie dropped her feet and stood up, too, though it involved a lot more
undignified wriggling. She tugged at her shirt, trying to make it settle around her hips again, but one of the ribbons was stuck inside her bra. She had to drag it out like a long strand of red linguini.

“Can we, Dad? Can we go home right now?”

“We really ought to stay for the cake.” Mike hesitated. “Why would you want to go so soon?”

“It's Spencer's friend Joe. I don't like him. He said—”

The boy cast a quick glance at Suzie. But then he decided that either she could be trusted, or his frustration was too intense to leave room for discretion.

“He said some really bad things about you, Dad. There's a cop out at the edge of the driveway, and Joe said that's because you're here. He said the cop is following you to make sure you don't—”

Mike's face was suddenly dark, his jaw clenched. “Make sure I don't what?”

Gavin stared at floor, but his jaw looked exactly like his dad's.

“Don't
kill
anybody.”

Oh, boy
. Suzie thought about the crowd of kids they'd left behind on the front lawn. Which one was Joe? He must be a visitor. Apparently someone forgot to hand him the official Firefly Glen credo,
thou shalt not poison paradise
, as he passed through Vanity Gap.

And what about the even more universal law?
Don't be cruel.

Suddenly Matthew Quinn appeared, loping up the stairs toward them, looking worried and annoyed. This Joe kid must not be a very smart bully, Suzie decided. Obviously he'd let his comments be overheard by one of Gavin's guardian angels.

“I'm sorry, Mike,” Matthew said. “Joe Streaker's a
brat. Parker's over there scaring the crap out of him right now.”

The tension in Mike's face remained. “Is it true?”

“What? That there's a cop in the driveway?” Matthew kept his voice low. Suzie had to strain to be sure she heard every word. But she wasn't the type to be a demure little female and pretend not to listen. “Yeah. An open tail, obviously. They're sending you a message. They want you to know they're watching.”

Mike peered across the grounds, though of course he couldn't see all the way to the drive. Then he put his arm around Gavin. “You okay?”

Gavin, who clearly had worked himself back into an emotional stew, swallowed twice, as if his throat were too tight. Once again his eyes were shining with unshed tears. Tears of fury, no doubt.

Suzie had fought back about a million of those in her day. Matthew Quinn, who was watching Gavin with sympathetic eyes, probably had, too. He'd once spent three years in prison for a crime he didn't commit. That was probably why he was such an expert on things like “open tails.”

“Of course Gavin's okay,” she answered for him, to give him time to get his throat under control. “He's just ticked off. Frankly, I think he deserves a medal for not handing Joe Streaker his bloody nose on a platter.”

Gavin looked up at her. “I was going to, I was going to kick his ass. I don't care if he is sixteen. But he ran away. He was
laughing
.” His hands folded into white-knuckled fists. “He thinks it's funny that my mom is dead.”

“Oh, yeah?” Suzie felt her own hands tightening. “Well, come on. Let's find this jerk. I'll hold him down for you.”

“
Suzie,
” Mike and Matthew said at the same time, and both of them held out their hands, as if to restrain her from racing off in search of Joe the Jerk.

“Okay, okay,” she said. She turned to Gavin. “Grown-ups are such buzz-kills, aren't they? It would have felt so good.”

Gavin smiled. “Yeah. It would have felt great.”

“Hey.” Mike bent down and took Gavin's elbows. “What did I tell you about kicking people's asses?”

Gavin screwed up his mouth, as if he were trying to remember.
“Don't?”

Chuckling, Suzie met Matthew's amused gaze over the heads of the other two. Gavin really was a chip off the old block, wasn't he? Served Mike right.

“Come on, Gav. What did I tell you?”

Gavin sighed. “You told me violence is for stupid people. You said smart people
think
their way out of trouble. But Dad, this guy is
soooo
—”

“Gavin, think it through. This guy believes we're the kind of people who would hurt other people. Want to make him right?”

“No, but—”

“Then let's go be civilized. Let's watch Spencer open his presents, and we can drive straight home after that, okay?”

Gavin scuffed the ground with one heel. “Okay,” he said reluctantly.

Mike stood. He gave his son a forward nudge and Gavin started moving. Matthew went with the boy, his hand on his shoulder for moral support. Mike turned to Suzie. “Thanks,” he said. “That was a very creative diversionary tactic.”

“No problem,” she said. “I've always been willing to make a fool of myself for a good cause.”

He gave her a long look, taking her in from head to toe. She caught herself fiddling with the ribbons on her top, checking their status. Damn it, was she going to start blushing all over again?

“Oh, and by the way…” He paused.

“What?”

She wondered whether he might be going to ask her why she'd shown up at a Firefly Glen party, after all these years. She had her answer ready. Because she wanted to, that's why. Because, now that she'd seen him once, she'd decided it was stupid to go on avoiding him.

But he didn't ask. Three, four, five seconds ticked by.

She tilted her head. “By the way…what?”

He reached out and tugged lightly on the tip of a red ribbon.

He smiled. “Nice shirt.”

 

A
S
M
ARSTON
C
OUNTY
District Attorney Keith Quigley pulled his Audi up to the squad car parked in front of Summer House, he could see right away that the policeman behind the wheel was half-asleep.

He idled his engine for at least thirty seconds, waiting for the officer to notice him. Nothing. Fifty murderers could have danced across this road in top hats, and Officer—was it deLuca?—wouldn't have noticed a thing.

Finally he tapped lightly on his horn. DeLuca jerked to attention, bumping his elbow on the edge of the window.

“Sir!” The cop, who probably was no more than about twenty-five, squeezed his eyes, trying to make them track in the same direction. “I'm sorry, sir. I didn't see you there.”

Keith smiled, but he kept it cool. “Good thing we don't believe Frome is a flight risk,” he observed.

The officer flushed, opened his mouth as if to make a defensive comment, then closed it. DeLuca didn't report to Keith, not technically. But he reported to the sheriff, who knew better than to annoy the D.A. Keith didn't believe in keeping a “hands off” policy in his investigations—especially murders. He got involved as soon as he had a body, and he stayed involved until he got a conviction.

DeLuca flushed. “Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir.”

Was there a hint of sarcasm in the kid's voice? He was young, tall, good-looking—all things Keith would never be. But he was also a nobody, and that was another thing Keith would never be. Keith had climbed a steep ladder to get where he was, and he didn't plan to let failure ever force him back down those slippery rungs again.

“Frome is still at the party?” Keith glanced up at the beautiful villa, which was so extravagantly lit that it glowed like a giant topaz on the hillside above.

“Yes, sir.”

God, all these
sirs
made him feel old. Maybe it was because he suspected they were being deliberately overdone. Or maybe he just
was
old—his sister had thrown him an “Over The Hill” party for his fortieth birthday last week. She was only thirty-two, so she thought the black balloons and joke gifts of canes and prune juice were a riot. She hadn't come as far as Keith had. She still thought small.

They didn't think small up there in the Summer House. You'd think they were holding an inaugural ball up there, not some kid's sixteenth birthday party. They must have a million lights blazing, and the cars that
lined Blue Pine Trail were all glossy new superstatus machines.

Keith felt his mouth go sour. His own status machine was a lease car, and the lease was just about up. He'd either have to find thirty grand or give it back.

“You're sure he's in there?”

“Well, his car hasn't come out, sir, and this is the only exit from the property. But my instructions were not to maintain visual—”

“Yes.” Keith nodded. “You're right. Well, carry on, then.”

Keith chose not to explain what he himself was doing in Firefly Glen, though he knew that the young officer was curious. Let the kid think Keith had shown up just to monitor him. That would keep his nose clean for months.

As he drove away, though, in his rearview mirror he saw deLuca raise his left hand and thrust out the middle finger. Adrenaline surged through Keith's body, and he almost slammed on the brakes and backed up, right into the stupid bastard's patrol car.

He controlled himself with effort. He knew that most of the officers on the force hated him. He'd seen their vulgar cartoons, picturing Keith as a pop-eyed toad licking the ass of the Lady Mayor, who was drawn as a recoiling, horrified princess. The street cops were superficial people, and of course they would fixate on his looks.

As if IQ and determination didn't trump
pretty boys
every day of the week.