To the Grave (22 page)

Dana smiled tightly in satisfaction at Bridget's gasp at her crude reference to the mayor and his wife, potential buyers, as “fish on the line.” “The Addisons would be horrified to think Ken would put selling a painting before his own child's health,” Dana continued. “I guarantee, Bridget,
that
information would quash any sales from them and also that Evelyn Addison will spread the news over half of Aurora Falls by bedtime, in which case I wouldn't expect the gallery to be packed tomorrow.”

“You needn't make threats, Dana,” Bridget answered sharply.

“It seems that I must. Now, get Mr. Nordine. Immediately.”

Dana heard the phone handset thump down on a desktop before Bridget muttered, “God, what a bitch! No wonder he gets so pissed off.…”

Idiot, Dana thought savagely. But Bridget had a voluptuous body, large dark brown eyes, and long, thick, near-black hair, unlike Dana's light ash brown that for years she'd been dying as close to Renée's shade as possible. Bridget looked like Renée—not quite as beautiful, but close. If Dana had not been gone the day Bridget Fenmore applied for the manager job, the young woman would have been out the door before Ken ever got a look at her. Unfortunately, Ken had hired Bridget two months ago and he looked at her frequently—far too frequently. And he intended to keep her as an employee until … Dana closed her eyes. Until when?

“What do you want?” Ken asked abruptly.

Dana took a deep breath. “I want to tell you that the pediatrician sent Mary to the hospital.”

“Why?”

“Why? Ken, don't you remember how bad she felt this morning?”

“No, not really,” he said vaguely.

“She barely ate and she said her stomach hurt. We sent her to school anyway. They called me two hours ago saying Mary was really in pain and feverish. The pediatrician saw her immediately and sent me directly to the hospital. He thinks she has appendicitis.”

“Appendicitis!”

“Yes, Ken. She told me her tummy has hurt since the middle of the night. If this has been going on for a while, there's a danger of her appendix rupturing, so she'll need an appendectomy soon. You have to meet me here now.”

“At the hospital?” Ken asked distractedly. “You want me to come to the hospital
now
?”

“Of course
now.
”

“Dana, people were lined up outside the gallery at ten this morning because of the Arcos exhibit. This place is full of people. I can't leave now. Besides, you have all the insurance information and her birth certificate and—”

“What would I need her birth certificate for?”

“I don't know.” He spoke away from the phone, telling someone he'd be with them in just an instant. “Dana, Bridget and I are too busy to even think straight. This is the biggest day we've ever had. You can handle this thing with Mary. I don't know why you're even calling me. You and Dr. What's-his-name know more about Mary's condition than I do. Besides, he's such an alarmist—she's probably just fine. The other doctors will see that and there won't even be an operation. Anyway, I'm busy as hell, so get a handle on things and get back here as soon as possible. I need you.”

“Oh, you need me, do you?”

“Sure I do. I told you we're crowded as hell. I tell you, I can get double, maybe even triple the asking price for some of Arcos's work.” He muttered to someone else again and then spoke distractedly to Dana. “Give Mary a kiss for me. Get back soon. I tell you, Dana, this is
the
great time for me!”

For you, Dana thought furiously after he'd hung up. Not for Mary, not for me. For
you.
He used to think when he married a woman from a well-heeled background, that had been great for him. Since he'd bought the rights to all of Arcos's work, though,
now
had become the great time for him—maybe the greatest.

Dana looked blindly down the busy hospital hall, her gaze hardening as her mind focused on the handsome, self-involved, unethical man to whom she'd given so much for so long. She didn't even realize she spoke her single thought aloud: “Well, Ken Nordine, we'll just see how long your latest great time lasts.”

 

CHAPTER TWELVE

1

Black silk tulle and lace. La Perla. Opium perfume. She'd discovered the perfume was Opium.…

“Dr. Gray, are you even listening to me?”

“Of course I am.”

“Because if I'm
boring
you, I can just leave!”

“You're not boring me, Mrs. Tate,” Catherine said patiently.

“I know this is Wednesday and I just saw you on Monday,” Mrs. Tate went on with embarrassed irritability, “but I thought you'd want to hear this news as soon as possible.” She gave Catherine a hard look. “
If
you're interested, that is!”

“I'm very interested.”

“You don't act like it. You're not saying much of anything.”

“Mrs. Tate, how can I react when you haven't told me your news?” Catherine heard the edge in her voice and tried to look fascinated. “Please tell me what's happened to upset you so much this afternoon.”

“My husband—I caught him in the act!” the woman announced triumphantly.

Catherine blinked at her, wondering how she could sound elated at this news. “You caught him having sex with his secretary?”

Mrs. Tate scowled. “Having sex? No! Having lunch!”

“They were having lunch together?”

“In his office. Just the two of them. With
wine
!” She made the wine sound like a third guest. “What more proof would I need?”

“Did they have a whole bottle of wine?” Catherine asked, feeling stupid but at a loss for anything intelligent to say to this earth-shattering news.

“Well, not sitting there on the desk. But they had full glasses. Fancy glasses, not those cheap tumblers we have at home. I'll bet those glasses were real crystal he keeps hidden away for their secret meals.” Mrs. Tate squirmed on the couch and Catherine briefly worried that the woman's glee might cause her to lose control and have an accident. “Oh, I've got him now!”

“What did they say when you walked in on them?” Catherine asked.

“They said ‘hello' normal as can be and asked me if I'd like a glass of apple juice.”

“Apple juice?”

“They were trying to fool me. I can certainly see the difference between apple juice and a fine white wine!” Mrs. Tate peered at her. “Can't you?”

“Well, maybe, in the right light…”

“Maybe? A lady like you? You'd damned well know the difference. They couldn't fool you. And they couldn't fool me, either! I'm no country hick that doesn't know anything about wine and such and can be outfoxed by the likes of them!” Mrs. Tate gleamed at her perceptiveness. “You would have been proud of me, Dr. Gray. I stayed cool as a cucumber. I acted casual and I was pleasant and…”

While Mrs. Tate rattled on about her astonishingly polished performance in front of the damning evidence of her husband having a sandwich lunch with his secretary, Catherine's mind wandered back to last night. When James had returned from the kitchen with drinks and aspirins, Catherine had sat rigid on the bed.

“This is Renée's,” she'd accused, holding out the black baby-doll night set to an amazed James. “It's La Perla. Do you know how expensive La Perla lingerie is? Well, I do. This little number must have cost hundreds of dollars.
And
it smells like Opium perfume. Opium. I remember that once Renée said she only wore Opium. Perfume, not cologne. I found the lingerie in the corner between your dresser and chest of drawers.”

“Then it isn't Renée's,” James said firmly. “It can't be Renée's.”

“It belongs to another woman?”

“Of course not!” James walked toward her, gazing at the lingerie set as if it were a poisonous snake. “The only other woman who's been here since I moved in is you.”

“Renée bragged to someone I know that she only wore La Perla lingerie. And the tag inside says it's from New Orleans. Did you sleep with
her
week before last?” Catherine asked furiously.

James had looked indignant. “Catherine! How could you even
think
—” James broke into near laughter, making her angrier. “This is ridiculous!”

“Oh?” She held up the lingerie again. “Is
this
ridiculous?”

“I don't know how that got here! Where did you find it?”

“On the floor in the corner between the dresser and the chest of drawers.”

James stalked toward the spot and peered down into the shadows. “Here?”

“Yes.”

“Why would
that
”—he gestured toward the lingerie—“be lying in this corner?”

“Uh, let's see. A woman dropped it?”

“I see. No doubt it was the woman who cleans this place once a week.”

“James Eastman, if you
dare
start making jokes I will leave right this minute.”

“In what? Your nightshirt?”

Catherine looked at the delicate, expensive La Perla lingerie, then her own knee-length, long-sleeved nightshirt and burst into tears.

In an instant, James sat down beside her, holding her tightly. “Catherine, darling girl, what are you thinking?”

“I'm thinking what any woman would be thinking.” Catherine snuffled. “I know I'm not oozing with sex appeal like Renée, but to think that you'd turn to her the minute she comes back to town is just … is just…”

James held her away from him, his expression darkening. “What the hell are you saying?”

“That she let you know when she came back to Aurora Falls. That you must have—”

“That I must have what? Invited her here and gone to bed with that tramp that almost ruined my life? Is that what you think of me?”

“Well, no, but you have to admit that the evidence is fairly damning.”

“
The
evidence? Some kind of skimpy nightgown lying in a corner of my bedroom is evidence that I slept with my ex-wife? And what makes you so sure it's hers?”

“Oh, there have been other women?”

James grimaced. “I swear, I'm going to shake you if you don't stop accusing me of being with other women,” he said with a shade of amused exasperation in his voice. “How could you think I'd even
look
at another woman when I have you? You're smart, and tender, and kind, and generous, and funny, and beautiful, and—” He broke off and drew a deep breath. “Have you been suspecting me of making love, or even just having sex, with other women?”

“Well…” Catherine sniffled. “No.”

“You haven't wondered if I might be tempted to have sex with another woman?”

“I never thought about it. Does that sound egotistical?”

James looked at her intensely, then smiled and kissed her forehead. “No. It sounds like the woman who knows I love her more than anyone in the world—the woman who knows I would
never
intentionally jeopardize our relationship. Doing such a thing would never cross my mind.”

Catherine was so touched by his words, she lowered her gaze. “Then I'm sorry I suspected you, even for a moment. I don't know what made me fly off the handle like that.”

“Love,” James said softly. “Love isn't casual, Catherine, and people in love don't take each other for granted. Occasionally their passion makes them jump to conclusions.” He paused as if thinking. “My God, I don't think I've ever sounded so pompous in my life.”

Catherine grinned. “That's all right. We're both emotional right now.”

“Pronouncements on the nature of love aside, though, what makes you so certain that night-thing belongs to Renée?”

“It's the kind of
night-thing
she would wear. And I told you, it was bought at a shop in New Orleans. It smells of her favorite perfume and the perfume isn't stale and old. It could be leftover from a couple of weeks ago when she was in Aurora Falls.”

James finally took the lingerie in his hands and held it to his nose. Then he nodded. “I remember this perfume. Frankly, I was never crazy about it, but Renée loved it. You're right, though. I'm not a perfume expert, but I can tell this scent isn't old. It's not fresh, like what you put on every day, but it's not old, either.” His eyebrows drew together. “Catherine, the lady who cleans this place is meticulous. She's worked for me for five, maybe six years. She was here last week and if she'd found it—which she would have—she would have left it on the bed. This thing was
not
in the corner of my bedroom last week.”

“Then…”

“Then someone planted it here,” James said easily, his voice calm. “Someone broke into the town house and left this for one of us to find.”

Catherine came back to the present with a jolt. It was mid-afternoon the next day and she was in her office listening to Mrs. Tate grow loud with pride as she recounted a nonstop narrative of today's events.

“I sat there like a lady through the rest of their
lunch.
I kept thinking how proud you'd be of me for throwing such a scare into them without saying
one mean word,
and it's all because of you. I did what I thought you'd want me to do, Dr. Gray.” Mrs. Tate was beaming at Catherine. Then her smile wavered slightly. “You are proud of me, aren't you?”

I haven't heard a word the woman said for the last ten minutes, Catherine thought, feeling regret and shame. Mrs. Tate's situation could have degenerated into one of chaos, even violence. Instead, the woman had held on to her feelings and acted reasonably because of
her
influence. Wasn't that the effect she'd hoped to have on her patients? And here she was, thinking about her problems with James and not even listening to Mrs. Tate's drama.