To the Grave (24 page)

Oh God, Dana thought in disgust, but Mary was enchanted. “Really, Bridget? Did you really see an angel?”

“Would I tell you I had if I hadn't?” Bridget asked, all wide-eyed and sweet voiced.

Dana rolled her eyes, but only Ken saw her before he turned his attention back to his daughter. “Isn't that wonderful, Mary? Bridget saw an angel that looked just like you.” He gave Dana a long, cold stare. “I'm sure Mommy
never
saw an angel.”

“Did you, Mommy?” Mary asked. “Did you ever see an angel?”

“No,” Dana said flatly. “I don't hallucinate.”

Mary looked puzzled. “Huh? Hal … hal—”

“Well, visiting hours are over,” Ken interrupted, managing to sound regretful.

“Not for an hour,” Dana pointed out.

Ken didn't even glance at her but kept his electric blue eyes on Mary. “You need to get rest, honey. That's what the doctor would say. Besides, Bridget and I had a very hard day. That's why we closed the gallery early. We have to rest and get ready for tomorrow.” He leaned down and once again barely brushed a kiss on Mary's forehead. “See ya later, alligator!”

“After while, crocatile,” Mary answered as always.

Ken barely glanced at Dana. “G'night.”

“Good night,
Mrs
. Nordine. It was lovely to see you,” Bridget simpered, looking as if she might curtsy.

For nearly five minutes Mary chattered about her carnations, how handsome and nice Daddy was, how pretty and nice Bridget was, how nice it was to have so much comp'ny, and wondering if she'd have a
huge
scar from her operation. If she did, maybe she could show it at school, even if it was on her tummy. Meanwhile, Dana sat staring fixedly at the doorway through which Ken and Bridget had vanished, wondering what they were doing, what they were saying. Dana was certain they weren't discussing Mary's health.

Finally, a nurse shook her shoulder. “Mrs. Nordine? Did you go to sleep with your eyes open?”

Dana looked up into the middle-aged nurse's gentle brown eyes. “I think so,” she lied again. “I guess I'm tired.”

“Well, you certainly are, dear.” The nurse smiled at her. “You've been here since yesterday afternoon—over twenty-four hours! You must be exhausted. Mary is doing just fine, so why don't you go home?” She looked at Mary. “You don't mind if your mommy leaves you tonight, do you? I'll be here watching over you.”

“Like my guardian angel?”

You're more like an angel than Bridget's version of one, Dana thought before she asked Mary, “You won't be scared if Mommy leaves, will you?”

Mary shook her head vehemently. “My guardian angel is here. She'll prob'ly glow in the dark so I won't be scared.”

“Please, Mrs. Nordine,” the nurse almost implored. “It's twenty till eight and you look ready to collapse, no offense intended. You should have some decent food, watch a little television, and go to bed. You'll have to get your little one out of this place and settled back in her own bedroom at home. Then she'll need lots of love and attention.” She frowned and said rather insistently, “You really do need to leave, dear.”

Dana thought of her husband and Bridget Fenmore sailing out of the room looking like they were ready for a photo shoot, both astonishingly attractive, both full of smiles and good cheer, both acting almost as if they had a shared secret. “You're right,” Dana said, standing up determinedly. “I really
do
need to leave.”

2

“I'm so glad we came here tonight,” Catherine said, looking around at the warm interior of the Reddick restaurant. The knotty-pine walls, amber lighting, large tables decorated with fat yellow candles glowing in hurricane glasses, and soft rock music playing in the background gave Catherine a cozy, comfortable feeling. “I know I'm being wise, staying inside and under the eye of the surveillance patrolmen Eric assigned to me, but it's driving me nuts,” she said. “Besides, we haven't eaten here for months. I'd forgotten how much I like the place.”

“Me, too. Especially the food.” He looked down at his empty plate, “Do you realize how much lasagna I ate?”

“Why, no, I didn't notice,” Catherine said innocently. “Or how much bread or the
two
large pieces of cheesecake with strawberry sauce.”

“Did you happen to calculate the amount of cholesterol I consumed?”

“About enough for a whole week.”

“Well, you're running a close second.”

“I don't care. I wouldn't mind putting on ten pounds. More.”

James smiled. “Neither would I. Let's get old and fat together.”

“That would suit me just fine,” Catherine said airily, trying not to place too much importance on his use of the word “together.”

“More coffee?” a handsome young waiter asked.

Neither of them had noticed him approaching the table. Catherine looked at James. “Is it too late?”

“No, I'm beginning to relax for the first time today. I'd love another cup.” He glanced at the waiter. “It'll have to be decaffeinated at this hour, though. Do you have any made?”

“The owner and his wife always brew a pot an hour before we close.” He smiled. “That's their bedtime drink of choice. There's plenty.”

“Then I'll have a cup, too,” Catherine said.

The waiter looked at James and asked seriously, “Another piece of cheesecake, sir? We have
one
left.”

“Ha, ha,” James said dourly, although Catherine could tell he was amused. “I'll have to report that sarcasm to the owner. He'll probably fire you.”

“I don't think so,” the waiter replied blithely. “He's my father. Be right back with that coffee.”

Catherine broke into giggles as he stepped away from the table. “Are you certain you don't want that last, lonely piece of cheesecake?”

James leaned forward and whispered, “Actually, I do, but I won't let that young stud know it. Jeez, he's built like a matador!”

“Or a flamenco dancer, not that I noticed,” Catherine returned naïvely.

“Yeah, sure.” James reached across the table and clasped her hand. “Are you having a good time tonight?”

“I'm having a wonderful time,” she said, realizing she felt more lighthearted than she had since the awful day at the cottage. “Why? Do I look or sound insincere?”

“You look and sound like
my
Catherine, whom I haven't seen for a while. I've missed her, although it's my fault she went away.”

“She didn't go away—just on hiatus.”

“After the La Perla incident?”

“My nerves have been on edge. I overreacted. Eric told us they'd found a couple of other ‘fancy night-things' in her suitcase and they all smelled of the same perfume.” Catherine looked at James seriously. “He said someone came into your town house and planted the lingerie.”

James nodded, then added, “I got the feeling he didn't believe that theory, though. In fact, I'm not sure he doesn't suspect me of even worse.”

“Like what? Murdering Renée?” James simply looked at her. “Oh, honey, that's crazy.”

“Maybe.”

“Definitely.”

“Whatever you say.”

“That's the attitude I like. Now, you did have your locks changed, didn't you?”

“Yesterday afternoon. There are only two door locks, though. You're the only person beside me with keys to my town house. Do you still have them?”

“They're locked in my spare jewelry box, which hasn't been touched. I checked and I'd know if the keys had been moved. Besides, Lindsay raises the roof barking if a stranger comes into our house.”

James shrugged. “Then someone could have bribed a staff member or maintenance person of the town-house complex to get a key. If so, we'll probably never find out who. God, I hate this communal living. I like having my own house.”

And you could have it so easily, Catherine thought, but said nothing.

“Anyway, the Catherine accusing me of sleeping with other women and crying is gone and
my
Catherine is back,” James said tenderly. “She's the light of my life.”

Fifteen minutes later, they walked briskly arm in arm from the restaurant into the unusually cold night. While James talked casually, a strange, almost primitive fear filled Catherine as restless shadows and shifting shapes seemed to surround them. She mentally told herself it was her imagination or the result of too much wine. Then she remembered she hadn't drunk anything except water and coffee.

I'm being ridiculous, Catherine thought. She looked around the near-empty parking lot and saw nothing unusual. Halogen lights glowed softly, a light breeze rattled stiff leaves stubbornly clinging to shrubbery near the building, and somewhere in the distance a dog barked monotonously. Catherine saw nothing in the least frightening. Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that a presence hovered near, watching, waiting.

Catherine's heart began to thump and her stomach tightened. Something wasn't right. No, worse than “not right.” She had no idea what it was, but she
knew.
She began to tremble, clutched James's arm tighter, and said shakily, “Something's wrong.”

“Wrong?” James looked down at her. “What do you mean?”

“I can't explain it. I just have a feeling that someone is watching us, that we're in danger—”

The shot burst through the darkness, quick and crisp. James stiffened, staring straight ahead. Catherine froze, then asked in a tiny, frightened voice, “James, are you all right?”

After a moment, he murmured, “I'm … fine … just a bee sting…”

James's voice seemed to float away into the night. Suddenly he let loose of her arm, fumbled at his upper chest, and pulled away a bloody hand. “Well … what…?” he slurred before slowly sinking to the concrete parking lot.

 

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

1

Catherine didn't scream. She didn't collapse. She didn't dive for cover beside one of the cars. She merely stood, looking at the fallen man she loved, her body turned to ice. After a few moments, she murmured, “James?” His eyelids flickered. Then a second shot tore through the darkness.

Catherine dropped beside James, huddling against him. She didn't know if she'd been shot—she felt only shock, cold, and the stillness of James. Trembling, she awaited a third shot, but the night remained hauntingly quiet. She reached toward James's chest and felt the warm blood soaking his coat. He's dying, she thought distantly. “I love you,” she murmured brokenly. “I love you more than anyone in the world. Please, James. Please don't leave me.…”

His eyelids fluttered. She reached behind her, scrabbling for her purse, her cell phone. James's eyes closed and his breath slowed. Catherine buried her head against him. “James, don't die! Don't go. Oh God, please don't go.…”

Then the darkness grew even greater as a form approached and stood over them. Before Catherine could look up, a blow cracked against her skull.

2

“Marissa, it's Eric,” he said with composure into his cell phone, forgetting that she always recognized his carefully modulated “Brace yourself. I have bad news” timbre. “Honey, I'm in the parking lot of the Reddick restaurant and—”

“What's wrong?” she demanded immediately. “It's Catherine and James, isn't it? They were going out to dinner—”

“Calm down and listen to me.” He turned away from the chatter of deputies and paramedics who had responded to the 911 call and were now tending to the crime scene. “They had dinner. Most guests had left as they were walking back to James's car. That's when someone opened fire on them.”

“What?” Marissa's voice was barely above a whisper. Then she almost shouted, “
What?
Opened fire? Someone
shot
at them? Were they hit? How badly are they hurt? Eric, are they
dead
?”

“No. They are
not
dead,” he said firmly. “Take a deep breath and repeat that to me.”

He heard Marissa take a slightly choking but fairly deep breath before she said woodenly, “They are not dead.”

“Good.”

“But Eric—”

Eric heard Lindsay barking. She always reacted to anxiety in Marissa's voice or manner. He knew she wouldn't take time to drag the dog out of the room before hearing what else he had to say, so he spoke louder. “Keep breathing and let me do the talking. Catherine is not hurt at all. She's scared, but she wasn't shot. She's fine.”

“Thank God. Oh, Catherine, is she—”

“I told you to stop talking. You can't listen and talk, too.” Eric hated speaking sternly to Marissa at a time like this, but he knew it was the only way to make her calm down enough to get details. “James was shot in the chest.”

“In the
chest
! You mean the
heart
?”

“If you don't stop interrupting I'm going to hang up!” Eric himself took a deep breath, realizing his pulse was racing and his breath rapid. “If he'd been shot in the heart, he'd be dead. He's hurt, but they don't know how bad.” A siren began roaring in the background as a red light splashed garishly in the night. “The ambulance is just now leaving the parking lot with him. Catherine is with him.”

“But she's not hurt.”

“She wasn't wounded, I swear.”

“Lindsay, shush,” Marissa finally said, and then, “Okay, I'm getting ahold of myself. Just tell me what happened. Did the surveillance officer catch whoever shot them?”

“No, but it wasn't his fault. As for what happened to Catherine and James, do you want to hear now or would you rather go straight to the hospital?”

“The hospital, of course,” Marissa said with steel in her voice. “My sister needs me.”