To the Grave (35 page)

“He's not drunk,” she murmured. Ian looked at her in disbelief. “He may have had too much to drink, but I don't think that's all that's wrong. Don't make a fuss—just make him sit down. I'll get Patrice.”

“But Catherine—”

“Just get him off his feet,” she hissed, headed toward Patrice, who'd turned her very straight back to the scene.

And that's when Catherine saw him.

The tall, slender man stood with a natural elegance near one of the huge windowed walls overlooking the Aurora waterfall, two fingers of his left hand pressed against the glass as if he could reach through it and touch the water, his slender, high-cheekboned face directed at hers. When she looked at him, he made no attempt to glance away, as would most men simply looking at a pretty young woman. Instead, he openly stared, his expression seemingly meant to grip her attention, almost as if she owed it to acknowledge him.

A tiny thrill of tension ran through Catherine. Although she did not know this man, she couldn't look away. She felt as if he was studying her, measuring her not in a sexual way but almost as he would an adversary. A small, tight smile curved his narrow lips and she suddenly felt a touch of danger in that slightly scornful smile. Still, she could not look away from him. The relatively smooth, pale skin of his face and the mere dusting of silver in his obviously natural thick, black hair told her he was in his late fifties, possibly in his early sixties. His large dark eyes, though, were sunken in hollows and surrounded by deep lines. Grief, Catherine thought. This handsome, genteel-looking man could have been a nineteenth-century aristocrat, somehow dropped into the wrong time and place, yet somehow looking recognizable to her, somehow …

A hot, humid day sweet with the smell of white flowers. A wedding. Champagne. A beautiful raven-haired bride in white—a bride with knowing, amused eyes smiling triumphantly, mockingly into hers.

Catherine turned and stumbled away, desperately looking for Eric.

2

Dana opened heavy eyes and looked at the digital bedside clock. One twenty-four. It had been a long day and she had gone to bed around eleven thirty, exhausted. Yet here she lay, wide awake, less than two hours later.

Without turning her head, she slid a hand across the ivory silk sheet. No Ken in the king-size bed. The down pillow didn't bear the slightest depression of a head and the upper sheet and blanket were still tucked beneath the mattress. Ken hadn't yet come to bed.

Earlier this afternoon they had settled Mary in her yellow and white bedroom. Dana planned for the nurse, Ms. Greene, to stay in the guest room next to Mary's, but the woman insisted on sleeping in Mary's room. Luckily, the Nordines owned a twin rollaway bed and, although Dana knew it wasn't comfortable, the nurse had pronounced it perfect and immediately set about making it up, demonstrating to Mary how to do a “hospital corner” with the top sheet. Ms. Greene had then unpacked her small suitcase and finally placed her bag of medical equipment in a corner far away from Mary's bed.

Shortly afterward, the nurse had listened with seeming fascination as Mary introduced her seven stuffed animals (a different one to sleep with every night—nobody should be left out). They'd then played a computer game, eaten from trays in Mary's bedroom, pretending they were having room service in a fancy hotel, and watched a couple of hours of television before the child agreed she'd “try” to sleep. When Dana had last checked on them at nine o'clock, Mary looked blissfully asleep. Ms. Greene sat in a comfortable rocking chair in the corner, reading in the glow of a Tiffany lamp, the chair and lamp Dana had insisted be moved into the room for the nurse's comfort.

“Murder mystery,” Ms. Greene had whispered, tucking away a paperback book when Dana peeked into the bedroom. I'm addicted to them—can't sleep unless I've read a few pages.”

“I used to read them incessantly, too. I can't remember when I stopped. I might start again, though. This week in Aurora Falls has certainly sparked my interest in the subject again.”

“Terrible. Just terrible, what's gone on around here.” Ms. Greene shook her head and made a sound like a chicken's cluck. Then she glanced over at the lamp. “I'm stealing this when I leave.”

“It
is
pretty.”

“Pretty? It's the most beautiful lamp I've ever seen. I've always admired Tiffany lamps. Couldn't afford one, of course, but if I had one, I'd probably wrap it in yards of tissue paper and hide it away so it wouldn't get broken. And what fun would that be?” She'd grinned, her prominent teeth gleaming in the light. “You've made me very comfortable and Mary is doing wonderfully.”

“I'm glad on both counts.”

As Dana had begun to withdraw and shut the door, the nurse had said, “Mrs. Nordine?”

“Dana.”

“Okay. Dana. I just wanted to tell you, Dana, you're one of the best mothers I've ever seen. The other nurses at the hospital have commented on it. Mary adores you. She loves her father, but you are Mommy, the one she knows will always protect her.”

Dana's throat tightened and she felt tears in her eyes. She couldn't even manage a “thank you.” She'd just shut the door, leaned again the wall, and let the tears flow. Her? A good mother? The idea stunned her. She hadn't been a good mother in the past, but she would be from now on, she silently vowed. She
would
be.

Dana trailed slowly down the circular steps from the fourth-floor living quarters to the main floor of the gallery. Between moonlight and the streetlights, she didn't have to turn on the gallery lights. Instead, she wandered around, looking almost blindly at paintings she'd seen every day for months. She did pull up short when she saw the discreet
Sold
sign on
Mardi Gras Lady
and wondered briefly who had bought it. She really didn't care, though. She just wanted the piece out of here.

Dana went into the kitchenette off the main gallery and fixed a cup of hot chocolate. When she began touring the lower floor for the second time, she realized she hadn't put on her slippers, but the cool tiles felt good on her narrow feet, especially as she sipped the warm drink. She walked to the front windows and looked out on Foster Street.

They had gotten Mary home by two o'clock with Ken grouching about having to delay the daily gallery opening for over an hour when Dana and the nurse could have gotten Mary home just fine by themselves. Dana had ignored him, Mary's good spirits had sunk into quiet conversation with Ms. Greene, and the nurse's lips had narrowed with barely concealed dislike whenever she caught sight of Ken.

For the rest of the afternoon, Dana and Ms. Greene tended to Mary. Gallery traffic had been light, which frustrated Ken but Dana had found to be lucky. She wasn't called upon to act cordial and give her memorized spiels about the artwork, and Ken couldn't conjure up his usual charm. Instead, he had paced, made phone calls, complained constantly, lost his temper over a ten-minute electric failure, and paid only minimal attention to Mary.

As Dana now stood at the front window, she saw their black Mercedes Cabriolet with Ken behind the wheel. He was headed south—south, toward Bridget's house. Less than twelve hours after his daughter had been brought home from the hospital, he was going in search of Renée's replacement, the woman Dana knew he planned to leave her for, the woman he thought would give him a son along with endless hours of passion in the bedroom.

Dana smiled slightly, sardonically, almost cruelly. He could spend the whole night driving, calling, searching, pining.

She didn't care. And neither would Bridget.

 

CHAPTER TWENTY

1

Ms. Greene sat bolt upright in bed, certain something was wrong. Glad for the strong night-light, she did a quick scan of the rectangular room, white dressers, a rocking chair, a canopied bed on which lay an evenly breathing child. She sighed. She did not possess ESP, always knowing when things weren't right. She was not special. She was just Ms. Greene, Registered Nurse, watching over five-year-old Mary Nordine, who had recently undergone an appendectomy.

Ms. Greene climbed quietly from her bed, which was remarkably comfortable for a rollaway. Mrs. Nordine had wanted her to sleep in the room next door, but Ms. Greene liked to be close to her patient, even when she'd had to sleep on a few folded blankets on the floor. Compared to that arrangement, the rollaway was a dream.

Mary lay on her back, her blond hair spread beneath her head like a golden halo, her little pink mouth slightly open, her arms closed around a stuffed lion named Dandelion. “It's his turn,” she'd explained seriously to her nurse at bedtime. “I have seven stuffed animals and every one gets to sleep one night a week in the bed with me. Daddy says that someday I'll get to have a
live
animal,” she'd said with excitement. “But I don't think it'll be a lion.”

“I doubt not, but puppies and kittens are just as good for a young lady like yourself,” Ms. Greene had answered earnestly. “After all, a lion would be bigger than you. He'd be dragging you all over the place. Now wouldn't
that
be a sight!”

Mary had laughed and hugged Dandelion closer while the nurse gently tucked her in and smoothed the child's bangs back from her forehead. “You have sweet dreams, little Mary. You're home with your mother and father and both Dandelion and me to look after you. You couldn't be safer!”

Now, Ms. Greene stared at her patient, sleeping peacefully and breathing normally, the picture of a child on her way back to health. But while Mary might be sleeping peacefully, Ms. Greene felt wide awake. She looked at the clock. Three forty-five! Hours would pass before she needed to be at her duties. She couldn't just lie on the rollaway bed forever. She didn't want to turn on a light to read. Besides, if she didn't get her rest now, she'd be groggy tomorrow.

Warm milk. She'd been in this predicament before and warm milk had never failed to make her drowsy. This was her first night with the Nordines, though, and she was unfamiliar with the kitchen. She didn't want to turn on the big, glaring lights instead of the small ones or bang around looking for the proper pan. She didn't like Mr. Nordine one little bit and she could tell he had no patience. If she woke him up, he'd make a terrible fuss and awaken Mary, maybe even upset her.

Downstairs! Ms. Greene suddenly remembered seeing a small kitchenette almost hidden on the first floor of the gallery. Three stories down from here, she could probably even drop a pan and he wouldn't hear it. Certainly, they kept milk in the small refrigerator. That would be the answer. She'd creep down, fix her milk, and be back in twenty minutes without disturbing a soul.

Ms. Greene put on her fleece robe and house slippers and slipped out the door, closing it almost completely. If Mary happened to wake up in distress, the nurse wanted someone to be able to hear the child call out. Then Ms. Greene started down the wide, curving hall of the circular gallery, glad for the small lights placed every few feet at floor level. Good heavens, she thought, people in town went on and on about how beautiful this gallery was, but Ms. Greene certainly wouldn't want to live here on the fourth floor of a building that went round and round and round.…

Although she'd held tightly to the handrail and the tiny floor lights continued all the way down the stairs, by the time Ms. Greene reached the bottom she felt dizzy, which was unusual for her. She'd always been strong and had excellent coordination. True, she had never been in a “home” like this one, but still, she didn't like her momentary lack of physical control. She felt almost like she had as a young girl riding a Ferris wheel for the first time. She took a minute and drew a deep breath, her gaze traveling around the large gallery full of shadows created by the moon and streetlights. Mrs. Greene wasn't the nervous type, but to her surprise, she felt a tremor of unease pass through her like a cold wind.

“Oh, don't turn into a scared old woman at your age,” she told herself sternly. “Sixty-three isn't old—it isn't even close to old.” Her hand fumbled along the wall, searching for the light panel. “Now if you were
eighty-three—
”

Her sturdy, competent left hand had found the panel, and with a strong swipe upward she flipped every light switch. The room blazed as if on fire. For a moment, she was light blinded, raising her right arm to cover her eyes and stumbling to the edge of the last step. Her right hand still protecting her eyes, she fumbled with her left hand to find the panel and flip some of the switches to
Off
, but she kept missing most of them.

Slowly, she lowered her right arm, blinked away some of the tears, and barely opened her eyes. Turn off some more of these infernal lights, she thought, but for some reason she couldn't move. She stood rooted to the bottom step, her insides shaking, her eyes roving, roving—

Until she saw Ken Nordine propped beneath the portrait with the beautiful woman dressed in a ball gown and wearing a mask with a black star around the right eye—

Looking just like the hideous hole in Ken Nordine's face where his right eye should be.

2

“Should I take my child back to the hospital?” Dana Nordine looked at Chief Deputy Eric Montgomery with frantic eyes. “She had an appendectomy. I have a nurse here for her, but when Mary hears about this—” Dana gestured in horror at the body of her husband.

“Does she know what's going on?” Eric asked.

“No. Only that there's some kind of ruckus. That nurse, Ms. Greene, found him and how she kept from screaming off her head I'll never know, but she just came after me and we called the police and here you are and here Mary is and I don't know what to do!”

Ms. Greene, who had been standing with forced calm beside Dana, looked at Eric. “Chief Deputy, I'm the nurse Mrs. Nordine hired to look after Mary for the next few days. You can certainly call a doctor for his opinion, but I believe it would be best for Mary not to be moved now. I just checked on her. She was just waking up and asking if something was wrong. I said there was just some minor trouble downstairs, checked her vitals, and she was drifting back to sleep when I came down. I think someone should stay with her and give her a story about what's going on down here—something that's not upsetting, of course—and we should see that she's kept calm and still. If we take her away, she'll know something bad is wrong. Also, it's supposed to be nippy today.”