To the Grave (7 page)

“Unfortunately, yes.” James sighed. “I thought I'd take another look at the place and it wouldn't bother me, but … well … you always seem to know when I need a friend.”

“No one should be out here alone,” Patrice said briskly. She gazed at the cottage and dug her hands deep into her pockets. “They were as vague as possible on the police scanner, so they just gave the code for dead body. Was it a man or woman?”

“Woman.”

“How was she killed?”

“She was shot.”

“Did they find identification?”

Silence spun out before James said slowly, “No, but it's Renée.”

Patrice went still for a moment before she murmured, “Renée?” Then louder, “
Your
Renée?”

“Yes.”

“Hell, no!”

“Hell, yes.”

“Oh, James, no!”

“Don't keep wailing. People already think I murdered her. If anyone is around, they'll think I'm murdering you, too.”

Patrice pulled her hands from her pockets, raised open palms, and gave him a light thump on the chest. “Don't even say such a thing!” She huffed in frustration. “How long has the body been here?”

“The police think maybe a week.”

“A
week
?” Patrice looked stunned. “She's been dead a week? Not months? Not years?”

“Definitely not years. Or even months.”

“Well then, you've made a mistake,” Patrice said definitely. “It can't be Renée. It's a homeless woman. Someone saw her wandering around out here, panicked, and shot her. They were too scared to report it to the police, so they hid the body.”

“No one is living out here now, Patrice. Besides, I saw the body. It was Renée.”

“No, you didn't!” Patrice went silent for a moment before asking grudgingly, “Even if it
was
Renée, why would she be at your family's cottage?”

“I have no idea. Catherine found her in the cistern.”

“Catherine?”

“She was with Marissa, thank God. That big cistern at the end of the cottage is about seven feet deep and nearly full of water from all the rain we've had lately. Catherine stepped on the half-rotten lid, which broke. She fell in, and when she surfaced she was holding Renée's body. She's not a good swimmer, and between panicking and getting her hand twisted in Renée's hair I think she would have drowned if Marissa hadn't been here to help her.”

Patrice looked appalled. “How horrible! Catherine must have been hysterical.”

“Just the opposite. It was like she just shut down emotionally, but she looked awful.”

“Is she hurt?”

“The paramedics said that physically she's fine except for scrapes, bruises, probably strained muscles. Marissa took her home, gave her a tranquilizer, fed her, and sent her to bed.” He sighed. “She just called me. She's okay for now, but I'm certain she won't be getting over the shock any time soon.”

“Don't underestimate her, James. I've always believed Catherine is far stronger and more resilient than people think,” Patrice said bracingly. “Why were she and Marissa here?”

“My parents have told her about the place. Catherine said something about looking at it as a possible site as a house for me.”

“The
cottage
?”

“No. Mom keeps talking about selling the land to someone who could tear down the cottage and build a nice house. Catherine's never seen it. Maybe she and Marissa came because it was a pretty day and they were curious about it. I'm just glad Catherine didn't come out here alone.”

Patrice pressed her thin, well-shaped lips together as she usually did when she was thinking. After a moment, she demanded irritably, “If the body is Renée's, where has she been? My God, James, it's been over a year since she left and then she finally shows up like
this
?”

“I'm aware of how long it's been.” He paused and said dryly, “I'm also certain Renée didn't intend to show up like
this.
”

Patrice ignored his attempt at gallows humor. “But why is she here?”

“I have no idea.”

“Maybe one of her lovers kept track of her and lured her home to rekindle their romance. Neither of them struck me as the type to give up easily. Or one might have pretended to want her back when he really wanted to make her pay for dumping him. Or—sorry to sound cruel—who knows if there were really only two men? I mean, knowing Renée…”

“Knowing Renée, there could have been a dozen men. Still, after so long…” James fell silent for a moment and then said in a musing voice, “I guess finding her now is ironic. Our divorce just became final on Monday. Five days ago.”

“Did Renée know about the divorce?”

“I haven't had any contact with her since she left me. Maybe she's in touch with her parents, but I don't know. They stopped returning my calls a few weeks after Renée left, but I sent her father a registered letter when I started divorce proceedings. I also sent one informing him of the approximate time the divorce would be finalized. I received his signature as proof of delivery for both of them.” James looked fixedly at the cottage. “Anyway, I'm sure she didn't come back here about the divorce.”

“No, you can't be sure. After all, the timing is suspiciously coincidental. Maybe Renée's father told her about the divorce and at the last minute she decided she wanted to reconcile.”

“After the way she treated me when we were married? After the way she left without a word then or in the years since she's been gone? Then suddenly she wanted me back?” James shook his head. “No, Patrice, she certainly did not come back for me.”

Patrice was silent for a moment, then said slowly, “You sound bitter, James.”

“Bitter that I know she didn't want me back?”

“Well…” Patrice sounded uncomfortable. “I don't know.”

“She made my life a living hell, both before and after she left, and if I sound bitter it's only because I can't seem to free myself of her. I'm in love with Catherine. I was happy. And here's Renée again, tearing my life apart, tearing Catherine's apart.”

“She can't tear anyone's life apart again if she's dead, James,” Patrice said quietly.

“Can't she? She was murdered. There will be another investigation and again I'll be the number one suspect. And look at what happened today. Catherine could have died out here, drowned in that cistern because she was dragged down by Renée.” James laughed sarcastically. “Even as a corpse the woman is dangerous.”

Patrice frowned. “I'm worried about you, James. You sound…”

“Crazy?”

“Well … different. Not like the steady, rational James Eastman I've known for years.”

James's smile faded. He looked away, and after a moment he answered drearily, his earlier anger seeming to slip away, “I think I'm in shock, Patrice. Finding her in Aurora Falls at my family's ratty old cottage where someone shot her in the head and crammed her body in the cistern is just … just…”

Patrice closed her hand around his upper arm. “Stop, James. Stop talking about it; stop picturing it; stop wearing yourself out with it. What you need now is to go home.”

“I will. Soon. I think I'll get drunk.”

“You never get drunk. You should follow Catherine's example.”

“I don't have a loving sister to give me a tranquilizer, feed me, and put me to bed.”

Patrice smiled. “Marissa and Catherine bicker like young girls sometimes, but they really love and take care of each other.” She sighed. “My sister and I used to be just like them. I miss that kind of unconditional bond. Still, I think you're capable of taking a pill, eating, and going to bed without help.” She waited a few seconds and then asked, “Have you talked to Eric Montgomery?”

James nodded. “He arrived on the scene before I did, even though it was his day off. I don't mind saying I'm relieved he's in charge of all this, although he's already started questioning me about my whereabouts last weekend.”

“That's normal. The spouse is always the prime suspect.”

“I'm not the spouse.”

“You were last weekend. Anyway, you were at the conference in Pittsburgh. A lot of people saw you.”

“Maybe not a lot. I got there Thursday afternoon and was already coming down with the flu. I skipped a few seminars on Friday and Saturday and the big dinner on Saturday night. Besides, right now they're only estimating that Renée was murdered a week ago. It could have been six days ago, on Sunday, when I'd gotten back home and gone straight to bed. Alone. Not even Catherine can vouch for me.”

Patrice shook her head. “So, even dead, that damned Renée's still causing trouble for you. But at least Catherine is all right and your parents are away on a cruise. Are you going to let them know what's happened?”

James shook his head. “Do you think I'm going to interrupt their thirty-fifth wedding anniversary trip to Italy with this gruesome piece of news?”

“Your mother will be furious if you don't.”

“She'll get over it. She always does.”

Patrice squinted down at her slim dress watch. “Well, you seem to be okay, James, although you do need to go home.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed James lightly on the cheek. “I'm sorry about all of this. Will you be taking off work next week?”

“No. I'll be in the office Monday morning, bright and early.”

“Monday! Give yourself at least a couple of days to recover.”

“Recover by sitting around my town house watching television? No. The best thing I can do for myself is to work.”

“You're a remarkable man.”

“Yeah, I'm feeling remarkable tonight.”

“Go home.”

“Okay.”

Patrice turned her car around and started back the way she'd come, waving briefly at James as she passed him. James lingered for a couple of minutes, then went to his silver Lincoln, scooted behind the wheel, started the car, and slowly backed up a few feet. Then he stopped, planning to flip on the headlights and take one last look at the hideous old cottage crouching like a small monster in the dark.

Suddenly a pillar of bright yellow fire shot skyward at the back of the cottage. Within seconds, a second fireball lit the night. The pillars spread into a wall of flame stretching along the entire back of the cottage, dropping blazing debris onto the roof, spitting sizzling pieces of wood flying across the black night sky, and turning the small building into a raging pyre.

 

CHAPTER FOUR

1

Catherine bolted up on the couch, screaming. Immediately Lindsay began barking frantically. Within seconds, Marissa was gripping Catherine's arms.

“My God, Catherine, what's wrong?”

Catherine took hold of Marissa, shuddering, as Marissa clung to her. Catherine drew her even closer and buried her head in the long hair at her sister's neck.

“When I came back from the kitchen, you'd dozed off,” Marissa said. “You've been asleep about twenty minutes. You just had a nightmare, that's all.”

Catherine pulled away from Marissa and shook her head. “No! Something has happened to James! I have to call him!”

“Okay. Take a breath.” Marissa picked up the handset of the phone on the coffee table and looked at Catherine's trembling fingers. “Want me to dial the number?”

“Yes. His home phone.” Catherine rattled off James's landline-phone number. He'd turned off his answering machine, and Catherine groaned when he didn't answer after six rings. “Oh God.”

“Don't panic. Considering what happened this afternoon, he might have turned off his landline phone. Give me his cell-phone number.” After two rings, James answered.

“Hi,” Marissa said in relief. “Catherine just had a nightmare about you and she's upset, so I dialed your number for her. Here she is.”

Catherine snatched the handset away from Marissa and nearly shouted, “James, are you all right?”

“S-sure. I'm … fine,” he said shakily.

“You don't sound fine. Why didn't you answer your home phone?”

“Because I'm not home,” he said vaguely.

“Where are you?”

“Just … driving around.”

Catherine snapped alert. He was obviously dodging the question and her patience cracked. “James, don't hide things from me,” she said sternly. “Tell me what's wrong!”

“Well … I … I just missed being in an explosion. Well, not exactly
in
it—”

“An explosion!” Catherine felt as if a knife blade ripped her stomach and she heard Marissa gasp. “Are you hurt? Are you at the hospital?”

“Honey, calm down. I'm not hurt.”

“You are and you're just not telling me.”

“I'm
not.
Really. There's not a scratch on me.”

Catherine drew a deep breath, desperately trying to regain her calm. “Where are you and what happened?”

“I'm at the cottage. Someone blew it up.”

“The
cottage
? Oh, the police wanted you to go back about the explosion.”

“Well…”

Catherine glanced at Marissa. “He was at the cottage. I guess someone blew it up, but he's all right.”

Lindsay, always high-strung, was huffing and snorting. Marissa nodded to Catherine and took the noisy dog into another room.

Catherine turned her attention back to the phone. Then her churning thoughts slowed, reason beginning to regain its footing. “James, you said you were almost
in
an explosion. You were already there. The police didn't call you about it.”

“No. I just came by myself earlier.” James sighed. “I was here when you called me.”

“Oh.” Catherine's voice went flat. “You lied to me.”

“Yes. I'm sorry.”