Twice Dead (43 page)

“Come back, Becca. You must.”

“I will as soon as I can,” she said finally, and hung up the phone.

“Problem?” a nurse asked, a thick black brow arched.

“Nothing but,” Becca said, and lightly touched her fingers to her right arm. The burns were healing and were itching a bit now.

“Problems are like that,” the nurse said. “It rains problems, and then, all of a sudden, it's a sunny day, and the problems have evaporated away.”

“I hope you're right,” Becca said.

The next day, Adam was much improved, even managed to joke with his nurse, who patted his butt, and her father came down with pneumonia and nearly died.

“It's nuts,” Becca said to Agent Austin. “He survives a bullet to the heart and gets pneumonia.”

“There's got to be some irony in that,” Agent Austin said, shaking his head, “but no matter, it still sucks.”

“He'll pull through,” the doctor said over and over again to Becca, taking her hands in his. Maybe the doctor didn't like the irony, either, Becca thought, lightly touching her father's shoulder. It was odd, when she touched him—settled her hand on his arm, laid her hand over his, lightly touched his shoulder—his breathing calmed, his whole body seemed to relax, to ease.

And when he was finally awake, his mind alert, and she touched him, he smiled at her, and she saw the pleasure in his eyes, deep and abiding. And when she whispered, “I love you, Dad,” he closed his eyes briefly, and she knew she didn't want to see his tears. “I love you,” she said again, for good measure, and kissed his cheek. “We're together now. I know you love Adam like a son, but I'm very pleased he isn't your son. If he were, then I couldn't marry him. Now you'll get him anyway.”

“If he ever makes you cry, I'll kill him,” said her father.

“Nah, I'll do it.”

“Becca, thank you for telling me about all your mother's things safely in storage in New York.”

He'd heard her, actually heard her speaking to him. And since he'd heard her speaking to him, just maybe her mother had heard her as well, maybe she did have a final connection with her. “You're welcome. As I said then, it's a start.”

“Yes,” Thomas said, smiling up at his daughter. “It's a very good start.”

 

ADAM was now walking up and down the corridor, ill-tempered, his back throbbing, his arm throbbing, feeling useless, wanting to hit someone because he felt so helpless. At least the catheter was out.

He was carping and carrying on when Becca laughed and said, “All right, you've finally driven me away. My father is doing fine, the pneumonia is kicked, and I'm going to Riptide to see Sam.”

“No,” he said, leaning against the hospital corridor wall, utterly appalled. He wanted to grab her and tuck her under his arm. “I don't want you going there alone. I don't trust McBride. I don't want you out of my sight. I'd really like it if you would sleep in my bed with me and I could hold on to you all night.”

She realized she'd rather like that as well, but she said, “There's no danger, Adam. How could there be? I'm not going to see Tyler. I'm going to see what's going on with Sam. Don't forget, it's my fault that Krimakov even took him, my fault that Sam got traumatized. I've got to fix it. Tyler has nothing to do with it.”

“It was Krimakov's fault. Give it another couple of days, Becca, and I'll go with you.”

“Adam, you can barely get to the bathroom by yourself now. You'll stay here and concentrate on getting well. Spend time with my father. And maybe you could work on all those church dates as well. None of your family can come to an agreement.”

“Well, are you still going to marry me?”

“Is that your final offer?”

He looked both pissed and chagrined. Suddenly he laughed. “I swear I'll change that green tile. Do you mind moving from New York, living down here? We're really close to your dad. Is he going to rebuild?”

“We haven't discussed it yet. Yes, Adam, I'll marry you, particularly if you change that bathroom tile. Consider it a done deal. I have no real ties to Albany. Goodness, there are so many folk around here who need good speechwriters. I'll make a fortune. Now, you can't flirt with any of the hospital staff anymore, you got that? I'm considering that we're now officially engaged.

“Ah, good, here's Hatch. Is that cigarette smoke I smell, Hatch? Adam won't like that. He'll probably take a good strip off you, maybe hit you with his walker.”

She watched the two men argue, smiling. Sherlock came up behind her and said, “Everything nearly back to normal, I see. Let's watch FOX. Gaylan Woodhouse is going to be on in about a minute. He's speaking for the president, and you're going to love this spin.”

Good grief, she thought, watching the TV, she was now a heroine. Someone, she had no idea who, had somehow taken a photo, very grainy, showing her facing Krimakov on that burning roof, her white nightgown blowing around her legs, her Coonan held in front of her in both hands, pointed straight at Krimakov. Gaylan Woodhouse wouldn't shut up. “Oh dear,” Becca said. “Oh dear.”

“It's been a long haul, and you came through,” Sherlock said, and hugged her tightly. “I'm really glad to have met you, Becca Matlock, and I like your being a heroine. I have this feeling that you, Adam, and your father will be coming to lots of barbecues over at our house, beginning when they get out of this joint. Did I tell you that Savich is a vegetarian? When we barbecue, he eats roasted corn on the cob. We won't know about Sean and his preferences for a while yet. Have you agreed to the date and that marvelous Presbyterian church your in-laws have been members of for years and years?”

“Not yet,” Becca said. “Hey, I'm so famous maybe I'll ask if the churches want to place bids for our ceremony.”

“You're a writer, you could write a book, make a gazillion bucks.”

“She'll have to make it fast,” Savich said, coming up and squeezing his wife against his chest, “fame is fleeting nowadays. Another week, Becca, and you'll be a last-page footnote in
People
magazine.”

 

THE next day, Becca flew to Portland, Maine, rented a Ford Escort, and drove up to Riptide. It was cooler this trip, the breeze sharp off the ocean. The first person she saw was Sheriff Gaffney, and he was frowning at her, his thumbs hooked in his wide leather belt.

“Ms. Matlock,” he said, and gave her his best intimidating cop look.

“Hi, Sheriff,” she said, grinned at him, and went up on her tiptoes. She gave him a big kiss on the cheek. “I'm famous, at least for a week, that's what I was told. Be nice to me.”

For the life of him, Sheriff Gaffney couldn't think of a thing to say except “Humph,” which he did. “I'll want to speak to you about that skeleton,” he called after her. “I'll come to Jacob Marley's house this evening. Will you be there?”

“Certainly, Sheriff, I'll be there.”

Then she ran into Bernie Bradstreet, the owner and editor of
The Riptide Independent.
He looked very tired, as if he'd been ill. “My wife's been sick,” he said, then he tried to smile at her. “At least all your troubles are over, Ms. Matlock.” He didn't mention how she'd lied to him that long-ago night when Tyler had taken her out to dinner at Errol Flynn's Barbecue on Foxglove Avenue. He was a good man, bless him.

And then she was knocking on Tyler's front door just as the sun was setting. The insects were beginning their evening songs. She heard a dog bark from a house farther down on Gum Shoe Lane. She wished she'd brought a cardigan. She shivered, rang the bell again.

Tyler's car wasn't in the driveway.

Where was he? Where was Sam?

She didn't understand it. She'd told him when she'd be here and she was only ten minutes off. She got back in her rental car and cut over to Belladonna, to Jacob Marley's house. She'd paid the rent through the end of the month, so the place was still hers. She planned to use this time to pack up the rest of her things, have the place cleaned, and return the keys to Rachel Ryan. Surely Rachel was spending a lot of time with Sam, helping him. She hoped Rachel was also trying to convince Tyler to take Sam to a child shrink.

She turned the key in the lock and shoved the door open.

“Hello, Becca.”

It was Tyler, standing there, Sam in his arms, smiling really big. “We decided to wait for you here. I left the car down the road. We wanted to surprise you. I've got champagne for us and some lemonade for Sam. I even bought a carrot cake; I remembered you liked it. Come in.” He set Sam down, and Sam stood there staring at her.

Tyler walked to her and wrapped his arms around her back. He kissed the top of her head. “I like your hair. It's natural again. You're beautiful, Becca.” He kissed her again, pulled her more tightly against him. “I thought you were beautiful in college, but you're even more beautiful now.”

She tried to ease away from him, but he didn't let her go.

He gently pushed her chin up with his thumb and kissed her. It was a deep kiss, and he wanted to make it deeper, he wanted her to open her mouth. Sam was standing there saying nothing, just looking at them.

“No, Tyler, please, no.” She shoved hard against his chest and he quickly stepped back.

He was still smiling, breathing hard, his eyes bright with excitement, with sex, lust. “You're right. Sam is standing right here. He's not a baby anymore. We shouldn't do this in front of him.” He turned to smile down at his son. “Well, Sam, here's Becca. What do you have to say to her?”

Sam didn't have anything to say. He stood there, his small face blank of all expression. It scared her to her toes. She walked slowly to him and went down on her knees in front of him. “Hello, Sam,” she said, and lightly touched her fingertips to his cheek. “How are you, sweetie? I want you to listen to me now. And believe me because I wouldn't lie to you. That bad man who kidnapped you, who tied you up and put you in the basement, I swear to you that he's gone now, forever. He'll never come back, ever, I can promise you that. I took care of him.”

Sam didn't say anything, suffered her touching his face. Slowly, she brought him against her even though his small body was stiff, resistant.

“I've missed you, Sam. I would have come sooner, but my father and Adam—you remember Adam, don't you?—they were both hurt and I had to stay with them in the hospital. But now I'm here.”

“Adam.”

One word, but it was enough. “Yes,” she said, delighted, “Adam.”

She turned her head when she heard Tyler say something, but he shook his head at her. “Sam's okay, Becca. I also brought some barbecue from Errol Flynn's for our dinner. All the fixings, too. Would you like to have dinner now?”

And so they drank champagne, Sam drank his lemonade, and everyone ate barbecue pork ribs, baked beans, and coleslaw in Jacob Marley's kitchen. The carrot cake from Myrtle's Sweet Tooth on Venus Flytrap Boulevard stood on the kitchen counter.

After she'd answered countless questions about Krimakov, she said, “What about the skeleton, Tyler? Have the DNA results come in yet? Is it Melissa Katzen?”

Tyler shrugged. “No word yet that I know of. Everyone believes it is. But that's not important now. What's important is us. When do you want to move up here, Becca?”

Becca was handing Sam another rib. Her hand stilled. “Move back here? No, Tyler. I'm here to see Sam and pack up my things.”

He nodded and tore meat off the rib he was holding. He chewed, then said, “Well, that's all right. You've just reconnected with your dad, so you need to make sure he's okay, get to know him and all that, but we need to set our wedding date before you go back to see him. Do you think he'll want to move up to be near you after we're married?”

She set down her fork near the coleslaw. Something had gone terribly wrong. She didn't want this, but there was no hiding from it now. She said it slowly, calmly, aware that Sam was now very still again, not eating, listening, but she had no choice. She said, “I'm truly sorry if you've misunderstood, Tyler. You and Sam are my very dear friends. I care about both of you quite a lot. I've appreciated all you've done for me, the support you've given me, the confidence you've had in me, but I can't be your wife. I'm very sorry, but I don't feel about you the way you want me to.”

Sam continued to sit there on two thick phone books, still and silent, the half-chewed pork rib clutched in his small fingers.

She forced a smile. “We should probably have this talk after Sam's gone to bed, don't you think?”

“Why? It concerns him. He wants you for his mother, Becca. I told him that was why you were coming back. I told him you were going to fix everything and you'd be here for him forever.”

“We should speak of this later, Tyler. This is between us. Please.”

Sam looked down at his plate, his small face drawn, pale in the dim kitchen light.

“All right then,” Tyler said. “I'm going to put Sam down with a blanket in the living room, on that real comfortable sofa. What do you think, Sam?”

Sam didn't tell them what he thought.

“I'll be right back, Becca.”

He scooped Sam up off his phone books and carried him out of the kitchen. She shivered. The house felt uncomfortably cool. She hoped Sam would be warm enough with just one blanket. She hoped Sam had gotten enough to eat. She wished Tyler had wiped Sam's fingers off better.

What was she going to do? Was she the one off base here? Had she given Tyler the wrong impression? She'd known he was jealous of Adam, and that's when she had pulled back from him, even cooling her friendship toward him. But still he'd misunderstood, still he'd come to believe that she wanted to be his wife. How could it be possible? She'd said nothing, done nothing, to give him that idea. And he was using Sam, which was despicable of him.