Twilight (38 page)

“Your car is in the lot. We found and impounded it yesterday. I’ll sign the release forms.”

Laurie nodded mutely and followed him up from the cold room that was Brian’s temporary tomb. She couldn’t think about that now. She had to get out, had to see her children, touch them, hold them.

Danson handed her the tag for her car and her purse, which they’d found inside it with her keys. “You’re free to go for now, but you’re not to leave town.”

She nodded again. Words had been purged by the sight of Brian’s face.

“Can you drive?”

She forced an answer. “Yes.” She had washed up at the hospital but still felt bedraggled as she climbed into the car. She drove to Mildred’s, anticipation choking her. Heart racing, she climbed out and rushed for the house. An officer stood off to the side, but she ignored him and hurried for the front door. Cissy pulled it open, and the children ran down to her. She bent and grabbed them against her, tears streaming. “Oh, Luke. Maddie.” She’d never let go. Even if she wanted to, her arms would never release them, never.

“Don’t cry, Mommy.” Maddie patted Laurie’s cheek.

Laurie smiled and kissed the damp palm of her daughter’s hand. “Oh, my baby.” She hugged them hard again. Just to feel their warmth, their heartbeats, their breath. Just to touch them and hold them and—

“Where’s Cal?” Luke struggled free, his eyes probing.

Laurie dropped her chin, taking Luke’s hand between hers. “The police are keeping him tonight. They’re trying to find out what happened to—” She’d almost said what happened to Daddy. But that was more than she could deal with just now. She would tell them, had to tell them. But …

“Can we go home now?” Maddie caught Laurie’s face and turned it back to hers. “I want to go home now.”

Laurie nodded.

“Can we get hamburgers?” Luke kept hold of her hand as Laurie straightened slowly.

“And French fries?” Maddie tugged the other.

Laurie’s stomach revolted at the thought, but she rejoiced that the children were so innocent, so unaware. She looked up at Cissy standing in the doorway, thanked her with her eyes when words would be so wasted. Then she looked behind to Mildred and swallowed the lump that formed in her throat. These two women, these unlikely women, had risked themselves for her and her children.

“Thank you.” It was totally inadequate.

“I hope you set Chuck Danson straight.” Mildred’s hands went to her hips. “Cal had him hotter than a hornet in my shed.” She glanced at the children. “Well, that’s neither here nor there.”

Laurie nodded, a fresh wave of guilt assailing her, and she didn’t know what Mildred meant by the shed. She had tried to convince Danson that Cal was not responsible. But the sergeant had implied that there was more to it than she knew. He wouldn’t say what, though he’d rubbed his jaw with a look of pure fury. What had Cal done?

Seeing Brian had driven all her questions away. She wished she could force the memory from her mind. Would it ever fade? Leading the children to the car, Laurie shuddered. That image of her husband would be with her always. That, and the sight of him in her kitchen, weak with fright. And human. So human. So much more so than he’d ever seemed before. Six years she’d spent with him, six broken, disrupted years of lies and betrayal. But there had been times of tenderness. Or had she imagined those?

She buckled Maddie, then climbed in and drove like a zombie. She ordered their burgers and fries through the intercom, sounding like a machine herself. The smell of the food in the car gagged her, but she passed it to the children automatically, and they dug in. Danson had allowed her to go home, but not to leave town. She shook her head. What did it matter? What more could she tell him? Without Dieter and Luìs it was her word against all the evidence to the contrary.

Danson suspected some sordid affair between her and Cal, believed Cal had murdered Brian. Cal, who refused to have anything to do with her once he learned there was no divorce? Yet he’d come. He’d played into their hands, braved the fire. She owed him for more than her life or her children’s lives. She owed him … what?

“Look, Mommy. I got a ring.” Maddie held up the cheap plastic toy that came in her kid’s meal.

It reminded Laurie of the one Cal had magically pulled from Maddie’s ear and of her little girl’s giggles as Cal had played with her, down on her level, connected. Cal loved children. Why didn’t he have a houseful by now?

“See, Mommy?” Maddie persisted.

Laurie nodded, no words coming. She drove up to the house and parked, startled by the yellow police tape and the gaping doorway. Danson had told her it was a crime scene, but it hadn’t registered. Her head swam.

Maddie’s dismay matched her own. “Who broke our house?”

Laurie put the car in reverse, shaking with this new invasion. “Let’s go to Grandma’s.”

Luke shouted, “Did someone mess up my room? I want my bear.”

“Luke …” Laurie shot a look over her shoulder at him. “We’re going to Grandma’s now. There are things I’ll tell you, but not here. Not now.” She shivered. Until Dieter and Luìs were apprehended, none of them were safe. They could be watching now. Why had she gone to the house? She jerked her head both ways, but the neighborhood was still and silent as always.

She had to get out of there. Even if Dieter had driven straight away, how long would it be before they realized Cal had duped them with cornstarch? They weren’t stupid. They’d taste it, or do whatever you do to check its authenticity. They’d know. And they’d come for her. She should have asked for protection. But would Danson give it?

She was forbidden to leave town, yet were they safe staying? She had to let the police handle it, if Danson would even try to find them. He had to believe they were the ones who killed Brian— She pressed a hand to her temple. He was dead and she felt nothing. Tears had come before, but they were not connected to any feeling.

Once again she realized how inadequate she was. Shouldn’t she care? Shouldn’t she hurt? In a way she did. For him. For the waste of his life. He was her children’s father. She could hurt for them. Then she felt a real pang for Luke and Maddie.

Though Brian had scarcely found time for them, the children would hurt. What would she tell them? What could she say? For years she’d covered up, made some normalcy out of his deficiency. She wasn’t even bitter. Not for herself. Because she’d known, known that if he stayed home, if he did love her, her own lack would show.

As Laurie pulled up to Mother’s house, Maddie wadded her kid’smeal bag and handed it to her. With a fresh wave of nausea, Laurie brought the children inside and went straight to the bathroom. There was nothing to empty but her own bile, yet she heaved and heaved, then dropped to the floor and sobbed, gripping her head between her palms.
Why? Why? Why?

The pain that came was real. Pain for Brian. Pain for her children. Pain for the emptiness and futility that filled her. Pain for herself and all the mistakes. Pain for Cal, lying in a cell injured and distrusted because of her.

“Do you believe in God?”
Did she? Did she believe in anything? How could she when God wore Daddy’s face? They were inseparable—frowning, disapproving, unsatisfied. But she had once. She’d given her life to Jesus and trusted, then turned away when it got too hard.

Why did Cal ask? She’d been safe in his apostasy, his irreverence. Had that, too, changed? A lot of good it did him now. But hadn’t her own thoughts turned to heaven when she thought she would die? Had she prayed? Had Jesus heard her heart cry and sent Cal? Was it possible?

A knock came on the door. Looking up, Laurie sniffed. “It’s open.” She ran a hand under her nose.

Her mother stood in the doorway, lips pulled tight, face drawn. Her hands trembled at her sides, and Laurie thought for the first time she looked old. Then her mother’s eyes softened, and she stooped, reached out her hands. Laurie took them.

She could hear the movie Luke and Maddie watched in the spare room as Mother led her to the kitchen and poured her a cup of tea. Surprisingly, Laurie found herself sipping it. It’s warmth and bitterness soothed the shuddering of her stomach. Then Mother sat.

Laurie looked into her eyes and saw what she’d hungered for for so long. Love. Mother loved her. Now. In this … nightmare. How could she, when Laurie felt so utterly unlovable? “Brian’s dead.” There, she’d said it, summed up her failure.

Mother’s eyes reflected her pain, but no condemnation followed.

“He’s dead, and I never loved him.” Laurie spoke the truth, letting Mother know how badly she’d failed.

Her mother’s hands trembled as she raised the cup and drank her tea. The lids of her eyes had tiny ridges and the lashes overshadowed the eyes as she stared into her cup. “I buried your father thinking the same thing.”

Laurie’s breath leaked from her lips. Was it true? Mother, who had never said one word of disagreement, never contradicted one action of Daddy’s, never uttered one single defense to all the criticism and scorn?

Mother’s eyes met hers. “I grew up in a shack in the Ozarks. A hillbilly urchin with nothing but beautiful eyes. Your father offered me escape.”

Escape. But not love. Laurie saw the pattern, how it had been subtly woven to form and shape her own thoughts and expectations. Brian had offered more than escape. He’d opened the world of privilege … but not love.

And she’d snapped it up like a greedy child, willing to sacrifice something real for something vain. Love was too dangerous, too uncertain, too painful. She had hoped that wealth would cover the lack. But it hadn’t.

Laurie pressed her palms to her eyes. She felt so lost. She hadn’t turned to her mother for answers in so many years, not since she was small, too small to see that she didn’t trust the answers. Now she reached out in desperate hope. “What do I do?”

“I don’t know.”

The words were blank, empty. But she must know. Mother had lived too many years to have nothing, nothing at all to say. Did she have a thought, a single independent thought that Daddy hadn’t burned from her brain?

Laurie dropped her hands and grabbed her mother’s. “Cal asked me if I believed in God. Do I? Do you?”

Her mother sighed. “You know what Daddy said about that.”

Laurie’s face screwed up as she shook her head. “Not Daddy’s God. Jesus. Grams’ Jesus.”

Mother shook her head. “Grams was a dreamer. She never understood.”

“What? What didn’t she understand?”

Mother met Laurie’s eyes, and her mouth hardened again into the straight, pinched line. “That if there was a God, life wouldn’t be so hard.”

Laurie sat back, hope waning. She stared at the tea, unappealing now in the rose-flowered china, dull with an iridescent film. Why had she thought it possible? Why had she hoped?

She drew a slow breath and released it. “I need to talk to Luke, to tell him—tell them both—about Brian.” She stood, uncertain for a moment if her legs would hold. Just as she straightened, the phone jarred her, and she gripped the chair back, tensing as her mother stood and answered it.

“Yes. One moment.” Mother held out the receiver. “It’s Sergeant Danson.”

Laurie took the phone. “Hello?” Relief washed her like a flood at his words. Relief and vindication. They’d apprehended Dieter and Luìs just outside of Kansas City, trying to steal a different car. It was her first feeling of total safety since she’d found the knife in her table. She put a hand to her heart. “And Cal?”

“Mrs. Prelane, you’d do well to leave that alone.”

“But now you see—”

“Good day, Mrs. Prelane.”

Laurie hung up the phone and closed her eyes. She was safe. Her children were safe. But Cal … She leaned her forehead to the wall. It would take time, that’s all. It would come right. And then?

She drew herself up. She couldn’t think of then. This moment had enough to deal with. She went into the den and looked into her children’s faces.

19

W
E HAVE TO DISTRUST EACH OTHER
.

I
T IS OUR ONLY DEFENSE AGAINST BETRAYAL.

Tennessee Williams

T
HE FIRST THING CAL REALIZED when he woke was that he wished he hadn’t. If he tried hard enough he might find something that didn’t hurt, but it wasn’t worth the effort. He rolled to his side and groaned.

“If you didn’t already look half dead, I’d return the favor.” Danson towered over him and rubbed his jaw.

Cal looked up, wishing Danson wasn’t quite so tall. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t wait until you listened.”

Danson’s expression was stone. “You’ve been bailed out.”

“I have?” Cal sat up, wincing. “Who?”

“Mildred. But that doesn’t mean I won’t still nail your rear to the post.”

“Look, Chuck—”

“Save your breath.” Danson ushered him out to the office. Pete Rawlings turned and motioned him to the chair. Cal eased himself down between them.

Chuck closed the door. “Let’s have your statement.”

“Did you apprehend Laurie’s abductors?”

“It’s your turn to tell.” Danson pushed the button on the tape recorder.

“Just tell me that much.” Cal held a hand to his side, the ribs more sore than yesterday.

Danson loomed over Cal’s chair. “You don’t give it up, do you?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I could.”

Danson held his scowl, then straightened. “We’ve got two guys in custody.”

Cal released a sharp breath.
Ouch
. “Then you know I didn’t kill Brian Prelane.”

Danson didn’t answer.

Rawlings said, “You want some coffee, Chuck?” Cal’s mouth almost watered.

“Get three.” Danson sat down on the edge of the desk. Cal had to tilt to look at him. Danson pointed to the phone. “You got one call. Want a lawyer?”

Cal shook his head. No, he didn’t want a lawyer. He’d gotten himself into this.

“Then start talking.”

Cal closed his eyes and collected his thoughts. It wasn’t easy. Coffee might help, but he still felt confused and battered. That wasn’t all of it, though. He’d been dreaming of Laurie, and that gave him a visceral confusion he was wholly incapable of putting into words.

Inside his head, he laughed.
You see, Sergeant, this girl showed up in my life, and nothing’s been easy since
. He cleared the sleep from his voice. “Well …”