Absolutely, Positively (27 page)

So much for my effort to keep them apart, protect her. “How did Andrew know all this?”

“Overheard it. The walls are apparently pretty thin up there.”

I blushed. I’d have to remember that. “There’s no way Tristan will get bail. Not with his history.”

“I agree,” Suz said, “but Meaghan is a determined woman. Plus, she has the money to back her up.”

“She does?” I asked.

“Her adopted father is Martin Archibald. He’s a doctor, but his family owns Archibald Industries, who, as you know, could give the Wal-Mart Waltons a run for their money.”

I let that sink in. Meaghan had never said a word. “How did you know?”

“Andrew.”

“He’s just a font of information.”

“Cute, too, with that little lock of hair that falls onto his forehead. Anyway, he was a business major at BU—he recognized the name and had a hunch. He Googled Meaghan, and sure enough there she was. She’s an heiress worth billions.”

The phone rang and Suz jumped up from her perch on the windowsill to answer it.

As I listened to her make an appointment for a new client, I thought about Meaghan and felt a deep sadness settle over me like a heavy blanket. In her case, love wouldn’t conquer all. Life’s little twists of fate were sometimes so cruel. If not for Meaghan’s suicide attempt, she never would have met Martin Archibald and would not be one of the richest young women in America. If not for Anthony Spero lying to Tristan about Meaghan’s “death,” he never would have lashed out, which had earned him a stint in a maximum-security prison and fueled a career as a lifetime criminal.

One was adopted into a loving, wealthy family.

One became a criminal mastermind who robbed the rich to help the poor.

Love wasn’t enough to bring them back together.

Maybe Preston was right—Tristan and Meaghan’s story was more like Romeo and Juliet than I wanted to believe.

Suz hung up. She checked the Common again before saying, “Sean came down a little bit ago to see if you were in yet. He’s in a bad, bad mood. Do you want some coffee?” Suz asked me on her way to the kitchenette.

“No thanks. I’m cutting back.”

Her eyes widened. “One night at your mother’s and now you’ve gone all health-food nut on me, too?”

“Not quite.”

“Well, I might be gung ho for that Zumba class, but I draw the line at coffee,” she mumbled as she walked away.

I heard footsteps on the stairs outside the door and jumped up, hoping it was Sean. I hadn’t seen him since this morning and was suddenly desperate to lay eyes on him, maybe take his pulse.

I stuck my head out the door. Catherine Murphy was coming down the steps, one hand in an enormous handbag, rooting around the (seemingly bottomless) depths.

“Car keys?” I asked.

She smiled as she stepped onto the landing. “I can never find them in this thing. It might be time to downsize.”

I leaned against the railing, held on to the newel post. Up close, she looked pretty darn good for the week she’d had. “I’m sorry about Anthony.”

“Don’t be,” she said, her lips thinning.

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s terrible, but I’m glad he’s gone. He was mean, abusive, and downright nasty. He made Mary Ellen’s life miserable.”

“Why did she stay with him? Why not get a divorce?”

“She took a vow,” Catherine said simply. “For better or worse. She suffered through a lot of worse.”

I couldn’t help comparing Mary Ellen to Mum. Whereas Mum bailed on a relationship whenever things turned bad, Mary Ellen had stuck it out. Mum was happy. Mary Ellen had spent most her life unhappy. I decided I needed to reassess my definition of “dysfunction.”

Catherine pulled out a set of keys from her purse, jangled them triumphantly.

“Did you come alone?” I looked up the stairs, fully expecting to see Mary Ellen coming down.

“Mary Ellen’s at work.”

“So soon?” I asked.

“We both went back yesterday. We can’t find it in ourselves to mourn.”

“What about a funeral?”

“Tony was cremated and his ashes will be scattered in front of his favorite pub. Appropriate, don’t you think?”

I didn’t think she was really looking for an answer. “How did the meeting with Sean go? Did you see Meaghan?”

She looked up the stairs, toward the SDI offices. “Meaghan was gone by the time I arrived. Honestly, it was a waste of my time coming here, but I couldn’t refuse Meaghan’s request. I’m truly sorry for Meaghan, but there’s nothing I can do to help her at this point. Tristan Rourke did Mary Ellen a favor as far as I’m concerned and I’m not necessarily of the belief that he should be punished for it, but there is nothing I can do to help him. The course that he’s on is one of his own making. Stealing a car … running Tony over. Crime is in his nature. Maybe it’s best for Meaghan it turned out this way. She can move on, find a nice boy to settle down with. Because with Tristan she’ll be looking at a lifetime of pain. Men don’t change.”

But all of this really wasn’t Tristan’s own making, was it? It was a childhood that had a little boy stealing to survive. It was a man’s cruelty that ripped the heart from a young man. It was a judge who showed no compassion. And from that pain it was a grown man out to avenge the happily ever after he’d been denied.

“I should go. I’m late for work.” Holding out her hand, Catherine said, “I learned a long time ago that you can’t save them all.”

Maybe not, but I’d keep trying. I shook her hand. The images came quickly, telling me a story to which I already knew the ending.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

Slowly I pulled my hand away. “Yeah, just a dizzy spell. The earrings Mary Ellen wore the other night—the pearls—did you happen to give those to her?”

“For Christmas, why?” she asked suspiciously. “Are you looking to buy a pair?”

“Something like that,” I mumbled.

With a sinking feeling, I watched her walk down the stairs and out the front door.

“I know that look,” a voice said from behind me. Sean was standing on the third-floor landing, looking down at me. “What did you see?”

“A small pearl earring.”

“Like the one Mary Ellen was wearing the other night?”

“Just like that one,” I said softly, sadly.

“Where was it?”

“It’s wedged in between the cushions of a black sedan at the BPD’s impound lot.” It made perfect sense—now. The car had been stolen in Quincy Center, not far from the library. Then I remembered the survival book on Catherine’s desk—the area she shared with her sister. I’d lay odds there was a chapter on hot-wiring a car. All she’d have to do was call Anthony and tell him to meet her at the hotel and wait.…

Sean came down the steps. “The car that ran over Anthony Spero?”

“Yes.”

“So it was Mary Ellen who ran him over?” He dragged a hand down his face.

“It looks that way, but my guess is Catherine was in on it.”

His eyes were a dark gray in this lighting. Or maybe because he was still troubled … with Meaghan and Tristan, with his heart. “Why do you think so?”

“She was thinking about the earring—she had to have been for me to be able to see it. She knows it’s missing—and it’s weighing on her mind. I bet she’s worrying it will be found in the car the police recovered.”

I ran my hand over his cheek. Stubble scratched my palm. “We gave them the perfect opening to get rid of Anthony with the news that Tristan was out for revenge. He had motive, opportunity, and a criminal record. If I hadn’t seen that earring, they might have gotten away with it.”

“It seems against their nature to use Tristan as a scapegoat. Especially after everything Anthony had done to him.”

“Catherine just mentioned that she thought Meaghan would be better off without Tristan. I think in a strange way she thinks she’s protecting Meaghan by sending Tristan back to jail.”

Just as I’d tried to do. And like me, Catherine was wrong. Meaghan’s heart knew all along Tristan was innocent—of murder at least—and she had been willing to risk everything for the man she loved.

I should have trusted her, because I knew how she felt to take a risk for love. I leaned upward and gave Sean a long kiss. His arm curved around me, pulling me closer. His heart beat hard against mine. Reassuring.

“I’ll be back in just a second.”

Without looking back, I ran down the steps.

I had to do this. For that seventeen-year-old boy who thought he was responsible for the death of the girl he loved. For a love that still had a chance to conquer all.

I jogged down the block and skidded to a stop in front of a nondescript Ford. The window powered down.

Agent St. John said, “We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”

I looked across at his partner, who smirked. I’d be very happy never to see them again. Maybe now I wouldn’t have to. “I know who ran over Anthony Spero, and it wasn’t Tristan Rourke.”

31

Soft lights lit expensive artwork. Beautiful carpeting lined the hallway of the exquisite five-star hotel. I knocked on the door to room 223.

“What am I going to say to him?” I asked Sean.

Down the hall, a uniformed man with a housekeeping cart tried to blend in with the woodwork.

“Are you getting cold feet?”

“A little.” I didn’t really know Mac, but in a way I did. I could almost understand why he’d run away from home if the changes I’d seen in Jemima over the last couple of days were any indication. Maybe by disappearing he was teaching his daughter one last life lesson—that she was strong enough to stand on her own. “I miss Rufus. I’ll be glad to see him.”

I knocked again.

The man with the cart approached us. “Are you looking for the dark-haired gentleman? The one with the dog?”

“You’ve seen him?” I asked.

“Nice man, nice man. Good tipper.” He smiled.

If he only knew just how free Mac was with his money.

“I was sad to see him go,” the man added.

“Go?” Sean asked.

“Checked out about an hour ago. He was in quite a rush.”

So close. “Do you happen to know where he went?”

“Sorry, no. You might want to check with the front desk.”

Sean slipped him a folded bill and the man trotted off.

“Interesting that Mac would suddenly check out an hour ago,” Sean said. “Coincidence?”

“Not coincidence. Christa.”

*   *   *

I thought it was high time we had a talk with Christa Hayes. But as we approached Mac’s estate, the street out front was crammed with TV crews and reporters standing around. There was no sign of Preston, which meant she was probably still in Roxbury.

“This can’t be good.” There were three police cars that I could see from here.

“No,” Sean agreed.

A Cohasset patrolman manning the gate stopped me as I tried to head up to the house. “I’m sorry, ma’am, no visitors.”

I flashed him my state police credentials—I didn’t have a badge, but my ID was still impressive. I asked, “What happened?”

Looking unimpressed, he handed my ID back to me. “Some sort of domestic dispute. The captain has more details up at the house.” He waved us through.

We found a place to park at the bottom of the drive. It was a long way up to the house, but I held back any suggestions about Sean staying put. I found I was getting quite good at faking the whole I-was-okay-with-his-health thing.

As we passed the police cars, my mind flew through theories. One of which was that Mac had come home and Rick had gone ballistic and killed him. I shared these thoughts with Sean.

“You have quite the overactive imagination.”

It was a cool afternoon with a hint of spring in the air. The snow would soon be gone, and tiny crocuses would pop up through the frozen ground. I was looking forward to not being cold all the time.

The image of Sean and me in Hawaii came to mind, and I could practically feel the sway of the hammock.

“You’re overlooking the obvious,” he said.

I stumbled a bit, righting myself. It was the same thing Orlinda had said to me this morning.

Sometimes from the ashes a gift rises.

Who was Orlinda Batista? She was a psychic healer—that much I knew for certain. My stomach had never felt better.

Had it been fate our paths crossed? Destiny?

I think, Lucy, there is more to your abilities than you’re aware.

I had the feeling she could help me understand my gift. Help me to learn why I saw visions of the future when I touched Sean’s hand. And maybe, if I was really lucky, she could see my aura and I would know for certain if Sean and I were meant to be.

She was right—I would see her again.

“What’s so obvious?” I asked, trying to pretend I didn’t already know. That I hadn’t been thinking about it since I saw the police cars and heard the words “domestic dispute.” That my telling Jemima about Esmeralda hadn’t been the fuel for a situation that needed a response from so many cops.

Sean glanced at me. His color was a bit better, though that could have been from the exertion of climbing the steep driveway. I didn’t want to think about how his heart was working extra hard right now. Mine was, too, which reminded me I should take better care of it. Exercise more. Maybe I’d take up running. Or one of those cycling classes at the local gym. Or even Zumba.

Sean must have heard something in my tone, because he put his arm around my shoulder and kissed my temple. “That Mac and Rufus came back and Rufus tore the place apart looking for his rubber chicken, which sent Jemima over the edge, and she threw her book of Tao out the glass window, which shattered into a million pieces, and—”

“You’re humoring me.”

“Yes.”

“I’m okay with that.” It was better than the image I had of Jemima taking a steak knife to Rick.

We crested the drive and suddenly my feet wouldn’t budge. “Oh.”

The house was bathed in bright lights as a construction crew set about hammering plywood over the missing windows. Windows that had been shot out if the bullet holes in the remaining windows were any indication. I was suddenly worried sick about Christa and Jemima.

I nudged Sean. Rick Hayes was sitting in the back of a cruiser with a smug look on his face. Ha. See if I ever told him where his pink guitar pick was.