Don't Close Your Eyes (28 page)

“Alarm me? Natalie, you seem to forget who is the parent here.”

“And you seem to forget that I’m twenty-nine, not nine.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Dad, I was going to tell you this morning. Last night you looked so tired I didn’t see the point in disturbing your night’s sleep, especially when the police were keeping an eye on the place. Was that so terrible?”

Andrew took a sip of coffee and gazed beyond her. “No, I suppose not. In theory.”

“Okay. Let’s drop it.” Andrew still looked truculent, but she wasn’t going to argue. “The funeral is at two.”

“I know. I’m bringing Ruth. Will you be riding with us?”

“No. Lily might need me afterward so I want my own car.”

“Suit yourself.” Natalie could tell he was still seething. He rose, dumped his remaining coffee in the sink with a splash, and clumped out of the kitchen. Natalie sighed. An awful start to an awful day. What had she expected?

Her

father left around seven-thirty to make rounds. Natalie called Lily to see if she needed anything. “Someone to lean on,” Lily said plaintively. “My father acts like he’s the only one suffering.”

“Some people aren’t capable of recognizing anyone’s grief except their own,” Natalie offered.

“Especially when they’re encouraged to ignore everyone else by the likes of Viveca.”

Lily’s dislike of Viveca would be a real problem in the future if Oliver married Viveca. She felt she should say something placating, but nothing came to mind. Lily wouldn’t listen anyway. “Don’t think about Viveca today,” she said. “Just concentrate on getting through the funeral.”

“At least Warren won’t be there. I guess I should be grateful for small favors.” She paused. “I can hear your disapproval over the phone.”

“I know you didn’t like Warren, but he is dead.”

“And even if he didn’t kill my sister, he did have at least one affair. Do you know what finding out about that would have done to my sister? My pregnant sister? The bastard!”

The bastard who was killed hours after you found out your murdered sister was pregnant, Natalie thought. Nick’s words came back to her: “Profound grief or shock can make you capable of things you never imagined.”

“Natalie, are you there?”

The doorbell rang. Thank goodness, Natalie thought, overcome by guilt for even considering that Lily could be a murderer. “Lily, someone is here. I’ll be at the church a little early, and I’ll be at your house later.”

“I appreciate it. And I’m sorry to be such a harridan today.”

“Don’t worry about it.” The doorbell rang again. “I have to go. See you later.”

She hoped Lily would turn down the virulence a notch before the funeral. Warren’s father would probably attend, and though he didn’t seem too fond of his son, he didn’t need Lily popping off at him every five minutes. Natalie also didn’t want Nick hearing Lily’s rancor. If he seriously suspected her of murdering Warren, her hot temper could only make her look worse.

Natalie’s mind was completely taken up with the problem when she opened the door. She blinked twice in the light before she recognized his tall, slim form. “Nick,” she said flatly.

“Her heart pounds with enthusiasm for his unannounced visit.”

Natalie smiled. “I didn’t mean to be rude. I’m distracted about Tamara’s funeral.”

“And you also didn’t get much sleep because of a prowler.”

“You’ve talked to Ted.”

“Yes. I wish you’d called me last night.”

“You weren’t on duty, and it was just a Peeping Tom.”

Nick tossed her a skeptical look. “You don’t seem like

the kind of woman who calls in the cavalry over a Peeping

Tom.”

“You’re right. After what you told me about a possible

connection among the victims, I got spooked when I saw a

guy watching the house.”

“Did you get a good look at him?” “No. I really only saw the cigarette burning.” “Then why are you sure it was a man?” Natalie stared at him a moment. “The height of the cigarette, although it could have been held by a tall woman.” “Ted said they found two cigarette butts. He’d been

watching you for a while.”

“I’d only been in the bedroom a few minutes.”

“His bad luck was that Blaine sounded the alarm before

he could watch for long.” She looked at him closely. “Ted

gave me the details.”

“Dad also got the details later in the night when he spotted

a patrol car. I was going to spare him until morning. He’s

furious with me, and that’s without knowing I might be on

the killer’s list.”

Nick’s thick eyebrows drew together. “He has to be told,

Natalie.” “I will.”

“If you don’t, I will.”

Irritation prickled through her. “This is my business.” “Not if you get killed. Then it’s my business, and business

has been too good lately.”

Natalie felt slightly chastened. “I’ll be careful.”

“I have a feeling your idea of careful and my idea of

careful aren’t the same. I don’t want anything to happen to

you,” he said fervently, then added as an afterthought, “or

Lily or Alison.”

“Who do you think the prowler last night was?”

“Jeff Lindstrom. Trudy at the diner told me he was staying

at the Lakeview Motel. I checked last night, but he wasn’t

in. I went by again early this morning. No Lindstrom, no car, but he didn’t check out.”

“Then where did he go after he left here?”

Nick shrugged. “Maybe he figured he’d be the first person we’d suspect after you saw him at Tamara’s and decided to lie low.”

“He can’t lie low forever.”

“No, but he can leave town.”

“Oh, great. Can’t you find out where he is?”

“I can run prints from his room, although at this point I have no evidence for a warrant.”

“It’s a motel room.”

“Rented to him, so temporarily it’s his property. Natalie, this isn’t television. Things don’t just fall into place.”

For the first time she noticed he had smudges under his dark blue eyes and lines of strain around his mouth. She also realized that, tired as he was, he was good-looking in a strong-boned, square-jawed way. Definitely not the male model type but definitely handsome.

“Why does everyone in this town stare at me?” Nick asked in amused exasperation.

Color rushed to Natalie’s cheeks. She felt like she did at fifteen when she’d had a crush on seventeen-year-old Hart Sullivan. A crush? More blood rushed to her cheeks.

“Natalie, are you all right? You’re flushed.”

She blinked. She swallowed. She stretched her mouth in a semblance of a smile. “I’m fine. I’m just dreading today.”

“Sure you are.” He was all solicitous concern. She felt ashamed. Tamara was being buried today and she was sizing up the new guy in town. Worse still, he’d caught her doing it. “I’ll be at the funeral,” he said.

“I thought you would be.” Natalie fought to regain some of her poise. “Still looking for potential suspects?”

“Unfortunately, yes. I also need to talk with Viveca Cosgrove and Oliver Peyton.”

“Do you think the funeral is an appropriate place to do it?”

“No, but they’ve both made themselves unavailable to me,” he said.

“That must be annoying.”

“Annoying? It’s pissing me off. This isn’t a game.”

“Oliver and Viveca don’t realize Lily and Alison might be in danger.”

Nick sliced his hand impatiently through the air. “So what? I’m the sheriff, dammit. I’m trying to solve three murders, one of them Peyton’s daughter’s. The Cosgrove woman is supposed to be in love with him and to care about Tamara. I shouldn’t have to chase them down. They should be eager to help me in any way they can instead of acting like I’m some nosy pest.”

Natalie looked at him sympathetically. “They’re both really highhanded.”

“Well, they can get off their thrones voluntarily or I’ll damn well drag them off. I’m getting sick of people like Oliver Peyton and Max Bishop.”

“Max Bishop won’t talk to you, either?”

“I stand corrected. He will. He called yesterday to yell that I’m not doing my job. His body may be debilitated, but his voice is in fine working order. He says Purdue would have had this whole thing solved in twenty-four hours.”

“Purdue wouldn’t have known what to do if the killer walked right up to him and confessed,” Natalie said scornfully. “Real “police work scared him to death, sent him straight to his office for a shot of courage he thought no one knew he kept in his desk drawer. Nick, you have to realize that Oliver Peyton, Viveca Cosgrove, and Max Bishop are big fish in a very little pond called Port Ariel and Purdue was their flunky. Don’t let any of them run over you because you’re trying to fit in around here. You’ll never fit in like Purdue did and most people in this town thank God that you don’t.”

Nick relaxed slightly and grinned. “Thanks, coach.”

“I didn’t mean to preach.”

“I needed a sermon. You’re right—I can’t let these people get to me. If I do, I can’t think clearly.”

“Well, I for one want you thinking as clearly as possible, Nick, because without you, this killer will go free.” Natalie shivered. “And I think he’ll kill again. I can feel it.”

Natalie could not remember enduring a longer funeral service. Lily looked as pale as death itself. Oliver sat frozen faced, his black-and-silver hair slicked into place, his dark gray suit exquisite, although he looked as if he’d lost ten pounds; the suit was too big in the shoulders. Beside him Viveca posed in equal sartorial splendor, diamond studs glistening on her earlobes. Alison slumped in her pew, her face vacant, her restless hands twisting strands of her flaxen hair. Several times Viveca reached up to gently stop the nervous movement.

Lily shot Viveca and Alison scalding glances, clearly resenting their places with the family while aunts, uncles, and cousins were relegated to more distant pews. Warren’s father had not come, although his young wife fidgeted in stylish boredom beside Warren’s hulking brother who seemed to be dozing.

Natalie sat with her father and Ruth. Every time Andrew kneeled, his knees popped and his face reddened. Ruth cast him a couple of encouraging smiles. Natalie wondered how serious they were. They hadn’t been seeing each other long, and Andrew swore he “barely knew” Ruth, but they seemed close. Natalie wished he would find someone. He’d been alone too long.

Suddenly she realized she was thinking of everything except the service. Deliberately. If she didn’t, she would cry and she didn’t want to cause a scene. Long ago Natalie had learned to shed tears in private. She would do the same today.

At last the service ended. As they filed out of the church, Ruth let out a tiny gasp and dropped her purse. Startled, Natalie bent to retrieve the purse while Andrew firmly took Ruth’s arm. “What’s wrong?” he muttered.

“I… I don’t know. Everything went black for a moment.” Ruth managed a twitchy smile, although her face was dewy with perspiration. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.” By now they had reached the door of the church. “Natalie, I’m taking Ruth home.”

“Oh, no,” Ruth protested. “You’ll want to go to the grave site …”

“I don’t,” Andrew said emphatically. “I want to take you home and have something to drink and a quiet talk.”

“Andrew—”

“There’s no point in arguing with him,” Natalie said.

“It never stopped you,” Andrew retorted without sarcasm. Ruth smiled. “Come on, Ruth. You’re pale and your hands are trembling. It might be an attack of hypoglycemia, in which case you need nourishment.” Or the service might have been a reminder of her husband’s funeral, Natalie thought. Her father looked at her. “We’ll see you later, dear.”

With that they were heading for Andrew’s car. Natalie watched them. A handsome couple. Andrew’s concern for Ruth was obvious. He would take care of her, even though her attack was probably nothing serious.

As she walked toward her car she saw Nick Meredith almost running toward a light blue car. He wore a suit and had driven his own car to the funeral, but she knew he was on the job and something was wrong. She stood by her car, fingers touching the door handle, watching Nick tear out of the parking lot and make a fast right onto a busy street. Who was he chasing? It had to be someone he’d seen at the funeral.

If Nick had not turned at that exact moment, he would have missed Lindstrom, head bowed, creeping out the door of the church. He was trying to lose himself among the other mourners. He failed.

By the time Nick pushed his way through the sedate line of people in front of him, Lindstrom had made it to a white Cavalier. He cast cautious looks around him and met Nick’s gaze. Their eyes locked for a significant instant before Lindstrom swung his long legs in the car and turned on the ignition. Nick ran. He was already firing up his car as Jeff Lindstrom spun away from the Sacred Heart parking lot.

Nick had left his car unlocked. As he climbed in, he saw Natalie St. John standing beside her car, looking at him. Her long black hair lifted gently in the breeze and her dark eyes filled with curiosity. He didn’t know if she had seen Lindstrom—probably not—but she knew something was wrong. No time for explanations. Catching Lindstrom would be explanation enough. The creep may not have killed three people, Nick thought, but he’d terrified Natalie on Hyacinth Lane and spied at her through her bedroom window.

Spied on her. Lain in wait for her. Nick’s foot pressed the accelerator. This bastard wasn’t getting away from him.

He was one car away from Lindstrom. The elderly man ahead puttered along in an old, rusted Cadillac that put out a cloud of smoke. Every time Nick tried to pass, the car weaved toward the left. Nick honked the horn to indicate he needed to pass. The old man gave him the finger. Surprised and infuriated, Nick checked oncoming traffic, then roared

by the ancient Cadillac. The guy gave him the finger again and laid on the horn. Nick quelled the impulse to return the obscene gesture, but he couldn’t resist blasting his own horn. He wanted to pull the guy over, but he had to concentrate on Lindstrom, who was getting away.