Hush (17 page)

Underlying these thoughts was the strange, frozen realization that Annette Deneuve Rendell was dead. Gone. Forever. Her evil stepmother who wasn‘t really so evil, but who Coby had wished, at the very least, would go
poof!
and disappear. Coby was still struggling to believe it. She‘d witnessed Annette‘s body. Watched as it was taken out on a gurney. Imagined it being tucked into the coroner‘s van, the doors slammed shut behind it and then gone.

But it didn‘t feel real.

yet.

Neither had Lucas‘s death. Her mind‘s eye traveled to him. His body. Cobalt blue color beneath his skin. Blue. Like Annette‘s favorite color. Blue, from lack of oxygen. Two accidental deaths that occurred from asphyxiation. Lucas had fallen, but it was drowning that had actually killed him, according to the final report.

Tell me what happened, in your own words.

She inhaled hard and squeezed her eyes closed even more. Didn‘t want to think about it.

Couldn‘t help it.

Did she think there was more to these two accidental deaths? Did she?

The night Lucas died they‘d played Pass the Candle, the guys had crashed the party, most of them had drunk alcohol, and they‘d hooked up with each other, or not, and fallen asleep and woken up the next day to learn Lucas had fallen from a cliff to his death. At the time Coby had told Detective Clausen a truncated version of the events, but she was clueless and scared and grief-stricken and Clausen closed his notebook on her and went on to someone else.

Yvette‘s story was the only one that had further detail. Clausen talked to her in a separate room, but Jean-Claude was with her and when the interview was done, neither he nor Yvette had any compunction about keeping things secret. After Clausen left Jean-Claude urged Yvette to tell the rest of them where she‘d been all night and she did so in a quiet, clear voice that Coby thought later sounded rehearsed.

In essence, Yvette said she‘d wandered away from their group late in the night. And yes, Lucas Moore was with her. They went to the overlook just south of the area known as Bancroft Bluff, an expensive housing development built on an unstable cliff where the million-dollar-plus houses were slipping off their foundations and basically uninsurable. Beyond the bluff was a jut of land called simply the Overlook. It was a viewpoint during the day for those in the know, as it was down a private road, not made for public use, and it was a meeting place at night for anyone who wanted privacy and secrecy. Another mile down the beach was the small town of Deception Bay, and if the Overlook was ever raided, you might be able to make a desperate scramble down the cliff to the beach and get away.

But it was a sharp drop off the edge. A tumble to the rocks below for those who were not cautious. A place to die for Lucas Moore.

―I wasn‘t there when he fell,‖ Yvette said. ―We were talking, arguing, about Rhiannon mostly . . .‖ She waved a hand. ―And other girls. I wanted everyone to know about us. I loved him.

He loved me. But he wouldn‘t do it. Was so afraid . . .‖ She let her voice trail off, and looked away, setting her suddenly quivering jaw. ―I just left him there. Walked down the highway for a while.

These people tried to pick me up. An older man and woman. They were scared for me, walking alone. I refused to get in the car and went down to the beach. There was a big piece of driftwood that I crawled behind. I just curled up and lay there on the sand, cold. I didn‘t care. I just wanted him to be honest! I was sick of pretending!‖

―It‘s all right,‖ Jean-Claude said to his daughter soothingly. Like everyone else, she couldn‘t quite get it that Lucas was gone.

―He fell,‖ she said, as if trying out the words. ―He just . . . fell.‖

No one knew what to believe about Yvette‘s story. Coby realized Yvette had witnesses that she was alone, should she need them: the couple in the car. But she hadn‘t needed them. Lucas, as Yvette said, just fell.

And then the last year of high school began, and Yvette gave birth to Benedict in March, and Vic, or someone else, stuck notes in their lockers, and they graduated and went on to college and the rest of their lives.

And Rhiannon died . . . and now Annette.

Was it all random? Or did some of what Genevieve had suggested tonight, even if it was half-hysterical, ring true?

Annette had been adamant that she was going to tell secrets. Were they the kind of secrets that could expose something? Something so big that killing Annette seemed like a good option? An option they took advantage of?

No way. No . . . no way. That was just too unbelievable.

But. . .

What did Annette know? What, if anything, did it have to do with the lock of hair in the envelope? Should she tell someone about that? Like Danner? Was she, Coby, just being spooked by three unrelated deaths of people she knew?

―Danner,‖ she said aloud. Almost with relief, she turned her mind to him. He was a feel-good. A happy place to go.

She concentrated on what he looked like: the dark, slightly unruly hair; flashing, if rare, smile; blue eyes; lean body; low-riding jeans, especially when they were his brother‘s. Strong hands. Strong manner. Indefinable sexiness that came at Coby like pheromones, filling her senses.

Troubled, but with images of Danner flooding through her mind, she finally fell into a fitful sleep.

One bitch is dead.

I’m not sorry.

I’ve done everything I can, used every method available, and yet I’m still an unknown face.

I can barely see myself in the mirror anymore.

I am no one. They’ve made me no one.

I’m dissolving from sight, little by little.

But now I’ll have my revenge. I find it is no great heartbreak to kill them. Even those I’ve
loved . . . especially those I’ve loved. They never, ever do what they should! They continually
disappoint me.

I hate them.

I hate them all.

But as they disappear into a hazy forever where they can never hurt me again, I keep their
treasures close to me.

Now, as I stand in quiet reflection, naked, eyes closed, sensing a fire smoldering in the
secret core of myself, I crush the envelope in my hand and feel a sexual thrill at its resistance.

There are hazards ahead. Annette was brazen and stupid. She ta lked and talked and talked.

She took one of my treasures.

And Coby Rendell found it. Looked inside. She heard more than she should have. She sees
more than she lets on.

She knows too much already.

In my mind there is a list of names.

Coby’s has risen to the top like a cresting wave.

Something will have to be done.

Something soon.

Fucking. Bitch.

The power came on at 4:37 A.M. and blasted the house with light and the rumble of the electric furnace. Coby‘s eyes flew open and she nearly blinded herself. She‘d unwittingly left the light on in the den.

Throwing back the covers, she struggled to her feet. She‘d fallen asleep in her jeans, blouse, and socks; she had no other clothes except what she‘d worn to work.

Her father poked his head into the hall as she came from the den. They stared at each other a moment. His eyes were red-rimmed and the skin on his face sagged. Was his hair grayer? Because of Annette‘s death? Or had she simply not noticed until now?

―I‘m just going to turn the lights off,‖ she told him.

He nodded. ―Thanks, Bug.‖

He closed the door behind him as Suzette appeared in the hallway, shivering in a nightgown, her hands clutching a short Windbreaker close, using it as a robe. Galen came out of the bedroom as well, in jeans and an unbuttoned shirt, his dark hair tousled.

Juliet‘s door opened next. She looked out solemnly. ―Coby?‖

―Turning off the lights,‖ she told them all, heading for the living room, which was only illuminated by a floor lamp, then the adjunct dining room, which was flooded by can lights. She snapped off the switches and walked through one of the two archways into the kitchen where plates were stacked, some rinsed, some not, and the disposable aluminum pans that held the lasagna had been rinsed, crushed, and balled up, ready for the recycle bin. What was left of the cake had been moved to the table in the nook and now the blue icing flowers looked unnatural and artificial. Some had been smashed and smeared into the frosting.

Everything looked used and forgotten.

The coffee urn was on a side shelf. Coby checked it. Half-full from before the loss of power.

It was decaf and had no punch, but she poured herself a cup and put it in the microwave for a minute, watching the timer run down the seconds.

Jean-Claude suddenly appeared in the aperture. ―Got any more of that?‖

―It‘s decaf.‖

He shrugged and Coby readied another cup. When hers came out of the microwave, she inserted his. When the microwave dinged again, she handed him his cup and they both sat down at the nook table, facing the wilting cake.

Jean-Claude‘s normally dark skin had lost color. Grayed. Like her father‘s hair. Tragedy.

Shock. They could physically affect people. Coby briefly wondered what she looked like, then decided she didn‘t want to know.

―What happened?‖ he asked, but it was a rhetorical question.

Coby cupped her mug with her hands, absorbing its warmth. ―Are you the only one who got up?‖

He nodded. ―I haven‘t slept.‖

Coby wanted to ask if Yvette had even stirred but decided against it. What did it matter.

Yvette had a preteen son who might have witnessed his aunt‘s dead body, and she needed to do whatever was best for Benedict.

―I‘m sorry,‖ Coby said, inadequately.

―I talked to Nicholette for over an hour. I was trying to console her, but I think she was consoling me.‖ His smile was heartbreaking. ―I have five daughters, and Nicholette‘s a father‘s dream. Smart, assured, a lawyer at your firm.‖ Jean-Claude faintly smiled. ―Juliet‘s always been focused and I think she‘s the prettiest, though I‘d never say so in front of her. She kinda likes the boys.‖

Coby nodded. He needed to talk and she had no problem listening.

―Suzette‘s the sweetest. The youngest and the sweetest. The most naive,‖ he conceded as if Coby had posed the thought. ―Yvette‘s determined. She can do anything she wants—and does. I always thought she could blast through a mountain by sheer personality, y‘know?‖

―I do,‖ Coby said.

―But Annette was my girl.‖ His voice faded to a ragged whisper. ―I could count on her. I knew her thoughts because they were mine, too. Did you know that she ran everything at Lovejoy‘s? Everything. The personnel. The reservations. The tearoom. The books. There was no part of it she didn‘t oversee. Who‘s going to do that now? Nobody can. Not like Annette.‖

Coby placed one hand over his. She could have told him that since both Suzette and Juliet already worked at Lovejoy‘s, maybe one or both could step up to the overseer position. She could have mentioned that though Faith worked at a title company, she wasn‘t exactly married to her job and had always served in managerial roles. She could have offered her own services, temporarily, if need be.

But Jean-Claude was just talking. Rambling. Beginning to grieve. So instead, she just sipped her coffee and kept quiet as he went on about Annette, coming up with moments from her childhood, little scenarios that he wanted to share with someone, and Coby was the o nly one about.

About an hour into his reminiscing he suddenly stopped short. ―Oh, my God. I haven‘t even thought of Miriam. I need to call her. She is their mother.‖

It was almost six. The rising sun was lifting the darkness by degrees and the wind had slowed to a steady breeze. Rain still fell from the heavens but it was coming down in a drizzle rather than a downpour, at least for the moment. Not exactly the calm after the storm, but close.

Jean-Claude left to find his cell phone and returned a few moments later, holding it aloft for Coby to see. ―No signal now.‖

―Would you like to use mine?‖ Coby asked. ―It‘s pretty good here, usually.‖

―Do you mind?‖

For an answer she went to retrieve her cell, glad to see that she had both battery life and a moderate signal. She handed it to Jean-Claude, who stood for a moment by the living room windows, staring through them in silence. Then he made a sound of discovery and punched in the phone number. ―I hardly know it by heart,‖ he explained to Coby as he waited for Miriam to answer. ―The problem with a call list.‖

―I know.‖ Thinking he might want privacy, she retreated to the kitchen and reheated another cup of coffee. As she waited for the microwave to do its thing, she noticed the shade over the window that looked over the back deck and hot tub was once again lifted. Probably happened after Annette‘s body was discovered. Someone wanted to look out.

She wondered why it had been pulled down. It hadn‘t been that way when she first arrived.

And she was pretty sure it was up when Benedict was in the hot tub; Yvette would have kept a close eye on him. For all her faults, she loved her son and she wasn‘t the type to trust him to be safe.

Jean-Claude had called her determined. Coby kinda thought she was a control freak, but then so was Genevieve, and maybe she suffered a little from that herself.

She heard Jean-Claude click off, and he came into the kitchen and handed her the phone, his expressive eyes looking bruised. ―She is hysterical,‖ he said in a clipped voice. ―I wish I could be kinder, but it‘s mostly drama. Her own daughter‘s death is just another excuse to be a drama queen.‖

―Maybe it‘s how she copes,‖ Coby said, trying to soothe.

―I wish.‖ His faint smile again.

Her father came into the room and glanced around, as if everything were unfamiliar to him.

Slowly he focused on Coby‘s cup of coffee, though he didn‘t say anything.

Squaring her shoulders, she prepared herself for what was going to be a long day and said,

―Let me make a fresh pot of regular,‖ and she got up from the nook table.