Authors: Carlene Thompson
“Drinking and carousing, and you’ll
never
see her!”
Bethany grinned. “You think I’m silly.”
“I think you are an extremely devoted mother to a beautiful little girl. Jeremy is simply enchanted by her. He told me he thinks angels must look like her.”
Bethany beamed. “And she thinks he’s wonderful. He’s so patient with her, going along with all her little games, enduring tea parties. You two are coming to her birthday party, aren’t you?”
“I told you we wouldn’t miss it. It was sweet of you to invite us.”
“Jeremy gets along great with kids and you can help out.”
“Me? Help out?” Christine faked a look of horror. “Is that why I got invited? Not for cake and ice cream?”
“You can have all the cake and ice cream you want
after
you help out. Travis is not much good at those things.”
“What do you mean? He’s one of the favorite professors at Winston University because he’s so good with young people. He can even make Biology one-oh-one fun.”
Bethany’s heart-shaped face took on a wistful look. “You don’t have to tell me. I was one of his students. He’s great with young people who are over fifteen. Youngsters don’t interest him and he doesn’t try to hide it.”
Christine had met Bethany in an art appreciation class when Bethany had come back to the university a second time to work toward a degree. That time she’d dropped out because of a difficult pregnancy with Jan. Bethany and
Christine had remained friends, and over the years, Christine realized that no matter how well things were going for Bethany, she always managed to find a dark side.
“Bethany, I’ve seen Travis with Jan. He adores her. And he’s great with her.”
“With her alone, yes. Groups of kids?” Bethany shook her head. “Oh well, here I am going on about trivial problems when you’ve been through such an ordeal.”
“Which has the whole town talking, Chris.” Christine and Bethany looked up to see Patricia Prince lounging in the doorway. She was impeccably dressed with her shoulder-length golden brown hair in a chic reproduction of a 1950s movie star’s style and a half-smile on her classic lips. “I must say, though, that you don’t look half as bad as I’d expected.”
Patricia strolled into the room with the proprietary air Christine had always hated. Bethany was immediately intimidated. She jumped up from her chair. “I was just leaving, Patricia. I’m a volunteer now and I have this cart to push around, although no one is much interested in reading, not that I blame them, because everything is so outdated—” Bethany seemed to run out of air.
“Are you enjoying your job?” Patricia asked.
“It’s okay. Well, really it’s fairly boring.”
“Certainly they could find something more interesting for you to do.”
“Apparently I’m not qualified for anything else.”
“That’s ridiculous. You’re a wonder with flowers, and those arrangements in the gift shop could certainly use improvement.”
“Well, I guess I could suggest it.”
“Don’t
suggest
it, Bethany,” Patricia said impatiently. “Show some spine.
Insist
on it. It isn’t as though Hugh Zane’s daughter doesn’t have any pull around here.”
A nervous smile fluttered over Bethany’s face. “Well,
I’ll mention it to someone. I’ll be running along now. Hope you feel better, Chris. Good-bye, Patricia.”
As soon as Bethany closed the door behind her after crashing her cart into the door frame a couple of times, Christine asked, “Why are you always that way with her?”
Patricia looked genuinely surprised. “What way?”
“Bossy. Annoyed.”
“I was only trying to get her to stand up for herself.”
“Her father gives her orders constantly. Now you’re doing it.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake.” Patricia shook her head. “I didn’t mean to give her orders, but I must admit that trembling fawn manner of hers drives me crazy. Who would guess she’s Hugh Zane’s daughter? He’s so commanding and—”
“Overbearing.”
Patricia laughed. “Yes, I guess he is. But you’re allowed to be overbearing when you’re loaded with cash. Then it’s called self-confident.”
“Bethany is trying to be your friend lately, helping you with your garden and all, so it wouldn’t kill you to be a little kinder.”
“I think you’re just finding fault with me because you’re a grouchy patient, but I’ll humor you. I promise to be
kinder
to Bethany.” Patricia sat down on Bethany’s abandoned chair, lit a cigarette, blew out the smoke in a swift stream, and smiled at Christine. “Anyway, I’m sure our little Bethany’s not so meek with everyone. Travis, for example.”
“And what makes you think that?”
“I just do. I know Bethany’s type. Meek with others, a bitch to the husband.”
“I don’t think Bethany could ever be a bitch. And by the way, you’re not allowed to smoke in here.”
“I know. But I’ll get away with it as long as I can.”
Christine watched her closely and noticed a slight tremor in her long, well-manicured fingers. Patricia caught her gaze and said sharply, “I haven’t had one of these for hours. Nicotine withdrawal. Oh, how are you feeling?”
“Thank you for asking. Lousy.”
Patricia emitted a husky smoker’s laugh. “I’m glad you’re not being a martyr. And I’m sure you won’t believe it, but I
am
concerned about you.”
“Thanks,” Christine said, somewhat disconcerted. “You’re probably also curious.”
“I’m curious as hell, but I was given orders by Ames not to ask you any questions. I don’t suppose you’d just volunteer the details of exactly what happened this morning, would you?”
“I suppose I could oblige with a
few
details. I was assaulted by a man who dropped a wet terry cloth robe over my eyes and stuffed a washcloth in my mouth. I was lifting weights. He sat down on my thighs, actually ground his hips into them with these obscene movements, and kept my arms bearing the weights up in the air until my hands were getting sweaty and my arms began to shake. Then he let me lower my arms and he hit me first with his fist, then with a weight, resulting in a concussion and this lovely cut and bruise.”
“Good God, Christine!” Patricia looked shocked. “I had no idea it was so . . . foul.”
“Foul? I could have been killed.”
“A flat-out murder attempt somehow seems
cleaner
than the simulated rape.” She shivered.
“Patricia, will you please not spread around the part about the hip grinding? I shouldn’t have said anything. The gossips in town would have a field day with that detail.”
Patricia’s face had gone pale. “I won’t say anything to anyone. I promise.” She seemed aware that her expression and her voice had become peculiarly sincere and
quickly pasted on a smile and retrieved her usual tart tone of voice. “Besides, I don’t have any friends in this town to titillate with details. Oh, I’ve no doubt a few of our nosier neighbors will force themselves to be friendly with me hoping I might slake their curiosity, but I won’t give them any satisfaction.”
Christine smiled. “I appreciate your silence on the matter, Patricia, whatever your reasons.”
Patricia raised her eyebrows. “A thank-you from Christine? I believe my heart will stop. And just to prove I
do
have a heart, my main reason for silence would be the feeling that what happens in your life is none of the town gossips’ business. God knows I’m sick of their curiosity about what happens in
my
life. And now the vultures are circling because of Dara. It’s a nightmare.”
“How’s Ames doing, Patricia? He wouldn’t say much about himself to me.”
“Me neither, I’m afraid. Last night was awful. He was devastated. But it seems the police don’t consider his identification conclusive. Something about the ring not being enough proof that the body is Dara’s. By this morning, he’d latched on to that fact like a drowning man. He was almost buoyant, convinced the body wasn’t Dara’s.”
“Oh no.” Christine shook her head. “You know the body probably
is
Dara’s and he’s setting himself up for a big fall.”
“I know, but I didn’t argue with him. Sometimes even false hope is better than nothing. Unfortunately, his mood changed for the worse again after Jeremy blurted out something at lunch about you finding Dara’s diary.” She raised an eyebrow. “Did you really find her diary?”
“Oh God,” Christine groaned. Jeremy and his runaway tongue. “Yes, we did find her diary tucked in a tree down by the creek.”
“In a tree! How odd. What made you look there?”
“Rhiannon. She ran up the tree, Jeremy went after her, stuck his hand in a hole, and there it was.”
“Sounds like something out of Nancy Drew.”
“I know, but in a Nancy Drew book it would have been much more fun. In reality it felt eerie to find it after so long.”
“Yes, I can imagine. But Jeremy said you read it and now you’re giving it to the police.”
“He told Ames that?”
“Yes. Ames just stared at him, then left the table and slammed into his study.”
Christine’s spirits sank. She remembered that when he’d gone down to bed with Rhiannon before she and Streak read the diary, Jeremy had closed the basement door. But much later, when she realized someone was outside peering in, Rhiannon had been sitting on the dining room table. Obviously, at some time Jeremy had crept up the stairs, opened the door, and heard her and Streak reading the diary and talking about taking it to the police. He wouldn’t have meant to hurt Christine by telling Ames, but Jeremy had a strong, if sometimes misguided, conscience. He would have recalled Dara’s fervent decree that no one read the diary, which he’d firmly repeated to his sister. He would have felt betrayed by her ignoring his warning and thought it was his duty to report to Dara’s father that Christine and Streak not only had read his adored Dara’s sacred book but also planned to hand it over to the police.
“Jeremy shouldn’t have said anything about the diary, but he was probably angry with me,” Christine said. “He said Dara didn’t want anyone to read it.”
“But you did.”
“Yes.”
“You
and
Streak.”
“Yes.”
“What did it say?”
“Not much,” Christine hedged, feeling Patricia’s gaze sharpen and her tension heighten. The woman knew she was lying and it bothered her. Maybe even frightened her.
“You’d better forget about giving that diary to the police, Chris, and hand it over to Ames.”
“It’s too late. Deputy Winter has it by now.”
“What?” Patricia closed her eyes briefly. “Do you know that all hell will break loose? Ames will go on an absolute rampage.”
“I can’t imagine Ames on a rampage,” Christine said weakly, already dreading her guardian’s wrath.
“You can’t? Good God, Chris, you don’t know him at all.”
“I know he’ll be mad, but he’ll get over it.”
“Ha! He’ll never get over it. This is Dara we’re talking about. His darling, his angel, his—” Patricia broke off and looked at the ceiling. “I’m not going to tell him you’ve already given it to the police. I’m not fool enough to deliver that piece of news. Honestly, Chris, how could you be so stupid as to give the cops that damned diary?”
“I am not stupid and I gave it to them because they should have it!”
“Even though there was nothing important in it? That’s what you said.” Patricia’s eyes narrowed. Christine suddenly felt like a mouse with a hawk swooping down on it. “But that’s not true, is it?” Patricia demanded. “There must have been something significant in the diary or you wouldn’t have given it to Winter.”
Mercifully, Christine was saved from answering when a nurse poked her head in the door, glaring. “No smoking!” she barked at Patricia. “None. Whatsoever. Nada. Against the rules. Verboten.”
“I think I got the message,” Patricia said acidly, still holding her cigarette with aplomb.
“You’re also shouting.”
“Well, you know how crazed we addicts are,” Patricia returned.
“Perhaps it’s best if you leave now. You’re upsetting my patient,” the nurse said coldly.
Patricia stood up gracefully and looked down at Christine. “Think you can muddle through the rest of the afternoon and evening in this horrid place with such charming company as your nurse?”
“Sure. I’ll be fine,” Christine said feebly, still shaken by Patricia’s outburst.
“If you can’t, I’ll come and set a diversionary fire with one of my cigarettes while I break you out of the joint.” The nurse shot Patricia a sour look. “Need a lift in the morning?”
“Tess is picking me up.”
“Ah, the lovely Tess.” Patricia frowned. “If I had a husband seven years younger than I am who looks like hers, you can bet I’d take a little more care of my appearance. What’s she put on in the last few months? Twenty pounds?”
“Maybe Rey loves Tess for more than her looks. Besides, she’s my best friend.”
“Oh. I’m being put in my place for yet another episode of my habitual acerbity.” Patricia gave her thick hair a slight toss as if in defiance. “Well, chin up, kid. You look like hell right now, but you should improve in a couple of days. Well, better make that three. And, dear, don’t expect a lot of sympathy from Ames after this diary stunt. I’m afraid your good conscience will put you right over the line with him.”
“Put out that
cigarette
,” the nurse repeated loudly.
Patricia held the woman’s gaze as she dropped the cigarette on the floor and slowly ground it out with the toe of her expensive alligator pump. Then she swept past the
nurse with a whiff of Chanel No. 5, a swish of the door, and a trail of cigarette smoke floating behind her.
“That woman is outrageous,” the nurse muttered venomously. “I wouldn’t turn my back on her for a minute, honey. She’s bad news if you ask me. She’s the type that might even be
dangerous
.”
“Oh God, let’s hope not,” Christine said as she leaned back against the pillows and closed her eyes, desperately wishing for sleep to obliterate this horrible day.
Patricia left the hospital room roiling with frustration. She’d come because she was genuinely concerned about Christine, and she’d ended by verbally attacking her. Of course, finding out that Jeremy hadn’t been babbling nonsense about that cursed diary was the cause, she told herself. The consequences of Christine giving the book to the police could be devastating to me, Patricia thought. God only knew what tales that wretched girl had written about her in the diary.