In the Event of My Death (15 page)

Someone tapped on her car window. She jumped before looking around to see Denise. Laurel opened the door and stepped from the car.

“How could you?” Denise exploded before Laurel shut the door.

“How could I what?”

“Tell Kurt about Faith. He came to my house today. Thank God Wayne was out with Audra. Laurel, I just can’t
believe
you went to the police!”

“After what happened last night to your own
daughter
?” Laurel flared. “Good Lord, I’m surprised
you
didn’t go to them. How could you possibly think of keeping quiet after what someone did to Audra?”

“Don’t you dare imply I’m a bad mother because I didn’t go to the police about something that happened thirteen years ago!”

“I’m not implying you’re a bad mother in general, but you’re not showing good judgment at the moment. Denise, we’re not really talking about Faith’s death. We’re talking about what’s going on
now
.” She took a deep breath, trying to quell her anger. “What did you tell Kurt?”

“That I didn’t know what you were talking about. I never heard of the Six of Hearts and I certainly wasn’t around when Faith killed herself.”

Laurel’s jaw dropped. “You lied about
all
of it?”

“You’re damned right I did. I told you I would. So did Crystal and Monica.”

“Do you mean that Kurt talked to the three of you and you
all
lied?”

“
Yes
. We did exactly what we told you we’d do. We
can’t
have our lives ruined because of a thirteen-year-old accident.” She turned her back on Laurel. “I’ll
never
tell,” she flung over her shoulder. “Never!”

Laurel watched her stride to her car. “Denise, you’ll live to regret this,” she called. “At least I hope you’ll live.”

3

Twenty minutes later Laurel emerged from the funeral home. The place had been packed, mostly with people Laurel didn’t know. Monica stood near the family and gave Laurel a look that could melt glass when she drew near. Laurel stiffened her spine and ignored her, holding out her hand to Mrs. Ricci.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, thinking how empty the words sounded. The woman, who looked ten years older than she had in the spring when Laurel last saw her, grasped her hand.

“I know you are, dear. It’s such a tragedy. Our beautiful Angela and we can’t even open the casket. Did you know that ex-husband of hers sent flowers? Orchids. Son of a bitch!”

“Now, Gina,” her husband said mildly.

“Well, he is. He did it, but he hired some fancy New York law firm that will get him off—Goldstein and Tate or something.” Laurel’s gaze snapped to Monica, who was edging away. “It’s the O. J. Simpson case all over again!”

Dr. Ricci, whose soothing manner made him such a successful veterinarian, placed his hand on his wife’s arm. “Gina, please don’t upset youself. If Stuart is guilty, he’ll pay.”

“I told her not to marry him,” Mrs. Ricci continued, beginning to cry. “I begged her…”

Dr. Ricci threw Laurel an apologetic look and led his sobbing wife away. Laurel signed the guest book, glanced at the cherry wood coffin with its blanket of red roses, and slipped out the door. The crowd, the overwhelming scent of flowers, the sight of Gina Ricci’s raw grief next to her husband’s quiet devastation, and the knowledge that Monica’s law firm was defending Stuart Burgess, a fact she’d carefully omitted from her seemingly boldly honest meeting with the other Six of Hearts, had been too much. Laurel felt light-headed, almost sick. All she wanted was to get home as quickly as possible.

Getting home did not bring the peace she thought it would, though. In the two years since her parents had gone to Florida and she’d moved back into their house, Laurel had relished her privacy. Her apartment in town was tiny, the walls like paper. She could hear neighbors on both sides, and there always seemed to be someone around, watching every time she went to her car. Here she had no near neighbors, she could have pets, and she could make as much noise as she wanted without worrying about disturbing anyone.

But lately she’d felt lonely in spite of the dogs. Tonight she felt desolate. She knew without a doubt Kurt would not be dropping by. Mary would not be calling to discuss any special orders for tomorrow. And even though she hadn’t been close to Denise and Crystal for years, she had at least known they wouldn’t refuse to speak to her if she phoned. She suddenly felt more alone than she had in her entire life.

Laurel tried to watch a Sunday evening movie that was supposed to be the uplifting story of a woman dying of cancer who finds what life is truly all about in her last month of life. Laurel found it unbearably depressing. She turned off the television and picked up a book. The reviews called the novel “spellbinding.” She’d been drudging through it for over a month, never once finding herself anywhere near spellbound.

Finally she tossed down the book, went to the stereo, and slipped in a CD. She lay down on the couch, pulling the afghan over her, and drifted along with the strains of “Moonlight Sonata.” After a few moments she could see Faith and Angela dancing. Faith’s father thought all dancing was a sin, but Faith wanted desperately to be a dancer. So many Saturday afternoons when Laurel’s parents were at the store, they’d come to her house and Angie taught Faith what she’d learned in ballet class that week.

Now, behind closed eyes, Laurel could see them spinning in slow motion to the haunting music. They were both tall and graceful, one with long, glossy black hair, the other with shining copper curls that fanned out behind her as she floated in eternal youth and timeless perfection.

Then Faith looked at her, her azure eyes bright, her smile enigmatic. “Laurel,” she said softly. “You can stop all this death because you
know
. You’re the only one. You
know
.”

Laurel jerked to a sitting position, her eyes darting around the empty room. What the hell was that? She hadn’t been asleep. At least she didn’t think so. Was there such a thing as a waking dream?

But more important, what did it mean? Faith and Angie had danced, but Faith had never uttered those words to Laurel. “You can stop all this death because you
know
.” Knew what? The truth about how Faith died? “You’re the only one.” She wasn’t the only one. Angie, Monica, Crystal, Denise, and she had all known. And now Kurt and Neil also knew how Faith died. Could the imagined words mean she knew why Angie had been murdered? She thought she did. Retribution. But she didn’t know who killed Angie.

The music ebbed on hauntingly, filling the shadowy room. “Laurel, you’re losing your mind,” she muttered, throwing off the afghan and sitting up. But she couldn’t shake the vision. She also couldn’t shake the feeling that either Faith, from beyond the grave, or more likely her subconscious, was trying to tell her something.

Laurel turned off the CD and walked down the hall. When she moved into the house after her parents left, she’d taken their bedroom. It was larger and had more closet space. Her old bedroom now served as a guest room, but nothing had been changed since she left it years ago for college. She flipped on the light. The yellow walls needed to be painted—they’d dulled over the years. Laurel remembered Claudia asking why she wanted a yellow bedroom. “Because it looks like sunshine,” Laurel had answered. Claudia turned a disdainful back. “Pink is more flattering to the skin.” Laurel couldn’t have cared less what color looked best with her skin. She wanted a cheerful bedroom.

She went into the room and ran a hand over the white and yellow quilted bedspread. On the wall hung a print of Van Gogh’s
Sunflowers
, a photo of her beloved Irish setter Rusty who’d died many years ago, and a poster of Tom Selleck during his
Magnum, P.I.
days. Heavens, what a crush she’d had on him. She laughed aloud at the memory of the sacred time each Thursday when she watched the show religiously and had a fit if her father blundered through the room talking, drowning out any of Tom’s precious words. It seemed so long ago.

A cedar chest rested under a window, its top covered with stuffed animals from her childhood. A polar bear, a Siamese cat, a tiger, a dog, and her favorite, a little melon-colored teddy bear she’d named Boo Boo after the character in the Yogi Bear cartoon series. How old had she been when she got Boo Boo? Three? Four? His synthetic fur was worn, but his eyes still gazed at her brightly.

On her dresser sat a battered pink jewelry box holding a few pieces she’d abandoned during her teenage years. Beside it was an old-fashioned alarm clock and an empty navy blue cologne bottle she’d thought elegant. In the corner sat her desk. Usually she did her homework sprawled on the bed, but her mother had insisted both girls have real desks. It bore a goosenecked lamp, a globe, a dictionary and thesaurus, and a blotter with a few scribbles. She touched the blotter, running a finger over badly drawn flowers, cats, and a heart with L. D. + T. S. (Laurel Damron + Tom Selleck). Then she noticed that in the corner was a small but perfect drawing of a baby. She hadn’t done it.

She frowned, sitting down at the desk, lightly touching the drawing. Suddenly she remembered the week before Faith died. She’d spent Saturday night with Laurel. They’d listened to tapes, tried different hairstyles and makeup, the usual routine. But Faith had seemed different. She wasn’t really having a good time. She was
trying
to have a good time and Laurel sensed it. She’d asked what was wrong until Faith finally snapped at her, then apologized.

They went to bed around midnight. Laurel recalled waking up hours later. Faith sat at the desk, the goosenecked lamp on. “What are you doing?” Laurel had mumbled. “Nothing,” Faith answered. “Go back to sleep.” Laurel was so sleepy, she’d done exactly as she was told. She hadn’t thought of that incident for thirteen years, not until this moment. What was Faith doing? Drawing the baby? Probably. But that wasn’t all. She’d been writing. Laurel could see her clearly now. But what had she been writing?

Laurel flipped through every page of the blotter, searched every drawer, even looked under the lamp and the globe. No folded sheets of paper. Faith hadn’t been writing something she’d hidden for Laurel to find. But the tiny drawing of the baby showed what was on her mind. So what did she write? A note to Neil? Perhaps a plea for marriage?

From another room the phone rang. There was no extension in her old room and Laurel hurried out, a tingle of relief running through her. It was after eleven. This had to be Kurt.

But it wasn’t. Her “Hello” was followed by a slight pause before a male voice said, “Laurel, I’m sorry to disturb you so late. This is Neil Kamrath.”

1

Laurel’s mind went blank for a moment. Was he still angry? Had he called to continue his tirade? But his voice sounded calm, even polite. Finally she managed, “Yes, Neil.”

“I wanted to apologize for my behavior this morning.”

Laurel swallowed. “It was certainly understandable.”

“So was your silence thirteen years ago. You were only seventeen.”

“Seventeen, not seven. We were mature enough to do the right thing, but we didn’t.”

“It’s always easy to look back and know what was the right thing to do. At the time it isn’t so easy.”

Why was he being so nice? Laurel wondered uneasily. Kurt couldn’t seem to forgive her and he’d suffered none of the fallout from Faith’s death. Neil, on the other hand, had been treated like a leper.

“I do want to assure you, Neil, that if there had been
any
suspicion of you, we would have come forward.”

“You would have. And probably Angie. The others—I don’t think so. Anyway, apologizing is only part of the reason I called,” Neil went on. “You said you were going to tell me about things that are happening now and things that happened a long time ago. I stormed out on you right after you told me about Faith’s death. I didn’t give you a chance to tell me what’s going on now.”

So that’s why he was being so civil. He wanted information. Should she tell him everything? All along she’d thought he might be the possible murderer of Angie, the person who sent the photos, the one who tried to ram her car. But now she realized her suspicion had been almost a game. She hadn’t known Neil well in high school, but she’d been fascinated by the things Faith told her about him—his intelligence, his creativity, even his aloofness. Later she’d been mesmerized by his books, and after she’d talked with him at the hospital, his kindness and obvious pain over the death of his wife and son touched her deeply. This morning, though, he’d genuinely frightened her. He wasn’t just a sensitive, hurt soul. He was a man capable of rage. Now he wanted details about present events. Was
he
playing a game, only trying to find out how much she knew, what she suspected?

“Laurel, are you still there?”

“Yes,” she said slowly. Even if this were a game, she’d go along with it, she decided. Maybe his reactions to her narrative would reveal something.

She told him everything from the heart and the number and tarot card at the scene of Angie’s murder to her harrowing ride back from Wilson Lodge with someone trying to push her off the road to the funeral wreath and the heart painted on her door. “The other day Audra received a Christmas card with a weird verse on it.” She quoted it. “And I don’t have to tell you what happened at the party.”

Neil was silent for a moment. Then he breathed, “Someone is after the Six of Hearts.”

“Somebody already got one.”

“So you think this is all about retribution for Faith’s death?”

“Don’t you?” she asked carefully.

Another beat of silence. “Sounds like it. But why after all these years?”

“I don’t know. Mary said her father had been going through Faith’s papers lately. Maybe she wrote down something about the club and Zeke figured out we were with her when she died. Either Zeke or Mary.”

“Maybe,” he said slowly.

“You sound doubtful. Even
you
mentioned that Mary lied about the locket.”

“Yes. Both of them could want revenge for Faith’s death. Who else might want revenge?”

Laurel licked her dry lips. She was getting into dangerous territory. “I…I don’t know.”

“Yes you do,” Neil said evenly. “Faith isn’t the only one who died that night. You’re thinking maybe the father of the baby wants revenge.”

“Uh, well…”

“Which means you suspect me.” Laurel cast frantically in her mind for an inoffensive answer. There was none. “Yes, Neil, I’ve thought of that.”

“That’s why Monica was questioning me at the party.”

“Yes.”

“I’d like to be angry that anyone would suspect me of murder, but it’s not the first time. Some people thought I killed Faith.”

“Not for long. You had a rock-solid alibi.”

“Thank God. But I don’t this time. I could have done any of the pranks you talked about. Hell, I could even have killed Angela. I was in Wheeling when she died. New York is no great distance. I could have driven there and back in one night.” Laurel couldn’t answer. “But I didn’t.”

Silence spun out while Laurel tried to analyze his tone. Not nervous. Too calm?

“Laurel, I understand why you think the person you’re looking for might be the father of Faith’s baby. It’s a logical assumption. That’s why I’m going to tell you something I’ve never told anyone. I was
not
the father of Faith’s child.”

Shouldn’t she have expected this denial given the direction of the conversation? Wouldn’t any man say the same thing to divert suspicion from himself? “Neil, after Faith died and everyone thought she’d committed suicide because you wouldn’t marry her, why didn’t you ever say it wasn’t your baby?”

“Because I didn’t know it wasn’t mine. I should have known because she never said a word about being pregnant to me. I had no idea. But when I heard she was, I assumed it was mine.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Four years ago I found out I’m sterile.”

“Sterile!” Laurel burst out in spite of herself. “Neil, you had a son with Ellen. What about Robbie?”

“I married Ellen six weeks after she gave birth to Robbie and I adopted him. Her ex-husband didn’t want children and divorced her when she got pregnant. She thought he’d come back to her after he saw the baby, but he didn’t, so she agreed to marry me and give her baby a father.”

“But how did you find out you were sterile?”

“Ellen wanted more children. We tried for two years and nothing happened. We went through a battery of tests. It didn’t take long to find out the fault was mine. I had mumps when I was a kid. The doctor said they can cause sterility. That was when my marriage began to fall apart. It was also when I realized I couldn’t have been the father of Faith’s baby.”

Very convenient, Laurel thought cynically. Also very hard to prove. But he sounded so sincere. And if he were lying, why hadn’t he done it thirteen years ago? Even now he wasn’t denying he’d had sex with Faith. In fact, he said that at the time of her death, he believed he
was
the father of her baby.

“Laurel, I know you probably don’t believe me,” he said. “I’m not asking you to cross me off your list of suspects. All I’m asking is that you keep an open mind, not so much for my sake as for your own. There’s someone out there who
was
the father of Faith’s child, someone who could know about the Six of Hearts.” He paused. “Someone who could do to you what he did to Angela.”

2

A lazy, lovely snow began around seven
A.M.
Laurel had been awake for around an hour and now sat at the table in the glass-enclosed breakfast nook, sipping coffee and watching April and Alex frolic. Being taller, April looked more graceful than her brother, who tended to lower his head and plow forward like a charging bull.

Laurel smiled. She wished she could get as excited about playing in the snow. Instead, all she had to look forward to was a funeral. At least the snow was light and shouldn’t interfere too much with the service at eleven.

She fixed the dogs their Alpo but skipped any breakfast for herself. Just the thought of food nearly choked her. She showered, put on a sedate black suit, black boots, pulled back her hair in a black bow, and left for the store.

“You’re not going to work today, are you?” Norma exclaimed when she and Penny found Laurel in the workroom.

“I’ll take time off for the service, but I’m really better off keeping busy.”

“Well, do it behind the counter,” Norma ordered. “You don’t want to mess up that nice suit back here.”

“Will Mary be in today?” Penny asked.

“I’m not sure. I told her not to come back until she’s feeling one hundred percent fine. I doubt if she’s there yet.”

“I hope they put her father away for a long time for what he did,” Penny said.

Laurel looked at her. “As a matter of fact, he was out of jail Saturday afternoon and causing more trouble Saturday night.”

Penny’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding!”

“I wish I were.” Laurel sighed. “I get very frustrated with the law sometimes.”

“Don’t we all,” Norma agreed. “I sure hope they find who murdered your friend.”

“So do I,” Laurel said vehemently.

Later she couldn’t concentrate on the funeral mass. She studied the large crowd. She recognized a few celebrity faces from the entertainment world, the governor of West Virginia, and a handsome man who sat with the family. Judson Green, Angie’s fiancé. Laurel remembered his picture from the newspaper. It certainly hadn’t done him justice. What a great life had been snatched from Angie.

Laurel also saw the blue-haired Lewis sisters, who never missed a local funeral. Near them sat Monica. Denise was seated by Crystal. Laurel caught Denise’s eye and smiled. Denise gave her a flat, cold look and turned her head. It doesn’t matter, Laurel thought staunchly. I did the right thing.

She followed the entourage to the cemetery. The snow still fell desultorily, as if its heart weren’t really in it. Not as many people came to the cemetery as to the church. Once again, Laurel found herself unable to concentrate on the priest’s words. Pictures flashed in her mind. Their fourth-grade teacher losing her temper with Angie because she kept making everyone giggle and sending Angie to the blackboard to write “I will be serious” fifty times, and how Angie laughed afterward because the teacher never noticed she’d misspelled “serious” every time. Angie singing “These Dreams” in the talent contest. Angie teaching Faith to dance a
pas de deux
to “Moonlight Sonata.”

Dancing in slow motion. Faith looking at Laurel. “You’re the only one. You
know
.” The intensity of her azure eyes. Laurel shuddered.

“Cold?” a woman whispered.

Laurel nodded, then looked at the woman. It was easy to see she’d once been a beauty. Now in what Laurel guessed to be her late sixties, the woman had skin that was pale and webbed with fine wrinkles. Her blue eyes were slightly dulled, and her white hair was pulled back in a severe French twist. Not every older woman could have looked attractive with the stark hairstyle, but her classic features did not require curls.

Laurel realized with a start the service was over. People gathered around the Riccis. Some formed small groups, others made their way to their cars. No one approached her and she turned away, feeling oddly disoriented, partly ashamed that she hadn’t shed a tear, partly relieved that the ordeal was over. She pulled her coat more closely around her and started in the direction of her car. As she plodded through the snow, she suddenly realized how close she was to Faith’s grave. She hadn’t visited it since the day of Faith’s funeral. Her footsteps slowed. Did she want to go there, especially today?

She was already walking in that direction before she’d consciously made up her mind. Big flakes of snow fell on her face, and caught in her lashes as she climbed the knoll where Faith rested. She buried gloved hands in her pockets as her heart beat harder. What did she expect? she asked herself. Faith to pop up and point an accusing finger at her?

As she neared the grave, Laurel saw a figure bending over it. She squinted through the snow. It was a woman in black. A woman with upswept white hair.

“Hello!” Laurel called, recognizing the woman who’d stood beside her at Angie’s gravesite.

The woman looked up, then began to run in the opposite direction with amazing swiftness. Surprised, Laurel slowed. What was wrong with the woman?
Who
was the woman?

Laurel picked up speed again, watching the woman disappear over the top of the knoll. She wiped a gloved hand over her eyes, brushing the snow away. When she reached Faith’s grave, she knelt. The simple gray stone looked little and bleak, almost lost in the blanket of snow. But against it, red as blood, rested six carnations tied with a red ribbon from which dangled a small red plastic heart.