In the Event of My Death (17 page)

“Look, here’s Cinderella!”

Denise glanced at the glittering lights forming the huge, turreted castle, the horses leading Cinderella’s magnificent carriage, the big orange pumpkin looming ahead, a reminder of passing time.

“This is my favorite display!” Audra gushed.

“Take a picture.”

“Pull over so I can get a good one.”

“I’ll block traffic.”

“Not if you pull over far enough. Mommy,
please
.”

Denise felt as if someone were pounding on her head with a hammer. The tension of the last few days had been unbearable. The beautiful house of cards she’d built for herself over the last thirteen years was about to come tumbling down, and she had so much to lose. Wayne. Her precious Audra.

The little girl opened the door and stepped out into the show. “Audra, get back in the car!”

“I wanna get closer to the lights.”

Denise’s frustration and fear ignited. “Audra Price, I said get back in the car this instant!” she screeched in a voice she hardly recognized as her own. The child looked at her in shock. “You heard me!” Denise ranted, appalled at her own tone but unable to stop herself. “Audra, right
now
or I swear I’ll—”

Audra’s face crumpled and she bolted away from the car, her small booted feet throwing up a skim of snow in front of her.

“Oh, God, what have I done?” Denise moaned as she opened her door and circled the car, following the silhouette of the fleeing girl. “Audra?” she called. Because of her cold, her voice emerged raw, almost threatening. No one would be reassured by that rough sound, Denise thought, but she couldn’t do anything about it. “Audra!” she shrieked again. Dammit. Why had she kept carping at the child? Why was her voice so awful? Why had she even come out here tonight?

The displays were so large they had to be set far back from the road. Denise caught a glimpse of Audra in the glow of the yellow, green, and red carriage lights, then she was gone. The snow abruptly picked up speed, peppering Denise’s face, covering her glasses. She stopped, took them off and wiped them dry on a tissue in her pocket, but a moment after she put them on again, snow speckled them. She took them off and stuck them in her pocket. Her extreme nearsightedness turned everything into a blur. Blind with the glasses, blind without them, she thought in disgust. Why was she one of the few people in the world who couldn’t wear contacts?

“Audra!” Nothing. She plowed ahead. “Audra, I’m
so
sorry. Please forgive me.” Denise began to cry. She stumbled and almost fell. She turned and looked back at the road. A steady stream of headlights drifted along, their glow diffused by the snow and her weak sight. Still, she could make out her own headlights, stationary beside the road. Looking the other way, she saw multicolored lights of the Cinderella display looming over her. She’d always known the displays were tall, but actually standing beside one was almost frightening. The red turrets of the castle looked gigantic. She suddenly felt small and helpless.

She trudged on through the snow, following a trail of footprints. “Audra!” she shouted. “Audra, don’t do this!”

Her curly hair twisted into a hundred corkscrews. I probably look like Medusa, she thought. Tears and snow froze on her eyelashes. Her teeth chattered. The trail circled the display and she rushed ahead. She hadn’t worn boots. Her shoes were filled with snow and she couldn’t feel her feet anymore. “Audra!
Please
come back!” Her voice cracked but she kept trying. “Audra, I’m sorry.”

She stood behind the display now, glancing over her shoulder. What looked beautiful from the road now took on a surreal quality. Blinding lights hulking over her from behind. Utter darkness ahead. She knew she was invisible from the road.

A footstep crunched in the snow. She whirled, at first seeing nothing. “Audra!” she cried, brushing frantically at her eyes. “Aud—”

The first blow caught her along the collar. She heard bone cracking and staggered but somehow kept her footing. “My God!” she gasped, clawing at her injury, not sure what was really happening. Then she felt the warm blood seeping below her sweater.

Denise turned and tried to run. A second blow to the back of the head brought her to her knees. She began crawling, her fingers digging for solid earth and finding only lacy snow. “No,” she quavered. “No, please—”

Another blow to the neck. She went facedown in the snow. “Audra,” she mumbled, blood pouring from her mouth onto the pristine, fluffy white. “Run, baby. Run away…”

Her body was numb but she could still feel the cold wetness under her cheek, the blood running into her eyes, blinding her. She lay shuddering, her last vision that of a beautiful little girl with long, curly brown hair and huge eyes the color of dark chocolate laughing up at her. “Audra, I love you,” she whispered as the last blow crushed her skull.

1

Laurel was dreaming of Faith. They were little girls with flowers in their hair, but instead of daisies, Faith wore a crown of red carnations. She danced to “Moonlight Sonata” slowly, gracefully. When she finished, she looked at Laurel and said, “You’re the only one. You
know
.”

Ringing. She moaned as Faith drifted away, still saying “You
know
.” “I know
what?
” Laurel cried. Ringing. Weight on her body. Something warm on her face. She opened her eyes. April sat atop her, licking her cheeks, and the phone rang insistently.

“I’m awake, April,” she muttered, struggling under the dog’s weight. “Move over, puppy.”

April sat solidly on her abdomen, clearly frightened by all the muttering and thrashing Laurel had done earlier. She stretched her arm as far as she could, reached the receiver, and finally got it to her face. “Hello.”

“Laurel. Kurt.”

“Kurt.” Laurel looked at the clock. Twelve-thirty. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s no easy way to tell you this.” He drew a deep breath. “Denise Price is dead. She’s been murdered.”

Laurel felt as if every drop of blood in her body gushed to her lower extremities. Her head swam, her vision darkened. Her mouth opened but nothing came out.

“Laurel, are you there?”

“Yes.” Her voice was little more than a whisper. “How?”

“She took Audra to Oglebay to see the lights. For some reason the kid got out of the car—we don’t know why because she’s barely speaking. Apparently Denise went after her. She was beaten to death behind one of the displays.”

“Beaten? Like Angie?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, God, Audra didn’t see Denise being murdered, did she?”

“We don’t know. She’s in the hospital in shock. We do know she saw the body and it was bad. There’s not much left of Denise’s face.”

“Oh, no,” Laurel moaned, feeling as if someone were plunging a knife into her stomach. What a horrible image for anyone to see, but Denise’s own daughter…Laurel fought to catch her breath. “Kurt, was there anything on or around the body?”

He paused. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but yes. There was one of those magic cards you told me about.”

“Tarot cards. It was the judgment card, wasn’t it?”

“I wouldn’t know one card from the other. But there was also a heart and a six.”

“Where?”

“She had on a light gray coat. They were drawn on the back in blood.”

“Kurt—”

“I have to go now. I thought you’d want to know.” His voice grew harsh. “Maybe this could have been prevented if—” She heard him draw a ragged breath. “Oh, to hell with it. Good-bye, Laurel.”

She held on to the receiver after Kurt hung up. She felt paralyzed. Saturday night Denise had been throwing a Christmas party in her beautiful home. Two nights later she was dead. Not just dead,
murdered
. Bludgeoned like Angie. And Audra had seen her.

The dogs began to bark. Laurel tensed. What did they hear? An intruder? Had someone come here to kill her the way they had killed Denise?

Someone knocked on the door. Laurel still clutched the receiver, huddling in her bed. Someone knocked louder.

Well, good heavens, she thought, a killer wouldn’t bother to knock. Or would he if he were a friend…

Pounding again, then someone yelled, “Laurel, it’s Monica! Open the damned door!”

There was no mistaking
that
strong, husky voice. Laurel slowly felt life coming back into her. She finally put down the receiver and threw her leg over the side of the bed, grabbing for her heavy terry-cloth robe. In a moment she opened the front door. Monica stood tall and serious in tight jeans, boots, and a leather jacket. “Will those dogs bite?” she asked abruptly.

Laurel looked at April and Alex, who had backed off and were staring warily at Monica. “Not unless you make any sudden moves,” Laurel said dryly, already knowing April and Alex were not going to warm up to Monica.

Monica strode into the room. “Denise is dead.”

“I know. Kurt just called me. How did
you
know?”

“I’m staying in Oglebay Park. Police are everywhere. It’s pandemonium out there. It didn’t take me long to find out what happened.”

No, it wouldn’t, Laurel thought. The police could warn her away from the scene until they were blue in the face, but it wouldn’t stop Monica. Sometimes Laurel thought nothing could stop the force that was Monica Boyd. “Kurt said the tarot card was beside her body, and a six and a heart drawn on the back of her coat in blood.”

“I figured so.”

“Oh, my God, what about Crystal?” Laurel exclaimed suddenly. “We have to find out if she’s all right!”

Laurel started for the phone but Monica held up a hand. “I already called. She’s safe at home having hysterics.”

“Maybe she should be here with us.”

“She’s in no condition to drive and I’m in no condition to listen to her weep and wail.”

“You
must
be shaken if you’re here. Yesterday and this morning you wouldn’t speak to me.”

Monica ignored her. “Do you have any scotch?”

“No, just beer.”

“Well, any port in a storm.”

Laurel got her a can and a glass. Like Kurt, Monica didn’t bother with the glass. She took a long drink, then winced. “God, why don’t you get something decent?”

“Because I don’t drink.”

“You should. Liquor makes long, lonely nights bearable.” Monica sat down on the couch, crossing one ankle over a knee and staring into the empty fireplace. “I guess I didn’t help much by coming to Wheeling.”

“We should have gone to the police.”

“You
did
go to the police. What good did it do?”

“I told Kurt night before last. There wasn’t enough time for them to do much.”

“And you blame me.”

“No, I blame
me
. I’m a grown woman. I should have done what I thought was best from the beginning.”

“Oh, stop trying to be noble, Laurel. It’s annoying. The truth is you do blame me, just like you did thirteen years ago when I talked you into keeping your mouth shut about how Faith died.”

Laurel’s temper rose along with her voice. “Yes. I wanted to blame you then. I want to blame you now because it’s so easy to blame someone else. But I’m not being noble.
I
should have done something.
That
is the truth and if you find it annoying that I don’t think you’re omnipotent, responsible for my, Crystal’s, and Denise’s actions, that’s too damn bad. We all acted foolishly.” Monica stared straight ahead, unresponsive. “But there is one thing I
do
hold you responsible for,” Laurel went on. “Why didn’t you tell us your firm is defending Angie’s ex-husband?”

“Look, Laurel, I don’t decide what cases the firm handles.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Okay. I didn’t tell you because I thought you’d jump to conclusions.”

“What kind of conclusions? That pinning the murder of Angie on someone else would ensure Stuart Burgess is acquitted? That would be quite a coup for your firm.”

“Well, we know Stuart didn’t kill Denise.”

“Do we? He’s out on bail.”

“And being watched.”

“Oh, come on, Monica. You’ve pointed out a couple of times how close New York is to Wheeling. Are you going to tell me Burgess, with all his resources, couldn’t possibly come here and make it back to New York undetected?”

“Maybe, but why would he?”

“Because he knew about Faith and the Six of Hearts and he wanted it to look like Angie was killed by someone seeking revenge.”

“Nonsense.”

“Is it?”

Monica drained her beer. “Could I have some more of this nectar of the gods?”

“It’s in the refrigerator,” Laurel said coldly, her mind racing. As Monica left the room, she thought of a terrible scenario. What if Monica were making it look as if someone seeking revenge for Faith’s death had killed Angie? Wouldn’t the death of Denise convince police that this was the motive? After all, Stuart Burgess didn’t even know Denise. And what about the heart and the six and the tarot card at the scene of Angie’s murder? After murdering her, could Stuart have called someone, had them tamper with the scene, plant evidence that would connect that crime with another, maybe one planned for the future? Who could have come up with such a scheme? Someone clever, ambitious, cold? Monica had been in New York when Angie was murdered. She’d been in Oglebay Park when Denise was murdered.

When Monica came back in the room and settled on the couch, Laurel tried to act natural although she felt as if every nerve in her body was tlirurnming. “Monica, when you came to Wheeling and told us the details of Angie’s murder, did you think any of us would go to the police?”

“No.” She gulped beer. “Well, maybe you. You were the one who fought hardest to tell the truth thirteen years ago.”

“Then why did you tell me? Why did you tell any of us and risk someone going to the police?”

Monica jiggled her foot. “Laurel, I’m not completely hard-hearted. I couldn’t leave the three of you in ignorance, sitting ducks just waiting for the killer.”

“I see.”

“It’s true. What are you implying was my real motive?”

“I don’t feel like explaining myself right now.”

“And I don’t feel like listening to any more of these veiled accusations. I’ve had a lot of scotch and this beer isn’t sitting too well on top of it.” Monica stood. “I’m going.”

“I want to ask you one question.”

“All right. One.”

“Will you have anything to do with Stuart Burgess’s defense?”

Monica tucked her long hair behind her ears. “No.” She looked closely at Laurel. “What are you smiling about?”

“About how cocksure you are.” Laurel shook her head. “You’ve never realized, have you, that I
always
know when you’re lying.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. You’re lying now. You
will
have something to gain if Stuart Burgess is found innocent.”

“Certainly, Laurel. When the firm wins, so does everyone who works there.”

“Oh, Monica, please! I believe your interests are a little less altruistic. I think you have a whole lot to gain from Burgess’s acquittal.”

Monica’s eyes narrowed. “You might be going down a dangerous road with all your speculations. I’ve never known you to be so confrontational.”

“For thirteen years I’ve lived in shame and fear. I don’t think I realized until recently just how reclusive I’ve become. I haven’t had close female friendships, and the one man I was truly serious about I sent away because I couldn’t bring myself to tell him the truth about Faith. I’m not going to live that way anymore, Monica. Maybe I am being confrontational. Maybe I’m even being foolhardy voicing all my doubts, but I’m tired of trudging around with a load of guilt on my shoulders. I’m sick of sitting here being quiet and watching my own back, guarding my own reputation. I’m going to do everything I can to find out who killed Angie and Denise, and to protect Crystal and myself.
Everything
.”

The corner of Monica’s lip lifted in a half-grin. “You’re not worried about protecting me?”

“If there’s one thing you’ve always excelled at, it’s protecting yourself.”

Monica looked at her oddly for a moment, then laughed. “You’re right, Laurel. I don’t need anyone. I never have.”

As she walked toward her car, Laurel could hear her still laughing.

2

Laurel sat up the rest of the night, listening to music, pacing, trying to cry in order to release some of her pent-up emotion, but the horror was too new. She kept seeing Denise in her plaid hostess skirt smiling as she stood behind Wayne playing “Great Balls of Fire.” Her gray eyes had warmed with pride as she looked at her husband. Those eyes would never warm again, not with pride, not with love, not with the simple joy of being alive.

Laurel knew if her mother were here, she would already be whipping up the traditional tuna casserole and Jell-O mold to take to the Prices’ tomorrow. Laurel hated both dishes. Besides, God knew how many of those delicacies the Prices would receive. She’d pick up a nice tray at a deli, although she doubted if Wayne and Audra would have much appetite. The food at homes of the bereaved were mostly for guests.

And what about her own Christmas plans? Day after tomorrow she was supposed to close the store and fly to Florida. The fact that she hadn’t wanted to go anyway had nothing to do with her decision. She picked up the phone at seven o’clock and called her mother.

“This is a surprise hearing from you so early in the morning,” Meg Damron said. “How was Angie’s funeral?”

“Sad, like all funerals, but quite the affair. The governor was there and a few celebrities.” She took a deep breath and said hurriedly, “Look, Mom, I’m not going to be able to come down for Christmas.”

“What!” her mother burst out. “
Why?
”

“Because…well, there’s been another death. Denise Price. She used to be Denise Gilbert.”

“Denise! Of course I remember Denise. What happened?”

“She was…murdered last night.”

“Murdered?” her mother repeated slowly. “Where? How?”

“At the Oglebay light show. She was beaten to death.”

Laurel could almost feel her mother struggling with the concept. At last she said, “At Oglebay? That’s unthinkable! Nothing like that has
ever
happened there. Beaten to death?”

“Yes. Behind one of the big displays.”

“Oh, my God!
Beaten
to death! Just like Angie. You, Denise, and Angie—you were all friends. Is there a connection?”

“I don’t know,” Laurel hedged. “I don’t think Angie and Denise have even seen each other for years.”

“But the coincidence…” Her mother’s voice trailed away, then came back full force. “I want you to close the store and the house and come down here today!”

“I can’t, Mom.”

“You can and you will!”

“Mom, Denise left a little girl. She’s only eight and she saw the body—”

“And I assume she has a father and other family to look after her. You
aren’t
staying.”

“I
am
.”