Nowhere to Hide (16 page)

Eric glared at her, took a deep breath, and rose so fast he swayed slightly. Something crunched under his shoe as he stepped forward to catch himself. “Oh, hell, what now?” He lifted his foot. “It’s a little box on Gretchen’s grave.”

“A box? What’s in it?”

“I don’t have X-ray vision, Marissa, but who the hell leaves a Christmas present for a dead person?”

The man standing near tossed them one final searing look and then led away his weeping wife. “I don’t know who leaves a gift,” Marissa said, lowering her voice too late. “If you’ll move your big foot away from it, we’ll see.”

The box, slightly crushed, measured about two inches by two inches. Wrapped in gold foil paper, it bore a small red bow but no name tag.

Marissa glanced over the collection of bouquets, wreaths, and her own pot of poinsettias on the grave. “I’ve never heard of leaving a gift at a grave. I mean…who’s going to open it? Do you think we
should
open it? After all, we both know Gretchen was murdered. Isn’t it evidence?”

Eric stared at it as if mesmerized and said after a moment, “Gretchen’s death was ruled an accident, not a homicide, so this can’t be considered evidence.” Eric continued to stare at the partly mashed box. “I’m getting a very strange feeling about it. I’m going to open it.” To Marissa’s surprise, he whipped latex gloves from an inside pocket of his coat and picked the box up. He untied the simple bow, peeled back the Scotch tape already coming loose in the cold, and slipped a navy blue box out of the gold paper. He opened the lid of the box, and on a bed of cotton lay a silver and moonstone ring.

As soon as Marissa saw the contents, all thoughts of their argument vanished from her mind. “Her
ring
!” she gasped.

“I haven’t seen this ring since she died,” Eric said slowly. “Mom was determined she would be buried wearing this ring because it meant so much to Gretchen, but she couldn’t find it anywhere.”

Eric handed Marissa a latex glove and she lifted the ring from the cotton. Even in the dimming light, the marquise-shaped stone glowed with a pale rainbow of colors. It was bezel set in silver decorated with scrollwork. “She wore this on her index finger.”

“It could be a ring just like hers.”

“It isn’t. When my family went to Mexico, I bought rings for Gretchen and me. We vowed we would never take them off.” Marissa held out her hand to show the ring on her middle finger. “It was to exemplify our friendship, but it was also to celebrate Gretchen getting her driver’s license.
Finally
on her third try.” Marissa laughed softly. “We’d all just about given up hope of her ever passing the driving part of the exam.”

“But you know the artist made more than two rings like this,” Eric insisted.

Marissa shook her head. “Not
just
like this.” She removed hers and handed it to Eric, then turned the other ring so he could see the inside of the band:
. “The same symbol is on each ring. It meant we would be best friends for infinity.”

2

The several halogen lights placed around the cemetery did not ease the nervousness Marissa felt as late afternoon turned to twilight and Eric held Gretchen’s ring in his hand. He withdrew small plastic bag from his pocket, placed the ring back in the box, and dropped everything into the bag. “You and Catherine would have made a great team,” Marissa said shakily. “Prepared for every occasion. Antibacterial wipes, latex gloves, evidence bags…”

Eric seemed far away, although he answered, “When I was seven, I never went out without my yo-yo. Now it’s latex gloves. Habits change, I guess.” He frowned at her. “Why
infinity
instead of
eternity
?”

“Eternity seemed so common. Everybody says it.
Infinity
relates to the idea of ‘without end.’ I thought it was unusual and perfect.” Eric stared at her and she sighed. “Okay, Catherine knew all about the infinity symbol and suggested it. She knows just about everything in the whole world.”

Eric continued to stare at Marissa for a moment, then started laughing. “Do you know you sounded like an eight-year-old girl jealous of her big sister?” Marissa didn’t crack a smile, although she realized in embarrassment that’s exactly how she’d sounded. “Speaking of Catherine, it’s six thirty. Won’t she be worried about you?”

At that moment, Marissa’s cell phone went off. “Yes, Catherine, I’m fine,” she said, pulling a face at Eric. “I took a detour on the way home. I should have told you. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

“Catherine is going to make someone a fine mother someday.” Marissa smiled. “Loving, protective, encouraging, and maddening.”

“Yeah, probably.” Eric’s voice had grown vague as he looked grimly at the evidence bag again. “We should be going. I need to get this back to headquarters and you need to assure your sister you’re alive and well.”

He didn’t walk her to her car, which she’d parked directly behind his. He gave her a slight smile and told her to have a nice evening. He sounded as if he’d stopped someone on the road for going a bit too fast. The same thing he’d tell anyone, Marissa thought. He’d finally been opening up to her, telling her all the things he hadn’t when he broke off their engagement, sounding like the Eric she’d known and loved, but finding the ring had sent him right back into his shell.

Marissa could have been annoyed with him, but the ring was such an important and unnerving discovery, she realized she had nothing more to say, either. She was too shocked to make conversation, too shaken to discuss the matter calmly and logically.

Someone had wanted Gretchen’s ring found on her grave. Was it a message, or had it been put there strictly for shock value? What if somebody had simply opened the box and taken the ring? Did that mean someone was watching, making sure nothing like that happened? Had someone watched Marissa and Eric tonight? Had the watcher been satisfied that
they
had found the ring?

The idea of someone seeing them bent over the grave, opening the box, comparing the ring to the one on Marissa’s hand, sent a shudder through her. She hadn’t even thought about it in the cemetery. While they lingered at Gretchen’s grave, Marissa had been concentrating on the ring and what Eric had revealed of his feelings about her—feelings he’d harbored for so long. She regretted that he hadn’t finished.

She stopped at a red light. At least she thought she regretted it. Most of what he described was pent-up anger and blame, all directed at her. He’d decided she hadn’t been forceful enough when she talked to the police. On a hot summer’s night on Gray’s Island less than an hour after Gretchen’s hideous death, he thought Marissa should have defeated Tonya’s version of the incident and had the police leading Dillon away in handcuffs.

Eric also seemed to blame Marissa because they’d spent an hour away from the others. Yes, she had asked him several times to linger with her under the beautiful night sky, but when had Eric Montgomery ever let her dominate him when he felt a matter was important? In those cases, he’d always trusted his own judgment, admitting if he’d been wrong, but not shamed or embarrassed.

When the light turned green, Marissa pushed hard on the accelerator. Eric hadn’t been fair to her then and he wasn’t being fair to her now, dammit. He’d felt guilty, but he’d also pushed his self-blame onto her. He still didn’t have a kind word for her. Just recriminations. The farther Marissa drove toward home, the more wounded and angry she felt.

3

When Marissa neared her house, she saw James Eastman’s silver Lincoln parked in the double driveway and the porch light glowing. She almost groaned. She was mad and hurt, but she’d have to act polite for the sake of James. Catherine would detect her mood immediately.

Marissa parked by the curb and stared at the rose garden her mother and Jean Farrell had planted on the large side lawn. Annemarie had known little about growing roses and Jean had seemed happy to help her start her garden with eight bushes. Marissa remembered her father and Mitch digging eight holes with Jean standing beside Mitch and Bernard giving directions about depth and width. Then she’d sent the men into the house. One by one, Jean had set the plants in the ground, lecturing Annemarie about the magnificent tea rose, the floribunda, and the miniature rose. Every time Annemarie had attempted to plant one herself, Jean had nearly flown at her, telling her how she was doing it wrong—she was using too much mulch; she hadn’t used enough bonemeal; she was tamping the dirt around the roots too forcefully.

A twelve-year-old Marissa had simply stayed out of the way, watching and smothering smiles. Then she saw it coming. The women had sat on the ground, Jean going strong with her carping and corrections when finally Annemarie’s mouth tightened, her eyes narrowed, and suddenly she picked up a dirt clod and threw it at Jean. The woman had been so startled, she’d simply stared agape at Annemarie. Marissa’s eyes had widened and she’d waited for Jean to jump up and stomp angrily into the house. After a moment, though, Jean had closed her hand against the loose dirt nearby and tossed a dirt clod at Annemarie, who’d promptly returned fire. Then Annemarie picked up the bucket of water sitting next to her and dashed it onto Jean, who gasped, shook her hair out of her eyes, reached for another full bucket, and drenched Annemarie. At this point the men had come out of the house to see both of their wives, wet, dirty, and laughing until they cried.

The rose garden expanded as Annemarie learned everything she could about the growing of roses. Within three years, the side lawn was a breathtaking explosion of red, pink, yellow, and white. In the weeks before Annemarie died, she’d frequently looked out her window at the beautiful roses and they made her smile. They certainly wouldn’t now, Marissa sighed inwardly. She’d carefully prepared them for winter and knew they be glorious again in the summer, but at this time of year they simply looked bare, lonely, and forlorn like most of the other flora.

“Well, I can’t stay here daydreaming and worrying Catherine,” Marissa said aloud. “Going in couldn’t be worse.”

At least she didn’t think so until she reached the front door and faced an extremely large pine wreath bedecked with silver ribbons and figurines her mother had thought looked like angels. Marissa always thought the figurines resembled ghouls instead and believed she’d carefully hidden the eye-sore. Apparently, she hadn’t hidden it well enough.

As soon as she stepped inside, Lindsay ran to her and presented a stuffed cow as a welcome home gift. Marissa bent, took the cow, and rubbed her chin on Lindsay’s head. “Just what I’ve needed all day!” she declared, holding on to the fat cow.

“Oh, you’re home!” Catherine cried, jumping up to help Marissa with her coat as if she were an invalid. “I searched this house from attic to basement until I found the big wreath Aunt Ida made when we were kids. I thought you said it was lost. Did you notice it?”

“How could I help it?” Marissa answered, hoping her voice didn’t betray her sarcasm. She’d have to try harder unless she wanted to betray her falling spirits. “Hello, James. How nice to see you!”

He’d stood when she walked in, just as men had done fifty years ago when a lady entered the room. “Hi, Marissa. When you were late, Catherine was certain you’d had another wreck.”

“I should have called her.”

“You look exhausted and cold,” Catherine said, inspecting her from head to toe. “Why are your knees so red?”

“I’ve been kneeling on the snow.” Catherine looked as if she was going to ask if Marissa had visited their parents’ graves, so Marissa quickly glanced at the fireplace. “Ah, nothing makes you feel better on a cold winter evening than a crackling fire. How nice to come home to one.” She sighed and nearly dropped onto the large brown armchair that had been her father’s. “Do you two have plans?” Marissa asked.

“We’re going to the Larke Inn for dinner,” James said. He hesitated. “Can we talk you into joining us?”

Which you’d absolutely hate, Marissa thought. “No, it’s been a hard day and I don’t have much appetite. All I can think of is how much I’d like a glass of wine.”

“I’ll get it,” Catherine piped. “You sit right there. You look pale.”

“With red knees.” As soon as she vanished into the kitchen, Marissa’s eyes twinkled at James. “Mother hen.”

“I think it’s endearing.” Marissa felt a tiny burst of joy. James already sounded fond when he spoke of Catherine.

“She loves the dining room at the Inn.”

James’s face brightened. “I didn’t know. I guess I made the right choice.”

“It also shouldn’t be too busy on a Tuesday night.”

“That’s what I thought when I called Catherine right after noon. According to my mother, it’s insulting to ask out a lady without proper notice, but the idea just hit me. I’d like for us to have a cozy, uninterrupted dinner, which is impossible on a Friday or Saturday evening.”

“Does Catherine look annoyed at being asked out improperly late?” Marissa asked, smiling. “I think your mother needs to progress with the times.”

Catherine came back in the room and brought Marissa a glass of white wine. She looked beautiful in a heather green long-sleeved cashmere sheath dress with high-heeled black pumps. Her hair lay in waves down her back and she’d used just enough subtle liner to create mesmerizing blue-green cat eyes. Marissa caught a whiff of her own J’adore L’eau perfume when Catherine leaned forward to give her the wine.