“I thought I told you to go inside,” Eric said as Marissa walked up beside him.
“I did. Then I came out again.” Eric looked at her in annoyance. “It’s
my
lawn, Eric. I’d like to know what’s going on out here.”
“Did Lindsay want to know what’s going on, too?”
“We’re a team.”
A firefighter yelled, “Okay!” and someone shut off the hose. Marissa gazed at the small, blackened sticks dripping with water. They looked even more pathetic than they had earlier in the evening when they’d simply sat in bare winter sleep. She wanted to cry, but she wouldn’t, not in front of Eric. She’d have time to cry later.
One of the firefighters approached Eric. “The accelerant was kerosene. Makes for a nice, steady fire, not an explosion like gasoline.” Eric nodded. The man held something out to Eric in a gloved hand. “I found this about four feet away from the fire.” He held it out and Eric took it in his own gloved hand. “I don’t think it was meant to burn.”
Marissa looked down at a plastic doll about eighteen inches long and wearing a pink dress. Its blond hair was barely mussed and it stared at them with sapphire blue eyes. A piece of folded ivory stationery had been tucked inside the pink sash of its dress. Eric turned on his flashlight as he withdrew the paper, unfolded it, and read:
For Marissa
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
Chapter 9
1
Marissa swayed but righted herself before Eric could try to catch her. “Dillon,” she said faintly. “Dillon is the Tyger. Dillon set the fire. Dillon wants to kill me. He won’t stop, Eric; he’ll just keep after me until—”
“That’s enough,” Eric said abruptly. “Inside. Right now!”
Eric gave her a slight push and she moved like a sleepwalker, still clutching Lindsay’s leash. Once inside the house, Eric locked and flipped the dead bolt on the front door. He pushed her down onto the recliner and strode to the kitchen, holding the doll and the paper. First he yelled, asking where the ziplock plastic bags were; then he yelled again, asking the location of the vodka. Marissa still sat motionless in the chair, clutching the leash, when he returned with two glasses.
“Vodka and tonic,” he said. “One for you, one for me. You don’t get both.”
“I really don’t want a drink—”
“Yes, you really do. Drink up or I’ll arrest you.”
Marissa took one small sip. After that went down, she took a gulp and Eric beamed. He went back to the kitchen and brought in Lindsay’s water bowl. “No vodka for you, but you did a lot of panting outside. You must be parched.”
“Eric, you’re trying to keep your tone light so I won’t freak out, but it’s not helping. That doll is supposed to be me and Dillon put it next to the fire! My God, he’d been gone for over four years when I moved here to take care of Mom. I never dreamed he’d come back for me!”
“Calm down,” Eric said gently. “We have no proof that Dillon is even here, much less that’s he’s come back to Aurora Falls to get back at you for accusing him of murder.”
“No? Well, just take a look at what came in the mail today!” Marissa jumped up and opened a desk drawer, pulling out the postcard she’d received earlier in the day. “Look at it, Eric!”
Eric handled the postcard by the edges, carefully looking at the hand-drawn figures at the top of the falls and then turning it over to read the typed message:
Together forever, Marissa
and the signature:
D.A.
“Dillon Archer,” Marissa said loudly.
“Dillon Archer!”
“I heard you the first time, Marissa. You said this came today?”
“Yes. When I got home, Catherine and James were here. She said I’d received several Christmas cards. It was in an envelope and I’m sure she didn’t pay much attention to it.”
“An envelope without a stamp. Hand delivered.” Eric looked beyond her, his gaze lost in thought. Finally, he said, “I can see Dillon writing something like ‘Together forever,’ but ‘Tyger! Tyger! burning bright—’”
“I don’t picture Dillon reading William Blake, either, but that’s such a well-known stanza and it’s one that would appeal to him.” Eric looked at her. “Don’t you think it would have been something he liked, something he’d remember?”
“I don’t know Dillon’s tastes in poetry, but I can imagine him liking this better than some sweet love poem.”
“Me, too. I suppose it’s because of what he did to Gretchen. ‘What immortal hand or eye / Could frame thy fearful symmetry?’” Marissa closed her eyes. “Eric, in one day I’ve received a morbid but romantic picture of Dillon and me at the falls and later an effigy of me lying beside a fire,” she said softly. “I think he’s telling me that I’m
his,
whether by choice or by force.”
2
Almost immediately, Eric’s cell phone rang. He swore and then announced there had been an attempted armed robbery of the convenience store on Chadwick Street with shots fired. He had to leave immediately after making Marissa promise to lock and dead-bolt the door and spend the evening in the house and not even take Lindsay out for a quick visit to the lawn before bedtime. “And if anyone calls about the fire, I’d brush it off as a prank,” he said earnestly. “We don’t want to stir up a lot of excitement. After all, if Dillon
is
behind this, it’s just what he’d like.”
“You think I need surveillance?” Marissa asked anxiously.
“Yes, but I won’t have anyone free until tomorrow night. Until then, I want you to use this.” He held out a can of Mace. “I’m sure you can read the directions by yourself. And Marissa, don’t go
anywhere
without it and keep it handy—not in the bottom of your tote bag buried under all that stuff you women carry.” He smiled, looked as if he were going to kiss her, then quickly turned and headed for the door.
After he left, Marissa’s thoughts roiled. Could Dillon Archer really be responsible for her wreck or for the fire? Who else? She would never say she didn’t have an enemy in the world—she believed everyone had at least a few people who didn’t wish them well. But people who wished her dead? She could only think of one.
Marissa realized her cold hands were trembling. She couldn’t draw a deep breath and she felt the muscles pulling between her scalp and her back with enough force to break her neck. She knew this feeling well. It would lead to one of the migraine headaches she’d experienced ever since Gretchen’s death and she would
not
give in to one of those migraines now, she decided. They blurred her senses and she needed to be completely alert.
Marissa took a MAXALT for the headache. She’d recently read that some doctors administer Botox for migraines. She might try it, she decided. If the Botox didn’t help her migraine, it would at least give her the forehead of a fifteen-year-old.
In case the MAXALT didn’t work, she needed a distraction. Marissa turned on the television and flipped through six different shows but couldn’t concentrate on any of them. So much for cable TV, she thought. She picked up a fashion magazine and discovered she hadn’t the least interest in patterned tights or flared coats.
She wandered to the stereo, glancing at some of the CDs her mother had listened to until the last month of her life. Marissa smiled. Annemarie had loved to dance to the rock music that had been popular when she had met Bernard. She’d told Marissa he would dance whenever she wanted back then. Only after they’d been married a couple of years had he told her dancing to rock music made him feel like a fool and Bernard Gray had officially retired to the sidelines of the dance floor.
Annemarie hadn’t, though, and often she danced with her daughters, telling them dancing could usually banish a bad mood. Marissa picked a CD and in a few minutes was absent-mindedly swaying her hips and moving her feet to Billy Idol’s “Dancing with Myself.” Lindsay, used to these displays, sat on the couch with a stuffed frog in her mouth, being an attentive audience.
Marissa had just begun to concentrate on the song instead of thinking about her rose garden when suddenly Lindsay barked and ran to the front door. Oh God, no, Marissa thought. Not another semi-calamity. Lindsay wasn’t barking frantically as she had earlier, though. She barked the way she usually did when people approached the house, even before they’d knocked or rung the doorbell. Sure enough, seconds later the doorbell sounded. Marissa jumped and her heart picked up speed. She should ignore the bell, she thought. Except that Catherine might have forgotten her key. If she and James were returning, though, their date had been short.
The doorbell rang again and Marissa couldn’t ignore its pull. “I’m worse than Pavlov’s dogs,” she said aloud. She lowered the music and moved slowly to the door, picking up a fireplace poker along the way. She looked out the peephole and on the lighted porch stood Tonya Archer, formerly Tonya Ward, whom Marissa had known since childhood. She saw no one else on the porch. Tonya looked around as if thinking of leaving and Marissa impulsively unbolted, unlocked, and opened the door.
“Hi,” they said simultaneously, exchanging nervous smiles.
Tonya’s smile stayed fixed. “I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier, but I was afraid you might not want me to come. I don’t know how you feel about me, but I’d really like to talk to you. We haven’t talked much since…well, for years.”
“We haven’t talked at all.” A short mental battle went on in Marissa’s mind before she opened the door farther. “Come in.”
Tonya stepped in almost tentatively and then looked down at Lindsay standing armed with her stuffed frog. “This is Lindsay, Tonya. She doesn’t bite.”
“Lindsay!” Tonya laughed and stooped to pet the dog’s head. “Don’t tell me—you named her for Lindsay Wagner, the Bionic Woman!”
“I can’t believe you remember.”
“My God, Marissa, you watched the reruns and talked about Lindsay Wagner all the time. You even had a poster of her on your bedroom wall.”
“Well, I’ve finally taken it down,” Marissa said sheepishly. “It was yellowing around the edges.”
“But I’ll bet you didn’t throw it away.”
“You’re a mind reader. It’s safely tucked away in my closet, where some archaeologist will find it hundreds of years from now and put it in a museum.”
Tonya laughed and stood up. At five foot six she was taller than Marissa, and when she slid out of her coat Marissa saw that Tonya had gained a little weight, but it did nothing to spoil the enviable figure of her teenage years. She wore fashionably tight jeans and black boots. Her auburn hair hung thick and straight over the shoulders of her lavender turtleneck sweater. She looked remarkably attractive, yet her large hazel eyes seemed harder, the planes of her face sharper, than the last time Marissa had seen her.
Marissa waited for Tonya to say something about the fire in the side yard, but either she’d parked on the street and hadn’t noticed it in the dark or she’d decided not to mention it. Instead, Tonya cocked her head. “I hear Billy Idol. You were dancing, weren’t you?”
Marissa blushed. “No, I was just listening—you know, moving around to the music.”
“That’s called dancing. How many times did you and Catherine and your mother and I dance in this room?”
“Too many to remember.” Marissa finally laughed. Then her laughter died, replaced by a sad smile. “It’s been a long time since we’ve danced or even talked together, Tonya.”
“That’s why I simply
had
to see you tonight,” Tonya said earnestly. “I’ve been thinking so much about you since your mother’s death and your move back from Chicago. I didn’t try to talk to you at first—I knew you were dealing with your mother’s illness and I was caught up in my love life.” She smiled. “I know most people were surprised when Andrew and I got married.”
“
I
certainly was. I didn’t even know you two were seeing each other, but Mom was very sick in the late spring and early summer. I didn’t go out much and not many people came to visit. They knew Mom was too sick to enjoy company. Anyway, when I told her about the marriage she was surprised but pleased.”
“Really? She was always so kind to me.” Tonya smiled, more to herself than to Marissa. “Andrew and I eloped. No fanfare, and a quick honeymoon in New York City. Andrew said if we spent much time there, I’d spend every dollar we had on clothes. He had to get me home—fast!” They giggled. “Honestly, Marissa, my marriage has made me even happier than I’d hoped.”
“I’m glad,” Marissa said sincerely.
“Is Catherine here?”
“No, she’s on a date.” Tonya’s eyebrows rose. Marissa waited a few seconds and then decided keeping her sister’s new relationship undercover was silly. “She’s having dinner with James Eastman.”
Tonya frowned. “James Eastman? Did Renée finally come back to town to get the divorce she wanted so badly?”
“No. James had a thorough search made for her, but no one could find her. He was able to divorce her on the grounds of desertion.”
“No one could find her? I thought she’d go running back to Mommy and Daddy in New Orleans.”
“They didn’t want her. We all think she’s probably with another man, only this one is rich.”
“Maybe rich, but certainly not better looking than James. Oh well, the few times I was at an event she graced with her presence she struck me as a shallow snob and she looked at me like I was dirt under her feet. If she gave up James, though, I’ll bet she’ll regret it. Her loss, not his. I’m glad he’s dating again.”
Tonya’s smile faded. “I know you’re wondering why I’m here. I’m nervous as hell and I can’t keep up the small talk. I’ve been thinking so much about you and Catherine, it’s almost Christmas and Andrew is working late, and…well, tonight just felt like
the
night I had to try to fix things between us. I know we had some serious trouble, but it was years ago and it isn’t as if we were deliberately trying to hurt each other. I don’t believe it’s something we can’t work out, Marissa. Please say we can try.”