Authors: Nora Roberts
Sam Tanner. It said his name was Sam Tanner. Reading it, she began to shiver. Her stomach cramped, a dozen tight fists that twisted.
Daddy. It was Daddy. How could she have forgotten? It was Daddy, holding hands with Mama, or with his arm around her shoulders.
Holding scissors bright with blood.
No, no, that couldn’t be. It was a dream, a nightmare. Imagination, that was all.
She began to rock, pressing her hands to her mouth as the images began to creep in. Panic, burning fingers of it, had her by the throat, squeezing until her breath came in strangled gasps.
Broken glass sparkling on the floor in the lights. Dying flowers. The warm breeze through the open door.
It wasn’t real. She wouldn’t let it be real.
Olivia pushed the book aside and lifted out the last with hands that trembled. There’d be other pictures, she told herself. More pictures of her parents smiling and laughing and holding each other.
But it was newspapers again, with big headlines that seemed to scream at her.
JULIE MACBRIDE MURDERED
SAM TANNER ARRESTED
FAIRY TALE ENDS IN TRAGEDY
There were pictures of her father, looking dazed and unkempt. More of her aunt, her grandparents, her uncle. And of
her, she saw with a jolt. Of her years before with her eyes wild and blank and her hands pressed to her ears.
JULIE’S CHILD, ONLY WITNESS TO MOTHER’S SLAYING
She shook her head in denial, ripping quickly through the pages now. There, another face that awakened memories. His name was Frank, she thought. He chased the monster away. He had a little boy and he’d liked puzzles.
A policeman. Soft, hunted sounds trembled in her throat. He’d carried her out of the house, the house where the monster had come. Where all the blood was.
Because her mother was dead. Her mother was dead. She knew that, of course she knew that. But we don’t talk about it, she reminded herself, we never talk about it because it makes Grandma cry.
She ordered herself to close the book, to put it all away again, back in the chest, back in the dark. But she was already turning the pages, searching the words and pictures.
Drugs. Jealousy. Obsession.
Tanner Confesses!
Tanner Retracts Confession. Proclaims His Innocence.
Four-Year-Old Daughter Chief Witness.
The Tanner trial took one more dramatic turn today as the videotaped testimony of Tanner’s daughter, four-year-old Olivia, was introduced. The child was questioned in the home of her maternal aunt, Jamie Melbourne, and videotaped with permission of her grandparents, acting as guardians. Previously Judge Sato ruled that the taped statement could be introduced as evidence, sparing the minor the trauma of a court appearance.
She remembered, she remembered it all now. They’d sat in Aunt Jamie’s living room. Her grandparents had been there, too. A woman with red hair and a soft voice had asked her questions about the night the monster had come. Grandma had promised it would be the last time she would have to talk about it, the very last time.
And it was.
The woman had listened and asked more questions. Then a man had talked to her, a man with a careful smile and careful eyes. She’d thought since it was the last time, she’d be able to go back home. That it would all go away.
But she’d come to Washington instead, to the big house in the forest.
Now, she knew why.
Olivia turned more pages, narrowed her eyes against tears until they were stinging dry. And with her jaw tight and her eyes clear, read another flurry of headlines.
SAM TANNER CONVICTED
GUILTY! JURY CONVICTS TANNER
TANNER SENTENCED TO LIFE
“You killed my mother, you bastard.” She said it with all the hate a young girl could muster. “I hope you’re dead, too. I hope you died screaming.”
With steady hands, she closed the book, carefully replaced it along with the others in the chest. She shut the lid, then rose to go turn off the lights. She walked down the stairs, through the empty house to the back porch.
Sitting there, she stared out into the rain.
She didn’t understand how she could have buried everything that had happened, how she could have locked it up the way her grandmother locked the boxes and books in the chest.
But she knew she wouldn’t do so again. She would remember, always. And she would find out more, find out everything she could about the night her mother died, about the trial, about her father.
She understood she couldn’t ask her family. They thought she was still a child, one who needed to be protected. But they were wrong. She’d never be a child again.
She heard the sound of the Jeep rumbling up the lane through the rain. Olivia closed her eyes and concentrated. A part of her hardened, then wondered if she’d inherited acting
skills from either of her parents. She tucked the hate, the grief and the anger into a corner of her heart. Sealed it inside.
Then she stood up, a smile ready for her grandmother when the Jeep braked at the end of the drive.
“Just who I wanted to see.” Val tossed up the hood of her jacket as she stepped out of the Jeep. “We’re loaded here, Livvy. Get a jacket and give me a hand, will you?”
“I don’t need a jacket. I won’t melt.” She stepped out into the rain. The steady drum of it was a comfort. “Are we having spaghetti and meatballs for dinner?”
“For Jamie’s first night home?” Val laughed and passed Olivia a grocery bag. “What else?”
“I’d like to make it.” Olivia shifted the bag, then reached in for another.
“You—really?”
Olivia jerked a shoulder and headed into the house. The door slapped shut behind her, then opened again as Val pushed in with more bags. “What brought this on? You always say cooking is boring.”
That had been when she’d been a kid, Olivia thought. Now was different. “I have to learn sometime. I’ll get the rest, Grandma.” She started out, then turned back. The anger was inside her, didn’t want to stay locked up. It wanted to leap out, she realized, and slice at her grandmother. And that was wrong. Deliberately, she walked over and gave Val a fierce hug. “I want to learn to cook like you.”
While Val blinked in stunned pleasure, Olivia hurried outside for the rest of the bags. What had gotten into the girl? Val wondered as she unpacked fresh tomatoes and lettuce and peppers. Just that morning she’d whined about fixing a couple of pieces of toast, all but danced with impatience to get outside. Now she wanted to spend her free afternoon cooking.
When Olivia came back in, Val lifted her eyebrows. “Livvy, did you get in trouble at the campground?”
“No.”
“Are you after something? That fancy new backpack you’ve had your eye on?”
Olivia sighed, shoved the damp hair out of her eyes. “Gran, I want to learn how to cook spaghetti. It’s not a big deal.”
“I just wondered about the sudden interest.”
“If I don’t know how to cook, I can’t be independent. And if I’m going to learn, I’d might as well learn right.”
“Well.” Pleased, Val nodded. “My girl’s growing up on me.” She reached over, brushed Olivia’s cheek with her fingertips. “My pretty little Livvy.”
“I don’t want to be pretty.” Some of the fire of that buried anger smoked into her eyes. “I want to be smart.”
“You can be both.”
“I’d rather work on smart.”
Changes, Val thought. You couldn’t stop them, could never hold a moment. “All right. Let’s get this stuff put away and get started.”
With patience Val explained what ingredients they’d use and why, which of the herbs they’d add from the kitchen garden and how their flavors would blend. If she noticed that Olivia paid almost fierce attention to every detail, she was more amused than concerned.
If she could have heard her granddaughter’s thoughts, she might have wept.
Did you teach my mother how to make the sauce? Olivia wondered. Did she stand here with you when she was my age at this same stove and learn how to brown garlic in olive oil? Did she smell the same smells and hear the rain beating on the roof?
Why won’t you tell me about her? How will I know who she was if you don’t? How will I know who I am?
Then Val laid a hand on her shoulder. “That’s good, honey. That’s fine. You’ve got a real knack.”
Olivia stirred the herbs into the slow simmer of the sauce. And for now, let the rest go.
Because the first night Jamie and David came to visit was always treated as a special occasion, the family ate in the dining room with its long oak table set with white candles in silver holders, fresh flowers in crystal vases and Great-Grandma Capelli’s good china.
Food was abundant, as was conversation. As always, the meal spun out for two hours while the candles burned down and the sun that had peeked out of the clouds began to slide behind the trees.
“Livvy, that was just wonderful.” Jamie groaned and leaned back to pat her stomach. “So wonderful, I haven’t left room for any tiramisù.”
“I have.” Rob twinkled, giving Olivia’s hair a tug. “I’ll just shake the spaghetti into my hollow leg. She’s got your hand with the sauce, Val.”
“My mother’s, more like. I swear it was better than mine. I was beginning to wonder if our girl would ever do more than fry fish over a campfire.”
“Blood runs true,” Rob commented and winked at his granddaughter. “That Italian was bound to pop out sooner or later. The MacBride side was never known for its skill in the kitchen.”
“What are they known for, Dad?”
He laughed, wiggled his brows at Jamie. “We’re lovers, darling.”
Val snorted, slapped his arm, then rose. “I’ll clear,” Jamie said, starting to get up.
“No.” Val pointed a finger at her daughter. “You don’t catch KP on your first night. Livvy’s relieved, too. Rob and I will clean this up, then maybe we’ll all have room for coffee and dessert.”
“Hear that, Livvy?” David leaned over to murmur in her ear. “You cook, you don’t scrub pots. Pretty good deal.”
“I’m going to start cooking regularly.” She grinned at him. “It’s a lot more fun than doing dishes. Do you want to take a hike tomorrow, Uncle David? We can use my new backpack.”
Olivia slanted her grandmother a look, struggling not to smirk.
“You spoil her, David,” Val stated as she stacked dishes. “She wasn’t going to get that backpack until her birthday this fall.”
“Spoil her?” His face bland, David poked a finger into Olivia’s ribs and made her giggle. “Nah, she’s not even ripe yet. Plenty of time yet before she spoils. Do you mind if I switch on the TV in the other room? I’ve got a client doing a concert on cable. I promised I’d catch it.”
“You go right on,” Val told him. “Put your feet up and get comfortable. I’ll bring coffee in shortly.”
“Want to come up and talk to me while I unpack?” Jamie asked her niece.
“Could we take a walk?” Olivia had been waiting for the right moment. It seemed everyone had conspired to make it now. “Before it gets dark?”
“Sure.” Jamie stood, stretched. “Let me get a jacket. It’ll do me good to work off some of that pasta. Then I won’t feel guilty if I don’t make it over to the health club at the lodge tomorrow.”
“I’ll tell Grandma. Meet you out back.”
Even in summer, the nights were cool. The air smelled of rain and wet roses. The long days of July held the light even while a ghost moon rose in the eastern sky. Still, Olivia fingered the flashlight in her pocket. They would need it in the forest. It was the forest she wanted. She would feel safe there, safe enough to say what she needed to say and ask what she needed to ask.
“It’s always good to be home.” Jamie took a deep breath and smiled at her father’s garden.
“Why don’t you live here?”
“My work’s in L.A. So’s David’s. But we both count on
coming up here a couple of times a year. When I was a girl, your age, I suppose, I thought this was the whole world.”
“But it’s not.”
“No.” Jamie angled her head as she looked over at Olivia. “But it’s one of the best parts. I hear you’re a big help at the campground and the lodge. Grandpop says he couldn’t do without you.”
“I like working there. It’s not like work.” Olivia scuffed a boot in the dirt and angled away from the house toward the trees. “Lots of people come. Some of them don’t know
anything.
They don’t even know the difference between a Douglas fir and a hemlock, or they wear expensive designer boots and get blisters. They think the more you pay for something the better it is, and that’s just stupid.” She slanted Jamie a look. “A lot of them come from Los Angeles.”
“Ouch.” Amused, Jamie rubbed her heart. “Direct hit.”
“There’re too many people down there, and cars and smog.”
“That’s true enough.” All that felt very far away, Jamie realized, when you stepped into the deep woods, smelled the pine, the soft scent of rot, felt the carpet of cones and needles under your feet. “But it can be exciting, too. Beautiful homes, wonderful palm trees, shops, restaurants, galleries.”
“Is that why my mother went there? So she could shop and go to restaurants and have a beautiful home?”
Jamie stopped short. The question had snapped out at her, an unexpected backhanded slap that left her dazed. “I—she . . . Julie wanted to be an actress. It was natural for her to go there.”
“She wouldn’t have died if she’d stayed home.”
“Oh, Livvy.” Jamie started to reach out, but Olivia stepped back.
“You have to promise not to say anything to anyone. Not to Grandma or Grandpop or Uncle David. Not to anyone.”
“But, Livvy—”
“You
have
to promise.” Panic snuck into her voice, tears into her eyes. “If you promise you won’t say anything, then you won’t.”
“All right, baby.”
“I’m not a baby.” But this time Olivia let herself be held. “Nobody ever talks about her, and all her pictures got put away. I can’t remember unless I try really hard. Then it gets all mixed up.”
“We just didn’t want you to hurt. You were so little when she died.”
“When he killed her.” Olivia drew back. Her eyes were dry now and glinting in the dim light. “When my father killed her. You have to say it out loud.”
“When Sam Tanner killed her.”
The pain reared up, hideously fresh. Giving in to it, Jamie sat beside a nurse log, breathed out slowly. The ground was damp, but it didn’t seem to matter.
“Not talking about it doesn’t mean we don’t love her, Livvy. Maybe it means we loved her too much. I don’t know.”
“Do you think about her?”
“Yes.” Jamie reached out a hand, clasping Olivia’s firmly. “Yes, I do. We were very close. I miss her every day.”
With a nod, Olivia sat beside her, idly played her light on the ground. “Do you think about him?”
Jamie shut her eyes. Oh God, what should she do, how should she handle this? “I try not to.”
“But do you?”
“Yes.”
“Is he dead, too?”
“No.” Nerves jittering, Jamie rubbed a hand over her mouth. “He’s in prison.”
“Why did he kill her?”
“I don’t know. I just don’t know. It doesn’t do any good to wonder, Livvy, because it’ll never make sense. It’ll never be right.”
“He used to tell me stories. He used to carry me on his back. I remember. I’d forgotten, but I remember now.”
She continued to play the light, dancing it over the rotting log that nurtured seedlings she recognized as hemlock and spruce, the rosettes of tree moss that tumbled over it, the bushy
tufts of globe lichen that tangled with it. It kept her calm, seeing what she knew, putting a name to it.
“Then he got sick and went away. That’s what Mama told me, but it wasn’t really true. It was drugs.”
“Where are you hearing these things?”
“Are they true?” She looked away from the log, the flourishing life. “Aunt Jamie, I want to know what’s true.”
“Yes, they’re true. I’m sorry they happened to you, to Julie, to me, to all of us. We can’t change it, Livvy. We just have to go on and do the best we can.”
“Is what happened why I can never come visit you? Why Grandma teaches me instead of my going to school with other kids? Why my name’s MacBride instead of Tanner?”
Jamie sighed. She heard an owl hoot and a rustle in the brush. Hunters and hunted, she thought. Only looking to survive the night. “We decided it was best for you not to be exposed to the publicity, to the gossip, the speculations. Your mother was famous. People were interested in her life, in what happened. In you. We wanted to get you away from all that. To give you a chance, the chance Julie would have wanted for you to have a safe, happy childhood.”
“Grandma locked it all away.”
“Mom—Grandma . . . It was so hard on her, Livvy. She lost her daughter.” The one she couldn’t help but love best. “You helped get her through it. Can you understand that?” She gripped Olivia’s hand again. “She needed you as much as you needed her. She’s centered her life on you these last years. Protecting you was so important—and maybe by doing that she protected herself, too. You can’t blame her for it.”
“I don’t want to. But it’s not fair to ask me to forget everything. I can’t talk to her or Grandpop.” The tears wanted to come again. Her eyes stung horribly as she forced them back. “I need to remember my mother.”
“You’re right. You’re right.” Jamie draped an arm around Olivia’s shoulders and hugged. “You can talk to me. I won’t tell anyone else. And we’ll both remember.”
Content with that, Olivia laid her head on Jamie’s shoulder.
“Aunt Jamie, do you have tapes of the movies my mother was in?”
“Yes.”
“One day I want to see them. We’d better go back in.” She rose, her eyes solemn as she looked at Jamie. “Thanks for telling me the truth.”
What a shock it was, Jamie thought, to expect a child and see a woman. “I’ll make you another promise right here, Livvy. This is a special place for me, a place where if you make a promise, you have to keep it. I’ll always tell you the truth, no matter what.”
“I promise, too.” Olivia held out her hand. “No matter what.”
They walked out, hands linked. At the edge of the clearing, Olivia looked up. The sky had gone a deep, soft blue. The moon, no longer a ghost, cut its white slice out of the night. “The first stars are out. They’re there, even in the daytime, even when you can’t see them. But I like to see them. That’s Mama’s star.” She pointed up to the tiny glimmer near the tail of the crescent moon. “It comes out first.”
Jamie’s throat closed, burned. “She’d like that. She’d like that you thought of her, and weren’t sad.”
“Coffee’s on!” Val called through the door. “I made you a latte, Livvy. Extra foam.”
“We’re coming. She’s happy you’re here, so I get latte.” Olivia’s smile was so sudden, so young, it nearly broke Jamie’s heart. “Let’s get our share of tiramisù before Grandpop hogs it all.”
“Hey, for tiramisù, I’d take my own father down without a qualm.”
“Race you.” Olivia darted off like a bullet, blond hair flying.
It was that image—the long blond hair swinging, the girlish dare, the swift race through the dark—that Jamie carried with her through the evening. She watched Olivia scoop up dessert, stage a mock battle with her grandfather over his serving, nag David for details about his meeting Madonna at a party. And
she wondered if Olivia was mature enough, controlled enough, to tuck all her thoughts and emotions away or if she was simply young enough to cast them aside in favor of sweets and attention.
As much as she’d have preferred it to be the latter, she decided Olivia had inherited some of Julie’s skills as an actress.
There was a weight on her heart as she prepared for bed in the room that had been hers as a girl. Her sister’s child was looking to her now, as she had during those horrible days eight years before. Only this time, she wasn’t such a little girl and wouldn’t be satisfied with cuddles and stories.
She wanted the truth, and that meant Jamie would have to face parts of the truth she’d tried to forget.
She’d dealt with the unauthorized biographies, the documentaries, the television movie, the tabloid insanity and rumors dealing with her sister’s life and her death. They still cropped up from time to time. The young, beautiful actress, cut down in her prime by the man she loved. In a town that fed itself on fantasy and gossip, grim fairy tales could often take on the sheen of legends.
She’d done her best to discourage it. She gave no interviews to the press, cut no deals, endorsed no projects. In this way she protected her parents, the child. And herself.
Still, every year, a new wave of Julie MacBride stories sprang up. Every year, she thought, leaning on the pedestal sink and staring at her own face in the mirror, on the anniversary of her death.
So she fled home every summer, escaped it for a few days, let herself be tucked away as she’d let Olivia be tucked away.
They were entitled to their privacy, weren’t they? She sighed, rubbed her eyes. Just as Olivia was entitled to talk about the mother she’d lost. Somehow, she had to see to it that they managed to have both.
She straightened, pushed the hair back from her face. She’d let her hairdresser talk her into a perm and some subtle highlighting around her face. She had to admit, he’d been right.
It gave her a softer, younger look. Youth wasn’t just a matter of vanity, she thought. It was a matter of business.
She was beginning to see lines creeping around her eyes, those nasty little reminders of age and wear and tear. Sooner or later, she’d have to consider a tuck. She’d mentioned it to David, and he’d just laughed.
Lines? What lines? I don’t see any lines.
Men, she thought now, but they’d both known his response had pleased her.
Still, it didn’t mean she could afford to neglect her skin. She took the time to smooth on her night cream, using firm, upward strokes along her throat, dabbing on the eye cream with her pinkies. Then she added a trail of perfume between her breasts in case her husband was feeling romantic.
He often was.
Smiling to herself, she went back into the bedroom where she’d left the light burning for David. He hadn’t come up yet, so she closed the door quietly, then moved to the chevel glass. She removed her robe and took inventory.
She worked out like a fiend three days a week with a personal trainer she secretly called the Marquessa de Sade. But it paid off. Perhaps her breasts would no longer qualify as perky, but the rest of her was nice and tight. As long as she could pump and sweat, there’d be no need for nips and tucks anywhere but her eyes.
She understood the value of keeping herself attractive—in her public relations work and in her marriage. The actors and entertainers she and David worked with seemed to get younger every time she blinked. Some of his clients were beautiful and desirable women,
young
women. Succumbing to temptation, Jamie knew, was more often the rule rather than the exception in the life she and David lived.