After all, hadn’t she heard that men feel differently about these things? What seemed like an act of love for a woman could be merely scratching an itch for a man. His itch was thoroughly scratched after last night. And she thought that now she finally, truly hated him.
She lay in the tub and soaked for fully three quarters of an hour, trying to wash away some of the stain from last night. She should have known it would be useless. Perhaps it was better that he left. Or perhaps she was imagining all sorts of problems where none existed. But couldn’t he at least have said goodbye to her?
When she arrived in the kitchen Toby was waiting. He was silhouetted against the window, and for one, brief, joyous moment she’d thought he was Patrick. And then he turned, his light, intense eyes watching her with an odd stillness, and it was all she could do to hide her disappointment.
She greeted him with lukewarm pleasure.
“How are you this morning, Toby?” At that moment she was heartily sick of the whole male half of the species.
“Afternoon,” he corrected, smiling.
“I’m fine.
You’re looking absolutely beautiful, Molly. ” She heard a snort from the corner, and Mrs. Morse hovered into view.
“Patrick said he’d be back sometime tomorrow,” she said loudly, determined to bring the specter of Molly’s husband into the conversation before Toby could get any ideas.
“He had some business to attend to, some things to check up on. He said you were to stay close to home, Molly.” The look she
cast Toby was one of pure dislike, and Molly glanced at her in surprise. Toby was one of the most innocuous human beings she’d met since she’d returned to .
“Did he?” she said coolly, angry at the arrogant manner of her absent husband’s orders.
“We’ll see.”
She wandered over and poured herself some coffee, noting with sort of an anguished longing the unaccustomed stiffness in her hips.
“And Dr. Turner’s office called.” Mrs. Morse was determined.
“The results of your tests are in. She said it wasn’t what you thought.”
“So soon?” She picked up a still warm muffin and bit into it.
“She said she wanted you to come in and see her right away.” Molly couldn’t miss the note of worry in her voice.
“I told her Patrick took the Mercedes and wouldn’t be back until tomorrow. The van’s out of commission.”
“I can take you,” Toby offered eagerly, and Mrs. Morse glared at him, slamming a pan down on the wooden counter.
“She said you should call her as soon as you wake up.”
“All right,” Molly agreed, strolling out of the room into Patrick’s office, trying to still the sudden spurt of fear that filled her. She had cancer, she thought dismally, or some fatally crippling disease. And for some odd reason, this was the first morning she hadn’t been sick in days.
Perhaps sex agrees with me, she thought bitterly, dialing the doctor’s number. Perhaps it was a case of terminal lust.
“Mrs. Winters?” She recognized the gruff voice at the other end of the line.
“I need you to come in and talk with me today. We’ve got the results of your blood tests and it’s serious. Very serious indeed.”
“Really?” Molly replied in a wooden voice.
“I’m afraid I can’t make it in. My husband’s taken the only working car. You’ll have to tell me over the phone. Have I got cancer?”
“Certainly not. Perhaps Mrs. Morse could drive you in.”
“I told you I couldn’t make it,” she said, anxiety making her angry.
“What’s going on? If I’m dying of some strange disease you might as well tell me. At this point I really don’t give a damn.”
Dr. Turner took a deep breath at the other end.
“Mrs. Winters, has anyone else in the house been troubled with nausea recently?”
“Not that I know of. Why, is it communicable?”
“I’m afraid, Mrs.
Winters, that you are suffering from arsenic poisoning. “
“What?” Molly let out a shriek, then lowered her voice to a conspirator’s whisper.
“Arsenic?”
“That’s right. There can be no doubt of it. Clear traces were found in your bloodstream. Not enough to kill you, just enough to make you quite ill. And of course, over a long period of time it could prove quite dangerous.”
“I’m sure it could,” she replied numbly, sinking down in the well-worn leather chair in shock.
“I’ve notified the police, as I’m required to do in cases of this sort. In the meantime, I suggest you only
eat what everyone else is eating, and preferably fix your own meals.
“
She managed to stir herself long enough to protest.
“Mrs. Morse wouldn’t hurt me!”
“I’m not saying she would,” Dr. Turner said patiently.
“I’m just saying you should watch out. I expect the police should be out sometime in the afternoon—in the meantime, sit tight and don’t worry.” ‘ “Don’t worry,” she echoed, leaning back in shock and the first stirrings of justifiable outrage.
“Hell and damnation!”
He had considered going out and getting thoroughly drunk. However, Patrick had never made a habit of.
blotting out his memories with alcohol, and six o’clock in the morning wasn’t the time to start. While part of him wanted to forget everything that happened the night before, from the moment he’d let his fury give him just enough excuse to enter her bedroom in the middle of the night, until the moment he left her, lying there, sound asleep, the saltwater tracks of dried tears on her pale face, her lips swollen from his mouth, her face flushed and absurdly happy in sleep.
Why the hell had he touched her?
And even more important, why had she lied to him? If he’d known, he would have been even more determined to keep away from her, though right now he was so angry and twisted up inside that he wasn’t quite sure why. After all, he’d married her. They’d entered into a sensible, business arrangement, based on mutual affection and good judgment, and it had turned drastically wrong even before their wedding day.
They’d never discussed just how much of a marriage it was going to be, and he’d assumed that sooner or later they’d get around to sex. To make those grandchildren his father had wanted so damned much.
But as things had gone from bad to worse, and she’d flung her lovers and her hatred in his face, his own mixed longing had chilled. He’d always wanted her. But he’d been just as determined not to have her.
And now it was too late. He’d spent a night in her bed, doing at least some of the things he’d dreamed about when he’d had no control of his fantasies. And he wanted to do more.
He wasn’t going to. He was getting the hell out of there, long enough to cool down. To come to his senses. To figure out what the hell was going on here. Because it was finally getting through his thick skull that something was happening around here. Nothing was as it seemed.
In the last few hours his life had turned upside down.
If he’d been wrong about Molly he could be wrong about a great many other things. Like whether or not she’d been pushed into the cellar. Like whether someone was really out to hurt her, as she’d insisted.
Something had been nagging at the back of his mind, some hidden scrap of memory. He wasn’t going to sit around on his butt and wait to see what happened. He was going out to find a few answers himself. Just to assure himself that she wasn’t in any kind of danger.
When he got back maybe he and Molly could come to some sort of amicable agreement. She could go where she wanted, do what she wanted.
Anything to get his peace of mind back.
And by the time spring rolled around he probably wouldn’t even think about her more than once a day.
All day long.
WHEN MOLLY RETURNED to the kitchen she looked at the inhabitants with new eyes. Mrs. Morse was cleaning with a violence, her stern and spare body radiating disapproval. Toby was staring out the window, an odd, abstracted expression on his face, the sunlight reflecting off his wire-rimmed glasses, and Uncle Willy had just come down, hung over as usual, the orange hair combed with its usual finicky neatness, his eyes pale and bloodshot and weary.
“Well, well, Molly,” he murmured as he poured a cup of Mrs. Morse’s excellent coffee.
“You’re looking absolutely stunning this morning.”
“Afternoon,” she said absently, staring at all of them in turn.
“I’ve already told her so,” Toby announced in a playful voice that still held a slightly possessive edge.
Uncle Willy thumped Toby on the back.
“Sly young dog,” he said approvingly.
“Don’t miss a trick, do you? Ah, well, when I was your age…”
“Where’s Aunt Ermy?” Molly broke in suddenly.
“Ermy?” Willy repeated, befuddled.
“I don’t know, my dear. She should be around somewhere.”
Molly drew herself together with a monumental effort.
“I believe the police might be coming by later.
They’ll probably want to have a word with all of you. “
The silence was absolute, as the three other inhabitants of the kitchen stared at her in horror that might have been mixed with guilt.
Mrs. Morse spoke first.
“You’ll not be saying something’s happened to Patrick?”
Uncle Willy snorted bravely.
“Not him. He’s got nine lives, that one has.” His face remained a ghastly white, despite the determined smile.
“What are you talking about, Molly? Why should the police be coming here?” he demanded.
“Have they … have they discovered something new about your accident?”
“I doubt it,” Molly said, sipping casually on her cold and bitter-tasting coffee.
“I think they want to find out who’s been poisoning me.”
Uncle Willy’s cup slipped out of nerveless fingers and crashed back onto its saucer. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again.
“Well,” he said finally, his normally affected voice high-pitched and squeaky.
“Well.”
Toby had already moved to her side, laying his soft, gentle hands on hers in tender concern. Hands so different from Patrick’s strong, demanding ones. She pulled away firmly.
“This isn’t true, is it, Molly?” His voice was low and impassioned.
“If it is, I swear to God I’ll kill him!”
“Now who do you think you’re talking about?” Mrs. Morse demanded in a blaze of fury, slamming down another pot and marching across the room, hands on her hips.
“You have one hell of a lot of nerve, my boy, if you think you can come around here, playing up to your so-called best friend’s wife, and slander him behind his back. Patrick wouldn’t harm a hair on that girl’s head, and well she knows it!”
Apart from breaking her heart, she thought wryly.
“Mrs. Morse is right, Toby,” she said aloud.
“What’s between Patrick and me is no one else’s concern.” Mrs. Morse nodded with grim approval.
“You listen to her, young man. If I didn’t know better I’d get awfully suspicious of the way you’re trying to throw the blame on Patrick.”
“This is all nonsense.” Aunt Ermy spoke sternly from the kitchen door, her tiny, pig like eyes glistening avidly.
“What’s all this about Molly being poisoned?” She looked at Molly with an expression of heavy solicitude that was almost believable.
“That was a nasty blow you took on your head, and I think you must be suffering delusions of persecution along with your amnesia.
Heavens, no one would want to poison you! Now, you just put that idea out of your head and we’ll call the police and tell them it was all a mistake. “
“I’d love to do just that, Aunt Ermy, if it weren’t for one simple thing,” Molly said in her calmest voice.
“It’s Dr. Turner’s idea that I’m being poisoned, and it’s more than a stray fancy. There was arsenic in my bloodstream.”
“Then you took it yourself, for the attention it would bring you,” Ermy said flatly, the look in those tiny eyes hostile. “No one in this house would try to kill you. We all love you. “
Molly’s deadly calm turned into a slicing rage.
“Of course you do,” she said bitterly.
“You’re just dripping all over with concern, aren’t you? There’s
some184
thing going on here, and if my memory wasn’t such a total blank I could figure it out. But I’ll remember.
Sooner or later it’ll come back to me, and I’ll have the answers. “
Her words hung in the air like a palpable threat. And she found herself wondering if her angry words had just sealed her fate.
THE POLICE ARRIVED a half an hour later. Molly had taken refuge in her bedroom, and when she heard a car pull up she ran to her window, hoping against all possible hope that it was Patrick. She felt more than a twinge of dismay as she recognized her old friend, Lieutenant Ryker, as he climbed out of the gray sedan.
She was downstairs in time to open the door for him.
“You’re looking a lot better, Mrs. Winters,” he greeted her, stepping into the hall and looking around him with call, professional detachment. That detachment made her uneasy.
“I’m feeling much better,” she said with deceptive politeness.
“Why are you here? I would have thought the local police could have handled this.”
“I’m sure they could have,” he answered in his clipped, emotionless voice, “but they decided it was more my concern than theirs. And rightly so. Sergeant Stroup came along to represent their interests.” Molly’s eyes flickered over the man standing behind him, recognizing the leering animosity with faint despair. It only needed this, she thought wearily.
“Is your husband here, Mrs. Winters?” Ryker continued smoothly.
“I’d like to have a few words with him.”
“I’m afraid not. He doesn’t even know about this … this poison business. He left here before I woke and I don’t think he’s expected back until tomorrow.”
“And could you tell me where we could get in touch with him?” There was absolutely no reason for her to be bothered by the simple questions. But she was.
“I’m afraid I have no idea,” she finally answered, her voice stiff.
“Perhaps Mrs. Morse might know. I assume you’ll want to talk with her?”
“All in good time, Mrs. Win~‘s, all in good time,” he said in that chilling tone.