DEATH BY HONEYMOON (10 page)

Chapter 11

Cindy, in Clint’s small car, headed to Philadelphia.
She was determined to meet Heather face to face.
She needed to know whatever Heather could tell her.

Before she left, Cindy had dialed Heather’s number, just to see if she was there.
A light voice had answered.

“Hi, who’s there?”

Cindy had hung up.
She was there, she was home.
That was all Cindy needed to know.

The drive was quick and easy.
The car almost flew on its own.
When she got down to Philadelphia, she checked the map and followed the streets that curved around until she found Heather’s block .

Heather lived in a three story brownstone on a residential, tree lined street.
Cindy pulled up and parked right across from her house.
She’d planned to get out of the car as soon as she got there, go to the door, ring the bell and introduce herself .
But suddenly she thought better of it.
Cindy had no idea how Heather would react.
She could close the door in Cindy’s face.
If Cindy refused to leave, she could call the police.
Cindy couldn’t risk that.
She
had to
confront Heather in person, show her the photo, ask her about it directly.

It was just about lunch time.
Cindy decided to wait in the car, across the street, and keep her eye on the brownstone until Heather came out.
Cindy was prepared to sit there and wait all day, or even all night long if need be.
When Heather came out, Cindy would follow her in the car, see where she went.
At the perfect moment, when Heather was alone, Cindy would get out, go over to her, and show her the photo.

After about half an hour of watching the house, Cindy began to wonder what would happen if Heather came out surrounded by friends?
They might all be going to lunch.
And, when Cindy did confront Heather, what if she couldn’t get her to talk?
It was also possible that she would lie.
Cindy was convinced she was sharp enough, though, to pick up on that.

Cindy turned on the radio.
The station was playing oldies.
She flipped to another station, news.
Restless, Cindy turned it off .
Just at that moment, the door to Heather’s brownstone opened and out she came, with a little boy in a stroller.
She carefully pushed the stroller down the front stairs, one step at a time.
It was shocking to see her in person, like this.
Just as in the photo, she was tall and beautiful.
Dressed in jeans and a polo shirt, she seemed happy and carefree, going about her normal day.

Cindy wanted to jump out of the car and race up to her, but she knew she couldn’t yet.
Instead, she followed her in the car, slowly down the block, watching her every move.
Heather went to the corner, crossed and then walked another few blocks.
Cindy trailed along.
Oblivious to the fact that a car was following her, Heather chatted lightly with her son.

When she got to the third corner, Heather turned to the right and headed for a children’s playground.
Except for a few mothers and children, scattered here and there, the place was mostly empty.

Cindy parked across from the playground and watched.

Heather went in through the open gates, unstrapped her son from the stroller.
He squirmed out right away, and ran to the swings.
She went running after him, laughing and then picking him up to put him in a swing.

Cindy felt a mixture of sorrow and pain.
This was the life she should have been living.

She got out of the car slowly and walked into the playground.
Then she sat down on the bench opposite the swings and watched Heather swing her son.

Even though it was late Spring, a cool breeze blew up.
Heather was beautiful and playful.
Cindy’s heart clenched into a knot.
Had Clint loved her?
Were they still seeing each other when he died?
Were they emailing?
Had he ever gotten over her?

Cindy got up then, went over to the swings and stood next to Heather and her son.

“Hi,” Cindy said lightly.

Heather looked right at her.
“Hi,” she smiled, “Do I know you?”

Cindy couldn’t find the words to answer.
She decided to go straight to the point, reached into her pocket and pulled the photo out.

“Someone sent this to me in the mail,” Cindy said, showing her the photo.

“Oh my God,” Heather said, staring at it.
“A picture of me?”

“And your son.”

“I never saw this photo,” she looked at it more closely, puzzled.
“I didn’t even know it was taken.
Who sent it to you?
Who are you?”

“To be more exact, they sent it to my husband,” said Cindy.

Heather became ill at ease.
“What has this got to do with me?” she said.

Cindy felt badly.
She liked her, and was sorry to have to put her through this.

“Someone killed my husband,” Cindy said bluntly.

Heather gasped.
“That’s horrible.”

The little child in the swing began calling out for more.
Heather had stopped swinging him.
She was standing there, transfixed.

“Clint Blaine was my husband,” said Cindy.

“Clint Blaine’s dead?” Heather breathed.
For a moment it looked as if she would buckle.
It was hard for her to stand up .
“Oh my God.
I hadn’t heard.”

Cindy believed her.
“Let’s go sit on the bench and talk.”

“Swing me higher, swing me higher,” the little boy kept calling.

Heather ignored him.

“Someone send Clint this picture a week before our wedding” Cindy said.

“Can you tell me why?”

“I have no idea,” said Heather, “I don’t know who even took it.
I haven’t seen Clint for at least three years.”

“You’re friends on Facebook,” Cindy said.

“I have eleven hundred friends,” Heather was talking fast.
“I friended him a long time ago, just for the heck of it.
I haven’t kept up with his life.
When did the two of you get married?”

“A little over a month ago,” said Cindy.

“I never heard anything so awful,” she said.

Her boy called out again: “Mommy!
Mommy!”

“He’s a beautiful child,” Cindy said.
She looked at him closely now, for the first time.
He had huge blue eyes, just like Clint, and a mischievous smile.

“There’s something you’re not telling me,” Cindy said slowly.
“And it’s the reason I have this photo.”

Heather began trembling, as if a cold frost had blown in.

“I don’t even know you,” she said in a thin voice.

“You can check me out on Facebook,” said Cindy.
“You’ll see I was Clint’s wife.
What reason would I have to lie?
Was something going on between the two of you?”

“It was no big deal.
It was over three years ago,” Heather said.
“We dated a little and that was about it.
It didn’t mean that much to me, or him either.
Right when I was dating him, I met someone else and really fell in love.
It was the man I married.
Clint and I broke up shortly after .
We were casual friends afterwards for a couple of months, and that was it.”

The two women stared at each other.
“I swear it,” said Heather.

Cindy knew in her gut that wasn’t the whole story.

“You have to tell me everything,” Cindy said, “because now I’m in danger, and so is my family.”

Heather could barely speak.
“It’s awful, really awful,” she finally uttered, taking it in.

“You have to tell me the truth.
Did you see Clint this past year?” Cindy steeled herself for anything.

“Not at all,” Heather gasped .
“I swear to you, I’m happily married.”

“Did he contact you?” said Cindy.

“Not once.
There was no reason.”

“Swing more mamma!” the child called out.

“Heather, listen, there’s a reason someone sent Clint your photo a few weeks before he was killed.”

Heather blanched.

“The killing’s not all over, either,” Cindy went on.
“Not by a long shot.
We all could be in danger.”

Heather looked terrified.
“What do you mean,
we
?”

“Whoever killed Clint took this photo of you and your son.”

“My son could be in danger?” She started trembling.

“Anything’s possible,” Cindy said.

Heather’s eyes filled with tears.
“You have to swear you won’t tell anybody,” the words poured out of her.
“Swear.” She was trembling.

“I don’t know if I can swear,” said Cindy.
“I may have to tell someone if you and your son need protection.”

“I have no idea who took the picture, but this is Clint’s child,” Heather burst out.
“Nobody knows it.
Not even Clint.
I never told him.
I never told my husband either.
He thinks the child is his.
We were so happy together, we were getting married, it would have ruined everything.
I didn’t know myself who the father was, at first.
The timing of everything overlapped.
It was crazy.”

“How did you find out it was Clint’s child?”

“He looks so much like him,” Heather’s voice was shaky.
“I look at him and see Clint.
I couldn’t stand it, so I finally had him tested.
Just to be sure.”

Cindy’s feelings were all over the place.
She and Clint had often spoken about the family they wanted to have together.
Now Clint had a child that he never knew, with someone else.
That was awful.
On the other hand, there was a part of Clint still alive.
That was wonderful.

“I’ve got to keep my son safe, and also my marriage.” Heather couldn’t catch her breath.
Then she started sobbing.

Cindy wanted to calm Heather down.
“It must be so painful for you to keep all this hidden,” she said .

“No, it isn’t,” Heather said.
“I love my son.
I love my husband.
My husband loves the child as his own.
I’ll have more children later on.
Who’s hurt by this?
Nobody.”

“But somebody knows,” Cindy said.

Heather’s eyes opened wide.
“Who?”

“The person who took the photo.”

“They want to ruin my life?” said Heather, “Why?”

The two women stood beside one another, sudden compatriots, facing an unknown enemy.

“They wanted to ruin Clint’s life,” Cindy answered.

“But why?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” said Cindy.
“But I believe that whoever took the photo, killed Clint as well.”

It was too much for Heather.
She put her hands over her face.

“I’m terrified,” she murmured.

Cindy wanted to soothe her but didn’t know how.

“Swing me more mamma, swing me more!” the little boy cried out, lifting his arms up to the sky.

*Driving back to New York, Cindy’s mind was spinning.
It had stunned her to find out about Clint’s son.
If Heather was just a casual girlfriend, and if he had no idea about the child, there was no reason why Clint should have mentioned her.
She had no choice but to believe Heather.

But who could know about the child?
Who wanted Clint alerted?
His family knew about all his girlfriends.
Had someone in the family managed to track all this down?
Take the photo?
Who else would even care?
For a crazy moment, Cindy wondered if her marriage to Clint could have ever worked?
Suddenly, she wasn’t sure.
There were so many unknown clouds floating around him, so many dark corners in his life.
She didn’t know if she could bear finding another one, could bear losing the memory of the man she’d so deeply loved.