Equivocal Death (61 page)

energy. For some time the room was quiet, and Steven Gage didn’t 22

move. Then, without warning, his body jerked, and his eyes grew 23

wide again. Throwing back his head, he let out an agonized howl.

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The cry went on and on, a piercing ululation. The sound of a 25

keening animal caught in the grip of a trap. Laura’s skin prickled 26

down the back of her neck, a chill blooming in her heart. This 27

was pure, distilled rage, like nothing she’d ever heard.

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Then, suddenly, it was over.

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Gage was silent again. His eyes drifted to the gallery. He 30

looked at them. At her.

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For a moment their gazes locked. Laura could hardly breathe.

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It was like a curtain had been ripped away, and she finally saw the 33

truth. The truth that she’d swept aside for so long because she 34

couldn’t bear it.

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What she saw was an ineffable emptiness, a bleakness beyond R 36

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despair. There was something broken and evil in him that could 2

never be repaired. As his eyes bore into hers, a smile flickered on 3

his lips, and in a moment of terrible insight she knew what he 4

was thinking. He wasn’t really there, he was floating in fantasy.

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Imagining how he’d kill her if he only had the chance.

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Wednesday, April 5

Sh e almost didn’t see it.

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Juggling a pizza box with a load of books, she yanked open the 2

unlocked screen door, her mind on other things. The smell of 3

pepperoni. The sharp spring breeze. Next week’s midterm in Ab-4

normal Psych. In retrospect, these thoughts would seem a sort of 5

victory. A sign that, after more than a decade, she’d managed to 6

reclaim her life. But it was days, or maybe weeks, before she real-7

ized this, and by then it was too late. She could only look back, 8

helpless, at the world she’d left behind.

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By some trick of gravity the envelope stuck, as if tacked against 10

the doorjamb. Later, she’d try to reconstruct this moment, re-11

membering that first impression. An ordinary business envelope.

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White. Her name —
Ms. Callie Thayer
— in clear black type.

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Later even that would seem strange, but at the time she’d barely 14

noticed. She’d seen the envelope, grabbed it, stuffed it into her 15

leather bag.

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For the next three hours it had been forgotten, a time bomb in 17

her purse.

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h

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“Anyone home?”

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But of course she knew they were here.

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It was Wednesday afternoon, just after five. Anna would be 23

home from school. Rick, who worked an early shift, would have 24

started dinner by now.

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Putting down her books, Callie gave herself a quick once-over S 26

in the mirror at the end of the hallway. Pale heart-shaped face.

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Thick chestnut hair. A vagrant curl had tumbled loose from the 2

clip she’d used to pull it back. Reflexively, she unsnapped the bar-3

rette, pushed the tendrils back. Last month, she’d turned thirty-4

five, and today she looked her age. Faint lines around the large, 5

dark eyes. Two deeper creases in her brow. Not that any of it 6

bothered her, quite the opposite. She watched the shifting land-7

scape of her face with hungry fascination, concrete proof she 8

wasn’t the person she’d been ten years ago.

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“Hey, babe! In here.”

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She followed Rick’s voice to the kitchen. He was standing at 11

the sink washing vegetables, the Dixie Chicks playing in the 12

background. Wiping his hands on a towel, he stepped toward her 13

for a kiss. Tall and lankily boyish, he wore faded jeans and Birken-14

stocks with a white short-sleeved T-shirt. He had dark brown hair 15

and a lazy smile. Green eyes flecked with gold. He looked like a 16

carpenter or maybe an artist, someone who worked with his hands.

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It was still hard for her to believe that she was dating a cop.

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As Rick’s lips grazed hers, Callie touched his shoulder. He 19

smelled of oregano and mint, a rich, earthy scent. They’d been 20

together for eight months, sleeping together for four, and she was 21

still sometimes caught off guard by the looping surge of attrac-22

tion. But when Rick’s lips moved to her neck, Callie pulled away.

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Anna was just upstairs. Besides, they had to get dinner ready.

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“Here. Take this.” Callie held out the pizza box, with its cargo 25

of fat and meat. He set the box on the counter, then turned 26

toward her again. She couldn’t read his eyes, but she knew what 27

he was thinking.

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“Don’t you have things to do?” she murmured with mock 29

severity.

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“Like this?”

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As he ran a hand down the curve of her back, something inside 32

her sparked. She let her eyes drift shut, her head resting on his 33

shoulder. He pressed against her rhythmically, once, twice, again.

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“Not now,” she whispered into his chest. “Come on, Rick.

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Please.”

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Still, she was almost disappointed when he dropped his arms 1

and stepped away. A last chaste kiss on the cheek, and he was 2

back at the kitchen sink. For a moment, Callie stood where he’d 3

left her, flushed and slightly bereft. Then she went to the refrig-4

erator and grabbed a San Pellegrino. She took a glass from a cab-5

inet, sat down at the table.

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“Tough day?” Rick’s back was turned to her, and she couldn’t 7

see his face.

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“Not too bad, really.” Callie took a sip of sparkling water, the 9

bubbles sharp in her mouth.

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Roseanne Cash was playing now, a song about the wheel going 11

’round. Outside, the sky was a dappled gray, streaked with red 12

and gold. Callie watched as Rick moved easily through the snug 13

brightness of the kitchen. He pulled three plates from a cup-14

board, tasted the salad dressing. The flash of arousal she’d felt was 15

gone, replaced with a sense of contentment. A delicious aware-16

ness that, just for now, all was as it should be.

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“You want me to help?” Callie asked.

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“Nope, we’re pretty much set.”

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Again, her eyes moved over the room, a scene of order and 20

comfort. Notched pine floor, granite counters, pots hanging on 21

the wall. Fresh herbs growing on the windowsill: tarragon, basil, 22

thyme. It was the life she’d wanted for herself but most of all for 23

Anna. Callie thought, as she often did, how lucky they were to 24

live here, in this cozy Cape Cod cottage in this picture-perfect 25

town.

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Merritt, Massachusetts. Population: 30,000.

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White-steepled churches.

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Brick storefronts.

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Astounding autumn foliage.

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A place where kids still went out to play without the bother of 31

play dates.

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It was more than six years since she’d moved here, an anxious 33

single mother and student. She’d attended Windham College on 34

an Abbott Scholarship, a special grant for older “nontraditional”

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students working on their B.A.’s. She’d majored in English and, 2

three years later, graduated with high honors. By then, she’d 3

bought the house and fallen in love with the town.

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They’d lived here for going on seven years, and it was lucky 5

she’d bought when she did. She’d been astonished when the 6

house across the street sold last year for more than six hundred 7

grand, purchased by a wealthy family moving from outside Boston.

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Bernie Creighton had kept his job in the city, commuting two 9

hours each way. It was worth it, he and his wife said, for the qual-10

ity of life. It seemed a little ridiculous — what was wrong with 11

the suburbs? — but their youngest child, Henry, was Anna’s best 12

friend, so Callie was hardly complaining.

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She herself had once considered a move to Boston, where job 14

prospects would be better. But after a stressful round of inter-15

views, she’d decided to stay put. She already had the house. And 16

if salaries were low in Merritt, so were her expenses. After finish-17

ing her degree, she’d gone to work in Windham’s alumni office, a 18

job that gave her flexibility and ample time with Anna. Now 19

that Anna was older, Callie was back in school part-time. She’d 20

switched her focus to psychology and hoped to go on to grad school.

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Rick was chopping carrots, intently watching the knife. The 22

steel made a muffled clicking sound on the wooden cutting 23

board. He brought to cooking the same dedication he brought to 24

making love. Callie had teased him about it once, his rapt con-25

centration. “The kitchen,” he’d said seriously, “is the most dan-26

gerous room in the house.” An odd thing to say, she’d thought at 27

the time, though probably accurate.

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“So how’re things going?” Callie asked. “Did you talk to your 29

dad today?”

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“I’m going back down this weekend,” Rick said. “I got a cheap 31

flight on Saturday.”

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Callie looked up, concerned. “But I thought the tests were nor-33

mal. The electrocardiogram.”

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Rick put down the knife. Picking up the cutting board, he 35 S

dumped carrots into the salad. “It wasn’t definitive. Now they 36 R

want to do this thing called a thallium stress test. To find out how 1 2

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much blood is getting to different parts of the heart. Depending 1

on what they find out —”

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The phone rang sharply behind her, a shrill bleating sound.

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“Go ahead,” Rick said, tossing his head back toward it.

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Turning in her chair, Callie picked up.

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“Hello?” She recognized the voice immediately, soft and hesi-6

tant. “Nathan, I’m really sorry, but we’re about to sit down to 7

dinner.”

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“Oh, sure. Sorry.”

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Callie imagined him flushing crimson on the other end of the 10

phone. She’d never known a boy or man who blushed so easily.

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She’d met Nathan Lacoste last fall in Introductory Psych. A 12

Windham junior, twenty years old, he’d somehow latched onto 13

her. Smart, she thought, and not bad looking but painfully self-14

conscious. She could tell he’d had trouble making friends, and 15

she tried to be kind to him, remembering the pain of feeling lost 16

and alone during her own years in college. Lately, though, she’d 17

come to wish that she’d kept a bit more distance. He’d taken to 18

calling her at home much more than she liked.

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“I’ll let you go. To eat.” But Nathan didn’t hang up. For some-20

one almost pathologically shy, he could be very persistent. “I . . .

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could you just tell me what you’re having?”

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“Excuse me?” Callie was barely listening. She shouldn’t have 23

picked up the phone. As she watched Rick finish the salad, she 24

thought how tired he looked. His parents lived in North Car-25

olina, outside Chapel Hill. This would be his third trip in the 26

past six weeks, and the travels were taking a toll.

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“I was wondering what you’re having. To eat. I was sort of feel-28

ing hungry, but, I don’t know, I couldn’t think what to make.”

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He seemed to be angling for an invitation. She had to get off 30

the phone. “Pizza,” she said shortly. “Pepperoni pizza. And salad.”

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“Pepperoni pizza.” He slowly repeated the words. “That sounds 32

good. What kind of salad? You know, I never know what to put in 33

the dressing. Sometimes I buy it, but I think that’s stupid. It 34

costs —”

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“Listen, I really have to go. We’ll talk tomorrow, okay?”

R 36

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