Final Scream (43 page)

“Obviously whoever set the first fire, if it’s the same culprit and not some copycat, lived here then as well as now. And—”

“And Angie was pregnant.” Why she blurted this out now, she didn’t know, but it was important, had been nagging at her for years. Cassidy’s heart seemed to stop as she stared at him and her fingers clenched so tightly around her glass they hurt.

“I heard.” His blue eyes were steady. “I wasn’t the father, Cass.”

“How do you know?”

“I didn’t—”

“As if I can trust you! You’ve lied to me. Over and over. Each day you didn’t call or write or try to reach me and tell me that you were alive and well and…you lied, damn it. So why should I believe that—”

“I wasn’t the father,” he repeated, fury snapping in his eyes.

“But—”

Drink falling to the floor, he crossed the room in three long, cumbersome strides. His hands grabbed her shoulders. “I didn’t do it, Cass, and you can believe anything you want, but I never made love to your sister. Oh, I came close a couple of times, damned close, but I didn’t go through with it, and do you know why?”

She couldn’t answer. Couldn’t move.

“Do you?”

Her throat was cotton, her heart a snare drum.

“Because of you, damn it. The hottest number in the county was wagging her pretty little ass in my face, trying like hell to seduce me, and I couldn’t think of anything but her scrawny, beautiful tomboy of a sister!”

“I don’t believe—”

“Oh, hell.” He jerked her close to him, his mouth fitting over hers perfectly, his taste, his smell, his feel so achingly familiar. She felt her body sagging against him, kissing him feverishly, hungrily as one of his hands slid lower to untie the knot at her waist and part her robe. Strong fingers cupped the bend of her waist, touching skin already inflamed, leaving a brand as real as it had been so many years before. “Cass,” he whispered. “Sweet, sweet, Cass.”

She sighed loudly, her voice thin and breathy, filled with a need so great it scared her. Her fingers linked around his neck and she was kissing him again, opening her mouth to him, feeling the tingle deep between her legs. His fingers tangled in her hair and his lips were hot, wanting, searing. His tongue plundered her mouth and she moaned deep in her throat before the horror of what she was doing sank into her passion-dazed brain. “Oh, my God!” She slapped him then, her flat palm smacking hard against his cheek, making him wince from pain in a jaw not completely healed.

“Shit!” He sucked in his breath, held his face and stamped a foot to counter the pain.

“Chase—Brig—oh, God, I didn’t mean to—” She stumbled away from him.

He glared at her for a frightening moment, then turned, walked to the window and, fists clenched in fury, swore again. “No more rules, okay, Cass? I won’t tell you what to do and you sure as hell won’t order me around. I’ll call you whatever I want to and you can do the same, but we won’t sleep together, we won’t touch each other and we won’t pretend like we’re married.”

His fingers flexed and stretched, as if he were physically trying to hold on to his patience. “Just bear with me for a few days until I clear this up, then…then we’ll put everything straight and I’ll leave.”

Leave? Again?
A horrid ache spread through her. From the pit of her stomach to the tips of her fingers. She felt suddenly dead inside and knew she couldn’t face the thought of never seeing him alive again. “I don’t know if I want you to leave,” she said, and when he faced her again, his features were hard and set.

“You don’t know what you want. While you were married to Chase, you wanted me. Now that he’s gone, you want him back.”

A squeak of protest passed her lips.

“All I need is a week, maybe more—”

“For a crime that hasn’t been solved in seventeen years? You can figure it out in a week? Come on—”

One side of his mouth lifted. “I’ve been working on this a long time. Why do you think I came back when I did?”

“You know who started the fires?”

“Not yet, but I’m getting close, I think. I’ve got someone nervous.” He sighed and his eyes narrowed on her. He paused, as if considering his words.

Now what?
She couldn’t stand another emotional battle.

“There was another reason I showed up at the mill that night,” he admitted.

Steeling herself, she asked, “What was that?”

“I came back for you.”

“What?”

Leaning on his good leg he scrutinized her reactions. “Chase had told me, and I believed him, that you wanted out of the marriage. That you were hell-bent on divorcing him. He knew that it was over and…and he was going to stand aside, Cassidy. If I wanted you, and you wanted me, he was going to give you up.”

“You expect me to believe that?” She shook her head. This was too much.

“Well, there was a little hitch. He wasn’t just going to walk away, not when he’d worked so hard. He wanted all the rest.” Brig waved one arm expansively toward the windows. “The mills, the land, the timber, the offices.”

“I can’t believe he bargained for me,” she said, though the words held a ring of truth. Hadn’t she always known that Chase was more interested in the Buchanan fortune than her?

“It wasn’t easy for him. He wasn’t even being particularly noble, I think. But he knew that he could never possess you, that you didn’t love him, that you never would, and it killed him a little more each day, so he became indifferent, throwing himself into his work.” He rubbed the back of his neck and avoided her eyes.

“There’s something else,” Cassidy guessed.

He sighed.

“Brig—?”

“Shit!” He leaned against the windowsill and tipped back his head. “The truth of the matter is that you weren’t his first choice.”

“Wh–What?” Cymbals seemed to crash in her head.

“That’s the irony of it, Cass,” he said, turning to face her again. “Chase married you because you were the only Buchanan woman left. A long time ago, he was in love with Angie, too. Just like everybody else in this damned town.”

Angie! Angie! Always Angie!

Couldn’t anyone forget that bitch? I felt a tic at one side of my left eye and I could barely breathe as I listened to the argument between Cassidy and her husband. I heard only a little of the conversation, but they were both pissed, their words blurred. Their anger was seething, and it had something to do with Angie.

Seventeen years! The slut had been buried in the ground for seventeen years!
So why was it people in Prosperity treated her as if she were a saint—a damned martyred saint!

My blood boiled when I thought of it. Would she never die? Never?

I eased away from my side of the window and slunk through the rhododendrons. If Angie was a saint, then her younger sister was a certifiable idiot. First Brig McKenzie and then Chase had walked all over her from day one.

What kind of a moron was she?

She was so damned pathetic. Always had been. Not ever in the same league with her older sister.

But then few were, I reminded myself and hated the turn of my thoughts. Quickly, I slipped away from this monstrosity of a house Chase McKenzie had built.

Thank God his brother had finally died. Maybe no one else had figured out the truth, but I knew that the John Doe now known as Marshall Baldwin had been Brig. Who else? That’s probably what Chase and Cassidy had been discussing. I’d heard Brig’s name a couple of times and I’d strained to hear Chase’s side of the story, but the air-conditioning unit had been humming and I hadn’t been able to piece everything together.

But I had enough.

My frown gave way to a smile as I remembered how I’d finally been able to get Brig to give up the ghost.

I’d slipped into the hospital several times and, on the fourth try, had been able to sneak into his room and make sure an air bubble reached his heart. Quick. Simple. In and out. By the time the monitors had started squawking, I was in the bathroom downstairs, stripping off my gloves, lab coat and scrubs. Any camera or witness would never recognize me.

At least I hoped.

I had seen one person I recognized in my escape. A reporter from the
Times
, someone who worked with Cassidy, but she’d looked through me, as if I weren’t there.

For the most part I’d been invisible all of my life. It had been a pain in the backside as a teenager. Until I’d learned how to use my adeptness at fading into the background to my advantage. I knew I could have the limelight when I wanted, but it was better to plot and plan, appear not as bright or good-looking, keep my mouth shut and carefully and methodically make things work.

I didn’t have much time.

If things were going to work out the way I’d been planning, both Cassidy and that damned husband of hers would have to die. As soon as possible.

I eased away from the house, down a path near the lake and through the surrounding trees. My truck was parked on federal land on the other side of a barbed-wire fence.

If I played my cards right, no one would ever know that I’d been here. No one would guess that I’d been behind it all.

“I should have your badge!” Rex Buchanan was livid as he walked into the kitchen and found T. John Wilson drinking coffee with his wife. “You and the rest of the department. What have you done besides swill coffee, shoot the damned breeze and mutter ‘no comment’ to the press! Who burned down the mill? Who tried to kill my son-in-law? Where is Sunny McKenzie? And who the hell is Marshall Baldwin?”

T. John sighed loudly. “We’re working on all those things. Let’s start with Mrs. McKenzie. We’ve had dogs tracking her, but she’s a slippery one. Just the other night the dogs went crazy, started howling and carrying on somethin’ fierce. I thought we’d found her in a cabin not far from Hayden Lake, you know, up on some of that property you own in the foothills.”

“I know the cabin. I used to go fishing there when I was a kid.”

“Been there lately?” T. John asked.

“Well—” Rex glanced nervously at his wife.

“Oh, Rex, no.” Dena reached for her cigarettes.

“She needed somewhere to live, damn it. If she turned herself in, Chase would have her locked up again and she’s the mother of Willie—”

“And your mistress!” Dena said, puffing up, not caring any longer what anyone thought. She was at the center of all the town gossip as it was.

T. John pushed himself upright. “Well, she’s not at the cabin anymore.”

“I know. That’s why I’m here.” Rex leaned against the table, then sat down heavily in one of the kitchen chairs. He stared out the window to the grounds and the pool. For years he’d tried to recapture a fleeting youth when Lucretia had been alive and he’d failed. Miserably.

“Thought you might know where she is.”

Pulling off his driving cap, Rex worried it between his meaty fingers. “No,” he admitted. “She left me.”

“Oh, Rex.” Dena fought a losing battle with tears.

“Just like Lucretia.”

“You know, I’ve been wondering about that. Your first wife, I mean. I wasn’t around then.”

“She left me.”

“Left you? But I thought—”

“Left me for heaven,” Rex clarified, the lines in his face becoming deep chasms of age. “Couldn’t take it anymore. Because of Sunny.”

“That’s always puzzled me,” T. John admitted as he stared across the table at the man who had once been the most powerful force in Clackamas County. “Why, if you were so in love with your first wife, you fooled around with another woman?”

“Because Lucretia was a cold-hearted bitch who locked him out of her bedroom.”

“Dena!” Rex stood, but she sent him a look that could curdle cream.

“It’s true. I know. I had to have the locks removed when I moved in. I don’t know what happened, Rex, or how you managed to father two children with her, but I know she ruined you, treated you like a leper, and then, when you turned to another woman, she got her ultimate glory by sitting in her damned Thunderbird, turning on the engine and listening to Elvis!”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“And she didn’t even care enough about her kids to worry about them. Derrick found her, you know, and little Angie was upstairs in her crib. What would have happened if there was a fire, or Angie had fallen out of her bed and started down the stairs? Have you ever wondered what it was like for Derrick to find his mother dead behind the wheel of her damned birthday present?”

“Dena!”

“No wonder he’s screwed up. Anyone would be. Lucretia deserved to die, Rex. Any decent woman would have taken care of her children first before she turned on the damned record player and the car. She was selfish in life and selfish in death and you’ve spent the last thirty-odd years feeling guilty about it!”

Rex’s face had gone blank. He felt nothing inside, just a growing numbness. “Lucretia was an angel.”

“For God’s sake, Rex, open your eyes!”

“Find Sunny,” he said to T. John. He ignored his wife and her ravings as he had for over thirty years. “I can’t lose her, too.”

T. John reached for his aviator glasses and slid them onto the bridge of his nose. “Where’s Willie Ventura?”

“His name is Buchanan, now.”

“Well, whatever he calls himself these days, he’s missing. You know anything about that?”

“Dena threw him out.”

T. John stared at the second Mrs. Rex Buchanan.

Dena rubbed her arms as if suddenly cold, then found her lighter and lit her cigarette. The flame trembled. “He gave me the creeps, okay? Him padding around here. He got into Rex’s liquor a couple of times, one of the rifles is missing from the gun case, and I found him in Angie’s room, just staring at that damned portrait of Lucretia. I know everyone thinks he’s harmless, but that boy is evil. Pure evil. And he’s not as dumb as he lets on.”

“Shut up, Dena! He’s my boy.” Thrusting out his chin, Rex glared at the detective. “Find him, too. If you’re successful, I’ll donate money to your campaign, Wilson. I know you’re planning to run for sheriff, and it’s time Floyd Dodds had some decent competition. You find my boy and Sunny and I’ll bankroll you. Legally or illegally. I don’t care. I just can’t lose any more of my family.”

“But they’re not your family,” Dena cried.

Rex smiled weakly at his wife. “That’s where you’re wrong, Dena. That’s where you’ve always been wrong.”

Cassidy didn’t know how much longer she could keep up the charade. She’d spoken little to Brig since she’d discovered his true identity a few days ago. They’d agreed on a plan of action, but she didn’t know how much longer she could pretend that nothing had changed when her entire life was turned inside out. As for her personal life with Brig, it didn’t exist. They lived in the same house, were dedicated to the same cause of finding out the truth about the two fires, but they had little personal contact. It was safer that way. He hadn’t shown up at her morning swims, though he’d insisted that Ruskin accompany her and she’d purposely avoided Brig whenever he was in the house. But she couldn’t keep up the masquerade. Not when her life was unraveling.

Her mother was upset. Willie and Sunny were missing. Rex was in a foul mood. Felicity and Derrick were fighting again and she was pretending to be married to her supposedly dead brother-in-law while her husband was the one who had died, his body already shipped to Alaska.

“Give me strength,” she said as she walked into the newspaper office and headed straight for Bill Laszlo’s desk. “I have something for you,” she said to his bent head as he pounded furiously on the keys of his computer. He hadn’t heard her approach and he nearly jumped out of his chair.

“What?”

“I think we should talk it over with Mike first.” She didn’t wait, just headed for their editor’s office.

Gillespie was ecstatic. For once the
Times
would scoop all the other state papers, including the
Oregonian
. Hooking his thumbs in his suspenders, he beamed as proudly as if he’d been the first man on earth to give birth. “So Chase is willing to give a statement about Marshall Baldwin being Brig McKenzie.”

“Yes.”

“The town will breathe a sigh of relief, let me tell you,” Laszlo said. “From what I can dig up, no one much liked Brig. Big trouble with the law, with girls, with everything and everybody—the ultimate town bad boy.”

Cassidy managed a thin smile. “He was my brother-in-law,” she reminded him. “I wouldn’t lay all that bad-boy garbage on too thick with Chase. He might not like it.”

“’Course not,” Mike said, shooting Bill a warning glance. “Just ’cause a kid gets a little reputation—”

“A legendary reputation,” Bill countered. “You should hear the Reverend Spears. He hates the guy—well, he’s not too fond of your husband, either.”

“Or me,” Cassidy said, the hackles of her back rising.

“Called Brig a heathen.”

“Well, Brig probably called him a few choice names as well,” Mike said. “Okay, let’s not let this get cold. Chase is willing to give a statement today?”

“That’s right. At the company offices. One o’clock. He should be done talking to the Sheriff’s Department then.”

“We should be down there! Getting a statement from Sheriff Dodds and Detective Wilson! Christ, why didn’t you call me sooner?” Bill said, scooting out his chair.

Cassidy wouldn’t be pushed around. “At the office. One o’clock. You blow it at the sheriff’s office and there’s no exclusive.”

“But—”

“It’s all right,” Mike said, though his face was red and he looked angry enough to spit nails. “This is Cassidy’s game, Bill. We’ll play it her way.”

“Christ, Mike—”

“Can it!” the editor growled.

Bill kicked a trash basket in frustration, sending it reeling against the wall.

“And no other news agency will be there?” Gillespie clarified.

“Not unless you call them,” Cassidy promised.

“You sure took your sweet time comin’ forward,” T. John said, eyeing Brig suspiciously. He pulled out his lower lip and studied the contours of Brig’s face as if searching for a lie. “I’ve been badgering you about John-Doe-slash-Marshall-Baldwin’s identity from day one.”

“I know. I was protecting him.”

“From the law?”

“He was still under suspicion for the deaths of Angie Buchanan and Jed Baker, wasn’t he?”

“True enough.” T. John leaned back in his chair, tenting his hands, not seeming to buy one word of Brig’s story.

“He came back to try and square things. Yes, he wanted to do business with me, but—”

“That was just a cover.”

“Yeah.”

“You shoulda come forward a lot sooner.”

“My mistake.” Brig leaned back in his chair. He was sweating a little because he sensed in T. John a deep-seated hunger, not unlike his own. The detective would go to any lengths to get what he wanted.

“Could be construed as withholding evidence.”

“Could.”

“And you knew where he was?”

“Not really. He’d call occasionally and I guessed he was either in Canada or Alaska.”

“Why?” T. John was still watching his every reaction.

“Infrequent references to the seasons.”

“But you didn’t ask, nor did you check out the phone bills from the telephone company to see where he was calling from.”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“I wasn’t too interested in seeing him again.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because he was in love with my wife.”

T. John seemed to stop breathing. “Your wife. Cassidy?”

“Yes.”

“But I thought he was involved with the other girl, her older half sister.”

Brig lifted a shoulder, a gesture he’d seen Chase do often. He felt as if a noose had been thrown over his neck whenever he thought of Chase, and there was a spot in his soul that had died with his brother. Guilt, rage and vengeance burned through his blood, but he managed to display no emotions. “Brig got around.”

“Had himself quite a reputation, I’ll grant you that. I’ve talked to some of the women who were involved with him. They’re all married now, have kids, don’t want to say too much but from what I can piece together he was one helluva ladies’ man.”

Brig’s stomach turned sour at the thought. The noose seemed to tighten a notch. “He was young.”

“And randy.”

“Right. And randy.”

“And your wife, she took a shine to him, too?”

The detective was pushing it. “Yes.” Talking about Cassidy bothered him. He hated dragging her into this mess, but had no choice.

“But you married her.”

“She thought Brig was dead.”

“And you knew different?”

“Yeah.”

“Did she ever stop loving him?”

Brig looked the detective squarely in the eye. “Yes,” he said for certain, though he knew that he’d killed that love himself, only days before.

Derrick hung up the phone with shaking fingers. His life was over. Lorna had just called—told him about the videotapes she’d made of his little sessions with her daughter, who, she happened to mention, wasn’t eighteen, sixteen or even fifteen, just a fourteen-year-old who looked older than her age.

The contents of his stomach threatened to rise up his neck.
Fourteen! Christ, she was younger than his daughter. You’re a pervert, Buchanan, just like your old man.

As he sat at his desk, god of the Buchanan empire, he saw it all crumbling away. He would be ruined, shamed, exposed. Felicity would divorce him, the girls would refuse to see him and his father would disinherit him. No matter that the old man had been banging other women for years, or that he’d been attracted to his own daughter. God, it was sick.

Again Derrick’s stomach rumbled and he pushed himself up from the desk. Forty-eight hours. That’s all she’d given him, then copies of the video taken in her big four-poster would be delivered to news stations, his wife, and the fucking Sheriff’s Department.

He didn’t doubt Lorna for a minute. She’d marked him from the beginning. She wanted a million, but she wasn’t greedy—or so she’d told him—she’d take payments. Fifty thousand a month for a couple of years when you threw in interest. And just for kickers, if he was willing to risk the utter humiliation and ruin of his reputation and family, Lorna had friends, including Dawn’s father, an ex-con with a nasty temper.

“Shit,” he growled, staring out the window, sick with himself and the lust that burned through his blood and always led him into trouble. What could he do? He was backed into a corner. And his family—oh God, what would happen to his daughters? He may not have paid them the kind of attention Felicity had expected, but he loved them. In his own way. He kept his distance for their safety. After seeing his old man lust after Angie, he wasn’t going to put himself in temptation’s way—not again.

“Derrick?”

He visibly started. Felicity’s voice jolted him out of his reverie. She was standing in front of his desk, staring at him, looking as if she could kill.
Oh God, she knows!
The inside of his mouth turned to sand.

“Something’s going on.” Felicity saw the nervous tick in Derrick’s cheek and she steeled herself for the worst. “What is it?”

“Nothing. Nothing’s going on.”

She didn’t believe him. He’d been acting secretive again, as he had at various times over the years. She suspected that he had affairs and she wasn’t stupid enough to think she didn’t care. Each time he stepped out on her, it hurt. It hurt like hell. She’d given him everything, risked everything.
Everything
. And still he didn’t want her. He never really had, but, she decided, the least he could do was be faithful. That seemed to be too much to ask these days.