From Cradle to Grave (25 page)

‘Really? Why?’

Morgan pressed her lips together. Fitz had stopped walking.

‘What was it?’ he insisted.

She looked at him warily. ‘It turns out that Guy . . .’ She felt a sudden pang of guilt. He was looking at her so innocently. She thought about stopping or changing the subject, but, at the same time, she knew it was too late. She was going to have to tell him. ‘Someone told me – and please don’t ask me who – that Guy . . . raped someone. When he was younger.’

She expected him to ask who it was and where she had heard this. She wondered if he already knew. He said nothing, but he dropped her hand.

‘That is completely . . . insane,’ said Fitz.

‘I’m afraid it’s true,’ said Morgan.

Fitz shook his head uncomprehendingly. There was a mixture of disgust and disbelief in his eyes. ‘You have got to be kidding.’

‘I’m not,’ she said. ‘Believe me, I heard it from a reliable source.’

Fitz abruptly turned away from her and began to march through the sand back to the Lobster Shack patio.

Morgan hurried to catch up with him. ‘Wait a minute,’ she called after him. ‘Wait.’

Fitz climbed up on to the patio and was reaching for the door handle when Morgan scrambled back up on to the patio. ‘Fitz,’ she said. ‘I didn’t make this up. I’m just telling you what I heard.’

Fitz wheeled around, glaring at her. ‘You really don’t get it, do you?’ said Fitz. ‘You’re talking about my closest friend. I knew Guy. He would never do that. Never. What you’re saying is a complete and utter lie. Can I make it any clearer?’ he shouted.

Morgan saw Astrid and the waitress behind the windows, looking out, drawn by the sudden commotion on the patio. They were both frowning, looking concerned.

‘Keep your voice down,’ said Morgan.

‘I don’t have to keep my voice down,’ he shouted pointing a finger at her. ‘First you were trying to pin this on Eden. That was before you started claiming that Guy spent his life tormenting his helpless little sister. And now, you’re spreading filth around here about a man who can’t even defend himself. You’re so busy trying to find a scapegoat. Anybody will do. Why don’t you pick on somebody who can fight back? Hell, pick on me, why don’t you? Maybe I killed the baby. Yeah, how ’bout that,’ he cried sarcastically. ‘I did it. I didn’t want Guy to have to miss his poker night because the baby was crying. That’s right. I was the one. Why not? One fall guy is as good as another. Go ahead. Find a way to blame it on me.’

Morgan stood still, frozen in place by his outburst. She did not meet his furious gaze. She wanted to tell him to go and speak to Lucy, but she didn’t dare. She knew he was in no mood for her suggestions.

Fitz grabbed the doorknob to the shack and pulled it so hard that it banged back against the patio railing. He strode inside without a backward glance.

Morgan was not about to follow him. She hesitated, looking around the patio. There were a set of steps on the side nearest the parking area. She pulled her jacket tight around her, and fled to her car.

THIRTY

M
organ wanted to just run back to the Captain’s House and hide, but she forced herself to stop by the hospital instead, to see Claire. However, that proved not only impossible, but utterly dispiriting. Claire had been moved back to the infirmary at the county jail, and wasn’t allowed visitors until the following day. Morgan returned to West Briar feeling as if she was being punished at every turn for trying to do what was right. She arrived at the Captain’s House as the late afternoon darkness was descending, and let herself in to the drafty house.

Morgan turned one lamp on beside the sofa, and sat down, pulling the white afghan up over her. She was shivering from head to toe, and wanted to turn the heat up, but she had promised Paula Spaulding she would keep it low, and so she remained huddled under the blanket, feeling miserable both in body and in spirit.

Fitz’s scorn still blistered her heart, all the more so because she had allowed herself to start musing about him while he was away. Why did you do that, she chided herself? It was probably just a reaction to finding out about Simon’s sexual orientation. Understandable, she told herself, because she knew that Fitz was straight, and that he had, at one point, desired her. And today, at the Lobster Shack, she had felt that sexual current between them again when he was teasing her about her phone, holding her hand. But that was history now.

A needy part of her wanted to call him, and another part of her was angry at his reaction. Have a backbone, she told herself. Why would you care what this guy thinks of you? She thought about how cruelly he had mocked her effort to find the truth. His accusation that she was looking for a scapegoat. If that was how he chose to see her, then so be it. She didn’t need Fitz in her life anyway. They couldn’t seem to get along for more than about five minutes at a time.

Still, disappointment weighed on Morgan’s heart. Maybe it was time to go back to Brooklyn, try to figure her life out, and let the legal system take its course. She was tired of digging around in people’s secrets, and earning nothing but contempt for it. She thought longingly of her apartment, which overlooked Prospect Park. She could call up a couple of friends, other grad students, and get together for Thai food. Perhaps she could replan her trip. It wasn’t too late to get her life back. But even as she longed for all these things, the thought of Claire, lying in the prison infirmary, haunted her, and held her. If she gave up the fight for Claire’s innocence, who would be here to help her?

A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. Reluctantly, she got up off the couch and went over to open it. Astrid stood on the front porch, bundled in a short, wool walking coat and knit gloves, holding a paper bag from which steam and a wonderful smell was rising.

‘Astrid,’ said Morgan. ‘What’s this?’

‘This,’ said Astrid, holding out the bag to her, ‘is the pint of the chowder you wanted. I got a head start on tomorrow’s batch.’

Morgan took the bag and it was warm in her hands. ‘Oh, Astrid. That is so nice of you,’ she said.

‘Well, you know it helps me to keep busy.’

Morgan hesitated. She didn’t really feel like company, but it seemed rude not to be hospitable after Astrid had gone out of her way. ‘Would you like to come in?’ she asked.

Astrid shrugged. ‘I guess for a few minutes.’

Morgan led the way into the kitchen.

‘Cup of tea?’ she asked.

Astrid nodded and Morgan turned on the kettle. Then she went to the cabinet and pulled out a mug for the tea. ‘I’m going to get myself a bowl for this,’ she said, pointing to the bag which contained the soup. ‘Can I get you one?’

Astrid smiled and shook her head. ‘No. I’ve been sampling it while I was cooking.’

Morgan got a teabag for Astrid’s mug, and, when the kettle whistled, poured her a cup of tea. Then she brought the mug and her bowl over to the counter, and set them down. She pushed the cup across the counter to Astrid, and then took the plastic container from the bag and removed the top. She inhaled the spicy scent of the chowder. ‘Oh, that smells divine.’ She looked at Astrid. ‘Do you mind if I dig in? I didn’t really get to eat my lunch.’

‘No. Please. That’s what I brought it for.’

Morgan sat down on a stool across the counter from Astrid and poured the chowder into the bowl. She held her spoon over the bowl and felt the heat from it rising to warm her face. She dipped her spoon in and blew on it. Then she sipped the soup.

‘I guess your lunch with Fitz didn’t go too well,’ said Astrid.

Morgan sighed and shook her head. ‘No. He was pretty mad at me.’

‘So I gathered,’ said Astrid. ‘How come?’

Morgan concentrated on her soup. She was not about to tell Astrid what she had learned. ‘Just . . . oil and water, I guess.’

‘I had the feeling he was kind of sweet on you,’ said Astrid.

Morgan shrugged. ‘We have some major differences.’

‘How’s the chowder?’ Astrid asked.

‘Good,’ said Morgan, eating with enthusiasm, although she found the taste to be a little bit off. Somewhat . . . metallic. She wondered if the lobster which Astrid had used in the soup might be turning a bit. She hoped not. The last thing she needed was a case of food poisoning.

Astrid blew on her tea and took a sip. ‘I spoke to Lucy. She told me that you came by.’

Once again, Morgan kept her eyes lowered and ate her soup. ‘Yeah, I stopped by her house.’

‘So you know about her marriage. To Julio,’ said Astrid.

Morgan glanced up at Astrid. ‘Yes. She told me.’

‘You should be honored that she confided in you,’ said Astrid.

‘I was a little surprised by that,’ Morgan admitted. ‘It’s a shame she has to keep it a secret.’

‘She needs to keep it from her father,’ said Astrid calmly. ‘Julio has a work visa, like all of Dick’s workers, but if Dick finds out about this, he’ll have Julio on the next plane back to Mexico.’

‘That seems so unfair,’ said Morgan.

Astrid shrugged. ‘Dick wants to protect Lucy. She’s always been . . . fragile, and every milestone was difficult for her. But he doesn’t get it that, if they’re in love, there’s nothing he can do to stop it. They’ll find a way to be together. Dick doesn’t think that way. He’s a pragmatist when it comes to love.’

‘That’s a funny thing for you to say,’ Morgan observed. ‘Didn’t you and Dick get married a couple of weeks after you met?’

‘Yes, we did.’

‘Well, that was a pretty romantic thing to do. Impulsive, you might say.’

Astrid sipped her tea, and avoided Morgan’s gaze. ‘Yes, it was. But if it hadn’t been me, he would have married someone else. Some men need to be married,’ she said. ‘Besides, he had two children to raise all by himself.’

Astrid spoke offhandedly, but Morgan assumed there must be a lot of disappointment behind her words. ‘I guess I pictured your marriage as kind of a fairy tale,’ said Morgan. ‘I mean, it seemed like the most romantic story when Claire told me about it.’

‘In a way, it was,’ said Astrid thoughtfully. Then she shook her head, as if to shake off the memories. ‘That was a long time ago.’

Morgan understood that Astrid did not mean to discuss her marriage any further. ‘But you’re optimistic for Lucy and Julio.’

‘I hope it’s true love,’ she said.

She’s still a romantic, in spite of everything, Morgan thought. ‘Don’t you think that Dick wants his daughter to be happy?’

‘Dick can be overbearing,’ said Astrid, ‘like any father, when it comes to his little girl.’

‘Maybe it would be better just to tell him,’ said Morgan. ‘He’ll get used to the idea eventually.’

Astrid’s smile was sorrowful. ‘Oh, you don’t know my husband.’

As Morgan was looking at Astrid, she suddenly felt an odd, dizzy sensation. For a moment she felt as if she needed to grip the counter to stay upright. Then the feeling passed.

Astrid frowned at her. ‘What’s the matter?’

Morgan shrugged. ‘Nothing. I’m fine. I’m just overtired.’

‘I’m sure you are,’ said Astrid.

Morgan’s phone began to ring in her pocket. She pulled it out and answered it.

Fitz’s voice greeted her at the other end. ‘Morgan. I need to talk to you.’

In spite of herself, Morgan was glad to hear his voice. She reminded herself that he had been very cruel and insulting. It would be foolish to let that pass without a word of apology. ‘Oh?’ she said calmly.

There was a silence from his end. ‘What’s the matter?’ he said.

‘Nothing,’ she said.

‘Are you OK?’

Morgan’s stomach was beginning to roil, and her head to ache. ‘Fine,’ she said.

‘Can I come over and see you?’ he asked.

Morgan frowned, squeezing her eyes shut. It was difficult to concentrate on what he was saying. A sudden cramping in her stomach made her want to cry out. But she stifled it. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I don’t think it’s a good idea. I’m tired. I need to sleep.’ That seemed like the straightforward truth to her, the moment she said it.

‘Tomorrow?’ he said.

‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Call me tomorrow.’

Before he could protest, she ended the call, setting her phone down on the counter.

‘Who was that?’ Astrid asked. ‘Fitz?’

Morgan nodded.

‘He told me about the argument but I had a feeling he’d get over it.’

Morgan took a deep breath, but the stabbing pain in her stomach began again. She folded her arms over her stomach.

‘Morgan, what’s the matter?’ Astrid asked. ‘You look pale.’

Morgan hated to admit it, but she was beginning to think that she had been right about the seafood chowder. Her brain felt sluggish, and her stomach was miserable. She didn’t want to insult Astrid though. ‘I’m just so tired,’ she said. ‘I hate to be inhospitable but I really need to lie down.’

Astrid slid off the seat, and pointed to the container of chowder. ‘Do you want me to put the rest of this in the fridge for you?’

Morgan felt a wave of nausea. She gagged and shook her head.

Astrid looked taken aback. ‘Morgan, what is it?’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Morgan. ‘There’s something wrong with me.’

Astrid looked at the contents of the plastic container. ‘You think it was the chowder?’ she asked, her eyes widening.

Morgan shook her head miserably. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. She folded her arms over her stomach and rested her forehead on the cool counter.

‘Oh, Lord,’ said Astrid. She took the plastic container and poured its contents down the sink, as well as the small amount of remaining soup in Morgan’s bowl. She turned on the garbage disposal, and washed out the bowl, spoon and container by hand as well as her own teacup, which she dried and put back in the cabinet. ‘Oh, Morgan, I am so sorry. Seafood can be tricky.’

Morgan nodded, but was feeling too ill to speak. ‘I’m just going to go . . .’ she gestured vaguely in the direction of her little room off the kitchen.

‘Maybe you should go to the doctor,’ said Astrid.

‘I’ll be fine,’ said Morgan. ‘It just . . . came over me.’ Morgan forced herself to get up from the counter stool. But as soon as she took a step away from the counter, her knees suddenly felt rubbery, and she collapsed in a heap on the waxed wood floor.

‘Oh, my God,’ Astrid cried, rushing to Morgan’s side. ‘All right, that does it. You’re going to the emergency room.’

‘No, Astrid, really,’ said Morgan pulling herself up on the lower rungs of the stool. ‘I think if I just . . . maybe if I throw up.’

‘No, no. I read somewhere that’s not always a good idea,’ said Astrid. ‘I forget why. Look. Come on. We’re going to the hospital. Don’t fight me on this. I feel so guilty. What if it was the soup?’

‘’S not your fault,’ Morgan mumbled. Her breathing was shallow. It was difficult to catch her breath.

‘No. I can’t just leave you here like this,’ said Astrid. ‘Come on.’ She threaded her thin arm under Morgan’s and then around her back. ‘Come on. Uppsa daisy.’

Morgan staggered to her feet like a prize fighter who had gone one round too many.

Although Astrid was wiry, she was strong, and she urged Morgan to lean against her.