If She Should Die (43 page)

During a commercial break, he looked up at her and smiled. “You feel bad now, but you’ll feel better tomorrow. I bet the deputy’s wife just came to get money or something and she’ll leave.” Oh dear, I hope so, Christine thought. Yesterday she would not have believed the return of Michael Winter’s ex-wife could leave her so profoundly depressed. “And we have work tomorrow,” Jeremy went on. “I’m glad the store will be open again.”

Christine sat silently for a moment. She knew Jeremy was watching her closely, sensing that something was wrong. Finally, she asked, “Jeremy, would you be terribly sad about not working at Prince Jewelry anymore?”

He looked at her as if she’d just said the world was going to end. “Not work at the store anymore? You mean lose my job? Did I lose my job?” Oh God, Christine thought. Just as she’d expected. “Why?” Jeremy continued, his voice rising. “What did I do wrong?”

She took a deep breath. “You did absolutely nothing wrong. Remember when we found Dara’s diary?”

“Sure I remember, but what does that have to do with my job?”

“Just let me explain. I felt I had to give the diary to the
police, and Ames found out about it and got really mad.” Jeremy’s face flamed. “Yes, I know you’re the one who first told him I was going to give the diary to the police.”

“I’m sorry, Christy. It just sort of came out. I felt guilty ’cause I knew Dara didn’t want anyone else to read it, but I knew you were going to give it to Deputy Michael and, well—” He looked like he was going to cry. “I’m real sorry.”

“It’s all right, Jeremy. Ames would have found out anyway. But as I said, he got terribly angry and . . . well . . . he fired me.”

Jeremy stared at her in disbelief for a moment, then burst out, “Fired
you
!”

“Yes, I’m afraid so. He didn’t say anything about you. Maybe you still have a job there, but I’m not sure.”

“Well, I am!” Jeremy flared. “If you’re fired, I’m not gonna work there, either!”

“You don’t have to quit because of me. I know how much you love the job.”

“Not without you! I think it was real mean of Ames to fire you! And if he’s gonna be that mean, I don’t want to work for him anymore.”

“He’s been very good to us for a long time, Jeremy.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean he can treat you bad. I’ll never work at Prince Jewelry again!”

Christine went to her brother and gently touched his golden hair. “I believe you should talk to Ames. You should tell him not to hold you responsible for what I did. After all, you didn’t want
anyone
to read the diary. Ask him if you can keep your job.”

Jeremy shook his head vehemently. “Not without you, Christy. Don’t worry. We’ll find other jobs. Even better jobs.”

Christine wished she had her brother’s confidence. Certainly there was another job for her, but what about
Jeremy? Where would he get another chance to use his talent for jewelry design?

Christine knew Jeremy was more desolate than he was letting on. The making of jewelry meant everything to him. At last he’d found something at which he excelled. And now it was unlikely he’d ever get the chance to show Ames the beautiful Dara Pin.

But in a few minutes her mind had skittered away from the prospect of finding another job to the subject of Lisa Winter. She wondered why Michael’s ex-wife had shown up. Did she hope for a reconciliation? She was so beautiful. Michael had told Christine how much he’d loved Lisa. Dear God, shouldn’t she be happy for him instead of sitting around in a complete funk? How selfish could she be? Right now she felt as if in the selfish department, she was running a close second to Dara.

Later Christine heard the television going downstairs in Jeremy’s room. The volume was turned up louder than usual, and apparently Captain Kirk was fighting off the Klingons again. One of the things Christine had always admired about Jeremy was his ability to push troubles out of his mind for long periods of time. Christine lacked that capacity.

After checking every lock in the house, even those on the windows, while trying to duck out of sight, Christine had holed up in her bedroom, where she lit three gingerbread-scented candles that reminded her of the cookies her mother used to bake. Cookies with cinnamon and raisins. Back then Christine had thought those secure days would go on forever. She was glad she didn’t know then what lay ahead of her.

Like murder. Dara had been murdered and her body thrown in the river. Christine was certain Patricia had been murdered. There could be no doubt that someone had set the scene for Travis Burke’s grisly death. But
why? Who had hated the three of them enough to take their lives?

And who wanted to take hers? A shiver passed over her as she thought of the card she’d received with the lovely blond girl on the cover. “Pretty maids all in a row/Who will be the next to go?” She thought she had been the next target. Instead, it had been Travis Burke. But then, he was not a “pretty maid.” Travis’s death did not mean she was out of danger.

Christine sat up in bed, horrified at her thought. Had she hoped Travis would take her place on the murderer’s hit list? No, of course she hadn’t, she assured herself. He had a little girl. And a wife who loved him.

A wife who surely suspected him of infidelity. A wife who claimed to be terrified to the point of paralysis in the presence of snakes, but who had attacked a deadly Gaboon viper with the unhesitating fierce bravery of a Greek Fury.

Bethany. Sweet Bethany. One of the kindest, most generous people Christine had ever known. Bethany could not have been capable of killing her husband. Or his lover. Or lovers, if Dara had indeed been a precursor of Patricia.

Christine’s thoughts went in circles and she suddenly felt a pain at the base of her neck. A headache. Exactly what she did not need. What she needed was a good night’s sleep so she could have a clear head tomorrow. After all, she had to start investigating job possibilities. She had herself and her brother to support.

But how could she sleep peacefully on a night when someone had lurked outside her house and had the nerve to shoot a police officer who had come to her aid? How could she sleep when she was worried sick that she might be the next to die and that Jeremy would be left all alone?

And how could she sleep when she was eaten up by
jealousy at the thought of beautiful Lisa Winter spending the night with Michael, a man Christine had just realized meant more to her than any man had for a long time? Maybe ever.

She groaned aloud, turned off the bedside light, and lay quietly on the bed, closing her eyes and smelling the delicious scent of candles. Breathe deeply, she told herself. Breathe deeply and relax. Think of gingerbread cookies. Think of a home and family where you were loved and protected. Think of when life was happy and simple.

The phone on her bedside table rang and Christine had the absurd hope it was Michael. She snatched it up on the second ring, then listened to a background cacophony of country music and people talking, singing, yelling. Then her spine stiffened with fear and dread as the noise dimmed and she heard Dara’s haunting, undulating voice drifting over the boundary between life and death:

“Everywhere I go
Dark eyes peer at me.
I wish they meant me love,
But I know they desire me harm.
I want to live long and full,
But sadly, I am certain that
All too soon, death waits for me.”

Christine quietly laid down the receiver and rushed downstairs to the answering machine’s Caller ID. The number read: 555-9794. She lifted the receiver. The music had ended. “Hello,” she said, not really expecting an answer. “Hello.” The phone clicked in her ear.

What should she do now? she wondered. Normally she would have called Michael, but not tonight. Not with Lisa in his home. He might think she’d made up the call as an excuse to call him. She waited five minutes, then dialed the number that had appeared on her ID box. Nothing. Five minutes later, she tried again. A rough-sounding male voice shouted, “Yeah?” over a din in the background.

“Hello,” she said tentatively. “I received a call from this number a few minutes ago. May I ask whose home this is?”

“Lady, this ain’t no home!” he yelled back at her. He had a ferocious West Virginia accent and spoke at machine-gun rate. “This here’s Ernie’s Pool Hall.”

“Ernie’s Pool Hall?” she repeated, picturing the large combination grill, bar, pool, and dance hall on the outskirts of town. She knew at least one arrest was made there a week for disorderly conduct. “I got a call from there,” she repeated lamely.

“Boyfriend out on the town?” the guy laughed. “Leavin’ a pretty lady like you at home while he has a good time?”

“How do you know I’m a pretty lady?” Christine pounced nervously.

“Hey, don’t get snippy. I just meant ya sound pretty. And refined, like. Not like the usual gals around here. Ya know, if you’re lonely, why don’t ya come on down and we’ll have a few drinks and a couple of spins around the dance floor?”

“That sounds very nice,” Christine said sweetly. If she made this guy mad, she wouldn’t get any more information from him. “But I’m ready for bed.”

“At this hour? Hell, honey, the fun’s just getting started around here. Put on a pair of real tight jeans and your dancin’ shoes and get yourself on down here.”

“I’m afraid I really can’t.” Christine paused. She wanted
to keep him on the phone but short-circuit the flirting. “I have to stay here with my little girl. And my twin baby boys.”

The thought of her being the mother of three small children seemed to dampen his enthusiasm for her. “Oh. Well, that’s too bad.”

“Tell me about it. They’re into everything. And they cry
all
the time.”

“Oh.” Christine could almost see the man recoiling. “Well, wouldn’t want to keep you from them. I’ll say so long now.”

“Just a minute. I wonder if you had any idea who called me a few minutes ago.”

“Lady, there’s been people at this phone all night.”

“But this person must have had a small tape recorder, because he played a song over the phone. A song sung by a dead friend of mine.”

“That so?” Now he sounded wary, as if he were talking to a definite nutcase. With three squalling children.

“You didn’t see anyone holding a tape recorder up to the phone?”

“No, lady. I’ve been havin’ myself a good time. Look, I gotta go. Been nice talkin’ to ya. Hope you find your guy with a tape recorder. Vaya con Dios.”

He hung up.

So she now knew the phone call had been made from Ernie’s Pool Hall, a cavernous place that could hold a hundred people. A hundred rowdy people who didn’t pay much attention to one another unless they were trolling for a pickup. Well, that made sense, Christine thought. What fool would make a threatening phone call from his house, even if the threat was only implicit by the selection of music? She didn’t know any more now than she did after the first call she’d received in the hospital.

Except that her tormentor wasn’t going to give up.

Christine recited aloud, “ ‘Pretty maids all in a row/Who will be the next to go?’ ”

She would.

Christine jumped when the phone rang twenty minutes later. Could she bear listening to that song again—a song Dara had written and sung so plaintively when death had been breathing down her neck? I have to, Christine thought. Maybe the caller has gotten bolder. Maybe he’s calling from a private phone.

She picked up the receiver and said, “Hello?” in a strong voice to hide her fear.

“Christine? Is that you?”

Michael Winter. The trapped air in her lungs fled with a loud sigh. “Michael. I . . . How are you?”

“I’m fine, but you’re not. What’s happened?”

Aside from your beautiful wife coming to Winston? she almost said. But she didn’t want to sound like a jealous harpy. Besides, she’d never even had a real date with Michael. “I got another call,” she said in a businesslike voice. “The caller played the tape of Dara singing the same song I heard in the hospital. The one about her feeling that someone wanted her dead. I called back the number that showed on the Caller ID. It was Ernie’s Pool Hall. Some guy answered. He knew nothing about the call, of course. Hadn’t been paying attention to the pay phones. I think they have several.”

“About six.”

“Well, anyway, the place was rocking tonight. Lots of people, lots of noise. I doubt if anyone would have paid much attention to someone at one of the pay phones.” Michael was silent. “What’s wrong?”

“Christine, didn’t you realize you might have been talking to the caller?”

She was so surprised she couldn’t say anything for a few seconds. “The caller?” she finally managed. “But he had an accent. His voice was totally unfamiliar.” She drew in a deep breath. “He could have been faking the accent and the voice. God, what a fool I am!”

“You’re not a fool. You were frightened. And it’s not like you’re an old hand at receiving anonymous calls.”

“I’m a fool.”

“Stop it. You’ll know better next time. And I won’t have any trouble getting a trace on your phone after my shooting at your house. Oh, you’ll have surveillance tonight, too. Don’t be alarmed if you look out and see a patrol car.”

“I feel safer already.” She paused. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I’m great. Well, not great, but pumped full of enough painkillers that I’ll get a good night’s sleep.” He paused. “Lisa came as a surprise.”

“You can say that again.” The silence spun out for a moment before Christine said, “I suppose she’d like to get together again.”

“I didn’t ask her to come, Christine.”

Christine longed to hear him say he hadn’t
wanted
Lisa to come, that he was sending her right back to Los Angeles, but he didn’t. He was quiet for a few seconds. Then he said, “Good night, Christine.”

“Good night, Deputy Winter,” she returned, but he’d already hung up.

Christine spent a long and miserable night drifting from one bad dream to another. She knew rapid eye movements proved that dreams only lasted a few seconds, but each one of hers seemed endless.