In the Event of My Death (23 page)

“I don’t want anything to drink. Just sit down.”

She sat as ordered and looked him straight in the eye. “I know someone else hasn’t been murdered or you’d be a little kinder. What is it?”

“I hear you’ve been spending a lot of time with Neil Kamrath lately.”

“And how did you find out this juicy bit of gossip?”

“You were seen at McDonald’s.
Twice
.”

His face was red. He looked absurdly indignant. Laurel gasped and clapped a hand to her chest. “My God, how compromising! I’m so humiliated! Why, if this gets out…”

Kurt scowled. “Knock off the comedy routine. I’m serious.”

Laurel couldn’t stifle her laughter. “I know you are—that’s what’s so funny. You aren’t jealous so what is this all about?”

“It’s about your safety. I’ve told you I don’t like Kamrath.”

“And because you don’t like him, I’m not safe with him?” Suddenly Laurel was angry. “Kurt, you’ve barely spoken to me since I told you about Faith’s death. Now you stomp into the store and embarrass me in front of my employees because you’ve heard I was at McDonald’s with Neil. McDonald’s, of all places! Who the hell do you think you are?”

“I’m someone who cares about you and doesn’t want to see you hurt by that freak.”

“Freak? Why is he a freak? Because he’s not a huntin’ and fishin’ and beer-drinkin’ good ol’ boy like you and Chuck? Well, let me tell you something. Chuck has devastated Crystal and you haven’t done wonders for my feelings the last few days, either.”

“Chuck and I are nothing like Kamrath. He’s weird, Laurel. He’s dangerous.”

“Dangerous? Because he writes horror novels?”

“No. I’ve been doing some checking up on him.”

“Kurt—”

“Don’t tell me it’s none of my business. We’ve had a murder here and there was one in New York. You and I know they’re connected, they’re both related to Faith Howard. Kamrath is a suspect.”

“Unofficially.”

“Yeah, unofficially, but still…”

“Okay,” Laurel said stiffly. “What awful thing did you find out about him?”

“He beat his wife. She had to get a restraining order.”

“He
beat
Ellen? I don’t believe it.”

“Believe it. She reported two incidents but didn’t press charges. Finally he pushed her down the stairs. She had a broken rib and eye damage.
That
time she still didn’t press charges but she did get the restraining order. She told him if there was one more incident, she
would
press charges. Two weeks later she died.”

“In a car wreck.” Laurel’s mouth had gone completely dry. “Ellen died in a car wreck.”

“She was driving a car that was missing a nut on one of the steering tie rods.” Laurel frowned. “Put simply, the steering mechanism had been tampered with. She had no control over the car.”

“And you think Neil had something to do with that?”

“His father-in-law did. The police were convinced enough to do a full-scale investigation.”

“And obviously found nothing to incriminate Neil.”

“Nothing solid enough to hold him on.”

“Kurt, his
son
was in that car. He adored the child. You think he wanted to kill him, too?”

“The kid was supposed to be spending the weekend with a friend.” Kurt looked at her grimly. “Laurel, Kamrath is a violent man. He might be guilty of murdering his wife and child.”

Laurel felt perspiration popping out on her forehead as her headache intensified. “Even if Neil did tamper with the car, which I find impossible to believe, why would he kill Angie and Denise?”

“Because he’s a nut who only cared about one person in his whole life besides himself—Faith Howard.”

“That’s not true.”

Kurt smacked his hand on the table. “What is
wrong
with you? I’d expect this kind of stubborn thinking from Crystal, but you’ve always been so sensible. For God’s sake, you barely know the guy. You’ve known me most of your life but you’d rather believe him than me. I don’t get it.”

“Maybe because I’m not sure I
do
know you.”

“What does that mean?”

“What if I tell you I know who the father of that baby was, and it
wasn’t
Neil?”

Kurt gave her a sour look. “And just who do you think was the lucky guy?”

She spoke evenly although her heart pounded. “The day I was in your apartment I saw the book of Shakespeare’s sonnets. It was inscribed ‘Love, Faith.’ She gave you that book. She was in love with you. You were the father of that baby. Not Neil,
you
!”

Kurt met her accusing gaze without flinching. “I think that guy must be a better hypnotist than a writer because he’s sure got you mesmerized.” He shook his head. “I came here to warn you. That’s all I can do. If you end up like Angie and Denise—”

“It won’t be on your conscience,” Laurel snapped. She shoved away from the table, setting it rocking. “I think you’d better go now. I’m tired of your evasions and I’m tired of your insinuations about Neil.”

Kurt slammed out the back door without a word while Laurel stood trembling, her body wracked by violent chills.

1

Laurel felt shaken to the bone when she got home. She hadn’t realized until the last week how placid her life had been for years. College and a degree in business had gone smoothly. She’d come home “just until I decide what to do” and ended up staying. Her romance and breakup with Bill Haynes five years earlier had seemed earth-shattering at the time, but compared to what had been happening lately, it was nothing. In fact, at the moment she could no longer clearly picture Bill’s face. Good Lord, Laurel, she thought as she walked in the front door, tossed off her coat, and kicked off her shoes, are you losing your mind? You thought you wanted to spend your life with him. Now you can’t remember what he looked like. If all this mayhem doesn’t stop, by this time next week you won’t be able to find your way to the store.

She fed the dogs and gave each a rawhide chewbone to work on. The bones were always a special treat and she felt she hadn’t spent enough time playing with them lately. While they gnawed assiduously, she searched the refrigerator for food. Because she’d planned the trip to Florida, she’d let supplies dwindle to nearly nothing. Before all the trouble she’d always done the shopping on her way home from the store. Now as soon as she left Damron Floral, she made a beeline for the safety of the house.

Finally she decided on canned chicken noodle soup. She wasn’t very hungry anyway. Certainly not like last night when she couldn’t seem to get enough food.

Ten minutes later she sat over the hot soup thinking about the things Kurt had said about Neil. Certainly he wouldn’t lie about Ellen getting a restraining order against Neil or about the formal police investigation of the wreck that killed her. But could that investigation have simply been routine? What about the restraining order?

She put down her spoon. Even if everything Kurt said were true, he hadn’t explained the book of sonnets from Faith in his apartment. He hadn’t denied being the father of her child. She’d thought before that maybe he hated Neil so much because Neil was a rival for Faith’s affection. But Faith had never talked about Kurt with any particular interest. She and Faith had been best friends. Wouldn’t she have picked up on
something
special about Faith’s feelings toward Kurt if they were more than casual friendship?

Which brought her back to Neil. It wasn’t impossible to check on his story that Robbie had been her first husband’s child whom Neil had adopted if she had access to adoption records, which she didn’t. Ellen’s parents would know, but she couldn’t possibly call them. She didn’t even know who or where they were. And even if she did, Ellen’s father obviously hated Neil. Could she get a truthful answer from him or his wife?

She put her head in her hands. “Oh, God,” she moaned, “this is just too hard to figure out. I don’t know who to believe, Kurt or Neil.” But the time paternity of Faith’s baby wasn’t really the issue. Finding the killer of Angie and Denise was, and that might not have anything to do with Faith’s pregnancy.

Laurel finished her soup and washed the pan and bowl, looking out the window over the sink. Light snow was beginning to fall again, feathering down in big, fluffy flakes. She probably wouldn’t have been able to get to Florida tomorrow as planned anyway. If this weather held, there would be no flights.

When she’d finished the dishes, she decided a fire would be nice. She walked into the living room and saw one lonely log waiting for the fireplace. She sighed. She could skip the fire or she could go outside and get more wood.

Her desire to cuddle up with the dogs in front of a fire won out. She threw on an old jacket and went out the kitchen door to the back porch.

A strong north wind blew snow onto the covered porch. Laurel shivered and lifted a piece of wood off the top of the stack, then another. That should be enough to keep the fire going for a couple of hours. Then she planned on going to bed early.

She was turning back toward the door when she saw something white from the corner of her eye. She blinked, then peered intently into the darkness. Although officially the backyard of the house was half an acre, no houses were near hers. She’d considered having the yard fenced in when she got the dogs, but as they grew up they showed no tendency to wander away from the house and she never bothered. So what she looked at now was half an acre of lawn with a few trees and a single dusk-to-dawn light blending into acres of woods beyond.

What had she seen? Merely a flash of light on the snow, she decided. Wind chilled the right side of her face. Her eyes were filling with tears from the cold when she caught another glimpse. A dog? An opossum or a groundhog? Whatever it was, it turned and headed for her.

A thrill of fear ran down Laurel’s neck. A groundhog or opossum would run from her, not to her. Besides, she’d seen stray animals out here before, but they didn’t move like this thing. It seemed to be half running, half crouching. And for some reason, she couldn’t move.

Suddenly April and Alex burst through the dog door, barking furiously. Laurel cried out and dropped the wood. The dogs stopped abruptly at the edge of the porch. Laurel looked into the yard. Whatever it was back along the edge of the trees had also stopped. They all stood frozen in place for a moment. Then the dogs charged off the porch, kicking up snow as they raced across the yard. With a wraithlike movement, the thing moved back into the trees.

The dogs were still in pursuit when Laurel found her voice. She began yelling for them. Dear God, what
was
that thing? It was too big for April and Alex to take on. They were gentle, inexperienced fighters. They could so easily be killed.

“April! Alex!” she shrieked. “Come here!” Her heart sank when she heard the sounds of snarling and then a yelp. “April! Alex! Come back to me
now
!” She tried to whistle but her lips were too stiff from the cold. “April—”

Abruptly the dogs appeared under the dusk-to-dawn light. Laurel knelt and held out her arms. Both dogs dashed to her. Alex was limping, but she didn’t see any blood. He breathed heavily and snuggled as closely to her as he could. April stood a little apart. She held something in her mouth. “Drop it,” Laurel said gently. This was one of the few commands the dogs understood. “April,
drop
it.”

Obediently April dropped something onto Laurel’s lap. She picked it up, studying it under the porch light.

It was a scrap of white cotton cloth stained with a few drops of blood.

2

This probably wasn’t a good idea, Joyce thought as she walked up Crystal’s driveway. She’d left her car by the side of the road, not wanting to give Crystal any warning. After all, she hadn’t even told Chuck what she intended to do. He would be offended that she didn’t think he could handle the situation on his own. Crystal was certain to run to Chuck and claim Joyce had tried to intimidate her. Well, so what? Chuck might bluster, but she could handle him. Joyce knew he did not want to lose her and all she could do for him. Crystal? She was a spoiled little bitch who’d always gotten her way by manipulating, playing helpless, crying like a pathetic child. But tears and entreaties wouldn’t work with Joyce. Crystal didn’t have her fooled for a minute. She could whine all she wanted but Joyce wouldn’t feel an ounce of sympathy for her.

Snow blew on her. Why had she worn her newest cashmere coat when it was snowing? It wasn’t as if she cared about making a good impression. She didn’t care how she looked in front of Crystal. She should have worn her lined raincoat.

God, what a crummy little house, she thought. How could Chuck have lived here for so long? Of course the house he’d grown up in hadn’t been much better. He’d never had a taste of the good life until lately.

The lights were on but when Joyce knocked on the door, no one answered. She tried again. Nothing. Well, she’d expected it. She reached in her purse and dug around until she found a metal key ring holding two keys. Chuck’s keys to the house. She opened the door and yelled, “Crystal?” She smiled, thinking, Trapped like a rat! She went farther into the house. “Crystal!”

Two lamps burned in the tiny, ragged living room. Joyce stood still, listening. No sound of human movement. Still, Crystal must be here. Her car was in the driveway and the lights were on. Would the idiot actually cower and hide from her?

Annoyed, Joyce stalked through the little house. The kitchen had worn linoleum and a plethora of samplers, baskets, and embroidered pot holders hanging on the walls. The red light on the coffemaker glowed. She went down the hall and entered a small bedroom with a white chest of drawers and a crib with a mobile hanging above it. Chuck said Crystal had her first miscarriage eleven years ago. Had this room been furnished for that baby or only last year when they awaited the arrival of their stillborn daughter?

Joyce shook off the thought. She didn’t want to feel sorry for Crystal. On down the hall was a small bathroom done in shades of pink and black with, oh, God, flamingos on the shower curtain! Joyce shook her head and smiled. For someone who’d grown up in a moneyed home, Crystal had dreadful taste.

Joyce’s opinion was reinforced when she saw the “master bedroom.” The pink theme continued with pink fuzzy throw mgs, which were really bath mats, cheap mass-produced pictures of huge-eyed children and kittens, heart-shaped pillows on the bed, and lacy doilies on the dresser. Had her masculine, virile Chuck spent years sleeping with Crystal in this child’s room? Joyce wondered. Of course he had, but she didn’t want to think about that, didn’t want to picture him making love in this pitiful little room, conceiving children that would never live. No, vapid Crystal could never have satisfied the man Joyce knew. She had nothing to be jealous about where sex was concerned.

When Joyce walked out of the bedroom, she stood still for a moment. The tiny house was immaculately neat. It was also empty.

Joyce entered the living room again. Well, where the hell was she? She had to be around or the coffeemaker wouldn’t be on. Joyce went to a window and looked out. There was a one-car garage attached to the house, but nearly a hundred feet away was a double garage Chuck told her he’d built and used to work on cars while between jobs. A light glowed through the windows. Crystal must be in the garage, Joyce thought.

She started out the front door, then paused. The snow was coming down harder. She knew there was a second driveway leading from the garage to the road, but the path from the house to the extra garage was narrow and rutted, trees crowding close on either side. She saw a plaid coat and a pair of rubber boots sitting beside the door. Quickly she slipped off her cashmere coat, put on the plaid coat and pulled the rubber boots over her leather pumps.

I should just go home, she fumed as she stepped out in the snow. If I’d known this was going to be so much damned trouble I wouldn’t have come tonight. Then she remembered her ex-husband Gordon’s phone call that morning. He’d been livid, spluttering his outrage. After their divorce two years ago, he’d moved to Boston. For the past six months he hadn’t realized Chuck was living with her. Then he’d received an anonymous letter from someone in Wheeling. Joyce thought the person was probably Crystal. At the moment Joyce wasn’t really angry over the letter. It was just a catalyst. This situation could have drifted on for months. Gordon’s call had merely spurred her into action.

Lord, this place was primitive, Joyce fumed silently, appalled. Chuck told her that Crystal’s family had been rich. She barely remembered the Smiths and she knew they weren’t what she considered rich, but they’d certainly been comfortable. She could even recall her own parents and Gordon talking about what a shock it was when they were killed in the plane crash and everyone learned they were bankrupt. What a blow that must have been to Crystal, Joyce thought. Her whole life she’d been emotionally and financially indulged. Then suddenly she had nothing. Nothing except Chuck, whom she’d married a year before her parents’ deaths. He’d stuck by her a long time, especially when all Crystal could do was drag him down. But now it’s my turn, Joyce said to herself. I deserve Chuck after all those dull years with Gordon and Chuck deserves a better life than he’s ever had. She’d make Crystal see that tonight, even if it killed her.

She wiped snow off her face and cursed as she turned her foot in a rut. She stopped to rub her ankle. That’s when she heard a rustling in the trees. She looked at the garage. No door stood open, but maybe Crystal had come out without Joyce seeing her. “Crystal?” she called. Silence. Just the wind in the trees, she decided.

Joyce took a couple of steps forward, wincing as pain shot up her leg. Oh, hell, had she sprained her ankle?
Why
had she come here? She’d just go home—

She thought of Gordon again. No. She’d come here to talk to Crystal, and goddammit, after all this trouble she
would
talk to Crystal.

Something rustled in the brush again. Joyce stopped. Any kind of animal could lurk around here. She was no expert on wildlife, but didn’t opossums and groundhogs come out at night? Would they attack a person? What if it was a skunk and she got sprayed? That would just make the whole damned evening. Maybe it was a deer. But deer didn’t eat meat, that much she knew, so she wasn’t about to become dinner for some huge-antlered male deer, whatever they were called. A big dog? Joyce hated dogs and they hated her. She hoped it wasn’t a dog.

Get to the garage instead of standing here trying to figure out what kind of animal might be stalking you, Joyce thought furiously. The more trouble she went to, the more her temper grew. She hobbled a few feet farther. Rustling. Much closer. Joyce managed one high-pitched squeal before something crashed against the side of her head. She fell heavily to the left. Her arm broke the fall, but the force of the blow blinded her. Or was it blood running into her eyes that turned the world black? She rubbed her hand over her face. Wet. Wet with snow or blood?

Before she could even try to look at her hand, something struck her along the jaw. She cried out, pushing her battered face into the snow, trying to fasten her hands over her head to protect it. Something slammed down on her neck. Feeling abruptly left her body. Feeling, but not awareness. She heard heavy breathing, muttering. She also heard a slight whistling sound as an object swept through the air, striking her paralyzed body time after time. Finally she heard her own labored breathing growing raspier, almost grinding, until at last it stopped.