Liar's Moon (20 page)

She could remember standing on the hill as the cold swept around her. And the cold hadn’t mattered, because nothing could have touched the ice within her. She’d been eighteen, and she had felt as if she had lived forever.

And when she’d walked away from that hill with the light drift of snowf
lakes falling on the little coff
in, she’d walked away from it all.

Memories
…

He meant to take her back. By threats, by force, by coercion. She should fight him every step of the way. Maybe not. Maybe she could find that cold again, the cold that had brought her the past. Let that ice settle over her heart.

Go with him. And end it, once and for all.

L
eif stayed away from her the remainder of the flight. She knew that he watched her carefully the entire time they sat on the ground at Heathrow—but he didn’t speak, and neither did she, except to the pilot and copilot, who took a stroll back. To them she was charming. Both of them had been in private hire for over ten years, she discovered, and they spoke kindly of her father and she was grateful to them. But when she asked them if it didn’t get quite boring these days with so little to do, they both talked about the many uses for the plane, such as
jaunts with underprivileged children to special events and transportation for the elderly for medical care in tenuous situations.

Leif had bought out the other group members’ interest in the plane, she knew, and she wasn’t particularly pleased to hear that he kept it for his own occasional use —and such charitable endeavors. Tax write-offs! she decided. But she didn’t want to hate him any more than she wanted to love him; both were passionate emotions, and she wanted to feel cold.

In Zurich they were met by a driver in a handsome little beige Mercedes. Tracy went through customs without blinking an eye; when Leif went to take her arm to escort her to the car, she stared at him without tensing and asked him with admirable aplomb not to touch her; she would endure his awful charade without protest—as long as he wouldn’t touch her.

He shrugged, and let her be.

They were taken to a lovely little European hotel outside of the city. It was a chalet that had sat on a small precipice for centuries, th
e hunting cottage of some long-
ago knight now modernized with beautiful, fresh new paint and tiled baths in quaint rooms with marble mantels, working grates, and huge curtained windows that looked over the forest beyond, just lightly dusted in spring snow.

Tracy knew that Leif was amazed when she didn’t protest the fact that he procured connecting rooms. She accepted it all without a word, without the flick of an eyelash. She didn’t do anything but walk to the window when she came into her own room, although she realized that Leif had had someone pack her a small bag. When she realized that he had opened the connecting door and stood watching her, she didn’t move. Still staring out at
the beautiful countryside, she asked him, “Well, what now, Mr. Johnston?”

“Freshen up, take a nap, do whatever you like. We’ll meet down in the lobby in an hour. You should be hungry. Order something to eat.”

She turned around at last, smiling with no emotion, leaning easily against the window seat.

“I imagine it’s about ten a
.
m
.
by now in Connecticut. Won’t we be missed? You have a houseful of guests—or did you forget? We were all assembled to catch a murderer. And instead we’re sitting in Switzerland for you to prove some—some point that has absolutely nothing to do with it.”

“We won’t be missed. I asked Liz to take care of things.”

She nodded, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re quite lucky you have her. Blind loyalty and obedience.”

He shrugged. “You’ve got Jamie.”

She shook her head. “No, not really. Jamie really belongs to you, too, doesn’t he?”

Leif tilted his head, staring toward her with mild interest. But his eyes wore a silver gleam of tension once again.

“If I have Jamie, Tracy, it’s simply because I was there. I cared for him. I loved him. He spent more time with me than he did with his mother or father. You could have been there—you’ve been of age for a long time. You could have done a lot of things, Tracy.”

She turned back to the window.

“What, Leif? What could I have done? Walked into the center of your marital bliss? I think not.”

“You could have told me.”

“It’s over Leif. Why can’t you just let it lie.”

He was silent; suddenly he was explosive. “It’s not over! And it won’t ever be over—not in our lifetimes!”

Tracy spun back around, but he was gone. She went to the door and slammed it shut, locking it.

In the end, she did take a shower. The water was wonderfully hot, the jet spray stringent and good against her. She thought that she was exhausted—she really wasn’t sure. She seemed to be living on tension.

She wondered when she unpacked the little bag if Leif hadn’t been through her things himself—there were only two outfits in the bag and two sets of underclothing. Obviously, they weren’t staying long. But both sweaters and skirts that he had chosen were right for the weather; fashionable, but comfortable. She dressed, feeling more tension steam through her. She began to doubt her wisdom about going along with him—she should have screamed her head off at Heathrow.

But just as that thought faded, she gave herself a helpless little shake. She had to go through with this. Just as it seemed that it was a compulsion with Leif, she felt that she had to go through with it herself.

Just like that day when she had walked away—when she had buried her son and walked away. Maybe she would feel the same now. Her mother had screamed when she’d learned Tracy’s intentions; her grandfather had yelled. Only Ted had remained silent, maybe respecting her decision.

And she hadn’t felt anything. Just cold. She hadn’t hated them; she had loved them, but nothing they had said or done had touched her. Her only salvation had been in getting away. In creating her own life, far, far from the influences that had been.

She found boots in the overnight bag—and stockings. Thinking that Leif could certainly be deliberate and thorough, she slipped them on and called the lobby to adjust her watch to the proper time.

Then she lifted her chin and met her own eyes in the mirror. She was dismayed to see that they were very wide and very blue. Frightened.

“No,” she whispered aloud, and she turned then, quickly, ready to go down and meet Leif.

He was there, in the lobby, somehow absurdly appealing in a trenchcoat, his hair damp with a tendril over his forehead—his eyes as cold and hard as she had wanted her own to be. He glanced at her, sweeping his eyes over her with no emotion.

“What are we doing?” she asked him curtly.

He glanced at his watch. “Waiting. Let’s get some hot chocolate or something.”

He set his hand on her elbow to lead her from the lobby to the dining room beyond it. She spun on him.

“I’m here, Leif, and that’s it. I don’t ever, ever want you touching me again. You are a cold and brutal man, and I don’t ever want anything to do with you again.”

“Tracy—move.”

She did so, irate that he was so tall and hard, that his voice could be so low and controlled. That she walked as he had told her—with his elbow still on her arm. And all around her there were people. Most of them in ski clothing, all of them chatting and laughing warmly and carrying on conversations in German and French. They talked about the slopes, about the shopping, about the beautiful way the weather was holding out. They seemed so happy.

Leif led her to a small table with a single rose in a vase upon it. The rose reminded her of her mother’s penchant for flowers. No matter where Audrey went, she had to have flowers.

Sitting, Tracy was at last freed from his touch. But not his presence.

“What are we waiting for?” she demanded with what she hoped was bored impatience.

“A man,” he said simply.

A pretty waitress with beautifully colored cheeks came by. Tracy ordered hot chocolate and a croissant. Leif ordered coffee.

They didn’t speak again until they were served. Tracy picked at her pastry. Leif lit a cigarette and stared at her. She tried to ignore him and not care that everyone else was laughing and chatting. Not to care that they were all happy and enjoying vacations whi
le she and Leif…

He leaned toward her suddenly. She pretended not to notice.

“Tracy, look at me.”

She did, hostility stark in her features.

“I know what you look like, Leif. Inside and out.”

“You think I should just forget it.”

“What can we prove?” She almost shouted the words. She swallowed, determined to lower her voice.

He shook his head at her, disgusted. “Well, for one, Tracy, we’re going to prove that your family is capable of anything.”

She stared at him, startled and confused by his words. Maybe she should have told him that she was pregnant. No! She hadn’t owed him anything. He had been a married man by then. And if anything, she thought that her family’s love and loyalty had been proven by their tender support of her.

“There he is,” Leif said, rising suddenly.

Tracy looked up. A pleasant-looking young man was coming toward them. As soon as he greeted Leif with a
handshake and a few quiet words, she knew that he was American, too.

Leif introduced them briefly. “Are we all set?”

“Yes, the coroner should be there by now, with the cemetery people,” Rob said.

The room seemed to swim. “What?” Tracy gasped out.

Leif grasped for her elbow, propelling her out of her chair. She’d barely touched her chocolate or her croissant.

In the lobby she desperately tried to free herself from his grasp. Too soon, she was out the steps and approaching a car.

“Leif—”

“Get in.”

She had no choice; he pushed her into the back. Rob got into the driver’s seat. They were all like little peas in a pod in the small vehicle, and she knew that anything she said was going to be overheard.

“You’re going to open that grave?” she demanded, near hysteria.

“That’s right,” Leif said impassively.

“No! How could you! How dare you! It’s illegal— they’ll stop you. You’re an animal! You’re worse! You’re—”

The tears she’d held back at last came to her and she twisted in the small space to pummel her fists against him, blinded. He caught her wrists with no mercy and no patience. Rob cleared his throat uncomfortably.

Leif didn’t say a word. He held Tracy in an implacable grasp and stared straight ahead.

Tracy didn’t know what she said then; she knew that she kept talking, that she railed, that she pleaded—that she labeled him a monster and more. And none of it made any difference.

They kept driving until they came to the wrought-iron gates and passed through them, driving uphill. Some of the graves were new, some of them were weathered and aged. It was stark here, and cold, and it seemed that even the beautiful blue that had colored the sky faded and paled and turned to a dismal gray that echoed all that was dead and lost.

Tracy remained in a state of shock.

Rob parked the car. Leif reached to help her out—she turned truly hysterical then, trying to refuse his hand, trying to pummel against him again. She tried to enlist the mysterious Rob’s aid, swearing that she would have them both arrested.

Rob glanced at Leif in
acute
discomfort, but remained silent. Leif didn’t twitch or blink or falter. He set his arm firmly about Tracy’s waist and dragged her along while she balked.

They came to it—to the tiny gravesite in the soft, light snow. To the gravestone. There were other men there. Three of them. Two men in sweaters and jeans with crowbars, and a graying, dignified man who could only be an official.

“Please, please!” Tracy screamed, begging for help. She pleaded in German, and she pleaded in French. She was barely coherent, and she knew it, but she couldn’t believe it. She couldn’t believe that they were going to dig up the dead and decaying flesh of her infant son.

Rob gave the official a paper. They all looked at Tracy a bit sadly, but ignored her.

She looked at Leif at last, face tearstained, eyes brilliantly blue as she beseeched him. “You can’t do this! Please, I beg you! Why? How can you do this to me?”

Something—perhaps a hint of confusion, remorse, or maybe even tenderness—touched his eyes.

“Please, Leif!”

He shook off her arm then. “I have to!” he grated. The gray-haired official nodded to the workmen.

“No!” She slammed both fists against his chest. He caught her arms, crushing her against him.

“Tracy! Don’t you understand—or are you still fighting the truth? Damn you, Tracy! It’s empty! The grave is empty!”

“What?”

She stared at him in disbelief, and his eyes met hers. What was in them, she wondered desperately against the awful confusion. A question, an accusation? Pity? His own uncertainty?