Most Wanted (46 page)

“I'm sorry, I have to go.” Christine took off, mortified and upset. She hurried away from the dreadful scene and ran toward her car in the ER parking lot, which was after a pocket parking lot for doctors. She reached the car, chirped it unlocked, and jumped inside.

She started the engine and drove off, stricken.

 

Chapter Forty-nine

Christine felt her eyes brimming, joining the line of cars leaving the hospital. Traffic was moving swiftly, which was merciful because she had to flee the scene. So many emotions welled up inside her, she couldn't begin to parse them. She felt a wall of regret that she had gotten Dink so distraught, if not fired. She flashed on all of the nurses at the vigil, bereft. She remembered Gail's parents, in abject grief. She had disrespected the entire vigil.

Rain pelted the windshield, coming down in earnest. She flicked on the wipers. Christine turned onto Marshall Street, blaming herself for everything she had done, from the beginning. For going to Graterford, for working with Griff. For canvassing neighbors, visiting crime scenes, and playing detective. For thinking that she knew what she was doing. All of it had blown up in her face, now not only hers, but Dink's and Griff's. She had made a mess of everything, and worst of all, she had done it believing in Zachary's innocence. Now she knew she'd been a fool.

Christine turned onto High Street, wiping tears from her eyes. She was driving while crying again, but she couldn't hold it together. She had to accept the fact that Zachary had really killed Gail and the others. She couldn't be in denial anymore. He had lied about meeting Gail, about meeting the other nurses, and he even lied to her about who was paying his retainer. She had believed him because she'd wanted to, but she had been a fool. She had never felt worse than she did at this very moment, compounded with a wave of exhaustion and nausea. She was pregnant with the child of a serial killer, and now it couldn't be denied. Rain pounded on the windshield.

Christine headed down High Street, and just then her phone started ringing. She dug in her purse as she drove and checked the screen to see that it was Griff calling. She didn't know if she should pick up in her current state, but he had a right to know about the fiasco at the vigil.

“Griff?” she said, answering the phone.

“Christine? What's the matter?”

“It's a long story.” Christine didn't know where to begin. “I'll give you the headline—”

“What's the matter? You sound funny.”

“I'm trying to tell you, I was wrong. I was very wrong. I was wrong about everything.”

“Christine? What's going on?”

“Gail had a married boyfriend, but he didn't do it.”

“For goodness' sake, don't blubber about it. You're not driving, are you? You shouldn't be driving and yapping on the phone. All these devices, they'll lead to perdition.”

“It was a terrible scene, a terrible scene.”

“What was a terrible scene? You're not making any sense. Are you okay?”

“I'm fine,” Christine said, blinking away tears, but she didn't know when she'd been worse. She drove down High Street in the downpour and passed her hotel, realizing that she was going the wrong way. She hadn't had a chance to put Griff's address into the GPS, she'd been too upset when she got in the car.

“Come back to the office. We'll talk about it.”

“I will, I missed the turn. I think he did it, Griff. I think he's guilty. I think we've been working too hard and it's all for nothing, for nothing.”

“Oh boy. What's the matter with you? What's come over you?”

“Everything is going to hell, Griff,” Christine heard herself saying, her heart breaking. She thought of Marcus and how much she loved him, and how she didn't know if their marriage would survive this baby, Zachary's baby.

“Christine?” Griff said, his tone gentler, and just the sound of it in her ear reminded her so much of her father, who used to talk to her just that way, and she realized that she would never hear that tone from him again, that her father was already gone, that she was losing everything, that nothing was left.

“Christine? Answer me.”

“I should go, I just want to hang up.” Christine blinked her eyes clear to take the next right turn after the hotel, trying to get back to town, but she was stuck on a slick, two-lane road that curved around a park. She looked for a street to turn right, but all the streets were one-way, going the wrong way.

“Don't hang up. Now you have me worried about you.”

“Don't worry.”

“This is ridiculous. Come back now.”

“I will,” Christine said, following the road that seemed to be heading out of town.

“I have better things to do than to worry about you. This is why I work alone.”

“I'm sorry, Griff. I'm sorry I screwed everything up.”

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Where are you?”

“I don't know, I'm lost,” Christine said, realizing the truth in the words.

“Help yourself then. Look for a sign.”

“There's no sign.” Christine drove ahead while the houses disappeared, replaced on both sides of the road by three-rail fences bordering pastures with herds of grazing horses, their backs dappled dark with rain.

“Of course there's a sign. Look for it.”

“No, I don't see any.” Christine rounded a curve and spotted a white route sign through the rain. “I'm on Route 842.”

“Silly girl. You're headed out of town. Turn around and come back.”

“Okay,” Christine said, wiping her eyes as she cruised ahead. There was too much oncoming traffic to make a U-turn, so she kept driving, past bucolic scenery that she was crying too hard to appreciate.

“Did you turn around yet?”

“I will when I can.”

“Stop blubbering. You're going the wrong way. It turns country fast. There's nothing out there but cornfields. Buck up.”

“Okay,” Christine said, but the tears kept coming, and her nose stopped up.

“I'll stay on the phone. I don't want you to kill yourself in a crash.”

“I won't crash.”

“I'll stay, nevertheless.”

Christine felt touched. “No, that's okay, it's not safe, you're right. Let's hang up. Thanks.”

“See you soon,” Griff said, then hung up.

Christine hung up, wiping tears from her eyes, heaving a heavy sigh, and trying to compose herself. She dug in the console for a napkin to blow her nose with, but there was only one left. She blew her nose and wiped her eyes as she passed horses and cornfields along Route 842 and drove through a tiny town of Unionville, only three blocks long. Raindrops bounced off the windshield, coming down harder, and the road wound through even prettier country, with no houses or farms except for tall white silos far from the road. Cornfields surrounded her, their green swaying in the rainy gusts.

Christine's tears finally stopped, and she gave her nose a final blow with the soggy napkin, looking for a good place to make a U-turn. There was still too much oncoming traffic. She glanced in her rearview mirror and noticed that a white Mercedes sedan was flashing its headlights at her. She accelerated, realizing she must have eased off the gas during her crying jag.

She drove ahead, looking for a street to turn into, but it was hard to see in the driving rain, and there were only cornfields. She glanced behind her again, and the white Mercedes was still flashing its headlights at her, which she didn't understand. There was no room to pass her, and Christine was going as fast as she could, so she put her right blinker on to signal that she would be turning soon.

She spotted a gravel road up ahead, slowed to get ready to turn right, then steered onto the gravel road. It was only one car wide, heading out of sight between the cornfields, and she braked to turn around, which would take some doing because it was so narrow. Reflexively, she checked the rearview mirror again. Oddly, the white Mercedes was still behind her.

She blinked her eyes clear, not understanding what she was seeing, but in the next moment, the driver of the white Mercedes lowered the window and stuck a hand outside, waving it frantically. The driver must have been a woman, and gold bangles lined her wrist.

And she started honking at Christine, trying to flag her down.

 

Chapter Fifty

Christine braked, startled to see the Mercedes driver get out of her car, slam the door behind her, and hustle toward her in tan heels, splashing through the watery gravel, heedless of the downpour. Rain flattened the woman's fancy salt-and-pepper coif and drenched the shoulders of her pink pastel suit.

“Can I help you?” Christine lowered her window, blinking against the rain just as the woman got there, her forehead buckled with pain and her mascara running, as if she had been crying, too.

“Who are you?” the woman demanded, distraught. She hooked her manicured fingernails over the top of Christine's window, her brown eyes desperate.

“What? Who are
you
?” Christine drew back from the window, and raindrops sprayed inside the car.

“What's your name? Do you work at the hospital? Are you another nurse?”

“Who are you? Why do you ask?” Christine said, bewildered.

“I'm Grant's wife Joan. I need to speak with you.”

“Grant who?”

“Grant Hallstead, please don't pretend you don't know.” Joan's bloodshot eyes filled with tears, and mascara dripped a black drop down her cheek. Rain poured down on her, drenching her suit, but she seemed not to care. “We're trying to work on our marriage, we're in counseling now, and he swore everything was going to be different now that Gail's gone. I'm asking you, I'm
begging
you to end your affair with my husband.”

“
What?
” Christine asked, astounded. “I'm not having an affair with your husband!”

“I knew you were going to deny it, but please, I'm begging you, woman-to-woman, to leave him alone. We have three kids, still in high school, and I'm trying to keep my family together for them.” Joan clung to the edge of the window in the pouring rain, and Christine felt terrible for her.

“Look, come inside the car, we can talk about this. You're getting soaked out there.” Christine motioned her inside, and Joan scurried around the front of the car, and Christine slid the window up and unlocked the car doors as Joan jumped inside. “Joan, I'm not having an affair with your husband, I swear to you.”

“Just hear me out, we can talk about this in a civilized way.” Joan put up both palms, with slim fingers. “I don't want a fight or anything like that, I'm not going to make any trouble—”

“—no, really, I'm not having an affair with your husband—”

“—I just wanted to try to reason with you, and try to explain to you what's going on in our marriage, so that maybe you would respect it.” Joan spoke fast, her words running together, powered by emotion, but Christine had to get a word in edgewise.

“Joan. I'm really not having an affair with your husband—”

“I see that you're married, too, and I hope that you can understand what it's like in a long-term marriage. I can see I'm older than you, he always picks younger nurses”—Joan's lower lip trembled, still bearing the traces of pink lipstick—“and I thought it would change after Gail, he swore to me it would, so I was so surprised to see you at the vigil with Dink—”

“—I'm not a nurse. I don't know your husband. I never met him before.”

“You didn't?” Joan blinked a few times, then wiped a smudge of mascara from under her lower lashes.

“I'm not from here. I'm a teacher from Connecticut, and—”

“How did you meet Grant?” Joan frowned, bewildered, but she seemed to be slowing down, breathing more normally.

“I don't know Grant. Truly, I never even saw him before today at—”

“But why were you at Gail's vigil if you're not a nurse? Are you a friend of hers?”

“Joan, please, relax. I can explain.” Christine dug in her purse, pulled out one of Griff's business cards, and handed it over. “My name is Christine Nilsson, and I'm working as a paralegal with Francis Griffith, a lawyer in town who's representing Zachary Jeffcoat. I've been investigating Gail's murder for the defense, and I should really apologize to you because I mistakenly thought that your husband could have been a suspect. I was wrong.”

“Oh my.” Joan looked up from the business card, and an astonished smile began to appear on her lovely face, which was heart-shaped and delicate, even fragile. She must've been in her late forties, but she barely looked thirty-five. “Are you serious?”

“Yes, completely. I really am sorry that I embarrassed your husband and you.” Christine almost welcomed the opportunity to absolve herself. The rain picked up, thundering on the roof of the car and fogging the windows. “Were you part of that group after the vigil?”

“Yes, I was there with some of the administrators and the other wives. I was parked in the doctors' lot, and I saw you get into your car, so I followed you.” Joan sighed happily and handed Christine back the business card. “I've never been so happy to find out that my husband was falsely accused of murder.”

“Ha!” Christine liked Joan immediately. Any wife who could find the humor in the situation probably deserved a better husband, but Christine didn't say so.

“You have no reason to apologize.” Joan met her eye, her crow's-feet wrinkling with irony. “Grant has a lot to answer for, God knows, but he wouldn't kill anybody.”

“I'm sorry, though.”

“Don't be, he deserved it.” Joan's smile flattened. “I can't say that I mind that he got called out in front of his boss for the affair. That's the kind of thing that will make him think twice, too. He says he wants to save our marriage, so we'll see.”