Murder on the Bride's Side (26 page)

Yanking my hands out of his warm grasp, I said with a steadiness that belied my true feelings, “So, have you been in touch with her the entire time we’ve been dating?”

“Not really. She called once or twice, but that’s all.”

“Did you tell her about me?”

Peter hesitated and I knew his answer before he gave it. “No, I didn’t. I don’t know why. I guess I just assumed that she’d moved on. But after seeing her this weekend, I realize that she hasn’t.” I stared at him in silence, waiting for him to elaborate. “Chloe can be pretty . . . direct sometimes,” he finally added.

“I’ll give her direct,” I muttered.

“Elizabeth, I’m sorry about all of this. I should have told you.”

“Yes, you should have. But the fact remains you didn’t.” A numbing sensation seeped through my veins, as if my brain dosed my body with a kind of emotional novocaine. I sat very still and was grateful for the feeling—or lack thereof. For once, I just might be spared from making a colossal ass of myself. “Peter,” I said with a steadiness that surprised me, “we’ve been dating for
more than eight months. During that time you never told me about Chloe, and more important, you never bothered to tell Chloe about me. I think that says it all.”

“What do you mean?”

I raised my eyes to his. “It means that you still have feelings for Chloe. If you didn’t, you would have called her and told her about me. You would have ended it completely with her.”

He looked like he was going to interrupt. I didn’t want to hear any more. I
couldn’t
hear any more. I just wanted to get out of this room before the novocaine wore off. I wanted to be alone when I finally burst into tears. “I can’t do this again, Peter. I
won’t
do this again.”

“Won’t do what?” he asked, confusion registering across his face.

Get dumped for the other woman.
“Peter, a relationship where someone is always wondering about what might have been is no good. There’s no point in being with someone when you’re confused.”

“Elizabeth, I . . . I don’t know what to say. I don’t want to end things. Frankly, it sounds like
you’re
the one who wants to . . . see what could have been.”

I had no idea what that meant. I could only hear the blood pounding in my ears as the novocaine wore off and the realization that Peter and I were breaking up caused my heart to shudder and thud unevenly.

I stood up. “Peter, I really like you, but I think it’s best if we just go back to being friends.”

“But we never really were friends,” he said with a small attempt at a smile.

I couldn’t return it. “Yeah, well maybe that was part of the problem.”

Before he could say another word, I turned and left the room, tears already blurring my vision. I went upstairs and headed for the bathroom. I splashed cold water on my face until I finally stopped crying. Then I grabbed my purse and car keys. I needed to go for a long drive. When I got back downstairs, Peter was gone.

I walked out to the side terrace in the hopes of finding Bridget so I could tell her what had happened and where I was going. She wasn’t there. However, Harry was. He was walking toward me, a bunch of roses in one hand, a clipper in the other. My face must have registered my misery, because he looked at me with evident surprise.

“Elizabeth! What’s going on?”

Rather than launch into what had happened with Peter, I focused instead on the flowers. “Those are pretty,” I said mechanically. “Who are they for?”

Harry glanced down at the roses. “Oh. These. They’re for Megan.” He looked uncomfortable admitting this, and I wondered if he thought I’d be upset to hear they weren’t for me. “I thought they might cheer her up a little,” he continued. “But I guess that’s asking a lot from a bunch of roses.”

“I think it’s very sweet.”

“Well, I’m glad you think so. Just don’t tell Elsie. I cut them from the trellis. She’d tan my hide if she knew.” He peered closely at my face. “What’s wrong? You look like you need your own bouquet of flowers.”

I shoved my hands deep into my pockets and willed myself
not to cry. I focused on staring at the intricate stone design of the patio to distract myself. That lasted a whole ten seconds. Before I knew it, Harry had gently pushed me into one of the chairs and had pulled another up alongside it. Putting down Megan’s roses, he took my hands in his. “Okay, kiddo, give. What’s wrong? Is it Peter?”

I could only nod. I didn’t quite trust my voice to come out in a decibel appropriate to human ears. I suspected that I was capable of producing only sounds discernible to chipmunks.

“Would you like me to do something about him?” he asked teasingly. “I could make it look like an accident.”

I laughed hollowly and shook my head. “No, thanks. I think one violent act for the weekend is enough.”

Harry’s face clouded over at my words, and I cursed my insensitivity. Harry may not have liked Roni, but she had been married to his father.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” I mumbled.

“Don’t be,” he said after a moment’s pause. “Now, tell me what’s going on with Peter.”

I numbly launched into what was becoming a repetitious story in my life. I meet someone, like him, only to get dumped a short while later for someone better. But this time I hadn’t just liked someone. I’d fallen in love with someone.

My story told, I stared at my lap. I didn’t want to see the pity in Harry’s eyes. After a few moments of silence, I ventured a glance in his direction. He was looking at me with bemused frustration.

“You’re a silly ass, you know that, right?”

“How so?”

“Peter is not in love with Chloe. He dated her, but so what?”

“So what? Have you seen her? She’s perfect. There’s no comparison.”

“I agree there’s no comparison, but not in the way you obviously think. Yes, Chloe’s beautiful, has a great figure, is smart—”

“This is really helpful, by the way. I’m feeling loads better. Thanks.”

Harry ignored me and continued. “She is all those things, but she’s not
you.
You still see yourself the way you were when you were twelve. Cute but not, perhaps, having reached your potential. I wish you could see yourself the way others see you.”

“If I’m so wonderful, why has every guy I’ve dated broken up with me—usually for someone else?”

“Because you’ve dated idiots. Peter is different.”

I shook my head. “I don’t think I can take another rejection, especially from him.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Wow, you’ve got it bad.” He pulled me to my feet. “Come on, let me take you out to dinner. I’ll flirt wildly with you and make you forget all about Peter.” I glanced uncertainly at him. “Don’t worry,” he added quickly, “I know I can’t compete with Peter, so I won’t even try, tempting as it is. But I insist on dinner.”

I smiled up at him and nodded. “Okay, dinner it is.”

“Great, just let me give these to Megan. I’ll be back in a flash.”

As promised, he was back in no time. He walked me to his car, making a huge production of opening the door and getting me settled inside. Then we were off.

It was after ten by the time we got back. The house was dark. As I stepped out of Harry’s car, a movement out of the corner of my eye caught my attention. I peered into the darkness. It was Peter.

He was leaning against the driver’s-side door of his Jeep, his arms tightly crossed against his chest.

“Peter?” I said, my heart jumping. I crossed over to him, hoping against hope that he would pull me into his arms and tell me this whole mess was a giant misunderstanding. “What are you doing out here?”

“I was waiting for you. I didn’t know where you were.” His eyes flashed as they touched upon Harry before settling back on me.

“I think I’m going to turn in,” Harry said quickly, glancing between the two of us. “See you guys it the morning.”

“Good night. Thanks for dinner,” I called after him. Peter said nothing; his eyes remained trained on my face.

“Have a nice time?” he asked, after Harry shut the front door.

“Harry took me to dinner,” I said.

“So I gathered,” he said, his voice hard. “I just wanted to let you know that I’ve checked into a hotel downtown.”

My heart sank. So this was it. I wondered if Chloe was waiting for him somewhere.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I said weakly.

“I know.”

Peter said nothing: he was probably trying to figure out a
way to leave without being obvious. “Well, I think I’m going to hit the sack,” I finally said.

“Right.” He didn’t move.

“Good night,” I said, turning.

“Elizabeth?”

I turned back. I couldn’t see his face in the darkness, just his shape. “What?”

He paused. “Nothing.” He abruptly pushed himself off of the door. In one quick move, he yanked the door open and swung his frame inside. “Good night,” he called out before slamming the door. Within seconds the engine burst to life and the car pulled out of the driveway.

“Good night,” I whispered as the taillights turned onto the main road. I stood for a moment before exhaustion overtook me. I desperately needed to collapse into my bed. I let myself into the house and quietly made my way up the stairs and opened the door to my room. Peering into the inky darkness, I wondered if Megan was already in bed. Out of habit, I moved to flip on the light switch before I remembered that it didn’t work.

Blindly making my way to my bed, I switched on the nightstand lamp. I saw with relief that Megan was asleep. I wasn’t up to small talk tonight. My brain felt as if it were stuffed to the brim with odd bits of information needing to be sorted and filed. Harry’s flowers were in a vase on her nightstand. I hoped they helped her a little.

No sooner did my head hit the pillow than one of these bits of information burst forth from my subconscious. Claire
had said that she had seen Avery asleep in his bed the night of the murder. But she couldn’t have. None of the light switches next to the doors worked. If Claire had opened the door to Avery’s room, she would have seen exactly what I had when I opened my door just now. Nothing.

Claire had lied. But had she lied about seeing Avery, or about going to his room?

Sleep is when all the unsorted stuff comes flying out as from a dustbin upset in a high wind.

—
WILLIAM GOLDING

That night I dreamed I had been dumped into the muddy confines of a cold, desolate marsh. As I struggled to free myself from the rushes’ suffocating embrace, my leg caught on something and I was dragged even deeper into the water’s inky depths. Frantic, I looked down and saw Roni’s necklace wrapped tightly around my calf, its brilliant diamonds gleaming eerily in the dark waters. At the other end, a hand pulled the sparkling cord with slow determination, steadily dragging me lower and lower. I clawed desperately at the necklace, trying to free my leg from its deadly grasp, all the while straining to catch a glimpse of the face beyond the hand. With a horrific crack, the necklace snapped in two and both the glittering cord and the disembodied hand faded from sight. With a pitiful muffled sob, I broke through the water’s surface and flung myself to safety.

I lay disoriented for several seconds, the sheet, damp from my sweat, twisted around my
leg. With a shiver, I pulled the heavy comforter off the floor, wrapping it tightly around my body to ward off both the night’s cold air and the lingering terror of my nightmare. As the images of the dream faded and my mind cleared, I became aware of two things. One, the pitiful sob in my dream had not come from me. It had come from Claire, whose low cries I could hear emanating from the room next to mine. And two, unless I was very much mistaken, the terrible cracking sound of the necklace was made by David’s hand as he struck his wife.

The wall between our rooms muffled their voices but not their emotions. David’s anger was as palpable as Claire’s misery. I was able to catch a few of David’s words, but they told me only that he was adept at spewing run-of-the-mill obscenities.

I pushed the covers back and swung my legs out of bed. David scared the hell out of me when he was drunk and mad, but that didn’t mean I was going to cower under my covers while he smacked Claire around. Megan was still asleep. Thinking she’d been through more than enough over the last two days, I opted not to wake her. I looked around the room for something to use as a weapon in case David decided to smack me, too. Unfortunately, the only thing I could find was my hair dryer. I grabbed it anyway, preferring to have
something
in my hand when I faced him.