Nowhere to Hide (8 page)

Sheriff Mitch Farrell, Dr. Gray’s cousin, went on the boat whenever he could. He laughed uproariously, drank endless amounts of soft drinks, and ate more than his share of sandwiches and potato salad from the coolers Mrs. Gray sent along, and his nose always turned bright red because he refused to wear sunblock. His wife, Jean, seemed content to stay at home tending to her flower and vegetable gardens.

Dr. Gray had loved young people, so aside from Mitch Farrell, his passengers were always his daughters, Catherine and Marissa, Eric and his younger sister, Gretchen, and Will Addison—charming despite his slight air of entitlement. Sometimes Dr. Gray included his daughters’ friend Tonya Ward—a showily pretty girl who at sixteen seemed designed to wear a bikini and managed to be sexy, funny, flirtatious, and refined all at the same time. Gretchen had admired Tonya. So had local boys Dillon and Andrew Archer when their father allowed them to come along, which was seldom, because their father kept them nearly chained to Archer Auto Repair.

In spite of the cold, Eric removed his hat. Maybe their father had been right, he thought as the breeze caught his slightly long, wavy ash-blond hair and tossed it to one side. Dillon had been seventeen and Andrew nineteen years old the first summer they’d been allowed to go out on the boat. Dillon’s dark coloring, striking blue eyes, and muscular build had made him far more attractive than Andrew with his almost white-blond hair worn in a crew cut, his tall, lanky body, and his unfortunate gawkiness.

Andrew had been almost silent during their first outing. Eric could tell he’d been awed by the beautiful boat and everyone’s courteous and welcoming behavior. At fourteen, Marissa and Gretchen had worn their first two-piece bathing suits that summer and painted each other’s toenails, which had brought on gales of adolescent giggling from them that baffled Eric. They’d even gone to Gray’s Island a couple of times, where Dillon had seemed especially interested, almost entranced, by the church with the sun shining through its beautiful stained-glass windows.

Eric now felt like an old man remembering the fun and the laughter of what seemed a long-ago summer. Dr. Gray had encouraged everyone to go waterskiing if they weren’t afraid. Eric could tell Andrew wanted to give it a try but was afraid he’d do something wrong. He always seemed afraid he’d do something wrong.

Dillon had much more confidence. His manners were excellent and he’d even tried waterskiing and done well the very first time. He’d talked to everyone, even Marissa and Gretchen, asking if they were going to paint every toenail a different color, which brought on another attack of giggles. Dillon had asked Catherine if she was looking forward to entering the University of California at Berkeley in the autumn, and he’d told Tonya to avoid taking a class from a teacher named Blume when school started in the fall. He was pleasant, charming, and polite. Still, Eric hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that Dillon was being extremely watchful, as if coolly assessing everyone, and the feeling had made Eric uneasy.

Eric’s attention now snapped back to the river. The towboat and barges had moved on, the remaining mist and snow closing in and making them invisible. They had vanished, Eric thought winsomely. They’d vanished like the
Annemarie,
which had been in storage since Dr. Gray’s death.

Another blast of freezing air let Eric know he was being foolish to keep standing like a statue beside the road. But one memory held him immobilized—a bitter memory that chilled his already nearly numb body.

As Eric recalled, it would have been the Archer boys’ third outing when Andrew had seemed more relaxed and Dillon had acted right at home. Both guys had laughed at Sheriff Farrell’s jokes and Andrew had talked to nearly everyone without blushing. He had worn sunglasses, which hid the permanently insecure look in his light blue eyes, and with his new tan and slightly longer hair he’d looked a tad more appealing. For the first time in Eric’s life, he’d seen both Andrew and Dillon Archer act young and carefree.

Late in the afternoon, Eric had gotten a cold can of Coke from the cooler and placed it beside Dillon, who wore only cutoff jeans and lay stretched full-length on his back, his well-formed body turning a nice shade of light golden brown. Dillon had looked up at Eric with his brilliant blue eyes, smiled almost blissfully, and said, “Thanks, Eric. You know, I hate to sound like an idiot, but all of this is so great I feel like I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

Well, if there was any justice in the world, Dillon Archer hadn’t gone to heaven, Eric now thought, bile rising in his throat after all these years, because on that bright and beautiful day he had been looking into the eyes of a murderer.

Chapter 4

1

They stood in Catherine’s ivory and sage green bedroom, one getting dressed, the other slumping drearily in front of the vanity mirror. “Thanks so much for going in with me to give my statement.”

Catherine pulled a tan wool sweater over her head and threw Marissa’s mirrored image an amazed look. “Did you think I’d send you there alone after you just had a car wreck Saturday night? Honestly, Marissa, you make me sound downright cold-blooded.”

“You kept warning me not to go by myself in my Mustang Saturday night.”

“So now I’m going to punish you for not obeying me? If I remember correctly, you told me to remember that we’re not kids and I’m simply your older sister, not your big sister who gives the orders—not that I ever could give
you
orders. You’ve never been exactly pliable.”

“You mean I’m stubborn.”

“I thought I was being tactful.”

“You were.” Marissa sighed and leaned closer to the mirror. “Oh gosh, my face! I have bruises around my eyes, I have a long scratch on my jawline, and I shudder to think what my poor nose looks like under these bandages—”

“Enough!” Marissa jumped. Catherine rarely raised her voice. “You have been fretting over your looks since Saturday night. Even Lindsay is getting tired of listening to you.”

Marissa looked down at her constant companion, sitting beside her with a red rubber ball in her mouth. Marissa stooped to stroke her on the head. “She loves me no matter how battered I am. You can’t blame me for not wanting people to see me when I look like I’ve been in a boxing match.”

“Well, at least you still have all of your teeth. It could be worse.” Catherine walked toward her, smiling. “After we stop at the hospital and they take the bandages off your nose, you’ll brighten up with some lip gloss and we’ll put concealer under your eyes and blush on your cheeks.”

“But my nose—”

“It isn’t broken. It can’t look
too
bad. And just think of—”

“Don’t you dare say ‘think of what you could have looked like.’ That isn’t going to make me feel one bit better.”

“You’re right. Imagining how things could have been worse never makes me feel better, either.” Catherine ran a wide-toothed comb through her shining hair and reached down to remove a piece of lint from her brown wool slacks.

“I wish I were as tall and graceful as you,” Marissa said forlornly.

“Oh, for God’s sake, Marissa!” Catherine looked at the dog, Lindsay. “Your mother has a big case of feeling sorry for herself today, do you know that?” Lindsay cocked her blond head and Catherine’s gaze shifted back to Marissa. “I’m five-seven; you’re five-four—a perfectly respectable height. I have what people politely call a ‘willowy’ figure; you have ‘curves.’ My hair is straight as spaghetti and you have natural waves. Your eyes are as blue as…as the Adriatic Sea.”

“Catherine, you’ve never been to the Adriatic Sea.”

“Well, I know it’s considered the bluest sea. Your eyes are like sapphires burning from inside with dazzling blue fire, your skin is like the finest porcelain, and your teeth are like pearls. If we lived a few hundred years ago, men would write poetry to your beauty. They would—”

“Lock you up for being insane.”

Marissa and Catherine both burst out laughing, then flopped back on the bed as they continued to giggle. Lindsay watched them curiously.

“Oh, my gosh,” Marissa finally gasped, pulling free and wiping tears from her cheeks. “We haven’t laughed like that since Mom died.”

Catherine nodded, pushing her hair behind her ears and dabbing at mascara smears beneath her eyes. “I know.”

“What’s gotten into you?”

“Everyone thinks you’re the court jester of the Gray family, but I have a sense of humor, too.”

“I didn’t realize I was considered the Grays’ court jester, but I guess I could be worse things.” Marissa paused and looked at Catherine with narrowed, slightly bruise-encircled eyes. “If things had gone differently Saturday night, I’d attribute this good mood of yours to your date with James. But you can’t tell me you had a wonderful time with him. I completely ruined your evening.”

In an uncharacteristically lighthearted gesture, Catherine lightly kissed Marissa’s forehead. “Although you scared me half to death, you did
not
ruin my date.”

“Oh? Did something happen after Eric left and I went to bed?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m the shy and serious sister, remember? Now put on one of those heavy faux fur coats of yours. It’s time for us to go and it’s freezing outside.”

Marissa settled onto the seat of Catherine’s sensible sedan, fastened her seat belt, flipped down the visor, and looked in the mirror at her bandage-free face. “Oh no,” she groaned. “Just fifteen minutes ago the doctor told me I look fine.”

“You do look fine.” Catherine started the car and crept to the exit of the hospital parking lot, even more wary of driving on snow since Marissa’s wreck. “You look fine for someone who was punched in the nose by an air bag less than forty-eight hours ago. Give your poor face a chance to heal.”

Marissa groaned again.

“I don’t mean to hurt your feelings, Marissa, but this fixation on your looks makes you sound vain and shallow.”

“Thank you, Catherine,” Marissa said dully. “My feelings aren’t hurt at all.”

“I’m trying to make a point. You sound vain and shallow, but you’re
not
vain and shallow.” Catherine paused. “I believe you’re obsessing about your appearance rather than thinking about what almost happened to you Saturday night.”

“My sister the psychologist.”

“Yes, I’m both and I know you very well.” When Catherine stopped at a red light, she broke her two-handed grip on the steering wheel, reached over with her right hand, and clasped Marissa’s gloved left fist. “You’re holding in your emotions so tightly it must hurt. I sat by your bedside most of Saturday night. You had one nightmare after another. Once you got up and started to run. I grabbed you and you said, ‘Mommy,’ threw yourself against me, and started sobbing.”

“I don’t remember that happening,” Marissa said meekly.

“I know. It was another moment of the normal human weakness you try to hide. You always try to act like the tough girl. Right now you’re trying not to cry. I can tell.”

“I don’t want to cry!”

“Okay, then don’t. I’m just saying that although you’re tough in many ways, you don’t have to act as if you’re indestructible. You’re not, and thank goodness, because if you weren’t vulnerable, if you didn’t have a soft side, you wouldn’t be Marissa Gray.”

“Whom everyone knows and loves.”

“That’s right.”

“Well, somebody sure as hell didn’t love me Saturday night,” Marissa declared. “Because no matter how many times people tell me the wreck was an accident, I know somebody wanted me dead!”

Which was exactly what she repeated at police headquarters fifteen minutes later. Although she sat in Eric Montgomery’s office, he’d left open his door and after her loud declaration the large outer room fell into complete silence. Marissa could feel her sister blush, but Eric simply gazed at her with steady amber eyes and an expressionless face. Finally, he asked formally, “Do you know of anyone who would want you dead, Marissa?”

“Well, no, of course not. I would have reported someone threatening me or stalking me. But this person walked right in front of my car—”

“And you don’t think that could have been an accident?”

“A person dressed up like it’s Halloween walked deliberately in front of my car on an icy highway and you think it was an accident?” Marissa’s voice rose. “That’s ludicrous!”

“You think this person wanted to kill you,” Eric said calmly, “yet you just admitted he walked in front of your car on an icy highway. Doesn’t that sound more as if he wanted
you
to kill
him
?”

“Why would I kill him? I don’t even know who it was!”

“Maybe he’d planned a suicide.”

“A suicide? Dressed up like a ghoul? Following the car halfway down the riverbank and trying to jostle the car loose so it would fall in the river? Or do you believe he hoped to commit suicide by having the car fall on top of him?”

“Marissa, you’re shouting,” Catherine said gently. “I know you’re upset, but you might be taken more seriously—”

“If I act nonchalant?”

“If you stop sounding on the verge of hysteria.” She gave Marissa an almost warning smile and said softly, “You sounded more rational after the wreck than you do right now.”

Marissa started to snarl back an answer, looked at Catherine, then at Eric, and closed her eyes. “Are you all right?” Eric asked. Marissa nodded as she heard noise begin in the outer room—papers shuffled with too much fervor, questions asked loudly, and the copier beginning to shoot out papers, comments made in unnaturally formal voices. The staff was trying to act as if all was well and they hadn’t been listening. They were acting
careful,
she realized, as if perhaps they should fear the mental state of the woman in the office with Chief Deputy Montgomery. Marissa exhaled what seemed like every ounce of air in her body and sagged in her chair. She was deeply embarrassed and felt beaten, as if all the fight had gone out of her with that nearly bottomless sigh.

“Yes, everyone, I’m all right,” she said weakly as Catherine and Eric gazed at her in concern.

A young female deputy with dark brown hair, a thin, ascetic face, and dark blue eyes appeared in the doorway with a Styrofoam cup. “Coffee, Ms. Gray,” she said abruptly, setting it down on Eric’s desk in front of Marissa and smiling. “We only had enough left in the pot for one cup, and you seem to need it most. I’ll put on a fresh pot. Oh, we only have artificial cream and sweetener, too. I don’t know how you like your coffee, Ms. Gray, and this isn’t the best in the world.”