Stitches In Time (43 page)

"How did he die?" Adam asked. The glass of wine he held was untouched.

"Impossible to tell without an autopsy. I gave myself the pleasure of inspecting the body fairly closely, though, and
I
didn't see any bullet holes or deep wounds. Most of the damage seemed to be postmortem. Could have been an accident."

He let his head rest against the back of the chair. The position bared his throat—he was coatless and tieless, his shirt open—and Rachel's eyes were drawn to the stretched tendons and smooth skin.

"That's too much of a coincidence," Adam said, frowning.

"They happen." Tony sat up. "There is another guy involved. We think we know who he is, but we've got no proof, and with his presumed accomplice dead, we may never get it. However, our suspect is not the violent type— no previous record except the usual juvenile pranks—and right now he's probably scared out of his socks. If he sits tight he may get away with this, much as I hate to admit it."

"Unless he killed Eddy," Adam muttered.

"I don't think he did. There's been very little violence in this business when you stop and think about it; they didn't
intend to kill the old lady, and Eddy turned and ran when Rachel caught him in her room that night.
I
don't believe she was ever in serious danger." Tony finished his drink. "So," he said amiably, "what have you guys been doing for entertainment?"

The interlude had given Kara time to come up with an explanation for her presence that sounded reasonable—the sale, the end-of-year inventory, the fact that she hadn't expected Mark back so soon. Tony's raised eyebrows indicated that he wasn't entirely convinced, but she didn't give him time to ask questions.

"I think you ought to go to bed, Tony, you look exhausted. Do you want another drink?"

"One more and I'll fall flat on my face," Tony admitted. "I guess I will hit the sack. But I refuse to sleep with Alexander."

"I'll move him, and my things," Kara said.

"There's no need for that, I can sleep upstairs. I'm not that helpless."

Kara gave the others an agonized look. "No, no, this is the simplest way. I didn't bring much with me, it will be easier for me to change rooms. Give me a hand, Adam?"

"Sure. Relax, Tony, it may take a while to swab the deck. Alexander has been shut in there for hours. Coming, Rachel?"

"Don't bully the girl," Tony said. "They don't need you, Rachel. Maybe I will have another drink, if you'll do the honors."

The mouth of the woman he addressed curved gently. It
was easier now, the
muscles
answered to her will, the memories were accessible, almost part of her—-and so useful.

She prepared his drink as she had the others, strong and undiluted except by ice. When she offered him the
glass, Tony shook his head. "I don't want a drink,
I
just wanted an excuse to talk to you alone." She stepped back, and he said angrily, "Don't look at me like that! Sit down—please. I don't blame you for despising me, but all I want to do is set things straight."

"I don't despise you," she said softly.

"You have every right to. I've been thinking about what I said to you the day we left—about you moving out—and feeling like a louse. I couldn't discuss it on the phone, there was always somebody around. I still can't imagine what came over me that night, but pinning the blame, even part of it, on you was unconscionable. You don't have to leave. I don't want you to leave. Cheryl is crazy about you, the kids like you, and I ... I think we could be friends if you'll give me a chance. Will you?"

"Yes."

"Thanks. You won't regret it, I promise. I—oh, for God's sake, Kara, I thought you were going to take that damned dog upstairs."

"He has to go out and then have his din-din," Kara said indignantly. "I don't know why you are all so mean to poor Alexander."

The dogs retreated, cringing, into the pantry and a flurry of cats soared up from the floor to the tops of various pieces of furniture. Adam came in carrying a wad of reeking newspapers, and Tony burst out laughing. "I rest my case."

He did finish his drink, and Rachel persuaded Kara to join him while Alexander ate his din-din and Adam trudged back and forth with mops and buckets and clean sheets and towels. Tony's mood had relaxed; he exchanged friendly insults with Kara and kidded Adam about his talent for housework. He kept smiling at Rachel. She kept smiling at him.

Finally Adam announced that the room was fit for
human habitation, and Tony reached for his crutches. Adam hurried to support him as he swayed, and he shook his head ruefully. "I shouldn't have had that last drink. Thanks, Adam. I won't need any pills tonight, I'll sleep like the dead."

A shiver ran through Rachel's body. She looked down at her clasped hands.

"I'll go with our drunken friend and make sure he doesn't fall over," Kara said. "Back in a minute."

After they had gone out, Adam collapsed onto the sofa. "God. Now what are we going to do?"

"About what?"

"What do you mean, about what? The bed canopy is still lying on the floor, we've ruined an expensive piece of merchandise belonging to his wife, and we were planning to spend the whole day tomorrow carrying out mystic rites, complete with chanting. You can hear Pat chanting half a block away."

"Maybe you should call Pat."

"I already did, from the bedroom extension. He said not to worry, he'd think of something."

"I'm sure he will."

"Are you okay?" Adam reached for her hand. "You've been sitting around like a stuffed doll all evening."

She let her hand rest in his, neither responding nor rejecting. The others hadn't observed anything unusual in her behavior. She should have realized that Adam might. She had to reassure him, he was the only one who presented a threat. He hadn't drunk as much as Tony and Kara.

She shifted position, leaning back, kicking her shoes off and tucking her feet under her. The movement brought her head closer to his shoulder. "I'm so confused I can't think straight," she murmured. "Seeing him here was such a shock, and then he kept asking questions. I was afraid to
open my mouth for fear of saying the wrong thing." She laughed. "I almost lost it when he asked what we'd been doing to amuse ourselves."

Adam's worried frown smoothed out. "I know what you mean. My worst moment was when he said he'd sleep upstairs. I was remembering that bed canopy, which is still on the floor, and wondering how in God's name we could explain what happened. Thank God, Kara is a quick thinker."

"You weren't so slow either," she said softly. She drew her thumb slowly across his palm and felt his fingers tighten.

She had thought she would have more time, but Kara wasn't gone much longer than a minute. She threw herself into a chair and let out a long sigh. "So far so good. He's all tucked in and dead to the world, poor guy. He thinks my marriage is breaking up, which has him all upset, but he was too tired to lecture me tonight."

"I'm sorry," the other woman said.

"Stop apologizing and think. We need a plan. Pat was no help, he kept saying leave it to him. Smug son of a gun."

"My mind is an absolute blank," she said. "Maybe we should sleep on it."

"You do look tired," Kara said. "Go to bed. Adam, you'll have to take the rap for ruining the canopy; you could say you tripped and fell against it ... No? I guess it isn't very convincing. Oh, hell. Maybe we can come up with something brilliant tomorrow. I'm going to bed too. Alexander, where are you?"

Adam dragged him out from under the table and handed him over. "Where's the key to the workroom?" he asked.

Kara looked at him in surprise, and then laughed. "I forgot. Are you really going to give that quilt a milk bath?"

Adam stared back at her, his mouth set in a stubborn line. Kara shrugged. "I left the key in the lock. Maybe I'd better come with you."

"No need. I'll be careful."

"See that you are. And for God's sake try to get it off the line before Tony gets up, in case he looks out the window."

"
I
will." Adam's stiff pose relaxed. When he went on, Rachel knew he meant the words for her. "It won't do any harm, as we keep saying. Don't worry. We'll figure out what to do tomorrow."

She wasn't worried. There was no need to think about tomorrow. By tomorrow it would be over.

She lay still in the darkness, waiting. Waiting quietly, without impatience or urgency.

She had heard Adam come upstairs a short time ago. He had paused outside her door; seeing the light was out, hearing no sound from within, he had moved on. Give him an hour, she thought calmly. Or perhaps two hours. Long enough to fall deeply asleep. She was in no hurry.

The old woman had been right, there was no such thing as coincidence or accident. Every event, however random in appearance, formed part of a design too vast and too alien to be comprehended by limited human understanding. Events that were, on the surface, unimportant and meaningless—Rachel's choice of a thesis topic, Tony's decision to respond to a call he should never have answered— these and a dozen other strands in the web led inexorably toward a nexus in time, when the invisible hands of the weaver would draw the threads tight and complete the pattern. It had been predestinated and foreordained; their efforts to prevent the inevitable end had been as futile as the struggles of flies caught in a spider web.

In deadly patience she watched the illuminated numbers of the clock flash on and off. Two hours now since Adam had gone to his room. There had been no sound for over an hour. Time to get on with it.

She had taken off her shoes but had not undressed. Slowly she went to the door and eased it open. The hall light was on. The door of the room Kara occupied was closed. She had assumed it would be, because of the dog, and she didn't doubt that Kara was sound asleep. She had had quite a bit to drink. Adam was the problem. His door was ajar, as she had expected.

She stood in the open doorway listening and watching, until Adam's door edged a little farther open. Figgin squeezed his portly form through the opening and padded toward her. She had expected that too. Picking him up, she put him in her room and closed the door. The turkey sandwich she had brought upstairs would keep him quiet long enough. It wouldn't lake long.

She waited for another sixty seconds, counting them off, to make sure the cat's movement hadn't wakened Adam. Hearing nothing, she went to the stairs and descended them, placing each foot carefully on the outside of the tread to avoid a squeaking board.

There was no sound from the family room. The dogs wouldn't bark, they were accustomed to hearing people move around inside the house. One of the wall sconces was just outside Tony's room. That was all the light she would need.

The door squeaked slightly, but he didn't stir. She saw him more clearly than the dim glow should have allowed, as if another kind of light surrounded him. He was lying on his back, one arm across his chest, the other hanging limp off the bed. She stood looking at him for a moment, memorizing the features she would never see
again—the mouth relaxed in sleep, framed by the
cavalry-style
bravado of his mustache, the tousled golden hair, streaked with paler gold where the sun had bleached it...

Something buried deep in her mind whimpered and made a last frantic effort to fight free. "It's all right," she whispered, soothing it. "It will soon be over."

Her feet moved lightly and surely toward the wardrobe. The gun was there, where Kara had put it, on a high shelf. Sooner or later she would remember it and remove it, if Tony didn't find it first. Sooner rather than later—probably the following day. Kara wasn't usually careless about such things, but she had had a lot on her mind that evening. Tomorrow the gun would be gone. Another thread in the weaving . . .

Her fingers fumbled for a moment before they found the proper grip. Phil had insisted that Rachel handle the gun, had showed her how the safety worked and how to aim.

She heard him coming, though he could move quietly as a cat when he chose. She turned, without haste. It was too late, she was ready—arms extended, one hand bracing the other, the muzzle pointed at the sleeper's chest.

"Rachel!"

"Don't wake him," she said softly. "That would be cruel."

"I had a feeling ..." He lowered his voice; it was a deep, shaken sound, half-groan, half-whisper. "Mary Elizabeth wasn't the only one you—she—wanted to harm. It was his blood on that scrap in the quilt, wasn't it? One of the nail clippings too . . . Rachel—darling—can you hear me?"

"It's too late." The taste of salt on her parted lips . . . Someone was crying. The tears streaked down her cheeks but her hands were steady as stone. "You can't stop it now. Don't come any closer. I don't want to hurt you."

He was closer than she had realized, almost within
arm's reach—perhaps within his reach, his arms were longer than those of most people. The light from the hall fell across his face, scoring the harsh lines of it with deep shadows. The lines writhed, shifting, as he weighed the risks and tried to decide what to do.