To the Grave (31 page)

“I've been right here! Ed, this is Cathy Gray. Cathy is the one who—”

“Nice to meet you, Catherine,” Ed Webster interrupted loudly, linking his arm through his wife's and beginning to pull her away from the group. “Harold Sutpin and his wife are right over there, dear,” he said to Maud. “Let's go say hello.”

“I don't like Adele Sutpin! What I'm trying to tell you is—”

“Harold! Adele!” Ed called, and waved to a couple who had the unhappily surprised look of people who'd been caught when trying to hide. “Great night, isn't it?”

“Ed, what's wrong with you?” Maud snapped. “Cathy Gray found that dead woman last week. I wanted you to talk to her.” Ed Webster ignored his wife's protests as he guided her toward the hapless Sutpins, who seemed poised for a quick escape out the main door. They didn't make it.

“Do you think she was like that when Ed married her?” Catherine asked dryly.

Marissa and Patrice burst into laughter. “Isn't she awful? But Ed's nice and a very big deal with Star Air, so I have instructions from Lawrence to be extra-nice to him, which isn't hard,” Patrice told Catherine and Marissa. “He didn't say I have to be nice to Maud, though. I think I'll cut her off at the bar.”

“If Ed is important to Lawrence, I hope she doesn't report to him that I was rude,” Catherine said.

Patrice smiled. “You weren't rude and I don't think Ed would care if you were. According to Lawrence, Ed thinks you're an
absolute dream.
He's besotted.”

“He's just shell-shocked from living with Maud.”

Patrice laughed again. “Dear, self-deprecating Catherine. No wonder James loves you so much.” She peered over at Lawrence. “Oh, he's motioning to me. Someone else important to meet. Don't worry—fifteen more minutes of socializing and then we get to eat. I'm starving.”

Catherine looked at Marissa. “So far
too
bad?”

“I want to sit beside Maud,” Marissa said in a humorless, demanding voice. “I want her to be my new best friend.”

Catherine didn't crack a smile. “Monday morning I'm calling the best psychiatrist I know and setting up an appointment for you. Obviously, tonight has been too much for you and you've finally experienced a psychological break.”

The sisters looked seriously at each other before falling into another giggling fit. Catherine had dreaded having to come to the dinner without James, dragging poor Marissa along in his stead, certain she would be able only to worry about him through the festivities. She hadn't even counted on being put through the wringer by Maud Webster. Still, thanks to Marissa, as the evening wore on Catherine found herself having fun with her little sister as her “date.”

The next two hours were a whirl of excellent food, toasts, and best wishes to the bride and groom. Catherine had been nervous about her speech. She was maid of honor, but she was neither a relative nor a longtime friend of Patrice. Nevertheless, she delivered a brief address Marissa later pronounced “genial and warm without being sentimental.” Catherine was beyond pleased, considering her sister was the family expert at writing and hadn't contributed a word to the piece. Ian gave a longer, eloquent speech, full of affection for his father and Patrice and joy that they would be “wife and husband.” As Ian raised his glass of champagne to the couple, his father smiled and Catherine spotted a tear slipping down Patrice's cheek.

“Eric and James would have enjoyed this,” Catherine said wistfully to Marissa halfway through the dinner.

“Not as much as they would have at another time.” Catherine knew Marissa was referring to all that had happened in the past week. “I know I'm being selfish, but I worry about how all of this will affect Eric's campaign.”

“He's doing a fine job of investigating,” Catherine said.

Marissa smiled. “All most people know is that he hasn't found—” She broke off, coloring slightly.

“The killer.” Catherine smiled. “You don't have to walk on eggshells with me.”

“I know. I just didn't want to bring up anything unpleasant tonight.”

“Unpleasant?”

“Okay. Gruesome.” Marissa laughed and Catherine went on. “Maybe recent
events
might hurt Eric's chances of being elected sheriff, although he doesn't have a stellar opponent, but everyone knows about his great performance on the Philadelphia police force and that he was the person Mitch Farrell hoped would succeed him as sheriff. Mitch was highly respected and, sometimes I think more importantly,
liked
in Aurora Falls.” Catherine paused. “Besides, Eric is young, and if he doesn't win this election I think he has time to try running again.”

“First that great speech to the bride and groom, and now this pep talk to me,” Marissa said, grinning. “Catherine, you're on fire tonight!”

Catherine looked around, pleased to see that everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. As the evening wore on, they seemed to be enjoying themselves more and more. She saw Lawrence knock over a glass of wine. So smoothly most people wouldn't have noticed, Patrice righted the glass and laid her napkin over the wet tablecloth, then went on talking and laughing without the slightest change in her happy expression. Although Lawrence didn't act as if he'd drunk too much, he didn't seem aware of what he'd done. In the years Catherine had known Lawrence Blakethorne, she'd never seen him have more than a couple of drinks. Tonight, though, was a very special occasion and both his color and his spirits were obviously running high.

Shortly afterward, though, Patrice yawned and then drew attention to her sleepiness by laughing and acting as if she were trying to swallow yet another yawn. “Pardon me!” she said loudly. “I'm usually able to hold my own later than this, but I have a big day tomorrow.”

“The wedding isn't until tomorrow evening,” someone called good-naturedly. “You can sleep late!”

“Oh, I never sleep late.” She looked fondly at Lawrence. “And I'm sure I won't be able to sleep late on my wedding day!”

People took the hint. A few glanced at watches to see that it was nearly eleven o'clock. The food and drink had made them drowsy, and Patrice's remark about her wedding day had reminded them that they would be attending a much bigger celebration tomorrow. Almost as if a gong had sounded signaling “leaving time,” people began to shift in their chairs, leave the dining room for what Catherine guessed to be one last stop at the restroom, and approach Patrice and Lawrence to say good night and make assurances that they could hardly wait for the wedding, which they knew would be beautiful.

Catherine and Marissa were slowly making their way toward Patrice and Lawrence when Marissa suddenly grabbed Catherine's arm. “Oh my God, there's Maud Webster.” Catherine looked at the woman whose small, drooping eyes widened at the sight of them. “She's going to ask more questions about Renée,” Catherine hissed.

“What will we do?”

“We will be rude and simply run for the door. Patrice and Lawrence won't be offended. Lawrence is so tired he looks ready to drop on the floor.” Marissa signaled to Tom, pointing to the door, and pulled on Catherine's arm. “Come on! She's gaining on us!”

By the time they reached the door of the dining room, Catherine felt giddy from Marissa's hurried, giggling flight toward the main entrance to the Larke Inn. The three of them burst out the front doors and hurried down the five steps leading from the sweeping veranda to the wide sidewalk.

“It's freezing,” Catherine complained.

“So you're glad we didn't bring my convertible.”

“If we had, I think you would have sense enough to put up the top and turn on the heater. Still, I like my cozy white sedan.”

“Which I see about twenty feet ahead of us. Gosh, Catherine, you have a midsize car, but the rear end is sticking out past any of the big cars.”

“You know I'm not good at judging distance,” Catherine said edgily. “Besides, I'm not blocking anyone.”

“But you've had that car for three years. Haven't you learned to park correctly
yet
?”

Catherine turned on her. “Do you want to walk home?”

“No.”

“Then for
once
be quiet about my bad driving.”

“Okay. Sorry.” Marissa paused. “And sorry for being
sorry.
I just can't suit you tonight.”

“I'm worn-out and my head is killing me.”

“You always get fussy when you're tired,” Marissa said as if Catherine were a little child. “Besides, if you'd left me, I would have had Tom drive me home.”

Catherine shook her head. “I don't know how Eric puts up with you.”

“Oh, but he does.”

Catherine had not locked her car and she swung open the driver's side door, blinking as the interior lights snapped to life. “Well, it's a miracle, that's all I have to say—” She went stone still. “Tom?”

“What is it, Dr. Gray?” the young deputy asked immediately, reaching for his gun.

“The seat. Look at my seat.”

As Tom bent to look in, Marissa stepped back from the car. “What?” she demanded. “What's on your seat?”

Catherine shuddered. “I think it's the mask Renée was wearing in
Mardi Gras Lady.
”

 

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

1

“That
woman
has been clattering around in Mary's room for the last two hours! I can't stand it!”

Dana Nordine stared at her handsome if frazzled-looking husband for almost a full minute before she answered in a soft, even voice. “That
woman's
name is Ms. Greene. She's the nurse I hired. Mary is coming home after major surgery today, in case you've forgotten. Ms. Greene is preparing Mary's room.”

“Will she leave as soon as Mary gets home?”

“No, Ken, she will be staying for at least three days. Full-time.”

“Three days
and
nights?”

Dana took a deep breath, trying to hold on to her patience. “Mary could have problems in the night as well as in the day.”

“Well, if she has problems at night can't you just call an ambulance?”

“I could, but that's not what I want to do.” Dana and Ken stood outside Mary's hospital room. A nurse was talking to her, asking the five-year-old for suggestions as to how her panties, robe, house slippers, stuffed dog, and precious though wilting “get well” flowers were to be arranged for the trip home. Dana could hear the little girl's voice, louder than usual with excitement, but still took Ken's arm and pulled him a few feet farther down the corridor out of Mary's earshot. “Mary is your child, Ken. I hope you feel the same way I do—that she deserves the very best care. After all, it isn't as if we can't afford to have a private-duty nurse for three days.” She paused. “Or is she already coming on to you?”

“Coming on to me!” Ken looked horrified. “She's at least seventy and she has a nose like a pig's. I've never seen such big nostrils in my life!”

Dana glared at him for a moment before her lips began to twitch and she bent over, laughing. “Honestly, Ken, you are the only man I know who is more concerned with a medical person's looks than her expertise.” Ken glared at her indignantly until she wiped the tears of laughter from her face and managed to look at him halfway seriously. “Ms. Greene will only be with us for three days and you don't even have to look at her if you find her so physically repugnant. The doctor highly recommended her; she has excellent credentials; she's supposed to be a regular pied piper with children—they love her.”

“Oh, I don't care about her credentials. I mean, I'm sure they're fine. She must be good enough at her job to look after a kid getting over a simple appendectomy.”

“Then what is your problem today? You look like you found out someone stole one of your father's paintings.”

“Actually, I sold a painting this morning. A very expensive painting, but…” The indignant look faded from Ken's face to be replaced with one of near despair. “Bridget
still
hasn't turned up! No call, no text.”

No sex, Dana almost said, but now was not the time for an argument. “Have you driven past her house?”

Dana knew he would have, but she'd decided to play along as if she gave a damn about Bridget Fenmore, at least until she could get Mary home and settled.

“Yes. A couple of times.” More like twenty, Dana thought. “There's no sign of her. The mail and newspapers are piling up.”

“What about her car?”

“What about it?”

“Is her car around?”

“Yes. It's in the garage.” His eyes shifted away guiltily. “I looked in the garage window and saw it.”

Dana had been to Bridget's tiny house once and knew the garage had no window. Ken had a key to the house and he'd used it, going inside to search for Bridget or any sign of her, Dana thought. In order to see Bridget's car, he must have glanced through the door leading from the house to the garage. “Have you called her parents?”

“I don't know where her parents live. They might even be dead. She never mentions them.”

“The information might be on her application form. However, after you got a look at her during the interview, I don't suppose you spent much time studying her application.”

Ken's jaw tightened. “It seems to me you've gotten damned cocky lately, Dana. What's behind this new tone of yours?”

“Nothing I care to discuss with you.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes, really. What about her friends?” Ken looked blank. “Have you talked to any of Bridget's friends?”

“What makes you think I'd know who her friends are?” Ken asked defensively. “She's just our employee. We don't socialize with her.”