Truly, Madly (19 page)

TWENTY-TWO

If there was sainthood for patience, I'd have achieved the status by now.

Sean and I were in his car, going 75 miles per hour southbound on I-95.

I'd been with him for nearly five hours straight, and he hadn't brought up his scar once.

Sean had picked me up early, and we'd confined Thoreau to my kitchen so Grendel could taunt him from atop the refrigerator. Then we'd driven to the storage unit to look through Rachel's belongings. Now we were on our way to Rhode Island to see Elena . . . not a word.

I should just ask.

But I wanted him to tell me, to share.

''You're quiet,'' he said.

''Just thinking.''

''About Rachel?''

''Yeah,'' I lied.

''She didn't have much, did she?''

The storage unit had been smaller than I would have thought. All her belongings had been neatly boxed and labeled. There had been very little—a small dinette set with two chairs, a couch, a full-sized bed and frame, a couple of end tables, a thirteen-inch TV set, and a chunky coffee table. Three boxes held her clothes. A fourth contained assorted kitchen things. Personal items had been packed into one small box.

Within a jewelry box lay a couple pairs of cheap earrings, a gold bracelet, and a heart-shaped locket that held two pictures, a man and a woman, who I assumed—based on the conversation with Marilyn yesterday—were Rachel's parents.

Traffic slowed on the highway. I'd taken this route many times with Raphael to see the Pawtucket Red Sox play at McCoy Stadium. Elena didn't live far from the field, on a picturesque side road dotted every half mile with 1950s-style ranch houses and lined with tall maple trees. The only drawback to the neighborhood was the commuter train track that ran behind the houses.

Elena's house was the last on the street, a dead end. Trimmed hedges formed a natural L-shaped fence that followed the shared property line with the closest neighbor and also blocked the view of the train tracks at the rear of the property. The other side of the yard dead-ended into a six-foot-tall wooden fence separating the yard from a thick copse of woods, probably to protect the nicely landscaped yard from hungry deer.

There was a Honda Civic parked in the stone driveway. As we walked up the cobbled path to the door, the Providence commuter train shrieked past, headed to South Station in Boston. The earth quaked.

My legs were shaking a little, too. Mostly because I didn't know what to expect from Elena Hart. I also noticed Sean had brought his gun with him today. I, apparently, wasn't the only one nervous.

Sean rang the doorbell.

The house had been freshly painted in a cool shade of yellow. Green shutters bracketed the front picture window. Freshly swept steps and two planters of potted mums welcomed us. Everything was neat, tidy. Perfect.

The door opened. A woman peered out. Sleek blonde hair fell in waves, framing her oval face. Dark blue eyes narrowed. ''Yes?''

''Elena Hart?'' Sean asked.

With a wary smile, she said, ''Actually, it's Delancey now.''

''I'm Sean Donahue, a private investigator, and this is Lucy Valentine.'' He passed her a business card. ''If you wouldn't mind, we'd like to ask you a few questions about Rachel Yurio.''

Elena's eyes widened. ''Rachel? I haven't seen Rachel in,'' she paused, ''probably five or six years now. Wow, what a blast from the past.''

Sean said, ''Do you mind if we come in?''

Stepping aside, she held the door open in invitation. She wore dark jeans, a pink cable-knit sweater. Barefoot, her footsteps didn't make a sound on the oak floor. Her toenails were painted a sedate pale pink.

She wasn't as I had imagined her—hard and rough around the edges. A badass mean girl. I supposed everyone grew up sometime.

''Not at all, but I can't imagine I have any information useful to you. Like I said, it's been a long time. What exactly are you investigating?''

Sean and I glanced at each other. She didn't know. Or was pretending she didn't know.

The most had been made of the small living room. Two cushy love seats faced each other, a glass-topped coffee table sandwiched between them. A brick fireplace was fronted with a wrought-iron screen. Creamy gold colored the walls. Several photos of Elena with a dark-haired man and two babies, a boy and a girl, decorated the mantel, and there had to be a dozen framed pictures of children's artwork hanging on the wall. It was a cozy room, friendly and welcoming. The furniture, the art, the photos—all were such a far cry from what Rachel had possessed. It was a depressing comparison.

''Cute kids,'' I said. ''How old?''

''Two and three. They're at the park right now with their dad,'' she added. Twisting her wedding band, she glanced at the sofa. ''Please sit down.''

On guard I sat in the love seat facing the picture window. Sean sank down next to me. I cleared my throat. ''Rachel had been missing for years. Her body was found a couple of days ago. She'd been murdered and buried in Great Esker Park.''

Elena's hand shot to her mouth to cover a gasp. She sat on the opposite love seat and stared at us. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. ''And you're here why? You think I did it?''

''Interesting you'd jump to that conclusion,'' Sean said.

''It's not a hard leap, Mr. Donahue. I wasn't exactly a pillar of the community in my youth. And the last I saw Rachel, we had a huge fight—it's been almost six years to the day I last saw her. It's a logical jump to make. If you've tracked me down, someone must have told you about me. Maybe even about the fight Rachel and I had. There were quite a lot of witnesses.''

''Did you kill her?'' Sean threw out.

Her eyes widened, and she shook her head.

I took another route. ''You're a social worker now?''

She gave a sad smile. ''Talk about leaps, right?''

I nodded.

''That day I walked out on Rachel, I knew I had to change, that she was right.''

''About what?'' I asked.

''That I was a worthless human being.''

Harsh, I thought.

''And I was. I decided then and there to change. I moved to Providence, went back to school. I met my husband, Mark, not too long after. I haven't looked back.''

''You never wanted to show Rachel that you changed?'' I asked, relaxing a bit. There was nothing threatening about Elena Hart at all. Had she really changed? ''You didn't try to contact her in all these years? She was your childhood best friend, stuck with you through thick and thin. Didn't you think she'd be happy for you?''

She leaned forward, bracing her elbows on her knees. ''I thought about it a time or two, but figured it was for the best I didn't. I'd come a long way in terms of changing my life. I work part-time with a nonprofit adoption agency; I have the kids, my husband. I volunteer in the community every chance I get. I figured if I went back and Rachel was doing better than me, then I might feel inferior, that I could never be good enough to meet her high standards, and start slipping into that worthless person I used to be.''

''Yet Rachel wasn't perfect. She had an arrest record. She was your partner in crime,'' Sean said.

Elena winced. ''I suppose I deserve that. Rachel was a follower, Mr. Donahue. She was so intent on changing my ways, she went along with whatever I said and did to make sure I didn't get myself into too much trouble. And sometimes that backfired on her.''

My knee brushed Sean's leg, sending a sizzle clear up my spine.

''We're trying to gather as much information as we can to turn over to the police,'' I said. ''Michael Lafferty is the prime suspect in the case.''

''Michael? Why?''

''Motivation is a little fuzzy,'' I said, not moving my knee. I liked the sizzle.

I left out the part about me finding Rachel's body, which in turn implicated Michael. I didn't want to dwell.

She frowned. ''I'm sure you already know I had an infatuation with Michael Lafferty. One I'm not proud of. One thing I know for sure—Michael wouldn't hurt anyone. He's not the type.''

''Did Rachel have any other enemies?''

She shook her head.

''No old boyfriends?''

''She was always too busy working or trying to keep me in line.''

''Rachel was found wearing the engagement ring Michael had given to Jennifer Thompson. Do you have any idea why she'd have the ring?''

Elena's head dropped. ''Because of me.''

''How?'' I asked.

''I'm so ashamed. I've tried to contact Jennifer several times to apologize and tell her the truth, but I can't find her. Her family won't tell me where she is.''

I didn't blame them a bit.

''The truth?'' Sean asked. ''About what?''

Taking a deep breath, she said, ''Michael and I were never intimate. He passed out one night from drinking too much, and I had Rachel take a few snapshots that made it look like he and I had been together. I showed them to Jennifer and that's what caused their breakup.'' She pressed her fingers against the bridge of her nose. ''I was horrible. Just horrible.''

I didn't disagree. And it was nice to get confirmation of the story Michael had told me—that he had stayed faithful to Jennifer.

''Let's just say I intercepted Michael's mail one day.''

''You stole his mail?'' I asked.

''Yeah, I did. When I saw it was from Jennifer, I couldn't help myself. The ring was inside. On the spur of the moment, I took it.''

''How did it end up with Rachel?'' Sean asked.

''I left it in the apartment when I moved out. I figured she'd get it back to Michael. Obviously she didn't get the chance.''

The explanation made sense but still didn't cover why the ring had been on Rachel's finger.

''What happened to Jennifer's cat?'' I asked, not sure why I had to know.

Her eyes slowly fluttered closed. They reopened, bright and shiny. She held up a finger, then walked out of the room. She came back a minute later holding an overfed tabby cat. ''His name is Mikey,'' she said, rolling her eyes. ''As a tribute to Michael. I was going to return him to Jennifer, too, but like I said—''

Sean cut in. ''You couldn't find her.''

She nodded.

I was relieved the cat hadn't been hurt. But I suddenly questioned whether Elena had been as dangerous as she came across. Were hers empty threats? Or was she really a sociopath in disguise?

I leaned forward. ''Can I ask you a question?''

''I guess.''

''You have a trinket box that belonged to Rachel.''

Suspicion clouded her eyes. ''How do you know about the box?''

I ignored her. ''How did you get it? It was given to Rachel by a family friend—a sentimental item. Rachel would never give it away.''

''You're wrong about that,'' she said, chin raised. The cat hopped out of her arms, trotted away. ''She gave it me. It was my twenty-first birthday, and she couldn't afford a present. She wanted me to have it.''

I couldn't think of another question. I looked at Sean, who stood. ''I wouldn't be surprised if you heard from the Massachusetts State Police soon,'' he said, pulling open the screen door. ''You have my card if you think of anything else.''

I added, ''Like if you can think of anyone who would want to do Rachel any harm.''

She stood in the doorway, a frown tugging the corners of her mouth downward. ''I've been thinking. I can't think of anyone except . . .''

I paused on the top step, looked back at her. ''Who?''

''The only person who truly hated Rachel was . . .''

It suddenly hit me. ''Jennifer Thompson.''

Slowly, Elena nodded. ''She hated us both. With good reason.''

Marilyn Flynn was waiting for Sean and me.

As soon as I knocked, she quickly pulled open the door. ''Come in, come in,'' she offered.

''We can't stay,'' I said, holding out the storage key. It had been a long day, and I wanted to go home.

I couldn't stop thinking about Jennifer Thompson. What if she had kept a low profile because she was living in fear? Not of Elena but of being found out. What if she was guilty of killing Rachel?

Was that why her parents were protecting her, too? From murder charges?

''Did you find anything amidst Rachel's belongings that will help the investigation?''

I shook my head. ''Not really.''

''Did you find the trinket box?'' Marilyn asked, her eyes hopeful.

''Yes and no,'' I said.

She cocked her head in confusion.

''The box wasn't in storage. Elena has it.''

''Elena?''

''She claims Rachel gave it to her for her twenty-first birthday. Do you know if that's true?''

Marilyn's face fell in disappointment. ''I don't know. I simply cannot believe Rachel would give the box away.'' Tears welled in her eyes. ''How could she?''

''I don't know,'' I said softly, wondering if Elena had in fact stolen it. ''I'm sorry.''

''It would have been nice to have the box back, but if it's Elena's now, it's Elena's.''

''Maybe you can ask for it back,'' I said. ''She would probably understand.''

''I could never!'' Marilyn shook her head. Soft white hair trembled.

''I'm sorry. We should go.'' I nudged Sean. ''Thank you, Miss Flynn, for your help. I wish we could have been of more help. I hope this situation will be resolved soon.''

She smiled grimly, as if knowing resolution would not bring any peace to her or to Ruth Ann Yurio.

As Sean and I walked to his car, he reached out to hold my hand.

Images rolled in front of my eyes lazily, and I closed my eyes against the vertigo as my body swayed.

He pulled his hand away, steadied me. ''Sorry, I forgot that happens. What did you see?'' he asked flirtatiously.

My heart beat crazily in my chest as if it was running scared. Can't say I blamed it. Not after what I'd seen.

''Lucy?'' He nudged my chin. ''What did you see?''

I swallowed hard. ''You and me in bed.''

''I like the sounds of that. Why the frown?''

''It was a hospital bed.''

TWENTY-THREE

Sean had been noticeably silent since I told him of my vision. We were almost to my cottage, and I had to admit the images I'd seen had freaked me out as well.

''Are you okay?'' I finally asked.

''I'm fine.''

I drew in a deep breath. I didn't like not knowing where we stood with each other. I didn't like not being able to speak my mind or to ask him questions without getting vague answers.

Maybe Cupid's Curse was already at work.

Which made me that much crankier.

I hated that curse.

I drew in a deep breath, trying to put it out of my mind. Streetlights came on as dusk fell. I pulled out my cell phone, checked the screen to see if my parents had called. If they had, I wouldn't know—my batteries were dead.

I shoved the phone back into my bag, chastising myself for not charging it, and focused my attention out the window.

7 times 6 is 42.

144 minus 24 is 120.

99 plus 99 is 198.

297 times 3 is . . .

I frowned, trying to calculate in my head, for some inexplicable reason getting stuck on what 9 times 3 was. I huffed.

''Are you angry?'' Sean asked.

''Yes.''

He laughed.

''What's so funny?''

''You. Most women would have passively-aggressively answered that question.''

''I'm not most women.''

''So I'm learning. Are you mad at me?''

''Yes.''

He winced.

''And at my parents, and at Preston Bailey, and at Michael Lafferty, and at the numbers nine and three.''

Taking his eyes off the road, he glanced at me. ''Nine and three?''

''Don't ask.''

''And you're mad at me, why?''

I shifted to face him. ''You're a clammer.''

''A clammer?''

''It's what Marisol, Em, and I call guys who don't share. They clam up, leaving us guessing, leaving us to invent how they may or may not be feeling.''

''Could I at least be a fried clam? I don't like them steamed.''

I punched his arm.

''Hey!''

''Avoiding is just another tactic a clammer uses. You won't tell me about your scar, and you're bothered by the vision I had, and won't tell me why. Is my being psychic a problem for you?''

He pressed his lips together. The flash of oncoming headlights highlighted the inner debate raging in his eyes.

Finally, he said, ''It has nothing to do with you, Lucy. I'm amazed by the ability you have.''

''Then what is it?''

''I hate hospitals.'' He tapped the steering wheel with his thumb as he turned onto Route 3A. ''When you said you saw us in a hospital bed it . . .'' He shuddered. ''I hate hospitals, so it would have to be something serious to get me there.''

''The scar?'' I asked.

''About a year ago, while I was still with the fire department, I was on scene at a car fire. One minute I was pulling a hose; the next I was being rushed to the hospital. My heart had stopped. I blacked out. The guys on the scene had to shock me back to life.'' He passed a slow-moving hatchback. ''The doctors ran test after test. None of the news was good. I was diagnosed with cardiomyopathy, specifically ventricular tachycardia—a dangerous arrhythmia. The only way to keep me alive was to implant a defibrillator just under my collarbone. Electrical leads are attached to my heart, keeping me alive.''

I longed to reach out, hold his hand, comfort him, but the last thing I wanted was to see the images of us in a hospital bed again.

''My life changed that day. I changed. I was a firefighter and suddenly I couldn't be. I was athletic, but now sports could kill me. My whole identity changed. Cara couldn't deal with my mortality any more than I could, so that started falling apart. Sam's the only one who seems to understand me, but even he treats me with kid gloves. And now that you know, you'll probably do the same.''

''Are you okay now?''

''I have limitations, a hell of a scar, and have to see cardiologists every so often, but other than that . . .''

Yeah, other than that. ''I won't treat you any differently.''

''Yes, you will.''

''No,'' I protested.

''I don't want to be another stray you take in and rehabilitate.''

''You'd rather be euthanized?'' I joked.

''You know what I mean.''

I sobered. ''Yes, I do. I'll do my absolute best not to treat you any differently than I have been. I promise I won't even think twice the next time I ask you to dig up a body.''

He laughed. ''I'm going to hold you to that, Lucy.'' He paused a beat. ''I've been thinking. What I want to know is what we were doing in the same hospital bed and whose bed was it? Mine or yours?''

''I don't know. You took your hand away before I saw the whole picture. I have a feeling there are some things better off not known.''

''Do these visions scare you?'' he asked.

''The unknown scares me. I don't know why I see visions of our future. It doesn't fit with what I've known most of my life.''

Flashbulbs split the air like lightning as we turned into Aerie's private drive.

Reporters crowded the car. Sean steered steadily, while I tried not to look at any one thing in particular.

I would have thought the media would have abandoned post by now. Surely something else in this world was more exciting than my life.

Shouting filtered through the window. Questions about Max, could I see if the Patriots would win the SuperBowl, if my father knew about my ability.

The crowd closed in on the car. Someone off to the side caught my attention. My heart jumped into my throat, beat crazily. I craned my neck, but the person had disappeared. A tall woman, her long brown hair pulled back into a ponytail that spilled out of a ball cap. She looked a lot like Melissa Antonelli. Had it been her . . . or her look-alike sister, Jennifer?

Either way, what was she doing here?

''What's wrong?'' Sean asked.

I took a deep breath. ''Nothing.'' Were my eyes playing tricks? It
had
been a long day. A long, enlightening day.

As Sean pulled up to my cottage, I said, ''I'm amused by the irony.''

''Of?''

''Us. Here I am, a commitment-phobic matchmaker who's—'' I caught myself before saying ''falling for.'' Nothing like tempting Cupid's Curse. Or the Fates.

''Who's what?''

''Who's with a man with a broken heart. Literally.''

He dropped his head back and laughed. ''Thank you, Lucy.''

''For what?''

''For not tiptoeing around the heart talk. Nobody . . . no one talks about it. Ever.''

''I don't know any better,'' I said, shrugging. ''So if I offend at some point, just let me know.''

My front door opened, the light from inside framing Dovie's graceful silhouette.

''She's probably put rose petals on the bed and has champagne chilling,'' I quipped, opening my door. ''Baby booties have probably already been ordered.''

''She's not knitting them herself?''

I laughed until tears flowed at the thought of Dovie knitting.

''What's so funny?'' Dovie demanded as we walked up the flagstone path.

''You. Knitting.''

Thoreau bounded out of the house, yapping and prancing around Sean's feet. Sean bent and scooped him up.

Dovie laughed. ''That's a good one.''

She air-kissed our cheeks. ''I came by to walk the pup. Noticed you hadn't been home all day. I'd have made dinner, but didn't know when you'd get back. You're not answering your phone.''

''The batteries are dead,'' I said, pulling my phone out to recharge. Grendel sauntered around the couch, his tail straight in the air. He bypassed me completely and went straight to Sean, who'd sat down, Thoreau in his lap.

This was a first. Usually Grendel attached himself to me immediately.

''Your cat's in love,'' Dovie said. ''Doesn't take a matchmaker to see that.''

''What?''

''Look.''

Grendel inched his way along the back of the chair, down the arm, and sidled into the crook of Sean's arm, where he lovingly tapped Thoreau's ear, purring.

''Species
and
gender confused,'' Dovie said. She gave me a hug and headed for the door. ''I'll let you two lovebirds be. There's champagne in the fridge. Enjoy!''

Sean said, ''No rose petals?''

''Pardon?'' Dovie asked.

He smirked. ''Nothing.''

Dovie pulled open the door. ''Oh, LucyD, your parents called me. They couldn't reach you.''

''They called! When?''

She waved a hand. ''Earlier. They're on their way back. Should be in sometime tomorrow.''

It was as though a weight had been lifted.

Dovie blew us a kiss. ''Ciao!''

''I've got to get back to Sam's,'' Sean said. ''He's due home later, and he'll be wondering why my stuff is at his house.''

''Not to mention the mysterious stains on the dining room carpet.''

''Those, too.''

An awkward silence filled the space between us. He rose and tugged me to him.

My heart beat wildly as he looked me in the eye, lowered his head, and kissed me.

It felt so right, being with him. Why was I fighting against it? Why not give in and simply enjoy? Dance that dance? At least for a little while. What harm could that do?

We tumbled backward onto the couch, kissing, touching, exploring. I loved every minute of it.

When we broke for a breath, Sean said, ''I should go.''

I didn't want him to go. Yet . . . if he stayed, that might be the beginning of the end of us.

''Lucy? I should go?''

Reluctantly, I nodded.

He gave me one more earth-shattering kiss that promised more could be had if I'd just say yes. Tears clouded my eyes.

I rested my head on his shoulder. ''What are we to each other? Does it even need a definition?''

''I don't know,'' he said, running his hand through my hair. ''We're something.''

''I have commitment issues,'' I said in a rush.

His eyes shone with humor. ''Noted.''

''I just felt the need to warn you.''

''Consider me warned.'' The corner of his mouth lifted in a faint smile. ''I guess that saves me my ‘I can't make any promises' speech.''

I should be happy about that. Oddly, I wasn't.

He dipped his head and caught my bottom lip between his teeth, released it. ''How about we take it slowly?''

I lifted my chin, pressing my hungry lips to his. ''Some things should be savored?'' I said between pressing my lips to his.

''Exactly.''

''I like the sound of it.''

''Me, too, Lucy.''

Our bodies molded to each other. I was all for slowing down. Some things shouldn't be rushed.

As my toes curled, I tried to let all my thoughts go, just enjoy the wonderful kiss, the way I felt as though with him I'd come home.

But in the back of my mind I couldn't let go of the worry. About losing him. Now not only because of Cupid's Curse but also because of his heart.

I tried to block it out. Dance the dance, I reminded myself, wrapping my arms around his neck.

A loud purring broke us apart. Grendel was licking Thoreau's face.

''I think my cat is molesting your dog.''

Sean laughed. ''Thoreau doesn't seem to mind.''

''It's not going to be pretty when you two leave.''

''You're going to miss me that much?'' Sean teased.

Truth was, yeah.

But I'd see him tomorrow at work. After I stopped in to see Aiden. And met with Marshall Betancourt. I didn't want to think about Elena or Michael or Rachel or Jennifer. I wanted to forget I was even involved in that case.

Except . . . Marilyn. I couldn't stop thinking about the trinket box. She couldn't ask for that box back . . . but I could.

As Sean went in search of Thoreau's leash, I rummaged through my bag for Elena's address and phone number. I borrowed Sean's phone since mine was charging and the house phone was still disconnected.

''You're calling Elena?'' he asked, leash in hand.

I explained about the box.

His gaze softened.

''Don't look at me like that,'' I said, dialing.

''How's that?''

''Like I'm a big sap.''

Elena answered on the third ring. Kids squealed with happiness in the background. I explained why I was calling.

''So you'd like me to give the box back to Marilyn?'' she said.

''It would mean a lot to her.'' I watched Sean trying to get Thoreau away from Grendel.

There was a long pause on the phone. ''It's the least I can do for Marilyn. It means much more to her than it does to me.''

''That's great! She's going to be thrilled. Do you mind if I pick it up? I wouldn't trust it not to get broken in the mail.''

''Not at all. Tomorrow morning?'' she ventured.

Grendel hissed at Sean. I covered the phone and made kissy noises, but Grendel ignored me. ''I can't in the morning.''

''I work Monday evenings; how about lunchtime?''

''Sounds great. Thank you again,'' I said.

As soon as I hung up, I slipped the phone back into Sean's pocket, letting my hand linger.

''Keep doing that and I won't be going anywhere,'' he said.

''What are you suggesting?''

''You know exactly what I'm suggesting.'' In case I forgot, he whispered it in my ear, making my knees weak.

''That, Mr. Donahue, can't be good for your heart.''

He slowly backed away, toward the door.

''Maybe not, but it would be a good way to go.''