Copycat (27 page)

It was about her.

And it was healing.

“We had the same beliefs. About life, its beauty and sanctity, about the afterlife. About the things that truly mattered. Love. Family. Faith.”

As she spoke, memories came flooding back. Good ones. Of times she hadn't thought about in years.

Of laughter. Making love. Sharing their successes. And fears. Celebrating the birth of their daughter. Of Joe's hand curled around hers as the doctor informed them Sadie had leukemia.

Memories she had locked away, in a strongbox deep inside her. Why was that? How had she allowed the pain to swallow the joy? Bad memories to overshadow good?

Thunder rumbled again, sounding closer this time. The leaves began to rustle. She shivered.

“So what happened?” he asked. “When did your dreams change?”

“What?” she asked, surprised.

“You had the same dreams and beliefs. And you loved him. Why did it all change?”

She'd
changed, she realized. Her dreams, her beliefs.

“Because Sadie died,” she said softly. “I lost faith. The ability to dream. To love.”

“Yes,” he said. “Life is cruel. It preys on the weak. The idealistic. Those who love deeply. Better to crush than be crushed.”

“No,” she said, “you're wrong.”

“Am I, Kitten?”

“And I was wrong. To give up. To turn away from love.”

“I think I'm going to puke.”

Tears filled her eyes. Ones of joy. She had loved Joe from the first.

She loved him still.

She told him so.

He laughed. “You're a fool. He's engaged to another woman. He doesn't love you.”

“Only a fool doesn't love.” The rain started then, a drop, then sprinkle.
The heavens preparing to open up.

“The name,” she said. “I gave you what you wanted. It's your turn. Who's the Copycat?”

“Look at the victims again. The victims are talking to you.”

“No! That's not—”

He hung up. A crack of thunder shook her. She jumped to her feet, grabbed the bag and darted onto her porch just as the sky unleashed a flood.

Shivering, she watched the rain. He'd played her for a fool again. Tricked her into doing what he wanted, giving her what he wanted.

Kitt unlocked her door, stepped into the dark house. She still had the latex gloves on, she realized. She set the paper bag containing the bagged lock of hair and the phone on the top of her console, then removed the gloves.

She curled her fingers around the empty gloves, a laugh bubbling to her lips. He had tricked her, but she had won.

He'd given her something she had been unable to give herself.

Forgiveness. Healing.

Love.

Her thoughts filled with Joe. Her heart filled. She looked at the phone, started toward it. No. She had to apologize. For today. Yesterday. Everything.

She had to beg his forgiveness.

Snatching up her keys, she ran out into the storm.

Tuesday, March 21, 2006
1:30 a.m.

T
he rain came down in blinding sheets. Kitt pulled into Joe's driveway, threw open the car door and darted for the house. Already wet, she was drenched by the time she reached his door.

With the storm, the temperature had dropped. Her teeth chattered. Her hands and feet were numb.

She didn't care about the rain. Or the cold. Only Joe. Sharing what she had learned tonight. Begging his forgiveness. Even if it was too late for them to make another start, he deserved her apology.

She had been so wrong. About everything.

She rang the bell, then pounded on his door. “Joe!” she shouted. “It's me! Kitt!”

The house remained dark. She rang the bell again. And again. “Joe! Open up!”

A light snapped on inside. Then above her head. He peered out the sidelight. She nearly cried out in relief when she saw his face.

“Let me in! I have to talk to you!”

He opened the door and she stumbled inside. “I had to tell you,” she cried. “Now. Tonight.”

He recoiled slightly. She supposed she would, too, if a crazy person was pounding on her door in the middle of the night, soaking wet and wild-eyed.

“About the case?” he asked.

The case?
She blinked, confused, then realized that of course he thought that. He had spent most of his day either being interrogated or watching his home and business be searched.

“No.” She shook her head. “This is about me. And you.” She clasped her hands together. “I'm sorry. For pushing you away. For shutting down after Sadie died. You needed me and instead I—”

She broke down and sobbed. In the way she hadn't allowed herself to before now. After several moments, he drew her stiffly into his arms.

She clung to him until her tears stopped. “I'm sorry,” she said, taking a step back.

“Don't worry about it.”

She swiped at tears with the back of her hands. “I didn't cry after Sadie. Instead I drowned myself in the Sleeping Angel investigation. When I didn't have that anymore, I turned to the bottle.”

She drew a tear-choked breath. “If I didn't grieve, I didn't have to let go.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I could have turned to you. I should have. I see that now.”

“Water under the bridge.”

“No, Joe, it's not. I still love you. I'm still
in
love with you.”

For long moments, he simply gazed at her. What was he feeling? she wondered, unable to read his expression. Was he angry? Happy? Relieved? Annoyed?

Or after all this time, did he feel nothing at all?

Tears welled in her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. He caught one with his index finger. “It's going to be okay, Kitt. I love you, too.”

It took a full ten seconds for his words to sink in. When they did, a cry rushed to her throat. She threw herself into his arms, cheek pressed to his chest.

His arms went around her. “You're trembling. And so cold.” He rubbed her back, then eased her out of his arms.

She saw that his T-shirt was wet and made a sound of distress. “I'm sorry, I—”

“Come.” He led her into the house, to the master bathroom. He gave her a fluffy bath towel and his white terry-cloth robe. “Take a shower, if you like. I'll be in the other room.”

She couldn't find her voice and nodded. The intimate surroundings felt both odd and invigorating. When he had exited the bathroom, she started the shower. She removed her clothes, laid them over the side of the tub, then stepped into the shower.

Within moments under the hot spray, she was warm. She quickly washed; the shower filled with the scent of Joe's shampoo and soap. After drying and slipping into the big, soft robe, she padded out to the bedroom.

And found Joe sitting on the edge of the bed, head in his hands.

A lump in her throat, she crossed to him. Kneeling in front of him, she gathered his hands in hers. He met her eyes.

He had been crying.

She wanted to ask him whether they were tears of joy or despair, ones for the past or the future.

Instead, she cupped his face in her palms and kissed him. Softly at first, then deeply, with growing passion. That passion drove them to want more, to take more.

To make love.

Afterward, they lay in each other's arms. Kitt felt at peace for the first time since Sadie died. She pressed her face to Joe's chest, breathed in his familiar spicy scent.

He stroked her hair. “Not that I care, but what brought all this on?”

Brian. Her psychotic caller. The investigation.
“I don't think I should tell you. Not now, anyway.”

He tipped his face down to hers and frowned. “Why?”

“Because it'll ruin this.” Her throat closed and she cleared it. “And I want to hang on to now, this moment, as long as I can.”

Even as she said the words, the ugliness seeped in, licking at the edges of her happiness.

She wondered if she would ever get it back again.

Tuesday, March 21, 2006
8:10 a.m.

T
he next morning, Kitt awakened to the smell of bacon. Eyes closed, she breathed deeply. Joe's famous bacon-and-egg breakfasts. Another thing she had missed about the man.

She cracked open her eyes. Sun trickled in around the blinds. To stay in bed, she thought. The way they used to when they were first married. Be lazy, make love—sometimes they hadn't gotten out of bed until one or two in the afternoon.

She smiled at the memory, sat up and stretched, then climbed out of bed. She snatched up her panties, stepped into them and crossed to the bureau. Joe had always stored his T-shirts in the second drawer down.

He still did, she saw when she opened the drawer. She drew one out and brought it to her face. It smelled liked him and was soft from wear and washings.

Kitt slipped it on, then padded out to the kitchen.

Joe stood with his back to her as he scrambled the eggs. The kitchen looked as if a small hurricane had hit: he had always been a horrendously messy cook.

“Good morning,” she said.

He looked over his shoulder at her and smiled. “You're up.”

“I should have been up a while ago.” She dragged a hand through her hair. “I'm going to be really late.”

He poured her a mug of coffee and held it out. “You were so soundly asleep. I couldn't bring myself to wake you.”

A deep, dreamless sleep, she thought. Real rest. For body and soul.

She crossed to him and took the coffee. “Still buying into the ‘breakfast is the most important meal of the day' theory, I see.”

“Absolutely.”

She sipped her coffee and watched as he took two plates from a cabinet, utensils from a drawer, and plucked napkins out of the holder near the stove.

It felt odd to be doing nothing. Joe had always been the breakfast chef, but in the old days she and Sadie would have been setting the table. Cleaning up after him as he went.

It was a strange sensation, being in the home that had been hers but wasn't anymore. Seeing that he had left some things organized the same way she had, but that others had been moved.

She wondered if her lame hovering felt odd to him, as well?

Kitt shifted her gaze. It landed on the plates. She and Sadie had picked out the stoneware pattern. White with a sunny-yellow-and-black geometric pattern on the edge.

Like bumble bees! Sadie had exclaimed.

When they divorced, Kitt had given him everything. She hadn't wanted the reminders of their life. Their family.

A lump in her throat, she ran her fingers along the plate's patterned edge. Now she found herself hungry for those reminders. For the memories.

She found Joe watching her. “Sadie picked these.”

“Yes.”

“These, too.” She picked up the Mickey Mouse and Pluto salt-and-pepper shakers. “From our trip to Disney World. Remember?”

“I remember everything, Kitt.”

Something in his tone took her breath.

She couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes. She scolded herself for being a coward, a ninny. What was she afraid of?

The moment passed and he spooned scrambled eggs—he'd made them with mushrooms, onions and cheese—onto her plate. “Bacon?”

“Silly man. Of course, bacon.”

He laid two strips on her plate and pointed her toward the already toasted and buttered English muffins.

While they ate, they talked about nothing of consequence. The weather. Food. News of mutual acquaintances and family members. When they'd finished, Joe said her name softly. She lifted her gaze to his.

“Are you ready to talk about what brought you here?”

It all came crashing back.
Brian. The call from Peanut. His questions.
She felt the euphoria of the last hours slipping away.

She fought to hold on to it, at least for a few more moments. “Besides the promise of great sex and a real breakfast?”

“Don't do that. Don't make it all a joke and shut me out. That's what you—”

He bit the words back and pushed away from the table. He carried his plate and utensils to the sink, then turned back to her. She saw that he shook. “You broke my heart, Kitt. We lost Sadie. Then I…lost you.”

“I know. I'm sor—”

“No,” he cut her off, “you don't. You can't imagine what it was like for me to watch helplessly as you self-destructed. You can't imagine how it hurt to have you close enough to touch, but a million miles away. I needed you so…much.”

His words hurt. She pressed her lips together, wishing she could deny them. Defend herself.

But how did one defend herself against the truth?

“I grieved for a long time,” he continued. “Then I became angry. So angry, I…I thought it would consume me.”

He'd never revealed that anger to her. Not through words or actions. Or maybe she had been too absorbed in her own feelings to notice his.

Last night's pretty dream of a happily-ever-after with Joe seemed ridiculous now.

In the heat of self-realization—then passion—it had been easy. Simple. She loved him. He loved her. This morning, in the harsh light, she saw how difficult—and how complicated—that dream really was.

“You must hate me.”

“I discovered,” he said, “that the line between love and hate is thin, indeed.”

Kitt held his gaze, though it hurt to look at him. She felt she owed him that. “I don't know what to say besides I'm sorry.”

“I'm sorry, too.”

Tears choked her. She fought her way past them. Even without a happy ending for them, she was so much better off than she had been twenty-four hours ago.

Now, at least, she recognized her feelings. Had the ability to love again.

“Brian's dead,” she said quietly. “He was murdered last night.”

“Brian? My God.”

“I can't go into the reasons why, but I believe his murder is related to the Copycat killings.”

Joe crossed back to the table and sat heavily. He looked dazed. She went on. “The one claiming to be the Sleeping Angel Killer called again last night. He asked me to tell him about you. About us. Our courtship and marriage.

“In return, he promised to give me the name of the Copycat killer.”

“Did he?”

“No. He gave me another clue instead.”

“And you ended up here?”

“In the process of telling him about us, I opened a door. And everything I'd locked away came spilling out.”

This time it was she who needed to stand, to walk away. When she had organized her thoughts, she turned back to him. “I always knew I still loved you. But I didn't think I could let go of the pain enough to really love you. The way you deserve to be loved.”

“And now?”

“Remember at the leukemia event, how you told me you wanted to live again. I want to live again. To let go of the pain and stop hurting.”

He caught her hand, curled his fingers around hers. It reminded her of that day, so long ago, as they had faced Sadie's doctor. Bracing themselves for whatever came next.

Together. Always. Irrefutably.

“Things are more complicated than you and me,” he said. “You know that, right?”

She knew that.
Valerie. Her child.

Too much time had passed to catch their happily-ever-after.

She held his hand tightly. “Just tell me, can you forgive me, Joe?”

“I already have.”