Deceptions of the Heart (15 page)

She nudged me out of my catatonia. “Help me pull him out of the water.”

I complied as if moving through a sea of gelatin.

****

Marnie stood in the corner of the bedroom, biting her nails, while I pounded Jackson with yet another question. “How did you find us?”

“We should find a cop,” Marnie suggested for the third time.

“No, we’ve got to do this. We’ve got to make him talk.”

Jackson tugged against the strips of sheeting that tied his hands and feet to the four corners of the bed. The first glimmer of fear flickered in his gray eyes—eyes that resembled his brother’s. I shook off the sentiment. Alex meant nothing to Jennifer. Jackson grinned at me, triumphant, superior, and condescending. I flung myself at him, pummeling his broad chest with my fists. He squirmed, but spread-eagle he was helpless against my assault.

Marnie dug her long nails into my upper arms and pulled me off him. “Stop it, Jennifer.” She turned me to face her. “What are we going to do with him?”

“I know what I’d like to do—”

“Jennifer,” she said, pressing her fingers on either side of my face.

“What do you
think
we should do with him?” I fumed through my scrunched lips.

She wagged her pointer finger, the tip of the nail broken and jagged from her exertions. Her mouth opened—

“It’ll be a long time before anybody comes looking for you,” Jackson said. “You picked a poor spot to hide. Too isolated. Anything could happen way out here, away from the rest of the world.”

I threw her hands from my face and swung around to confront him. Marnie shoved me aside. “How did you get here?”

He blinked at her. She circled the bed and fluffed the pillow under his head, pulled his shirt down over his bruised body. He eyed her with suspicion and bared his teeth. A shocked gasp escaped her lips. She tugged on his bindings.

He followed her with his gaze as she moved to the other side of the bed where I stood. “My car is miles down the road,” he said. “Which one of you is going to walk down there and get it?”

My eyes drifted to his keys, lying on the side table where I tossed them after I yanked them from his pants. I picked them up and handed them to Marnie. She stuffed them in her jacket pocket.

“How did you find us?” I asked.

“You weren’t that hard to follow.”

“What did you do with my father?” Marnie asked.

“Nothing. He was gone when I got here.” Jackson’s smug answer infuriated me.

“That’s a lie,” I said, calmly, evenly. “If you followed me, then you followed us, because he drove us down here.”

“Your
new
man got into his car and drove away.”

“So he was here when you got here,” I said, exposing his lie.

He grinned at me. “You were so dead to the world you didn’t hear me come into your bedroom, did you?”

I shivered with revulsion.
He’s the one who changed my clothes and cleared out my belongings. He’s the one messing with my head. He’s the one trying to kill me. He touched me and I was so out of it I didn’t even know it.

“What does he mean by
your new man
, Jennifer?” Marnie asked.

“There was no first man, so how could Anson be my new man?” This was true as far as Jennifer’s memory took me.

“You can’t believe anything she says. Her name isn’t really Jennifer—”

I prepared to attack Jackson’s credibility with a barrage of angry invectives. “You evil—”

“We don’t have time for this,” Marnie said and grabbed me before I could assault him. Whirling me around to face her, she slammed my back into the doorpost. “Okay, which one of us is going to get his car and find a cop?”

The thought of venturing out into the storm alone terrified me. “I can’t.”

“You have to.”

“Why me?” I asked.

“Because…because—”

“Because she thinks you’ll kill me,” Jackson interrupted our semi-private confab. “And she doesn’t want me dead. Do you, sweetheart?”

I turned on Marnie. “Sweetheart?”

“He’s playing us. I’m not his sweetheart. And I believe there is no other man in your life but Daddy. After all, who would want you?” Her face was a blank façade.

She had yet to explain her sudden appearance tonight. “Why are you here?” I asked. She leaned her head back, drew in a deep breath. “Who told you we were here?”

“Nobody. I can’t believe Daddy would bring you here.” She pursed her lips as if she was sucking a lemon drop. “This place belonged to my mother.”

I disregarded her disbelief. “So what
are
you doing here?”

“What is going on here?”

I spun on my heel. Price Whitaker stood in the doorway with his hands on his hips, an appalled scowl on his handsome face.

Chapter Seventeen

A tepid cup of coffee sat in front of me. The penetrating cold of a steel chair permeated the sweat pants that weren’t mine.

“Okay, let’s go over this one more time,” Sairs said.

My eyelids drooped from lack of sleep. “We’ve been over it four times already. I told that other cop the same things. Can’t the two of you compare notes? There’s nothing else to tell. I’ve dragged every single thing up from my memory. If you’re still keeping me here, it’s because you’re trying to torture me,” I said with no small amount of disdain.

“It wasn’t that long ago you told me your memory was unreliable,” he reminded me and sat in a chair across the steel-topped table from me.

“I didn’t say it was unreliable. I just said it didn’t go very far. Are you charging me with something?”

“No. Not under the circumstances,” he muttered.

“Then I’m leaving.” I remained seated. Too tired to move.

“How are you going to get home?” he asked with a little more civility.

“I’ll leave with Marnie, I guess.” I laid my head on the table in front of me. “I don’t know if I can face that house alone.” When he remained silent for a long time, I pulled my throbbing head up and looked at him. “You’ll find him, won’t you?”

“I’ll do my best.” There was no assurance in his tone. “I’m sorry, Jennifer. I think maybe I misjudged you—”

“No, you didn’t. Sometimes people change.” I was through with his interrogation, even if he wasn’t. “I didn’t kill Claire. So you can stop torturing me about it and try to figure out who did. Anson had just as much motive as I did. Why didn’t you ever pursue that lead?” I rose from the chair, not really expecting an answer or, at least, not a truthful one.

“Is there some reason you suspect Anson?” he asked.

“Anson has plenty of motive, but I suggest you look at Sudha. She tried to kill me because I was Anson’s wife. She was Claire’s housekeeper, you know.”

“I’ve considered that.”

“Well…then…I’m leaving now.” My heart lodged in my throat. I hoped he wouldn’t detain me. He didn’t make a move to stop me as I flung open the heavy metal door of the interview room.

****

Marnie waited for me in the front lobby, her arms shifting from dangling loose at her sides to crossing her chest, to hanging at her sides again as if her appendages didn’t know where to land. “Well?” she barked.

The double glass doors swung open. A man and woman looked both ways before approaching the deputy at the reception desk. I waited until they were out of earshot. “He wouldn’t tell me anything. Just kept asking the same stupid questions over and over.”

“Come on, Marnie. I’ll take you home.” Price grabbed her elbow and nudged her toward the front door.

“No, you won’t.” She pushed his hand away. Her anger was tangible, a prickly thing, thick with antagonism, thorny little poisonous barbs dripping with toxin. “I’ll call a cab. Or...I’ll ask one of these nice
deputies
to take me home.” Her vocalization of deputies reeked of sarcasm.

“What? Why are you mad at me?” he sputtered.

“Jennifer told me the truth.” She turned angry eyes on me.

“What truth?” he asked.

“About you and my mother.”

He studied her, waited a full minute before responding. “If what you suggest is true, how would Jennifer know anything about that?”

“Claire told me.” I raised my chin. “She told me everything.”

Marnie crossed her arms. “This is over, Price.”

Utter humiliation spread across his face. “You’ll regret this, Marnie. One day you’ll discover that it’s all lies…and you’ll regret accusing me of this. By then it’ll be too late.” He left us standing in the lobby of the sheriff’s office.

An unnatural quiet surrounded us, punctuated by the uncomfortable throat clearing of the deputy who was pretending not to notice our private drama.

“Dumped by both of us,” I quipped. “Must be hard for the man to stand.”

“Shut up,” Marnie snapped.

My heart broke for the brokenhearted. “Look, Marnie, I’m sorry—”

“Don’t try to comfort me. As if you’re my mother or something. You’re not. We may have just gone through hell together, but we’re not going to be best friends. So don’t even try to bond with me.” She headed for the door.

“Stop. Please,” I called to her stiff back. She took another step and then paused. “I know Jackson is in jail, but I can’t stay in Anson’s house by myself tonight,” I pleaded, anxious. “I’ve been attacked twice there. And Anson won’t be home to protect me.”

“So? What do you want me to do about that?”

“Please, Marnie. What would your father want you to do?” I asked without shame.

“That’s not fair,” she muttered. Tears rolled down my cheeks. Her face softened. “Okay. Come on. I hate that about you, you know.”

“You hate what about me?”

“You always get your way. One little pout and Daddy just…gives in to you. I guess you think I’m as easy as he is.”

“I do not always get my way,” I uttered my hot denial.

She turned, absolute repugnance on her face, and waited for me to follow. “Well, are you coming or not?”

I followed her without another word.

****

Marnie waited by the large picture window in my bedroom, shifting from one foot to the other. I stuffed some clothes into an overnight bag and tossed in a pair of tennis shoes before I reentered the bedroom from the closet. She tapped her fingernails against the windowpane. On the other side of the glass, the rain matched the beat of her digits.

She turned, panic contorting her face. “I can’t stand this. I can’t just step back and do nothing. What if Daddy’s somewhere bleeding to death?”

I shook my head to dispel the horrible image. “I’m going to look for him.”

“Do you know where to start?” she asked, hope covering her face despite the hopelessness of the situation.

“No. I don’t.”

“Brandon Sairs told us to stay put so let’s go to my house and wait,” she suggested.

Her sudden reversal jarred me. “Who could have taken him?” I asked aloud for the first time. “My first guess would have been Jackson Prentiss. He denies doing anything to Anson. He only admitted stalking me and terrorizing me and playing mind games and—”

“He could be lying,” Marnie suggested. “You said he was a magnificent liar. Remember?”

So Marnie
did
listen to my ranting.

“I don’t think Jackson’s lying about that. He took too much pleasure detailing his attempt to…” I couldn’t find the right word.

“He tried to get you to kill yourself.” She cocked her head and studied me. “I wonder whose blood—”

“Please, Marnie. Don’t.”
Anson’s blood could be on that knife.

“Jackson Prentiss is an animal.”

“Yeah.” That was an understatement.

I reached for the keys to my car. Marnie’s vehicle was still at the beach. The cab driver dropped us at the curb in front of the house. In a downpour. I had traipsed up to the house to get the cash to pay the man, and then trudged back to his car in the pelting rain while Marnie waited in the front foyer, mad as a wet hen and spouting angry epithets at anyone within spitting distance.

On the dresser next to the keys lay a picture—unframed and ragged around the edges. The tingle of anticipation surged through me. I picked it up and turned toward Marnie. “Who is this?”

“Where’d you get that?” she asked as if I’d soiled the picture by handling it.

“It was here on the dresser next to my keys.” Something about the picture terrorized my overwrought mind.

“I haven’t seen that picture in years,” she mumbled. She kept yakking about something or other. My mind focused on anything but her prattling. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I know her.”

Marnie pulled her mouth to one side as if puzzled by my assertion. “How could you? She died long before you met Daddy.”

“I have a memory of that woman. I thought she was your mother. When I described her to your father, he said that your mother looked nothing like this.”

“You were talking to Daddy about Momma?”

“Yes. Why does that seem odd? She was a part of his life. He can’t just forget her.”