Die Before I Wake (26 page)

You really believe somebody killed my sister?”

“I’m absolutely convinced of it. I found a note, you see.”

“A note?”

“In a box of Beth’s things, tucked away under the eaves in the attic. It was stuck between the pages of
Dr. Zhivago.
I picked up the book, and the note fell out.”

“That was her favorite book.” Mel played with the hem to her sweater, twisting and turning it between her fingers. “She loved the movie, too. We rented it and watched it together. What did the note say?”

“I don’t remember the exact wording, but it was something to the effect that
he—
whoever he is—

knew. Knew what, it didn’t say. She said that if the truth came out, she feared that she’d lose her children, and maybe even her life. Beth signed the note, but she apparently never sent it. It was addressed to just an initial. The letter K. Do you have any idea who that might be?”

Instead of answering my question, Mel leaned forward and said, “Can I see it? The note?”

“I’d love to show it to you. Unfortunately—” I grimaced “—I don’t have it. While I was being X-rayed from stem to stern at the hospital, it fell out of my pocket and disappeared.”

A frown line appeared between Melanie’s eyes.

“You lost it,” she said.

That wasn’t quite how I would have put it, but I suppose it was, on the surface at least, true. “Yes,” I said. “But it wasn’t my fault. I was planning to take it to the police when I fell down the stairs, and—” I stopped, because Mel had gone so pale I thought she might faint. “What?” I said. “What’s wrong?”

“Don’t take it to the police.” Clutching the arm of her chair, she leaned forward. “Promise me you won’t.”

“I couldn’t if I wanted to. I don’t have it anymore.”

“But promise you won’t tell the police about it.

You have to promise. You don’t know him. Not really. You don’t know what he’s capable of doing.” I was getting a little exasperated with her theatrics. “Who?” I said. “Who is it I don’t know?”

“Tom! Your husband!”

This was starting to get old. “Look,” I said, “I don’t know what it is you think you know about my husband, but—”

“He killed my sister! How much more do I need to know?”

“I think we’re just going to have to agree to disagree about that. For God’s sake, Melanie, I came right out and asked him if he killed her. I can’t believe I actually said it to him. He was so hurt. But I did. And—”

“What did he say? When you asked him if he killed her, did he deny it?”

“Of course he denied it!”

“Did he actually say to you, ‘I did not kill Beth Larkin’?”

“He said—” I paused, trying to remember his exact words. “I don’t remember what he said, damn it! But he made it clear that he was innocent.”

“You see? That’s how he gets around things. It’s how he always got around things, right from the time we were kids. He blinds people with his charm, with those good looks and that killer smile, so that even while he’s stabbing you in the back, you’re smiling right back at him and asking him to do it again.”

“I think it’s time for you to leave.”

“Believe what you will. But you’re young, Julie.

A little naive. You’re in love, and you’re letting that love blind you. The man you married is a charming, manipulative liar who’d do or say anything to cover up the truth about what he’s done. If you keep pushing this, you could be his next victim.”

“That’s the most preposterous thing I’ve ever heard.”

“That’s what Beth thought, too. Until she found out the truth, and it killed her. I heard about your little accident. I heard how it happened. You don’t really believe it was an accident, do you?”

“If you’re implying that Tom was responsible for my fall—”

“Those batteries didn’t walk themselves to the stairs, now, did they?”

“Tom would never do anything to hurt me. And he was at work that day. He had neither opportunity nor motive, so there goes your theory, right down the toilet.”

“How do you know he was at work?”

“Riley called him! He came straight from his office to the hospital.”

“Are you sure? Are you sure Riley called him at his office? Or did he call Tom’s cell phone?”

“I never asked,” I snapped. “I was a little busy!” Furiously scraping my hair back from my face, I repeated, “It’s time for you to leave.” Melanie stood, gathered up her purse. “Whatever.

I guess there’s only so much I can do if you continue to refuse my help. You know what, Julie? You’re your own worst enemy. All I can say is watch your back.”

After she was gone, I fretted and fumed, pacing awkwardly on my bad ankle, back and forth across the kitchen, furious with her for the things she’d said, even more furious with myself for allowing her words to plant a seed of doubt in my mind. Just when things were getting better. Just when Tom and I seemed to have regained whatever it was we’d lost.

Just when I’d finally started believing in him again, the paranoia was back.

Or maybe it wasn’t paranoia. Maybe it was just common sense. Maybe Melanie was right in saying that I was too much in love to see things clearly.

What if the paranoia was actually my subconscious, trying to warn me that something was rotten in Denmark?
Watch your back.
It was odd that Melanie should utter the same phrase her dead sister had said to me in my dream. Did my subconscious know something my conscious mind refused to admit?

Something Mel said had struck a chord in me. She’d called Tom a charming, manipulative liar. As much as I hated to admit it, there was a grain of truth in what she said. How many times had Tom lied to me, either by commission or by omission? I’d lost count.

Yet every time, I’d forgiven him, looked the other way, believed the excuses he handed me. For that’s what they were, excuses. Perhaps some of them were valid excuses, but they were excuses nevertheless.

For the first time since we’d met, I wasn’t sure Tom and I were going to make it. How could I stay married to a man I didn’t fully trust? That seed of doubt would always be there, prodding at me like an aching tooth. I might temporarily forget the nagging pain when he distracted me with pretty words or sweet lovemaking. But the minute the distraction was gone, that pain would be right back, waiting to keep me awake at night.

I loved Tom Larkin. Was I ready to face life without him? We’d been together only a short time, but already I’d adjusted to his rhythms and his lifestyle, had grown accustomed to his warmth beside me in bed at night. I thrilled to his lovemaking and laughed at his stupid jokes. Every inch of his body was familiar to me. I knew the tenderness of his touch, knew how precisely we fit together. I could gauge his moods just from his tone of voice. I knew, and finally understood, his need for order and neatness. And I respected him, as a human being, as a doctor, as a caring father who was capable of admitting his mistakes. He was my husband, my lover, my friend. Our marriage might have been brief, but it was real. Leaving him now would tear my heart in two.

And I had to consider the girls. In the few short weeks that Tom and I had been together, I’d grown inordinately fond of them. Sadie, with her sweet face and gentle affection, was my favorite. But I also had a great deal of respect for Taylor, so fiercely independent, standing her ground no matter what the situation. They needed a mother so badly, and I’d done everything I could to fill that void. And I’d promised I’d never leave them. That promise had come from my heart. How could I justify breaking it?

But this was a crazy house, a house of mirrors, where nothing—and nobody—was what it appeared to be. Maybe it was the paranoia that had returned along with the headache, but I no longer felt safe here. I no longer trusted anybody. Not Tom, not Riley, not Claudia, and certainly not Jeannette. If I left and never returned, my mother-in-law would dance a jig. Tom would survive, the same way he’d survived after Beth died. He’d pour himself into work and neglect his family, for that was how Tom operated. Riley would pick up the slack, for that was how
he
operated. The girls would be hurt by my leaving, but I told myself that kids were resilient.

They’d get over it. Eventually.

When I left L.A. six weeks earlier, I’d believed there was nothing left for me in the city. But I also knew that if I wanted my job back, it would be waiting for me. Carlos had made that clear before I headed East. “We’re family,” he said. “Family takes care of family. You ever need anything, you come to Carlos.” What’s the old saying? Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in. That’s the way it was with Carlos and me.

He’d welcome me back to the fold, badger me until I caved and told him every sordid detail, and then he’d console me with Cuban rum and a day at the spa.

But right now, just the thought of Cuban rum had my stomach roiling. This couldn’t go on. Something was wrong, something that scared me half to death.

What if I were dying? What if I had some rare form of cancer that would leave me weak and emaciated, too sick to take care of myself, totally dependent on other people? I needed to see a doctor, one who wouldn’t immediately report back to Tom. And I doubted I’d find that in Newmarket. Everybody in this town adored my husband. Everybody, that is, except Melanie Ambrose.

I guess there’s only so much I can do if you
continue to refuse my help.
Those were the words Mel had said to me just before she walked out my door. I wondered if she could be right. I thought about it for a long time before I shambled to the kitchen like the Swamp Thing, picked up the phone, and dialed her number.

“Mel?” I said when she answered. “It’s Julie Larkin. I need your help.”

 

Eleven
Dr. Helen Kapowicz was a general practitioner af-filiated with Maine Medical Center in Portland. It was Mel who found her in the phone book, Mel who arranged the appointment, Mel who drove me to Portland because I didn’t trust myself to drive that far. After the words we’d had, I wasn’t sure she would even speak to me again. But I should have known better. Melanie Ambrose might passionately hate my husband, but she had nothing but compassion for me. I wasn’t sure how I’d ever pay her back.

When I told her that, she gripped the steering wheel so hard her fingers turned white and said grimly, “I couldn’t help my sister. But I’ll be damned if I’m letting you go down without a fight.” Dr. Kapowicz was an older lady who listened patiently to my complaints—and to her credit, didn’t even suggest I might be crazy—before she had me disrobe for the exam. She was thorough. She checked my heartbeat, my pulse and my reflexes, took my blood pressure and my temp, studied my eyes and ears with her little pocket light. She took blood and urine samples, did a pelvic exam, even examined my feet and my gums. By the time she was done, she knew me more intimately than Tom did. “Why don’t you get dressed,” she said, “and then we’ll talk.” She didn’t leave me waiting for long. “Well, Mrs. Larkin,” she said when she came back, “I have good news and bad news. The bad news is, I don’t know what’s causing some of your symptoms. The headaches, the forgetfulness, the disorientation, could seemingly be attributed to the concussion. Except that it’s been long enough since you fell that it seems as though the symptoms would be gone by now. They could just as easily be some kind of stress reaction. I’m hoping the blood tests will shed some light on that. In the meantime, the good news—at least I think it’s good news—is that you’re pregnant. That’s probably the primary cause of the nausea you’ve been experiencing.”

My heart began to thud. Stunned, I whispered,

“Pregnant?” The thought hadn’t even occurred to me. We’d only been trying for a few weeks. Frantically, I thought back, tried to remember the date of my last period. Had I even
had
a period after I came to Newmarket? Much of the last few weeks was fuzzy in my memory. And with everything that had gone on, my monthly visitor was the last thing on my mind. “How far along?” I asked.

“I’d say somewhere between five and six weeks.”

“That long?” It seemed impossible. Three weeks had passed since we tossed out the Trojans and went commando. If Dr. Kapowicz was right, I’d already been pregnant when we made the decision to try for a baby. Yet up until that point, we’d used a condom every time we had sex. So much for the efficiency of that method of birth control.

“I sense a little uncertainly about this pregnancy,” the doctor said.

“It’s just a shock, that’s all.” A major one. My mind raced, like a pinball out of control, from one implication to the next. None of them were good.

“My husband and I were talking about starting a family. I just didn’t expect it to happen so quickly.”

“Do you have children?”

“Two stepdaughters. And I gave birth to a still-born child a year and a half ago. I wasn’t sure I should even try again.” Tears filled my eyes, and my throat closed up. “I’m sorry,” I sputtered. “This is all so overwhelming. I just got married six weeks ago.

I’m not sure I’m ready for a baby. Not right now.” It was what I’d wanted. What we’d both wanted. But the timing couldn’t have been worse. Here I was, contemplating ending my six-week-old marriage, and now I was pregnant? The gods must be getting one hell of a laugh out of this one.

Kapowicz patted my hand. “Give yourself a little time to adjust to the idea. Finding out you’re pregnant is always a shock, even when it’s planned. I’ll give you a prescription for prenatal vitamins and antinausea medication. And, if you want, a referral to an OB/GYN.”

“Thank you. I’ll take the prescriptions, but the referral won’t be necessary. My husband is an OB/GYN. I’m sure he can refer me to someone he trusts.”

“Well, then. I guess all we have left to do is wait for the results of the blood tests. I’ll call you when they come in. It should only take a few days.” In the car, I sat in silence, still stunned by this unexpected turn of events. It changed everything. I was carrying Tom’s child. How could I leave him now?

Even if I tried to leave, he’d never allow me to. Not if he knew about the baby. He wanted this baby, maybe even more than I did. This little collection of cells that had burrowed into the wall of my uterus had joined us together in a way that no marriage license could ever do. No matter what happened between us, we’d created this child together, and we would be joined by that simple biological fact as long as the three of us drew breath.