For the Sake of Their Baby (17 page)

As he straightened up, he stared hard at each of them
in turn. “I tried calling from the car but no one was home. I didn’t think much of it until I got here and found all the lights off and both your cars parked out front. As I was knocking on the door, I heard Liz scream. Harry was standing over her. It looked as though he was hurting her.”

Alex felt a quake inside. Harry mauling Liz? He wanted to march across the street and tear Harry into bite-size pieces of fish food. As a matter of fact, what a dandy idea. He started moving toward the door, but Ron stepped in front of him.

“Better get out of my way,” Alex said softly.

“Not until you calm down,” Ron said.

Liz reached for his hand and he met her gaze. “I’ve been going over and over Harry’s actions. I don’t know, maybe I misinterpreted things. He said he saw someone over here and he was worried that you’d be mad at him again, so he came to investigate and maybe I startled him as much as he startled me.”

Unwilling to cut Harry Idle one iota of slack, Alex thought of the intruder’s car racing away in the middle of the night; it had been parked in front of Harry’s house. He thought of Harry’s two-decade-old grudge against Devon Hiller. He and Liz had more or less ruled Harry out because of the size of his hands as compared to the gloves and maybe even more because of his physical condition, which made the idea of him vandalizing the stairway seem ludicrous.

But what if Harry wasn’t working alone?

What if he was in cahoots with the woman he said did Hiller’s gardening, the one who had wangled him an invitation to the fateful party, the one who must be in pretty good physical condition to do her job. Or maybe someone else, maybe someone who worked at the mall
and carried the same hatred in his or her heart that Harry did.

“I don’t think he was really trying to hurt me,” Liz said.

“Sorry, Liz, but I don’t agree,” Ron said.

Alex agreed with Ron, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, his mind wrapped around the fact that, as usual, there wasn’t a thing they could pin on anyone. He couldn’t swear his knot hadn’t come undone by itself, Liz couldn’t swear Harry had done anything more than unwittingly frighten her.

They were still at square one.

Liz patted Ron’s arm. “I’m fine,” she told him. “I know Emily is worried about me, but please, reassure her I’m doing great.”

Ron was not to be deterred. “And Sinbad,” he said, eyebrows raised. “What happened to Sinbad, Liz?”

“His leg—”

“How about his neck? Come on, you can trust me, what happened to the little guy?”

Alex fought not to resent the familiar, friendly way Ron cajoled Liz and the smile that curved her lips in response. He made a mental bet with himself that Liz would hesitantly try to reassure Ron. He knew she hated the secrecy, the operating on a need-to-know basis that made such sense to him. The truth was a big issue with her, as was trust; she’d resented Alex for not trusting her when it counted most and he just couldn’t see her turning away from that position when it concerned Ron. Ron had been the one she had depended on while he was away and Alex could sense her struggle with the desire to re-establish this cozy relationship that must have brought her such comfort.

He felt a spasm of jealousy followed by a sigh of sorrow.

And then, just as Alex expected her to launch into an explanation, she leaned back against him, just a little bit, hardly noticeable, but he felt the subtle shift of her weight and the warmth of her body as it grazed his. Her words supported her body language, as she spoke softly but firmly.

“It’s like we said, Ron. Sinbad had a terrible accident, that’s all.”

Alex felt a swell of satisfaction.

Ron shook his head. “Listen,” he said, serious now, gazing at them without a hint of humor in his eyes. “Sooner or later, this is all going to get to be too much for you guys. I don’t know what’s going on, but I do know that something is wrong that goes beyond Alex getting ready for a new trial. I hope you guys don’t wait too long to ask for help.” He looked directly into Alex’s eyes and added, “I know something about allowing yourself to become…isolated. It can be dangerous. Not just for yourself, but for others. I—well, let’s just say I have some experience in this facet of life. When you need to talk, I’ll be here for you.”

As Liz saw Ron to the door, Alex considered Ron’s warning. Was he right? Was Alex jeopardizing Liz by not going to some law enforcement official, perhaps going so far as to bypass the sheriff if that were possible?

There other things to consider as well. The cat’s situation and the sabotaged stairs weren’t an accident. The stolen gloves, ditto. He had to consider the possibility that tonight, his rope
hadn’t
come undone on its own, that Harry
had
seen someone lurking around the house. If it was true, there was a question begging to be asked:

How many more times could Liz’s attacker screw things up?

Didn’t the law of averages suggest that sooner or later, he or she would get it right, that sooner or later, Liz would die?

Why? What did she know?

Or was it something else?

Chapter Nine

As Ron’s taillights disappeared down the road, Liz caught Alex’s arm and said, “Did you find it?”

He extracted a piece of twine from his pocket and together they hurried back inside the house. As Alex headed to the bright lights of the kitchen, Liz retrieved the package she’d brought home from Emily’s store.

The differences between the two samples of twine were immediately obvious. The twine from the beach stairs was the color of oats, that from the yarn shop, molasses. They were a different gauge as well, the stair twine being much sturdier and thicker.

“They’re different,” Liz said as she sank down on a kitchen chair, flooded with relief. “Emily had nothing to do with any of this.”

Alex sat down opposite her and took her hands in his. He juggled them thoughtfully, as though weighing one against the other. “It would appear that way,” he said at last.

“But…” she prompted, hearing it in his voice.

He released her hands and sat back in his chair. “But does it really mean anything?”

“I don’t understand—”

“I mean, so what if the twines don’t match? You and
I have a spool of green twine in the garage, a length of natural color in my glove compartment that came wrapped around something or other, and I found a bit of yellowish stuff in the junk drawer in the kitchen. Twine is twine and yet it isn’t.”

She sighed deeply. He was right.

“I know it’s next to impossible to imagine your friend, Emily, as some kind of fiend.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Or corruptible.”

Liz nodded, but as she did, she realized something had been tugging at her memory, something all these recent thoughts of Emily had brought to mind. Feeling her way, she said, “I keep thinking about that day at Tony-O’s. You were using the phone at the back of the restaurant. I came inside after talking to Sheriff Kapp. I was upset and when Ron asked why, I mentioned running into the sheriff. You should have seen Emily’s face, Alex. Her eyes got wide and she looked all around the place. I thought she was worried about you, but then it became clear that Emily couldn’t care less if Kapp nabbed you or not.”

“She’s a sweetheart,” he said dryly.

“I think the look of abject fear was for herself, not for you.”

“Why?”

“I can’t imagine.”

“Maybe she has a trunkful of old parking violations.”

“Maybe she robbed a bank back in San Francisco before she moved up here.”

“Maybe she’s in a witness relocation program.”

“With her brother?”

They smiled at each other, the playful banter relieving
some of the tension that had been building for the past hour or so.

“And what did you make of Ron’s warning?” Alex added.

“You mean his comment about isolation, about knowing how it could work against you in the long run. Maybe it had to do with the time he spent caring for his dying mother. I’ve heard caregivers can become very isolated.”

Alex’s brow furrowed. “Liz, what do you really know about Ron? Or Emily, for that matter?”

“Well, we’ve both known Ron for eighteen months but for most of that time, he was simply another employee. Thanks to a background check before I hired him, I know where he used to work and that his former employers gave him good references. Since we’ve become friends, I’ve learned that he nursed his mother through a fatal illness and that his sister was involved in a messy divorce. I don’t know much about Emily because I wasn’t working much when she applied for a lease. She filled out the usual forms and Jane Ridgeway ran the background check and approved the lease. It was all slightly irregular, but my uncle had just died and I was on bed rest and you—”

“It’s okay,” he said, covering her hand with his own.

She looked at his lean, strong hand and fought the desire to put her head down on top of it. When he’d held her out in the yard, she’d felt so safe, his heart thumping because of the way he’d run up the stairs to make certain she was all right, his hands and lips incredibly hot and protective. He was constantly putting her welfare above his own.

Alex said, “Ron and Emily rallied to your side during
an extremely difficult time. I know you feel bad for even suspecting them, but we have to suspect everyone.”

“I’ve been a miserably selfish friend to both Ron and Emily,” she said. “I know so little about them and I’ve all but ignored them since you came home.” The thought struck her like a bolt of lightning. If Alex ever had to go away again, she wouldn’t be worthy of their friendship.

It couldn’t be one of them. Why in the world would either one want to kill her uncle and implicate her? Now Roger Kapp, he was a different story. He might have been blackmailing her uncle; that might have led to murder and then a plan to frame her that Alex spoiled by confessing, but worked even better as he hated Alex. And then there was Harry Idle. Perhaps he got together with an old crony or his landscaping honey and plotted a savage revenge for Devon Hiller’s tyranny. But could Ron or Emily or any one of the thirty people who would attend the staff Christmas party the next night do such things? It was inconceivable.

Suddenly ravenous, Liz rummaged in the refrigerator as Alex fed Sinbad, crooning over the little beast as though he was a baby. She hadn’t been to the store in so long there was precious little to eat. She finally found a couple of servings of frozen onion soup in the freezer and popped them in the oven. An hour later, they sat down to steaming bowls of fragrant broth topped with croutons and stringy cheese.

“Delicious,” Liz said.

“After dinner, I want to go across the street and talk to Harry,” Alex said as he studied his soup. “Don’t worry,” he added, a glint in his eye. “I’m plenty calm now. I want to hear his explanation about his presence in our yard before he has time to embroider his story.”
Their eyes met as he added, “Why don’t you come with me?”

She was only too happy to comply. It seemed nothing good ever happened when they were apart.

H
ARRY’S INADEQUATE
porch light was on as usual and his car was parked in its customary spot in the driveway. A string of solid red lights draped forlornly across the front of the house brought little Christmas cheer and even less additional light. While the living room drapes were closed, Alex could hear the sounds of a television inside.

Holding Liz’s hand and pointing out the cracked brick in the walkway, Alex knocked on the door, waited and knocked again. Beside him, teeth chattering, Liz rang the bell. It was cold enough that their condensed breath formed halos around their heads.

“He’s in there,” Alex said, knocking again.

“Maybe he just doesn’t want to talk to us,” Liz said.

“Tough. Have you ever been inside his house?”

“A couple of months ago. I made him macaroni and cheese when he had a sinus infection. This door opens into his living room.”

After additional knocks brought no response, Alex tried the doorknob which twisted easily in his hand. They both peeked through a modest crack and saw the edge of an upholstered blue chair and a man’s legs and feet, the latter encased in brown socks. Several apparently empty beer cans littered the floor.

Alex called out, “Harry? You in there? Can we come in and talk to you?”

There was no answer, nor did the feet stir.

Alex pushed the door the rest of the way open.

“Do you think we should do this?” Liz whispered.

“Absolutely. If Harry drank himself into a stupor, he might need help. Trust me, I have a lot of experience with this. My dad passed out almost every night.”

In the flickering blue light of the television, they found Harry Idle sitting in his chair, eyes closed, chin touching his barrel chest, one hand wrapped around a beer can. He was wearing a dingy gray sweater and black jeans, a striped blue-and-green knitted afghan thrown haphazardly across his lap as though he’d settled down for a night of drinking and TV. Alex immediately crossed the room, stepping over and around the cans, bending down next to the chair as Liz switched on a light and turned off the television.

The memories this scenario brought back to Alex were all sharp and unpleasant. “Harry?” he said, touching the older man’s shoulder. Harry slumped even further.

Liz was suddenly beside him, awkwardly bending down and retrieving something from the floor beside the chair. “It’s a prescription bottle,” she said breathlessly. “For a sedative. Alex, it’s empty.”

And suddenly it was clear to Alex that this wasn’t a case of drunkenness but something far worse. He swept his finger through Harry’s mouth, checking for an obstruction in his airway. Lowering his head, Alex felt the slightest exhalation against his cheek. He checked Harry’s wrist for a pulse and when that wasn’t satisfactory, put two fingers against his neck. The pulse was there but reedy at best.

“Call for an ambulance, tell them possible drug overdose,” he said as he gently pulled Harry onto the floor. “Read them the information off the prescription bottle,” he added, as he tilted Harry’s chin back and began ven
tilating. His only concern was to keep Harry Idle breathing until the experts arrived.