Heart of the Night (55 page)

The look in her eyes said she was weighing her words on the knowledge that once spoken, they would be irretrievable. But the doubts were too strong. “There are some things about this case that have bothered me from the start. I couldn't find an explanation for them, so I ignored them, because they were really small things. All the larger things made sense.” She paused, frowned, blurted out, “If I buy into the Cat's defense, those small things fall right into place.”

“What things do you mean?”

“The alarm system, for starters. It was broken. Stavanovich is an expert at disengaging alarms, yet he made no attempt to do it at Megan's. The alarm system hadn't been touched. Like he already knew it was broken. But there was no way he could have known that for sure—unless Megan told him.”

She hugged her legs tighter. “Then there's the way it was done so cleanly. Sammy and Hank went through that library with a fine-tooth comb and couldn't find a thing. That doesn't usually happen. Usually there's a hair or a thread,
something
to link the perpetrator to the crime, especially if the victim puts up a fight. Megan did that, but was it a staged one? The Mercedes they used tested clean in the lab, too. There should have been microscopic pieces of the laundry bag she was supposedly stuffed in. But there weren't.

“And the business of the ransom note,” she said with a new breath. “Megan could have made it. In a minute. She had all the materials right there at her fingertips, including supermarket bags. She had
plenty
of those. The house was loaded with food. I mean, when I went there after the kidnapping, I found three bags of coffee beans. Three bags of coffee beans. Don't ask me why she needed three bags of beans, or why she had so much other food in the refrigerator. Unless she was planning to be gone for a while.

“Same thing with neatness. Megan was always a slob. The office upstairs where she'd been working on the books had papers strewn around, typically Megan. Not the rest of the house. It was neat as a pin. Again, like she was planning to be away. She knew that Will liked things neat; she always felt guilty that she wasn't a better housekeeper. Maybe she cleaned things up to make up to him for what she was doing.”

“Do you think she did it on her own?” Jared asked.

“I don't want to think she did it at all!” Savannah cried, then lowered her voice. “But I doubt Will could have been involved. I saw him through a good part of the time Megan was gone. He couldn't possibly have faked that anguish. Of course,” she said facetiously, “if I was wrong about Megan, I could be wrong about him.”

Her eyes grew beseechful. “Do you think I was wrong, Jared? Do you think I got so wrapped up in punishing the man who raped Megan that I overlooked things I should have seen?”

Lately Jared had spent a lot of time contemplating questions like that. “I think you acted on the facts as you saw them.”

“But were they wrong?”

He came forward in his seat and let his hands fall limply between his knees. “She was raped. Do you have any doubt about that?”

“None at all,” Savannah said. “Even if she did plan the kidnapping, she didn't plan the rape, and I don't give a flying shit about what Stavanovich says, she wouldn't willingly let him touch her.” She dropped her voice and muttered, “Kinky sex, hah. The only way Megan would let that piece of scum near her would be if he tied her hand and foot, which we know he did. She would never,
never
be unfaithful to Will. She loves him too much.”

Her voice trailed off. After a minute's silence, she said quietly, “That would have been her reason for doing it. She loved him. She wanted him to have enough money to get the business back on its feet. She wouldn't have stolen the money for herself, but she might have stolen it for Will. If she stole it at all.” Releasing her legs, she sat back in the chair with a tired sigh. “There's still no sign of the money. We've found the two hundred and fifty thousand that Matty told us about, but the rest? Nothing. We've checked every possible outlet, and we can't find a cent. Now, does that make sense, if the woman staged her own kidnapping for the sake of recovering money to pour into her husband's business?”

It didn't make sense to Jared, but then, he feared some would think his judgment as warped as Savannah's. After all, he wasn't going to tell her about the phone calls. He wouldn't add to her doubt. It wouldn't serve any practical purpose. Megan Vandermeer had been cruelly raped. On that fact alone, Matty Stavanovich deserved to be convicted.

*   *   *

He was. Late Friday afternoon, the jury returned with verdicts of guilty for both kidnapping and rape. Sentencing was set for two weeks later.

At Anthony Alt's urging, Paul faced the press with Savannah. Given the doubts she'd had, and those she continued to have, she relished the support. Somehow she could tell herself that if Paul DeBarr, the next governor of Rhode Island, was sticking up for her, she'd done something right.

*   *   *

Matty Stavanovich was sentenced to twenty years for each offense, to be served concurrently. While there was some talk around town that Savannah should have fought for an even tougher sentence, she ignored it. She was comfortable with the knowledge that Matty would serve the same amount of time he would have if he'd been convicted of rape alone.

*   *   *

Within two weeks of the sentencing, Megan called Savannah to say that Will had sold the business, that they were putting the house on the market and leaving Providence.

It was the first time they had talked since the sentencing. Savannah was having trouble reconciling the fact that, very probably, Megan had used her. The closeness they had once shared seemed tainted by truths unspoken and trust betrayed. It was the sad ending of a dear friendship, and Savannah, who was feeling more susceptible to her emotions than usual, wasn't sure how to say goodbye.

That was why, on the Sunday after Megan's call, when Sam, Susan, and Courtney were spending the afternoon with Savannah and Jared on the boat, Savannah suggested that Susan and she take a few minutes out for a quick visit with Megan. Since the men weren't about to be left behind, and Courtney certainly couldn't be left alone, the five of them piled into the Pathfinder.

The house that had been in the Vandermeer family for years looked old and tired, since Will no longer made even token attempts at upkeep. Left without hope of a facelift, it seemed to sag more than ever.

Inside, the rooms were strewn with packed cartons. What furniture hadn't been sold was covered with padding. The walls were a checkerboard of squares where pictures that had hung for years hung no more.

Will was on the phone. Diplomatically, Jared and Sam took Courtney out to explore the backyard, leaving Savannah and Susan inside, on the carpeted steps with Megan.

Wearing jeans and shirts, the three of them looked as they might have looked, sitting together, chatting, ten years before. Their faces were more mature and somber, though, and the chatter was more a quiet, sad talk.

“Where will you go?” Savannah asked.

Megan gave an awkward shrug. “We'll be leaving for Saint Croix tomorrow. The Websters have loaned us their villa for as long as we want it. Will has been in touch with some people about buying into a textile business in North Carolina. If it pans out, we'll be moving to Winston-Salem.”

“Winston-Salem, North Carolina,” Susan drawled. “Sounds good enough.”

Megan looked down at her hands, which were sandwiched between her thighs. “I can't stay here. Rhode Island is too small. I'd never escape—” she lifted a shoulder, “—everything.” Her shoulder returned to normal, but she didn't take her eyes from her hands. “Between the sale of the house and the business, we'll have a nice kitty. We can start over somewhere where they won't look at us and stare.”

Savannah couldn't help but think that if what she suspected were true, an odd kind of justice had been served. Megan was being punished. She'd suffered through the rape, through the ordeal of the trial, through endless days and nights of private agony. She and Will had a long road ahead of them, particularly given Will's track record as an entrepreneur. If he'd failed once, he could fail again. Savannah prayed he'd either go into something with partners who knew what they were doing, or hire a business manager.

“Will you be working?” she asked.

Megan nodded. “With Will. We're in this together.” She paused. “I love him. I don't care where we live or what we do.” A flicker of pain crossed her features. “Unfortunately, he cares. He has more pride than I do. Selling the business has been one of the hardest things he's had to do.” She manufactured a small smile. “But he's trying. He's looking forward to doing something different, and if he can find something that makes him happy, I will be, too. That's all I've ever wanted,” she said in an even softer voice, but there was an intensity to the look she gave Savannah. “All I've ever wanted is to be a helpmate to Will.”

The words, the look, and the tone spoke simultaneously of justification and apology. Then Megan forced a small laugh. “Pretty old-fashioned, huh? I must be a gross disappointment to you two.”

“Disappointment?” Susan asked. “Because you care about pleasing the man you love?”

“Because that's about
all
I care about. You both have other interests. You always have. You've always lived the kind of lives I wanted to live, only I never made it. I've been obsessed with the basics. When I was a kid, it was survival. As an adult, it still is, only survival now means salvaging my marriage. It's taken a battering. There's been so much pressure.…” Her words trailed off in a moment of pain.

“None of us escapes those basics,” Savannah mused, realizing it as she spoke. “It may seem like we do. It may seem like our lives are fuller or more exciting than yours, but the bottom line is always the same.”

“Men,” Susan said.

Savannah shot her a look. “I'm serious.”

“So am I. We thought we were hot shots, didn't we? We thought we were the cat's meow, modern women taking the world by storm. You were the lawyer. I was the femme fatale.” She forced a dry smile. “It's pretty empty, isn't it?”

“Oh yes,” Savannah said.

“But you have Jared,” Megan told her, then turned to Susan, “and you have Sam.”

“For now. Having Courtney has thrown in a new twist.”

“But you adore her.”

“So does Sam. She's finally warmed up to him, which means that my role as a buffer is over. Now there are dozens of decisions to be made concerning her future. Some we agree on, some we don't. But that's not the twist. The twist is that Sam has to want me independently of Courtney.”

“He does,” Savannah said. She'd had enough frank discussions with Sam to know it was true. She also knew that though her sister still drank on occasion, she hadn't been drunk in months, which wasn't to say the problem was solved, simply that it was temporarily eased. Knowing that Sam cared, and how much he cared, was a comfort to Savannah. “Sam loves you.”

“He says it.”

“It's true.”

“There are times when I wonder. But I'm trying to make a go of this. I'm working real hard at it. It's not easy.”

“No relationship is,” Savannah said. “But do you want it to work?”

“Yes,” Susan answered, then went on with conviction, “Sam Craig may never earn a million, but he makes me feel like a somebody. I don't remember any man ever making me feel that way before. Yes, I want him.” She paused. “Like you want Jared?”

Without answering the question, Savannah said, “I wish I could give him more.”

“He doesn't want more. Hasn't he told you that?”

“Many times. Still, I wish I could give him more.”

“Has he mentioned marriage?” Megan asked.

“Oh yes.”

Susan scowled. “And you're putting him off because you don't think you can give him enough? Savannah, are you nuts? The man loves what you
are,
not what you're not. He isn't asking for superwoman; she wasn't the one he fell in love with. And if you're going to say that you wished you looked like me, save your breath. First thing in the morning, I look just as lousy as either of you.”

Savannah grunted, but softly, and didn't speak.

“Sad, isn't it?” Megan said at last.

“What?”

“That we judge ourselves in relation to each other. Why do we do that? We always have, and it's a little sick when you think about it. You two may be twins, but you're still individuals, and I don't even have the same blood as you. So why can't we accept ourselves for what we are?”

“I don't know,” Savannah said. She sensed that some of the competitiveness between Susan and her could be traced to their father's constant comparisons, but not all. They were adults. They should have wised up.

Susan frowned. She'd just realized that what she'd told Savannah moments earlier about looks could easily be turned around to apply to brains. She supposed that just because Savannah had decided to become a lawyer didn't mean that she was any smarter, particularly since she was being so dumb about Jared. The question remained as to whether Susan was being any smarter about Sam.

“I'll miss you two,” Megan murmured. There was something furtive about the way she said it, almost as though she didn't think she had the right to claim a shared past.

Savannah thought about that past. They'd been friends for half their lives, and the friendship had been good. Regardless of present truths or untruths, that friendship deserved more than a cursory dismissal. “We'll keep in touch.”

But the look on Megan's face said that might not happen.

“We will,” Susan vowed. “We'll compare our gray hairs, our liver spots, our sagging bottoms.”