If You Ever Tell (29 page)

Teresa now opened the third box labeled
M
. It contained picture albums and videotapes her mother had made. Even when she was depressed, Marielle had rallied enough to drag out the video camera to tape important events in her children’s lives. Every tape was labeled in Marielle’s elegant, sloping handwriting: Kent learning to ride a bicycle; Kent’s high school graduation; Teresa and Kent going on rides at Disneyland on one of their rare family vacations; Teresa’s dancing school recital; every birthday party Hugh had allowed Marielle to hold for the children.

Teresa looked for the tape of her sixteenth birthday party, her favorite because Hugh had been out of town, so Teresa had been able to invite more people than usual. They’d danced out on the patio until evening, and both Emma and Marielle had seemed relaxed and happy, having almost as much fun as the teenagers, while Hugh was gone. Unfortunately, that tape seemed to be missing. Teresa went through the collection a second time. “Damn,” she muttered. “Of course my very favorite would be the one to go missing.”

Teresa wanted the contents of all three boxes. She could carry the box of tapes and albums and the box of newspaper clippings at the same time, she decided. She’d take them down to the car right now, Teri told herself, spacing out her trips so she wouldn’t find the task of loading this stuff so tiresome. It had nothing to do with her uncanny feeling that the house was holding its breath, waiting for
something.

Teresa picked up both boxes and was almost to the bedroom door when she caught a blaze of color from the corner of her right eye. She took a step back and looked at a scarf of vivid yellow and burnt orange beside Kent’s dresser. With a jolt, Teresa remembered giving it to her mother on her last birthday. Teresa could almost see her mother wearing the scarf one day when Teresa had a supervised visit with Marielle at Aunt Beulah’s shortly before the murders.

Slowly, Teresa set down the boxes, walked over, and picked up the scarf. She’d paid a lot for it because it was a designer scarf. The designer’s name was on the label sewn into the hem of the scarf. It was soft, not stiff, as it would be if the scarf had been lying on the floor for years collecting dust. With trembling hands, Teresa lifted the scarf to her nose.

The scent of sandalwood, warm and fresh, wafted from the scarf’s silken folds.

T
ERESA ROCKETED OUT THE
front door, missed one of the porch steps, and lurched into Mac’s open arms. “Oh, my God!” she shrieked in fear and shock.

“No, just me.” Mac hugged her for a moment, then held her out from him. His hazel eyes studied her intently as a frown line formed between his eyebrows. “You are white as snow,” he said. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“My mother’s scarf; I f-found my mother’s scarf!”

“Well, she used to live in this house. You said she didn’t take everything with her when she left.”

“No, you don’t understand.” Teresa gulped for breath. “It’s clean and it smells like my mother’s perfume. And it’s
fresh
, Mac. One of the last times I saw my mother she was wearing that scarf. Now it’s lying on the floor in Kent’s room where some of my mother’s belongings were stored in boxes. But the scarf hasn’t been lying on that floor for eight years, Mac. It
hasn’t
!”

“Okay, okay,” he said soothingly, pulling her against him again. She unashamedly clung to his warm, sturdy body. “You’re trembling, Teri.”

“Of course I’m trembling! The
scarf
—”

“I want to see this scarf.”

Teresa pulled away from him. “You want to go into the house?”

“That’s where the scarf is. You don’t have it with you, do you?”

“No. I dropped it and… and ran like a scared rabbit.” She was beginning to feel embarrassed. “It was just such a shock. And when I arrived, the woman next door told me she’d seen a light in the upstairs windows the last two nights.”

Mac’s eyebrows went up. “Did she call the police?”

“No. She said her husband didn’t want her to get involved. And she seemed a little strange,” Teri added reluctantly. “She said she sees all kinds of suspicious things happening on this street at night.”

“Oh.” Mac grinned at Teri. “Well, it’s broad daylight, so let’s go inside and check out this house.”

“Wait.” Teresa drew back and looked at him. “Why is it that lately every time there’s an emergency in my life, you happen to be around?”

Mac’s grin faded. “Are you accusing me of something?”

“No. I’m just curious about your fortuitous appearances. What are you doing here?”

“I told you I didn’t like the idea of you coming to this house alone. I couldn’t stop worrying about you, so I decided I had to make sure you were all right.” Mac’s voice was sharp-edged. “Does that suit you or are you still suspicious and mad?”

“I’m not mad at you,” Teri said in defeat. “You were right—I shouldn’t have come here alone. I didn’t really feel as if I had to say good-bye to the house, as if that would be like saying good-bye to the past. I just wanted to prove I wasn’t afraid. But I didn’t prove I wasn’t afraid—just the opposite. I’m sorry if I offended you. I’m also not sure we should go back inside.”

The anger had faded from Mac’s expression. “I don’t think anyone would be brazen enough to lurk around inside the house during the day when the real estate agent might be showing the house. Besides, you must have found things you wanted.”

“I did. Three boxes. I was carrying out two when I spotted the scarf.”

Teresa insisted they leave the front door open when they went inside the house. Mac took her hand and she felt more secure than when she’d first entered the house alone. Had she really thought the house wanted her out? That she was violating it, that it was holding its breath? Really, how absurd. Just plain crazy. She held Mac’s hand tighter.

“So far so good,” Mac said lightly when they reached the stairs. Just then, the grandfather clock chimed twice—two loud, reverberating sounds Teresa thought she could feel in her stomach—and she gasped. “I see someone has been keeping the clock wound,” Mac said. “I know the real estate people want the place to look its best, but that seems like going above and beyond the call of duty.”

“It sure does,” Teresa said faintly. “Kent has someone who looks after the place. I see that the lawn has been mown recently. Maybe the guy he hires wound the clock.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Mac looked thoughtful. “Although there’s a layer of dust on the furniture in the living room. He’s careful to wind the clock, but he doesn’t dust. Odd.” He turned to her and smiled. “Oh well, forget the clock. Ready to visit the second floor again?”

Teresa tried for a light laugh and managed a squeak. She cleared her throat. “Lead on.”

But when they reached the top of the stairs, Teri took the lead, sailing past the master bedroom without looking in and stopping so abruptly at the doorway to Kent’s room that Mac bumped into her. “You need brake lights, lady.” Mac laughed.

Teresa barely heard him. “It’s right there,” she said, pointing to the scarf she’d dropped as if it were a poisonous snake.

Mac picked up the scarf by its edge and looked at the bright, supple folds. “It looks almost new, Teri.”

“But it
isn’t
,” she insisted. “That
is
the scarf I gave Mom. Look in the corner. I’m not all that handy with a needle, but I did manage to embroider an
M
in the corner. Look.”

Mack held up each corner, and on the third one he found
M
embroidered with golden brown thread. “
See!
” Teresa said triumphantly. “Now smell it.”

Mac put the scarf to his nose. “Sandalwood,” he said promptly.

“I told you. Sandalwood is an ingredient of the perfume Mom wore. And the scent is not old, stale perfume, Mac. It smells like someone wore that scarf a day or two ago.”

“Yes, it does,” he said absently, staring in the direction of the windows.

“What’s wrong?” Teresa asked.

Mac hesitated, then said, “I’m trying to remember where I’ve smelled that exact scent in the last two weeks.”

Emma MacKenzie muttered, moaned, then snapped awake. For a moment, she felt utterly lost. She sat up on her couch and looked around at a small, neat living room decorated with good pieces of furniture upholstered in burgundy and navy blue. She also looked at the television. She didn’t remember turning it on today, but she now saw a woman with long, dark hair sobbing stormily as a man flung himself through a door, saying, “It’s
over
!”

“Mr. Farr?” Emma asked the man on the television. “Where have you taken me? I want to go home. Marielle? You’re crying. Marielle? He’s hurt you again.” Emma squinted. “No, it’s Teresa. Teresa dear?” Emma squinted until her eyes watered. “No, it’s Mrs. Norris. Mrs. Norris? No, you can’t be Mrs. Norris. What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong? I want to go home, do all of you hear me? My boy will take me home. Where’s Jedediah Abraham?”

Slowly the image of her son, who insisted on calling himself Mac, brought her back to the day they had toured this apartment and she’d declared it just right, although Jedediah had said it was too small. She’d been adamant, though. She didn’t want anything expensive, because her son was paying for it.

“I’m home,” Emma said in relief. “I’m in my very own home just taking a little nap.” She looked balefully at the television, which was not turned on. “And while I slept, I dreamed about one of those trashy soap operas Mrs. Beemer in Apartment Five was talking to me about out at the trash Dumpster this morning! Honestly, that woman!”

Emma stood up and stretched. She’d been so tired lately. She had trouble going to sleep at night, but she’d always had trouble sleeping. As soon as her head hit the pillow, her mind filled with fierce anxieties about the future and sad, dark memories of the past.

Lately, the past had occupied most of Emma’s thoughts—the past when she’d worked in the Farr house for dear Marielle, who’d treated Emma like a friend, not a housekeeper; sweet Marielle who had been tossed away by that devil Hugh; who’d broken under the strain and had to go off to an insane asylum. Oh, they didn’t call the place an asylum, but it was and Marielle had been humiliated.

But worst of all were Emma’s memories of that appalling day when Marielle—thin, weak, and exhausted—had shown up at the house to see Teresa and
she
, Emma, had set up the secret meeting between mother and daughter in the thick, blooming rhododendron and forsythia bushes at the side of the house. Emma had thought mother and daughter were safe, but that tramp Wendy had seen everything and sneaked a call to Hugh, who’d come home in a fury and fired Emma, struck Teresa, threatened Mac, and sent Marielle running into that melancholy mauve spring dusk from which she’d never returned.

Emma would never forget Hugh Farr—red-faced and raging, while that painted harlot Wendy had sat laughing…
laughing
! They were an unholy pair, blights on the earth, the vessels of destruction for their families.

Emma’s breath was coming faster and she felt as if she had a weight on her chest. She concentrated on slowing her breath and relaxing, reminding herself that her tragic final day in the Farr home had been a long time ago. God had used a human instrument to administer divine justice. God had wanted Hugh and Wendy to be annihilated. At the time Emma thought it would have been best if the child of Wendy had died, too, but maybe God had not wanted to rid the world of Celeste—that was why Teresa had been able to save her.

But after the girl had started talking again, chanting terrible things in public about death and Teresa—linking them together, as if Teresa had been a bringer of death into the home, Emma knew Celeste
should
have died that night. God’s plan had simply been interrupted. Celeste was like her mother just as Teresa was like Marielle. Yes, Celeste had cheated death that night with well-meaning Teresa’s help, but she should have died, just as her mother had died.

“Maybe that mistake should be corrected,” Emma said as she moved dreamily to her bedroom, where a framed photo of Marielle stood among the photos of her own three children. She gazed into Marielle’s eyes, sad although the younger woman smiled. Yes, Marielle should be completely avenged and her daughter protected. It was
right
and Emma knew she was the only person who completely understood God’s will in this matter.

She looked at herself in the mirror, noticing that her dress was looser on her than it had been two weeks ago and that her eyes looked as if they’d sunken and were almost lost in dark shadows. And no wonder. She’d lost so much sleep this week. And right now, she felt as if she might just drop into a heap on the floor.

Reluctantly, Emma lay down on her bed and once again drifted into a restless nightmare-haunted sleep filled with Hugh and Wendy and Celeste and Teresa and the lost Marielle.

Mac had helped Teresa collect all of the boxes and put them in her car. When they finished, he asked if he could take her to dinner tonight, and she’d promptly said yes. After today, she was done fencing with him. As she’d stumbled out of the house in terror, she could have cried with relief when his arms closed around her, and it wasn’t just because she was glad to see another person. Instantly, she’d known only Mac could have made her feel secure enough to go back into that house. Only Mac could have given her the courage to hold that scarf again. Mac was her safe haven in what seemed to be a crumbling world. He was her safe haven because she was in love with him, and all she had to do was look into his eyes to know that he loved her, too.

After she returned home, Teri took time with her shower, picked out a navy blue sleeveless sheath with a simple gold chain and gold hoop earrings. After all, Gus had died only last night. She hadn’t seen the Gibbses’ SUV when she came in. Josh had been determined to look after the horses and give lessons this morning in spite of his grief and Teresa had felt maybe taking care of them helped him take his mind off his father. Now she hoped he’d gone to be with friends.

She intended to cancel all lessons for the rest of the week—she could only ask so much of Josh—but she was grateful to him for taking over today, because unless the situation was absolutely necessary, she didn’t think she could enter the barn for a while, not after last night. Teri hoped she’d feel different about the place tomorrow.