To the Grave (19 page)

 

CHAPTER TEN

1

“Did I tell you I'm staying at James's tonight?” Catherine asked.

“Three times,” Marissa answered. “Are you going out to dinner?”

“No. A home-cooked meal tonight.”

Marissa grinned. “Then I'm sure he's glad
I'm
not the one staying over.”

Twenty minutes later, James arrived. Usually Catherine drove to his town house when she spent the night, but tonight James had insisted on doing the driving and Catherine was relieved. After the incident with Arcos on the front lawn, not to mention Arcos's murder during the night, Marissa would have been more comfortable if her sister were never alone.

“Come in, James,” Marissa said warmly at the door. “Would you like a drink? Catherine's still gathering up a few things.”

“No drink, thanks anyway.” He sat down still wearing his coat and looking appallingly pale. “I don't know why Catherine won't leave more stuff at my place.”

Because she's determined not to make any gestures that could be interpreted as her moving in with you, Marissa thought. “Oh, you know how organized she is,” she said as an excuse. “Everything must be in the right dresser drawers—
her
dresser drawers.” Marissa hoped James would get that small hint, but he looked blank.

“I'm ready!” Catherine said as she walked into the kitchen carrying an overnight bag and a bag of groceries.

Marissa smiled. “No morbid talk, no morbid thoughts, tonight. Just have fun, you two. That's an order!”

2

“I ordered pizza. Is that all right for tonight?” Marissa asked an hour later when Eric arrived.

“Absolutely not. I expected you to fix coq au vin and a chocolate mousse.”

“You've lost your mind.”

Eric pulled her close, kissed her slowly and passionately, then continued to hold her so tightly she could barely breathe. “My goodness, what's all this about?” Marissa gasped.

“I missed you today. I miss you every day but today in particular. I could hardly wait until I was sure James had left with Catherine before I came by.”

Marissa pulled back slightly and looked at him closely. “You didn't want to talk to him about Arcos.”

“No. I've already questioned him briefly and I'll have to do a more thorough job of it tomorrow, but not tonight.”

“Let me guess—he didn't have an alibi for last night when Arcos was murdered.”

“Home alone. No visitors, no calls on his landline phone that we've been able to trace. I haven't asked for his cell phone, but I guess I'll have to if I'm going to do a thorough job of this investigation. After all, after what Arcos had done to Catherine just hours before someone killed him…” Eric shook his head. “It looks bad, Marissa, especially after Renée's—”

She put a finger over his mouth. “Don't say it. We will not say the word ‘murder' in this house tonight. Two people
died
—that's it.”

“Two people
died
by being shot through their right eyes. Their
right
eyes, Marissa.
We
never released the information that Renée was shot in her right eye.”

Marissa gave him a hard look. “Are you insinuating that I leaked that information?”

“What? No!”

“Because I wasn't the only person who saw the body on Saturday, Eric. What about other cops—”

“Robbie? Jeff Beal? Are you accusing them?”

“No!”

“And we still haven't figured out who called you this morning telling you to come to the Arcos murder scene.”

“You haven't even had twelve hours to discover who it was, Eric.”

“But why did someone call
you
? You didn't have anything to do with Arcos.”

“I'm a reporter. Maybe they thought I'd scoop the news—”

Eric looked at her unbelievingly. “This is not a big city, Marissa. A lot of people know about our relationship. Other reporters on the
Gazette
might leak the news, but not you.” He sighed. “What I'm trying to say is that Renée and Arcos were not killed the same way by coincidence. I think the same person killed each of them. And I think that person called you this morning. Hell, for all I know you were meant to arrive earlier than you did and be the killer's third victim.”

“But that person isn't James Eastman. He is
not
a murderer.”

“How do you know? My God, Marissa, you sound like a naïve little kid!” Eric's face tightened. “He married Renée and no matter how slutty she acted, how she humiliated him, he didn't start divorce proceedings until she'd vanished and he'd supposedly spent a whole year looking for her!”

“Supposedly?”

“Okay. I talked to the private detective he hired who swore he worked for a full year doing everything he could to find Renée. I haven't had time to fully check this private detective's records, though. His firm has a good reputation, but…”

“But?”

“But maybe James paid him off
not
to find her. After all, does James's putting up with Renée's shenanigans for years sound like normal behavior? Not to me. Then she
apparently
just left one day without a word. Then, Catherine accidentally finds her—murdered—in a place James didn't think Catherine would ever go.”

“Catherine found her less than a week ago. Renée had been dead for around a week, not years. Certainly not since she left James. She hadn't even been in Aurora Falls until right before she was murdered.”

“That's an assumption.”

“Oh, you think she's been sneaking back here? Do you have proof?”

Eric sighed. “One man told me he thought he saw her downtown on Wednesday, two days earlier than the medical examiner places her time of death. I don't put much faith in that particular guy's opinion, but a woman reported today that she'd seen Renée up close on Wednesday afternoon—the same day the man told me he'd spotted her.”

“Both of them could have been mistaken.”

“Yes, the man could have been, but I believe the woman. I've known her for years. She's levelheaded and not the least excitable or the type to want attention. Besides … well, she said she saw Renée in the Nordine Gallery. Renée made an attempt at a disguise wearing a heavy dark coat and her hair tucked under a crocheted hat like the girl wore in that movie
Twilight
—”

“That's detail for you.”

“This witness was
very
detailed. It's part of what made her so convincing. Anyway, she said Renée's visit to the gallery was brief and discreet. She only looked at one thing:
Mardi Gras Lady.
”

“Oh,” Marissa said faintly.

“Yeah.
Oh.
That pulled me up short, too.”

“Eric, a young woman who looks a lot like Renée works at the gallery. Maybe that's who the woman saw.”

“And this young woman wore a heavy coat and tucked her hair under a hat to stand looking at a portrait she sees every day?”

“Oh,” Marissa said again. “I see your point.”

“I'm telling you—again off-the-record—that Renée probably arrived in Aurora Falls at least two or three days before she was murdered. She made the mistake of going out in public. People saw her. Maybe James saw her. And if he did, considering how much pent-up rage he must have felt for her—”

“Don't say it.”

“Then
you
stop saying James Eastman isn't capable of murder, Marissa, because maybe there's something terribly wrong with him that we know nothing about.”

She clutched Eric's strong forearms. “No, there just can't be something wrong with James. My sister is deeply in love with him!”

“And that's what scares me most, Marissa. Exactly who does your sister love? The man most people think he is? Or the man he
really
is?”

3

James gave Catherine a quick squeeze and a kiss on the cheek. “That was a great dinner, sweetheart.”

“Thanks. Steak, baked potato, and salad aren't exactly hard to fix. And I bought the cherry pie.”

“I wonder if they serve meals like that in prison.”

“You aren't going to prison,” Catherine said briskly, gathering dirty dishes. “Stop talking nonsense.”

“It isn't nonsense, Catherine. First Renée, then Arcos, and here I am with motives to kill both of them.”

Catherine poured hot water over the plates, waited for a moment, and then said, “Maybe you had a motive to kill Renée, but you didn't have opportunity. You were at a conference in Pittsburgh when she was murdered. The medical examiner said she was probably killed late Friday or early Saturday. You were gone then.”

“I also had the flu and mainly stayed in my hotel room. I wasn't visible at all times.”

Catherine looked at him. “You wouldn't have been visible at all times even without the flu unless you'd shared a room with someone—someone who never slept.”

James smiled again. “Good point. I'll have to bring it up next time Eric questions me.”

Catherine frowned and asked tentatively, “Eric isn't like those cops on television, is he? He doesn't take you into an interrogation room, yell at you, slam the table with his fist, and make threats.”

“God, no. He's businesslike. Completely professional. Calm and even tempered.” James stared ahead, his dark eyes seeming to mask dark thoughts. “He might not stay that way, though. Police treatment might become a little less civil, particularly if people keep getting murdered. But I'm whining and it's time to stop. I want to wipe all of this from my mind.”

“Me, too.”

“So how would you like to spend our evening?”

“Obviously not going out to visit with those nice folks on the front lawn.”

“No, and we can't leave here without them plunging at us with questions or following us.”

“Then I guess we'll just have to occupy ourselves inside.”

“You want to watch television?”

“No. I want to listen to music.”

“Fine with me.” James went into the living room. Catherine opened the refrigerator, grabbed a can of beer, and followed him, watching as he began inspecting his CD collection. “I have Tchaikovsky's Ballet Suite from
The Sleeping Beauty,
Handel's
Water Music,
Delibes's
Lakmé
(I know that's one of your favorites), or—”

Catherine had pulled a CD from her tote bag. “I want this.”

James took the case from her and peered at it. “Barry White!”

“Yes.”

“This is Marissa's, isn't it?”

“Yes, but I want to hear it tonight.”

“Catherine,
you
want ‘Can't Get Enough of Your Love, Babe' and ‘Never, Never Gonna Give You Up'?”

“Yes. Definitely. And we're going to dance.”

“I can't dance.”

“All you need to do is a little bumping and grinding. Certainly you can master that much.”

James held the CD for a moment and then nearly doubled over laughing. “My sophisticated, refined Catherine who loves opera tonight wants to
bump
and
grind
to Barry White?”

“More than anything,” she returned seriously. “Are you just going to sit there and laugh or are we going to get to it?”

James finally stopped laughing, wiped the tears from his face, and looked at her adoringly. “We're gonna get to it, baby!”

*   *   *

“From now on, I'm only listening to Barry White,” James said in a soft, deep voice as he pulled Catherine's naked body closer to him under the down comforter. Catherine giggled and buried her head in a pillow. James tickled her until she came up for air. “He was
your
choice, Catherine.”

“I know, but I didn't think I'd get quite so carried away with his music. Jeez! I'm embarrassed.”

“Are you sure you didn't work your way through college in strip clubs? Do you have a stripper pole stashed somewhere in your house?”

“Oh yeah, with my figure I was in constant demand. I would have needed serious breast implants to even get an audition.”

“You would have been if anyone saw your bumping and grinding.” James ran his hands lightly over her breasts. “Besides, I hate the look of those things. Your breasts are perfect.”

“You must need glasses. And my bumping and grinding was sedate.”

“Not after you'd downed a few beers, darling girl.”

“I guess I didn't know I have so much rhythm in me.”

“
Rhythm?
Is that what they're calling it these days?” James rolled onto his back and laughed uproariously.

“Well, I had no idea you have so much rhythm, either.”

“You're the only person in the world who does.”

“I'm very glad about that.” He began snickering again, louder and louder.

“James, you're starting to cackle.”

“I'm sorry, babe. It's just that if you'd told me this afternoon that tonight I'd be lying in bed
cackling
I'd have thought you were crazy.” He turned his head and kissed the top of hers, which she'd laid in the hollow below his shoulder.

“Are you going to start calling me ‘babe' now?” she asked.

“Only in private. I'm also going to request more performances of that dancing.”

“Only in private.”

“Not the office Christmas party?”

“Definitely not.” Catherine waited a beat. “Just make certain I don't drink too much at Patrice and Lawrence's wedding reception. Everyone might get a surprise when the music starts.”

“I don't think Patrice has any Barry White songs planned for the musical entertainment. You're safe.” James laughed again, put his hand under her chin, and tilted her head so he could look into her eyes. “I love you
so
much, Catherine.”