Carolyn G. Hart_Henrie O_04 (18 page)

Or did I impose my own response upon a murderer? Did this killer recall with glee? Evade any memory? Endlessly justify? Callously dismiss? Ache with regret?

But the communal sense of discomfort was palpable.

Anders lurched to his feet. “Last words! So you can put them in a scrapbook?” These words were not quite so distinct, but Anders's suspicion and anger were clear. “Oh, no, wait a minute. You're the shill, aren't you? This is just a clever-ass way of beating the bushes for her.” Anders waved his arm toward me.

Hostile faces swung toward me.

But Stan Dugan was a man who dealt with bloodied and battered bodies and spirits. Stan Dugan matched wits with stone-cold-sober lawyers who could joust with the devil and cling to a mount. Anders wasn't in Stan's league.

Dugan let Belle's hand drop. He took one long step, two, deliberately, provocatively, aggressively moving into Anders's personal space, looming over the smaller man, huge, powerful, intimidating. “Is there some reason why you don't want to remember CeeCee's last words, Anders?”

Anders ineffectually shoved at Stan. Breathing heavily, he
made inarticulate sounds of rage deep in his throat. Peggy's pathetic whimpers were a frantic counterpoint. Elise pressed a hand to her mouth. Joss jumped up and moved toward the big man and his brother. Megan leaned forward, her chiseled face intent. Gretchen clapped her hands and gave a shrill whistle. Wheeler grabbed her shoulder, shook it. Keith was on his feet. “That's enough, boys.”

I was trying hard to pick up words and phrases from Anders. “…sorry…bitch…make me…”

Belle's clear, crisp voice cut through the melee, much to my disappointment. Visceral emotion reveals the truth of the heart.

“Stan, Anders, please.” Her clear voice was compelling.

Even Stan Dugan gave way to Belle.

In an instant, with a touch of Belle's hand, Stan was back by the railing and Anders was subsiding into his chair. Peggy's fluttering hands quieted. Joss returned to his seat.

The flames from the torches flickered scarlet against the inky sky, their faintly sulfurous glow making Stan Dugan loom even larger against the darkness. Was I the only one who saw him as an avenger?

Belle gently patted Stan's arm, then she stepped to Anders, bent, and lightly kissed his tousled hair. She stopped midway between the two men, both hands outstretched. “What Stan is asking is hard for all of us. But we have to help each other find solace. Let's go back to that last day.” Her voice was cool and even. It brooked no disagreement. “We will do this for Stan.”

Stan stepped forward, once again the focal figure. Stan would always be first chair. “Friday morning.” Stan's deep voice intoned the words. “CeeCee's last Friday morning.” His massive head turned slowly toward Belle.

Everyone looked at her. She stepped forward into a pool of moonlight that clothed her in a serene radiance. “I was walking in the garden, very early. CeeCee joined me. I
thought—still think—that CeeCee had something special to tell me. Perhaps I think that because the moment matters so much to me now. Our last talk. Ever. CeeCee was so lovely that morning, as lovely as the crocuses that were starting to bloom. Her blouse was a crisp white with black buttons. The neck and sleeves were rimmed in black. Her skirt was long and black with a design of little purple flowerpots with yellow blooms. When she walked, the skirt swirled and it looked like the flowerpots were dancing.” Belle's gaze moved to Stan. “I don't know…” There was an unaccustomed hesitancy in her voice.

“Whatever CeeCee said.” Dugan was insistent.

It was as if Belle and Stan were alone, speaking only to each other.

“We were almost back to the terrace and CeeCee took my hand and said, ‘Mother, what would you do if someone you love was unfaithful?' She held my hand very tight.”

Did I hear the faintest of sighs, the catching of a breath quickly suppressed?

“Just another episode on—” Gretchen's sotto-voce comment broke off. Wheeler had clapped his hand over her mouth.

But Belle was looking gravely at Stan.

He rocked back on his heels, his face impassive. “What did you tell her?”

Belle spoke with a quiet dignity. “Love must always be honored. Or it is not love.”

Just for an instant, his composure wavered. He bent forward, his fists doubled, then slowly rose to his full height. “What did CeeCee say?”

“Nothing. She gave me a hug and her lips brushed my cheek. I'll always remember that touch, swift and delicate. And the scent. I'd given it to her for her birthday a few days early. The Enchantment of the Moment, that was its name. The Enchantment of the Moment.”

It was as if this, too, were an enchanted moment. No one moved or spoke. The poignant silence was broken unexpectedly by Elise Ford. “It was a lovely perfume. I complimented CeeCee on it. I saw her in the hallway. She was looking for Belle and I told her to go to the garden.”

Dugan looked at Elise inquiringly.

“That's all. I'm sorry. I know it isn't important. That was all we said to each other. That—and she smiled and said it was a beautiful day.”

As the words faded away, Dugan once again faced his audience. His eyes moved slowly from face to face. Or were these witnesses to be called? Dugan pointed at Keith Scanlon, a commanding, peremptory gesture. “CeeCee was waiting for you at the garage that morning.”

Scanlon's head jerked up. “Waiting for me? I don't know why you put it like that. I happened to see her there.”

Dugan pounced. “I put it like that because that's how it was. A gardener was trimming the crape myrtle. One Pedro Martinez, age nineteen at the time. He saw CeeCee step out from behind a weeping willow when you came around the path. She walked up to you. You tried to shake her off, step past her, but she wouldn't budge. She talked fast and hard. You and CeeCee were both angry. You kept shaking your head, then you pushed past and hurried to your car. What did CeeCee say to you, Keith?”

No courtroom was ever quieter, waiting for a defendant's response. But this quiet pulsed with different, far different, emotions than when the evening began.

I understood why. These people had gathered to remember CeeCee Burke and now they faced a man with steel in his voice, but more than that, an aggressive man bristling with concrete, specific facts of CeeCee's final day.

And they didn't know how Dugan knew these facts. Or why. Or what facts he intended to reveal.

But they knew now that this was not simply an exercise
in recall. Anyone who'd spoken with CeeCee that day, if there was anything odd or discreditable or unpleasant, that person had to wonder and worry now if Dugan knew. The wonder and the worry were reflected in their faces, wary, alert, careful faces.

Anders's eyes squeezed to narrow slits. The brother who put animals before people, the brother who became director of the Ericcson Foundation.

Peggy held a plump hand to her throat. Yes, she was CeeCee's friend, but all that really mattered to her in the world was Anders.

Joss stared in surprise. He loved to act and now he was in Hollywood. Would he be there if CeeCee were alive?

Elise stared at Scanlon. She touched her temple as if it throbbed.

Gretchen clasped her hands tightly together, her face still and white. Why was she afraid?

Wheeler hunched his shoulders. He shot a look of pure hatred at Stan Dugan.

Megan smoothed back her perfect hair. Her glance darted from face to face, seeking, searching.

Lester remained in the shadows. If I'd had a spotlight, I would have beamed it on him. Lester Mackey was just a little too retiring for my taste. What was he hiding?

Keith Scanlon darted an uncertain look at his wife. Belle's eyes were locked on Stan. Keith blustered, “I don't know what the hell's wrong with you, Stan. What's the point—”

“Answer the question, Keith.” Dugan's eyes bored into Scanlon's. “What did CeeCee say to you?”

Belle stood quite still, her face smooth as porcelain, her head bent attentively.

Keith flung out his hands. “Hell, it was nothing. Just CeeCee on a hobbyhorse. It wasn't enough that the Ericcson Foundation was going all out to elect a woman who's pro
choice. No, CeeCee wanted me to set up a tennis tournament to raise money, and I told her hell, no. A lot of women play tennis who are anti-abortion and I didn't want to get in the middle of that damn fight. Life's too short.”

“Life's too short. Is that what you told her?” Stan snapped.

Keith ignored him. He spoke to Belle. “I'm sorry. Christ, I'm sorry. And I never told you. I didn't want you to know that's how it ended between us. Belle, I wouldn't have fought with her if I'd known. But none of us knew. How could we know?”

Belle's shoulders relaxed. “We didn't know, Keith.”

But someone here, one of those who had spoken or who would speak, that person decided on that long-ago Friday that CeeCee Burke was living her last day.

“A walk in the garden with Belle. A quarrel at the garage with Keith. Then we come to CeeCee's office at the foundation.” Dugan's gaze moved from Anders to Joss to Gretchen to Wheeler to Megan. “Which one of you wants to go first?”

The silence quivered with tension.

“No takers?” Dugan's mouth twisted. “Fine. Let's start with Anders.”

“Why don't you just read your friggin' private detective's report, Stan? Have you got it with you? Is it your special nighttime reading, a little old report on all of us?” Anders lounged back in his chair. He was drunk, but he wasn't stupid.

Peggy blurted, “I don't understand what's going on here. Have you been spying on us? Is that what's happened?”

Joss's voice was grim. “Yes, Stan. You owe us an explanation.”

“Hear, hear,” Gretchen called out. But her voice was thin and angry.

“Anders is right. I've got a report from a private detec
tive. A very capable private detective. I didn't need to bring it with me,” Dugan said quietly. “I know every word in it by heart.” He stared combatively at Anders. “Somebody killed your sister—and we don't know who. So, yes, when the cops didn't find anything, I hired a private detective. I know where CeeCee went that last day. I know who she saw. But there's a lot I don't know, a lot I want to know. Take you, Anders. You slammed out of CeeCee's office at the foundation that morning. The secretary remembered it clearly. You yelled at CeeCee. Why?”

I think all of us expected a tirade from Anders. Peggy gripped her husband's arm tightly.

But Anders slumped down in his chair. He didn't look at Stan. “That dress she had on.” The words were slurred. “Stupid little flowerpots. Same color as one she gave me when we were kids. Mine broke, so CeeCee gave me hers.” Tears spilled down his cheeks. “I stood in the door of her office and yelled at her. I told her she was an officious butthead and somebody was going to bump her off someday because she was such a butthead. That's the last time I saw her and she—she was looking at me so damn puzzled. She didn't know why I was mad. God, she didn't understand.”

“Why
were
you mad, Anders?” Dugan's voice was gentle.

Anders used his sleeve to wipe his face. He shook his head back and forth. “Nobody cares. You look around—kittens dumped in a parking lot and it's a hundred and five degrees, dogs kicked and starving. Goddammit”—he jolted forward in his chair, his voice rose in anguish—“nobody cares! That's what I told CeeCee. She could use the foundation's money. We could open a refuge for deserted animals. We could—” He broke off, slumped back down in the chair. “But she wouldn't listen. Nobody ever listens. Nobody cares.”

Peggy grabbed her husband's hand, held it tightly. “Yes, we do care. We do,” she cried. “And now we have a won
derful refuge. And it's all because of you, Anders. You made it possible.”

I had a question from some of the reading material I'd picked up when I visited the foundation. Maybe it was out of place. But this was not a night for niceties. “The foundation's just opened a new animal refuge near Plano, hasn't it, Peggy?”

She nodded eagerly. “Yes. Oh, it's beautiful, beautiful.”

“With money from the foundation?”

The elation left Peggy's face so suddenly, she looked stricken. Her mouth formed an O.

Anders began to laugh, a hiccupping, high laugh. “Watch out, the old witch'll get you!” He pulled free from Peggy, pointed at me. “The witch,” he crowed, “the witch'll get you every time.”

“You don't understand.” Peggy jumped to her feet. She stumbled in her eagerness to get to me. “Listen, I talked to CeeCee that afternoon. Friday afternoon. She said she'd been thinking about what Anders said, and he was right. And we talked all about how wonderful it would be, The Ericcson Animal Refuge. We planned it on the phone. That afternoon.” Her eyes bulged with sincerity.

And what of her story to me earlier that CeeCee had returned her engagement ring to Stan? Had that been sheer invention?

“That's right.” Joss's smooth actor's voice rang with conviction. “I can confirm that.”

Nice. Their stories were interwoven like reeds in a basket. I studied Joss and was reminded of Tyrone Power in
Witness for the Prosecution
. Smooth, handsome, such a good actor. Who wouldn't believe him?

Me, for starters.

Joss's face was earnest, serious. “I was in CeeCee's office when she talked to Peggy. I overheard her conversation with Peggy. At least, I heard CeeCee's end. And I was pleased. I
thought it was a great idea. I thought it would be a grand way for me to end up my time with the foundation.”

“End up your time?” Dugan asked in surprise.

“Right.” Joss was casual. “I told CeeCee I'd be leaving in a couple of weeks. I'd decided to go out to California.”