Depth Perception (6 page)

"It's been a long day, Faye. I'm tired. I don't want to deal with you right now."

"Yeah? Well I have a few things to get off my chest." Turning away from her, Faye started for the kitchen.

"If it's an apology, don't bother." Nat followed, the anger inside her grabbing a foothold and digging in.

"I don't have anything to apologize for."

"How can you say that? Thanks to you, I just about went to trial for something I didn't do."

Faye set the bag of groceries and the bottle on the counter. "I told the truth."

"Ward and I were getting along fine. Our marriage wasn't perfect, but--"

"You were having problems, Nat. For God's sake, you told me he hadn't made love to you in over a year. When the police asked me about your relationship, I told them the truth. I had no way of knowing the prosecutor was going to twist my words around and use them against you."

Nat could feel the emotions building inside her. A tempest of fury and grief that had lain dormant for three years. "Ward and I were working through our problems, Faye. You could have mentioned that."

"I did. Natty, but the police didn't care. That detective wanted the person responsible for those murders, and he had his sights set on you. He honestly believed you had done it. And for that, honey, I'm sorry."

Stunned because she was on the verge of tears, Nat turned away and walked into the dining room. At the table, she gripped the back of a chair and leaned. The logical side of her brain knew there had been other factors involved that had resulted in her arrest and the ensuing grand jury proceedings. Flimsy circumstantial evidence, mostly. Nat's fingerprints had been on the bloody knife that had killed her son. The bedroom window screen had been cut as if someone had gained access to the house that way. Later, evidence had revealed the screen had been cut from the inside. The emergency room doctor testified that Nat's wounds could have been self-inflicted. But Faye's statement had been damaging. She'd given the police a motive.

"When the police asked me if you were having marital problems," Faye began, ''I mentioned your suspicions about Ward having an affair. I thought maybe the detective would look at the other woman. I could never have foreseen them using that information against you."

Nat would never forget the stab of pain when she'd learned that her best friend had helped the police build their case against her. "Yeah, well, evidently they did."

Faye shook her head. "What they didn't take into account was my telling him there was no way in hell you did it."

Because she wasn't yet ready to forgive, Nat walked to the French doors to stare out at the gathering darkness beyond.

"I need to put these groceries away," Faye said, digging into the bag.

"I don't want them." Nat glared at her.

“It's just a few staples."

Nat held her ground at the French door while Faye clanked things around in the kitchen. After several minutes, Nat turned to her. "That's not where the cereal goes," she said crossly.

"You're being a bitch, Nat.”

Crossing to the kitchen, Nat took the cereal box from Faye and walked to the built-in pantry and opened the door. The dozen or so shelves were completely barren, so she set the sole box of cereal on the center one, face out. She knew it was stupid, bur for some reason the sight of that bare pantry reminded her of her life--stark and achingly empty when it should have been full--and for several uncomfortable moments she had to blink back tears.

Faye must have sensed her inner turmoil, because she came up behind her and set her hand on her shoulder. "It'll get easier, honey."

"That's what everyone keeps saying." Nat squeezed her eyes closed, fought back tears. She was thinking too much, feeling too much. If only she could turn off her emotions.

''This is your first day back," Faye said. "Give yourself time."

"Ward was a minister, Faye. He wasn't supposed to have an affair." But in her heart of hearts, she'd known something wasn't right. She'd seen it in the way he looked at her. The chasm between them. During. the last year of their marriage, Ward had suffered from impotency. He hadn't made love to her in more than a year ....

"Ministers are human," Faye said gently. 'They make mistakes."

"I think he was seeing Sara Wiley." Nat met the other woman's gaze. "Was he?"

"Honey, knowing isn't going to help anything. You need to try to put this behind you and get on with your life."

"You knew, didn't you? The whole town knew." Nat choked out a laugh, but she felt like a fool. How could she have been so blind?

Faye raised her hands, a conductor quieting a symphony that had gotten too loud. "Let it go, Nat. Please don't do anything stupid."

"Oh, for God's sake, Faye, you don't think I'm going to stomp over to her house and yank out her hair, do you?"

Faye didn't smile. "If it's any consolation, I didn't find out it was her until just a few months ago."

The confirmation of something she'd already suspected shouldn't have hurt, but it did. How could she have been so naive? She'd had Sara over to the house for dinner. Sara had watched Kyle a dozen times. Ward had talked about her a little too often, a little too fondly. "How did you find out?" she heard herself ask.

"I ran into Sara at The Blue Gator. We had a couple of beers, and she just started laying it on me. She was half drunk. Crying and telling me she'd loved him. I think she had a guilty conscience."

Nat's mind was reeling. "Did anyone bother to tell the police?"

“I told Alcee Martin. I heard later that Norm Pelletier talked to her. But nothing ever came of it." Her gaze met Nat's. "I know what you're thinking, honey, but you're wrong. Reno Wiley might be a mean-spirited jerk. but he's not a killer."

Nat thought of her meeting with Alcee Martin earlier in the day and felt a rise of anger because he hadn't bothered to mention Reno had already been considered and eliminated as a suspect. "I guess all the suspicion in this town was reserved for me."

"Some people just want to believe the worst. The people who know better are the ones who count." Faye reached out to touch her. "In case you haven't figured it out by now, that includes me."

Nat walked to the dining room table and sank into a chair. "What a mess."

"Honey, you're shaking." Faye set the bottle of wine on the table between them and took the chair across from her. "Are you okay?"

She nodded but figured both women knew she was a long way from being okay.

"How's your mama?" Faye asked. "She still living in New Orleans?"

Nat's smile was sardonic. "She's good at pretending everything is all right. I think she's in denial. She doesn't talk about it." Analise Jennings was the quintessential southern belle. Appearances were everything, and she worked hard to maintain them, sometimes at the cost of facing reality.

"People deal with grief in different ways," Faye said. "She lost a grandson. She almost lost you." She paused. "Does she know you're here?"

"No." Nat gave her a hard look. "I want to keep it that way."

"Why are you here, Natty? Of all the places you could have gone, why did you come back to a place that holds so much pain?"

To find a killer.

The words flitted through her mind, but Nat didn't voice them. She didn't trust Faye enough to tell her the truth. She figured the less people knew about why she was back, the better her chances of succeeding. "I just ... needed to face some old demons so I can put this behind me and move on with my life."

Faye nodded, but Nat didn't miss the instant of hesitation, and she knew the other woman suspected there was more to her arrival in Bellerose than the need for closure.

Because she didn't want the conversation to go in that direction, Nat moved quickly to change the subject. "Do you know Nick Bastille?"

Faye looked startled by the question. "I know enough about him to know he's trouble."

"How so?"

"Well, he's an ex-con, for one. A shame, considering he's so damn good to look at. Talk about a waste of man-flesh. I saw him pumping gas the other day out at Ray's Sunoco, and he really is something to look at, if you like the dangerous type, anyway. Emma down at the diner told me he took a job at The Blue Gator."

"I wonder why he came back to Bellerose," Nat said, thinking aloud. "I mean, there aren't many opportunities here, especially for an ex-con."

"Maybe he didn't have anywhere else to go." Faye's eyes narrowed. "Any particular reason you're asking about Nick Bastille?"

Nat lifted her shoulder, let it fall. "I had a run-in with him earlier," she said vaguely. "He was rude."

"Yeah, well, from what I hear, he's not the kind of guy you want to piss off. He went to prison for murder, you know." She lowered her voice. "Jenny Lee told me he has all sorts of shady friends down in New Orleans. He might even have ties to the Mob. You definitely don't want to run into him in a dark alley. When Nick Bastille showed back up, folks around here started locking their doors."

But Nat knew all too well about small towns and gossip. She knew how a story got bigger and more vicious every time it was told. And because she herself had been a favorite topic among Bellerose's gossipmongers, she resolved not to pass judgment on Nick Bastille.

"I drove up to see you a few times when you were in the hospital, you know," Faye said after a moment.

Nat didn't even try to hide her surprise. "I didn't know."

"You were still in a coma."

"If I hadn't been, I probably would have told you to leave."

Faye smiled, bur it looked sad on her face. "The first time was a week or so after ... you went in. At that point, the doctors didn't know if you were going to come back"

Some days Nat still couldn't believe she'd spent over two years in a coma. Months that had passed in the blink of an eye and were lost forever. She didn't remember much about the night she'd tried to commit suicide. Ward and Kyle had been dead for a week and life had seemed too bleak to bear. Nat had been sitting in a jail cell, and it had seemed as if her very soul had been ripped from her body. Her heart torn to bits and trod upon. She knew slitting her wrists had been a cowardly thing to do, but at the time she'd been too shattered inside to care ...

"I read to you mostly," Faye said.

Nat contemplated her, wondering if they could ever go back to being friends. "What did you read?"

"Whatever I was reading at the time. You seemed to enjoy Fanny Hill," she said deadpan.

Nat made a sound that was half laugh, half sob. "For God's sake, Faye. you don't read erotica to someone who's in a coma."

"You moved your hand that night, Natty. You knew I was there."

Nat didn't know what to say and for a moment all she could do was blink back tears. How very like Faye to do something so utterly unorthodox. And so selfless and kind, a little voice added.

Because she didn't want to cry, Nat took a deep breath and focused on the bottle Faye had set on the table. "What kind of wine is that?”

"Blackberry. From my own patch. I thought you might appreciate some about now."

"I hate your blackberry wine."

"That was peach cognac you tried, spoilsport. And for your information, I've refined my wine-making skills since you last tried it."

Rising, Nat walked into the kitchen and snagged two wine glasses from the cabinet. At the bar, Faye uncorked the bottle. "I like to let this breathe for a minute or two."

Nat met her at the bar and set down the glasses. Faye looked at her, her expression sober. "It hurt when you refused to see me after you came out of the coma."

"I was a mess, Faye. Physically. Emotionally."

"You were angry."

"I was a lot of things, and none of them were good."

"Considering what you've been through, you have a very positive energy, Nat." A smile whispered across Faye's features. "You look damn good for a woman who's spent the last two and a half years sleeping."

Nat thought of the months of grueling physical rehabilitation and grimaced. "It was tough, Faye. Even though I'd had quite a bit of physical therapy, my muscles had atrophied. I couldn't walk. I couldn't even sit up. It's taken me six months to get my strength back."

"Any lingering effects from the stroke?"

After her suicide attempt, Nat had gone into hypovolemic shock and suffered a minor stroke from blood loss. "I had some memory problems early on and some minor paralysis on my left side." She raised her left band and flexed her lingers. "My left hand is a little awkward. but since I'm right-handed, it's not a problem."

"That's good." Faye studied her face. "You look a little tired. A lot sad."

"I am. Both."

"But your energy is strong," The other woman's eyes narrowed. "Different somehow. Powerful. But good. That's the most important thing."

Nat had always been a skeptic when it came to things like personal energy and the woo-woo mumbo jumbo Faye subscribed to. The last six months had changed her view dramatically.

Faye raised her glass. ''To the healing energy of friendship," she said.

And the sweet promise of justice,
Nat silently added, and clinked her glass against Faye's.

Chapter 6

The Blue Gator was hopping. the shift at the lumber mill had ended at four o'clock, and by four-fifteen half of Bobby O'Malley's crew were at the bar, their minds set on putting a dent in Mike Pequinot's supply of booze. A lively zydeco number blasted from the jukebox. Even though it was still early, several couples were already kicking up sawdust on the matchbox-size dance floor.

The boisterous atmosphere of The Blue Gator was a far cry from the jazzy elegance of the restaurant Nick had owned in New Orleans. The Tropics had been dark wood and candlelight, smooth jazz, Dominican cigars, and top-shelf liquor. But atmosphere was a relative thing, and Nick was in his element, no matter which bar he stood behind.

He'd always believed one of the things that made him good at what he did was his willingness to roll up his sleeves. Even back when he'd been wearing two thousand dollar suits, if a table needed busing, he jumped in and did it himself. Even after he'd had the money to hire the best bartenders in the city, he'd made it a point on occasion to elbow his way to the bar and serve up shots and drafts or whatever alcoholic concoction his customers wanted.