If She Should Die (10 page)

Streak seemed to recoil at the word
murder
. “Chris, that’s a real stretch.”

“No, it isn’t. It’s a real possibility.”

“You think that if Dara believed someone was going to murder her she would have written it in her diary but not told anyone? That’s crazy.”

“I didn’t mean she’d say anything so direct. But maybe reading about what she did, who her friends were . . . I don’t know.
Anything
might give us an idea of someone who was dangerous to her, even if she didn’t realize it.”

Streak looked troubled for a moment. Finally he said, “Okay, let’s say it is. What do we do with the thing?”

“Give it to the police.”

“The police!” Streak’s raised voice cut through the night. “But it’s so personal. You can’t have the police reading Dara’s most private thoughts!”

“You
can’t
read that diary,” Jeremy said stridently. “Dara said not to. She made me promise. She wouldn’t like it. If you read it, she might even come back from the dead and . . . and do something bad to you!”

“Jeremy, why don’t you round up the cat so we can leave?” Christine said gently.

“You’re just trying to get rid of me!”

“No, I’m tired and I want to go home and we can’t go without Rhiannon. You don’t want her to spend the whole
night out here in the dark and the wind and the rain and the cold, do you?”

Christine had added every persuasive objection she could think of to drive home Rhiannon’s pitiful state if left at the creek. “I guess she
would
be scared. We could just wait on her,” Jeremy said.

“I can’t wait. I’m too tired. I’m going, even if Rhiannon doesn’t.”

“I think you’re being mean,” Jeremy announced hotly.

“Maybe. I’m tired.”

“
Okay,”
Jeremy huffed. “I’ll go
look
for her.”

“Thank you.” She extended her hand. “I’ll hold the diary.”

“Don’t you dare open it,” Jeremy warned. “Don’t forget what I said about Dara coming back. This is a ghost hangout, you know. She’d be back here lickety-split if you read her diary.”

“All right. I believe you. Now don’t let Rhiannon get away again. I’m not staying out here half the night.”

“You really are crabby tonight,” Jeremy muttered as he tromped off after the cat.

Streak looked at Christine. “There could be things in here that would be excruciatingly embarrassing to Ames, things that can’t hurt Dara because she isn’t here. Ames still is and he’s been through enough.”

“Which doesn’t change the fact that Dara was murdered. Information in this diary could lead to her killer.” Christine felt growing confidence in her belief. “That’s why it has to go to the police.”

“I see your point if there really is something important in here. But the diary might be full of nothing but a teenage girl’s silliness. Not that at nineteen Dara should have been all that silly, but in some ways she seemed much younger than her age.”

“In some ways she seemed like she didn’t have a brain,” Christine couldn’t help snapping. “But in others she was very sophisticated. She wasn’t a bad person, Streak, but she was self-absorbed and she never thought about the consequences of her actions. She was also extremely impulsive.”

“You really did hate her,” Streak said softly.

“I did not!” Christine’s anger rose. “I am so tired of being accused of hating Dara. I tried to be friends with her when we first came here, and she let me know in a hurry she wanted nothing to do with me. And she kept letting me know it. She made fun of me. She shunned me. She rubbed my face in the fact that she was beautiful and popular and had a doting father. She hurt my feelings. She made me jealous. She made me mad. So no, I didn’t
like
her. But I didn’t
hate
her.”

Streak held up his hand as if to stem the tirade. “I shouldn’t have said that. I saw her goad you over the years. You had every right to dislike her. But I was out of line to say you hated her. I’m sorry.”

“All right. Apology accepted. But my prejudices against her aside, Streak, you know she got a thrill out of taking risks, and I’d bet my life she was up to some things she shouldn’t have been.”

“Things that could have gotten her killed?”

“Maybe.”

“So you’re planning on running to Sheriff Teague with this diary?”

“Absolutely not. Buck Teague is an idiot. Besides, the diary could be full of things that have absolutely no bearing on Dara’s murder.”

“Then what’s your solution?”

Christine said firmly, “We should read the diary first. We don’t want the whole police department reading about family squabbles that have nothing to do with
Dara’s death. If that’s the only kind of thing she wrote about, we don’t need to give this to the police.”

“But if there’s something suspicious—”

“Then we have no choice, even if the family does suffer some embarrassment.”

Streak’s face turned grim. “I don’t like it, Chris. It’s sneaky. It could cause Ames untold humiliation.”

“What does some humiliation matter if it leads to finding who killed Dara, wrapped her in plastic, and threw her in the river?”

The force of Christine’s brutal words seemed to freeze Streak’s objections. Of course Ames loved his daughter and wouldn’t want her reputation besmirched in any way, even by something trivial. But even more than protecting her reputation, he would want her killer found and punished.

Christine could see the conflict going on behind Streak’s hooded eyes. “Streak, I want
us
to read it first,” she tried again. “I want you to come home with Jeremy and me. You and I will read the diary and then
we
will decide what to do.”

Christine knew how intrusive Streak must find such a request. After all, he really didn’t know her well. Also, he was comfortable only two places—in his home and on his lonely runs. His visits were limited to his mother’s house and Ames’s, and they were always short.

Streak looked extremely reluctant and Christine almost withdrew the request, then forced herself to take a stand. She needed help with this matter. “Please, Streak. I know you don’t want to do this, but I don’t feel right about deciding all on my own whether to take the diary to the police. You’re more like family to Ames than I am. There’s no one else I’d really trust to help me with this decision.”

Finally, Streak said with a slight smile, “Going to push the responsibility off on me, are you?”

“If it goes to the police and Ames has a fit—”

“He definitely will, Chris.”

“I know. Anyway, in that event, I’ll take full responsibility for the decision. He won’t even know you were involved. I promise.”

“I was teasing, Chris. I don’t like displeasing Ames, but he doesn’t scare me. And I’m more of a man than to push the responsibility off on you. If we decide to give the police the diary, I’ll own up to my part in the decision.”

“Okay. But I have one condition. If it goes to the police, I want to give it to Deputy Winter, not Sheriff Teague.”

“Winter? I thought you didn’t trust him.”

“All I said is that he struck me as being tenacious. But as for trust, after one brief meeting with him I trust him more than I do Teague. Our sheriff has it in for my brother.”

“Yes, he certainly does. All right. If the diary goes, it goes to Winter. But are you sure you want to start reading tonight?”

“I can’t possibly sleep after all this. I also don’t think we should hang on to the diary for long if there’s something in it that could tell us what happened to Dara.”

Streak nodded, then turned. Jeremy was tramping toward them with Rhiannon in his arms, her golden eyes looking huge in the moonlight. “Your sister has asked me to come home with you two. I’ll ride your bike back. You and Rhi go in the car.”

“How come you’re going to our house? You’ve never been there before,” Jeremy asked suspiciously.

“It’s part of our adventure.”

“Oh.” Jeremy’s suspicion faded and he looked pleased. “Maybe you don’t know which house is Christy’s. You can ride in the car with her and I’ll take my bike.”

“I know which house is yours and I
really
want to ride
your bike. It’s a beauty.” Christine knew Streak had no great desire to ride Jeremy’s bicycle. Just an hour earlier Jeremy had been an emotional wreck, and now Streak wanted to make sure he returned home safely. “Riding the bike is part of the adventure for me,” Streak said enthusiastically.

“Oh, sure, I get it,” Jeremy said approvingly. “Do you know how to ride my bike?”

“This ten-speed is a lot fancier than anything I ever had, but I think the old-timer can make it. See you at the house in a few minutes.”

As soon as they left the creek area, the vitality seemed to drain from Jeremy. Christine imagined the adrenaline that had pushed him into overdrive earlier had abruptly dissipated, leaving him exhausted. He was yawning hugely when they got home. He and the cat nearly tumbled from the car, and as soon as they got inside, he said, “I’m sorry to mess up Streak’s adventure, but I’m too sleepy to stay up and visit. Do you think he’d be mad if I just go to bed?”

“Of course he won’t be mad. There’s plenty of time for other adventures.” Christine had expected an argument with him about their reading the diary. With relief, she realized that if Jeremy went to bed, a spat could be avoided. “Make sure the basement doors to the outside are locked,” she called as Jeremy headed downstairs with Rhiannon.

Christine put on another pot of coffee and waited for Streak. “Thank goodness the rain has stopped,” he said after putting Jeremy’s bike in the garage and sitting down at the kitchen table. “That could have been a nasty ride home.”

“No rain means no more flooding.”

“Not necessarily. The rain has just moved north. The river will still rise. The trouble isn’t over yet.” She set a
mug of coffee in front of him and he immediately took a sip. “Unfortunately, we don’t have a flood wall like that town down the river. I think the Army Corps of Engineers will order sandbagging to start tomorrow.”

“And Jeremy will want to be in the midst of the activity.”

“Don’t sound so worried. He’s strong and capable. You can’t hover over him forever, Chris.” Streak grinned. “Even the notorious recluse Streak Archer will turn out to help.”

“That should cause talk.”

“Hopefully enough to drown out talk about the body.”

“I don’t think anything could do that.” Christine sighed as she sat down with her own mug of coffee. “Can you imagine what Ames must be feeling tonight?”

“No, but then, Ames has always been good at closing his eyes to what he doesn’t want to see. He didn’t even cry when his mother died, although I know he adored her.”

“What about when Eve died?”

“Pretty much the same. He said he couldn’t cave in to his grief because he had to be strong for Dara, but I think giving in to emotion to him was the same as admitting Eve was gone. And he couldn’t let go of her, so he turned to her nurse. Patricia was just a link to his first wife.”

“A young and pretty link.”

“Yes. And one that Dara liked until Ames married her.”

“Do you think Patricia loves Ames?”

Streak shook his head. “She came from a dirt-poor background, detested nursing although she was good at it, and saw a comfortable landing place with an older, financially successful man.”

“Not so comfortable a place with Dara around. They rarely got through a day without some kind of blowup. I remember how anxious it made me when Jeremy and I came to live with Ames. I thought Ames might decide Jeremy and I were responsible for all the trouble and get rid
of us. Everything had been so peaceful and loving in our home. The Prince house was fairly crackling with tension.”

“Tension Dara probably wrote about in the diary.” Streak picked up the plastic bag and carefully slid out the book. “Think we should get started?” Christine nodded and he pushed the diary toward her as he leaned back in his chair. “You begin. Then I’ll take over.”

Christine opened the cover. The first page was covered with Dara’s familiar large, loopy handwriting done in red ink. Christine read aloud: “ ‘I received this diary on December twenty-fifth, another merry, scary Christmas in the Prince home. Here we are, all acting like we’re a loving family when most of us hate each other. But that’s nothing new. What’s new is how I feel.’ ”

Christine’s gaze darted ahead and then she paled. Streak leaned forward. “What does it say?”

She drew a deep breath and read, “ ‘I feel like someone wants me dead.’ ”

Michael Winter lay staring at the ceiling. He’d been going since five in the morning, it was now after midnight, and he still couldn’t sleep. His eyes felt gravelly, his legs ached from all the walking he’d done, and he was more tired than he had been for a year. But his thoughts churned and he couldn’t sleep.

“Well, hell,” he muttered, flinging back his sheet and blanket. He walked barefoot into the kitchen, got a beer out of the refrigerator, popped open the can, and drank deeply. Its cold bite felt remarkably satisfying. Michael rarely drank, but he realized he’d been craving a beer since he came home three hours earlier.

He wandered into the living room, picked up the television remote, and faced the twenty-five-inch screen. Immediately he saw a woman with bared breasts the size and shape of grapefruits wearing a nurse’s cap as she climbed into a delighted elderly patient’s hospital bed. “I can make you feel lots better then those old doctors can,” she cooed.

Michael tapped buttons on the remote. Suddenly a hot police pursuit was in progress, the cop’s car spinning wildly around corners, the cop looking iron-jawed and deadly. On another channel, well-dressed teens screamed their way down an alley, fleeing from some kind of roaring creature with tentacles. “One more try,” Michael muttered. A young woman burst into view, frolicking through a meadow and tossing her long auburn hair. Apparently, her fabric softener had thrown her into a fit of ecstasy. Michael’s mouth opened slightly as she turned, flashed a brilliant smile, and batted her lashes over heart-stopping large green eyes. “Good God, it’s Lisa,” he said as his ex-wife beamed to all the world.