If She Should Die (3 page)

Christine tried to stifle a smile as Ames glanced at Wilma with surprise etched on every line of his aristocratic hawklike face, then did exactly as the woman ordered. When he’d finished, he looked at Wilma without animosity and said, “Is that better?”

“Much. I’m sure Christine appreciates it. She went to a great deal of trouble redecorating this place last year, and it looks beautiful. I won’t have you spoiling it with your carelessness.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ames said meekly, his thin lips twisting with a rare burst of amusement. Few people could have gotten away with speaking to the dignified Ames Prince that way. But when Ames was an only child with a quiet, aloof father and a mother slowly dying of multiple sclerosis it was Wilma Archer who had welcomed him into her warm home and treated him like one of her own boisterous brood of four. He’d spent more time with the Archers than with his own father even after the death of his mother when he was ten. “What are you doing out on an awful day like this?” Ames asked her.

“This is the fourth dark, rainy day in a row. I felt if I didn’t get out of the house, I’d scream. Besides, I don’t think it will be safe to come into town after today.”

“You’re right,” Ames said. “The river is three feet below flood level. I think they’ll be putting up the sandbags soon.” He looked at Christine. “Jeremy doesn’t want to help with the sandbag operation, does he?”

“Yes, he does,” she said, regretting that Ames always acted as if Jeremy were physically twelve years old, not just mentally.

“It’s too dangerous for him out there. He could fall in the river and drown,” Ames pronounced.

“He’s an excellent swimmer,” Christine offered.

“Not when the current is so swift. And he panics.”

Wilma rolled her eyes at Christine. Ames had become overprotective of Jeremy, especially after the disappearance of his daughter Dara three years ago. Foul play had never been proved. For all anyone knew, she’d simply run away. After all, she’d threatened it often enough and many of her clothes and belongings were missing. But Christine knew the specter of his daughter’s possible death constantly lingered over Ames.

Rain had blown under his umbrella and dampened his hair. Seeing his hair wet made Christine realize how thin the silver-laced brown strands had become in the last couple of years. Moisture glistened on all the new lines etched around his cool gray eyes and bracketing his thin lips. His cheekbones jutted starkly beneath unhealthily pale skin. Dara’s disappearance had taken a noticeable physical toll on Ames. His feelings he kept to himself.

“Business slow today?” he asked Christine.

“It’s four o’clock and Wilma is my fifth customer.”

Ames frowned. “Hardly worth opening the store for.”

“Well, I like that!” Wilma declared with mock outrage. “I’m not worth opening the store for?”

Ames smiled. “Please pardon my discourtesy, madam. I would keep the store open all day for you alone. But I think we should go home early today. And tomorrow we’ll open at ten instead of nine.”

“Good,” Christine said. “I’ll have time to go to the gym before work. I haven’t been there for over a week.”

“As if you young, skinny things need to work out,” Wilma said. “I think you could stand to put on ten pounds, Christine. And you could do with twenty, Ames. You are entirely too thin—”

“Wilma, I’m afraid you’re going to have an unpleasant trip home. It’s pouring and there are flash flood warnings,” Ames said abruptly to stem one of Wilma’s tirades about everyone’s weight.

“I’m a fine driver and I’ve been maneuvering these roads since before you were born,” Wilma returned tartly.

“You’re going to drive home all alone in this downpour?” asked Ginger Tate, the twenty-year-old red-haired sprite Christine had hired as a clerk two months ago. For the past hour she’d been polishing an ornate silver tea service on this slow afternoon. “I don’t think driving by yourself is a good idea, Mrs. Archer. What if you have a flat tire?”

“I know how to fix a flat tire, young lady.”

“When you’re being pelted with rain?” Ginger shook her head and grimaced. “It’ll blur your vision and you can’t see. It’ll mess up other drivers’ vision, too. Gee, someone might run right over you.
Splat!
Then how would you feel?”

“Probably not too well,” Wilma answered solemnly.

“Right. And aside from you getting hurt, the other driver would feel crummy for running down an elderly lady,” Ginger added, polishing diligently. She went at every task enthusiastically. “They’d feel guilty for the rest of their lives.”

Ginger was too busy polishing to notice that Christine and Ames were now on the verge of laughter along with Wilma.

Wilma’s tone was grave: “I guess I’m being appallingly selfish. I hadn’t given any of those possibilities a thought. You’re a very astute young lady, Ginger.”

“Yeah, well, my dad says I analyze everything too much, but I can’t help it. It’s just my nature.”

“It’s often a fine trait,” Wilma said. “All right, Ames, Ginger has convinced me I’m taking unnecessary risks. But before I go home, I have some things to drop off at the church for families who’ve already been flooded out of their homes. Blankets, canned foods, some clothes. You can follow me home from there and make sure I don’t cause any disasters.”

“It would be my pleasure,” Ames said, “but we should get going. Driving is more difficult in this rain when it gets dark, and at the most we only have about a couple of hours of daylight left.”

Christine handed Wilma the box containing the bracelet and Ames was shrugging back into his damp raincoat when the front door opened. A tall, lean man entered the store and looked quickly around. He carried no umbrella and rain glistened on his short, thick brown hair. He wore a yellow rain slicker and water-spattered uniform trousers with the distinctive black stripes down the sides.

“Be sure to wipe your feet,” Wilma instructed.

The man looked down at his shining black shoes. “I’ve had on rubber boots until two minutes ago,” he said. “I left them outside the door.”

Wilma squinted at the broad-brimmed hat he carried. “I was introduced to you last year at the Sternwheel Regatta. You’re Deputy Sheriff Michael Winter, aren’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’m Wilma Archer. This is Ames Prince and Christine Ireland.”

He shot Christine one quick, keen glance after which she was certain he could describe in detail her short blond hair, light aqua eyes, straight nose bearing a smattering of freckles, above average height, and white silk knit sweater.

He turned his gaze back to Wilma. “We did meet at the regatta, ma’am,” he said in a deep, smooth voice as he held out his hand to the older woman. “The weather sure was nicer then.”

“Oh, it was beautiful! And what a fine turnout we had. I do love all those pretty boats!” Wilma sounded young and slightly flustered. Christine recalled her going on a few months ago about meeting the new deputy in town, clearly with matchmaking on her mind since she’d added excitedly that he was young, divorced, and handsome and had moved to Winston from Los Angeles, where he’d been a detective. Please don’t let her announce that I’m single, Christine thought, not without provocation. Wilma’s determination to find her a husband had embarrassed her in front of several single men. But when the deputy sheriff began to talk in a businesslike tone, her fear of humiliation vanished. He wasn’t going to give Wilma a chance for any small talk.

“I need to speak to you, Mr. Prince,” Winter said almost grimly as he looked at Ames. “I was told at your office you might be here.”

“And so I am,” Ames said casually. He seemed calm, but Christine felt a small clutch of fear caused by the discomfort in Winter’s eyes, the formality of his tone. “How may I help you, Deputy?”

“I wonder if we might speak alone.”

“I’m not under arrest for some heinous crime, am I?” Ames’s voice was strained. “You’re not trying to spare me the humiliation of arresting me in front of a crowd?”

“No, sir, certainly not. But I have some news I thought might best be delivered to you in private.”

This was something about Dara, Christine thought with a dark, certain dread as she saw color seep from Ames’s face. He sensed it concerned Dara, too, and he was afraid to hear the news alone, although he would never admit it.

“I have no secrets from Miss Ireland and Mrs. Archer,” Ames said stiffly. He completely ignored Ginger, who’d stopped polishing and watched with huge eyes. “Please don’t drag this out any longer.”

Michael Winter’s slender face tightened. His dark eyes gazed unflinchingly into Ames’s for a moment and Christine saw his right hand curl into a fist, then relax. He swallowed and said gently, “Mr. Prince, about an hour ago an object washed up on the riverbank about half a mile south of town. It was tightly wrapped in plastic.” He paused and Wilma’s breath drew in sharply. “Unfortunately, I wasn’t present when it was retrieved and therefore couldn’t stop some of the local men from unwrapping it—”

“Probably a cow or a dog or a goat or a . . .” Wilma interrupted before her voice trailed off and she looked apprehensively at Ames, who seemed frozen, not even blinking.

“It’s not an animal, ma’am,” Deputy Winter said gently. “It appears to be an adult female.”

“Oh!” Wilma exclaimed. Michael Winter did not look at her. His gaze remained fixed on Ames, who swayed almost imperceptibly.

“The body has been in the water for a while,” Michael Winter went on softly. “Maybe years. There’s a lot of decomposition in spite of the heavy plastic wrapping. However, Mr. Prince, I regret to say we believe it might be the remains of your daughter, Dara.”

Nearly ten seconds ticked by while Wilma Archer went rigid and Ginger gasped. Christine felt an odd plunging sensation, as if all her blood were draining to her feet, but Ames Prince merely stared at the deputy with a small detached smile. “I’m sorry I snapped at you earlier, Deputy Winter. I appreciate your coming to tell me this personally, but that unfortunate person can’t be my daughter. I just got a letter from her last week. She’s in Arizona. Phoenix, to be exact.”

The letters, Christine thought in despair. They’d been coming three or four times a year since a month after Dara’s disappearance. They were always posted from a different part of the country, and they were typewritten. Ames had placed all his faith in them. Christine could not believe they were really from Dara.

Deputy Winter gazed unwaveringly at Ames although his voice was still gentle. “Sir, I’ve heard there’s some doubt about those letters actually being sent by your daughter.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Ames said loudly. “Who else would
send them? Who’s been saying they aren’t from my daughter?”

“I don’t suppose you’ve had them checked for fingerprints—”

“No!” Ames was almost shouting. “I know my daughter’s writing style, her signature. Having them checked would be a waste of time! Besides, she left a good-bye note in her room before she left.”

The deputy took a deep breath. “Well, I don’t know much about the letters or the note, sir. All I know at this point is that we’ve retrieved the remains of what appears to be a female around five feet, four inches tall, which I know from her file is your daughter’s height, with long black hair like your daughter’s.”

“Black hair,” Wilma whispered.

“Dozens of women have black hair,” Ames said in a dry, metallic voice. “Hundreds of women. And who can tell what color the hair actually is after a long time in the water? It might be brown hair that’s just dirty.”

Christine flinched inside, knowing how genuinely alarmed Ames must be to come up with such a weak excuse for the corpse having black hair. “Was she wearing any jewelry?” Christine ventured. “Dara always wore a ring. A heart-shaped ruby surrounded by diamonds.”

Deputy Winter turned depthless brown eyes on her. “I really can’t describe effects recovered. Mr. Prince will have to identify any items found with the body as well as the body itself.”

“Oh, dear lord,” Wilma moaned. “We have to go down to the riverbank and look at this
thing
?”

“No, ma’am,” Winter said gently. “It’s procedure for bodies to be sent directly to the state medical lab in Charleston. Mr. Prince will have to go there to look at the body.”

“To Charleston?” Wilma demanded in a rising voice.
“Why not a local funeral home? Why all the way to Charleston?”

“It’s procedure, ma’am—”

“Wilma, it’s quite all right,” Ames said calmly. “I’ll drive to Charleston tonight, look at this body, and confirm that it isn’t Dara, and everything will be fine. It only takes an hour to get to Charleston. I’ll be there and back by nine o’clock. It isn’t the end of the world.”

But it
was
the end of his world, Christine thought in misery. She knew in her soul Dara had been found at last, and tonight, when Ames looked at the remains of her body, he would be forced to face a horrible truth he’d desperately outrun for three years.

“Sir, I hate to ask you this,” Winter went on, obvious dismay in his voice. “But I mentioned the extreme decomposition. There’s a chance you might not be able to identify the body even if it is your daughter. We’ll probably have to do DNA testing, so we’ll need a hair or tissue sample from Dara. Would you happen to have anything—”

“Excellent idea!” Ames boomed. “Her bedroom has been shut off since the night she disappeared. She took many things with her when she ran away. Clothes, personal items. All missing since that night. But her brush is still on her dresser. A lovely silver-backed thing my father gave her. There’s still hair in it—” He broke off. “We’ll stop at my house before going to Charleston, you can get hair samples, and I’ll take them with me to Charleston—”

“Sir, that’s not procedure. I can collect them and send them tomorrow—”

“To hell with procedure!” Ames suddenly seemed almost giddy. “There’s no need to wait until tomorrow. The sooner the better, because DNA testing will show absolutely that this corpse is not my daughter. That will settle things. How soon will we get back the test results?”

“West Virginia doesn’t do DNA testing, sir,” Winter
said cautiously, as if not knowing what reaction to expect next. “We send most of our samples to a lab in Pittsburgh. We won’t have an answer for four to six weeks at best.”