If She Should Die (32 page)

Christine looked up at Jeremy. “Well? Do you recognize them?”

Jeremy’s face had paled and his eyes widened. He nodded. “I think it was the last song Dara ever sang on my karaoke machine. She wrote it. It was so sad—not like her other songs.”

“But you taped it?”

He nodded again. “Yeah. I didn’t really want to ’cause like I said, it was so sad. But she made me tape it. Twice.”

“You mean she didn’t like the first version and taped over it a second time?”

“Nooo.” Jeremy was looking more and more frightened. “She asked me to make two tapes. I kept one. She took the other one.” His forehead puckered. “Are you sure I’m not in trouble? I didn’t mean to do anything wrong.”

Christine reached over and touched his hand, smiling. “No, honey. You didn’t do anything wrong. I just got excited because this is important. What happened to the tapes?”

Jeremy looked down. “I . . . I don’t remember. It was a long time ago. And right after she sang the song, she went away. Everybody was all to pieces and the days after sort of seem like a dream or something.”

“But you keep the tapes you make in a special place.”

He nodded. “Uh-huh. But Dara took one of them, like I said.”

“Jeremy, I want you to look for your copy of the tape.”

His voice rose. “Why? I don’t get why you care so much about that song.”

“I just do. But not because of anything you did wrong, understand? Just because I want to hear the tape again.”

“Again? When did you hear it? Dara never let you listen to her music and I didn’t play it for you.”

Christine looked at her fearful brother. She didn’t want to tell him the truth, but he could always tell when she was lying, and at this point a lie would scare him more than the facts. “Someone called me late at night. They didn’t say anything. They just played the tape of Dara singing this song. Then they hung up.”

Jeremy’s mouth slackened. “Really and truly? You didn’t dream it?”

“How could I dream about a song I’d never heard?”

“Oh gosh,” Jeremy fretted. “Oh golly. It would be just
like Dara, singing to you in the night. Christy, this is too creepy.”

“It sure is. That’s why I want to find out who could have that tape and played it to scare me. I want you to look for your copy of the tape.”

His gaze grew even more miserable. “I already did. After they found that body and Ames said it was Dara, because I wanted to hear her sing again.”

“And?”

“And all the tapes of her singing were gone. I didn’t lose them, Christy, honest,” Jeremy assured her fervently. “I’m real careful with my tapes. But they weren’t there. Maybe she took them when she left. Only I guess she didn’t really leave. So maybe someone else took them. They weren’t a big secret or anything. Patricia heard us singing on the karaoke machine. And Ames. Maybe other people. I just can’t remember the last time I saw the tapes. I’m real sorry, Christy.”

He sounded completely sincere, and it wasn’t like Jeremy to lie. But he could be forgetful. He’d made the tapes three years ago. He could have misplaced them in all that time, no matter how much he cherished them. That’s the best spin she could put on the situation. At least it was the least frightening. Jeremy was looking at her warily. “It’s okay, Jeremy. The tapes aren’t that important.”

His fingers twisted together as trouble churned in the beautiful blue of his eyes. “Hey, Christy?”

“Yes?”

“I think maybe the tapes
are
important. Could the person who played you the tape on the phone have killed Dara and taken her tape away from her?”

“I suppose that’s possible,” she said reluctantly.

“Then why would he play the tape to you on the phone late at night?”

“Maybe to play a joke.”

“What kind of joke is that?” Jeremy demanded. “It’s not one bit funny.” He paused. “Christy, I think maybe he did it to scare you. But why would somebody want to scare you?”

To get me to stop nosing into Dara’s death, Christine thought grimly. To get me to back off, stop searching for a killer, so that most people in town would go on thinking that you, my darling brother, murdered Dara Prince.

Christine felt as if she were struggling up from deep water. Pressure. Coldness. Dark. Then her world grew lighter, lighter, and lighter until she opened her eyes and realized she’d been asleep and it was morning. Nine-thirty, to be exact. She hadn’t slept this late for months.

For a few minutes she lay still, staring at the ceiling. She thought about Patricia. Yesterday at this time she’d been alive, maybe excited about seeing a man she loved. Now she lay cold and stiff in a morgue. And Christine thought about the message on her answering machine saying tonelessly, “Poor Patricia. See what happens when you find out too much?” What had Patricia found out? Who killed Dara? Exactly the same thing Christine was trying to find out? And if she did, would her fate be the same as Patricia’s?

At last the sound of the television penetrated her consciousness and she remembered that Jeremy had spent the night. She’d told him she thought now was the time for him to move in with her permanently, and although he’d demurred weakly, saying maybe Ames would need
him now that Patricia was dead, Christine was certain he’d seemed relieved. He couldn’t have relished the idea of living with an even gloomier Ames in that large, somber house.

When she went downstairs, she found Jeremy sprawled on the floor in front of the television. Rhiannon sat on his back tangling a delicate black paw in his blond hair. “What are you watching?” she asked.

“News.”

“Since when do you watch the news instead of cartoons in the morning?”

“Since we got a flood. The weatherman says the river crested last night. That means the water went as far up as it’s gonna go. Now it’s on its way back down. The flood’s over and we don’t need to pile up any more sandbags.”

“Hallelujah.”

“Think maybe we can open the store now?”

“Not until after Patricia’s funeral, Jeremy. It wouldn’t be proper.”

He looked slightly downcast. Christine was not sure whether his fallen mood was caused by a reminder of Patricia’s death or the knowledge that the store wouldn’t open for a few days. “Have we lost too much business at the store?” he asked. “Are we going to the poorhouse?”

“It would take a lot more than a few days of lost business to put Prince Jewelry into bankruptcy.” Jeremy frowned, not understanding. “We’re not going to the poorhouse. Where did you hear about the poorhouse, anyway?”

“Wilma. She’s always saying to Streak’s brother, ‘You’d better stop spending all your money. The poorhouse is right around the corner, Mr. Big Shot.’ He gets mad when she says that. Anyway, I’m glad Prince Jewelry isn’t losing all its money, ’cause I don’t want to lose my job. I
love
my job.” Jeremy smiled. “I made coffee!”

“I know.” As Christine walked into the kitchen, the smell alone burned the inside of her nose. One cup of Jeremy’s coffee could set you jittering for at least two hours. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings by emptying the pot and fixing a fresh one, so she mixed equal parts of milk and coffee like espresso. The result tasted nothing like espresso. She shuddered as she forced down a second sip. At least the strong brew was eye-opening.

Jeremy came into the kitchen. “Maybe I should go tell Ames I’m gonna move in here with you now.”

“I think I should be the one to do that,” Christine answered quickly. She did not want Ames’s bitterness at her spilling over onto Jeremy. She also feared the slim chance that Ames might plead with Jeremy to remain in his house, either out of genuine loneliness or possibly out of a desire to hurt Christine. Two days ago she would not have considered Ames capable of such petty cruelty. Now she didn’t know what to expect of him. “If you do it, he might think you’re not happy living with him.”

“Well, I’m not really happy living there,” Jeremy said meekly.

“I know, but we don’t want to hurt his feelings. I’ll make it sound like it’s all my idea and I just
insist
that you move in with me now. After all, you’re my brother and I’ve fixed up a room for you and Rhiannon is here. He knows how much you love Rhiannon.”

“That all sounds real good,” Jeremy agreed. “And it’s true.”

“Yes. I won’t be lying. I don’t know how things will be at the house today because of Patricia’s death, but I still think I should talk to him about your moving no later than this afternoon. You can hang out here with Rhi.”

“Christy, I’d rather go to the store.”

“The store is closed today.”

“I know, but there’s something I want to work on.”

“Jeremy, you sound like you did the other morning when you were so determined to go in early. You’re working on something secret, aren’t you?”

Jeremy’s gaze shifted. “Okay. It’s a secret. But it’s nothing bad.”

“I didn’t think it was.”

“It’s just something special that I wanted to do all by myself without Rey helping me. So will you let me go to the store alone like the other day? I won’t lose the key, I
promise
.” He crossed his heart. “I’ll guard it with my life—”

“All right. Let’s have some breakfast, then get dressed, and I’ll take you to the store while I go to Ames’s house.” She tried to sound chagrined. “Oh gosh, we’ve drunk all the coffee! I’ll have to make a fresh pot.”

“I know you poured some of the coffee down the sink. It’s okay. I think the stuff I made was maybe too strong.”

“Then fresh coffee and pancakes coming up.”

About an hour later, when Jeremy had consumed even more pancakes than Christine thought a guy of his size could possibly hold, they loaded into her rental car and headed out.

“Hey, look at the sky!” Jeremy exclaimed.

Christine was so used to looking at a low gray sky she hadn’t paid any attention to it this morning. But a glance upward through the windshield showed her a beautiful day of powder blue tinged with pink and yellow where the sun was breaking through. Maybe it was a good omen, Christine thought. Maybe only shock had made Ames strike out at her yesterday. Maybe during the night Ames had time to calm down, to realize how brutal and unjust he’d been to insinuate she’d had anything to do with Patricia’s death.

Her hope was short-lived. After dropping off Jeremy at the store with more warnings not to lose the back door
key, she drove to the Prince home. Wilma Archer’s car sat in the driveway. Good, Christine thought. If Ames was still being unreasonable, Wilma could arbitrate. She had a way with Ames no one else could equal.

Christine rang the doorbell. Wilma opened the door and promptly threw her plump arms around Christine. “Oh, honey, I’m so glad you stopped by. Isn’t this just the worst thing? I can’t believe it! Patricia seemed like one of those women who would live to be a hundred. And some people are saying her death wasn’t an accident! I’m telling you, I just don’t know how much more poor Ames can take.”

Through the whole spiel, Wilma patted Christine’s back with such force Christine was certain she’d have a bruise tomorrow. She drew back and looked at Wilma. Her eyes were dry and unswollen. Not even she had been able to work up tears for Patricia, even though Christine knew the woman genuinely regretted the death of Ames’s wife. The second wife, the second death. And this only three years after the disappearance, the certain murder, of Ames’s only child. Wilma was right. It did seem like too much for one man to endure.

Before Christine had a chance to say anything, though, Ames walked out of his study. He stopped and stared at her, his gaze cold.

“Ames,” she said gently, pulling away from Wilma and heading toward him. “I just wanted to tell you how sorry—”

He held out his arm, the palm of his hand raised in the traditional
stop
signal. “Don’t come any closer. And don’t spout any false sympathy for Patricia. You have repaid my kindness to you and your brother with treachery. I don’t forgive that kind of thing. Not ever. You are no longer welcome in this house. Or in the store, for that matter. I never want to see you again.”

“Ames!” Wilma gasped. “You don’t know what you’re saying. This is Christine!”

“I know exactly what I’m saying and to whom. Get out of my house, Christine.
Now!
”

With that he turned, walked stiffly back into his study, and slammed the door.

Michael Winter walked up to the double doors of the Prince home and rang the bell. In a moment a plump, flustered-looking woman opened the door, her eyes widening at the sight of his uniform. “Oh lord! What now?” she almost wailed.

How great to be greeted this way half the time, Michael thought. But then, not many people welcomed the sight of a cop at the door. “I’m Deputy Michael Winter,” he said. “I’d like to speak to Mr. Prince.”

“He’s too upset. You’ll have to come back.”

She started to shut the door, but Michael stepped forward. He remembered this woman from the jewelry store. “Mrs. Archer, isn’t it?” She nodded. “Ma’am, I’m sure Mr. Prince is upset and I’m sorry to intrude at such a time, but I just have a couple of questions for him.” He gave her his half-winning, half-pathetic smile. “If I don’t ask the questions now, the sheriff will keep sending me back until I get answers. Or maybe he’ll even come himself.” Winter had already been told Ames Prince couldn’t stand Sheriff Teague. “I sure don’t want Mr. Prince harassed at a time like this. So please ask if he’ll see me for a few minutes and I’ll be out of his hair as soon as possible.”

She hesitated, then closed her eyes and shook her head. “Oh, all right. I guess there’s nothing else to do. Come on in.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I sure appreciate this.” Michael stepped into the entrance hall and saw Christine Ireland. She stood rigidly, as if she were trying to control trembling, and her face was parchment pale. “Hello, Miss Ireland.”

“Deputy,” she answered in a shaky voice. “I was just leaving, but I need to talk to you later today if you don’t mind.”

“Of course I don’t mind.”

“Does this have something to do with Patricia’s death?” Wilma asked.

“I’m sure Miss Ireland would rather not go into it now, Mrs. Archer,” Michael said, although his curiosity was running wild. Christine looked awful and she had something to tell him she didn’t want to say in this house. “I’ll drop by your place later on this afternoon, if that’s all right.”