If She Should Die (35 page)

Rey stared at the television. Prosecutor Jack McCoy jumped to his feet and in his resonant voice tossed a violent objection into the arena of the courtroom. The judge overruled him and he sat down, frustration etched all over his craggy, handsome face.

Tess walked into the room swathed in her old flannel robe, an even older discolored towel thrown over her shoulders and her hair slicked flat with a smelly dark concoction. Rey wrinkled his nose. “What is on your hair?”

“Honeyed Almond Number Thirty-five,” she said, touching her hair with a plastic-gloved hand. “You said you hated the blond streaks.”

“They didn’t look like any shade of blond I’ve seen in nature,” he returned, craning his neck to look past her at the television. Jack McCoy was objecting again.

“You mean my hair didn’t look like Christine’s.”

“I meant your hair looked better its natural color.”

Tess sighed. “How many times have you seen this rerun of
Law and Order
?”

“Fifty-two. Fifty-two and three-fourths counting tonight. Please move. You’re blocking the screen.”

“You could recite the dialogue from memory.”

“Yes, but McCoy’s delivery is better than mine. No accent.”

“I love your accent.”

“Thanks. Move.”

Tess sighed again and moved to the couch, sitting down near Rey’s chair. She looked at the television. A weeping woman told of her heartbreak over having her son slain by a vicious killer. “Why are you so hung up on all this murder stuff?” Tess asked. “It’s not natural.”

“I like the mystery. And judging by the popularity of the show, I must not be too unnatural.”

“I think it’s unnatural to watch the same show over and over.”

“You’re in a bad mood, Tess. You’ve been in a bad mood ever since you walked into Prince Jewelry today.”

“And found you holding Christine in your arms.”

Rey looked at her incredulously. “I had my arm around her shoulder. She looked upset. I don’t know what’s wrong, but something is. It seems to me you’d be concerned about her, too, after all she’s been through.”

“I am, but I don’t find it necessary to embrace her in front of a lot of people. Don’t you know how embarrassing that is to me, your wife?”

“Embrace her? Throwing my arm around her shoulder is embracing her?” He shook his head and looked back at the television. “I think that hair color has seeped through to your brain.”

“And now you insult me!”

Rey didn’t answer and Tess felt a surge of fury toward him. He wouldn’t even take his gaze from a rerun he’d seen countless times to look at her when she talked. “If you’re so fond of murder mysteries,” she began in a waspish voice she couldn’t stop, “then why don’t you solve the mystery of who murdered your precious Dara and tossed her in the river to rot?”

Rey’s dark eyes slashed to her. She saw his hands—his beautiful but strong artist’s hands—tighten on the arms of
his chair. “Don’t start, Tess. Just don’t start on Dara.”

“Oh? Because you can’t solve the mystery? Or because you can’t bear to even think about your lost love? Your one and
only
love.”

“Tess—”

“The beautiful girl you adored. The girl you put on a pedestal. The girl you remain faithful to in your heart even though you’re married to me. Well, let me tell you something, Reynaldo. Your precious Dara was pregnant when she died!”

Now she had his attention. He glared at her. “That is impossible,” he said in a slow, deadly voice.

“Why? Because you always used a condom when you were with her? To protect her? To protect your darling from unwanted pregnancy? You told me that once, you know, before we were married, when you’d had way too much to drink. You told me how careful you always were with her.”

“I can’t believe I ever confided that to you, no matter how drunk I got!” Rey shouted. “But I was careful with her. Always!”

“Well, my darling, someone wasn’t, because she wrote in her diary that she was pregnant. I stopped by your new interest Christine’s today like I planned, but she was inside with her precious deputy. The window was open and I heard them talking about Dara writing in her diary that she was pregnant. And to prove my point, the corpse you’re certain was your Dara was carrying a fetus. A baby that
wasn’t
yours!”

Rey jumped up from his chair. He loomed over her, and for a moment Tess was certain he was going to strike her. Hard. The rage in his eyes surpassed anything she’d ever seen in him, anything of which she’d thought him capable. His whole body trembled. Then, with a few guttural words
almost hissed in Italian, he turned and slammed out of the house.

Oh, my god, Tess thought, trembling. What have I done?

“Gosh, what was wrong with Tess?” Jeremy had asked after she’d driven over the speed limit to get them home, refused to come in the house, and barely said good-bye before whizzing out of their driveway. “Do you think she didn’t like the Dara Pin?”

“There’s no way she couldn’t have thought the pin was spectacular,” Christine had said. “But you know Rey was Dara’s boyfriend. Maybe she felt a little jealous.”

“Oh. I didn’t even think of that. Rey sure did love Dara. I guess I shouldn’t have showed the pin to Tess.”

“You didn’t have any choice.” Christine had fished in her purse for the house keys as they walked up the front porch steps. “She just burst into the store.”

“Looking mad.” Jeremy had sighed. “Could we have pizza for dinner? I’ve been thinking about pizza all day.”

“Then pizza it is,” Christine had said. “Only let’s get delivery. I really don’t feel like going out to a noisy pizza place tonight.”

An hour later a huge pizza sat on the coffee table. They shared slices while watching television, Christine seated on the couch, Jeremy on the floor with Rhiannon beside him, waiting for bits of pepperoni, which she took gracefully between her sharp little teeth. The television blared out a horror movie Christine was definitely not in the mood for, but that had managed to entrance Jeremy, who’d insisted it be played on the VCR.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather see a comedy?” she asked as someone crept through dark halls wielding an ax.

“Nope. You’re supposed to watch scary movies when you eat pizza!”

“And where did you hear that rule?”

“From Danny Torrance. When he lived next door to Ames, we used to watch scary movies in his basement when he ordered a pizza. He said scary movies and pizza were a sacred ritual.”

“I had no idea Danny was so wise,” Christine said dryly. “How old was he when he made up this sacred ritual?”

“He didn’t make it up, Christy. It’s a true thing.”

“Oh. Forgive me my lack of education.” She finished her second slice of pizza and drained her soft drink. Jeremy’s glass was empty, too. “Ready for more Coke?”

“Yeah, please. Only this time can I have Cherry Coke? It’s my favorite.”

“Cherry Coke and pizza. Jeremy, you’re a true gourmet.”

“Okay, whatever that means.”

Christine carried both glasses into the kitchen. She got out the ice trays and put four cubes in each glass, then reached for a regular Coke for herself, a Cherry Coke for Jeremy. She was just filling his glass when he let out something between a shout and a scream.

Christine nearly dropped the Coke can. She righted it on the counter, then ran into the living room. Jeremy sat rigid on the floor staring at the television, a look of stark terror on his face. “My dream,” he said in a chilling, almost disembodied voice. “My dream, my dream, my dream, my dream, my—”

Christine rushed to his side and took his face in her hands. “Jeremy, stop it!”

“My dream, my dream, my—”

She smacked his cheek. She cringed; he blinked; then his blue eyes finally focused on her. “Ouch.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, still holding his face, but with gentle hands. “What is it, Jeremy? What frightened you?”

He looked into her eyes, then at Rhiannon, who stood a foot away from him, back raised in alarm, then at the television. Jeremy pointed. “The movie! It’s my dream, Christy. My dream about being thrown in the water and not being able to see or breathe!”

He picked up the remote control and hit
REWIND
. In a moment, he replayed the scene that had frightened him. A man carried the limp body of a young woman with long, dark hair to the bank of a river. He laid down the body, which bore a bloody gash at the temple, on a carpet and began to slowly, methodically roll her over and over until she was completely encased in the heavy fabric. “Goodbye, Juliet,” he said softly, strange eyes burning in his blood-streaked face. “May you rest in peace.” And then he shoved her into the river.

The camera followed the roll of carpet down, down, down into the water. It invaded the carpet for a closer look at the body of Juliet. Then her dark eyes snapped open. She fought to raise arms trapped in their tight wrappings. She opened her mouth. Tiny, pitiful sounds emerged, but she was helpless, sinking to the bottom of the river, bound and doomed like a living mummy.

“She was alive!” Jeremy cried. “He threw her in the water and she was alive!”

“Jeremy, it’s only a movie,” Christine soothed as he buried his head in her shoulder, sobbing. “I told you we shouldn’t have watched this. It’s scary. But you usually don’t get
this
upset over a scary movie.”

“That’s because I saw this movie before,” Jeremy sniffled. “I forgot until now. I saw it the night I was at Danny’s
party—the night Dara went away.” He pulled back and looked at her earnestly. “Just like the girl in the movie, Christy. That’s what happened to Dara! I
know
it!”

It took Jeremy almost two hours to completely calm down after the movie. When at last he got his nerves under control, with much comforting and reassuring from Christine, he seemed to deflate like a punctured balloon. “Christy, I’m awful sleepy,” he announced at nine o’clock. “I know it’s way before my bedtime, but I think I gotta say good night.”

“You need a good night’s sleep,” Christine told him. “Take Rhiannon down and let her cuddle you. She always makes you feel better. And in the morning, you’ll be a new man.”

“Who’ll I be?” he asked, in an encouraging attempt at a joke.

“Zorro. I’ll make you a cape tonight.”

“I’ll need a sword, too,” he said as Christine kissed his cheek. “And a mask.”

“I’ll get right on it. You and Rhi sleep tight.”

When he’d gone to his room, Christine sat down on the couch, feeling worn out from tension and fright. She’d never seen Jeremy react so violently to a movie or television show. But this movie had special meaning for him. He’d seen it the night Dara disappeared. And he’d known she was going to Crescent Creek. “That’s why he was so sure she vanished from there,” she said aloud. “That’s why he’s had all the dreams about her being trapped in the water. He blended the movie with her disappearance.”

At least that was one mystery solved, she thought. And for her, it was an important solution. For days she’d worried about Jeremy’s dream, his certainty that Dara had lain trapped underwater, especially after Dara’s body
wrapped in plastic had surfaced. Jeremy hadn’t
known
she was in the water. He’d only
imagined
she was because of the confluence of the movie and Dara’s disappearance. For Christine the answer made perfect sense. But what about for other people, people like Sheriff Teague? No, it wasn’t enough. Her brother’s innocence still had not been proved.

She wasn’t certain how long she’d sat on the couch thinking before she remembered she hadn’t collected the day’s mail. She flipped on the porch light, unchained the front door, and looked outside at her heaping mailbox. “Please tell me those aren’t all bills,” she said aloud.

Christine unloaded the box and carried everything inside to sort. This week’s
People
magazine. A catalog from a clothing company. An Avon circular. Four pieces of mail marked: “Occupant.” The electric bill. The cable bill. A credit card bill. The phone bill. And a card in a pink envelope. Her fingers seemed to tingle when they touched that envelope, and instinctively she knew it was not as harmless as her other mail.

She sat down on the couch again, staring warily at the pink envelope. Her name and address had been typed, but the envelope bore no return address. Slowly she opened it and withdrew a card. On the front of the card was a picture of a beautiful little girl with blond hair the shade of Christine’s.

When she opened the card, three photos fell onto her lap and she gasped. One was a Polaroid shot of Dara. She wore jeans and the suede jacket she’d favored. Her long black hair blew out behind her, and she looked worried as she strode along a brick walkway Christine recognized from Winston University. Clearly Dara had not known someone was photographing her.

The second photo was of Patricia. She, too, wore jeans and a denim jacket, the one she’d had on when Christine
found her body. Her brown hair was tied back with a bright yellow ribbon, and she smiled as she reached for the knob on the door at the side of the red barn.

Christine was the subject of the third Polaroid photo. The light was dim and she was kneeling in her backyard, picking up Rhiannon, who was crouching under a lawn chair. She knew from her outfit and Rhiannon’s position that the photo had been taken on the day Christine returned from the hospital, the day after someone had attacked her in the gym.

With trembling hands, she finally opened the card. A piece of paper was taped over the card’s original verse. On the paper had been typed two lines:

Pretty maids all in a row,
Who will be the next to go?

An autopsy revealed Patricia had died of a broken neck. No bruises or lacerations appeared on her body that were not consistent with the fall from the loft. Sheriff Teague would have been happy to conclude this was not a homicide, but according to Michael Winter, not even Teague could ignore the carefully strewn hay over the body. They had also found a portable CD player in the loft along with burning candles, although the family insisted Patricia Prince feared heights and would not have chosen the loft as a place of solitude. So the investigation into Patricia’s death would continue, although her funeral was being held less than seventy-two hours after Christine had found her.