Quiet as the Grave (15 page)

Curious, she felt her way in. The air was dank and at least ten degrees cooler than the outside, but it was blissfully dry. She let her hood fall back.

It was pitch-dark. She tried to get her bearings with her hands, but the walls were slimy, so she jerked away her fingers with a muffled “yuck!”

Luckily her key chain had a tiny, bright flashlight on the ring, a gift from her overprotective dad. She found it and thumbed the button.

Amazing
. The space she'd entered was so small the tiny flashlight illuminated every inch. It wasn't really a cave—more like a nook, about four by four, and definitely empty, just damp granite walls and a rocky floor.

In theory, it made a wonderful refuge from the rain. Very Tom Sawyer-ish and cozy. But in only a few minutes she began to feel edgy. Nervous. It was so small. She didn't have claustrophobia, but…

What if that movement hadn't been a squirrel? What if it had been the creepy gardener? He could have seen her duck in here. If he followed her, there would be no escape. He might not be a murderer, but he was definitely an oversexed sleazeball.

The hair on the back of her neck prickled. Time to get out. She turned abruptly, but something—or someone—blocked her way.

She jerked her flashlight, its bright beam darting across jagged granite walls and finding the entrance, where a man stood.

It was Mike.

He was holding a gun.

Her thumb slipped on the flashlight, and the cave plunged back into its natural, eternal night.

H
E COULD SEE
that she was afraid of him.

And why shouldn't she be? The minute he saw that terrified look on her face, he realized that he had been waiting for it, subconsciously, ever since she first walked back into his life.

It had been inevitable. He was surprised it had taken so long, given how the evidence was stacking against him.

Still, he was glad he'd been prepared.

Otherwise, it might have hurt.

“Mike,” she said in a tight voice. She had turned her pocket light back on, and was obviously trying not to stare at the gun. “You startled me. What are you doing here?”

He saw that the area behind her was empty. No one had found her. He took a deep breath of relief.

“I think the better question is what are
you
doing here?” He tried not to sound as tense and angry as he felt. “I saw your note, but when I got here all I could find was your car. You scared the hell out of me.”

She scowled. “Well,
ditto
. And at least I'm not pointing a loaded weapon at you.”

“Sorry.” He tucked the gun behind his back. “I wasn't sure it was you. I was just following a couple
of people in hooded jackets. I didn't know exactly what—or who—I'd find in here.”

Her scowl deepened. She looked almost demonic, with the pocket light illuminating her from under her chin. He wondered if he looked equally weird.

“A
couple
of people? How could that be? I'm the only one out here.”

He shook his head. “No, you aren't. Didn't you see that jogger pass you a few minutes ago?”

“Oh, yeah.” She nodded warily. “So?”

“Not long after he went past you he turned around and jogged behind you the rest of the way. I followed, but I was too far back. You both disappeared around an outcropping, and I couldn't tell who went where.”

Her already-pale face blanched further. “He followed me?”

“Yes.”

“Who was it? Did you see his face? Are you sure it was a man?”

“No. All I can tell you is the person was about your height. Until I found you just now, I wasn't sure which of them was you. Heck, I wasn't sure
either
of them was you. I was just hoping.”

She seemed to be sorting it all out in her mind. Finally, she shrugged. “You know, it's quite possible we're both making a mountain out of a molehill. I've been spooked and paranoid all day. The runner may have been perfectly innocent. He may have decided it was just too wet to keep going and turned around to go home.”

“Maybe,” Mike said, but he was unconvinced. He had seen the smooth wheel-around the jogger had done, and the purposeful way he kept his stride a safe distance behind Suzie, one black form shadowing the other. Every instinct Mike possessed had gone on alert.

“Anyhow, thanks for coming to check on me,” she said. She scuffed the ground, looking a little like Gavin when he'd been caught doing something dumb. “I have to admit this may not have been one of my best ideas.”

“No kidding.” He couldn't help letting one side of his mouth go up. “This isn't a game, you know, Suzie. You can't go tearing around trying to find a killer the way you might look for a polka-dot tie in a scavenger hunt.”

“I know,” she said defensively. “But I was annoyed that you hadn't told me about Judy Stott.”

“What about her?”

“She came by the boathouse today, to report about some guy Gavin talked to on the playground. Apparently it's nothing to worry about.”

He looked relieved. “Good. But why did that annoy you?”

“Because I didn't know anything about it. I know you don't have to— But, look, obviously I didn't expect to really find a murderer out here. But if I had, I know better than to jump up and point my finger and scream ‘
murderer!
' I would play it very cool, I promise you.”

He laughed softly. The sound echoed in their tiny granite chamber. “Suzie Strickland playing it cool. That would be a first.”

She smiled, too.

“I just want to say—” She looked uncomfortable. “That is, when you first showed up in the entryway, I—I was just startled, you know. I wasn't actually afraid. I mean, I was afraid, of course, but not of you.”

“Yes, you were,” he said. “It's okay. I understand. You've been great, Suzie, but you're human. There's always going to be that little kernel of doubt, lying
there at the bottom. But if you're even seventy-five percent sure I'm innocent, that's more than most—”

“I'm
one hundred percent
sure, damn it. There is no kernel. There is no doubt.”

“That's not possi—”

He never got the word out. She leaned over and kissed him hard.

Oh, man
…

It had been ten years since he'd kissed her, and yet he would have known her mouth anywhere. She had generous lips, soft, strong and full of warmth. She tasted today just as she had then, spicy-sweet and intensely female. That had surprised him ten years ago. It didn't surprise him now.

The only difference was that she was more accomplished now, more confident. She extended the kiss with easy sensuality. She nipped at his lower lip, then teased the tip of her tongue along the inner rim, so lightly he wasn't sure he hadn't imagined it.

But his body knew it was real. Every inch of him responded in a flash, generating its own answering heat. He wasn't sure how he held back.

After a minute she pulled away and looked at him with a smile. “Hey. Didn't you used to be better at this?”

“Maybe. I never used to let anything like common sense get in my way.”

“You know, I'm sure there's a time and place for common sense, but right now, don't you think you could—”

“I know what you're trying to tell me, Suzie.” He met her gaze honestly. “That attraction—whatever it was—that
spark
we used to feel. It's still there.”

“Yes,” she said, dropping her gaze to his mouth. “In
fact, it seems to have survived a rather long dormant period quite well.”

“But a spark isn't enough,” he said. “It's just chemistry. It doesn't mean anything. It doesn't
prove
anything about how you really feel.”

“Yeah.” She touched the edge of his lips with a fingertip. “It does.”

He pulled her finger down. He hoped he wasn't too rough. His body was furious with him for resisting, and it was stepping up the pressure.

“You're wrong. It's quite possible to be attracted to someone you don't trust. Believe me, it's even possible to be attracted to someone you don't
like
.”

“Guess that's where you and I are different,” she said, sighing. “And frankly, Frome, this seems like a dumb time to get into a philosophical discussion about the cosmic meaning of sparks.” She grinned. “I'm not sure whether you're trying to tell me you don't like me, or that you're not attracted to me.”

He didn't even bother to answer that. She was just hoping to drive him crazy. A lot of things might change, but her sense of humor wouldn't.

Thank God for small blessings.

“I guess I'm trying to tell you that there's no way you could really trust me. There's so much you don't know. Things about Justine and me. Things you should know, if you're really going to be involved in all this.”

She sighed. “I already am involved. I already know everything that matters. I know you did a superdumb thing when you were in high school, and you've paid for it big-time. If you want to talk just to get it off your chest, that's okay. But don't tell me anything because you're afraid I think you're a murderer. If I did, I would have used that kiss to snatch your gun.”

He wondered whether she'd always been this perceptive. If so, she must have seen very early what a fool he was, and how far in over his head he had been with Justine.

If he'd listened to her, could she have saved him in time?

At any rate, she was right. He did want to get all the secrets off his chest. They'd been crushing him for years. He hadn't told his parents, because he hadn't wanted to transfer the weight of the misery to them. He hadn't told his best friend, or his minister, or even a psychiatrist.

He hadn't told a soul. And not to protect Justine. There had been a time when he'd hated her enough to print her dirty secrets in the newspaper and laugh to see people avoid her on the street.

He'd kept Justine's secrets only to protect Gavin. He didn't want anyone to look at his little boy differently, thinking
that kid's mom is a freak
.

But somehow he knew that Suzie would never charge Justine's sins to Gavin's account. Suzie was the only person he'd ever met both strong enough and kind enough to trust with the truth.

“I do want to tell you,” he said. “But I should warn you. It's not pretty.”

She shrugged. “Very little connected to Justine ever was.”

 

T
WO HOURS LATER
, showered and dressed in nice clothes, Suzie found herself at Chapman's, the most upscale restaurant in Tuxedo Lake. She'd ordered filet mignon and a carafe of pinot noir, and she planned to get crème brûlée, too. She had a feeling she might need it.

They'd decided on this restaurant because Suzie's theory was that ugly things should never be discussed in ugly places. It just made things look worse.

Plus, she was starving.

Mike was finishing his second glass of wine, and his tension seemed to have eased a little, so she figured he might be ready.

“Okay,” she said. “Try to shock me. But remember, I'm an artist, and I move in very avant-garde circles. It may not be as easy as you think.”

That was a lie, of course. Her friends were mostly art teachers and secretaries, maybe a journalist here and there. Most of the “real” artists she knew were a little strange, and besides, they thought she was a sellout, painting pictures of rich peoples' brats.

But she needed to get Mike talking. Obviously the story of his past stood like a boulder in his emotional road. He wasn't going anywhere until someone shoved it out of the way.

After that kiss in the cave, which had been remarkably sizzly for a one-sided affair, she knew she needed to roll up her sleeves and start clearing that path. Just imagine what the next kiss might be like, if he decided to help.

“Okay,” he said. He put his knife and fork in the traditional take-this-away position on his place and leaned back, his wineglass in hand.

“You know the first part,” he said. “She didn't tell me Gavin was mine for a year. Everyone thought he was—well, the speculation went all over the place.”

Suzie remembered that, all right. In fact, she'd always felt a little guilty because she was the one who had forced Justine to cough up the truth. And yet, even
in the heart of the pain, she'd known it was cruel to make that baby grow up without a father.

“Anyhow,” he said. “By the time I found out he was mine, I was over Justine. Really over. She had nothing but contempt for me, either. It was a terrible way to start a marriage. My parents told me I didn't have to do it, that arrangements could be made so that I could be Gavin's father legally. But once I really knew Gavin, I…”

He didn't seem to have the words to express the enormity of fatherhood, but he didn't have to. Suzie knew. Gavin had trumped everything.

She toyed with her potatoes, wondering if it had been hard for Justine to see Mike look at her with empty eyes, then watch him turn a dazed adoration toward his son.

It had been hard for Suzie, too. When she saw him hold Gavin as if every dream he'd ever dreamed was wrapped up in that tiny body—she knew it meant there was no hope. Mike Frome's only remaining chance for happiness was inextricably tangled up with his son.

That was the day Suzie decided she'd never mention Mike Frome's name out loud again. For ten years, she hadn't.

“I honestly thought I could make it work,” he said. “That's how young and stupid I was. I thought that, because of Gavin, we'd both try hard, and everything would somehow magically come right.”

She lifted one shoulder. “Believing that a baby will save a bad marriage—I'm pretty sure that's common enough to be a cliché.”

“I guess so. But it didn't save mine. Justine couldn't be happy with a quiet life, and that's all I was good for. I had planned to be an architect, but she threw a fit. She
wanted to be important right away, not just some student's wife. That was too common. If you wanted to make her really mad, all you had to do was call her ordinary. She needed life to sparkle. She wanted everything to be big.”

“She thought you were a pretty big fish when she first reeled you in.”

“Maybe in high school, maybe in Firefly Glen. But, as you once pointed out, that's a small pond. Justine was ready to swim in the ocean, and I think she felt gypped to discover that I'm just a small-town boy at heart.”

“I'm sure you tried.”

“I damn sure did. I gave up the idea of being an architect and took a much shorter course in basic construction. I bought the boathouse-building business from a guy who was retiring. He stayed on part-time until I knew what I was doing. After that I let Justine's father buy us that monstrosity by the lake. I played golf with the men she told me to play with. I went to her parties and flirted with the wives she told me to flirt with. I just kept thinking, maybe if I do this, or this, she'll be content and we'll finally have a normal family.”

“I assume it didn't work.”

“Of course it didn't.
Content
wasn't in Justine's vocabulary. All I accomplished was to make myself a doormat. She probably despised me. I certainly despised myself. After a couple of years, I couldn't stand it anymore, not even for Gavin's sake. I told her I was through. I was leaving.”