To the Grave (43 page)

Catherine was flabbergasted. She felt her face slacken with surprise before she heard another, almost minuscule noise and burst into speech. “Ian, I didn't know you even had a relationship with Renée, much less that she was in town.”

“Other people saw her.”

“Or thought they saw her, but they didn't tell me. And what makes you think I had
any
idea that you were going to meet her at the cottage the next night?”

“Maybe James, maybe you, had someone watching her or.…”

“Or?”

Ian looked at his father. “The second thing happened yesterday at the brunch. You were toasting to a merger that obviously wasn't finalized. You were loud and obnoxious, talking about Patrice getting a star tattoo and pointing your glass right at her pubic area.” He paused. “Renée had a pentagram tattoo right there. I knew that you'd seen it because at some time you'd forced yourself on her. She might have used Arcos and Nordine to ease her fear and loneliness, but
you
? Being with you would be like being with Gaston. You
raped
her. Then you had to kill her to keep her quiet.”

“Rape her!” Lawrence exploded. “
No
one had to rape Renée!” Color flooded back into his face. “But I didn't rape her. I never touched her,” he said loudly and unconvincingly. “I don't know anything about a pentagram tattoo. I only mentioned a star and swept my glass upward. Patrice was there and maybe my glass hovered in that area, but it was just a … a…”

“A what, Father?”

“An accident. Do you think I'd make a suggestion like that in front of all those people?”

“I think you'd do a lot of things you would have had better sense than to do a couple of years ago. You're different. I don't know if you're just in a frenzy over this merger or getting married freaked you out, but you are
different
.”

“Goddammit, there is nothing wrong with me!” Lawrence shouted. “I'm the way I've always been. I'm
fine
!”

Another, louder sound came from the waiting room. Oh God, two or three more minutes, Catherine prayed. Just give me a little more time.

“Ian,” she said sharply to get his attention, “why would I text Renée from your phone and tell her to meet you at the cottage on Friday night instead of Saturday?”

“You'd use my phone so she'd think it was me. And she'd be there on Friday night, but I wouldn't be the one meeting her—you would. You knew if James heard she was back, he'd probably be through with you. It was her that he wanted. It was always her, not you. I'd thought of that before, but I didn't believe you were capable of murder.” Ian bent his head and said weakly, drearily, “But does anybody
really
know another person? Did I really know what you'd do to hold on to James?”

Ian looked as if he had no strength left, as if his muscles were weakening, his alertness diminishing. Catherine took a deep breath, pushed away all her fear, and made a leap for the porcelain temple jar. With a strong grunt, she picked up the fifteen-inch-tall jar, leaped forward, and crashed it over Ian's head just as grim Eric and a tragic-eyed Robbie, guns drawn, and a triumphantly smiling Mrs. Tate pushed through Catherine's office door.

Ian stood still for a moment, then slowly sank to the floor as Eric commanded, “Don't move.” And in a second, “Catherine, kick that gun away from his hand.”

She did as she was told, feeling nothing, not even relief, as she looked at the crumpled, unconscious body of Ian Blakethorne. Then she saw the powerful Lawrence Blakethorne shaking, his majestic head bent forward, his big hands covering eyes streaming tears.

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Five days later

“Maybe I expected too much of myself, but I really thought I'd be recovering from this horrible situation by now.” Catherine sat beside James on the couch at the Gray home. He had his left arm wrapped tightly around her and her head lay on his shoulder.

“You've loved Ian Blakethorne since he was ten years old.”

“But I'm trained to deal with situations like this,” Catherine said.

“With patients. What you felt for Ian has been a mixture of sisterly-motherly love and it's been strong. How could you expect yourself to be recovering from his destruction in four days?”

“Oh, please don't say ‘destruction,' James.”

“What would you call it? A nervous breakdown? Do you think he'll be just fine and going on with his life in six months?”

“No. And don't be mean.”

“I'm not trying to be mean. I'm only trying to make you accept what's happened. He killed two people, kidnapped one, shot me. Lawrence keeps insisting this is all the result of the brain injury he suffered in that car wreck. Maybe so, maybe not. Whichever, Ian will go to trial for Murder One and even if his lawyer tries to get him a not-guilty verdict by using the insanity defense, he'll either fail, which happens most of the time, or Ian will end up in an institution for God knows how long. And frankly, I think he needs to be put away somewhere. Don't look at me like that. Think of what he's done. Think of the fact that even though he supposedly loves you like a sister, he was ready to kill you. Thank
God
for Mrs. Tate!”

“Yes, she certainly was the heroine, wasn't she, arriving right on time like that, knowing when the door was locked and she didn't see Beth when she looked through the windows that something was wrong, and calling nine-one-one.”

“It helped that she saw a police car in the parking lot.”

“Yes, I suppose that did give her another clue. Still, she's proud of herself and she needs some pride. I've thanked her a dozen times.”

“And you have a friend for life.”

“Oh dear. That might be as bad as having Maud as a friend for life.” Catherine sighed. “I wish I could see Ian, talk to him. I know it wouldn't make me feel better, but I want—I need—to know if he killed Renée.”

“Why would he have killed Renée?”

“Maybe he got there that night and after years of waiting, of promises from her, she rejected him. Someone ‘better' had come along. He might have had a psychotic break and killed her. He might have done it and not even remembered.”

“You know more about memory repression than I do,” James said gently. “I still think you may wish you knew for certain, but if you did, you'd feel worse than ever.”

He rubbed his chin against Catherine's hair. “Honey, I know this seems impossible, but you have to try to forget everything that happened. Dr. Hite is back, he closed the office this past week and he's given you next week off—”

“I'm not taking off next week. I can't just sit around here trying not to think about something. I have to keep busy.”

“I completely understand because I'm the same way. We have a lot in common, Catherine, more than we've ever talked about. In fact, I think we understand each other amazingly well, considering how little we've really talked.”

“Well, sometimes I think we do, too.”

James bent his head lower and their lips were on the verge of meeting when his cell phone rang. He cussed so quietly he didn't think Catherine even noticed. In a moment, he heard an unfamiliar voice apologizing for bothering him, saying she was afraid something terrible was happening, begging him to help.

James placed his hand on Catherine's back and said, “This might be important. I'm not sure who it is.” Catherine immediately stopped laughing and shushed Lindsay, who hadn't made a noise. “Now, would you mind repeating all of that?” James asked, placing the phone close between him and Catherine so she could hear.

“This is Mrs. Frost, the Blakethorne housekeeper? Miss Catherine knows me.”

“I'm here, Mrs. Frost,” Catherine said. “What's wrong?”

“I really don't know.” The woman's voice raced and shivered. In the twelve years Catherine had known Mrs. Frost, the woman had never spoken with anything but a calm, easeful English accent. “Things have been dreadful around here since all this business with Mr. Ian. It's so terrible. None of us can believe it. I still don't believe it. My dear little Ian.” She made a choking sound and then drew a deep breath. “I shouldn't talk about household matters, but naturally there has been tension between Mr. Lawrence and Miss Patrice. I don't quite understand. I feel as if he blames her in some way. One night I heard him saying she should have seen this coming long ago.”

“None of us saw it coming, Mrs. Frost.”

“Oh, I know. Not even I. Mr. Blakethorne was gone so much of the time; now that I think about it, Ian was gone a good deal, too, although he claimed he had few friends. When he graduated from college he got his own apartment, and except for when he rented it in June he hadn't invited any of us over.” She paused. “Well, this morning, Mr. Blakethorne was gone. Miss Patrice was in his office. Mr. Blakethorne doesn't like for people to be in his office, but what could I say to her? She's his wife now.”

“Of course, I understand, Mrs. Frost. You couldn't tell her to leave her own husband's office.”

“Well, I could tell she was getting into things—file cabinets, drawers, locked drawers—she was breaking the locks! I thought of calling Mr. Blakethorne but didn't really know what to do in this situation. Then he came home. He raced up to his office. They began to quarrel. They got louder and louder and finally Mr. Blakethorne left. Miss Patrice stayed in the office, making a dreadful fuss with more drawers, and then she got on the phone. I heard her say, ‘He's doing
what
? Flying his damned plane around?' She came down the steps like a banshee, muttering about the airport. I asked where she was going, but she didn't answer. She was in a fury and she simply got into the Jaguar and drove off at
such
a speed. I hope the police stop her, but if they don't…”

“If they don't, she'll go straight to Blakethorne Charter.”

“Yes. Oh, Miss Catherine, I know I should probably call the police, but this is a family matter. After everything that has happened, I can't make myself call them. I know Mr. Eastman is a friend of Mr. Blakethorne's. I thought maybe he could do something without causing a fuss, something that wouldn't bring even more unhappiness down on this family. Maybe I did wrong in calling, but—”

“You did exactly the right thing,” James said. “I'm going to Blakethorne Charter immediately. I'll straighten this out, Mrs. Frost. You just try to calm down.”

“Oh, thank you, sir. I know Mr. Blakethorne and Miss Patrice will be unhappy with me—”

“Don't worry about that now. They should be grateful. I'll call you just as soon as I find out what's going on. And once again, Mrs. Frost, please try to calm yourself. You've done nothing wrong. Fix a cup of tea of something. Talk to you soon.”

“I'm going with you,” Catherine said when James stood up.

“No, there might be trouble.”

“I think I've proved I can handle myself when there's trouble.” Catherine marched across the room and picked up her tote bag. “I'm going.”

Twenty minutes later, James pulled into the parking lot of Blakethorne Charter and then pulled out again. “Where are you going?” Catherine asked.

“To the back. Lawrence's office faces the runways. Also, Mrs. Frost said he was flying. We'd just be wasting time wandering around the terminal.”

They rounded the northern side of the terminal and, staying close to it, looked out at the two runways. A Learjet raced down one before lifting gracefully off the concrete into the light blue sky. Beyond it, sun shone through the rushing water of the Aurora waterfall.

“There they are,” James said urgently. “It looks like Lawrence has just come back from a flight. Patrice is with him.”

Catherine peered at the two standing beside a small airplane, clearly arguing. Lawrence stood stalwart but tensed with anger while Patrice's voice rose so loudly they could hear it as soon as they opened their doors. Neither saw Catherine and James coming toward them.

“Lawrence!” James called. “What's going on?”

Both Lawrence and Patrice looked at them in complete surprise. They fell silent until Catherine and James stood beside them.

“I've been up today,” Lawrence said casually. He turned to his plane. “Cessna Stationair. Only one engine, but one of my favorite planes for when you want to be alone, high above the little ants running around down here not knowing what's important.”

“You bastard,” Patrice snarled. “Little ants running around down here. That's all anyone has ever been to you, isn't it?”

“James, do you know this thing can rise at one thousand feet per minute?”

“No, I didn't.”

“Did you know he's sick?” Patrice shrieked at James. “Were you in on this together? Did he promise you money, James? How much did you know?”

James looked at Patrice in shock. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Oh, don't you? What about you, Catherine? You're a doctor. You knew!”

“I'm not a medical doctor, Patrice, and I
don't
know. Calm down!”

“Calm down? After what I've just found out?”

Lawrence looked around the runways, toward the Orenda River, and up the crashing water to the top of the falls. “I think this will be the most beautiful airport in the world,” he said dreamily. “People will come just to see it. In ten to fifteen years, the population of Aurora Falls will have nearly doubled. And it will all be because of Blakethorne Charter. I always knew it was destined to happen.”

“Are you already losing your mind?” Patrice asked acidly. “Are your neurons already degenerating? Of course they are. I've seen the signs. I just didn't recognize them.” She lunged at Lawrence so hard, she nearly knocked him off his substantial feet. “Now I know why you suddenly decided you wanted to marry me! You wanted a nurse!”