Twenty-Five Years Ago Today (26 page)

Kris gasped. Maybe Eric knew. How many times
had he asked her to give up the case? All his concerns for her
safety could have been a ruse.

Her stomach constricted. Their whole romance
might be a farce.

Maybe his father had drawn him into the
deception to prevent Cheryl and Irene from learning the truth. They
could have conspired to keep an eye on her, and she'd made herself
the perfect bait.

Wedges of panic drove themselves into her
heart. Hadn't Michael initiated their partnership, suggesting she
and Eric meet Vince Rossi together? Everything Eric told her might
have been a lie. If so, she'd made an idiot out of herself. Worse,
the "love of her life" could be plotting behind her back, laughing
at her gullibility and enjoying an easy lay.

Kris turned from the mirror, a flurry of
tears warming her eyelids. Not Eric. He couldn't be so cruel. Yet
it all fit. Eric Soares took great strides to protect his family.
This discovery could send his father to prison, leaving his stunned
mother and grandmother dealing with the aftermath.

Kris swallowed the rush of bile that swelled
to her throat. She'd been stupid to believe her fortune had
changed. She was as unlucky as she'd always been. Her own mother
called her difficult and hurtful. Perhaps this was what she
deserved.

She started as the phone rang, and cringed at
a sudden mental picture. When Eric had cuddled her in bed after
that threatening call, he could've known his father was on the
other end of the line. She lifted the extension slowly, as if it
were coated in poison. "Hello."

"How're you doing?" Eric asked. "Any
better?"

Kris wrapped the quilt around her shoulders,
wanting to shield herself from the blow that could strike, as
piercing as one of Diana's arrows. She had never felt this relaxed
around a man, this natural, as if he held the key to her heart, a
key she had searched for her whole life. If he betrayed her, part
of her would die. She would never trust another soul again.

"I'm fine," she said coolly. "I just felt
like being alone. We've been spending a lot of time together."

"It never seems like enough. I can't stop
thinking about you."

"Look, Eric, I'm a private person.
Everything’s moving too fast. I need space."

"I’m sorry. I didn’t know you felt that
way."

"How about I meet you at the restaurant
tomorrow for your grandmother's birthday? After that, let’s do our
own thing for the rest of the weekend." Kris dreaded the birthday
dinner, but it would allow her to observe father and son.

"You don’t have to go if you’re not up to
it," Eric said. "Slowing things down isn’t a problem, Kris. Just be
honest with me. You could have told me all this before. I would’ve
understood."

"I am being honest. And I don't want to
disappoint Irene." Kris hung up a moment later and locked her
clammy hands behind her neck.

If Eric was oblivious to his father's guilt,
the news would destroy him.

If he was involved, she'd be the one
destroyed.

***

The Soares brought Irene to her favorite
buffet with seven stations and a long line at the door. Kris had
made one trip; the others had returned from their third. Odors of
Italian, Chinese, barbecued ribs and carved meat flared into her
nostrils. She choked back nausea.

Cheryl squinted at Kris's full plate. "Are
you sure you feel okay? You've hardly eaten a thing."

"I'm fine," Kris said. "I can't eat another
bite."

Michael Soares grinned from across the table.
Kris clenched her fork in her fist. Look at him, so confident. Eric
sent her a concerned look.

She tracked coleslaw and potato salad around
her plate, ducking her head to hide her pained expression. Waves of
sadness flowed through her chest, the pressure threatening to crush
her. She'd never felt this ache before, this intense hurt all over,
similar to when Nicole died, but different.

Kris couldn't call the police. Not yet. She
had to be one hundred percent certain of Michael's guilt. Nor could
she ruin Irene's birthday. That left one option, confronting him in
private and evaluating his reaction. If he didn't have a reasonable
explanation, then she'd report her theory to Irene and Lieutenant
Frank.

Irene should support the pursuit of justice
once she learned her trusted son-in-law had murdered one daughter
and lied to the other. A mother would want revenge.

How would Cheryl handle the shock that her
husband killed her sister? Not easily, that was for sure.

Kris sipped her lemonade, watching Michael
over the rim of the glass. Should she ask him to her apartment this
week? Lunch? Neither idea appealed to her. Both strategies could
raise his suspicions.

"Mom, where do you want to go shopping
tomorrow?" Cheryl asked.

Irene shrugged, listless. Maybe she was tired
of celebrating birthdays when her younger daughter's life had ended
at twenty-one. "The mall, I suppose."

"What time are you going?" Kris asked.

"Around eleven," Cheryl said. "I told Mom I'd
buy her a new outfit. I like her to try things on."

"I don't need anything," Irene said.

"I have to buy you something. It's your
birthday. Would you like to come, Kris?"

"Thanks, but I have errands to run. Tell me
if you see any bargains, though." A chill rocked through Kris at
the swiftness of her lie.

After dinner, Eric walked Kris to her car.
Their breath wisped in the air around them. "Can I call you
tomorrow?"

"If you want to," she said.

"Of course I do. Look, Kris, I never meant
for you to feel pressured. I didn’t expect things to move this
fast, either. Just remember, this relationship stuff is new to me,
too, okay?"

"Okay."

"Promise you'll call if anything breaks on
the case, or if you get more threats."

"You'll be the first to know." She turned her
head, ensuring that his kiss landed on her cheek, not her lips.

***

Kris rang the Soares' doorbell Sunday at
noon. Michael answered in a Champion sweatshirt and jeans. He
smiled. "What a surprise. Did you change your mind about the mall?
Unfortunately, they left an hour ago."

"I wanted to talk to you."

Michael stiffened for a fraction of a second,
stepped back and allowed her into the house. His smile didn't
waver. "Sure. Did you want to toss around ideas about the
case?"

"Something like that. Why don't we sit down."
Kris settled onto the couch, inhaling the lingering scents of bacon
and eggs from the kitchen, normal smells for such a pivotal
day.

Soothing shades of cream and mauve toned the
wallpaper, and sunshine streaked the carpet. Framed pictures of
flowers were centered over the fireplace, mauve and blue petals
accenting the decor. Cheryl had chosen the furniture and
accessories with care, nothing incidental. Even the lamp on the end
table had a mauve base.

She’d created a beautiful home and Kris would
demolish it. Her stomach tight, Kris turned away from the piano in
the corner. Eric's piano. It hurt to swallow.

Michael flipped off the TV and joined her on
the couch. He pointed his body toward her. "What's up?"

Fear washed over Kris. Michael may have
killed once. He had threatened her on the phone. She didn't know
how desperate he was to keep his secret. Kris pushed aside her
worries, reminding herself that this man had lived a normal life
for twenty-five years.

"I have evidence that you stalked Diana," she
said. "I think you killed her."

His forehead creased. "That's the most
ridiculous thing I've ever heard. Diana was my wife's sister. Where
would you get such a crazy idea?"

"You were seen harassing Diana outside
MacDougall's. You worked in the same plaza as Diana."

Sweat had broken out on Michael's nose. "Seen
by whom? It's been twenty-five years. Who would accuse me of
that?"

Kris wrapped her hand around the canister of
pepper spray inside her pants pocket. She flicked open the lid,
keeping the canister hidden. "I'd rather not say. Diana also did a
painting showing herself fleeing a blond musician. Her art mirrored
a scene from real life. It wasn't Jared who called her at the bar.
It was you. Raquel accepted that it was Jared because that's what
Diana told her and the voice was vaguely familiar."

She paused. "Let's cut the crap. We wouldn't
be having this conversation if I didn't have strong evidence.
You've got a lot of explaining to do."

"You're wrong." His breathing sounded funny
and he sucked in air through his mouth. "Your imagination is
running wild. I thought you cared about my son. If you really
cared, you wouldn't be creating these fantasies."

"Oh, please. What'd you and Eric think, that
if he romanced me, you'd be safe? That if I discovered the truth,
I'd ignore it out of loyalty? I don't work that way. Why did you
stalk Diana?"

Michael glared at her, the rage in his eyes
jolting Kris off the couch. Red spots seeped into his ashen face,
darkening to purple blotches. Time to get out of here and summon
the police.

Kris backed toward the front door, torn
between whipping out the pepper spray and attempting a peaceful
exit. "You're right. Maybe I should think how this will affect
Eric. I should go."

"You're not going anywhere, you little
bitch!" Michael hurled himself at her and flung them both across
the room. Kris thudded to the floor, landing hard on her back. She
started to draw out the pepper spray, but Michael pinned her arms
at her sides.

"You think you're so smart!" he yelled. "You
come in here acting innocent, when the whole time you wanted to
hurt my family. I'm not letting you ruin us."

This wasn't Michael Soares, husband and
father. This was an enraged stranger. My God, perhaps this was what
happened to Diana. He’d killed her in a crazed temper tantrum. Kris
rolled her tongue over her dry lips. "I won't ruin you, I promise.
Your family means a lot to me. Why don't you let me up and we'll
figure this out."

He reached onto the end table, his other hand
digging into Kris's wrist. She craned her neck, looking upside-down
at the lamp poised over her head.

"No!"

It crashed down on her skull with a bang.
Dark pinpoints fuzzed around her, then faded to blackness.

***

Kris awoke to a headache. Her eyes fluttered
open and she squeezed them shut at the tunnel of blurriness.
Awareness rushed back as she adjusted to the dull pain. Michael
Soares had attacked her. He'd killed Diana and didn't want anyone
to find out.

She opened her eyes again. The blurriness
cleared, revealing a den with a computer set up on the desk. Kris
exhaled. Michael wasn't here, at least she didn't think so.

Kris struggled to move. She couldn't. Her
spine was pressed against a straight-backed chair, the heels of her
winter boots flat against the carpet. Heavy rope fastened her to
the chair, cutting off circulation in her wrists.

Posters of the Beatles, Doors and Rolling
Stones covered the walls, the colors dizzying. Bright blue drums
and an organ cluttered the corner. Kris's gaze panned the record
albums and tapes filling the oak shelves and the half-dozen CD
towers flanking a loveseat.

The doorknob twisted. She tensed,
waiting.

"Kris? Are you okay?" Eric clutched onto the
doorframe as if it were holding him upright.

"Don't give me that," she said. "I know
you're in on this."

"In on what? I don't understand what the hell
is going on."

She peered over his slumped shoulders,
anxious to see past him. "What’re you doing here then?"

"Dad called me. He was shouting into the
phone, not making sense. He told me to get over here fast. He ...
he was afraid he'd kill you. I called my mother on her cell phone
and asked her to come home. I didn't tell her how nuts Dad sounded,
just that he was sick."

As if in a trance, Eric stumbled over to the
chair, loosened the ropes and tossed them aside. Kris stroked the
burns on her sore arms. Was it possible his shock was genuine and
he'd loved her all along?

More likely, he was a smooth operator like
his father. She couldn't think about this right now. Kris wobbled
to her feet and sank back down as dots electrified in front of
her.

"He whacked me over the head," she heard
herself say.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Eric circled Kris,
examining her. "I'll drive you to the hospital so you can get
checked out."

He helped her stand and supported her by the
waist. She'd play along with him, act like she bought his
innocence.

"What did he tell you?" Kris asked.

"That you accused him of killing Diana. He
wouldn't say whether it was true. It ... it can't be true, Kris.
He's panicking, right?"

She rubbed the bump on her head, sticky blood
gumming her fingertips. "Yeah, because he has something to
hide."

"I don't understand. My dad's never hurt
anyone. There's got to be an explanation. There has to be."

"I’m calling the police." Kris stumbled into
the living room. She stopped short. Michael crouched on the last
step of the spiral staircase, head buried in his hands.

"He's been like this since I got here. Dad.
Tell me what's going on." Eric strode over to his father.

Michael clapped his palms on his knees. He
looked at Kris, the color gone from his face. He spoke in a
monotone. "I never wanted to hurt you. I tried warning you off with
phone calls, but you wouldn't listen. Then when you came here today
and dredged all this up, I lost it. I didn't know what I was doing.
I found you on the floor and was afraid I’d killed you. I'm sorry
for hurting you."

Kris didn't answer. Her bump ached and
periodic stabs of pain shot through her head. Eric was right about
one thing. She'd better visit the emergency room in case she had a
concussion. Holly would probably treat her wounds. Kris restrained
a hysterical laugh.