Lane could have kissed her. And made a mental note to do that as soon as he could.
"No problem."
As Lizzie came back down into the weeds, she whispered, "Go up there. Occupy him."
"I love you."
"I am not happy about this."
Lane traded places with her and kibitzed with the officer as she slowly backed her old Toyota through the trees and maneuvered it up onto the road.
As she pulled in next to the cop, she smiled. "Not bad for a country girl, huh."
"Only a country girl could do that," the cop said with respect. "But, listen, you mind if I take a look at your license, registration, and proof of insurance? Both of you?"
"Right here, Officer." She leaned across the seat and popped open the glove box. "Here's the last two. License is in my wallet, which is here in my jeans."
"Thank you, ma'am." The man took a penlight out of his front shirt pocket and beamed it on the documents. And when Lizzie passed him her license, he did the same. "Everything looks great. But your headlights are off."
"Oh!" She took the documents and laminated card back. "Sorry. They are. You going to give me a ticket for breaking the law?"
He smiled. "If I catch you without them on at night again, I sure am."
"Thanks, Officer," she said. When there was a pause, she glanced between them both. "Ah, so, Lane, I guess I'll see you back at the house?"
"You sure will," Lane murmured.
As Lizzie headed off down River Road, the officer turned to Lane. "Before you go."
"Yup, I've got my license and registration, too." He took his wallet out of his back pocket. "Here's this. The rest is in my car, hold on."
While the man checked out that part, Lane went over to the passenger side of the Rolls and got the other stuff. After the cop looked it all over, he returned everything.
And promptly dropped the act.
"So you want to tell me what really happened here?" The young man nodded into the marsh. "That tree looks like it was hit pretty hard. By a car."
"We haven't been drinking. The storm was bad."
"I believe you about the drinking. You're not slurring your words, and her ability to get that truck out of here like that is a sobriety test if I've ever seen one. But your car's in perfect shape. So's the front of her truck. What happened to that tree, Mr. Baldwine."
Lane took a deep breath. What he wanted to say was this was none of the police's business. He had handled things privately, and that was all anybody needed to know. The trouble was, that was the 1950s talking, back in the era when the privilege of wealth and status put his family above the law.
"Mr. Baldwine," the cop said. "I think you knew my father, Ed Heinz. He worked up at Easterly on the grounds crew until he died four years ago. And my brother, Rob, is one of the painters you all use on the regular."
"Oh, sure. I knew Mr. Heinz. Yup. He used to plant and tend all the fields on the flats."
"You went to his funeral."
"I sure did. You want to know why?"
"We were surprised, to be honest."
"He helped my brother get--well, actually, it was a Rolls-Royce, too, as a matter of fact--out of the cornfield once. Max drove my father's new car in there. This was, like, back in the mid-nineties. I never forgot how nice he was. We ruined his corn. Well, part of it. And he still helped us."
The officer started to laugh. "I remember him telling us all about that. Oh, he used to tell that story a lot."
"And there were others, I'm sure."
"Never a dull moment at Easterly."
"Not as long as Max was around, for sure."
There was a long pause. And then Lane looked at the officer.
"My sister married Richard Pford the other day."
"Oh, yeah, sure. I read about it in the paper--my wife and I were saying that there should be some big wedding up on the hill. That going to happen?"
"No." Lane shook his head. "Richard beat her tonight. Chased her out into the storm. She took off in one of the family cars and he followed her in his own. He ran my sister off the road and her Mercedes is what hit the tree. If you want, I can take you to the car."
"Do you want to press charges? Where is Mr. Pford? I'll arrest him right now."
Lane shook his head. "She just wants to be done with it. The marriage was a mistake. Anyway, I'll be honest with you. When I got out here, I was not gentle with the guy, if you know what I mean--and he's agreed to an annulment. Look, my sister is okay. Or, she will be. But if she goes to the hospital or we get him arrested, the press is going to have a field day, and frankly, my family's had more than its fair share of coverage lately. She's already ashamed and embarrassed, and he's out of her life now. We'd rather just let this lay."
The officer nodded and reached into his chest pocket. "It's a private affair."
Lane exhaled. "It is private. Yes."
"Here's my card. Call me if she or you have a change of mind."
"Thank you"--he glanced at the card--"Charles."
"Charlie. Charlie Heinz."
"I'm happy to pay to replace the tree?"
"This isn't private land. It's part of the city park system. It'll take care of itself."
"I really appreciate your understanding where I'm coming from."
"Mr. Baldwine, 'round here, we take care of our own. Don't you worry, no will know about this--not unless you want them to."
They shook hands, and then the officer got back in his car and drove away. Left on his own, Lane looked back at the swamp.
And was very glad for the interconnected nature of Charlemont.
As Lizzie pulled her truck in to its spot by Easterly's business center, she stared over at the blue tent that had been erected over Miss Aurora's car. That detective and the CSI folks seemed to have moved onto the property for the duration, and she wondered what they were finding--and whether some police radio of theirs would broadcast what that cop had come upon down at the marsh just now.
Gunshots. Busted car. Towing. Not that the officer had seemed to recognize any of it.
Dear Lord, how was this her life?
When she got out, that detective, Merrimack, smiled across at her. "Quite a storm, huh."
"Yes, it was."
"And it looks like you went through some mud." He pointed to her tires. "Have some trouble on the road?"
"I was coming back from the hospital during the worst of it. There was flash flooding."
"That can happen." More with the smile. "I'll bet you're glad to be home safe."
She glanced at the crime-scene vans. "How much longer will you be here?"
"Trying to get rid of us?"
Yes. "Not at all. Do you want anything to eat or drink?"
"Well, aren't you kind." Merrimack looked over his shoulder at the two men who were crawling all around Miss Aurora's car. "I think my guys are fine and we're just finishing up. Oh, by the way, there are two more of us working in Miss Toms's private quarters. I wouldn't want you to be surprised."
"Thank you." She cleared her throat. "Well, I'll just head in. It's been a long day."
"You do look tired, if you don't mind me saying. And I want to thank you for your statement earlier. Very helpful."
As she gave him a wave and headed for the back door into the kitchen, he said, "Miss King?"
"Yes?"
"Lot of mud on your shoes there." Smile. "You might want to wipe them extra good on the mat before you go inside. Or maybe take them off altogether."
"Oh, yes. You're right. Thank you."
With her heart pounding, she went to the screen door and let herself into the mansion, without taking his advice. And as soon as she was out of his view, she sagged--
" 'Scuse me, ma'am."
Jumping back to attention, she put her hand over her heart. "Oh!"
"Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you." The man was dressed in a casual uniform and had paper bags full of things in both his hands. "We're finished in there. We're going to ask that no one
enter that space, though."
With a lean to the side, Lizzie looked around him and saw a woman dressed in the same way putting a seal on Miss Aurora's door. "Of course. No one will go in there."
After they left, she went over and sat down on a stool at the island in front of the stove. About ten minutes later, headlights flared in the windows as the vehicles began to leave, and then there was another panning of illumination as if someone was pulling in.
Lane entered the kitchen. And closed the door slowly behind himself. "Hey."
"Hi."
"Would you like some dinner--"
"I'm going to go over to Indiana for tonight," she said quickly.
"Oh, okay, sure. I'll just grab some of my things and--"
"Alone." As he frowned, she said, "Someone has to stay with Gin. She can't be alone right now."
"Lizzie." He shook his head. "Please don't go."
"It's just for the night."
"Is it?"
She nodded. "I need some rest. And I have to check my property, especially after the storm. You have to stay here."
"But my mother's nurse--"
"Needs to be with your mom."
"Lizzie."
She closed her eyes and shuddered. "You have to let me go right now. This has been a lot, tonight. I'm not...I just need to sleep in my own bed and wake up in my little house on my farm. Have a cup of coffee by myself. Take the four-wheeler around the fields and look for downed limbs. I need...to be normal, for a minute."
Or, in other words: not involved in any murder investigations or shoot-outs down by the river or lying to cops. Oh, and also, if she could have no one bleeding or hurt or dead, that'd be great, thanks.
Lane opened his mouth to speak, but he didn't get a chance to.
Jeff came striding in from the front of the house, his suit still on, a metal briefcase in his hand. "Well, good news."
"What's that," Lane inquired in a dead voice.
"We're getting sued by two banks."
As Lane let himself fall back against the wall, Lizzie had to ask, "How is that good news?"
"If it were three," the man said, "they could force us into bankruptcy. So, yay for us. What's for dinner, kids? I can't remember the last time I ate."
Hours later, Lane woke up in a dark room in a strange--no, wait. He wasn't on a bed. He was lying on the sofa--in Easterly's front parlor.
Turning his head, he found that he was eye to eye with a bottle of Family Reserve that--oh, yup, right, he'd taken down to the a-quarter-left level. Next to it was his rocks glass, which was empty. His shoes were off, his head was against a decorative throw with tassels that had dropped into one of his ears, and his body was at weird angles.
As he tried to figure out what had disturbed his blackout, he had some vague thought that he'd had a bad dream.
Pity that the return to consciousness was a case of out of the fire and into the frying pan.
Wait, wasn't that...frying pan first, then fire?
"Who the hell cares."
Sitting up, his head spun and he looked around--
Across the way, at the base of the elegant room, one of the French doors was wide open, and the night breeze, lovely and mild, had come in--so maybe it had been the scent that had roused him?
Getting to his feet, he walked over and leaned out. There was not enough wind to have blown it open, and he looked down at the high-gloss floorboards. Things were still damp out there and debris from the trees littered the terrace--so if someone had come in, surely they would have left prints?
He turned on a lamp. Nothing marred the floor.
Stepping onto the flagstones, he glanced around--
Someone was walking right next to the house.
Over there. A figure in white...a woman...was drifting down the stone steps into the garden proper.
Lane jogged over. "Excuse me? Hello?"
She stopped. And then turned to face him.
"Mother?" he said with shock. "Mother, what are you doing out here?"
As he stopped before her, his heart rate regulated to something close to a normal rhythm, but he remained concerned. After all, didn't people with dementia take to wandering? Was this the drugs or a worsening of her mental decline?
Or both?
"Oh, hello, Edward." She smiled at him pleasantly. "It is such a lovely evening, isn't it? I thought I should like to take the air."
His mother's accent was more House of Windsor than South of the Mason-Dixon, her consonants arched sure as a lifted brow, her haughty vowels drawn out with the expectation that what she had to say, and who she was, guaranteed people would wait for her to finish her sentences.
"Mother, I think we should go inside."
Her eyes drifted around the flowers and the blooming trees, and in the shadows, her face was closer to what it had been when she had been young, its fine bones and perfectly balanced features the result of what in the old days people would have called "good breeding."
"Mother?"
"No, I think we shall walk. Edward, darling, do give me your arm."
Lane thought of his father's visitation. She had mistaken him for his brother then, too.
He glanced back up to the house. Where was the nurse?
"Edward?"
"But of course, Mother dear." He offered her the crook of his elbow. "We will make one pass, and then I am afraid I must insist we return inside."
"That is very good of you. To worry over me."
"I love you."
"I love you, too, Edward, darling."
Together, they traversed the brick walkway, passing into the statuary portion of the garden. His mother paused at each stone figure, as if she was recalling old acquaintances of which she were fond, and then she stopped at the koi pond to regard the silver and orange and spotted fish. Overhead, the moon was coming and going under a sluggish cloud cover, the illumination that milky kind one found so often during the warm months.
"My husband is dead."
Lane glanced at her. "Yes, Mother, he is."
"He died recently."
"Yes, he did." Lane frowned. "Do you miss him?"
"No, I'm afraid I do not."
There was a long period of silence. And then Lane just had to go there. "Mother, I need to know something."
"What would that be, darling?"
"Your husband is dead. Is...my father dead?"
She went utterly still.
And then she pivoted toward Easterly and stared up at its majestic expanse, a strange light coming into her eyes.
"We do not speak of these things, Edward."
"Is my father dead, Mother. Please tell me, I need to know for my own peace of mind."
It took her the longest time to answer, and even then, her words were a mere whisper. "No, darling. Your father has not died."
"Mother, I need to know who he is. Will you please tell me? With your husband dead, no one will get hurt."
He fell silent to allow her the room to speak. And when she just looked at their home, he worried that her mind had gone on an idle from which it would not return.
"Mother? You can tell me."
A ghost of a smile tinted her lips. "I was in love. When I was younger...I was in love with your father. I saw him quite often, although we were never introduced. There were proper expectations for me, and I was not going to go outside of them."
Lane could only imagine how strict things had been back then. The manner in which debutantes and eligible young bachelors were required to meet and interact had been very prescribed, and if you made a misstep? Your reputation was ruined.
The fifties surviving into the eighties.
"I would watch him from afar, though. Oh, how I would watch him. I was quite shy, and again, one didn't want to be troublesome to the family. But there was something about him. He was different. And he never, ever stepped out of bounds. In fact, I often wondered why he never noticed me." There was a period of silence. "And then William came around. He was not exactly what on
e would expect my father to allow. But William could be so very charming, and he managed to persuade Father that he was a fine businessman--and we needed one. After all, there was no succession for the company as I was an only child, and Father didn't want the BBC to fall into the hands of the other side of the family after he was gone. So William came to work for Bradford Bourbon, and I was expected to marry him."
The sadness in her voice was something he had never heard before, and indeed, did not associate with her. All his memories of his mother were of a beautiful, ornate bird, sparkling with gems in colorful gowns, drifting around Easterly, smiling and chirping. Always happy. Always serene.
He wondered exactly when she had started in with the self-medicating.
"My husband and I were engaged for six months. It took that long to have Dior hand-make my wedding gown--and also a parure of diamonds and pearls had been ordered from Van Cleef, and that, too, took time. There were photo shoots, as well, and planning the wedding. Mother did all of that for me. I was expected to turn up and be pleasant in the dress, and smile for the cameras. William ignored me for the most part, and that was just fine. He was...unsettling to me, and that initial instinct proved..."
Correct, Lane added grimly in his head.
"I can remember the night it finally happened. When I actually stood face-to-face with your father. I had to come forward to him and introduce myself. He was shocked, but I could tell that he had seen me all along, and he was far from indifferent to me. In spite of the upcoming marriage festivities, I continued to pursue him because I knew I was running out of time. Once I was married, William was never going to allow me out of his sight, and I would never get a chance to..."
"You fell pregnant," Lane whispered.
"It was just something that happened." She took a deep breath. "I do not regret it. And I do not regret you. The time that I had with your father was the happiest in my life, and it has sustained me through many a dark time."
"William found out, didn't he."
"Yes, he did. I was already two months into it when we were married, and he was furious. He felt as though there had been a bait and switch, a virtuous wife promised and a whore delivered. He told me that frequently throughout the years. He never denied you, though, because he was worried that the subsequent children, which he insisted on having, would not be seen as his. We had sex four times. Once on our wedding night. And then for each of your siblings. I was, as they say, tragically fertile--but he also insisted that I track my cycle and not lie about it. He didn't want to be with me any more than I wanted to be with him, but the succession of the company depended upon plenty of heirs and we delivered on that."