“You bastard!”
The shriek came out of nowhere. Blinded by the fierce glare of the fire, Gray couldn’t see anything at first. Then Monica materialized out of the night, dressed head to toe in dark clothing that had cut down her visibility. His sister’s face was dead white, her dark eyes wild.
“You bastard!” she shrieked again, advancing on Alex like a Fury. The firelight gleamed on the barrel of the revolver in her hand. “All these years . . . you’ve been screwing me . . . pretending I was Mama . . . and you killed my father!”
Maybe Alex saw her intention to fire in Monica’s eyes. Maybe he was simply startled by her appearance, her screaming attack. For whatever reason, he swung the rifle around toward her. Gray leaped for him again, a roar of protest on his lips, knowing he couldn’t reach him in time any more than he’d been able to a moment before.
Monica closed her eyes and fired.
Twenty
“The bastard,” Monica kept whispering in a drained, lifeless voice. “The bastard.”
Faith sat in a county patrol car with Monica, holding her when she cried, letting her talk as she would. The door on her side of the car had been left open, while the one on Monica’s side had been closed; a subtle splitting of hairs on the part of the parish law enforcement. Monica didn’t seem to care that the door beside her didn’t have any inside handles. She was in shock, shivering occasionally despite the heat of the night, added to that from the fire, and Sheriff McFane himself had carefully spread a blanket over her.
Faith stared out the open door, feeling more than a little numb herself. It had all happened so quickly . . . The house was gutted, a total loss. Alex had poured gasoline all around the house and tossed a match to it, intending that she be trapped inside with no clear way out. Had she somehow managed to get out, he had been waiting with a rifle. It would have been assumed that she’d been killed by whoever had been sending her the notes, and since he was innocent of that, he’d felt safe. But Gray had hidden his car behind the shed, and in the darkness Alex hadn’t seen it. When Gray had come stumbling out of the burning house, Alex’s careful plans had been shattered. He had been shocked by Gray’s presence—Gray, whom he loved like a son. All they could do now was guess what Alex would have done, faced with that dilemma.
Her car, sitting so close to the house, was also a total loss. Without the key to crank the engine and pull it away, she had watched as a section of wall fell on it and set it afire. Gray’s Jaguar had been pulled away from the shed and now sat safely on the side of the road. The shed still stood, though. She stared at it through the smoke. Maybe she could sleep there, she thought with ghoulish humor.
Her small yard swarmed with people. The sheriff and his deputies, the volunteer firefighters, the fire medics, the coroner, the sightseers. God knows what so many people had been doing out that time of night, but an inordinate number of them had evidently followed all the flashing lights.
She watched Gray’s tall body, silhouetted against the dying blaze. He was talking to Sheriff McFane, a few yards away from Alex Chelette’s covered body. He was shirtless, his long hair flying around his bare shoulders, and even from here she could hear him coughing.
Her own throat felt like fire, and she could feel the stinging of several burns, on her hands and arms, her back, her legs. It hurt to cough, which didn’t stop her lungs from periodically trying to clear themselves, but all in all she felt lucky to be alive and in relatively good health.
“I’m sorry,” Monica said abruptly. She was staring straight ahead. “I sent the notes . . . I just wanted to scare you into leaving. I never would have—I’m sorry.”
Stunned, Faith sat back, then immediately straightened her sore back away from the seat. She started to say, “That’s all right,” then changed her mind. It wasn’t all right. She had been frightened, and sickened. She had known there was a killer out there. Monica hadn’t known, but that didn’t excuse her. She hadn’t killed the cat, but that didn’t excuse her either. So Faith said nothing, leaving Monica to find her own absolution.
Faith watched as a medic approached Gray and tried to get him to sit down, tried to put an oxygen mask on him. Gray shook him off, gesturing angrily, and pointed him toward Faith.
“I’m going to tell them,” Monica said, still in that expressionless voice. “Gray and Michael. About the notes, and the cat. I won’t be arrested for shooting Alex . . . but I don’t deserve to go unpunished.”
Faith didn’t have time to respond. The medic brought his equipment over to the patrol car, and squatted in the open door. His penlight flashed in her eyes, making her blink. He took her pulse, checked the burns on her hands and arms, tried to put the oxygen mask on her. She pulled away. “Tell him,” she said, indicating Gray, “that I will when he does.”
The medic stared at her, then gave a little grin. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, and jauntily returned to his first reluctant patient.
Faith watched as he repeated what she’d said to Gray. Gray wheeled around to glare at her. She shrugged. Annoyed and frustrated, he grabbed the oxygen mask and with ill grace clapped it over his nose and mouth. He immediately began coughing again.
Because she had promised, she had to submit to treatment when it came her turn again. The medics agreed that her lung function was good, meaning that her smoke inhalation wasn’t critical. Her burns were mostly first-degree, with a few second-degree blisters on her back, and they wanted her to see Dr. Bogarde. Gray was in much the same shape. Both of them were extremely lucky.
Except he had lost a friend, and she had lost every possession except the robe on her back and the shoes on her feet. And an open shed, a lawn mower, and two rakes, she reminded herself. She had insurance on both the house and car, but it would take time to replace everything. Her tired mind began trying to catalogue all the things she would have to do: have her credit cards replaced, get new checks, buy new clothes, get a car, find a place to live, have her mail rerouted to somewhere.
So many things to do, and she was so tired that she felt incapable of accomplishing a single one. At least nothing was irreplaceable, except for the few photographs she’d had of Kyle. There were no other family mementos.
Alex’s body was eventually taken away. Monica stared at it being loaded in the hearse, for transport to the parish morgue. Because he had died by violent means, there would be an autopsy. “For seven years he used me,” she whispered. “He pretended I was Mama.” She shuddered. “How do I tell Michael?” she asked bleakly.
“Who’s Michael?”
Monica gave her a puzzled look. “The sheriff. Michael McFane. He’s asked me to marry him.”
Faith sighed. The tangle just kept getting worse. “You don’t,” she said, and touched Monica’s arm. “Put it behind you. Don’t hurt Michael by telling him. It won’t make you hurt any less, and it’ll give Alex just one more victim. Pick up from here and go on.”
Monica didn’t reply, to either agree or disagree, but Faith hoped she took her advice. She had picked herself up enough times to know the value of going on.
Eventually both she and Gray were taken to Dr. Bogarde’s clinic and put in separate examining rooms. The dapper little doctor checked Gray first; Faith could hear them talking through the thin walls. Then he came bustling into the tiny room where she sat uncomfortably on the table. He cleaned and dressed her burns and checked her breathing, then gazed at her with a sympathetic eye.
“Do you have a place to sleep?”
Faith gave him a rueful smile and shook her head.
“Then why don’t you stay here? You look out on your feet. There’s a rollaway bed that we use sometimes, and you’re welcome to it. I can give you a set of scrubs to wear—don’t tell, but I sneaked them from the hospital in Baton Rouge.” His eyes twinkled at her. “A few hours’ sleep will do wonders for you. My nurses get here at eight-thirty, and then you can call your insurance agent, buy clothes, handle all those things. Trust me, you’ll feel a lot more capable after you’ve had some
sleep.”
“Thank you,” she said sincerely, accepting his offer. The difficulties of being virtually naked, without transportation, cash, or credit cards, were almost more than she could deal with at the moment. In the morning she could have Margot wire her some money, and she would begin the process of picking herself up again, but for tonight she simply couldn’t cope.
Dr. Bogarde left, and in a few minutes Gray came in. His torso and face were still streaked with black smoke, but the doctor had cleaned some patches and applied bandages, giving him the look of a large calico cat. Figuring she looked much the same, and not wanting to look in a mirror to verify it, she smiled at him.
His tired face moved into an answering smile. “Dr. Bogarde said you’re okay, but I wanted to see for myself.”
“I’m fine, just tired.”
He nodded, then simply put his arms around her and folded her against him, sighing deeply as he absorbed her nearness. Until he had seen that she was okay, merely stunned from her fall when he’d shoved her, he had lived in a hell of fear. The events of the night were still catching up with him; part of him felt numb, while another part was still aching with almost inexpressible grief. It didn’t matter that his father had been dead for twelve years; he had just learned of his death, so the pain was fresh. If anything had happened to Faith, too—
“Come home with me,” he said, pressing his lips to her temple and smelling the smoke in her hair. He didn’t care.
Shocked, she drew back and stared at him. “I can’t do that,” she blurted.
“Why not?”
“Your mother . . . No.”
“Leave Mother to me,” he said. “She won’t like it—”
“That’s an understatement if I’ve ever heard one!” Faith shook her head. “You can’t spring me on her at a time like this. Everything that’s happened tonight will be enough of a shock at one time. Dr. Bogarde offered to let me sleep here tonight, and I accepted.”
“Forget it,” he growled. He hated to admit she was right, but he could see that she wasn’t going to budge. “If you won’t come home with me, then I’ll take you to the motel.”
“I don’t have any money or credit card—”
He set her away from him, and temper sparked in his dark eyes. “Damn it, Faith, did you think I’d charge you for the room?”
“I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I’m used to paying my way, so I just didn’t think.” A motel room would be more comfortable, and more private.
He sighed, and reached out to cup her cheek. The anger died out of his eyes. It was amazing how flowers could grow in the damnedest places, but the Devlin weed patch had sprouted quite a wildflower in Faith. “Come on,” he said, helping her down from the examination table. “Let’s tell Dr. Bogarde you’re going with me.”
Ten minutes later, he drove up to the motel office and wearily unfolded his long length from the Jaguar. There was still a lot to be done this hellish night. Uncaring how he looked, he went inside and got a key, returning in less than a minute to escort her to room number eleven. He unlocked the door, turned on the light, and stepped aside to let her enter. Tiredly Faith moved past him, and looked longingly at the bed. She would love to just lie down and sleep, but couldn’t bear the thought of getting the sheets filthy with soot.
Gray followed her inside, closed the door, and pulled her to him. She laid her head on his chest, shutting her eyes as she reveled in the feel of him, so hard and strong and vital. Death had been so close . . .
His fingers gently encircled one of her wrists, and he lifted her sooty fingers to his lips, then folded his hand around hers. “We start dragging the lake tomorrow,” he said abruptly.
She rubbed her cheek against his hand, aching for him. “I’m sorry,” she said gently.
He took a deep breath. “There’s a lot to be done. I don’t know when I’ll have a free minute.”
“I understand. I have a lot to do myself. All of the insurance claims, things like that.” It would have been nice if they could have leaned on each other during the coming ordeals, but necessity was pulling them in different directions. Because the dragging of the lake would be done under law enforcement authority, access to the process would be limited; she knew that without having to have it explained. Gray would be there, but no other civilians not directly involved in the dragging operation would be allowed.
“I don’t want to leave you,” he murmured, and indeed he seemed incapable of making himself move, despite everything else that had to be done before this long night was over.
“You have to. My problems are mostly paperwork and shopping; I can take care of them. You have more serious problems.”
He tilted her head up with his fingers, dark eyes boring into hers. “We’ll talk when this is over,” he said, the promise somehow sounding ominous. He kissed her, the pressure of his mouth warm and hard. “Call if you need me.”
“All right.”
He kissed her again, and she sensed his reluctance. She stroked his hair in comfort. “I don’t want to go,” he confessed, resting his forehead against hers. “Twelve years ago I had to tell Mother that Dad had left her for another woman. Now I have to tell her that he was murdered, instead. The hell of it is, I know this won’t upset her as much as the first did.”
“You’re not responsible for what she feels or doesn’t feel,” Faith replied, touching her thumb to his lower lip. “You and Monica loved him, so he won’t be unmourned.”
“Monica.” Gray’s mouth tightened, and his eyes turned flinty. “She confessed what she did, about the notes and the cat. Michael’s all torn up about it. She broke several laws with that little caper.”
“Let things settle down before you do anything,” Faith advised. “Family’s family, after all. You don’t want to do anything rash and cause a breach. Remember, she’s been through a lot, too.” Her own family was scattered to the four winds, and her life was littered with loss, so she knew what she was saying. She saw the swift acknowledgment of that reflected in Gray’s eyes.
A huge yawn overtook her, and her head dropped against his shoulder. “That’s my last piece of advice for the night,” she said, and yawned again.
He kissed her forehead and eased her away from him. He had to force himself to leave her, but he knew if he didn’t do it now, he’d collapse on the bed with her. “Get some sleep, baby. Call if you need me.”
• • •
She had one friend in town, Faith realized over the next few days. Whether Halley Johnson had learned from town gossip where Faith was staying and volunteered her own services, or Gray had called her and asked her to help, Faith didn’t know and didn’t ask. Halley knocked on the motel room door at ten o’clock the next morning, and put herself at Faith’s service.
Faith had already called Margot and arranged for money to be wired to her, but she still needed some means of getting to the bank to get the money. She also needed, quite desperately, to do some shopping, and she didn’t know if any of the stores in town would sell anything to her. The situation between herself and Gray had altered drastically, but no one in town knew it.
“First things first,” Halley announced, when Faith said she had to go to the bank. She looked Faith over with a critical eye as she carefully walked out to get into Halley’s car. The burns weren’t all that uncomfortable, but Faith felt as if she’d been hit by a truck, probably the result of the two bone-jarring collisions she’d had with the ground. “I’ll take you to my house,” Halley said. “Feel free to use my makeup, do your hair, pamper yourself a little. And while you’re doing that, if you’ll tell me your sizes, I’ll do some quick shopping for you. Nothing fancy,” she said, holding up her hand when Faith opened her mouth to protest. “Just underwear, a pair of slacks and a shirt, so you can get out of that robe. You can pay me back when you pick up your money.”
With it put to her like that, Faith couldn’t refuse. “Thanks,” she said, smiling at Halley. “I was wondering if I’d be able to buy clothes in town.
”
“You will,” Halley said with complete assurance, “or I’ll call Gray Rouillard myself, and tell him to straighten out his mess. Besides, the whole town’s buzzing with the news that his daddy didn’t really run off with your mama, that you figured he’d been killed and came back to town to try to prove it. We’re all just flabbergasted about Mr. Chelette. Imagine getting in an argument with his best friend and accidentally killing him, and trying to hide it all of these years! It must have driven him crazy, for him to burn down your house like that. Is it true he tried to shoot you, too, and Monica Rouillard managed to shoot first?”
“Something like that,” Faith said faintly, wondering what the official version was. She didn’t want to contradict whatever was being told. As far as she knew, only she, Gray, and Monica knew about Monica’s unwilling seven-year affair with Alex.
Halley dropped her at her house, and Faith enjoyed another long, soaking shower, shampooing her hair twice with strawberry-scented shampoo before the stench of smoke was completely gone. She took Halley at her word and indulged in moisturizer from head to foot, after which she began to feel almost human again. She used a minimal amount of makeup, just enough to put a bit of color in her face, and blow-dried her hair. By the time she was finished, Halley was back with her packages, which blessedly included a new toothbrush.
The clothes were simple, cotton panties and bra, and a lightweight knit pants and tunic outfit. Just having underwear again was wonderful. She had been acutely aware of being naked beneath the robe and scrubs. Halley had a good eye for color; the knit outfit she’d selected was a flattering pale pink. A carroty redhead couldn’t have worn the color, but Faith’s hair was a dark, almost wine-colored red, and the knowledge that she looked good in the pink perked up her spirits.
Halley stayed with her most of the day, driving her where she needed to go: the bank, first and foremost. Having a thousand dollars in cash did wonders for her sense of security, and the first thing she did was reimburse Halley for her clothes. Next visit was to the insurance office, which thankfully was one-stop shopping, because the same company insured both house and car. Faith had recovered enough to be amused by the sympathetic, almost deferential treatment she received in the insurance office; the line between celebrity and notoriety was a very thin one, but evidently she was now on the celebrity side.