All Fall Down (15 page)

Green pastures, Blaine thought. Well, right now Rosalind Van Zandt was being laid to rest in the brown, November-dead acres of Silver Maple Cemetery. A few snowflakes—the first of the season—had begun to fall from the low pewter sky. They were big, dry flakes that landed gracefully on the shoulders of the nearly fifty mourners who had traveled to the cemetery from the funeral home. People began to surreptitiously brush at their faces, but Joan didn’t seem aware of the snow clinging to her lashes and dotting her sleek black hair with white. She stared at the coffin like one entranced, her face deadly pale, her body rigid in its long-skirted black wool suit.

People were beginning to shiver, and Blaine wished the minister would hurry through the verses Rosie wouldn’t have wanted. She hadn’t been a religious girl, not in any traditional sense, and Blaine thought it would have been far more appropriate for one of Rosie’s beautiful poems to have been read. More appropriate and more personal.

What would Martin think of this? Blaine wondered. He’d grown close to Rosie in those last few weeks of his life. Frequently Blaine had seen them sitting together, alone on the terrace as dusk closed in. Although she knew Rosie had been coming to the house since she was a child, Blaine had never noticed anything but quick, almost absentminded fondness for the girl in Martin’s manner. And Robin had been puzzled by their closeness, too. She’d often stood inside, watching them talking quietly on the terrace, her face expressionless. Had she felt the more beautiful Rosie was taking her father’s attention away from her? Blaine now wondered. Had she resented Rosie? Or had she been merely puzzled about the new relationship, like Blaine? If only they were closer, Blaine could ask her. But she couldn’t expect a straight answer now.

Blaine’s eyes wandered from the freshly dug grave to two other headstones nearby. One was simple gray, without ornamentation, and read “Edward Parker Peyton, b. December 5, 1913, d. June 12, 1990.” The other—cut from warm, rose-toned granite—was intricately carved with vines and flowers and stood nearly four feet tall. It read:

I wonder which family member chose those lines from Frost? Blaine mused. Probably Joan, although they all believed Charlotte had been gold. “The paragon,” Rosie used to call her with mild rue. “I’ll never measure up to her.”

Once, when Bernice Litchfield was nursing Blaine’s father after his accident, Blaine had asked her about Charlotte Peyton. “Sweet as sugar, that girl was,” Bernice had said fondly. “I taught her in Sunday school and took care of her when she had a tonsillectomy. She never complained about that sore throat, not once. Bore it like a little trooper. She never turned into a whiner, even though she was sick a lot and sort of accident-prone. And she wasn’t smart like Joan—in fact, she had a lot of trouble all through school.

“There was no question of her going to college. And she certainly wasn’t beautiful. Looking back, I can see that she was downright plain. But it’s true that beauty is as beauty does. It was her darling, sort of childlike personality that made her beautiful. And the whole family thought the sun rose and set on her. Joan was a little mother hen, always looking after her baby sister just like she does Rosie. What a shameful loss Charlotte’s death was! If the truth were known, it was after her death that Mrs. Peyton started acting so peculiar. Oh, it’s not all senility, let me tell you. Charlotte’s death knocked her for a loop. That’s why I’m so glad Joan was home to raise Rosie. I just don’t think Mrs. Peyton was up to the chore. But Joan’s done a beautiful job. Still, none of the Peyton’s will ever get over losing Charlotte.”

Nor would they get over the fact that Charlotte’s monument did not mark a grave. Everyone knew there hadn’t been enough of Charlotte’s body left after the fiery plane crash to return home. Her few remains lay beside her husband’s somewhere in Brazil, and the Peytons had been forced to memorialize an empty cemetery plot in the family section. That fact had always bothered Rosie. “I don’t feel anything when I look at that stone,” she’d told Blaine. “I guess it’s because I know my mother isn’t there—the little bit of her that was left was buried in Brazil with my father. Someday I’m going there to see the grave. I want to make sure it’s someplace pretty, well cared for. I know my grandparents and Joan never wanted to visit the real grave—I suppose it would make my mother’s death more real to them—but somebody ought to go. I guess it should be me.”

Blaine abruptly became aware of Joan moving forward to lay a pink rosebud on Rosalind’s coffin. At last tears had begun to run down her face, and she murmured, “Good-bye, little Rosie.” Blaine felt tears pressing behind her own eyes, and Robin grabbed her gloved hand, her grip tight. Blaine glanced at her to see her mouth pressed into a straight, harsh line, her lids blinking rapidly. She looked exactly the same at her father’s funeral, Blaine remembered in despair. Desolate and frantically fighting her emotions, emotions she should release. She squeezed Robin’s hand and gently pulled her away from the grave-site as the other mourners began to gather around Joan, whose eyes suddenly darted around like those of a panicked animal looking for somewhere to run. I wish I could help you, Blaine thought sadly, but I have to help my stepdaughter first.

Blaine had requested a substitute for the day, and judging from the crowd of students who had been at the funeral home, she guessed there were many absences at Sinclair High today. Although Rosie had many friends, her murder, followed only days later by the murder of Kathy Foss, had whipped the student body to a high level of curiosity and horror. Probably half the people who’d attended the funeral hardly knew Rosie. They simply wanted to come to the funerals of the murdered girls. They also wanted to study afresh the woman who had found them. All during the service Blaine had been uncomfortably aware of the fascinated glances thrown her way. And yesterday the principal had told her that three parents had called the school to say their children would not be returning until all doubts concerning Blaine Avery had been relieved. After all, hadn’t there been a scandal about her husband’s death this summer? And wasn’t it quite a coincidence that not only were Rosie and Kathy students of hers, but she’d found the bodies of
both
girls? Of course, they forget that I wasn’t alone when I found Rosie, Blaine thought bitterly. Nor do they consider that anyone who’d gone into the locker room after the talent show rehearsal could have found Kathy.
I
always happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Pushing her own discomfort from her mind, Blaine glanced around to see Caitlin and Kirk coming toward them. Blaine had expected to see Cait, but not Kirk, who looked remarkably handsome in a navy blue suit she hadn’t seen him wear since her wedding. “It was a lovely service,” Cait said.

Robin let out a deep sigh. “I thought it was morbid. Rosie would have hated it.”

Cait looked nonplussed, clearly not knowing how to respond to the girl. Blaine said quickly, “Do you two have time to come home with us for a while?”

Kirk shook his head regretfully. “No. At least I don’t. Dad and I have a big order to fill this afternoon, although after this, I don’t know if I’ll be able to get my mind on my work.”

“And I don’t want to leave my assistant alone with the kids for too long. After that day
I
spent alone with them…”

Blaine smiled. “It wasn’t so bad.”

“You missed all the good parts. They were winding down by the time you arrived.” She looked at Kirk. “I didn’t know you had a big order for this afternoon.”

“Honey, I told you. You just don’t listen half the time anymore. I have to finish a cedar hope chest for Mrs. Bailey’s daughter. She wants to give it to the girl tomorrow on her sixteenth birthday.”

“You
didn’t
tell me,” Cait said again.

Kirk shook his head in an exasperated motion and said sharply, “Caity, you haven’t listened to a word I’ve said since you opened that day-care center.”

Cait looked hurt, and Blaine was a little surprised by her brother-in-law’s tone. He was certainly tense today.

“That’s all right,” Blaine said quickly. “Maybe we can all get together another time.”

Kirk winked, as if trying to restore his usual good humor. “It’s just a bad day for everyone. The last thing you need is to have your battling relatives around.”

“Battling!” Cait said loudly. “What are you—”

“Caity, let’s not make a scene at the cemetery,” Kirk said smoothly. He took her arm, forcing a smile at Blaine. “See you later this week.”

“I want to go home now,” Robin muttered as Blaine stared after the retreating backs of Cait and Kirk.

The girl hadn’t cried at the funeral, but she looked incredibly pale and shaken. “Sure. I’ll get you there as soon as possible.”

But the car wouldn’t start. Blaine tried four times before someone tapped on the car window, and she looked up to see Tony Jarvis. She rolled down the window. “I seem to have a dead battery.”

“That’s not what it sounds like,” Tony said.

“Then what could it be?”

He smiled at her. “Mind if I look under the hood?”

“Be my guest. But try not to get dirty. You look so nice.”

“For a change.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

He grinned. “I know what you meant, Mrs. Avery. I’m just kidding. Now, pop the hood release for me.”

Robin sat huddled against the door, still shaken by the funeral, but Blaine noticed her heightened color and the way her eyes followed Tony to the front of the car. Their expression! She has a crush on him, Blaine thought in amazement. Shy, intellectual Robin has a crush on a guy who rides a motorcycle, wears an earring, and has his own rock band.

Blaine took a deep breath. What was she so surprised about? Hadn’t she told John Sanders just a couple of days ago that Tony was good-looking, sexy, and talented? And to someone as protected as Robin had always been, Tony’s scrapes with the law might seem dramatic, romantic.

“Mind if I try to start the car?”

Blaine’s mind snapped back to her present problem. She hesitated, looking again into the brown eyes that were so like those of the little boy she’d once known. Then she scooted over beside Robin. “Go ahead, Tony.”

She felt Robin’s body tense, whether from the nearness of Tony or from sheer surprise, she wasn’t sure.

He turned the key a couple of times and got the same clicking sound Blaine had earlier. “I think it’s the alternator.”

“Oh, no,” Blaine groaned. “That means I’ll have to call a garage and have it towed in. And just look at that snow.”

Tony dutifully looked at the snow, which was now falling in a thick, silent veil. Then he glanced over at Robin, who stared straight ahead, trembling with cold and nerves. “Tell you what. Why don’t I run you two home?”

“On your
motorcycle?
”

Tony laughed. “No, Mrs. Avery, I have a car today.”

“Aren’t you going back to school?”

“I hadn’t planned on it.”

Blaine looked out at the snow again. “Maybe I shouldn’t leave my car.”

“Just lock it and it’ll be fine. You two won’t. You know how garages are around here. Most of them don’t even have tow trucks.”

“We could get a cab.”

“In this snow? The Sinclair Taxi Company, with its mighty fleet of five, will be booked solid. You could be here for another hour.”

Blaine looked around. Almost everyone she knew had left, and Tony was right. Besides, Robin was beginning to look bad, almost as pale and depleted as she had the night of her father’s death. Blaine needed to get the girl home first and worry about the car later. And Tony? He was officially a murder suspect. But did she
really
think him capable of murder? No, she didn’t. That’s all there was to it.

“Okay, if you’re sure you don’t mind,” she said slowly.

“No problem. I’ve even got four-wheel drive today. My dad’s car.”

With a courtliness Blaine had never seen him display, Tony helped her and Robin from the Mercedes. When Robin slipped on the sidewalk, he took her arm, elevating her color another notch, and in spite of the awful circumstances, Blaine couldn’t help smiling. As far as she knew, Robin had never been seriously interested in a boy, and Blaine had sometimes worried that Robin’s insecurity had caused her to simply squash all yearnings for romance she thought she could never have. Now Blaine knew she had been wrong. The yearnings were obviously flourishing—Robin had just kept them well hidden.

Robin scrambled into the backseat, forcing Blaine to sit up front with Tony. They drove in complete silence for a few minutes until Tony asked, “Is rehearsal for the talent contest still on for tonight?”

“No. It was canceled out of deference to Rosie and Kathy. And, of course, the gym is still cordoned off as a crime scene.”

“I wonder if they’ll call off the whole show,” he said quickly.

“I don’t think so. It’s a school tradition. The last time I talked to the principal, he seemed determined to go on with it.”

Blaine wished Robin would join in the conversation, but the girl remained stubbornly quiet, so they fell silent again.

Only about a half inch of snow had accumulated, and they had no trouble driving the three miles out of town to the house on Prescott Road. Blaine always loved the way the house looked in snow, like something on a Christmas card with its great expanse of white-coated lawn, dormer windows, multiple-peaked roof, and fanciful cupola. When they pulled into the driveway, Blaine spotted Ashley sitting at the bay window in the living room, anxiously watching for their return.

“Told you I’d get you here in one piece,” Tony said. “I’ll stop by Pearson’s Garage on my way back and try to get them moving on your car.”