Die Before I Wake (33 page)

Larkin, have you ever heard of diazinon?”

“Diazinon? No. Why?”

“I never would have thought of it, but something you said just clicked. I think it was the hair loss that got me to wondering. I looked it up after you left, and every one of your symptoms could be explained by it. The nausea. The confusion. The anxiety. So I decided, just to be sure, to have your blood checked for insecticides. And there it was. Diazinon. It’s an insecticide, one that’s highly toxic to humans.

There’s an inordinately high level of it in your bloodstream.”

“I don’t understand,” I said. “How can that be?

How could I have been exposed to something like that?”

“I don’t suppose you live on a farm? Or near one?

Have you spent any significant amount of time in a public building that’s regularly sprayed for insects?”

“None of the above.”

“Has anybody else in your family exhibited the same symptoms as you?”

“No. Just me.”

“That’s what I thought. I hate to say this.” She hesitated. “But considering the high levels, even if you’d answered any of my questions in the affirma-tive—I just can’t justify calling this accidental.” It took a minute for her words to sink in. Even then, I didn’t want to believe them. Prayed I was wrong. “You’re saying that somebody has been deliberately poisoning me?”

“It’s not an easy conclusion to reach. I’ve never before been in the position of pointing the finger of blame. But in the absence of any other rational explanation, yes, I do believe that somebody has been deliberately poisoning you.”

The room, and everything in it, grew smaller and more distant. My husband was a doctor. He’d know about poisons. And if I died, he’d be two million dollars richer.
Tom,
I thought.
Oh, Tom, how could
you?
I wet my tongue, which seemed to have grown three sizes in my mouth. “How?” I said. “How would this exposure happen?”

“Possibly through ingestion into the digestive tract. Somebody putting it into your food. You could have breathed it in, although that seems unlikely, since nobody else in your family has exhibited symptoms, and the levels, coupled with the nature of your symptoms, suggest to me that the poisoning is probably chronic, rather than acute. It could have even been through dermal contact. Sprinkled onto your clothing, or mixed with something you use regularly—bath powder, shampoo, liquid soap.” In my dazed state, the implications were just beginning to sink in. This wasn’t just a matter of my being poisoned. I was pregnant. Anything that went into my bloodstream also affected my baby. Woodenly, I said,

“What about the baby?”

“That’s my second biggest concern, right after you. This could cause innumerable problems. Birth defects. Possibly fetal death. We just don’t know.

There isn’t enough empirical evidence to make that kind of conclusion. All we know is that it can’t possibly be good. Not for the baby, and certainly not for you.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say anything. Just get out of that house.

Go to a motel, or a friend you can trust, preferably one who lives at a distance. Don’t take anything with you. No food, no cosmetics, no shampoos or bath oils. Just a few clothes, and I’d replace those as soon as possible. You do realize—” She paused again, sighed. “You do realize that I’m obligated, by law, to report this to the authorities? They’ll be stopping by with a search warrant. If they find the diazinon, and if they find out who’s done this to you, that person could be charged with attempted murder.

Two counts, since you’re carrying a child. If anything happens to either you or the baby as a result of this, then that charge could be upgraded to first-degree homicide.”

I heard the back door open, heard footsteps in the kitchen, and excited voices as Jeannette and the girls trooped in. “Mrs. Larkin?” the voice at the other end of the phone said. “Are you still there?” I took a couple of deep breaths. “I’m still here,” I said.

“You’ll leave the house?”

In the kitchen, Sadie and Taylor were chatting merrily about their respective days. Innocent. Un-aware of the firestorm that was about to descend on top of them. “I’ll leave,” I said wearily. “Thank you for calling.”

It didn’t take me long to pack. After what the doctor had told me, I was scared to touch anything. I crammed a change of underwear, fresh jeans and a T-shirt into an overnight bag. I didn’t dare to take my hairbrush, or even my toothbrush. All that could be replaced in a quick trip to Rite Aid. I slung the strap to my overnight bag over my shoulder, and that was when I realized I didn’t have a car. I’d left it at Shop City when I’d landed in an unceremonious heap on the floor of the manager’s office. Now what? It was dark outside, and raining. I couldn’t just take off on foot.

I pulled out my cell phone and dialed Melanie Ambrose. She’d promised to help if I needed anything. I could only hope she really meant it.

But the phone just rang and rang. Nobody was home at the Ambrose residence, and they didn’t appear to have an answering machine. Gaining strength from the adrenaline that raced through my veins—the old fight or flight reaction—I disconnected and dialed Claudia instead.

“Are you alone?” I said when she answered.

“Utterly,” she said. “Dylan’s with Mr. Unmen-tionable tonight. Why?”

“I need a favor.”

“Say the word, sugar plum.”

“I left my car at the grocery store earlier today, and I need to pick it up. Then I need the name of a reputable motel. And a reputable divorce lawyer.” I paused to take a breath. “I’m leaving Tom. Don’t ask. I’ll explain everything when I see you. Right now, I just need to get out of here. Can you help me, or do I have to call a cab?”

“Of course I’ll help you. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

I closed the phone and returned it to my pocket.

When I turned, he was standing in the doorway, his shadow, heightened by the hallway light behind him, falling in exaggerated proportions on the wall. My Tom. The man. The monster.

“You’re leaving me?” he said incredulously.

I struggled for breath. He was blocking the doorway, and there was no other exit to the room, except the window and a two-story drop to the ground. I could try to make a run for it, but he was bigger than me, and far stronger. Especially in my weakened condition. The only way I was going to escape was to talk my way out of the situation. “I don’t think you want to have this conversation right now,” I said.

“Not with the girls downstairs.”

“I don’t understand. This morning—”

“This morning I didn’t know the truth. Please, just let me go.”

“Not until you explain why you’re doing this. For Christ’s sake, Jules, it’s only been six weeks. You’re carrying my child. You’re not even willing to try to work things out?”

He didn’t intend to make this easy. Why hadn’t I called the police to escort me from the house? “If anything happens to me now,” I said, breathless,

“you won’t get the money. They’ll be watching you, especially after Dr. Kapowicz calls them—” That now-familiar vertical frown line appeared between his eyes. “What money?” he said.

“The two million dollars! The life insurance money. I know, Tom. I know everything. I know about Beth, and the diazinon. And the note. You took it so it wouldn’t fall into the wrong hands. Because it was the only piece of real evidence I had. You—”

“What the hell are you talking about? Diazinon?”

“I’m not sure if you were trying to kill me, or make me just sick enough so you could keep me in line, like you did with the pain pills. If it wasn’t for Dr. Kapowicz, I never would have known. My God, Tom.” I fought back tears I couldn’t afford to show, for they were a sign of weakness, and I didn’t dare to appear vulnerable before him. “How could you do this to our baby?”

He took a step toward me and I shrank back.

“Jules,” he said, “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t come any closer. Come a single step closer and I’ll scream. I’ll scream so loud they’ll hear me downtown.”

He raised his hands, those lovely, manicured hands with the long, elegant fingers I’d always loved.

“I won’t come any closer,” he said. “Just let me say this. Whatever it is you think I’ve done, you’re wrong. I would never do anything to hurt you. Or our baby. Damn it, Jules, what the hell is going on?”

“Oh, Tom. I’m so disappointed in you. Are you going to stand in front of me and keep denying that you killed Beth? I know the truth. I know about the blood tests. I know who Sadie’s father really is. You thought when you killed Beth that you were in the clear because everybody believed it was suicide. But when I started snooping around, you realized I was a liability you couldn’t afford. So you decided to kill me, too. The fall down the stairs didn’t do it, so you turned to the diazinon instead. And at some point along the way, you decided that since you were going to all the trouble of having to kill me, you might as well make something on the deal. Two million dollars. Is that what a wife is worth these days?”

“You have it all wrong,” he said. “I didn’t kill Beth. I’ve told you that before. And the rest of this—

you’re not making any sense at all.”

“I know you were there that night,” I said, “on the bridge. Roger Levasseur saw you.”

“Yes, I was there! I followed her there. We argued. Beth stalked off and disappeared. I waited ten or fifteen minutes, but she didn’t come back.

She’d said all she had to say to me. So I gave up and went home. The last time I saw her, she was still alive.”

“You don’t really expect anyone to believe that lame story?”

“It’s the truth!”

“Let me out of this room, Tom. If you kill me now, you won’t get away with it. Too many people know pieces of the truth. If I don’t walk out of this house alive tonight, by tomorrow morning, you’ll be behind bars. Give it up. Let me go. If you do, I won’t press charges. All I want is a divorce.” It was a little white lie. A divorce wasn’t the only thing I wanted.

There were two other things I highly coveted, two other things I intended to fight for. They were both downstairs in the kitchen right now, making dinner with their grandmother. I’d vowed that I wouldn’t leave them, and I intended to keep that promise. I might be walking out tonight—assuming Tom didn’t kill me first—but I intended to be back, if only to collect the daughters of my heart.

“Jules,” he said, sounding so wretched I had to steel myself against the pain in his voice. “Don’t do this.”

“Let me go! Claudia’s waiting for me!” He closed his eyes, squared his shoulders. When he opened them again, I saw the glassy sheen of tears. “I love you,” he said, and stepped away from the doorway.

“I can see that,” I said, and rushed past him, my heart hammering at triple speed. I clattered down the stairs as though the devil himself were at my heels.

Claudia was waiting in the kitchen, looking like an old sea captain in her oversize yellow slicker. The girls looked somber. Taylor eyed my overnight bag and her eyes grew accusatory.

“What’s going on?” Jeannette said. “We could hear the two of you arguing upstairs, but we couldn’t make out what you were saying.”

“You’ll have to ask your son about that.” I knelt and beckoned the girls. They came forward, and I drew them into my arms. “I love you,” I said fiercely.

“I love you both so much. You know that, right?” Somberly, Taylor said, “I knew you wouldn’t stay.”

“Listen to me. I know you don’t understand this.

I don’t expect you to. You’re just kids. Your dad and I—it simply didn’t work out. Sometimes that happens. But you know what? I’m coming back for you. Nothing, not even your dad, will keep us apart.

I swear.” I hugged them again, and then I stood.

“Goodbye, Jeannette.”

“I can’t believe you’re doing this to him,” she said. The woman looked so distressed that, if I hadn’t known better, I would’ve thought she actually wanted me to stay.

“This is nothing,” I said, “compared to what he’s done to me.” I took my raincoat off the hook by the back door and shrugged into it. “Come on, Claudia. Let’s go.”

We stepped outside into the driving rain and ran toward the car that sat there with lights on and wipers slapping. I was almost there when I felt Tom’s hand on my shoulder. Adrenaline shot through my body.

I wasn’t going to get away after all. He was going to kill me, right here in the driveway. How many domestic violence cases had I read about where the woman was shot in the back as she left? How many women were killed each year, trying to escape their tormentors? Was I about to become one more statistic? Why the hell hadn’t I called the cops?

I turned to face my nemesis. Tom loomed over me.

Drenched, his hair plastered to his head and rivulets of water pouring down his face, he looked like the villain in some terrifying teen slasher movie. “Jules,” he pleaded, “don’t do this! Talk to me! We’ll figure this out!”

“Are you going to let go of me?” I said. “Or is Claudia going to pick up her cell phone and call Dwight Pettingill?”

He just looked at me, and then his hand fell from my shoulder, limply, like the hand of a dead man. For an instant, I felt guilty. As though I’d been the one to shoot him in the back, instead of the other way around.

How could I possibly feel sympathy for the man, after everything he’d done? Steeling myself against my own roiling emotions, I gave him a single parting glance and then I ran for the car. Slamming the passenger door behind me, I told Claudia, “Drive. Now.

Go!”

She put the Subaru into Reverse and raced backward out of the driveway, tires squawking on wet pavement when she crammed it into Drive. “Oh, my God,” I said. “Oh, my God.” I dropped the hood to my raincoat and leaned back against the passenger seat. “I didn’t think I’d get away. I thought—” My voice broke, and a sob escaped. “I thought he’d kill me. He killed Beth. He shoved her off the side of that bridge and then went home and pretended to be the grieving husband. And he’s been trying to kill me.