Don't Close Your Eyes (27 page)

“Sorry I’m late, honey,” Andrew said to Natalie. “Harder day than I expected.”

“That’s all right. Even Oliver delayed his appearance.”

“I thought I saw the sheriff in the parking lot,” Ruth offered. “Has he learned anything else about the case?”

“I don’t think so,” Natalie said vaguely. Now was certainly not the time to go into Ted Hysell’s theory about the connection among the victims. “He just stopped by as a courtesy. He’ll probably come to the funeral, too. Come say a few words to Lily, Dad. She’s not in good shape.”

Andrew might have disapproved of Lily through the years, but he was all gentle concern tonight. Oliver did not unbend, looking at Andrew as if he’d never seen him before.

Viveca rushed over. Natalie cringed inwardly, but her father showed no emotion. Viveca might have bewitched Eugene Farley and Oliver Peyton, but apparently she had little effect on Andrew St. John. He introduced her to Ruth, and Natalie smiled inwardly as she noticed Viveca’s blue eyes sweep over Ruth, quickly calculating the cost of her clothes and deciding whether the pearls were real. Ruth was probably ten years older than Viveca, but she held her own in the style department. Ruth looked calm and secure as she talked quietly with mourners. The woman had class, Natalie thought appreciatively. She also seemed to have made quite a few

friends during her short time in Port Ariel, judging by the familiar way she talked to many of the guests.

The wake officially ended at nine o’clock. A few stragglers stayed behind talking about everything except the murder. “I’m going to take Ruth home now,” Andrew told Natalie.

“All right. I’ll stay and help Lily—”

“No you won’t.” Lily had materialized in front of her. “You look exhausted, Nat. Please go home. I feel drained, and I still have to get through the funeral tomorrow. I’ll really need you then, so you’d better get some rest.”

Natalie put up a feeble argument, then dropped it. Lily was right. She was tired, and tomorrow would be long and nerve-wracking. She needed to soak some of her tight muscles in a hot bath and try to drift into what she hoped would be a dreamless sleep.

Andrew had brought Ruth, who asked him to take her by his house so she could retrieve the sunglasses she’d left when she dropped by that morning. Natalie followed the couple in her car, and ten minutes later Blaine joyfully greeted everyone, her tail wagging at the sight of human company. Natalie realized she felt as if the dog had always been part of her life.

She talked Ruth into staying for pie and coffee. They all settled into the living room that glowed with soft lamplight to rehash the evening.

“So many people!” Ruth said. “Tamara had many friends.”

“I think most were friends of Oliver and Lily,” Natalie explained. “Tamara stayed to herself.”

Ruth smiled. “So I’ve heard. I’ve been to Curious Things several times and met Lily. She seemed like an extrovert, a fun-lover.”

“That’s an understatement,” Andrew put in. “I used to wish Natalie were closer to Tamara than Lily. Tamara might have curbed my daughter’s rebellious streak.”

“You weren’t able to,” Ruth returned tartly. “Frankly, I

find high-spirited young women charming. I used to be one. Now I’m quite tame and boring.”

“You aren’t boring,” Andrew announced.

“Church work and a cat. I am boring, just like most women my age.” Except for my mother, Natalie thought sourly. “Local gossip tells me Tamara lived like someone at least twice her age, but everyone agrees she was goodhearted.” Ruth sighed. “It’s such a shame she had to die.”

Natalie felt tears well in her eyes. She blinked furiously and stood. “More coffee or—” Her voice broke and she emitted a ragged, “Oh!”

Ruth stood and came toward her. “Natalie, you’re a wreck.” She patted Natalie’s shoulder while Andrew looked at her apprehensively. He’d never known how to handle emotional scenes. After Kira left, Natalie had frequently burst into torrents of tears for her lost mother. Andrew always responded with an agony of blundering, ineffectual distress. Natalie had felt so bad about his misery at the sight of hers that she’d learned to save her tears for times when she was alone. Finally she had squelched them completely, pushing her grief far down and covering it with a blanket of resentment. Bitterness Andrew could handle, anguish he could not. ; “I’m

sorry,” Natalie squeaked out around the lump in her throat. “This is so silly …”

“You’re exhausted and upset,” Ruth said. “You should get some sleep.”

Andrew looked at Natalie warily as if he expected her to start jumping up and down and shrieking. “Would you like a sleeping pill, honey?”

“No. Kira was the one with a taste for downers, not me.” That’s better, she thought in satisfaction. Andrew appeared relieved that his daughter was issuing acid remarks instead of standing in the middle of the living room weeping. “I’ll just clear up the dishes—”

“No, I’ll do that,” Ruth said, heading for the kitchen. “Off to bed and have golden dreams.”

“I never heard of golden dreams before, but I’ll try.” Nat

alie managed a weak smile. “Good night, Dad.”

“Good night, my dear. Do you have plenty of blankets?”

It was June, and even if it had been January with a blizzard howling in off Lake Erie, Andrew was not one to worry over bed linens. She must have really rattled him. Natalie tried not to let her amusement show in her eyes. “I’m fine, Dad. Come on, Blaine. Bedtime for us.”

The dog obediently followed her into the bedroom. Natalie shut the door against the murmur of Andrew’s and Ruth’s voices, immediately kicked off her high heels, and sat down at her vanity table. She looked awful, hollow-eyed and pale-skinned. She removed her earrings and wiped off her lipstick. Tonight she wouldn’t worry about dousing her face in her usual expensive cleansing cream she’d let a pushy saleslady at cosmetic counter tell her she couldn’t live without. Tonight a bit of equally expensive moisturizer would do. What had she been thinking when she bought this overpriced stuff? Kenny. She’d been thinking of looking like an eternal twenty-one-year-old for Kenny.

Disgusted with herself, she stood quickly and slid out of the unflattering black dress. She was unfastening her bra when suddenly Blaine trotted to the tapestry-covered bench beneath the window and jumped up. “No, no, Blaine,” Natalie said. “Dog nails aren’t good for the fabric.”

Blaine ignored her. She nosed apart the curtains and stared intently for nearly ten seconds, then let out a low rumble.

Natalie went still for a moment, watching the black hair along Blaine’s backbone rise and her stance stiffen. Someone was out there.

Without thinking, Natalie swiftly covered herself with her silk kimono, not from a sense of modesty but from fear, as if the delicate cloth could protect her. She turned off the overhead light and crept near the window. She peeked through the crack in the curtains Blaine had made and saw—

Nothing.

She squinted into the night. The carriage-style light mounted on a pole near the side of the house threw dim illumination over the rock garden Andrew had built for Kira

thirty years ago. A few brave Grecian windflowers, crocuses, and grape hyacinths stood against the cool darkness. Near the rock garden a weeping willow tree.

The weeping willow tree. Had she caught a hint of movement? Blaine rumbled again, leaning forward until her nose pressed against the glass. Natalie’s heart beat harder. Possibly the dog had seen an animal, although if it were a small animal it would have to be climbing on the tree to equal the height at which she’d noticed movement. Besides, she’d seen Blaine spot a squirrel on a branch yesterday. The dog had looked interested but not especially excited. Natalie did not think the sight of an animal had caused Blaine’s raised hackles and stiff legs.

Her breath suspended, Natalie watched. She had inherited her father’s sharp vision, better than 20/20. If anything—or anyone—was out there, she would see.

And there it was.

The glow of a cigarette tip. A lazy arc up, the brightening of the lighted ashes as someone inhaled, a lazy arc down. The watcher was calm and deliberate. How long had he been out there? What did he want?

Natalie jerked away from the window, startling Blaine who let out a sharp, loud bark. The yellow end of the cigarette shot away from the tree. Natalie rushed to the phone extension on her nightstand, called police headquarters, and reported the watcher. A slightly patronizing deputy told her not to worry as long as no one was trying to break into the house. “Is Sheriff Meredith in?” she asked.

“No ma’am, but we wouldn’t need to bother the sheriff for some teenager trying to sneak a peek at a pretty lady undressing.”

Anger flashed through Natalie. “Is Ted Hysell on duty?”

“Now, miss—”

“Is he on duty?” she demanded.

“He’s not on duty, but he just stopped in—”

“Let me speak to him.”

“It’s not necessary—”

“Put him on the phone!” Damn, damn, damn! Precious time was slipping by. “Tell him it’s Natalie St. John.”

The deputy let out a furious sigh and yelled, “Hey, Hysell, some hysterical woman named St. John wants you!’”

In seconds Ted Hysell asked, “Natalie? What’s wrong?” She told him about the watcher with as few words as possible. “Be right there,” he said and hung up.

Natalie clutched the kimono around her and rushed into the living room. Her father and Ruth had left. She ran to the front door to make sure it was locked, then went to her bedroom and pulled on a pair of jeans, a sweatshirt, and Reeboks.

Once dressed, she walked back to the living room and turned on every lamp, then sat down on the Boston rocker. Blaine sat beside her, frequently looking up at her face for signs of anxiety. Natalie had never been afraid in this house. Unhappy. Angry. Bored. Never frightened. But three people had been savagely murdered in Port Ariel during the past week. Three people who were children of people linked to Eugene Farley, just like her own father was. And now someone stood in the dark and watched this house.

She rocked faster. Where was Ted? Had he only been humoring her? Had he and the other deputy laughed over her panic as soon as he’d hung up? Maybe she should call Nick Meredith. Yes, that’s what she should have done in the first place.

Natalie jumped up and was striding to the phone when she heard noises outside. She rushed to the window. Two men with flashlights, talking. They walked toward the house and in a moment knocked on the front door. She had already seen one in uniform. She swung open the door. “Ted! How long have you been out there?”

“About five minutes. No lights, no sirens. Didn’t want to scare off the creep, but there’s no sign of anyone.”

“Ted, someone was out there under the weeping willow.”

“Thought that’s where he was. We found two cigarette butts and a crumpled Marlboro package. I got the cigarette package for prints.”

Natalie smiled. “You don’t know how glad I am you’re taking me seriously. Sheriff Meredith told me your theory about the connection among the murder victims.”

“He did? I figured he just blew it off.”

“Well, he didn’t. He even talked to Constance Farley today. Didn’t he tell you?”

“It’s my day off.”

Which explained his jeans and work boots. The other deputy was in uniform. “I’m sure he’ll tell you about it tomorrow. He doesn’t think she’s a suspect.”

Ted looked disappointed. “I thought I was on to something.”

“I think you are, in spite of Constance’s alibi. So does the sheriff.” She hesitated. “He respects your abilities, Ted.”

The man’s plain face slowly suffused with ill-suppressed surprise and joy. “He does?”

“Yes. He told me so.” She didn’t know what to say next. She might have already said more than Nick would like, but Ted had looked like he could use some bolstering. “Do you and the other deputy want to come in for some coffee?”

“No, no thanks,” Ted said hurriedly. “Got to get back to write this up. Are you here alone?”

“Temporarily. Dad should be back soon.”

“I’ll have someone drive by once an hour anyway. ‘Night, Natalie. Be sure to lock that door.”

Oh, I certainly will, Natalie thought as she closed the door behind Ted. She had no doubt the watcher had been here before tonight and no doubt that he’d come again.

THURSDAY MORNING

Natalie awakened with a sense of dread she couldn’t place. She opened her eyes and stared at her bedside clock. 5:55. She slipped out of bed and went to the window to look at the sky. A pale blue wave lapped at the dark shore of night. Birds chirped and sang. It would be a beautiful day.

A beautiful day for a funeral.

Natalie closed her eyes. How could she get through this awful day? She took a deep breath. As bad as this day would be for her, it would be much worse for Lily. Oliver, too, but he had Viveca. In fact, he seemed to have shut out Lily and turned to Viveca for strength and consolation. Natalie thought he was being cruel to Lily, but perhaps she shouldn’t judge at a time like this. Still, the situation seemed odd. Oliver had always been so close to Lily—closer than to Tamara, much closer than to his delicate, retiring wife Grace. Natalie clearly couldn’t ask Lily what had happened between them. In this case she would keep her own council. Maybe after the funeral the situation would right itself.

A cold, damp nose touched her and she jumped. Blaine. Natalie smiled and rubbed the dog’s head. “It’s early but I can’t go back to sleep. I think it’s time for coffee and dog food,” she said.

When she reached the kitchen, Andrew already sat at the table with a mug of coffee and a piece of toast in front of him. “What? Just toast? Not the usual breakfast of a prizefighter?” Natalie asked. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong? We had a prowler last night and you didn’t see fit to tell me,” Andrew said coldly.

“How did you find out?”

“I couldn’t sleep. When I saw a police cruiser creep by for the second time in an hour, my laser-sharp brain told me something was wrong. I flagged down the car and asked.”

Natalie calmly poured coffee. “I didn’t want to alarm you.”