Flirting With Pete: A Novel (46 page)

“Nah. That’d be more upsetting to her. Besides, Darden wouldn’t know to come here. He didn’t know who or what Connie was. If he had, he would have shown up here long ago. For now, she’s safest with us.”

Brianna, Jenna, and Joy were gone by noon. Casey walked them to their car on West Cedar. When she returned, she found Jordan on the sidewalk talking with Jeff and Emily Eisner, and it only made sense to invite them into the house and out to the garden. There was food left. Jeff and Emily were hungry. Jordan wanted seconds, and Casey wasn’t averse to having more herself.

Meg was delighted, because she clearly liked Emily. They knew each other from Emily’s visits to Connie, and talked easily. Neither Emily nor Jeff talked down to her. To the contrary, they almost seemed protective— praising her baked French toast, thanking her warmly when she came around with the carafe to refill coffee cups, chatting with her about local shopkeepers.

Casey noticed this. But she also noticed how comfortable Jordan was, even more so than when Brianna, Jenna, and Joy had been there. Then he had remained on the periphery of the girl talk that centered on Brianna’s engagement, but with Emily and Jeff he was in his element. This was the social side of Jordan that Casey had never seen. He was totally adept.

She was thinking about that, nursing a last cup of coffee, when the Eisners gave their thanks and left. Jordan walked them back through the house and returned with the Sunday paper. Casey watched him approach. He put the paper on the table, sifted out the front page, and sat down. It was a minute before he realized she was staring at him.

He set the paper down and arched his brows in a silent question,
What?

“Emily whispered
the
most interesting thing in my ear when they were leaving,” Casey said sweetly. “I told her how pleased I was to have Jeff and her as neighbors, and
she
said how grateful she was to
you
for going over there and suggesting she drop by when I was so down last week.
That
was manipulative, Jordan.”

He didn’t answer, just sat there with a small smile on his face.

“I should be furious,” she said.

Still he didn’t speak.

“So why aren’t I?” she asked.

“Because,” he said quite correctly, “you know my heart was in the right place.”

She did know that. Regardless of the ways in which he might have misled her, she had never sensed an ounce of malice. Mischief? Yes. Her gardener had been laconic by design. Had he been less so, he would have given himself away. He was knowledgeable and articulate. He was insightful. He had known that Emily Eisner was what Casey had needed that day, though he’d had no way of knowing about the piano bench.

It struck her as she sat looking at him now, though, that Caroline was right. Scruffy beard, torn tee shirt, worn jeans, unlaced boots— like taciturnity, they were part of the macho image he was conditioned to play where women were concerned.

“Anything else on your mind?” he asked gently.

Thinking that he didn’t need to put on a macho image, when he was masculinity at its best even without, she shook her head.

Then she thought again. “Yes.” She glanced around at sun-strewn paths and flowers growing more lush by the day. “How can I feel content, at a time like this?” It was an ominous time, a time of waiting, and Darden was only part of the problem. There was Caroline. Yes, Casey felt little catches inside when she thought of either one of them, but the panic she might have felt was in control.

By way of answer, Jordan sank lower in his chair, stretched out his legs, and grinned lazily.

It was the garden, he was saying. The garden was an oasis, an escape from the woes of the world. And no, she couldn’t sell it. She understood that now. Her condo in the Back Bay couldn’t hold a candle to this. Nor, truth be told, could the farm in Rhode Island. That farm had been Caroline. This townhouse with its magic garden was Casey. This was where she was meant to be.

She sensed that Connie was pleased with her realization, and that pleased her in turn.

Still Jordan grinned. Oh, he was saying more, all right. He was saying that
he
was here, and that made a difference. He was right. But she wasn’t admitting it.

The Sunday morning sounds of birds and a city moving at half-speed were suddenly broken by the honk of a horn. A second honk followed, then a third, a fourth, and on— and not in the way of a car alarm. These honks were irregular, man-made, jarring, and angry. They came from the front of the Court.

Casey’s eyes met Jordan’s.

Laziness gone in a flash, he was out of the chair, loping down the stone path to the door.

She was fast on his heels. “Dudley wouldn’t have been so stupid.”

Jordan took the stairs two at a time. “Sure he would. He’d love to take credit for sparking a story.”

Casey ran faster to keep up, down the hall and through the front foyer. Jordan pulled the door open just as she came alongside.

A dented Chevy sat half on the cobblestones, half on the curb that circled the center grove of trees. It faced in the opposite direction of the rest of the cars, with the driver’s door at a space between parked cars, smack in front of Casey’s walk. She didn’t have to look at the license plate to know that the irate driver was Darden Clyde.

“Go back inside,” Jordan told her as he started down the steps.

Ignoring his warning, Casey followed him right down. They reached the front gate as Darden emerged from the car.

“There’s no
fuckin’
place to park here,” he yelled, advancing on Jordan. “Okay, O’Keefe, where is she?”

“Who?” Jordan asked. Standing with his shoulders straight and his feet slightly apart, he was large and immovable enough so that even Casey had to stand behind.

“My daughter,” Darden bellowed, red in the face.

Casey watched the man with a morbid fascination. Had she not known what he had done to Jenny, she might have thought him good-looking. Despite thinning hair, his features were even and his eyes a striking blue. But she did know what he had done. That gave everything about him a predatory look.

“You buried your daughter,” Jordan said.

“With no body in that grave, and then comes a woman yesterday,” he shot Casey a hateful glance, “shooting her mouth off about MaryBeth not being dead, and suddenly here
you
are at the house of that very woman. You left town right after MaryBeth disappeared. There’s a connection.”

“MaryBeth is gone, Darden. Dead.”

Casey couldn’t argue with that. MaryBeth was dead. So was Jenny. But Meg was alive and somewhere behind her in the house.

“What’d you do, O’Keefe?” Darden seethed, chin forward, nostrils flared. “Smell something good back there in Walker and take her away for yourself? Pete? There was no Pete. Pete was
you
. But she’s mine. D’you hear? She’s mine. You can’t have her. I’ve come to take her back.”

“You’re totally wrong about this,” Jordan said in a firm voice. “You’d do best to turn around and go back home.”

“Not until I get my daughter.” Suddenly his eyes flipped up a notch, past Jordan, and a malevolent gleam entered his eye. “Well, well, well. All three at the same address. Isn’t
this
interesting.”

Casey turned. Meg stood at the open front door, staring wide-eyed at Darden. She looked frozen in fear.

Casey ran back up the steps and put herself between Meg and Darden’s view. As softly and gently as she could, given the fear she felt herself, she said, “Don’t speak to him. You don’t have to say a word.”

“Lousy hair color, MaryBeth,” Darden taunted, “but it could be purple and I’d still recognize you. I don’t know what your game is this time, but you’re not getting away with it.”

Casey turned so that her back was flush to Meg. She held Meg’s hands behind her. Darden hadn’t moved from his car; Jordan was still blocking the path. But Casey could see other movement in the Court. Attracted by the ruckus, neighbors had begun to appear— the lawyer, Gregory Dunn, Jeff and Emily, several others that Casey knew by sight but not name. Some were simply curious and watched; a few moved cautiously forward.

One of the latter, the lawyer, had a cell phone to his ear. Casey prayed he was calling the police.

But Darden was one step ahead. With an evil smile, he drew a revolver from his pocket and aimed it at Jordan. Still smiling, he called out to Meg, “Is this what it’s come to, MaryBeth? Do I have to kill for your sake for real this time?”

Casey was horrified. In her periphery, she saw the neighbors who had approached now backing off.

When Meg whimpered behind her, Casey held her hands tighter. She knew Jordan didn’t have a gun— she might have missed a cell phone in his pocket, but not a gun— which meant that he was in serious danger. She was trying to decide whether he had a chance of rushing Darden without getting shot, when a new movement caught her eye. Someone had slipped out of the car right behind Darden— a woman. She wore a tight, sleeveless blouse, was buxom though not fat, and had short, bleached-blond hair and a hard look.

It was Sharon Davies. Casey knew this without a doubt.

“Drop the gun, Darden,” she said in a voice that was as hard as her looks.

“Stay out of this,” Darden muttered without even looking back.

“Drop the
gun,
” she repeated.

Darden kept the gun trained on Jordan.

“Drop it,” Jordan ordered. “Probation violation is one thing, assault with a dangerous weapon is something else entirely. Don’t make things worse for yourself.”

“Make things
worse?
” Darden hollered, though Jordan was only a few feet away. “She’s mine. I want her. If I can’t have her, I got nothing to lose. I’ve rotted for years because of her.” He was clearly festering. “I got
nothing
to lose.”

Sirens sounded in the distance. Jordan extended a hand. “Give me the gun,” he urged softly.

“When hell freezes over,” Darden growled. Grasping the gun with both hands now, he took up the slack on the trigger.

A third hand grabbed for the gun. Casey had barely realized that it was Sharon’s when Darden half turned. There was a struggle. Jordan lunged at Darden. A shot rang out.

Meg and Casey both screamed. Casey would have run to Jordan if Meg hadn’t started to shake— and if common sense hadn’t told her to keep both of them away from that gun. Turning, she held Meg tightly, while she looked, anguished, over her shoulder at Jordan. He was sprawled on the pavement with Darden beneath him. After several seconds, though, she saw him move.

Not so Sharon Davies. She was frozen in place, Darden’s gun in her hand. Eyes wide, she stared at his lifeless form.

Jordan pushed himself to his knees. He studied the man for another minute. He searched for a pulse, then looked at Sharon. “He’s dead.”

Meg gave a small cry. Casey didn’t know if it was a cry of grief or relief. She didn’t feel the latter herself until Jordan rose to his feet.

Sharon seemed dazed. She met Jordan’s gaze with a start. When he held out a hand, she released the gun— and suddenly she looked more haunted than hard. “What he did to MaryBeth?” she said in a quavering voice. “I always heard the rumors. But I told myself it wasn’t true, not even when my own daughter said he was touching her in bad ways. She’s a wild girl. I figured she’d heard the rumors, too, and was only trying to make trouble. But listening to Darden just now, it all came clear. He raped my daughter. I’m sure he did. She was right. She was right all along. For what he did to her— for what he did to MaryBeth— he deserved to die.”

The sirens were coming closer.

Meg was a mass of shakes, but when Casey tried to guide her back into the house, she held her ground with startling strength. So Casey tried to shield her from the sight of Darden, but she wouldn’t have that either. She craned her neck until she could see her father, whose unseeing eyes might well have been looking right back.

Casey continued to hold her. Knowing Meg’s past, knowing all that Darden had done to her and what it had driven her to do, she imagined that Meg feared Darden would bound right up from the stones and attack. “It’s all right,” she said softly. “It’s all right. He can’t hurt you.”

“I dream this,” Meg murmured, sounding on the verge of panic. “I dream it all the time. He won’t let it go. He just won’t.”

Jordan joined them in time to say, “He has, Meg. He’s dead. It’s over for good this time. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

Casey slipped an arm around him, but only had time to trade him a grateful look before a police cruiser turned into the Court with its lights flashing. It stopped with a jolt. Two officers emerged at a crouch, guns drawn. Two others ran in from West Cedar, doing the same. Jordan went to join them.

Jeff and Emily passed him on their way up the steps. Emily put a hand on Meg’s back. “Are you okay?”

Meg swallowed hard, tore her eyes from her father, and gave a convulsive nod.

Casey kept an arm around her. “She’ll be fine,” she said, and repeated the assurance when others of the neighbors cautiously approached. One thing was clear: they all knew and liked Meg.

“She baby-sat when our grandchild came to visit. We wouldn’t have trusted anyone else,” one vowed. Another said, “She walked our dog when my father had a stroke and we had to rush home to Poughkeepsie on the spur of the moment.”

“Meg made chicken soup for my wife when she was sick,” said Greggory Dunn. “It was the only thing she could eat.”

“It was Miriam’s recipe,” Meg murmured, and looked unsurely at Casey.

Casey smiled and nodded, acknowledging that she knew the story. “Miriam was a good person,” she said, and felt Meg relax just a bit.

Minutes later, Meg looked toward the street again. “Can I go down and see him?”

“Are you sure you want that?”

Meg nodded.

Casey understood her need for closure. As despicable a person as Darden Clyde was, he was Meg’s flesh and blood. Meg had spent far more time with him than Casey had ever spent with Connie— yet here Casey was, living in Connie’s townhouse, visiting Connie’s hometown, seeking out Connie’s wife, tracking down Jenny and Pete. All this was a form of closure, too.