If She Should Die (36 page)

The day was beautiful. How sad, Christine thought as she and Jeremy drove to the church. Patricia didn’t live to see the terrible gray days and the cold rain end. She didn’t get to see the sun hanging lemon yellow in the sky again, warming the air, drying the saturated ground, coaxing the spring flowers to bud in glorious color. She’d missed it all.

Christine had told Jeremy that perhaps it was better if he didn’t show Ames the Dara Pin on this day. “He’ll
already be sad enough about Patricia,” she said. “Reminding him of Dara might be too much. Let’s wait awhile. In fact, let’s just steer clear of him today.”

“Steer clear of him?” Jeremy had repeated, looking incredibly handsome in a charcoal gray suit. “Doesn’t he need us today?”

“Maybe he needs Wilma more. We might just upset him.”

“I don’t understand.”

No, he wouldn’t understand, Christine thought. She still hadn’t said anything about being fired or Ames’s antagonism toward her, which she feared might show itself in hostility toward Jeremy as well. Jeremy would be baffled and hurt, and the only way she could think of to avoid it was to keep him away from Ames.

“Will you just accept what I say on this one day without my going into a big explanation?” Christine had asked. “Just this once?”

Jeremy had shaken his head. “I don’t get why you want me not to talk to Ames, but I’ll do what you say. I’ll steer clear. I won’t go up and hug him. But I can just say hello, can’t I?”

“Sure. But he’ll have his mind on other things. Don’t be upset if he doesn’t say anything back.”

When they reached the church, which Patricia had formally been a member of, but rarely attended, Christine was amazed by the number of cars lining either side of the street. Patricia had not been liked in Winston. Ames, however, was highly respected. And Wilma had a hundred friends, all of whom knew how close her family was to Ames. Probably only a handful of people had actually come here for Patricia’s sake, if that many. Christine wondered if Patricia would have cared.

The interior of the church was somber, almost tomblike. Christine had never liked it and knew Patricia had
only joined because some of whom she considered Winston’s “best” families belonged. Christine’s impulse was to slide unobtrusively into a pew at the back of the church, but she knew that action would be noted and commented on at length when the funeral ended. After all, she and Jeremy had been Ames’s wards. They were almost family. They had to sit near the front, where she saw Ames already seated stiff and tall, Wilma beside him. She and Jeremy slid into a pew behind them. Wilma turned and smiled. Ames caught Jeremy’s eye and had the good grace to nod at him. Christine he ignored completely.

To Christine, the minister seemed to drone for hours. She attributed her feeling to nerves until she saw Wilma squirming uncomfortably. He
must
be droning if she’s restless, Christine thought. Maybe he was carried away by the packed church and couldn’t tear himself away from the podium. Next he’d tell a couple of jokes, then burst into a rendition of “Feelings” or some other ballad. . . .

Stop thinking like someone having a nervous breakdown, she told herself sternly. She had to get through this excruciating situation although she felt giddy from apprehension and lack of sleep since the arrival of the card and the photographs, which she’d dutifully reported to Michael. But no matter how agitated she felt, she had to keep control of herself because she had to look out for Jeremy. She didn’t want him crossing Ames’s path. And surely this minister who didn’t even know Patricia couldn’t think of much more to say about her.

Suddenly everyone was rising and a relieved murmur surged behind her. The service was finally over. Ames turned and headed up the aisle, not looking at her and Jeremy. Wilma followed with a bracing smile for both of them. Behind Wilma was her husband—a small, quiet man who looked like he’d been weathered like an old piece of leather. Then came Streak, perspiring and tight-faced.
Other members of the Archer family followed. Patricia’s mother had claimed she was too ill to attend the funeral, which Christine had learned from Wilma. Wilma didn’t believe the woman. “She didn’t even sound upset when I talked to her right after Ames did,” she’d said huffily. “I thought maybe I could talk some sense into her. Patricia was her only living child. But no. Cold as ice, that woman. Maybe she’s the reason Patricia was so hard inside.”

Christine and Jeremy followed the Archers out of the church and Christine rushed Jeremy to her newly repaired and returned Dodge Neon, not allowing him time to go near Ames. “You’re acting weird, Christy,” Jeremy complained. “I wish you’d tell me what’s wrong.”

“I will. Later. Just follow my lead.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Stay right by my side. Don’t try to force yourself on Ames.”

Jeremy sighed loudly. “You already told me not to talk to him because he’s too upset. I don’t know why talking to me would make him more upset. I still think you’re just being weird.”

“Okay, I’m weird. But I’m your big sister, so do what I tell you.”

The Prince family plots lay in a cemetery only a mile from the church. After they’d parked the car and walked down a grassy slope to the spot, Christine was surprised to see that the hole for Patricia’s coffin had been dug an insulting two plots away from the one she knew Ames had reserved for himself right beside Eve’s. People would talk about this affront that equaled a slap in the face to Patricia, just like the lack of a visitation the night before the funeral and skipping a reception at the Prince home after the service. People would want to know why Ames had decided to demean his second wife at the time of her death. Christine was certain Wilma had tried to bully him
into maintaining a respectful ceremony. Clearly, she had failed.

Christine saw with dread that the garrulous minister had followed them to the cemetery. She hoped he’d keep the graveside service short, although he looked alarmingly energetic. The murmur she’d heard in the church rose again as people gathered, almost tiptoeing in their desire not to tread on any graves. Christine wondered if a person could really feel someone walking on his grave. She doubted it. She wanted to believe the dead moved on to a different plane where they didn’t feel the sharp edges of this world, especially when she thought of her parents.

The minister started out with gusto, and Christine felt a stab of annoyance that almost emerged as a groan. She diverted herself by looking around. Directly across from her stood Tess and Reynaldo. Neither had any love for Patricia, but Rey was Ames’s employee and therefore expected to attend. He looked distant, as if mentally he’d gone someplace else. Tess clung possessively to his arm. She’d done away with the brassy streaks in her hair, returning it to a soft, flattering brown. Her navy blue dress complimented her figure, and her makeup was skillfully applied to bring out the contours of her face. Except for a tiredness around the eyes, she looked prettier than she had for months. But she still doesn’t have Rey’s attention, Christine thought sadly. Had she ever really possessed his attention?

Ginger stood near Rey and Tess. When she saw Christine looking at her, she started to wave, then caught herself. Christine gave her a brief smile and shifted her gaze to discourage further inappropriate gestures. Streak stood between Ames and Wilma. Christine could only see his back, but that was enough to reveal a perspiring neck. His silver hair was dampened by the sweat, and small tremors rippled beneath the shoulders of his suit jacket. What an
ordeal this must be for him, Christine thought. She hoped Ames appreciated Streak’s effort.

Just a couple of feet away from her stood Sloane Caldwell. He was impeccably dressed, as always, and looked tall and solid, although she noticed slight pockets under his hazel eyes, as if he were tired. He was extremely good-looking in a rough-hewn way, but she realized with a start that she far preferred the slender, high-planed face of Michael Winter. She’d once believed Sloane to be the handsomest man she knew. And they’d been so close. Now it seemed impossible that she and Sloane had ever been loving, shared secrets, planned a wedding and a future. It seemed as if he’d always just been her very good friend.

Beside Sloane stood a striking woman with auburn hair Christine recognized as the newest lawyer in Ames’s firm, Monique Lawson. She wondered how serious Sloane was about Monique. Christine really had nothing to go on, but something about Monique struck her as grasping. She wouldn’t be surprised if Sloane’s main attraction for Monique was his blueblood background, the family that had owned a magnificent house on the River Road outside of New Orleans, the teenage years spent in expensive prep schools, the friendships with people like John Kennedy, Jr., the Harvard education. But I’m doing a disservice to Sloane, Christine thought. He had much more to offer than an impressive background.

She felt warm breath in her ear as Jeremy whispered loudly, “Is that minister guy
ever
gonna stop talking?”

Christine dipped her head to hide a smile. Jeremy had merely whispered what everyone else was probably thinking, but she had to stop him before he continued in an even louder tone.

“He’ll be done in a minute,” she whispered back. “We have to stand still and be
quiet
or Ames will be mad.”

Another gusty sigh from Jeremy. Sloane saw the exchange and winked at her. She winked back and looked away.

Her gaze met Bethany’s. She looked beautiful in a hunter green suit. She’d pulled her chestnut hair into a French twist, and Christine caught the glitter of small diamond-cut gold hoop earrings. Travis had bought them for her at Prince Jewelry last Christmas. Bethany was one of the few people present who had come for Patricia, Christine thought. Bethany had been intimidated by Patricia, but she’d also grudgingly liked her. At least she hadn’t
disliked
Patricia or she wouldn’t have helped her restore Eve’s garden. Or rather, transform Eve’s garden into Patricia’s garden, which Patricia would never see in bloom.

Beside Bethany, Travis looked stiff and a bit washed-out. She’d first seen Travis Burke seven years ago when she’d taken Biology 101 at Winston University. She’d dreaded the class, having little interest in biology—especially the lab, where she knew they had to dissect a frog and a sheep’s eye—but Travis’s enthusiasm for the subject, his good looks, and his general charisma had won her over. She’d found herself studying not only because she wanted an A in the class, but also because she wanted this professor to think well of her abilities.

Christine had not developed a crush on Travis Burke, but she knew many of his female students did. He didn’t have the classic looks of Rey Cimino, but he had devil-may-care eyes and a rakish air that seemed irresistible to many girls. Girls like Dara. Dara, too, had groused about taking biology, but a couple of weeks into the course she’d asked Christine what she knew about Travis. By then Christine had become friends with Bethany, and she’d told Dara he was smart, handsome, and
married
. Dara had never mentioned him again, except to once say he was a charmer.

Charmer
.

The word seemed to boom in Christine’s head as a scene from the past rose like something dragging itself up from a deep pool of dark water. She remembered being a senior in college and rushing to an appointment with a professor. As she’d dashed by the warren of offices at the top of Hadley Hall, she ran into Dara coming out of Travis Burke’s office. She’d looked flushed and beautiful. She’d placed her hand on Christine’s arm with uncharacteristic friendliness and said, “I’ve been in to see the Snake Charmer.” “Snake Charmer?” Christine had echoed. “That’s what some of my friends and I call him,” Dara had said. “He has all those awful snakes, but he doesn’t get bitten because he uses the same charm on them as he does on his women. God, he’s hot! The Snake Charmer.”

Christine’s mind came back to the cemetery with a jolt. That day she’d been worried about her appointment with the professor, fearing she was going to have to argue her way out of her first B, and she’d brushed aside Dara, never again thinking about the encounter. After all, Dara was man-crazy and indiscriminate in her tastes. She had crushes on a dozen men a year. What she’d said about Bethany’s husband wasn’t particularly important.

Or it hadn’t seemed important at the time. But Christine now realized Dara hadn’t just looked girlishly excited, she’d looked downright aroused, as if she’d just had a sexual encounter. And she’d called Travis “Snake Charmer.” Could he be the S.C. she’d written about in her diary? Christine desperately tried to remember exactly when she’d seen Dara coming out of his office. A wreath. There had been a small holiday wreath placed on his door by Bethany. She’d seen Dara coming out of the office right before Christmas break. Three months later, she’d disappeared.

Michael knew Christine had not seen him at Patricia’s funeral. He’d been purposely unobtrusive, doing what was probably a complete waste of time—studying people attending the funeral to see if anyone looked suspicious.
Suspicious
had never been fully defined for him, but many behavioral psychologists believe murderers like to come to their victims’ funerals to see the havoc they’ve wreaked.

So, he’d sat through the endless church service, stood through the endless graveside service, and noticed only two people who looked extremely “suspicious.” They were Streak Archer and, unfortunately, Christine. Streak Archer was a conundrum to him. Christine was not. She looked furtive and jumpy because she was miserably uncomfortable not being able to anticipate how Ames Prince would act toward her and Jeremy. Michael
knew
that was her problem, although Sheriff Teague had told him to watch her in particular. “And that half-witted brother of hers,” Teague had added. “He was supposed to be at a party at the Torrance house, but it would have been easy for him to slip out for a while. You’ll never convince me he didn’t kill Dara Prince. I’ve never trusted his kind, and that sister of his will do anything to protect him. Stop looking at me that way. I don’t want to hear any of your half-baked theories about how that big, dumb hulk wouldn’t hurt anyone. You don’t know a damned thing about him.”