'Til Death Do Us Part (41 page)

“Who was it?” I asked.

“Who?”

“The guy in the picture.”

“I told you about him, didn’t I? I was seeing him long before David. He is a superb piece of ass, but I couldn’t marry him. His net worth is about equal to what I charge for seared tuna for six. I thought it would be fun to have him at the wedding. He actually screwed my brains out that day in the carriage house, which Jamie
didn’t
see, but that kiss alone would have been enough to make a vein pop in David’s head. According to the prenup, he could leave me and not have to give me a cent. I could never make Ivy Hill everything I want it to be. It’s too damn expensive.”

I didn’t dare do anything that showed I was panicky—because I wasn’t sure how Peyton might react—but I was desperate to get out of there. I glanced back over my shoulder at the trail leading back to the house. She caught the movement of my head, stopped, and turned toward me.

“You’re not thinking of going back, are you?” she asked gaily. “I’m so enjoying this.”

“Don’t you think we should turn around? It’s getting late.”

She smiled and reached into the pocket of her jacket. I ducked as fast as I could.

“Bailey, please,” she said, her eyes wide in mock surprise. “What do you think? That I’m going to threaten you with a gun like
Trip
did? You’re my friend. Thanks to you, I have an ironclad alibi for Ashley’s murder. Trip will take the rap for all three deaths, and if you try to claim differently, you’ll only agitate the police, who aren’t too fond of you as it is. Plus, like I said, you could never prove anything anyway.”

I straightened up and held my breath as she withdrew her hand. She was holding the envelope of pictures.

“Of course, we wouldn’t want these around anymore, would we?” she asked.

With a flick of her wrist she flung the pictures onto the wide expanse of white snow, as if she were throwing a Frisbee for a dog to catch. Then she brushed past me and began to stride in the direction of the house.

I watched her move off, her French twist beginning to unravel, then I glanced out to the spot where she’d tossed the pictures. The envelope had sunk into the wet snow, but I could see the gray patch where it had settled. I stepped over the rim of snow along the edge of the path and sprinted across the meadow.

But it wasn’t a meadow. I don’t remember what I noticed first—the slickness underneath or the sudden low groan. I was on ice. And it didn’t appreciate my presence.

I stopped in my tracks, not sure what to do. I was at least twenty feet out onto the surface of what must be a snow-covered pond, a pond that was apparently starting to thaw. I had no idea how deep it was, but based on the circumference, I guessed it might be at least ten feet. I was afraid that as soon as I took a step, the ice, which had already protested my weight, would start to crack.

Up ahead of me to the right, I could see Peyton. She had turned around and was now making her way back to me. There was something dark in her hand that I couldn’t make out. As she drew closer I saw it—a rock. In one deft movement she hurled it so that it landed two feet in front of me. The ice groaned again, and this time I felt it begin to buckle underneath. A crack appeared in the surface and then sped like the burning wick of a firecracker.

I felt desperate with panic. I was a decent swimmer, but the water was freezing and I was in a heavy coat and boots. I held my breath, thinking that if I didn’t move a muscle, the ice wouldn’t crack any more. But it felt as foolish as closing my eyes in the hope that no one could see me.

Water began to gush from the crack, and I felt the patch of ice I was standing on begin to slowly sink. Suddenly I remembered something I’d heard long ago, when I was covering a winter disaster north of Albany. The smartest strategy on melting ice is to lie down and spread your weight around.

I slowly lowered myself and eased onto my belly. The pictures were just inches from me, and I grabbed them and stuffed them in my pocket. I tried to reach into my jeans pocket for my cell phone, but just that little bit of wiggling made the ice give even more. There was another large groan and crack, and water rushed in all around me. In a matter of seconds my boots and pants were soaked with icy water. I gasped, the wind knocked out of me. I tried to scream for help, but it was a strangled little sound that barely penetrated the gloom of the fading day.

There was one more crack, and I was suddenly in the middle of the pond, holding on to a single piece of ice like a kickboard. My legs felt as if they were wrapped in steel, but I did my best to move them in a frog kick and maneuver toward the rim of the pond by the path.

As I got closer to the edge, I looked up and saw that Peyton had made her way there. She now held a large branch in her hand. Had she had a change of heart? I wondered desperately.

“Please help me, Peyton,” I yelled. My legs, which only moments ago had stung from the cold, were now close to numb.

“Just grab the branch,” she said, thrusting it out over the water toward me.

I kicked my legs and tried to thrust myself a few inches closer. As I reached for the branch, she pulled it back and then rammed it into the chunk of ice I was hanging to, as if trying to sink it.

“Peyton, stop, please!” I screamed.

She drew the branch back like a tennis racket, and this time she swung it, whacking me across the side of my face. I raised my left arm like a shield, anticipating another blow, and as I did, I slipped from my ice board. I was now in water up to my shoulders, and the shock took my breath away. For the first time I realized that I was in danger of drowning.

Suddenly, way off to the left, I heard a voice, and as I dog-paddled away from the shore, trying to avoid another blow from the branch, I saw a man in a dark coat come running down the path. As he drew closer, I realized in desperate relief that it was the caretaker, Brian.

“What’s going on?” he called out to Peyton. She drew the branch back again and now she swung at him with it. He ducked, making her miss. She tried again, and this time he caught the branch with his hand and yanked it away from her. She took a step toward him with one arm raised, and he decked her, knocking her to the ground with one punch. Then he turned his attention to me.

“Here, take this,” he called, holding out the branch to me. My arms were aching, and I could no longer feel my legs. I tried to make them move, but they just hung in the water like bags of sand.

“You can do it—come on,” he urged.

With all the energy I could summon, I did a feeble breaststroke through the water, coming closer to the edge again. I grasped the branch, and the caretaker pulled me toward him. When I was within a few feet of the shore, he reached into the water, yanked my right arm, and hauled me onto the bank of the pond.

“Thank you,” I gasped as I felt the ground beneath me. “She tried to drown me.”

“I know. I saw. Look, you’ve got to get out of those wet clothes before you end up with hypothermia. Here, take my jacket, but get your coat and shirt off first.”

He nearly tore off his jacket and then turned his back to me so I could undress. I was shivering uncontrollably, but I managed to strip off my jacket and shirt. I glanced over to Peyton. She was still down for the count, but beginning to writhe in the snow.

“Okay, that’s better,” the caretaker said as he turned back to me. “What the hell is going on here, anyway?”

“She killed two people, and I found out. It’s a long story.” My teeth chattered as I spoke.

“We’ve got to get you up to the house,” he said. “You could die if you don’t get warmed up.”

“But what about Peyton?” I asked.

He glanced at her with a frown. “We can’t leave her here alone. Do you think you can make it back on your own? I’ll call Clara on my mobile and have her start down to meet you.”

“Okay—I guess,” I said. I honestly wasn’t sure I could make it. I felt exhausted and breathless. The caretaker helped me as I struggled to my feet out of the snow.

“Just follow the path,” he called out to me as I started off. “And let me know when you reach the house. Clara has my number.”

I stumbled in the direction of the house, my teeth chattering so loudly that I could hear nothing else. It was growing dark out and colder. I took my eyes off the path just once—to look behind me and make certain that Peyton wasn’t following me.

CHAPTER 21

L
ANDON HADN’T HAD
time to marinate the pork tenderloin when he fed me late Friday night. So he served me some cheeses he had in his fridge, which I ate along with an entire French baguette. It felt as if I were carbo loading for the New York City marathon, but beggars can’t be choosers. I had nothing in my own refrigerator except two clumps of aluminum foil that I was afraid to open. And I had no interest in being alone.

“Bailey?” Landon asked, pouring me another glass of Bordeaux.

“Hmm?”

“Do you feel any better now?”

“Yeah, thanks.” To some degree I meant it. I felt totally warm in his apartment and also safe. But emotionally I was a basket case. Six hours ago I’d been close to drowning. Six hours ago I’d learned that Peyton was a murderer.

My run—or rather stumble—back to Peyton’s house had been pure misery. Though my torso felt warmer with the caretaker’s coat covering me, my feet were frozen stiff, and each step was painful. Clara and a woman I’d never seen before met me almost halfway and helped me back. The next hour was crazy and bewildering. I told Clara to call the police while I changed, but she seemed reluctant to do so—in denial, perhaps, or fearful of angering her employers. So I did it myself. Two police cars arrived, including one with Pichowski and Michaels, and shortly thereafter David showed up, having been alerted by Clara. He was all in a tizzy, uncharacteristic for him. Peyton was taken into custody, but I never saw her. At that point I was sequestered in the library. By the time Pichowski spoke to me, I knew he’d already taken a statement from the caretaker, and on this occasion there wasn’t any skepticism in his eyes. He wanted me to stay over until the next day, but there was no way I was going to spend one more second in Greenwich. I told him I was going back to New York but would happily drive up to police headquarters the next day if they needed me.

“I’m terrified just hearing the story, Bailey,” Landon said, pulling me away from my thoughts. “You must have been sure you were going to die.”

“I really thought I was. Not at first. I got close to shore and I figured I was going to be okay. But when Peyton slammed the branch into me and I had to paddle back out, I suddenly realized, I’m
not
going to make it. If that caretaker hadn’t come down . . . God, I can’t even bear to think of it.”

“Why do you think he showed up, after Peyton told him not to bother?”

“He told me later that after he went off on the bogus assignment of fixing her seat belt, he figured he still had time to check out the fallen tree. Besides, he considers David his boss, he said, not Peyton, and he didn’t feel comfortable blowing off a job because she told him to.”

Landon took a sip of his wine, both elbows on the table, his eyes lost briefly in contemplation.

“Did you
ever
suspect Peyton?” he asked, setting the glass back down again.

“No, not for a second,” I said, smearing the last clump of some creamy blue cheese onto a piece of bread. “Because I got fixed on this idea of a serial killer, of one person being responsible for all three deaths. Peyton was with me the entire time Ashley was in the silo, so I never once considered her. I should have, though. I can’t believe I didn’t—her motives should have been so clear. Remember when I was talking to Cat about this and she used that phrase
Cherchez la femme
? It was about finding a motive as strong as a lust object. Peyton had that kind of motive—money—and the irony is that she was
la femme.
”

“But at least you figured out the truth in the end. Which is more than the cops can claim credit for.”

“I guess.”

“Bailey, don’t be so hard on yourself. She’s a very clever lady. Didn’t she single-handedly invent mango crème brûlée? There’s no way you could have known.”

I smiled ruefully at his joke and shook my head. “There was one giveaway, and I missed it. When I think back on it, Peyton seemed very freaked out after Ashley’s death, but she hadn’t seemed that distraught about Robin’s. That’s because she didn’t know what the hell was going on with Ashley. All of a sudden a third bridesmaid is dead, but she didn’t kill
this
one. I’m sure she wondered if someone was toying with her, trying to send her a message. That’s why she didn’t mind my snooping around. She wanted me to help figure out the Ashley part of the equation.”