Twenty-Five Years Ago Today (13 page)

"I'm glad you could come. Please, follow me."
Raquel escorted them down three steps into a sunken family room
with a bar and pool table. Flames crackled in the brick fireplace.
Photographs of Raquel, an athletic-looking Hispanic man and three
teenagers adorned a shelf built into the paneled wall. Raquel's
nervous fingers found a loose thread on her jacket. She twisted it
around her thumb, then stared at it in surprise.

"You have a lovely home," Kris said.

"Thank you. It gets messy with three
kids."

"If you think this is messy, you should see
my apartment," Kris said.

As she and Eric sat down on the plaid sofa,
their hostess offered tea, scones and mixed nuts from a tray on the
coffee table. Eric fixed his attention on Kris's short black
sweater. Whoops. It had slipped down her shoulder, revealing bare
skin and the strap of her black satin bra. Reddening, she tucked
the strap back underneath where it belonged.

Oblivious, Raquel squeezed into a rocking
chair and slathered a scone with strawberry jam. She cupped the
pastry close to her heart. "You came all the way from Massachusetts
to talk to me?"

"We were eager to meet you. This is Diana's
nephew, Eric Soares." Kris poured a cup of tea.

Startled, Raquel covered her mouth with a
napkin. "Little Eric! My God, I can't believe it. Di babysat you
all the time. I kept her company once or twice."

Kris chuckled. Eric cut her a look.

"Most of the time, Di watched you at your
parents' place," Raquel said. "She'd bring sketchpads and draw
while you were sleeping. You were a spoiled kid. Your mother would
call from work, and your dad came home on his lunch break. God, I
feel old." She nibbled her scone, relaxing with every bite.

"What were you doing the night Diana was
killed?" Kris asked. "Were you both working together?"

"I stayed till midnight, then went home. Di's
mother called a couple of hours later, and woke up the whole house.
I wasn't worried, but I'll never forget my mother. She knew even
then that something was wrong. She told me Di was too considerate
to not call home. Not like me."

"Why do you think Jared Peyton was
responsible?"

"The phone calls, of course. The last month
Di was alive, he'd call the bar every night. Afterwards, she'd go
in the bathroom and cry. She kept it secret at first, but I
pressured her to tell me. I thought she should talk to the police,
but she wouldn't."

"Jared claims it wasn't him," Kris said. "Did
you ever answer the phone yourself and recognize his voice? Or did
you take Diana's word for it?"

Raquel blinked. "I picked it up a couple of
times, and the voice was familiar. And Di said it was him. Who else
would it be? Besides, Jared came in the night she died. She started
yelling at him and the bouncers tossed him out. When Di got another
call that night, it was the last straw. She left work a little
while later, said she was sick. That was it. I never saw her
again."

The same phrase Jared had used. I never saw
her again. So final.

"What was your impression of Jared?" Kris
asked. "Before all this happened?"

"Truth is, I don't remember him well." Raquel
smiled ruefully and rustled into the nuts. "We met at a party, and
I'd had a few drinks. The other time, I was busy at the bar. That's
the night Vince Rossi beat him up. Jared picked up Di from work,
and Vince was drunk. His friends egged him on, saying Di had been
sneaking around behind his back. Vince lost it."

Eric leaned forward. "Did you see Vince the
night Diana was killed?"

Kris knew what he was thinking. If Vince had
used his temper on Jared, maybe he'd turned it on Diana. But he had
an alibi ...

"Yeah, he came in around seven to get liquor
for a party. His father didn't like him doing that, but his dad
wasn't around much. Mr. Rossi was a smoker and had lung problems,
so Vince was in charge most of the time. Anyway, Vince was
pestering Di, trying to lure her to his party. Di didn't pay him
much attention. Vince was no angel, but I keep going back to Jared.
He sure got over her death fast. A few months later, he was hot and
heavy with Yvonne Harper, of all people."

"Who's Yvonne Harper?" Eric asked.

Raquel wrinkled her nose. "She's his wife.
They met in college, but Di and I knew her from high school. Her
dad was Thomas Harper, a selectman who owned a construction
company. Her older brother was a football hero. She believed her
bloodlines made her the princess of Fremont."

"That's funny," Kris said. "Jared didn't tell
me that his wife knew Diana."

"She didn't like Diana or me. Yvonne and Di
were in an art class together, and Di was the star pupil. Yvonne
painted, too, and she'd get jealous. She'd pretend she didn't care,
flaunting her wealth and trying to make us feel inadequate. Luckily
we didn't see her after high school." Raquel gave a dry laugh.
"Let's just say she preferred country clubs to bars."

"Why did Diana take that job?"

"It was my fault," Raquel said. "Di had
fallen into this depression. Whenever I called, she sounded tired.
She was always painting. If I had to guess, I'd say she was down
over a guy, but Di wouldn't admit it. Finally, I persuaded her to
come out to a club. Unfortunately, we ran into Vince, and he turned
on his charm full blast."

Raquel shook her head. "I warned her that he
was trouble, but she wouldn't listen. They started seeing each
other and Vince got her a job. She wouldn't be twenty-one till
October, but he was the boss's son, and Vince Rossi, Sr. wasn't too
law-abiding anyway.

"I was a year older than Di, since I stayed
back in grade school, so I'd been there awhile and seen them serve
their share of minors. After Di was killed, the cops started
watching the place. Rossi got his license pulled, and he finally
closed down. He died a few years later."

"This guy you think Diana could've dated,"
Kris said. "Could they have worked together at the drugstore?"

"Probably not, it was mostly high school kids
and senior citizens at the store. You both might be too young to
remember it. MacDougall's Pharmacy in the old Westwood Plaza?"

Eric nodded, but Kris had never heard of the
place.

"And there may not have been a guy," Raquel
said. "That was my theory, because that's how I got after a
break-up. I used to worry that Diana's mom resented me for
involving Di with the bar crowd. But I thought I was helping her
come out of her shell."

"How did you guys become friends?" Eric
asked.

"We met in ninth grade. She was my biology
lab partner. Di was quiet, and I was wild, but we hit it off."

"You were in the History Club with Diana,
weren't you?" Kris prodded. "Was Diana close to Mr. Thaddeus?"

Raquel frowned. "Mr. Thaddeus? Why?"

"I'm curious whether he influenced Diana's
art. Cheryl told me she had a crush on him."

"Yvonne Harper did, too. That's why Yvonne
joined the club. It's why we all did." Raquel picked up another
scone and smeared it with jelly, her hand shaking. She swabbed the
butter knife back and forth.

"Did he ever talk about mythology?"

"I couldn't tell you. Like I said, I was
there for the view." Raquel looked up at Eric. "I wish Di could
meet my husband and children. I like to think she’d be proud."

"I'm her nephew," Eric said. "I know she
would have been."

But Kris was thinking about Alex Thaddeus.
Raquel didn't want to talk about her former teacher.

Why?

***

Eric glanced over at Kris from the driver's
seat. They had been sitting at a stop light for an eternity. "You
look wiped out."

Yawning, she closed her eyes. "I am."

Good thing he'd offered to drive. Kris
doubted she could make it home. The afternoon had drained her,
everyone's stories blurring together. Too bad she wasn't snug in
her bed. For once, she would fall asleep with no trouble.

He fiddled with the radio dial. "When you
were in the bathroom, I asked Raquel for a good restaurant.
Hungry?"

She opened one eye. "For something besides a
Big Mac?"

"I don't know about you, but I could use a
drink."

A drink sounded even better than sleep.

"Let's go for it," Kris said.

A short while later, they were sipping white
wine in Chiaras, an Italian restaurant with wide-planked wooden
floors, candles and a mural of Venice brightening the wall. Kris
dumped oyster crackers into her minestrone soup. She couldn't
figure out Eric Soares. That morning, he'd barely acknowledged her.
Now he had suggested a nice, even romantic, dinner.

He sliced the bread and offered her a crusty
wedge. She kept the conversation businesslike. "What do you think
of Jared Peyton? If Raquel didn't know him well, she couldn't swear
it was his voice on the phone."

"But that brings us back to Diana lying,"
Eric said. "Besides, she laid into him that night. She obviously
wasn't happy with him."

Kris sighed. Jared had insisted that Diana
blew up at him for no reason and later made amends. If he was
guilty, of course he'd deny everything. "I guess."

"That doesn't mean he killed her, though."
Eric said. "His obsession could've been a good opportunity for
someone else."

"You mean someone knew Jared was harassing
her, and figured he'd be the main suspect. Rossi?"

The candle flickered inside the globe and
shadows darted across Eric's cheekbones. "Could be. Raquel told us
he was bugging Diana that night. Maybe he got mad and followed her,
or maybe she had something on him and would've told the
police."

"Then there's this mystery guy Raquel
mentioned." Kris warmed to the idea. "If Diana was involved with
someone else, why doesn't your family know?"

"Beats me. What's your next move?"

"Visiting the lieutenant who was on the
case," she said. "I want to find out if he's as in the dark as we
are."

"I'll go with you."

Her spine locked against her chair. "Look, I
don't need a babysitter. I appreciate your coming along to the bar,
and on the long drive today, but I'm fully capable of investigating
this case myself."

"I'm sure you are. I'm just curious. I'll
admit it, your investigation intrigues me."

Kris tasted her soup, ignoring the amusement
in his voice. She questioned his motives, but she could hardly
refuse Irene Ferguson's grandson. "All right. I'll set up the
appointment and let you know when it is."

She dozed on the ride home, lulled by the
humming engine and the soft music emanating from the dimly lit
dashboard. She snapped awake once to find Eric intent on the road,
darkness masking his profile. No one had ever driven her car
before. Kris dropped back to sleep, the heater’s warmth nestling
her like an electric blanket.

Soon, he was parking outside the bookstore.
They were back.

Eric nudged her in the ribs. "You've been out
cold. You okay to drive home?"

"I'm fine," she said. "I'll let in a little
air to wake myself up."

He stepped out and Kris climbed into the
driver's seat. Eric fastened an arm on the door, holding it open.
"I can't figure out why you're so determined to help my family.
There's got to be an easier exclusive out there than this one."

"I'm sure there is, but this one reached out
to me," Kris said. "Diana deserves another chance at justice."

"You were right about my grandmother. Even if
nothing develops, she needs this chance, too. I didn't see that
before."

"Irene's lucky to have you looking out for
her."

"She's had a lot of bad luck in her life. I
do what I can." Eric tapped her car window. "Good night, Kris."

"Good night."

He closed the door and strode away. His dark
leather jacket blended with the night. Kris leaned back her head,
the intoxicating spicy fragrance of his aftershave sending a
current through her abdomen. His headlights beamed in the
blackness, casting yellow pools over the snowbanks.

She wondered if he’d been honest with her.
Maybe Eric, or his family, wanted her progress monitored in case
she uncovered enough for a story. If they didn't like what she
found out about Diana, they could hinder her efforts.

She couldn't trust Eric. No matter how
gorgeous or convincing he was, Kris had to be careful. Unveiling
the truth depended on it. Her story depended on it. She opened the
window to diminish the smell of his aftershave.

Chapter 12

25 Years Ago Today

Town Engineer James Murray meets with the
Health Board to discuss the possibility of analyzing water at
Stella Lake in Fremont.

M
onday before work,
Kris left a message for Yvonne Peyton. She identified herself as a
reporter and explained she had questions about the Fremont High
History Club and Alex Thaddeus.

Restless, Kris hung up and paced the bedroom
in her heavy bathrobe. Through the high school, she'd learned Alex
Thaddeus taught at Fremont State College. She had obtained his
office hours from the History Department secretary.

Kris spread out her jeans and sweater on the
bed. She would visit Alex Thaddeus alone, but she had promised to
call Eric about the police interview. She'd scheduled an
appointment with Lieutenant Gerald Frank for later in the week. Why
did it feel as if a hundred butterflies were inside her stomach,
batting their wings in unison? Chipmunk watched her lift the
receiver and slam it back down into the cradle.

"I think we'll try Irene first," she told her
cat, plumping onto the bed. "She can relay the message. Don't look
at me like that."

Irene greeted her with enthusiasm and agreed
to tell Eric. "It's good to hear from you. Will you come for tea
tomorrow and fill me in on Hyde Park? Eric hasn't said much. He's
afraid to get my hopes up, but it won't, really."