Bridget didn’t have a clue how she would be able to signal Dana about what she’d told the cops. She only knew she must keep Luc’s name out of this. She’d already hurt Randall enough.
Randall followed the police car, and Bridget rode with him.
“Is it true?” he asked.
“Oui. It is cancer, Randall. But I will be all right.”
“I wish you’d told me sooner.”
She looked at him, at the tears that now coated his eyes. It was impossible not to feel love when someone loved you so much.
“Je suis si désolé,” she said quietly. “I was trying to protect you.” She stared back out the windshield at the taillights of the police car and hated that she’d been such a fool.
“You’re the only one who knew,” Lauren said to Dana. “I trusted you, Dana. I trusted you and you told on me.” Her hands were on her hips, her small, oval face thrust forward, her cheeks pink, mottled with fury. She looked like a high school cheerleader whose boyfriend had gone to the prom with her best friend.
“Lauren,” Dana said, “please try to understand. Someone killed Vincent. The police need to know anything that might be pertinent. Doesn’t it bother you that his killer is still out there?”
“The only thing bothering me is that my friend betrayed me.”
“Lauren, I’m not the only one who knew about you and Vincent. Steven knew.”
“Steven? Your Steven?”
“Yes. That’s how I found out. And there must be others. Plenty of our neighbors go to Harry’s Bar when they’re coming or going from the city. Plenty of our neighbors could have seen you at the Helmsley.”
The doorbell rang. Dana rushed toward it. If Sam emerged from the family room where Dana had sequestered him when Lauren arrived, someone might catch a glimpse of his giant posters, his confluence of clues that pointed fingers all over town.
Good Lord, it was the cops.
And Bridget.
And Randall.
Dana smiled a tight smile. “Greetings,” she said. It was too bad Caroline and Kitty weren’t there, too. Maybe they could fill in some of the question marks in the other room.
They went into the living room. Dana closed the French doors.
“Mrs. Halliday,” Detective Johnson said when he noticed Lauren.
“Detective.”
Dana offered wine. Bridget was the only one who accepted.
After everyone but the cops had taken a seat, Detective Johnson asked, “Where were you last night, Mrs. Fulton?”
“Last night?”
“It’s okay,” Bridget interjected. “He knows about my cancer and the chemo. He knows I came to see you because I was upset.”
“You have cancer?” Lauren asked.
Detective Johnson held up his hand. “Please, ladies. Allow me to ask the questions.” He pitched a look at Bridget. “And please, don’t answer for Mrs. Fulton.” He turned back to Dana. “Last night,” he repeated. “Where were you?”
Dana shrugged. She did not know how their trip to Manhattan could relate to Vincent’s murder. It was Bridget’s private business, after all. Already too much of their privacy had been leaked. “Bridget came to see me, just as she said.”
“Because of her cancer?” Lauren asked. “Why didn’t I know about it?”
“No one knew,” Bridget replied. “Not even Randall.”
Randall nodded.
“Did you know about Vincent and me?” Lauren asked suddenly.
Bridget smiled. “Of course. Everyone knows about you and Vincent. Really, that’s old news.” She sipped her wine, set down her glass, and stood up. “Thank you for clearing up my whereabouts for these nice gentlemen,” she said to Dana. Then she turned to her husband. “Randall? I’d like to go home now and get out of these decadent clothes.” She unbelted her trench coat and revealed the ruby silk pajamas, distraction, of course, her intent.
The cops, indeed, were distracted.
Randall stood up and said, “Okay, let’s go.”
That’s when Steven opened the French doors. Instead of announcing, Hi, honey, I’m home, he asked, “What the heck happened to my family room? And why is it that every wife in New Falls seems to have murder on her mind?”
He thought it was a joke, of course. Steven had no idea what Dana and Sam had been doing while he’d been away; he had no way of determining if these were facts of the real crime, or notes for a criminal justice paper. He also didn’t know that the people in the living room had not gathered for friendly cocktails.
“Murder is my business,” Detective Johnson said as he stood up. “Glen Johnson with the New Falls Police Department,” he said, shaking Steven’s hand. “You must be Steven Fulton.”
Steven shook, nodded, then turned his eyes to Dana, who did not know what to say. Sam stepped in behind him and said, “Sorry, Mom. I couldn’t hear what was going on from the family room. I snuck outside and listened at the window.” He pointed to the window at the far end of the room that had been opened to the fresh spring air. All eyes swung toward the window, then back to Sam. “I guess that’s when Dad came home.”
“And I guess this is when we are leaving,” Bridget said, with a flourish of her trench coat as she attempted to cover the silk.
“I’m right behind you,” Lauren said, “and I want details about this cancer before you get into your car.” She rushed out after the Hayneses and shut the front door.
“Well,” Steven said, “apparently I know how to clear a room. Gentlemen? Will you join me in a bourbon?”
“Thanks, but no,” Detective Johnson said. “I think your wife has seen enough of us for a while.”
“On the contrary,” Dana said, because it seemed there were no more secrets, except where she’d gone last night with Bridget, and she would not tell them that. “You might be interested in seeing the data our son has compiled.”