Chapter Eighteen

 

Eventually exhaustion took its toll and I fell asleep. When I woke I was still curled on my side, my back still to Paul, the ache still in my heart. It was a little after seven. I glanced over my shoulder. Paul was on his back, one arm thrown across his eyes. Asleep, from what I could tell. Suppressing the desire to reach out to him, I eased out of bed and went into the bathroom, showered and washed my hair. I half expected, half hoped, he'd join me, or at least let me know somehow that whatever drove him away last night was made less distressful with sleep and daylight. But he didn't come in. And when I left the bathroom the bed was abandoned and the room vacant. The emptiness that was with me when I awoke grew. It overflowed my heart and sent the pain all the way to my fingertips. If I was ten, I would have cried. He was punishing me, and I didn't know why.

In the middle of all this misery my stomach growled. Trust my stomach to want food when I was upset. However, the idea of going to breakfast in the morning room and possibly running into him in front of a bunch of people I didn't like or trust had no appeal. I phoned the kitchen.

"Has Andrea called down for her breakfast yet?" I asked when Richard answered.

"I was just preparing a tray for Mrs. Paalmann."

"Can you take something up for me, too? Cereal, coffee, nothing much. I thought I'd join her for breakfast."

"Would Dr. Hudson care for something?"

"No, thanks just the same."

Paul wasn't in the morning room. Richard would have known. The fossil room? Most likely. I pulled on my skinny jeans and the red cashmere sweater with the deep V I'd splurged on last year. Paul couldn't keep his hands off it, and he couldn't avoid me forever. A couple extra swipes of the mascara wand, stilettos for overkill, and I was off for breakfast with Andrea, but prepared for Paul.

"I was going to give you a call and invite you up for breakfast, but Richard said you already called the kitchen," Andrea said when she answered my knock. Her gaze shifted to the empty corridor behind me. "Is Paul still sleeping?" She took a second, distressed look at me. "What's happened?"

"Nothing," I said, walking in. Dark circles had set up permanent residence under Andrea's eyes, and she was too pale. She didn't need my drama piled on top of her own. I sat in a chair at the little table Richard had already laid with juice, cereal, a pot of coffee, and pastries. My breakfast. A porcelain tea pot sat near a matching cup and saucer. Andrea's breakfast.

"Thea." She eased herself into the other chair. "Don't tell me there's nothing wrong when I know you so well. You're dressed like bait, but your eyes are puffy."

I laughed. Sort of. More to reroute a small inclination to sob. It worked. Sort of. I brushed my fingers at the corner of one traitorous eye.

"We argued … kind of. Nothing to worry about."

Concern put a crease between her eyebrows. "Was it about …?"

Poised, coffee carafe in hand, I waited several seconds for her to finish the sentence before realizing she thought I'd told Paul about Jonathan. "Oh! No. No, I didn't tell him. It was about … I don't know. I asked him about what Vince said at dinner and his mood went downhill from there."

The corners of her mouth took a disapproving, downward turn. "You mean Paul never told you about stealing the car?"

"No, he's told me all about his misspent youth." I poured my coffee and added milk from a little crystal pitcher. "Vince wasn't exactly accurate on any of the things he said. Paul took his parents' car for a joy ride when he was fourteen, and his parents tried to scare some sense into him by having him arrested. He didn't drop out of school until he was sixteen, and then he got his GED right away. And he did get his Ph.D. from Colorado, when he got out of the Army."

"Then it was what he said about the soldier -- the one he said Paul shot."

"As far as I can tell. But I don't believe Vince. Like everything else, there's probably one kernel of truth amid a bunch of elaborate lies."

"Then why didn't he ever tell you about it? What did he say when you brought it up?"

"He shut down. Didn't want to talk about it." I waved a hand in the air, shooing away the topic.

"Huh. I can't believe you left it at that -- oh." She shook her head and poured her tea. "That's why the fight."

I shrugged and nodded.

"And the outfit."

I nodded -- no shrugging.

"It'll probably work. Damn Vince. I'm telling Richard not to let him in if he shows up today. I'm sorry, Thea."

I poured milk on my cereal and picked up my spoon. "It's hardly your fault."

She watched me for a moment while I ate, winding a strand of blond hair around a finger. "My dad was in Vietnam -- I'm sure you remember me mentioning that. He had nightmares all his life and would never tell my mother what they were about. She said certain things were better left to the past and turning them into words just made them real again. I'm not sure I agree. I think Dad would have slept better if he'd been able to unload some of that baggage, but it was a different generation." A smile softened my friend's features and brought her focus on to me. "He'll tell you. He knows you want him to, but he's got to trust himself with it." She took my hand and gave it a soft squeeze. "He still loves you."

I returned the squeeze and clung to her hand for a moment before taking a sip of coffee to swallow the lump in my throat. "When I got out of the shower this morning he was gone."

Her eyes widened. "No. His suitcase, too?" I shook my head and her face relaxed. "Ah. The fossil room then. He's looking for a distraction."

"Probably. And no one can bother him there, including me. I'll --"

A knock on the door interrupted. Richard came in.

"Detective Ross is here to see you, ma'am."

"Oh!" Andrea put her tea down and rose from her chair. I got up, too. "It's okay, Thea, I'll --"

The door swung wider and a very sober Dave Ross stepped into the room. Two uniformed officers trailed behind. He acknowledged me with a nod. I opened my mouth to say hello, but his attention was riveted on Andrea. He approached her, a folded piece of paper in his hand. She eyed it before taking it gingerly from him.

"That's a search warrant for your rooms. We're looking for insulin."

Andrea's jaw went slack. Dave motioned to the two officers behind him. They walked quickly in the direction of Andrea's bedroom. They returned in less than thirty seconds. One held up an evidence bag with a box inside for Dave to see.

"Got it," he said.

Dave, ice-cold and official, turned to Andrea. "Andrea Paalmann, you are under arrest for the murder of your husband, Sig Paalmann."

Already pale, Andrea went waxen. Her eyelids twitched, and I dove to her side, easing her into her chair, my arms around her. She slumped against me like a sack of grain. It must have been a heroic effort for her to remain conscious, but she did.

I craned an appalled look over my shoulder at Dave, begging for some explanation. He ignored me, talking -- reciting something -- the Miranda rights? His lips moved, but the words bounced off my brain, and seemed to cause him to flinch. Then nothing. No other sound came forth to fill the silence until Andrea drew a wheezing breath.

"I --" She clutched my shoulders. "Thea, help me. Someone killed Sig."

"Dave …." I implored him with every ounce of my being.

He swallowed but didn't meet my gaze.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Paalmann, you'll have to come with us." His features were rigid, unreadable.

"Dave, this is insane. You know it is," I said, finally able to croak out a sentence.

The woman officer stepped forward. I hugged Andrea tighter.

"Dave, please!" My voice hit shrill hard.

With an effort I could feel, Andrea straightened and lifted her chin. "It's okay, Thea." She stood, but her voice shook. "We'll get this sorted out."

The woman officer handcuffed Andrea and escorted her out of the room. Without a glance at me, Dave followed. Richard and I were on his heels going down the stairs to the foyer and out the massive front doors. I stopped on the steps to the driveway. Dave put Andrea into the back of a Seattle PD cruiser then opened the door on the front passenger side for himself.

"Dave," I called. "Dave, wait." I ran down the remaining steps.

He didn't get inside, but closed the car door and waited for me. I grabbed both his arms, wanting to shake him but realizing at the same time how out of control I'd appear. With a breath I redirected all my anxiety into eye contact. To his credit, he held my gaze and made no attempt to deflect me.

"Dave, she's pregnant. Please, please be careful with her. She's not doing well."

He nodded, glanced past me toward the house, then at Andrea in the cruiser. "Thanks for telling me."

I dropped my hands from his arms, and he got into the car. The cruiser pulled away and the second police car followed. I watched, even after they disappeared from sight, chewing my lip and hugging myself against the cold that bit through my sweater and jeans.