• twenty-one •

Laws and principles are not for the times when there is no temptation: they are for such moments as this, when body and soul rise in mutiny against their rigour; stringent are they; inviolate they shall be. If at my individual convenience I might break them, what would be their worth?

—Jane Eyre

Luke stopped by Windy Corner on his way into the office Wednesday morning to check on Katie. Normally they had an easygoing, teasing relationship, such as he’d always imagined having with the daughter he never had. But now she seemed skittish around him, as if she expected him to whip out the handcuffs if she turned her back. He asked as gently as he could if she’d remembered any more about the night of the murder. She shook her head, not meeting his eyes.

Maybe if he arrested Abby, that would get Katie to talk. She’d do anything to exonerate her sister, even if it meant implicating herself. But that would be a mean trick to play on both sisters. Only as a last resort would he even consider it. And things weren’t quite that bad yet. It was only Wednesday morning. He had till Friday to solve the case.

Lab results came in during the day. Newhouse must have a cousin in the lab as well—or some old client he could put pressure on—otherwise they’d never have been so fast.

The reports were exhaustive and tedious to read through, but they boiled down to this: None of the gloves or clothing he’d sent in showed any traces of human blood. Except, of course, for Katie’s outfit, which was drenched in it.

He told himself that wasn’t conclusive. Tomlinson had said it was only highly probable—not certain—the killer would have gotten blood on his hands or gloves. Not very likely he’d have blood on the rest of his clothing. And even if Katie had pulled the knife out of Jake while he was still alive, that didn’t mean she knew what she was doing. Nor did it mean she was the one who put the knife in. And none of this went any way to clear Roman, whose prints were on the knife and who’d had a nice little rain shower to wash any blood off him before Luke saw him. Katie wasn’t any closer to the top of the suspect list than she’d been before.

So why was his gut still tied in knots?

*   *   *

I love my job, and I love Mrs. C, but I thought it might be fun to have her gone for a couple of days—just me and Lizzie on our own, pretending we’re queens of the castle. We could sleep in, eat pizza for breakfast, trek into town to the Friendly Fluke and catch up with our friends. Maybe invite Abby and Erin to tea in the library. Have ourselves a fun little break.

I was wrong.

This morning actually was fun. We took our time getting up, then puttered around our own little apartment, doing some finishing touches I never had time for when we first moved in, what with the fundraiser to plan and all. The weather was too nasty to walk anywhere, but still, it was a nice, relaxing morning.

But this afternoon—!

I’d thought it was a good idea of Mrs. C’s to lay Roman off, if only temporarily. He’s really been freaking me out lately, the way he stares at me and follows me around when Mr. Edwards isn’t looking. But he did not take kindly to being laid off. Not one little bit.

I don’t think it’s the work he cares about. He didn’t lay into Mr. Edwards or anything when he told him. But when Roman left here last night, he looked at me like his life was over. And sort of like it was somehow my fault.

And then this afternoon, when the weather had cleared and I was strapping Lizzie into her stroller to walk to the Friendly Fluke, here comes Roman down the drive. He marches right up to me and says, “Katie, I can’t live without you. I can’t stay away. Don’t make me. I’m not asking anything from you, but I have to be able to see you or I’ll die.”

What on Earth do you do with a statement like that? Especially if you can’t return the feeling?

I tried to be kind. “Roman, I don’t know what to say,” I said. “You’re a nice guy and all” (that was a bit of a stretch) “but I just don’t feel that way about you. I’m sorry, but I think you need to honor Mrs. Cavanaugh’s wishes and not come here anymore.”

His face—oh my God, his face! I’ve never seen anyone look like that. First he went white, then he went purple. His eyebrows seemed to grow to twice their size and his mouth shrank to this hard white line. He sort of convulsed, and then he said through clenched teeth, “I thought with Newhouse out of the way you would love me.”

I was blown away. Surely he didn’t think I actually cared for Jake? And then I thought about what he’d just said. Did that imply he’d gotten Jake out of the way—on purpose?

I just stared at him. His hands started to come up, sort of like he couldn’t control them, and for a second I thought he was going to strangle me. But he just put his hands on my shoulders and squeezed. I can still feel the bruises. “What can I do to make you see?” he hissed.

I was really creeped out at that point, and not at all sure he was going to let me get away unharmed. I didn’t think he would—do what Jake did—but I was kind of afraid he might kill me with the sheer force of his passion. But thank God, just at that moment Mr. Edwards came up behind him and yanked Roman away from me. Mr. Edwards is so skinny, he doesn’t look that strong, but Roman was like a straw in his hands.

He put his face down in Roman’s face and said in this voice that was so quiet it rang in my ears, “You will not touch Miss Parker ever again. You will not bother her in any way. You will leave this property and my employment this minute, and you will never come back.”

Roman didn’t flinch. He didn’t talk back. He just turned on his heel and left. But he looked back at me for a second with a look that meant no way was he leaving me alone.

Mr. Edwards isn’t here 24/7. Roman will be back.

Mrs. C, where are you when I need you?

*   *   *

Emily got caught on the Burnside Bridge as it was being raised, so she was a few minutes late for vespers. She crept in and stood at the back, underneath the icon of St. Emmelia—the mother of the great saints Macrina, Basil, and Gregory, as well as the lesser-known Peter and Naucratius. Emily could have taken a different saint as her patron when she was baptized into the Orthodox Church, but she liked the idea of being associated with a famous mother—though she could never be a mother herself.

And if Katie was arrested for murder, she’d no longer be able even to pretend.

Emily willed herself to breathe deeply and let the familiar chanting of the psalms and hymns wash over her. Her parish was blessed with a few good singers who could do justice to this music that had lifted the hearts and calmed the spirits of generations of worshippers. It calmed her now, washing away the superficial cares of the last few weeks and replacing them with the bedrock assurance that “all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.” Her favorite lines of T. S. Eliot quoting Julian of Norwich.

But at the very core of her being, the music met its match: the black involuted mass that was her guilty conscience. She had falsified some details in relating Abby’s confession to Luke in order to avoid implicating Katie. Not only her own faith, with its commandment Do not bear false witness, but every murder mystery she’d ever read—in which information withheld inevitably led to the wrong person being blamed—chastised her and held her up to judgment.

If Katie was arrested, it would be Emily’s own fault. Whether she spoke or kept silent, it could still be her fault.

The service ended, and the few worshippers stopped to chat with Emily in the narthex on their way out, reminding her by their gladness at seeing her how long she’d been away. She was turning to leave when Father Paul came up to her and enveloped her in a hug. She’d missed those bear hugs of his, the way his long beard tickled her face as he kissed her on both cheeks in the Russian manner. Even more so since she’d deprived herself of Luke’s embraces.

“Emily! How good to see you! What brings you to Portland? I assume you didn’t come all this way just to attend Wednesday night vespers?”

“No. My tenants were flooded out. I had to meet with the insurance adjuster. But I couldn’t leave town without coming to church—lucky for me it was Wednesday.”

He wagged a finger at her. “You know how I feel about the word luck. God brought you here.” He paused and scrutinized her face. “Is anything troubling you, Emily? Would you like to talk for a bit?”

She hesitated, knowing the black knot of her guilty resolve could not long hold out against Father Paul’s gentle compassion. But she couldn’t make her mouth shape the word “no,” nor her feet move toward the exit. She nodded and followed him back into the nave. He put his stole around his neck—which meant he was prepared to give her absolution if this turned into a formal confession—and sat with her on a side bench near the front icon screen.

With only the slightest prodding, she poured out the entire story of the murder, pausing for breath only when she came to her own dereliction in reporting Abby’s confession to Luke. But that had to come out, too.

“If I tell him, he’ll know Katie had an even more powerful motive for killing Jake than avenging her own rape—she’d just found out he’d been after her sister. I can’t give Luke that kind of ammunition.”

“But if you don’t tell him, he’ll be acting on false information. He could end up arresting the wrong person.”

“I don’t care, as long as it isn’t Katie.” Emily gasped, unable to believe she’d just said that. But it was true.

“It could be Katie. He could arrest her by mistake, although she’s innocent. You can never tell where a lie will lead. Once you’ve loosed it into the world, it can turn on you to your own destruction.”

Emily’s eyes and nose burned with unshed tears. She opened her purse to get a tissue, exposing the copy of Jane Eyre she’d brought with her to read in odd moments. Father Paul reached for it.

“Ah, Jane Eyre. One of my favorites. Where are you?” He opened the book to her marked page and skimmed a few lines. “I see you’ve left Jane just before her great moment. When she’s about to sacrifice her love, everything in the world she holds dear, for the sake of her conscience. Now that is a true heroine.” He closed the book and slid it back into her bag.

That was a low blow. Using her own beloved literature against her.

“It comes down to this, Emily: Do you truly believe in Katie’s innocence? If you do, you must know the truth can only serve to clear her in the end.”

Emily drew in a breath so deep the lingering incense in the air burned her lungs. Could she, in truth, imagine Katie stabbing Jake—not just to wound, to disable, but deliberately to kill—under any circumstances whatsoever?

No. She could not.

What Jane Eyre sacrificed came back to her in the end, though wounded, humbled. She was able to enjoy her love with a clear conscience, even with a greater sense of equality than would have been possible before.

Could Emily trust that Katie would be restored to her as well?

She must. Or her love for Katie would be poisoned forever, as would her love for Luke. For she did still love him, in spite of everything. He was only doing his job. And he couldn’t do it properly unless she told him the truth.

*   *   *

Luke ran by Windy Corner again on his way home that evening to make sure Katie was okay. He knocked but got no answer, so he walked in and found her sitting in front of the library fire, drinking sherry, playing Celtic folk music loud on the stereo, and watching Lizzie try to crawl on the hearthrug. While the cat’s away, he thought, but when he took a look at Katie’s face, he thought different. Something had happened. She needed that sherry.

“What’s up, Katie?” he asked, keeping it light just in case he was mistaken.

She jumped two feet. “Oh, Lieutenant Richards! You startled me. But I’m so glad you’re here.” She seemed to remember her manners and turned off the stereo. “Can I get you something? Tea? Sherry?”

“No, thanks, I’m good. Sit down and tell me what’s going on.”

She sat, and she told him a tale that made his hair stand on end. Thank God Edwards had been there to save the situation. It sounded like Luke and Emily had come within a hair’s breadth of leaving Katie alone with a murderer.

“Tell me again what he said about Jake? His exact words, if you can remember.”

“He said, ‘I thought with Newhouse out of the way you would love me.’ Just like that.”

“Holy crap. We may have found our murderer.”

“That’s what I thought. If you could have seen his face! He looked capable of anything.”

“I just hope the judge’ll see that as probable cause to swear out a warrant on him. I’ve got indications, but it’s all circumstantial—nothing solid enough to pin the murder on him. But I’ll go see the judge first thing tomorrow morning.” He shot a concerned look at Katie. “Meanwhile, though, I’m not leaving you and Lizzie alone. I think you should sleep over here in the main house tonight and let me stay with you.” He realized how that sounded, blushed, and quickly added, “In another room, of course.”

Katie bit her lip. “Fine by me, but don’t you think we ought to ask Mrs. C? It is her house, after all. And I’d feel a lot better if she were home.”

“Absolutely. I’ll call her right now.” Luke had insisted Emily charge her cell phone and take it with her. He just prayed she’d remembered to turn it on.

*   *   *

Emily had remembered. Her cell rang just as she was getting in her car. “Luke! Is everything okay?”

“Not entirely.” She listened in horror as he told her about Katie’s encounter with Roman. “I think it’d be best if you came on home.”

“I think you’re right. I’ll have to go back by Marguerite’s—I’m at church right now—and then I’ll head out. Can you stay with Katie till I get there?”

“I think I better stay the night, if that’s all right with you. No offense, but I have a feeling Roman may not consider himself subject to your authority anymore. You ladies need some beef in the house.”

Emily smiled to herself in spite of the seriousness of the situation. “All right, Mr. Porterhouse. Pick a room, and I’ll be there in a couple of hours.”

She drove as fast as she dared and arrived around nine thirty. She walked into the library and found Luke and Katie playing Scrabble, with the cats asleep on the hearthrug and Lizzie nowhere to be seen.

“Well, isn’t this domestic! And here I thought I was coming home to a war zone.”

Luke gave her a sheepish grin. “All quiet on the western front tonight, ma’am.” He stood awkwardly, as if wanting to hug her but unsure whether she’d consent to be hugged. Fortunately for her, Katie rushed into the breach and squeezed her hard.

“I’m so glad you’re home. Windy Corner just isn’t itself when you’re not around.”

Emily’s heart glowed at those words. “Any chance of a cup of tea?”

“Right away.”

She hurried to the kitchen, and Emily turned to Luke. “Is there anything you didn’t tell me on the phone?”

“Just that I’m pretty sure now Roman’s our murderer. First thing in the morning I’m going to swear out a warrant for his arrest.”

So her great confession and revelation scene might not be necessary after all. Emily felt oddly let down, although on a conscious level, at least, she’d been dreading that conversation. But now it seemed all question of Katie’s possible involvement had been set aside. Emily had been right all along—it was Roman. Heathcliff would get his comeuppance at last.