Chapter 31
“Where’re you going in such a hurry?” Pat asked as Elizabeth breezed past Suncrest Realty’s circular reception desk.
“Home. I’ll be out for the day.”
“Don’t you have some appointments?” Pat questioned.
“Everything’s rescheduled.”
“But—”
“Really, Pat,” she said, sensing the other woman’s disapproval. “I’ve got my appointments covered. You don’t have to worry.”
Pat’s back stiffened and she narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “I keep things organized around here. Running smoothly. It’s my job.”
“And we all appreciate it,” Elizabeth snapped back as she shouldered her way out of the office. She could feel Pat’s angry gaze boring into her back. Too bad. She couldn’t worry about hurting the receptionist’s feelings and truthfully, she was tired of treading lightly around the woman who seemed to make everyone else’s business her own. It was definitely time for a change. Maybe, not only would she sell her house, but she could switch offices, or find a rival realty company where she didn’t feel her personal life was being dissected through lunchroom gossip or over glasses of wine at happy hour in nearby restaurants.
Tossing her briefcase into the passenger seat, she settled behind the wheel. Despite the time of year, the interior of the car had warmed up as if it were at the equator, so she rolled down the windows and thought about her upcoming meeting with Kingston. How much could she reveal to him? How far should she bare her soul?
You have to tell him everything. Otherwise he won’t be able to help you. You’ve already confided in your friends, so this won’t be so hard. He’s a professional. He’ll help you.
“I hope so,” she said, her hands gripping the wheel as she drove out of the lot and picked up speed, a soft California breeze tangling her hair. “God, I hope so.”
On the way to Elizabeth’s, Rex pieced together what he’d learned from Mike Tatum, which was supposed to be on the QT as Tatum had probably given out more information than the department may have wanted, and from Detective Vern Driscoll, whom he’d called back after talking to Tatum. Both men had said much the same thing about the Courtland Ellis case, which was why Rex had called Tatum, and why Driscoll had phoned Rex. The scuttlebutt around the department was that the widow was up to her eyeballs in her husband’s death.
Bull. Shit. From what he could tell, the police didn’t have a pot to piss in when it came to facts. He got that emotion was running high because one of their own had been killed, but it was early days in an investigation that hadn’t gotten much past the theory stage. Thronson had been running on hunches as far as Elizabeth was concerned. So, a woman who may have looked like her had been seen on the freeway, possibly goading Ellis into a dangerous game, and another woman had been seen around the Tres Brisas Hotel. Rex heard from Tatum about the positive ID on a picture of Elizabeth by several of the hotel’s employees, but even Tatum had sounded skeptical. “Ask the right questions of someone who wants to please and you get the right answer. You know.”
Yeah, Rex knew. Sometimes it was too easy to coerce a witness. They could be influenced by a few carefully chosen words. He also knew that he could be just as swayed if he wasn’t careful. Look how he’d reacted to Elizabeth after meeting her once.
As he drove, he thought back to the conversation with Driscoll.
Driscoll asked pointed questions about how Rex knew Elizabeth Ellis. He kept his tone neutral and his answers circumspect. And what was there to tell anyway? He’d met her the night before. A client of his had been searching for her.
Who? Driscoll wanted to know, his tone sharp.
“Her cousin, Ravinia Rutledge, who had never met her until last night, either,” Rex answered.
“So, you find her for her cousin and then Ellis hires you right on the spot?” Driscoll asked.
Rex discerned that it was Driscoll who’d scared Elizabeth into phoning for his help, so rather than lie, he shrugged and smiled. “Guess my reputation preceded me.”
Driscoll went on to demand Ravinia’s phone number or address, but Rex wasn’t interested in revealing how involved he’d become with her life, so he said, “She’s from a town in Oregon, on the coast, Deception Bay. I don’t have an exact address.”
“Why don’t you?”
“I think it would be fair to say that she’s between residences right now.”
“Then give me the motel she’s at.” Driscoll started to sound belligerent.
“When you tell me why it’s so important you talk to her,” was Rex’s answer.
“I don’t have to tell you anything,” the cop blustered. “But if I find out they’re in collusion together, you don’t want to be the guy who was in the way.”
“They’re not in collusion together.”
“This is a homicide investigation,” he reminded tightly.
“I can give you her cell number,” Rex finally conceded, knowing Ravinia wouldn’t answer if she didn’t recognize the number calling in. He wanted to talk to her first, warn her about the police interest in Elizabeth.
The conversation with the detective went downhill after that. Driscoll pushed for Ravinia’s address, where he could find her in the Irvine area, but Rex didn’t cave. He asked his own questions about the Ellis investigation, chiefly, wasn’t there any other person of interest?
Driscoll hadn’t liked that question much, so Rex took that as a no.
“Thronson believed Courtland Ellis’s death was a homicide,” Driscoll told him flatly. “She was a thorough investigator. She spoke with Elizabeth Ellis several times and was killed shortly after that last interview.”
“So she goes to Thronson’s house and shoots her. Just leaves her kid at home alone, somehow gets her hands on a gun, and drives over to the detective’s house and takes her out.”
“She’s connected, Kingston. You were a cop. You know how it works. The spouse and family are first at bat and it turns out Elizabeth Ellis didn’t much like her husband. Can’t say as I blame her. He was a cheating, bastard lawyer, but there it is.”
“And so, Thronson learned something incriminating? And Elizabeth felt threatened and decided to kill her?”
“Thronson was on to something.”
Rex scoffed. “Come on, Driscoll. This is thin and you know it.”
But Driscoll seemed to dig his toes in deeper. Rex argued with him, but the detective was bullishly focused on Elizabeth. Rex had known other officers of the law who became single-sighted when their emotions got twisted into the mix. Driscoll wanted Thronson’s killer bad, and Elizabeth was in his crosshairs.
Pushing the speed limit down the freeway, Rex felt a new sense of urgency. He’d left Ravinia at his house and now speed-dialed her on Bluetooth.
“What?” she answered. “I’m down to my last minutes.”
“Goddammit, go get some. The police will be calling you,” he advised.
“Why?”
“They appear to be zeroing in on Elizabeth, thinking she might have had something to do with her husband’s homicide.”
“What?”
“I’m meeting with her now. When they call, be careful. It would probably be best if you avoided talking to Driscoll or Maya or anyone else until we can sort this all out.”
“We’re working a case for Elizabeth?”
“I’m working a case for Elizabeth,” he stressed.
“Hey, I’m included in this, and I need to be there.”
“I’ll handle this and keep you informed.”
“Like hell. She’s my cousin. I brought you into this.”
“This is a homicide investigation, and that takes things to a new level. You don’t have the experience.”
“I know things,” Ravinia snapped. “Elizabeth asked me if I’ve been watching the news, so I’ve been watching the news.”
“Ravinia—”
“She asked me that after I questioned her about how she knew about the bridge falling down when she was a kid. So, that’s what I’ve been doing all morning. Watching the news. You know about the old guy who ran his car into that restaurant around here? The one who died?”
“I heard about it, but that doesn’t—”
“Would you just shut up and listen? A woman was there when it happened. Ran in and saved this kid and his parents who were sitting right in front of the window. Swept up the kid seconds before this car slams right through the window. Woulda killed them all if she hadn’t grabbed the boy. But everyone says there’s no way she could have seen the car coming, like she claimed. She was there too soon. Ahead of the accident. But before she could be interviewed, she disappeared into the crowd. That’s what Elizabeth was trying to tell me last night. She was that woman, and she understands she has a gift whether she wants to admit it or not.”
“What I know is that Detective Vern Driscoll is determined to prove that Elizabeth was involved with his partner’s recent murder.”
“I’m coming. You need me.”
“I’m meeting Elizabeth now. I’m not picking you up.”
“Then you tell her I know about the restaurant. You tell her it’s her gift! You—”
The phone went dead in his hand. “Ravinia?”
She’d finally run out of minutes.
He’s here.
Peeking through the shuttered blinds, Elizabeth watched the Nissan whip into her driveway and lurch to a stop just short of the garage, Rex behind the wheel. In aviator sunglasses, a day’s growth of beard shadowing his chin, and his lips compressed into a blade thin line, he climbed out of the car and half-ran up her walk.
It’s now or never. You have to tell him everything.
Heart in her throat, Elizabeth opened the door and resisted an unlikely urge to throw herself into his arms. He was a PI, for God’s sake, little more than a stranger. He wasn’t her savior.
She moved aside just as he reached the door and stood back. He didn’t hesitate, just stalked inside.
“Thank you for coming,” she said, her heart beating faster than it should. She shut the door behind him, then, for good measure threw the dead bolt.
“Tell me about the police,” he said as he surveyed the inside of the house, almost like a burglar casing the joint. “Why do they think you’re a suspect in your husband’s murder? I want to hear it from you.”
“They think I look like this woman who was on the freeway . . . and at a hotel in Rosarito Beach where my husband stayed with . . . Whitney Bellhard.”
“I know all that. What else?”
“I don’t know. There isn’t anything else.”
To her shock, he placed his hands on her shoulders and looked directly into her eyes. She could see the striations of cobalt and royal blue in the gray depths of his. Her heart beat hard and deep. Her mouth was dust.
Tell him. Tell him now.
Elizabeth took a deep breath. “Ravinia said that some people, especially people associated with her family, sometimes have unique abilities.”
“Yes, she’s told me that.”
“And you know she thinks I’m her cousin. That my mother is her aunt Catherine who gave me up for adoption.” She licked her lips, drawing his eyes briefly before they returned to stare into hers. “Ravinia said a lot of things last night and I was listening, but I didn’t hear it all. It doesn’t matter. I kind of knew where she was going.”
“Because you predicted the pedestrian bridge falling before it happened.”
Elizabeth nodded, feeling her knees sag a bit. “I may need to sit down.”
In truth, she was relieved when he released her, and she walked on rubbery legs to the couch. He followed her, but stood against the kitchen bar, arms crossed over his chest.
“But that’s not all I can do, apparently,” she said, clenching and unclenching her fists. “I can see danger before it happens, but I can also wish people dead. Don’t think Ravinia knows about that one,” she added on a short laugh.
“You’re going to have to explain,” he said after a beat.
“If I get angry enough at someone, furious to the point of seeing red, they suddenly befall some horrid fate and die. At least, that’s what’s been happening recently.”
For a moment, silence filled the room, then he broke down and laughed. “You’re putting me on.”
“I know what it sounds like.”
“No, seriously. What is this?”
“I told this very thing to Detective Thronson the night that she was shot.”
“You were mad at her? What’d she do that made you so mad?”
Elizabeth opened her mouth, then shut it again. He was making fun of her, but he’d inadvertently made a point. “No . . . I wasn’t. Not mad. I was scared, though.”
“Well, it’s impossible to wish someone dead,” he said, controlling his mirth when he realized she was being serious.
“Is it? You’ve spoken to Ravinia, heard what she has to say about her family who all live in that lodge, Siren Song. And I know you won’t believe me, but I sometimes feel danger when it’s coming near me.”
“You were at the restaurant the other night.”
“Yes! How did you know?”
“You told Ravinia to watch the news and she did, and she put two and two together.”
“So, you believe, a little, that I do have this ability?”
“I believe that sometimes the unexplainable occurs. Most of the time, however, there’s a helluva lot more logical reason than ESP, or whatever you’re talking about. And I don’t believe you can wish someone dead. Killing someone takes action. Forethought. Execution of the plan. If you could really wish someone dead, there wouldn’t be anyone left on the planet.”
“Four people that I wished harm are dead. Four.” She then told him about Mazie, Officer Daniels, Court, and Channing Renfro. “I had interactions with all of them and one time or another they really pissed me off. Then boom. They were gone.”
“Okay, then, try this. Have you wished anyone harm who’s still living?”
“Well, I’m sure I probably have . . .”
“Recently. These deaths were recent, so have you wished someone dead recently.”
Barb. “My sister-in-law really got under my skin when she was here after Court died.”
“She still alive?”
“Yeah, as far as I know. She lives in Buffalo.”
“Call her. See if she’s okay.”
“I’m sure she is,” Elizabeth said, but she dutifully placed the call.
Barb answered on the fourth ring, sounding harried. When Elizabeth said she was just calling to see how she was, Barb snorted. “I’m fine. Just busy.”
“I won’t keep you,” Elizabeth said and hurriedly hung up.
“So, she’s okay,” Rex pointed out.
Elizabeth made a face. “Barb’s never really okay.”
“A joke. Oho! So, you can lighten up a little.”
She blushed a little, liking this side of him. It took all her energy not to stare at his mouth and wonder what it would feel like pressed to her lips.
“Couldn’t it be coincidence, sheer unluckiness, that you’re linked to their deaths?”
She shook her head, then said slowly, “I’d like to think so, but I don’t believe it. Something is there.”
“Then what is it?” He was pushing her to think more rationally, but it wasn’t rational.
“Maybe . . . I’m being set up,” she said, voicing a theory that had crystalized just recently in her mind, one she’d rejected at first pass. But with Rex’s probing questions, she considered it again. “Maybe someone knows that I’ve had a problem with these people and he’s killing them and framing me.”
“Why would anyone go to all that trouble?” Rex asked.
“I don’t know.”
“How could he know who to target? The murders, and I use the term loosely as a couple were accidents, occurred not long after you had nasty thoughts about the victims. Right?”
“Yes . . .”
“Well, who could know all of that?”
She shook her head again.
“Any one person you confided in? Told how you felt about every one of the victims?”
“I talk to my friends, and I could have been overheard, like at the gym or in a restaurant or at work or on the phone, I guess. A lot of people might have heard me grumble about GoodGuy or Court or Mazie . . . but . . . I never told the same person all of it, until I told Detective Thronson.”
“It doesn’t read right,” he told her. “What would be the motivation?”
He said he loved you, but I think he did some bad things. Chloe’s words. And then there was Ravinia’s warning. Declan Jr. He could be looking for you, if he knows about you . . .
Rex said, “I want to hook you up with a friend of mine. Miles Cunningham. He’s a defense lawyer.”
She turned her face up to his and asked anxiously, “You think I’m going to be charged?”
He frowned as if wrestling with a decision, then said bluntly, “I think you could be, so you need to be prepared. They have no case, but you need to be proactive. The first thing you need to do is find a place for Chloe.”
Elizabeth jumped to her feet. “I’m not sending Chloe anywhere. What the hell are you talking about?”
“I think any case the police are building against you won’t hold water, but we need to be ready. You’re the one who thinks you’re being framed,” he reminded her.
“Railroaded. That’s what I think.”
“Whatever. You need to be ready.”
Things were bad enough, but from the look in Rex’s eyes, he expected them to get worse. A lot worse.
“Okay,” she said in a strangled voice. But who could she even think about taking care of Chloe for an indeterminate time? No one! Not her father, certainly. Barbara lived across the country. She was too far away physically and too emotionally distant. That left her friends in the Moms Group. She thought seriously about Tara and Jade, but couldn’t imagine having to rely on either of them.
“I’d better get going,” Rex said. “I’ll call Miles and tell him you’ll probably contact him.”
“Okay.”
“And find a place for Chloe.”
“I will,” she promised, hating to see him leave. It wasn’t because he was handsome, though he was, and it wasn’t because she felt like she had to have a man to protect her—oh, God no—not after her marriage to Court. But something about Rex Kingston touched her down deep. Silly as that sounded and as scared as she was, she couldn’t help thinking what it would be like to lose herself in him. Have him hold her. Caress her. Assure her that things would be okay. Sleep next to him, make love to him. . . .
With an almost physical effort, she pushed those thoughts aside. Still, as she stood on the front porch and watched his car drive away she felt more alone than she had in a long, long while. A tug on her heart warned her to be careful, that she could make another mistake. She knew nothing about him, though she had noted he didn’t wear a wedding ring.
“You are crazy,” she admonished after his car disappeared around the corner at the end of the street. She went back inside, locked the door, then pushed her hair from her face. What the hell was she going to do? She couldn’t remain passive and just hope that Rex could help her. He’d told her to be proactive where Chloe was concerned.
She caught her reflection in the foyer mirror. Fear shone in her eyes, and frustration dragged her eyebrows into a fussy line. “Stop it,” she told her image. “Figure this out. Rex may help you, but this is your problem. Do something about it. For you and for Chloe.”
My hand presses onto the vellum, ink flowing as I write, telling Elizabeth all my hopes and fears, expressing that love has two sides, one light and uplifting, the flirty side of affection. But as night is to day, there is also a serious side to love, a deadly side, if you will. Some may call this need and obsession, but I know it’s just another expression of the true soul, that which lies in the darkest chambers of one’s heart. I’ve felt it. I’ve acted upon it. I’ve sacrificed for it and I would again, in a heartbeat, for you, lovely Elizabeth, for you are, without a doubt, my true soul mate.
But as I put my words to paper, I sense another presence, and I feel you wavering. What is this unforeseen attraction you have to that investigator? He may call himself Rex, but he’s no king. He’s common and unworthy of you. And you want him. My blood boils with outrage. How could you betray our pure love?
How can you desire him? Lust for him, in its basest of forms?
Yes, that’s what it is, lust and need, a dependence on this man you’ve barely met. I feel your filthy yearning and it comes upon me in sickening waves of disgust.
Elizabeth, you are mine. Do you hear me? Mine.
You cannot give yourself to another, nor can you have the slightest want for someone else.
Rage envelops me and I close my eyes and send you a mental message. Hear me. I am yours. Totally. And you are mine. Without doubt. Without regret. Ours is a love forged in the stars, a love that knows no bounds, with no beginning and no end.
You cannot care for another.
You cannot feel a breath of desire for anyone else.
If you do . . . if you cannot be true, if you cannot share my soul, then yours is mine to take.
I send this message, loud and clear. Hear me, Elizabeth. You are mine.
As I fling my mental missive, my physical body, zapped of strength, crumples and I knock the stack of letters I’ve written onto the floor. We fall together and the envelopes scatter around my weak, corporeal self.
I have to gather my strength. Slowly, with determination, my body responds again, regains its strength, and I sweep the letters into a pile and carefully stack them all. Now is the time for us. No more waiting.
Get ready, Elizabeth. I’m coming for you.