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Erica was on her way to the bathroom the next morning when she heard the front door open.
Puzzled, because it was only eight-thirty, she peered out the window. Aunt Betty was getting into her blue Camry. How curious. She hadn't said anything last night about having early morning plans. Where could she be off to, and in her very best suit?
At breakfast, Erica was about to ask Aunt Constance, when she remembered her aunt’s disapproval regarding the very same subject last Sunday. It was wiser not to say anything that might rake up unpleasantness, she decided.
She felt more like herself for the first time in weeks. The major thrust of her grief had spent itself and she’d found temporary peace. The warm, balmy weather helped restore her basically sunny nature. Looking back, she admitted that Terry’s secrets and lies had impacted their married life, making it somehow seem unreal. As if she’d been dreaming and had finally awakened.
Aunt Constance was supposed to spend the day working at a bazaar for one of her organizations, but she was reluctant to leave Erica alone. Erica urged her aunt to keep her plans, telling her repeatedly that she’d be perfectly fine, and finally, Aunt Constance left.
Erica was delighted to have the house to herself. She lolled around the entire day, reading the Sunday papers and sunning herself on the worn chaise longue she'd dragged out of the shed.
We must do something about this lawn, she thought. And buy some new outdoor furniture. The table's all rusted, the cushions are ripping. Then she remembered she was only staying until her birthday. She’d be happy to give her aunts whatever money they needed to fix up the house, but the details were theirs to decide.
Aunt Betty came home around six and found Erica watching the news in the family room. “How are you feeling, dear?”
“Fine, Aunt Betty. I sat outside for a while.”
She squinted as she scrutinized Erica’s face. “So you did. You look better with some color in your face, though next time, remember to wear sunscreen. Your nose got all red.”
She then disappeared inside her room.
Aunt Constance arrived home fifteen minutes later, exhilarated with the bazaar’s financial success. She bustled off into the kitchen and started preparing dinner.
“Don’t bother making anything for me,” Erica said. She suddenly got butterflies in her stomach at the thought of seeing Doug in two hours.
Aunt Constance gave a grim nod in response to Erica’s news. She went to stand, hands on hips, at the foot of the stairs. “Elizabeth,” she boomed, “are you having dinner with me?” There was no missing the irritation in her voice.
“No thanks, Connie,” Aunt Betty called down. “I had a big lunch this afternoon.”
“Humph!” Constance muttered. “Big lunch. Big deal.”
Erica dashed upstairs to shower and dress. She knew what she was wearing, had known ever since she’d put down the phone last night. Her new flowered dress would be perfect. She’d bought it on impulse just before Terry had disappeared, and never had the occasion to wear it.
She hummed as the water cascaded over her body.
This wasn’t a date, she reminded herself as she toweled herself dry. No need for extra fuss. She was meeting Doug Remsen to find out more about her dead husband's life, and to finally get the letter Terry had told her about. Doug might be kind, but he wasn't the type of man she should think about considering.
Why had those thoughts come into her head? She wasn’t planning to start a new relationship any time soon. Terry had just died. Though part of her was angry with him for having deceived her with lies, she had cared for him deeply and completely.
She slipped into her high-heeled sandals, and returned to the bathroom to put on her makeup and blow-dry her hair. When she was done, she studied herself in the mirror. Her nose was red, but her cheeks looked rosy, and the blue-gray shadow heightened her eyes behind her glasses.
“I need a haircut,” she said aloud, surprised to find her bangs were brushing against the tops of her glasses. Weeks must have passed since she’d last taken notice of her appearance.
No matter. She grinned at herself. Even to her own critical eyes, she looked fine.
Aunt Constance was clearing her dinner dishes. Her gloomy expression changed to one of astonishment when she saw her niece.
“Goodness me, Erica, you look lovely. Like you were going to a party.”
Erica smiled. “I’m only going out for a drink. To discuss some business, remember?”
Her aunt’s expression grew somber. “Drive carefully now. You don't want to get into an accident."
“Don’t worry, Aunt Constance. I will.” Nothing bad can happen. I'm meeting Doug in a public place. On impulse, she planted a kiss on her aunt’s cheek.
Taken aback, Constance scolded her. “What about your dinner? You didn’t eat anything.”
“I’ll eat something later.” Erica sailed out the door.
***
IT FELT GOOD GETTING away from the overly solicitous household and into the cool evening air, but she suddenly began to worry. How smart was it to be meeting with a total stranger who was possibly a gangster? No one knew where she was going. Doug could do away with her—she snapped her fingers—like that!
Nonsense! She brushed the possibility from her mind. Doug was going to give her Terry’s letter and explain things to her. That’s what he’d told her and that’s what she intended to believe. Besides, she needed more information before she dared make any more assumptions.
She drove along the turnpike to the next town. It was nearly eight o’clock. The last light of day had faded into darkness. It could have been noon or midnight for all she cared. She—a person grounded in following schedules and the routines of daily life—had lost all sense of time.
The blue BMW was parked in the half-filled parking lot behind the restaurant, but there was no sign of Doug. Erica pulled in next to it and climbed out of her car. She found herself examining the front fenders. She stooped to get a closer look for possible dents, scraped paint, or any sign that it had been in a collision.
Nothing.
“Checking for damage?” Doug asked from behind her.
She rose and stumbled backward into his muscular chest.
Flustered, she turned to face him. “You scared the living daylights out of me.”
He grinned. “If you’re playing detective, you shouldn’t be so obvious.”
She was too embarrassed to think of a reply.
“I drive a blue car, but you can't believe that I ran Terry off the road.” He gently took her elbow, and escorted her into the restaurant.
“Of course not. Except..." She was annoyed with herself for having been caught doing something stupid. Doug was Terry's friend. Besides he wouldn’t have driven a battered car for her to see. “How did you know about the blue paint anyway?”
“The police paid me a visit and happened to mention that small detail." There was a glint of amusement in his eyes, but underneath it, she detected a flash of anger.
“I didn’t send them,” she said defensively.
“You didn’t? Hmm. They must have found my number among Terry's papers.” He studied her intently in the dim light as they waited to be seated.
The maître d’, a middle-aged paunchy man, smiled as he approached them. “Two for dinner?”
“How about it, Erica? Care for some dinner? I seemed to have skipped that meal entirely.”
“I guess I have, too,” she admitted, wondering why her heart was fluttering like a trapped bird.
The maître d’ led them through the candlelit room to a corner table. The ambience was seductive, intimate. Near the bar, a pianist was playing romantic songs on a white grand piano.
Erica bit her lip. This certainly wasn’t the Fiorello's she remembered. What must Doug be thinking of her choice of restaurants?
He didn’t appear to notice her embarrassment. “Seems nice enough,” he said as she slid onto the well-padded banquette. He sat in the chair facing her.
Behind her enormous menu, she drew a deep breath. She felt vibrant with anticipation, as though she were about to embark on a wild adventure. My husband’s just been killed, and I’m out having dinner with another man, she chided herself. Only to talk about Terry, she rebutted. And remained unchastened as she ordered a vodka martini and shrimp scampi.
“How does it feel to be a widow?” Doug asked unexpectedly.
She looked at him sharply, but there was no trace of mockery in his voice. Nor in his eyes, which she realized had been scrutinizing her since they’d met in the parking lot.
“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “At first, it was a nightmare, but my aunts kept me so doped up, I only came out of it yesterday. I’m feeling better today, but I’m terribly confused. My whole life’s gone haywire since those two gangsters followed me into the Sweet Shoppe.” She gave him a rueful smile. “I’m back at the one place I swore I’d never return—home with my exasperating aunts.”
He said nothing, but she felt his total attention, which encouraged her to go on.
“And every minute of the day, no matter what I’m doing, I think about Terry. More truthfully, I scrutinize everything I’ve recently learned about him—from you, the police, and Terry himself. I’m angry because he lied to me, and I’m angry at myself for having been so trusting and naive. The complete fool.” She shook her head. “Was there anything real about our marriage? What did we really share besides sex?”
“Erica, don’t do this to yourself. Terry loved you. I know that for a fact.” Doug’s suntanned hand covered hers, adding strength to his words.
She blinked furiously, but couldn’t stop the tears from rolling down her cheeks. He handed her his handkerchief. She dabbed at her face without a trace of self-consciousness. When she could, she continued speaking.
“Today I took a long, objective view of our relationship. We had fun. We enjoyed being together, but we didn’t have much of a marriage. I hardly knew Terry. We hadn’t known each other long, and he was away a lot. All those activities he was involved in. I don't even know what they are, except I know they’re as alien to me as skydiving.”
“Like gambling?” His voice was soft.
“Gambling, and worse.”
Their salads arrived, and they ate without speaking, but there was no awkwardness in their silence.
“I understand you’re about to become a wealthy woman,” Doug said, changing the tone and the subject.
She gave a wry smile. “You’d think Terry would have stayed with me for the money. He should have! Then he wouldn’t have gone off in the middle of the night and gotten himself killed.” This time, she managed to blink back her tears.
“Perhaps. We’ll never know.” He circled the rim of his water glass with his finger before going on. “Terry and I had a rather personal conversation Monday night.”
“I can only hope it wasn’t too personal.”
“Not personal that way,” he said, obviously wanting to assuage her hurt pride. “And I don’t mean to give you the impression that I knew your husband all that well. Actually, it wasn’t until Monday night that I realized he was all right.”
“What do you mean?”
“To tell the truth, I always figured him to be a punk. Someone who’d weasel out of any deal if he thought he could get away with it. But I had him all wrong.”
Their entrees arrived, and they said little except to comment on the excellence of their dishes.
A while later, as they sat leisurely over coffee and slices of Italian cheesecake, Doug said, “Terry called me as soon as he found out you were trying to raise the money.” He shook his head. “He was furious when I told him Sean and Andy had frightened you half to death as well as spilling the beans about his gambling debt. I told him he was kidding himself if he thought he could keep his gambling a secret from you.”
He stopped to give her a hard look. Remembering the part she’d played in keeping herself ignorant of Terry’s unexplained absences, her face grew hot with a blush.
He dropped his gaze. “Anyway, Monday night, he stopped by Smithy's Bar, and we got to talking.” He paused. “He told me about his childhood, about the miserable foster home he lived in until he ran away and lived on the streets.”
“Lived on the streets? I never knew. I wish he had told me.”
It pained her to think Terry had never told her details about his unhappy childhood. But she couldn’t blame him for confiding in Doug. Here she was, doing the very same thing herself. Doug seemed to be one of those rare people who actually listened. He drew people out. Got them to reveal their most intimate thoughts and deepest secrets.
She sighed. “Terry told me he’d lived with an aunt. She died when he was eighteen.”
“He lived with her for a while when he got out of juvenile detention.”
“Officer Finney told me about that.”
Doug shook his head. “Don’t be so hard on Terry—or yourself. He didn’t want you to know the worst because he was afraid it would drive you away.”
She smiled sadly. “It wouldn’t have made any difference to me. At least, not after I got to know him. But I suppose he couldn’t have known that.”
“Anyway,” he sounded faintly regretful, “It’s time I handed over his letter.”
The plain white envelope had Erica Parker written in pencil. She opened it with trembling fingers. Inside were two sheets of lined paper. All four sides were covered with Terry’s scrawling script.
“Go on, read it,” Doug urged. He reached inside his pocket and took out a pencil-thin flashlight. “Here.” He placed the flashlight on the table. “Now you can see.”
There was very little in the letter she hadn’t recently learned—his involvement in criminal activities when he was a minor, his gambling, and that he was leaving her because he loved her. When she’d finished, she folded the pages into the envelope, and slipped it into her pocketbook.
“There’s one more thing,” he said carefully. “Terry didn’t want to put this in writing. He didn’t want to scare you, in case it wasn’t necessary. But I think it is. Very necessary, Erica.”
“What more can there be?” She was weeping again. “He obviously knew he was going to leave me when he came out to Montauk. He was planning it all along.”
Her sobs grew louder. Tears streamed down her face, and she took off her glasses. Without thinking, she held out her hand for Doug’s handkerchief. He handed it to her. She wiped her face, then her glasses.
“Hey, you'll smear them,” he warned.
“How do you know?” she asked. “You don't wear glasses.”
“Right, but my sister does. She’s always washing them and wiping the damn things off.”
He had a sister! It was the first personal thing he'd told her about himself. It made her smile.
“This is serious, Erica,” he persisted. “Terry thought there was a good chance someone—someone you know—doesn’t wish you well.”
“What does that mean, doesn’t wish me well?”
He cleared his throat. For the first time since she’d met him, he looked uneasy. “Terry seemed to think someone might try to harm you.”
“But why? Certainly not for my inheritance!” It sounded so preposterous, so absurd, she covered her mouth as soon as she spoke.
“Could be.”
She gave a start. How did Doug know about her inheritance? She hadn’t wondered about it earlier when he’d alluded to it, but now it raised all kinds of questions. “Who told you about that?”
He hesitated, then said, “Terry did. Monday night.”
That was a lie. Terry hadn’t learned about her inheritance until he came to see her at the cottage on Tuesday. But were she to point this out to Doug, he might suddenly remember that Terry told him about her inheritance on Tuesday night.
Distressed, she bit her lip. He was in control here. She’d know as much as he wanted her to know, and nothing more. She met his steady gaze and drew a deep breath. She should be terrified of him, but she wasn’t. He had a calming, hypnotic effect on her.
“Erica, Terry didn’t say the money was the reason you’re in danger, but I believe it is.”
She shuddered, suddenly frightened. “Someone tried to run me down a few days ago. And took a shot at me. He was wearing a black Darth Vader mask. I thought it was Sean or Andy.”
"One of those guys caught wearing a Darth Vader mask? You have to be joking.” He burst out laughing, then stopped abruptly when he caught her terrified expression.
"How do you know them so well? Do you work for Mr. B, too?" she all but shouted.
The sound of raised voices in the near-empty restaurant brought their waiter scurrying to their table. “Can I get you anything else?” he asked, obviously wishing they would leave.
Doug asked for more coffee and the check. When the man left, he turned back to Erica. “Let's say I help look after Mr. B's investments."
My God! What had she done—getting involved with a gangster as bad as the two who had frightened her? And Doug's car was blue. "Maybe you were the one who shot at me that day."
"Me?" He sounded genuinely perplexed. "Why on earth would I put on a Darth Vader mask and try to kill you?"
“I don’t know. Maybe to scare me, so I’d get the money Terry owed your Mr. B. Or maybe...” Her eyes widened with shock as a new possibility occurred to her. “Well, Terry told you I was getting money every month. Maybe you thought...” She couldn’t finish the sentence.
His lips twisted into a grimace. “You mean you thought I’d knock you off so Terry would inherit, and we could collect? Come on, Erica. There are easier ways to make people pay up.”
That was true. She felt silly, even ashamed, for having entertained such a thought. “If you still want me to pay off Terry’s debt, I’ll do it. But you’ll have to wait until I receive my inheritance. I can’t ask Jason for another loan.”
“We’ll talk about that some other time. Right now, I want you to tell me who you think was after you the other day. Besides me, Sean, and Andy.”
He grinned, and she had to stop herself from punching his arm. Instead, she tried to imagine who had been wearing the Darth Vader mask.
“I don’t know,” she finally said. “Probably the same person who killed Terry, since it was a blue car in both cases. I suppose the police told you about finding blue paint on the motorcycle.”
“They questioned me the next day.” His jaw clenched in anger. “Good thing there were five people who could swear they’d been with me all of Tuesday evening.”
Were any of them women? she wondered, and felt her ears burn with embarrassment. She’d just lost her husband, and here she sat, curious over another man—a gangster, no less—who was merely showing her some kindness.
With a pang, she realized dinner was over.
Doug reached for his wallet. He handed money and the check to the waiter, who bowed obsequiously and wished them a good evening. Doug nodded perfunctorily and turned to Erica.
“I’m going out of town for a few days,” he said, eyeing her carefully. “If I can do anything or if you feel you want to talk, call me at the number I gave you. I’ll get the message.”
"Thank you." The lot was almost empty as they exited the bar. She glanced up at his profile as he walked her to her car. It was a good profile, with strong, even features. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
He drew in breath, and started to say something, then obviously thought better of it. He took the car key from her hand and unlocked the door. “Let’s say I’m doing it for Terry’s sake.”
She slid behind the wheel, and he leaned over to kiss her cheek. His action startled her so much, she almost missed his parting words.
“Be careful. Don’t be too trusting of anyone. Especially of anyone you think you know well.”