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Sunday morning, Erica awoke with a groan. She willed herself to fall back into a dreamless sleep, but to no avail. Last night’s farcical scene flashed through her mind, making her groan again. If this were someone else’s life, if she weren’t so angry with Jason, she could laugh. Perhaps she should laugh.
No! This was a serious matter. She had suffered an irretrievable loss. Jason was no longer her friend. She would never speak to him again.
She had always known he was weak. His insecurities and problems were partly what had endeared him to her. He had often depended on her support and common sense, and knew he was welcome to them. But what he had proposed last night—proposed, hah!—had been totally ridiculous.
And bordered on the incestuous.
Even though he’d made no pretense of suddenly falling in love with her. Merely of needing her. And finally admitting, when pressed, that it was her inheritance he “needed” most of all.
She’d stomped out of the bar, not giving him a chance to open the little box set before her. She had no desire to see the bauble he’d bought with his father’s money in hopes of winning her fortune.
He’d chased after her, trapping her in the small vestibule where she waited for a taxi. “Erica, please,” he’d begged. “All I’m asking is that you think it over. Not right now, of course. But soon.”
When it became clear that she wouldn’t respond, much less look at him, he’d turned angry and abusive. He’d called her a “selfish bitch,” and worse, until the maître d’ escorted him out of the restaurant.
In the taxi, tears of anger and humiliation had burned her eyes. How dare he? How dare Sherman? How dare they scheme to have that pathetic creep ask her to marry him? Just so he wouldn’t have to work another day of his life!
She sat up in bed and decided Sherman must have planned it all. Jason was incapable of such machinations, while his father undoubtedly maneuvered and rearranged facts every day on behalf of his clients. But where was his good sense when it came to his son? Why assume Jason would succeed at making Erica his wife when he’d failed at everything else?
Her eyes narrowed with fury. To think that Sherman had so little regard for her. He considered her nothing but a pawn. A mere puppet to be manipulated. To dance to their tune! She wanted no part of him, as well. She picked up the little painting, considered returning it, then placed it back on her bureau and leaned it against the wall. The painting was hers. She had more than earned it.
In a sudden burst of energy, she sprang out of bed and pulled up the shades. Sunlight poured into her room. A perfect May day, she was forced to admit in spite of her foul mood.
A shower and wearing one of her new outfits did much to improve her spirits.
She stopped at Aunt Constance’s room to see how she was feeling, and found the double bed was made, the corner of the flowered comforter neatly folded back. She must be better, she thought with relief. Thank God last night’s pain had probably been nothing more serious than a bout of indigestion.
Although her physical well-being had been restored, a glowering, angry Constance greeted Erica in the kitchen.
“’Morning, Erica. I was wondering when you’d finally come downstairs.”
Although puzzled and a bit hurt by the brusque remark, she chose to ignore it. “I’m glad you’re feeling better,” she said, and poured herself a glass of orange juice.
“My stomach has settled down. But if I don’t have a heart attack one of these days,” her aunt said darkly, “it’ll be no thanks to your Aunt Betty.”
“What do you mean?” She stared at her aunt. “Did you and Aunt Betty have an argument? Where is she?”
“Gone.”
“Gone? Gone for the day? With a friend?” she added hopefully.
“No, Erica. I mean gone for good.” There was no missing the smugness in her tone. “She packed her suitcase and said we’d be hearing from her eventually. Took her briefcase and computer, as well.”
“Did you and Aunt Betty have a fight? When did she leave?”
Erica felt forsaken. Abandoned. Anxiety rose in her throat, forcing her to take deep, heaving breaths. Certainly, Aunt Betty was free to leave the house whenever she wanted, and Erica certainly didn’t need Aunt Betty to look after her. But it was odd for her to go off like this. Odd and disconcerting.
“Betty and I had a heart-to-heart talk this morning. I finally got it out of her.” Aunt Constance was gloating now. “All about her and Ron.” She gave a snort of indignation. “He’s a principal, mind you, and old enough to retire, carrying on like a backstreet Romeo. They’re two fools, just as they were seventeen years ago.
“Betty wanted to know if I was angry with her. ‘Angry?’ I asked her. ‘Why should I be angry if you choose to be an adulteress? The only reason I’m angry,’ I said, ‘is because you do it in such a sneaky, pussyfooting, childish kind of way.’”
“She didn’t want to hurt you, Aunt Constance. That’s why she kept it a secret.”
“Don’t tell me you knew about her and Ron!” Further incensed by this new revelation, her aunt turned her anger on Erica. “Why didn’t you say so instead of keeping me ignorant like a fool, not knowing what was happening in my own house? Excuse me. Your house.”
Erica groaned. “Let’s not start that again. I’m really not up to it.”
Constance’s jaw snapped shut.
Although she was no longer hungry, Erica toasted an English muffin and made herself a cup of coffee. Her aunt went to the sink and noisily loaded the dishwasher.
The heavy atmosphere bore down on them. Erica wracked her brain to think of something innocuous to say, and was relieved when her aunt spoke again.
“How was your evening last night? I didn’t hear you come in. It must have been pretty late.”
“I came home around twelve-thirty.” She resented this old habit of being expected to “check in,” but was unable to stop herself. “By taxi, I might add.”
“Oh?” Constance eyed her inquisitively. “I thought Jason was driving you home.”
“He started to,” she said, then proceeded to tell her aunt what had happened.
Aunt Constance showed no sign of surprise. “I’ve always said Jason has a screw loose, but your Aunt Betty, with her usual lack of judgment, was so positive he’d changed. Of course, it was Monica who convinced Betty to consider Jason in a different light.” She rolled her eyes at Erica. “Just the other day, the two of them were practically planning your wedding. Can you imagine Betty being part of that? As if you’d ever consider marrying that boy.”
The Hartleys had gone so far as to draw her aunts into their scheme. She felt a flair of anger against them all, especially against her Aunt Betty, who should have known better.
Aunt Constance’s voice turned gentle. “I know you think I interfered too much in your life, Erica. Betty told me so often enough while you were gone, and I suppose she was right. But this time, I kept out of it while she went along with the dinner, trying to bring you and Jason together.” She looked sheepishly at her niece. “That was another thing we fought about this morning.”
Erica's cell phone rang, interrupting her impulse to fling her arms around her aunt in gratitude.
"Good morning," she practically sang when she saw it was Doug.
Her aunt must have figured out who had called, because her scowl was back.
Erica went into the dining room, and shut the swinging doors for privacy.
“Good morning, Erica. I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“No, we were just finishing our breakfast. How are you?”
“Just fine.” He sounded fine and pleasantly relaxed. “Enjoy your dinner last night?”
“Not exactly. It’s a long story. I’ll tell you about it some other time.” She blushed, suddenly feeling she’d been too forward by implying there might be a future time they’d be together.
“I’d like to hear all about it. And I’ve something to discuss with you—an idea that just occurred to me. I’m curious to find out what you think.”
A chill went through her heart. There he went again, scaring her. “What is it?” she asked breathlessly. “Do you know who—?”
“Nothing for you to worry about,” he cut in smoothly. “It was only a thought.” His voice quickened. “Are you free tomorrow? I don’t have to work until the evening. I was hoping I could see you.”
“Tomorrow’s great,” she answered. “I’ve nothing planned.” She pushed open the door and found Aunt Constance standing there, eavesdropping unashamedly to Erica’s end of the conversation.
“Great! Then we have the entire day to ourselves. How about I pick you up at nine, and we drive into Manhattan?”
“I’d like that very much,” she said, ignoring Aunt Constance’s snort of disapproval. An entire day with Doug. “I’ll set my alarm clock.”
“Do that,” he quipped. “I’m always on time.”
She heard voices in the background.
“Hold it a second.” When he spoke again, his manner was brusque. “I have to go now. See you tomorrow.”
The phone clicked, and he was gone.
Too bad their conversation had been cut short by what was obviously an unexpected interruption. Still, Doug had called, and they were going to spend all of tomorrow together. She was grinning as she returned to the kitchen.
“I gather you’re going out with Doug Remsen.”
She was taken aback by the hostility in her aunt’s voice. “Yes, I am,” she forced herself to answer civilly. “Why are you so angry?”
“If I’d known what I know now, I wouldn’t have given him the right time of day when he called asking for you on Friday.”
“What do you mean?” Her face was burning and must be blazing red. Aunt Constance knew!
“I happened to mention his name to Sherman, and the poor man nearly had a fit.” Aunt Constance glared at her niece. “Sherman knew who he was, all right. He told me your Mr. Doug Remsen’s a strong arm for some gangster—a most unsavory character—and if you were his daughter, he’d forbid you to have anything to do with the man.”
“Forbid me?” This time she made no attempt to contain her outrage. “And did your precious Sherman tell you what kind of dealings he has with Doug’s boss? No, of course not. I tell you, I’m sick and tired of Sherman Hartley meddling in my affairs. The day I sign all those legal papers is the last time I ever set eyes on that pompous fool!”
“Sherman’s only looking out for your own good,” Constance said sternly, “and that’s not the issue at hand. How do you know this man?”
Flustered, Erica said, “I told you. He knew Terry. Through business.”
“Business? Hah!”
Arms crossed, Aunt Constance resembled an unforgiving Buddha. In the pulsating silence, Erica gave a start as the motor of the old refrigerator clicked on. She felt twelve years old again. Guilty and unsure of herself before the implacable stare of her aunt.
“Look, Aunt Constance,” she began nervously, “you don’t know anything about Terry or Doug.”
“Tell me. I’m listening.” Her aunt's voice was icy.
Erica searched for the right words, and couldn’t find them. “I can’t. It’s too complicated and you wouldn’t understand,” she finished lamely.
It was the worst thing she could have said.
“I wouldn’t understand?” Her aunt’s eyes fairly bulged out of their sockets. “I’m tired of people telling me I won’t understand. First Betty, now you. I’m not stupid. I’m not incompetent.” She pounded the table to emphasize her point, and made the dishes rattle. “Do you think that just because I have a touch of heart trouble I’m to be treated like a child? Well, do you?” Her fierce expression demanded an answer.
“No,” Erica mumbled. She wanted to throw her arms around Aunt Constance’s massive shoulders and stop her from upsetting herself. Erica’s anxiety for her aunt’s health mounted. Her palms grew moist, her heartbeat accelerated. Aunt Constance shouldn’t be carrying on this way. What if she had a heart attack right now? What could she do to save her? Erica wished she weren’t the reason for her aunt’s wrath. “Please calm yourself,” she said. “It isn’t worth all this fuss.”
“Calm myself?” Her words inflamed her aunt even more. “I resent your treating me like I’m an imbecile. And I’d like to know why your face lights up like Christmas whenever this Doug Remsen—this gangster—calls.”
Erica decided to try a new tack. “Doug wants to help me. He’s looking out for my welfare. He’s the only one who’s trying—”
“Well, I like that,” Constance broke in, bellowing her outrage. “If I don’t care about you, I’d like to know who does.”
“That’s not what I mean,” Erica said doggedly. She hesitated, afraid to say too much, then decided to take the plunge. After all, she couldn’t possibly upset her aunt any more than she was right now.
“I’ve had a few accidents. Doug thinks someone close to me is trying to harm me.”
“Accidents?” Aunt Constance repeated, sounding puzzled. “This is the first time I’ve heard of any accidents.”
Reluctantly, Erica told her of the two attempts on her life. Aunt Constance remained silent for what seemed like minutes, her brow wrinkled in concentration. When she finally spoke, her voice was calm.
“This is serious, Erica. Why didn’t you tell Betty or me? Or the police?”
“I didn’t want to upset either of you. I told the police about the first incident, but I never bothered about the second since nobody saw anything and I was beginning to wonder if I’d imagined it all. And nothing’s happened since.” She bit her lip. “Doug thought I should have called them. He thinks someone here in Manordale is after me for my inheritance.”
“That’s preposterous!” Constance boomed. “The only people who stand to gain are Betty and me. I certainly wouldn’t kill you for any amount of money, and I’m willing to swear that Elizabeth, for all her faults, wouldn't, either.”
She shuffled out of the kitchen, her cloth slippers flapping against the tiles. In the hall she turned very deliberately and declared, “I’d consider the motives of your friend, Mr. Doug Remsen, if I were you. Perhaps he’s staging the ‘attempts’ on your life in order to play Hero to the Rescue. Get you to marry him out of gratitude. You’ll end up living unhappily ever after—or until he squanders your money and leaves.”
“Stop it! How could you say such a thing?”
Erica rushed after Aunt Constance, explaining that Doug wasn’t like that. She’d gotten halfway up the stairs when her aunt interrupted.
“Erica, think something through, for once in your life. This Doug Remsen’s trying to make you suspicious of people who love you, people you’ve known all your life. He’s the one who’s up to no good. Use your head, girl! It’s the only thing that makes any sense.”
Erica froze, her mouth open with unspoken rebuttals. Constance entered her bedroom and slammed the door, leaving Erica nothing to do but finish her breakfast.
But she couldn’t eat. She tossed her muffin into the garbage and stacked the dishwasher with more vigor than the task required as she seethed with indignation. Aunt Constance was worse than ever! She’d never given Erica a chance to say one word in Doug’s defense. She was prejudiced against him though she’d never met him. Thank you, Sherman Hartley.
Aunt Constance was too quick to cast Doug in the role of villain, while Erica was certain of one thing and one thing only: Doug, whatever his reasons, had her best interests at heart.
She went upstairs and knocked on her aunt's door. “I’m going out,” she said loudly. “I’ll be back around three or four.”
She waited with one ear cocked against the closed door. Nothing.
She sighed. There wasn’t anything anyone could do when Aunt Constance was in one of her sulks.
A balmy breeze ruffled her hair as she stepped outside. The lawn, she noted, was checkered with bare patches. The shrubbery needed a good pruning. She made a mental note to find an experienced gardener to revitalize the property that had once been the envy of every homeowner on the block.
And then what? Do I repair the roof, order new carpeting, replace the old refrigerator? Must I stay here?
At that, she shook her head a vigorous no. It was impossible for her to live with Aunt Constance any longer. The way that woman took offense and flew off the handle! And still insisted on telling Erica how to lead her life. There was zero privacy.
She climbed into her car and headed for town, her destination, the travel agency in the new mini mall. For the last few days, an idea had been percolating, and today she decided to give it her full attention. She would spend a month or two traveling leisurely through Europe. She’d leave in June, or even the end of May—as soon as she had access to her inheritance. A trip would be perfect. She needed to get away from Manordale, away from the schemes and manipulations of people who, for their own selfish reasons, wanted to run her life.
Her pulse quickened as she remembered visiting Paris, her only trip abroad, when she was ten years old. It had been spring, just as it was now. A scene came rushing back, as clear as a movie, of strolling down the Champs Elysées with her parents. People laughed and spoke in a language she loved hearing, though she couldn't understand a single word.
She hummed along with the radio as she drove into town, her head swarming with plans. She’d go back to Paris and see the rest of France, too. Along with England, Scotland, and Wales this time. As well as Belgium and The Netherlands. She’d take a boat trip up the Rhine. And go anywhere else she damned well pleased.
She glanced at her watch, saw it was almost eleven o’clock. Now, if only the travel agency were open.
To her delight, it was. An attractive young woman, whose long fuchsia talons matched the flowers on her tunic, became most enthusiastic when Erica explained what she wanted.
“Sounds wonderful! Do you want to take a tour or travel on your own?” the agent, who introduced herself as Nancy, asked.
Erica thought. “A bit of both.”
“Good idea. I have some tours that haven’t filled up yet. Let me get you the brochures, then you can decide what you like.”
Erica readily agreed, and spent the next two hours discussing cities, sights, connections, and hotels with Nancy. By the time she left, she was overwhelmed by the many possibilities that travel and money had opened to her. With her arms full of colorful brochures and the tentative itinerary they’d drawn up, she promised to return later in the week, after she’d sorted them all out.
“Don’t wait too long,” Nancy advised, “or we’ll lose some of the tours.”
“I don’t intend to wait,” Erica told her. “I need to get away from here.”
She felt decisive. In command of her own life once again. As soon as she left Manordale, she’d be able to put everything that had happened to her in perspective. And with no one to badger her, she’d make some serious decisions regarding the house and her future.
She tossed the brochures into her car and was about to drive off when her eye caught a red car speeding toward the far exit. It made a quick right onto the street. Where was the driver going in such a rush?
She was famished. Instead of driving off, she stayed in town for something to eat. She walked along Main Street, toward the diner where she and Aunt Betty had eaten on Friday.
There was the red car again! It slowed down as it passed her, but in the sun’s glare, she was unable to see the driver’s face. She remembered the blue car and shivered. But this one was red, not blue.
The diner was pleasantly cool. She finished off a tuna fish sandwich and treated herself to a chocolate malt. Then, she found herself back in the boutique where she’d been so successful a week ago.
Martha, the saleswoman who had previously helped her, greeted her like an old customer. She showed Erica a cotton sweater and skirt outfit that had just come in. She liked it and went to try it on.
Martha carried more new arrivals into the dressing room.
An hour later, Erica returned to her car with the sweater and skirt outfit, and three sleeveless tops. She was thoroughly pleased with herself.
She drove to the town park and walked along the nature path, then watched elementary school children play soccer. It felt good to be alone. To enjoy the pleasures that life had to offer. It was close to four o’clock when she returned home.
“Aunt Constance, I’m home,” she called out as she stepped into the house.
No one answered. The house seemed strangely silent.
She wandered through the downstairs rooms, then climbed the stairs. She dropped her brochures and packages on her bed, then peered in the bathroom and in Aunt Constance’s room. Her aunt was nowhere to be found.
Erica’s heart filled with fear. “Aunt Constance? Aunt Constance!”
She had to be here. Where could she have gone, all by herself? The basement!
Erica flew down the two flights of steps in record time. Could her aunt have fallen and hurt herself? Sprained her ankle, with no one to hear her cry for help?
She discovered a note propped up against the sugar bowl on her second tour of the house. It was brief and to the point.
Erica,
I was greatly disturbed by what you told me this morning. It pains me that you should believe either Elizabeth or I would wish to harm you. I am completely opposed to your seeing this Doug Remsen. However, you are a grown woman, and this is your house.
Given these realities, I’ve no alternative but to leave. I have made arrangements to stay with a dear friend until I can get my bearings. No need to tell you this person’s name, as I do not want you to call me. Right now, I require tranquility and the company of someone who will offer me kindness and support. Your aunt,
Constance Harding.
She tossed the note aside, torn between the urge to shake her aunt in exasperation and burst out laughing. Aunt Constance felt she had to get away! Erica appreciated the grim irony. She’d left her aunts three years ago, and today, they both took leave of her.
But she had no intention of leaving Aunt Constance’s whereabouts a secret. Who could this “dear friend” be? she wondered, as she thumbed through the telephone book for the numbers of her aunt’s organization cronies.
Mrs. Edelstein's name was crossed out and "deceased" was written beside it. Mrs. Truscott's phone number had been changed to a number in Florida, but there was still Mrs. Harris. Erica remembered meeting her years ago—a small, skin-and-bones woman with sharp, hooded eyes. Remembered, belatedly, that she was prone to hysterics.
“You say you don’t know where Constance is?” Mrs. Harris shouted into the phone. “Why, that’s terrible, simply terrible! Doesn’t Betty know where she is?”
Erica had to admit she didn’t.
“You have no idea where she’s gone to?”
She repeated that she didn’t, which was why she was calling.
“But Constance doesn’t drive any longer,” Mrs. Harris persisted.
She could only sigh and agree. When Mrs. Harris suggested that she call the police, Erica got off the phone as quickly as she could.
It occurred to her Monica might be the kind and supportive friend.
No, Erica decided, but made the call anyway. The phone rang twice, then Monica answered. There was no mistaking that coy, little-girl voice. When Erica identified herself, Monica grew excited.
“Oh, Erica, dear. I was just telling my sister how lovely you looked last night.”
Just in time, she remembered her manners. “Thank you for a lovely evening, Monica. Dinner was delicious. I shall never forget last night as long as I live.” At least the last sentence was sincere and perfectly true.
“I’m so glad, dear,” Monica cooed. “How is Constance feeling? I did try calling her earlier and got no answer, so I assumed she was feeling well enough to go out.”
“She’s fine,” she said quickly, intent on avoiding another frantic conversation. “I’ll tell her you asked after her.”
Constance wasn’t there. Erica bit back her disappointment. The Hartleys had been her last hope.
“I’d love to chat with you,” Monica was saying, “but my sister and brother-in-law are here, and we’re just about to go out to dinner. Give Betty and Constance my love.”
Erica said goodbye, grateful that there had been no need to explain that both her aunts had left home. Run away. She giggled. As if she were a horrible ogress from whom they needed to escape. Most likely, they needed a vacation from each other.
Although she was no longer as worried about Aunt Constance, Erica discovered she couldn’t relax. She paced about the house, munching cookies, switching the TV on and off. She wished there were someone she could call. The trouble was, aside from Jason, she’d made no close friends in Manordale. Doug was the only person who understood what she’d been going through these last few weeks. The only person who knew Terry and what her life with him had been like. But she didn’t want to bother Doug. She’d be seeing him tomorrow.
She felt a flush of anger as she recalled Aunt Constance’s parting shot. It wasn’t true. Doug had no designs on her. He wasn’t after her money.
Are you positive? a little voice inside her head asked. Are you absolutely certain that his motives are pure? After all, he’s not exactly an honorable, law-abiding citizen. And he’s used to taking what he wants, with little regard for the consequences.
She threw herself on the family room couch and wondered about this. Here she was, elated because she had plans with Doug, when the fact was, she knew nothing about him except that he treated her kindly and seemed genuinely concerned about her safety.
You know more than that, the little voice rasped malevolently. You know he’s a criminal, that he’s capable of violence, and that he has a terrible temper.
She shuddered. What was wrong with her that she kept falling for gamblers and gangsters? Was it some defect in her personality? Some perverse, self-destructive need to flirt with excitement because her own life was barren and drab?
A terrible thought came back. Maybe Doug had killed Terry, and he was cozying up to her out of guilt. Or to erase any suspicions she might unconsciously harbor.
“No, no, no!” she shouted aloud. “Aunt Constance is dead wrong about Doug!”
She raced to the front door and flung it open, as if fresh air was an antidote for her poisonous thoughts. The sun was still shining, but there was a decided chill in the air. She grabbed her cardigan from the hall closet and hopped into her car. It was foolish to remain in that empty house, brooding and speculating on what could be when she hadn’t a shred of evidence to back it up.
She took in an early movie, then treated herself to dinner at the new Japanese restaurant in the next town. The meal was delicious. She dawdled over her last cup of tea, much to the annoyance of the waiter, so it was dusk when she arrived home. Reluctantly, she pulled into the driveway and stood at the front door, fumbling for her ever elusive keys.
Noises came at her, loud and staccato. They sounded like firecrackers. Or bullets.
When the third shot rang out, she threw herself down on the top step. Concrete grazed her chin. She heard two more shots, then the rev of an engine, and a car speeding away.
She remained in a fetal position, panting, her legs too weak to support her.
A door slammed, and voices approached. She managed to open her eyes.
“Erica, are you all right? Are you hurt? Should I call a doctor?” Frail but determined arms helped her to her feet.
“Thanks, Mr. Garrett. I’m okay,” she whispered to her neighbor of twenty years, an elderly man with whom she exchanged greetings, but whose house she’d never entered.
“Lands’ sake, what’s going on?” Mr. Garrett’s straight-talking wife didn’t hesitate to get to the point. “We heard shots, then came rushing out to see what happened.”
“They were shots, weren’t they?” Erica asked.
Mrs. Garrett’s lips narrowed to a grimace. “They sure as hell were. I’m calling the cops, Herbert. Lousy hoodlums. We’re not even safe here in Manordale. Not even safe in our own home.”
Erica’s eyelids grew heavy. A downy cloak covered her, and she knew no more.