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Erica opened her eyes and glanced around the unfamiliar room, which reeked of camphor. Doilies were scattered about the sofa where she lay. She gasped at the sight of two policemen standing at watchful attention on either side of the living room doorway.
“She’s coming to, Herbert.” Mrs. Garrett’s excited voice echoed in Erica’s ears as though she were speaking in a tunnel. “That’s it, Erica! Wake up, girl!”
Erica brushed her neighbor’s hand from her cheek and sat up slowly. “I’m all right, Mrs. Garrett. Thank you.” She reached for her glasses, resting on the ornate wooden table.
The two policemen stepped forward. The older, shorter man addressed Erica.
“I’m Officer Frost, ma’am. If you’re up to it, we’d like to ask you a few questions.”
Mrs. Garrett was at him like a tiger protecting her young. “Leave her be! Can’t you see she’s not herself?”
“It’s all right,” Erica said quickly. “Just give me a minute.”
She shivered, remembering what had just happened. She was grateful that the Garretts had heard the shots and called the police. With her neighbors as witnesses, the police would have to take her seriously when she told them about the other attempts on her life.
“Have some water, Erica.” Mr. Garrett wove his way past the two policemen and his wife, and handed her a glass.
She sipped slowly, glad to have a moment to think. She would have to answer the officers’ questions. She wanted to answer them and help them find whoever was trying to kill her, but she would do so in the privacy of her own home.
“How did I get here?” she asked, avoiding the issue temporarily. She turned to the Garretts hovering before her. “You didn’t carry me, did you?”
Mr. Garrett shook his head. “My wife called the police and they came, quick as lightning. Since no one was home at your house, these officers brought you here.”
Erica rubbed her bruised chin. “How long have I been unconscious?”
Mrs. Garrett clucked. “Only a few minutes. Are you really all right, Erica? Feel free to rest here a while, 'til you get your bearings.”
Officer Frost gazed down at Erica. “We’d like to talk to you as soon as possible.”
“Fine,” she agreed, “but I’d like to go home now, if you don’t mind.” When she tried to stand, her knees buckled, and she sank back onto the sofa. “I’ll need a few minutes,” she murmured.
The policemen nodded and stepped back. Mrs. Garrett took their place.
“You relax and take your time,” she told Erica, then turned to glare at the two officers. “You leave her be, or I’ll call the precinct right now and file a complaint with your superior. Harassing a poor, innocent girl who almost got shot to death. Go chase after the criminals, why don’t you?”
“Now, now, Essie. Don’t take on so.” Mr. Garrett led his wife to an overstuffed chair a few feet away.
“I’m all right, Mrs. Garrett. Really, I am.” She wondered why it was her fate to have to contend with so many bossy, belligerent older women.
Ten minutes later, she felt strong enough to walk home. She thanked her neighbors and let out a yelp of surprise at the sight of several curious onlookers milling around her house. To her relief, Officer Frost’s partner sent them on their way.
She was more upset than she’d realized. Standing at her front door, she started to shake. Her hand trembled so badly, Officer Frost had to take her key and unlock the door.
But the door was unscarred. There was no damage from bullet holes, only the cracked and peeling white paint she’d faced each day of the last few weeks.
Even with two armed men at her side, she shuddered as she switched on all the downstairs lights.
Outside, two cars squealed to a halt. The doorbell rang.
Had someone managed to find her aunts? She fervently hoped so. She’d never missed them more than she did this very minute. She had never felt so vulnerable and alone.
Instead of Aunt Constance and Aunt Betty, four more uniformed officers and a plain-clothed detective entered the house. Briefly, they conferred with Officer Frost and his partner in the hall. Then, while Officer Frost remained with her, the others dispersed to examine the house and the grounds, and to question neighbors.
The detective, a bald, paunchy, middle-aged man, approached Erica.
“Hello, Mrs. Parker. I’m Detective Sawyer. Can we sit down someplace quiet where we won’t be disturbed?” He nodded to Office Frost. “Jim, join us and take notes.”
She led them to the family room, glad to leave the sight of men roaming about the house. They won’t find anything, she thought. There’s nothing to find.
“Do you know why anyone would want to shoot you?” the detective asked when the three of them were seated. His manner was mild, as though he asked this sort of question every day.
He probably did, she realized.
“I’ve no idea why someone would want to shoot me.”.
The detective stared at her with kind, soulful eyes. Basset hound eyes, she thought.
“My men are looking for bullets and bullet holes, but so far we haven’t found any.” He cocked his head, welcoming her to comment on this.
“I didn’t see any marks on the door when we came in. I could have sworn the shots were fired right behind me, so...” She stared at him fearfully, the tears building up in her voice, in her eyes. “You do believe me, don’t you? I mean, there were shots. I couldn’t have imagined it all.”
He patted her hand reassuringly. “Or course, you didn’t. Two of your neighbors heard them, as well, and called us, independent of each other.” He scrutinized her more carefully. “Why shouldn’t we believe you?”
She let out a deep sigh. She yearned to pour out her entire tale to this sympathetic man, but she was thoroughly exhausted. “It’s a long story,” she mumbled, huddling into the sofa.
“That’s okay. We’ve plenty of time.” He must have realized how distressed she was because he asked, “Would you like to drink something before we start? Is there any brandy in the house?”
She shook her head. “But I could go for some hot cocoa. Aunt Constance always makes me some when I get upset.” She remembered, suddenly, she hadn’t had any since the day after Terry’s funeral.
She closed her eyes. A policeman had come to see her then, too.
“Would you mind making me a cup of coffee?” Detective Sawyer asked, breaking into her thoughts. “I don’t mean to impose, but as long as you’re going to boil water...”
His voice startled her. Cautiously, she got to her feet. “Of course,” she said, flustered. “I should have offered.”
She felt more like herself as she performed the simple tasks of boiling water and spooning out instant coffee for two and cocoa for herself. She smiled when she realized Detective Sawyer had sent her into the kitchen to give her something to do—something easy and ordinary to calm her nerves.
He came in minutes later and sat at the kitchen table.
“I’m sorry, but it seems we’ve finished off the cake,” she apologized.
He patted his paunch. “Just as well, wouldn’t you agree?”
They both laughed. The detective sipped his coffee.
She looked at him expectantly. “Aren’t you going to ask me questions?”
“Sure. If you think you’re up to it.”
“I am.”
He called Officer Frost to join them, and began. “Did you happen to see who shot at you?”
“No,” she said promptly. “I was facing the door.” She paused. “I do remember hearing a car stop as I was about to unlock the front door, but I thought nothing of it.”
“Did you see the car?”
“No.”
Detective Sawyer sighed loudly. “Let’s try it from the other end. Can you think of anyone who would want to hurt or frighten you?”
She looked down, hoping he wouldn’t notice the blush heating her ears. “Well,” she began, wondering why she was embarrassed—no, ashamed—instead of angry. “Funny things have been happening. A friend thinks it’s because, on my birthday, which is Tuesday, I come into a large inheritance.”
She laughed nervously. “It doesn’t seem worth it all, especially since everyone’s been trying to direct my life and...and poor Terry..." She looked at the detective. "Someone murdered my husband."
"I'm so sorry."
He knew. Of course, he knew.
She blinked back unshed tears. Now was not the time for waterworks, she scolded herself. Now was the time to get the entire story out, so the police could find who was after her, and she could get on with her life.
But she found she couldn’t talk because she was hyperventilating, heaving huge gulps of air that shook her entire body. Her chest was tight.
Detective Sawyer patted her back and murmured soothing words until her breathing returned to normal. When he spoke, his voice was filled with concern.
“Mrs. Parker—Erica—there must be someone you can call. A friend or relative who could come and stay with you tonight.”
She gazed into his sorrowful eyes and sensed his sympathy. She considered calling Doug, but Aunt Constance’s retort had retained some of its sting, and she thought better of it. Much as she disliked the idea, Doug was a suspect like the others.
“There’s no one I can call. Or trust.” The last two words fell from her mouth of their own accord. “Both my aunts who live here seem to have gone away—I don’t know where—and I’m terribly afraid. I don’t want to stay alone tonight. I really don’t.”
To her disgust, tears streamed down her face. He must think I'm a high-strung, fragile neurotic, she berated herself.
“Interesting, this happening when both of them are away,” Detective Sawyer mused. “Don’t worry yourself. I’ll arrange to have two officers stay with you tonight.”
She sipped her cocoa while he made the call. Her body was heavy. She could barely hold up her head. She longed to crawl into bed and sleep.
“They’ll be here in a few minutes.” The detective gave her a crooked grin. “I called in a favor and asked for two of our best officers. I guarantee, you’ll be safe with them.”
While she was thanking him for his thoughtfulness, a policeman entered the kitchen.
“Excuse me,” Detective Sawyer said, and followed him out to the hall.
She made no attempt to catch the few audible words as they conferred in low voices. She was drained of all curiosity, of all feeling, as though the evening’s events had happened to someone else, and she was observing it all from a distance.
Detective Sawyer returned. Instead of sitting down, he reached for his coffee cup and put it in the sink.
“Are you going to ask me more questions?”
“Tomorrow morning will do, after you’ve had some rest. Unless you’ve an urgent appointment. In which case, we’ll talk later in the day.”
“No urgent appointment.” She had no intention of going out with Doug or with anyone else until this matter was settled.
“In that case, I’ll stop by around eight-thirty. My men will continue to canvas the neighborhood then. They’re out now, trying to find out if anyone saw anything. So far, nobody did, although plenty of people heard the shots.”
It was close to ten o’clock when Detective Sawyer and the six uniformed policemen drove off, leaving Erica in the charge of her “bodyguards,” as she secretly called Officers Gonzalez and Johnson. Mary Gonzalez was young, Salvadoran, and barely grazed the height requirement of the police department. But her obvious competence and firecracker personality inspired Erica with confidence, as did her tall, black, and equally young partner, Rich Johnson.
They gave the house a thorough inspection, then told her to feel free to follow her usual night-time routine. Erica was glad to escape upstairs. Although she was completely exhausted, she took one of the sedatives Aunt Constance had gotten for her when Terry had died. Then she drew her shades and prepared for bed.
The pill dulled her jangled nerves. She felt curiously at peace. There was nothing more for her to do. The police would handle everything.
Doug, she thought as she drifted off to sleep. I should have called Doug and told him not to come.
She awakened the next morning to find him gazing down at her and saying her name.
“You forgot to set your alarm,” he teased. “It’s after nine.”
She rubbed her eyes, afraid to open them again to discover she was dreaming. But she wasn’t.
Doug’s handsome face, beaming with undisguised pleasure, made her heart soar with joy. She remembered her suspicions of the night before, and her face heated. In the sunlight that blazed through the open shades, she recognized the truth. Doug might work for a gangster and carry a gun, but he would never harm her.
To mask her sudden insight, she said with mock concern, “How did you get in? I thought I was under police protection.”
She sat up suddenly, the comforter tucked about her. “Oh, my God! I’ve overslept. I’m keeping Detective Sawyer waiting.”
Mary Gonzalez sailed into the bedroom. “Morning, sleeping beauty.” She flashed Erica a grin. “We thought we’d let you sleep in, given the scare you had last night. But enough is enough. Time to get up.”
Erica nodded. “I’ll hurry and get dressed.”
“There’s fresh coffee waiting.”
When Mary left the room, Doug said, “It’s a beautiful day, Erica. A great day to stroll around Manhattan.”
“But we can’t,” she said anxiously. “Not after last night. Didn’t they tell you what happened? Someone tried to kill me. Only there aren’t any bullet holes. I’m sure the police won’t like my wandering about the city.”
“I’ve had a talk with your Detective Sawyer, and he sees no reason why we should change our plans.” He narrowed his eyes, giving him that foxy look, and observed her carefully. “That is, if you still want to.”
Her almost imperceptible nod seemed to boost his spirits even more. “Then get dressed quickly and hurry down. I’ll be waiting.”
But it was Detective Sawyer who stood waiting for Erica at the foot of the stairs. He brushed aside her apologies, and handed her a cup of coffee as he led her into the family room.
Neither Doug nor her “bodyguards” were anywhere in sight.
“We have some news for you this morning. My men went out about an hour ago. A Mr. Barclay, who lives halfway down the block, is positive he saw a blue Cadillac speeding by just after he heard the shots. Thought nothing of them, just a car backfiring. And a lady from around the corner, a Mrs. Nelson, was out walking her dog near your house. She spotted a young man in a car. Can’t swear what it was, but she noticed he held something shiny outside the driver's window as he drove past."
She stiffened. Jason! It had to be Jason playing some stupid game.
Detective Sawyer sighed. He needed a shave, and his shirt was crumpled. He looked as though he hadn’t slept all night. “Have any idea who it could be?”
He yawned, probably missing the frown that momentarily crossed her face.
“I really couldn't say,” she said primly. Why was she still defending Jason? Because she wasn’t absolutely sure he’d done it? She didn’t want to ruin his chance to start a new life?
“Still no bullets or bullet holes. The men searched high and low.” He mused. “I wonder if it could have been a starter pistol.”
She gave a snort of disgust. That clinched it! Jason had bought the damn thing in his senior year of high school, and took delight in shooting it off school grounds, and scaring everyone, until Sherman had threatened to toss it in the garbage if he didn’t stop his nonsense.
She returned from her reverie to find the detective’s eyes boring into hers. “Sound like anyone you know?” he asked.
She shook her head, claiming ignorance. Something kept her from telling this kind detective exactly what was running through her mind. Probably because she was afraid Detective Sawyer would consider it a sick joke and be disappointed with her for even knowing someone as despicable as Jason.
“Well,” he said between a sigh and a yawn, “my men have checked, and there's no evidence of bullets. It sounds like a prank to me. And you were chosen at random.” He rose from his chair with effort. “At least we can rest assured about one thing, Erica. Nobody’s out there trying to kill you.”
She grimaced. She should have told him of the two attempts on her life, but one involved an assailant wearing a Darth Vader mask, and the shove into traffic couldn't be proved. She'd feared this had been a third attempt, but it seemed it was only a prank.
“Do you think it’s all right for me to go into Manhattan?” she asked.
“Sure, I don’t see why not. Your boyfriend seems hot on the idea, and there’s no reason to stop you now.”
Her boyfriend. The words rang like chimes inside her head. They filled her with a strange delight and a determination to get on with her life.
She stood. Detective Sawyer did, too.
She led him to the front hall where Doug was waiting.
“Interrogation over?” he asked.
She nodded. “Detective Sawyer thinks I was the victim of a prank and there’s nothing to worry about. From what he’s told me, I agree.” Relieved that last night’s event hadn’t been an attempt on her life, she exclaimed, “So, let’s go to Manhattan and celebrate!”
But Doug wasn’t amused. He shifted his attention to Detective Sawyer. “I hope that doesn’t mean you’re planning to take your men off the case,” he said roughly.
“Looks that way,” Detective Sawyer answered calmly. “Any reason why I shouldn’t?”
“Erica, didn’t you tell him?"
“There's nothing to tell,” she interrupted swiftly.
"Then I will, at least, about the incident I witnessed." Doug proceeded to report what had happened with the boys at the duck pond to the detective. He finished by saying, "Jason Hartley paid them to scare Erica."
She stared at him as he spoke, wondering how he knew Jason had been responsible for the incident at the duck pond. She hadn't told him. Maybe Doug caught sight of Jason there, only he hadn't mentioned it to her for fear of upsetting her more?
Detective Sawyer listened intently to what Doug had to say. "I'll have a word with Jason Hartley," he said.
His words encouraged her to tell him about being shot at on the way to Montauk, and the shove into traffic that no one seemed to notice.
The detective's face grew grimmer as she reported each incident.
"Let's not forget Erica's about to become a very rich woman in a few days," Doug added.
“I'll follow up on everything you've told me,” Detective Sawyer said. He turned to Erica. "And you didn't think to fill us in on all this?"
"Since I have no proof, I was afraid you would tell me I was imagining things."
Detective Sawyer offered her a sad smile. "I'm sorry you felt you couldn't trust us with the truth."
As soon as the police left, Doug took her in his arms and held her tight. “Why didn’t you call me last night?” he scolded. “I told you to let me know if anything happened.”
“I was terribly frightened. Neighbors took me into their home, and I fainted. Then the police came and stayed with me all night.”
“So they told me. Where were your aunts?” he demanded. “Where are they now? It sure is a strange time for them to disappear.”
She nodded. “That’s what Detective Sawyer said. You’re beginning to sound like him."
Doug shot her a penetrating glance. “Erica, starter gun or not, you were targeted and meant to be frightened."
"I was, wasn't I?" Her nostrils flared with fury. "And I know who was behind it."
He stared, her anger obviously taking him by surprise.
She flung open the front door. “Let’s go! I’ll tell you all about it in the car.”
They were exiting the neighborhood by the time she’d finished explaining about Jason’s starter pistol. “That bastard! It was his way of getting back at me because I won’t marry him. Just like he paid those boys in the park to run into me.”
“A real upstanding guy,” Doug said sarcastically. “What’s this about his wanting to marry you? I thought he was your lifelong friend.”
“He used to be my best friend, but after last night...” She changed course to ask, “Could we please stop for some breakfast? I’m famished.”
That evoked such uproarious laughter, she feared they would crash into oncoming traffic.
“You’re an amazing woman, Erica Parker. Your stomach never stops working, no matter what.”
She directed him to the diner that had been her favorite eating place through four years of college, and was pleased when the Greek owner gave her an effusive greeting. He took their order himself.
Minutes later, all of her attention was devoted to her waffles topped with strawberries, then redirected to an oat bran muffin and numerous refills of coffee.
Doug quietly nursed his mug of black coffee.
When she sank back against the booth, a sigh of contentment from her lips, he demanded, “All right, feeding time’s over. Now explain the marriage proposal—slowly and in detail.”
She told him about the dinner at the Hartleys’, followed by Jason’s outrageous proposal.
“It was probably the worst evening of my entire life. Although,” she quickly added, “last night was a close second. I was scared out of my wits.” She smiled. “But, thank God it’s over.”
“Is it?” Doug looked glum. “You really should have asked the detective for police protection for the next few days. At least until your aunts return home.”
“Nonsense. I’m not afraid of Jason. I’ll deal with him later.”
“Don’t underestimate him, Erica. He’s not the little friend you seem to remember, someone you can influence or coax to do the right thing. He seems to have developed some despicable habits. And he’s obviously angry at you.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she promised. “But I can’t help being happy right now, knowing it was only Jason. And,” she lowered her voice, “because I’ll be spending the day with you.”
“Agreed,” he said and took her hand in his. “But there’s something I want to tell you before we drop the subject. Friday night, my boss mentioned something about having a painting to show someone out on Long Island. Someone from this general area.”
“So?” she asked, quizzically.
He laughed. “Mr. B’s no art collector. Any works of art that come his way are either payoffs or stolen goods. He didn’t mention any names, but he acts as a middleman for only two people I can think of—a high school principal who’s a friend from the old neighborhood and Sherman Hartley.”
“The principal’s name isn’t Jennings, is it?” she asked before she even knew what she was thinking.
He stared at her in amazement. “How on earth did you know that?”
She shivered. “Ron Jennings is Aunt Betty’s boyfriend. She told me his wife's illness ate up all their savings. Now I’m beginning to wonder." She paused as her old habit of refusing to consider unpleasant possibilities took over.
"Go on," Doug urged none too gently.
"He stopped to talk to me when I was in town the other day. I didn't know who he was until he told me his name and that he was Aunt Betty's principal. I'd only met him a few times, and that was over three years ago." She bit her lip.
"And?"
"It was the same day someone pushed me into traffic."
"Did you see him at the scene?"
She shook her head. "No, but I can't help thinking he probably sees me as a cash cow, since Aunt Betty asked me straight out for money. And don't forget, if I die, she inherits millions. The fact that your boss is his art supplier tells me Mr. Ron Jennings doesn't hesitate to break laws to get what he wants.”
He shot her a look of pure admiration. “I'm impressed by your observations and deductions about Jennings. I agree, he's a possible suspect, along with your Aunt Betty. But what about Sherman Hartley?” He scratched his chin. “Where's he getting all the dough to buy expensive artwork? Because if Mr. B’s involved, you can be sure it’s costing him a bundle.”
“I don’t know what you’re getting at,” she said primly. “Much as I dislike Sherman, he’s compulsively honest. As for his money, he’s a prominent lawyer with excellent connections. And he commands high fees.”
“He’s probably been making a pretty penny off your estate.”
“Doug!” She was shocked. “Not Sherman.”
“Well, someone’s after your money,” he said gruffly. “It would help if we could figure out who it is.” He scooped up their check and left a tip. “Let’s go.”
He strode to the cashier, leaving her to follow in his wake.
They drove along the expressway without speaking. She sensed he was annoyed with her, but she was reluctant to ask why. Finally, he broke the silence.
“You’re a gutsy, intelligent woman, but sometimes you act like a brainless fool.”
“Thanks a lot,” she said sarcastically, though his words cut her to the quick.
“Someone tried to kill you. Twice. You can't pick and choose suspects because of your past history with them, be it one of your aunts, Ron Jennings, Jason, his father, or Jason's stepmother.”
Was he right? Was the fact that someone wanted her dead so difficult to accept that she'd resorted to the old habit of sticking her head in the sand?
He let out a mirthless laugh. “Isn’t that how you managed to avoid finding out Terry was a gambler?”
"It is," she admitted. "I suppose part of me is so relieved that, last night, no one shot at me with bullets, I managed to downplay the other incidents, as well. Besides, looking at the situation with Aunt Constance’s excellent sense of drama, if someone wanted me dead, I’d be dead by now, and I’m not!”
Doug frowned, apparently deep in thought. After a minute, he mused, “The key is finding out who Terry knew. Then we could be on our guard.”
“And do what?” She put her hand on his arm. “Please, let’s not talk about it anymore,” she pleaded. “We keep rehashing, and nothing comes of it. Detective Sawyer will question Jason and look into the two attempts on my life."
"I do believe he'll do just that. He strikes me as a good detective."
For the rest of the ride, they made light conversation. She told him about the trip she was planning to take through Europe. To her surprise, he suggested many sites.
They crossed the Fifty-Ninth Street Bridge. He thought they might stroll along the Promenade, the lovely walkway that ran along the East River. She eagerly agreed. She hadn’t strolled the Promenade since she was a child.
They parked near Gracie Mansion and walked south, down through the Eighties and Seventies. They passed elderly men and women sunning themselves on benches. Young mothers and nannies wheeled baby carriages and strollers, while preschoolers scampered just beyond their guardians’ reach.
In spite of the No Dogs Allowed signs, there were almost as many dogs on the Promenade as there were people, of every size and breed. One Maltipoo pranced up to them to sniff Erica’s sandals. She knelt to pet him.
“Dogs, children, people,” she said, laughing. “Exactly what you find in suburbia, only here it all seems more glamorous.”
They walked hand-in-hand. “You could live in Manhattan if you wanted,” Doug said. He seemed to be waiting for an answer.
She thought a bit. “You’re right, of course. I keep forgetting the many options suddenly open to me.” She grinned. “I wouldn’t mind having a duplex apartment in a luxury building. With a balcony overlooking the river. And a rooftop health club, where I could swim laps as I gazed up at the sky.”
“Evenings at the theater and the ballet. Weekends in Europe,” he teased.
She sighed. “It sounds exciting and, I must admit, very appealing. But it’s not really what I’d like.”
“It isn’t?”
Did she detect a sigh of relief? Impulsively, she squeezed his hand. “What I want most of all is an old-fashioned life—husband, children, house. And work, of course. A good editorial position at a prestigious magazine, where I could freelance when the children are small.”
As they walked along, she searched for the proper words. “I need love and stability and a sense of continuity. For me, that’s what life is all about.”
He smiled. “Sounds good to me.”
They continued on in companionable silence, finally stopping to gaze out at the East River.
She brushed her forehead against his arm. “I hate to admit this,” she said softly, “but I have to tell someone, and it seems that someone is you.”
When she hesitated, he put his arm around her and drew her closer.
“I doubt I could have stayed married to Terry.” She laughed softly. “He was handsome and sexy, but not the right husband for me. I know that now.” She slipped her arm around Doug’s waist. Standing like that felt comfortable. Right. “I feel terrible about what happened to him, and I do miss him. No other man had paid that much attention to me before. I was flattered and...”
“And?” he encouraged.
She laughed, suddenly amused. “And I thought how shocked my aunts would be if they could see me riding behind Terry on his motorcycle.” She covered her mouth and looked up at him. “Isn’t that awful?”
His answer was to take off her glasses and kiss her.
Afterward, he led her to an empty bench. “Let’s sit here a minute,” he said. “I’ve something to tell you. Something I feel you can handle now.”
Curious, she sat down and watched him expectantly. Was he about to tell her he cared about her, but they came from two different worlds...
“Erica, Terry said something else that Monday night before he died, something I didn’t mention for fear it would devastate you. But now, I think you should know.”
“Know what?” Her heart beat rapidly.
He took a deep breath. “Terry said he was paid to marry you.”
“Paid?” she repeated stupidly. “Who would pay him to marry me?”
“Someone in Manordale. He wouldn’t say who.”
“But why would someone go to all that trouble?”
“To keep an eye on you.”
She forcibly swallowed, afraid to ask her next question. “Do you think this person wanted Terry to kill me?”
He shook his head. “I don’t think so, but I know one thing. Terry loved you, Erica. His decision to leave you was the noblest thing he ever did in his life.”
Her eyes welled. “And he paid for it with his life.” She sobbed softly, making no attempt to wipe away the tears falling on her lap.
“So, you see, sweet Erica, you were loved after all,” he whispered, holding her close. “And you still are.”
He reached in his pocket and handed her his handkerchief. “Next time, I must remember to bring two of these.”