Keeper of the Bride
Today she’d been handed a heaping dish of crow, and she’d eaten it just fine, thank you. Without a whimper.
Surprising, surprising woman.
He could hardly wait to hear what Dr. Robert Bledsoe had to say about her.
IT WAS AFTER five o’clock when Nina finally emerged from her mother’s guest bedroom. Calm, composed, she was now wearing jeans and a T-shirt. She’d left her wedding dress hanging in the closet; she didn’t even want to look at it again. Too many bad memories had attached themselves like burrs to the fabric.
Downstairs she found her mother sitting alone in the living room, nursing a highball. Detective Navarro was gone. Lydia raised the drink to her lips, and by the clinking of ice cubes in the glass, Nina could tell that Lydia’s hands were shaking.
“Mother?” said Nina.
At the sound of her daughter’s voice, Lydia’s head jerked up. “You startled me.”
“I think I’ll be leaving now. Are you all right?”
“Yes. Yes, of course.” Lydia gave a shudder. Then she added, almost as an afterthought, “How about you?”
“I’ll be okay. I just need some time. Away from Robert.”
Mother and daughter looked at each other for a moment, neither one speaking, neither one knowing what to say. This was the way things had always been between them. Nina had grown up hungry for affection. Her mother had always been too self-absorbed to grant it. And this was the result: the silence of two women who scarcely knew or understood each other. The distance between them couldn’t be measured by years, but by universes.
Nina watched her mother take another deep swallow of her drink. “How did it go?” she asked. “With you and that detective?”
Lydia shrugged. “What’s there to say? He asked questions, I answered them.”
“Did he tell you anything? About who might have done it?”
“No. He was tight as a clam. Not much in the way of charm.”
Nina couldn’t disagree. She’d known ice cubes that were warmer than Sam Navarro. But then, the man was just doing his job. He wasn’t paid to be charming.
“You can stay for dinner, if you’d like,” said Lydia. “Why don’t you? I’ll have the cook—”
“That’s all right, Mother. Thank you, anyway.”
Lydia looked up at her. “It’s because of Edward, isn’t it?”
“No, Mother. Really.”
“That’s why you hardly ever visit. Because of him. I wish you could get to like him.” Lydia sighed and looked down at her drink. “He’s been very good to me, very generous. You have to grant him that much.”
When Nina thought of her stepfather, generous was not the first adjective that came to mind. No, ruthless would be the word she’d choose. Ruthless and controlling. She didn’t want to talk about Edward Warrenton.
She turned and started toward the door. “I have to get home and pack my things. Since it’s obvious I’ll be moving out.”
“Couldn’t you and Robert patch things up somehow?”
“After today?” Nina shook her head.
“If you just tried harder? Maybe it’s something you could talk about. Something you could change.”
“Mother. Please.”
Lydia sank back. “Anyway,” she said, “you are invited to dinner. For what it’s worth.”
“Maybe some other time,” Nina said softly. “Bye, Mother.”
She heard no answer as she walked out the front door.
Her Honda was parked at the side of the house, where she’d left it that morning. The morning of what should have been her wedding. How proudly Lydia had smiled at her as they’d sat together in the limousine! It was the way a mother should look at her daughter. The way Lydia never had before.
And probably never would again.
That ride to the church, the smiles, the laughter, seemed a lifetime away. She started the Honda and pulled out of her mother’s driveway.
In a daze she drove south, toward Hunts Point. Toward Robert’s house. What had been their house. The road was winding, and she was functioning on automatic pilot, steering without thought along the curves. What if Robert hadn’t really left town? she thought. What if he’s home? What would they say to each other?
Try: goodbye.
She gripped the steering wheel and thought of all the things she’d like to tell him. All the ways she felt used and betrayed. A whole year kept going through her head. One whole bloody year of my life.
Only as she swung past Smugglers Cove did she happen to glance in the rearview mirror. A black Ford was behind her. The same Ford that had been there a few miles back, near Delano Park. At any other time, she would have thought nothing of it. But today, after the possibilities Detective Navarro had raised…
She shook off a vague sense of uneasiness and kept driving. She turned onto Ocean House Drive.
The Ford did too. There was no reason for alarm. Ocean House Drive was, after all, a main road in the neighborhood. Another driver might very well have reason to turn onto it as well.
Just to ease her anxiety, she took the left turnoff, toward Peabbles Point. It was a lonely road, not heavily traveled. Here’s where she and the Ford would surely part company.
The Ford took the same turnoff.
Now she was getting frightened.
She pressed the accelerator. The Honda gained speed. At fifty miles per hour, she knew she was taking the curves too fast, but she was determined to lose the Ford. Only she wasn’t losing him. He had sped up, too. In fact, he was gaining on her.
With a sudden burst of speed, the Ford roared up right beside her. They were neck and neck, taking the curves in parallel.
He’s trying to run me off the road! she thought.
She glanced sideways, but all she could see through the other car’s tinted window was the driver’s silhouette. Why are you doing this? she wanted to scream at him. Why?
The Ford suddenly swerved toward her. The thump of the other car’s impact almost sent the Honda spinning out of control. Nina fought to keep her car on course.
Her fingers clamped more tightly around the wheel. Damn this lunatic! She had to shake him off.
She hit the brakes.
The Ford shot ahead—only momentarily. It quickly slowed as well and was back beside her, swerving, bumping.
She managed another sideways glance. To her surprise, the Ford’s passenger window had been rolled down. She caught a glimpse of the driver—a male. Dark hair. Sunglasses.
In the next instant her gaze shot forward to the road, which crested fifty yards ahead.
Another car had just cleared the crest and was barreling straight toward the Ford.
Tires screeched. Nina felt one last violent thump, felt the sting of shattering glass against her face. Then suddenly she was soaring sideways.
She never lost consciousness. Even as the Honda flew off the road. Even as it tumbled over and over across shrubbery and saplings.
It came to a rest, upright, against a maple tree.
Though fully awake, Nina could not move for a moment. She was too stunned to feel pain, or even fear. All she felt was amazement that she was still alive.
Then, gradually, an awareness of discomfort seeped through the layers of shock. Her chest hurt, and her shoulder. It was the seat belt. It had saved her life, but it had also bruised her ribs.
Groaning, she pressed the belt release and felt herself collapse forward, against the steering wheel.
“Hey! Hey, lady!”
Nina turned to see a face anxiously peering through the window. It was an elderly man. He yanked open her door. “Are you all right?” he asked.
“I’m—I think so.”
“I’d better call an ambulance.”
“No, I’m fine. Really, I am.” She took a deep breath. Her chest was sore, but that seemed to be her only injury. With the old man’s help, she climbed out of the car. Though a little unsteady, she was able to stand. She was shocked by the damage.
Her car was a mess. The driver’s door had been bashed in, the window was shattered, and the front fender was peeled off entirely.
She turned and glanced toward the road. “There was another car,” she said. “A black one—”
“You mean that damn fool who tried to pass you?”
“Where is it?”
“Took off. You oughta report that fella. Probably drunk as a skunk.”
Drunk? Nina didn’t think so. Shivering, she hugged herself and stared at the road, but she saw no sign of another car.
The black Ford had vanished.
Chapter Three
GORDON GILLIS looked up from his burger and fries. “Anything interesting?” he asked.
“Not a damn thing.” Sam hung his jacket up on the coatrack and sank into a chair behind his desk, where he sat wearily rubbing his face.
“How’s the minister doing?”
“Fine, so far. Doctors doubt it’s a heart attack. But they’ll keep him in for a day, just to be sure.”
“He didn’t have any ideas about the bombing?”
“Claims he has no enemies. And everyone I talked to seems to agree that Reverend Sullivan is a certifiable saint.” Groaning, Sam leaned back. “How ‘bout you?”
Gillis peeled off the hamburger wrapper and began to eat as he talked. “I interviewed the best man, the matron of honor and the florist. No one saw anything.”
“What about the church janitor?”
“We’re still trying to locate him. His wife says he usually gets home around six. I’ll send Cooley over to talk to him.”
“According to Reverend Sullivan, the janitor opens the front doors at 7:00 a.m. And the doors stay open all day. So anyone could’ve walked in and left a package.”
“What about the night before?” asked Gillis. “What time did he lock the doors?”
“The church secretary usually locks up. She’s a part-timer. Would’ve done it around 6:00 p.m. Unfortunately, she left for vacation this morning. Visiting family in Massachusetts. We’re still trying to get hold of…” He paused.
Gillis’s telephone was ringing. Gillis turned to answer it. “Yeah, what’s up?”
Sam watched as his partner scribbled something on a notepad, then passed it across the desk. Trundy Point Road was written on the paper.
A moment later, Gillis said, “We’ll be there,” and hung up. He was frowning.
“What is it?” asked Sam.
“Report just came in from one of the mobile units. It’s about the bride. The one at the church today.”
“Nina Cormier?”
“Her car just went off the road near Trundy Point.”
Sam sat up straight in alarm. “Is she all right?”
“She’s fine. They wouldn’t have called us at all, but she insisted they notify us.”
“For an accident? Why?” “She says it wasn’t an accident. She says someone tried to run her off the road.”
HER RIBS HURT, her shoulder was sore, and her face had a few cuts from flying glass. But at least her head was perfectly clear. Clear enough for her to recognize the man stepping out of that familiar blue Taurus that had just pulled up at the scene. It was that sullen detective, Sam Navarro. He didn’t even glance in her direction.
Through the gathering dusk, Nina watched as he spoke to a patrolman. They conversed for a few moments. Then, together, the two men tramped through the underbrush to view the remains of her car. As Sam paced a slow circle around the battered Honda, Nina was reminded of a stalking cat. He moved with an easy, feline grace, his gaze focused in complete concentration. At one point he stopped and crouched to look at something on the ground. Then he rose to his feet and peered more closely at the driver’s window. Or what was left of the window. He prodded the broken glass, then opened the door and climbed into the front seat. What on earth was he looking for? She could see his dark hair bobbing in and out of view. Now he seemed to be crawling all over the interior, and into the back seat. It was a good thing she had nothing to hide in there. She had no doubt that the sharp-eyed Detective Navarro could spot contraband a mile away.
At last he reemerged from her car, his hair tousled, his trousers wrinkled. He spoke again to the patrolman. Then he turned and looked in her direction.
And began to walk toward her.
At once she felt her pulse quickening. Something about this man both fascinated and frightened her. It was more than just his physical presence, which was impressive enough. It was also the way he looked at her, with a gaze that was completely neutral. That inscrutability unnerved her. Most men seemed to find Nina attractive, and they would at least make an attempt to be friendly.
This man seemed to regard her as just another homicide victim in the making. Worth his intellectual interest, but that was all.
She straightened her back and met his gaze without wavering as he approached.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“A few bruises. A few cuts. That’s all.”
“You’re sure you don’t want to go to the ER? I can drive you.”
“I’m fine. I’m a nurse, so I think I’d know.”
“They say doctors and nurses make the worst patients. I’ll drive you to the hospital. Just to be sure.”
She gave a disbelieving laugh. “That sounds like an order.”
“As a matter of fact, it is.”
“Detective, I really think I’d know if I was…”
She was talking to his back. The man had actually turned his back to her. He was already walking away, toward his car. “Detective!” she called.
He glanced over his shoulder. “Yes?”
“I don’t—This isn’t—” She sighed. “Oh, never mind,” she muttered, and followed him to his car. There was no point arguing with the man. He’d just turn his back on her again. As she slid into the passenger seat, she felt a sharp stab of pain in her chest. Maybe he was right after all. She knew it could take hours, or even days, for injuries to manifest themselves. She hated to admit it, but Mr. Personality was probably right about this trip to the ER.
She was too uncomfortable to say much as they drove to the hospital. It was Sam who finally broke the silence.
“So, can you tell me what happened?” he asked.
“I already gave a statement. It’s all in the police report. Someone ran me off the road.”
“Yes, a black Ford, male driver. Maine license plate.”
“Then you’ve been told the details.”
“The other witness said he thought it was a drunk driver trying to pass you on the hill. He didn’t think it was deliberate.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know what to think anymore.”
“When did you first see the Ford?”
“Somewhere around Smugglers Cove, I guess. I noticed that it seemed to be following me.”
“Was it weaving? Show any signs of driver impairment?”
“No. It was just…following me.”
“Could it have been behind you earlier?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Is it possible it was there when you left your mother’s house?”
She frowned at him. He wasn’t looking at her, but was staring straight ahead. The tenor of his questions had taken a subtle change of course. He had started out sounding noncommittal. Maybe even skeptical. But this last question told her he was considering a possibility other than a drunk driver. A possibility that left her suddenly chilled.
“Are you suggesting he was waiting for me?”
“I’m just exploring the possibilities.”
“The other policeman thought it was a drunk driver.”
“He has his opinion.”
“What’s your opinion?”
He didn’t answer. He just kept driving in that maddeningly calm way of his. Did the man ever show any emotion? Once, just once, she’d like to see something get under that thick skin of his.
“Detective Navarro,” she said. “I pay taxes. I pay your salary. I think I deserve more than just a brush-off.”
“Oh. The old civil servant line.”
“I’ll use whatever line it takes to get an answer out of you!”
“I’m not sure you want to hear my answer.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“I made a brief inspection of your car. What I found there backs up quite a bit of what you just told me. There were black paint chips on the driver’s side, indicating that the vehicle that rammed yours was, indeed, black.”
“So I’m not color blind.”
“I also noticed that the driver’s window was shattered. And that the breakage was in a starburst pattern. Not what I’d expect for a rollover accident.”
“That’s because the window was already broken when I went off the road.”
“How do you know?”
“I remember I felt flying glass. That’s how I cut my face. When the glass hit me. That was before I rolled over.”
“Are you sure?” He glanced at her. “Absolutely sure?”
“Yes. Does it make a difference?”
He let out a breath. “It makes a lot of difference,” he said softly. “It also goes along with what I found in your car.”
“In my car?” Perplexed, she shook her head. “What, exactly, did you find?”
“It was in the right passenger door—the door that was jammed against the tree. The metal was pretty crumpled; that’s why the other cops didn’t notice it. But I knew it was there somewhere. And I found it.”
“Found what?”
“A bullet hole.”
Nina felt the blood drain from her face. She couldn’t speak; she could only sit in shocked silence, her world rocked by the impact of his words.
He continued talking, his tone matter-of-fact. Chillingly so. He’s not human, she thought. He’s a machine. A robot.
“The bullet must have hit your window,” he said, “just to the rear of your head. That’s why the glass shattered. Then the bullet passed at a slightly forward angle, missed you completely, and made a hole in the plastic molding of the opposite door, where it’s probably still lodged. It’ll be retrieved. By tonight, we’ll know the caliber. And possibly the make of the gun. What I still don’t know—what you’ll have to tell me—is why someone’s trying to kill you.”
She shook her head. “It’s a mistake.”
“This guy’s going to a lot of trouble. He’s bombed a church. Tailed you. Shot at you. There’s no mistake.”
“There has to be!”
“Think of every possible person who might want to hurt you. Think, Nina.”
“I told you, I don’t have any enemies!”
“You must have.”
“I don’t! I don’t…” She gave a sob and clutched her head in her hands. “I don’t,” she whispered.
After a long silence he said, gently, “I’m sorry. I know how hard it is to accept—”
“You don’t know.” She raised her head and looked at him. “You have no idea, Detective. I’ve always thought people liked me. Or—at least—they didn’t hate me. I try so hard to get along with everyone. And now you’re telling me there’s someone out there—someone who wants to…” She swallowed and stared ahead, at the darkening road.
Sam let the silence stretch on between them. He knew she was in too fragile a state right now to press her with more questions. And he suspected she was hurting more, both physically and emotionally, than she was letting on. Judging by the condition of her car, her body had taken a brutal beating this afternoon.
In the ER, he paced the waiting room while Nina was examined by the doctor on duty. A few X rays later, she emerged looking even more pale than when she’d entered. It was reality sinking in, he thought. The danger was genuine, and she couldn’t deny it any longer.
Back in his car, she sat in numb silence. He kept glancing sideways at her, waiting for her to burst into tears, into hysteria, but she remained unnervingly quiet. It concerned him. This wasn’t healthy.
He said, “You shouldn’t be alone tonight. Is there somewhere you can go?”
Her response was barely a shrug.
“Your mother’s?” he suggested. “I’ll take you home to pack a suitcase and—”
“No. Not my mother’s,” she murmured.
“Why not?”
“I…don’t want to make things…uncomfortable for her.”
“For her?” He frowned. “Pardon me for asking this, but isn’t that what mothers are for? To pick us up and dust us off?”
“My mother’s marriage isn’t…the most supportive one around.”
“She can’t welcome her own daughter home?”
“It’s not her home, Detective. It’s her husband’s. And he doesn’t approve of me. To be honest, the feeling’s mutual.” She gazed straight ahead, and in that moment, she struck him as so very brave. And so very alone.
“Since the day they got married, Edward Warren-ton has controlled every detail of my mother’s life. He bullies her, and she takes it without a whimper. Because his money makes it all worthwhile for her. I just couldn’t stand watching it any longer. So one day I told him off.”
“Sounds like that’s exactly what you should have done.”
“It didn’t do a thing for family harmony. I’m sure that’s why he went on that business trip to Chicago. So he could conveniently skip my wedding.” Sighing, she tilted her head back against the headrest. “I know I shouldn’t be annoyed with my mother, but I am. I’m annoyed that she’s never stood up to him.”
“Okay. So I don’t take you to your mother’s house. What about dear old dad? Do you two get along?”
She gave a nod. A small one. “I suppose I could stay with him.”
“Good. Because there’s no way I’m going to let you be alone tonight.” The sentence was scarcely out of his mouth when he realized he shouldn’t have said it. It sounded too much as if he cared, as if feeling were getting mixed up with duty. He was too good a cop, too cautious a cop, to let that happen.
He could feel her surprised gaze through the darkness of the car.
In a tone colder than he’d intended, he said, “You may be my only link to this bombing. I need you alive and well for the investigation.”
“Oh. Of course.” She looked straight ahead again. And she didn’t say another word until they’d reached her house on Ocean View Drive.
As soon as he’d parked, she started to get out of the car. He reached for her arm and pulled her back inside. “Wait.”
“What is it?”
“Just sit for a minute.” He glanced up and down the road, scanning for other cars, other people. Anything at all suspicious. The street was deserted.
“Okay,” he said. He got out and circled around to open her door. “Pack one suitcase. That’s all we have time for.”
“I wasn’t planning to bring along the furniture.”
“I’m just trying to keep this short and sweet. If someone’s really looking for you, this is where they’ll come. So let’s not hang around, all right?”
That remark, meant to emphasize the danger, had its intended effect. She scooted out of the car and up the front walk in hyperspeed. He had to convince her to wait on the porch while he made a quick search of the house.
A moment later he poked his head out the door. “All clear.”
While she packed a suitcase, Sam wandered about the living room. It was an old but spacious house, tastefully furnished, with a view of the sea. Just the sort of house one would expect a doctor to live in. He went over to the grand piano—a Steinway—and tapped out a few notes. “Who plays the piano?” he called out.
“Robert,” came the answer from the bedroom. “Afraid I have a tin ear.”
He focused on a framed photograph set on the piano. It was a shot of a couple, smiling. Nina and some blond, blue-eyed man. Undoubtedly Robert Bledsoe. The guy, it seemed, had everything: looks, money and a medical degree. And the woman. A woman he no longer wanted. Sam crossed the room to a display of diplomas, hanging on the wall. All of them Robert Bledsoe’s. Groton prep. B.A. Dartmouth. M.D. Harvard. Dr. Bledsoe was Ivy League all the way. He was every mother’s dream son-in-law. No wonder Lydia Warrenton had urged her daughter to patch things up.
The phone rang, the sound so abrupt and startling, Sam felt an instant rush of adrenaline.
“Should I get it?” Nina asked. She was standing in the doorway, her face drawn and tense.
He nodded. “Answer it.”
She crossed to the telephone. After a second’s hesitation, she picked up the receiver. He moved right beside her, listening, as she said, “Hello?”