Married to a Stranger Read online

  “That was good of her,” said Emma.

  “Oh, and I remembered that um…your wedding presents were all still at the inn. So, we brought them over here for you.” She pointed to the silver and gold wrapped and beribboned boxes, which were now piled in front of the cold hearth.

  “Thanks, Mom. That was thoughtful,” said Emma.

  David came back into the house, carrying the bags. Emma gave him a wan smile and nodded encouragement as he mounted the stairs. Then she put a hand on her stomach and closed her eyes briefly.

  “Those reporters act like a bunch of mad dogs,” said Kay.

  Emma sighed. “It’s what they get paid for.”

  “Honey, can I get you a cup of tea?” Kay asked.

  “I’m fine,” Emma said.

  Rory came over and perched on the edge of the armchair across from Emma. “You’re not fine,” said Rory in a low voice. “From what the police and the doctors told your mother, it’s a miracle you’re still alive.”

  “Actually, I’m alive because Claude Mathis came to my rescue. And got killed for his kindness.” Emma shook her head. “I’ve been thinking about this. I want to do something for his family. His son. He has a teenage son. I want you to arrange for some financial support for the boy. Just move it from one of my investment accounts.”

  “There will be plenty of time for that when you’re feeling better,” said Rory in a placating tone.

  “That family is suffering. I want you to do it right away,” Emma insisted.

  “You might want to give some further thought to the actual arrangements. Do you want a trust account or a small investment portfolio or—”

  “Isn’t this your area of expertise? Please, just take care of it,” Emma cried.

  “All right,” said Rory. “All right. Of course. Consider it done. I’ll get the papers together.”

  “Thank you,” said Emma.

  Kay rubbed her tanned, well-manicured hands together. “Emma, Rory and I have been talking this over and…we think it might be best if you came home with us. Come back to Chicago with us, where we can take care of you.”

  “This is my home. I’m fine right here, Mom,” Emma said.

  Kay and Rory exchanged a glance.

  “What?” Emma asked indignantly. “What’s the look for?”

  “Nothing. I would just feel that you’re safer if you were with us,” Kay said.

  “David will take care of me,” said Emma.

  “We don’t know David that well,” said Kay.

  “He’s my husband, Mother,” Emma said in a sharp tone.

  “Don’t take that tone with your mother, now. She’s only thinking of your well-being. Let me tell you something,” Rory said, pointing his index finger at Emma, “from a man’s perspective. A lot of men don’t view pregnancy the same way that women do. They start thinking about the good old days when they were free and irresponsible. Maybe your husband had second thoughts about this marriage.”

  Emma’s mouth dropped open. “What are you saying…?”

  “I’m just telling you what the police are saying,” said Rory.

  “How dare you?” said Emma. “You, of all people.”

  Rory stared at her without flinching. Kay did not seem to notice. She reached for Emma’s wrist. Emma made a fist. “Come home with us, Em,” Kay crooned. “Stay with us until…they’ve made an arrest. It will give me a chance to fuss over you. You’re in no condition to work. It won’t be for that long. We’ll take good care of you. It’ll be fun. Like old times.”

  Emma stared at her mother in disbelief. “I’m not going anywhere. This is insulting. I don’t need to go anywhere. This is my house.”

  “We just want to protect you, Emma,” Rory insisted.

  “I don’t need your protection.”

  “Sweetheart,” Kay protested. “Look at yourself. You certainly do need protection. You were nearly killed.”

  “By some maniac in the Pinelands,” Emma cried. “Not by my husband.”

  Kay’s eyes glistened. “Oh please, honey. Let me help you.”

  David came down the stairs and into the living room. He glared at Kay and Rory. “We don’t need your help. Pardon me for eavesdropping, but I don’t appreciate being slandered in my own home. This is my house, and you two should be leaving.”

  “David,” said Emma. “My mother didn’t mean any harm.”

  “Do you agree with them? Do you want to go with them?” he cried. “I mean, if you think they’re right, then go ahead.”

  Rory stood up stiffly. “Kay,” he said, “I think we should be going.”

  “Sweetie, please,” Kay pleaded.

  Emma looked down at her hands in her lap and shook her head.

  “At least hire a nurse who can take proper care of you.”

  “I can take of her,” David insisted.

  “That’s right, Mom,” said Emma. “I have David. I don’t need anyone else.”

  Kay’s eyes welled with tears, and she reached out to touch Emma, but Emma stiffened. “I’ll be worrying about you night and day. Please, just call me, darling. Let me help,” Kay pleaded.

  “I’ll be fine,” Emma whispered. “Go on.”

  Emma did not watch them leave. She couldn’t bear to see the anguish in her mother’s eyes.

  David followed them to the door, closed and locked it behind them. He came back into the living room. “Where are the sheets?” he asked, avoiding her worried gaze. “I’m going to make the bed down here.”

  “I’m sorry about that, David. My mother…she’s…just…so afraid for me.”

  “Upstairs linen closet?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “Are you mad at me?”

  “No,” he barked. Then his face softened. “No. You rest,” he said more gently.

  Emma leaned back against the sofa. David was right. Even if they were worried about her, her mother and Rory had no business coming in here and virtually accusing him. Especially Rory. The thought of his self-righteousness, considering what she knew about him, made Emma furious. She was clenching her fists so tight that her fingernails were gouging her palms. Stop ruminating about this. Think about something else, she told herself.

  She turned her head and looked at the mountain of wedding gifts. There were boxes of all sizes. She knew she should be thrilled at the thoughtfulness of all the people who had given her and David these gifts, but at the moment all she felt was overwhelmed at the prospect of writing all those thank-you notes. Don’t be like that, she chided herself. These are the people who care about you the most. This pile of presents is a sign of their love for you.

  That thought made her feel better. It wasn’t as if she had felt alone in the last couple of days. David had been in the hospital room and had answered most of her calls to keep her from getting exhausted, but she was aware of the support of the people in her life. The flowers, the cards, the brief visits. She reached for the nearest, smallest box and began to untie the ribbon. There was no card on the outside of the gift wrap, and she hoped that the sender had had the good sense to put it inside the package. She didn’t want to end up with a bunch of presents with the giver’s name missing. The ribbon fell away and she unfolded the distinctive gold and white paper and saw that the box came from Kellerman’s, an upscale housewares and jewelry store on Main Street that had lost much of its distinguished trade to the Internet and expensive catalogs. The box wasn’t large or heavy. A silver-plated egg timer she thought, with a hint of amusement. She lifted the lid, and as she did, an odd, unpleasant smell reached her nostrils. As she was pulling out the paper shavings, she realized that she was making a mistake. But it was too late. The packing was removed and she was gasping.

  Nestled on a cushion of paper shavings was a silver dish in the shape of a scallop shell. Resting in the dish was the matted fur and stiffened body of a mouse, now dead, its tail curved to fit in the box, its beady eyes still open.

  10

  THE SOUND of a piano being expertly, but intermitt
ently, played drifted through an open window of the white, Gothic-style Victorian cottage, which looked more like a small church than a house. A Mazda convertible sat in the driveway behind a minivan. Lieutenant Joan Atkins knocked on the arched front door and waited with Trey Marbery by her side. In a moment a large, blond woman opened the door. Her heavily mascaraed eyes were a dazzling blue and her lips were full. Her hair was arranged in an upswept, tousled style that made her look as if she had simply put a clip in it when she rolled out of bed. She was wearing a nearly sheer voile blouse that revealed an impressive décolletage, and tight blue jeans that were unflattering to her spreading figure. She looked from Joan to Trey and gave them a vague, sleepy smile. She had dimples in both cheeks.

  “Morning,” she said in a sweet, high voice.

  “Mrs. Devlin?” Lieutenant Atkins asked.

  “That’s me,” she said. Her voice was slightly slurred, but she did not smell of alcohol. And her eyes were unfocused, but not bloodshot. Tranquilizers or sleeping pills, Joan thought, not unkindly. A bereaved mother might well need some pharmaceuticals to get through the day.

  “I’m Lieutenant Joan Atkins of the state police. This is Detective Marbery of the Clarenceville police force. We’re looking for your husband.”

  Immediately the woman’s sleepy eyes widened in alarm. “Why? What’s the matter? Is Alida all right?”

  “Who’s Alida?”

  “My daughter.”

  “This isn’t about Alida. We have a few routine questions,” Joan said. “Is your husband here?”

  “Yes, he’s working in his study. He’s writing music.”

  “Before I speak to him, can you tell me, Mrs. Devlin, where your husband was Saturday night.”

  The woman looked confused. “What?”

  “It’s a simple question,” said Joan.

  “Saturday night? I don’t remember,” she said. Joan could see that she was earnestly searching her mind. “My memory,” she apologized.

  The piano music stopped and the dark figure of a man appeared in the corridor behind her. “Risa, who’s at the door?” he demanded.

  The woman frowned. “Two policemen. Well, a policeman and a policewoman.”

  The man walked up behind her. He was in his forties with stubbly black hair sprinkled with gray, and wire-rimmed glasses. He was wearing a black leather vest and a black turtleneck.

  “They want to know where you were Saturday night,” said the woman, backing up against her husband’s chest.

  “I hope you told them I was right here.”

  “I couldn’t remember Saturday,” she said apologetically.

  “We rented that Italian movie, remember?”

  She squinted. “That’s right. You were here. He was,” she said, nodding.

  “What’s this about?” Devlin asked.

  Joan gazed at him. “Professor Devlin?” she said. “I’m Lieutenant Atkins of the state police. This is Detective Marbery. May we talk to you?”

  Lyle Devlin pushed the glasses up on his nose. His facial expression did not change. “All right,” he said. “Follow me. Excuse us, Risa.”

  Joan edged past the blousy woman in the doorway. She could smell heavy, cloying perfume.

  “Come on into the conservatory,” said Devlin. “I’m composing on the piano.”

  Joan and Trey followed the man down the dim hallway to a chilly, glassed-in room with shabby wicker furniture, shelves of books and sheet music, and a large piano, which dominated the space. “No classes today?” Joan asked.

  “I have some flexibility in my schedule,” said Devlin with a thin smile. “The university understands that I need time for my own work. Have a seat,” said Devlin, indicating a chair and a window seat. Joan sat down in the wicker chair. Trey perched on the window seat. Devlin sat facing them on the piano bench.

  “Now, what can I do for you?” Devlin asked evenly. “Why in the world would you be concerned about my whereabouts last Saturday?”

  “Mr. Devlin, you had a daughter named Ivy who died recently?” Joan asked.

  Devlin, who had been slouched on the flat bench, straightened and stared at Joan. “Why are you asking me about Ivy?”

  “I’m sorry to bring up a painful subject, but apparently you felt that Ivy’s psychologist may have been partly to blame for her death. Dr. Webster.”

  Devlin stared at her for a moment. “I don’t know any Dr. Webster,” he said.

  “She used to be called Dr. Hollis,” Trey said. “Before her marriage.”

  “Oh, right,” said Devlin, as if it had just dawned on him. “She was the one who was attacked in the Pine Barrens.”

  Joan studied Devlin. The man was acting as if this was the first time he’d made the connection. Considering all the press coverage, Joan didn’t buy that. “There was an attempt on Dr. Webster’s life,” Joan said. “She narrowly escaped death.”

  “What has this got to do with Ivy?” Devlin asked.

  “We have information that you were very angry at Dr. Webster after your daughter’s death. Threats were made.”

  The man’s expression became stony. “Who told you that?”

  “Is it true?”

  Lyle Devlin looked away from the detective. “I may have…vented my anger,” he said at last. “I was out of my mind with grief at the time. And I acted like a man who was out of his mind.”

  “Why did you blame Dr. Webster?” Joan asked.

  Devlin turned his head and stared out at the bare trees in the backyard. Then he looked back at Joan. “Detective, do you have any children?”

  Joan pursed her lips. She did not like Lyle Devlin. It wasn’t rational; it was visceral. But this question, which she had heard many times before, was one that really peeved Joan Atkins. Suspects who overestimated their own cunning, and underestimated hers, always tried to get her on their side with some variation of this question. You and me, Detective, aren’t we both…fill in the blank…parents, working people, dog lovers? “Why did you blame her, Mr. Devlin?”

  Arms crossed over his chest, Devlin sighed. Joan noted that he was wearing scuffed engineer’s boots and a Mexican silver and leather bracelet. Like a student. “How can I explain this, Lieutenant? My daughter had anorexia. This is a special kind of hell for a parent. A child who refuses to eat. Can you imagine it? My wife cooked every kind of treat for her, coaxed and cajoled her. Tried everything. We brought her to the Wrightsman Youth Center out of desperation. We put our faith in Dr. Hollis. But she was, alas, only human. It’s true that I did blame her, but it was simply because I needed someone to blame.”

  “But your daughter must have been ill for quite some time. Surely she saw other doctors besides Dr…. Webster,” Trey interjected. Joan glanced at the younger detective and then back at Devlin.

  Devlin took a deep breath. “You’re right. She was far from the first. But Dr. Webster was the last doctor whom Ivy saw. We took Ivy out of the center because we found Dr. Webster’s methods…unacceptable. Shortly after Ivy came home from the center, her condition worsened. She was admitted to the hospital, but it was too late.”

  “I’m so sorry,” said Trey sincerely.

  “At the time I felt,” said Devlin slowly, “that Dr…. Webster drove us away with her…intrusive and…unproven form of treatment. I suppose I believed that if Ivy had been…cared for differently, she might have…been able to recover.”

  Joan could see the anger that still lingered behind Lyle Devlin’s carefully worded explanation. “So you’re saying that you no longer hold Dr. Webster responsible,” said Joan.

  Devlin looked at her directly. “My daughter died of anorexia, Detective Atkins, and I was not able to prevent it. I blame myself for that.”

  Joan understood that Devlin had suffered the most grievous loss a parent could suffer. But something about the professor’s mea culpa sounded…unconvincing to Joan’s ears. Clearly, Devlin had been forced to reconsider his own behavior, to come to terms with why he had behaved as he did. He’d figured it out, an
d he could explain it in a most cogent fashion. But that resentment of Emma Webster was still there, not too far below the surface. Joan would bet her badge on it.

  “So you maintain that you were home here Saturday night between the hours of, say, six and ten o’clock?”

  Devlin glowered at her. “I don’t maintain it,” he said in an insulted tone. “I was at home with my family. My wife told you that as well.”

  After you told her what to say, Joan thought. In truth, his wife hadn’t really seemed to remember. Joan stood up, and Trey followed suit. “All right, well, thank you for your time, sir.”

  Devlin rose stiffly from the piano bench and indicated that the two officers should precede him through the door. But, as Joan started to leave, Devlin suddenly touched the sleeve of Joan’s jacket. “My wife takes tranquilizers to help her get through the day. Ivy’s death was…it nearly destroyed her. Sometimes, because of the medication, she forgets things. I’m begging you, Lieutenant,” he whispered, “not to bring up Ivy’s death to my wife. It’s an understatement to say that it is a painful subject for her.”

  “There’s no need for that,” said Joan, looking down at the hand on her sleeve.

  Devlin quickly removed his hand. “Thank you,” he said.

  Joan could feel the professor watching her as she and Trey walked down the hallway toward the front door. Risa Devlin emerged from one of the rooms and rushed to open the front door for them.

  “Is everything all right?” she asked.

  Joan nodded, starting out the door. “Sorry to bother you.”

  “It’s no bother,” she assured her. “As long as everything’s all right.”

  Trey saw the anguish in her anxious eyes and wanted to reassure her. “Just fine, ma’am,” he said. Trey followed Joan out the door and fell into step with her as they crossed the road. “What a horrible fate, to have a kid die like that. Talk about feeling helpless.”