Come in, said Chase. Have a seat.
Annie shut the door and sat in the chair across from him. She looked like a reporter: frizzy red hair streaked with gray, sharp eyes, wrinkled slacks. She also reeked of cigarettes. It brought back memories of his father. All she needed was a splash of whiskey on her breath. A good old newsmans smell.
She was watching him with clear suspicion. Boss lady says you want to talk about Miranda.
You knew her pretty well?
The word is know. Present tense. Yes, I do.
What do you think of her?
Her mouth twitched into a smile. This is your own private investigation?
Call it my quest for the truth. Miranda Wood denies killing my brother. What do you think?
Annie lit a cigarette. You know, I used to cover the police beat in Boston.
So youre familiar with murder.
In a manner of speaking. Leaning back, she thoughtfully exhaled a cloud of smoke. Miranda had the motive. Oh, we all knew about the affair. Its hard to hide something like that in this newsroom. I tried to, well, advise her against it. But she follows her heart, you know? And it got her into trouble. Thats not to say she did it. Killed him. Annie flicked off an ash. I dont think she did.
So youre familiar with murder.
In a manner of speaking. Leaning back, she thoughtfully exhaled a cloud of smoke. Miranda had the motive. Oh, we all knew about the affair. Its hard to hide something like that in this newsroom. I tried to, well, advise her against it. But she follows her heart, you know? And it got her into trouble. Thats not to say she did it. Killed him. Annie flicked off an ash. I dont think she did.
Then who did?
Annie shrugged.
You think its tied to the Tony Graffam story?
Annies eyebrow shot up. You dig stuff up fast. Must run in the family, that newsmans nose.
Miranda Wood says Richard had a story about to break. True?
He said he did. I know he was writing it. He had a few more details to check before it went to print.
What details?
Financial data, about Stone Coast Trust. Richard had just got his hands on some account information.
Why didnt the article get to print?
Honest opinion? Annie snorted. Because Jill Vickery didnt want to risk a libel suit.
Chase frowned. But Jill says the article doesnt exist. That Richard never wrote it.
Annie blew out a last breath of smoke and stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray. Heres a piece of wisdom for you, Mr. T, she said. She looked him in the eye. Never trust your editor.
Did the article exist or didnt it?
Chase spent the next hour searching the files in Richards office. He found nothing under G for Graffam or S for Stone Coast Trust. He tried a few more headings, but none of them panned out. Did Richard keep the file at home?
It was late afternoon when he finally returned to the house. To his relief, Evelyn and the twins were out. He had the place to himself. He went straight into Richards home office and continued his search for the Graffam file.
He didnt find it. Yet Miranda claimed it existed. So did Annie Berenger.
Something strange was going on, something that added to all his doubts about Mirandas guilt. He mentally played back all the holes in the prosecutions case. The lack of fingerprints on the murder weapon. The fact she had passed the polygraph test. And the woman herself proud, unyielding in her protestations of innocence.
He gave up trying to talk himself out of his next move. There was no way around it. Not if he wanted to know more. Not if he wanted to shake these doubts.
He had to talk to Miranda Wood.
He pulled on his windbreaker and headed out into the dusk.
Five blocks later he turned onto Willow Street. It was just the way hed remembered it, a tidy, middle-class neighborhood with inviting front porches and well-tended lawns. Through the fading light he could just make out the address numbers. A few more houses to go.
Farther up the street a screen door slammed shut. He saw a woman come down her porch steps and start toward him along the sidewalk. He recognized her silhouette, the thick cloud of hair, the slim figure clad in jeans. Shed taken only a few steps when she spotted him and stopped dead in her tracks.
I have to talk to you, he said.
I made a promise, remember? she answered. Not to go near you or your family. Well, Im keeping that promise. She turned and started to walk away.
This is different. I have to ask you about Richard.
She kept walking.
Will you listen to me?
Thats how I got into this mess! she shot back over her shoulder. Listening to a Tremain!
He watched in frustration as she headed swiftly up the street. It was useless to pursue her. She was already a block away now, and by the set of her shoulders he could tell she wasnt going to change her mind. In fact, she had just stepped off the sidewalk and was crossing the street, as though to put the width of the road between them.
Forget her, he thought. If shes too stubborn to listen, let her go to jail.
Chase turned and had started in the opposite direction when a car drove past. He would scarcely have noticed it except for one detail: its headlights were off. A few paces was all it took for Chase to register that fact. He stopped, turned. Far ahead, Mirandas slender figure was crossing the street.
By then the car had moved halfway down the block.
The driverll see her in time, he thought. He has to see her.
The cars engine suddenly revved up in a threatening growl of power. Tires screeched. The car leaped forward in a massive blur of steel and smoke, and roared ahead through the shadows.
It was aiming straight for Miranda.
Five
The headlights sprang on, trapping its insubstantial victim in a blaze of light.
Look out! Chase shouted.
Miranda whirled and found her eyes flooded with a terrible, blinding brightness. Even as the car shot closer and those lights threatened to engulf her, she was paralyzed by disbelief, by the detached sense of certainty that this was not really happening. She had no time to reason it out. An instant before that ton of steel could slam into her body, her reflexes took over. She flung herself sideways, out of the path of the onrushing headlights.
Suddenly she was flying, suspended for an eternity in the summer darkness as death rushed past her in a roar of wind and light.
And then she was lying on the grass.
She didnt know how long she had been there. She knew only that the grass was damp, that her head hurt and that gentle hands were stroking her face. Someone called her name, again and again. It was a voice she knew, a voice she thought, in that confused moment, she must have known all her life. Its very timbre seemed to blanket her with the warmth of safety.
Again he called her name, and this time she heard panic in his voice. Hes afraid. Why?
She opened her eyes and dazedly focused on his face. Thats when she registered exactly who he was. All illusion of safety fell away.
Dont. She brushed his hand aside. Dont touch me.
Lie still.
I dont need you! She struggled to sit up, but found herself unable to move under his restraining hands. He had her pinned by her shoulders to the grass.
Look, he said, his voice maddeningly reasonable. You took a mean tumble. You might have broken something
I said, dont touch me! Defiantly she shoved him away and sat up. Pure rage propelled her to her knees. Then, as the night wavered before her eyes, she found herself sinking back to the grass. There she sat and clutched her spinning head. Oh, God, she groaned. Why cant you just just go away and leave me alone.
Not on your life, came the answer, grim and resolute.
To her amazement she was suddenly, magically lifted up into the air. Through her anger she had to admit it felt good to be carried, good to be held, even if the man holding her was Chase Tremain. She was floating, borne like a featherweight through the darkness. Toward what? she wondered with sudden apprehension.
Thats enough, she protested. Let me down.
Only a few more steps.
I hope you get a hernia.
Keep up the damn wiggling and I will.
Only a few more steps.
I hope you get a hernia.
Keep up the damn wiggling and I will.
He swept her up the porch steps and in the front door. With unerring instinct he carried her straight to the bedroom and managed to flick on the wall switch. The room the bed sprang into view. The bed where shed found Richard. Though the blood was gone, the mattress new and unstained, this room would always remind her of death. She hadnt slept here since that night, would never sleep here again.
She shuddered against him. Please, she whispered, turning her face against his chest. Not here. Not this room.
For a moment he paused, not understanding. Then, gently he answered, Whatever you say, Miranda.
He carried her back to the living room and lowered her onto the couch. She felt the cushions sag as he sat beside her. Does anything hurt? he asked. Your back? Your neck?
My shoulder, a little. I think I fell on it.
She flinched at the touch of his hands. Carefully he maneuvered her arm, checking its range of motion. She was scarcely aware of the occasional twinges he evoked from her muscles. Her attention was too acutely focused on the face gazing down at her. Once again she was struck by how unlike Richard he was. It wasnt just the blackness of his hair and eyes. It was his calmness under fire, as though he held any emotions he might be feeling under tight rein. This was not a man whod easily reveal himself, or his secrets, to anyone.
It seems all right, he said, straightening. Still, Id better call a doctor. Who do you see?
Dr. Steiner.
Steiner? Is that old goat still in practice?
Look, Im okay. I dont need to see him.
Lets just be on the safe side. He reached for the telephone.
But Dr. Steiner doesnt make house calls, she protested. He never has.
Then tonight, Chase said grimly, dialing the phone, I guess were going to make history.
Lorne Tibbetts poured himself a cup of coffee and turned to look at Chase. What I want to know is, what in blazes are you doing here?
Chase, leaning over Mirandas kitchen table, wearily rubbed his face. To tell you the truth, Lorne, he muttered, I dont know.
Oh.
I guess I thought I couldfigure things out. Make sense of whats happened.
Thats our job, Chase. Not yours.
Yeah, I know. But
You dont think Im doing a good job?