Читать книгу A Fatal Romance - June Shaw - Страница 7

Swallowing a song, I rushed beyond the plywood plastered across the sliding glass door leading to Eve’s art room. I sped across the patio to her locked kitchen door and shoved on the bell. She didn’t answer soon enough, so I beat on her door. It swung open.

“Oh, Sunny!” She flew into my arms, her intense trembles matching mine.

I gripped her as though my strength could protect her. “Are you hurt? I’ll get an ambulance.” I stepped back, scanning her head, arms, and torso.

“I’m fine. I wasn’t home.”

“What happened?”

Shrugging off my attempt to inspect her more, she drew me inside and locked her door. She guided me to the den and pointed to her studio’s shut door. “They got in there.”

“Did they take anything?”

“It’s awful.” She shoved the door open to the room where she painted.

My knees locked while I stared at massive red X’s spray painted across every one of her paintings now tossed like trash by the roadside.

“And look at this.” She stepped behind a cluster of her ruined art. On the wall, painted words looked like dripping blood: WHERE IS WHAT’S HIS?

“What does this mean? What do you have? Who does it belong to?”

“I don’t have a thing.” She wore an annoyed expression.

“But you must.” I stared at the words.

“Sunny, I have no idea what that’s about. The police just left. They asked enough questions and didn’t seem to believe everything I told them, but I sure thought you would.”

“I do.” I gripped her hands and shivered from the possibility of what could have happened to her.

“Thank goodness I was gone.” She walked toward the shattered sliding door that 3/8 inch plywood shielded. “The police think the burglar saw me leaving for the gym and then broke in. The intruder searched this room but didn’t find what he was looking for and tried to reach the rest of the house. Look.” Deep scrapes sliced into wood around the door’s locking mechanism. The double-keyed lock she’d installed prevented that person from going any farther inside the house.

Eve stared at the art, her face rumpled with sadness. “Those weren’t Rembrandts, but they were important to me.”

“Maybe you can paint more.”

She looked barely energetic enough for a shrug.

“Who boarded the door?”

She shuffled from her studio and tilted her head toward the left. “Jake Angelette brought over some of the wood he keeps in his garage and helped me nail it up.”

“He just moved there. I could have done it with you.”

“But I couldn’t reach you. And slamming a hammer against something felt good.”

I understood why she hadn’t wanted to use her power tools. I nudged my chin toward the ruined paintings. “Which one of those men would the intruder be talking about?”

She dropped to the sofa that released a soft whoosh. “I don’t know. The police asked what I had that belonged to a man. I don’t have a thing. They wanted to know why anybody would break in there and smash everything and write those words on my wall if it wasn’t true.”

I sat with her. “What did you tell them?”

She threw out her hands. “They were taking the word of a crook instead of me.”

“What about all the men your paintings represented?”

She shoved up to her feet, eyes wider. “You don’t think I told the police that?”

“If you don’t, how will they have any clue as to what this is about?”

She bent to look me in the eye. “Sunny, the meaning of those paintings is private. Art is a personal thing.”

“One of the guys you dated must have left something here.”

“Don’t you think I’ve checked? I went over every room. There’s nothing.”

I walked back to her studio and stared at WHERE IS WHAT’S HIS? Gooseflesh erupted on my arms. “This is my fault.”

“How could it possibly be your fault? Did you do it?”

“Of course not, but maybe I did something stupid that caused someone to come and create this mess. I left a message on Daria Snelling’s answering machine saying I have something important of her husband’s. You know, those parts of him in my jacket. She probably came for what I have and did this.”

Eve narrowed her eyes. “What else did you say in your message?”

“I gave her my number.”

“Then why would she break in here? All she’d have to do is pick up the phone and call you.”

“I know. I didn’t give my address or my name, just said I was the tall redhead who sang. Maybe since she’d met you once, she thought I was you and found out where you live.”

Eve tightened her lips. “I can’t believe she would do this.”

I blew out a sigh, not reminding her of what I thought of the woman. “But I don’t understand why she hasn’t called yet.”

My sister ambled to the den. “Maybe she didn’t get home from the church. Who knows how long it takes to do everything she needed to do there and afterward?”

“Well, you can’t stay in this house. The burglar might return. Come stay with me.”

Eyes stern, she shook her head. “The police suggested I stay someplace else, especially tonight, but nobody’s going to run me out of my house.” She was always the braver twin, the one who peeked into dark spaces first. “Anyway, he or she wouldn’t come back right away while police are checking so closely. And tonight I’m having company.” Her lips tilted up a little at the edges.

Ah, a date. “Does your company carry a gun?”

“Yes.”

“Good. And will this be Dave, the exciting guy from your last painting?”

“Don’t I wish? No, my second ex is in town and needs a place to stay.”

My mind took a quick mental scroll. “Stan? You’re going to make him sleep in a guest bedroom, right?”

“That’s none of your business.” She glanced at the frameless wall clock, large black numbers circling a small center. “Time for you to leave. I wanted you to know what happened.”

“Call if you change your mind. Or if you need me.”

She nodded. “Thanks. I don’t think I’ll need anyone else tonight. The police should be driving by my house often.”

I hummed, afraid for her and figuring she could become intimate with that man, her second ex, which frightened me while I imagined myself wrapped up in a sexual interlude. I didn’t understand how she could enjoy romance so much but couldn’t judge anyone’s actions. Stan currently lived in Shreveport and always seemed nice enough. I hadn’t seen him in a while.

I departed through the front door and heard Eve throw the bolt. Inspecting outside the doorway, I found no sign of tampering. I checked around the windows in front. Nobody tried to get in that I could see. Creeping beside the house, I rubbed my hand over the stucco and tried to see inside the windows like a burglar might.

Normally Eve left the drapes in her dining room and spare bedrooms open. Tonight they were shut with only white backing visible. I stepped close to those windows, trying to peer through the sides or middles, pleased that the drapes fit snugly. I could tell there was light in those rooms but saw nothing else. On tiptoes, I tried to peek into her bathroom window.

Curtains inside ruffled and parted, making me stumble backward. A face against the window stared down at me. It resembled mine. Eve held her cell phone away from her ear. Unhooking her window, she slid it up an inch. “My neighbor said somebody’s looking in my windows, and I should call the police to come back.”

“Good for her.” I turned to the house on the right. Busybody Mrs. Wilburn might finally have a positive purpose. Maybe she’d help protect my sister.

“Wait a sec,” Eve said. “Let me tell her it’s just you so she won’t get the cavalry out here.” She placed her phone close to her mouth and spoke.

I waved at Mrs. Wilburn, the frightfully pale woman whose mean dark eyes stared at me from a window in a brightly lit room. Royce stood behind her, watching me. He’d come for a rare visit to his mother?

She dropped her drapes without either of them returning my greeting.

“She’s not happy to see me,” I called to Eve.

“She’s worried. Maybe the guy will come back and grab her. Okay, I need to get ready. And my neck’s twisted with me up on the ledge of the hot tub bending down to talk to you.”

I gave her a one finger wave. “Have fun.”

“I always do.” My sister flashed the most beautiful smile. “And, Sunny, the police already did what you’re doing out there.”

“Maybe I can catch something they missed.”

“Right.” She smirked. “You might be messing up and covering shoeprints with yours.”

“I hadn’t thought about that.” Not surprised that I’d mess up, I scooted back from her house.

“Later.” Eve dropped her curtains.

I trotted back to my house without noting anything unusual along the way. Inside, I worried about my sister. Then decided the man with her tonight should provide safety, at least letting a would-be thief see his car or truck out front. I hoped Stan drove a large truck. A mean-looking black one.

Needing to eat before doing paperwork but not too hungry, I fixed a couple of ham and cracker sandwiches and spread jelly between crackers for dessert. Afterward I worked on an estimate for Anna’s window, concern for Eve foremost in my mind. Since my worry wouldn’t help her, I focused on the small job.

We would need to pull Anna Tabor’s existing window out of her bathroom. We’d never installed glass block before, but it had to be similar to laying floor tile, which we had done often. We’d just finished a job like that in a young couple’s kitchen. I phoned Badeaux Lumber, which stayed open late, and spoke to Luke about what we needed. They didn’t keep glass blocks in stock but would order them. He gave me prices and assured me my plan for the job was correct. We’d build from both jambs toward the center and use flat spacers between the blocks. Of course we’d plumb and level them while we worked. Putting my glasses on, I developed an estimate for Anna.

In the morning, I phoned Eve. She didn’t answer immediately, scattering jitters through me like sprayed fire ants. Should I rush over?

“Umm?” she answered, voice groggy.

“Sorry if I woke you, but I wanted to make sure you’re all right.”

“No, that’s okay. It’s my sister,” she said to someone.

“Y’all go back to sleep,” I said. “Or whatever.”

With a laugh, she hung up.

At least this morning she was safe. I wanted to stay around her, or especially to get her to come and spend time at my house, away from hers. Maybe if I fixed some of her favorite foods, I could bribe her here and then get her to stay until the police arrested whoever broke into her house.

My phone rang. “Hello. This is Twin Sisters,” I said, making my voice cheerful.

“Hey, Sunny, it’s Mona at Fancy Ladies. I hate to call at the last minute, but the last woman we hired developed kidney stones. Could you possibly come in for us?”

Today? After someone broke into Eve’s house yesterday? “Sorry, I can’t.”

“We’d need help for at least a week.”

I did have free time the next few days. The business Eve and I started was growing slowly, and we hadn’t managed to snag any large jobs yet. Women in town knew me as a person who’d sold them their undergarments and sleepwear, while men knew me as a tall redhead. Now that Eve lived here, who knew what her status was, but neither of our reputations so far led people to believe we’d be expert craftsmen. We had been showing them gradually. I was grateful that I was thrifty and had put money aside. Anna wasn’t in a rush for her project, and my heel spurs had been feeling better the last week or so. But Eve needed me available to help keep her safe now. “Sorry, I can’t. Maybe some other time?”

A sigh. “Okay, thanks. Maybe so.”

I really hated to turn down that simple task of selling undies since I would soon need my roof replaced, and I could use the extra income.

On the way to the grocery store, I swung in front of Eve’s place. I’d spoken to her moments ago, but wanted to make certain she was still all right. I dug in my purse and found my eyeglass case empty. I’d probably left my glasses near the pad with estimates.

Even so, I couldn’t miss the black Hummer squatting in the circular drive out front like an army tank. Stan’s business must be doing well. No sign of any new break-ins. I probably shouldn’t tiptoe around her windows to make sure. Making a decision, I drove on.

Who could have broken into Eve’s house, wanting something of a man’s? I had met some of the guys she dated since her last divorce, but after a while they looked alike. Their dark hair held touches of gray, and they appeared to work out in gyms. Energetic men, they kept their white smiles aimed at my sister, who resembled me—but she put out, and I didn’t. She gave them that bit of information right when they met me, which I felt was unnecessary.

The store’s parking lot was almost empty. I marched inside and inspected bananas and homegrown tomatoes as well as I could without my glasses.

“Sunny,” a deep voice called. Eve’s first husband, Jacques Thibodaux, stepped near and kissed my cheek. “How nice to see you.”

“You, too, Jacques.” Was there a convention of my sister’s exes in town? Her most recent ex-husband lived forty miles away, but we never saw him. Jacques lived in Houston. His hair was thinner and grayer since I’d last laid eyes on him. He’d thickened in the waist. I glanced behind him, hoping to see the daughter he and Sunny had produced. “Where’s the little one?”

His smile widened at my suggestion that their grown offspring was little. “She’s teaching those preschoolers. My wife Melanie came down with me a couple of days for my friend’s funeral.”

A wretchedly thin high-heeled blonde sashayed near and flopped out her long hand. “Melanie,” she said with a Texas twang.

Clasping her frigid hand made me want an overcoat. “I’m Sunny.”

“The little one wanted to come but needs to save time off for when she has the baby,” Jacques said.

That baby would make my sister a grandmother. Hard to believe, even though Eve’s daughter had gotten pregnant and married young, just like Eve did the first time around.

“I saw you at Zane Snelling’s funeral,” I told Melanie. “You were using a broom.”

“I was there, too,” Jacques said. “But I went out after his wife tripped. There was no way I could sweep up my buddy. Zane and I used to work together in the oilfield.”

“I didn’t know him,” Melanie said, “but I wanted to help.”

I smiled tight-lipped and wondered what Jacques might think if he knew I had parts of his friend at home in my pocket.

He wrapped an arm around his wife. “This here’s a good woman. She doesn’t even mind those things I give your sister.”

“I have you,” she said with a smile she froze in place and faced me. “I know Jacques pays your twin a nice alimony, even though he wouldn’t have to. And I’ve learned about the cars.” Those would be the Lexuses he sends Eve every couple of years.

“We can still afford them,” Jacques said.

“Jacques can give your sister anything he wants.” Melanie planted a kiss on his lips. “Except his heart.”

Ugh, mush. “Please give my niece a big hug for me,” I told Jacques.

“I sure will.”

Melanie’s gaze raked me from head to toe. “I know his first wife is your twin. Does she still look like you?”

I offered a bright smile. “Yes, she does.”

Melanie pursed her lips. I waited for her to say something complimentary. Instead, she moved away and picked through cantaloupes.

Jacques leaned near my ear. “Tell my gal I still miss her.”

Stunned, I returned a wave to his wife when she came back to Jacques. Gripping his hand, she took him and her cantaloupe toward the checkout.

Did he really still miss Eve? He had sent her those cars hoping to get her back and let her know how important she’d been to him, he’d always said. Eventually he gave up, met someone else, and remarried.

And did his wife really mean she didn’t mind the cars and jewelry he sent my sister?

My legs tensed. Jacques and Melanie were only in town a few days. Could she have broken into Eve’s house? But if she did, what might this young woman want? Eve’s latest car? She should figure it would be locked in the garage. Besides, she couldn’t just drive the thing away. Jacques would notice she had that beauty.

Of course she could destroy it.

What about Eve’s other two exes? As far as I knew, they only gave her nice gifts after their divorces to mimic what Jacques did. At least that’s what Eve determined. Neither of those men had remarried, but they might be in relationships with women who’d want … what?

I grabbed cans of whole tomatoes and tomato paste. Stared at them in my hands. A large can, the whole tomatoes, like a large man. Or the small can—like a petite woman. Could she smash a sliding glass door until she got inside?

Absolutely. A woman could also do all of that damage to the paintings.

“I would have liked it,” a woman said from the end of the canned vegetable aisle. Her voice sounded somewhat familiar, so I paid closer attention. Daria Snelling walked past with an empty buggy. Again this morning she wore crimson—a short sheath with matching heels.

She didn’t glance my way. A man on the other side of her wore a navy shirt, wide sunglasses, and a baseball cap, and didn’t appear to have a buggy. I may have seen him before, but wasn’t certain.

I moved closer. Peeking into the rear aisle, I could see only their backsides. I sensed they were talking pleasantly. They didn’t pick up anything or seem to care about groceries. Understandable for her with just losing a husband. But why had she come into the store today? Only to amble? To talk to this person?

I yanked up a couple more items and rushed to show up at the checkout when they arrived.

Daria headed toward me, her buggy still empty. Had she even noticed? I shoved over to a checkout counter three away from hers, considering what to do next. The man with the cap stood behind her, a hefty teen cashier blocking most of his face. The man’s hand gripped a loaf of white bread. Not a diet person. Probably without a dieting wife. I didn’t spot a ring.

I considered lining up behind him, but Daria might still be furious with me, and having her yell at me in a store couldn’t produce anything positive. I did want to know why she hadn’t responded to my message on her answering machine. Why wouldn’t a wife rush to call an unfamiliar woman who claimed to own something of her deceased husband’s?

Plucking my groceries out of the cart, I set them in front of the cashier who asked if I found everything I needed.

“I sure did.” I glanced again at Daria’s checkout.

She headed for the exit. No buggy. Only a purse on her arm. The man striding behind her.

I paid for my groceries, tossed them in plastic bags before the cashier could, and rushed outside. In the busy parking lot, I found no sign of her or the fellow who’d followed her. Disappointment sucked down my spirit. I didn’t care what she did. What I did care about was properly disposing of her husband’s remains that I unwillingly possessed.

Along the highway, I made a quick stop at a squat building that formerly sold ice. Now two signs out front read Shrimp and Welding Supplies. I chose shrimp. Buying a couple pounds of medium peeled ones, I then swung down my sister’s street, hating that I did. I didn’t want to start checking on her, but this day was different. This was the day after somebody broke into her house.

A few houses before hers, I stomped the brakes. My mouth went dry.

The Hummer was gone from Eve’s driveway. A large truck took its place. A midnight blue truck. Why would another man be there right after Stan left? The person who drove it might have been the one who broke into her house. He may have just been waiting for Stan to leave.

I hadn’t been able to save one sister. I needed to save this one.