All Fall Down (18 page)

Tim looked at her excitedly. “
All Dogs Go to Heaven!
”

“Really?” Robin exclaimed. “That’s
just
the movie I’ve been wanting to see!”

“Me, too, me, too!” Tim squealed. “And I bet Ashley’d like it, too. Daddy,
please?
”

Blaine cocked an eyebrow at Logan. “I think you’re outnumbered here, Sheriff.”

Logan grinned. “Are you sure it’s all right?”

Was it all right? She had come to think of Logan as her enemy this summer, and things still weren’t right between them. Far from it. She was wary of him, and she sensed he was still wary of her, but something was pulling them together, something other than the recent murders. And at least he’d driven out to say a few comforting words about her dismissal from school, which was more than anyone else had done.

“It’s more than all right. Robin and I would love to have you.” Logan hesitated, and Blaine said in her most authoritative schoolteacher’s voice, “You go out to the car and get the movie. I’ll put on more popcorn. Oh, and if you think your wife might like to join us, there’s a phone in the living room.”

“Dory’s still with relatives,” Logan said quickly.

Tim’s forehead wrinkled. “What rel’tives do we have in Taco Mexico?”

Logan flushed. “It’s Taos, New Mexico, son, and she’s with some relatives you’ve never met. Distant relatives.”

“Well, I hope she’s having a good time,” Blaine said, hoping she sounded pleasantly casual, although she could tell by the look on Logan’s face that he’d been caught in a lie.

“Mommy’s been gone weeks and
weeks
,” Tim went on. Logan looked like he wanted to put a piece of tape over the child’s mouth. “I didn’t know she was with rel’tives, though. I thought she was writin’ stories.”

Logan’s voice was taut. “She is. Writing. She’s never had anything published. It’s sort of a new hobby for her.”

“Grandma’s stayin’ with us while Mommy’s gone,” Tim interrupted. “But she’s at church tonight. She sings in the choir and they’re practicin’.” He hugged Ashley, a forlorn expression flickering over his fine-boned features. He had Logan’s coloring, Blaine thought, but the delicacy of bone structure must come from his mother, whom Blaine had never met. “Grandma’s neat, but I hope Mommy comes home soon. She’s been gone a really long time. I’m scared she won’t be here for Christmas, but Daddy says she will.”

Blaine could practically feel the unbearable tension vibrating through Logan, and she smiled at Tim. “I’m sure she’ll be home. You just stop worrying. We’ll watch the movie and have a great time. And, Tim, you’re in charge of looking after Ashley for the evening.”

“Really?”

“Yes. It’s a big responsibility, but I think you can handle it.”

“Sure I can!”

“Good. You take her into the living room and get all settled. I’ll be in in a few minutes with the popcorn. And what do you want to drink?”

“Coke!”

“Fine. We have plenty of that. Logan?”

“How about a beer?” The earlier tension that had held him rigid seemed to flow from him, and he looked tired and defeated. “I think I could use one. Or maybe two or three.”

“I’m with you.” Their eyes met, and Blaine felt herself growing both uncomfortable and lighthearted as she realized they were experiencing one of those moments of perfect communion they used to share in high school. So much hostility had vibrated between them for months, and now, for the first time since Martin had died, she felt as if she weren’t alone. Here was someone who knew what she was thinking almost before she did—knew and, amazingly, sympathized. She had a sudden urge to lean over and kiss him on the cheek, just the way she had when she was seventeen. Disconcerted by her bizarre impulse, she drew inward, saying in clipped tones, “I don’t think Tim’s going to be able to wait much longer for that movie. We’d better get a move on.”

Logan gave her one more soul-searching look from his dark eyes before his own expression closed into one of nonchalant social politeness. “Sure enough. Be right back with the tape.”

Tim rolled with laughter throughout the movie, and the rest of them ended up laughing, too, mostly at Tim’s utter delight in the antics of Charlie, the con artist German shepherd, and his sidekick, Scratchy. Ashley remained staunchly by Tim’s side, as if she too, were watching the movie, and Tim rewarded her with almost as much popcorn as he consumed. When the tape ended, Tim requested that the movie be shown again, but Logan was firm. “It’s almost nine o’clock, son. Grandma will be home soon and wonder what happened to us.”

“Can’t we call her?”

“Don’t think so, partner. It’s too late.”

“But then she won’t get to meet Ashley.”

“She’ll be tired after all that singing she did at choir practice and won’t want to come out in the cold again. She can meet Ashley another time.”

“Will you invite us over again?” Tim asked Blaine with almost pathetic hopefulness.

“Of course we will,” Blaine said, touched. “In fact, you don’t have to wait for an invitation. You come anytime you want.”

Robin went over and ruffled his dark hair. “And next time, mister, I’m challenging you to a popcorn-eating contest.”

“You won’t win!” Tim giggled. “Me and Ashley can eat more popcorn than anybody in the whole wide world!”

“I can believe that,” Logan said dryly. “Considering what you ate tonight, I shouldn’t have to feed you again until Monday morning.”

After Tim had bidden Ashley a passionate good-bye and Blaine had closed the door after them, she turned to face Robin. “Thank you for being nice. I didn’t know how you’d react after Logan’s taking Tony away for questioning.”

Robin shrugged. “I was being nice to the little boy. He looks like he can use all the attention he can get.”

“You think so?”

“Sure, don’t you?”

“Actually, yes. He seems to miss his mother a lot.”

“I don’t think the sheriff misses his wife, though.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I see a lot of things you don’t think I see.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Robin raised an eyebrow at her. “Just how long ago was it that you and Sheriff Quint dated?”

“Where did you hear that?”

“From about twenty-five sources. So? How long?”

Blaine realized with dismay that she was blushing. “It was a
long
time ago.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I guess it’s true what they say about love never dying.”

“Robin! What’s gotten into you?” Blaine said uneasily. She didn’t like the direction Robin’s conversation was taking. “Logan is a married man. Besides, that’s not true. It’s just a lot of romantic nonsense. Love
does
die.”

“Or sometimes it just gets put on the shelf for a while, but that doesn’t mean it always stays on the shelf.”

She turned and walked down the hall to her bedroom, leaving Blaine to stare in openmouthed surprise after her.

5

Kirk slipped into bed, settled on his side, and pulled the blanket halfway over his head, blocking out the light from the lamp near his wife’s head. Cait laid down her book. “I didn’t know you knew Rosie Van Zandt.”

“I didn’t,” Kirk said after a moment.

“Yes, you did.”

Kirk rolled over, looking up at his wife’s freckled, worried face. “What are you talking about?”

“I was straightening the files in your office—”

“Straightening the files!” Kirk said loudly. “Cait, we have a secretary to do that.”

“She doesn’t do a good job.”

“She does a fine job, but it’s no wonder she can’t find things half the time. You come in there and mess up everything.”

“I don’t mess it up!” Cait returned, near tears. “I’m only trying to help.”

Kirk sat up in bed. “Caity, I don’t need help.”

“I don’t think you need me at all.”

Kirk rolled his eyes. “That’s not true and you know it. Now what’s all this about Rosie Van Zandt?”

“When I was
straightening
your files, I found a work order for a birdhouse you made for Rosalind.”

Kirk frowned. “I remember now. She wanted a birdhouse like the ones I made for Blaine—you know, the miniature Chinese pagodas. She said it was to be a birthday present for her grandmother. She wanted to put it outside the old lady’s bedroom window. I told her I couldn’t do a pagoda because I’d promised Blaine that design was one of a kind. So we decided on a version of the Taj Mahal.”

“Why didn’t you mention it after Rosie was killed?”

“I forgot. God, Cait, that was months ago. Besides, what does my making a birdhouse for the girl have to do with anything?”

“It means you knew her.”

“I didn’t
know
her. She came in, placed an order, and a week later picked up the birdhouse and paid for it. What the hell is wrong with that?”

“Why are you so mad?”

Kirk sighed. “I’m mad about your constant questions. Why didn’t I mention this to you, why didn’t I tell you I met someone? I
do
tell you almost everything that happens to me. I know I told you about Rosie.”

“You didn’t.”

“I
did
.”

“I don’t remember it.”

“No, you don’t remember much of anything I say because you’re so wrapped up in Sarah and the day-care center.”

“You don’t want me to be a good mother?”

Kirk’s voice tightened. “That’s not what I mean and you know it. It just want you to stop trying to be superwoman. You don’t have to hover over Sarah like she’s a newborn. You don’t have to think about the center fourteen hours a day. You certainly don’t have to come to my shop and reorganize everything.”

A tear ran down Cait’s face. “I just want to be part of your life.”

“Caity, you are the most important part of my life. But I want a wife, someone who listens when I talk, someone who pays a little attention to me.”

“I think I do pay attention to you.”

“Like tonight when you suddenly decide I’ve been hiding something from you and you pounce on me?”

“I didn’t pounce.”

“Yes, you did, and you do it all the time. I’m getting tired of it, Cait. Really tired.”

“I’m sorry,” she said meekly.

Kirk wiped away a tear from her cheek and kissed her. “Caity, things have been getting worse between us for the past couple of years, ever since you opened the center. But we can start over.”

“You want me to close the center?”

“No, of course not. I just want you to leave it behind when the day is over. I want the evenings and the weekends to be ours, like they used to be.”

Cait pulled a tissue from the box on the bedside table and wiped her nose. “There’s just so much to do.”

“You
make
so much to do. I don’t know—sometimes I think you’re trying to prove you aren’t lazy like…”

“Like my father.”

“Well, yeah. That’s what you thought of him.”

“He
was
lazy.”

“I’m not going to argue about whether or not your father was a deeply troubled man or just plain lazy. I’m talking about us. Things are going to hell between us.”

“I don’t think they’re going to hell,” Cait said slowly, “but I guess we have been drifting apart.”

“That’s putting it mildly.”

She gave him a weak smile. “Okay. I won’t devote any less time to our daughter, but from now on I won’t let the day-care center play such a big part in my life.”

“And you’ll
stop
nosing around at my office.”

“I’ll stop trying to help you there, if that’s what you mean.”

“Whatever you want to call it.” Kirk kissed her again, this time more ardently. “Everything’s going to be all right, Caity,” he said softly. “We’re going to be just fine now.”

But after they’d turned off the light and Cait lay staring into the darkness while Kirk breathed deeply in sleep beside her, she couldn’t get the date of Rosie Van Zandt’s work order off her mind. August 24—just a couple of weeks before Kirk had started spending so much time working late at night.

1

John looked at Logan belligerently. “Okay, mystery time is over. Exactly why have you dragged me here at”—he looked at his watch—“nine-twenty on a Saturday morning?”

Logan sat down behind his desk, calmly picking up a pen while never taking his gaze from John. “You said that on the night of November fifteenth, the night of Rosalind Van Zandt’s death, you were with your girlfriend, Samantha Burton, in Columbus, Ohio.”

“That’s right. You called her and she confirmed it.”

“We called the number you gave us, and a young woman
claiming
to be Samantha Burton confirmed it.”

John frowned. “What do you mean,
claiming
to be Sam? I don’t get it.”

“We’re not quite the amateurs you take us for, Sanders. We didn’t let your alibi go with one simple phone call. We checked with the Columbus police.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. And we found out a few interesting things. One, there is
no
Samantha Burton in Columbus.”

John stiffened. “That’s crazy!”

“There is no phone listing for her.”

“She has an unlisted number.”

Logan looked at him deprecatingly. “Don’t you think in a murder investigation I have access to unlisted numbers? Besides, the number you gave us
is
listed—to a woman named Gail Clayton.”

“Gail is Samantha’s roommate.”

“You just said Samantha had an unlisted number.”

“She does. There are two phones in the apartment.”

“So you gave us Gail’s number instead of Samantha’s.”

Perspiration gleamed across John’s forehead. Abel Stroud wandered into the room and leaned against the wall, his eyes trailing over the teacher with measured leisure. “I must have gotten the numbers mixed up.”

“I don’t think so.” Logan leaned forward, looking at John unblinkingly. “And here’s another interesting development. There’s no one named Samantha Burton working at Riverside Hospital. You did say she was a nurse there, didn’t you?”

John’s breath was coming faster. “She hasn’t been there very long. Before that she was at Children’s Hospital.”

“Not according to their records.”

“Well, to tell you the truth, she’s not working this year.” John tried to smile as if he were imparting a somewhat amusing confidence. “You see, she was embarrassed about losing her job. It was because of the economy, of course, not because she isn’t a good nurse. I’ve been helping her out financially—”

“Stop it!” Logan stared stonily at John, who had turned the color of chalk. “Don’t you understand that this is a
murder
investigation? Don’t you understand that Rosalind Van Zandt was pregnant, and that you and one other person are the only men she was seen with during the last weeks of her life? Don’t you understand that we
know
you were lying about your whereabouts the night she was killed?”

John’s right hand had begun to tremble. “Are you saying I’m a suspect?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“But Tony Jarvis—”

“We aren’t talking about Jarvis!” Logan shouted. John jumped, and even Stroud’s small eyes opened wider. “Dammit, where
were
you?”

John drew in a long, shuddering breath before slumping in his chair. “I didn’t lie,” he began in a cowed voice. “I
was
in Columbus on November fifteenth.”

“But not with a woman named Samantha Burton.”

“No. I told a friend of mine the spot I was in, and she agreed to cover for me.”

“A friend? Is that what you call your sister, Gail?”

“Oh, God,” John murmured.

“That move wasn’t too smart of her,” Stroud commented. “Or of you.”

“I guess not. I just hope Gail doesn’t get into serious trouble because of what she did. Things haven’t been going too well for her. She doesn’t need grief over me to add to everything else. Her intentions were good.” He smiled weakly. “But like they say, ‘The road to hell is paved with good intentions.’ ”

Logan looked at him expressionlessly. “I’m not interested in old sayings, so why don’t you stop stalling and tell us where you were?”

“All right.” John’s voice sounded hopeless, resigned. “I was visiting a man named Samuel—Sam—Burleigh.”

“Sam Burleigh,” Logan repeated slowly. “Why did you feel you had to keep that fact a secret?”

John’s gaze dropped for a few seconds, then lifted again, his blue eyes blazing defiantly at Logan. “Because Sam Burleigh is my lover.”

2

“Sanders sure wasn’t anxious to take that DNA test to prove if he was the father of the Van Zandt baby,” Stroud announced an hour later while munching on his third Danish for the morning.

“I didn’t think he was going to agree at all. Your telling him Tony Jarvis was more than willing to take the test did the trick.”

“Except that Jarvis threw an even bigger fit than Sanders did about it.”

“What Sanders doesn’t know won’t hurt him. We got what we wanted, and right now that’s all I care about.”

Stroud began wiping his hands on an old napkin from his desk drawer. “Of course, if he’s tellin’ the truth about his
sexual preference
,” he said in a scathing imitation of John’s voice, “there’s not much hope of provin’ him the father, and I’m pretty sure he’s tellin’ the truth. That guy is just too good-lookin’.”

Logan grinned. “You wouldn’t be a little jealous of those good looks, would you?”

Stroud seemed affronted. “Hell, no! It’s just that if he is what he says, that complicates things even more.”

“Why is that?”

“Two reasons. One, this Sam Burleigh is an anesthesiologist. That means he’s got access to drugs the rest of us have never heard of. And if Sanders is his”—Stroud rolled his eyes—“
lover
, through Burleigh he could have gotten the drug that killed those girls.”

“Right.”

“But it could also mean somethin’ different.”

“You mean his homosexuality might have different implications?”

“Yep. That’s exactly what I’m sayin’.”

He began an intent perusal of the remaining Danish in the box on his desk as if he were selecting a diamond. Logan felt a surge of irritation. “Dammit, Able,” he finally snapped, “I wish you’d stop making all these melodramatic insinuations and then letting them hang in the air! Just say what you mean.”

Stroud looked up. “You won’t like it.”

“Tell me anyway,” Logan said.

“Okay.” Stroud picked up the Danish. “Nobody around here knew he was funny, did they?”

“I can’t speak for everyone, but I’d say the fact that John Sanders is gay isn’t generally known. According to him, that’s why he lied about his alibi—he was afraid he’d lose his job if the truth got out in this little place.”

“He’s right. Most people around here won’t put up with that nonsense. I sure don’t like the idea of my little Arletta bein’ taught by him.”

“I think little Arletta is perfectly safe,” Logan said dryly. “Just because he’s homosexual doesn’t mean he’s some kind of violent pervert.”

“You got your opinions, I got mine. But back to the point. Who are just about the only two women Sanders is ever seen with? Blaine Avery and Rosie Van Zandt.”

Logan became motionless and gave him a long, penetrating stare, knowing exactly where he was heading with this line of reasoning. “So?”

“So Miz Avery’s husband’s been gone six months, you know. And like I said, Sanders is a real good-lookin’ guy. He’s also single and about the same age as her. Everybody says they’re good friends, but what if it was more than that? What if Blaine had the hots for him? And what if she thought he wasn’t respondin’ to her because of some other female, like Rosie? And then, Rosie and Robin Avery bein’ such good friends and all, what if Rosie confided to Robin she was pregnant and Blaine found out? She could’ve figured it was Sanders’s kid. Sounds to me like a pretty good motive for one of those crimes of passion.”

In a flashing surge of anger, Logan wanted to shout that he didn’t want to hear any more of Stroud’s half-assed theories about Blaine Avery. But he could only imagine what Stroud would make of such a flaming defense of the woman he’d once loved. In fact, he knew what
anyone
would make of it, and he couldn’t let people think he was losing his objectivity about this case. So he drew a deep breath and said evenly, “Well, I guess nothing is impossible. But at this point I’m concerned about only one thing—confirming John Sanders’s alibi.”

“We’re trackin’ down that Sam Burleigh fella. They said at the hospital he
is
an anesthesiologist on staff.”

“But that doesn’t prove anything. Don’t you see, Abel, that Sanders might be lying about his homosexuality? Sam Burleigh might simply be someone Sanders
knows
.”

Abel frowned. “But Sanders would have to figure out that we’d catch on pretty quick if he’s lyin’.”

“But maybe not quick enough.”

3

Logan left Dillard’s Hardware Store and drove to the office of Richard Bennett. Bennett’s office was in a new brick building with lots of windows, a roomy parking lot, and a special entrance for the handicapped. It was the largest and nicest doctor’s office in town.

A young man wearing a cast from his wrist to his elbow glanced up from a magazine when Logan walked into the sunny waiting room that, as far as he was concerned, looked like a jungle with its many pots of hanging plants and flowering confections blooming on almost every table. A middle-aged receptionist with pinched, chihuahualike features and a tag reading “Miss Roush” pinned to her flat bosom told him, with a great deal of self-importance, that Dr. Bennett was with a patient and couldn’t possibly see him for another hour. Or not until tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow would definitely be better for the doctor. Would he care to make an appointment?

“This is official business,” Logan said, thinking he would never be able to use that phrase again without hearing Tim giggle. “I have to see Dr. Bennett as soon as possible.”

“Oh, well.” Miss Roush frowned ferociously. The dog image wouldn’t fade, and Logan had a sudden, absurd vision of her shredding newspapers with her teeth for fun. “As you can see, Sheriff, Dr. Bennett has someone waiting.”

The teenager, bearing a sprinkling of acne and still holding the magazine, smiled broadly. “I don’t mind waiting until the sheriff has seen the doctor,” he said. He looked as if he were deliberately trying to appear innocent. Logan had noticed this reaction before—the frightened compulsion to look blameless when faced with a badge.

“Terry, this office closes at twelve,” Miss Roush said severely. “If the sheriff takes too long, you might miss your appointment.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to get in the way of police business. I could always take a morning off from school next week and come back.”

“Now, wouldn’t you just like that!”

“Yes, ma’am, I would,” Terry replied, grinning.

“Since this young man doesn’t mind a delay, I’ll go in next,” Logan said. Miss Roush’s frown deepened. “That
is
all right, isn’t it?”

“I’ll have to ask the doctor.” She was nearly quivering with disapproval. “Sit down, Sheriff.”

She waited until Logan was safely seated, then went down the hall, her rubber-soled shoes squeaking on the polished tiles. “Scary, isn’t she?” Terry said.

Logan nodded. “I’ll bet no one gets past her.”

“Better than an armed guard. She’s got a crush on Doc Bennett. Thinks he’s her property or something.” He shook his head. “Jeez, can you imagine coming home to
her
every night?”

They were both snickering when she marched back to the window above her desk. “The doctor said he’ll be happy to talk with you as soon as he’s finished with this patient,” she announced, obviously parroting what Rick had said, then added just loud enough to be heard, “Of course, this is going to throw his schedule off for the
entire
morning.”

Terry snickered again, clearly enjoying the disturbance. Logan picked up a copy of
National Geographic
and began reading about a rain forest, although later he wasn’t able to remember where the rain forest was located. In five minutes Rick Bennett, wearing a white coat, came to the door of the waiting room. “Hello, Sheriff Quint. Come into my office.” As Logan rose, Rick glanced at the young man. “Got enough reading material there to keep you going for a while, Terry?”

“Sure. I’m glad you finally started getting
People
instead of all that educational stuff.”

Rick laughed, standing aside to let Logan pass him in the doorway. They went back to his office, a large, sunny room with a beautiful mahogany desk, maroon leather couch and chairs, and not one plant. Logan immediately guessed that the plants in the waiting room were Miss Roush’s touch.

“So what can I do for you?” Rick asked, motioning to the couch as he took his seat behind the desk.

“I need some information about a drug.”

“Oh?”

“This morning a kid found a medicine vial a few hundred feet from the high school gymnasium, back under a bush. I’m embarrassed that we missed it when we searched the area after Kathleen Foss’s death, but we did. Of course, I don’t know what we can do in the way of prints—the vial’s probably been there a while and the kid handled it—but we can try. Anyway, the vial was for a drug called Dilaudid. Familiar with it?”

Rick smiled. “Sure. It’s a narcotic analgesic used for the relief of moderate to severe pain associated with surgery, burns, trauma, cancer—that sort of thing.”

“And how is it dispensed?”

“Tablets and single- and multiple-dose ampules for injection are the most common ways. How big was the vial you found?” Logan measured with his fingers. “Then it was a multiple-dose ampule.”

“What would be the symptoms of an overdose of Dilaudid?”

“Respiratory depression. Extreme somnolence that could progress to stupor—”

“So that if someone had received a massive overdose,” Logan interrupted, “they wouldn’t be in any shape to fight off an attack—say someone slitting their wrists.”

Rick stared. “No. Of course not.”

“And how long does it take for the drug to go to work?”