Bouquet of Lies Part 36

Thirty-five.

AROUND TEN IN the morning Randy and Darla headed home. A sick, uneasy feeling gnawed at Darla's insides. She thought of her nightmare. She thought of her husband at the wheel beside her.

The wedding night had been anything but romantic. Aside from being carried over the threshold, she'd practically balled into a fetal position making it clear he shouldn't come near.

The wedding day had been tainted by the murder of Edward.

Wedding day tainted.

What a way to categorize a murder. A taint on her wedding. She couldn't help it though. Caring that her grandfather was dead was too much to ask. She didn't love him, not even a little bit.

After the murder, the idea of going on a honeymoon had been the last thing she wanted. And she didn't want Randy to make love to her. The whole idea left her cold. She wasn't a heroine in one of her books. Life wasn't rosy or wonderful. It was ugly and she was Darla. Darla-weakling-dependent-pathetic-crazy-Bouquet.

She shivered. All she wanted was the safety of her own room. The safety of the familiar. She wanted everything to go back the way it was. She could even accept her grandfather's cruelty, if everything went back. She was used to his ways. She coped for years and survived. What was she supposed to do now that everything was different? How was she supposed to be a wife? She couldn't picture it. She couldn't picture the future.

"We'll be home soon," Randy said. He tossed her a smile. "I'm glad we talked last night."

Darla frowned. Talk. Talk. Talk. Talk about Lacey. Talk about how horrible she was. How she was after her inheritance. Last night it all made sense. Now, by the light of day, she was undecided again. Lacey had always been her rock.

"Darla."

She glanced at him. He tossed her another smile.

"You still understand. I care about you more than I can express. If anything happened to you, I don't think I could bear it."

Darla didn't say anything. She felt empty. Her nerves were in overdrive. She heard them buzzing in her head. She turned her eyes to the front.

"Darla?"

She looked at him.

"You seem distant."

"I'm here," she murmured and faced front again.

"I'm worried about you. This last murder seems to have taken you away from me, and I want you well. I want you to know I'm the one who is there for you. I'm your husband. I'll care for you."

"You're the one," she said softly.

His voice grew a little more forceful. "I know how you hate doctors and how you hated that hospital your grandfather put you in. But it did help you, didn't it?"

She didn't answer the question. Whether it had helped her or not, she didn't want to go to the hospital. And why was he bringing it up?

"Believe me," he went on. "I will never put you there unless I see that you need it."

Her muscles contracted. Unless she needed it?

"So please, Darla. Please show me that you're strong. Please show me that you're listening to me. Can you do that?"

Her throat felt dry. She couldn't speak. Her heart raced.

"Because if you show me that. If you show me you're listening to me and trying, there will be no need for the hospital."

No need for the hospital. Her heart calmed, but only a little. Listen to him? All she had to do was listen to him?

And why wouldn't she listen to him? He loved her. He was her husband. They'd exchanged vows. He even said he would live in the mansion with her. She didn't have to move to his apartment.

"Darla. Did you hear me?"

She nodded.

"What did I say?"

"There's no need for the hospital because I'm listening to you."

His body sagged a little, like he was relieved. "That's right." He smiled. "I'm glad you're listening because there's more. I'm pretty sure about something. Actually, very sure. Which means there's proof of what I've been telling you."

Darla frowned.

"Not just what I've been telling you, but what this reverend of yours has been telling you. What your mother's spirit has been telling you."

She looked at him.

He glanced at her. "Smile for me, will you?"

Darla smiled, but just barely.

"When we get home, we're going to search Lacey's bedroom. If she has something to hide, we'll find it there."

Darla swallowed. She stopped looking at Randy. Her nerves buzzed. She was a collection of circuits on the fritz. Was she even sitting in a car? Was she alive? She looked at Randy again and saw his mouth moving, but she didn't hear anything except for the buzz in her head. She was a blob on the seat. She was so filled with dread she couldn't take in anymore.

Her head flopped toward the pa.s.senger window and she looked in the side mirror. She saw a motorcycle behind them, a couple of cars back. It looked like the one she'd seen on the trip going to Santa Barbara. It looked like Jake's custom motorcycle with the blue and silver paint.

A lot of bikes were blue and silver. How could she know this was the same bike as before? And how likely was it that Jake would be behind them? It wasn't likely at all. She continued to watch.

At least it was a thought. A bright, happy thought. And she clung to it. Thinking meant she was in her body somewhere. She wasn't just a blob on the seat. She was a thinking blob on the seat. She actually smiled, her head turned from Randy, and she watched the motorcycle stay with them. Occasionally it dropped back. But then it would return to only a couple of cars behind. Somehow it made her feel more secure.

Thirty-six.

"GOOD. YOUR SISTER isn't home," Randy told Darla as he drove into the motor court and saw the Spyder wasn't there.

Darla cheered at the sight of Henry washing the Lincoln. The familiar. The mundane. Life as usual. Randy must have caught the smile. "We'll keep him around if you want."

"That's up to Lacey," she said without thinking.

Randy frowned. "Haven't you been listening to me?" He turned off the motor. It shuddered just as her body did. She felt cold. She had said the wrong thing.

"Back so soon?" Henry began drying the beaded water.

"Darla wasn't feeling well."

Henry nodded.

"When you finish with that, you can clean up the Lexus."

Darla looked at Randy. It was weird to hear him give an order like that to Henry. Henry wasn't his. Henry was hers and Lacey's.

Henry smiled. "I'm sorry, sir. This is actually my day off and I'll be going after this." He turned his back without waiting for a reply.

"Later, then," Randy said.

They went in the house and he plopped their bags on the kitchen floor. "I have no idea where to put these. We haven't talked about which room to take."

My room, she wanted to say.

But they couldn't stay there. Her bed was only a double. He wouldn't like that. He'd want to buy a bigger bed. Only she didn't want a bigger bed, a different bed. And he would also want to get rid of the decor.

Her skin rippled with anxiety. She needed her room to stay the way it was.

He looked at her. "Are you hungry?"

Darla shook her head.

"Neither am I." He took a breath. "No time like the present. We should go through Lacey's bedroom while she's gone." He took Darla's hand. "Come on." He led her upstairs.

Inside Lacey's room he pointed to the dresser. "You go through that. I'll look here." He moved to the bed.

Darla stayed put.

"Darla. The drawers." He pointed again.

She moved, opened one, and stared in. Then she looked at him. He had the mattress pushed up, his hands sliding over the box spring. He found nothing, went down on his knees, and looked under the bed. "There's nothing here."

Darla closed the drawer without rummaging. "There's nothing here either."

"Try another one. Try them all." He moved to the closet.

Darla opened a drawer and closed it. She opened another and closed it. She opened another and closed it. "There's nothing," she said.

He came out of the closet and looked at her. "Are you sure? Because there's nothing in the closet."

She stared at him. She felt like a sack of mindless dirt.

"Didn't your mother . . ." He stopped himself, waited a second and moved to the dresser. He opened a drawer and saw that she hadn't disturbed it. "Did you look? Really look?"

His hands went through the drawer. He came up empty. His hands went through a second drawer. Then a third. This time he came away with a wig and a mask in his fingers. He showed them to Darla.

"I told you. Look. It's a wig. A blond wig. And look at this mask. Doesn't it look like your mother?"

She didn't answer.

"Darla?"

She nodded.

"Maybe next time I tell you something you'll believe me."

He thrust the objects into her hands and she let them fall to the floor.

He s.n.a.t.c.hed them up. "You're tired. I am, too. We'll deal with this later. For now, I think it's best if we put them back where she hid them." He put them in the drawer. "That way she won't know we're on to her. When the time is right, we'll call the police and let them find everything."

He took Darla by the arm and marched her into her room. His grip hurt a little. He seemed angry. Why was he angry? Because he realized now that she was a bore?

"The gun," he said.

What did he want with the gun? Did he expect her to go shooting? Now? She couldn't. She just couldn't.

"It's still where I put it, right?" He opened the drawer, picked it up. "Darla, look at me."

She was looking at him.

"Darla. This is so important. You have to protect yourself. Do you understand?"

She stared at him.

"I need you to say it."

She moistened her lips and swallowed.

"Darla."

"I understand."

He sighed. He didn't seem so mad now. "Okay, good. You know how to use this. I've showed you lots of time."

"Lots of times."

"And you can pull the trigger."

Darla nodded.