Don't Close Your Eyes Part 17

"Yes, since I was younger than Paige."

"Guitar lessons," Nick said thoughtfully. "Maybe they would spur her musical interest the way the piano doesn't. I don't have an ounce of talent myself, but I'd hate to see hers go to waste just because she's playing the wrong instrument."

"It's not the instrument-it's the type of music. 'Fur Elise' doesn't inspire her," Natalie told him. "She'd prefer something more modern. Anyway, after our concert we played beauty shop. She's practicing her French braid."

Nick grinned. "Judging by the looks of your hair she needs more practice."

"Don't tell her that. She said this was her best braid yet."

"Good Lord."

"She'll improve." Natalie reached up and began untwining the long, shining strands of her hair. "During the movie we ate approximately five pounds of popcorn. After the movie she was determined to stay up until you came home but her eyelids were drooping. She'll sleep late tomorrow."

Nick looked troubled. "Was she still frightened about the murders?"

"She stopped talking about them. I'm sure she's still afraid, though."

"She and the rest of the town. It's been one h.e.l.l of a day."

Natalie stood. She wore faded jeans and a pale green tee shirt. "You look tired," she said, slipping her slender feet into the sandals.

"So tired I'll never get to sleep."

"I'd suggest a drink but alcohol makes you sleepy, then wakes you up in the middle of the night. May I fix you some warm milk?"

"I would love some warm milk, but after the evening you've put in with my daughter, I certainly can't ask-"

"You certainly can," she said briskly. "Warm milk coming up, on one condition."

"And that would be?"

"You get milk, I get information."

"About the murders?"

"Yes." Sensing his reluctance, Natalie said, "Sheriff Meredith-Nick-I knew these people. Tamara was one of my closest friends. Warren was her husband. This is all striking pretty close to home."

He sighed. "Okay. You deserve information. Just give me a few minutes to unwind."

Nick followed Natalie into the kitchen and took mugs from the cabinet while she got the milk. "Sit down before you fall down," she directed, putting the full mugs into the microwave. "Do you like cinnamon in your milk?"

"I never tried it, but it sounds good. I feel like living dangerously tonight."

She smiled. "I guessed you were a risk-taker."

When he took a sip of warm cinnamon-flavored milk he said, "That's great. I didn't know what I'd been missing for thirty-six years."

"My mother used to fix milk this way." Suddenly she laughed. "Once she read some silly article that said nutmeg had the same effect as LSD, so she rushed out and bought some for herself, sprinkled it in milk, and gulped it down. She looked so disappointed when nothing happened."

Nick stared at her.

"Let me explain Kira to you," Natalie went on. "I was never allowed to call her Mommy-only Kira. Her parents lived in San Francisco. They were artists, very successful and very bohemian. Their son Peter was straight as an arrow. He and my father met in medical school. Unlike Peter, Kira was even more unconventional than her parents. She and my father were a total mismatch. I still don't understand why she married him and had me. Maybe Dad and I were an experiment for her. Anyway, when I was six she took off. She was supposed to pick me up at school. She didn't show.

Lily's mother took me home. The house was empty except for the dog. Three hours later when Dad got back from the hospital, he found a brief note in the bedroom saying she was sorry but she had to explore her inner self or some such nonsense. She said she'd be fine and in touch with us soon. Soon turned out to be six months. She was in California. She'd joined a commune, she called it. I think it was really a cult."

Natalie tossed Nick a lighthearted smile, but he saw the pain behind it. "She's still floating around from group to group, man to man. I hear from her a couple of times a year. I haven't seen her since I was twenty-one. She actually came to Columbus to talk me out of going into veterinary medicine. She said it was plebeian and that I should pursue my music. I ignored her."

"That's sad," Nick said, and immediately felt foolish. The woman had poured out her heart and all he responded with was "That's sad." He tried again. "Back in New York I ran into cases of neglect and desertion by parents all the time. I got almost used to it, but then I never knew the people involved. It seems almost unbelievable to me when I think of my own mother, though. She had seven kids. Didn't believe in birth control. My dad worked two jobs and Mom was a waitress, but things were still tough. She didn't have a lot of free time, but what she had she devoted to us. And my own wife Meagan... well, she was a great mother. A wonderful, loving mother. I wish she could have seen Paige grow up," he ended, feeling his throat muscles tighten. He took a sip of milk and sat rigid-faced when it wouldn't go down.

"Paige was lucky," Natalie said softly.

Nick nodded and managed to swallow. "Meagan died two years ago. That's why we left New York."

Natalie looked at him, clearly expecting him to go on with more details. But he hadn't discussed Meagan's death since it happened. A few people in Port Ariel knew that he was a widower. He'd never told anyone here how he had become one.

Natalie lowered her gaze and said casually, "It's tough on a little girl to be without a mother-"

"Meagan was murdered." The abruptness of the statement startled Nick. Natalie raised her eyes and the words began spilling from him. "She was working on a doctorate in English at N.Y.U. and had almost finished. One evening I came home and she was ecstatic. She'd done great on a general exam and wanted to celebrate with champagne. I offered to go to the liquor store, but she said I looked beat. The store was only a block away."

He looked down, lines digging into his forehead. "Just as she was paying for the champagne, in came a couple of punks with guns. The clerk had to play hero and go for the owner's gun under the counter." He drew a deep breath. 'The punks started shooting. Two people were injured slightly. The clerk took a bullet in the head and died instantly. They got Meagan in the abdomen and the neck-the carotid artery. She lived four hours."

"Nick, I'm so sorry."

"If only I'd gone for the champagne. Instead I was sitting at home with my shoes off watching television while my wife-"

"You couldn't possibly have known what would happen," Natalie interrupted firmly. "Certainly she'd gone to that store before and there weren't any robberies. It was a random event. You can't control the world."

"More's the pity."

"It's a pity, but it's also a fact." Natalie added hesitantly, "Paige never said a word about what happened to her mother."

"She never does and it really worries me. I don't want her to dwell on her mother's death, but she won't discuss it at all. I know she thinks about it constantly, though. They were so close. She adored her mother," Nick said raggedly. "For five months after Meagan's death I went around in a haze, furious one minute, lost in grief the next. I even got this weird silver streak in my hair."

He paused and drew a deep breath. "Then Meagan's sister Jan started making noises about getting custody of Paige. That scared the h.e.l.l out of me. There I was single and with a high-risk job. Not an ideal father, and Jan's husband has powerful contacts in the New York judicial system. So I pulled myself together and decided I had to get Paige out of New York, away from the memories, away from the threat of Jan, away from the danger of the city because if I lost her, too..."

Nick laughed mirthlessly. "I started looking frantically for jobs in small places. Someone I knew who vacationed here every summer told me about Port Ariel. I came and looked it over and discovered I could get on the police force. It seemed like a miracle, even if I had to work for Sheriff Purdue. Then came the election. I ran and to my amazement, I won. I thought I had it made. I was the sheriff of a beautiful little town. I'd made a home for my child in a safe haven, or so I thought."

"Port Ariel usually is a safe haven."

"I guess I was just lucky enough to move here and become sheriff when all h.e.l.l is breaking loose. People are looking to me for answers."

"And you'll find them."

His dark blue eyes were anguished and the scar on his forehead turned dead white against the tanned skin. "Do you really believe that?"

"Yes," Natalie said sincerely. "Don't start doubting yourself now."

Nick studied her oval face, the fine skin, the intensely dark eyes with that beautiful slight slant. She not only looked lovely, she looked calm and intelligent and full of good sense. He suddenly felt astounded that he'd told her not only about Meagan's murder, but also his anxiety over his daughter's safety and her refusal to discuss her lost mother. Natalie had sat there with her warm milk and cinnamon, her soft husky voice, her tranquil manner, and elicited his darkest memory and his deepest fears. "Well, I'm a laugh a minute, aren't I?" he asked dryly.

"You're tired and worried." She smiled. "You're human."

"I don't think the citizens of Port Ariel want a human for a sheriff right now. They want a superhero."

"Can you blame them? They're scared."

"You don't seem scared, even after your visit to The Blue Lady."

Natalie flushed. "Can we please forget that appalling lapse of good sense? I'm not usually such a fool. And for the record, I'm just as scared as everyone else."

"And you're also full of questions about the murders."

"Maybe now isn't the time for me to be asking questions."

"Because I sound like I might blow into a million pieces? I won't. I never do. And it might help me to talk about all of this. Actually I have a few questions of my own."

Natalie raised an eyebrow. "Quid pro quo? You trust my a.s.sessments even after our meeting at The Blue Lady?"

"No one shows perfect judgment all the time." Nick smiled. "Not even me."

"I'm glad you can be forgiving. Okay. What can I tell you?"

He leaned forward. "Did you know Warren Hunt was involved with Charlotte Bishop?"

She shook her head. "Lily can't-couldn't-stand him and I think she suspected affairs, but she never mentioned anyone in particular. Frankly I'm shocked to hear about him and Charlotte."

"Why?"

" Warren was a nice-looking man, a professional, but Charlotte was beautiful and rich and fresh out of a marriage to a gorgeous television star. Warren Hunt seems a bit mundane for her."

"I thought the same thing. About Warren being boring after what she's used to, not about Paul Fiori being gorgeous." She made a face at him. "So you have no idea how long they've been seeing each other?"

"Certainly not when Charlotte was in California. The affair must have started after she came back to Port Ariel just a few months ago."

"Do you think Lily knew about it?"

"No. If she had, she would have told me."

"You're absolutely sure? Maybe she was being discreet."

"Lily is not discreet, particularly around me," Natalie said wryly. "Now it's my turn. Were Warren and Charlotte murdered like Tamara?"

"Yes. Throats slashed. As of now it looks like the same or a similar weapon was used. A long-bladed razor. We found Warren in the living room or whatever they call it on a boat. He'd been murdered on deck, though. Charlotte was in the bedroom." He paused. "On the wall was written in blood, 'open tomb.' "

Natalie drew a sharp breath. " 'Their throat is an open tomb.' The Biblical quotation the woman said on the phone and in the dance pavilion."

"Do you know where in the Bible the quotation is from?"

"I'm not a Bible scholar, but she told me it was Romans. She even said the chapter, but I don't remember. I was going to look it up at home, but I couldn't find Dad's Bible. I don't know if he even has one. He's never been particularly religious. Da you happen to have one?"

Nick rose from the table. In a moment he returned with a large, battered Bible. He handed it to Natalie. When she flipped it open, she saw a list of births and deaths recorded in various shades of faded ink. The last was for Meagan Marie Lincoln Meredith. She quickly riffled pages until she came to Romans. She began scanning pages and after only a couple of minutes she said, "Here it is!"

"That was quick."

"It's in chapter three, in italics, no less! Must be bad."

"Read it to me. I'm so tired my eyes are blurry." Natalie read slowly and clearly: " 'There is none righteous, no, not one; There is none who understands; There is none who seeks after G.o.d. They have all gone out of the way; They have together become unprofitable; There is none who does good, no, not one.

Their throat is an open tomb; With their tongues they have practiced deceit; The poison of asps is under their lips; Whose mouth is full of cursing and bitterness. Their feet are swift to shed blood; Destruction and misery are in their ways; And the way of peace they have not known. There is no fear of G.o.d before their eyes.' "

Nick sighed. "Well, that was cheerful."

Natalie frowned. "The reference to their throats being open tombs is obvious because all the victims had their throats slashed. But what about 'they have practiced deceit'? Warren and Charlotte were deceitful, but Tamara? She was probably the most honest person I've ever known."

"It says none seek after G.o.d. That could mean none of the victims was religious."

"I don't know about Warren and Charlotte, but Tamara was a devout Catholic. 'Destruction and misery are in their ways,' 'There is none who does good.' You could apply those lines to Warren and Charlotte, but not Tamara. Nick, nothing in this quotation fits Tam."

"I guess finding the motive for these killings so easily was too much "to hope for."

"Maybe these are motiveless murders."

"I've always thought the phrase 'motiveless murder' was stupid," Nick said. "No murder is without motive, not even the murders committed by serial killers. They have motives, although often those motives don't make sense to the average person."

Natalie was quiet for a moment. "But you don't believe this is the work of a serial killer."

"No, I don't," Nick said slowly. "I'm not even convinced the three murders were committed by the same person."

"But you said they were all killed the same way."

"Yes, but Charlotte and Warren were killed with more savagery. They each have multiple stab wounds besides those to the throat. Tamara didn't."

"So you think there might be two killers?"

"Maybe." He paused. "I have another question for you to answer. Lily and her father didn't like Warren."

"That's not a question."

"No." He paused. "I probably shouldn't tell you this, but Warren 's alibi for the night of Tamara's death didn't check out. He claimed to be at a bar having a drink with a woman. She corroborated his story, but I thought she seemed nervous. She sounded as if she'd practiced her story. She also made the mistake of volunteering too much information. One detail she mentioned was the name of the bar. I checked. The owner had died and they were closed the night Warren was supposed to have been there. That's why I was trying to find him this morning."

Natalie's face froze. "You think he might have killed Tamara?"

"Considering his affair with Charlotte and the lack of an alibi, yes."

"But how does that explain his murder?" Natalie's lips parted as realization dawned. "You think Warren might have murdered Tamara, Lily and Oliver suspected, so one of them murdered him?" She shook her head. "No. Absolutely not. I've known Lily most of my life. She's not as gentle as Tamara was, but she could never deliberately hurt anyone."

"And Oliver?"

"No. I mean, he wouldn't murder someone. He just couldn't..."