Don't Cry Now Part 43

Bonnie thought of Diana's apartment in the city. She couldn't impose on Caroline's generosity indefinitely. "There might be," Bonnie told her. "After I've spoken to the police, I'll have a better idea of my options. I hope," she said, and almost laughed. "Look, I'll call you first thing in the morning."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

"Because I won't move from the phone until I hear from you."

"I'll call you first thing."

"You're sure you're all right?"

"I'm not sure of anything," Bonnie admitted. If you couldn't trust chicken soup, what could you trust? she thought. "I'll call you," she said, pressing the b.u.t.ton to disconnect, then immediately punching in her home phone number.

Rod answered before the first ring was completed.

"Rod...."

"Bonnie, where the h.e.l.l are you? Are you all right? Where did you go?" he said, the words running together, like colors bleeding into one another in the wash.

"I'm all right."

"Where are you?"

"I'm with Amanda," she said, sidestepping his question. "And I won't be home tonight."

"What?"

"I'm sorry I made you come home early from Florida, Rod."

"You're sorry you made me come home early? What are you talking about?"

"I'll talk to you tomorrow, Rod."

"Bonnie, wait, don't hang up."

"I'll explain everything tomorrow."

"Bonnie...."

Bonnie turned off the phone, handed it back to Caroline, wondering if tomorrow she'd be any further ahead.

30.

It was almost ten o'clock the next morning when Bonnie woke up in bed alone. Amanda, who'd been curled into a warm little ball beside her all night, was gone. Bonnie looked around the large white room-white carpet, white lace curtains, white bedspread. She checked the white en suite bathroom-white tile, white tub, white towels. Amanda wasn't there.

"Amanda?" she called out, slipping on the white terry cloth robe Caroline had left at the foot of the bed, padding out of the room in her bare feet. "Amanda?"

She continued down the wide hallway, past several closed doors, listening for any sounds, hearing m.u.f.fled voices coming from the room at the end of the hall. She approached quietly, leaning against the door, feeling it open.

"Mommy!" Amanda sat, fully dressed, her hair freshly brushed, in front of a large-screen television set. "Caroline let me watch cartoons." She pointed at the screen where one animated figure was clubbing another animated figure over the head with a large piece of spiked wood. "And she gave me two bowls of Corn Pops for breakfast. And chocolate milk."

"Two bowls of Corn Pops? Aren't you lucky."

"She said to be very quiet so you could sleep in."

"I hope you don't mind," Caroline said, coming up the hallway, looking wonderfully healthy in a pale lavender sweatsuit. "You were sleeping so soundly, I didn't want to disturb you."

"I can't believe I slept so late," Bonnie said.

"You look much better for it," Caroline said. "Can I get you something to eat?"

"I'm not sure I'm ready for solid foods."

"Not even a piece of toast? I make a mean piece of toast."

"Okay. Toast sounds good."

"And tea?"

"I don't think I'll ever drink tea again," Bonnie said truthfully.

"How about some orange juice?"

"Orange juice would be great."

"Good. It'll be ready in two minutes." Caroline peeked in at Amanda. "How are you doing in here, kiddo? Can I get you some more Corn Pops?"

Amanda giggled. "I had two bowls," she announced proudly.

"You did? How did that happen? Lyle usually doesn't let anybody share his Corn Pops."

"How does Lyle feel about our being here?" Bonnie asked as Amanda returned her attention to the cartoons. "I mean, really."

"You heard what he said last night. You're welcome to stay as long as you like."

"That's very generous, but why should he put up with strangers in his house? He doesn't even know me."

"He knew Joan. He wants to see her killer brought to justice as much as I do."

Bonnie looked to the floor, saw her bare toes wiggle back. "I should call the police," she said.

"I'll get your breakfast ready."

Bonnie called Captain Mahoney. He wouldn't be in until noon, she was told. Again, Bonnie left a message, stressed its urgency. Wasn't there some way of reaching the captain before then? Doubtful, she was told, this being a Sat.u.r.day. Perhaps someone else could be of a.s.sistance.

"What did he say?" Caroline asked, as Bonnie walked into the kitchen, took a seat at the kitchen table.

"He won't be in till noon."

Caroline deposited two pieces of toast on a plate in front of Bonnie, along with some b.u.t.ter, raspberry jam, and marmalade. Then she poured a tall gla.s.s of juice and handed it to Bonnie, watching while she took a sip. "Drink up," she instructed. "You don't want to get dehydrated."

"Thanks."

"Did you take your pills?"

"A few minutes ago."

Caroline laughed. "I'm starting to sound like my mother."

"She must be a lovely woman," Bonnie said sincerely.

"Thank you. She was." Caroline paused. "So, what do you think? Is that, or is that not, the best piece of toast you ever tasted?"

Bonnie obligingly took a bite. "Most definitely the finest piece of toast in creation."

"Try the raspberry jam. I made it myself."

Bonnie scooped a small bit of jam onto her toast. And don't eat anything you don't see prepared in front of your eyes, she heard Dr. Kline intone solemnly. Immediately, she lowered the piece of toast to the plate. What was she thinking? Did she seriously think that Caroline Gossett was trying to poison her too?

"Something wrong?"

Bonnie took a deep breath. "No, nothing." She bit determinedly into the piece of toast, savoring the rich raspberry flavor on the inside of her mouth, then swallowing. Ultimately, she decided, she had to trust somebody. "I should call my friend," she said, picturing Diana waiting nervously for her call.

Caroline handed her the phone. "I'll be in the other room."

"You don't have to leave," Bonnie told her, grateful for the company, listening as the phone rang once, then twice, then three times. "I'm probably dragging her out of the bathroom," she said nervously, letting it ring another six times before finally giving up, then trying again. "Maybe I dialed the wrong number," she said, knowing instinctively she hadn't, but trying it again anyway. "I guess she must have gone out for a few minutes." After telling Bonnie she wouldn't budge from the phone until she'd heard from her? Without putting on her answering machine?

"Maybe she's in the shower," Caroline offered.

"That's probably it," Bonnie agreed readily, patting her own unwashed hair. "And actually, that's not such a bad idea. If you wouldn't mind...."

"Please, be my guest."

Bonnie rose unsteadily to her feet.

"But finish your toast and juice first," Caroline advised. "Something tells me you're going to need all the strength you can get."

Bonnie stood under the shower's hot blast and watched herself disappear in a cloud of steam. Not that there was much of her left to disappear. She'd lost at least ten pounds, possibly more, and her ribs protruded awkwardly from underneath her small b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Her legs looked like sticks, not much fleshier above the knees than below. Prep.u.b.escent, almost. Twiggy returns, Bonnie thought, with her haunted eyes and painted on lower lashes, her close-cropped hair, and her sunken chest. Maybe Twiggy hadn't been naturally skinny after all. Maybe she'd painted on those exaggerated lashes because her own had fallen out. Maybe she'd adopted the boyish waif hairdo when her once l.u.s.trous locks had turned to straw. Maybe she'd been suffering from a.r.s.enic poisoning.

Bonnie laughed, shampoo snaking its way from her hairline into her open mouth. She spit it out, laughed again, ma.s.saged her head with forceful fingers. I'm gonna wash that man right out of my hair, she sang softly, then wondered why on earth she was singing. Her whole life was falling apart, someone was trying to kill her, she didn't know whom she could trust, and here she was singing in the shower. The a.r.s.enic must have already seeped into her brain.

She thought she heard something, waited until she heard it again, shut off the water when she realized it was a tapping at the bathroom door. "Yes?" she called out, wondering if she'd heard anything at all.

"Bonnie," Caroline called back, opening the bathroom door a crack, letting a gust of cool air inside. Bonnie felt it wrap around her torso, like a towel. "I'm sorry to bother you, but I thought I should call you right away. It's Captain Mahoney-he's on the phone."

Bonnie barely had time to dry off and get dressed before Captain Mahoney was at the front door. She told him everything, the words pouring from her mouth like boiling water from a kettle-the way she'd been feeling the last few weeks, her visit to the doctor, the results of her blood tests, the certainty that someone had been poisoning her, the uncertainty of who it was. "I found some rat poison under Joan's sink," she told him.

"You were there?"

"Yesterday." She caught a glimmer of surprise, then impatience in his dark eyes. He fidgeted on the seat beside her, pretended to be studying the tall nude sculpture in front of the piano in Caroline Gossett's living room. Caroline was teaching Amanda how to make papier-mche in the bas.e.m.e.nt. Lyle had disappeared first thing in the morning to play golf.

"You touched it?" he asked, resignation clinging to his words like a stubborn tickle in the throat.

"Yes." Bonnie understood without needing to be told that her careless hands had probably destroyed whatever chance the police might have had of discovering fresh prints somewhere on its surface. "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking."

He scratched the side of his head. "Everyone's a detective," he muttered.

"Like my brother?" Bonnie asked, waiting for his response, receiving none. "Is he who he says he is, Captain Mahoney?"

"Your brother is not a suspect in Joan's murder," Captain Mahoney replied cryptically.

"Is he a police officer?" she pressed.

"I couldn't say."

"Couldn't? Or won't?"

"Your brother is not a suspect in this case," he repeated.

Bonnie nodded. "Then it's safe for me to contact him?"

"It's safe," he told her, as grateful tears filled her eyes.

"Thank you," she said. "I didn't know which way to turn."

"Looks like you turned in the right direction," he said, eyes scanning Caroline's living room.

"I was lucky. Caroline's a wonderful woman."

"Good friends are hard to come by."

"Oh my G.o.d, I forgot about Diana," Bonnie said. "She must be half crazy by now." She stood up, ran into the kitchen, grabbed the phone, punched in Diana's number.

Again the phone rang once, twice, three times. She was about to hang up, dial again, when it was suddenly picked up.

"Oh good, you're there," Bonnie said, not waiting for Diana's h.e.l.lo. "I called before, but you must have been in the shower."

"Who is this?" The male voice on the other end of the line was flat, expressionless, although vaguely familiar.

A cold sweat broke out across Bonnie's upper lip. Her breath caught in her throat, refused to budge. "Who's this?" she asked in return.

"Detective Haver of the Weston police," he answered. "Who am I speaking to, please?"