Not Guilty Part 33

Phil Stratton snorted in disgust and replaced a stack of photos of Mark Weaver in the drawer of the bedside table. The more they unearthed in this little house, the clearer it became that Maureen had been consumed by her memories of Mark Weaver. The house was a shrine to his memory. And now, in some sort of desperate, bizarre proof of her love, Maureen had crossed the bar, perhaps in hopes of finding him again. Phil sighed, thinking of how hopeful he had been before their dinner date the other night. He'd indulged in fantasies of him and Maureen as a couple, imagined what a good team they would make. Well, at least he'd realized before he slept with her that he would only be a stand-in for Mark Weaver. Even so, he hadn't realized the extent of it.

Phil walked out of Maureen's bedroom into the living room, where Keely was seated, on the edge of a pink-and-green chintz sofa, drinking from a Styrofoam cup of tea that a young policewoman had gone out to get for her. The cup shook in her hands. Keely looked up at him.

"Feeling any better?" Phil asked.

Keely shrugged. "A little, I guess."

"Mrs. Weaver, you want to tell me why you came over here tonight?"

Keely heaved a sigh. "I found out . . . I just found out tonight that Ms. Chase had been calling my husband frequently before he died-including on the night he died . . ."

Phil waited for her to continue. She thought about mentioning her suspicions of an affair but thought better of it. "I guess I just wanted to know why," she said, sticking her chin up defiantly.

Phil shook his head. "Well, it's pretty clear why. She was obsessed with him," he said. "The bedroom's full of pictures of him. Her closet-she's still got shirts with his monogram that haven't been washed in . . . quite a while. Tapes. Files with every sc.r.a.p of his handwriting she was able to collect. She's got receipts from his gas station credit card, for crying out loud. She was completely fixated on your husband. Did he ever mention to you that she kept calling him?"

Keely shook her head slightly.

Phil scratched his smoothly shaven jaw. "Maybe he didn't want to worry you. It might have freaked you out to know she was stalking him."

Stalking him. A wave of relief engulfed Keely as the term registered.Stalking.Keely thought about the phone calls. They were mostly from Maureen when she thought about it. She tried to recall what Betsy had said. Naturally, if Maureen had been calling Mark at work ten times a day, it would give rise to rumors. Maybe Mark had felt responsible for Maureen's obsession, guilty over leaving her for Keely. Maybe he hadn't wanted to expose her behavior and embarra.s.s her. Keely nodded and looked around the room. Everything was neatly in its place, the ruffled chintzes, flowered rugs, and dried flowers indicating a woman's orderly domestic life. There was no outward sign of Maureen's secret mania, but there was plenty of evidence tucked away. Maybe Detective Stratton was right. Maureen had been stalking Mark. Keely would never be able to banish from her memory the grotesque image of Maureen in that wedding dress, listening to those revolting tapes as she took her last suicidal breath. Stalking. It made sense. Of course.

Keely shuddered, remembering that first glimpse of Maureen in the car, the limp, twisted body, the terrible sensation of touching those cold lips. "I tried to save her," Keely said in a small voice.

"I know you did. The EMT told me about your call." He sighed again. "It's pathetic, really. She was completely stuck in the past. She couldn't get Mark back, and she couldn't get on with her life without him. I think she had a . . . morbid fixation on your husband, and it finally just drove her around the twist."

Keely stared at the tea bag floating in her cup and thought about Maureen, still being so desperately in love with Mark. All those phonecalls. It would be flattering to a man-terribly flattering-to a have a woman like Maureen Chase, a cool, in-control sort of woman, who couldn't get over you. She kept thinking of Betsy's words-We didn't know anything for sure . . . We didn't have any real evidence.

No,she thought adamantly.No.Since reading Richard's note, she had been plagued with doubts about why Mark had sought her out in the first place, even why he began to court her. But they were married and had a child together. After all that, there couldn't be any doubt of his devotion to her-or of his love for Abby. Mark, the man who had wooed her so ardently and insisted he couldn't live without her, would not have resumed an affair with his old lover. No, Mark wouldn't have done that. It had to be stalking. There was no other explanation.

"I have to say, Mrs. Weaver . . ." Phil said, interrupting her thoughts,"I think maybe I owe you . . . and your family . . . well . . ."

Keely gazed at him curiously.

Phil took a deep breath. "I began to think this the other night when I had dinner with . . . the D.A. I began to think that perhaps her desire to blame your husband's death on Dylan might be motivated by . . . her unresolved feelings. I started to wonder if maybe I was partic.i.p.ating in a . . . personal . . . a grudge situation," he said.

"Are you trying to apologize, Detective?" Keely asked.

"I didn't say that," he insisted.

Keely smiled thinly. "I'm not going to sue your office, if that's what you're worried about. I understand that she was pressuring you."

"There was a certain amount of . . . urgency to her . . . investigation," he admitted carefully.

"Still, it would do my son's heart good if you were to explain this to him," she suggested. "He has suffered quite a bit."

"Keely!"

Keely looked up and saw Lucas, leaning on his walking stick, in the doorway of Maureen's cottage. "Thank G.o.d you're here," she said. She rose shakily to her feet and went to Lucas, who drew her close, putting his arm around her.

"Are you all right?" he asked. "What happened?"

Lucas's worried gaze searched her face. Keely felt herself breakingdown under the warmth of his concern. "I came to talk to her," she said."I found her . . ." Her voice cracked.

Lucas murmured soothingly to her. "It's all right," he said. "I'll take you home. Phil, is it okay for me to take Mrs. Weaver back home? Are you through with her?"

Phil nodded. "Yeah. Go on. We're still checking out her story, but it's a formality. This looks pretty open and shut. Anyway, I know where to find her if I need her."

Lucas shook his head. "I still can't believe it," he said. "Maureen Chase."

"There was a lot we didn't know about Maureen. She had a dark side," said Phil.

Lucas sighed. "Apparently. Come on, dear," he said to Keely. "Let me get you home." He turned to Phil. "Can you have somebody bring her vehicle back?"

"Sure," said Phil. "I'll get a couple of my men to bring it around tonight," he said.

Keely handed him the keys.

Phil nodded. "I'll be in touch, Mrs. Weaver."

Keely let Lucas lead her out to his Lincoln. He opened the door, and Keely obediently settled herself in the front seat. Then Lucas went around to the driver's side and got in.

"Put your seat belt on," he said sternly.

Keely nodded and did as she was told.

"That must have been a terrible shock for you," said Lucas, "finding her like that."

"It was horrible. You can't imagine. I tried to save her," said Keely.

"I know," said Lucas absently. "One of the cops outside told me. You did all anyone could." He hesitated a minute and then he asked, "Why did you go over there in the first place?"

Keely shook her head, as if trying to clear the image of Maureen out of her mind. Then she looked over at Lucas's handsome profile, ravaged by age. "I found out she was calling Mark all the time."

"Well, they still had business together," Lucas said.

"This wasn't business," said Keely.

Lucas raised his eyebrows and stared out over the steering wheel."I'm sure I don't know what they talked about."

"It's all right, Lucas. I talked to Betsy. She told me what you two were thinking."

Lucas was silent for a moment. "What did Betsy tell you?"

"She told me what you suspected. But it wasn't that," said Keely."Detective Stratton told me that Maureen was stalking Mark."

Lucas remained silent.

"Thanks for trying to protect me, though," said Keely.

Lucas frowned. "I don't know what you mean."

"Yes, you do. You thought he was cheating on me, and you kept quiet about it, hoping I wouldn't get hurt."

Lucas shrugged. "I guess I was making something of it that wasn't there. I honestly didn't know, Keely. He didn't confide in me about it, and that's the truth."

"Oh, he was good at keeping things to himself," said Keely.

They arrived at Keely's driveway and pulled in. Lucas parked the car, and sat behind the wheel staring out the windshield at the large stone facade of the house. "Why do you say that?" He turned and looked at Keely.

Keely hesitated. She thought of telling him about Richard's note, about Mark being implicated, but it would only hurt him and make him wonder about his son. And Maureen's suicide put things in a whole different light. Maybe Mark's death wasn't about the distant past, but about his murky present. In any event, Maureen was gone now, and no one would ever need to know.

"Nothing. Never mind," she said. Headlights blinded her as a vehicle pulled into the driveway behind them and parked. Keely turned around to look as the lights were switched off, and she recognized her own SUV. A car, a police car, pulled in behind it and sat idling. The driver of Keely's Bronco, a young cop in uniform she recognized from Maureen's house, got out.

Keely clambered out of Lucas's front seat and walked toward the policeman. The night air was getting colder, and she shivered. The young cop held out the keys and put them in her icy fingers. "Thank you," said Keely.

"No problem," said the young cop, touching his hat. He walked back to the patrol car and slid into the pa.s.senger side.

Turning her keys over and over in her hand, Keely walked back to the window of Lucas's car and leaned down.

"Do you want to come in?" she asked.

"If you'd like," he said. His voice sounded drained and tired.

"No. You go on home," Keely said.

"Are you sure?" Lucas asked.

Keely nodded. She stepped away from the car as Lucas turned on the ignition.

"Can you get around my car?" she asked.

Lucas nodded. "No problem."

She hesitated, fiddling with the keys in her hand. Lucas waited, watching her. She frowned, then said, "Lucas, if somebody was stalking you, a woman, would you tell Betsy or would you keep it to yourself?"

"If a woman was stalking me, I'd probably be so flattered I'd tell the newspaper," said Lucas with a gleam in his eye.

Keely smiled and shook her head.

"I know what you're asking, dear. I just don't know the answer. Don't torture yourself," said Lucas. "It's all over now."

She looked at him seriously. "You know what I think?" she said. "I think Maureen was here the night he died. I think maybe she pushed him into the pool. I mean, we know she was . . . unbalanced. I think she just snapped."

There was a moment of silence, and then Lucas said, "You could be right. I guess we'll never know now."

"Right," said Keely, but in her heart, she wondered if she could be satisfied with that answer.

"Keely?" Lucas asked worriedly.

She looked at him. "What?"

"You need to put this behind you now. The important thing is that they won't be coming after Dylan anymore. He's safe. With Maureen gone, they'll leave him alone."

"I know," said Keely. "Thank G.o.d."

"You'll sleep easier, knowing that," said Lucas.

Keely nodded. She managed a feeble smile and waved at him as he backed out of the driveway. Lucas was right, she thought. Maureen had been a tortured soul. The manner of her death made that abundantly clear. But she couldn't hurt them now. There was no reason to fear her jealous wrath anymore. Dylan was out of danger. That was all that mattered. Tonight, she could count her blessings.

38.

Despite the shocks and sleeplessness of that night, the next morning Dylan announced that he was ready to return to school. Keely tried to act nonchalant and a.s.sured him there was no hurry. But in her heart she knew that Maureen's death had brought him a certain peace of mind. Although Phil Stratton did not come by, as she had hoped, Keely reported to Dylan the detective's virtual admission that he should not have partic.i.p.ated in Maureen's vendetta. The relief in Dylan's eyes made Keely feel as if a part of her heart, which had been missing, was now replaced.

Secretly, she was both glad that Dylan wanted to return to school and worried about how b.u.mpy his reentry might be. There were all sorts of warnings and reminders she wanted to give him, but he was silent and deliberately avoided her anxious gaze in the morning. She noticed, without comment, that he had worn a turtleneck that covered up the healing scars on his throat.

"Does Nicole know you're coming back today?" she asked as they turned the last corner in the Bronco and the school building loomed up ahead of them.

"I didn't tell her," said Dylan, a familiar note of irritation in his voice.

"Well, maybe you two will run into each other," Keely said.

"Mom," he said, shaking his head as if his mother's suggestion was preposterous.

"Sorry," said Keely. She knew better than to take offense. Actually, it seemed like a sign that things were getting back to normal.

After Dylan got out and slammed the door, he leaned into the window. Keely looked at him curiously.

"You're runnin' on empty, Mom," he said.

"What's that supposed to mean, Dylan?" she asked defensively.

He pointed at the gauge on her dashboard. "You need gas," he said.

"What do you think it means?"

In spite of herself, Keely started to laugh. "Oh. Okay, okay. Go on," she said. "You'll be late." She sighed as she watched him mount the steps to the school. He looked lonely but brave, wrapped again in Richard's leather jacket, preparing himself to face the curious stares and whispers of his peers. She watched him until he disappeared into the building, but he did not look back at her.

On the way home from dropping him off, Keely stopped at the grocery store for a few items and picked up a Washington newspaper from the rack at the checkout.D.A. KILLS HERSELF IN ST. VINCENT'S HARBORthe headline screamed. A subhead cited depression, personal woes, and a history of suicide attempts in Maureen's life. Even though the police on the scene had forbidden any news photos of Maureen, some enterprising shutterbug had obviously managed to capitalize on her pathetic demise, snapping a picture of the lifeless D.A. in her grimy wedding gown for the front page of the tabloid.

It was difficult to look away from the photo. It was at once fascinating and repellent. Keely put the paper facedown on the conveyer belt to the cashier along with her few purchases. Abby stood in the grocery cart, clutching its steel bars and speaking unintelligibly to the woman in the line behind Keely. Keely felt guilty, as if she was acting like a voyeur by purchasing the sensational account of Maureen's death. She reminded herself that no one around her had any idea of her role in all this. Still, she folded the paper, once it had been checked through, and tucked it under her arm to hide the headlines.