die, but I will come to grips with it. I will bear it. I will pray that it will slowly ease into the past, that I won’t fall into that black depression again. I will face life now and I will gain my bearings. Yes, Tennyson, I will get well now because, you see, I’m leaving you. Tonight.”
He rose so quickly his chair slammed down to the floor. “No, dammit, you can’t leave me . . . Lily, no! It’s your brother. I wish my father hadn’t called him; I wish Savich hadn’t come here to ruin everything. He’s filled your mind with lies. He’s made you turn on me. There’s no proof of anything at all, just ask him. No, none of it’s true. Please, Lily, don’t leave me.”
“Tennyson,” Lily said very quietly now, looking directly at him, “what sort of pills have you been feeding me these last seven months?”
He howled, literally howled, a desperate, frightened sound of rage and hopelessness. He was panting hard when he said, “I tried to make you well. I tried, God knows, and now you’ve decided to believe this jerk of a brother and his wife and you’re leaving me. Dammit, I’ve been giving you Elavil!”
Lily nodded. “Actually, even though there doesn’t seem to be any solid proof to haul you to the sheriff. The sheriff is something of a joke anyway, isn’t he? When I remember how he tried so hard to apprehend Beth’s killer.”
“I know he did the best he could. If you’d been with Beth, maybe you would have made a better witness, but you—”
She ignored his words and said, “If we find proof, then even Sheriff Bozo will have to lock you away, Tennyson—no matter what you or Daddy say, no matter how much money you’ve put in his pocket, no matter how many votes you got for him—until we manage to get some competent law enforcement in Hemlock Bay. The truth of the matter is, I would leave you even if you didn’t kill your first wife, if you hadn’t, in truth, tried to kill me, because, Tennyson, you’ve lied to me; from the very beginning you lied to me. You used Beth’s death to make me feel the most profound guilt. You milked it, manipulated me—you’re still doing it—and you very likely drugged me to make me depressed, to make me feel even more at fault. I wasn’t at fault, Tennyson. Someone killed Beth. I didn’t. I realize that now. Were you planning on killing me even as you slid the ring on my finger?”
He was holding his head in his hands, shaking his head back and forth, not looking at anyone now.
“I found myself wondering today, Tennyson—did you kill Beth, too?”
His head came up, fast. “Kill Beth? Oh, my God! No!”
“She was my heir. If I died, then the paintings would be hers. No, surely even you couldn’t be that evil. Your father could, maybe your mother could, but not you, I don’t think. But then again, I’ve never been good at picking men. Look at my pathetic track record—two tries and just look what happened. Yes, I’m obviously rotten at it. Hey, maybe it’s my bookie genes getting in the way of good sense. No, you couldn’t have killed or had Beth killed. Maybe we’ll find something on your daddy. We’ll see.
“Good-bye, Tennyson. I can’t begin to tell you what I think of you.”
Both Savich and Sherlock remained silent, looking at the man and woman facing each other across the length of the dining table. Tennyson was as white as a bleached shroud, the pulse in his neck pounding wildly. His fingers clutched the edge of the table. He looked like a man beyond himself, beyond all that he knew or understood.
As for Lily, she looked calm, wonderfully calm. She didn’t look to be in any particular discomfort. She said, “Dillon and Sherlock will pack all my things while you’re at your office tomorrow, Tennyson. Tonight, the three of us are going to stay in Eureka.” She turned, felt the mild pulling in her side again, and added, “Please don’t destroy my drawing and art supplies, Tennyson, or else I’ll have to ask my
He rose so quickly his chair slammed down to the floor. “No, dammit, you can’t leave me . . . Lily, no! It’s your brother. I wish my father hadn’t called him; I wish Savich hadn’t come here to ruin everything. He’s filled your mind with lies. He’s made you turn on me. There’s no proof of anything at all, just ask him. No, none of it’s true. Please, Lily, don’t leave me.”
“Tennyson,” Lily said very quietly now, looking directly at him, “what sort of pills have you been feeding me these last seven months?”
He howled, literally howled, a desperate, frightened sound of rage and hopelessness. He was panting hard when he said, “I tried to make you well. I tried, God knows, and now you’ve decided to believe this jerk of a brother and his wife and you’re leaving me. Dammit, I’ve been giving you Elavil!”
Lily nodded. “Actually, even though there doesn’t seem to be any solid proof to haul you to the sheriff. The sheriff is something of a joke anyway, isn’t he? When I remember how he tried so hard to apprehend Beth’s killer.”
“I know he did the best he could. If you’d been with Beth, maybe you would have made a better witness, but you—”
She ignored his words and said, “If we find proof, then even Sheriff Bozo will have to lock you away, Tennyson—no matter what you or Daddy say, no matter how much money you’ve put in his pocket, no matter how many votes you got for him—until we manage to get some competent law enforcement in Hemlock Bay. The truth of the matter is, I would leave you even if you didn’t kill your first wife, if you hadn’t, in truth, tried to kill me, because, Tennyson, you’ve lied to me; from the very beginning you lied to me. You used Beth’s death to make me feel the most profound guilt. You milked it, manipulated me—you’re still doing it—and you very likely drugged me to make me depressed, to make me feel even more at fault. I wasn’t at fault, Tennyson. Someone killed Beth. I didn’t. I realize that now. Were you planning on killing me even as you slid the ring on my finger?”
He was holding his head in his hands, shaking his head back and forth, not looking at anyone now.
“I found myself wondering today, Tennyson—did you kill Beth, too?”
His head came up, fast. “Kill Beth? Oh, my God! No!”
“She was my heir. If I died, then the paintings would be hers. No, surely even you couldn’t be that evil. Your father could, maybe your mother could, but not you, I don’t think. But then again, I’ve never been good at picking men. Look at my pathetic track record—two tries and just look what happened. Yes, I’m obviously rotten at it. Hey, maybe it’s my bookie genes getting in the way of good sense. No, you couldn’t have killed or had Beth killed. Maybe we’ll find something on your daddy. We’ll see.
“Good-bye, Tennyson. I can’t begin to tell you what I think of you.”
Both Savich and Sherlock remained silent, looking at the man and woman facing each other across the length of the dining table. Tennyson was as white as a bleached shroud, the pulse in his neck pounding wildly. His fingers clutched the edge of the table. He looked like a man beyond himself, beyond all that he knew or understood.
As for Lily, she looked calm, wonderfully calm. She didn’t look to be in any particular discomfort. She said, “Dillon and Sherlock will pack all my things while you’re at your office tomorrow, Tennyson. Tonight, the three of us are going to stay in Eureka.” She turned, felt the mild pulling in her side again, and added, “Please don’t destroy my drawing and art supplies, Tennyson, or else I’ll have to ask my
Similar Books
