"Dear God," he whispered.
Carine and Tyler…two people he admired. They had to hate him now. Hank, Antonia. They'd have nothing to do with him after his behavior, after this horrible scandal.
Once again, Sterling thought miserably, he'd failed to rise to the occasion.
"Manny Carrera did it." Jodie spoke quietly, stoically, as if she didn't have the strength for any more emotion; but her voice was hoarse from crying. "He killed Louis. All these people-Tyler North, Hank Callahan, Carine Winter. They'll ruin our lives in an attempt to prove Carrera's innocence."
Sterling stared at the blind-covered windows. "They want the truth to come out, Jodie. That's all."
She shook her head, adamant. "No, no, Sterling, you're being naive as usual. The truth, maybe, but how much of it? How much of our privacy will be sacrificed in their effort to deny the reality that their friend killed a man in cold blood?"
"Jodie-Jodie, please don't do this. I'm too tired."
"They'll rip our lives open, just because they can't deal with the fact that Manny Carrera murdered a man."
"That's why we have an attorney."
"It won't matter." She cleared her throat, but her voice remained hoarse. "Manny's a pararescueman. A war hero. He doesn't commit murder. If he kills, it's justified."
Sterling shifted to look at her and wondered if it would be cathartic to cry and scream, fall down on the floor and thrash as she had. Then maybe he could come to this place of calm and certainty. "For all we know at this point, it was justified. We don't have enough information."
"Don't we?"
She tucked her feet under her, her robe falling open and revealing the swell of her breasts. Were the police, even now, examining his wife's naked breasts under a magnifying glass? How much of her could they see in the pictures?
"Sterling?"
With an effort that was almost physical, he shook off the image of gloating, drooling detectives. Of Louis Sanborn banging his wife. It was a beautiful, old house with a long history. Were they the first to have illicit sex in the library? Louis was the first murder to occur there. That much Sterling knew for certain. It was a blot-a permanent stain that he knew he and Jodie would never overcome even before he'd learned about her affair.
"Sterling!"
With her voice as hoarse as it was, she hadn't managed much more than an annoyed croak. He sighed. "I'm sorry. What were you saying?"
"I'm saying that Manny was at the house on Wednesday. He was in Boston to get you to fire Louis. What if that wasn't good enough? What if he saw-" She hesitated, placing her hand on a polished toe peeking out from her robe, staring at it as if it had her total attention. She took in a breath, then went on. "He could have decided to capitalize on the situation and grabbed Carine's camera, took those pictures, called me-"
"How could he have called you? He was under police surveillance."
Her brow furrowed, but she didn't let go of her theory. "He'd make it look like an innocent call. The guy's not stupid, Sterling. He'd figure out a way."
He sat on a chair at a diagonal from her. "You're jumping way ahead of yourself."
"No, I'm not. What more do the police need? Why don't they arrest him?" She fought back a fresh, sudden wave of tears, sobbing hoarsely at the ceiling. "I can't stand it! I can't!"
"Jodie…dear God…" What if she were losing it, having a nervous breakdown? Sterling couldn't make himself move toward her. "Jodie-please. Pull yourself together. You're not doing either of us any good."
"Louis used me, and now Manny Carrera and his friends are using both of us." Her voice was angry, bitter, belying the tears that spilled down her cheeks. "We'refairgamebecausewehavemoney.Nobodycares what happens to us. We don't mean anything to them."
"Don't say things like that," he said softly.
"Why not? It's true. You know it is. They resent us." She dropped her feet to the floor and jumped up, fire in her eyes as she sniffled and brushed the sleeve of her robe across her tears. "That idiot Turner-how could he not know about Louis? He'll try to shift the blame. Don't let him."
"Jodie, listen to me. It'll take time. It'll take patience and perseverance." He got to his feet and held her by the elbows, feeling how bony she was under her silky robe. "But I promise you, I'll get to the bottom of what's happened. Who failed us. Why. All of it."
All the heat and anger went out of her. She looked scared, he thought. Old and scared. "Sterling? What are you saying?"
"I think you're right, Jodie. I think we've been used. By everyone."
He saw her in thirty years, a whining old woman, and couldn't stand it anymore. He had to get away from her. He ran downstairs, out through the front door, not bothering with a coat or hat. The night air was cold, clouds blocking the stars, and even in the darkness, he could see fog swirling in valley pockets.
He'd loved this place. If someone had asked him a month ago if he had to give up one, this house or the one on Commonwealth Avenue, which would it be, he wouldn't have hesitated. The Boston house. No question.
But now he wished he'd never stepped foot in Cold Ridge.
He'd never felt so damn inadequate in his life as the night he and Jodie were rescued by Tyler North, Manny Carrera and Hank Callahan, something he'd never acknowledge to anyone. It wasn't their fault. He admired them.
He was fascinated by their training, their incredible range of skills, everything from emergency trauma medicine to combat maneuvers, scuba diving, parachuting, high-altitude mountain climbing-and he couldn't even do a challenging but popular ridge trail in the White Mountains without getting into trouble.
The cold air drove him back inside.
He and Jodie would pack up and leave Cold Ridge in the morning. Once the police made an arrest for Louis Sanborn's murder, he'd put this place on the market. Then, after a decent interval that gave people time to forget the horror and scandal of what happened in the library, he'd sell the house on Commonwealth Avenue.
He and Jodie might even leave Boston altogether. People moved all the time. So did companies.
In the meantime, he'd soak in the Jacuzzi for twenty minutes and go to bed early. Without Jodie. Until he decided otherwise, she was sleeping in the guest room.
Twenty-One
When the phone rang, Val pounced, hoping it was Manny, or Tyler, someone-anyone-with news. It'd been a long damn day, and she could feel herself creeping past the point of rationality, past her capability to resist her impulses to get off her butt and do something. Act. Waiting. Damn, she'd never been good at it.
"Do you want to help your husband?"
She sat up straight on the couch. The voice on the other end was toneless, dispassionate, not one she recognized. "Of course I do. Who is this?"
"The police are about to arrest your husband."
The voice didn't change-there was no emotion, no way, even, of telling for sure whether it was male or female. Male, Val thought. "How do you know?"
"I know.Trust me. The evidence against him is stacking up. The police can't continue to ignore it. He'll be convicted of murder-"
"No, he won't, because he's innocent."
There was a wry laugh. "Ah. True love. I know he is innocent, Mrs. Carrera-Val. But I also know what will happen if you don't act. I can help him."
"How?"
"I can't do it without your help. You must do exactly as I say. Remember, I know more than you do, and I'm on your side. It won't be easy, but you must follow my instructions."
"This is nuts."
"Don't hang up." The intonation didn't change. "I understand your skepticism. You've seen it all, haven't you, Mrs. Carrera? The wife of a career military man, the mother of a sick son-"
"What do you know about my son? You leave him out of it!"
Again, there was no obvious change in the voice of the other end of the phone. "Listen to me. I'm a friend. I can help."