Catherine Coulter - The Edge

She was single, lived in a condo right on the river, played tennis and racquetball, and loved to horseback ride. Her favorite stable was just five miles out of town.

She was at ease with me. I didn't want that to stop.

For myself, I made up a wonderful academic life, replete with stories that friends and siblings had told me of their college experiences over the years. She was down to the last few bites of her chicken satay when I knew the party was over. I was here for a reason, not to flirt and start a relationship with this fascinating woman. I said easily, watching her as closely as a snake watches a mongoose, "I have relatives down in Edgerton, a little town on the coast of Oregon, just an hour from here."

She kept chewing her chicken, but I saw the change in her, instantly. Shit, I thought. Her eyes, to this point rather vague and soft, were sharp, attentive behind her glasses. But she didn't say anything.

"My cousin-Rob Morrison-is a cop. He says everyone calls the town The Edge. He's got a little house very close to the cliffs. You look out the window and think you're on a boat. If you keep staring at the water, pretty soon it feels like you're really on a boat rocking back and forth. Have you ever heard of the place? Do you know anyone from there?"

Would she lie?

"Yes," she said, "I have, and yes, I do."

I nearly fell out of the booth I was so surprised she'd admit it, to me, a perfect stranger. Well, maybe that was why she'd admitted it-I was a perfect stranger. There was no reason to distrust me.

I said, "Do you know my cousin?"

"Rob Morrison? No, I don't believe I've ever met him."

"You wouldn't forget him if you had-he's a triathlete, a hunk."

She sighed deeply, her hands over her breast, and rolled her eyes. No one in the known universe could ever believe her to be nondescript. She sparkled. "No, sorry. I know the Bartletts-Jilly and Paul Bartlett."

"Small world," I said, wondering if my voice was shaking. "I know them as well." I took a bite of coconut soup and said, "You're a bit younger than Jilly, so you didn't go to school together. How did you two meet?"

"We met about five months ago when she was here in Salem, at the library. We got to talking. She was looking for articles on infertility. I asked her about using the Internet, offered to show her how to go about it in the library, but she said that computers were beyond her. I saw her once or twice a week ever since then, sometimes here and sometimes in Edgerton. I met Paul about three months ago for the first time."

I sat back against the dark red vinyl of the booth. I picked up my fork and fiddled with it. Jilly told Laura that she didn't know anything about computers? Why had she told Laura that lie? Jilly was a whiz at computers, always had been. And what was this about infertility? Finally, I said, "So Jilly was your friend."

"Yes."

"You weren't Paul Bartlett's mistress?"

She cocked her head to one side, sending her beautiful hair spilling over her left shoulder nearly to her plate. "What is this, Mr. MacDougal? Did Jilly send you here? What's going on?"

"Ms. Scott, I lied to you. I'm not a professor at Willamette University. I don't know a thing about Latvian drug wars. I came into the library specifically to meet you. My name is Ford MacDougal; I didn't lie about that. I'm Jilly's brother. She's in the Tallshon Community Hospital, in a coma."

She dropped her thick-bowled white spoon into her soup. She turned perfectly white. I thought she was going to pass out. I was halfway out of the booth when I managed to stop myself. She was fine. I was the one who was the mess.

"I'm sorry I lied to you but I'd do it again no matter what I felt about you." If my boss heard me say that, he'd have laughed his head off.

She got hold of herself. "My God, Jilly's in a coma? That's crazy. No, it's impossible."

"Why?"

"I just saw her Tuesday night over in Edgerton."

I hadn't felt so stupid since my high school English class when Mrs. Zigler told me Wuthering Heights wasn't a fancy district of London.

I stared blankly at Laura Scott, and eventually my mouth moved. "You were with Jilly and Paul on Tuesday night?"

"Yes, it was a party of sorts, at least that's how they billed it. I had to leave so I don't know what happened after I was out of there."

"Who all was at this party?"

"Well, it was just Paul, Jilly, and I. I understand that other people were supposed to be coming by. When I left it wasn't very late. You see, Grubster-my cat-is on medication and I had to get home to give him a pill. But that's not important. Tell me about Jilly. What happened to her? Is she going to be all right?"

"She's in a coma. No one knows much of anything about her chances for recovery."

"But what happened?"

"She drove her Porsche off a cliff, landed in twenty feet of water, and a cop managed to pull her out. She told me a short time ago that you'd betrayed her. What did she mean by that?"

She shook her head, sending her hair perilously close again to her chicken satay. "What a strange thing for her to say. That's why you came to meet me? To see if I'd somehow betrayed your sister? I don't know what you're talking about. I just don't know." She was suddenly very still, staring down at her dinner plate. "It just doesn't make sense. She was an excellent driver. I can't believe it. She was laughing the last time I saw her. Did someone force her off that cliff? Was it an accident? Was she hit by someone?"

Even I, the cop, hadn't first thought that someone forced her off the cliff. Why had Laura? "No, she went flying off a cliff some ten miles north of Edgerton just before the junction east back to 101. It would appear that she was trying to kill herself."

"How could she possibly have survived that?"

"As I said, a cop saw her go over and managed to pull her out before she drowned. No one disagrees that it was a miracle."

Laura Scott slowly rose and stared down at the platters still piled high with Thai food. She shook her head and stuck her hand in her purse. She pulled a fifty-dollar bill out of a very fat wallet and dropped it beside her soup bowl. She said, not looking at me, "She was always driving that car too fast, hooting and hollering, yelling at the top of her lungs. She liked danger, she told me. She said driving the Porsche at a hundred miles an hour was like flying, only without having to wear a parachute. Jilly wouldn't try to kill herself. She lost control of that damned Porsche. I want to see her. You said she was in Tallshon?"

"Yes, that's where she is." I rose to stand beside her. I lightly touched my fingers to her forearm, holding her still for a moment. "Before we go anywhere, tell me the truth, Laura. Are you or were you sleeping with Paul?"

She looked up at me like I'd lost my mind. "No," she said, "of course I wouldn't sleep with Paul. That's ridiculous."

I realized I was still touching my fingers to her forearm. I didn't stop. I didn't want to lose the connection to her. "Paul says you were his lover up until last month. Then he said he broke it off. And Jilly told me you had betrayed her."

She shook off my hand. I thought for a moment that she was going to smack me, but at the last moment she held herself back. "No, I didn't sleep with Paul. He lied. Why? I don't know. As for Jilly claiming I betrayed her, I don't know what she meant."

"Why would Paul lie?"

"Ask him, damn you. I'm going to see Jilly."

"I'll drive you."

"No," she said. "You've done quite enough."

I couldn't believe it. Laura was here, standing beside Ford. I saw her as clearly as I saw Ford. I couldn't believe it was that betraying bitch, Laura. But it was. She was here and I saw her. She was saying something to Ford. What was she telling him?