Catherine Coulter - The Cove

He was hurt because some woman rejected him, Purn Davies said. Everyone knew that Amabel had turned Purn down some years before and he was still burning with resentment.

He just got tired of life, Helen Keaton said, as she scooped out a triple-dip chocolate pecan cone for Sherry Vorhees. Lots of old people just got tired of living. He just did something about it and didn't sit around whining for ten years until the devil finally took him.

Just maybe, Hunker Dawson said, just maybe Doc Spiver had something to do with that poor woman's death. It made sense he'd kill himself then, wouldn't it? The guilt would drive a fine man like Doc Spiver to shoot himself.

There were no lawyers in town, but the sheriff found Doc Spiver's will soon enough. He had some $22,000 in a bank in South Bend. He left it all to what he called the Town Fund, headed by Reverend Hal Vorhees.

Sheriff David Mountebank was surprised when he was told about the Town Fund. He'd never heard about such a thing. What effect would this Town Fund have had on people's motives? Of course, he didn't know yet if someone had put the.38-caliber pistol in Doc's mouth and pulled the trigger, then pressed the butt into Doc's hand.

Premeditated murder, that was. Or Doc Spiver had put the gun in his own mouth. Ponser called David at eight o'clock that evening. He'd finished the autopsy and now he was equivocating, damn him. David pushed him, and he ended up saying it was suicide. No, Doc Spiver didn't have any terminal illness-at least Ponser hadn't seen anything.

Amabel said to Sally that same evening, "I'm thinking you and I should go to Mexico and lie on a beach."

Sally smiled. She was still wearing Amabel's bathrobe because she just couldn't seem to get warm. James hadn't wanted to leave her, but then it seemed he remembered something that had made him go back to Thelma's. She'd wanted to ask him what it was, but she hadn't. "I can't go to Mexico, Amabel. I don't have my passport."

"Alaska, then. We could lie around on the snowbanks. I could paint and you could do-what, Sally? What did you do before your daddy got killed?"

Sally got colder. She pulled the bathrobe tighter around her and moved closer to the heat register. "I was Senator Bainbridge's senior aide."

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"Didn't he retire?"

"Yes, last year. I didn't do anything after that."

"Why not?"

Vivid, frenzied pictures went careening through her mind, shrieking as loudly as the wind outside. She clutched the edge of the kitchen table.

"It's all right, baby, you don't have to tell me. It really doesn't matter. Goodness, what a day it's been. I'm going to miss Doc. He's been here forever. Everyone will miss him."

"No, Amabel, not everyone."

"So you don't think it was suicide, Sally?"

"No," Sally said, drawing a deep breath. "I think there's a madness in this town."

"What a thing to say! I've lived here for nearly thirty years. I'm not mad. None of my friends is mad.

They're all down-to-earth folk who are friendly and care about each other and this town. Besides, if you were right, then the madness didn't begin until after you arrived. How do you explain that, Sally?"

"That's what the sheriff said. Amabel, do you really believe that Laura Strather, the woman James and I found, was brought into town by a stranger and held somewhere before he murdered her?"

"What I think, Sally, is that your brain is squirreling around, and it's just not healthy for you, not with everything else upside down in your life. Just don't think about it. Everything will be back to normal soon.

It's got to be."

That night, at exactly three o'clock in the morning, a blustery night with high winds but no rain, something brought Sally awake. She lay there a moment. Then she heard a soft tap on the window. At least it wasn't a woman screaming.

A branch from a tree, she thought, turning over and pulling the blanket up to her nose. Just a tree branch.

Tap.

She gave up and slid out of bed.

Tap.

She didn't remember that there wasn't a tree high enough until she'd pulled back the curtain and stared into her father's ghastly white, grinning face.

Amabel found her on her knees in the middle of the floor, her arms wrapped around herself, the window open, the curtains billowing outward, pulled by the wind, screaming and screaming until her throat closed and no sound came from her mouth.

Quinlan made a decision then and there. "I'm taking her back to Thelma's. She'll stay with me. If something else happens, I'll be there to deal with it."

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She'd called him thirty minutes before, gasping out her words, begging him to come and make her father leave her alone. He'd heard Amabel in the background telling her she was in no shape to be on the phone to anybody, much less to that man she didn't even know, to put down the phone, she was just excited, there hadn't been anyone there, it had just been her imagination. Just look at all she'd been through.

And she was still saying it, ignoring Quinlan. "Baby, just think. You were sound asleep when you heard the wind making strange noises against the window. You were dreaming, just like those other times. I'll bet you weren't even awake when you pulled the curtains back."

"I wasn't asleep," Sally said. "The wind had awakened me. I was lying there. And then came the tapping."

"Baby-"

"It doesn't matter," Quinlan said, impatient now, knowing that Sally would soon think that she was crazy, that she'd imagined it all. He prayed to God that she hadn't. But she had been in that sanitarium, for six months. She'd been paranoid, that's what was in the file. She'd also been depressed and suicidal. They'd been worried that she would harm herself. Her doctor hadn't wanted her released. Her husband had agreed. They wanted her back. Her husband was first in line. He wondered about the legalities of getting a person committed if that person didn't volunteer.

Why hadn't Sally's parents done anything about it? Had they believed her to be nuts too? But she was a person with legal rights. He had to check on how they'd gotten around it.

He said now, "Amabel, could you please pack Sally's things? I'd like all of us to get some sleep before morning."

Amabel had pursed her lips. "She's a married woman. She shouldn't be going off with you."

Sally started laughing, a low, hoarse, very ugly laugh.

Amabel was so startled that she didn't say anything more. She went upstairs to pack the duffel bag.

Thirty minutes later, after four o'clock in the morning, Quinlan let Sally into his tower room.

"Thank you, James," she said. "I'm so tired. Thank you for coming for me."

He'd come for her, all right. He'd been off like a shot to get her. Damnation, why couldn't anything turn out the way it was supposed to, the way he'd planned? He was in the middle of a puzzle, and all he had was scattered pieces that didn't look like they would ever fit together. He put her to bed, tucked the covers around her, and without thinking about it, kissed her lightly on the mouth.

She didn't respond, just looked up at him.

"Go to sleep," he said, gently pushing her hair back from her face. He pulled the string on the bedside lamp. "We'll work it all out. Just don't worry anymore."

That was a promise and a half. It scared the hell out of him.

"That's what he said on the phone, that he was coming for me. Soon, he said, very soon. He didn't lie, did he? He's here, James."

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"Someone's here. We'll deal with it tomorrow. Go to sleep. I'm sure as hell here, and I won't leave you alone, not anymore."