DEATH BY HONEYMOON Read online

  Cindy drove past a Ben and Jerry’s and a large music store. At the far corner of the next block was a sports store and art supply shop. Clint had had every advantage growing up here, safe and secure. He’d loved Cove Bay and had been determined to settle here and raise a family. Initially Cindy had suggested that they move a little further away from the family, to the next town over. But he was adamant on this point. He would never leave Cove Bay.

  It felt strange to be driving through his town now without him, almost as if she were a ghost passing through his world.

  She turned in another direction and drove down the back streets to Arbor Road.

  Arbor Road was a beautiful, deserted, tree lined road that led down to the bay. Very few even knew about the road or came down to the bay. Clint had taken her there to run many times. It was perfect for jogging and clearing her head. And it was great to sit on one of the large rocks on the jetties when she got there. She could sit and listen to the sound of water splashing and decide what move to make next.

  She parked under a tree and got out. The horror of having Ann in the hospital came over her in waves . She kept seeing Ann laying there helpless, reaching out for her hand.

  The sweet smell of Wisterias filled the air, along with the salty smell of the water. Cindy took a few delicious breaths. It wouldn’t do Ann any good for Cindy to become immobilized. The best thing she could do for Ann now was to stay healthy and vigilant.

  Cindy began to jog down towards the end of the road . It felt amazing to be moving again. The air caressed her face as she jogged by, reassuring her that there was beauty in life, that she could go on.

  The trees on both sides made an arbor for her, supporting her along her way. It was easy to lose herself jogging, and forget everything. For a moment, she wanted to forget, too. Co-workers from her office kept calling. They missed her. Even though she had all the time she needed, they hoped she could come back for even a day or two.

  Part of Cindy wanted to go back to work, pretend the world was safe and normal, resume life as usual, become one of the people doing errands in town.

  Jogging now along the road, Cindy had a flash of desire not to stir up anymore mess. She wanted to believe Clint’s death was really an accident. Then she could spend time with Ann in the hospital until she was better, go to work at the paper, lunch with friends, take in a movie at night. She could get a lawyer to deal with Clint’s family and start her life all over again.

  She jogged a little faster then, excited and scared at the thought. Ann was right in a funny way. Time would pass and heal her wounds. But what about Clint? Would his wounds ever heal? How could his life count for nothing? He deserved better. He deserved justice, and she deserved to know the truth.

  And, besides, what made her think the killing was over? Right this very minute, she felt it was likely that someone wanted her dead. She’d been too close to Clint. It had to be messy having her still around.

  No, there was no turning back. Her work was cut out for her, whether she liked it or not.

  It was about nine o’clock when she got to the bay, and the morning sun was coming up. She stopped and stretched under a tree, and found a big, slippery rock to rest on. Just as she climbed up on it, she saw a figure walking towards her on the sand. He wore running shorts, with a towel around his neck and looked familiar and friendly. As he got closer, she was surprised to see Al, Clint’s best man.

  “My God, is that you, Cindy?” he said, coming closer, breathing hard.

  Cindy couldn’t have been more surprised. He stopped there on the sand, in front of the rock, looking up at her. “What in the world are you doing here?” he said.

  “I went for a jog. Clint and I always jogged here.”

  “Good for you,” he said. “Good. It’s amazing you can get back to jogging.” Then he looked across the sand and down at the water. “I want to tell you again,” he said, “how sorry I am, how awful. Everyone’s still talking about it.”

  “Thanks,” Cindy said, covering her eyes from the glare of the sun.

  “I mean Clint was the most extraordinary guy.”

  “I know,” Cindy said.

  “Boy am I glad I got to spend that day with Clint at the end of March. I keep thinking about it. We had a wonderful time.”

  Cindy’s mind raced. “The end of March?” She didn’t remember Clint mentioning anything about spending a day with Al in March. She reviewed Clint’s schedule in her mind again. He’d gone to a conference in Washington, D.C. during a week-end in March. Other than that, he’d been with her. She’d had no idea that Al had been at the conference as well.

  “Oh yes,” she said, “I remember, the conference in Washington, D.C.”

  “In Boston,” Al repeated, “the end of March. We didn’t go to a conference, just had a great time.”

  Cindy was silent.

  Al looked at her strangely. “You’ve got a lot on your mind,” he said. “It’s easy to forget stuff like that.”

  “Very easy,” she replied. She had no intention of letting him know that she knew nothing about it. Or that all kinds of lies were piling up fast.

  “We went to the Grande Hotel. He must have told you.”

  “Of course,” Cindy said. “There are just so many details to think of now.”

  “Sure,” Al said. “Really, I’m sorry.”

  Clint never told her he was going to the Grande Hotel with anyone in March. Despite the warm sun overhead, a long chill went through her spine.

  Al knew Clint since they were kids. Cindy suddenly wanted to ask him about Heather Krane, but thought better of it. If she told him about the photo, it would spread all over town. That was the last thing Cindy wanted.

  “I knew Clint for such a long time,” Al said then.

  “I’d love to learn more,” Cindy said. “It’s natural to want to know about Clint’s life when he was young and growing up.”

  “Of course it is,” Al said, “It makes you feel closer to him now.”

  “Right,” Cindy said. “I only knew him a year before we married—”

  “We all know that,” he interrupted. “No one could get over it. That family of his, they’re an interesting bunch. And Clint was their golden boy. They didn’t take too well to his girlfriends. Not a one of them. The guys always joked about it. We couldn’t believe they actually let him get married. We heard that you and Marge got along great.”

  Al put his towel down and started stretching.

  Clint had probably told him that. It was Clint’s favorite fantasy. She’d tried to tell Clint how hard his family was on her, but he couldn’t hear it, always thought they were getting along great. Cindy had thought it wouldn’t matter so much, once she and Clint were married. She couldn’t believe how wrong she’d been.

  She was relieved when Al left and she could sit alone and figure out what had just happened. He and Clint had been in Boston for a day in March? What in the world was he was talking about? She ruffled through the few past months in her mind again. There was no question, Clint had only been out of town once, at the end of March to a conference on offshore drilling in Washington, D. C. He’d written a paper to present at it .

  Something was terribly off. She got up from the rock, brushed herself off, and started back, eager to check Clint’s records and calendar. There had to be receipts from the trip, notes, memorandums. It was part of Clint’s job.

  *

  The minute she got home she went right into his office.

  It was amazing to see how much stuff was packed into Clint’s drawers. There were also plenty of files in the unopened boxes in the back of the room that hadn’t been sorted out yet .

  As Cindy ruffled through Clint’s papers she found different calendars from years gone by, all crumpled together. She put them in another pile, shocked at how messy everything was. She kept her records clearly and simply. When something was over, she threw it away. Her calendar was for this year only.

  She waded through one calendar of his after a
nother and finally, dug out the one for this past March. The conference in Washington, D.C. was written on it. Cindy sighed a sigh of relief. But then her eyes were drawn to the bottom of the page. There was a note in red ink that said his presentation had been cancelled. Cindy gasped. He’d never told her that. She scoured through this page and others to see any mention of Boston, or the Hotel Grande. Not a word. She was sure that Clint was gone that week-end, though, and that he told her he was going to the conference in Washington, D.C.

  Cindy sat back in the wooden chair and put her head in her hands. A sharp pain ran through her right temple. There was no doubt about it, Clint had lied, perhaps again and again. She was suddenly frightened to go further. What else she would find? More than anything in the world, she had trusted Clint completely, and told him so many times. He’d smiled when she said that.

  “You can trust me with everything,” he’d said. “I’ll always be here for you.”

  Was she an idiot? She felt as though she hadn’t really known the man she married. Had he been living his life on a slippery slope?

  She got up for a moment, went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face. It was easy to doubt everything now, to be afraid to trust her judgment ever again. But Cindy refused to. There was definitely a part of his world he was hiding, but she didn’t know why. Maybe he needed some time away with his friends and didn’t know how to ask for it? She had to be careful before thinking the worst. She had to be tough with herself now. It was time to gather facts. She had to see where the silver thread really lead her. This was no time for playing head games.

  Cindy would have to go over every paper of his, see how he lived, what he was up to, what he had to hide. And who would have wanted him dead . She couldn’t wait until Ann got out of the hospital. Too much was happening too fast. But first, she had to see Heather in person. And she had to do it today.

  Chapter 11

  Cindy, in Clint’s small car, headed to Philadelphia. She was determined to meet Heather face to face. She needed to know whatever Heather could tell her.

  Before she left, Cindy had dialed Heather’s number, just to see if she was there. A light voice had answered.

  “Hi, who’s there?”

  Cindy had hung up. She was there, she was home. That was all Cindy needed to know.

  The drive was quick and easy. The car almost flew on its own. When she got down to Philadelphia, she checked the map and followed the streets that curved around until she found Heather’s block .

  Heather lived in a three story brownstone on a residential, tree lined street. Cindy pulled up and parked right across from her house. She’d planned to get out of the car as soon as she got there, go to the door, ring the bell and introduce herself . But suddenly she thought better of it. Cindy had no idea how Heather would react. She could close the door in Cindy’s face. If Cindy refused to leave, she could call the police. Cindy couldn’t risk that. She had to confront Heather in person, show her the photo, ask her about it directly.

  It was just about lunch time. Cindy decided to wait in the car, across the street, and keep her eye on the brownstone until Heather came out. Cindy was prepared to sit there and wait all day, or even all night long if need be. When Heather came out, Cindy would follow her in the car, see where she went. At the perfect moment, when Heather was alone, Cindy would get out, go over to her, and show her the photo.

  After about half an hour of watching the house, Cindy began to wonder what would happen if Heather came out surrounded by friends? They might all be going to lunch. And, when Cindy did confront Heather, what if she couldn’t get her to talk? It was also possible that she would lie. Cindy was convinced she was sharp enough, though, to pick up on that.

  Cindy turned on the radio. The station was playing oldies. She flipped to another station, news. Restless, Cindy turned it off . Just at that moment, the door to Heather’s brownstone opened and out she came, with a little boy in a stroller. She carefully pushed the stroller down the front stairs, one step at a time. It was shocking to see her in person, like this. Just as in the photo, she was tall and beautiful. Dressed in jeans and a polo shirt, she seemed happy and carefree, going about her normal day.

  Cindy wanted to jump out of the car and race up to her, but she knew she couldn’t yet. Instead, she followed her in the car, slowly down the block, watching her every move. Heather went to the corner, crossed and then walked another few blocks. Cindy trailed along. Oblivious to the fact that a car was following her, Heather chatted lightly with her son.

  When she got to the third corner, Heather turned to the right and headed for a children’s playground. Except for a few mothers and children, scattered here and there, the place was mostly empty.

  Cindy parked across from the playground and watched.

  Heather went in through the open gates, unstrapped her son from the stroller. He squirmed out right away, and ran to the swings. She went running after him, laughing and then picking him up to put him in a swing.

  Cindy felt a mixture of sorrow and pain. This was the life she should have been living.

  She got out of the car slowly and walked into the playground. Then she sat down on the bench opposite the swings and watched Heather swing her son.

  Even though it was late Spring, a cool breeze blew up. Heather was beautiful and playful. Cindy’s heart clenched into a knot. Had Clint loved her? Were they still seeing each other when he died? Were they emailing? Had he ever gotten over her?

  Cindy got up then, went over to the swings and stood next to Heather and her son.

  “Hi,” Cindy said lightly.

  Heather looked right at her. “Hi,” she smiled, “Do I know you?”

  Cindy couldn’t find the words to answer. She decided to go straight to the point, reached into her pocket and pulled the photo out.

  “Someone sent this to me in the mail,” Cindy said, showing her the photo.

  “Oh my God,” Heather said, staring at it. “A picture of me?”

  “And your son.”

  “I never saw this photo,” she looked at it more closely, puzzled. “I didn’t even know it was taken. Who sent it to you? Who are you?”

  “To be more exact, they sent it to my husband,” said Cindy.

  Heather became ill at ease. “What has this got to do with me?” she said.

  Cindy felt badly. She liked her, and was sorry to have to put her through this.

  “Someone killed my husband,” Cindy said bluntly.

  Heather gasped. “That’s horrible.”

  The little child in the swing began calling out for more. Heather had stopped swinging him. She was standing there, transfixed.

  “Clint Blaine was my husband,” said Cindy.

  “Clint Blaine’s dead?” Heather breathed. For a moment it looked as if she would buckle. It was hard for her to stand up . “Oh my God. I hadn’t heard.”

  Cindy believed her. “Let’s go sit on the bench and talk.”

  “Swing me higher, swing me higher,” the little boy kept calling.

  Heather ignored him.

  “Someone send Clint this picture a week before our wedding” Cindy said.

  “Can you tell me why?”

  “I have no idea,” said Heather, “I don’t know who even took it. I haven’t seen Clint for at least three years.”

  “You’re friends on Facebook,” Cindy said.

  “I have eleven hundred friends,” Heather was talking fast. “I friended him a long time ago, just for the heck of it. I haven’t kept up with his life. When did the two of you get married?”

  “A little over a month ago,” said Cindy.

  “I never heard anything so awful,” she said.

  Her boy called out again: “Mommy! Mommy!”

  “He’s a beautiful child,” Cindy said. She looked at him closely now, for the first time. He had huge blue eyes, just like Clint, and a mischievous smile.

  “There’s something you’re not telling me,” Cindy said slowly. “And it’s the
reason I have this photo.”

  Heather began trembling, as if a cold frost had blown in.

  “I don’t even know you,” she said in a thin voice.

  “You can check me out on Facebook,” said Cindy. “You’ll see I was Clint’s wife. What reason would I have to lie? Was something going on between the two of you?”

  “It was no big deal. It was over three years ago,” Heather said. “We dated a little and that was about it. It didn’t mean that much to me, or him either. Right when I was dating him, I met someone else and really fell in love. It was the man I married. Clint and I broke up shortly after . We were casual friends afterwards for a couple of months, and that was it.”

  The two women stared at each other. “I swear it,” said Heather.

  Cindy knew in her gut that wasn’t the whole story.

  “You have to tell me everything,” Cindy said, “because now I’m in danger, and so is my family.”

  Heather could barely speak. “It’s awful, really awful,” she finally uttered, taking it in.

  “You have to tell me the truth. Did you see Clint this past year?” Cindy steeled herself for anything.

  “Not at all,” Heather gasped . “I swear to you, I’m happily married.”

  “Did he contact you?” said Cindy.

  “Not once. There was no reason.”

  “Swing more mamma!” the child called out.

  “Heather, listen, there’s a reason someone sent Clint your photo a few weeks before he was killed.”

  Heather blanched.

  “The killing’s not all over, either,” Cindy went on. “Not by a long shot. We all could be in danger.”

  Heather looked terrified. “What do you mean, we?”

  “Whoever killed Clint took this photo of you and your son.”

  “My son could be in danger?” She started trembling.

  “Anything’s possible,” Cindy said.

  Heather’s eyes filled with tears. “You have to swear you won’t tell anybody,” the words poured out of her. “Swear.” She was trembling.