Died To Match Part 12

"This Roger Talbot, the publisher who couldn't make it tonight," Burt was saying. "He's the one whose wife died?"

"Yes."

"Poor b.a.s.t.a.r.d." He stared into his brandy. "Still, there are worse things."

I kept tactfully silent. Elizabeth's mother, Monica, had also recently departed from her marriage. But instead of heading for heaven, she had gone straight into the arms of Burt's private Norwegian tennis coach. The specter of Monica and Lars attending the wedding had raised some very sticky seating questions.

Now, however, it appeared that a killer backhand might come to the rescue. Lars was slas.h.i.+ng his way through the semifinals of a tournament in Connecticut, and if he made it to the finals, Monica would fly in solo for the wedding. That would be uncomfortable enough, but nothing compared to putting Lars and Burt in the same building. This interactive rock-and-roll museum ain't big enough for the both of us, you ornery sidewinder.

Joe Solveto, a major tennis buff, was keeping me posted on the tournament results. Elizabeth seemed to find the whole thing mildly amusing.

"And who's the kid again?" asked Burt. "I didn't catch all the names."

"That's Zack Hartmann. He's been working at the Sentinel."

"Something funny about that kid. Won't look me in the eye."

I was saved from replying by Aaron's approach. Corinne had disappeared, presumably to the ladies' room, but since she didn't seem to be drinking tonight, I wasn't worried about a repeat of last Sat.u.r.day. Aaron held out his hand.

"Mr. Lamott, may I steal the lady from you? They're playing her song." The combo had begun "Lady in Red," and I was wearing my best dress-a deep clear red with a full, fluid skirt.

"Be my guest," the tyc.o.o.n replied, knocking back his brandy. "I'll just chat with Karen when she gets back. Seems like a nice young lady."

"It's Corinne," I told him. "Yes, she's very nice."

As he escorted me out to the foyer, Aaron murmured, "Gorgeous as you are, Ms. Kincaid, I have decided not to make pa.s.sionate love to you on top of the piano. But it was a near-run thing."

That's how he was handling my need for breathing s.p.a.ce in our relations.h.i.+p: with patience and a laugh. Some men I knew would have dropped me at the nearest corner and never looked back.

"You're being so nice about this," I said.

"A man will do anything," he replied in a confidential whisper, "if he thinks it's foreplay"

We circled among the other couples, many of them from a family reunion being held in one of the larger dining rooms. As our own room came back into view, I saw Burt talking intently to Corinne, and Paul's parents coming out to the foyer to dance. Howard had tucked an orchid behind Chloe's ear, and she was smiling like a bride. How nice to know little, and care less, about Mercedes Montoya.

"So what's the word from the costume shop?" asked Aaron.

"Nothing yet. Apparently Characters, Inc. always closes down for a week after Halloween, to give the owners and the staff a break. I keep leaving messages, but I don't know when I'll hear back, and the owner's home number is unlisted. I bet we could put together the list of black cloaks from memory, though."

Aaron nodded. "You know, I'm beginning to come around to your view of Corinne's story. She's trying to cover it up, but she's really frightened."

"So can we get together tomorrow and go over the guest list?"

"I'll come by early and take you out to breakfast."

"Sounds good. Oh, no-" As the song ended I saw Zack approaching, his jaw set in grim resolution. "Aaron, be a prince and fend off Zack, would you? I'm just not up to conversations about the Internet tonight."

He turned. "Zack, my man! Come have some brandy with me on the terrace. I need a smoke."

I cut through the dancers to the concierge desk, just to let them know how well our evening was going. An unnecessary errand, but it would save me a phone call tomorrow, and I really was pleased with the Salish Lodge. If the Buckmeisters started to dither again about their rehearsal dinner, maybe I'd bring them here.

"Message just came for you, Ms. Kincaid," said the bright young man at the desk. "I haven't even had time to write it down yet."

"From Joe Solveto?" I'd accidentally left my cell phone at home, and felt naked without it.

"Yes. He said Lars Kvern won in straight sets, and you'd know what that meant."

"Oh, thank G.o.d! You just made my night." I paid my compliments to the chef and the lodge, and returned to my party.

Howard and Chloe were still dancing, and Zack and Aaron were out on the terrace with the French doors shut, but most of the other guests were nowhere to be seen. Valerie Duncan, still ensconced by the fire, told me why.

"It seems that Burt Lamott simply had to see the Falls, so they've all gone trooping across the parking lot to that viewpoint pavilion farther along the canyon. He must think the fog is going to lift and the Falls are going to light up, just for the VIP. I decided to stay here and stay warm."

"Very wise," I said. "But I'd better get out there and make sure no one goes astray."

"Carnegie, before you go-"

She looked so grave that I sat down beside her.

"What is it, Valerie?"

"Why didn't Roger come tonight? It's because of Mercedes, isn't it?"

Oh, h.e.l.l. "I, um, couldn't say."

"You don't have to. Your face is too honest." She sat back and sighed, fingering the fringe on her challis shawl. "I always wondered if they were lovers. Roger's terribly discreet with all his women, paranoid, really, so there was never a sign. But she was so beautiful. And young. I'm not young anymore."

"Valerie, I shouldn't be discussing this."

She seemed not to hear me. There were two snifters on the table beside her, one of them already empty. She reached for the other, with a hand that was blunt and mottled, not slim and brown like Mercedes'. She drained the brandy. "He's been completely cold to me since we... since he... He can make you feel so cherished, and then be so cruel."

"I'm afraid I can't really follow what you're saying," I said neutrally. "There's so much noise from the dancing. I'm going to go check on the others."

It was the best I could think of, to save her dignity later. I grabbed my coat and left. Outside in the dank, chilly night, guests from the lodge were coming and going in the parking lot, and pale bands of headlights crisscrossed against the blanketing fog. As I strode along the walkway towards the pavilion, the sound of voices dropped away abruptly, m.u.f.fled by the fog and then lost in the roar of Snoqualmie Falls, which thundered and raged like an invisible beast in the gorge below.

After a few minutes, coc.o.o.ned in a strange isolation of sight and sound, I began to make out dim figures coming toward me, barely discernible in the swirling darkness. Burt was coming back, his arm around Corinne's shoulders, and the rest of the party seemed to be following.

Small talk suddenly seemed like too much effort. On impulse, I stepped off the walkway among the parked cars, far enough to lose the others from sight. I needed time to think. If Roger Talbot was juggling multiple affairs, maybe Mercedes had become inconvenient. But inconvenient enough to murder? Why not just set her aside, as he'd done with Valerie? Anyway, Corinne insisted that the killer had a cloak, not a topcoat.

Their voices faded quickly, leaving only the white noise of the Falls. I went ahead to the pavilion, a small concrete platform circled by railings that hung out over the gorge. It was empty, save for a brandy snifter on one of the benches. Cold white beams from the ceiling lights fanned out through the pillars and rails, laying crosshatched shadows onto the pale walls of mist. I crossed to the far side and peered out, but of course the Falls were invisible. As I stood there, I quit brooding over Valerie's remarks and lost myself in the cras.h.i.+ng roar of the waterfall. It reminded me of the otter's little waterfall at the Aquarium, back before this dreadful thing had happened- "Carnegie."

"Oh! Zack, you scared me."

"I'm sorry. You keep avoiding me, but I, like, really have to talk to you. I'm going crazy about this."

"About what, Zack?" It was utterly private here; we could have been miles from the lodge. Might as well get it over with.

He moved toward me and I retreated. I was willing to be kind about a declaration of affection, however misjudged, but I preferred to fend off another kiss before it happened.

"I can't..." he stammered. "I didn't mean..."

I was getting chilly. "Zack, please, just say what you want to say."

He turned his face away for a moment and then looked full at me, a wild spark in his shadowed eyes. Suddenly he wasn't a nerdy kid anymore, attractive but immature, easy to flirt with but easy to dismiss. Suddenly he was a man, blazing with a strange intensity.

"Carnegie, I killed Mercedes."

Chapter Seventeen.

I FROZE FROZE. THE WHOLE SAFE, SANE WORLD WAS SUDDENLY SANE WORLD WAS SUDDENLY very far away. Zack and I were marooned on an island of stark white light, surrounded by a sea of fog and thundering darkness. My little theory about Skull evaporated on the spot. Not a party crasher, but a party guest, had lured Mercedes down that corridor. Not a black cape but a dark green one had dropped over Corinne's head to blind her before she drowned. Robin Hood, not Death or Darth Vader, had gone home with blood on his hands. very far away. Zack and I were marooned on an island of stark white light, surrounded by a sea of fog and thundering darkness. My little theory about Skull evaporated on the spot. Not a party crasher, but a party guest, had lured Mercedes down that corridor. Not a black cape but a dark green one had dropped over Corinne's head to blind her before she drowned. Robin Hood, not Death or Darth Vader, had gone home with blood on his hands.

Zack stepped closer. The mist made silver beads on the dark wool of his sweater, and clung to his fair hair.

"You have to listen," he said hoa.r.s.ely.

"I am listening, really I am." But I was also edging slowly backwards, determined to run for it when I had the chance. I kept seeing the b.l.o.o.d.y wound beneath Mercedes' perfumed hair, and the way her slender arms had floated, limp in the water.

My retreat was blocked by something hard and cold at my back: the steel bars of the railing. With a quick glance I saw that they stretched for three or four yards to my right along the pavilion's edge before the opening to the pathway. The path to safety. I could slip under the lower bar, but that would take precious seconds, and very likely send me tumbling down the steep slope into the gorge. If I screamed, would anyone hear me over the roar of the Falls, or would it just panic Zack into action? He looked barely in control of himself.

"She was... She said..." His dark blue eyes were wide and fixed, his mouth working soundlessly. I sidled along the rail, one step and then another, my eyes locked on his.

"Go ahead, Zack. Tell me about Mercedes."

Two more steps. A third, a fourth. Zack mirrored my movements, but unconsciously. All his conscious thought seemed bent on getting the words out before they choked him.

"She laughed at me, so I shoved her over. I didn't mean-"

I flung myself toward the pathway. Zack grabbed me, locking my arms against my sides.

"You have to listen!"

I struggled, frantic to get away, but he was shockingly strong. I tried to stamp on his instep, as I'd learned to do, but stumbled instead. It pulled him off balance, so I hooked one foot behind his knee and turned the stumble into a fall, hoping to bring us both down and then pull free.

Only the first part worked. We crashed to the concrete floor, hard enough to knock the wind out of me. I went limp for a moment, gasping, but Zack held on.

"Carnegie, what are you doing?" he said plaintively, his voice breaking like a teenager's, his breath hot on my face. The words tumbled out, faster and faster. "I'm not going to hurt you, I just want you to listen. I didn't mean to kill her. I've been going totally crazy ever since you told me she was dead. I just shoved her, I thought she'd fall in the water and have to go back to the party all wet and that would serve her right. The water was so shallow, I never thought she'd drown! You've got to believe me...."

His face was wet, but not from the fog. Zack was crying. He disentangled himself from me and sat up, his entire body heaving with anguished sobs that tore themselves from his chest. I could have run away then, but instead I sat up and put a hand on his shoulder.

"You shoved her? That was all?" That was bad enough in itself, of course. But Mercedes' head wound came from a deliberate attack, not a simple fall. And a shove was not a murder....

"Yes!" he cried bitterly. "I pushed her over the railing and left her there and she drowned. Oh G.o.d, Carnegie, I'm so sorry."

"Help me up." We got shakily to our feet, and I led him over to the bench and handed him a handkerchief. I carry three, from habit, but they're usually for brides.

"Zack, sit down. Tell me exactly what happened at the party, OK?"

He nodded, scrubbing at his face, and drew a long uneven breath. "It was just before you and I danced together. Remember?"

"Yes, I remember." I spoke softly, careful of his precarious composure. "Go on."

"Tommy asked Mercedes to dance with me-I wish he'd quit doing that-so she did, and for a while she was, like, really friendly, and kind of s.e.xy even. I mean, she danced real close. I thought... I thought..."

"Just tell me what actually happened, Zack. It's important."

"OK, so we danced, and then she said, let's walk, and we went past the barrier into that sh.o.r.ebird corridor. You know the one?"

"I know."

He gave a little laugh, with a wavering edge of hysteria to it. The smooth young man I'd found so attractive was gone, reduced to a very vulnerable youngster. "Of course you do! You found her. You found the... the..." He couldn't say the word.

"The two of you went past the barrier and into the corridor," I prompted. "Then what?"

"She sat up on the railing. She looked so pretty! And she was laughing and kind of flirting with me, hiking her skirt up and saying wild stuff. It was like she was high."

I could see what was coming, because I'd seen Mercedes high and happy myself, in the ladies' room, and seen her mood alter in the blink of an eye.

"So at first you thought she was enjoying herself with you."

"I thought she liked me! I was always watching her at the Sentinel, but she totally ignored me, and then here she was, smiling and saying I was handsome and stuff." He flushed darkly at the memory. "And then I tried to kiss her and she laughed right in my face! She said I was boring, and she didn't have to waste her time with a boring boy. She got, like, really nasty."

"And so you shoved her over the rail?"

"Yeah." He hung his head, his eyes squeezed shut and his fists clenched with the effort to undo what he believed was a murderous act. "I can't believe I did that, but I was half-drunk and she got me so excited.... She went over backwards and I heard a splash but I didn't stay to watch, I just got out of there and back to the party and got another drink. Then Tommy saw me, and then you know what happened after that."

I knew. I remembered Zack's rigid tension on the dance floor, and how he began to relax as he talked about his website design work. "Some people think it's boring," he had said. Now I knew that "some people" meant Mercedes. When he kissed me, Zack was trying to recover his masculine pride. He didn't know that the woman who had humiliated him was soon to die.

"Zack, listen to me, and tell me if this is right. You pushed Mercedes over the rail, into the water, but you didn't touch her after that?"

"You mean help her out of the water? No." He groaned. "Oh, G.o.d, I wish I had. You've got to believe me, if I'd known she was drowning-"

"Zack, she didn't drown."

He stared. "But everyone's been saying that somebody drowned her. The police are looking for whoever did it. They're looking for me!"

"Listen to me. The police are looking for whoever took a rock and smashed Mercedes' skull with it. Did you do that?"

"No!" He looked at me in horror. "No! I didn't... I couldn't..."

"Of course you couldn't." I sat beside him, the two of us isolated in our cave of fog and thunder. "The worst you may have done was to leave her there stunned so that someone else could come along and kill her, but we don't even know that for sure. Mercedes could have picked herself up and had a conversation with the killer. We just don't know. But we do know that you didn't murder anyone, on purpose or by accident."

The tears began again, this time in a cathartic flood of joy and relief. I found myself smiling inanely, and crying a little as well. It was like bringing someone back from the dead. I couldn't condone Zack's aggressive behavior, but between the alcohol and Mercedes' taunting, I could understand it. The main thing, to him and to me, was that he wasn't a murderer.