Her Last Letter Part 8

"I think you should tell me something, so I can at least prepare myself."

"Okay, I'll tell you this much and no more. It's about Kelly. Something I found."

For a moment, she didn't speak. "I'm not sure I want to hear what it is."

"Yes, I'm certain you're right, but I have to tell you anyway."

Linda had left the front door unlocked and I walked on in. I found her seated in the kitchen, elbows on the table, a blueberry m.u.f.fin in one hand, her mouth working on half of it. She swallowed, giving me a sullen look. "Have a m.u.f.fin. There's coffee too."

"Thanks."

I poured a cup and took a m.u.f.fin, then sat down next to her. She quickly s.h.i.+fted her chair back, as if I'd moved too close to personal boundaries.

"So, what did you find?" she asked.

"I found a letter-in a dresser drawer. Kelly wrote it. I'm a.s.suming she wrote it not long before she died. I have it here. I'll read it."

"I can read. Let me have it."

"No, I'd rather read it myself, because I don't want you ripping it up or anything stupid."

Linda stiffened, then glared at me. "That wasn't necessary, was it?"

"We'll have to see."

"Huh," she said. "Must be bad. Go ahead. Read it."

I unfolded it and began. " *I'm so scared, and G.o.d if my sister knew I've been s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g her boyfriend she'd kill me anyway.' " I looked up to gage her reaction, but her face was blank. I continued reading until I'd finished the letter.

Linda pushed her tongue into the inside of her cheek, then looked off to one side. "Well, that was a waste of time. It's not true. Sounds like one of her stories. I'm surprised you believed it."

"You've got to be kidding. She says she's scared she'll end up dead, and she is dead, and you think she was writing a story?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I think."

I shook my head.

"Case closed," she said, standing. "So, are you and Trevor coming over for Thanksgiving?"

"d.a.m.n it, Linda. We have to talk about this."

"No, we don't," she yelled back at me. "You want to talk about it. I don't."

"Someone killed her, and it obviously wasn't Craig."

"No, Kelly wrote it knowing we'd eventually find it, just to drive us crazy. She was a lunatic, a drug addict, and you just don't want to see the truth."

"No, I think you've got that backwards. Linda, we could be in a lot of danger-our own husbands."

"Well, at least you included Trevor in the equation."

"We don't know who it is, but we sure as h.e.l.l should try to find out."

Linda stood there, her back against the counter, one foot tapping furiously. "It's not Wolfgang."

"Right, it's not Wolfgang. Hard to believe you'd say that," I said sarcastically.

"Let me see the letter."

I held it back from her. "You can't rip it."

"Oh, give it here. I won't rip the d.a.m.n thing."

I slowly handed it over, watching as she perused the letter.

"What is this box?" she asked.

"No idea. Probably something she found that would incriminate ... whoever."

She handed the letter back. "Has Trevor ever done anything that could even remotely make you believe he's a murderer?"

Though I hated his guts at the moment, I had to agree it didn't seem possible. "No, not really."

"Not really? What do you mean, not really?"

"Nothing. I'm just ... mad at him right now."

"What about?"

"Don't change the subject. It's nothing."

"So, what are we going to do? Turn them over to the cops based on this letter, something really dumb like that?"

"Of course not."

She looked toward the ceiling. "Did you consider that it might be Josh? She did say-boyfriend-and she knew him too."

"I thought of that."

"Thought and dismissed it, sounds like."

"It's just so ridiculous. Josh and Kelly having an affair. Josh running her down. Come on."

"Not any more ridiculous than the other two choices. Maybe it was an accident."

I laughed at the absurdity of it. "An accident?"

"Well, not an accident, maybe.... Oh, I don't know."

I checked behind me and down the hall. "Where's Wolfgang?"

"At work."

"Oh."

"Relax, Gwyn, he's not hiding in a closet plotting to do away with us."

I stared hard at her. "And that's another thing. You cannot tell Wolfgang about this. I know you don't think it's him, and I honestly don't think it's Trevor, but the fact is neither of us knows anything. We have to be smart. Someone killed our sister and it's not much of a stretch to believe they'd kill us too if they thought we knew something. We have to be the same, act the same, protect ourselves. I think we should hire a private investigator."

"For Trevor and Wolfgang, or for Josh too?"

"Just our husbands."

"I think for Josh too."

"Linda, we've known Josh all of our lives. We played with him, went to school with him. Come on. We know hardly anything about our husbands, just what they've told us. We inherited a lot of money, and though I'd like to believe that Trevor would love me with or without it, I have to admit I rushed into this marriage. So did you. I've met Trevor's relatives once, at the wedding. You and Wolfgang eloped. Both men are from out of state. There could be a ton of stuff we don't know."

"Okay, then we'll start with Trevor and Wolfgang. We can always look into Josh later if nothing comes up with them. And I happen to know someone who can help us, someone reliable that one of my girlfriends used. Spied on her philandering husband. I'll call her and get the guy's number, make up some story she'll believe."

"Okay, let's do that."

I'd called Trevor earlier in the morning as he'd requested, continuing to act as if everything were normal, like I hadn't noticed he'd slept with another woman in our bed.

"Well, there you are," he'd answered happily. "I was wondering if you were ever going to roll out of bed."

"It was an exhausting weekend. Sorry I was asleep when you left this morning."

"My fault. I should have stayed awake for you last night. I should have glued my eyelids open, drank ma.s.sive amounts of caffeine, whatever it took."

"It's okay. We'll see each other tonight."

"Ahh ... it's going to be pretty late. Morris is coming in, bringing another backer. I have to be there. There's no way I can get out of it. Dinner and drinks, the whole nine yards. I doubt if I'll be home before eleven."

"Where are you meeting him?"

"Probably at the office, but could be he'll want to go straight to dinner and talk there. I can't say."

"Which restaurant?"

"No idea, no fricking idea. G.o.d, how many times can I say I'm sorry? I want to make love to you in the worst way. I feel like I haven't touched you in a month. I get hard just thinking of-"

I could hear only m.u.f.fled voices now, Trevor with his hand over the receiver.

"Gotta go, Gwyn. I'll call you soon, baby. Soon as I can."

"Sure."

Like so often in the past, he'd given me clipped answers concerning where he'd be. Most of the time all I knew was that he was "working late" or "out with clients" or that I "wouldn't be interested in all the nitpicky details." He was right. I hadn't been. I'd trusted him. Why shouldn't I? Didn't he tell me he loved me all the time? Make love to me in a way that left no doubt? Wasn't he home just often enough to allay any fears?

The private investigator was a good idea, and I was relieved that Linda had gone along with my plan so readily. Maybe I'd be able to find out who Trevor was fooling around with, then confront him, and be done with him. One big boot out the door....

But as the day droned on and I sat lonely and incredibly empty in my studio, I realized I would miss Trevor horribly if it did all have to end, and I wondered if possibly something I'd done had driven him to betray me. I knew that was stupid, of course. Yes, he could have used some slight, some offense I'd committed, as an excuse to justify an affair, but that's all it would be, an excuse. The affair would have been the primary goal.

But he wasn't a murderer. He couldn't be. Could he? I'd have sworn on everything I'd ever believed in that he wasn't capable of anything so monstrous.

Of course, until I'd come home last night and found another woman's perfume on my pillow, I'd have sworn he'd never cheat on me either.

Chapter 7.

Thanksgiving was the twenty-third of November, four days since my trip to Denver, three days since the confrontation with Linda.

We were joining Linda and Wolfgang for dinner, and like the year before, they required only that we dress for the occasion and bring a big appet.i.te. Still, Trevor and I brought wine, two bottles, a merlot and a chardonnay. The gathering would include only the four of us.

It had snowed earlier in the morning, so as I approached the walkway leading to their front door, Trevor was quick to take my arm, though I didn't slow down to wait for him.

"Whoa, what's the rush?" he asked. "Remember, I've got breakable wine bottles here."

"Oh, sorry. I'm just cold. In a hurry to get inside."

"I can see that."

A huge wreath adorned their front door, and tiny multicolored Christmas lights twinkled around the entrance. Off to the right, in an elaborate manger scene set amidst a stand of evergreens, angels and wise men knelt and paid homage to baby Jesus.

I pressed the doorbell and it chimed softly.

Wolfgang swung open the door, greeting us. "Welcome, good to see you, Gwyn, Trevor. Come in. Come in. It's cold out there."

I nodded and stamped my feet on their bright Christmas mat.

Trevor helped me remove my coat, and I made small talk with Wolfgang for as long as holiday protocol required, then continued on inside, following the tantalizing aroma of roast turkey drifting in from the kitchen. Linda stood at the counter, tasting and arranging appetizing treats.

"Hi, Gwyn," she said when she spotted me. "Taste this." She held a stuffed mushroom up to my mouth. I opened obligingly and let her poke it inside.

"How is it?"

I chewed on the hot mushroom, then nodded rapidly.

"Good," she said, smiling. "I thought so."

Linda wouldn't be cooking today, only supervising. She always hired someone to help out on special occasions. It wasn't that she disliked cooking, but on the holidays she wanted to join the group and make merry.