She scooped up the debris from the passenger side, tossed it into the back and climbed in. She only hoped the seat was clean.
Detective Cold Fish was walking toward the car. He looked hot and harassed. His shirtsleeves were rolled up now, his tie yanked loose. Even as he tried to leave the scene, cops were pulling him aside to ask questions.
At last he slid in behind the wheel and slammed the door. “Okay, where does your mother live?” he asked.
“Cape Elizabeth. Look, I can see you’re busy—”
“My partner’s holding the fort. I’ll drop you off, talk to your mother and swing by the hospital to see Reverend Sullivan.”
“Great. That way you can kill three birds with one stone.”
“I do believe in efficiency.”
They drove in silence. She saw no point in trying to dredge up polite talk. Politeness would go right over this man’s head. Instead, she looked out the window and thought morosely about the wedding reception and all those finger sandwiches waiting for guests who’d never arrive. She’d have to call and ask for the food to be delivered to a soup kitchen before it all spoiled. And then there were the gifts, dozens of them, piled up at home. Correction—Robert’s home. It had never
really been her home. She had only been living there, a tenant. It had been her idea to pay half the mortgage. Robert used to point out how much he respected her independence, her insistence on a separate identity. In any good relationship, he’d say, privilege as well as responsibility was a fifty-fifty split. That’s how they’d worked it from the start. First he’d paid for a date, then she had. In fact, she’d insisted, to show him that she was her own woman.
Now it all seemed so stupid.
I was never my own woman, she thought. I was always dreaming, longing for the day I’d be Mrs. Robert Bledsoe. It’s what her family had hoped for, what her mother had expected of her: to marry well. They’d never understood Nina’s going to nursing school, except as a way to meet a potential mate. A doctor. She’d met one, all right.
And all it’s gotten me is a bunch of gifts I have to return, a wedding gown I can’t return and a day I’ll never, ever live down.
It was the humiliation that shook her the most. Not the fact that Robert had walked out. Not even the fact that she could have died in the wreckage of that church. The explosion itself seemed unreal to her, as remote as some TV melodramas. As remote as this man sitting beside her.
“You’re handling this very well,” he said.
Startled that Detective Cold Fish had spoken, she looked at him. “Excuse me?”
“You’re taking this very calmly. Calmer than most.”
“I don’t know how else to take it.”
“After a bombing, hysteria would not be out of line.”
“I’m an E.R. nurse, Detective. I don’t do hysteria.”
“Still, this had to be a shock for you. There could well be an emotional aftermath.”
“You’re saying this is the calm before the storm?”
“Something like that.” He glanced at her, his gaze meeting hers. Just as quickly, he looked back at the road and the connection was gone. “Why wasn’t your family with you at the church?”
“I sent them all home.”
“I would think you’d want them around for support, at least.”
She looked out the window. “My family’s not exactly the supportive type. And I guess I just…needed to be alone. When an animal gets hurt, Detective, it goes off by itself to lick its wounds. That’s what I needed to do….” She blinked away an unexpected film of tears and fell silent.
“I know you don’t feel much like talking right now,” he said. “But maybe you can answer this question for me. Can you think of anyone else who might’ve been a target? Reverend Sullivan, for instance?”
She shook her head. “He’s the last person anyone would hurt.”
“It was his church building. He would’ve been near the blast center.”
“Reverend Sullivan’s the sweetest man in the world! Every winter, he’s handing out blankets on the street. Or scrounging up beds at the shelter. In the E.R., when we see patients who have no home to go to, he’s the one we call.”
“I’m not questioning his character. I’m just asking about enemies.”
“He has no enemies,” she said flatly.
“What about the rest of the wedding party? Could any of them have been targets?”
“I can’t imagine—”
“The best man, Jeremy Wall. Tell me about him.”
“Jeremy? There’s not much to say. He went to medical school with Robert. He’s a doctor at Maine Med. A radiologist.”
“Married?”
“Single. A confirmed bachelor.”
“What about your sister, Wendy? She was your maid of honor?”
“Matron of honor. She’s a happy homemaker.”
“Any enemies?”
“Not unless there’s someone out there who resents perfection.”
“Meaning?”
“Let’s just say she’s the dream daughter every parent hopes for.”
“As opposed to you?”
Nina gave a shrug. “How’d you guess?”
“All right, so that leaves one major player. The one who, coincidentally, decided not to show up at all.”
Nina stared straight ahead. What can I tell him about Robert, she thought, when I myself am completely in the dark?
To her relief, he didn’t pursue that line of questioning. Perhaps he’d realized how far he’d pushed her. How close to the emotional edge she was already tottering. As they drove the winding road into Cape Elizabeth, she felt her calm facade at last begin to crumble. Hadn’t he warned her about it? The emotional aftermath. The pain creeping through the numbness. She had held together well, had weathered two devastating shocks with little more than a few spilt tears. Now her hands were beginning to shake, and she found that every breath she took was a struggle not to sob.
When at last they pulled up in front of her mother’s house, Nina was barely holding herself together. She didn’t wait for Sam to circle around and open her door. She pushed it open herself and scrambled out in a sloppy tangle of wedding gown. By the time he walked up the front steps, she was already leaning desperately on the doorbell, silently begging her mother to let her in before she fell apart completely.
The door swung open. Lydia, still elegantly coiffed and gowned, stood staring at her dishevelled daughter. “Nina? Oh, my poor Nina.” She opened her arms.
Automatically Nina fell into her mother’s embrace. So hungry was she for a hug, she didn’t immediately register the fact that Lydia had drawn back to avoid wrinkling her green silk dress. But she did register her mother’s first question.
“Have you heard from Robert yet?”
Nina stiffened. Oh please, she thought. Please don’t do this to me.
“I’m sure this can all be worked out,” said Lydia. “If you’d just sit down with Robert and have an honest discussion about what’s bothering him—”
Nina pulled away. “I’m not going to sit down with Robert,” she said. “And as for an honest discussion, I’m not sure we ever had one.”
“Now, darling, it’s natural to be angry—”
“But aren’t you angry, Mother? Can’t you be angry for me?”
“Well, yes. But I can’t see tossing Robert aside just because—”
The sudden clearing of a male throat made Lydia glance up at Sam, who was standing outside the doorway.
“I’m Detective Navarro, Portland Police,” he said. “You’re Mrs. Cormier?”
“The name’s now Warrenton.” Lydia frowned at him. “What is this all about? What do the police have to do with this?”
“There was an incident at the church, ma’am. We’re investigating.
“An incident?”
“The church was bombed.”
Lydia stared at him. “You’re not serious.”
“I’m very serious. It went off at
2:40 this afternoon. Luckily no one was hurt. But if the wedding had been held…”
Lydia paled to a sickly white. She took a step back, her voice failing her.
“Mrs. Warrenton,” said Sam, “I need to ask you a few questions.”
Nina didn’t stay to listen. She had heard too many questions already. She climbed upstairs to the spare bedroom, where she had left her suitcase—the suitcase she’d packed for St. John Island. Inside were her bathing suits and sundresses and tanning lotion. Everything she’d thought she needed for a week in paradise.
She took off the wedding dress and carefully draped it over an armchair where it lay white and lifeless. Useless. She looked at the contents of her suitcase, at the broken dreams packed neatly between layers of tissue paper. That’s when the last vestiges of control failed her. Dressed only in her underwear, she sat down on the bed. Alone, in silence, she finally allowed the grief to sweep over her.
And she wept.
* * *
LYDIA WARRENTON WAS nothing like her daughter. Sam had seen it the moment the older woman opened the front door. Flawlessly made up, elegantly coiffed, her slender frame shown to full advantage by the green gown, Lydia looked like no mother of the bride he’d ever seen. There was a physical resemblance, of course. Both Lydia and Nina had the same black hair, the same dark, thickly lashed eyes. But while Nina had a softness about her, a vulnerability, Lydia was standoffish, as though surrounded by some protective force field that would zap anyone who ventured too close. She was definitely a looker, not only thin but also rich, judging by the room he was now standing in.
The house was a veritable museum of antiques. He had noticed a Mercedes parked in the driveway. And the living room, into which he’d just been ushered, had a spectacular ocean view. A million-dollar view. Lydia sat down primly on a brocade sofa and motioned him toward a wing chair. The needlepoint fabric was so pristine-looking he had the urge to inspect his clothes before sinking onto the cushion.
“A bomb,” murmured Lydia, shaking her head. “I just can’t believe it. Who would bomb a church?”
“It’s not the first bombing we’ve had in town.”
She looked at him, bewildered. “You mean the warehouse? The one last week? I read that had something to do with organized crime.”
“That was the theory.”
“This was a church. How can they possibly be connected?”
“We don’t see the link either, Mrs. Warrenton. We’re trying to find out if there is one. Maybe you can help us. Do you know of any reason someone would want to bomb the Good Shepherd Church?”
“I know nothing about that church. It’s not one I attend. It was my daughter’s choice to get married there.”
“You sound as if you don’t approve.”
She shrugged. “Nina has her own odd way of doing things. I’d have chosen a more…established institution. And a longer guest list. But that’s Nina. She wanted to keep it small and simple.”
Simple was definitely not Lydia Warrenton’s style, thought Sam, gazing around the room.
“So to answer your question, Detective, I can’t think of any reason to bomb Good Shepherd.”
“What time did you leave the church?”
“A little after two. When it became apparent there wasn’t anything I could do for Nina.”
“While you were waiting, did you happen to notice anyone who shouldn’t have been there?”
“There were just the people you’d expect. The florists, the minister. The wedding party.”
“Names?”
“There was me. My daughter Wendy. The best man—I don’t remember his name. My ex-husband, George, and his latest wife.”
“Latest.”
She sniffed. “Daniella. His fourth so far.”
“What about your husband?”
She paused. “Edward was delayed. His plane was two hours late leaving Chicago.”
“So he hadn’t even reached town yet?”
“No. But he planned to attend the reception.”
Again, Sam glanced around the room, at the antiques. The view. “May I ask what your husband does for a living, Mrs. Warrenton?”
“He’s president of Ridley-Warrenton.”
“The logging company?”
“That’s right.”
That explained the house and the Mercedes, thought Sam. Ridley-Warrenton was one of the largest landowners in northern Maine. Their forest products, from raw lumber to fine paper, were shipped around the world.
His next question was unavoidable. “Mrs. Warrenton,” he asked, “does your husband have any enemies?”
Her response surprised him. She laughed. “Anyone with money has enemies, Detective.”
“Can you name anyone in particular?”
“You’d have to ask Edward.”
“I will,” said Sam, rising to his feet. “As soon as your husband’s back in town, could you have him give me a call?”
“My husband’s a busy man.”
“So am I, ma’am,” he answered. With a curt nod, he turned and left the house.
In the driveway, he sat in his Taurus for a moment, gazing up at the mansion. It was, without a doubt, one of the most impressive homes he’d ever been in. Not that he was all that familiar with mansions. Samuel Navarro was the son of a Boston cop who was himself the son of a Boston cop. At the age of twelve, he’d moved to Portland with his newly widowed mother. Nothing came easy for them, a fact of life which his mother resignedly accepted.
Sam had not been so accepting. His adolescence consisted of five long years of rebellion. Fistfights in the school yard. Sneaking cigarettes in the bathroom. Loitering with the rough-and-tumble crowd that hung out in Monument Square. There’d been no mansions in his childhood.
He started the car and drove away. The investigation was just beginning; he and Gillis had a long night ahead of them. There was still the minister to interview, as well as the florist, the best man, the matron of honor and the groom.
Most of all, the groom.
Dr. Robert Bledsoe, after all, was the one who’d called off the wedding. His decision, by accident or design, had saved the lives of dozens of people. That struck Sam as just a little bit too fortunate. Had Bledsoe received some kind of warning? Had he been the intended target?
Was that the real reason he’d left his bride at the altar?
Nina Cormier’s image came vividly back to mind. Hers wasn’t a face he’d be likely to forget. It was more than just those big brown eyes, that kissable mouth. It was her pride that impressed him the most. The sort of pride that kept her chin up, her jaw squared, even as the tears were falling. For that he admired her. No whining, no self-pity. The woman had been humiliated, abandoned and almost blown to smithereens. Yet she’d had enough spunk left to give Sam an occasional what-for. He found that both irritating and amusing. For a woman who’d probably grown up with everything handed to her on a silver platter, she was a tough little survivor.
Today she’d been handed a heaping dish of crow, and she’d eaten it just fine, thank you. Without a whimper.
Surprising, surprising woman.
He could hardly wait to hear what Dr. Robert Bledsoe had to say about her.
* * *
IT WAS AFTER five o’clock when Nina finally emerged from her mother’s guest bedroom. Calm, composed, she was now wearing jeans and a T-shirt. She’d left her wedding dress hanging in the closet; she didn’t even want to look at it again. Too many bad memories had attached themselves like burrs to the fabric.
Downstairs she found her mother sitting alone in the living room, nursing a highball. Detective Navarro was gone. Lydia raised the drink to her lips, and by the clinking of ice cubes in the glass, Nina could tell that Lydia’s hands were shaking.
“Mother?” said Nina.
At the sound of her daughter’s voice, Lydia’s head jerked up. “You startled me.”
“I think I’ll be leaving now. Are you all right?”
“Yes. Yes, of course.??
? Lydia gave a shudder. Then she added, almost as an afterthought, “How about you?”
“I’ll be okay. I just need some time. Away from Robert.”
Mother and daughter looked at each other for a moment, neither one speaking, neither one knowing what to say. This was the way things had always been between them. Nina had grown up hungry for affection. Her mother had always been too self-absorbed to grant it. And this was the result: the silence of two women who scarcely knew or understood each other. The distance between them couldn’t be measured by years, but by universes.
Nina watched her mother take another deep swallow of her drink. “How did it go?” she asked. “With you and that detective?”
Lydia shrugged. “What’s there to say? He asked questions, I answered them.”
“Did he tell you anything? About who might have done it?”
“No. He was tight as a clam. Not much in the way of charm.”
Nina couldn’t disagree. She’d known ice cubes that were warmer than Sam Navarro. But then, the man was just doing his job. He wasn’t paid to be charming.
“You can stay for dinner, if you’d like,” said Lydia. “Why don’t you? I’ll have the cook—”
“That’s all right, Mother. Thank you, anyway.”
Lydia looked up at her. “It’s because of Edward, isn’t it?”
“No, Mother. Really.”
“That’s why you hardly ever visit. Because of him. I wish you could get to like him.” Lydia sighed and looked down at her drink. “He’s been very good to me, very generous. You have to grant him that much.”
When Nina thought of her stepfather, generous was not the first adjective that came to mind. No, ruthless would be the word she’d choose. Ruthless and controlling. She didn’t want to talk about Edward Warrenton.
She turned and started toward the door. “I have to get home and pack my things. Since it’s obvious I’ll be moving out.”
“Couldn’t you and Robert patch things up somehow?”
“After today?” Nina shook her head.