The story was well-known amongst her friends and family. One weekend things had come to a head, when Alison had come home from college, finding her mom incoherent and rambling at the foot of the stairs, and called an ambulance. The indignation pushed Isobel to find help, first with a hospital chaplain, who steered her in the direction of her local AA chapter, and somehow she found the strength to kick the habit, for her daughter’s sake, but also for the sake of her own sanity.
And now she was writing that book. Part of her process. Part of the twelve-step program, she claimed, even though it said nowhere in any twelve-step program Tex had ever heard about that you had to rat out your friends to find salvation. It was probably that stupid chaplain’s idea. He must have planted this idea into Isobel’s head. If he could just get his hands on the guy…
He wondered now what Marge’s secret could be. That she had a secret, that much was obvious from her reaction to the news Isobel was writing that infernal book. But no matter how much he pressed her to reveal her secret to him, she wouldn’t. What could it be? A secret affair? A love child with another man? He’d read enough Harlan Coben novels for his imagination to run wild. Maybe her name wasn’t even Marge Lip. And maybe Vesta wasn’t her mother, nor Alec her brother. Maybe she was the secret love child of a politician? Or some mobster?
Or maybe in a previous life she’d killed someone, and now she had to live with the guilt. Maybe she was one of those killer kids, who’d murdered a man when she was eleven, and had been given a new identity, so that she could start a new life. And once her secret was out, a revenge mob would come after her. Which meant they’d come after him, too. Which meant their lives were over.
God. How he wished they’d never crossed paths with Isobel Droba.
CHAPTER 10
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When Marge opened her eyes, light was already seeping into the room. Tex was still fast asleep, but when she stirred, he stirred, too. He glanced up at her with a smile.“Hey, beautiful. Sleep well?”
“Terrible,” she said with a sigh.
“Same here. Must be the lack of cats.”
She had to smile at that.“I never thought I’d hear you say that.”
“I never thought I’d feel that way about those furballs. But I’m starting to think that their presence helps us sleep, don’t you?”
“It’s possible,” she said. It was true that cats have a relaxing influence, though Tex had always complained about them hogging space at the foot of the bed, and causing him to have to tuck in his legs. Marge, because she was shorter than him, didn’t have that particular problem.
“I always thought I’d be able to sleep so much better without the cats, but now I can see I was wrong,” said Tex, and stretched and yawned. “Did I dream this, or did you wake me up last night because you heard a scream?”
“I did hear a scream,” Marge confirmed. “At least I thought I did.”
“Could be your overactive imagination.”
“Could be,” she agreed. It was a conclusion she’d reached herself already.
“Who are we playing today?” asked Tex as he reluctantly threw back the covers.
“I’m playing Michele and you’re playing Max Stinger.”
“Ooh, the plastic surgeon. Nice.”
“Don’t bore him too much with shoptalk, honey. You’re here to play tennis, not stage a medical conference.”
“I won’t, I promise,” said Tex. “Unless he begins first, of course.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek, which led to a cuddle, which led to more kisses in other places.
Marge smiled up at her hubby.“You don’t happen to have a secret family tucked away somewhere in Idaho, do you?”
Tex barked a surprised laugh.“What?”
“Never mind. Do you want to hit the shower first, or shall I?”
But before they could decide on the bathroom business, suddenly a loud scream echoed through the hallway. And this time it was not her imagination, for Tex had heard it, too.
It was a loud, drawn-out scream, then morphed into a series of short staccato bursts. Whoever it was, it sounded like something terrible had happened.
They both hurried out of the bed and into the corridor. They weren’t the only ones, either, for doors were opening everywhere, and guests were streaming into the hallway, drawn to the agonized sounds of a woman desperately sobbing.
“It’s coming from Isobel’s room!” Tex said.
And as they all descended on the room, Perlita Gruner came stumbling out. The woman’s face was white as a sheet, and obviously it was she who’d been screaming, for she uttered one now as she bumped into her husband.
“She’s dead!” Perlita cried as her husband wrapped her in his arms. “Oh, my God, Nate, I think she’s dead!”
Tex was the first to move past the couple and into the room, the determined look of a professional on his face. Marge was a close second, for she now wondered if that scream she’d heard last night could be connected to what Perlita had seen in that room?