To the Grave by Carlene Thompson Read Free Book Online Page B

looked at Eric, not a trace of emotion on his face, and Catherine heard him say dully, “It’s my wife Renée.”

 
    CHAPTER THREE
    1
    Torn between feeling she should stay with James and frantically wanting the safety of home, Catherine argued when Marissa told her they were leaving. Catherine was still arguing when Eric ordered her home in his most authoritative voice, but it was James giving her a quick, soft kiss on the lips and telling her he’d feel better if he knew she was safe, warm, and, he added with a weak smile, “cleaned up” that sent her homeward.
    Even though the temperature had dropped considerably since afternoon, Catherine didn’t want Marissa to raise the roof of the Mustang convertible. Marissa drove her usual five miles above the speed limit and Catherine closed her eyes, letting the cool wind whip at her damp sweater and the hair she’d pulled back in a ponytail.
    â€œIf you’re cold, I’ll put up the top, now,” Marissa finally said.
    â€œNo. I like the air. I stink.”
    â€œYou don’t stink.”
    â€œYes, I do. I’m going to burn these clothes. And my hair is—”
    â€œYour hair will be fine after a couple of rounds with shampoo. You don’t have to burn it off.”
    â€œI was going to say my hair is rank. I wasn’t planning on setting fire to it.”
    â€œThat’s reassuring. It’s been a hell of an afternoon. I’m afraid of what might come next.”
    â€œYou’re never afraid. I’m the timid one.”
    â€œOh, not this again,” Marissa said in the voice Catherine recognized as half-teasing, half-serious. “I’m afraid a lot. I just don’t admit it. And you aren’t timid. You just think you are because people have told you so all your life. For God’s sake, Catherine, you’re a psychologist. You should know you’re not timid.”
    â€œPsychologists aren’t good at analyzing themselves.”
    â€œWell, take it from me that you’re braver than I am.”
    After a pause, Catherine said, “He called her his wife.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œJames. He looked at the body and he said to Eric, ‘It’s my wife Renée.’ Not ‘my ex -wife.’ ‘My wife.’”
    â€œSo?”
    â€œMaybe he still thinks of her as his wife,” Catherine said drearily.
    â€œHe doesn’t. He was stunned and upset.”
    â€œMaybe he was still in love with her.”
    Marissa let out a long sigh. “Catherine, you’ve had a terrible shock today and you’re letting it send you into a downward spiral just because James said ‘wife’ instead of ‘ex-wife.’ Well, remember this. He’s had a terrible shock, too. He misspoke because he was astounded and worried about you finding Renée’s body. He doesn’t think of Renée as his wife. He doesn’t love Renée. He loves you . Period.”
    â€œIf you say so,” Catherine answered tonelessly.
    â€œCry, scream, wave your arms around, stomp your feet, put in a CD, and blast the music, but do something besides going numb.”
    â€œWill that make you feel better?”
    â€œMuch. And smile or I’ll pick up speed. How does ninety sound?”
    Catherine tilted her lips. “Like you’ll get a speeding ticket on top of everything else.”
    â€œThat’s better. Much better. Let’s keep it that way. Now, do you want to hear some music, have a normal conversation, or just remain silent?”
    Catherine knew Marissa was incapable of maintaining silence after the afternoon they’d had and any conversation would involve a rehash of events, so Catherine chose music and retreated into her headache, her misery, and the songs of Coldplay.
    *   *   *
    An hour later, Catherine emerged from the steam-filled upstairs bathroom of the Gray home. She wore a floor-length terry-cloth robe over