definitely shouting, a man, and it seemed to be in anger rather than any kind of distress.
I crawled out of bed, and since I’d been forced to sleep in only my lime green panties, I wrapped myself in a cashmere throw blanket from the end of the bed. As quietly as possible, I turned the handle and opened the door. The only light in the hallway was from two dim wall sconces.
Now a woman was yelling, too. I was pretty sure it was Peyton. I crept down the hall toward the door of what I thought must be the master bedroom. That was where the angry words were emanating from.
“You’re not even thinking about me in all of this, are you?” Peyton shouted.
“Why should I?” It was David’s voice now. “You do enough of that for all of us. God forbid there’s ever a moment in the day when you’re thinking of someone other than your fucking self.”
CHAPTER 4
A S CURIOUS AS I was to know more, I felt guilty listening to their marital scrape. On tiptoes I began to make my way back to my bedroom, fearful that at any moment one of them would fling open the door in retreat and I’d be caught standing there in my makeshift toga.
I climbed back into bed, blisteringly fatigued but at the same time totally wired. What the hell was going on with Peyton’s marriage? David’s voice had sounded positively ragged with frustration. Was the flare-up I’d overheard simply a result of all the tension lately—from Robin’s death and now Ashley’s—or was it an indication of deep, serious trouble? As I lay there pondering and fretting, my cell phone went off on the bedside table, scaring the bejesus out of me. It was Jack.
I poured out the whole awful story to him. He listened in that nice Jack way of his, periodically asking for more details.
“I hate the idea of you being there alone,” he said finally. “If I were in New York tonight, I’d drive out to Greenwich and pick you up.”
“Thanks,” I said. “But I feel safe enough here. The house is practically a castle, and I’m sure they’ve got every type of security short of a moat.”
“What do the police make of this?” Jack asked.
“The guys who interviewed me weren’t giving anything away. Listen, Jack, when you and I spoke yesterday about clusters, we were talking about only two deaths. Could
three
accidental deaths like this still be just a cluster?”
“Believe it or not, yes. It could still all be random. Though if you ran a probability study on it, you’d most likely find that the chances of it happening are astronomically low, so Bailey, you have to be careful. You need to stay out of this and let the police investigate it.”
I knew I should appreciate his concern, yet I found it irritating and patronizing. Not only was I a crime reporter, but in the last year I also had played a key role in
solving
two crimes. I didn’t say anything, just let his remark hang there.
“And I want you to call me as soon as you get back to New York,” he added. “You’re coming home tomorrow, right?”
“Yes, I have to be back for a meeting at
Gloss
. Look, you’ve got classes in the morning. I better let you go.”
He hesitated for a second, then simply told me again to call him tomorrow. I wondered what he’d been about to say. Some kind of endearment? That was still a bit of a tricky area for us. We had done the L-word limbo in the past month or two, saying things to each other like “I love when you do that” and “I love that shirt on you.” But neither one of us had ventured further than that. Which was okay with me because my feelings were still evolving. I was definitely in lust and very deeply in like, but I couldn’t yet say whether I was in love with him.
I turned off the bedside light and lay in the dark, totally wide-eyed. Whatever fatigue I’d felt earlier had been chased away by the altercation down the hall. At one point I thought I heard raised voices again, then realized it was only the wind, which had begun to howl.
I crawled out of bed, and since I’d been forced to sleep in only my lime green panties, I wrapped myself in a cashmere throw blanket from the end of the bed. As quietly as possible, I turned the handle and opened the door. The only light in the hallway was from two dim wall sconces.
Now a woman was yelling, too. I was pretty sure it was Peyton. I crept down the hall toward the door of what I thought must be the master bedroom. That was where the angry words were emanating from.
“You’re not even thinking about me in all of this, are you?” Peyton shouted.
“Why should I?” It was David’s voice now. “You do enough of that for all of us. God forbid there’s ever a moment in the day when you’re thinking of someone other than your fucking self.”
CHAPTER 4
A S CURIOUS AS I was to know more, I felt guilty listening to their marital scrape. On tiptoes I began to make my way back to my bedroom, fearful that at any moment one of them would fling open the door in retreat and I’d be caught standing there in my makeshift toga.
I climbed back into bed, blisteringly fatigued but at the same time totally wired. What the hell was going on with Peyton’s marriage? David’s voice had sounded positively ragged with frustration. Was the flare-up I’d overheard simply a result of all the tension lately—from Robin’s death and now Ashley’s—or was it an indication of deep, serious trouble? As I lay there pondering and fretting, my cell phone went off on the bedside table, scaring the bejesus out of me. It was Jack.
I poured out the whole awful story to him. He listened in that nice Jack way of his, periodically asking for more details.
“I hate the idea of you being there alone,” he said finally. “If I were in New York tonight, I’d drive out to Greenwich and pick you up.”
“Thanks,” I said. “But I feel safe enough here. The house is practically a castle, and I’m sure they’ve got every type of security short of a moat.”
“What do the police make of this?” Jack asked.
“The guys who interviewed me weren’t giving anything away. Listen, Jack, when you and I spoke yesterday about clusters, we were talking about only two deaths. Could
three
accidental deaths like this still be just a cluster?”
“Believe it or not, yes. It could still all be random. Though if you ran a probability study on it, you’d most likely find that the chances of it happening are astronomically low, so Bailey, you have to be careful. You need to stay out of this and let the police investigate it.”
I knew I should appreciate his concern, yet I found it irritating and patronizing. Not only was I a crime reporter, but in the last year I also had played a key role in
solving
two crimes. I didn’t say anything, just let his remark hang there.
“And I want you to call me as soon as you get back to New York,” he added. “You’re coming home tomorrow, right?”
“Yes, I have to be back for a meeting at
Gloss
. Look, you’ve got classes in the morning. I better let you go.”
He hesitated for a second, then simply told me again to call him tomorrow. I wondered what he’d been about to say. Some kind of endearment? That was still a bit of a tricky area for us. We had done the L-word limbo in the past month or two, saying things to each other like “I love when you do that” and “I love that shirt on you.” But neither one of us had ventured further than that. Which was okay with me because my feelings were still evolving. I was definitely in lust and very deeply in like, but I couldn’t yet say whether I was in love with him.
I turned off the bedside light and lay in the dark, totally wide-eyed. Whatever fatigue I’d felt earlier had been chased away by the altercation down the hall. At one point I thought I heard raised voices again, then realized it was only the wind, which had begun to howl.
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