Stand-in Wife Page 3

  Because she was looking for lumps and bumps it took a few seconds for Viv to realize what she was feeling was soft and spongy. Cold sweat popped out on her forehead. She closed her eyes, fighting nausea. “Her skull is shattered,” she heard herself say. Carefully she withdrew her hands.

  Ross sat back on his heels. “Oh, God. Charlie,” he rasped.

  But Viv wasn’t listening. She was staring at her blood-covered palms. Helen Mirren. Yes. Helen Mirren had played Lady Macbeth on Broadway last year. All those phony blood capsules…

  Only, with the wail of sirens, the smell of iron, this was real…too horribly, horribly real.

  “‘Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him?’” she quoted, Ross staring at her.

  Viv’s eyes rolled backward and she fainted.

  CHAPTER THREE

  SUNLIGHT REFRACTED OFF a chandelier, throwing rainbow splotches of blue, red and green over the ceiling. Pretty, thought Viv.

  She was lying down, with her neck supported by something soft. But the ambiance was all wrong for meditation. Woozily she listened to a buzz of urgent voices, a clatter of steel on hard surface.

  Viv caught sight of her boots elevated on a sofa arm, tan clashing with aubergine leather and frowned. Where was she?

  “My sister-in-law was here when it happened. That’s Meredith Coltrane. M-E-R-E…”

  Viv snapped upright only to fall back on a wave of dizziness. “It’s all right, love, you’ve had a shock,” she heard a female voice say. “Take your time.” Firm hands helped her to a sitting position and Viv caught a glimpse of a practical countenance and the St. John Ambulance insignia before she was pushed forward. “Head between knees. That’s right.”

  She was sitting on a couch in Linda’s lounge. At least that’s where she guessed she was because she was staring at a plush white rug. Memory flooded back to her. With a moan she dragged her hands forward…the blood was gone.

  “No, don’t sit up yet. Another minute.”

  “Is Linda okay?” Maybe the paramedics had been able to save her, maybe—

  “I’m so sorry.”

  A noise from the hall made her raise her head. Viv glimpsed a second paramedic pushing a gurney through the red front door, black straps holding a blanket snugly in place over the bulge of small feet. Ross, grim and composed, was talking to a cop. The cop was taking notes.

  The paramedic caught the direction of her gaze. “He’ll need to ask you a few questions when you’re up to it. It’s only a formality. They always attend in cases of accidental death.”

  Curling up, Viv faced the couch. “This can’t be happening.”

  The woman patted her shoulder. “Like I said, take your time.”

  She left to help her colleague, and Viv stared at the fine leather.

  “You okay?” said Ross gruffly.

  Was she? Through her stage work, Viv had witnessed beheadings, stabbings and strangulation, and had taken a ghoulish interest in how makeup achieved bruised flesh and gaping wounds. But this was graceless, pointless…and permanent. “I was only talking to her twenty minutes ago.”

  Ross sat beside her and suddenly she was crying into his chest, big shuddering sobs. “I don’t know why I’m reacting this way,” she managed between paroxysms. “It’s not like she ever had a nice word to say for anybody. The only person she’s ever cared about was Charlie.”

  “And the kids.”

  Viv sobbed harder. “That’s right, she and your dad took Tilly to Disneyland last year…. I n-need tissues.”

  “Ma’am?” said the policeman Ross had been talking to earlier, handing her a handkerchief. Viv sat up. Close up, he had kind eyes under bristling ginger eyebrows, the exact match of his light blue police shirt. He’d taken off his navy police cap, obviously out of respect. “Than-thank you.” She blew her nose hard.

  “I’m Officer Wright. Condolences for your loss. Can you fill me in on how it happened, Mrs. Coltrane?”

  I’m not Mrs. Coltrane. Viv opened her mouth and closed it. Ross had been so menacing about custody…would a clarification right now really be in her sister’s best interests? On the other hand, was providing false information to the police in her best interest?

  I can’t lose my kids. Not them, too.

  “I’d come to pick up my…son.” Viv took a deep breath. “He’s napping upstairs. I met Ross in the driveway. We—” she faltered but The Iceman didn’t flicker so much as an eyelash “—talked. Then I came inside. Linda was standing on that stool, trying to reach a picture.” She pointed to the stool on its side near the living room doorway.

  A second policeman came in from the hall to examine it. It would take her a while to get used to the absence of gun holsters here. He held up the stool wordlessly. One filigree leg had splayed. “That explains the fall,” said Officer Wright. Beside her Ross stiffened and she saw he was staring transfixed at the empty hook on the wall.

  “Ross?” Viv took his hand. “Are you feeling okay?”

  He pulled free of her hold. “Fine.”

  Officer Wright cleared his throat. “If it’s any comfort, Sergeant Coltrane, our paramedics agree with your assessment. Her head hit the marble first, fracturing the skull. Nothing would have saved her.”

  “Thank you,” Ross said so politely that Viv remembered he was trained to handle worse than a split skull. That he had.

  “You were saying, Mrs. Coltrane?”

  Viv returned her attention to Officer Wright. “Linda handed me the flowers so she could climb onto the sideboard.” Her voice wobbled, she paused to compose herself. Ross disappeared and returned with a glass of water, which she gulped gratefully. “My hands got dirty, I went into the bathroom.” Casually the second cop pushed off the doorjamb and disappeared into the bathroom.

  Wait a minute. Were they checking her story? Disgruntled ex kills bitchy mother-in-law? Alarmed, she opened her mouth to tell the truth, when she remembered how Linda had looked with the ponytail across her waxen features, the water wicking up her elegant trousers.

  Appearances had always been so important to Linda. Merry had never understood that, but Viv did. The woman had suffered enough indignity without adding the element of farce to her passing.

  The cop reappeared. “Pollen on the hand towel.”

  “Linda said it would stain.” Viv gathered her scattered wits. “As I started washing I heard a thud. I called out and she didn’t answer. The door wouldn’t open very far…she was lying behind it.” The glass of water shook violently and Ross took it from her nerveless fingers. “I—I ran for my brother-in-law.”

  “I was pulling out of the driveway when Meredith threw herself on the hood.” Ross indicated the scrape on Viv’s elbow. She’d noted the burning sensation but hadn’t made sense of it. Now seeing the trail of dried blood she grew faint again and had to look away.

  “I’m sorry, I’m not normally a wimp.”

  “Your brother-in-law told us you’re a nurse,” said the cop who hadn’t been introduced. “Why didn’t you begin CPR?”

  “I froze,” she said truthfully. “Panicked. When I heard Ross start his car, all I could think about was stopping him.”

  Officer Wright jotted a note. “One of our guys did the same thing attending a car accident involving his grandmother. It happens.”

  “Was she all right?” Viv asked.

  “Yeah,” said the nameless policeman. “Granny pulled through.”

  A cry came from upstairs, grumpy and half-awake. Viv swallowed hard.

  “The baby,” Ross explained to the cops. “I’ll get him.”

  Their first meet couldn’t be in public. “No, I’ll go.” She dug her fingers into Ross’s knee to stop him from getting up and he flinched. “I’m sorry, was that your injured leg?” Merry had said it was keeping him from active deployment.

  “It’s healed,” he said coldly. “This is muscle strain.”

  Obviously a sore spot in more ways than one. Viv had a flash of inspiration. “Land
mine in Afghanistan,” she said to the cops. Here was a way of confirming herself— Merry—as one of the good guys. “You must have read about it early last year. It got massive press coverage.”

  “You mean you’re the SAS trooper who survived that ambush?” Officer Wright looked toward his colleague. “Remember that shot of the airlift, Bill?”

  The second cop forgot his reserve and came closer. “Yeah. You got carried to safety by that other guy…the hero what was his name? Held off an attack until reinforcements arrived.”

  Viv could tell by his rigid posture that Ross was furious. You don’t out SAS ever, but she was frantic.

  “Nathan Wyatt,” she answered for him, listening for another summons from the baby.

  “Yeah,” Bill interjected, taking a seat. “What did he get again…the Victoria Cross?”

  “New Zealand Medal of Honor.” Viv glanced between the two law enforcers, as animated as schoolboys, while Ross gave cursory answers. It had worked, she’d distracted them, but she felt sick. Two men had died in that ambush, one of them—Steve—had been her cousin. Thank God her brother, Dan, hadn’t been on duty.

  “It’s important my identity stays confidential,” Ross cautioned the cops. “Meredith shouldn’t have said anything.” He shot her a glance that caused Viv to shift down the couch. “Do you have any further questions about Linda?”

  Officer Wright looked to his colleague who shook his head, but Viv’s relief was short-lived. The baby cried again. Imperative, demanding. “Excuse me.” Standing, she headed for the stairs.

  “Based on the paramedics’ assessment—and our report—it’s unlikely the coroner will order an autopsy,” she heard Officer Wright say to Ross. “In which case Mrs. Coltrane senior can be transferred to a funeral home tomorrow. We’ll leave you to contact your brother.”

  Viv climbed the stairs, thinking fast. Charlie would rush home from school camp with Tilly. Her niece was what…six or seven now? Still a believer in Santa and the Easter Bunny, Viv should be able to fool her for one more day until Merry got transferred back here to Auckland Hospital.

  Of course the two of them would then have to fudge the details of her accident and injury—delaying it by twenty-four hours for a start—but Merry worked at Auckland Hospital, there had to be favors she could pull. And Viv could think on her feet. They’d work something out.

  Charlie had only known Viv as Monroe blonde but he’d be harder to convince she was his estranged wife so she’d minimize their interactions. And she’d kept her Kiwi accent—it made her unique in the U.S. in a profession where it paid to stand out. She and Merry even had the same enunciation, courtesy of an exclusive girls’ boarding school.

  She was on top of this. It would be fine.

  Tracing the crying to a bedroom at the end of the corridor she opened the door. The wailing stopped and a flushed face peered through the bars of a crib. She took in Harry’s appearance: big tear-filled brown eyes, fringed by lashes like a giraffe’s—thick and straight; his dab of a nose; and a shock of fluffy golden hair, sprouting in the same pattern that his daddy was losing his.

  Viv closed the door behind her. “Hey,” she said, approaching with caution. “You’re awake.” An acrid smell hit her nose and she recoiled. Either someone had left the top off a bottle of ammonia or this guy was sitting in a wet diaper.

  He wore a “little man” outfit obviously chosen for Linda’s benefit—navy bibbed overalls and a striped collared T-shirt bulged over his diapers and baby belly. His baby fists clenched the bars.

  Looking from the crib to the change table, she realized Nana Linda had quite the nursery going here. No wonder Merry had worried about custody. “Good nap?”

  Brow furrowed, Harry stared at her.

  “It’s Mommy,” she prompted. Bustling over, Viv picked him up and registered that the kid was a lightweight. Harry continued to eyeball her. Surely he couldn’t tell?

  “Did you see Mommy…I mean…Mummy’s cardigan?” Positioning the baby awkwardly on her hip, she waved a green sleeve in front of him but his unblinking gaze never wavered.

  “Fine.” She lowered her voice. “Since I blew it by saying mommy.” She made a mental note to guard against Americanisms. “I’m your auntie Viv but you can’t tell anybody. Well, I know you can’t because your mo—mummy says you can only say seven words.”

  She paused but Harry didn’t offer any of them. Still making his mind up about her. “Anyway—” she started to sweat “—I’m sorting a few things out for your mummy so go easy on me. And I’m definitely going to need your help with Salsa.”

  Harry stirred. “Dog?”

  “Yes,” she said, relieved she’d found the magic word. “We’ll go home and see the maniac dog…this diaper’s awfully warm and saggy. I’m guessing it needs changing?”

  He wriggled to get down. “Dog.”

  “I’m willing to put it off if you are.” She let him go, picked up the diaper bag and the tiny shoes. It hit her then that Linda had taken them off. Viv took a shaky breath, then knelt beside Harry who was tugging on the door handle. “Can I have a hug first?”

  Harry wrapped his skinny arms around her neck and planted a sloppy wet kiss on her cheek, obviously well trained. Of course Merry played this trick, too. They’d been brought up by the same emotional blackmailer and split from the same egg. She could do this. Viv turned the handle. Harry trotted ahead to the stairs, spun around and started sliding down on his belly.

  Was the blood still in the hall? She broke into a run, taking the stairs two at a time, the diaper bag bouncing off her shoulder. At the bottom, Ross turned, holding a mop. Casually shoving it aside, he picked up their nephew. “Hey, mate, where’s the fire?”

  He needed a hug, too. She could see it in the way he enveloped the baby, buried his nose into the tiny shoulder. Glancing up, his eyes met hers.

  It had been an especially cold winter in New York when his life had hung in the balance. Viv had spent most of it huddled over the radiator in her tiny apartment, sketching costumes for a charity production off Broadway and telling herself she had no right to care as much as she did.

  Her relief when he’d pulled through had been disproportionate to their brief acquaintance.

  Abruptly he handed her Harry.

  “Your son’s diaper needs changing.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ROSS ITCHED TO TAKE HIS sister-in-law to task for telling the cops he was SAS but the presence of his nephew stopped him. He reminded himself he had more important priorities. Like telling Charlie his mother was dead.

  Holy crap, he needed a drink. Heading to the liquor cabinet in the lounge, he poured a finger of whiskey into a crystal tumbler. Despite his father’s efforts, this place had never been home. Even now, with Linda beyond caring, Ross felt like a trespasser. Behind him, he heard the diaper bag hit the carpet. Harry on her hip, Meredith held out a hand. “Oh, God, yes, please.”

  Passing his glass over, he poured himself another. Harry made a grab for his mother’s tumbler and Ross distracted him with a shiny stainless-steel cocktail measure.

  Meredith raised her glass. “To Linda,” she said with a faint tremor in her voice.

  Ross wouldn’t be a hypocrite so he simply chinked glasses. They tossed back their drinks in one gulp. “I owe you an apology,” he said, while the whiskey was still a smoky afterburn on his tongue. Might as well get this over with. “For venting on you after an argument with Linda.” Though come to think of it, Meredith had given as good as she got.

  “She was angry but not clutching her chest or anything when I arrived,” she offered, putting her empty glass on the cabinet. “In case you were feeling guilty.”

  He glanced at where the picture used to hang and resisted the temptation to pour another shot. He had caused Linda’s fall—indirectly. Cleaning up he hadn’t seen the sampler; it didn’t matter. Ross never wanted to set eyes on it again.

  Because of the sampler, his brother would suffer losing his mum and Ross would suffer for
him. In the saddest of ways, Linda had had the last word.

  Steeling himself, Ross pulled out his BlackBerry. “I’ll phone Charlie while you’re changing Harry.” He considered asking Meredith to call—a woman might break the news more gently—but dismissed it.

  His brother was finally getting over his ex, although dating Harry’s day-care teacher was just plain dumb. God knows how Harry’s baby brain was making sense of it.

  But Ross had long since given up pointing out emotional minefields in favor of standing clear. Only once had he stepped over his self-imposed line—deterring his brother from starting a turf war over custody. Women rarely came first in Ross’s world but kids always did. He knew firsthand how an acrimonious divorce affected a child.

  He waited until she and Harry were out of earshot before punching in Charlie’s number. “The cell phone you have called is either turned off or outside the coverage area.” Damn it. Ross considered a moment, then snatched Meredith’s handbag from the sideboard and went upstairs, following the sound of her voice. She sounded fraught.

  “Sweetie, second time’s lucky, I promise.”

  “Meredith.”

  She jumped and turned guiltily from the change table. Two diapers lay discarded, one used, one fresh. “The tabs wouldn’t stick,” she said. “This one seems okay.” She finished fastening Harry’s diaper and stood back. “There.” Anyone would think she’d painted the Sistine Chapel.

  Impatiently, he lifted her handbag. “I need the number of the camp where Charlie and Tilly are staying.”

  Her eyes widened, she darted forward to grab it just as Harry dropped the cocktail shaker and started to roll. Ross dived forward and scooped him off the change table before he fell. “Oh, no, you don’t.” He turned to his sister-in-law. “Relax, I wasn’t going to open it.” Though now he wondered what she was trying to hide.