Free Dark Lady by Richard North Patterson Page B

edge, she said, “Being a parent is hard, Caroline.” Caroline saw Larry’s hand clasp Betty’s—a restraining gesture. In her most arid tone, Caroline answered, “So I understand.” A light flush crept across Betty’s face. More evenly, she said, “James Case was everything Brett didn’t need—self-centered and irresponsible, seeing her only as a convenience. There was failure written all over him. Failure and heartbreak. I didn’t want that for her, and I couldn’t bear to watch it.” Betty slid her hand, slowly and deliberately, from beneath her husband’s. “Brett,” she resumed with suppressed fervor, “expects the best in people, far more than she should. Instead of a vain young man who aspired to a marginal profession, she saw a damaged boy who could become better if she was only patient. He wanted her to give up everything—” Betty stopped abruptly, as if she had startled herself. Larry’s anxious gaze moved from Betty to Caroline. But Caroline was silent, her face without expression. Betty faced her directly, retrieving a look of pride. “What I told her about James,” Betty said, “is that she had better hope he never became a success. Because then he would leave her. After he changed her life.” Caroline’s throat felt tight. Quietly, she asked, “And what was Brett’s answer?” Betty seemed to study her. “That she was old enough to decide what was best for her. And that she would.” Betty’s voice grew flinty now. “What she believes is that I’m an overprotective mother who can’t let go because my obsession with her is all I have in my narrow and limited existence. And what I know is that the line between romanticism and self-destruction is one that she has yet to recognize.” Caroline gave her a long, cool look. “Do you really think,” she asked, “that she understands herself so incompletely?” Betty met her eyes. “Do you think,” she answered, “that she’s a murderer?” Suddenly, Caroline felt off balance. “I don’t know,” she said. “But then I didn’t raise her, did I?” Caroline heard Larry exhale; saw Betty’s mouth open again. Caroline continued in a tone of calm she did not feel. “While you, of course, did. Which leads me to inquire whether you ever listened to her telephone conversations.” Betty stiffened in her chair. “What makes you ask that … ?”
    “She thinks you did. Specifically, that night. When she and James decided to go to Heron Lake.” Betty seemed to blanch. “Why does she say that?”
    “Because she heard someone pick up a telephone.” Betty touched her eyes. “No,” she said. “No?”
    “No.” Betty folded her arms now, staring at the hard gloss of the dining table. “Why would it matter now? To her or to you?”
    “To Brett? Because twenty-two-year-olds don’t like being spied on, including this one. To me, because I can’t help but wonder if you told someone else.” Across the table, Betty froze. Larry placed his hand on Caroline’s arm. Voice half anxious, half brusque, he demanded “Just what is this about, Caroline? The present or the past?” Caroline did not take her gaze off Betty. “The present, very much so. I’d like to know if either of you knows any way that anyone could have found out where Brett was taking him.” Betty met her eyes. “No,” she said succinctly. “I did not spy on my daughter.” Caroline appraised her. “And you have no idea,” she inquired, “how anyone else would have known she was there.”
    “No.” A brief pause. “Perhaps James told someone. Perhaps, Caroline, they were simply followed.” Caroline shrugged. “Perhaps.” Betty’s voice rose. “She did not kill him.” Deliberately, Caroline picked up the wineglass and drained it. Betty shut her eyes; Caroline felt Larry’s gaze. The wine seemed to numb her. “This knife,” Caroline said. “I gather the police asked you about it.” Betty’s eyes half opened. Slowly, she nodded. Caroline turned to