Where All the Dead Lie

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Dinner was another elegant affair. Taylor knew she was going to gain at least five pounds on this trip if she didn’t watch it. Memphis was cheerful, vigilantly avoiding talk of their indiscretions on the bridge. Instead he regaled her with talk of his escapades as a young boy, of his brother’s wine-making venture in South Africa, and Jacobite lore. She was thoroughly entertained.

After dinner, she loaded up on meds and explored the castle with him. He showed her all the little bits and pieces that strangers paid hard-earned cash to see. He told stories in each room as if he were a tour director. She was relieved when they visited the billiards room, at last. It turned out the room was only three doors down the hall from her bedroom, so she would be able to sneak in to play a game here and there if she got bored or couldn’t sleep.

There were two snooker tables and one for regular pool. The table was grand, traditional green baize, heavy wooden lion legs, the pockets made of excellent well-broken-in leather. They assembled their cues, flipped a coin, and Memphis won. Ever the gentleman, he ceded his turn to Taylor, who, feeling frisky, ran the table.

The next game, Memphis got serious. He was a competitive man by nature, and Taylor wasn’t one to shy away from a challenge. They began laying bets, a pound a game. They played late into the night, the score moving back and forth, until Taylor got on a major roll and won seven pounds off him. Not a bad night’s work.

The pallor from earlier in the day was lifted. When Taylor finally excused herself to head to bed, Memphis didn’t fight it. He walked her to the door again, gave her a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek. He told her to call him if she needed anything, and to meet him in the dining room for breakfast at eight.

He lingered a moment.

“Do you want me to come in?” he finally asked.

Did she? Her body said yes, her mind said absolutely not. Her heart, well, she was learning to ignore the bitch.

Memphis. I think what happened this afternoon shouldn’t happen again.

He was quiet for a minute. “Whatever you want, Taylor. I’d never make you do anything you didn’t want to do. Good night, then.”

He headed off down the hall without looking back.

Great. Now he was pissed at her.

But it was better this way. With him gone, she could focus on the real reason she was here-getting back to normal. She was tired of feeling vulnerable. It wasn’t in her nature.

Her room was warmed by a fire, the flames dancing merrily, casting shadows on the walls. There was a tape next to the player with handwriting on it-Maddee’s biofeedback lessons. Taylor just wasn’t in the mood. She didn’t want to work right now. She wanted to forget. She wanted to disappear.

She noticed a new decanter on her bar, this one filled with a ruby-red liquid. She went to the bar, pulled the stopper out and sniffed, delighted to find the vintage port from last night. Thoughtful man. She poured herself a glass and sat in the chair opposite the fire.

She wondered how Baldwin was faring, wondered why he hadn’t called her back. She knew he was busy, that that bastard Atlantic would have him jumping through hoops on some top-secret project. She thought that maybe hearing his voice would help her center, get her grounded again. She grabbed her phone from her purse and saw the text. He’d be gone by now. She called anyway. Got his voice mail. It was better than nothing, but it didn’t help. Damn.

The port was warm and delicious. She finished the first glass and started in on another. Her head was still hurting, so she set the drink aside and took all her medicine, including the melatonin Maddee had given her.

She sat at her computer and saw Sam had written her back. She didn’t want to deal with that, either, but she sucked it up. Like tearing off a Band-Aid, it was better to get the worst over as quickly as possible.

She opened the email.

Dear Taylor,

Yes, you are a total fool. I told you this would happen.

I don’t know what to say about the kiss. You’re a big girl, and you’ll make the right decision.

But there is something I want to make sure you know.

Dulsie Bridge was the place where Evan died. Did he tell you that while he was kissing you? Did he tell you his wife plunged to her death over the side of that same bridge as he was making a move on you?

I know you haven’t spent a lot of time looking into Memphis’s background, so I’ve done it for you. Here’s a few links to the story, so you can see for yourself. Make sure you read all the way through them, honey. He is not the knight in shining armor he makes himself out to be.

I can’t tell you what to do, but if I were in your shoes, I’d make sure he stayed very far away.

Take care, Taylor. You don’t want to ruin everything you’ve fought so hard to get.

Love,

Sam

“Son of a bitch,” Taylor said without thinking about it. Her voice sounded foreign, thick and deep, her usual huskiness masked by disuse.

“Shit.”

Okay then. Cursing was good. Could she do any more?

“Memphis, what were you thinking?”

She breathed in deeply, a huge sigh of relief. She wasn’t completely broken. A little drunk, a little stoned, and terribly distraught, but not broken. Not anymore. Maddee and her hypnosis had proven that. And now Taylor had proven it to herself.

Finally.

Memphis had promised to heal her.

She shoved that thought away and clicked on the first link Sam had sent. It was a newspaper article, in the Scotsman, from December of 2008. She read it quickly, her stomach roiling.

Sam was right. Evan had died at Dulsie Bridge.

Oh, God. He’d been kissing her where his wife died?

Jesus. Jesus H. Christ on a Popsicle stick. What the hell was all that, then? What sort of strange compulsion had led him to take her to the very spot his wife died to try and kick-start their relationship?

Taylor hit Delete, then went into her trash folder and deleted the past two emails from Sam.

She didn’t want to know any more.

No wonder he’d gotten quiet as they left the bridge. He was thinking about Evan.

Taylor recognized a long dormant feeling springing up in her chest. For God’s sake. She was jealous. Jealous of a dead woman.

Memphis leaving was definitely the best thing. This little crush would be extinguished and she could go back to focusing on her health.

She tried to read a little bit more, but she couldn’t pay attention to the story anyway. Not after Sam’s little bombshell. And her eyes were crossing. She was amazed at how quickly she’d gotten tired. It had been a long, emotional, weird day. She decided to chuck it all and start fresh in the morning. Ten minutes later, brushed and washed, she collapsed in the bed, lids heavy. The wonderfully unfamiliar sense of being tired and able to sleep carried her off quickly.

She was in a car, the engine revving as she took the hairpin curves faster and faster. Away. She just needed to get away.

The bridge was up ahead. She swung the car to a stop. Memphis stood on the stone wall, beckoning to her. He smiled, and she smiled back. Went to him. He took her in his arms, kissed her deeply.

“Evan. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

With a deep laugh, he hurled her over the edge.

The water was so cold. It rushed over her lap. She couldn’t feel her legs. The water was rising, rising. Her chest was underwater now, then her jaw. She was drowning. As the water streamed over her head, she screamed.