Page 65 of Dangerous Secrets

It was five and completely dark by the time she finished her preparations. The table was set, the dishes ready to be nuked and she set about the house slowly, ceremoniously lighting all the candles in her bedroom and in the living room.

She made a little wish with each candle. For so many things. For a long, happy life with Nick. For healthy children and the grace and wisdom to teach them to grow up to be honorable human beings. For the courage to face life’s vicissitudes. And at the last candle, she wished for serenity for Aunt Vera.

There. Everything was perfect. The house glowed. She glowed. Now all she had to do was wait. It was so hard to be patient, though. She’d sit down, then jump back up as if the chair had lifted up to eject her.

After an hour of pacing, she finally sat down with a glass of white wine to calm her nerves. She sipped slowly, enjoying the cool fruity liquid as it slid down her throat. A second glass would be welcome, but she didn’t want Nick to come home to a soused bride.

Another hour went by. The fire in the hearth needed feeding. She knelt to put twigs and a small log in the embers, and heard a car on her street.

Heart pounding, she jumped up and rushed to the door but the car passed on by. It wasn’t Nick. Disappointment pounded through her body.

Her heart had started pounding at the thought of Nick coming up the walk and she had to wait for it to slow down. It was sohardto be patient! So hard to be alone.

Wow.

She had to sit down for that thought. Not being able to entertain herself, being dependent on someone else for her emotional equilibrium, was entirely new. An only child, she was accustomed from birth to being on her own. Solitude had never weighed on her. If anything, she enjoyed being on her own, never thinking of it as loneliness.

If Charity had had to describe herself to someone who didn’t know her, one of the first attributes she’d mention would be her emotional and intellectual self-sufficiency.

One week of Nick and that was all blown out of the water. New lover, new life, new her.

She gave a brief glance at her bookshelves, completely indifferent to what was on them. There were two new books by favorite authors, but she couldn’t bring herself to feel any sparkof excitement. She had several music subscription services, but the thought of listening to anything alone, without being in Nick’s arms, was almost painful to contemplate.

No books, no music, no movies could begin to compare with Nick. In a week, he’d become her touchstone. Her reason for living. It was a scary and exhilarating thought. Scary because she realized she was now dependent on someone else. Exhilarating because Nick loved her and she’d never be alone again.

Another car drove past slowly, but it wasn’t Nick.

She wore no watch—who wanted a watch on her wedding night? But the grandfather clock against the wall ticked away the minutes as she watched the hands make their rounds. Eight o’clock. Nine o’clock.

Clearly, the business deal or whatever it was, was taking longer than usual. Should she phone?

Start as you mean to go on.Charity had no intention of being a clinging, cloying wife, so she decided against it.

Ten o’clock. This was . . . odd. Nick was a courteous man. He knew perfectly well she was waiting for him, had been for five hours. It seemed impossible that he wouldn’t let her know he’d be late. Even if he was immersed in business, a quick phone call wouldn’t be out of place. Or he could have someone call her, a secretary or something.

Eleven o’clock. Charity finally broke down and called his cell phone, but only got a recorded message that the party she was dialing couldn’t be reached and to try again later.

Many of the candles were guttering, some had died. She’d overdone it. The fragrance of all those scented candles vied with the sharp scents of food and made her slightly nauseous. Something roiled in her stomach and she felt bile and the white wine start to come up. By a miracle she avoided vomiting but it was touch and go.

That would teach her to drink wine on an empty stomach.

By midnight she was pacing in a tight circle, thoughts racing, fists clenching and unclenching. She’d just picked up the phone to start calling local hospitals when the front doorbell rang.

It couldn’t be Nick. He had the key. Peeking through the living room curtains she saw a police car parked at the curb, lights flashing. She rushed to the door and found a highway patrolman on her porch. Not too tall, dark hair cut military-short. He looked about twelve and was nervously holding a big Smoky hat, twisting it in his hands.

“Ms. Charity Prewitt?”

“Yes?” Her hand went to her throat. Charity stared at him, wide-eyed. “Actually, Mrs. Nicolas Ames. What is it officer?”

He swallowed. “I’m sorry to have to inform you, ma’am, that there’s been accident.”

She could barely take in his words. “An . . . accident?”

He blinked and gulped. “Yes, ma’am. A Lexus drove off the cliff this afternoon, broke right through the guardrail. On Hillside Drive. The vehicle was . . . destroyed. We found the engine block number and the car was registered to a Mr. Nicholas Ames. Our computer system tells us you’d married Mr. Ames this morning. Is that correct?”

Charity stared at him, his words barely making sense. “I’m sorry?”

Ill at ease, the officer looked down at a notepad in his hand. “Did you marry a Mr. Nicholas Ames this morning, ma’am?”

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