Moosie screeched and bit and drew blood on Cara’s chest, and the barking of the dogs in the house reached a frantic crescendo as Cara staggered backward, ending up near the lawn furniture again. Her wet feet slipped in the puddle of water where she’d been standing, and she fell heavily. As her head hit the concrete, I landed in the pool with enough force to send me right down. My glasses were knocked off by the force of the impact, and as I plummeted deeper, I looked up and saw them drifting lazily after me to the bottom.
The water was cold, cold, cold. The shock to my system was severe, and for a long moment I seemed unable to move my limbs, unable to save myself. It was fortunate that I wasn’t wearing a heavy coat or boots. I shook off the paralysis and began to force water down with my hands so I could rise. My face broke the surface and I gasped for air. The first thing I saw was Moosie’s face peering out from under the table by the back door, the one that held the towels. Moosie’s sense of self-preservation was far superior to mine.
Arthur was scrambling to his feet, going for the gun that had skittered to the very edge of the pool. Cara was twitching, but silent. The fall had knocked the air out of her.
I made it to the side of the pool and shoved the gun toward Arthur. I was not about to pick it up. I don’t know a thing about guns, and they make me very nervous. I began to pull myself up to sit on the side of the pool. I expected Arthur would throw me a towel, or give me a hand. I
“Stop,” I said. “Arthur! Stop!” I sat and shivered, my feet still in the water. I had never trembled so violently in my life. The moderate day seemed frigid now. I simply could not get up to interfere.
I was scared of Arthur, too, scared to get close enough to grab his arm. He was almost as frightening as Cara. Cara deserved every kind of punishment for killing Poppy, but I hated watching her being beaten.
He drew back his leg again, and I screamed, “No!”
My voice penetrated the fog of rage that hung around him almost palpably.
Arthur’s foot touched the ground again. He shook himself, then said in a thick voice, “Cara Embler, you are under arrest for the murder of Poppy Queensland. Anything you say…”
Chapter Thirteen
I came out of my own warm bathroom, toweling my wet hair, just as Cara had dried hers. Only Phillip’s presence in the house was keeping Robin from waiting in here in my bedroom, and oddly, I was glad of that. I needed a few more seconds to myself, more than my quick shower had afforded. I was warm now, and with the heat turned up in the house, my hair would dry fairly quickly. Short of sticking me in the oven, Phillip and Robin had done everything they possibly could to warm me up. This had been tremendously important to them.
I couldn’t suppress a snigger as I thought of how they’d competed with each other to be the most solicitous. That wouldn’t last long, of course, and they’d be back to their more normal selves shortly, but I would enjoy it while it lasted.
At the moment, I’d just discovered I had a whole new set of worries.
I should have gotten dressed again. I wasn’t an invalid. But I felt like putting on a nightgown and bathrobe, so I did. I hadn’t been hurt, but I was exhausted and achy. I’d actually thrown up after I’d come out of the pool. I’d found this acutely embarrassing, but none of the law-enforcement personnel had seemed to think much of it. They were quite busy dealing with their own embarrassment, Arthur Smith. No matter how we glossed over it, Arthur had been mooning around Poppy’s house when he shouldn’t have been, and Arthur had kicked a suspect. Oh, he said Cara had tried to get up and attack me again, and I’d nodded weakly when they asked me if that was so, but I could tell they didn’t believe us, especially Cathy Trumble. Besides, Arthur was in a peculiar mental state, and there was no disguising that, either.
Cathy Trumble had questioned me intently for about thirty minutes, until it became obvious that I had to get into dry clothes. She sent me home in a patrol car, with the warning that she was going to come by within a couple of hours to take a full statement from me.
Cara had gone off to the hospital under guard. I pitied the officer who had to call her husband. Dr. Stuart Embler was going to be pretty unhappy with anyone who’d arrested his wife. He could afford the best lawyers, too. Bringing Cara to trial might be a struggle; I’d have to testify in court, if it came to a trial. I figured I wouldn’t count on that until it happened. If there’s one thing television has taught Americans, it’s that justice doesn’t always move at the pace, or in the direction, that it should.
My black glasses were somewhere at the bottom of the Emblers’ pool. I got my tortoiseshell ones and pushed them up the bridge of my nose. With a brush in my hand, wrapped in my favorite golden brown gown and robe, I wandered out into the den. To my surprise, Robin was there by himself.
“Where’s Phillip?”
“I sent him to the store for some Epsom salts.”
“Epsom salts? Why?”
“It was the only thing I could think of that you didn’t already have.”
“Why the need to get Phillip out of the way? Don’t you like him?” I was pretty anxious about this, since I wasn’t sure at all that my dad meant to get Phillip back right away.
“Yes, I do. I just wanted to be alone with you for a little while.”
“It’s not going to take him very long to get Epsom salts.”
“I did also mention that if he wanted to stop by the Finstermeyers’ house to tell Josh why he couldn’t come over for supper tonight, I was sure that would be better than calling him.”
“Okay,” I said cautiously. “So, here we are, by ourselves.”
Robin was beginning to wilt around the edges. “Don’t you want to have some alone time? So I can just sit and hold you?”
“Probably Phillip is old enough to understand that you might want to hug me or cuddle me from time to time.” I said this with an absolutely straight face.
Now Robin was looking really downcast.
“But what I’d like for you to do is come get on the bed with me and hold me,” I said.
He brightened considerably. “Sure. I understand you’re tired and upset. I just want to be next to you.”
Within five minutes, we were snuggled up in my big bed, Robin in his T-shirt and jeans, and I in my gown. I pulled a quilt up over us. I would have been utterly content if I hadn’t had one long bridge to cross.
I was lying with my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. I was hoping that heart was feeling extra large today. I might be taxing it.
I took a deep breath, started to speak, let it out. I was just a big chicken.
“Robin,” I began. Then I stopped dead.
“What, baby?”
“Exactly,” I said, and didn’t get any further. It was the second time today I’d been terrified. My eyes were focused on the pattern of the quilt-oddly enough, it was the Wedding Ring. I didn’t dare look up.
“Are you trying to tell me about the kit on the bathroom counter?”
“Yes.”
“I saw it when I started your bathwater. Did you use it?”
“Yes.”
His big hand reached over and rested lightly on my pelvis. “Are you…” his voice broke. “Are you carrying our child?”
“Yes.”
I stole a look up at his face. It was radiant. If he had smiled any wider, his face would have cracked. My own heart gave a leap, and I felt my whole body relax against him.
“You’re not going to be an unwed mother,” he said firmly.
Another fear discarded. I was far too traditional to face single parenthood with equanimity. All at once, I felt lighter than air.
So, naturally, being so happy, I started crying. “Not just because of the baby,” I said, “don’t marry me just for that.”
“You know it’s not just because of the baby.” He scrambled out of the bed and rummaged around in the
