24. Becks Whatever It Takes
FRIDAY, AUGUST 27, 1976
Tip: In entertaining, just like in flying, operating, etc., a checklist is your best friend. My checklist is at the front of my notebook, as you well know, but, darling, feel free to create your own. It is the only surefire way to ensure consistency in your events each week and not leave anything to chance.
Becks had always known that life was about taking the good with the bad, and she had certainly had plenty of both of those lately. Almost a week later, everyone in town was still talking about what a smashing success the first Old Homes Tour was, and the thank-you notes and gifts were still piling up at her door. But she could also feel herself fading, the pain seeping in despite the pain injections, the naps she had to take to get through the day getting longer and more frequent. A new anxiety, however, had joined her increasing worry that she would soon be forced to tell Townsend the truth. She simply could not get her encounter with her neighbor Peter off her mind—and couldn’t shake the fear she’d felt in seeing those eyes and that distinctive scar.
But she was making this bigger in her mind, wasn’t she? Perhaps it was the feeling that her days were numbered that was making her so delusional. He was, certainly, a little brooding. But that wasn’t so unusual for a man, was it? And, in the days that had passed since, Daniel had mentioned several times how impressed he was by Peter’s skills as a doctor and his way with patients. He felt he had found the perfect new partner. And the women were certainly swooning over his good looks already, lining up for flu shots early this year. Word got around fast in a small town with few eligible bachelors.
Becks reasoned that everyone cooing about his greatness couldn’t be wrong. And she hadn’t even welcomed him to the neighborhood properly. Which is why she had set about making her famous homemade chicken potpie at five thirty this morning. She made sure to double the recipe so she could freeze one for Townsend. She had been doing that as much as possible, freezing extras to help ease the transition when she was too sick to cook and then… gone. Of course, Evelyn would be there to help, but Becks’s chicken potpie was Townsend’s favorite dish—and her traditional welcome-to-the-neighborhood offering. She inhaled the scent of it now, the cooling crust, the hearty gravy, basking in the warmth of the oven. She was cold all the time now, despite the stifling August heat.
When the pie had cooled sufficiently, Becks walked through her side gate and, steeling her nerves, knocked on her neighbor’s side door. There was no reason to be nervous. It was the steroids that were making her jittery.
Peter came to the door, in his bathrobe, bleary-eyed. Becks was shocked. She had waited until 8 a.m. to come over. Surely he was awake?
“Good morning,” he said sheepishly, opening the door. “Aren’t you an early bird?”
She smiled and handed him the pie. “Just a little welcome-to-the-neighborhood.”
She studied the hand that reached out to take it. Because it couldn’t be, could it? But, yet, there it was, the scar. And it was, unmistakably, a bat. How bizarre. She forced herself to look back at his face, into those clear blue eyes.
“Farming accident,” he said, clearly noticing the way she stared at his hand. She hoped he didn’t see her shiver. Just a coincidence. Of course.
Peter inhaled the scent of the pie. “My mom makes pie just like this.”
“She must be southern,” Becks said, smiling, sure now that this had all been in her head. The killer wasn’t from the South.
“Kansas.” She froze as he continued, “It was my job to get the eggs, and it was always worth it when it meant pie crust.”
He motioned for her to come in as Becks murmured, under her breath, “It is you.”
“What?”
It was only then that she noticed how spartan the house was. Why, there was only one chair in the whole family room. It was strange enough that an eligible doctor was unmarried and renting a house, but the fact that he had no furniture, had brought none with him? What kind of doctor had no belongings? A doctor on the run, that’s who.
Becks didn’t know what came over her, but she said, “You should be ashamed of yourself.”
He looked puzzled. “For what?”
“Does Daniel even know?”
She thought a look of suspicion passed over him, but she couldn’t be sure. He was trying very hard to stay relaxed, it seemed.
“That you killed your patient!” she added in a whisper-shout.
Peter peered at her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You don’t? Because see, I’m sure in your estimation you were running away, but honey, the past always follows you.” Becks should know. She wanted to tell him that she knew his fiancée, but she didn’t want to implicate Virginia in some way.
“Mrs. Saint James, with all due respect, you have no idea what you are talking about.”
She felt her blood pressure rise. “Does. Daniel. Know?”
Peter’s face turned to stone. “He does not because there is nothing to know.”
His expression scared her. That was when Becks realized she had made a big mistake. What had gotten into her? This was none of her business. None at all.
“Mrs. Saint James,” Peter said, his voice as icy as his eyes, “you have no idea what you’re talking about, but I can tell you this: I will do whatever it takes to make sure Dr. Walker never has to hear this unfounded gossip.” He paused. “Whatever it takes.”
Becks nearly tripped over the threshold on her way as she ran out, his words echoing through her mind. Was that a threat? Or was she just being paranoid? To most people, whatever it takes might mean very little. But to a murderer, whatever it takes was an entirely different proposition indeed.