Public Secrets

she reached the top of the stairs, she screamed for her father, shrieking his name over and over again.
Then her legs tangled. She tumbled down the flight of stairs.

In the kitchen, someone sat on the counter and ordered fifty pizzas. Shaking her head, Bev checked the freezer for ice. No one used more ice than Americans. As an afterthought, she dropped a cube in her warming wine. When in Rome, she decided, then turned toward the door.
She met Brian on the threshold.
Grinning, he hooked an arm around her waist and gave her a long, lazy kiss. “Hi.”
“Hi.” Still holding the wine, she linked her hands behind his neck. “Bri.”
“Hmm?”
“Who are all these people?”
He laughed, nuzzling into her neck. “You’ve got me.” The scent of her had him hardening. Moving to the sinuous beat of the Lennon/McCartney number, he brought her against him. “What do you say we take a trip upstairs and leave them the rest of the house.”
“That’s rude.” But she moved against him. “Wicked, rude, and the best idea I’ve heard in hours.”
“Well, then …” He made a halfhearted attempt to pick her up, sent them both teetering. Wine spilled cool down his back as Bev giggled. “Maybe you can carry me,” he said, then heard Emma scream.
He rammed into a small table as he turned. Dizzy from drugs and booze, he stumbled, righted himself, and rushed into the foyer. There were people already gathered. Pushing through them, he saw her crumpled at the foot of the steps.
“Emma. My God.” He was terrified to touch her. There was blood at the corner of her mouth. With one trembling finger, he wiped it away. He looked up into a sea of faces, a blur of color, all unrecognizable. His stomach clenched, then tried to heave itself into his throat.
“Call an ambulance,” he managed, then bent over her again.
“Don’t move her.” Bev’s face was chalk-white as she knelt beside him. “I don’t think you’re supposed to move her. We need a blanket.” Some quick-witted soul was already thrusting a daisy afghan into her hands. “She’ll be all right, Bri.” Carefully, Bev smoothed the blanket over her. “She’ll be just fine.”
He closed his eyes, shook his head to clear it. But when he opened them again, Emma was still lying, dead-white, on the floor. There was too much noise. The music echoing off the ceilings, the voices murmuring, muttering all around. He felt a hand on his shoulder. A quick, reassuring squeeze.
“Ambulance is on the way,” P.M. told him. “Hold on, Bri.”

“Get them out,” he whispered. He looked up and into Johnno’s shocked, pale race. “Get them out of here.”
With a nod, Johnno began to urge people along. The door was open, the night bright with floodlights and headlights when they heard the wail of the sirens.
“I’m going to go up,” Bev said calmly. “Tell Alice what’s happened, check on Darren. We’ll go to the hospital with her. She’s going to be fine, Brian. I know it.”
He could only nod and stare down at Emma’s still, pale face. He couldn’t leave her. If he had dared, he would have gone into the bathroom, stuck a finger down his throat, and tried to rid his body of some of the chemicals he’d pumped into it that night.
It was all like a dream, he thought, a floaty, unhappy dream. Until he looked at Emma’s face. Then it was real, much too real.
The Abbey Road album was still playing, the sly cut about murder. Maxwell’s silver hammer was coming down.
“Bri.” Johnno put a hand on his arm. “Move back now, so they can tend to her.”
“What?”
“Move back.” Gently Johnno eased him to his feet. “They need to have a look at her.”
Dazed, Brian watched the ambulance attendants move in and crouch over his daughter. “She must have fallen all the way down the stairs.”
“She’ll be all right.” Johnno sent a helpless look toward P.M. as they flanked Brian. “Little girls are tougher than they look.”
“That’s right.” A bit unsteady on his feet, Stevie stood behind Brian with both hands on his shoulders. “Our Emma won’t let a tumble down the stairs hold her up for long.”
“We’ll go to the hospital with you.” Pete moved over to join them. Together they watched as Emma was carefully lifted onto a stretcher.
Upstairs, Bev screamed … and screamed and screamed, until the sound filled every corner of the house.

Chapter Nine

L OU KESSELRING SNORED like a wounded elephant. If he indulged in a beer before bed, he snored like two