This simply wouldn’t do.
Pain pierced Edward as he turned away from the window. How could he make her see what a tremendous series of mistakes she stood on the verge of making?
Her residency at Johns Hopkins was at stake.
Her entire future.
Her work at the clinic was nothing but a distraction. Juanita Lusk and that vile womanizer Carter Cost would love nothing better than to distract CJ and ruin the future she had worked so hard to attain. That Edward had worked so hard to see that she achieved.
Lusk was insignificant in Edward’s opinion, but Cost would need to be watched.
As for the other, if the police had determined that Banks was not Shelley’s murderer, then perhaps their attention had shifted to Nash. Even if Nash’s guilt for ending Shelley’s life could not be proven, he had been slowly killing her for years. That made him guilty. As did numerous other atrocities. He did not deserve to breathe the same air as CJ.
Though Nash’s annoying phone calls were becoming tedious, of the two, Cost concerned Edward the most. He knew all the right buttons to push. He would play upon CJ’s sympathies, urge her to continue helping at the clinic. As if he cared. Edward’s lips curled in disgust. The man did nothing for anyone but himself.
Edward would need to intercede.
Soon.
For now, he needed to relax. To release the rage and frustration that tormented him. CJ would be here soon and he did not wish to convey his tension to her.
He crossed the grand parlor, the one his mother had so meticulously decorated for entertaining, and lowered himself onto the gleaming bench nestled before the Steinway. A true concert grand, a full nine feet of polished wood, intricate brass work, and glorious magical strings. Edward closed his eyes and allowed his fingers to caress the pristine keys.
Für Elise. A simple piece by his favorite composer. The music flowed around him, cloaked him in its beauty. One day he would play for CJ ... when he’d found the perfect arrangement. One just for her.
Edward Abbott!
His fingers stilled on the sleek keys. Tension rippled through his body. Suddenly he was twelve years old again with his mother standing over him as he rehearsed.
Again! This time play the piece properly. Your timing was off ever so slightly. That won’t do. It simply won’t do.
He played the piece again.
And again.
Each time his mother’s voice rang in his ears.
A Beethoven you will never be! Now, sit up straight. Play it again.
His hands dropped to his lap. Practice truly was the essential element in perfecting any piece. He turned from the piano and stood. He would try again another time. He wasn’t himself tonight. Perhaps that was the reason his timing was a bit off.
His mother was always right.
He checked the street once more. Sighed. Where was CJ at such a late hour?
It was best, he supposed, that she had not arrived as of yet. He really did need to see to the mess he’d made in the fireplace. He stirred the ashes, ensuring they had cooled sufficiently.
Making quick work of the task, he scooped the ashes into a container, then meticulously swept the firebox. His housekeeper would happily take care of the cleanup in the morning, but Edward had learned well from his mother. One did not leave such a mess overnight. Pride would not permit such a lackadaisical attitude.
Appearances were, after all, everything.
He surveyed the street once more. Disappointment began to pulse inside him. CJ would be here soon. She had never once let him down.
He carried the container through the kitchen and out the back door. The ashes would combine well with the compost his gardener maintained. Another enormously useful lesson his mother had taught him. Fire cleansed and purified. Many times as a young man he had made poor choices. Her prompt correction of the matter had helped to mold him into the man he was today. No matter how vile or evil, fire rendered any earthly matter impotent ... harmless.
He poured the ashes into the compost container with the grass and shrub clippings.
There was a use for all things. Some simply did not find their true potential until they were dead.
