Chapter 1 - Charleigh

 

1993 -New Orleans, Louisiana

 

 

There is no food.

Six-year-old Charleigh Cartier stares up to the top of the dingy white fridge where Mommy keeps the cereal box. How will she reach it? Mommy hasn’t left the bed in days. She just cries and tells Charleigh to go away. She has been like this ever since the fight with Julien when he packed a bag and went away.

It is Saturday, and Charleigh wants to watch cartoons, but the TV doesn’t work. Nothing works—she knows because she has flipped the light switch several times and nothing happens. The fridge isn’t on either because everything is warm and tastes funny.

It is dark, hot, and smells in the tiny apartment. The air is thick, and it’s hard to breathe. Her bright pink T-shirt with Ariel from The Little Mermaid, clean days ago, is now stained and sticks to her. Her hair has long escaped the ponytail Mommy fastened for her and springs out in all directions from the sweat and humidity. She swipes the matted curls from her face and pushes a chair across the kitchen. The legs squeak, unwilling to slide easily on the sticky floor. She doesn’t worry about waking Mommy; she wishes something would.

Finally, she is close enough to the fridge, and Charleigh climbs up. But she still can’t reach the box—not even when she stands on tippy toes. Then, she remembers the noodles kept under the kitchen sink. Sharp needles of fear poke her. Is she that hungry?

Charleigh bites her lip and worries about opening the cabinet. The last time she did, a rat as ginormous as a cat ran out and scampered across the floor . . . well, not that large, but big enough. She watches a flat brown bug with huge antennae scuttle up the side of the fridge while she decides what to do. But the tight knot in her stomach twists painfully and reminds her how hungry she is. Maybe the furry creature has eaten his share and is gone. Charleigh hopes so.

Climbing down from the chair, she frowns. Why can’t Mommy wake up and tell her they can go for a burger at Cutezee’s Café? When Mommy’s in a good mood, she takes Charleigh by the hand, and they walk through the streets. Mommy is so beautiful, and the sun shines through her hair, making her seem like an angel. Charleigh enjoys walking. She likes to smell the wet pavement when the store keepers hose it down. All the colors and sounds of the street make her happy. Sometimes the big man on the corner, dressed in white, offers her a cookie from his shop. He smiles at her and tells her she is a pretty little girl. She knows she isn’t pretty like Mommy, but it still gives her a delicious tickle in her tummy that someone notices her. At times, she feels invisible.

Charleigh’s ears perk up. She hears the squeak of Mommy’s bed. She holds her breath and wishes with all her might for the sound of her footsteps. A slight moan, followed by a dry cough, and more heavy breathing causes Charleigh’s hopes to fall. Wake up, Mommy!

Her stomach rumbles again. Charleigh stands to the side of the door. She counts one, two, three before she opens the cabinet. She hesitates, in case the sharp pink nose is sitting there, whiskers twitching. Do rats eat little girls?

She waits.

When nothing furry jumps out to scare her, she ventures a quick peek. It is shadowy, but she sees the box with the ramen noodles. Most of the shiny wrappers are ripped. Bits of dry pasta lay scattered about, along with dark, pellet-sized lumps. Rat poop! She slips her hand inside and snatches two packs. Her face wrinkles at the idea of rat drool. She slams the door, not taking any chances, and carries her prize to the wobbly table in the middle of the kitchen.

The noodles are hard and stiff, not warm and squishy the way she likes. She scratches her head and tries to remember what Mommy does to make them yummy. Water.

Once more, Charleigh scoots the chair from the fridge to the sink, plucks out a bowl, and does her best to swish an old smelly sponge around the sides. It is important to use soap, her mommy would say, so she squirts some of that green stuff in and swished the sponge again. Satisfied, she fills the container and returns to the table and dry packets of noodles. She is careful to break off the side with the nibbles. Next, she drops the hard, tight square into the water and bites open the silver packet with the brown stuff that makes them taste good. They are still tough, and the powder floats on top. With her finger, she dunks the floating square over and over. No luck.

Tears sting the back of her eyelids. She wants to throw the icky noodles on the floor, but Mommy will be upset if she wakes up and finds another mess. So, she climbs down from the chair once more and goes through the cabinets to see if she can find anything. Braver now that she has one cabinet opened, she doesn’t feel as scared to open the next one. No food, but there’s a mousetrap. She knows what it is because she sees them on Tom and Jerry. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad having a small friend like Jerry to keep her company. Then she notices the cheese on top. She reaches for it, her fingers hover close, but she decides she isn’t quite that hungry . . . yet. There are a few cans of this and that, mostly dirt, so she closes it and moves to the next door.

What she sees makes her squeal and scramble away. The skin on her arms rises with horror. There, lying with his leg caught, is the awful rat. He isn’t dead, and his sides are heaving with the exertion of trying to free himself. Her panic swells. But as she watches his struggle, pity fills her heart. He must be scared too. Not as frightened as she is, but his dark eyes bulge in fear. She swallows and edges closer. There is blood on his paw. He is hurt and needs help.

Something inside Charleigh rebels at what she is about to do, but she ignores it. Despite the chills running down her spine, she reaches toward the trap.

“What on earth are you doing?”

The words come out hard and fast. Charleigh snatches her hand back. She hardly recognizes Mommy’s voice. She stands over Charleigh, fists pressed against her hips. Her beautiful blonde hair is matted with sections sticking up here and there, and the soft face isn’t so pretty. It is twisted and pale. Charleigh blinks several times to convince herself Mommy is real and not a ghost. The sight frightens her so much she forgets to speak.

“Answer me! I know you weren’t getting ready to do what I think you were?”

Mommy looks around, seizes the old broom, and shoves Charleigh back none too gently. Before she can stop her, Mommy sweeps the rat out—trap and all. She smashes the poor thing over and over.

“Stop it! Stop it! You’re killing him!” Charleigh rushes forward, grabs the handle, and tries to pull it from her mother’s hands.

Mommy’s face shows color now. Two bright red spots in her cheeks glow as she narrows her eyes and glares at Charleigh like she doesn’t even know her. Quick as lightning, Mommy’s hand draws back and sails across her cheek. She sees blinding white light as she falls to her knees. Too stunned to cry out, she lies on the floor confused and wondering what she did wrong. The shock of Mommy hitting her hurts worse than her cheek. But she doesn’t wonder too long; arms wrap around her, and she is pulled into the softness of Mommy’s lap.

“Oh, Charleigh, Charleigh. I’m so sorry. What did I do?” Mommy is on the floor now, rocking her back and forth against her chest and crying for her. “Please forgive me.”

She is pressed so tightly against Mommy she can hardly breathe. She wants to wiggle free because Mommy smells sweaty and is scaring her. If she’s still, Mommy might stop crying.

“Please don’t be upset. I didn’t mean it.” Mommy puts her hands on either side of Charleigh’s face, waiting for her to respond.

Charleigh blinks. “I’m not mad, Mommy.”

“You know I wouldn’t hurt you, right?” Her tongue darts out to lick her cracked lips. “I’m a horrible person. I don’t deserve to live.” A sound like a wounded animal comes from deep within Mommy’s chest as she starts to cry again. Charleigh’s mouth goes dry, and her heart beats fast. The noise frightens her more than the rat.

“It’s okay, Mommy. I’m all right. See?” Charleigh pushes back hard and presses Mommy’s pretty face in her hands, although it wasn’t so nice at the moment and made her look at her. Really look at her. “See. I’m not hurt.” Her cheek throbs, but it doesn’t matter.

Mommy runs a hand through her messy hair. It reminds Charleigh of a bird’s nest, but she doesn’t think it’s a good idea to tell her so. Her lips press together, and she closes her eyes as if she is trying to remember something. She has never seen Mommy so strange.

“Please don’t cry anymore,” Charleigh pleads.

Mommy sniffs and tries to pull herself together. She gives her a watery smile. It’s her pretend face, the one she uses when Julien has upset her and she doesn’t want him to know.

Bam, bam, bam.

They jump at the loud banging on the door.

Charleigh hopes it isn’t Julien coming back. She doesn’t like him, and he’s mean. The hopeful expression on Mommy’s face says she thinks it’s Julien too. She shoos Charleigh off her legs and hurries to open the door.

But it isn’t Julien—it’s worse. Mr. Gerganous grins at them. His stained T-shirt just covers his belly. Charleigh swallows because she is afraid of him. His voice sounds like he has been eating rocks and they are stuck in his throat. His eyes grow big when he sees Mommy, as if they want to gobble her up.

Mommy must think so too because she steps behind the door and pulls at her gown. “What can we do for you, Mr. Gerganous?”

“Hot enough for ya?” He takes his huge arm and wipes moisture off his forehead.

The sweat drips from his curly hair. Her stomach feels sick like when she accidentally touches the slimy gunk growing on the bottom of the shower curtain.

“You didn’t come by to talk about the weather. Did you need something?”

“No cause to be snippy. Just making conversation. I notice that man of yours ain’t been around this week. You two have a lovers’ spat?”

Mommy’s mouth opens to speak, but snaps shut. Her face pinches tight like she is trying not to cry. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

“See here, you ain’t got no cause to be rude.” His voice grows loud. “It’s my business seeing’s how he’s the only one that works around here. You’re a month late with the rent. Here I come up all friendly like to check if you need anything.” He pauses, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and steps closer. “You want to get all high and mighty?”

Mommy does her best to make herself appear tall and strong and says, “Julien will be back. We need a little more time. I don’t have the money right now, but I­­—”

“Uh-uh. That ain’t the way of it.” He pushes past her and shuts the door. “I saw him when he went out carrying his stuff. I says to him, you going on a trip? He says no. He’s done taking care of you and your brat.” He doesn’t even look at Charleigh, just keeps inching toward Mommy who is backing away. “He says to me you’re crazy and he ain’t never coming back.”

Mommy shakes her head, flat against the wall now. She looks as if she is going to faint.

“He called you some horrible things, but I defended you. Me, being the gentleman I am, thought I’d give you a few days to get yourself together. I ain’t as picky as some. I like crazy.” Mr. Gerganous runs his fat knuckle along the side of Mommy’s face. “Yes, ma’am, crazy works for me just fine.” He grabs Mommy by the arm as she slides down the wall.

Panic fills Charleigh’s heart. “Mommy!”

But Mr. Gerganous catches her before Charleigh can reach her. “She’s fine,” he says, supporting Mommy with one hand and stops Charleigh with the other. “Ain’t no cause for you to worry none. Your Mommy and me, we got to work out a little deal so you two can go on living here.” He waves his pudgy palm in a grand gesture.

“No,” Mommy whimpers. “I won’t­—”

“Hush, now. ’Course you will. You don’t want your sweet girl out on the street, do you? No telling what might happen to the two of you. Besides, where you gonna go? You let ol’ Garland take care of you. I’ll treat you real nice, you’ll see.” He brushes back her hair with his huge hand.

Mommy’s eyes are wild, reminding Charleigh of the rat in the trap. “You leave her alone.” Charleigh hurries toward him and tugs on his leg. But he is a giant and she can’t budge him.

Mr. Gerganous sneers at her. “You go on, now! I’ll take care of you later.” He raises a hand to stop her, and his body odor almost knocks her down.

“No!” She kicks him hard, but he only laughs. Desperate, she takes hold of his arm, bares her teeth, and sinks them into his leathery skin.

He bellows, draws back, and sends Charleigh flying across the room. She gulps, working her mouth like a fish as she tries to suck in sweet air. Her head slams against something solid. Her eyes cloud with thousands of black specks, all scurrying before her until they completely block her sight and the sound of Mommy screaming her name.

Chapter 2 – Beth

PRESENT DAY

 

Beth Shannon blinked and studied the wide arc of pale blue painting her ceiling. The tiny seashell lamp provided just enough light to make out familiar objects—her desk, bookshelf, dresser. Nothing out of place, but something had jolted her from sleep. The threads of a dream clung to her. She shivered, left with a lingering sense of uneasiness.

Shifting shadows played along her wall as her eyes grew heavy. All at once she was wide awake. Her hands gripped the sheet when she noticed the opened closet—she never left it open. A childhood fear of the boogeyman refused to let her sleep if there was even the slightest crack. Had she been so upset she’d forgotten to check it last night? No—no way she’d ever forget!

At seventeen, Beth had long outgrown her juvenile phobias but not the need to secure the door. Finding it opened caused an unnatural fear to inch up her spine. The darkness that oozed out mocked her, daring her to get up and shut it, lest some evil escaped.

Sheesh, Beth! Get a grip. You’re not a two-year-old.

Thankfully, she no longer suffered from the night terrors that had sent her running through the house as a toddler. Once, the result had been a trip to the ER and stitches from colliding into a wall. She still sported a small scar over her right eyebrow. Not that she remembered any of it or the sleepwalking that started again in her early teens. But this wasn’t a dream. She was wide-awake now.

She rolled to her side and looked at the clock: 3:43 a.m. It had taken forever to fall asleep after the argument with Mom. Was it any wonder she felt out of sorts? Last night Beth had stormed to her room and shoved in her earbuds—anything to block out the hateful fight with Mom. Forget falling back to sleep now. The stupid alarm would go off any minute, and it would be time to get ready for school.

Beth punched the pillow, her earlier fear forgotten. What was Mom’s problem? Why was she acting so weird lately, and when had hanging with her friends become such a big deal? The thing was, they’d always been close. Mom’s sudden paranoia made no sense.

Beth eyed the clock again. She’d be a zombie by Mr. Gilbert’s algebra class, and the last thing she needed was to get caught sleeping again.

Suddenly, she heard movement. She lifted her head, listening to a faint but steady scratching from somewhere inside the house. Her mind thumbed through possible explanations. Maybe Mom was on her way to the kitchen or Mindy had to use the bathroom? It couldn’t be Dad. He worked a twelve-hour shift and wouldn’t be home for hours.

No. It wasn’t the sound of feet shuffling, or water running, or a commode flushing—rather a rustling, like a drawer easing open and shut, cabinets opening and closing. A prickling sensation raced down her back. She strained to catch the noise until the muscles in her neck ached. It was quiet. A deliberate quiet—if there was such a thing. What should she do?

The furnace kicked in, and their clunker heater drowned out the sound of anything else. For goodness sake, Beth! There’s no boogeyman. More likely it was her little sister. Remembering how excited Mindy had been for her birthday, Beth pictured her nosing around, trying to find her presents. The tightness in her shoulders eased as she comforted herself with the explanation. Nothing to fear, right?

She hoped Mom had remembered to pick up the cake, but given how preoccupied she’d been, she doubted it. Birthday cakes . . . gifts. Such ordinary things brought a measure of reassurance. Maybe she should let Mom deal with Mindy prowling around the house in the middle of the night. It would serve her right, but Beth had a soft spot for the little stinkbug. Better see where she was and get her back to her room. Flipping back the edge of the comforter, she swung her feet off the bed. The icy chill grabbed her when her bare toes hit the hardwood floor. She laughed and saw herself relating the whole spooky odyssey to Jeni at school later that morning. They’d have a good chuckle over it.

To prove she wasn’t a coward, she marched to the offending closet and closed it. There! She made it as far as the hallway when she heard more scuffling. It sounded like it came from downstairs.

She took several steps toward Mindy’s room. Her sister’s Hello Kitty nightlight reflected on the hardwood floor. Beth checked the bed to confirm her suspicions and was surprised to see her sister’s blonde curls spilling across the pillowcase. If Mindy was here—

There it was again, the movement, except this time it wasn’t coming from one direction. There were two sounds, one from her mother’s room and the other from beneath her. Fear staked her to the floor as she listened to the unmistakable footsteps below. Lord, please let it be Dad! She couldn’t imagine why he’d be home, but there had to be a reasonable explanation. Break-ins happen to people on TV, not to ordinary families like hers. All anger from her fight earlier vanished. She just wanted her mama.

With blood whooshing inside her ears, she eased farther down the hall. She had to pass the stairwell before reaching her parents’ bedroom. She stopped and leaned over the railing, listening. Without a doubt, someone was down there. Mom would know what to do. She hurried on and slipped into her mother’s room.

“Mom?” Her voice came out in a desperate whisper. “Mom, someone’s in the house.”

Beth recognized the fast-pulsed tone of her mom’s outdated telephone. Why was it off the hook? “Mom?”

The light from the master bath spilled crosswise revealing her mother lying on the floor. She lay on her side, almost face down, with her hand stretched toward the phone. The handset rested out of reach sending out an urgent alarm that matched the beat of Beth’s heart.

“Mom!” Beth scrambled to her mother’s slumped figure thinking she’d fallen. The dark wetness didn’t register in Beth’s panicked mind as she checked her. “Mom! Mom!” She shook the lifeless shoulder as hysteria bubbled inside her throat. Why wouldn’t she wake up?

She pulled her hands back to find them wet, sticky. She stared down at her palms in disbelief and stumbled backward, shaking her head. “No—no!”

Then she saw the hideous gash in her mother’s throat. A glittering, thick substance covered the front of her gown. It couldn’t be—couldn’t be blood. People didn’t live with . . . Oh, Lord, please help me! Her knees wobbled. Bile rose from deep in her stomach.

“Mama! Mama, please don’t leave me!” Her own strangled cry resounded through her head, a desperate, guttural plea Mama would never hear.

 

 

 

Chapter 3 – Beth

From the moment Beth found her mother, all that was rational and normal in her life shattered. She was like Alice in Wonderland, tumbling down, down the rabbit hole. She couldn’t think how to move or breathe as she cradled the hand that had held hers through sickness and pain.

Her mom’s cold touch jolted something inside Beth, like flipping a switch. Someone was still in the house. She needed help—needed someone to tell her what to do.

Beth scrambled for the phone, dropping it twice from her trembling hands, and pressed the button over and over again until she got a dial tone.

Finally! She punched in 9-1-1 and waited what seemed an eternity for someone to answer. “Pick up,” she whispered.

“Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?”

“Hello? Hello . . . yes, I need help. Please.”

“What’s your emergency?”

“My mom. She’s . . . she’s not breathing. Please. There’s someone still in the house. I’m at 211 Stacey Street.”

“Are you sure she’s not breathing?”

“Yes—yes, she’s . . . someone cut her—” Beth couldn’t bring herself to say the words. “Please, send someone.”

“Okay, stay calm,” the voice advised. “Are you someplace secure? I’m dispatching someone right now.”

“Yes, I’m in my mom’s bedroom. Please, my father’s a deputy. Can you reach him? Roger Shannon.”

“What’s your name?”

“B-Beth, can you hurry?”

“Yes, Beth. We’re sending someone now. I need you to secure the door. Can you do that for me?”

Beth swallowed and nodded, trying to quench the panic rising once more. “Yes. I’ll have to put the phone down.”

“Okay. Lay the phone down and lock the bedroom door. Let me know when you’re done.”

“All right.” Woodenly, Beth crawled to the door not trusting her spaghetti legs, twisted the lock, and inched back to the handset. “It’s locked.”

“Good. You did great. Now, Beth, can you tell if your mother is still breathing? Is there anyone else in the house who is injured?”

Beth closed her eyes. Why didn’t this woman understand? “No, she’s not breathing.” Then she remembered Mindy. “My little sister. I’ve got to—”

“Beth, Beth . . . don’t hang up. I need you to stay on the line until the police get there.”

“But my little sister. She’s . . . I’ve got to—”

“Can you reach her without leaving the locked room?”

“No, she’s down the hall. She’s all by herself! I have to—”

“Beth, she’ll be fine. The police are on their way. Stay where you are.”

The small voice continued from the receiver after she’d thrown it down, but she ignored it. No way was she leaving Mindy alone. She rushed to the door, fumbled with the lock, and hurled herself down the hall toward her sister’s room. As she reached the stairs, a dark figure blocked her. She collided with the solid chest. Arms snaked around to clasp her tightly in an iron grip.

There wasn’t time to scream. She beat her fists, twisting and turning, struggling to free herself.

“Beth! Beth! Stop it. Be still, it’s me, Dad!”

What? It took a second for the familiar voice to register inside her panic-filled mind. This wasn’t the sound of a monster. “D-dad?”

“For goodness sake! What’s going on? Why are you out of bed?”

Beth’s knees gave way with relief. “Daddy!” His name came out as sob. Tears clogged her throat, cutting her off. She clung to him, breathed in the scent of something familiar and warm.

He lifted a hand to her hair, patting her with reassurance as he had when she was a little girl. “Okay, take a deep breath and tell me what’s going on.”

Beth tried to explain, but the words refused to come. Perhaps if she never spoke them, it might all be a dream. Somehow speaking the horror to her father would make it real—and it couldn’t be real. That was not her mother lying there in her own blood. The next few minutes seemed to happen in slow motion. Dad pushed her out of the way and headed for the bedroom. She wanted to scream at him not to go in. But she stood there, helplessly watching as he entered, listening to his muffled cry as he called out Mom’s name over and over.

The wail of sirens and the reflection of their strobing red lights splattered the walls of the house red. Red like her mom’s blood. Red, the color she’d see every time she closed her eyes.

 

 ••

 

 

Voices, sights, and sounds blurred after that. A steady stream of police, paramedics, and detectives descended upon the house. One of the female officers placed a blanket over her shoulders and led her to the living room. It was quieter here, but there was no missing the strangers still tramping back and forth. The constant activity reminded her of ants milling around a picnic.

Dad, still dressed in uniform, huddled to the side with the plainclothes detectives. She realized Uncle Mike had joined them. He gave her a reassuring smile and winked at her from across the room. He wasn’t in uniform. He’d obviously been home to change from last night’s shift. She usually enjoyed his company, but now it only reminded her of the last time they’d all been together.

Mike Mackenzie was not her real uncle but the closest thing she had to one. His grinning, happy-go-lucky face was a welcome sight around their house. Whenever he and Dad weren’t working, Uncle Mike often hung out with them. She vaguely remembered someone mentioned he’d arrived when he heard the news on the scanner, but she hadn’t seen him. Too busy to find her she supposed, like everyone else.

Uncle Mike was younger than Dad but larger in height and build. He’d become her confidant of late since Mom’s strange transformation. She felt a sharp pain at the thought of her mother, recalling the last conversation she’d had with him regarding Mom. He must think she was horrible. He’d seemed to sympathize with her, but he must have been thinking what a brat she was. And she was, wasn’t she?

Every so often, the group pointed to her with grave expressions. Dad must be explaining she was the one who’d found her mom. She wished she had been allowed to go with Mindy to Mrs. Buchanan’s house. Dad had roused her little sister early in the morning, wrapped her in a blanket, and driven her down the street to stay with an elderly neighbor. She didn't have to witness this chaos.

Beth had to stay. The police would want to talk to her soon, but what help would she be? She didn’t know anything—hadn’t seen anything—no, that wasn’t true. She’d seen more than she ever wanted to see.

Uncle Mike broke away from the group, dodging others, and sat down beside her. “Hey, kiddo. How ya doing?” His southern drawl comforted like hiding beneath her favorite quilt when she was sick.

Beth pressed her lips together, knowing if she tried to speak, she’d lose it. Instead, she gave a brief nod and focused on a worn spot in the carpet.

“Your mom was a great lady. The best I ever met. I’m really sorry, kiddo.”

She sniffed and nodded.

“You see anything . . . hear anything? They’re going to want to question you. You up to it?”

Beth shook her head. She didn’t want to talk about it, couldn’t talk about it—not yet.

Uncle Mike wrapped his arm around her and squeezed. “Listen, I’ve got to take off, but you need anything—anything at all, you call.”

“You must think I’m horrible . . . all those things I said.” Beth clutched his arm.

“What? No, listen to me.” He turned her so she faced him. “Honey, as you get older you realize people say things in anger. You wouldn’t be a kid if you didn’t get frustrated with your parents from time to time. It’s their job to make you miserable.” He was trying to make her laugh, but his joke fell flat. “Hey, your mom knew you loved her. Don’t you doubt that for a minute.”

They both looked up as one of the detectives approached. He bobbed his chin in Uncle Mike’s direction by way of greeting. “Mackenzie.”

“Take care of my girl, Wiseman, she’s had a rough time of it.” He gave Beth another departing wink as he left.

The man had a kind face, looking apologetic as he tugged at his pant leg and squatted beside the chair so he was eye level with her. “Beth, I’m Detective Wiseman. I understand this has been horrible for you, but we need to have you come down to the station and answer a few questions.”

“Why? I didn’t see anything—well—except for . . .” a lump in her throat stopped her from finishing the sentence.

“I understand. But because you’re the one who found your mom, we’re going to need a statement.”

“We can’t do that here? I’m really tired.”

“I realize that, but—”

“Excuse me, Detective Wiseman, may I speak to you in private?”

A grim-faced police officer, the one who had given her the blanket earlier, stood in the door frame. She cut her eyes at Beth and waited to be acknowledged.

“Excuse me a sec, Beth. I'll be right back.” He tapped a finger on her knee in what she thought might be a gesture of kindness. She watched as he disappeared around the corner. The sound of their murmuring voices buzzed like angry bees, but she couldn't make out the words. He returned after several minutes.

When Detective Wiseman stepped back into the living room, his demeanor had shifted. His brows were furrowed. He produced a white handkerchief from his back pocket and mopped his forehead. It looked as if he’d eaten something sour. As he approached, the compassion of moments earlier was replaced with a guarded expression. “Maybe you’d better come with us.”

“Is . . . something wrong?” The subtle change caused her mouth to go dry. The air practically crackled. Several of the other officers stopped to stare.

He drew in what appeared to be a weary breath and rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, I’m hoping you can tell me. Can you explain why we found this buried at the bottom of your closet?” Detective Wiseman held up a clear, plastic bag, containing a knife.

Beth’s hands shook. The dark stain could only be one thing

Chapter 4 – Beth

When Beth and her father arrived at the police station, they were routed to separate areas for questioning. Wiseman pulled Dad to one of the smaller rooms, while another sharply dressed investigator insisted Beth follow him to a different location. The stocky, middle-aged detective exuded more charm than necessary when he introduced himself as Detective Arnold. Beth noted right away he didn’t dress like other cops she’d seen on TV. He had a polished, sophisticated edge with his dark blue shirt and large gold cufflinks. His persona didn’t fit the dingy precinct.

Arnold was one of those men her mom would call a hottie with his athletic build and dimples. She sucked in her breath, startled by the sudden sense of guilt when she realized she’d gone a few minutes distracted by something other than her mom’s death. Hours after the initial shock, she found her grief returned in cycles, followed by periods of numbness.

To Beth, his blue eyes sat a little too closely together behind gold-framed glasses. Her senses bristled at the way he looked at her. Despite the kindness in his voice and the friendly manner, she sensed a fierceness lurking below the surface. His strong cologne made her already pounding head throb.

He smiled, removed his jacket, and hung it over the back of the chair. “Have a seat, Beth.”

She eyed the deeply gouged table, shocked someone would vandalize police property within view of the surveillance cameras. She realized she was way out of her element. It forced her to see the seedier side of life she had chosen to remain oblivious to—until now. It was easy to pretend, living her squeaky-clean, middle-class existence, the other world didn’t exist. Why should she have to sit in the same place murderers and thieves sat?

Resentful of being put in this position, she pulled out the offending chair. Her lip curled with disgust, as if the sins of those who’d previously occupied it might somehow transfer to her.

“Can I get you anything? Are you hungry? I bet you haven’t eaten. There’s a vending machine down the hall.”

Who wanted food? It was all she could do not to throw up. “No, thank you.”

“You sure? I’m headed that way to get a soda.” He threw a thumbed fist over his shoulder. “No trouble. You young girls like to watch your figure. How about water?”

Seriously! This guy was so out of touch with his Brook Brothers suit. Mom would kill her for being rude—ugh! She cringed at her thoughtlessness. “Water’s fine.”

“Great! Be right back.”

The door closed. Beth took the opportunity to look around the gray cinder block walls. The tiny space made her feel claustrophobic. A rectangular mirror hung to her left—probably one of those two-way deals.

Were they watching from the other side? They didn’t need to worry about her; she didn’t dare do anything. She stared down at a stain on her sweats—pizza sauce from a month ago. Mom had surprised them with Antonio’s. She pressed her lips together to block out the sudden rush of emotions. Oh, Lord, what am I going to do? “I’m so, so sorry,” she whispered, dropping her head into her hands. All the hateful things she’d said came crashing back like tidal waves of guilt breaking over her.

Last night, she’d lain in bed rehashing the nasty argument, remembering how unreasonable her mother had become. She’d lashed out at her. The hurt on her mother’s face would be forever etched in her brain. Beth wondered if she’d been absorbed in those hateful thoughts, as her mom fought for her last breath. The awful memory was too much to stomach. Her last words to her were horrible—all over a stupid party. “Mom, please forgive me. I didn’t mean to hurt you, and now I can’t take it back.” How could you let this happen, God? She wanted to shout at Him and shake her fist.

The detective entered so suddenly it caused Beth to jump. “Here you go. It’s a little warm. The fridge is on the fritz.”

She accepted the bottle, not bothering to open it, and mumbled, “Thanks.”

The chair squeaked as Arnold slid it across the floor, popped the top of a diet Dr Pepper, and held out a packet of cashews to her. When she declined, he shrugged and dumped a handful into his palm. “Beth, let me get right to the point. We appreciate your coming down to talk to us. I don’t have to tell you how important it is we catch the person who did this to your mom.” His voice indicated a casual air, but his gaze pinned her down like the frog in last week’s biology class. He shook the nuts in his fist as if he was about to roll dice, then threw his head back and tossed them into his mouth.

She sat the water bottle on the table, stalling. How did she describe the worst moments of her life to a stranger? He’d never understand her world had been ripped away, and she wasn’t ready to talk about it.

“Beth, this can’t be easy, but we need you to tell us what happened this morning. Explain everything you saw from the time you woke up.”

She nodded and ran her thumb along the label of the water bottle, focusing all her attention on flattening out a dent. Briefly, she stumbled through her account, her voice a mere whisper.

Then the crushing truth hit her. “Today’s Mindy’s birthday!” For the rest of her life, her sister would have the shadow of her mother’s death marking her special day.

Detective Arnold checked his notepad. “Mindy’s your six-year-old sister?”

Beth nodded and used her index finger to pick at a sticker on the bottle.

“That’s rough.” Silence, thick and hot settled between them. “That’s why you need to tell us everything, Beth.”

Her name rolled off his lips, soft and caring as if he’d practiced the tone. She’d lost count of how many times he’d repeated it throughout the interview. If this was a ploy meant to put people at ease, it wasn’t working—just the opposite. She cringed every time he said it. He didn’t care about her or her family. She wanted to go home, wanted her life back, and wanted her mom. “Look, I’m trying to tell you everything, okay? What do you want me to say? There was a noise. I went to check on my mother, and that’s when I found her. Please, can’t I go home—it’s my sister’s birthday, and she’s all alone. She needs us.” Once more, she buried her head in her hands to shield herself from this nightmare.

“Okay. What about someone who would want to hurt your mom? Did she have enemies?”

“Enemies? No, everyone loved her.”

“Anything at her job that would put her in danger?”

“She was a secretary.”

Arnold consulted his clipboard again. “Says here, administrative assistant.”

Beth closed her eyes. “Whatever! It’s the same difference. She wasn’t into anything dangerous, okay? My mom didn’t have enemies. She sang in the choir and taught Sunday school.”

“So, you can’t think of anybody—anybody at all who might have done this?”

“No, I told you.” Her mother would be appalled at the tone she’d taken with a stranger—the police no less. But Arnold didn’t seem surprised, only sat back and folded his arms.

“So, let’s return to the noise. You told the other detective you believed someone was in the house?”

“I heard a noise downstairs. Well—at first, I couldn’t tell where it was coming from, but when I got up, it sounded like someone moving around.”

“So, from your parents’ bedroom or downstairs?”

“Uh . . . both.”

“Beth, we didn’t find any sign of a break-in or an intruder.”

She stared at him, the water bottle crinkled in her hand. Not her problem. “I know what I heard.”

“Can you describe the sound?”

“Like someone looking for something.”

Arnold seemed to consider what she said. “A loud noise, then?”

“No. More like things opening and closing. That’s why I thought it was Mindy snooping around trying to find her present.”

“But it wasn’t?”

“No. When I got up to check, I found her still asleep. When I noticed she was in her bed, I got worried about Mom and went down the hall to her room.”

“So . . . scared and convinced of an intruder, you left your baby sister alone?”

“Yes, but—”

“Beth, how did you and your mom get along?”

“What? Fine—why?”

“I have a neighbor’s report that says they overheard you yelling at your mother earlier yesterday afternoon.”

She lowered her head and scraped a fingernail against the pizza stain to avoid his gaze. Their fight had started when Mom picked her up from school. “Yeah, we had an argument.”

“You fight often?”

Lately, but Beth was too ashamed to admit it. It hurt too much to remember she’d ever said ugly things to her mom. Their squabbles seemed so stupid now. “Sometimes.”

“What did you argue about?”

She shifted in her chair and shrugged. “Just stuff.”

“Parents can be a drag—mine were. I bet you get pretty sick of being told what to do all the time. You’re almost eighteen.”

Her cheeks burned. She’d yelled some of those same words hours before. “Doesn’t matter. None of it matters anymore.”

Arnold poured out another handful of nuts while he considered her statement. He rattled them around in his fist, sounding like a viper poised to strike. “That’s where I disagree.” He leaned forward. “From my perspective, everything that happened to your mother in the hours leading up to her death matters. Let me explain why—you tell me about an intruder, but I have nothing stolen and no signs of forced entry. My officers conducted a canvas of your neighborhood early this morning. Several of your neighbors reported hearing you and your mother arguing. Several hours later, your mother’s the victim of murder. Most interesting of all, I have a knife buried in your closet.” His eyes gleamed with arrogance. “You see, I enjoy puzzles, Beth. Investigating a crime is taking a piece here and a piece there, seeing which pieces don’t fit, and finding the ones that do. All those things matter very much.”

Speechless, she glared at him. How dare he imply she had something to do with killing her own mom!

“Do you have any idea why we found a knife in the bottom of your closet? We haven’t gotten the lab reports back, but we’re pretty confident it’s the murder weapon.” He propped his arms on his knees and got close enough for Beth to smell the peanuts on his breath. “Still think it doesn’t matter?”

Dark spots crawled at the corners of her vision. She felt sick. She was going to pass out. This couldn’t be happening. Wake up, wake up, she chanted. It was like being trapped inside a terrifying dream. She jammed the heels of her hands into the hollow of her eyes to wake herself up.

“Let’s start over, Beth, beginning with the fight . . .”

 

Chapter 5 – Beth

Beth’s eyelids felt as if they were made of sandpaper. Physically and mentally exhausted, she no longer cared about the grungy condition of the table or the chewing gum fossilized beneath it. She folded her arms and rested her aching head. Would this nightmare never end?

“When can I see my dad?”

“He’s in another part of the station answering questions.”

“I don’t care—I want to see him.”

Arnold must have sensed she’d had enough and needed a break. He stood and walked to the door. When he returned, her dad trailed behind him. She stumbled to her feet and ran to him, letting herself get lost in the comfort of his embrace.

“I’ll leave you alone for a few minutes.”

Detective Arnold was hardly out the room when Beth pressed her father for answers. “Dad, why are they acting like we’re the criminals? Why can’t I talk to Uncle Mike?”

“Sweetheart, the questioning is all part of the process. It’s procedure. The investigators need to take the evidence as far as it leads. You’ve watched enough television to know the investigation starts with those closest to the victim.”

Beth bristled at the words. This was Mom they were talking about. Not some Lifetime movie.

“Besides,” he continued, “Mike isn’t a detective, and he isn’t handling your mom’s case.” He gave her a reassuring look. “They’re only trying to exclude us. Arnold’s . . . well, a hard nose, but he’s good.”

It sure hadn’t seemed that way. Why had she been forced to give them her pajamas and several other things in the house when they started waving that warrant around?

After a few minutes, the detective stepped back into the room. “You two are free to go.” Arnold held out a hand to her father. “I’ll be in touch.” And to Beth, “Thank you, I’m sure this wasn’t easy.”

Darned right, it hadn’t been. She flicked resentful eyes at him and leaned her head against her dad’s shoulder—daring Detective Arnold to harass her further.

Beth followed her father through the station. Several of the officers nudged each other and whispered behind their white Styrofoam cups. A sick sensation formed in her stomach. The police—Arnold in particular—thought she’d done it. She knew it!

Neither spoke once they reached her father’s SUV. It was warm for the end of January. A pale, yellow sun shone down on Beth making her feel sticky in her sweats. She’d always enjoyed driving through the tiny town of Lovingston—population 502. There was something quaint about the old houses, one bumped right against the other, which gave it that close-knit feel. Her dad had worn out his joke about driving by and missing the town if you blinked.

For the most part, folks around here were good, honest country people who worked hard and cared about one another. Most of the buildings had been there forever—some dated before the Civil War, although there were more and more modern places popping up. There were two different chain dollar stores as well as the auto parts store now. There was even a Liberty Gas Station and a McDonald’s. It wasn’t a place where people were murdered while they slept.

Dad drove down Front Street and pulled out onto Route 29 in the direction of Charlottesville. Beth stared out the window at the drab landscape rushing past her. Dead. Nothing but winter-bare trees, scrubby pines, rolling brown hills, old barns, and ugly yellow grass that reminded her of the bristles on a used-up toothbrush. It was hard to believe in a few months this would all be green and beautiful again, but Mom would never see it.

Dread weighed in her limbs as the car ate up the miles toward home. Maybe this would be a good time to voice her objections about returning to the house. Once they picked up Mindy from Mrs. Buchanan’s, they could go to a hotel or somewhere—anywhere but there.

Her father drove in silence, his fist wrapped in a death grip around the steering wheel. She wished she could read his mind. Was he upset with her? Did he blame her for what happened?

“Dad?” His gaze met hers for a second then returned to the road. “Can we please find another place to sleep tonight? I could go to Jeni’s. I can’t stay there, not where Mom . . .”

He looked hot and rumpled in his uniform. His face was scruffy, eyes bloodshot, and he seemed distracted. “Honey, you can’t postpone the inevitable. The sooner you face your mother is gone, the quicker we’ll be able to pick up the pieces and move on.”

Move on! “Dad, someone broke into our house and murdered Mom! It just happened! What do you mean move on? What if they come back tonight—I’m never going to feel safe there again! That guy is still out there.”

“They’ll find him, Beth. I’ll be there. I have my gun. Nothing will happen to you or your sister.” He ran a hand through his graying hair as if he didn’t want to discuss it. “I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. What I’m trying to say is the more we stick to a routine, the easier it will be. I won’t let anyone harm you—I promise.”

Where were you last night? The words resounded inside her head. She wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all. “I don’t see why I can’t sleep over at Jeni’s this one time.”

“It’s your sister’s birthday. Given all that’s happened, I’d think you’d want to stay together.” His voice took on a sharpness he didn’t normally use. After a moment, he softened his tone and reached out to touch her. “I’m sorry. You have no idea the pressure I’m under right now. We’ll talk about it later, okay?”

 Beth tightened her jaw and folded her arms. Didn’t he care? She wanted to argue, but they were already at Mrs. Buchanan’s. This was far from over.

Dad slid the car into park. “I’ll be right back. Will you be all right alone for a minute?” He seemed unfazed by her defiant posture. “Beth, I’d rather not say anything to Mindy tonight. Let her have her birthday, okay? Tomorrow is soon enough for her to learn the truth. Please be a grown-up about this. I’m going to need your help.” He got out and left her to think.

Was he crazy? How did he expect her to pretend nothing had happened? In an instant her life had changed and nothing would ever be the same. Suddenly her temper lost its steam. The argument with her mother had been so stupid—she hadn’t even tried to see things from her perspective. Learn from your mistakes, Beth. Difficult as it was, she would try harder to see things from his point of view. After all, she wasn’t the only one to lose Mom.

In the distance, pieces of yellow crime tape fluttered in the breeze. Someone had done their best to remove it. Gawking neighbors no longer lined the street, although no doubt Widow Jenson still lurked behind her dark green curtains ready to spy and report the activity at the Shannons. Well, let her watch! Without question, she’d been the one to tell the police Beth and her mother had been fighting.

After a few minutes, she noticed her father and sister walking down the front sidewalk. Mrs. Buchanan waved to them. Mindy skipped beside her dad, hand in his, swinging it back and forth. Her face was animated, oblivious to the grieved and troubled expression their father wore. From this distance, she couldn’t make out what her sister was saying, but Beth felt sure it had something to do with her birthday.

Her heart caught. How would Dad explain Mom’s absence? Mindy would throw a fit when she realized Mom wouldn’t be walking through the door tonight to help her celebrate.

Anger of a different sort seized her. It hurt to think of all the memories Mindy would miss. All the mother-daughter moments she’d be denied. It wasn’t fair! In a few years, Mom would be a grainy memory to her sister. The pain of it stole her breath.

Her dad opened the back door, and Mindy crawled into her car seat. “Hi, Beth!” Her legs dangled over the edge, and she kicked them with all the restless energy of a preschooler.

Beth choked down the lump in her throat and offered her sister a watery smile. “Happy birthday.”

“What’s wrong with your voice?”

“I swallowed a frog.” Beth gave a halfhearted impression of a toad. “Ribbit.”

Mindy giggled.

“What have you got there?” Beth noticed something furry and purple sticking out from beneath her sister’s arm.

“This is Emily.” She extracted a small stuffed elephant and held it out to Beth.

Dad finished strapping Mindy in, shut the door, and made his way around to the driver’s side.

Beth took hold of the nose and shook it like a hand. “Nice to meet you, Emily.”

“Mommy gave her to me and said she was special.”

“I don’t remember seeing her.”

Mindy’s chin jutted out. “That’s because you and Mommy were fighting. I tried to tell you, but you wouldn’t listen.”

The admission stung. She was glad Dad hadn’t overheard. “I’m sorry, Mindy.” Beth bit her lip and turned to stare out the window.

The driver’s side door jerked open. Her dad slid into the seat, started the car, and backed out the driveway. From the backseat, Mindy chatted about Mrs. Buchanan’s cat and its kittens. Moments later they arrived at their two-story split foyer. It would never be home again.

A surreal image of the nightly news raced through her mind. How many times had she seen houses flashed across the screen where some crime had been committed? Except this wasn’t the news. It was her house. She didn’t want to be one of those families that other people shook their heads over around the dinner table.

Dad cut the engine but didn’t make a move to exit the car. Perspiration covered his face, his hands trembled. Maybe he was taking this harder than she realized. She should cut him some slack.

“Ready?” he asked after a minute.

“Dad, I’m sorry I’ve been so difficult . . . it’s just—”

“I know, Bethy. This isn’t easy for either of us. But we have to try.” He cast a brief glance at Mindy. His eyes pleaded with her to be brave for her sister’s sake.

He threaded his hand through hers. “We’re going to be okay.”

Beth held onto that thought as they exited the car and walked to the back door. The house was cool and quiet when they entered. It was eerie as if nothing had changed. She half expected her mother to call out to them.

“Mom, I’m home,” she mouthed, hoping her choked words reached heaven. Was she watching them from above? Beth would never hear her mother’s voice again. The truth hit hard. She drew in a breath so sharp it caused her to hiccup. Don’t fall apart again, Beth!

“You two stay in the kitchen. I’ll be back in a minute.” He gave Beth a weighted look.

Without being told, she knew he was making sure the house was safe. A flashback of finding Mom caused her to shiver.

“Beth, I’m hungry. Make me a snack.” There was a tug on her shirt. Mindy’s voice forced her to the present.

Bone weary, she trudged to the fridge and grabbed an apple and a juice box. She settled Mindy at the table.

Beth needed aspirin and a hot shower. It had been dark when they’d left this morning. Now the afternoon sun slanted through the windows filtering in to catch small dust particles.

 She ran her hand along the gleaming granite countertops. Her mother had been so proud when the workmen came to install them. She’d kept them immaculate.

“No peel, Beth. Mommy cuts them for me.”

“What?” Her thoughts had once again wandered.

Mindy held up the apple. “Cut it like smiles.”

Beth took a deep breath, exhaled, and rummaged through the drawer for the apple wedger. She ran the gadget through the fruit, placed the pieces on a paper towel, and handed them to her sister.

“Mommy let me pick out my cake yesterday.” Mindy took two apple slices and danced them around the table before taking a bite from one and offering the other to Emily.

“Yeah?”

“It’s a white princess cake with pink frosting. Mommy’s bringing it when she comes home from work.”

Beth stiffened. “Uh-huh.” Even the slight acknowledgment seemed wrong. The idea of lying to her little sister made her sick. Aspirin, she needed aspirin. Finding the bottle, she popped off the top with her thumbs, filled a glass of water from the faucet, and gulped it down. She drank deeply before placing the tumbler back in the sink; the water didn’t sit well on her empty stomach and made her dash to the bathroom. “Stay put,” she yelled over her shoulder.

Three times she threw up.

With a trembling hand, she reached above her, grabbed a towel, and wiped her mouth. Her body shook. When her wobbly legs were strong enough, she pushed up and leaned on the vanity for support.

Her odd-colored eyes looked way too big for her pale complexion as she peered in the mirror. She hated the unusual shade. They made her look like an owl with their tawny hue and dark flecks. Kids had often picked on her when she was smaller. No one else had such weird eyes. She shoved her straight brown hair behind her ears, having no energy.

“You okay in there?” Dad’s voice floated through the door.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” Beth walked out the bathroom and noted the concern on her father’s face.

“Hey, I’ll keep an eye on Mindy. Why don’t you lie down for a while? You look like you’re about to drop.”

Her chin bobbed in agreement.

“I was wrong earlier. Why don’t I call Jeni’s mom later and ask if you and Mindy can stay over tonight? I haven’t been thinking straight. You girls shouldn’t be here. I’ll drive you over myself. On the way, we’ll pick up Mindy’s birthday cake and pizza for everyone. We’ll tell her Mommy had to work late. Maybe she’ll fall asleep before she realizes . . .” His voice trailed.

Relief flooded her, despite the obvious lie. They were doing it to spare Mindy, right? It was hard to justify what she’d been taught her entire life. At this point, she’d do about anything to avoid staying here tonight. She wrapped her arms around him. “Thanks, Dad. Will you be okay?”

“Yeah. Sure. I’ve got things . . . you know . . . adult stuff to take care of. I’ll be fine.”

Beth gave him another squeeze before climbing the steps. She headed to her room, careful to avoid looking in the direction where her parents slept. Exhaustion overtook her as she flopped across the unmade bed. An hour later she woke up with her head still pounding.

Beth pushed herself up and headed for the shower. As she turned the water on and stepped inside, she wished it was possible to scrub away everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours. She watched the tiny soap bubbles twirl at a dizzying rate and helplessly slip down the drain. Like my life. Everything was spinning out of control, and her sense of what was right and wrong seemed to slip away too.

 

 

Chapter 6 - Beth

Beth stood under the water trying to make sense of it all. She needed normalcy. Suddenly she had to talk to Jeni. She must be worried sick. She hadn’t spoken to her all day. It occurred to her by now that everyone at school would know what happened. News travels quickly in a small town.

She turned off the water, grabbed a towel, and headed for her room. The notification light on her cell flashed like crazy on the bedside table. In her haste this morning to grab clothes and head out the door, her phone had been the last thing on her mind. Usually her lifeline, suddenly she couldn’t care less. Beth picked it up and ran her thumb down the screen. She scrolled through her messages realizing there were over a hundred texts—most from Jeni. Without bothering to read them, she punched in Jeni’s number. She needed to hear the sound of her best friend’s voice. While she waited for her to pick up, she sat on the bed and raked her free hand through her damp hair.

The high-pitched alarm spilled over the line without as much as a hello. “OMG! Where have you been! I tried calling and texting you all day!”

Beth breathed a sigh of relief; she might have chuckled any other day. Always one for theatrics, the sound of her friend’s concern bolstered her spirits. “Jeni, calm down. I’ve been at the police station. Why aren’t you at school?” It dawned on her Jeni should be in government about now.

“Mom let me stay home. No way was I going anywhere when I learned what happened. I’m so sorry, Beth! We heard you found her. I can’t even imagine how horrible it must have been!”

Beth bit her lip. “Yeah.”

“Did you get my message?” The hard edge to Jeni’s voice suggested she was nervous about something.

“I got lots of messages—which one?”

“The police were here today.”

“Police!” Beth tensed. “What did they want?”

“They were asking all sorts of questions. They talked to Mom too.”

“What sort of questions?”

“Things like how well we knew Leigh; could we tell them about anyone who would want to hurt her, and how well you two got along.”

Beth’s stomach flopped. “You told them we did, right?”

“Sure . . . only . . . they started getting really picky, asking if you ever mentioned fights.”

Beth closed her eyes, sensing what was coming.

“They asked if you’d ever said anything about hurting her. I told them, no, but they kept badgering me. It was confusing, like they were angry or something. They kept twisting my words. I let slip what you said the other day . . . when you were mad. Remember? You said you could . . . you know . . . kill her. I didn’t mean to—honest. Who would think they’d take me seriously? I told them you’d never do anything like that—that you were upset.”

“Jeni! How does that slip? It’s an expression—no one means it. You’ve said it too.”

“That’s what I told them.”

“Did they believe you?”

“I-I guess so.”

“They found the knife they think killed Mom in my closet! Do you realize how bad this looks?”

 “. . . well . . . you didn’t do it, did you?”

“What? Of course not! How could you ask such a thing?”

“No, you’re right. I didn’t mean it like that. It’s . . . so . . . messed up. Things like this don’t happen here. Beth, are you mad at me? Please don’t be mad—I couldn’t stand it if you were.”

Beth expelled a lung full of air. “No. I’m not mad. I didn’t do it, so they’ll figure it out. Just be more careful what you tell people. And don’t say anything about the knife. The last thing I need is for this to get around school.”

“What about the stinkbug’s birthday?”

Stinkbug—Jeni’s pet name for Mindy. The whole family had adopted it. “She’s downstairs eating a snack.”

“Poor thing. I’ve been praying for you guys all day. Does she have any idea what’s going on?”

“Not yet. Dad doesn’t want to tell her on her birthday.”

“Aww . . . I feel so bad. My mom wants to talk to your dad. She’s going to ask if you guys can stay here tonight. It’s got to be so weird at your house.”

“He’s planning on calling her later to see if we can both stay.”

“Oh, Beth, you guys have to come!”

“If it’s okay with your mom, we’ll bring the cake and pizza to your house. He’s hoping—” Beth caught the sound of the doorbell. “Hold on a sec.” She pulled the cell from her ear and listened. When it rang again, she frowned. Where was Dad?

“Jeni, I gotta run. Someone’s at the door.” No doubt the casserole squad from their church. Whenever anything happened in their congregation, a helping-hands committee was dispatched to bombard the families with a week’s worth of reheatable food. There was still an aluminum-shaped football in their freezer from when Mom had surgery two years ago. “I’ll have Dad call in a little bit.”

“Okay, hugs!”

“Hugs back.” Beth clicked the end call button, fished her leggings out of the drawer, and threw on an oversized sweatshirt, one that hung past her knees. The bell rang again followed by a sharp knock.

She rushed down the steps still wondering where her dad had gone. The last thing she wanted to do was deal with the well-meaning ladies of the church—nice as they were. It would be rude to leave them standing outside holding their Pyrex containers. She did her best to put on a brave face. If they started mothering her, she’d fall to pieces. Opening the door, her resolve crumpled when instead of kind, friendly faces she was met with the scowl of Detective Arnold.

 

Chapter 7 – Beth

The shock of seeing Arnold caused Beth to take an involuntary step backward. He was the last person she wanted to find on her doorstep. What in the world did he want now? Hadn’t he harassed her enough at the station? She swallowed the ugly words that danced on the tip of her tongue.

“Hello, Beth. Mind if we come in?”

We? For the first time Beth looked past him to see two uniformed deputies and a lady standing behind Arnold.

Too stunned to speak, she opened the door wider and allowed them to enter.

“Where’s your father?” Arnold ran a hand down his expensive looking tie as the corners of his mouth slowly curled to a self-satisfying smirk.

“I-I’m not sure.” Beth’s mouth went dry, making it hard to swallow. Her pulse drummed against her brain. Where was Dad—or Mindy for that matter? “I’ll see if I can find him.”

In her haste to escape Arnold’s presence, she was in the kitchen before she realized she’d left them standing in the foyer. Let them wait!

She continued to wander down the hallway, checking each room. “Dad?” Nothing.

A rhythmic screech from outside caught her attention. It sounded like the chain of Mindy’s swing. She stepped into Mom’s office and peered out the window. Sure enough, Mindy’s pink tennis shoes were pointed skyward, sailing through the air. Blonde hair streamed behind her as she pumped her legs back and forth. It took a minute to spot her father pacing several feet away with his cell to his ear. His exaggerated gestures indicated he was upset with someone.

Who could he be talking to?

She glanced around the office and picked up a picture frame made from seashells. She and Mom had collected them on their trip to the beach two years ago. It held a close up of them with their heads stuck together like Siamese twins. They wore sunglasses and big cheesy grins. It was hard to tell them apart except Mom insisted on wearing that pink floppy hat.

Beth pressed her fingers to the glass feeling fresh tears spring to her eyes. “Oh, Mom!” Arnold waited in the other room, but at the moment, she didn’t care. She hated him and everything he represented.

Her eyes closed, allowing the memory to wash over her like the foaming surf against bare toes. They’d had so much fun walking the beach and laughing at those funny seagulls running from the surf. They’d taken this goofy picture, and later, she’d made the frame from the prettiest shells for Mom’s birthday. That was before everything had gone all weird, and Mom’s paranoia threatened whenever Beth wanted to go anywhere or do anything.

A sudden recollection pulled Beth back to the present—something Mom said that day on the beach . . . if anything should ever happen to her. She remembered it because her mother had gotten all serious. Beth hadn’t thought much about it since . . . something about a journal and it being important.

It looked like Dad had finished his conversation. She’d better tell him Arnold and company were here so he could send them packing. Retracing her steps to the kitchen, Beth walked into the backyard and waved to get her father’s attention. The determined set of his eyes and flushed face alarmed her.

She met him halfway in the yard. “Dad, Detective Arnold’s here to talk to you.”

Her father swore and ran a hand up the back of his neck. “Great!”

“Dad?”

“Beth, keep an eye on your sister. Stay out here until I get back. Understand?”

“Yes, but—”

“Just do it . . . please?” His reaction frightened her. She’d never seen her father so . . . scared? Hadn’t he tried to convince her Arnold would help them?

Dad seldom lost his temper. His police façade usually kicked in and kept him levelheaded in any situation. Something definitely had him rattled—something more than Mom’s death.

She swallowed. “Okay.”

“Good. Beth, remember, whatever happens, I love you.”

“Dad, y-you’re scaring me.”

“I know—I can’t . . . I’ve got to talk to Arnold.”

Beth followed her father’s retreating back as he entered the house, her mind filled with crazy fears. Who had Dad been arguing with on the phone? For the hundredth time since she woke up this morning, she resisted the urge to pinch herself. She had to be dreaming. None of this could be real. Why, God? Why!

“Beth, what’s wrong?”

Beth looked down and remembered Mindy. She attempted a smile. “Nothing. Why don’t you go play?”

“Will you swing me?”

“You don’t need me to push you—you’re a big girl. I saw you in the swing.”

“But it’s harder holding Emily.”

“Then put Emily down.”

“Please.” Mindy scrunched her face in a way that made it difficult to resist. “You have to do what I say, it’s my birthday.”

Any other time, Beth would have laughed, but the insistence grated on her already raw nerves. “Sometimes you can be such a baby,” she snapped.

Mindy blinked but appeared undaunted by Beth’s outburst. When she peered up at Beth with those huge eyes, it was impossible to say no. Mindy’s cheeks were flushed. It was too warm outside for a thick jacket, Beth thought as she plucked at her own sweatshirt. She felt her resolve crumble. Mindy had a sweetness that was hard to resist—the worst part, she knew it.

“Emily will give you a kiss if you do.” Mindy thrust Emily at Beth making kissy noises.

Lips twitching, Beth resolved not to laugh at the stupid purple elephant. She had to admit, taking care of Mindy gave her a brief reprieve from the heavy thoughts weighing her down. “Fine. But only until Dad comes back. We’re going over to Jeni’s tonight for cake and pizza. Won’t that be fun?” Beth tried to keep her voice light. “Mom can’t make it for the party, but . . . maybe you’ll see her . . . later.” Much later . . . like in eternity.

Mindy, who had been leading Beth to the swing, came to a sudden halt. “Oh, she’ll be there all right. She told me.”

“What do you mean she told you—like when you picked out the cake?”

“No, silly. Last night when I was sleeping. She woke me up and said she’d always be with me. Right before all those red lights and people.”

It wasn’t possible. Mindy must have dreamed it. Still, the certainty in her eyes caused a chill to run down Beth’s spine.

Beth pushed Mindy for what seemed forever before her father returned. He looked more exhausted than she’d ever seen him. He ambled to the swing set, took the empty swing beside them, and stared at the sparse clumps of grass in silence.

“Everything okay, Dad?” Beth stopped, waiting with butterflies in her stomach for her father’s reply.

“We’ll talk later. Why don’t you get Mindy ready, and I’ll call Lynne to make sure you girls can stay tonight?”

Beth couldn’t read his expression. She sent a silent message with her eyes, but he seemed not to notice. Rather, he pulled his cell from his pocket and punched in the number. With Dad on the phone, she had no choice but to gather up Mindy and do as her father asked.

“C’mon.” She stopped the swing and held out her hand. “Let’s get ready. You can sleep over at Jeni’s with me.”

Mindy’s eyes brightened at the prospect. “Can I bring my Hello Kitty sleeping bag?”

“Of course, but we have to hurry. I need to pack a few things too.”

“Will Mommy stay with us?”

“Probably not, stinkbug. Just us girls, ’kay?”

“Mommy’s a girl.” Mindy’s legs worked double time to keep up with Beth.

Pretending not to hear, Beth continued to herd her little sister into the house, up the steps, and into the bathroom for a bubble bath.

Thirty minutes later, Beth had shampooed Mindy’s hair, packed overnight bags for them both, and now sat listening to Mindy introduce Emily to all the other colorful characters that made up the population of her room. Dad opened the door and motioned to her.

“Be back in a minute.” She made sure Mindy was engaged in conversation with her collection of playmates before slipping into the hallway. Beth wrapped her arms around her middle and braced herself.

“Honey, I don’t know how to tell you this, but the knife tested positive for your mother’s blood.”

She nodded absently. That wasn’t a surprise—they’d pretty much known that. “And . . .” There had to be more to her father’s grim expression.

“And . . . when they dusted for fingerprints, they matched yours.”

The air rushed from her lungs. She struggled to catch her breath. “What—how!”

“Beth, they want to see you first thing tomorrow. They were coming to take you back to the station for questioning this evening. I convinced Detective Arnold to wait ’til morning.”

“This is not happening.” She slapped her hands over her face. “I’m going to be sick.”

“Beth, Beth! Listen to me.” Her father took hold of her arms and pulled them away so he could lock eyes with her. “There has to be an explanation. You’ve got to pull yourself together. Do you hear me? They’ll get to the bottom of this. It’s a few more questions. Do you have any idea . . . any idea at all how that knife got your fingerprints on it?”

How could she? She shook her head, dry-eyed with fear. “Wh-what time do I have to be there?”

“I’ll pick you up at Jeni’s. Your meeting is with Arnold at nine a.m.”

This was surreal. Her heart beat a sickening tempo in her gut. She nodded. God give her strength.

Chapter 8 - Charleigh

1993 - New Orleans, Louisiana

 

 

The rain pecks at Charleigh’s window.

Curious, she slides a bench to the sill, climbs up, and presses her nose to the cool glass. She is careful. Her cheek is still sore from Mr. Gerganous’s big ring. The spot is yellow now and almost gone. Poor Mommy isn’t so lucky.

Fat drops of water smack kisses at her through the pane as if they want to come inside and play with her. Maybe they are lonely too.

She reaches high, stretching until her sides ache. It is hard to wiggle the lock, but she is excited when it gives. The window sticks too, but she doesn’t give up. She giggles when the first gust of fresh air whooshes into the apartment hugging her hot skin. The moist droplets tickle her arms and legs.

She dances in a circle, her hands above her head. She is a tree twirling in the wind. The old, wooly carpet soaks up the rain and squishes between her toes like pink, soft grass.

“Charleigh Renee’ Cartier! What on earth are you doing? You’re soaking the rug!”

Charleigh stops dead. Mommy’s tone freezes her to the spot. Her mouth goes dry. She swallows. Why can’t she think?

“I asked what you’re doing.” Mommy stomps to the window, slams it shut, and grabs Charleigh by the arm shaking her. “Answer me!”

“I-I sorry, Mommy.”

“Sorry? Sorry isn’t good enough, missy. Do you know what I have to do to pay for this mess?”

Charleigh looks at the rug and shakes her head. Her tummy feels sick, and she wishes she can make Mommy’s face pretty again. “Will Mr. Gerganous be mad?”

“Oh, no, Charleigh,” Mommy says as her mouth pinches and turns white. “He’ll be thrilled you’ve flooded the floor—of course, he’s going to be mad. How could you be so stupid? I ought to put you to work to pay for it.”

Charleigh shrinks in fear. She doesn’t like Mommy’s job. She doesn’t understand what Mr. Gerganous makes Mommy do, but whatever it is, it makes her cry. Charleigh must hide in her room when someone comes to the door. Mommy tells her she must go and be very quiet or the men will get her too.

“What have you got to say for yourself?”

 Mommy’s voice makes her jump. “We can clean it. I’ll help you.” Charleigh pulls free and rushes to the bathroom to gather towels. She throws them on the damp carpet and tries to soak up the water. “See, it’s not so bad.” She looks to Mommy hopefully.

But Mommy doesn’t say anything. She has that look like she’s gone far away. “Mommy? Mommy?” She remembers to keep her voice soft and calm. Charleigh never knows what mood she will be in when she comes from her daze, but she stirs as if she has come from a dream.

“No, no, Charleigh, not like that. Let me show you.” And just like that, Mommy is back. She drops to her hands and knees beside Charleigh, and together they soak up the water. Afterward, they hang the towels to dry in the bathroom and return to the living room.

Charleigh is hungry—Charleigh is always hungry. “Mommy, if you don’t have to work tonight, can we go to Cutezee’s for French fries and burgers?”

Mommy looks around, folding and unfolding her arms. She rubs them in a comforting gesture as if unsure what she should do. The sudden knock on the door nearly sends her to the ceiling.

“Quick, Charleigh, run to the closet.”

Mommy doesn’t have to tell her twice. Fast as Bugs being chased by Elmer Fudd, Charleigh hippity-hops to her spot and hides behind coats and smelly boots. The sound is muffled, but she can hear Mommy opening the door and Mr. Gerganous’s gravel voice.

He yells angry words like Julien used to and tells Mommy she looks like something the cat threw up.

 She strains to hear Mommy talking, but she can’t make out anything except “going” and “burgers.”

“Not now you ain’t. You’re going to get yourself together, cleaned up, and earn your keep. I ain’t running no homeless shelter, here.”

“Please, not tonight. I promised Charleigh I’d take her out. She hasn’t been out of the apartment in days.”

“If you think I’m turning down money so you two can traipse off somewhere, you’re crazier than I thought. I should toss you out the door, right now, and be done with you.”

“No! Wait—let me think.”

“Think about what, sweetheart? There ain’t nothing to think about. I keep you and your kid off the street, and this is the thanks I get? I got girls working it while living in cardboard boxes. Here you are all fine and mighty inside where it’s dry. But I don’t mind, so long as you understand you do what I say.” He steps closer and runs his grimy thumb over her pale cheek. “And here I brought you a little present to make things easier.”

Charleigh’s ears perk up at the mention of a gift. She wonders if it has a pink bow. If she is a good girl, Mommy might let her keep the ribbon. She eases the door open, so the light falls in a tiny sliver across her toes, but he isn’t holding any package. Mr. Gerganous has Mommy by the wrist and pulls her toward the couch.

Her eyes focus on something in his hand. “I don’t like needles,” Mommy whispers.

“Oh, you’ll like this one. Promise.”

He forces her to sit, and that’s when Charleigh sees what he is holding. It’s a plastic thing, like the doctor uses when he gives her a shot. Mr. Gerganous holds Mommy and pushes it into her arm. “There you go. This will make everything better.”

Mommy’s face looks surprised, and she clenches her fist. After a few minutes, she melts into the couch. Her eyes roll back in her head. “Wha-what did you give me?” Her voice sounds funny like she is sleepy.

“Just a little something that’s going to make this easier. Consider it a freebie. Now let’s get you ready for business.”

Mr. Gerganous pulls Mommy to her feet and tosses her over his shoulder. Away to the bathroom they go. Charleigh hears water running and frowns.

When they come out, Mommy is dressed in her fancy pajamas and Charleigh smiles. She is surprised Mr. Gerganous is being nice. He carries her to the bedroom just like Mommy does when Charleigh falls asleep.

She settles down, thankful he doesn’t hit Mommy or make her cry this time, but she wishes he would hurry up and leave. The closet smells like mothballs, and it’s hard to breathe, and now she needs to use the bathroom. She wiggles to keep from wetting her pants.

A sudden knock causes her to stop and sit up on her heels. She presses an eye to the crack and watches Mr. Gerganous leave Mommy’s room.

“Come in boys. She’s back here.” He opens the door and lets two men inside. The first one is not so big. He’s an ugly little man. His face has lumps and bumps like the back of a toad. A camera hangs from his neck, and he carries more camera stuff. The other stranger is handsome, like the guys Mommy watches on her afternoon soaps, except he has a scar on his cheek. His tiny, dark eyes glitter as he looks around the room.

Charleigh shivers.

Mr. Gerganous slaps his hands together. “Let’s make some money, boys.”

Hours later, Charleigh hasn’t moved from the closet. She hasn’t been to the bathroom, but now, she doesn’t need to.

 

Chapter 9 – Beth

The smell of stale coffee assaulted Beth when she walked into the police station early the next morning. For the second time in less than forty-eight hours, she found herself in the midst of chaos. Her sleep-deprived senses stretched beyond the breaking point. The clamor of telephones chirping, raucous laughter, and voices blended to make her head spin. She wasn’t sure how she’d survive another day of this.

She followed her dad as he weaved his way through the maze of cubicles and entered a different room than the day before—this one was just as ugly and stifling.

Beth clenched her teeth while Dad and Arnold exchanged pleasantries. It didn’t make sense. How could Dad be jittery one moment, then launch into his good ol’ boy routine around his buddies?

Emotions didn’t come with a control knob to be turned on and off. At least hers didn’t. Just yesterday, he’d seemed plenty scared when Arnold showed up at their house. Today, he was slapping the man on the back and having a doughnut. Was it all an act? If so, which guise was real?

This morning, Arnold wore a sharply creased pinstriped shirt. It fit his upper body tightly enough to show off the muscles beneath. Was this a warning to any criminal who dared get out of line? Beth noted a pair of cufflinks in the shape of tiny handcuffs on either wrist. He flashed his dimples at her with a 100-watt smile. She bit her lip and fought the urge to roll her eyes.

 “Thank you both for coming in this morning. I understand it’s been a rough two days.” Arnold’s voice was light, almost cheerful, as he offered Beth a pastry from the half-emptied box. She shook her head while he continued. “I’d like to go over a few things about the investigation. I have several follow-up questions for you, Beth.”

He seemed more like a charismatic preacher than the tough-as-nails detective from yesterday. Maybe that’s how he wore people down—by keeping them off balance.

Arnold rattled off the details of the case, most of which Beth found too technical to follow. Her father, on the other hand, bobbed his head with understanding. She’d have to ask him what it all meant later. Nothing so far about her fingerprints. Maybe it wasn’t as big a deal as you see on TV. She let herself relax slightly until a knock brought the discussion to a halt.

“May I see Deputy Shannon?” A fresh-faced officer poked his head around the door. His Adam’s apple jerked as he looked in sheepishly.

Beth’s stomach clenched. Surely, Dad wouldn’t leave her alone. He seemed to sense her hesitation as his eyes oscillated from her to Arnold.

“I won’t be but a minute.” He started to rise.

Beth reached to stop him. “But, Dad—”

“It will be okay. I’ll be down the hall. Detective Arnold would like to ask you a few questions alone.” A look flickered between her father and Arnold—a warning? Had they talked about this before the meeting? Why did Beth feel as if she’d been thrown to the wolves?

Dad gave her outstretched hand a squeeze. “Don’t be afraid. Just tell him the truth. We’ll get this guy, Beth.” He nodded to Arnold and followed the rookie into the hall. The door clicked with all the resounding finality of a funeral hymn.

Alone. Alone with the enemy. Seconds from a panic attack, Beth almost bolted. Sheer willpower held her to the chair. Those piercing, blue eyes made her insides shift uncomfortably. The light from above glinted off his glasses as he peered at her over the top of his frames.

“Now Beth, I realize you don’t want to be here. We got off on the wrong foot yesterday, but despite appearances, no one’s out to get you. I want to give you the opportunity to give us your side of the story.”

Story? What was that supposed to mean? She resented his choice of words as well as the implication in his voice. It wasn’t a story—she was telling the truth. Anger coiled deep inside her and unexpectedly struck with an intensity that took her by surprise. She wanted to lash out at something. The unfairness of it all nearly choked her. The murder, the interrogation, her father abandoning her. This guy with his yo-yo personality. She’d had enough.

She snorted. “You’re right, I don’t want to be here, and I don’t like you. Why are you harassing me when you should be out trying to catch my mom’s killer?” She crossed her arms and slumped in the wooden chair.

“There we go. Now that’s more like it!” He sat up straight and slapped a hand flat on the table. “There’s that fire. You had me worried, Beth. If I’d been through all you had, and some old codger started badgering me, I’d have told him where to go from Jump Street.”

Beth cut her eyes at him. “I’m not you.” Was this guy nuts or still playing a cat-and-mouse game with her?

“No, but you and I want the same thing.” He chuckled, apparently catching the daggers she threw his way. “No, I have no intention of dropping dead.”

She shifted in the seat and kicked the edge of her straight-legged chair. She hated his ability to read her. Pity he wasn’t smart enough to see she had nothing to do with her mother’s murder.

“Beth, I can be your best friend or your worst nightmare. I’d much rather we help each other out. I pushed hard to talk with you alone.”

“Why?” Beth was past being polite. “I told you everything yesterday.”

“Well . . . yeah.” He pulled at his chin. “But you remember I mentioned I like puzzles.”

She wanted to scream; the puzzle analogy was getting old fast.

“The pieces you’re giving me don’t fit.”

“What more do you want me to tell you? I woke up, heard a noise, went to check it out, and that’s when I found my mom.”

“Where did you find her . . . in the bed?”

“I told you; she was on the floor.”

He nodded. “Right, right . . . the telephone was there beside her. And you’re sure about that?”

“Yes, she must have tried calling for help.”

“Interesting.” He tapped his finger. “You think your mother tried to reach the phone after someone cut her throat.”

Beth shivered at the callous tone.

“Tell me, Beth, are you aware how long it takes for a person to die once the carotid artery has been cut?”

Horrified, Beth’s mind pulsed with the memory. “No,” she whispered.

“It’s a gruesome thing to see . . . it takes between thirty seconds to a full minute. And that person doesn’t die quietly. Oh, no! Once the trachea is severed, the brain can no longer receive oxygen or blood. The victim eventually dies from blood loss and lack of oxygen . . . but that whole time they are struggling and gasping for breath . . . choking, strangling on their own blood.” He shuddered. “It isn’t pretty.”

“Stop it!” Beth shot out of the chair. “Stop! What’s wrong with you!” She couldn’t stop shaking.

“Do you need a minute?”

Like the stillness of leaves dropping in the woods, Detective Arnold’s voice fell to a hush. It lost that patronizing edge. Something in the tone pulled her from the brink. She nodded and accepted the tissue he offered.

“I’m sorry, Beth . . . but the idea your mother was calling for help doesn’t work for me. The phone had to have been knocked off earlier. Maybe there was a fight. She attempted to dial 9-1-1. You tried to stop her. Sometimes things get out of hand in an argument, don’t they?”

“What are you saying?” Tears clogged her throat.

“I’m saying that sometimes in the heat of the moment things happen—things we never plan.” He allowed the implications of his words to sink in before pressing on. “I need to be honest, I’ve got enough evidence to take to the prosecutor’s office right now. We have videotape of you begging your mom’s forgiveness when I stepped out of the room yesterday. To a prosecutor, that’s as good as a confession. We have the murder weapon with your prints on it—buried in your closet. Eyewitnesses testified you and your mother were fighting the afternoon before the homicide. I want to help you, but you’ve got to give me something more to go on. Either you did this, or someone is trying hard to make us believe you did.” He wheeled the chair to a box that had been sitting in the corner, extracted a bag, and slid it across the table. “Recognize this?”

Shocked, she realized it was the bag Wiseman had shown her yesterday.

“Tell me, Beth, how’d your prints get on this knife?”

She didn’t want to look at it—didn’t want to think about it used in the way Detective Arnold described.

“I can’t help you unless you help me.”

She swallowed and forced her eyes to the plastic bag. Wait! She did recognize it. It was one of the ones with the black handles Aunt Tammy had given them two Christmases ago. Why hadn’t she noticed it yesterday? The knife had been from their own kitchen!

“. . . it’s from our kitchen. I-I guess everyone’s prints should be.”

“Try again.”

She rubbed her sweaty palms down her jeans. Think, Beth, think! “Wait! I do remember. I was upset after . . . well . . . you know, fighting with Mom. I went to my room and missed supper. After everyone had gone to bed, I sneaked down to grab an apple and took it and the knife back to my bedroom.”

“O-kay. But how did this knife transform from a simple kitchen utensil to the weapon used to kill your mother? Why was it hidden in the bottom of your closet?”

“I don’t know how—I swear.” Beth sensed the panic in her voice. “You have to believe me.”

“I want to, but what you’re saying doesn’t make sense. You tell me there were two sounds. One, coming from downstairs and the other from your mom’s room. Can you describe the noise inside the bedroom?”

“I’m not sure.” Beth rubbed her temples.

“Did it sound like someone falling out of bed?”

Beth paused a second. “No, not that loud . . . like footsteps.”

Detective Arnold’s eyebrow shot up. “Footsteps?”

“I thought it might be Mom . . . everything happened so fast.”

“But we know it wasn’t your mom, don’t we? Now we’re back at square one.”

“What if the person who killed her was still in the room? They might have heard me coming down the hall and hid.”

Arnold pursed his lips, looking at her with a mixture of amusement and condescension. “You want me to believe a vicious killer, who broke into your house and slit your mother’s throat, suddenly decides to hide from you?”

How she wished she could slap the smug expression from his face.

“Come on, Beth, you’re going to have to do better than that if you want my help.”

His help? What was he saying—that he’d refuse to look for her mother’s killer unless she . . . what? It didn’t make sense. “I’ve told you everything. What more could you possibly want from me? I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

His eyes burned with a conspirator’s light as he leaned close. “I know, Beth . . . that’s why you’re going to help me catch the real killer.”

Chapter 10 – Arnold

Detective Gavin Arnold paused, allowing the full weight of his words to sink in. He maintained a neutral expression, leaned back in the chair, and laced his fingers behind his head. It went without saying he’d learned to read people.

The majority of suspects he dealt with grew up with adults yelling at them and some form of abuse. Shouting produced zero results. They came from broken homes and learned early on the law was not on their side. The harsh tactics seen in movies or on TV didn’t usually work. Bullying and roughing up the suspect often made them defensive. His preferred method of extracting a confession involved finding common ground. He gained their trust by building up their self-esteem, feigning respect that wasn’t there. The ruse left him jaded and hard. Beth was different.

This girl came from a background of teachers, preachers, and parents who cared. She played by the rules. An air of innocence surrounded her. He felt positive his tough guy approach would wear her down. Her natural response under duress would be to submit to authority, and if she had something to hide, he would find it.

Her continued refusal of food was a good sign. That told him she wasn’t some psychopath. If she killed her mother, he’d get it out of her. Already his instincts denied her involvement. However, determining guilt or innocence wasn’t up to him. That was for a jury to decide. Like a bloodhound on the trail, he chased the scent wherever it led.

The preliminary interview yesterday had yielded nothing. Finding her prints on the weapon slid her to the top spot on his suspect list. He was fairly certain she hadn’t committed the crime, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t help him nail the one who had. She still had a lot of explaining to do. First, he had to get her to waive her rights, and that could be tricky. In most cases, the guilty ones were more likely to dismiss their privileges than the innocent. Human nature. They’re eager to find out what the police know.

Arnold rolled his chair closer until he was about a foot away and stopped. “Beth, I want to talk to you. I have a few details to share. To do that, I’m going to tell you that you don’t have to speak to me. By law, you can have someone present, but I asked your dad if I could chat with you alone. Do you understand?”

She gave him a tense nod.

Go slow, Arnold, don’t spook her. “For me to grasp what happened, I need the truth. I can’t help you unless you talk to me.” Slightly unethical, but sometimes the end justified the means. “What do you say?”

She rubbed her hands along her shoulders in a self-comforting gesture. Her gaze darted around the room as if in search of a distraction. The walls were kept bare to avoid that very thing. It told him she felt unsure, uneasy, but not defiant as she’d been earlier. A good sign.

“Come on, Beth, talk to me. Unless you have something to hide . . .” Would she take the bait?

“I’m not hiding anything!” She tipped her chin and gave him a frosty glare. “What do you want to know?”

Great! He grabbed a pen from his pocket and uncapped it. “Why don’t you tell me again what happened that night? Walk me through, step by step.”

Beth exhaled and closed her eyes as if trying to extract more details from her memory. “Something woke me. A sound . . . I’m not sure what it was. I just remember being scared. It was quiet for several minutes. I’d convinced myself it was nothing.”

 “Okay. What made you decide to get up then?”

“I heard a noise like . . . I’m not positive. It’s hard to describe. More a sense, you know? Like someone looking for something. I thought it might be Mindy. I didn’t want her to get in trouble, so I got up to put her back to bed.”

 “What happened when you got up?”

“When I checked on Mindy, she was still asleep. That’s when I heard the shuffling from downstairs again, so I leaned over the banister trying to figure out what it was. While I was listening, I heard something coming from Mom’s room. I thought the noises had awakened her too.”

Arnold tapped the pen on the table as he studied her. This is the part of her story that didn’t make sense. His gut rejected Beth as a typical clueless teen, prone to drama—but anyone could get spooked. Despite, what she thought she’d heard, it wasn’t possible. More likely, she’d gotten confused. Witnesses mixed up details and sequence of events all the time. “So, you run to your mother’s room, find her on the floor, and call 9-1-1.”

“Y-yes.”

“Then what?”

“She told me she would be sending someone and wanted me to wait on the line with her until they arrived.”

“But you didn’t do that, did you?”

Beth shook her head, no. “I remembered Mindy was alone. I got scared for her, so I ran down the hall—”

“But you never made it to her room,” he interjected.

“No. M-my dad stopped me.”

“And you didn’t question why he was in the house?”

 “Well . . . no, I told the dispatch lady my dad was a cop. I’d asked her to page him.”

“All right. Let’s back up. Beth, my men interviewed the operator. I have transcripts of the 9-1-1 call. She never paged your father.” Arnold paused, letting her ponder the implication. “What was he doing there at that time of morning?”

The hard line of her mouth indicated she didn’t like where he was going. “Sometimes he stops by the house if he’s in the area. It’s not that unusual.”

“Maybe.” He nodded, doing his best to keep his expression dispassionate. “Beth, how did your parents get along before the murder?”

“Okay, I guess . . . like they always do.”

“Has your dad been acting strange? Your mom?”

He watched the wheels start to lock in place as she realized where he was headed.

“Let me spell it out, Beth. Your dad’s not being honest with me. He’s hiding something, and I don’t like it when people hide things from me. I’m betting he did it . . . or at the very least is involved somehow.”

She shook her head with passion. “No! No way he had anything to do with this.” She balled her fist and slammed it on the table. “Why are you doing this? First me . . . now my dad. Why can’t you stop harassing us and find the real killer?”

A small blue vein in her neck throbbed. Of course she’d be loyal, that was to be expected. A stab of conscience pricked his heart for what he was about to say. He grimaced and brushed it aside. “Beth, are you aware your father is having an affair?”

Her head shot up. For a moment, it seemed she was going to come out of the chair. Instead, she stared at him, those strange eyes glittering as if a raging fire burned behind them. “You’re a liar.”

“No, Beth. I’m telling you the truth.” He extracted a black-and-white photo from the case file, slid it to her, and tapped his finger on the print. “Recognize this woman?”

She glared at him, shredding him with a glance, but dragged her gaze to the picture after several seconds. Her sharp gasp was proof enough. “So?” The word shot out her mouth with the belligerence only a teenager could accomplish. “That doesn’t mean anything.” Yet, her trembling hands said otherwise. 

“I take it you know her?”

She gave a curt nod. “It’s Jeni’s mom, Lynne.” She shoved the photograph back at him. “They aren’t even holding hands.”

Arnold nodded. “True, but when we took a closer look inside the house we found email and private texts on the computer.”

“I don’t believe you. My dad wouldn’t do that. He loves my mom.”

Arnold raised a shoulder of indifference. “Adults do strange things, Beth.”

“Have you asked him about the picture?”

“Denies it, of course. But it’s pretty difficult to debate emails when they are on the hard drive.”

“My dad knows all about that stuff. If he’d done something like that, he’d be smart enough to cover his tracks.”

“I’ve found most people act on the assumption they’ll never be caught. Who knows . . . it could be what he was after when you woke up. Here’s my theory.” This was his moment. He lurched forward in the chair. “My hunch, he killed your mother and went downstairs to remove anything that might be considered a motive. The sound of you walking around alerted him. He realized you were up and came to stop you from discovering her. Perhaps he wasn’t trying to frame you. He simply panicked, hid the knife in your closet, and everything else fell into place. If he wore gloves, it would explain why only your fingerprints are on the weapon.”

She cocked her head, giving him a calculating stare. “If you’re so sure, why haven’t you arrested him? Why do you need me?”

Why indeed. This was the reason he’d called her in today. He rolled back, allowing her space, picked up his discarded pen, and bounced it end over end as he weighed his chances of her taking him seriously. “The truth . . . I believe your father is involved with something much bigger. The murder of your mother might have been a cover-up. This goes deeper than your dad. I want him to get comfortable. When people relax, they make mistakes. He might even confess to you.”

“Confess! Are you crazy! Why would I help you?”

“Don’t you want to see your mom’s killer caught?”

“My dad didn’t do this,” she insisted.

“Then you have nothing to worry about, do you?”

The light caught on a slender chain around her neck. At the end hung a simple cross. The familiar inner voice mocked him. Such charms inspired false hope. “I take it you’re a Christian?”

“Yes.”

“Then you should want the truth.” He didn’t try to disguise his contempt. If she relied on faith to save her, he’d set her straight. “You will cooperate, Beth.”

She folded her arms and slumped against the chair. “I won’t.”

“Oh, Beth.” Her defiance amused him. “You’ll do it, all right. If you don’t, I’ll lock you and your father up until I get some answers.” He slammed the pen, to punctuate his point. “Make no mistake, I intend to get to the bottom of it . . . and I’m not above using you to do it.”

Chapter 11 – Beth

A week later, Beth still couldn’t get Arnold’s threat out of her head. She dug her nails into her palms. The words rattled around with all the other changes in her life. Each day blurred into the next. She survived one, only to wake up and face another.

Had it only been seven days since her world turned upside down? Mom was gone, Arnold had it in for her and Dad. And about that? What was up with him and Lynne? Her mind would only handle so much.

She’d managed a shower this morning, gotten herself dressed, but none of it felt real. Pretending. That’s what you did, you pretended part of your life hadn’t been ripped away. She looked in the mirror and tugged at the black dress hanging from her thin frame. She’d lost weight. Mom would scold she didn’t have it to lose. She picked up the makeup brush and twirled it against her cold cheek. Just go through the motions.

She had to get through today because she couldn’t think about tomorrow. One thing at a time. Get yourself together for Mom’s funeral. If she tried to do more than that, she’d never make it. The graveside service terrified her. Not that she’d never attended one, but the idea of leaving Mama to the cold ground and driving away—it was so final. How did they leave her there and move on, living lives Mom would never know about?

Go through the motions. Yeah, that’s what you did. Not flip out on your baby sister for polishing off a bag of chips because they were the last bag Mom would ever bring home or sob over the empty container, clinging to it as if it were the last fragment of truth in a world that had once made sense. Grief did that. It messed with perceptions, distorting things, and caused life to tip on its side.

After her meltdown, Dad decided Beth needed to get away from the house, and both girls might be better off with Jeni and her mom. They’d been here ever since. Let Dad handle all those crockpots piling up in the kitchen. She was thankful she wasn’t there to look at all that food, the constant reminders. Not that she didn’t appreciate the kind gestures, but how would another casserole in the fridge fill the void? Nothing would. No one understood what she was going through. How could they? No one watched their every move, whispering and speculating. If she cried too much, she had a guilty conscience—not enough, she didn’t love her mother. Several times, she’d glanced out the window, seeing reporters milling outside, hoping for a glimpse of her.

Beth choked back a sob. It wasn’t fair! Why wouldn’t they leave her alone? She flung the makeup brush against the sink. The handle shattered on impact and sent plastic shards bouncing across the counter as it crashed to the floor. The sight brought on a fresh round of tears. God was punishing her.

Jeni told her that God didn’t take revenge on His children, but what did she know? He disciplined people all the time in the Bible. If anyone deserved it, she did. When had she last given Mom a hug and said, “I love you?” Of all the good memories they shared, the argument and the ugly words she’d screamed were what stood out. And over what? A stupid party? It didn’t matter anymore. Nothing did. Not classes, not midterms that began in a few weeks. She couldn’t wrap her mind around such ordinary details.

She was glad when Jeni went back to school. After everything she’d been through, Beth wasn’t good company, and things weren’t the same between them. Hiding out at Jeni’s might not have been the best idea. Not that she blamed her. Jeni had made every effort to support her, but this didn’t measure up to a failed algebra test. No trip to the mall, ice cream binge, or hug, would fill the hole Mom left. Jeni seemed to sense she needed space and finally left Beth to herself. Jeni had lost her dad at such an early age; she’d never known him. It wasn’t the same thing.

At this point, she couldn’t connect with anyone. Even Uncle Mike refused to answer her calls. Did he see her as a coward for hiding out at Jeni’s? Oddly, no one had seen him. Dad said he hadn’t shown up for work in several days and he wasn’t answering his phone.

When Beth thought about returning to school, she pictured Arnold and his goons barging into class and hauling her off to jail in front of everyone. She couldn’t deal with that. To his credit, he hadn’t harassed them again. But how long would that last? Was he biding his time, gathering evidence against her—against Dad?

Beth shook her head. She wouldn’t return to school. If she managed to avoid jail, Dad might consider homeschooling. Her stomach flipped when she saw him. He was her dad, but somehow different than the one from a week before. It was like those optical illusions in her science book. At first glance, you notice a picture of a pretty young woman from a long-ago era, but suddenly it became an old hag or witch when someone pointed out the details.

Arnold had done that, planted an image of a man who stored romantic emails on his computer, carried on affairs with his wife’s best friend, and hated her mom enough to kill her. She didn’t believe it, of course, but something was off. He acted as paranoid as Mom had, right before her . . . what? Her passing? Death? Murder? Anything she said seemed disrespectful, wrong, unthinkable.

The sound of cartoons drifted into the bathroom. Bugs and Daffy bantered over which season it was—rabbit or duck. Beth peeked around the corner to make sure Mindy still sat in front of the guest room television with her pudgy hands in a bowl of dry cereal. She wore her poofy Easter outfit—the pink one with lace edging. No amount of coaxing persuaded her it was too cold to wear the spring dress. Mommy would want to see her in it before she went to be with Jesus, she insisted. And wasn’t it a small thing to keep her happy?

Beth eased the door closed and slid down the length of it. She sat on the floor with her forehead against her knee. Tears flowed, grief coming in short, silent bursts. After a while, she pulled a wad of tissue paper from the roll and blew her nose.

She’d prayed God would help her make sense of it all, but so far, she’d gotten nothing. She pounded her fist against the tile. There was no comfort—no voices guiding her. Where was the still, small voice to whisper encouragement and tell her what to do? Why was He silent?

Beth eyed her backpack, remembering the Bible tossed in a few days earlier. It had been presented to her at her baptism. Raised in church, she’d never given faith much thought. It wasn’t until youth camp last summer the lessons had clicked in her mind. Several of her friends had asked Jesus into their hearts. Beth had been moved to say a prayer and ask Him into her heart too. For weeks, she’d been full of zeal, but once school began and things returned to normal, she had lost her enthusiasm. Was it all churchese? Sometimes Beth feared they were just words and held no real meaning. She didn’t remember when she’d opened her Bible outside of church.

The new leather scent clung to the binding as she fished it from her bag. She traced her name stamped in gold letters at the bottom. It held all the answers, right? Would it tell her what to do about Detective Arnold? Dad couldn’t have done anything like what the man said. He served as a deacon in the church, for goodness sake. But those pictures and the emails caused a tight, odd sensation in her chest.

God, I need answers.

What if He refused to listen? She was a horrible person, selfish, and had made a mess of everything. She didn’t know how, but this had to be her fault—punishment. All her hateful thoughts about her mom . . . if she hadn’t complained so much. This had to be some sort of judgment. God wouldn’t help her because this was the price of anger. The accusations flew at her like fiery darts. That’s why He wouldn’t answer her. She’d be better off dead!

Her skin grew cold, and her heart raced. The idea shocked her. Yet there it was, hard and unyielding, like a dark swirling entity, the answer to her troubles. She remembered the minor surgery Mom had—the painkillers the doctor prescribed—most of them were still in her parents’ medicine cabinet. Beth saw them last month when she’d run out of feminine products and borrowed some from Mom. It would be so easy to leave the hurt and confusion behind; go where there was no more pain.

That would show Arnold for putting her through so much. He might even lose his job when they found out how he’d harassed her. She’d leave a note telling every detail. Beth sat for a few moments imagining how it would be to rid herself of this horrible ache in her heart. It would be so easy to take a handful of pills, drift off, and wake up in heaven. She would be with Mom!

When a movement from under the door caught her attention, she couldn’t help but smile through the haze of tears. Tiny fingers protruded, wiggling like little worms. The sight snapped her back from the dark hole she’d been about to dive into.

 “Whatcha doing in there, Beth?” The sweetness of Mindy’s voice penetrated the fog of hopelessness.

Beth hooked her sister’s finger with her pinkie and gave it a squeeze. “Feeling sorry for myself.”

“What’s that mean?”

Beth sniffed and patted her eyes. “Watch your fingers.” She waited for the chubby little stubs to disappear before opening the door. Mindy crawled in and plopped into her lap. Her bottom was warm against Beth’s legs. The sharp, small bones dug into her thigh as her sister made herself comfortable. But Beth didn’t mind. The closeness was like a salve applied to her raw soul. Beth laid a hand on her head as she’d seen Mom do a thousand times. How had she ever considered doing something so stupid? She would never leave the stinkbug. Mindy needed her if no one else did. It was up to her to show Mindy how wonderful Mom had been. She owed Mom that. I can’t give up!

Beth allowed Mindy to lean back until she fit into the hollow just beneath Beth’s chin. She tilted her head and buried her face in her sister’s soft ringlets and inhaled the scent of goodness—a combination of strawberry shampoo and Lucky Charms.

“I miss Mommy,” Mindy said.

“Me too.”

“Does she miss us as much as we miss her?”

“Absolutely!”

They nestled together with only the rhythmic sound of their breathing, slow and comforting until a knock broke the stillness.

“You girls ready?” It was Lynne’s voice, soft and balmy like a wind blowing through her thoughts. It must be close to time to leave for the funeral.

Beth helped Mindy to her feet and stood, dusting her backside. For reasons she couldn’t explain, she didn’t want Lynne to find them huddled on the floor.

“Everything okay in there?”

“Fine,” Beth snapped.

“May I come in?”

Beth shoved aside the urge to deny the request. Awkwardness that hadn’t been there before hung between them. “It’s not locked.” She walked to the mirror and pretended to brush her hair to avoid the older woman’s eyes.

Lynne stepped into the room, looking stunning in a dark sheath dress—far too pretty to attend the funeral of her dearest friend. She was tall and trim. Her white-blonde curls were swept up in a French twist, her pumps and sheer stockings made her look more regal than usual—the kind of woman men were attracted to. Beth was suddenly aware of her own stunted stature. Like her mother, she barely reached five feet. She felt short and frumpy in comparison. Had Dad thought Lynne beautiful too?

Over the next few minutes, Beth answered in monotone syllables. Again, not sure why she carried the need to distance herself—Lynne had been a second mother. Beth tried to dismiss what Detective Arnold had told her about the affair, but he’d unlocked a door to things she’d never considered. Some things, once opened, could not be as easily closed. Somehow, Arnold’s comments changed her perspective. She viewed her best friend’s mother through different eyes. Inevitably, the temptation to play the what if game was too great.

“The family car will be around to pick us up any minute. Your dad asked for us to meet him out front,” Lynne said as she stroked Mindy’s curls.

Whoa, whoa, whoa! Beth’s attention snatched on the word family. She swung accusing eyes at Lynne.

“This is your father’s idea, not mine.” She must have detected Beth’s surprise. “I told him I didn’t believe we should, but he insisted. Your dad thought it was a good idea since you guys are staying with us. Your mom and I were best friends. He said we were the closest thing to family, and he was sure you’d feel the same.” She stopped stroking Mindy’s hair and crossed to where Beth stood, choking with anger.

“But if you’d rather we didn’t . . .” Lynne’s hands trembled as she worried with the pearls at her throat.

“No.” Beth hardly recognized her own voice. “It’s okay.” Once more, the image of her father and Lynne standing together left her with knots in her stomach.

Chapter 12 – Raven

Raven assumed a bored facade as Dominic, a hefty ex-football player-type, ushered her into the luxurious hotel suite. The thin fabric of his jacket stretched as his biceps bulged against the cheap material. He gave the customary grunt and nodded, indicating she should assume the position while he patted her down for weapons.

“Hey, watch it,” she warned when he got too personal.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Raven.” His voice sounded bored.

She sniffed and suffered the routine until he was satisfied and muttered a dismissal.

“You’re clean.” Dominic stood in the foyer consulting with the plastic piece in his ear, then indicated she should go in to wait. “Try not to antagonize him today. You’re on thin ice,” he cautioned, using the same flat tone.

“Antagonize? My, my, look who figured out how to use a dictionary.” Raven’s mouth twisted with a halfsmile.

“Just behave yourself. It’d be a shame to shoot you.” He gave her an appreciative glance, patting his side so she could make out the outline of his shoulder holster and gun. For added measure, Dominic leveled his index finger and thumb at her before pretending to fire. He chuckled, pursing his lips as he blew fake smoke from the barrel. Still laughing, he closed the door.

 Raven released an unimpressed snort at his morbid attempt at humor and looked around. She caught her reflection in the mirrored hallway and zoned in on the red lipstick she wore and frowned. Her mouth was wide, maybe too wide to be viewed as beautiful, but it never stopped her from getting a second look. Her glossy, black hair had been slicked away from her face to reveal, what she considered, too high cheek bones.

You’re far too critical, Granny’s voice interjected into her thoughts. You’re beautiful, honey. Just like those girls in those fancy magazines. You can be anything you want to be.

The memory of her grandmother softened her fierce expression. Would Granny still think her beautiful? Raven didn’t need to ponder long. She knew exactly what Trudy Connors, God-fearing Baptist that she was, would conclude about her granddaughter. She would never approve of her knee-high boots, laced up in the back, or the slimming black jeans that displayed her trim legs and curves. Granny would most definitely not condone the sleek-winged tattoo of a raven whose wings spanned out across her left shoulder. And it wouldn’t be just the outward appearance causing her to pin those all-knowing eyes on Raven. It was who Raven had become. Rayleen, God don’t care what’s on the outside, she’d say in her soft, southern drawl. It’s what’s on the inside that counts.

Her thoughts segued to sights, smells, and voices from her past. Shelling peas with Granny on the side porch and the distinct ping they made when they hit the metal bowl. With her eyes closed, she recalled the combination of Granny’s peonies, her delicious pinto beans and ham simmering on the stove, and the scent of Ben Gay that Granny applied liberally beneath her floral, cotton house dresses.

Ghosts. That’s all they were, but they frequented her mind far too often of late. They refused to hold their peace, creeping in to chip away at her rough exterior. Hungry and eager, the inner voice insisted on unearthing what she’d buried.

The simple country life had been far different from the vagabond life she and her mother lived. There’d been rules for one thing. Granny insisted her rebellious granddaughter be present and planted on the second pew of Piney River Baptist Church every Sunday morning, clothes clean, starched, and pressed. How she’d hated her old-fashioned beliefs. Shame washed over her. Wasn’t that the same as dishonoring Granny? Trudy Connors hadn’t had much, but she’d opened her heart and home, and for all her hard ways, she knew how to love.

Despite her grandmother’s best efforts, Raven never fit in. She struggled through school, lacking social graces. She’d known she was different. What parent wanted their kid hanging out with the daughter of the town drunk? In a small town, everyone had their nose in your business. An alcoholic mother and unknown father never made it easy for her to make friends.

When Raven turned seventeen, she’d had enough of the gossip. She’d taken matters into her own hand and set her footsteps on a new path. When she was old enough, she changed her name and left behind everything Trudy Connors had strived to instill. She’d brushed off the clay dirt of Piney River and refused to let sentiment drag her back. Yet here you are again, Rayleen.

Rayleen Connors. She shivered and mouthed the words, afraid of saying them aloud. The name would forever bring to mind a gangly girl with no friends, no confidence, and no purpose. The girl who’d wound up in juvie, just to prove she belonged.

 Blinking herself to the present, she realized she couldn’t afford to lose focus. Nicholas would eat her alive if she didn’t keep her wits about her. If he sensed weakness, he’d be in for the kill.

She checked her watch and gazed around at the posh digs. The layout was similar to an apartment rather than a hotel room. The foyer opened into a sitting area, and the furniture, she realized right away, had been selected for looks, not comfort. A couch flanked the far wall. Several of those stiff, prissy chairs were strategically placed. Probably some queen-this-or-that attached to the name. A long table, the kind you might find in a formal dining room, dominated the center space with six equally rigid chairs, primly pushed beneath.

One would think Judge Nicholas Garcia would be more conservative considering he was running for Governor of Virginia. But keeping a low profile had never been one of Nicholas’s stronger points. After all, he had a reputation to uphold, hailing from one of the most prominent families in the Commonwealth. He was on the fast track for the governor’s seat, funded, in large part, by their influence. Next stop, the White House.

Raven selected one of the more cushioned pieces of furniture. She flopped down, draped a leg over the arm’s edge, and casually swung it while she continued her appraisal. She did her best to maintain an air of indifference while she waited.

A movement to her left signaled Judge Nicholas Garcia had stepped into the room, oozing confidence and wealth. It was as if he rose every morning and bathed in it. No one, it seemed, was immune to his charms. Ladies swooned when he entered his courtroom, criminals recognized him as a force to be reckoned with, and he championed the weak and innocent. Except, Raven knew better.

Raven regarded him as he crossed the room and seated himself opposite from her on the sofa. She noted his dark hair, threaded with silver, and his aloof manner. He folded his arms and returned her cool stare with one of his own. He wasted no time with pleasantries.

“I don’t like rearranging my schedule.” Nicholas pulled back the sleeve of his gray Armani suit and checked the flashy Rolex. “Let’s make this quick. I have other appointments.”

 “Hey, this wasn’t my idea. You called me.”

“What did you expect after the debacle you two created?” His eyes glittered as he leaned forward. “I’ll get right to the point. You have one shot to make this right, Raven. Mess up again and I’ll kill you.”

Her eyes locked on his as she leveled a slight smile. “You could try.”

At the sight of his twitching jaw, she relished a small victory. She enjoyed taunting him. It was a bit like poking a cobra with a stick. His strike was lightning fast and just as deadly. Knowing this, or possibly because of it, Raven refused to break his gaze.

Seconds ticked by. The compressor on the small fridge in the kitchenette cut in with a groan. Finally, Nicholas threw back his head and laughed. The noise caused more relief than she cared to admit. Just as quickly he stopped, sobered. The man was unbalanced.

“I’m not used to people ignoring my orders.” His eyelids narrowed until they were slits. “You got that?”

She rolled her eyes and picked at the black fingernail polish on her thumb.

“I said you got that!”

His fist struck the small coffee table in front of him, causing her to jump. “Yeah, I got it.”

“Good.” He leaned back and adjusted his already perfect silk tie. “I don’t give second chances, Raven. You understand that better than anyone. Those stupid enough to cross me don’t live to offer apologies, so you’d better make this good.”

“You want me to apologize?” Typical. “You need to check with Mackenzie. He’s the one who botched the job.”

“You were along to see that he didn’t.” His voice was tight and condescending. “You were supposed to plant evidence and bring the woman to me. That’s all you had to do.”

“It’s my fault he killed her?” Raven lifted a dark brow.

“I’m holding you responsible.” Nicholas jabbed a manicured finger in her direction. “Something else . . . I want the girl.”

Raven blinked her surprise. “Are you crazy? How am I supposed to get to her? The cops are watching her every move.”

 Nicholas gave her a wry smile. “Not my problem.”

“Nicholas, I need more time. Mackenzie’s gone off the grid. I’ll have to wait and catch the girl alone.”

Nicholas rose and came to stand in front of the table. “You’ve got forty-eight hours to bring me the girl. Track down Mackenzie. I’ll deal with him personally. I trust you can find your way out.”

Raven ran her tongue across her teeth, the bitter taste of dismissal turning sour in her mouth. “Yeah, I know the way.” But she remained seated, wishing she might shoot real daggers from her eyes instead of metaphoric ones.

“Was there something else?”

“I guess not,” she replied, as she shifted to her feet and rose to leave. What did she expect? Her hand rested on the handle when his voice stopped her. She paused and glanced over her shoulder.

“Don’t hold any delusions I’ll let you slide. You’ve always been an . . . indulgence . . . a liability,” he emphasized. “You amuse me, but I don’t have to tell you what happens if—”

Her chin jerked upward in defiance. “Don’t bother. I get the idea.”

Raven made her way to the elevators, ignoring the cold stare from the Neanderthal stationed outside the hotel room, and pushed the button for the lobby. The doors opened after a moment, and she stepped inside.

A family of four occupied the car, dressed as if they were on a sightseeing adventure. The two small boys jostled around, bumping Raven, and whining over who would get to press the down button. Their mother gave them a sharp reproof and offered an apologetic smile to Raven. “Boys . . . you know,” she offered.

Raven didn’t know and refused to return the expression. As likely as not, she’d have received a quick smack upside the head for her trouble. Lurline Connors did not tolerate children who didn’t recognize their place, especially if she was suffering one of her hangovers. Besides, Raven wasn’t in the mood to indulge the woman. She had to figure out what hole Mackenzie had crawled into and how best to fix this mess. Getting her hands on that girl would be a whole other set of problems. 

Nicholas’s choice of words rung in her ears. Indulgence. A liability. Her heart twisted despite her determination to ignore it. What did she care which adjectives he used to describe her? When had he ever given a sign she was anything more to him? And what did she expect? A combination of heat and sickness settled in her stomach.

The elevator came to a smooth stop, and the doors glided opened. Raven stepped out, wound her way through the opulent decor of the lobby, and out into the street where her 1970 Dodge Charger caught the morning sun. The tuxedo black color fit her, and it still had the original 8-track stereo system with her uncle’s eclectic collection of tapes. His likes had varied to everything from Elvis to Charlie Rich. She snatched the familiar black one with the red label from the faux leather case, popped it into the player, and started the car. The sounds of Fats belting out “Ain’t That a Shame” filled the interior as she pulled into traffic. First, she’d hunt down Mackenzie, and then she’d take care of the girl.

Chapter 13 – Beth

 

Steel-gray clouds marbled the afternoon sky and bowed down to touch the ground as the family car wound its way into the cemetery. The dark road curled protectively along the landscape. From her position, Beth noted countless markers of granite and concrete littering the hillside in various shapes, colors, and sizes. Faded wreaths and tattered ribbons whipped in the winter wind, painting a forlorn backdrop to a day that would forever be etched in her mind.

The sound of gravel popped beneath the heavy wheels as the driver rolled to a stop. Beth reached for Mindy’s hand and held it while she waited for her dad to open the door. From here, they would walk the rest of the distance to the graveside.

Icy winds sucked the breath from her, driving her backward, as she unfolded herself and found her footing on the path. Cars lined the road as far back as Beth could see. Each vehicle stopped in turn, doors opened, people crawled out, and started the slow procession to say their final farewells.

It struck her then, the harsh certainty of the situation. This was it—this was not a dream. She would not wake up tomorrow morning, rush into the kitchen where Mom scrambled eggs, throw her arms around her mother, and sob how sorry she was for being such a brat. Mom would not glance up at her with surprise and confusion, return the embrace, and question what had come over her seventeen-year-old daughter and the unprecedented display of affection.

Up until this moment, the events had held a surreal quality. The word nightmare had echoed in her head since that fateful night, somehow buffering her from the brutal fact, but as she neared the grave, reality snapped clearly into focus.

Perhaps it was the moss-covered memorials she passed, their crumbling textures bravely honoring loved ones despite their messages having long since worn away, that made her own mind jump ahead. In years to come when her sister thought of their mother, it would be here—Mom would be reduced to a headstone and a patch of grass. Like the others who lay in this desolate place. Beth refused to let that happen. Grief pressed her lungs, making it hard to breathe.

The box-shaped tent ahead signaled they were almost there. Two rows of folding chairs lined the front. These were reserved for family.

Family. The word caused images of Uncle Mike to spring to mind. Mike Mackenzie’s absence only added to her grief and sense of isolation. Where was he? What could possibly be so important he’d dropped everything and vanished without a word to anyone? Apparently, Arnold found it interesting as well, as the police were now looking for him. Perhaps, that’s why they hadn’t heard anything further from the detective—he was, once more, barking up the wrong tree instead of finding the real killer. She told herself it didn’t matter how bizarre it appeared that Uncle Mike disappeared at the same time her mother had been killed. It had to be a coincidence. Maybe something had happened to him too. There had to be an explanation, right? He wouldn’t just not show. He wouldn’t abandon them—not like this.

When Lynne and Jeni moved to gather with the other mourners, Dad took Lynne by the elbow and steered her and Jeni toward the empty seats. Beth bit her tongue. A movement caught her eye. With an uncomfortable sense of being watched, she realized it was Detective Arnold. He stood off at a distance and tipped his head in a knowing smirk that seemed to say, see, I told you! She yearned to erase his arrogant expression, permanently.

His presence ignited fury inside her. Beth would never believe herself capable of the rage she’d experienced in the past week. She clenched her jaw so tightly it felt as if her teeth might snap off at the gum line.

Her dad slid into the seat beside her, and several of the older people were urged to fill in the remaining empty chairs. Beth refused to look at Arnold. She stared at the stupid green rug instead, the mat used to hide the obvious lump of dirt that would be smoothed over her mother’s casket by day’s end.

No birds sang, no leaves rustled—there was no sound at all save an occasional cough, the clanging of metal hooks as the breeze snapped the ropes on the tent, and soft sniffles of people around her. Her own throat ached from holding back tears. She swiped at her running nose with a shredded tissue.

Pastor Ken broke the silence when he stepped to the front. His voice echoed underneath the tiny green canopy. The words he spoke to those gathered were meant to offer comfort, but Beth’s heart rejected them. Empty, empty promises, her mind protested. What good were platitudes when all she wanted was her mama? It wasn’t fair! Bitterness made her want to lash out. Suddenly, she wondered what would happen if she jumped up and started screaming. An overwhelming need to beat her fist and rage at the injustice welled within her. Imagine the reaction if she unleashed this stranger who lurked beneath the surface. The impulse grew to such intensity she feared she would act on it. Her muscles tensed. She sensed herself rising from the seat.

But in the end, she did nothing. Thankfully, something rooted her to the chair. She stayed seated with an outward calmness that surprised her. Surreal. She sat quietly while those around her remained unaware of the battle raging inside her.

Afterward, she managed a nod when the pastor leaned over and whispered parting words of encouragement. She pasted on what would have to pass for a smile, allowed well-wishers to press their hands inside hers, and speak their condolences. She responded with kindness like the good girl she’d been taught to be, but all the while there seemed to be something struggling to claw its way out.

Beth scanned the sea of faces for Arnold. With any luck, he was long gone. She’d lose it if she had to deal with him today. Her shoulders relaxed slightly when she failed to spot him. She was familiar with many of Dad’s friends from the department, but she wasn’t sure which ones were there out of respect, and which ones were working for Arnold. More than anything she wanted this day to be over. She envied Mindy, who had grown tired of standing still and chased a boy around her age, down, around, and through the maze of headstones.

• ••

The sound of a car door slamming woke Beth from a deep sleep the next morning. She groaned and forced her eyelids open. She’d been dreaming . . . something about Mom. Without lifting her head, she clung to the tissue paper remnants of the sweet memory. They’d been at the beach laughing at those silly seagulls. Then she remembered the journal and her eyes opened. What had Mom said? Beth wasn’t sure. She remained a few minutes longer trying to recall where Mom had told her it was hidden, curious about the secrecy.

It took a moment for her to adjust to the brightness and to realize she had spent last night back in her own room. Must be late morning, judging from the position of the sun slanting through her curtains. Everything seemed the same, yet different. Maybe she was different. Some of the anger had eased. The need to smash something or cry wasn’t overpowering. A step in the right direction.

Beth didn’t bother to see who might be in the driveway. No doubt, it would be more ladies bearing casseroles, pies, or sweets. Their countertops and fridge overflowed with food, despite the friends and family who had descended on the house after the funeral yesterday. Maybe that’s why her mood was lighter today. She’d never seen so many containers of fried chicken, deviled eggs, baked beans, and macaroni and cheese in her life. Five coconut cakes lined the countertop now. Most of the pastries and puddings had been refrigerated. It would be impossible to eat it all. But this was the south, and nothing said comfort like a Pyrex bowl of artery-clogging fat. Her lips curved into a wry smile. Beth sat up, spied the dark dress she’d taken off and draped over the chair, and thought how convenient it would be if grief were something a person could put on and take off as easily as clothing.

But she was better, wasn’t she? She considered the houseful of guests from the night before, a prospect she had dreaded. Yet to her surprise, as they reminisced, the stories were therapeutic. It helped to remember easier times when Mom had not acted so peculiar and overprotective. Somewhere in the midst of the many accounts voiced, her anger had eased to reluctant acceptance.

An unexpected warmth had surrounded her. Beth found herself laughing on a number of occasions. It had been good to remember happy times of her mom’s life. Choir members related how Mom loved to cut up during practice, and Lynne told them about getting lost in downtown Richmond. Beth never understood how someone as smart as her mother had been so bad with directions.

Beth realized something else last night—she guessed she’d always known. With everything so messed up, it was hard to sort out the truth. Deep down she knew neither Dad, nor Lynne was capable of an affair. Their grief was genuine. Yes, adults did crazy things, but they loved Mom. They would never hurt her. There wasn’t anything between them. And she knew, because she had watched for any sign—any sign at all. She’d talk to Dad about it today. There must be a reasonable explanation, despite his peculiar behavior. Who’s to say how a person should behave when grieving? Her own conduct had left her wondering if some strange alien had invaded her body. An image of herself morphing into a hulking green monster played through her mind.

She pushed aside the Marvel Comic character, along with her blanket, deciding on a bowl of leftover banana pudding for breakfast. It was the first time she’d had a taste for food in over a week.

Mindy and Dad sat at the kitchen table as she entered. Her sister had crayons, coloring what appeared to be one of the Disney princesses and eating a Pop Tart. She looked up briefly and waggled a finger of greeting before returning to her art. Dad sat digging through a box stuffed with paper. He hadn’t shaved, and he appeared not to notice she’d walked in.

Beth opened the fridge and pushed aside several dishes attempting to reach the milk. Almost everything was covered with tin foil, and suddenly, the banana pudding seemed too much trouble to hunt for.

“Morning, honey. Did you get any sleep last night?”

Beth pulled the jug from the fridge and set it down while she reached for a glass. “As a matter of fact, I did.”

“I wouldn’t drink that if I were you.” Her dad pointed to the container she’d placed on the counter. “We’ve got plenty of food, so I haven’t bothered to go to the store. That milk is . . .” He seemed to search for the right word.

“Expired?” Beth offered. “Don’t worry, you can say it. I’m not going to melt into a puddle of tears.” At least she didn’t think she would. She checked the date and discovered it was way past expiration. She twisted the cap, turned it up over the sink, and watched as it came out in clumps.

“Guess I’ll put run to the market on my to-do list.”

“Or I could go.” Beth surprised herself by volunteering.

“You don’t have to, I’ve—”

“Dad, it’s okay. I want to do something. I could even drop the stinkbug off at preschool if you need me to. But I’m not ready to go back to school,” she rushed on before he had time to suggest it. “I’ve been thinking home-school for a while. They have a homebound program for students who can’t attend for various reasons—I think this counts.”

Her dad gave her a doubtful frown. “Honey, are you sure it wouldn’t be better to be around your friends?”

“I’m sure. I’m just not ready.” Beth tossed the empty milk jug into the overflowing trash can. “I’m dealing with this, but I need more time.”

“All right, I’ll talk to your principal about other options. I’ll do it today. Now that I’ve been placed on administrative leave.”

Beth detected an edge to his voice regarding his pending investigation. “About that . . .”

Her dad shook his head and gave her a look that implied later, not in front of her sister. She lifted a shoulder and decided not to argue. “What’s that?” she asked. She regarded the box he’d been sifting through with curiosity.

“Nothing you’d find interesting.” He waved off her inquiry. “Adult stuff.” Although the way he hunched over the contents and avoided her eyes said differently.

Once more, Beth got the impression he was hiding something. She chewed the inside of her lip before responding. “Dad, did Mom ever mention a diary to you?”

“Diary?” That caught his attention. “What sort of diary?”

Her dad’s reaction caused her to hesitate. Hadn’t Mom said not to say anything? Certainly, she didn’t mean Dad. His gaze followed her as she returned to the fridge, took a pie-shaped dish out, and peeled back the foil before answering. “Like a journal, I guess. Not sure. She mentioned it months ago, then I forgot about it.” Beth rummaged for a utensil, pulled out a fork, and slid the drawer shut with her hip. “You know something about it?”

He eyed her a moment as if he were weighing the best way to answer. “Not really. What did she say?”

Beth studied him and shrugged, finding his reaction odd. She sat down at the table and turned to her sister. “Hey, stinkbug, whatcha coloring?”

“Princess Sophia.” Mindy held up the picture for Beth to admire.

“Nice.” She tilted her head and pretended to consider it a minute more. “I’m not sure about that color for her dress. Princess Sophia is on right now. Why don’t you go see?”

Mindy gave her an exasperated look. “I’m sure what it looks like, Beth.” Still, she gathered her stray crayons and slid off the chair. “You just want to talk to Daddy alone.” She cast an all-knowing expression in her sister’s direction.

Beth scrunched her face mimicking her sister. “You’re too smart for your own good sometimes.”

“I know,” she replied before trotting off to the other room with a coloring book, crayons, and that stupid purple elephant tucked beneath her arm.

“That girl is six going on sixty,” her dad said with an awkward chuckle.

Beth turned to her father, all traces of humor gone. “Dad, Detective Arnold told me about the email they found on your computer. He says something weird’s going on in your department, and he thinks you’re involved.” Beth took a breath to steady her nerves before continuing, watching the rising anger in her father’s face. “I’m not sure what’s happening, but I know you. Dad, you can trust me. Are you in some sort of trouble?”

 

Chapter 14 –Raven

Raven shoved the last bite of Milky Way into her mouth and drained her second bottle of Dr Pepper. She relished the sweet combination, swallowed, and tried to ignore the growing discomfort in her bladder. Her muscles ached from the cold. She should have worn a thicker jacket, but she hated bulky clothing. This one time perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to crank the engine and run the heater. But that would be foolish. She couldn’t afford to attract attention.

She sniffed. The smell of smoke from a wood-burning stove seeped through the car windows, although they were rolled up tight against the frigid air. A train rumbled in the distance, its sound traveling far in the winter night. She hunkered further into the seat, shoved her trash into a bag, and blew on her fingers for warmth.

Raven looked over the steering wheel. From her vantage point, she noticed figures moving inside the house—the girl’s house. At least she had tabs on her whereabouts. She still hadn’t tracked down Mackenzie. Every lead she’d followed had been a dead end. What had happened with the Shannon woman? Raven needed answers. Whatever Mack was up to, he was going to get them both in a lot of trouble—worse yet, killed.

A light came on in one of the upstairs bedrooms. Raven recognized the lithe shape belonging to the teenager. Her eyes narrowed. She watched. An hour passed, perhaps longer.

Finally, the girl changed into what appeared to be sleepwear. Raven shook her head. Someone should warn her to close her curtains. As if somehow sensing Raven’s thoughts, the dark figure turned and stepped from her view.

After a few minutes, she reappeared, this time, holding something to her ear. A cell phone? Who was she talking to at this hour? Unexpected jealousy pressed her insides. For a moment, Raven considered what it would be like to a have someone to confide in but quickly dismissed the thought. Never in her wildest dreams did she imagine herself giggling away into the night, on the phone without a care. Of course, she doubted Beth had much to laugh about these days. Raven didn’t envy her. The teen’s world had been flipped upside down.

Despite herself, Raven experienced a rare sense of empathy toward the kid. She knew well the devastation of losing a parent. Lurline Connors hadn’t been much of a mother, but she’d been the only one Raven had known. It was harder when you didn’t get along. There was the guilt and thinking what might have been if you’d been given more time. She wished someone had reached out to her and told her it got easier. Maybe . . .

Raven kicked herself. What was she thinking? She wasn’t in any position to offer advice. Anyway, some things you had to figure out for yourself.

Several dogs barked. The door opened three houses down the street. A woman clad in pajama bottoms and a T-shirt stepped out on the porch. Raven expected her to yell at the animals, but he did an odd little shuffle out to her car. From her dance across the lawn, she apparently had not taken the time to put on shoes. Raven rolled her eyes. Pajama gal did not linger long in the frosty air. She grabbed whatever item needed retrieving from the vehicle, sprinted back to the house, and vanished. Show over. Raven turned her attention, once more, to the window. She yawned. A grieving teen didn’t offer much in the way of excitement. Her lids grew heavy and she longed for the warmth of her bed.

Around eleven, Beth’s room fell dark. An odd sensation settled over Raven, sitting alone in the shadows. She listened to the sound of her own steady breath, wind chimes faint and soft, and the occasional bark from what she assumed was the same dog. A few dry leaves raced across the road and plastered themselves against a parked car wheel. Raven was so absorbed she jumped when her phone buzzed in her pocket.

She reached inside her jacket, checked the caller ID, and frowned when the display came up UNKNOWN. Her fingertips tingled with adrenaline. Without explanation, she sensed it was him.

“Raven,” she answered, her tone clipped.

“Raven . . . it’s Mackenzie.”

A combination of relief and irritation caused her to lash out. “Where have you been? I’ve looked everywhere for you.”

“Look, I know what it looks like.” He sounded rushed, fearful, far from his usual swagger.

“No one was supposed to get hurt. What happened?”

“It wasn’t me, okay? She was already dead when I found her.” A few beats passed before Mackenzie spoke again. “You know I didn’t do this.”

“Frankly, I’m not sure what to believe. This job . . . it messes with your head. Maybe you got in too deep.”

“I don’t blame you. Under the circumstances, I wouldn’t trust me either; but I’m telling you, I found her that way when I got there. I did not kill her—”

“So why run?”

“Come on, Raven. What was I supposed to do? You know better than anyone why. If Nicholas finds me, I’m dead—”

“No!” Raven interrupted. “Not you—we! My neck is on the line too.”

“You’re right. Sorry—really, I get it. I didn’t plan any of this. What do you want me to say? At least I got out before Beth caught me.”

“Yeah . . . well now Nicholas wants her.”

“What—why? She doesn’t know anything. How are you going to pull that off?”

“You let me worry about that.”

His breath filled the line as he released a deep sigh. “Listen, let’s meet. I’ve got the information we need, but we’ve got to be careful. We can talk, just not over the phone. I think I’m being watched.”

Raven’s antenna shot up.

A long pause. “I trust you, Raven. You’re a good kid. I’m sorry I got you mixed up in this. Let me make it up to you.” He must have taken her silence for agreement as he rushed on. “You familiar with the abandoned primary school in Massies Mill?”

“Yeah. You’re there now?”

“. . . I’m here.” He sounded nervous. She pictured him looking over his shoulder. “Meet me around back. And, Raven . . .”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t stand me up.” The phone went dead.

Raven pulled the cell from her ear and stared at it as if it were a crystal ball that could tell her the future. She didn’t like it. It sounded like a trap, but what choice did she have? Everything depended on it.

She tossed the phone onto the seat and tapped her finger on the wheel. What was Mack up to? That primary had been torn down four years ago. There was nothing there now except a dump. A quick look at the dark house assured her the family had bedded down for the evening. Beth wouldn’t be going anywhere. She could always double back. Raven started the car, apprehension churning in her gut.

 

Two hours later, Raven smacked her palm against the dash. What a fool! He hadn’t shown. It was close to one a.m., and her body needed sleep. She longed to be in bed like a normal person, but she was out gallivanting, chasing her tail as Granny would say. But that was it, wasn’t it? She wasn’t a normal person. Raven had left ordinary in the rearview mirror years ago. Why had Mack called and not shown? Something didn’t feel right. She’d waited for any signs of him, but other than a few raccoons prowling through the dumpsters, she hadn’t seen another living thing.

She cut the engine and sat outside her own darkened house. The car gave the equivalent of a sigh as the various parts cooled in the night air, clicking and settling in a companionable agreement with her situation. Her nearest neighbor lived a good mile away, and that’s the way she liked it.

She removed the key, got out, and eased her way up the aged steps. The railing had long since given way, so she was careful not to lose her balance as her boots scraped across the worn boards. The knob turned easily as she never bothered locking it. No one worried with locks in the country. Besides, even if she were inclined, a locked door wouldn’t discourage anyone she knew.

There was enough light for her to avoid stumbling over Otis when he strutted out from the darkness. Fat, lazy, and less than graceful, she had named the cat after the lovable town drunk on The Andy Griffith Show. Along with squash and green beans, the program had been a staple in her life. Every day after school and before homework, Raven sat and watched the old reruns. One of the perks of living with the elderly, she could recite just about every black-and-white sitcom by heart. Otis rubbed his head and gave her a coarse scolding for missing his dinner again. Tonight, he seemed more upset than usual.

“I know,” she sympathized as she bent to scratch behind his ears. “If it makes you feel any better, my night hasn’t been great either.” She scooped the obese tabby into her arms and carried him to the kitchen without bothering to turn on the light. She’d been in the dark so long her eyes were accustomed to it.

Raven poured a generous portion of cat food into his bowl, her way of making amends. Any other time Otis followed behind her, but tonight he refused. Instead he slunk off to the corner, feet tucked under him, with his ears laid back.

“What’s wrong with you, you fickle thing?” She shrugged. “Sit there and pout, then.”

She unlaced her boots, deposited them beside the stove, and opened the fridge for a carton of OJ. It was surprisingly light as she turned it up to drink from the container. Only a drop hit the back of her throat.

Immediately, the tiny hairs on her neck stood to attention. She eyed her dishes in the sink from this morning. The glass was washed and flipped over the way she’d left it. The bowl she’d eaten cereal from remained tilted toward the oven. The carton had been full this morning. Something wasn’t right.

She whipped out her Glock 23 from the back of her waistband and scanned the kitchen. The empty cardboard container fell with a hush to the floor. She eased through the house, floorboards cold on her naked feet. With weapon drawn and back against the wall, she inched her way down the hall. She checked the tiny bathroom. With relief, she’d left the curtain to the shower open. Nothing but the drip, drip, drip of the faucet.

The place was small, not many places to hide. She checked the bedroom closet. Nothing. She gave a nervous laugh, relieved she had overreacted. No sooner had she dropped her guard when arms seized her—crushing the air from her lungs. A white-hot prick as something was jabbed into the side of her neck. She struggled to free herself but couldn’t budge. Liquid heat surged through her bloodstream, overwhelming her senses. The room spun. It was as if she were being sucked down a black hole, falling farther and farther until darkness swallowed her up . . .

 

•••

 

 

When she awoke groggy and disoriented some time later, she found her eyelids slow and heavy to respond. It was if they were made of lead. She struggled to pry them open and managed to force them wide enough to make out the blurry image of the clock. It was three-something-er-other. Ugh! What was wrong with her? She inched her fingers, clutching the sheet. She was on her bed.

Her tongue felt thick, her mouth as dry as one of Granny’s balls of yarn. She moaned and rolled from her right side to her left, her arm flopping to the space beside her. Her hand brushed against something large and solid, and like a buzzing hive, her brain stirred.

Alarm signals pulsed to her fogged mind. Her heart pounded. Intruder. Struggle.

On instinct, she pushed away to the edge. What was it? Somehow, she knew before she was even able to focus. Raven inhaled sharply. With a desperate shove against the massive object, she tumbled out of bed and landed with a jolt. She scrambled away until she banged against the wall. Bracing her back against it, she wrapped her arms around her knees while she tried to calm herself.

She huddled there, rocking on her heels, and staring at the covered mound. Her head throbbed. She couldn’t think. Given the size and shape, it could only be one thing.

Okay, Raven, get it together!

Raven pushed up and eased toward the bed. Her hand shook as she leaned in and reached for the blanket. She hovered, clenching and unclenching her fist as she built up her nerve. With a quick jerk, she flipped the quilt aside.

Cold, lifeless eyes stared back at her. No! It had to be a cruel joke. It couldn’t be! But the gaping bullet wound in Mackenzie’s forehead told her this was real. His body in her bed said she was next!

 

Chapter 15 - Raven

Terrified, Raven clasped her hands over her mouth to stifle her scream. She stumbled backward, getting tangled in her own feet in a frantic attempt to distance herself. Her unsteady legs gave way, and she tumbled to the rug. She remained frozen several seconds, too shocked to pick herself up.

This could not be happening—it could not!

Minutes ticked by as her unsteady limbs waited for her brain to send out directions. Then, like a surge of furious water crashing through a dam, her instincts rushed into motion. Raven propelled herself to her feet. The rhythm of her heart beat out a tempo. Move! Move! Move!

She inhaled, then exhaled, and tried to focus. Her mind rattled off questions. Why hadn’t Mack’s killer taken her out when given a chance? Were they still in the house?

Dominic, she concluded with certainty. This had his sick sense of humor all over it. He didn’t want her dead—he enjoyed tormenting her. But why? He wouldn’t act on his own. Nicholas was sending a message. But, how had they found Mack, and the more important question, did they know? No! If Nicholas even suspected, she’d have a bullet between her eyes too.

What cruel game was he playing this time? She reeled with the possibilities.

At once, it occurred to her . . . the needle, drugging her . . . they killed Mack, and they planned to frame her for the murder. Unless, of course, she outwitted them!

Had they already called the police?

A gnawing fear clawed at her stomach. Who knew her background better than Nicholas? If anyone started poking around, this would all unravel, fast. So much more was at stake. She could not be found here with Mackenzie’s body. The urgency of the situation penetrated through the fog inside her head.

Obviously, Dominic hadn’t intended for her to come around so soon, which meant she had the opportunity to stay one step ahead of them. On the other hand, the authorities might be on their way at that moment. Who knew how long before they arrived? She must move fast.

Her first obstacle would be getting Mackenzie’s body out of her bed. She groaned. Mackenzie easily reached six feet and close to two hundred pounds. How on earth was she supposed to move him? She scanned the room, searching for something to help her. She was smart too, knowing everything he came in contact with had the potential to transfer DNA.

Plastic. She needed something big enough to wrap Mack’s body.

Her brain surged ahead despite the drug coursing through her veins. Okay, Raven. You got this. She ran to the bathroom and pulled down the shower curtain. Wrap everything—body, sheets, quilt. Take no chances!

Shame surged through her like a foul toxin. What kind of life had she chosen for herself? Raven wondered how she’d grown so calloused. It’s for a greater good, she coaxed herself. Even though she hadn’t known him long, Mack wasn’t like some of the other slime balls she’d met in this line of work. Perhaps, in time—if things had been different—she’d like to think.

Snap out of it! She reeled in her thoughts and focused on spreading the plastic across the quilt in the space next to Mack. Raven realized she had to roll him onto it. Easy, right? Wrong! His dead weight was like trying to shove toothpaste back inside the tube.

After several steadying breaths, she grabbed him by the shirt. “Sorry, buddy,” she whispered, and forced herself not to look. She squeezed her eyes closed. Just do it!

But try as she might, she only managed to move him a half inch. The thin fabric felt delicate beneath her hands and ripped from Mack’s dead weight. She gulped in large breaths of air as she let him drop back into the mattress.

No upper body strength, leastways not from this angle. She’d have to go around to the other side and push. Maybe if she leveraged her legs and shoved with her back. Despite the chill of the room, sweat trickled down her face. She wiped the dampness away with her sleeve and circled to the opposite side.

There wasn’t much space between the gap and the wall. How had Dominic managed it? He was twice her size. She squeezed into the tight spot, positioned her hands on Mackenzie’s left shoulder, and placed her feet against the wall. With a shove, she sent him flopping over to his stomach and onto the shower curtain. Success!

Raven panted her relief and took a moment to catch her breath. But she didn’t have that luxury—not with the possibility of the police arriving any second. Her eyes flickered to the clock. It was 3:24.

Move! Raven ran to the other side, stripped the bed of the pillowcases, and shoved them on top of Mackenzie while attempting to gather the rest of the bedding. She hated to sacrifice one of Granny’s quilts, but there was no avoiding it. Nothing must be traced to her.

Once everything was wrapped in the shower curtain like an oversized burrito, she needed to get him to her car. She considered pushing but realized a fall would cause him to tumble out the plastic. Fibers from the carpet might transfer to his shirt and vice versa.

Raven scanned the room, whispering a prayer for help and scoffing at the irony. She spotted the desk chair with rollers and shoved it to the side of the bed. She’d have to crawl up beside him to get enough strength to pull his upper torso to the chair. It wasn’t like she had never seen a dead body, but it didn’t make her any less squeamish at the prospect.

This was insane.

Perhaps she should have placed the sheet on the floor and rolled everything onto it, in the first place. Of course! Why hadn’t she thought of that? She’d wasted so much time. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Then again, it wasn’t every day she needed to dispose of a dead body.

After grappling with Mack, the sheet, and the curtain, she finally pulled the plastic out from under him and laid it flat beside the bed. Precious minutes ticked away. Her teeth chattered despite her arms and legs being drenched with sweat. She had to stop her knees from trembling, or she’d never have the strength to drag him down the hall.

Once more, she wedged herself between the wall and the bed, this time with her back against him. Bracing her feet, she shoved with all her might and winced at the sickening thud of Mackenzie’s body landing on the floor.

Next, she stripped the mattress of bedding before rushing to the linen closet and remaking the bed. Couldn’t risk the chance of the police arriving and questioning what happened to the sheets.

By now, it was after four a.m. Raven ran to the kitchen to check for signs of movement. Her eyes searched the darkness, alert for danger. No flashing red lights, no sun rising over the horizon. There was still time. Water. She needed water.

Grabbing the glass from the sink, she thrust it under the faucet. Too impatient to allow it to fill, she guzzled it down. The water dribbled down her chin and onto her shirt, but Raven hardly noticed. She drained it twice before returning to the bedroom.

She stared at the plastic-wrapped body, blinking as she considered how to get it down the hall and to her car. There was no way to carry it. She’d barely pushed him from the bed. Think, Raven, think!

Raven would need to slide it. She realized her mind had already disengaged—survival instincts kicked in—referring to his body as a thing rather than him. No time to consider how her thought process had descended into anarchy. She was thankful the hardwood floor provided a smooth surface. Once more, Raven maneuvered the blanket beneath the body enough to ease it down the hall and to the door.

Until now, she’d relied on her brains, but to move him from here—to the porch, down the steps, and into the car—it would take sheer strength. She squared her shoulders and imagined her Granny working on the quilt and the pains she’d put into all the stitches. What would she think if she could see her now?

Chapter 16 - Beth

Beth longed for the escape sleep offered, a place where she wouldn’t have to think or feel. But like wild dogs, her dreams gnawed at her with their shiny fangs and refused to allow her to rest. The night had become her enemy.

The same vision plagued her, varying only slightly, always beginning with a noise. As much as she wanted to stay in bed, a force compelled her to rise. Her feet followed the same path as that fateful evening. As sure as she sensed the evil lurking beyond, she was helpless to stop herself from reaching for the doorknob, entering her mom’s bedroom, and watching the gruesome event play over in her mind. Unlike the first time, she often confronted a hooded figure. A dark shape loomed over her mom, dripping blood from a glittering blade. The killer would reel about, angry at being discovered, and chase her through the house. Some nights she made it outside. Her frantic banging woke the neighbors, but no one would open the door for her. The lights would go out, and she would be forced to flee to the next porch with the monster close on her heels.

 Sometimes, like tonight, she’d open her eyes and see a figure standing at the foot of her bed. Beth would lift her head and try to run, only to discover herself paralyzed. With a scream locked inside her throat, she’d awaken breathless, covered in sweat, and her heart beating like a wild creature trying to hammer its way free.

Even now, as Beth waited for her pulse to return to normal, she did her best to convince herself the images weren’t real. Her mind reasoned the unlikelihood, but she couldn’t shake the impression someone had been in her room, watching. The oversized hoodie blocked the face, hiding any recognizable features.

Beth sat up and blinked. Was it possible she’d seen her mother’s killer but blocked it from her memory? She shivered in her damp T-shirt. Someone had been in her room that night. The knife was found in her closet—probably placed there while she slept.

Wide-awake and all hopes of sleep gone, she threw the comforter to the side. Her throat was dry. She needed a drink. Something warm might help her to relax.

She made her way into the hallway and stopped to check on Mindy. She tiptoed to the bed, careful to avoid the squeaky board that might disturb the sleeping girl. In the soft, pink glow of the nightlight, her sister’s face looked flushed. Beth brushed aside a silky curl and sighed. A sudden protectiveness welled inside her. She tucked the blanket tighter around the tiny figure and eased into the hall.

About halfway to the kitchen, she realized the light was on. Her pulse raced. Dad? The refrigerator closed with a soft sucking noise, and the familiar shuffling of slippered feet reassured her everything was okay.

When she entered the kitchen, Dad looked up, surprised. “Beth?” He balanced an aluminum pan, a fork, and a mug. “Another nightmare?”

She nodded and gestured to the food. “Just came to see what was in the fridge.”

“Well, here.” He set everything on the table and pulled out the chair. “Join me.”

“Guess you can’t sleep, either.”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he walked to the drawer, plucked out a second fork, took his seat, and peeled back the aluminum. After a minute, when Beth didn't move, he looked up. “Aren’t you going to sit?”

Beth blew out a breath, sending her bangs swirling before she flopped down. “Dad, why won’t you talk to me?”

He forked a bite of pie into his mouth, swallowed, and gazed at her with a resigned expression. “I told you this morning. I don’t want to discuss it. You’re dealing with enough right now.” He handed her the other fork in a manner that said the discussion was closed.

But Beth wouldn’t let it go. She accepted the utensil but held it in her fist rather than join him. “I’m not a baby anymore. I’ll turn eighteen in August.”

“Beth.” His tone took on a warning note. “This isn’t about your being a child. This goes deeper than—”

“So, there is something you’re not telling me.” She pounced on the words.

“Let it go, honey. I can’t discuss police matters.”

“But you do think Uncle Mike had something to do with it,” Beth accused.

“First of all, he is not your uncle; and second, I didn’t say that. I’m not sure what to believe. Mike’s been a good friend, but what explanation could he have for running off without a word to anyone?”

“You are suspicious he’s gone. You suspect him, don’t you?”

His strained expression betrayed him.

“Did it occur to any of you he might be hurt?” Beth defended. “Maybe whoever did this to Mom, got Uncle Mike too.”

Her dad set the fork down and gave her a measured look. “Beth, I appreciate your loyalty, but . . .”

Beth watched him weigh his words. She imagined the gears shifting inside his head, measuring the correct response.

“. . . there are circumstances . . . things I’m not at liberty to discuss.”

“Circumstances—not at liberty . . . Dad, come on! This is my life. Mom’s life!” Beth slammed down the fork. “Don’t handle me like one of your—”

“Keep your voice down, young lady. I’m still your father. I don’t appreciate your tone. I realize you’re under a lot of strain, but let me handle it.”

“It’s like you don’t even care he’s missing. I bet you’re glad he’s gone. It takes the suspicion off you.” Instantly, she slapped her hand over her mouth. “Oh, Dad, I’m sorry. I—” The words had left their mark. Nothing she said would make it right.

“Look,” he said finally. “I get it. We’re both under a lot of pressure right now.”

They stared at one another, the silence mounting. How she wished the floor would open up and swallow her. Dad’s image blurred in a cloud of gathering tears. She felt like a fool, especially when he took his big calloused hand and awkwardly brushed away the tear slipping down her cheek.

His chair scraped the floor as he stood. “Turn the lights out when you’re done, Bethy.”

Beth wanted to stop him, tell him not to go; instead, she dropped her head into her hands. What was wrong with her? What she should have said was, they suspected her too. But what she’d done was practically accused him. And defended Uncle Mike.

What just happened? How had everything become so complicated? Her father didn’t have anything to do with this, so why had she made it sound like she thought he did? What did Dad know? Did he have proof—if so, what? For the life of her, she didn’t see how any of this connected. She closed her eyes and laid her forehead on the table. If only she could ask Mom why—and then it struck her. The diary!

Several times Mom’s words about the book returned to her, but there were so many other things pulling her in different directions it kept slipping her mind. What if it held the key?

The words hadn’t seemed ominous at the time. If anything should happen . . . everything written down . . . Beth thought Mom meant if she should ever get sick. Perhaps there were important papers or something Beth needed to know about. Certainly, nothing for her to worry about while Mom was alive. But what if her mom had realized someone was after her? That would explain the odd behavior. Had she sensed someone was going to kill her? Why not go to the police? Why not tell Dad—unless . . .

Honestly! She was going to give herself a headache.

Knowing Mom, she’d stashed the book someplace no one but Beth would ever go. Beth racked her brain. Mom joked about her lack of direction, but she wouldn’t have hidden it in the car—too small.

She pushed the aluminum pie plate away in frustration. All this stupid food. Once again, she wondered how three people would ever eat it all. The freezer was packed now, and she’d be the one left to clean it all out.

Wait! She’d be the one—not Dad. Mom always joked about the mysterious ball of foil. Beth practically turned the chair over in her haste to get to the freezer.

She stopped short of pulling the handle, straining for sounds her father might still be up. When her ears met with silence, she jerked the door open and began removing baking dishes, meat, frozen vegetables. She shoved them to the counter. Freezer burn would ruin the food long before they got around to eating it. She dug until she reached the oddly shaped ball of tin buried at the very back.

Slowly, as if the thing were made of gold and not aluminum, she withdrew it and held it to her chest. You’ll feel silly if it’s just a frozen meatloaf. But something was different about it. She sensed it.

Unable to wait any longer, Beth tore into the packet, ripping away the foil as if it were wrapping paper on Christmas morning. Once the layers of foil were removed, it revealed a leather-bound journal, thick and bulging with paper. It had a binder, the kind that hinged, allowing pages to be added and removed. The diary burned Beth’s hands, despite having taken it from the cold. This was from her mom. She trembled as she opened the cover to read the first page.

To my darling girl,

 

My heart aches to think this day has arrived, as I know my past will have caught up with me. It can only mean I am gone, and you are searching for answers.

When I began this journal, you were a little girl. I intended it to be an explanation, but as I fill the pages, I realize it has become therapeutic for me, as well. You deserve the truth and motives for my secrecy.

It’s important you understand how much I love you and your sister. I’ve had to hide so much in my life that it’s hard to keep it all straight anymore. But my love for you, your father, and Mindy is the absolute truth—that is real!

I feared I would never see you reach adulthood as my sins would, more likely, find me out. But I have cherished each and every day with you. Each birthday that passed was a blessing I didn’t deserve.

Although I don’t expect you to understand or forgive me for the choices I made, I would ask you to read with an open heart and perhaps take pity on me once you hear my story from the beginning . . .

Beth slapped the book shut. Her blood turned to ice. Mom might be overprotective, sometimes eccentric, but she was about as close to perfect as a person could be. Hidden sins and secret life? No way!

The neatly penned words had sucked the air from the room. Her knees grew weak. She wanted no parts of this. She could not deal with it now—perhaps—not ever. She refused to let anything mar the memory of her mom.

With shaking hands, she hastily piled everything back into the freezer and closed the door. She shoved the journal under her pajama top. Just because she didn’t have the courage to read it, didn’t mean she would leave it behind. After all, it belonged to Mom. The icy cold sent shivers across her bare skin. Beth wasn’t sure if she trembled from the chill of the diary or from the fear of what secrets rested inside its pages.

Chapter 17 – Raven

Raven opened the front door and stepped onto the porch. She stamped her feet and rubbed her arms vigorously as she cursed her luck. Heavy frost blanketed the ground, giving the appearance of snow in the bluish-white light of the moon. It illuminated the country landscape like a spotlight setting a stage. Perfect! She might as well have a neon sign that flashed: Here I am. Take me to jail.

Left with no choice but to plow ahead, she tramped down the stairs and headed toward a small tool shed. She paused long enough to unlock the trunk and check over her shoulder for any shadow that seemed out of place. Every nerve in her body tensed with awareness. The odds Dominic would still be in the area were slim, but she couldn’t take chances.

She groped for the gun tucked inside her waistband but came up empty. She must have dropped it in the struggle. No time to go back for it now.

She gripped the keys tighter, feeling them cut into her palm as she marched across the uneven ground. The frozen earth radiated cold through her thin boots, making her toes ache, but she ignored the discomfort. Raven was on a mission.

She reached the wooden structure, slid the key into the padlock, and clicked it open. Every sound echoed in the pre-dawn quiet. She hesitated. The idea of entering the lean-to made her skin crawl. She didn’t want to go in during the daytime, much less at night. Raven hated small places—especially sheds. Once, when she was little, she found herself locked inside the dark for hours. It had seemed an eternity for a four-year-old Rayleen. She pounded and screamed to get out, while her mom lay passed out on the sofa. If it hadn’t been for Frank, her mom’s boyfriend of the month, who knows when her mom would have noticed her missing. Frank had been slightly better than most of the losers Mom brought home, which was probably why he hadn’t stuck around. Lurline Connors had too much baggage, and anyone with any sense didn’t waste much time on them.

Raven would rather go another round with Dominic than have to hunt through the tool shed for what she needed. She avoided it whenever possible. Most of this stuff didn’t even belong to her. It came with the house when she rented it. On occasion when she needed to retrieve a miscellaneous item, she sensed beady-eyed varmints waiting to nip at her ankles. A ripple of revulsion caused her to shudder.

Determined to push through the fear, she squared her shoulders, grabbed the handle, and pulled. The pungent odor of dirt, rotting grass, and gasoline filled her nostrils as the heavy hinges on the door squeaked open. Raven took several calming breaths, tugged the flashlight from her pocket, and shined it into the interior. The beam highlighted specks of dust and the tattered remains of a spider’s web. The ghostly strands danced in the wind. She grimaced, loath to enter. Common sense mocked the childish foolishness. She had bigger issues to deal with than tight quarters and creepy crawlies, but some things stretched the boundaries of rational thought.

Before she had the chance to talk herself out of it, she brushed aside the cobwebs and shined the flashlight around the perimeter from left to right and back for a second look on the ceiling. Toward the rear, she recognized the red handle of the hand truck. Why did the stupid thing have to be so far back? She inched forward and paused often in case she felt the necessity to bolt.

When she made it to the center of the shed, she skirted past a rusted lawn mower, a barrel with lumber sticking out, and several stacked boxes until she was able to reach the cart. She tugged on it, only to find it hung on something. Frantic, she jerked hard, toppling the mountain of crates.

Raven let loose a string of choice words and made up a few more for good measure. Granny always did say she was like a bull in a china shop. Forget the mess. All that mattered was the dolly was free. Leaving the clutter, she pivoted, getting ready to make a break for the door when it suddenly slammed shut. Terrified, she dropped the flashlight, sending light careening around as it bounced and rolled under a metal tool chest. It flickered, faded, and died. Left in total darkness, she froze.

No! She was too afraid to breathe. She stood motionless for what seemed an eternity. When her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she noticed shadows moving outside the door. The blood pulsed in the side of her neck.

She thought she caught the sound of metal clanking. Chains? No! She’d be locked in! Panic and a sense of suffocation threatened to consume her. But still, she remained rooted to the spot. Why hadn’t she gone back for her gun!

After a beat, she heard the noise again. This time the sound was more distinct, like soft clanging. She waited. Nothing happened. The movement outside the door drifted away, and all went quiet. Raven paused, unsure what to do.

Enough light seeped through the cracks of the shed to make out what appeared to be a shovel to her left. She reached for it and crept to the entrance; her ears strained for the slightest noise.

It’s now or never. All at once Raven opened the door and charged. But her surprise attack fell short when she nearly collided with a placid set of brown eyes. The beast’s surprised ears shot out in concern, and the thousand-pound animal took a few steps backward. It didn’t take the cow long to recover. Curious and hungry, she stepped closer and extended her thick, pink tongue to investigate if Raven had food.

Raven’s knees went to jelly with relief. For goodness sake! “How’d you get out?” She stifled a laugh and rubbed the velvet snout. “You scared me to death.”

The Jersey blinked. Satisfied the crazy woman who’d disrupted her grazing wasn’t going to hurt her, she put her head down and returned to pulling up what grass she managed to find.

Now that the excitement was over, Raven still needed the hand truck. She hurried back to the shed, retrieved the discarded item, and snagged a bundle of bungee cords on her way out. The handcart bumped behind her as she flew across the slippery yard. Her boots were useless. They had no traction in the frozen lawn. She slipped twice before reaching the steps.

The wheels banged as she struggled to pull the cart up and over each riser. It was enough to wake the dead. The irony struck a nerve. Not funny—but it sure would make life easier.

She reached the porch, sailed into the house, and melted against the door as she caught her breath. She tossed the keys to the side, and once more tried to gather her wits.

Her eyes fell to the white shower curtain wrapped around Mack. It practically gleamed in the moonlight streaming through the front windows. Raven couldn’t catch a break. She pressed her lips together and tried to figure out what to do. The clock in the kitchen continued its relentless tick, tick, tick. 

Time was running out.

A surge of adrenaline prompted her into action. She positioned the cart on the floor beside Mack’s body. With a deep breath and power born of desperation, she rolled him onto it. She had no idea if her plan would work. His height extended far beyond what she’d anticipated. Next, she bound several of the bungee cords around to secure him to the dolly and willed herself the ability to lift the heavy handcart.

Bending her knees, she struggled, her legs going rubbery. It took every ounce of strength she had, but once she had him upright, it would be okay. Physics, right? But physics had never been her strong suit. She still needed to make a search of the house. There hadn’t been much blood, which meant Mackenzie had been shot elsewhere and brought here. It was the only explanation that made sense. That was one thing in her favor.

A coyote howled in the distance sending a shudder through her. It sounded like the wail of a police siren to her ears. The mental image of squad cars sliding into her front yard with lights flashing urged her into action.

Raven flinched as light flooded her bedroom. Despite the distance of her neighbors, turning on the overhead caused prickly paranoia to inch up the back of her neck. Light meant exposure, and she didn’t need that as she hunted through the house for signs of anything she might have overlooked.

Raven found her missing Glock under the dresser. Must have kicked it there during the struggle. She fished it out and tucked it into the waistband of her black jeans.

For the next fifteen minutes, she scoured each room, searching every corner. Chances were Dominic came through the front door and straight to the bedroom. Given Dominic’s size, he wouldn’t need to drag Mackenzie as she had. She guessed he had waited in the house for her to come home, carried Mack in later while she was unconscious, and dumped him onto the bed. But where had Mack been before then? She didn’t have time to think. She needed to move. As far as she was concerned, the plastic sheet had kept everything contained—she hoped. All she had to do was dispose of him.

She winced at the harsh words. When had she grown so callous? Now she was thinking in terms of putting him someplace to wash away the remaining evidence instead of mourning the loss of a friend. What was nearby—?

The lake! Of course!

Uncle Ray used to take her fishing there when he wasn’t wasted and sometimes when he was.

Destination locked into her mind, she set about the task of getting Mack to the car. She hoped those cords secured him tightly. Raven once again struggled to take hold of the handle and brace herself for the weight. It seemed easier this time, or she had prepared herself for his two hundred pounds of resistance. The cart tilted halfway up her thigh, which was difficult but not impossible to move with the wheels.

Due to his height, there was a significant overhang on her end of the handcart, which made it awkward to pull. Her arms were almost too short, and his weight made the task like trying to put pants on an elephant. At least that’s what Granny would say of a chore too difficult.

“Sheesh, Mackenzie, you could have laid off the burgers once in a while.”

She dragged him forward and through the door, but the bump of the threshold caused him to slide sideways. She had to shove hard to keep him centered. “Don’t you dare fall on me, Mackenzie!” Once he was out and onto the porch, it was a smoother ride.

She groaned when she neared the edge of the stairs. She had half a mind to turn him loose and let gravity take its course, but if Mack fell it would be too much trouble to bundle him up again. Quickly, she tightened the cords and gripped the handle, letting the wheels bump down the steps. The cart crashed into her shins. That’s gonna leave a mark. No time to stop. She had maybe an hour before the sun rose.

Once she reached the bottom step, she stopped and rested her hands. They ached from clenching them so firmly and trembled from sheer relief of loosening their grip. She eyed the black 1970 Dodge. The trunk was plenty big for hauling cargo, although the designers probably never intended dead bodies to be on the list of transportable goods. Thankfully, Uncle Ray hadn’t left her an AMC Gremlin.

Break over. The muscles in Raven’s hands protested when she once more wrapped them around the cold metal. The hand truck moved easier over the sidewalk and into the car. She pulled up short. Getting him into the trunk was her next challenge.

 A simple matter of standing the cart up, unbinding the ties, and letting gravity pull him forward. All she needed to do was push the bottom half in. Easy, right?

“Okay, big boy, work with me here.” With teeth clenched, she strained to lift him. He was so top heavy his weight toppled the cart over when his upper torso fell forward and tumbled into the deep cavity that was the trunk. She quickly unbound the last of the cords, stuffed his legs in, and fit the dolly in before slamming the lid. She might need it later.

Raven leaned against the car, her sides heaving with exertion. Clouds of steam poured from her mouth and nostrils as she tried to catch her breath. There wasn’t time to revel in the victory, but she did feel the need to acknowledge Mack. She patted the lid of the trunk. “We did good, buddy.” In a sad sense, this would be their farewell mission together. She consoled herself with the idea she’d gone too far to turn back now. Mack would understand. He’d do the same thing, wouldn’t he?

She ran to the house, snatched the keys from the shelf, and turned to leave when she drew up dead in her tracks. Her ears picked up on the distant popping of gravel. It couldn’t be! Panic flooded her limbs. Someone was coming!

She darted to the window and peered around the curtain as twin beams of light crawled up her driveway. Her heart stalled.

A Nelson County Sheriff’s patrol car eased up the graveled path and rolled to a stop at the front door. She held her breath as the deputy exited the vehicle and stood gazing across the fields. He raised a beefy hand to speak into the radio clipped to his shoulder, but she couldn’t make out what he’d said. 

To Raven’s horror, he headed toward her car. He walked up and down the length of it several times and appeared to study it, then placed his palm on the hood and even tapped the wheel with his boot for good measure.

Raven couldn’t breathe, couldn’t swallow, couldn’t do anything but watch helplessly as he turned and made his way to her front door. She considered making a run for it out the back.

Instead, she waited, listening to each step protest beneath his weight. She was out of time . . .

Chapter 18 – Raven

Raven did her best to make herself invisible. Not that the deputy could see her cowering behind the door. She was ashamed of her spinelessness, even more so when she caught the image of herself crouched in the full-length mirror.

Trudy Connors hadn’t raised a coward. Raven was many things but timid was not one of them. She possessed a willfulness that wouldn’t allow her to retreat from any challenge, even when she knew she was in the wrong. She shook off the thought. Besides, she hadn’t killed Mackenzie. It wasn’t her fault she’d found Mack dead in her bed. She doubted she’d ever convince anyone of that, but she darned sure refused to go down hiding in the dark.

 When backed into a corner, always come out fighting. She flipped on the porch light and opened the door, surprising the rumpled deputy mid-knock.

 “Excuse me, ma’am.” The deputy pushed his cowboy-style hat farther up his brow. “I hate to bother you at this hour of the morning, but we’ve had a report of gunshots in this area.” His expression and stance belied her fear he had come ready to snap on the cuffs. His speech was slow and lazy with a comforting lilt. Any other time Raven might find it soothing, but under the circumstances, it was anything but. 

“Gunshots! My goodness, Deputy . . .” Her voice trailed as she squinted at his badge.

“Davis, ma’am,” he supplied. “Deputy Davis.”

“Deputy Davis, if you boys investigate every time some yahoo shoots off a gun in the county, how on earth do you ever get anything done?”

He smiled, shifted from one foot to the other, and laughed. “Well, yes, ma’am. I see your point, but I was in the area. A quick drive-by was no trouble at all. When I caught sight of lights on, I thought I’d reassure myself. Dispatch indicated the caller was real insistent we check things out. He said he saw unusual goings-on over here.”

“Here?” Despite her best efforts, Raven’s voice ended with an unnaturally high pitch. She cursed herself. Had she left one of the lights on? She gave a nervous laugh. “My nearest neighbor isn’t even in sight of my house.”

“Yes, ma’am, I noticed that. Maybe even more reason to be sure everything checks out.” He angled his head and tried to peer around her. “Mind if I take a look?”

Her heart plummeted. She caught her lower lip between her teeth and searched the night sky as if she could pluck out a plausible excuse. As she was about to speak, she noticed the heifer over the deputy’s shoulder. Left on her own, the beautiful bovine had wandered farther down the side yard, giving Raven the perfect distraction. “That’s the only unusual thing I’ve seen this morning.” Raven pointed out the large, dark shape. “Millard Woodsen’s cow is on the loose. I’m headed out the door, but I planned to call him later to let him know she had crossed the fence.”

Deputy Davis followed the direction Raven indicated, spotted the Jersey grazing along the railing, and gave a chuckle. The grin on his face suggested this would be a story he’d enjoy relating back at the office with his buddies.

“She got into my shed, too, and turned over a bunch of boxes. I had a devil of a time shooing her out.” The lie slid off Raven’s tongue like a pat of butter on a hot ear of corn.

“I did notice footprints headed out in that direction. Guess that makes sense. Still . . . I’d sleep better if I checked things out and made sure you were safe. Pretty young lady out here all alone, you can’t be too careful.” There wasn’t any trace of suggestiveness to his comment, just a good, old southern boy doing what came naturally. “Mind if have a quick look-see?”

She hedged. If she didn’t let him in, it might appear she had something to hide. On the other hand, if she turned him loose . . .

Time for drastic measures.

The deputy seemed like a decent enough guy. She’d known the type her whole life. Hoping he wouldn’t call her bluff, Raven took a step back, opened the door wide, switched gears as she channeled her best Scarlet O’Hara. “You’re welcome to come in, officer, but I am running late. I have a doctor’s appointment in Charlottesville first thing. It’s a bit of a drive, so that’s why I’m up so early.” She paused for dramatic effect. “I’ve been waiting months for an opening—I bet you’ve never had to wait to see your gynecologist. You wouldn’t believe the trouble I’ve had.”

 The deputy recoiled at the word, as she’d hoped he would, behaving as if she’d removed her ovaries and waved them at him on a stick. Encouraged, she gushed on, “You can’t imagine all I’ve been through with—”

“Oh—oh—okay. He patted the air between them to ward off what he feared might be a detailed description of some unmentionable female disorder. “That’s all right. I wouldn’t want to make you late since you are heading out the door.” He moved backward several steps wanting no part of that sort of discussion.

Raven suppressed a smile. His reaction was comical. “Well, can you at least let Millard Woodsen know about his cow?”

“S-sure thing.” Davis was halfway to the cruiser. He turned, tipped his hat, and gave a quick nod. “Sorry to bother you, ma’am.”

“No trouble at all. Anything else?”

When he stopped and suddenly seemed to recall something, she thought perhaps she’d overdone the ditzy southern belle thing. He raised his chin and indicated the Dodge. Her heart leaped to her throat.

“Not trying to tell you your business, but you should let the engine warm up before you take off,” he advised. “Hard on a vehicle to drive it cold.”

She swallowed several times to make sure her voice was steady. “Thank you, Deputy. I was about to do that when you pulled up.” She held the keys in her hand, jingling them with a forced smile. Just go already!

He hesitated a minute longer as if trying to decide whether to engage in conversation again. Realizing he had the safety of the patrol car, he ventured a question. “You wouldn’t be looking to sell, would you? Got me a teenager who’s interested in muscle cars. That’s a beaut.”

Oh, for goodness sake! Keep calm, Raven. “Thanks, but no!” She yelled back, already in the process of closing the door.

He stood with his wrist resting on the top of the vehicle. “Might be interested if you should change your mind.”

For an insane minute, she pictured him insisting on a test drive and the two of them tooling down the country roads with Mack bumping along inside the trunk. Keep it together, girl. “I know where to find you if I do.” She gave him a final wave as she stepped into the house, leaned against the doorjamb, and pressed her fists hard against her mouth. Too close!

When she heard the motor start, she inched the curtain aside, peered out the window, and made sure he had left in the direction of Woodsen’s farm before she sprang into action.

The clock chimed the quarter-hour. Raven wouldn’t have time to make it to the lake before the sun rose. She’d have to improvise. Keys in hand, she sprinted to the car and slid into the driver’s seat. Her adrenaline kicked into high gear. If she had wings, she might fly. The engine attempted to turn over, sputtered, then died. No—not now!

She slammed her fist against the steering wheel. This could not be happening. Breathe, Raven. She tapped her foot once to the gas pedal like Uncle Ray had taught her, offered up a plea to whoever was in charge of such things, and turned the key. This time the motor purred to life. Raven shifted the car into drive, clenched her jaw, and drove into the waning darkness.

Once on the road, the trees boxed her in on either side. Their winter branches stretched across to entwine overhead, dappling the road with light. Gravel shifted under the Dodge’s large tires, kicking up dirt and dust as Raven sped through the night.

She focused on the road as she cut through the murky haze, seized with a sudden sense of isolation. She realized she was all alone in the world. No friends. No family . . . well, none that she could claim. The closest thing she had to a human companion lay wrapped up dead in the trunk of her car. What did that say about her? An odd sort of despair settled in her chest, an ache nothing satisfied. She gripped the wheel tighter until the leather creaked. The don’t-think-just-do philosophy shoved aside anything else. She’d bemoan her wasted opportunities later.

Raven drove until she reached a deserted area. The car rocked from side to side as she pulled off the road and parked behind a clump of bushes. Unaware she’d been holding her breath, she relaxed slightly when the vehicle came to rest. Was it insane she wanted to disturb Mack as little as possible? Now the time had come to leave him, her insides cramped with remorse for what she was about to do.

Raven pressed the emergency brake with her left foot, popped the trunk, and prepared herself for the cold as she stepped into the frosty morning air. The sky had grown from indigo to a midnight blue. Streaks of color began to line the darkness. She stretched her arms and rolled her neck, knowing extracting Mack from the trunk was not going to be as easy as it had been to get him inside. She braced herself mentally and physically this time. The dry leaves crunched beneath her boots as she made her way to the back of the car with a grim determination.

Raven stood over Mackenzie, a sick, empty sensation burning in her stomach. “Forgive me, Mack.” She grimaced as she took hold of the edges of the shower curtain, bracing her feet, first one, then the other against the bumper. She strained to pull him up and out the trunk. She inched, bit by bit, ever so slowly until he toppled out. Raven staggered and fell hard on her bottom, his weight landing on top of her. She cringed and shoved at the body. A hand slipped out and caught in her hair. Horrified, she scrambled from beneath him and shuddered.

Keep it together, Raven.

After gulping several calming breaths, she was thankful for the sting to the air—its sharpness cleared her head. Blood hummed in her ears, almost blocking out the rushing Tye River yards away. She looked at the cart and decided it would be quicker to drag him rather than load everything on the dolly. Precious seconds slipped by. No time to be particular. She tucked Mack’s arm back into the shower curtain and pulled him toward the water.

Raven struggled with the weight through the underbrush, twigs, and leaves, praying with each bump the thick plastic wouldn’t get hung or rip.

 When she reached the edge and stepped into the moving torrent, the cold curled around and soaked into her boots. Its chill inched up her calves, knees, and to her thigh. Of course, the suede was ruined, but a small price to pay. The icy stream was like a thousand tiny needles stinging her flesh.

 Thankfully, the river wasn’t wide here. It was a stone’s toss from one side of the bank to the other and shallow enough to see the smooth stones through the murky water. It didn’t need to be deep, just sufficient to wash away any evidence. Unfortunately, it also meant traces that might tie back to Dominic and Nicholas.

“Don’t worry, my friend. You won’t be here long.” She tugged until she had him midstream, then gave Mack a final pat. “Goodbye, Mackenzie. If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll get them.” Her words floated away, carried by the sound of the rushing river.

Raven sloshed out of the stream, trailing rivulets of brown water over the dirt and leaves. The wind cut through to her damp skin. Her body shivered uncontrollably as she climbed the embankment. She needed to get out of these wet clothes. Everything would have to be trashed. Thankfully, the ground was frozen. No track marks, just the trail where she’d dragged the body. She grabbed a branch and meticulously began the process of covering the path she had made.

By the time she returned to the car, the dove-gray sky blushed a dusty rose near the horizon. Trees no longer fringed the night in black but revealed subtle shades of charcoal and dim emerald. Raven’s body shook violently. She clenched her jaw to avoid the jarring chatter of teeth, started the engine, and pulled away. This was far from over, she vowed.

 

***End of sample chapters***

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