See Her Die

by Leigh, Melinda

  “It’s your fault.” Dana stirred something in a saucepan. “You pet the dog before him.”

  “I should know better than to upset the hierarchy.” Bree rolled her eyes and scratched the cat behind the ears. He walked back and forth on the counter, rubbing on her.

  “See?” Dana pointed with her wooden spoon. “He’s marking you as his possession.”

  “Why do you have to be such a cat?” Bree scratched his favorite spot under his chin. He purred and drooled on her hand until he suddenly turned away, jumped off the counter, and left the kitchen. She washed her hands. Typical Vader. When he was done with you, he was done.

  The back door opened. Bree marveled at the resemblance between Adam and Luke. Side by side, they looked like brothers. The Taggert genes ran strong in their lean bodies, disheveled brown hair, and tragic hazel eyes.

  “Seltzer?” Bree asked.

  “Sure,” Adam said.

  Bree had no taste for alcohol. But then, she’d grown up knowing that the smell of liquor on an angry man’s breath meant someone was going to get a beating.

  Luke and Adam washed up, and they all sat at the table. Bree let the conversation float around her.

  Luke described the latest version of Call of Duty. Since they’d started the family dinner ritual, he and Adam had begun a weekly challenge. “Do you want to play, Aunt Bree?”

  “You just want someone to kill over and over again,” Bree joked.

  Luke grinned. “You’d get better if you played more.”

  Kayla chattered about an upcoming math test. “Can you quiz me later, Aunt Bree? I have to know my times tables up to six times twelve.”

  “Sure,” Bree said. “We can do that after dinner.”

  The conversation flowed, and Bree felt the tension ease inside her. In her previous life, Bree would have grabbed takeout or eaten scrambled eggs standing over the sink. Then she would have opened the file of whatever case had been most urgent, and she would have worked. No break. No family. She looked down. Ladybug rested her head on Bree’s foot. No dog.

  Maybe Dana was right, and Bree would grow to like the big mutt. Stranger things had happened.

  By the time dinner was over and the table cleared, food and family had recharged her. Bree tested Kayla on her math facts and supervised the bedtime routine. She returned downstairs to find Luke gone and Adam putting on his coat.

  “Luke went to finish his homework.” Adam led the way back to the kitchen.

  “I’ll walk you out.” Bree stepped into her boots and followed him to his rusty vehicle. “You need a new SUV.”

  The hinges squealed as he opened the door. “I don’t go out much.”

  “Thanks for coming to dinner. It means a lot to the kids—and me.”

  Adam turned to face her. “It means a lot to me too. Thanks for nagging me about it every week.”

  Bree grinned. “You’re welcome.”

  He put one foot in the vehicle, then paused. “Bree?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you ever think what would have happened to us—all three of us—if someone had kept us together after Mom and Dad . . .”

  “All the time, Adam.” Sometimes, like at three in the morning, Bree could think of little else.

  “I’m glad we can help Luke and Kayla.”

  “Yeah. Me too.” And maybe Bree and Adam could help each other along the way. Their relationship had already changed, and Bree felt a connection with her brother she hadn’t expected to develop after all these years. “Did you talk to Luke?”

  Adam nodded. “He doesn’t want to talk about it. All he said was he wants to be normal for a while.”

  “I can understand that, but I worry. Our family history isn’t full of the most stable people.”

  “Everybody deals with their grief in their own way. I paint.” After this discussion, Adam would probably go home and work until dawn. He’d leave his raw grief in broad strokes on a canvas. “He’s not a little kid. We need to respect what he wants.”

  “That makes sense. So much of his life has spiraled out of his control lately,” Bree said. “But do you think he’s OK?”

  Adam snorted. “I don’t know. Are any of us OK?”

  “Good point. He seemed to have fun tonight.” But Bree wished Luke would open up to someone.

  Adam’s head cocked. “Have you ever been back to the house?”

  The question surprised Bree. “Our old house?”

  Adam nodded.

  “No.” She could do without those memories. “You?”

  “A couple of times,” he said in a vague tone. “It’s still vacant.”

  “Not a shock.” Shivering, Bree hugged her arms. “There’s lots of land out here, and the property was run-down back then.” If Bree’s memories were correct, it had practically been a junkyard.

  Besides, who wanted a house that had hosted a murder-suicide? Unless property values went through the roof, that acreage was going to sit.

  “It should probably be condemned now,” Adam said.

  “I don’t even know who owns it.”

  “I do.”

  “What?” Shock filled Bree. “You know who owns it or you own it?”

  “It was up for auction, and I bought it.” Adam took no interest in clothes or his vehicle or anything else that wealthy people seemed to value. It was easy to forget his talent and that his paintings sold at very high prices. He’d bought the farm for Erin, and he’d helped Erin pay her bills for years.

  She forgot about the cold. “Why?”

  “I’m not sure.” Adam’s gaze drifted to the night sky. “Sometimes I just . . .” He seemed to struggle for words. “I wonder how it all happened. How he could have done it. And why. I know you and Erin told me how mean he was, but”—he let out a breath—“I don’t have any memories of that time. Nothing. It’s all a big void. But I feel something when I walk around the old property.”

  “What do you feel?”

  “I’m not sure. Not peace and happiness.” He shuddered. “But there’s a connection. Maybe my subconscious recognizes the place.” He took a long breath. “I don’t remember them. Not at all. I can’t picture my own mother’s face.”

  Bree had always envied Adam, with no memories of that horrible night. Even Erin’s recall had been spotty, but Bree remembered every second in high-def and surround sound. She’d been terrorized by nightmares throughout her childhood. Those nightmares were paying her fresh visits since her sister died.

  The wind gusted, and a blast of arctic air swept over her. It had been cold that night when Bree had taken her little sister and baby brother under the back porch to hide from their father. Twenty-seven years later, she could feel the frigid air blowing through her pajamas. She could feel the cold dirt under her bare feet and smell the damp earth.

  Hear the gunshots.

  Her entire life she’d thought Adam had been the lucky one, to have been too young to remember. Now she realized instead of a tragic memory, Adam had a hollow space. Was that what his art did for him? Fill the void?

  She should have helped him fill that space. She’d had no control over being separated from her siblings after their parents died. Adam and Erin had been raised by their grandmother. Bree, the more difficult child, had been farmed out to a cousin in Philadelphia. But she’d been an adult for a long time, and she could not excuse decisions she’d made over the past twenty years. She should have done more than occasionally reach out to Adam. She should have done what she was doing now: demand a place in his life. Maybe he wasn’t a loner because of his innate personality. Maybe he just didn’t know how else to be.

  She touched his arm. “I’m sorry if I haven’t been a very good sister over the years. I’ll do better.”

  “Bree, you literally saved my life.”

  “You were a baby.”

  “You could have run away. You didn’t. You took me and Erin, and you kept us safe.”

  “I wish we hadn’t been separated after that.” As a child, Bree had
longed for their connection. Whenever she’d had a nightmare, she’d wanted to hold tight to her brother and sister, the way she had under the porch that horrible night. But she’d been alone—isolated.

  “Yeah, me too.”

  “We can’t change the past, Adam, but we can make a new path forward, one of our choosing. We can learn from those mistakes and make sure we don’t make the same ones with Erin’s kids.”

  Adam paused, then asked, “Would you go to the house with me one day, when you have time?”

  The cold sank into Bree’s bones, and her smile was stiff. “Sure. Of course I will.”

  “Thanks. I know you don’t want to.”

  “Maybe it will be good for me. You know, confront the past and all that.” Bree had been avoiding her past all her life. She smiled and cupped his face. “We’ll go together. Thank you for asking me.”

  “I know you don’t mean that, but I appreciate you agreeing anyway.” He gave her a quick hug. “You’re freezing. Go inside.”

  Bree stepped back. He closed his door, and she watched him drive away. Their conversation replayed in her head. She’d thought she knew her brother, but she’d been wrong about so many things. She jogged to the barn and tucked the horses in for the night. Then she ran back to the porch and went into the warm house.

  Dana was in the living room, reading a cookbook and drinking tea. She looked at Bree over her reading glasses. “Is everything all right?”

  “Yes.” Bree had a lot to digest. She wasn’t ready to share Adam’s request with anyone just yet, not even her best friend, not even herself. “I’m going to read to Kayla now.”

  Dana got up and turned off the light. “I’m going to bed too.”

  In Kayla’s room, Bree opened Harry Potter and read for a half hour. She had to admit, she was loving the story as much as Kayla. Maybe she needed to escape into a fantasy world too. She kissed Kayla good night and went into her own room to put on her pajamas. She washed her face, brushed her teeth, and climbed into bed. Fifteen minutes later, a light went on in the hallway. Kayla, Ladybug, and Vader paraded into the room and climbed into bed. The dog and child pressed against Bree. They both needed physical contact with her while they slept. The cat claimed the second pillow.

  Despite her exhaustion, Bree stared at the ceiling while her bedmates breathed deeply, and the dog snored. Her conversation with Adam had brought too many memories flooding back. When she finally dozed off, she dreamed of angry men, gunshots, and a faceless corpse who turned out to be her.

  She woke in the dark with a thumping heart, covered in sweat, and shivering. It took her a few seconds to orient herself to the bedroom.

  Kayla and the dog both raised their heads.

  “Did you have a bad dream?” Kayla asked in a sleepy voice from what sounded like six inches from Bree’s face. The three of them were squeezed onto three feet of mattress. The cat sighed and curled tighter on the other pillow, as if trying to ignore them all was a chore. The entire rest of the bed was empty. Bree thought about sliding out and going around to the other side.

  “Yes.” Bree’s voice was raspy.

  “It’s over now. You’re safe.” Kayla repeated Bree’s words back to her. The little girl shifted closer and flung one skinny arm over Bree’s waist. The dog rolled until her back was pressed against Bree’s leg.

  Bree rested her head against Kayla’s, but she didn’t go back to sleep. It wasn’t worth a repeat of her nightmare. Eventually, the warmth of the extra bodies stopped Bree’s shivering. Maybe living in a crowded house was better than being alone.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  He slowed his car as he passed a bed-and-breakfast. If the sheriff had stashed a homeless witness somewhere, the options in Grey’s Hollow were limited to a few motels and B and Bs. The closest chain hotel was out near the interstate. But a witness would need protection, right? There should be an official vehicle there.

  Two vehicles were parked in the tiny gravel lot: a minivan and a large SUV. No sheriff’s car. Bright exterior lights left no dark areas to conceal a vehicle. So, probably no witness. Pressing the gas pedal, he moved on. He picked up a marker and crossed off the B and B. Next up was the Tall Tree Inn. To be efficient, he’d mapped all the local motels and B and Bs. Tonight, he’d check every possibility.

  He’d find her.

  The Tall Tree Inn was an old, two-story farmhouse with a wraparound porch. The parking lot was full. He eased off the gas pedal as he cruised down the road. None of the vehicles belonged to the sheriff’s department. What were the chances the sheriff wasn’t actively protecting the witness?

  What if he couldn’t find her? She could identify him. His fingerprints and DNA weren’t on file. She could be the only thing to link him to the murders. A stupid girl could take him down.

  He gripped the steering wheel. Anger tightened his fingers until his knuckles ached. He forced them to loosen, making fists and stretching his fingers to relieve the tension.

  Worry knotted his insides like a noose.

  It would be OK. No woman would bring him down, not the girl and not the sheriff either. He’d watched a clip of the new sheriff talking on the news. She looked like a rule follower. She wouldn’t take chances with a witness’s life. She would act predictably.

  But he felt like he was wasting time. The anger built until he could barely breathe.

  He fought the impulse to skip the silencing of the witness and get back to the one thing that released his rage. He replayed the last killing in his mind. He felt the pull of the trigger, and the strikes of the hammer. The so-called athletes had been arrogant. And for what? Playing sports? Being born with good looks? How had that worked out for them in the end? They hadn’t done so well in a real contest of physical and mental superiority. The ease with which he’d overcome them had been the most satisfying thing of all.

  When they’d died, they’d known he was their superior. He was the real alpha dog.

  He pictured their battered corpses sliding under the ice of Grey Lake.

  The steering wheel jerked. He blinked. The dark road reappeared through his windshield. His vehicle drifted off the shoulder and bounced. He yanked the wheel, and the car swerved back onto the highway. His pulse thudded in his head, his lungs burned, and he fought the panic building inside him.

  You’re losing control. You’re going to ruin everything.

  Kill the girl; then you can get back to work.

  He checked the location of the next place on his list, the Evergreen Motel. He entered the address into the GPS on his phone, then followed the audible directions.

  A vacancy sign flashed in front of the Evergreen. Three two-story buildings formed a U shape, with the parking lot in the middle. A sheriff’s cruiser was parked on the left-hand side.

  Excitement buzzed through him.

  She was probably in one of the rooms facing the deputy’s car.

  This is it.

  This was where the sheriff was keeping her witness.

  Relief stomped his earlier fears.

  He drove by the motel. A few miles up the road, he turned around and passed it again. Slowing the car, he raised his phone and took a video. How could he get to her with a deputy outside her room? There had to be a way. He’d need to analyze the property to make a plan.

  He went home and uploaded the video to his computer. Then he entered the address in Google Maps. Behind the motel sat a strip of woods and a rural road that ran through it. Could he park his car back there and approach the motel from the rear? That was risky. He’d be too far from the car, and the deputy would see him anyway.

  He had to think of something else, but it wasn’t going to be easy.

  As soon as he took care of her, he could get back to his real work. Back to his list of people he wanted to kill.

  The ones who needed to die.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Wednesday morning, lack of sleep drove Bree to her darkest sunglasses. The rising sun gleamed on the hood of her vehicle. She parked b
ehind the sheriff’s station and went in through the back door.

  She was hanging up her jacket when Todd appeared in her office doorway. His face was flushed.

  “You look like things have happened already.” She checked her phone. It was seven o’clock.

  “Yes. Several things. Matt’s in the conference room.”

  Already?

  “I’ll be right in. Give me two minutes to check in with Marge.” Rounding her desk, she planted her butt in her chair.

  Todd all but bounced out of the room.

  Marge walked in with a vat-size mug of coffee in her hand.

  Bree waved a hand toward the doorway. “Is he always this obnoxiously bright-eyed this early in the morning?”

  “Yes, but you’re also unusually grumpy.” Marge set the coffee on the desk. “You look like you need this.”

  “Bless you, Marge.” Bree inhaled the steam, then took a long swallow. “I need a bigger mug.”

  “That would be the whole pot. Where is Alyssa?” Marge asked.

  “The motel,” Bree said. “I’ll call her in an hour or so.”

  “OK. Let me know if you need me to arrange her breakfast,” Marge said on her way out.

  Bree took a few more deep swallows of her coffee, then rose and went into the conference room. Matt sat at the table drinking coffee and writing notes.

  Todd was too excited to sit. “Alyssa’s prints were found on her keys and wallet. But not on any of the jewelry.”

  Bree exhaled, aware that she shouldn’t be so relieved. She should be objective.

  Todd leaned both fists on the table, his eyes gleaming. “I’m not done. The footprints and tire tracks from the vacant inn matched the ones at the boat ramp and the cabin. The boot is a common brand and size.” He rattled off a string of numbers that represented a tire size.

  Bree wasn’t a car buff. The numbers didn’t mean much to her. “Is that a common tire?”

  “Unfortunately, it is. But if we find a vehicle, we can confirm if it was at the scenes. Same with the boots,” Todd continued. “Next, forensics got a match on prints from the stolen jewelry.”

  Bree set down her coffee. There was nothing like a solid lead to perk her up.