Within Range

by Janice Kay Johnson

  “Wait right there for me,” she said sternly.

  He bounced on his butt. “Hurry, Mommy.”

  Battling extreme reluctance, she steeled herself to look in the kitchen. She couldn’t let Jacob see the blood...

  But the vinyl floor was spotless. No dead body, no blood.

  Well, she’d known the body would be taken away, but she didn’t think police officers would clean up crime scenes.

  Helen stared. Squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again. Still clean. She’d scrub the floor herself once Jacob was napping, just to be sure, but somebody had done this for her.

  Thinking of the man who managed to be both unrelenting and occasionally thoughtful, she had a good idea who’d done it. The kindness weakened her, even if he’d been thinking about Jacob and not her at all.

  “I want hot dog,” her son reminded her.

  Helen laughed. “Okay, okay!”

  She raced through the house, looking in closets and pushing the shower curtain aside before dashing out to get their bags. She didn’t see a soul. Everyone must be at work, and even Iris’s car was missing.

  Fortunately, Helen found buns in the freezer as well as an unopened package of hot dogs. If she heated a can of baked beans and peeled some carrots, the meal would be perfectly adequate.

  Jacob hadn’t gotten through half of his hot dog and one carrot stick when the doorbell rang. He started wriggling like an eel to slither out of his high chair.

  “No way,” she told him, but had to lift him out to go to the front door. Escape artist that he was, she couldn’t leave him alone for a second when he was high enough to take a fall. He’d figure out how to unsnap the belt anytime now, she felt sure.

  Hand on the dead bolt, she raised her voice. “Who is it?”

  “Detective Renner.”

  With the usual mixed feelings he inspired, she unlocked and opened the door. Jacob bounced in her arms. As soon as he saw the detective, he grinned and exclaimed, “Boo!”

  Renner laughed. “Boo to you, too.”

  Just as well that no two-year-old could grasp the concept of a police officer, or wonder why he kept wanting to talk to mommy.

  “We’re finishing lunch,” she said.

  “No problem.”

  When they got to the kitchen and she lifted Jacob to put him in his high chair, he struggled.

  “No!”

  The debate was short. He was done with lunch, or just refused to be confined again, she wasn’t sure. She had to find one of those plastic seats that would boost him to table height. He’d be a lot happier. It amazed her that her thoughts could seamlessly shift to ordinary mommy mode under the circumstances.

  Helen didn’t let Jacob watch much TV but decided to make an exception. He climbed up onto the sofa, grabbing his blankie, while she pulled up a video.

  She turned to see that Renner waited in the doorway to the kitchen, watching. Of course he was; she might be hiding a cache of diamonds in the cushions of the couch along with all the crumbs.

  Her shoulder brushed his arm when she hurried into the kitchen. Finding she’d lost her own appetite, she cleared the table, then decided grudgingly that she ought to at least offer him a cup of coffee.

  “Instant,” she warned.

  “That’s fine.” His mouth quirked. “I’m not picky.”

  Dumping a spoonful of grounds in her own mug, she said, “A cappuccino would taste really good right now. Unfortunately, having one regularly is not in my budget.”

  “You can dump a lot of money really fast at those coffee drive-throughs,” he agreed. “Although—” He stopped so fast, she almost heard the brakes screeching.

  “Although what?” She eyed him suspiciously.

  He gave his head a shake. “I was going to say something completely inappropriate. Can we forget about it?”

  Inappropriate? What could he have been thinking? Her cheeks felt warm, but she needed to know. Still hovering at the stove, she asked, “If I absolve you in advance, will you tell me?”

  “You can afford the calories. That’s what I was thinking.”

  Oh, good, nice to know he thought she was too skinny. Stress had a way of doing that to her, and she lived with a steady dose. Even pregnant, she’d had trouble gaining enough weight.

  He wouldn’t have been thinking any such thing unless he’d noticed her body in a way that had nothing to do with any crime committed. The recognition he might be attracted to her was only momentary. Yes, he was undeniably sexy. But if all went well, she wouldn’t see him again, because she and Jacob would be as far away as she could manage, as soon as possible.

  Emotions flat again, she poured water into the mugs and carried them to the table. Renner declined her offer of milk and sugar, both of which she dumped generously in her mug.

  “I should be fat,” she said lightly. “Hot dogs, cheeseburgers, macaroni and cheese. We don’t eat the way I did before I had Jacob.”

  The detective laughed. “I’m sure.” He was nice enough not to mention that the foods she’d named also happened to be cheap, not just appealing to a toddler’s taste buds.

  Helen stirred her coffee. Procrastination had its appeal, but she wasn’t a fan. “I don’t understand what it is you think I can tell you,” she said.

  His expression changed. More accurately, vanished. He had a flat, guarded look that might be normal for a cop on the job.

  “When is the last time you saw Andrea Sloan?”

  She shook her head. “You’re looking for some connection that doesn’t exist. But let me think...” Grocery store? No, there’d been once since then. “I was jogging. Mostly, I take Jacob in his stroller, but that day Iris kept him. Andrea runs, too. I’d forgotten that. We came face-to-face, jogged in place for a minute to exchange pleasantries, then went our separate ways. It was...I don’t know, six weeks ago? Two months?”

  “Did you know she jogged?”

  Helen shook her head. “Not until then.”

  “Were you dressed alike?”

  She didn’t like the way he’d fixated on their resemblance. “No, she wore a brand name, formfitting running set and, I’m sure, top-of-the-line running shoes. Me, I wear a T-shirt and sweats or shorts depending on the season and weather.” She remembered inwardly cringing that day at what Andrea probably thought of her outfit.

  “Pleasantries?” he asked.

  “Chilly, but at least it’s not raining. House is still working out great. Nice to see you.”

  A smile showed in his eyes, she’d swear it did.

  “No calls since then?”

  “No.”

  “Can you think of any reason at all she would have wanted to speak to you?”

  “No! It doesn’t make sense. If this weren’t such a small town, I’d have probably never run into her again after I signed the rental agreement. You can see yourself that I haven’t trashed the place—”

  As if she’d crashed into a plate-glass window, a horrifying thought struck her. What if Richard had called or stopped by the real estate office, asking questions about her? Could Andrea have come by to warn her? If Richard or his hired hand had made her nervous enough, she might have let herself into the house to be less visible.

  Yes, but if he’d actually seen Andrea, how could he have made the mistake?

  But he might not have, Helen reminded herself. Andrea’s assistant might have told her that a man was hunting for Helen, or Richard might have called rather than showing up in person.

  Helen jumped up. “I have to check on Jacob.” She found him asleep, thumb slipping out of his mouth.

  With the remote, she turned off the movie and TV, then gently picked him up. She straightened, to see that, once again, Renner had followed. “Naptime,” she murmured.

  He nodded.

  At least he didn’t follow her. Jacob never opened his
eyes as she laid him down and tucked him in, then pulled his door almost closed.

  Renner didn’t return to his seat at the kitchen table until she did.

  “You thought of something, didn’t you?”

  Her heart picked up tempo. “Something?”

  “About Ms. Sloan.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said flatly.

  He studied her speculatively. “Oh, I think you do.”

  “I had nothing to do with a woman I hardly know getting murdered in my kitchen.” That sounded almost panicky. What did it matter? But she had to get rid of him. “I don’t want to talk to you anymore without a lawyer.”

  * * *

  WHATEVER SHE’D THOUGHT had scared the life out of her, and, man, Seth wanted to know what it was. Almost forty-eight hours had passed since Andrea Sloan had died, and he had no more idea why she’d been killed now than he had at the beginning. The one and only person he’d spoken to during this investigation who was acting squirrely was this woman. And he wanted to know why.

  “I haven’t accused you of anything,” he said mildly. “I don’t believe you killed Ms. Sloan.” Which was true. But she knew something, he’d bet on it.

  She crossed her arms, as if holding herself together. “Is your name Seth?”

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry—” Hot spots of color appeared on her cheekbones.

  “Don’t be sorry.”

  “It’s not like I’d use—I mean, I’ll still call you Detective—I just...” She shook her head, unable or unwilling to explain.

  He could hope she would be less intimidated if she thought of him by his first name—except that he needed her running a little scared of him.

  And, yeah, he hated that.

  “Where did you live before you rented this place?” he asked abruptly.

  Any color had drained from her face. “Los Angeles. North Hollywood, to be exact.”

  Truth, he thought. “Why did you move?”

  “I wanted to raise Jacob someplace where we could get to know our neighbors, where he could safely ride a bike when he gets old enough. I spotted a listing for my current job online, researched the area and applied.”

  That sounded reasonable, although he wondered. “Does Jacob’s father see him?”

  Her back stiffened. “He didn’t want children and has no interest in Jacob.”

  Now there, Seth thought, was a lie. “Where does he live?”

  “LA.”

  “His name?”

  “Richard—” Anger flared in her eyes. “It’s none of your business. You can’t contact him!”

  Her alarm was very real, but Seth reminded himself that there could be a lot of reasons for her sensitivity with the subject that had absolutely nothing to do with the murder he was investigating. If she’d been an abused woman, for example, he didn’t want to draw the abuser’s attention to her, or the boy. On the other hand, what if she didn’t have legal custody? That would explain some of what he was seeing, and it wasn’t something he could ignore as an officer of the law. One thing he did know: Jacob was her son. Their resemblance was unmistakable.

  Right now, he’d lose her if he kept pushing.

  “You color your hair,” he heard himself say.

  She jerked back and lifted a hand to her head. “What makes you say that?” Her lips thinned as she realized she’d given herself away. “That really isn’t any of your business.”

  No, it wasn’t, but he’d been intrigued by her creamy skin from their first meeting. She had a redhead’s complexion, freckles and a redheaded son.

  “That was intrusive,” he agreed. “I apologize. You have beautiful skin, and it made me think—” Damn, he was stepping in it here.

  Helen Boyd studied him from those gold-flecked caramel eyes that were every bit as pretty as her skin. Then she sighed. “Yes, I color my hair. I always hated being a redhead.”

  “What about your eyebrows?” His mouth was running away from him.

  “I...sometimes touch them up.” She blushed, something she must do easily with that skin.

  For a minute that stretched too long, they stared at each other. He drank in the rare sight of her sitting absolutely still, her lips parted as if she’d been on the verge of speaking. Her chin, he couldn’t help noticing, was a little on the square, stubborn side.

  She was the first to wrench her gaze away. “Are you done with your questions?”

  “Yes.” Seth had to clear his throat. “For now.”

  What had he been thinking? Coming on to a person of interest, if not a suspect, in an investigation was inexcusable. He had to get out of here, now, before he couldn’t resist touching her.

  Helen didn’t even stand when he did, although when he reached the front door he realized she had followed, still keeping her distance. Seth opened the door and turned to face her.

  “Let me repeat that I’m here to help, if you need it. You’re worried about something. I wish you’d tell me what.”

  He might as well not have bothered to speak. She’d shuttered her expression and only waited. He’d go, but needed to be sure she’d taken seriously his concern about her security.

  “Have you spoken to your landlord?”

  “I left a message at the property management company, but I also called a locksmith. He’s supposed to be here at four to change the locks.”

  “Good,” Seth said softly. He nodded and left.

  * * *

  HELEN LOCKED THE door then slumped against it, feeling so much she couldn’t identify.

  Had any man ever looked at her like that?

  Yes, the last time she was attracted to one. Richard.

  His burning gaze had convinced her he wanted her desperately, loved her. She’d been such a fool, let herself be manipulated, controlled. Never again, she’d vowed. Not a vow she could afford to forget. So why was she getting weak in the knees because Seth Renner had implied he thought she was beautiful, had claimed she could depend on him?

  Oh, the answer was simple enough. She had needs, but unlike women who allowed themselves to be deluded over and over again, Helen wouldn’t dare succumb to temptation. Her fierce need to protect Jacob would keep her from being that dumb. Even if she met a wonderful man who truly was everything he seemed to be, she’d have to lie to him, and what kind of relationship would that be? Lies corroded. Lies kept her from making friends, even.

  For Jacob, she’d do anything.

  While he napped, she’d make a plan instead of letting her thoughts run in panicked circles.

  Helen went back to the kitchen, dumped out both mugs of barely touched coffee, and fetched a pen, notepad and her last bank statement. She had never done online banking. That took another kind of trust.

  Would Seth... No, no, no. Would Detective Renner think to flag her bank account? Ask the bank, maybe, to inform him if she closed out the account, or withdrew a substantial amount of the balance? Could he do that legally?

  Sure he could. All he’d have to do was get a warrant.

  Well then, she’d assume he had. If she dared take at least a few days, even a week, she could stop by an ATM daily. She had to believe that Richard wouldn’t be an immediate threat. Even he might have been shaken to discover he’d killed the wrong woman.

  What if he thought he’d been pursuing the wrong woman? That Andrea lived in this house—she’d had a key, after all—that there’d been a mistake made and his ex-wife wasn’t actually in the vicinity? Hope shimmered briefly as Helen wondered if Richard had gone back to Seattle to berate his private detective for being wrong?

  The hope was shortlived. He would have checked the ID in Andrea’s purse. The license plate on her car. Neither would match the name of the woman who rented this house, the one the private detective had identified as her.

  Still, he’d back
off, surely, until the investigation petered out and a cop wasn’t coming by the house daily.

  She hadn’t checked him out online in at least a week, and obviously that had been a mistake. Helen opened her laptop and entered his name.

  He popped up immediately in a Seattle Times article about a political event held yesterday evening. She kept searching, found mention of a dinner he was to host this coming Saturday to raise money for a congressional candidate launching a primary assault on an incumbent who had probably infuriated Richard by ignoring his advice.

  Helen sat thinking. Saturday was two days away. Portland wasn’t that long a drive from Seattle. Still, he’d want to be careful. When he first began hitting her, she’d thought he was losing his temper, that he lacked self-control but was genuinely shocked and sorry. Over months she came to understand that he was never careless in a way that might come back to reflect on him. No, his sense of self-preservation was finely tuned.

  She’d have until Sunday or even Monday, she decided. She could mostly empty her bank account with three-to five-hundred-dollar withdrawals, followed by a bigger one on her way out of town. And, of course, she had the emergency cash she kept stashed in the to-go bags tucked behind some junk in the garage.

  That would give her time this weekend to prowl a cemetery or two in Portland—or better yet, across the river in Vancouver, Washington. Surely, she could find the grave of a girl child who, if she’d lived, would be close to Helen’s age. Once she and Jacob were a safe distance away, she’d request a birth certificate.

  Tomorrow, she’d better go back to work. She needed to live as unremarkably as possible until she was ready to go.

  Chapter Four

  “Mommy! Don’t go!” Tears pouring down his face, Jacob clung with all his strength to Helen’s neck.

  Close to crying herself, she continued to kneel just inside the front door of the day care, holding him. Jenna Fischer, the young woman who operated the home day care, crouched, too.

  “Jacob,” she coaxed, “Neil’s been waiting for you to play trucks with him.”