She Can Tell

by Melinda Leigh

  Mike scanned the wooded shoreline. Lost Lake had been little more than a deep, muddy hole until developers had run out of waterfront property on more-accessible lakes in the area. In the past six months, neatly spaced lots had been bulldozed free of trees and awaited construction of oversized vacation McCabins. Periodic blasting took care of rocky areas. An underwater survey was in progress to dredge the swampy lake for boating and fishing. Part of the shore was being cleared. Sand would be hauled in to make pretty, fake beaches for city people who wanted weekend nature retreats without all the mess and fuss of actual nature. Westbury was less than two hours from both Philadelphia and New York. Plus, Harmon Properties had recently announced its desire to build a hotel and resort on the south shore of the lake. The developer was scheduled to make a presentation at Tuesday’s town council meeting, which Mike expected to be a total mess.

  He drew in a deep breath. The scents of decaying leaves, moist soil, and pine were decimated by the nasty odors emanating from the flattened port-a-johns. “Mr. Harmon, I understand your frustration, but I’ve pointed out several times, the township police force isn’t equipped to provide twenty-four-hour security to private businesses.”

  Vince’s thin face flushed deep red to the roots of his receding hairline. “We’ve never needed outside security in the past. When Bart Howell was chief, we never had crime like this.”

  “Things have changed over the last decade,” Mike said. “In light of the recent increase in crime, I would suggest we expand our police force. A few more officers would go a long way toward providing better coverage.”

  Population-wise, Westbury was a small community, but the township encompassed a large chunk of rural acreage. Mike’s five-member force, currently reduced to four officers, was inadequate without the problems at Lost Lake. Their backup, state and county law enforcement, was spread equally thin.

  “You know that’s not in the budget, Mike,” Fred clucked. “And raising taxes isn’t an option.”

  The mayor’s condescending tone made Mike’s teeth ache.

  Harmon tilted a lean face. “This project is a boost to the local economy. We’re employing construction workers and administrative staff. We’re paying property taxes. The sales of these units will increase the taxpayer base and increase revenues for local businesses. I’d hate to see it all fall through.”

  “Can’t afford to lose the jobs, Mike.” Fred’s head bobbed like bobblehead doll.

  Mike put on his serious, neutral face. “Look, I’d love to help you out, Mr. Harmon, but I don’t have the manpower. I’ve suggested several times that your company hire outside security.” Mike turned to the mayor. “Fred, if you have a suggestion about how to cover this amount of territory with five officers and no overtime, I’m happy to listen.”

  “There’s always one officer on patrol, right?” Fred asked.

  “Yes.” Mike tensed.

  “I don’t see why that officer can’t park on this road during his overnight shift.”

  “We have a few thousand other residents to protect,” Mike said. “Harmon Properties can’t monopolize the police force.”

  Harmon crossed his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow at Vince, not Fred, Mike noted. And the look that passed between the two men suggested they were keeping something important out of the conversation. A full background check on Lawrence Harmon went on Mike’s to-do list.

  Mike’s phone buzzed. He pulled it from his pocket. “Excuse me. I need to answer this.” He turned his back on them and strode toward his truck.

  “You’re on shaky ground, O’Connell,” Vince called out. “Watch your step.”

  Mike pivoted. He stared at Fred. The mayor shifted his gaze away from Mike’s to study the submerged bulldozer. Hmm. Did that mean Fred was indecisive as usual or that he was going to backstab Mike? The council was split down the middle on most matters, and Fred’s deciding vote wavered with public opinion.

  Mike cell phone buzzed again, sparing him the necessity of a response. He glanced at the display. Sean, returning Mike’s earlier call.

  Mike retreated to his vehicle before punching the talk button.

  “You called?” Sean asked.

  “Yeah. I need a favor—”

  “Says the guy who turned down my invite to a barbecue and pissed off my wife,” Sean interrupted.

  “Come on, Sean. I really need your help. I’m serious.”

  “So am I. You need a favor? Get your lame ass over here and ask me in person. While you’re here, you can score a decent meal and convince my wife you’re alive. Then I’ll think about this favor you so desperately need.”

  “You suck.” Mike started the engine. “I don’t have time to party this afternoon.”

  “What can I say? Happy wife, happy life. If you hurry up, we can talk before everyone else gets here.” Sean clicked off.

  Mike tossed his phone on the passenger seat and suppressed a primal scream. Did everybody have him by the short hairs?

  Terror rose in Rachel’s throat. Sarah was alone up at the house, and Mrs. Holloway was due back with the girls at any moment. Rachel rose onto her knees. Pain burst through her head as she banged it on a piece of pipe. Scant light filtered in through a narrow window high on one wall. Using a chink in the mortar as a foothold, she hoisted herself up to peer out the window. A dark shape disappeared into the woods.

  Thank God he’d run away instead of going up to the house.

  She picked up her flashlight from the floor where she’d dropped it and switched it on. The beam shone on the brown body of a wild rabbit stretched out on the dirt floor. A six-inch metal spike protruded from the middle of its body. The pool of blood seeping into the earth around it seemed way too large for such a small creature.

  Lightheaded, she looked away. Tiny stars swam in front of her eyes as she surveyed the inside of her well house.

  She swept the light around the dim interior; a few broken pipes and some ripped-out electrical wires littered the floor, but the storage tank in the corner was merely dinged. It appeared that she’d interrupted her vandal before he completely destroyed the larger equipment.

  On the wall, words were painted in a dark red substance she doubted was paint.

  Roses are red.

  Violets are blue.

  You’re a nosy whore,

  And I’m going to kill you.

  An image sliced through the haze; a hulking silhouette covered in blood. Her knees wobbled. Straightening, she walked to the door, twisted the knob, and pushed. It was stuck. She pushed harder. No give.

  She was locked in.

  Trapped.

  She closed her eyes and breathed. Composure, control, and a calm mind were the keys to defeating her fears. Everything would be fine.

  She patted her back pocket. Empty. Her cell phone was in the kitchen. Rachel looked toward the small window. Dust motes swirled in the light angling through the dirty glass. Even if she could climb up there, she’d never be able to squeeze through. The door was the only exit.

  Relax. Sarah or Mrs. Holloway would miss her eventually. Someone would come looking for her. But the white walls seemed like they were getting closer, the air thicker.

  She tried to insert the blade of her pocketknife between the door and the jamb in the approximate location of the door handle. Too tight. The wood was swollen from the recent rains. Rachel wiggled the blade, her chest constricting as the point refused to go in.

  “Rachel?” Mrs. Holloway’s voice was muffled through the door.

  “In here,” Rachel yelled. She banged on the door with the butt of the flashlight. A few minutes later, the door rattled.

  “Give me a minute,” Mrs. Holloway shouted.

  Seconds ticked by in silence, followed by a bang, some scraping, and the creaking sound of wood being pried apart. The door opened. Fresh air blew in, along with Mrs. Holloway. She clenched a crowbar in one arthritic hand. The older woman was flushed and out of breath. “Goodness.”

  Behind Mrs. Holloway, a
thick board lay on the grass. “That was nailed across the door. What happened?”

  “Someone locked me in here. After he did this.” Rachel stepped aside.

  Mrs. Holloway peered into the building. She scanned the damage. Her eyes widened as she read the threatening poem. She pressed a palm to the center of her frail chest. “Oh, my. Just now?”

  “I’m not sure how long ago.” It felt like hours since Rachel had been locked in. She tilted her head to read Mrs. Holloway’s watch. Time did not fly during a panic attack. “Less than twenty minutes.”

  “That’s even worse that the last one.” The flush on her neighbor’s face paled. “I thought Troy was still in jail.”

  “He is.”

  “Oh.” Mrs. Holloway wiped a hand on dark jeans ironed to a sharp crease. “So you don’t know who did this?”

  “No. I didn’t get a look at him either.”

  Mrs. Holloway cast a nervous glance at the tree line, now thick, impenetrable with early evening shadows. “We should get back to the house.”

  And lock the door.

  Rachel’s foot slipped on a patch of wet grass. Mrs. Holloway righted her with a hand on her forearm. In her other hand, she still held the crowbar. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” Rachel pasted a smile on her face. But from her neighbor’s suspicious frown, Rachel doubted she was fooling Mrs. Holloway any more than she was kidding herself. Sweat was pooling at her lower back, and her heart was hammering like it’d been cast as a lead in Stomp. She had no idea who was behind today’s prank. Troy she could predict to a certain extent, but this…

  How could she rate a danger she couldn’t identify?

  Mrs. Holloway tugged on Rachel’s arm. “Don’t touch anything. He may have left fingerprints or DNA evidence.”

  Her sweet neighbor was a rabid crime show fan. The bloodier the better. Rachel followed obediently as she was led toward the house.

  “And we’ll call Michael,” Mrs. Holloway said.

  “Michael?”

  “The chief of police.”

  Oh. Right. Him. Rachel’s pulse did a quick rat-a-tat-tat. Cripes. She needed to get a grip.

  “That’s not necessary. I’ll just call the station,” Rachel protested. The chief of police already had way too much interest in her. The last thing she needed right now was the laser focus of his blue eyes slicing through her I-can-handle-it charade.

  “Nonsense. I have his cell number. I’ve known him since he was in my fourth grade class. I’m positive he’ll want to handle this personally.” Mrs. Holloway guided Rachel across the grass to the back stoop. The grip of her crooked fingers was surprisingly strong. “You should write the details down before you forget anything.”

  Rachel suppressed a shudder. No matter how hard she tried, there were some things she would never forget.

  Chapter Six

  Steeling himself for the inevitable third degree, Mike pulled up to Sean’s house, a modern cedar-sided two-story built on five acres of wooded mountainside. A bright gold and red collage of turning foliage framed the structure. Quinn’s minivan was parked out front. Not in the mood for the doctor’s scrutiny, Mike bypassed the front door. The faint whir of discreet security cameras shadowed him as he followed the smell of grilling meat around to the back deck.

  “There you are.” Sean lifted the lid on a cooler and pulled out a dripping bottle. “Beer?”

  “No thanks.”

  Twisting the cap off his beer, Sean gave Mike the fish eye. “Don’t tell me you’re still working.”

  “I’m not.” Not officially anyway. He helped himself to an iced tea from a glass pitcher on the table.

  “Bullshit. You’re dressed in police chief casual.” His friend frowned as he lifted the lid of his enormous grill to baste three racks of ribs. “When was the last time you took a vacation?”

  The smoky scent of meat and barbecue sauce wafted across the deck. Mike’s stomach growled. “I have no idea.”

  “You look like you’ve been mostly dead all day. You’d better take some time off soon, or I’m siccing Quinn on you.” Sean emphasized his point with giant tongs.

  “My ears are ringing over here.” Quinn stepped through the slider onto the deck. The door closed, muffling the sounds of kids and commotion inside. He handed his brother a plate of raw hamburgers and headed for the cooler.

  Both brothers were tall and blond, but Quinn was merely runner fit, while Sean looked like he could still fastrope off a helicopter with a hundred pounds of gear on his back.

  “Just commenting on Mike’s overall crappy appearance.” Sean moved food around on the grill.

  Twisting the cap off a Bud Light, Quinn gave Mike the once-over. “You do look like shit.”

  “Gee, thanks.” Mike grabbed a pretzel.

  “I mean it. You are dead-fish pasty. I know I’m usually ragging on you to ease up on the weightlifting, but not today. You’ve lost weight. On the bright side, it’s probably the first time in years you’ve been able to fasten the neck on that shirt.” Quinn crossed his arms over his chest. “You used to be Mr. Disgustingly Healthy. What the hell happened?”

  Neither the pretzel, the iced tea, nor his friends’ nagging was helping the burn that was working its way up into Mike’s chest. “Christ. Are you two going to tag-team me? I have enough stress.”

  Quinn’s eyes zeroed in on the hand Mike was unconsciously pressing to his sternum. Shit. Mike shoved his hand into his pocket. Truth was, it was getting bad enough he’d actually considered calling Quinn last week, and that was before Troy Mitchell went ape-shit.

  Quinn lowered his voice. “I haven’t forgotten your, uhm, aversion to the hospital. I’ll see you in Claire’s office, and we’ll arrange the test in an offsite facility. You trust me, right?”

  Mike squirmed. He was only slightly less phobic about going to Quinn’s wife’s family practice.

  “I’ll get him there if I have to ambush and drug him,” Sean volunteered with a feral smile that indicated that he’d enjoy a kidnapping.

  “This week.” Quinn gave his younger brother a nod before turning back to Mike. “In the meantime, lay off the coffee, eat regular meals, and try to close your eyes at some point.”

  Mike’s sigh was his admission of defeat. Neither Quinn nor Sean would give up. They were a pain in the butt that way. The Wilson brothers were also the closest thing he had to family.

  A woman called Quinn’s name, and he went back into the house, leaving Mike and Sean alone on the deck. A breeze rustled through the trees. Leaves tumbled along the back lawn.

  “Now tell me about this favor,” Sean said.

  “I need you to put in a security system for Rachel Parker.”

  “No problem.” Sean sipped his beer.

  “I don’t think she has any money.”

  Sean shrugged. “Also not a problem. We’ll work something out.”

  “And Troy’s bail hearing is tomorrow. He’ll be out by lunch.”

  “Then I’ll shift some things around in the morning and be at her house in the afternoon. We can get a basic system up and running in a couple of days.”

  “Thanks.”

  The sound of a car door slamming signaled the arrival of another guest.

  “Who else is coming?” Mike asked.

  “Just Jack and Beth and the kids.”

  Guilt flooded Mike. Through the sliders, he watched the happy chaos as Jack and his new family entered. Jack’s fiancée, Beth, rose up on her toes to kiss Quinn on the cheek. She was small and delicate, her pregnancy barely showing on her tiny frame. The thought of her in a killer’s hands was a shaft of guilt that skewered Mike like a shish kebab.

  Jack looked up, saw Mike and Sean, and headed for the deck. As he opened the door, his German shepherd, Henry, bolted through the opening. The big dog greeted Mike with the usual slobbery enthusiasm before turning his attention to the smells emanating from the grill.

  “Don’t even think about it, Henry,” Sean warned, closing the
grill lid.

  Leaning on his cane, Jack limped over and sank into a patio chair with a grimace. “How’ve you been, Mike?”

  “Fine. You?” Before Jack could respond, Mike reached into his pocket. “Excuse me.” He pulled out his not-vibrating phone. Pretending to read the display, he backed away. “I have to go. Sorry.”

  “Hey, you didn’t eat yet,” Sean yelled, but Mike was already jogging back to his truck. What he needed was a few hours of solid sleep, not the living reminder of how his failure to catch the Riverside Killer had almost cost Beth her life. But he’d just turned onto the main road that led toward his small house in town when his phone vibrated for real. He glanced at the display. Alarm rushed through him. Lying had its price, and fate was going to make him pay up.

  Rachel shivered in the damp evening air. All business, Mike finished writing her statement in his notepad. Had she misread him that morning? God knew her people skills could use some work. Kids and animals were so much simpler.

  She rubbed her arms, then lifted her chin and straightened her spine. “He took me totally by surprise.” Which shouldn’t have happened. But she’d never expected anyone to be in the building. Not when Troy was still in jail. Sure, Mike had suspected another person was involved all along, but Rachel hadn’t wanted to believe it. No getting around the truth now.

  Someone besides her brother-in-law hated her enough to go to some serious effort to hurt her. Sarah’s theory was that Rachel had been attacked by one of Troy’s friends. He had a whole contingent of low-life drinking buddies to pick from. On top of the immediate property damage, Troy could claim his daughters weren’t safe at Rachel’s place. It was a perfect setup.

  Mike squinted at his notes. “Let me get this straight. You saw that the lock had been cut, you went in anyway, and then you were surprised that someone was in there?”

  Rachel didn’t miss the edge in the big cop’s voice. His emotions were ruthlessly controlled, but she sensed the anger simmering beneath his calm façade. He paced the grass in the fading twilight. His body was stiff, and his movements lacked their usual athletic grace. And really, could she blame him for being frustrated with her? She was frustrated with herself. Rushing into the well house had been dumber than dumb. “In hindsight, it wasn’t my best decision.”