by Debra Webb
This had to stop.
“Why don’t you tell us what to do,” Kira demanded, sliding off her stool and coming to stand toe to toe with Lacy. “You’re the one getting the calls. You’re the one with Chief Summers following you around.”
An ache of disappointment, mostly at herself, settled deep into Lacy’s bones. “You’re right. I’m the one who got the calls. I should have been the one who was murdered.”
“No!” Melinda planted herself firmly between them. “I know you don’t mean that.” She turned to Kira. “We have to stick together. Isn’t that what Cassidy would want us to do? We’ve always been there for each other. Are we going to fracture during the biggest crisis of our lives? What kind of friends are we?”
Melinda was right. “I’m sorry,” Lacy said wearily. “I’m not thinking very clearly. You can’t imagine how awful it was to see her like that.”
“My question is, what was Summers thinking?” Kira shook her head slowly from side to side. “He’s trying to get you to talk, Lacy. He’s not going to stop. Not until you cave. We’re all depending on you and I’m not so sure you’re that dependable anymore.”
The accusation stabbed straight into Lacy’s heart, but the fighter in her rushed back with a punch of her own. “You think he has any more of a hold on me than Deputy Brewer has on you?”
Disbelief flared in Kira’s wide gaze. “You don’t know anything about Brad. We…”
“Were involved?” Lacy suggested. “That was easy to see.”
“Are you accusing me of something?” Kira demanded, her arms folded over her chest, and her chin thrust out belligerently.
Lacy took a mental step back. She couldn’t let this get so far out of control. They were already on the verge of a major breakdown in their relationship. This whole thing was tearing them apart. “I’m just saying that whatever went on between you and Brad doesn’t mean you’re up to something behind our backs, any more than this thing between Rick and me means the same about me.”
“That’s right,” Melinda put in quickly. “Rick had a thing for you.” She turned to Kira. “And, apparently, Brad had or has one for you. But none of that means anything, given what we have to do. Cassidy said we had to stand strong. We have to stick together and protect one another. They don’t have any evidence against us. The case will fall apart. Remember?”
Somehow all of that, which had sounded so logical a few days ago, didn’t quite cut it now. Someone knew their secret…that same someone obviously wanted them dead. There was nothing rational or logical about any of this.
“None of us are thinking straight just now,” Lacy admitted, too tired to analyze anymore. “Why don’t we just call it a night and we’ll talk after the service tomorrow?”
“That sounds reasonable to me,” Melinda said quickly. “Anything we say tonight we’ll likely regret tomorrow.”
That was the smartest thing any of them had said all day.
“I can stay with Melinda tonight,” Kira offered.
“Why don’t we all stay together,” Lacy offered. “We’ll be safer that way.” And we’ll know exactly what the other is up to, she didn’t add. But she didn’t have to—she could see that very conclusion in Kira’s eyes. God, she hated the feeling of insecurity and helplessness.
She realized at that exact moment what had really been bothering her for ten long years. She hadn’t killed Charles, so it really wasn’t guilt—it was insecurity. The dynamics of Melinda’s, Kira’s, Cassidy’s and her relationship had changed that night. The possibly of their secret being discovered had loomed over their heads ever since. All the feelings of safety and future happiness she’d had were shrouded in the ever-present uncertainty of what could happen. Lacy couldn’t have been the only one who felt that way. The others had to have experienced their own insecurities related to what they’d done.
“I’m sorry,” Kira said, moving away from the group. “If I’m not needed, I’d just as soon go home. You go ahead and stay, Lacy.”
Melinda saw her to the door. They hugged and gave final assurances. Lacy stood back and watched. No matter what Melinda said, Lacy was the one left on the outside. There was something she couldn’t quite identify that separated her from the others when it came to that night ten years ago. Her every suggestion was taken as an affront.
Would any of them survive long enough to figure out what really happened?
Melinda closed and locked the door behind Kira, then made her way back to where Lacy waited. “Let’s call it a night, Lace. I can’t bear to be awake anymore. I need to go to sleep and pretend none of this ever happened.”
But it had and there was no going back now. Melinda was right, though, she looked ready to collapse. They should end this day, the sooner the better.
Lacy lay in bed in Melinda’s guest room that night and listened as Melinda spoke to her daughter by phone. Apparently the Ashlands had felt sorry for her because of Cassidy’s murder and had agreed to a late-night call. The relief and tenderness in Melinda’s voice spoke of just how badly she missed her daughter.
Melinda hadn’t mentioned Chuckie in the past few days. There had to be tension between mother and son considering his father’s remains had just been found. Despite the idea that his father had been declared dead three years ago, it was another story altogether to have his brutal murder surface.
The newspapers and most news channels were carrying constant updates on the case. The kids didn’t need any of this. Melinda didn’t need it, either.
In the beginning Lacy had felt certain she, Kira and Cassidy would get over all of this pretty quickly, but that wasn’t the case. Someone wanted to make them regret what they’d done that night and they had succeeded.
Lacy had wished a million times over that she’d stood up to the others that night, that she’d been stronger. But she hadn’t been, and now they were paying for what they’d done.
Charles Ashland, Junior, would have the last laugh after all.
Rick tried to find a comfortable way to sit in his truck as midnight approached, but nothing he did made a difference. He wasn’t ever going to be comfortable as long as his thoughts were on Lacy Oliver. He’d learned that fifteen long years ago. Too bad he hadn’t learned his lesson well enough.
If he had, maybe he wouldn’t be sitting here wishing he was in there in bed with her instead of in this damned truck doing surveillance. Brewer was watching Kira’s house.
They had all the bases covered, but would it be enough?
Someone clearly suspected that these women had killed Charles ten years ago, and apparently this same person had decided to have his or her vengeance.
Rick hoped Cassidy Collins hadn’t died for nothing. If her death could save the others by prompting one or all to come forward, maybe all would not be for naught.
But how did he get that across to Lacy?
She’d been too emotionally wrecked to pressure this morning. But tomorrow, after the service, he intended to interrogate her. If his observations were correct so far, it would be Kira’s turn to stay with Melinda. That meant Lacy would be alone. He would make his move then.
He felt like a dirtbag even plotting such a thing with her friend lying on a slab in the morgue. But it was the only way he knew to protect her. She could be the next person on the killer’s list.
Or, hell, maybe the whole thing was a ploy to throw off his investigation. He couldn’t be sure, wouldn’t overlook any variables until he had some solid evidence.
Whether or not finding Pamela Carter’s remains would prove beneficial to the case or only open up another can of worms was yet to be seen.
They had determined, based on dental records, that the remains did indeed belong to Pamela. Rick had given the news to her father, who took it as if he’d expected as much.
Preliminary finding on cause of death was a gunshot since a slug had been discovered in the grave site. The slug was at ballistics right now. Rick had pulled a few strings to get a report back ASAP. He needed to know i
f the .38 slug matched either of the ones discovered with Ashland’s body.
That would put a whole different spin on who may have killed Ashland.
Rick didn’t want to believe it, but it was looking more and more like Melinda had the most reason to do the deed. And there was that slight discrepancy as to whether or not she had been in her hospital room the entire time in question that day.
There was always her brother. Rick had considered him before, but Taylor’s reports had indicated that his alibi was rock solid. But how could he be sure when time of death couldn’t be pinpointed? He couldn’t.
No one could.
Except the killer himself—or herself.
Rick’s cell phone vibrated against the dash where he’d tossed it.
“Summers.”
“Chief, this is Kilgore.”
Anticipation lit in Rick’s veins. Kilgore was standing by in Birmingham with the lab tech for the preliminary ballistics results.
“What’ve you got for me, Kilgore?”
“It’s a match, Chief. No question. One of the thirty-eights used on Charles Ashland, Junior, is the same weapon used to kill Pamela Carter.”
And there it was, his first piece of solid evidence.
Chapter 13
It rained the entire morning before Cassidy’s memorial service.
At two o’clock the Episcopal Church of Jackson County filled quickly with mourners and perhaps a few who were simply curious onlookers. The idea of confining the service to the family and close friends had apparently been overridden by the community’s need to come out and show its support in one way or another.
Rick and his deputies were keeping the media at bay. Lacy felt intensely grateful for that measure.
She’d lain in bed alone last night, thinking that she was actually more alone at that moment than ever before in her life. There wasn’t a significant other; her relationship with her lifelong best friends was falling apart right before her eyes. In addition, she felt like a stranger in her parents’ home. Their flight from Bermuda had been delayed for at least two more days due to a rare yet imminent category-three hurricane. They almost never happened in June. Just Lacy’s luck one had to occur now when she needed all the support she could get.
Ten years ago she had made the biggest mistake of her life. She’d allowed a Pandora’s box to be opened and she couldn’t close it. That step had driven a wedge between her and all she’d ever known and all she’d ever hoped to be.
Every single person gathered in this church had watched her, Kira and Melinda take their seats. Lacy hadn’t missed the suspicious looks…the whispers behind hands. The whole town suspected that the four of them had murdered Charles Ashland, Junior, dumped his body in the lake and now that long-buried secret had come back to haunt them in the worst way.
She imagined they also wondered which of them would be the next to die at the hands of Charles’s unknown avenger.
Lacy shivered when she recalled the way Nigel Canton and Bent Thompson had looked at them as they’d passed down the long aisle to sit close to Cassidy’s family.
Had one of them killed Cassidy? Was Nigel or Bent attempting to cover his own part in the events of ten years ago by diverting suspicions toward them using this elaborate revenge scheme? Honestly, outside of Charles’s parents she couldn’t imagine anyone wanting revenge for his murder. And, God knows, with the security at the senator’s house, there was no way he or his wife went anywhere without someone knowing it.
Stop it. She didn’t want to think about any of it anymore. She just wanted to get through this.
The Ashlands had even shown up for the service. Lacy wasn’t sure why she was surprised by that since the Ashlands had been friends with the Collinses for as long as she could remember, the same as her own parents had. Her parents were deeply saddened that they couldn’t be there.
Lacy stared up at the priest, who spoke of salvation and hope. It felt like a nightmare come true. How could this be real?
How could Cassidy be dead?
Another wave of emotion welled inside Lacy, making her want to wither into a mass of tears. Cassidy hadn’t deserved this kind of end. She’d had so much to give. Her life had scarcely gotten started.
Lacy couldn’t help thinking that maybe it wouldn’t have happened if…circumstances had been different.
They had sentenced Charles to that watery grave for an entire decade and now he was back, wreaking the same old havoc in all their lives.
Only this time, there was no turning back.
Dead was dead.
And Cassidy was dead.
Melinda reached over and took Lacy’s hand in hers and held on tightly. Lacy tried to be consoled by the gesture, but she couldn’t muster the necessary strength. Things would never be the same for any of them.
Cassidy was gone.
The service droned on for another half hour before people rose and started to file out of the church. Melinda held on tightly to Lacy and Kira as they exited the service together. United, just the way Cassidy would have wanted them. Only this time it was more show than anything. Everything had changed.
Lacy noticed Rick immediately. He stood very close to the steps, ready to move in if he was needed. She recognized several other deputies, like Brad Brewer, stationed about the parking area to control the crowd of media vultures restricted from the event.
For the umpteenth time since coming back home she wished she could run into his arms and hide there. It had been ages since she’d felt the need to seek shelter in the strength only a man could offer, but this afternoon she felt the urge stronger than ever before.
She wanted desperately to feel safe and secure again.
From the church the three of them rode in silence with Kira’s parents to the Collinses’ home for a more private gathering to honor Cassidy.
Lacy wished she could just go home and go to sleep. She didn’t want to face this for one second longer, but she had to do it for Cassidy and her family. They would be hurt if she left too early.
She wandered around the luxuriously appointed great room and took her time admiring framed photograph after photograph of Cassidy. An only child, like Lacy, she would be sorely missed. Lacy couldn’t imagine how her parents would survive this kind of terrible tragedy. How did anyone recover from the loss of a child, even if that child was all grown up?
She’d hugged and been hugged by so many people that she felt numb with the condolences. Not that she regretted having taken in those caring words and reminders of moments from the past. She was just tired, that was all.
The beautiful framed photograph of Cassidy standing proudly in the center of a table with a flickering candle on either side of it made Lacy feel incredibly sorry for how off-kilter their time together had been since returning to Ashland. She wished she could take back some of the tension she and Cassidy had experienced during the past few days.
But you couldn’t take back some things and that stressful time was one of them. The opportunity was gone.
Cassidy was dead…murdered.
The four of them were no more. Now only three remained.
Lacy couldn’t be in this house a second longer. She had to go.
It took her a couple of minutes to locate Melinda. “I have to go,” she said, without bothering to tack on an excuse. She couldn’t help it. She couldn’t breathe…couldn’t think.
“But we came with Kira’s parents,” Melinda reminded softly. “We should—”
Lacy held up her hands to stop whatever else she intended to say. “It’s okay. I’ll walk.”
With Melinda still attempting to persuade her to stay, Lacy hurried out of the house. She couldn’t bear it a moment longer.
Her parents’ house wasn’t that far from here. Maybe seven or eight blocks. She would just walk. No need to disturb anyone else. It was still daylight outside.
Halfway down the driveway, she realized her mistake.
A reporter, the same one from the other day, rushed past the
line Ashland’s finest had laid down as the boundary the media couldn’t cross.
“Which one of your friends do you think will be next, Lacy?”
Why her? Why did everyone have to assume it was her who’d done the deed? Clearly that was what this reporter assumed; otherwise, why would he suggest that her friends would die rather than her?
She kept walking, while the reporter’s photographer cohort snapped photo after photo. She held up one hand to block his view, but he was too fast. He danced around her as if he’d done this very hateful and callous routine a dozen times before and enjoyed every minute of it.
“It would make life so much more pleasant if you told the truth, Lacy!” the reporter called after her. For some reason he chose not to follow, just yelled out to her back. “Why don’t you let me help you bring the truth to all those who care. They have a right to know!”
Lacy walked faster, made the ninety-degree turn from the driveway to the sidewalk so quickly she almost stumbled.
Big hands steadied her. “Whoa.”
Rick.
She shook free of his hold. “I have to go home.” At least now she knew why the reporter and his photographer hadn’t raced after her.
“Why don’t I drive you?”
She wanted to tell him no, that she wouldn’t be caught dead riding around with him after what he’d pulled yesterday. But she didn’t have the strength to say the words.
She nodded her agreement to the ride.
That he left it at that was better. Silently, he led the way to his truck, which was parked a good distance down the block because of the number of folks who had crowded into the Collinses’ home.
He opened the passenger-side door and waited for her to climb in, then closed it behind her. She should have thanked him, but she didn’t bother. Instead, she closed her eyes and relaxed against the seat. She wanted to put the horror out of her mind for just a little while.
He’d pulled out onto the street and driven a block or two before he spoke. “About yesterday,” he said quietly. “I shouldn’t have put you through that.”