Secrets of Redemption Box Set

by Michele Pariza Wacek

  Not terribly probable, but possible.

  I squared my shoulders and headed for the basement.

  It was a total mess. A film of grey dust covered everything. I poked half-heartedly at a box and quickly realized that, not only would I need a mask to keep myself from constantly coughing, but it was going to take me hours longer to dust things off just so I could get a good look at everything.

  Maybe I would leave the basement for last. Hopefully, the evidence wasn’t down there. Then I wouldn’t need to waste a bunch of extra time dealing with the dust.

  I was about to go back upstairs when the hole in the concrete caught my eye. I hadn’t taken a look yet at what the cops had done, and I was curious.

  It was a pretty big hole.

  I sighed. Clearly, it was going to take some doing to fix it. On the other hand, it did look like only one body had been buried there, despite Louise’s claims to the contrary.

  I rubbed my face. One more thing to deal with. God, it was never-ending. Although at least this was one thing I couldn’t do anything about right that second. I was pretty sure the cops would want to finish their investigation before I started pouring new concrete.

  I turned to go, my gaze falling upon a dull, green stone lying in a corner behind one of the boxes. Surprised, I immediately wondered if it was the jade. I picked it up, wiping off the grey dust with a corner of my shirt. Yes, it appeared to be.

  What was it doing here? I would have thought the police would have taken it with them along with the body. Could they have missed it?

  I turned it around in my hands, studying it, feeling the smooth, cool, polished surface. It was shaped more like a triangle—like an arrowhead with a surprisingly sharp point on one end. I’d have to make sure I didn’t cut myself.

  I heard a door slam upstairs, and I jumped. Was someone home?

  Quickly, I headed to the stairs, slipping the stone into my back pocket and pulling my cell phone out just in case. I clicked on Daniel’s number, so all I would need to do was tap once to place the call.

  I hurried up the stairs, straining my ears to see if there were any other footsteps, but all was quiet.

  When I got to the top, I checked the backdoor first, but it was shut and locked. I went through the kitchen to the front door and found that it too was firmly closed and locked. I took a moment to search the downstairs and scan the upstairs, but all was quiet and still.

  Had I imagined hearing the slam? Had something fallen down, maybe?

  I searched the downstairs a second time, but nothing seemed out of place. Oscar was sleeping on a pillow in the sun. He looked up lazily at me as I passed.

  What could I have possibly heard?

  Well, whatever it was, it didn’t seem important anymore. What I really needed to focus on was searching for that evidence.

  I tucked my phone back in my pocket and took a quick coffee break. Standing by the counter, I focused on relaxing my nerves. I couldn’t help but listen for strange noises, too, before picking up my search again downstairs. I meticulously checked everything—every nook and cranny—even in places that were clearly too small to hide anything.

  Nothing on the first floor. (Or at least nothing obvious.)

  Nothing on the second.

  Where on earth could Aunt Charlie have hidden it?

  Other than the boxes covered with concrete dust in the basement and Mia’s and Chrissy’s rooms (which I was planning on asking for permission to search that night), all that was left was The Studio.

  Actually, it wasn’t even the whole Studio, just one part of it. It was the area I’d dubbed “the painting corner.”

  Despite buying a whole bunch of new art supplies, I still hadn’t taken the time to go through my old paintings—nervous about what I would find. Maybe I wasn’t as good as I remembered. Maybe it was all was just a silly pipe dream. Maybe I needed to focus on something else, such as the healing business or getting a job. Maybe the painting would only ever amount to a hobby.

  Although ... would that be so bad? It would certainly take the pressure off, if I didn’t have to worry about making money with my painting.

  Maybe that was the true message of my dream. Maybe I was taking it too literally and there WAS no “evidence.” Maybe what I needed to do was finally take a good, hard look at my old artwork, so I could finally make a decision one way or another about how I was going to support myself financially.

  Yes, I fully realized that, if I was charged—or worse, convicted—the decision would be out of my hands. But, for now at least, maybe it was time to decide for myself.

  Was I staying? Or going?

  Would I try and figure out a way to pay my legal fees (if there were any) on my own, maybe with a mortgage on the house? Or some other way? Or would I return to my parents, hat in hand, and accept their financial help that would definitely include some very tight strings?

  It was time for me to stop waffling and make a decision. My constant spinning around and non-decision was making me sick.

  I was tired of living in this state of waiting: waiting for Detective Timmons to either arrest me or not ... waiting to see if my stalker would reappear ... waiting for Stefan to grant my divorce ... waiting to see if having a business would be viable in this town ... waiting to see if anyone would hire me or if I would have to go back to New York.

  I was done waiting for something or someone else to take the action that determined my future. My future was mine. I was a grown woman who was perfectly capable of making her own decisions.

  The first step was reviewing my old artwork. The second, which I would do today, was deciding once and for all what I was going to do with my life.

  And then, I was going to stick to it. No matter what else happened.

  Firmly, I strode over to the paintings, jerked the drop cloth off the canvases, and immediately started coughing. I hadn’t expected so much dust.

  After I collected myself, I started flipping through the paintings.

  They ... weren’t terrible. I could see flaws, and frankly, some were better than others. But, the more I saw, the more hopeful I felt.

  I could work with it. Maybe I would need a teacher and some classes, but there was definitely something here. A spark. Something I could build on.

  I heard a creak on the stairs and jumped. Was someone else in the house after all? Where could he have been hiding? I had searched everywhere. Nervously, I wiped my hands on my shorts and looked around for a weapon. I spotted a small knife I used to cut canvases and snatched it up, licking my dry lips.

  More creaking on the stairs. Someone was definitely there. I twisted my head around, frantically scrambling for my phone in my pocket.

  “Hello,” a voice called out, and I slumped over. It was Chrissy.

  She poked her head in. “Oh hey. There you are.”

  “I didn’t realize you were home,” I said.

  She took a step into The Studio. “I just got in, but I’m not staying. I have to go to work. So, is it true? What they found in the basement?”

  As usual, I was a little taken aback at the speed of which gossip traveled in this town. At the same time, I inwardly cursed myself. I had meant to meet Chrissy downstairs when she got home, so I could tell her before she saw it for herself, but I had been distracted by everything else going on.

  “Unfortunately, yes,” I said. “There was a body in the basement.”

  Chrissy looked suitably impressed. “Wow. Aunt Charlie must have been something.”

  That was an understatement. “It’s not clear she was behind it,” I said, feeling a little lame even as I said it.

  Chrissy gave me a “yeah right” look, the way only teenagers could. “Sure, someone else did it, and she somehow missed a bunch of concrete being poured in her basement.”

  “She may have hired the work out,” I said. “Maybe she d
idn’t supervise it the way she should have. But yeah, I get that it’s probably a long shot.”

  “Is it true you were the one digging around in the basement when the body was found?” Chrissy asked.

  I sighed. “Yes, that was me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because ... “ I paused. I was going to tell her what I told the detective, but then I remembered that Chrissy had had her own experience with Aunt Charlie. “Aunt Charlie told me to,” I said simply.

  Her expression changed to understanding. “Ah. Did Aunt Charlie also tell you if she did it or not?”

  She saw the answer on my face and grimaced. “Okay, I have to get to work. What are you doing in here, anyway?”

  I glanced at my art. “Oh, well ...” I fumbled a bit. I wasn’t sure if I was ready for Chrissy to see what I had done, nor did I think there was time to get into the whole searching for evidence thing. “I guess I thought it was time to finally look at my old paintings.”

  She took a few steps closer. “They’re good,” she said. “I like that one, especially.” She pointed to a self-portrait that, if I remembered correctly, was half finished. Dark colors swirled around a haunted face with huge eyes. I had started it the week before Jessica disappeared. Staring at it, I had to suppress a shiver. Daphne had always said I was acting crazy before that party. The painting certainly seemed to prove it.

  “I never did finish it,” I said.

  “Looks finished to me,” she said, before glancing at her phone. “Oh crap. I’m late. I have to go.” Without saying goodbye, she turned and hurried out of The Studio, her footsteps creaking on the stairs as she bolted down.

  I turned my attention back to my old self-portrait. I couldn’t even remember why I had set it aside from the rest, but after Chrissy’s comment, I studied it with fresh eyes.

  When I first saw it—the swirls of navy blue, deep purple, and dark red that came together to suggest a face—I was immediately uncomfortable. There was something unsettling about the painting that I couldn’t put my finger on, so I had quickly moved on.

  But now, looking at it again, under the unmistakable haunting energy that seemed to cling to the canvas, I detected sadness.

  Why was I sad? The fear I could understand; I had been super paranoid at the time due to a bunch of factors. But not the sadness.

  What would I have had to be sad about?

  From behind me, I heard the stairs creaking. Chrissy again. “What did you forget?” I asked without turning around.

  She didn’t answer me, but I thought I could hear her breathing. “Chrissy?” I asked, but there was something ... wrong. The breathing was too deep, too heavy, too ... excited.

  “Chrissy?” I asked again, starting to turn as something crashed into the back of my head, and everything went black.

  Chapter 32

  Consciousness drifted back to me slowly. The first thing I was aware of was pain. My head was pounding with bright, hot sparks of agony every time I blinked.

  The second thing was confusion. Was I lying on the floor? I seemed to be, as I could feel the edges of a rough cloth under my cheek as my eyes focused on the ground beneath the piece of furniture in front of me. Was it a dresser? No, wasn’t I in The Studio? There’s no dresser in The Studio. And ... wait a minute. Was that Mad Martha’s locket? I blinked, wincing every time a dart of pain shot through my head, trying to get a clearer look. Yes, the heavy gold chain with the ruby rose and emerald leaves was unmistakable.

  Where was I? Was I still in the house? And why was I lying on my stomach?

  “Oh, you’re awake,” said a familiar voice behind me. I struggled to see who it was, but with my hands bound behind my back, it was difficult to move my head. All I could really make out was a pair of cowboy boots and the edges of a navy-blue braided rug.

  Was I in Mia’s room? Why? And who did I know who wore cowboy boots?

  “Relax,” the voice said, sounding amused. The figure crouched down, and I finally got a look at my attacker.

  It was JD. The cowboy. The one who was constantly flirting with me.

  Why was he in Mia’s room? And why would he tie me up?

  “JD? What ...? I don’t understand. What’s happening?” I couldn’t get my head around anything.

  He grinned at me before plopping down onto the floor, cross-legged. “Surprised to see me? You really shouldn’t be.” He made a tutting sound. “You’re not nearly as smart as your aunt.”

  “My aunt?” Was I even hearing him correctly? Could getting hit on the head impact hearing? “What does she have to do with anything? And how do you even know her?”

  “I know lots of things, Becca,” he said smugly. “Things you really ought to know too.”

  “Like what?” God, Becca, think. My brain felt so thick and fuzzy. There was something I was missing, something important, and I needed to figure it out.

  “Like what is really going on in this town.”

  My mind scuttled around frantically. “Are you talking about Gwyn? And Ellen? Did you kill them?”

  His expression fell. “That’s the best you can come up with? I would have thought that would have been obvious the moment you saw me.”

  How in the world could that have been obvious? I wanted to ask, but something inside me cautioned me against it. I somehow intrinsically knew it would be the wrong thing to say. Instead, I licked my dry lips, trying to buy some time. Every time I moved my head, white-hot pain shot through my skull, and I was starting to feel nauseous, as well. Was JD crazy? How did we all miss it? “Maybe don’t hit me so hard on the head then,” I retorted.

  He stared at me, and for a moment, I thought he was going to punch me again. But then he threw back his head and laughed. “Okay, you got me,” he said. “Maybe I did hit you harder than I intended. That explains why it took you so long to come to.”

  So long to come to? How long was I out? I thought about asking him, but changed my mind. “Why did you kill Gwyn and Ellen?” I asked instead.

  He grinned. “Oh, come now,” he said, his voice back to a light, teasing tone that failed to disguise the hint of madness underneath. “You don’t think I’m going to make it that easy for you, do you? Why do you think I killed them?”

  “To set me up?” I rasped.

  “Yes!” He shot his fist into the sky. “Score. You want to go for two?”

  I opened my mouth to ask him why he wanted to set me up, but I quickly closed it. Clearly, he wanted me to figure things out for myself. It seemed smarter to keep him talking. I had no idea what time it was, but if I was lucky, Mia would be home soon.

  Although, my luck hadn’t been so great lately.

  “You’ve been following me, haven’t you?” I croaked out. “That’s how you knew that I kept running into Gwyn. And what happened with Louise at the memorial service. You were in that blue truck.”

  “See, I knew you had a few brains in that pretty little head.”

  “You were the one emailing me. How did you get into my computer?”

  “I broke into your house and installed a virus on it that allows me to access it remotely.”

  God, it was worse than I thought. He had been in my house, touching my things … going through my computer. I felt so violated.

  Wait. When did he break in? It had to have been a while back. Before the emails started. A few more pieces fell into place. “That night. Oscar sensed you.”

  He gave me a puzzled look. “Oscar?”

  I didn’t want to talk about my cat. “I heard you,” I said instead. “I heard the door click. And I saw you outside.”

  “Ah,” he nodded. “I wondered about that. I saw the lights go on in the kitchen. I thought I had been quiet enough, but…” He lifted his hands in an “oh well” gesture.

  “You had me drive all the way out to The Grand Slam bar,” I said. “Why?

&
nbsp; His gaze shifted, and he seemed far away. “That bar was very good to me,” he said. “It’s where I met Ellen. I needed a place that was out of town, so there would be less chance of running into someone who recognized either of us. It was easier than I expected. I didn’t even have to drug her—she was already tipsy when she arrived. All I had to do was order her a few drinks, and she was putty in my hands. Literally.” He laughed, a revolting sound, and I struggled to keep my face from revealing my disgust. It was like a mask had shifted, allowing me to see the real JD that had been hiding underneath all along. “No one saw a thing. I thought, well, it worked so well with Ellen, why not invite you out there, too?”

  “And how did you know I would follow you down that dirt road?”

  His grinned widened. “ I didn’t. I couldn’t believe my luck, actually. I thought I was going to have to drug you and plant you out there. You saved me a ton of work.”

  “But ...” I struggled to make my brain work. “Why would you lure me out to that bar if you weren’t going to do anything to me?”

  “Think Becca,” he said, his voice faintly condescending. “I needed to know if you would follow the email instructions. My plan was to send you an email with a story about how something had come up and I couldn’t meet you, and schedule a second time. I figured you’d be more likely to let your guard down the second time. After all, nothing bad happened when you showed up the first time; why would something bad happen the next? That would be my chance.”

  Slowly, oh so slowly, my foggy brain clicked the pieces together. “You were the one who drugged me at The Jack Saloon.”

  “Of course.”

  “But, how? I never saw you in the bar. And how did you get Mia’s phone?”

  “Oh, come on.” He shook his head. “You were doing so well. Don’t tell me you forgot I work at Aunt May’s.”

  I closed my eyes. Of course. As an employee, not only did he have access to the employee lounge, but also to the scheduling. He probably knew Chrissy’s and Mia’s schedule better than they did.

  Oh God. A cold pit of dread formed in my stomach. He probably timed today’s break-in with their schedules, as well. For all I knew, they could both be working a double shift. It might be hours before they’re home.