Bright Eyes

by Catherine Anderson

  Natalie nodded weakly and swallowed the pills he gave her. Her skin was moist with sweat by the time he settled her back against the pillows. “Where are the kids? Are they—?”

  “They’re just fine. Your mom and dad and sister are taking great care of them.”

  Natalie’s stomach clenched with worry. “Are they waking Rosie every two hours?”

  Zeke chuckled. She loved the sound of his laugh, a deep, rich sound that rumbled up from his broad chest. “Rosie has yet to close her eyes. Valerie rented her movies, George in the Jungle, or something like that, and another one about a horse. She’s ensconced on the sofa like a little princess with her royal subjects running at her beck and call.”

  Natalie stifled a yawn and smiled. “And Chad?”

  “Valerie got him the new Harry Potter book. He’s too doped up to read by himself, so she’s in his room, reading it aloud to him.”

  Natalie closed her eyes. “She couldn’t afford to buy that book. What’ll I do with her?”

  “Just love her and lend her money when her car insurance comes due.”

  Natalie wanted to laugh, but her chest hurt too much. She lifted her lashes and settled for smiling again. “You’re pretty special. You know that?”

  “So are you. Did you know that?” He trailed a fingertip along her cheek. She loved the warm rasp of his skin against hers. “I nearly died when your mom told me you’d been in a wreck. Until that moment, I knew I loved you, but I didn’t realize how much I loved your kids.”

  A stinging sensation washed over Natalie’s eyes. “Oh, Zeke.”

  “Seriously. I was so scared I couldn’t shove the damned key in my truck ignition, and it’s a damned miracle I made it to the hospital without having a wreck myself.” He moved his fingertip to her mouth. “I’ve decided that you have to marry me. No long engagement, no messing around. I want it done yesterday. They wouldn’t let me in the ER until I lied and said I was the kids’ stepfather.”

  Natalie felt her lashes drooping. She blinked and tried her best to wake up. “I’m sorry. I can’t seem to keep my eyes open.”

  “Don’t be sorry. Just say yes.”

  She couldn’t quite remember the question. “Yes,” she whispered, and slipped back into her dreams, lovely ones this time about a dark-faced man with eyes the color of a summer sky.

  Zeke lay beside Natalie atop the covers. He’d left the bedroom door ajar but had turned out the light so it wouldn’t disturb her rest. Occasionally Naomi came in to check on her daughter. Zeke’s response to her questions had been the same each time. Natalie seemed to be sleeping peacefully.

  It was going on midnight now. Zeke listened to the night sounds drifting in through the open window. Frogs, crickets, and the occasional low of a cow out in the barn. He closed his eyes and thanked God that Natalie and her kids were okay—that he could lie here now, at peace and happily contemplating a future with them. Pete’s descriptions of Natalie’s car were frightening. It had been a close call, a very close call. In the blink of an eye, Zeke could have lost her and the kids. Just the thought made his guts clench.

  Brake failure. Zeke kept coming back to that, not quite able to believe her brakes could go out like that without any prior warning. Most times, when the fluid got low or the shoes started to wear, there were signs of trouble long before the brakes completely failed. Pete thought it was strange, too. He claimed that he’d put the Chevy on a rack and given it a thorough going-over before Natalie bought it last winter. The brakes had been like new then.

  Zeke sighed and closed his eyes, growing drowsy from the sound of Natalie’s slow, even breathing. He’d almost drifted off when Chester honked somewhere outside. The sound jerked Zeke back awake. He listened for a moment. The gander raised no further alarm, an indication that the initial honk had meant nothing. Even so, Zeke swung to his feet to approach the window. Gazing out into the shifting shadows of darkness, he recalled Natalie’s story of a midnight prowler last night. Someone out around the cars, she’d said, a man or teenage boy, judging by his size.

  An awful suspicion slithered into Zeke’s mind. It was so preposterous that he quickly shoved it away. Robert’s death was playing with his mind, he decided. Who would have it in for Natalie? And if someone did, why would he tamper with the brakes of her car? Anyone with half a brain would realize that such an act might endanger her children or other passengers.

  Zeke raked a hand through his hair and returned to the bed. He tried to stretch out and snooze for a while, but the suspicion wouldn’t leave him alone. Sudden brake failure. Robert had been killed only a few days ago. Natalie had been in his home at or around the time of the murder. What if she’d seen something that could incriminate the killer—something she hadn’t realized was significant at the time?

  If someone killed once, he could kill again—especially if a certain pretty lady had seen something that could put a noose around that person’s neck.

  Zeke swung off the bed again. This time, he bypassed the window and went downstairs to discuss his suspicions with Pete.

  “Do you think I’m whacked?” Zeke asked Pete a few minutes later.

  Pete poured each of them another measure of bourbon, a private stash he kept in his bedroom closet. Gramps, it seemed, enjoyed having a nightly tipple, and Pete didn’t want the old man to develop a taste for the hard stuff.

  “It is strange that the brakes failed that way,” Pete acknowledged. His blue eyes darkened with worry. “The truth? I don’t want to believe someone tampered with her car. It scares the livin’ hell out of me. But, having said that, I can’t rule out the possibility. When brakes fail suddenly like Natalie described, something’s usually gone haywire with the brake lines.”

  “Which occasionally happens under completely ordinary circumstances. But it’s not common.” Zeke downed his whiskey in one gulp and set his glass back on the table. “Here’s my train of thought. I think we should visit the wrecking yard and have a look at her car.”

  Pete inclined his head. “I’m game. No harm in looking. If we find nothing peculiar, then we can both rest easy in our minds.”

  By nine thirty the following morning, Zeke was lying on his back under Natalie’s demolished Chevy. He’d checked the brakes on the other side of the vehicle and found nothing out of the ordinary. As he started to check the right rear side, he called out to Pete.

  “Well, it looks like I was whacked, after all. Nothing’s wrong, as far as I can see. The damned brakes must have just failed on their own.”

  “Don’t apologize.” Pete was hunkered down next to the tire. “I’d just as soon be on a wild-goose chase as to find out someone tried to kill her.”

  Zeke was about to slide back out from under the car when he remembered to check the bleeder valve. “Son of a bitch!”

  “What?” Pete went down on his knees to peer under the car. “You find something?”

  “Sure as shit. Someone loosened this bleeder valve.”

  “What?”

  “The bleeder valve is open,” Zeke repeated. “Every time she touched the brake, the fluid in the rear lines was bleeding out. There are a lot of curves along Old Mill Road. By the time she reached that sharp one, all the fluid in her rear lines would have been gone.”

  Pete swore under his breath. Zeke pushed out from under the car and went to check the front brake on that side. He found the same thing. “Jesus. I wasn’t whacked, Pete. Somebody messed with her brakes.”

  Thirty minutes later, Zeke and Pete were standing in front of Detective Monroe’s desk. The detective had leaned as far back in his chair as possible.

  “Let’s calm down, gentlemen,” he said.

  “Bullshit! I’m not about to calm down.” Zeke planted his hands on the blotter and leaned forward to get nose to nose with the detective. “Someone tried to kill Natalie Patterson. Send one of your men out to inspect the brakes on her car. The bleeder valves, front and rear, were open. Every time she so much as touched that brake pedal, she lost fluid. Whoever d
id it meant for her to die in that accident, Monroe. The speed limit out there is fifty-five except for in the curves. You ever been going that fast on a narrow road, come to a curve, and lost your brakes?”

  “No, I can’t say I have.” Monroe ran a hand over his balding head. “Listen, I can understand your being upset. It was a serious accident, and children were involved. But even you must admit that this story is a little far-fetched. A gander chases a midnight prowler off the property. The next morning, Mrs. Patterson’s brakes fail. You’re making assumptions and tying the incidents to the Patterson murder. In my line of work, you learn early on not to join the dots unless the picture makes sense, and this one makes no sense.”

  “Why doesn’t it?”

  “Your theory is that Mrs. Patterson saw something when she was inside the house that may implicate the killer.” Detective Monroe raised his bushy eyebrows. “What, exactly, do you imagine she saw?”

  Zeke stared into the detective’s eyes. Suddenly they seemed as glassy and lifeless as a snake’s. “Excuse me, but I believe I’m on the wrong side of this desk to be asked that question. The bleeder valves on that car were loosened. Someone deliberately tampered with those brakes to make Natalie have an accident when she left the farm. Going either direction, the speed limit is fifty-five, and she would have encountered sharp curves. Last week, she blithely wandered through Robert Patterson’s house, looking for goblets while he was possibly being murdered out in the garage. If you can’t connect those dots and see that there’s a strong possibility she saw something that may get her killed, you’re a poor excuse for a cop.”

  “That’s Mrs. Patterson’s story.”

  Anger roiled within Zeke. “But you don’t buy it?”

  “Whether or not I buy it is beside the point. I have to look at the facts, Mr. Coulter, and right now she’s the only person who had a reason to want Robert Patterson dead.”

  “The only person you’ve found,” Zeke corrected. “And the only person you will find if you don’t get your head out of your ass.”

  Monroe pushed to his feet. “For all I know, Mrs. Patterson loosened her own damned bleeder valves. Now that the sale of her farm has come to light, she’s our primary suspect, and she knows it. She may be feeling desperate. What better way to throw suspicion off herself than to stage an attempt on her own life?”

  Zeke had never in all his life wanted to hit a man so badly. “Her kids were in that frigging car, Monroe. You can’t honestly believe she would deliberately put their safety at risk.”

  The detective shrugged. “That depends entirely on what kind of person she is. If she murdered Robert Patterson, she obviously doesn’t place a high value on human life, now does she?”

  Pete grabbed Zeke’s arm. “Come on, son. Getting yourself thrown in jail won’t help the situation.”

  Zeke jerked his arm free and leveled a finger at the detective’s nose. “Bring your superior in here now. I want a witness to the fact that we’ve reported an attempt on Mrs. Patterson’s life and you’re blowing us off.”

  “May I ask why you feel that’s necessary?” Monroe asked.

  Zeke straightened his shirt and endeavored to calm down. When he’d managed, he returned the detective’s smile. “Connect the dots, Detective.”

  Naomi’s face lost color when Pete told her that someone had tampered with the brakes on Natalie’s car. She glanced bewilderedly at Zeke and shook her head.

  “What are you saying?”

  Pete finger combed his graying hair. “I know it’s scary, honey. I don’t want to believe it, either. But those bleeder valves didn’t open by themselves. Someone tried to kill our girl.”

  Naomi shook her head again. “She has no enemies. Why would anyone want her dead?”

  Zeke explained his theory that Natalie might have seen something she shouldn’t have while searching Robert’s house. “Maybe the killer’s car was parked on the street. Maybe he left a monogrammed cigarette lighter lying on the coffee table. Maybe he was actually inside the house and he thinks she saw him. God knows. All I can say with any certainty is that someone set her up to have a serious accident.” He looked at Pete. “You said it a hundred times yesterday if you said it once. It was a miracle they got out of that wreck alive.”

  “This is insane.” Naomi cupped a hand over her eyes. “Like we’re in a Law and Order rerun. Things like this don’t happen to people like us.”

  Pete slipped an arm around her shoulders and led her to a kitchen chair. Once seated, she lowered her hand from her eyes. “How could anyone want her dead? You must be mistaken. If she’d seen something in that house, she’d know it, wouldn’t she?”

  Pete lifted his hands. “God knows what she saw, but she must have seen something. It’s the only explanation Zeke and I can come up with.”

  For the first time since Zeke had met her, Naomi looked her age. Her face had gone ashen. Her skin looked like wax that had melted slightly and slipped downward, making her eye sockets seem deeper and her cheeks sunken. “If you’re right and someone tried to kill her, he may try again.”

  Zeke sat across from Naomi and took her hand. “We won’t let that happen,” he assured her.

  Naomi straightened her shoulders, and traces of color returned to her face. “How can we keep her safe?”

  Zeke sat back on his chair. “First of all, she can’t be left alone. And unless she’s with me or Pete, I don’t think she should leave the house.”

  “What about the club? You’ve almost finished the renovations. She can’t let her business go under. How will she support herself and the kids?”

  Zeke almost said that from here on out, he would take care of Natalie and the kids, but the problem was more far-reaching than that. The club wasn’t merely a source of income to Natalie, but a necessary component of who she was.

  “When she goes in to work, Pete or I will go with her,” Zeke settled for saying. “Meanwhile, we have to come up with some other people who had a motive to kill Robert. As things stand, Monroe is focused mainly on Natalie.”

  “Why hasn’t he arrested her, then?” Naomi asked.

  “They probably haven’t built a strong enough case against her yet.”

  Naomi got up and started to pace the kitchen floor. “And in the meantime, they’re not looking for the real killer.”

  “Chances are, no. They think they’ve got her. All they have to do is prove it.”

  Pete sat back on his chair. “How do we go about coming up with other suspects?”

  Zeke repositioned the saltshaker. “We start with Grace Patterson. Maybe she knows something. If not, we’ll talk to Robert’s girlfriends. Someone hated him enough to want him dead. We just have to find out who.”

  Natalie entered the kitchen just then. She stopped just inside the archway, her expression turning inquisitive when she saw the three of them speaking in low tones and looking so solemn. “What?” she asked.

  Zeke hated to burden her with more. She stood slightly hunched, as if it were too painful to straighten her spine. Like it or not, though, this wasn’t something that could safely be kept from her.

  “Come sit down, honey,” he said.

  A wary look entered her eyes as she moved to the table. She walked as if the floor were made of eggshells, a telltale sign that it wasn’t only her chest causing her discomfort. Considering the fact that her Chevy resembled a crushed aluminum can, Zeke wasn’t surprised. She was fortunate to be alive.

  As she sat down, she said to her mother, “I came down to get Chad some more sherbet and 7 Up. The pain medication is still upsetting his stomach.”

  Naomi stood up. “I’ll take care of it.” As she stepped to the refrigerator, she asked, “How’s Rosebud feeling?”

  “Bored,” Natalie said with a wan smile. “Valerie’s about to give up on keeping her in bed. I think she’s going to be fine.” She looked back at Zeke and her father. “You were powwowing about something serious when I came in. Are you going to tell me what, or keep me in suspens
e?”

  Zeke glanced at Pete. The older man rubbed his jaw, apparently none too anxious to answer his daughter’s question. Zeke sat forward, folded his arms on the table, and, as gently as possible, told Natalie what they had learned at the wrecking yard. At the news, her eyes went almost black with terror.

  “You think someone tried to kill us?” she asked incredulously.

  Zeke wished with all his heart that it wasn’t necessary to burden her with this. “Actually, honey, I think the kids being involved was pure happenstance. Whoever messed with the brakes was trying to get you, not the kids.”

  Her throat convulsed, her small larynx bobbing like a marble under her cleft chin. “But that’s crazy. I didn’t see anything at Robert’s house.”

  “You must have seen something,” Zeke insisted gently. “When you got there, do you remember any cars parked on the street?”

  She shook her head. “I didn’t really notice. At the time, I didn’t know I needed to pay attention to things like that.”

  “How about once you went inside?” Zeke felt a little foolish—a male version of Nancy Drew, sifting for clues. Only this wasn’t a game. He truly believed Natalie’s life was on the line. “Whether you thought it was significant at the time or not, you must have seen something to implicate the killer, honey.” He threw out a few possibilities, but Natalie only shook her head. “Go back to that moment when you stepped inside,” he suggested, “and tell us what you saw, room by room.”

  Naomi came to stand by the table, her hands laden with a drinking glass and bowl. She remained there as Natalie launched into a halting description of Robert Patterson’s residence. The picture that began to form in Zeke’s mind was of garish opulence—gilded statues, paintings framed in gold, furnishings straight from a Hollywood film set. Robert had clearly enjoyed luxury, but nothing Natalie recalled seemed significant otherwise.

  “Back up,” Zeke said as she began describing the study. “What was that you said?”

  She gave him a blank look.

  “You saw papers on his desk?”