“What’re you going to do with all this?” Mike glanced across the room with drawers pulled open and the contents emptied out.
“My guess is we’ll box everything and add it to what’s already in storage. The only one who can make sense of the file folders is Ms. Barlow, and she’s not able to return right now.”
“Do you know where she is, Mr. Myers? I’ve been trying to contact her.” Mike asked.
After a pause, Myers said. “I’m sorry, Detective, I couldn’t say.”
Where’d that misdirected garbage come from? Not a simple, “I don’t know.” That would’ve been straightforward. But no, his response was, “I couldn’t say.”
Okay, if he wanted to play that way, Mike would track Barlow’s credit card use. It would take a while, but then he could see for himself what was going on with the widow.
“Thanks, Fletcher.” Mike shook hands. “Appreciate your help.” He held out his hand to the accountant. “Nice to see you again, Mr. Myers. Keep me posted if you learn where Ms. Barlow is. I want to talk with her.”
“Why’s that necessary, Detective?”
“It’s possible she could be in danger.”
Chapter Four
WEDNESDAY, MAY 23
“I ran into Mike Riley at your house today.” Gary’s distinctive twang cracked through the air.
Jill tightened the hand holding the cell while she worked the late shift at the store. “The homicide detective?”
“Yeah. Says he’s tried to reach you, but he keeps getting the ‘no longer in service’ message.”
“Did he say why he was calling?” He’d contacted her several times during the first year after George’s death but only twice this second year. He’d also attended her father’s funeral. “What’d you say to him?” She hated the position she’d put Gary in, breathed in deep, lifted one finger at a time from the death grip on the cell. Michelle could at least plead client confidentiality.
“I told him you were dealing with your losses and needed time alone, but if I heard from you I’d pass along his message to call him. I wasn’t about to give him your new cell number.”
“Good. He wasn’t more specific about what he wanted?”
A long exhale came over the line. Her stomach pitched.
“He seemed concerned about your safety, so please, do me a favor and call him back. I’m sure he’s worried about the break-in at your house, because I am. He was pretty close mouthed about whether anything else specifically troubled him.”
Her heart rate kicked up, and one hand rolled into a tight knot.
“Jill?”
She forced herself to breathe so she could respond to Gary’s question. “Yes.” She
looked across the store, wishing the rainbows were real, and she’d come to Woodstock on an extended vacation. But that wasn’t the case.
“Thanks for running interference, Gary. I’ll get in touch with Riley soon. I promise.
Sorry I’ve caused you this much trouble.”
“Don’t worry, hon. That’s what you pay me for.” He laughed at his joke. “Changing gears, how late do you stay at the shop? I don’t like you being there by yourself.”
“When you come up to the closing, you’ll see why I love being here. I’m very safe.”
“Okay. Glad you like the place, and I’ll see you then. Take care now. Don’t forget to call Riley.”
THURSDAY, MAY 24
The door burst open. Jill glanced up from wiping a glass shelf. Anne Phillips blew in on a gusty spring wind.
“Hi. Come to check up on me?” Jill asked smiling over at Sally.
“No. No.” Anne walked up to the counter. “But there is something I want to share with you.”
“Sure. Come on back. Coffee’s fresh.”
Jill and Anne went into the office area, and this time Jill fixed their drinks. Something must’ve gotten under Anne’s skin, because the furrows on her forehead stood out more than usual. Jill handed Anne a cup fixed the way she preferred it— light and sweet.
“Thank you.” She took a quick swallow. “I don’t want you to think badly of our town folk. We really like you, Jill, but people are saying all sorts of things. Wild stories. You’re a witness to a murder and in the witness protection service. One story even says you’re a murderer.”
Anne stopped talking and picked up her cup.
Jill supported herself against the one small cabinet in the kitchenette, not certain her legs could do the job on their own. God, had they found out about George and Dad?
“No one provides any evidence, of course.” Anne set her cup down. “I don’t believe any of this, but I’m concerned how these stories might affect the business.”
Jill shook her head at people’s inventiveness. “I should’ve told you.” She dropped into the other chair and rubbed her index finger around and around the top of her cup. “At first it was too raw, and when I knew you better–well, I never found a good time to say anything.” She shot a quick glance at Anne and back to the coffee.
Could she tell Anne the truth? Did Jill trust her? Would the knowledge threaten Anne’s safety?
“If you want to talk, dear, I’m willing to listen.” Anne spoke in a low, inviting voice. One which made you trust her.
Jill recounted the events of the last two years ending with, “A month-and-a-half-ago in Austin, my father was murdered.”
“Oh, my dear. How horrible.” Anne laid her hand on top of Jill’s. “Have they caught the person responsible?”
“No.” Jill shook her head. “No. You can see why I’m vague and don’t give details. I don’t want to go into the whys and wherefores with anyone. It’s safer, to say nothing else.” Her eyes moistened. “If you decide you don’t want to sell Rainbows to me, I’d understand.”
“But I do—”
“Anne, I want you to be certain. Consider, and then let me know in a few days. We can contact our lawyers to stop the process if that’s your decision.” Jill squeezed her friend’s hand once. She stood. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a few errands to run.” She turned, picked up her purse from under the desk, and went into the shop. Jill didn’t want to cry in front of Anne.
“Sally, I’ll be out for a couple of hours, but I’ll be back in time for the evening shift.”
“No problem, Jill. See you when I see you.”
What lay ahead if she didn’t buy the store? The idea of leaving Woodstock, Crystal Rainbows, Karen, and her new friends squeezed Jill’s heart right out of her chest. She wanted the town to be her haven. Thought it was. Hadn’t she lost enough already? Her husband. Her father. Did she have to lose Crystal Rainbows?
She stumbled toward her house. For the first time, the street’s quaint beauty didn’t warm her spirit, but increased her sense of loss.
POUNDING SOUNDS DREW Jerrod from his office. Before he got there, his mother thrust open the front door. One he seldom kept locked, unless he was out of town.
“Jerrod, I’m so glad you’re home.”
“Come in, Mother. What’s got you in a tizzy?” Despite their tiff, he greeted her with his customary kiss on the cheek.
“It’s about Jill.”
“And I, of course, want to hear?” He turned away, strode toward his desk. His mother’s steps echoed on the hardwood floor.
“Yes, you do.” Anne said. “You’ll doubt her less when you hear. She told me about the deaths of her husband and father.”
“I’d already told you.” He plopped down, swiveling the chair back and forth, unable to control his agitation.
“Yes, but one of your issues was she should’ve trusted us enough to tell, which would’ve increased our trust of her.” She perched on the edge of a chair in front of his desk. “Aren’t you pleased? You don’t have to worry about her now, or the sale.”
“The woman has completely taken you in, hasn’t she, Mother?”
“She did say something that concerned me.” Anne looked down.
“And what was that?”
She raised her head and looked him directly in the eye. “It was safer for me to not know all the details.”
He slammed his fist on the desktop, sending a pain up to his elbow and a pen flying. “That’s exactly the kind of thing that gives me nightmares when I think about you doing business with her.” He swung his chair away from her. “Damn-it-all-to-hell.”
“She offered me an out on the sale if I wanted.”
Jerrod swiveled back, and hope sprang into his heart. He studied his mother. The hope flickered out. “You didn’t take her up on it, though, did you?”
“I have several days to reconsider, but no, I’m not going to. I’m happy knowing someone will own Crystal Rainbows who loves the store the way I always have. I’m optimistic the shop can hold special meaning for her. It has for me.”
His mother rose and made her way to the front hall before turning toward him. “I do wish you could see your way clear to give Jill another chance, Son. I’m afraid she may need our help.”
Jerrod knew when he’d lost. She wasn’t backing off her commitment to the woman. His mother and he had avoided each other since the dinner when he confronted her about Jill Barlow. Neither had been happy about the state of affairs. Their relationship was more than parent and child. They were friends.
“Okay, Mother. I give.” He extended his hands, palms up, in surrender. “I’ll play nice. How’s that?”
“Thank you, Jerrod. I love you. Don’t let me keep you from work. I’ll take a rain check on lunch.” She sailed out.
Jerrod closed the door and ambled into the kitchen. After fixing a sandwich, he grabbed a cold beer from the refrigerator. Taking another look at Jill Barlow would be a pleasure. She was easy on the eyes to use an old expression of his grandfather’s.
Jerrod carried his meal outdoors to the patio, sat at a small wrought iron café table, and propped his feet on a chair. Birds sang from up in the huge old oak. He’d do what he promised his mother and give Barlow the benefit of the doubt, but...he wished he didn’t have this crazy reaction to her. The blonde Texan was his worst nightmare. Why did she affect him this way?
His gut tightened. He remembered her reaction when he’d confronted her in the garden. To suggest he could kill her. She was afraid for her kids. An extreme reaction to say the least. He’d thought so at the time but got caught up with other things and never pursued the issue.
Now, he had to follow up, because it appeared Ms. Jill Barlow planned to stay a while. At least until the first of the brutal snowstorms blanketed the area. She’d never handle the isolation.
FRIDAY, MAY 25
Jill concentrated on sounding firm and in control responding to Mike Riley’s questions. “I’ve decided to lease or sell my Fort Worth house. Do you want to make me an offer, Detective?” She could almost hear him grinding his teeth. She remembered him being tall, with broad shoulders and wearing western boots every time she’d seen him, including at her father’s funeral.
How odd she’d noticed. He and the Austin homicide detective Tom Catching, lead investigator of her father’s murder, had been at the church, at the cemetery, at her house afterwards.
“No, Ms. Barlow, I was contacted by the head of non-violent crimes. He connected your father’s recent death and my handling of your husband’s murder investigation. I walked your house with him and your accountant.”
Maybe if she didn’t contribute much of anything, he’d get tired and hang up.
“Ms. Barlow, where are you now? No one here seems to know.”
“Are you checking up on me?” So much for not responding. She pulled her ponytail and twirled the ends around her fingers.
“Ms. Barlow, in a relatively short period of time both your husband and father have been murdered.”
“I’m aware, Detective. What’s your point?” The strident tone jumped from her mouth displaying a mind of its own. Jill dropped into one of the wing-backed chairs in the living room and drew a long breath. No reason to be rude to the man. Wasn’t like her.
“I’m sorry.” The lower pitch sounded better. “I’m not telling anyone where I am, and that includes you. I appreciate how you handled the investigation when George was killed and your kindness when Dad was shot. I’m not in Fort Worth and don’t plan to be any time soon.”
“Are you—are you afraid for your safety, Ms. Barlow?”
At his words, spoken softly, shards of fear scraped along her skin. She fought the tremor in her chin, clamped her teeth together. Breathe. She had to remember to get air in her lungs.
“Ms. Barlow. We’d protect you if you were in Fort Worth.”
His words brought her right out of her chair. One hand covered her mouth to keep in a scream.
Breathe.
Move.
She walked from the living room through the dining room to the kitchen before words tore from her heart. “Right. Like the Texas Rangers protected my father. Nobody’s supposed to be better than the Texas Rangers, but someone got Dad anyway.” She slammed her hand on the counter. Pain shot all the way up her elbow. “Oh.” Stupid move. Absolutely, stupid. She cradled the phone against her neck.
“Are you okay, Ms. Barlow?” Riley’s voice was muffled by her shoulder, but full of concern.
She opened the refrigerator. Grabbed ice cubes she wrapped in a paper towel before forcing words through clenched teeth. “Yes, but I need to let you go, Detective Riley. I appreciate your interest.” Before she could disconnect he went on.
“If you know a piece of information that could help us find the murderers of your husband and father, please tell me. I promise you, we’d keep the information confidential.”
“If I knew anything, I’d tell you, Detective Riley. Good night.”
Silence filled her house.
“Oh, God.” She moaned, drowning in a bubbling cauldron of pain, loss, loneliness, fear. She slid down to the tile of the kitchen floor, leaned her back against a cabinet. Tears poured down her cheeks.
She pulled up her knees and hugged them. Tried to stem the flow. Searched for an anchor in the storm of emotions raging through her, over her, around her.
Since arriving in Vermont, she’d been able to keep her fears under control most of the time. But the Fort Worth break-in, the conversation with Riley, and arrogant Jerrod Phillips accusing her of killing two of the three men she loved best in the world combined to make her on edge and fragile.
How ludicrous she found the man attractive. Anger at herself and anger at him grew and pushed out everything else. Thank God. She could deal with anger. The other emotions left her weak and vulnerable. Vulnerable. She could not, would not be vulnerable.
Had she made a mistake keeping the information on the flash drive to herself? Could she get in trouble with the law? She didn’t know specifics of the content, but Dad believed he had enough to stop the legislation and the consortium.
If she shared the flash drive, and word got back to the gambling syndicate, she and the kids would be even more at risk. If she suspected the FBI was somehow involved, and she did, who would be safe to receive the information?
No one.
She pulled her hair loose and massaged her head with her uninjured hand. What was the best decision for the safety of her family? The answer seemed obvious to her.
Leave the flash drive in the bank safe deposit box where no one could discover exactly what the contents were.
She struggled to her feet, made her way to the cabinet, took down a glass, and grabbed a bottle from the wine rack. Her hand shook to the point the red liquid sloshed onto the counter and dribbled onto the floor. She put the stopper in and grabbed a dishcloth to wipe up the mess. Using the mundane activity to push back fear. Flipping off the lights, Jill dragged her body up the steep stairs of the old house.
After a soak in the claw-foot tub, where the scent of lavender candles helped her relax, she walked into her bedroom furnished in antiques. The wrought iron bed with its white coverlet and blue pillows gave off welcoming, peaceful vibes. T
he soft pajamas wrapped her body in a cocoon. She sipped the comforting woodsy flavor of her favorite wine and read until her lids drooped. Turning off the lights, she snuggled under the covers, praying she’d sleep without any troubling dreams...
Friends and wannabes packed St. Stephen Presbyterian Church. Loud organ music bulged out the sides of the building. A ten-foot-tall Greg Richardson spoke to her. His long arms reached to the ground then groped toward her.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Barlow.” His voice echoed from a deep well. “Your father and I didn’t agree about casino gambling, but I considered him a worthy adversary.” She slapped his hypocritical face. “You killed my husband and father. I hate you. I hate you.” Screams tore from her throat. He dissolved in the mist.
Then she stood in her house. Each room burst with people reaching out to her, pulling on her, begging her to make the bad go away. Everyone vanished, and only Ethan and Ellen remained.
She tucked them in, but their legs draped over the ends of their small beds, their feet rested on the floor. The emptiness of the house terrified her. Pain exploded from her gut and shot in all directions. Tears flowed from her eyes in a steady stream, filling up the bottom floor of the house. God, would she drown?
What had she done to cause her life to careen down this dreadful, dark tunnel? When the flood of tears dissipated, she gazed at the room. Her tears had gushed with such force they’d rearranged the furniture.
“I can at least do this one thing. Move the chairs.” Magically, everything went back to its original place. Her body drifted like a ghost into her office where the mail stacked to the ceiling. Her hand reached out for a small package stuck in the middle of the pile. When she pulled on it, everything tumbled down around her, bruising her, making her ache. The box her father had mailed before he was murdered.
She picked up giant scissors with both hands and slit the tape and pulled off the lid. Snakes slithered out on the floor, wrapped around her, squeezed the breath from her, bit her. Several slid off after Ethan and Emily. She cried out to warn them, but she couldn’t protect them from the serpents’ sharp teeth. Terrified screams ripped from her throat.
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