Half an hour later, she was heating a small pot of vegetable soup on the stove when the telephone rang.
With the care that had become automatic to her, she checked her Caller ID monitor. The number on the display made her groan, not because it was unfamiliar but because she knew it all too well. Luke, calling from his townhouse, the house she’d shared with him for more than two years.
Torn between longing and dread, she let the phone ring four times. In the middle of the fifth ring, when voice mail was about to cut in, she snatched up the receiver. “Hello, Luke.”
“Hey,” he said. “How’re you doing?” He sounded worried, as if he expected to find her in an emotional crisis.
Squeezing her eyes shut, Rachel clamped down on the riot of contradictory feelings he always stirred up in her. She pictured his blue eyes clouded with concern, his sandy hair messy because he’d raked his fingers through it. A squeak in the background told her he was in his home office, his lanky frame folded into the desk chair, swiveling back and forth the way he always did when he was nervous or distracted. That chair had been squeaking as long as Rachel could remember, but he was oblivious to it.
“I guess you’ve heard the news about Perry Nelson,” she said.
“Just a minute ago, on the TV news. This is the craziest thing I’ve ever heard of. He tries to kill you and gets away with it, he spends a few months in a hospital, and now the doctors want to let him out? I’m worried about you. I couldn’t stand it if that nutcase hurt you again.”
The distress in his voice brought an answering rush of emotion and made Rachel want to reassure him even though she could barely reassure herself. “He won’t get to me. I hope he isn’t released because he doesn’t deserve it, but if it happens, he’ll just be going to his parents’ house for weekends.”
“And he could take off any time he wanted to, go anywhere. You’re way out there in the country where you don’t know anybody, you don’t have anybody to call on for help.”
“But I know a lot of people here, including the sheriff’s deputies. Most of them bring their pets to me.” The sizzle and burnt smell of boiling-over soup jerked her attention back to the stove. She grabbed the pot’s handle, pulled it off the burner, and snapped off the heat. “I’m all right, Luke, please don’t worry.”
“I always will, you know that. I want you to come home. Please. I’ll never feel like you’re safe unless you’re here with me and I can look after you.”
She turned on the cold water to soothe her scorched fingers while she groped for something to say that wouldn’t provoke yet another dissection of their relationship. Why couldn’t she make a clean break with him? Why did she let him go on calling her, trying to talk her into coming back? Was it because some part of her believed that moving out here had been a mistake? “I don’t think going back where his family lives would make me any safer.”
“We’ll buy a house in Vienna or Arlington. And you don’t have to work for me in McLean. Look, I heard about this guy who wants to open a new clinic in Alexandria, specializing in cats. He needs a partner who can put up some of the money. If you sold the place you’ve got now, you’d be able to swing it. I’ve got his phone number—”
“Luke.” At one time, she would have been outraged, but she’d long ago grown used to him deciding what was best for her and simply informing her of it. “I have to deal with this in my own way.”
“It’s the perfect solution,” Luke said. “We’ll move out of McLean, but I’ll still work here and you’ll still have a clinic of your own.”
“I’m not going to uproot myself again.” She twisted the faucet off and shook water from her fingers.
“Rachel, come on, be honest with yourself. You left because Michelle pushed you into it. She was determined to separate us, and she used the whole Nelson thing to scare you into running away.”
Rachel felt anger bubbling up in her and forced herself to keep it in check. “Do you really believe I let my sister make major decisions for me?”
“She sure as hell knows how to push your buttons. She’s an expert manipulator, just like that woman who called herself your mother.”
Rachel sighed. “Do you have any idea how it makes me feel when you talk about my sister that way? She’s the only family I have, and it took me a long time to get close to her again after Mother died. I never got any help from you.”
“And Michelle doesn’t get any of the blame?” Luke said. “How do you think I feel about the way she treated me? Accusing me of trying to turn you against your family, as if I’m responsible for everything that happened, when we all know the truth about the whole damn mess.”
“Luke, stop it.” Rachel pressed a hand to her mouth, swallowed down bitter nausea.
“I’m sorry,” he said instantly. “I shouldn’t have brought that up. I’m just so damned worried about you, I miss you so much— Look, I know you love your sister. And we both love you. That’s one thing we’ve always had in common. I give you my word, if you come back home I’ll learn to get along with her.”
“You’ve made that promise before and you’ve never been able to keep it,” Rachel said wearily. “And Michelle can’t do it either. The two of you make me feel like the rope in a tug of war.”
“Rachel.” His voice softened to a quiet plea. “I’ll do whatever you want. I love you, and I can’t believe you’ve just turned off your feelings and stopped loving me.”
A wave of yearning shook her, weakened her resolve. She wanted to pour out her loneliness, tell him about all the nights when she’d lain awake, wishing he were beside her. But no. However much she loved him, she couldn’t live with him. That door was closed, and if she reopened it she would walk back into the maelstrom of emotion that had driven her away in the first place.
“I can’t talk about this anymore,” she told him. “I love you and I don’t want to hurt you, but I just can’t do this anymore. Please don’t worry about me.” Rachel hung up before he could answer, and she switched off the ringer so she wouldn’t hear it if he called back.
Too agitated to think about eating, her mind still on Luke, she absently shuffled through her mail on the counter, separating junk and bills. It was easy to pretend that the Perry Nelson ordeal was the reason she’d left McLean, but he was only one of several forces that had driven her away, and perhaps not the most important. Even before Nelson attacked her, she’d felt smothered by Luke’s knowledge of her past. He knew what her life had been like as Judith Goddard’s daughter, what she’d gone through to learn the truth about her family. Every day, in some way, he reminded her of the most painful part of her life, and his protectiveness, added to the implacable enmity between him and her sister, made it impossible for any of them to put the past to rest.
She started to toss a plain envelope with no return address into the recycling bin under the sink, but paused when she noticed the Richmond postmark. A friend from vet school lived in Richmond and occasionally sent her articles.
She slit open the envelope with a paring knife and pulled out a single sheet of white paper. Two sentences were laser-printed on it: I know where you live. Want me to pay you a visit some night?
She gasped and threw the paper onto the counter. Perry Nelson. It couldn’t have come from anyone else. He was doing it again, he’d found out where she was and he was invading her life again. Nelson was locked up in the state hospital in Petersburg, south of Richmond, but he’d gotten the letter out somehow. He’d found somebody to do his dirty work, the same way he had when he was in jail awaiting trial.
Rachel paced the kitchen without taking her eyes off the letter. Calm down, she told herself. This could be a good thing. Nelson had violated a restraining order. However alarmed she might be that he’d found her, she had to hope this contact would give the prosecutor a solid case for keeping him locked up. But only if the note could be tied to him. Was he stupid enough to leave his fingerprints on it? Could the police even lift prints from a piece of
paper? She didn’t know, but it was worth a try.
Her hands shaking, Rachel grabbed tongs from a drawer, used them to fold the paper. Tomorrow morning she would express mail it to Leslie Ryan. Stuffing the note back into its envelope, Rachel made the decision to attend Nelson’s hearing and insist on speaking. “I can stop him in the courtroom,” she muttered, “or I can stop him at my door. That seems to be my choice.”
Her appetite had vanished, but she knew from experience that she’d make herself ill if she started skipping meals. She switched the gas back on under the vegetable soup and put together a grilled cheese sandwich.
On the kitchen’s wooden table a stack of computer printouts waited to occupy her while she ate. The night before, she’d found plenty of information about Melungeons online, and hadn’t yet been able to read through everything she’d printed. She wanted to learn more about the heritage Tom Bridger and Holly Turner shared.
Cicero perched on the back of a chair opposite hers and preened his red tail feathers. Frank, on another chair, uttered a demanding meow, and Rachel tore off a bit of her cheese sandwich for him.
Determined not to think about Perry Nelson or Luke or Michelle, she began reading about the history of the Melungeon people, a centuries-long tale of poverty and legalized discrimination. She could hardly believe that Tom, so strong and confident, was descended from people who had been driven off their land by encroaching white settlers, denied basic rights under the law, and shunned by their mountain neighbors. Even the name Melungeon had been a product of racial hatred. It could have come from the French word mélange, which meant mixture, but Rachel was inclined to believe the theory that it came from the Turkish phrase melun jinn—cursed souls. Small wonder that some Melungeons had always refused the name. Tom seemed to accept it, but he certainly wasn’t indifferent to the lingering prejudice against mixed race people.
A sound outside made her break off reading and jerk her head up. A vehicle was approaching the cottage. The car stopped, the engine died. Who would come to her house at night without calling first?
A door slammed. She reminded herself that the person she feared most was locked in a mental institution on the other side of the state. But she’d made a new enemy that day. Maybe Holly’s cousin Buddy had decided to follow up with a visit, in case he hadn’t made his point at lunchtime.
Sweat broke out on her body but her skin felt icy. She jumped up, took three quick strides and grabbed the telephone, ready to punch in 911.
Footsteps sounded on the front porch. She didn’t have time to call. She dropped the receiver, yanked open a drawer and scrabbled among the knives, nicking a finger painfully. She pulled out a meat cleaver.
The visitor rapped on the door. “Rachel? It’s Tom.”
Oh, for God’s sake. She leaned against the counter and swiped perspiration from her upper lip. Scare me half to death, why don’t you? What on earth was Tom doing here?
“Just a minute,” she called. Feeling a little foolish, she shut the knife drawer, caught the telephone receiver and dropped it back on the hook. By the time she swung the front door wide she wore a smile.
Tom’s grim expression instantly told her he’d brought bad news.
“Sorry to bother you,” he said. “I need to talk to you and I didn’t want to do it on the phone.”
As she let him in, she clicked through all the possible reasons for his appearance at her door and hit on one that made her heart lurch. “Has something happened to Joanna? Did she have an accident?”
“Oh, God, no. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Then what is it? You look like—”
“Hello, hello!” Cicero, who had followed Rachel from the kitchen, swooped onto Tom’s shoulder.
Tom’s dour expression dissolved. Laughing, he reached up to scratch under the bird’s neck feathers. “Hey, pal. What’s your name?”
“Cicero,” the parrot answered.
“Great bird,” Tom said. “Does he talk a lot?”
“Oh, yeah, a blue streak. So what brings you out? What’s wrong?”
Again Tom’s features shifted, settling back into an ominous seriousness that alarmed her all over again. “Could we sit down?” he said.
“Sure. Want some coffee?”
Rachel hoped he would say no and get to the point, but he accepted the offer. With the parrot still perched on his shoulder, he followed her to the kitchen. Rachel quickly flipped over the top printout on the table so he wouldn’t see what she’d been reading. He might assume she was learning more about Melungeon history out of personal interest in him.
She filled a mug and turned to find him sitting at the table, reading the page she’d tried to hide. He had the courtesy to look abashed at being caught. “Sorry,” he said with a grin. “I’ve been a professional snoop for so long I don’t have any manners left.”
She couldn’t be annoyed with him when he flashed that grin, and she had a feeling he knew it. With one hand she pushed the letter from Nelson out of sight under a dish towel, with the other she offered Tom the mug. “You take it black, right?”
His smile widened. “You remembered.”
How had this happened, him in her kitchen in the evening, flirting with her and making her feel like a flustered teenager? “Cicero,” she said to the parrot, “go back.”
“He can stay,” Tom said. “Makes me feel like a pirate. I like it.”
“He won’t seem so charming if you end up with bird droppings on your uniform.” Rachel picked up the squawking bird and set him on the back of Frank’s chair. He shook out his feathers with an air of indignation.
“If you’re interested in Melungeon history,” Tom said, “I’ll lend you some of my father’s books. He probably collected everything that’s ever been published on the subject. He was kind of an expert, I guess.”
Tom couldn’t have anything urgent to tell her, if he was willing to engage in chitchat. Rachel sat opposite him. “What about you? How well do you know the history?”
“I know enough. Most of it’s pretty grim. I’d rather live in the present.”
“We all have to do that, whether we want to or not,” Rachel said.
“Hungry,” Cicero said. “Feed me.”
Rachel gave him the rest of her cheese sandwich, and hoped it would keep him quiet for a few minutes. He held it in his claws and began to nibble.
“So,” Tom said, “is this interest in Melungeons because of Holly Turner? Did you call her?”
“Not only did I call her, I interviewed her and offered her a job.”
He sighed. “Damn. I was afraid of that.”
“You’re not still having doubts about recommending her, are you?”
“I’ve been wishing all day that I’d held back on it.” Tom sat forward with his hands clasped around his mug. “If I’d known yesterday who she really is—”
“Troy Shackleford’s illegitimate daughter?”
He lifted a black eyebrow. “She told you?”
“Yes, but it doesn’t matter. I’m hiring Holly, not her family.”
“Did you interview her on the phone or in person?”
Okay, here we go. Prepare for a lecture. “I saw her at the diner where she works.”
“Jesus Christ, Rachel. After what I told you, you went to that place by yourself?”
“And survived.” She spread her arms and smiled, hoping she seemed more casual about it than she felt. The memory of Buddy Shackleford’s hand gripping her arm brought back a shiver of fear and outrage. “Remarkable, isn’t it?”
“This isn’t a joke, Rachel. Those people are dangerous. All the Shacklefords are involved in criminal activity, and I doubt they like strangers showing up on their turf.”
You don’t know the half of it. She wasn’t about to describe her run-in with Buddy and her unwilling exit from the Wild Mountain Rose. “Holly’s not involved in their drug business.”
“You don’t know the girl.”
“Neither did you when you recommended her for a job.”
“You have to hold off on hiring her.”
That sounded like an order. “I beg your pardon?”
“Just till we get this case squared away.”
“Holly hasn’t done anything wrong. You’re the one who wanted to get her out of that environment.”
“And I still do. This isn’t about Holly. I’m trying to protect you, Rachel. I can’t even tell you from what. I’ve just got a bad feeling about it. I think the Shacklefords are capable of anything. You don’t want to get mixed up with them.”
“Do you think Holly’s father killed Mrs. McClure?”
Tom pushed fingers through his thick hair. “My father thought so, but I’m just getting started, and I can’t jump to conclusions. At the very least, though, Shackleford’s hiding something.”
“He could be innocent,” Rachel said. “Of murder, anyway.” She was surprised at how much she already cared about Holly, how much she wanted the girl to escape the burden of having a killer for a father.
“Don’t count on it.”
“I don’t care what her family’s like. I will not break that girl’s heart by taking back my offer.” Rachel saw his earnestness turning to exasperation, but she couldn’t give him what he wanted.
“When does she start?” he asked.
“We haven’t decided that yet. But soon.”
“Will you at least do me one favor? Don’t go into Rocky Branch District by yourself again.”
“I’m afraid I can’t promise that either,” Rachel said, remembering her commitment to pick up Holly when she was ready.
“You’re a damned stubborn woman, you know that?” He threw up his hands in surrender. “All right. Well, I have to get back to headquarters.” He rose and Rachel followed him to the front door. “I hope that girl doesn’t come trailing trouble behind her. Call me if you need me. For anything, anytime.”
Disturbing the Dead Page 8