“After I got Red in the car, I found a payphone and called 911 and told them that I’d seen a disturbance. I called as if I were a neighbor. I left the back door unlocked so the police could get in and find the bodies. I mean, one of the guys was Keith. I’d met him.” She swiped at the tears, tried to speak calmly. “I was friends with his wife. Kitty. They have children. I couldn’t believe he’d hurt me.”
“Wait.” Garrison held up his hand, looked toward the ceiling as if he were trying to solve a puzzle, then focused on her again. “How do you know these were the men who assaulted you? You said they’d worn masks.”
“I recognized the one’s clothes. Not Keith—he’d been the one holding me. I mean, I assume it was him. Oh, and when the guy cut me, he wiped my blood on his jeans. There was a bloodstain there.”
Garrison huffed out a short breath. “So the DNA will lead to you.”
“I assumed that was the evidence they had against me.”
“Doubt it,” Garrison said. “Most states’ labs are behind. It usually takes months to get DNA evidence back. Must be something else.”
“You don’t know what, though?”
He shook his head. “All I know is that you’re wanted for questioning.” Garrison pressed his lips together. “So you were in the house. You found two bodies on the floor. Then what did you do?”
“Red was out of his mind. I didn’t think he’d remember any of it, but I had to take care of him. I had to protect him.”
“What made you think he was in danger?”
“Oh.” She hadn’t told them that part. “When I was in the shower, I thought about the Gatorade bottles. I’d bought a case, and they’d come wrapped in plastic. It didn’t make sense that they’d been opened before I got them home. Which meant somebody had tampered with them.”
Garrison’s eyes narrowed. “Go on.”
“I think Derrick was trying to kill him.”
“Oh, God.” Jack breathed the words like a plea, a prayer. “His own grandson?”
“Who else?” Harper turned to face him. “Derrick was desperate for money. Red wouldn’t give him any. But when Red dies, he stands to inherit everything. It would have solved all of Derrick’s problems.”
“But murder?” Jack said. “That’s pretty extreme.”
She thought about how, way back in Vegas, Emmitt had tried to pin the liquor store owner’s death on Barry. How he’d sworn Barry had pulled the trigger. And Barry had sworn Emmitt had done it. Best friends, turned against each other. And since she’d turned him in, Emmitt had turned against her. “Desperate men do desperate things.”
“So you took him to the hospital?” By the look on Garrison’s face, he already knew the answer to that.
“I couldn’t. I was afraid.”
“Afraid you’d get arrested,” Garrison said. “Afraid you’d go back to prison.”
“Yes. No!” She pushed back in her chair and stood. “Not afraid for me. Afraid because nobody would have believed me. I’d have been thrown in jail, and Red would have been turned over to the man who’d tried to kill him.”
“But if you had the Gatorade bottles—”
She paced across the kitchen floor. “I didn’t realize until after my shower that Red was being poisoned. I’d called Derrick before that. Because I’d been in so much pain after the attack, I’d asked him to get the Gatorade from the trunk for me. So he had to have known I’d figured something out. When I went to grab one of the opened bottles in the garage, they were gone.”
Garrison blew out a long breath and ran his hand over his cropped haircut. “Okay. Fine. So there was no evidence. You were scared. You didn’t think you could go to the hospital. Except he’d been poisoned. So I guess, what, you just hoped for the best?”
“I’m a nurse, remember? Maybe I’ll never be a registered nurse like I wanted, but I understand medical things. I figured out that Derrick had poisoned him with antifreeze.” She met Garrison’s eyes. “The poor man’s antidote is liquor. It’s not pretty, but it works.”
Garrison’s eyebrows hiked again. “So you plied an old man with alcohol to”—he made air quotes with his fingers—“help him.”
“Why don’t you give her a break,” Jack said.
Garrison ignored him. “Where did you go?”
“To a hotel in Newark.”
“Harper.” Garrison managed to fill the word with incredulity. “Come on. You’re missing a step.”
“I swear. That’s all that happened. And then we came here.”
“You need to tell me everything,” Garrison said.
“It sounds like she did.” Jack stood and wrapped his arm around her back, but she stepped away. She couldn’t get close to him or anybody, not right now, not while she fought irritation and fear and the itch to bolt out the back door.
Garrison didn’t believe her. She could see the suspicion in his eyes. She took another step away and glanced at the door.
As if he’d read her mind, Garrison stood and walked, calmly, to stand between her and freedom. “What did you do with the bodies, Harper?”
Chapter Thirty-One
Jack watched her face. The way her eyes narrowed, the way her mouth formed a little O. The way her skin paled until she looked almost sick. Her blue eyes stood out in bright contrast, rimmed in red. Her hands—her whole body—shook.
Garrison’s question hung in the air like the scent of burned dinner.
“I didn’t do anything with the bodies.” Harper’s voice was a whisper. “I left them there.”
“I can understand what happened.” Garrison’s tone was placating, but Jack wasn’t buying it. He hoped Harper wasn’t either. “You panicked. You had to hide them.”
“I swear, I didn’t—”
“I just can’t figure out how you got them in the car. Did someone help you? Did Red—?”
“He’s an old man, Garrison.” Jack’s voice was too loud. He tried to tamp down his anger. “He uses a walker. And he was sick. Red couldn’t possibly have helped anybody move bodies.”
“Someone else, then.” Garrison stepped forward.
Sam stood and laid a hand on her husband’s arm. “Don’t jump to conclusions.”
Garrison ignored his wife, kept watching Harper.
“I swear,” Harper said, “I didn’t do anything with them. I… I… I left them right there. I called…” She swallowed, glanced at Jack. “I called 911. I reported a disturbance at the house. Like I told you before. You can check that, right?”
Jack would do anything right now to get her out of this mess. Anything. If only he could figure out how. But even if he could keep Garrison from following if she bolted out the door, Jack wouldn’t be able to hold him off long enough for her to get away. If she did disappear into the woods, eventually she’d be found.
She was trapped.
“Call,” she said. “Find out if a call came in, if anybody went out to the house.”
“I can check, Harper,” Garrison said, “but there’s no reason to, because the bodies weren’t found at the house. They were found stuffed in the trunk of a Cadillac in a parking garage in a little town off I-70.”
“No.” Her head shook violently. “No, that makes no sense. I left them in the living room.” She looked at Jack. “I didn’t touch them. How could I touch them?” Her eyes filled with tears and terror. He wrapped an arm around her, and this time, she didn’t push him away.
Jack glared at Garrison over her head. “How do you think this tiny woman moved two grown men, two dead bodies, into a car?”
“An accomplice, I assume,” Garrison said.
She sobbed into Jack’s chest. He held her tighter. Held her for all he was worth. Because she was the victim here. Everything she’d said convinced him of that. How could Garrison not see it?
“This is ridiculous,” Jack said. “Where would she have gotten a Cadillac?”
At that, Harper sniffed and turned to Garrison. “Red’s car, right?” She looked at Jack. “It was Red’s ca
r. I left it… It was in the garage when I left.”
“I’m sorry, but the story doesn’t work,” Garrison said. “Who would leave two bodies in the house for you to find, then remove them after you left?”
“I don’t know! I don’t…” She took a deep breath, then another. She swallowed, stepped away, and focused on Jack. “You have to take care of Red for me. Don’t let Derrick get his hands on him. Derrick can’t be trusted.”
“It’s going to be okay,” Jack said, though he had no idea how.
“No. It’s not.” Her gaze darted around the room—Garrison, Sam, Jack. Her eyes were wide, her lower lip trembling. “It’s not going to be okay.”
Garrison said, “Harper, why don’t you—?”
“Promise me.” She held Jack’s gaze. “Whatever happens, promise me you won’t let Derrick have Red. He’ll kill him. If you care about him at all, if you ever cared about me—”
“I never meant…” He stepped toward her, but she backed up, bumped into the counter.
“Don’t. Just, please… Red doesn’t know anything. He doesn’t remember the bodies. He doesn’t know about the antifreeze. I didn’t want to hurt him.”
Jack wanted to reach for her, but everything in her stance told him not to. So he nodded. “I’ll take care of him. And I’ll get you a good lawyer—”
“That’s enough.” Garrison’s raised voice had them both turning to face him. “Sit down. Both of you. Now.” He looked at his wife. “You, too.”
Sam’s eyebrows hiked, but she slid back into her seat.
After Harper perched on the edge of her chair, Jack sat beside her.
Garrison remained standing. He took a deep breath and ran his hand over his head. “Okay.” But then he said nothing else.
Jack rested his hand palm-up on the table between him and Harper. She glanced at it. Then slid her hand into it. He lifted it to his lips and kissed her knuckles.
Tears slid down her cheeks. Her mouth was pinched at the corners, her lips white and pressed together.
This was too much. He still didn’t understand any of it. Garrison seemed to be wrestling, too.
“Let’s say you’re telling the truth,” Garrison said.
Harper wiped her tears. “I swear, I would never—”
He held up his hand to silence her. “I’m not saying I believe you. I’m just throwing it out there as a possibility. Maybe Derrick did it.”
She sniffed. “That’s what I thought at first, because he was the only one who knew about the attack. And maybe he was trying to frame me, to discredit me, in case I told anybody about the poison.”
Garrison’s eyes narrowed. “You thought that at first? What changed?”
“I just can’t imagine it. I keep seeing it in my head, and I can’t…”
“He’s the nicest guy,” Garrison said. “Kept to himself.”
“Said the neighbors of every serial killer ever,” Jack supplied.
“I know.” Her eyes squeezed closed, unable to face the obvious truth. “I couldn’t imagine Emmitt killing anybody, either. But he did.”
Sam, who’d been nearly silent for the entire conversation, tapped on the table. “What I don’t understand is why somebody would break in, leave the bodies, and then take them after you left. That doesn’t make sense.”
“I agree,” Garrison said. “If Derrick did it, and if he was trying to frame you, why not leave the bodies there?”
“But that doesn’t make sense, either,” Jack said. “If he were trying to frame her, leaving two bodies in her living room doesn’t work. I mean”—he focused on Harper—“they weren’t shot there, right? That’s what you said.”
“There was no blood on the floor. And I would have heard gunshots.”
Garrison paced, seemed to be talking to himself. “If somebody wanted to frame you… We’re assuming the bodies were found in the old man’s car. But why would they…?”
Jack waited for Garrison to explain what he’d just said. Instead, the other man paced and muttered incoherently. Then, he froze and faced Harper. “You’re saying Red owned a Caddy, right?” When she nodded, he considered that. “The Cadillac at the airport had no plates, and the VIN numbers had been filed off. So whoever left it didn’t want it traced back to you or Red.”
“If they’re trying to frame her, then why do that?” Jack asked.
“My first thought”—Garrison focused on Harper—“is that somebody did it to protect you. Or you did it to protect you.”
“I swear—”
“I heard your story,” Garrison said. “I’m not saying I believe it. I’m just trying to work it out. It doesn’t make sense.”
The four of them were silent. Jack tried to fit all the details he’d heard in the last hour into the larger puzzle. There was a big piece missing. He didn’t know what it was, and a glance at Harper’s confused expression told him she didn’t either.
Nothing had been solved. But Jack was convinced of one thing. Harper wasn’t a murderer. She was a sweet, caring, innocent woman trying to protect an old man who was no relation to her, but whom she loved.
He’d stand by her forever. No matter what happened next.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Derrick shifted on his rental car’s cheap fabric seats and glanced at the giant fountain soda he’d picked up at the corner store. His throat was parched, but he needed to empty his bladder, and he dared not leave this spot. The rear entrance to the building where Gramps had called from the previous day was quiet right now. Derrick had seen people coming and going from the back—the main door on the side hadn’t opened—since he’d arrived that morning. Lots of elderly people, a few younger ones. Based on the sign in front of the building, this was a food bank, but it was only open on Wednesdays. Seemed the rec center Gramps had told him about was open daily.
If Gramps was in there, Derrick hadn’t been here in time to see him arrive. He’d come by the night before, but the building had been deserted. So he’d rented a hotel room in Manchester, overslept, and gotten here by eleven. He’d been watching the building ever since. What if Gramps wasn’t here? What if he’d told Harper they’d talked? The two of them could be miles away by now.
Impatience had him tapping the steering wheel. He’d parked behind an adjacent building, where he could see both the side and the rear door through a chain-link fence that separated the two parking lots. He’d keep watching until Gramps came out or someone locked those doors. He had no other leads.
What would he do if they’d run again? He’d have to go into hiding himself. Which meant he’d lose his job, his car, his condo. Without Gramps’s money, there was no way Derrick could pay Quentin what he owed him. He’d lose everything. His life, his future.
No.
The very thought had his blood simmering. Gramps had money to spare. Gramps would give it to him, one way or another. He couldn’t lose everything he’d worked for. He wouldn’t.
Now, it was nearing two o’clock, and activity picked up. Cars came. People went inside. They returned with old folks, climbed into their cars, and left. Three cars, four cars. No sign of Gramps.
A red sedan parked beside the back door, and a middle-aged blond woman went inside. A few minutes later, she came back with two old men, one of whom was leaning heavily on a walker. Was that…? Derrick leaned forward for a better look.
It was Gramps.
Where was Harper, though? Who were these people?
Gramps climbed into the backseat, the other man sat in front, and the woman drove away.
Derrick followed.
Ten minutes later, the car pulled into a driveway in front of a two-story Colonial-style house surrounded by trees. Derrick continued on the road, parked fifty yards or so beyond the driveway, and hurried back. He watched as Gramps hobbled to the door, then slowly made his way up the steps and into the house.
Was this where they’d been staying?
Where was Harper?
The woman came out of the house a few minutes l
ater and drove away.
Derrick jogged back to his car, pulled on his jacket and gloves, then locked the doors. He was emptying his bladder in the woods outside the house when he heard what sounded like a screen door slam. Were they out back?
He crept among the trees, thankful for the dark color of his jacket and jeans, and made it to the backyard. Sure enough, he spied Gramps and the other man sitting in a glass-enclosed sunroom that had been added to the back of the house. They sipped drinks and munched on something while they talked. He could hear them through the glass, though the words themselves were lost. Otherwise, the sunny afternoon was quiet. The leaves rustled in a slight breeze. The birds twittered in the trees.
Derrick was chilled to the bone by the time the other old man went inside the sliding doors. After a few minutes, Derrick darted from the woods to the side of the house to get a closer look. He peered around the corner and into the sunroom. Gramps was sound asleep in a recliner.
The other man was nowhere to be seen.
This was his chance. Nobody knew he was in New Hampshire. Nobody’d seen him in Nutfield. He could creep inside, suffocate the old man, and be gone before anybody saw his face.
He only regretted that when he did this, he wouldn’t get his hands on Harper. But killing Gramps would hurt her dearly.
It wasn’t the solution he’d hoped for, but for now, it would have to be enough repayment for all the ways she’d hurt him.
He crept to the door. The knob turned, and the door opened silently.
Gramps was snoring softly. Beside him, there was a small, rickety table that held a lamp, a bowl of small orange crackers, and a glass of water.
The sound of a TV drifted from inside the house. Derrick peered through the slider that led to the kitchen. The room was empty.
The other man must’ve gone in to watch TV when Gramps drifted off. He was probably sleeping, too.
Derrick could do this. He had to do this.
He grabbed a throw pillow covered with bright yellow flowers from an adjacent sofa and stood over his grandfather.
The old man looked good. Healthy, even. Peaceful.
Beauty in Hiding Page 18