“If we need anything else from you, we’ll be in touch.”
Owen didn’t respond. He held completely still, watching as the officer sauntered across his yard toward the Martins’ property.
Why had the cop questioned him about Jessica’s whereabouts? She hadn’t been home in days. She couldn’t possibly know anything about Eustice Martin’s murder. And apparently, that’s exactly what they were calling it…murder.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Jessica woke to the smell of coffee. She quickly sat up, surprised to find Steven sitting in a chair across from the small, red loveseat she’d slept on.
He sent her a smile, nodding toward a steaming cup of coffee perched on the table between them. “Good morning.”
More than a little shaken by his unexpected presence, Jessica sat up and pushed her hair from her eyes. “You startled me.”
“Sorry. The door was open when I arrived this morning. I assumed it was for my benefit.”
Jessica glanced toward the door in question. “I don’t even remember coming in last night. I was so exhausted, I obviously didn’t make it to the bed.”
“Were you drinking?”
She had been. Jess had left the Daytons’ and stopped at a local sports bar to grab a bite to eat. She hadn’t intended to order alcohol, it had just sort of happened. “I had a couple of drinks.”
“A couple, huh? You’re damn lucky you didn’t get a DUI.”
Picking up the cup of coffee, Jess took a small sip, nearly groaning aloud as the deliciously hot liquid slid down her throat. “I had a long talk with the Daytons.”
She watched him closely for any sign of interest but saw only mild curiosity. “Did you find the answers you sought?”
“Not really. How come you didn’t tell me you had an affair with Melanie Dayton?”
Steven leaned back in his chair. “I didn’t see any relevance in it. Besides, that was over sixteen years ago. It has nothing to do with what’s going on now.”
“Maybe not, but you still could have told me.” Jess hated the jealousy that echoed in her voice. Surely to God, she wasn’t jealous of Steven’s history with Melanie, was she?
“I’m not sure why it matters, but I apologize. I should have told you.”
Jessica blew out a shaky breath. “It’s fine. I just thought that since we’ve become friends…”
“Friends,” Steven repeated in a soft tone. “Is that what this is?”
Suddenly nervous, Jessica changed the subject. “Apparently Jasper Dayton still harbors some anger and resentment toward you.”
“I can’t say that I blame him.” Steven ran a hand through his hair. “I reckon it’s a good thing I didn’t go with you to see them.”
Jessica took another sip of her coffee. “I suppose not. After your name was mentioned, Jasper left out of there in a hurry.”
Steven couldn’t hide his surprise. “You would think he’d have let it go after all this time.”
Jessica changed the subject, not wanting to discuss Steven’s past with the Daytons at the moment. “I need clothes.”
“I can take you by your place to pick up some things.”
Glancing at the clock on the wall, Jessica nodded. “Owen will be leaving for work in a few minutes. I damn sure don’t want to run into him right now.”
Steven tilted his head to the side. “What are you going to do about him?”
“Owen?”
At Steven’s nod, she answered. “I don’t know. There’s not a whole hell of a lot I can do until my name is cleared of Sandy’s murder.”
“You don’t have to prove your innocence, Jessica. The state has the burden of proving your guilt. And since you’re not guilty, you have nothing to worry about.”
Jessica would love for that to be true. “Someone has gone to a whole hell of a lot of trouble of making me look guilty, Steven. I’m going to worry until I find out who’s doing this to me.”
“Fair enough.” He pushed to his feet. “Finish your coffee and I’ll take you to your house to grab some clothes.”
* * * *
The first thing Jessica noticed as Steven turned onto Meadowbrook Circle was the number of police cars parked in the Martins’ driveway. “What the hell?”
Steven pulled in behind Jessica’s car and switched off the engine. “Something big must have happened at your neighbor’s place.”
Jessica opened her car door and slowly got out.
Yellow crime scene tape surrounded the Martins’ brick home, and several uniformed officers milled about.
A tall, gray-haired man, wearing khakis and a green polo shirt, looked up from the officer he spoke to and marched off in Jessica’s direction. “Mrs. Nobles?”
Jessica stilled, recognizing the man as the chief of police.
He came to a stop in front of her and extended his hand. “I’m Gary Randall, chief of police. We met at the station a few days ago.”
Accepting his outstretched palm, Jessica attempted a smile she didn’t feel. “I remember. What’s going on?”
“Would you mind if I came inside and asked you a few questions?”
Jessica glanced at Steven to find him standing calmly by the front of the car before she returned her attention to the police chief. “Sure, if you don’t mind Mr. Ruckle joining us.”
Gary glanced in Steven’s direction. “Not a problem.”
The three of them made their way up the drive to the porch. Jessica unlocked the door and waved the two men inside.
“May I offer you something to drink?” She kept her gaze on Chief Randall as she spoke.
“No thank you. I won’t take up too much of your time.”
Randall and Steven took a seat on the sofa while Jessica lowered herself into a recliner, facing them.
“What can I do for you?” Jessica murmured, getting right to the point.
“I’m not sure if you know what’s going on next door, but Eustice Martin was murdered last night.”
Nausea flooded Jessica’s gut. She sat forward on the recliner, fighting the urge to vomit. “Eustice is dead?”
Randall stared at her for long moments before answering. “One of the officers on scene last night spoke with your husband. Do you mind telling me where you were between nine and eleven pm last night?”
“She was with me,” Steven rumbled before Jessica could answer.
Her gaze flew to Steven’s calm and serene face.
Randall pulled a small pad from his shirt pocket, followed by a pen. “And you are?”
“Steven Ruckle. I’m a friend of Jessica’s.”
“I see.” Randall scribbled something in his note pad. “And how long have you known Mrs. Nobles?”
Steven didn’t bat an eye at the police chief’s questions. “A few weeks now.”
“And the nature of your relationship?” Randall persisted, suspicion lurking in his intelligent eyes.
“How is my relationship with Mrs. Nobles relevant to what happened to Eustice Martin?”
Randall continued to write. “I’m simply trying to establish motive and rule out unnecessary suspects. So, I’ll ask again, what—”
“We’re friends,” Jessica interrupted, drawing Randall’s attention back to her. “Just friends.”
Jessica sat glued to that recliner answering Randall’s many questions. She didn’t dare look at Steven for fear of what she’d see in his eyes. He had to be wondering about her whereabouts last night. But then, why cover for her?
Randall stood and handed Jessica a card. “If you think of anything that might be of help, give me a call.”
Accepting the police chief’s card, Jessica promised to do just that. She followed him to the door. “How is Mrs. Martin holding up?”
“She’s in shock as you can imagine. She’s the one who found her husband’s body.”
Jessica swallowed with some difficulty. “How did he die?”
“His throat was cut.”
The floor titled beneath Jessica’s feet. Someone ha
d cut Eustice Martin’s throat. It couldn’t have been his wife, she feared Eustice too much to attempt such a thing, not to mention, he could have overpowered her. No, it had to have been someone strong enough to pull it off.
Standing in the open doorway, Jess waited for the police chief to make it back to his car before slowly turning to face Steven. “Why did you lie about being with me last night?”
He stared back at her, his gaze unreadable. “Would you rather I threw you under the bus?”
“No, but my whereabouts could have been vouched for by some of the bar’s patrons. You didn’t have to cover for me.”
Steven shrugged. “I simply said the first thing that came to mind.”
Jessica rested her hand on the door knob. “I see. Are you sure you weren’t establishing your own alibi for last night?”
Something resembling anger flashed in his eyes before disappearing as quickly as it arrived. “I’m sorry you feel that way.”
Jessica suddenly felt like an ass. Steven had gone out of his way to help her at every turn, only to have her toss unwarranted accusations at him.
He moved to step around her, but Jess refused to budge. “I’m sorry, Steven. I didn’t mean that.”
“I think you did. It’s obvious you don’t trust me. Not that I blame you after learning about Melanie and me.”
“You’re wrong,” she whispered softly, blocking his exit. “I do trust you. Like you said, that happened sixteen years ago. I have no right to judge you. If anyone has the right to be suspicious, it should be you.”
Steven stopped in his attempt to leave. “I don’t think you killed Eustice Martin anymore than I believe you had anything to do with Sandy Weaver’s death. I don’t know how I know, I just do.”
Blowing out a shaky breath, Jessica tilted her head back enough to look into his eyes. “I really am sorry for what I said.”
He slowly leaned down and brushed his lips across hers.
Jessica froze, unsure of what to do next. On one hand, she wanted to lean into him, to give someone else control of her tattered emotions for a while. But an image of Owen’s handsome face stopped her.
She turned her head to the side, effectively ending the kiss. “I’ll just go grab some of my things.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Owen pulled into his drive after work that evening to find Jessica’s car gone. Apparently, she’d come home at some point during the day and retrieved it.
Switching off the engine, he climbed out, sifted through his keys as he made his way to the porch, and let himself inside.
He could smell her essence in the house as he did every time he walked through the door.
A deep-seated pain sliced through him with the knowledge that he’d likely lost Jessica for good.
Owen didn’t blame his wife for running out on him. Whether she was guilty of wrong doing or not, she had to feel betrayed after he’d Baker Acted her.
He told himself he’d done the right thing by having her mentally evaluated. But Owen wasn’t so sure anymore.
The Jessica he’d loved since college, would never do the things he’d accused her of. But that didn’t change the fact that she had admitted to seeing ghosts, broken into the neighbor’s house, and traveled to another state to visit the very psychic whose body had later been found stabbed to death.
Owen stopped to stare at the wall above the sofa. According to the police, the message left there had been written in animal blood, though no animal had been recovered.
Could Jessica really do such a thing? Owen wondered, forcing his gaze away from the now clean wall.
He trailed off down the hall, coming to a stop in the doorway of their bedroom. The drawers hung open on Jessica’s dresser, empty of their contents save for a red shirt neatly folded in the top one.
Owen’s stomach tightened with sorrow. He moved deeper into the room until he stood in front of the dresser.
“Ah, Jess,” he whispered, reaching into the drawer and wrapping his fingers around that red shirt. He brought it to his nose, took a deep breath and drew her lingering scent deep into his lungs.
Tears of anger and resentment sprang to his eyes. He had lost everything he’d ever cared about. First his precious son Jacob, and now his beautiful wife, Jessica.
Covering his face with the red shirt he’d bought her for her last birthday, Owen gave in to the overwhelming pain gripping his heart. His legs gave out beneath him and he slid to the floor in a cry of denial.
* * * *
Owen wasn’t sure how long he sat on his bedroom floor before he realized that darkness had fully descended. Numb to his very soul, he lacked the strength needed to push himself to his feet.
Reaching into the pocket of his pants, he pulled his cellphone free, slid his thumb across the screen and selected Jessica’s number. He typed out a text. Can we please talk? I’m sorry, Jessica. God, I’m so sorry. I love you.
The doorbell rang just then, startling Owen out of his tormented thoughts.
Using the dresser for leverage, he pushed himself to his feet and practically ran down the hallway on numb, tingling legs.
“Jess?” he breathed, unlocking the door and yanking it open.
Disappointment was swift as he took in Marge’s nosy expression. “Mrs. Hawthorn,” he greeted, unable to hide the despondency in his voice.
Marge stood on the porch wearing her usual green robe and hair rollers. “I came to see if you were alright.”
Masking his emotions, Owen responded as calmly as he could manage under the circumstances. “I’m fine. Why would you ask?”
“Well, after your wife showed up here with that tall, good looking fellow and left with several suitcases, I assumed there was trouble in paradise.”
Jealousy tore through Owen. He had no doubt the tall, good looking fellow Marge mentioned was the same man he’d seen in the elevator with Jessica.
He moved to close the door. “I appreciate your concern, Mrs. Hawthorn, but everything is fine. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
“Didn’t look fine to me,” she sniffed, lifting her chin.
Owen hesitated. “What are you trying to say?”
She peered up at him, her face pinched in a disapproving manner. “From what I could see from my front yard, they kissed in this very doorway before they left earlier.”
Owen’s jealousy was soon replaced with a fury so deep he found it impossible to respond to Marge. He closed the door in her face.
A roar of denial ripped from his lungs. He drew back his arm and slammed his fist into the wall next to the door.
Pain exploded through his hand, but he didn’t care. It paled in comparison to the agony his heart felt over Jessica’s betrayal.
Cradling his now throbbing hand against his chest, Owen stumbled to the kitchen and took down a bottle of whiskey from the top of the refrigerator. He didn’t bother with a glass, instead, he twisted off the cap and brought the bottle to his lips.
The alcohol burned all the way to his gut. Still, he continued to drink.
He staggered into the dining room and dropped heavily onto a chair. With images of his wife in another man’s arms, Owen allowed his pain to consume him.
He turned up the bottle once again.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Jessica stared at her three suitcases resting on the extra bed in her dumpy motel room. After what had happened in the doorway of her home earlier that morning, she couldn’t bring herself to return to Steven’s guesthouse.
He’d kissed her. Steven Ruckle had touched his mouth to hers before she realized his intent.
Though she’d enjoyed the sensation of being wanted, it wasn’t her husband’s lips touching hers. It had felt wrong…as if she’d betrayed Owen somehow.
Leaving the motel room, Jessica retrieved her paint supplies along with her easel and a couple of blank canvases from the back of her SUV and returned to the room.
She set up a place on the small table near the kitchenette and mixed up several differe
nt colors.
Plucking up a brush, she dipped it into the paint and touched it to the canvas. The first pattern of clouds began to form.
* * * *
The trill of a phone ringing penetrated Jessica’s numb brain. She blinked to clear her vision, her eyes slowly focusing on the picture sitting before her.
She tilted her head to the side, taking in the image of a small gray cabin situated on the bank of a lake.
Why she’d painted the picture was beyond her. Jess had never been to nor seen the lakefront cabin before.
Something else caught her eye. She squinted at the still waters of the pond she’d created, and her breath caught. The reflection of a face stared back at her from the water’s surface. Terry Dayton’s face.
Jess pushed to her feet, her legs trembling beneath her. What did it all mean? she wondered in more than a little shock.
Then she noticed another reflection, not far from Terry’s. Though the face wasn’t clear enough to make out any details, she was fairly certain it belonged to a young girl.
She glanced at the clock, realizing it was after midnight. She couldn’t possibly call Steven at that time of night. He would surely be sleeping.
Jessica sat back down in front of her latest creation, her gaze sweeping over every inch of that canvas. What was she supposed to do now? She could call the police, but tell them what? I unknowingly painted a picture of a cabin with two people’s reflections in the water? One of them, I’m fairly sure, is Terry Dayton’s. They would have her hauled back to the Sparkleberry Hills Mental Institution faster than she could blink.
She could take the painting to Melanie. But there again, she ran the risk of Melanie turning her in as well.
No, Jess needed to speak to Jasper. She’d seen the curiosity in his eyes, had no doubt that he’d wanted to hear what she had to say. But how to get him alone and away from his wife?
With a sigh of exhaustion, Jess stood once more and ambled over to the bed free of suitcases.
She peeled out of her clothes, pulled back the covers, and climbed onto the less than comfortable mattress. Her eyes slid shut and darkness claimed her before she could turn off the bedside lamp.
The Boy in the Window: A Psychological Thriller Page 13