Lindsey glanced at him as she finished her official description of the car and her assailant.
He nodded his agreement; what she said matched what he remembered.
Lindsey paused, her eyes narrowing as she studied him closer. “Are you all right?”
Jeff sat up straighter, rolling his shoulders back. “Sure. The painkillers are taking full effect, but I’m all right. Go on.”
Ray glanced at him, as well, then turned as Lindsey resumed her statement. For the first time, Jeff truly absorbed what had happened to her, how she’d caused the accident. Her strength astonished him. “You took an awful chance.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “I learned a long time ago that getting hurt is better than dying.”
Jeff’s eyebrows arched up, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he focused on every move she made as she finished. Every eye shift, muscle twitch. She looked at the digital recorder in front of Ray, occasionally glancing up at the sheriff. Lindsey’s expressions smoothed out as she talked, and she became almost motionless.
In truth, this was the first time in the six months of their friendship that Jeff had been able to study Lindsey so closely. During their nightly rides, he mostly focused on the road as they headed from the diner to the bank, then to the small cottage Lindsey had rented. She had chosen a sweet but unadorned rental within walking distance of the restaurant. She told him the morning walk to work invigorated her, got her mind charged up for the day, but she was more than willing to let him drop her off at night.
They only spent about thirty minutes each day together, but with her schedule, it seemed to be the only time she spent with anyone outside the restaurant. At first, she’d been exhausted and silent. Getting a word out of her had been like pulling teeth. But slowly, she’d shared more of each day’s drama. He got to hear about her employees, their lives, their problems. Customer issues. Supply holdups and new recipes. His responses often made her laugh, and she’d finally softened to him. He knew she was a believer and tried to get her to come to church with him, but she insisted that since Sunday was the only day the restaurant closed, she wanted to be alone, to rest, and read. She referred to it as “keeping the Sabbath,” and it was her time of silence and solitude after six days of being “onstage.”
Lindsey’s rejection of his offer to take her to church had left a distinct but undefined pang in Jeff’s chest—which was when he realized that he was falling for her. For someone who probably wouldn’t return the emotion.
Maybe she couldn’t. That thought stuck in his mind now as he watched her blue eyes focus on some far distance, beyond the recorder, beyond the walls. Her face barely moved, as if she’d been caught up in some long-ago event. He sat straighter, realizing why her behavior seemed familiar. He’d seen it, all too often, in other women....
Clarity of detail, but almost no emotion. Jeff frowned. At the hospital, Lindsey had been animated, as if still pumped on adrenaline. Now she hugged herself and revealed no emotion, almost as if she’d done this dozens of times. Combined with her lack of response to her own injuries, as if getting tossed around and beaten up happened to her frequently, Lindsey suddenly seemed less like an accident victim and more like a battered wife.
Or the battered child she’d been.
Jeff had heard about the abusive childhood the three Presley girls—April, June and Lindsey—had endured and survived. Even though he didn’t know all the details, what he did know made him seethe with rage toward their father. He had abused them all, eventually killing both his wife and son in drunken rages. Is that what you’re remembering now? he silently asked her. Is that what makes you keep a distance from everyone?
An odd image flashed in Jeff’s mind, and he blinked hard. An image of the GTO as it had pulled into the restaurant’s parking lot and ground in a circle to face the exit again. Distance. He blinked again, tying to recall a mere glance at an image his police-trained mind had momentarily locked on.
The tag.
“Distance.”
Ray and Lindsey faced him again. “What?” Ray asked.
Jeff tapped the desk, the image in full bloom in his mind now. “He said he’d driven down from Chicago, but Illinois requires a front license plate. The GTO had a University of Tennessee plate on the front...which would certainly explain the bright orange of the car.”
Lindsey’s eyes widened, and she grabbed his forearm. “And his accent. More Tennessee than Chicago.”
Ray made a note. “So we need to check records for GTOs in Tennessee only.”
“And juvenile records, where we can. This kid’s been in trouble before. No one that age starts by kidnapping a stranger.”
Lindsey tightened her grip on his arm. “And the drugs. He was definitely hyped up on something. Drugs to make him brave and stupid enough to try something like this.”
Ray glanced up at his deputy. “And you don’t think he stole the car.”
Jeff shook his head. “I think the older guy planned this and provided the car.”
“And he’s not happy about the wreck,” Lindsey added.
Jeff stared at her. “Why do you say that?”
Lindsey shivered a bit and pulled back into herself again, crossing her arms over her stomach. “That GTO had been completely restored. You don’t just maintain a car like that. It’s been babied.” She closed her eyes. “He said the kid deserved to die for wrecking it.”
Jeff glanced once at Ray, then reached out and stroked her upper arm with the back of his hand. “You need to go home.”
After a moment, she nodded. “And to the restaurant.”
* * *
Lindsey breathed a sigh of relief to find that the Sheriff’s Department had secured the restaurant. Ray had grabbed the deposit bag at the GTO and tossed it into evidence. He’d return it after they had fingerprinted it. Once again, Lindsey said a prayer of thanks that God had led her to answer her sister’s wedding invitation, bringing her to the amazing small town of Bell’s Springs, Tennessee.
Definitely a God thing. Exhaustion consumed every muscle, and with a sigh Lindsey leaned heavily against the back door of Ray’s cruiser, looking out at the stars. She almost hadn’t answered that invitation, thinking at first it had to be a joke. Their abusive father had kicked April and June out of the house after their mother and brother had died. When he went to prison, neither April nor June were anywhere to be found. Lindsey, just ten and still carrying her detested birth name of July, had felt betrayed and abandoned. She hadn’t spoken to either of her sisters in the fifteen years that followed.
She couldn’t believe that June would contact her after all that time. But a quick search on the internet brought up more information on both sisters than she’d thought possible, including a few details about the horrors they’d survived, and how they had thrived afterwards. April had survived an abusive spouse, and the people in her new hometown had helped her start a home-based business making jams and jellies. June, who had spent years on the street, had lost her first husband and been wrongly accused of murder. Now she ran a grant-writing business and authored a popular blog, June’s Bell County Wanderings, which was an online diary of life in this small town. Curiosity had dissolved into an unexpected longing for family. Lindsey’s anger at her sisters had vanished as she’d learned how difficult their own lives had been, how they’d fought to succeed. That they were both happily married now and living in a great community emboldened her with a hope she hadn’t felt in a long time.
So Lindsey had come to Bell’s Springs to reunite with her sisters, finding, in addition, a home for her own dreams.
“Penny for your thoughts.” Beside her in the backseat, Jeff still watched her closely, his attention warming Lindsey’s spirit.
“It’s a God thing.”
Jeff’s eyebrows arched. “Say again?”
She smiled, suddenly
aware of how odd her words must have sounded. “Sorry. Not—” she waved a hand between them, pointing to the bandages they both sported “—this. Tonight.” She circled her hand in the air, then rested it on his arm. “All of it. Me being in Bell County. Finding a place for the restaurant so quickly.”
Jeff looked down at her hand, his words soft as he repeated, “A God thing.”
Puzzled, Lindsey watched him a few moments, then glanced in the rearview mirror at Ray. The sheriff studied his deputy, as well, his brows forming a single line over concerned eyes.
Why would this bother him? Lindsey turned again to Jeff, who clenched one fist, even as he placed the other hand tenderly over hers. Lindsey’s breath caught a second at the gentleness of his touch in contrast to the troubled expression on his face. But no one spoke again until Ray turned into the drive of the cottage she called home. Jeff seemed to shake off whatever troubling thought had seized him as he looked up at Lindsey, a forced smile on his face. He squeezed her hand, then released it as he reached for the door.
“I’ll walk you in, make sure you’re safe.”
“Sure,” she answered. As soon as he got out, she whispered to Ray, “Is he going to be all right?”
“Physically, he’ll bounce back quickly.” Ray’s expression remained stoic.
“Mentally?”
“He has a lot to work out.”
“You ever been through anything like this?”
He nodded. “Every officer goes through it eventually. Part of the job. No one’s per—” His words broke off as Jeff opened Lindsey’s door.
Holding her crutch, he helped her out, then walked her to the narrow stoop at the front of her house. “What time will you leave for the restaurant?”
“Around four. Breakfast prep only takes an hour or so, and RuthAnn comes in at five to help.”
“RuthAnn Crenshaw?”
She nodded.
“Anyone else?”
“Not till lunch.”
“You stay all day, right?”
She shook her head. “Lunch is actually light for us. RuthAnn stays till after breakfast, around eight, then goes to her retail job in Springfield. She comes back in at five-thirty, stays till closing. Damon Schneider and his sister come in at eleven, but after lunch prep, I usually walk home and nap till three. The Schneiders stay till six, then RuthAnn and I work till we close at eight. I’m going to have to hire at least one more person soon, but for now, that’s it.”
He hesitated, a sudden wariness in his voice. “So where was RuthAnn tonight?”
Lindsey’s eyes widened as she remembered. “She got a call just before seven. Someone said her mother had fallen. She took off like a shot.”
Jeff’s eyes hardened. “Did she say who called?”
“I’m not sure she knew. Do you think that had something to do—”
“I’ll check it out.”
Weariness flooded Lindsey’s body, and she leaned heavily against the door frame. “Why is this happening?”
Jeff touched her shoulder. “Get some rest. Ray will run me home, then he’ll be out here ’til you’re ready to go. I’ll relieve him and take you to the restaurant. You shouldn’t walk.”
“You really don’t have to—”
“Lindsey.” He interrupted her, then paused and let out a slow breath. “I know I didn’t take care of you—”
Without thinking, she cupped his cheek with her free hand, stopping his words. “You did all anyone could do.” The doubt in his eyes made Lindsey ache in a way she didn’t quite understand, but she knew neither of them could deal with it now. Slowly, she eased her hand away. “I’ll see you at four.” Straightening and pulling open the screen door, Lindsey unlocked her home and reached in to turn on the light.
Then she screamed.
THREE
In the flash of a second following her scream, Lindsey both recognized the man standing in her living room and found herself staring at Jeff’s back as he burst from behind her, blocking her from the intruder, gun drawn.
“Wait!” Her voice squeaked, barely audible, but Jeff had already realized that the abruptly terrified man in front of them posed no threat.
He lowered his gun. “Max, what are you doing in here?”
Ray shoved in behind them on full alert, only to have the same reaction. “Maxwell, we could have shot you.”
Maxwell Carpenter, “Max” to everyone who’d known him for more than five minutes, stood with his arms in the air, wagging his hands furiously and rocking from one foot to the other. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” His glasses had slid down his nose, and he stared at them over the top of the black frames. “I was just worried about Lindsey. I heard the ruckus on the scanner. The door was open, so I thought she was home, then realized it was all dark.”
Lindsey shuddered as she noticed the two officers straighten.
“The door was open?” Jeff asked.
Max nodded, his hands still quivering in the air.
“Gage, clear the house,” the sheriff ordered. “Max, put your arms down.”
Jeff moved through the four small rooms of the house quickly, checking closets and under the bed.
His hands dropping to his side as if he’d held up barbells too long, Max focused on Lindsey. “You’re hurt.”
She smiled weakly. “Nothing serious. You really don’t have to worry.”
He shrugged one shoulder, causing a shock of dark hair to flop down over his forehead. He raked it back, his hands still shaking. “You’re my favorite tenant, and I’m a dad. You’re my Ashley’s age. It’s not exactly a habit that’s easy to break.”
Since moving into the small rental home, Lindsey’s affection for Max grew almost daily. Max Carpenter bore not even a remote resemblance to her own father, but she began to see why some women could view their dads so fondly. She reached toward the older man as if to comfort him. “Max—”
“You should have called us.” Ray Taylor apparently didn’t totally accept Max’s explanation. “You know better. You don’t just walk in on your single female tenants alone, and if the door is open but no one’s home, you call us. One could get you sued; the other could get you killed.”
“Actually, both could get you killed,” muttered Jeff as he returned to the living room, “given how many women in this county have carry permits.” He glanced at Max, then at Ray. “All clear. Back door was still locked from the inside.”
Ray nodded. “Lindsey, take a look around, see if anything is missing.”
Max pushed his glasses up on his nose. “I didn’t notice anything out of—”
“Lindsey.” Ray’s narrowed eyes stayed on Max, and his tone ended the conversation.
“Okay.” Lindsey adjusted the crutch under her arm and limped past Ray, a little annoyed at her brother-in-law. Max had been good to her, and he’d never entered the house without giving her advance warning. In fact, Max had been her business mentor since she’d arrived here. Ray had no reason to be so...official. Still, she looked around the living room slowly, then shook her head. “Everything in here looks fine.” She headed for her office, and Jeff followed.
The tiny home, with its living room, kitchen, two bedrooms and one bathroom, sat on a dead-end street along with eleven other identical houses, each one owned and rented by Max. The rents made up the bulk of his income, along with a small courier service he ran out of the converted house next door to Lindsey’s restaurant. Lindsey used one of the bedrooms as an office, and now she paused, glancing over the paperwork on her desk. “Why is Ray suspicious of Max?”
Jeff hesitated and glanced over his shoulder. “I’m not sure.”
“Max’s been great to me. He even helped me with the business plan for the restaurant, especially with the stuff relating to Bell County and all the forms and regulations for
the state.” She turned and headed for the second door in the office. The house had no hallway, with each room directly adjacent to two others. The living room led to the office, which led to the bedroom. A walk-through bathroom separated the bedroom from the kitchen at the back of the house. An arch between the kitchen and living room made the area look bigger than it actually was.
Lindsey glanced around the bedroom and shook her head. “Nothing’s been touched.” A flicker of light outside the window caught her eye, and she limped over. Her next-door neighbor was RuthAnn Crenshaw, who worked with her. Barely visible in the golden light of her windows, the older woman sat on her front stoop, her knees drawn up to her chest and one arm wrapped around her legs. A red spot glowed and faded as RuthAnn took a draw on a cigarette.
Lindsey scowled, and Jeff touched her elbow lightly. “What’s wrong?”
“RuthAnn. She’s never up this late. She’s watching my house.”
“You think she saw something?”
“Don’t know. As far as I can tell, there was nothing to see. Nothing’s been touched in here. I probably woke her up when I screamed. Or she was still awake because of her trip to her mother’s. Her mom must be doing okay, or she wouldn’t be back here.”
As they watched, RuthAnn flicked the cigarette out in the yard, stood and went into her house. A second later, all the lights went off.
“I’ll tell Ray—”
Lindsey turned. “Please don’t bother her.” She touched his arm. “I doubt RuthAnn saw anything. I probably just didn’t latch the door firmly this morning. Sometimes I leave in such a hurry I don’t check. When I do, the wind will pop it open.”
“Lindsey—”
“Please. Her mom lives all the way over in Portland. She must be exhausted.”
Jeff clinched his jaw, and Lindsey could see he struggled with her request. “I’ll talk to her in the morning. I promise. If she saw anything, I’ll call you.”
Memory of Murder Page 3