They sat on wrought-iron chairs set on the paved area overlooking the fishpond (the family still called it that, though the last fish had long since expired). Each time Claire shifted her weight, the back foot of her chair lifted an inch or two off the ground, leaving her feeling as though she was about to be launched out into the water.
Victoria inhaled, mustering her courage. “I wanted to say how sorry I am,” she rushed in at last. “For the way Steve and I got together. I didn’t even think at the time. I know you — cared.”
Claire smiled wryly. “He never did though,” she said.
“I’m sorry,” Victoria repeated.
Claire shook her head. “I’m not angry. Not anymore.” she replied. “These things happen. Steve never pretended to be in love with me.” Her smile was slightly wistful. “The only person I’m angry with is myself.”
“Please don’t be.” Victoria impulsively stretched out her hand. As Claire took it, she overbalanced in the rickety chair. Unable to right herself, she would have toppled onto the brick paving had an arm not suddenly grabbed her.
“Joe!” Claire exclaimed as he helped her straighten, his arm still steadying her and her hand over his. “How did you get in?”
Victoria couldn’t have asked for a better entrance if she had orchestrated it herself.
“The door was unlocked,” he replied literally.
“Yes, but what are you doing here?”
Joe, his senses overwhelmed by the closeness of Claire’s beauty, pointed at the fishpond.
“Ring-necked d-ducks,” he said, staring at the plainly empty pond.
“Where?” asked Claire, bewildered.
Victoria adopted a serious expression. “They must have moved on. I haven’t seen them today.”
Joe glanced at her, the slightest hint of amusement touching his face. “Right,” he said. “Pity.”
Claire looked down at her hand and blushing, removed it from his.
“Dinner’s ready!” yelled Carrie, tearing through the house as she looked for her father and Victoria. She poked her head out the back door. “Dinner!” she bellowed again, then raced off.
“Janet’s making dinner, and she assured me she has enough to feed an army,” said Victoria. “You guys in the mood for hot dogs?”
“Sure,” said Claire.
Joe gave a shy smile. “L-lead the way.”
Chapter 31
Hancock Inn was abuzz with the excitement of anticipation as almost the whole town seemed to have gathered for Project Shakespeare.
“Two shows and dinner,” exclaimed Janet in Victoria’s ear as they arrived at the inn. Victoria, glancing across to the doorway, noticed Megan Jenkins standing nervously next to it with a glass in one hand. She was about to approach Megan when she saw that a server was helping her mop up her drink, which she had spilled. Later then.
“Where’s Steve got to?”
Victoria smoothed her new dress, a summery 1950s-style number, cerise with a scoop neck and a skirt that puffed out from the waist, as she pointed to her right and waved.
“There’s my girl,” Steve grinned, strolling across and taking her hand. “Do you think anyone will believe we’re together when they see you looking like this and I’m still in my old jeans?”
“You are well aware how good you look in your ‘old’ jeans,” Janet said. “Stop fishing for compliments and get your girlfriend a seat.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied. “Let’s go, Vicky. You look gorgeous.”
Vicky laughed and felt for a moment like a teenager again. “Thanks, Detective McCade,” she replied. They found seats a few rows ahead of Claire and Joe.
“Show’s starting,” Steve said. “Much Ado About Nothing.”
“Love it,” she whispered to Steve as Beatrice and Benedick clashed and courted across the stage. “‘Too wise to woo peaceably.’ Is that us?”
Steve flashed her a smile. “I guess so.”
When at last the comedy was over, Victoria felt as though she’d been soaring through another world. She sat in a literary daze, tucking into the inn’s picnic dinner of fried chicken and salads. The next Shakespeare, Richard III, was about to start when a voice spoke in her ear.
“Hello, Victoria.”
Victoria jumped up when she saw who it was. “Megan! I’ve been trying to get hold of you!”
“Could we speak somewhere quieter?” There was an edge to Megan’s voice that banished all hesitation from Victoria’s answer.
“My car. No one will think of looking for you there.”
They slipped out into the dark and hurried to where Victoria had parked.
“You’ve been wanting to speak to me about Maurice,” Victoria invited her once they were seated inside. “And maybe Gavin?”
Megan didn’t respond to the second question, other than to shrink back against the car seat as though she was scared Victoria’s voice would carry across to the theater. “Did I tell you Maurice has business interests in Chicago?” she asked.
“I live there.”
“You’re not the only one,” Megan muttered. “Maurice was very involved in an import–export company there and spent several months a year in Chicago at one stage. There were — irregularities. Money going missing.”
A vague sense of déjà vu rippled through Victoria’s mind, leaving behind only the disturbed sense of an elusive memory.
“Tell me more.”
“Maurice told me the culprit had been discovered. A woman, he said. I was here in Hancock, so everything I heard was secondhand. Apparently, Maurice said the woman was in real trouble though. She claimed innocence. Said she’d been framed. Even accused the company of sending someone to intimidate her. She alleged someone had once almost throttled her when she’d stayed to work late. The only way her assailant could have got into the building would have been if he had been working there or if someone had let him in.”
“And you didn’t believe her?”
“Why would I have? I had never even met her or her family.”
“But you have doubts now? Why?”
Megan turned to face Victoria. “Gavin has always been someone who questioned everything and everyone, including his father. Especially his father. After he told me he thought Maurice had been pursuing Rebecca, he became even more rebellious than usual, especially when I took Maurice’s side.”
“What form did his rebellion take?”
“He would disappear for hours at a time. Not tell us where he’d been. Several times, I found him in Maurice’s office on his computer. Thankfully, Maurice never did.”
Megan’s hands half rose to the scarf around her neck and then fell. “And then you came here, and Gavin started up with the whole story of Rebecca and my husband again. I told him it was nonsense. Supported Maurice’s decision to send him to therapy.” Megan stared down at the dark floor. “And then you were attacked at Norway Pond. Throttled.”
“Like the woman in Chicago,” Victoria said.
Megan nodded. “Like her. And Gavin started talking to me again. Said he’d been spending time with the new vet, John Gardner. Apparently he moved here fairly recently.”
“From Chicago,” said Victoria, a sick sensation in her stomach. “His wife died.”
“You didn’t wonder what made him choose Hancock?” Megan asked, her eyes strained.
Victoria felt as though the sound of her pounding heart filled the car. “Are you telling me the woman at Maurice’s company in Chicago—?”
“Was Gina. John’s wife.”
“And John came here because— but surely not?”
Megan nodded.
“He came to find out who was behind the financial embezzlement that led ultimately to his wife’s death. He and Gavin have been piecing together what they know for some time now.”
Victoria felt dizzy, though whether from pent-up excitement or disbelief, she couldn’t tell.
“The attack on you was too similar to the one on John’s wife for them to ignore.”
<
br /> “You confronted Maurice?”
“I couldn’t believe that someone I loved and trusted so — wholeheartedly — could be someone I didn’t know at all. But finally, yes, I confronted him. I don’t know what Maurice told you when he went to the police station, but Gavin accused him. Maurice lost his cool and threw Gavin out, and he hasn’t returned. And when Gavin walked out, something inside me snapped. For once, I chose the part of my son.”
“Where is Gavin now?”
Megan shook her head, her eyes swimming. “I don’t know. I can’t sleep at night worrying about him. Maurice is livid and desperate to find him in case he goes to the police.”
“And what do you think of Gavin’s accusations? Is he a liar as his father says?”
“He’s telling the truth.”
“You think it was Maurice who attacked me?”
Smiling unhappily, Megan rolled up her sleeves and pulled down her scarf. She pointed to her arms and neck. Even in the dim light, they were vivid with purple and black bruises.
“Before I stood up to him, I suspected it might be Maurice,” she said simply. “Now I know.”
* * *
“We have our killer then,” exclaimed Steve the next morning to Karen and Victoria. “The guy is violent and always gets his own way. When Rebecca kept rejecting Maurice, he finally snapped and killed her. Or maybe John told her about Maurice’s business activities, and she threatened to go to the police.”
“What about the forensic results?” Karen’s tone was harsher than usual. No doubt she was thinking of Claire and how hard she had taken Steve’s rejection. Victoria found herself hoping again that Joe would be able to console Claire. If only he weren’t so nervous, compared to Steve’s abundant confidence.
“They say that Rebecca’s killer was different from Victoria’s assailant,” Karen continued.
“He probably hired someone to kill her,” Steve said. “Like he presumably hired Todd to take the warning message to Victoria. The guy uses people. Just like he uses women.”
“Women are people too,” Karen said curtly, and Victoria knew she was thinking of Claire again. Steve shot her a glance but seemed to decide it wiser not to respond.
“We need to find Gavin. I’ll start with John,” Victoria said. “Probably too obvious a hiding place to be likely, but maybe he’ll have some idea as to who Gavin could be with.” She clicked her tongue. “I have a few questions for him too. I always thought he was hiding something.”
“I’ll take care of Dr Gardner,” said Steve, his lips tightening. “I don’t trust him with you.”
“Please, no,” said Victoria, closing her eyes. “All we need is for the police to be in the news for roughing up the local vet. You know you’re itching to put those kickboxing moves into practice.”
“I’ll go with you to see him,” Karen told Victoria. “I need to drop off Claire’s house keys for her anyway. When she hurried out this morning, she forgot them. Again. Goodness knows how she’ll manage without me when I finally get her to leave home!”
“Look after yourself then.” Steve took Victoria’s hand and bent to give her a swift kiss while Karen’s back was turned. “I’ll come by Janet’s this evening — I’m taking you out for dinner tonight.” He kissed her again.
Victoria blushed and squeezed his hand.
“No office canoodling!” exclaimed Karen, turning around. “You’re putting me off my lunch. Come on, let’s go!”
When Karen and Victoria got to the surgery, the only other person in the waiting room was Joe.
Karen stared at the young man. “What are you doing here?”
Joe paused, then spoke in a rush as though racing to get the words out before his stammer tripped him. “I’ve just got a cat.” He pointed to a bedraggled feline in a basket that glared at Joe ferociously.
“He looks wild,” Karen said.
“A little,” Joe acknowledged. “Feral. Todd used t-to feed him. I f-found him crying outside the Harris Center about a week ago and took over.”
“He looks like he needs a lot of medical attention,” Victoria said, even more doubtfully than Karen, staring at the cat’s bitten ear and patchy skin. “How often has he been to the vet?”
Joe blushed. “Almost every d-day.”
“Where is John?” demanded Victoria.
“I’m here.” John strolled in from the operating room and groaned as he saw Joe. “Is Fluffy back?” he said, receiving a malevolent glare from the indignant feline.
“Fluffy can wait,” said Karen. “John, can we chat to you? And where’s Claire? She forgot her keys.”
“She’s at the back, feeding the animals who stayed overnight,” said John. “Perhaps Joe can take the keys to her for you if you want to talk? Vicky, Karen, shall we go through? What’s up?” He escorted them to his office.
Victoria took the seat opposite him. “Any idea where Gavin Jenkins is?”
“Why? Who’s looking for Gavin?”
“Just about everyone,” said Karen. “His father. Steve. Victoria. Me. We thought you might know where he was.”
“Why would I?” asked John, his expression blank.
“Cut the act, John,” Vicky said. “Megan told me everything.”
John froze. “What is everything?” he said slowly.
“I know why you moved to Hancock,” Vicky replied. “You came to find out who framed Gina. It’s time you started being honest with me.”
“I’ve always been honest with you,” John replied. “But I’m not required to tell you everything about my past.”
“So you did come here to see if you could nail Maurice?”
John didn’t answer for a moment.
“He as good as killed her, Vicky,” he said quietly. “She lived in constant fear. She was intimidated, assaulted at work, by him or someone connected to him. Accused of embezzlement. And he got away with it.”
“Until now,” Karen replied. “What do you have on him?”
“Gavin has been gathering information on him,” John answered. “He’s a whizz with technology, and I contacted a few friends who worked with Gina to help us get access to their system. I don’t know where he is though.”
“Let’s talk about Becky, then,” said Victoria. “Anything you’ve been hiding about your friendship with her? Why did you phone Becky so often, John, if you were only friends?”
John looked at her for a moment as though trying to decide whether to speak. “I was trying to protect her. She was being harassed.”
St. Patrick wandered in and sniffed at Victoria then laid his head on her knee. She stroked his ears. “Harassed? You mean Maurice?”
John nodded. “He kept trying to see her. At first during work and then when she refused to, he started coming to her house. Bringing her unwanted presents. He wouldn’t take no for an answer. When Steve and I got into a fight at her house, it was because I thought he was Maurice.”
“That’s what Gavin said.”
“She was terrified of him. But she didn’t want to get the police involved. She made me promise not to. So I offered to phone her each evening to check she made it home safely.”
“And there was never more to your relationship?”
“Nope. Not from her side. In fact, I began wondering if she was seeing someone, because the last week or so, she didn’t always answer her calls, or she phoned me back later. Once she answered, and I heard a guy’s voice in the background. Who knows? I asked her if she wanted me to stop calling, but she said she felt safer knowing she had a friend who was looking out for her. That she trusted me.”
“And you kept hoping she’d stop seeing you as just a friend?” Victoria suggested.
“Yeah. Stupid, huh?”
Victoria smiled back at him. “I guess we’re all stupid when it comes to love.”
* * *
“So, where are you taking me?” Victoria asked Steve as they left Janet’s home that evening.
“How do you feel about Italian?” he asked, reversing th
e Tesla into the street. “I know a place just outside Hancock along the Contoocook River.”
“I’ll never say no. I can’t remember the last time I had pasta. Or piccata. Or—” she coughed. “I’ll stop there.”
“Piccata it is then. Didn’t eat out a lot in Chicago, did you?”
“Well, I often got takeaways for myself. Chinese or pizza usually or — no, I didn’t,” she admitted, adding hastily, “work kept me very busy.”
Steve smiled but didn’t answer, his eyes on the road.
“It’s still light,” he said. “I made a reservation, but we could get takeaways and have a picnic outdoors somewhere?”
Victoria’s mind flashed back to the late-night meals, eaten out of cardboard boxes on her bed, in Morgan Park.
“I’m going with the restaurant.”
As they pulled up to the double-story restaurant, its white balcony overlooking green lawns, Victoria’s smile faded at the sight of a familiar, rather battered green Chevrolet Spark.
She ducked her head down as she climbed out the car and slammed the passenger door shut.
“Hey, Vicky, someone’s waving to you,” Steve called.
Victoria sighed as she looked up, knowing already who she would see. Steve frowned at the woman, her unruly gray hair framing a gentle face and faded eyes of cornflower blue, as she climbed out of the Spark.
“Isn’t that your mother’s friend?”
“It is,” Victoria said grimly.
“Vicky!” the woman exclaimed. She smiled at Steve. “Evening, Detective McCade.”
Steve smiled and took Victoria’s hand. Victoria groaned inwardly, hoping her mother’s friend hadn’t noticed, and pulled her fingers from Steve’s.
“Sybil,” Victoria replied, trying to sound enthusiastic. “I thought you were on holiday.”
“Just a few days,” she replied. “How are you, dear? We saw you far too briefly the other day at the concert. I was so sorry to hear from your mother that you couldn’t make Becky’s memorial.”
HER SISTER'S KILLER an absolutely gripping killer thriller full of twists Page 13