by Burton, Mary
Marie smiled. “He threw a big party to celebrate Craig’s birth.”
Gage noted Dwayne’s frown. The man had something on his mind regarding Robert Thornton. He paused, believing the man had more to say. He did.
“Thornton’s spoiling just about ruined that boy. I can’t tell you how many late-night calls I got from Craig asking if I could pick him up from a party because he’d been drinking too much.”
“Why didn’t he call his father?”
“Didn’t want to disappoint him, I guess. And I was kinda like a Dutch uncle to Craig. A few times I tried to speak to him about his partying ways, but he wasn’t listening. Shame. The boy had so damn much potential.”
Marie shook her head. “And then he gets killed by a drunk driver and Adrianna loses her baby. Fate can be so cruel.”
Gage thought about the accident photos. His blood ran cold each time he thought of Adrianna encased in twisted metal. “What happened after Craig’s accident?”
Dwayne’s eyes darkened, his anger almost palpable. “You never did see a better wife than Adrianna. She stuck by Craig, even when doctors said he’d be in a coma forever. No better wife.”
Gage wrote Adrianna on his notepad and circled it three times. “Do you have any idea who might be buried on that property?”
Both shook their heads but Marie was the one that answered. “It’s caught us all by surprise. We’re all just sick about it.”
Dwayne shook his head. “Hell of a way to end up. Too bad. But the timing couldn’t be worse for Adrianna. Poor thing just wants to be done with the place.”
“You like Adrianna?”
Dwayne nodded, unapologetic. “Kind of like a daughter to me. I’ve watched her grow up. Handle some nasty stuff with her folks.”
“Such as?” His own curiosity about the woman prompted the question.
“Her mother suffered from all kinds of health issues. She’s kind of fragile. And her dad didn’t have much use for either one of them.”
Marie interjected, “Mr. Barrington was always working.”
“How do you know that?”
“Miss Frances and Miss Margaret talked. Hard not to hear.”
“Who else did Craig date other than Adrianna?”
Dwayne looked puzzled, shook his head. “A few girls in high school, maybe one or two in college. He and Adrianna didn’t get serious until his junior year of college.”
Marie answered, “Once he and Adrianna got together I don’t think he looked at other women.”
“No one from work?”
Dwayne shook his head. “No. He was dedicated to Adrianna. Fact, there was a time a few years back they broke up for the summer. He was a wreck.”
“Why’d they break up?”
Marie frowned. “Truth be told, Craig did have some growing up to do. And I think he did a lot that summer. Losing Adrianna was like a bucket of ice water on his head. He straightened up. And in the end Adrianna saw that and came back to him.”
Gage cleared his throat. “While they were apart, did he date anyone else?”
Dwayne shook his head. “That I don’t know.”
Marie shook her head. “He was so sad during that time. If he did date anyone, it wouldn’t have been serious. He wanted Adrianna back.”
Gage let the comment pass. “Have you seen anyone on the property lately that didn’t fit?”
“I’m not there every day, but when I am it’s quiet.” Marie snapped her fingers. “I did see that Mr. Mazur on the property last fall, right before Craig died. I asked him what he was doing here and he said he’d always admired the place. He was just walking the property. Left without a word.”
“Anyone else?”
Marie shook her head. “No. Like I said, the place is quiet since Miss Frances died. There is that Dr. Heckman fellow. Creepy. Always manages to be here when Adrianna visits. He carries his signs and shouts for her to leave the dead in peace.”
“Did he ever threaten her?”
“Not that I’ve heard. Reminds me more of a buzzing fly. An annoyance.”
Maybe. Or maybe Dr. Heckman was more of a threat than anyone thought. The mild mannered could kill as easily as anyone else.
“What do you think about the land sale?”
Dwayne and Marie looked at each other.
“Got to be done,” Dwayne said.
Gage sensed some disapproval from both. “You’re sorry she’s selling.”
Marie nodded. “I understand why the place has to be sold, but it still hurts to see it go.”
Dwayne flexed his weathered fingers. “Change can be unsettling.”
Gage pulled business cards from his pocket and handed one to each. “If you think of anything else, you’ll let me know.”
Nodding, Marie glanced down at her card. “I sure will.”
Dwayne tucked the card in his breast pocket. “We want this case solved so Adrianna can get on with her life. She deserves to be happy.”
“Thank you for your time.” Gage rose.
Dwayne stood, moving slowly as if his bones ached. Gage noticed that arthritis had started to deform his hands.
Thanking them again, Gage left his card and got into his car. He fired up the engine and pulled onto the street.
The Wellses had painted Craig as a saint. As far as Gage was concerned, the guy had been a royal prick. And likely, the truth was somewhere in between.
Instead of going home, Gage opted to return to the Thornton estate. He wanted to see with his own eyes how the work progressed.
A half hour later he arrived at the yellow crime scene tape, which corralled a collection of paper bags lined up beside the empty grave.
Tess moved toward the tape. Wisps of hair had escaped her ponytail and dark circles hung under her eyes. “So what brings you out here?”
“Just having a look.” Gage doubted he’d sleep tonight.
“As you can see, we’ve almost bagged all the bones.” The bones were in paper bags because plastic trapped moisture and caused mold growth, which contaminated evidence.
“Don’t let me stop you.”
Tess nodded and turned back to her work. Alex raised his gaze from a bag and acknowledged Gage’s presence with a nod but went right back to work.
Gage watched Tess and Alex’s painstaking process, frustrated that there wasn’t more he could do to help them right now. His turn would come as soon as Dr. Butler identified the body.
The two moved slowly, their deliberate movements a sign exhaustion had taken root.
Tess reached for her camera and shot more pictures to document the empty gravesite. “I sifted through this soil and didn’t find any evidence. No bullet, jewelry, or anything that might help with identification.”
“The bones will tell me more,” Dr. Butler said.
“When do you think you can open the second mound?” Gage said.
Dr. Butler considered the question. “I should return tomorrow by early afternoon.”
Tess wiped sweat from the back of her forehead with a hand that trembled with fatigue. “That late?” Tess said.
“I won’t be any good to anyone if I’m exhausted. Neither will you,” Dr. Butler said. “Do us both a favor and get some rest tonight.”
Gage nodded. “I’ll post uniforms to watch the area.”
“Good,” Alex said. “I don’t need any curiosity seekers digging into the mound and destroying evidence.”
Gage slid his hand into his pocket and rattled his keys. “I have a theory about this body.”
He arched a brow. “Really?”
“A missing persons case I worked a couple of years ago. She knew the Thorntons.”
Tess folded her arms. “Really?”
“I’ve already spoken to her dentist. He’s sending you dental records in the morning.”
“Then I’ll check to see if you’re right or wrong,” Dr. Butler said.
It was nearly midnight when Adrianna set down the bin of journals and reached for the front door of her house. She
dug her keys out of her purse and slid her key in the lock. To her surprise it was unlocked. She paused. Damn. Had she forgotten to lock the door this morning? Maybe a realtor had stopped by and shown the house? Whatever the reason, an unlocked door jangled her nerves.
She hesitated. Listened. There was nothing. Shaking off the jab of fear, she pushed open the door and pulled the bin inside to the foyer.
Her home was older, built in the forties, and by Thornton or Barrington standards it was barely a cottage. But she loved the place from the moment she’d first spotted it one Sunday afternoon. Plaster walls, arched doorways, and hardwood floors flowed throughout the house. It was loaded with charm.
She’d bought the house using a small inheritance from her father after she’d sold the Riverside Drive home she’d shared with Craig. When she’d moved in, Craig had been in the nursing home for six months. She’d needed a distraction so she’d set her sights on the house. Not only did she gut the kitchen, but also she had all the hardwood floors sanded and the walls painted a soft yellow.
She’d not had the money to buy new furniture so she’d started scanning antique markets and yard sales. Each Saturday morning she’d risen before dawn and hit the circuit. By ten she was at the nursing home where she spent the rest of her Saturdays sitting in Craig’s room and reading articles from his favorite magazines.
Often after a visit to Craig’s bedside, she’d return home and spend endless hours stripping paint from the stone fireplace or sanding woodwork.
She’d turned an outdated, dark house into a sanctuary that had become an island of sanity. Leaving this house would be hard because it had been her sole haven for the last two and a half years.
Beside the black lacquered front door was a large cast-iron kettle filled with red and purple winter pansies and cascading ivy. She retrieved her mail from the brass box by the front door and slowly flipped through the envelopes.
Bills. Always bills. She’d called her New York client, Pauline Collins, and told her she’d not be able to make their appointment. She’d spent the better part of the next half hour convincing the woman that the colors that she’d chosen would be perfect.
She moved through the house flipping on lights as she made her way to the kitchen. A gray slate floor and buttery yellow walls accentuated honey maple cabinets, granite countertops, and stainless steel appliances. In the center of the room was an island and above it a pot rack filled with well-worn stainless steel pots. It was a cook’s kitchen, one she’d spent hours in, baking when she felt stress or tired.
The last envelope was hand addressed to her and had a standard Forever stamp in the corner. Curious, she tore open the back flap and pulled out a coupon for cologne. The information was ordinary and not very interesting but it was the scent on the card that hit her. Armani. Craig’s aftershave. The hairs on the back of her neck rose. She raised the card to her nose. She inhaled.
The scent was unmistakable.
How many times had his aftershave clung to her body after they’d made love? To his clothes? His pillow? After the accident, she’d not been able to launder his shirts because she’d have lost the scent that had comforted her so much.
Now, it brought no peace. Only sadness and loss.
Adrianna took a step back, her throat burning with unshed tears. What were the chances of receiving this?
A few days ago, she’d not have thought twice about it but after the anniversary card, and the unlocked front door, she couldn’t help but wonder if this was another anonymous cruelty.
That had to be the explanation. She glanced at the kitchen counter and searched for a business card that signaled a visit from her realtor. It was there. By the stove.
She grabbed the kitchen phone and dialed. Voicemail picked up immediately. “Catherine, this is Adrianna. Just checking to see if you showed the house today? You left the house unlocked. Please be more careful. Thanks.”
She moved the back door that led to a small patio and opened it. Cool night air swirled inside. The breeze carried the scent of the aftershave from the card and soon the fragrance had vanished as if it had never been there.
Adrianna tossed the card in the trash can outside and rubbed her hand over the goose bumps on her arm. Nervous laughter bubbled in her chest. “It’s a freaking perfume advertisement. Get a grip.”
The day’s nightmarish events had clearly taken its toll.
As she shrugged off her coat, the cell phone in her purse rang. The sound made her jump. “Idiot.” She laughed as she dug it out of her purse.
Expecting to see her realtor’s number, she was disappointed to see her mother’s number. Squaring her shoulders, she flipped open the phone. “Hello.”
“Adrianna.” There was no missing the trademark panic in her mother’s voice. Ever since Adrianna could remember, there was always some crisis to be managed.
She pressed her fingers to her forehead, too tired to rehash last night. “Hey, Mom.”
“I’m sorry about last night.”
“That’s okay.” She moved to the fridge and pulled out a half-full bottle of Chardonnay.
“I’ve been so worried about you. I’m sorry we fought yesterday morning.”
“Me, too, Mom, Me too.”
“You went to the Thornton house today?” Tension etched each of Margaret’s words.
“Yes. And it all went fine.” No good would come from telling her mother about today’s discovery at the Thornton place. Last night’s trip to the ER affirmed that her mother didn’t handle conflict well.
“You would tell me if things weren’t good.” Worry dripped from each word.
Despite all their problems, her mother did know when she hedged the truth. If not blood, a lifetime of memories linked them forever. “Yes, of course,” she lied. “There’s nothing to worry about.”
She pulled a glass from the cabinet, uncorked the bottle, and poured herself a glass.
“When are you coming to see me again, Adrianna?”
“Soon, Mom, soon.”
“When?”
“I don’t know, Mom. Soon. There’s a lot to wrap up with the land sale and I’ve got a lot of work at the shop. I’m just swamped right now.”
“I miss working at the shop. We had such fun working together.” She added an inflection to the end of the sentence, a clear cue she needed reinforcement.
“I know.” Adrianna had suggested they open the store together after her father had died four years ago, fearing her mother would slip into another deep depression. Margaret was an artist at heart and the interior design shop appealed. No denying the woman had an excellent eye for color and detail.
Initially, both had worked hard to launch the business and the shop had soared, but Margaret had started to fade after about eight months. The day-to-day pressures of work had gotten the better of her and she’d retreated for a time. During Margaret’s hiatus, the brunt of the business had fallen on Adrianna’s shoulders, and that coupled with Craig’s accident had meant long days. Her mother had managed to get herself together after about a year and returned to work for a while, but in January the adoption mess had been exposed and Margaret had suffered a major setback.
If Barrington Designs was going to survive it would have to be without Margaret. In February, Adrianna had hired help.
“I want to come back to work.” Her mother’s voice shook with emotion.
Adrianna gripped the phone. Now wasn’t the time to have this conversation. “What does your doctor say?”
“He said maybe next month.”
“Then let’s give it more time.” She took a sip of wine, savoring the cool flavor in her mouth.
“But I can come back?”
“It depends. I’ve told you I might not keep the store.”
“That’s right. But I was helpful with your designs. I’m good with colors.”
“You are. And if you can help, that would be great.”
“Thank you.” Margaret paused. “Adrianna, I love you.”
The
words cut into Adrianna. Then why did you lie to me all those years? She closed her eyes. As angry as she was at Margaret, she couldn’t be cruel by denying her a response. “I love you, too, Mom.”
“I pulled out your wedding album today. You were so beautiful and Craig was so handsome.”
“What made you look at the album?”
“You haven’t forgotten your anniversary, have you? It’s today.”
“No, I didn’t forget.” A thought occurred to her and before she thought she said, “You didn’t send me an anniversary card, did you?”
“No. Did you get a card?”
“I think it was just a mistake. Nothing to worry about.” Love always, Craig. It had been a cruel joke.
“You’re sure?”
She regretted opening this can of worms. “Yes. Really. Hey, I’ve got to go. I’ve an early wake-up call.”
“Of course. You will come and see me soon?”
“Yes. I promise.”
Adrianna hung up. The second and third sips of wine eased through her body, warming her. Twelve twenty-one. It was after midnight.
It was September twenty-seventh.
Her anniversary had passed.
Adrianna pressed the cold glass to her temple.
She’d survived another painful milestone. “Thank God.”
Craig sat in his car across the street from Hudson’s house eating one of the cookies he’d snagged from Adrianna’s kitchen. In the last few weeks, he’d taken to entering her house when she wasn’t there because he loved touching her things. This time, he’d left the card in her mailbox and intentionally left the front door unlocked. He wanted her to have a hint of his presence. “Soon, my love.”
To think, just three years ago before the accident, he’d not have had the stones to do half the things he was doing today. In the pre-accident days he was so weak, so ineffective. So worried about what people thought of him. So spineless.
But no more. The accident had obliterated the wimp he had been and transformed him into a better, stronger man. Now there was only the newer, stronger Craig who took charge of situations. He no longer wrung his hands and worried about rules or the law. He did what needed to be done. He took charge.