Poisoned Ground Series, Book 6

by Sandra Parshall

  Ronan had no inkling yet that his parents’ deaths wouldn’t save him from financial ruin. Tom wanted to keep him in the dark until the time seemed right, and that would require Sheila’s cooperation. She’d be wise to hold off and let the lawyer tell him. If she decided to do it herself, Tom hoped she would drop the bombshell in a safe place with other people around.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Rachel paused in dinner preparations to lean against the counter and watch Tom and Simon trying to figure out how to set the kitchen table.

  “The forks go on the right side,” Tom said. “No, wait, that looks wrong. Here, they go on the left. The knife goes on the right.”

  Simon frowned at the arrangement. “Why don’t they all go together on one side?”

  “Don’t ask me, buddy. As long as they’re somewhere I can reach them, that’s all that matters to me.”

  Grinning at their exchange, Rachel grabbed a couple of oven mitts from the counter to remove a macaroni and cheese casserole—Simon’s favorite—from the oven. Tom and Simon were so much alike they could be father and son, rather than uncle and nephew. Each time she saw them together, she knew she was getting a preview of what their life might be like if she and Tom had kids of their own.

  Rachel knew how much Tom wanted children, and she felt guilty for thinking in terms of if instead of when. Sometimes she shared his longing, and managed to stifle her doubts and believe she had the qualities that made a good mother, even though she’d never had a positive role model when she was growing up. In a burst of enthusiasm and confidence, she’d stopped taking birth control pills. But deeply engrained self-doubt had made her hesitant to tell Tom. Soon enough, the old familiar fears had overwhelmed her again. What if she could be no better a mother than her own, her real mother, had been? Worse, what if she had absorbed so much poison from Judith, the imposter, the criminal who raised her and her sister, that she couldn’t keep it from leaking into her relationship with a child of her own? She had almost decided to go back on the pills.

  She lifted the casserole out and set it on top of the range while she turned off the oven.

  “Yay!” Simon scrambled into a chair. “Mac and cheese! I’m ready to eat.”

  Rachel smiled, relieved to be distracted from her dark thoughts. “You have to eat your veggies too.”

  He screwed up his face in disgust. “Okay, if I have to.”

  Why did she feel so at ease with Simon? Was it because he had no connection to her own twisted family? She believed she could be a good mother to him. But it wasn’t hard to be confident about something that would never happen.

  If Darla’s cancer progressed, though—if, God forbid, she didn’t make it…

  Rachel froze, her mitt-covered hands on the casserole dish. How could she think such a thing? Simon wasn’t a prize they might win if his grandmother died.

  “Hey,” Tom said. “You okay?”

  “Yes, of course.” Rachel carried the casserole to the table and set it on a trivet. Unsure how much emotion showed on her face, she avoided Tom’s gaze.

  As they ate they focused on Simon, and Tom appeared totally relaxed, with all thoughts of the murder investigation and the raucous community meeting banished from his mind. When they were alone later, though, he would probably have plenty to say to her about her impromptu role in the uproar. Maybe she’d get lucky and the edge of his irritation with her would wear off before they got around to speaking privately.

  ***

  Rachel was turning down their bed when Tom came in and closed the bedroom door. “He finally drifted off to sleep. He’s really worried about his grandmother.”

  “I know. He’s trying so hard to be brave. It breaks my heart.”

  Tom said nothing as he removed his shoes and unbuttoned his shirt. Rachel knew he wouldn’t let the day end without a discussion of her behavior at the meeting, and she decided to bring it up first and get it out of the way.

  “I’m sorry I made things harder for you today,” she said, “but I couldn’t sit there and keep my mouth shut while that man lied to all those people. Somebody has to inject a little truth into this fairy tale he’s putting out.”

  “That somebody doesn’t have to be you.”

  Rachel sighed and sat down on her side of the bed, facing away from him. “I’m the sheriff’s wife now, so I can’t ever say what I think? I’m sorry, but I’m having a little trouble adjusting to that idea.”

  She couldn’t see Tom’s face, but his voice sounded tight when he answered. “This is a dangerous situation. And it’s going to get worse. I don’t like having to worry about you all the time. Stay out of it and let other people fight this battle.”

  “I didn’t hear anybody else asking the questions I did.”

  Tom came to sit beside her, but he left a foot of space between them. He didn’t speak at once, and the silence grew more and more uncomfortable as it stretched out. She’d rather have anger than this uneasy quiet.

  When he spoke at last, he sounded tired, resigned, rather than irritated. “You really hate this place, don’t you?”

  “No.” Her answer was automatic. “Of course I don’t hate it.”

  He looked at her, and his solemn, sad expression brought a stab of alarm. She had pushed him too far. Was he wondering if he’d made a mistake in marrying her?

  What he said next startled her, only because neither of them had ever spoken the truth so baldly before. “I know I’m the only reason you stay here. You’d be long gone if it wasn’t for me. That’s one reason you took a while to say yes when I asked you to marry me. You couldn’t decide if I was worth staying here for.”

  Rachel hesitated, choosing her words and resisting the urge to drown him in reassurance. “All right, yes, I’d probably be gone by now if it weren’t for you. But you are absolutely worth staying here for. I love you. I want to be wherever you are. And you have to admit that you aren’t here willingly either. You told me as much.”

  “I came back because of Simon. You know that. I owe it to him to be here if he needs me.”

  “I understand that. I always have. But if the accident had never happened, you’d still be a detective with the Richmond police.”

  Tom reached for her hand, and the warmth of his skin made Rachel realize that she felt icy, through and through.

  “If I’d stayed in Richmond, I never would have met you.”

  And would you be better off? “Oh, we might have met, one way or another, when you came here for a visit with some other woman as your wife.”

  He enclosed her hand in both of his, as if trying to warm her. “Then I would’ve had to get a divorce so I could be with you. You drive me crazy sometimes, but you’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”

  A rush of relief made Rachel’s breath catch in her throat. She smiled and laid a hand against his cheek. “In case you have any doubt, the feeling is mutual.”

  “Which part? The driving me crazy part or the best thing part?”

  “Both.” She leaned into him, needing his arms around her. What strange and twisted roads had brought them to this point. And how easily this fragile happiness might be lost.

  The telephone rang, a jarring intrusion in the quiet room.

  Tom groaned and pulled away from Rachel. “What now?”

  Nothing but bad news ever came in a call this late in the evening. Somebody hurt. Somebody dead. As Tom walked around the bed to answer the landline phone on his night table, Rachel waited with growing apprehension.

  Tom listened for a moment, then said, “No, it’s okay, you were right to call me. I’ll go out there now.”

  “What’s happened?” Rachel asked when he hung up.

  “Joanna called for help and the dispatcher thought I’d want to know about it.”

  Rachel jumped to her feet. “Joanna? What—”

  “Joanna’s fine, n
othing’s happened to her, but Ronan’s over at her place raising hell, and she’s holding a gun on him to keep him away from his sister.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Deputy Kevin Blackwood, assigned to night patrol, had reached Joanna’s house ahead of Tom, and his cruiser sat on the farm road with its light strip flashing red and blue. Tom trotted across the lawn from the driveway and mounted the steps to the porch.

  The main door stood open, and with only the glass storm door to muffle them, the raised voices inside carried into the quiet night. Through the living room window on the left, he saw Sheila Kelly standing with her arms crossed, her face hard and unyielding. Ronan stalked around the room, glaring and yanking on his hair. The deputy, a tall blond man in his twenties, looked on without interfering.

  Tom found Joanna, in robe and slippers, standing in the center hallway outside the living room, her shotgun propped on the floor and her fingers gripping the barrel. “They’ve been at it for a while now,” she told Tom, “and it’s getting worse, not better.”

  “You can’t do a thing about it,” Sheila was shouting at her brother, “so just suck it up and move on.”

  “Like hell I will!”

  “You brought it on yourself. Don’t you dare blame me!”

  Tom upped the volume of his own voice so Joanna could hear him above the barrage of shouted insults between Ronan and Sheila. “Why did you let him in the house?”

  “She let him in. I was in bed asleep, and the racket woke me up.” With her free hand Joanna swept her tousled red-gold hair off her forehead. “He was pushing her around, threatening her.”

  Ronan spun to face them. In one hand he gripped several crumpled sheets of paper. “I didn’t do a damn thing to her. She’s the one who screwed me over.”

  “If I hadn’t come down here with a gun and stopped you,” Joanna said, “God only knows what you would’ve done. You’re acting like a crazy man.”

  “I thought he was going to break my arm.” Sheila held her left arm against her body and clutched it with her right hand.

  “Your parents would be ashamed of you,” Joanna told Ronan.

  “Aw, to hell with this.” He started toward the door.

  Kevin Blackwood stepped into his path, hands raised. “Stay right where you are.”

  “Get out of my way.”

  Tom added his own body to the barricade. When he moved closer, he caught a whiff of sour whiskey coming off Ronan. “You’re not going anywhere until you explain what you’re doing here.”

  “My sister’s the one who has some explaining to do.” Ronan shook the crushed papers in his fist. “I want her to tell me how she pulled this off.”

  “Pulled what off?” Tom asked, although he had a good idea.

  With clumsy motions Ronan tried to smooth out the papers.

  Tom took them from him and looked them over. Exactly what he’d expected. Ronan had dug up a copy of his parents’ trust.

  Ronan focused on his sister again. “This is your doing. You can’t tell me they decided this on their own. What kind of lies did you tell them? How did you make them turn against their only son, their oldest child?”

  Tears ran down Sheila’s cheeks, but she looked furious. “You did that all by yourself. You took advantage of them, you milked them for every cent you could get when you knew they couldn’t afford it, and you wasted it all. They would have been justified if they’d left you absolutely nothing. They were disgusted with you, they’d had enough—”

  “Shut up, you bitch!” Before Tom realized what was happening, Ronan took a long stride toward his sister and whacked her across the face with the back of his hand.

  Sheila cried out and staggered backward. Ronan went after her, fist raised, but Tom and Kevin grabbed his arms and pulled him away from her.

  Joanna rushed to Sheila’s side and wrapped an arm around her.

  “I’ll make you pay for this!” Ronan twisted, trying to jerk free, but Tom and Kevin held on and forced his hands behind his back.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Tom said. “Settle down.”

  Sheila pressed both hands to her cheek and jaw. Blood dripped from her lower lip and streaked the front of her white terrycloth robe. “Keep him away from me. I’m afraid of what he’ll do to me.”

  “Oh, boo hoo,” Ronan said. “Poor Sheila. That’s how you did it, playing the sweet little daughter while you cut me off at the knees.” He jerked again, trying to throw off Tom and the deputy. “Goddamn it, let me go!”

  They pressed on his shoulders, forcing him to his knees, then facedown on the carpet. Tom unhooked a pair of handcuffs from the back of his utility belt and snapped them on Ronan’s wrists. “You’re under arrest for assault.”

  “Damn it, Bridger, you can’t do this.” Writhing like a snake, Ronan kicked his feet up and out, trying to connect with Tom’s legs.

  Tom placed a knee on the man’s back and leaned his weight on it.

  Ronan raised his head and let out a high-pitched wail. “My back, oh fuck, my back—”

  Tom eased up on the pressure. “You ready to behave yourself?”

  Panting like a dog, Ronan went limp and dropped his head.

  Together Tom and Kevin pulled him to his feet. Still breathing hard, Ronan blinked tears from his eyes as they propelled him toward the door. “You’re not getting away with this, Sheila,” he threw over his shoulder. “You hear me? This isn’t over.”

  ***

  An hour later, Ronan Kelly sat on a bunk in the county jail, bent over with his head in his hands. He still had traces of fingerprint ink on his fingers, and he’d transferred black smudges to his forehead, temples, and nose.

  Tom stood outside the cell. “That was quite a performance at Joanna’s house.”

  Without looking up, Ronan mumbled, “I had a couple of drinks before I went over there. I wasn’t myself.”

  “Oh, is that right? Then who were you? Where did all that rage come from, if it didn’t come from you?”

  Ronan sat silent and motionless.

  “Do you really think your sister could talk your parents into cutting your share of the estate if they didn’t want to? If they didn’t have any reason to?”

  Ronan dropped his hands and raised his head, but he stared at the wall in front of him and didn’t look at Tom. “That’s exactly what I think. She’s been working on them, trying to turn them against me.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  “You know why.”

  “No, I don’t. Enlighten me.”

  Ronan drew a deep breath, squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, and said, “She’s always resented me. Been jealous of me. She knew I was Dad’s favorite, and she couldn’t stand it. Then when his mind started to go, she grabbed her chance.”

  “Are you telling me this is all about sibling rivalry? At this late date?”

  Abruptly Ronan rose and stepped over to the bars. “It’s about money. She knew they’d be rich if they sold to Packard. She wanted it all, or as much as she could get her hands on. And she made sure she’d end up with it. Well, she’s not getting away with this. I’ll go to court and get the trust invalidated because Dad wasn’t mentally competent to sign it.”

  “I thought your parents were holding out, like Joanna. They weren’t going to sell.”

  “They would have. Or Mom would have. But she needed to get Dad declared incompetent first, so she could do it on her own.”

  “Are you just speculating, or was your mother really planning to do that?”

  Ronan gripped the bars with both hands and leaned against them as if he were exhausted and needed the support. “She wanted to do it. She told me so. She was just waiting to see what Joanna decided.”

  “I can tell you that Joanna’s not budging.”

  Ronan’s words were barely audible. “Damn stubborn wom
an. Standing in everybody’s way.”

  And we’ve seen what happens, Tom thought, when you think somebody’s standing in your way. “Even if your parents had sold, it wouldn’t have done you any good, not as long as they were alive.”

  Ronan dropped his hands and took a step back from the bars. “What do you mean?”

  Tom shrugged. “The money would be theirs, not yours. Even if you’d been in line to inherit everything, you wouldn’t have got it until both your parents died. But you need money now.”

  “What the hell do you know about my financial situation?”

  “It’s not a secret. I know you’re up to your ears in debt. You must have thought a lot of your problems would be solved if both your parents were out of the way.”

  His fists opening and closing at his sides, Ronan stared at Tom for a long moment. Dawning comprehension showed in his widening eyes and slack jaw. At last he said, “I’m not talking to you anymore without a lawyer.”

  Chapter Twenty

  When Tom found Jake Hollinger’s truck parked in Tavia Richardson’s driveway Sunday morning, he almost turned around and drove off. He wanted to talk to both, but separately. After sitting on the road in his cruiser thinking about it for a couple of minutes, though, he parked and got out. Seeing these two together might tell him something about their relationship and how far they would go to be together.

  Tavia answered the door in bare feet, wearing a blue robe that hung open over a lacy nightgown. Through the sheer fabric of the gown, one nipple and the dark triangle of her pubic hair were clearly visible. Startled, Tom averted his eyes.