Lethal Homecoming (Tanner Hollow #1)

by Lynette Eason

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  “I’m going to pack.” Richard stormed out of the room.

  Callie sat back on the couch and lifted her eyes to the ceiling as though she’d find answers written there. “So, Megan gets everything and someone is trying to kill me.”

  Truly she didn’t care about the money. Her mother had made sure she had more than enough to be comfortable while she got her law degree. And, of course, she wouldn’t wish this on Megan, it was just—why?

  Because, obviously, it wasn’t about money.

  At least not anymore. Truly, she’d wondered if one of Rick’s children thought they would get more if she were out of the picture, but she’d dismissed that idea almost as soon as it popped in her head. After all, she’d had absolutely zero contact with the three of them. In fact, the only time she’d met them had been at the wedding six years ago. Why would one of them want to kill her? The idea was ridiculous. Wasn’t it?

  Nevertheless, someone wanted her dead.

  And she had no idea who it might be.

  Once again Nolan found himself sitting in his car outside the Goodlette house sipping hot coffee from a thermos. Jason was working tonight so Nolan was flying solo.

  But Nolan had been busy after the reading of the will. While there was excellent protection for the family and no real chance of someone getting inside the house, he’d taken it upon himself to do a little research. He was glad for the little bit of information he discovered but was still frustrated and felt like he was missing something. Something in the story Callie’s mother had told them.

  Rick had drugged Sharon Goodlette and then raped her. She thought she’d had too much to drink and the next morning remembered nothing of what had happened. Rick had been aware of Sharon’s dissatisfaction with her husband because he and the business partner, Clyde Durham, were good friends.

  Until the argument. What had the argument been about?

  Clyde had an airtight alibi for the night Rick had the wreck. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t have hired someone. And then that someone decided to get rid of the one person who knew what he’d done? It was far-fetched, but not impossible. But that left the question … Why?

  He thought about Callie’s whisper. “He knew,” she said. Rick knew Megan was his. And truthfully, if Rick and Megan were in the same room, one would notice the resemblance. She didn’t look a bit like Blake Ainsworth, the man who’d been a father to her until his death.

  Lisa Cleveland was Rick and Clyde’s secretary. He’d left her numerous messages and she had yet to call him back. After their initial conversation when she’d disclosed the argument, she’d all but disappeared. He’d had several officers drive past her house over the course of the last two days and they hadn’t reported seeing her come home or leave. And now darkness had fallen. It was getting close to midnight. Would she be home?

  Nolan cranked his car and drove to the address he’d visited the day after Rick’s death. When he pulled in front of her house, all the lights were off. The open carport stood empty and the place looked deserted. Nolan debated his next move as he climbed out of his vehicle, praying he wouldn’t find another dead body.

  A hand clapped over her mouth and Callie woke with a gasp. “Sh,” the voice whispered in her ear. “If you wake anyone, they’ll have to die. Understand?”

  Sleep fled. Terror quickly took root. Callie lay still, feeling something against the base of her neck. A gun. Her heart thudded and a fear-generated weakness flooded her. Who—?

  “Get up,” the person behind her said, “and move slow.”

  Callie did as ordered, her mind racing. How had someone gotten inside with all of the security?

  As fast as the question blipped through her mind, the answer came. No one had gotten in. Whoever was behind her was already inside.

  One of Rick’s children?

  But which one?

  “Move,” the voice hissed. “Out the French doors.”

  “The alarm will sound.”

  “No, it won’t.”

  So, the person knew the code. She was sure her mother had given the code to her step-siblings, but Richard had taken the first flight out to return home after his disgust with the reading of the will.

  That left Shelley.

  “Why?” she whispered. “What did I do to you?”

  “You exist. Now move.” Shelley—if it was her—pressed the weapon harder against her neck.

  Callie flinched and thought fast. As soon as she walked out those doors, she was dead. “I need shoes and a coat. Please. If you want me to walk I have to protect my feet.”

  Callie had fallen asleep in sweatpants and a short-sleeved T-shirt. With the outside temperatures in the low thirties, she’d freeze without covering. She spoke in a whisper, heart thudding in her ears, while her frantic brain tried to figure out what to do. All she knew was that if she got a chance to run, she’d definitely have a better chance of escaping with shoes on her feet.

  A sigh reached her ears. “Get them and let’s get going.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Away from here.”

  Callie dressed quickly, ever aware of the gun aimed in her direction. She thought she saw a silencer on the end and wondered why the person hadn’t just shot her in her sleep.

  Then she realized that would spark an intense investigation of everyone under the roof. Shelley wouldn’t like that at all.

  What would happen if she put up a fight?

  “If you don’t hurry it up, we’re going to walk down the hall and I’ll put a bullet in your mother, then we’ll visit each and every room until they’re all dead. You understand?” The husky whisper didn’t sound much like Shelley, but if not her, then who?

  “I understand.” Her only hope was to attract the attention of one of the officers watching the house.

  The gun pressing against the back of her head directed her to the door. She unlocked the deadbolt and twisted the knob. Cold air rushed in, sucking the breath from her. Oh God, please protect me.

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “Because I hate you.” The whispered hiss ricocheted through her mind.

  10

  Nolan found the back door handle to the kitchen broken, the latch knocked off. Instincts screaming, he opened it slowly, not wanting to catch a bullet should she have a weapon on her. “Lisa? It’s Detective Nolan Tanner. We spoke the other day about Rick Goodlette. Are you home?”

  Silence echoed through the kitchen. He flipped the light switch and bathed the room in a soft glow. Stepping inside, he let his gaze run over the countertops. Clean except for a mug and saucer. He examined the contents of the mug and saw that it was half full. And the porcelain was still warm.

  “Lisa?”

  If he hadn’t felt the warm mug, he wouldn’t think she was there, but his gut instinct told him she was.

  With careful steps and a listening ear, he continued to search the house. It wasn’t a large space, but Lisa had a keen eye for what went together and she was neat. No clutter and everything had a place. Which meant she’d heard him drive up and had darted somewhere to hide. At least she was alive.

  “Lisa, please. I’m not here to hurt you. I just want to talk.” He cleared the first two bedrooms then slipped into the master bedroom at the end of the hall.

  A rustle from the open closet caught his attention. “I’m Detective Nolan Tanner,” he said again, just in case she hadn’t heard him when he’d entered the house. “I’m sorry to enter your house like this, but I need to know you’re all right.”

  Stillness. Then more noise as she stepped out of the closet. He turned the light on and she shielded her eyes. “What do you want?”

  “To talk. That’s it. Could we sit in your den?”

  Lisa hesitated and lowered her hand to meet his gaze. She looked worn out, like she hadn’t slept in days. And terrified. “What do you want to talk about?”

  “I think you know.”

  Her face crumpled and tears le
aked down her cheeks. “They’re dead, both of them.”

  “Clyde and Rick?”

  “Yes.” She swiped a hand across her face then grabbed the tissue box from the nightstand. “Come on.”

  With quick steps, she left the room and headed down the hall. Nolan hurried after her.

  Once in the den, she perched on the end of the love seat and motioned for him to take the chair next to the fireplace. “Why were you hiding in your closet?”

  “Someone tried to break into my house yesterday. When I heard you come in, I was afraid that person had returned. Even when you called out, I wasn’t sure it was really you and not someone trying to lure me out of hiding.”

  “You’re scared whoever killed Clyde and Rick is coming after you.”

  She nodded. “I just put it together. It’s because Callie is turning twenty-five and will inherit the law firm—or at least a large portion of it.”

  Nolan blinked. “What?”

  “Last week, I found Megan going through her father’s files, one by one. At first, I thought she was just looking for money or something so I didn’t say anything, but then I caught her in his private file folder. No one had touched his office except for Clyde, who’d removed all of the clients’ information and passed it on to others to handle. But even his wife, Sharon, hadn’t come to clear out Blake’s personal effects. I mean, it’s been six years and his office is like a shrine to him.” She shrugged. “I mentioned to Megan one day about a month ago that Sharon probably needed to clean it out. She agreed. The next thing I know she’s in there going through his stuff.” She flushed.

  “What?”

  “I … ah … well, she left one of the files open and rushed out of the building. I could tell she was upset, so I went in the office and read the file. It was Blake’s will.”

  “I see. What’s this about Callie turning twenty-five?”

  She pressed her fingers against her eyes. “She gets the whole thing, partner rights, everything. Megan gets nothing.”

  “And Megan knew this?”

  “Yes. She figured it out when she was going through his stuff.”

  “And Sharon knew this?”

  “Well, of course. I mean I would think so. Blake didn’t have a public reading of his will like I heard Rick did, but Sharon would know about it.”

  But it had never occurred to her that someone would be after Callie for her share of the company. They’d been so focused on Rick and his death that they hadn’t seen what was right in front of their faces. Well, Sharon hadn’t anyway.

  “Rick and Clyde were arguing two days before Rick died. Are you sure you didn’t notice anything else?”

  “No, but Clyde recorded every meeting he had. If you can find his cell phone, it’ll be on there.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us this earlier?”

  “I didn’t think of it the day you interviewed me. I was just in shock, I suppose. I thought about the recording yesterday and was going to find a way to tell you about it, but I’ve been afraid to leave my home. I think the police are watching because they scared off an intruder last night. I feel safe here because the cops are outside. But if I leave, I’m afraid of what might happen.”

  “Did you get a look at the intruder?”

  “A glimpse when he was looking in my window and then again when he ran across the yard to get away from the cops.”

  “Could the person have been a female?”

  She paused. “Yes, I suppose. The person was thin and not too tall.”

  It could be Megan.

  He couldn’t take a chance. He dialed Callie’s number and it went straight to voice mail. Then he called her mother. Also voice mail. Of course, they would be sleeping. He hoped.

  Callie shivered as she walked the path directed by her assailant. When they’d stepped out of the French doors and onto the deck, there’d been no sign of any security. They were probably huddled down in their cars, but more than likely, Shelley had timed their perimeter checks and had found a hole to slip through.

  The wind whipped her hair around her face and she burrowed deeper into her coat. Her eyes scanned the area seeking escape any way she could get it. “How can you do this, Shelley? What did I do to make you hate me?”

  “You think I’m Shelley?” Her captor spoke in a normal voice for the first time since entering her bedroom.

  She frowned. She didn’t recognize that voice. Wait. Yes, she did. “Brian?”

  “You thought I was your stepsister?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “That’s funny.”

  She wasn’t sure why he thought that was so amusing, but didn’t bother asking him to clarify. “How’d you get in the house? There’s no way you got in with all the cops that are watching it.”

  “True. I have a key and I know the passcode to the alarm system. I simply left the funeral early, telling Megan I had business out of town and would see her later. I let myself in, reset the alarm and found a hiding place. It wasn’t hard to find one in that mansion.”

  Giving him the perfect alibi if someone questioned her sister.

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “Because Megan has worked her whole life for that firm and all you have to do is have a birthday to get it.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  He laughed and jabbed her forward once more with the weapon. “You don’t even know, do you?”

  “Apparently not.”

  The lake loomed closer.

  “Megan found your father’s will. Blake’s, not Rick’s.”

  “I’m well aware of who my father is, thanks.” Never once had she considered Rick as a father.

  “She was devastated that you would receive the firm.”

  Callie and her father had discussed working together. The topic had been frequent in their conversations while fishing, boating, just hanging out together. He had been so excited when she’d taken the first steps and started on her pre-law track at school.

  “So she killed him?”

  “Of course not. She just found out about the will a week ago.”

  Callie arrived at the edge of the dock. “Then who killed him?”

  “I don’t think anyone did. I think he simply had a heart attack.”

  So … it hadn’t been murder. That comforted her somewhat.

  “But you have to die so Megan can get the firm.”

  Comfort fled.

  Rick’s death had definitely been murder. “What about Rick? Did you have some reason to cut his brake line?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  As long as he was talking, he wasn’t pushing her toward the dock. What did he have in mind? Drowning? She shuddered.

  “Because he knew.”

  “Knew what?”

  “Go.” He gave her another shove and she stepped onto the

  dock.

  “And Clyde?”

  “He wanted to call the cops.”

  She was going to punch him. He was talking in circles.

  She drew in a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart and shaking knees. “Call the cops about what?”

  “Keep walking. I’m done talking.”

  “Call the cops about what? Why not just tell me?”

  She was almost afraid to push him, but what did she have to lose at this point? She took three more steps and that seemed to pacify him.

  “About the embezzling. Clyde discovered that Megan was stealing from the firm and was going to the cops.”

  “Megan? Stealing from the firm? I don’t believe it.”

  “Of course Megan wouldn’t do something like that.” He shook his head. “Rick said there was no way she would do that and he’d handle it.”

  “So it wasn’t Megan who was stealing, it was you?”

  “Bingo.”

  “That’s what they were arguing about two days before Rick died?”

  “You’re clever, I’ll give you that. Now we’re finished talking. Get the keys.”

 
; Three machines were anchored to the dock, their keys locked in a small box with a code she just had to punch in. A speedboat, the pontoon, and a jet ski. All of which would take her away from her family. Away from safety. Away from Nolan.

  “Which one?”

  “The fast one! Quit stalling.”

  Callie’s fingers trembled as she tapped in the code that would release the keys.

  Once he had them in hand, he shoved her toward the speedboat. The one she and her father used to take out on the lake to either fish or ski. Callie’s heart pounded. If she got in the boat, she was as good as dead.

  He gave her another hard push and she tripped over the coil of extra rope. She landed hard onto the nearest seat and lost her breath for a moment. He was busy untying the boat. Callie scrambled to her knees and lunged for the ignition with the spare key she’d palmed from the box.

  Nolan pounded on the door and rang the bell to the Goodlette home. He’d already alerted the officers on duty that they needed to keep their eyes open. Although he could wait until morning to come by the house, he just couldn’t get the thought out of his head that Megan had something to do with the attempts on Callie’s life.

  And if that was the case, he didn’t want her under the same roof with the woman. Two officers stood at the base of the porch.

  The light came on and the door opened.

  He thought he heard a motor start and motioned to the nearest officer. “Check the back of the house, will you?”

  Sharon Goodlette, wrapped in a robe about two sizes too big, stared at him like he’d grown another head. “What’s going on?”

  “I need to know that everyone’s all right in here.”

  “Of course. Why?”

  “Just check Callie’s and Megan’s beds.”

  “Police! Freeze!”

  “Help me!”

  The shouts came from the officer who rounded the house—and Callie? Sharon gasped and spun to dart back into the house. She slapped the wall beside her and floodlights blazed, bathing the home in light. Nolan bolted in the direction of the yell and turned the corner to see Callie in the motorboat with a man holding a gun on her.

  The shout from the officer had come just after she’d cranked the engine. Brian looked up, swore, and dove into the boat, never losing his grip on his weapon. “Drive!” He turned and aimed the weapon at the gathering officers at the edge of the lake and fired.