by Trish Reeb
Sheila touched her shoulder.
"It’s okay to let go."
Alex twisted around, noticing Sheila's wet cheeks. Resuming her position, she gazed at Taryn, swallowing the ball of unshed tears. Tears would not bring her back. Tears would not find Taryn’s killer. And tears would not absolve her guilt.
As they silently left the funeral home, she grew numb. She liked numb. Numb would help her get through meeting Taryn’s family for the first time. Numb would prevent her from collapsing like a drenched umbrella when she attempted to console them.
Most days, anger kept the lid on the emotions brewing deep inside, fueling her promise to Taryn. All the clues she’d unearthed, and she'd gotten no closer to understanding the mystery behind Taryn’s murder. It all had to be linked, but how? What connected Taryn’s death to Foxworth Apartments? Mercedes might hold the key; but, when Alex had visited her at the hospital, she'd been drowsy, passing in and out of sleep. Later, there’d been no time for questions.
Sheila drove to the Richards' place. Alex attempted to relax, enjoying the country scenery along the way, but found the prospect of meeting Taryn’s parents weighing on her mind. She didn’t know what to expect from Mr. Richards. Did he still blame her for Taryn’s death? He might as well get in line. The rational side of her head insisted only omnipresence could've protected Taryn. But, as her play sister, and the oldest, hadn’t she failed her somehow?
Following the directions retrieved from the internet, they located the renovated farm house sitting back from the road on several acres of land. Trees planted years ago in an environmental effort had grown so tall Alex couldn’t see the house from the road— just as Taryn had described. The ride down the tree-lined drive to the chorus of crunching gravel and chirping birds almost, but not quite, lured Alex’s mind away from the vision of Taryn at the funeral home.
Sheila parked the car behind the long queue of vehicles along the driveway. Shouldering her purse, Alex leaped out of the car and opened the back door to retrieve the cellophane-wrapped gift basket they purchased enroute. A cool breeze stole the warmth of the sun, making Alex grateful for the sweater and long pants she’d worn to cover the wounds on her wrists and ankles. It had taken constant vigilance on her part to hide them from Sheila.
Guests assembled on the lawn, some standing in clusters, others sitting on outdoor furniture. Jordan stood talking to four men. Ah, she’d forgotten about him. Of course he’d be here. He waved them over. No way to avoid him, she plodded in his direction. It had been several days since she thought about him or the feelings he engendered. Not since her conversation with Cole.
Smiling, Jordan relieved Alex of the basket and grabbed her in a one arm hug. Evidently, he’d forgiven her for not inviting him in on Sunday or acknowledging the flowers he’d left.
"Alex, meet Taryn’s brothers," Jordan said. After making the introductions he excused himself to deliver the basket to Mr. and Mrs. Richards.
Alex shook their hands, one by one, and introduced Sheila. Testing her memory, she matched each face and name to the family picture Taryn kept on the sofa table. Like most photos, it had not done the men justice. Though none of the brothers resembled each other per se, Alex found something of Taryn in each one of them—her deep dimples, winning smile, the twinkling eyes of mischief. And, last but not least, Terrance. What he possessed did not immediately become apparent. Taryn had been closest to him even though he was the oldest. But then, the five Richards kids tumbled into the world like a pile up on the expressway—one after the other over a period of six years.
"I’ve heard a lot about you," Alex said, smiling.
"Ditto," Terrance said. "If you want to play tit for tat, I’ll go a round."
Alex smiled. There, he had the same playful spirit as Taryn.
Her discomfort dissipated a little. It seemed, at least so far, Taryn’s brothers harbored no ill will toward her.
"Come meet the folks," Terrance said.
Crossing the threshold, Alex worked on bolstering her courage. Edwarda Richards, tears glistening in her eyes, stood up when they came into the living room. She hugged Alex as if she were a long lost relative. Mr. Richards did not appear. Alex relaxed a little.
Edwarda squeezed her hand. "Taryn told us so much about you, Alex." She dabbed her eyes with a balled up handkerchief. "I feel like I already know you." She smiled. "Called you her big sis."
"With only brothers, we both longed for a sister." Alex smiled back through her tears. "She, being the baby of the family and me, the oldest, it worked out perfectly." Now why had she said that? It hadn’t worked out perfectly. Taryn was gone. They would never call each other sis again. Alex wished she could inhale her last words and say something to soothe the mother’s sorrow.
Edwarda gently squeezed Alex’s hand. She guided her over to the sofa where they sat and chatted until Edwarda left to greet new guests.
Alex searched for familiar faces. She found Sheila and Jordan at the dessert table—the first she encountered as she entered the dining room.
"In honor of Taryn," Jordan said, selecting a piece of chocolate cake and holding it up.
"What's the significance?" Sheila asked.
"Taryn always ordered dessert first when she went out to eat," Alex said.
"My kind of girl." Sheila helped herself to a brownie smothered in whipped cream. "In honor of Taryn," she said, toasting with a forkful of chocolate.
Alex grabbed a plate and scooped up a piece of lemon meringue pie, her favorite. "In honor of Taryn," she said before stuffing a chunk into her mouth. "You think people know this about her?" she asked around the mouthful.
"'Why save the best ‘til last?'" Jordan read from the placard placed in the middle of the table. "They do now."
The threesome, still in the process of polishing off their desserts, joined the line of people shoveling Southern fare onto their plates. Heated trays of fried chicken, catfish, and ham; large pans of macaroni and cheese, collard greens, corn, and cabbage; plates of cornbread; bowls of fruit, melon, and peach cobbler filled the adjacent tables.
Under normal circumstances, Alex would've loaded her plate and stuffed her face until she couldn’t take another bite. Today, she could barely swallow a mouthful of pie. She couldn't let go of the image of Taryn in the open casket. Severely burned in the crash, her parents had been laid to rest in closed caskets. Even after all these years, she caught herself scouring crowds, wondering if they had miraculously survived. Dreams haunted her. In them, her parents returned only to be snatched from her again. She’d awaken aching for their protective arms and unconditional love. As difficult as it had been to see Taryn, it had given her an opportunity to say good-bye. Losing her friend had helped Alex understand what she had missed so many years ago when her parents died.
After a while, she grew restless and excused herself to go in search of the powder room. As she zigzagged through the crowd, she came face to face with Mr. Raynard Richards.
CHAPTER 62
Raphael Douglas La Fontaine. Cole didn’t know what name he’d been expecting AFIS to spit out—McGerald River for starters, Joe Blow maybe, but certainly not La Fontaine. He fired up his computer and Googled the name. Raphael Douglas La Fontaine as he suspected, came up as the son of one of the wealthiest men in the Metro Detroit area. No picture though, not even on Facebook. What would a rich kid be doing at McGerald River’s house? And with his fingerprint on a doctored bottle of fruit juice? He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and punched in Martindale’s. "Got a minute?"
The two grabbed seats across from each other in an interview room.
Cole laid the paper on the table, swiveling it until the words met Martindale’s eyes. "Recognize the name?"
"Could he be Chaz's kid?"
"Yep. Pulled his prints from the bottle taken from McGerald River’s place."
Martindale sat back and shook his head. "Thought I was beyond surprises," he said. "Lately, I’ve had a steady diet of them." He tapped the paper. "We nee
d to find a connection. Where did La Fontaine meet the likes of McGerald River?"
"That's what I intend to find out." Cole pushed his chair back.
Martindale followed suit. "Think it’s for amusement? Must be a drag being a bizillionaire’s son."
Cole leaned over and swept up the paper. "Give me drag any time." He shrugged into his overcoat. "I’m on my way to the La Fontaine house now. Want to tag along?"
"Go ahead. I need to check something out." Martindale laid a hand on Cole’s shoulder. "I’ve been thinking about all Alex’s been through in the past week. She’s been to hell and back. How’s she holding up?"
Cole’s gut pinched at the mention of her name. He still hadn't called her. Martindale had it right. She’d been through the wringer. And what was he doing? Keeping busy, trying not to think about her. She deserved a phone call at the very least. Yeah, she drove him crazy. Yet, if it hadn’t been for her . . . . He shook his head. "Afraid I don't know. Maybe after I see her at the funeral tomorrow."
Martindale lifted an eyebrow. "You going?"
"Funerals aren’t at the top of everyone’s list of fun things to do. Thought I'd go to see who shows up."
Martindale nodded.
*
Alex stared at Mr. Richards, a few steps away. She wanted to run, pretend she hadn’t recognized him from the family photo. The worst thing he could do? Yell at her. And embarrass her to death. She’d face him sooner or later. Might as well get the confrontation, if there was going to be one, over with.
Forcing a smile she approached him. "Mr. Richards?"
"Yes?" He stared at her blankly.
"Alex Tamburelli."
A frown furrowed his brow.
Uh-oh, here we go.
He steered her through the crowd over to the far end of the room. Cornered. "If I influenced Taryn in any way to stay in Michigan, it was totally uninten—"
Mr. Richards' raised hand stopped her. "Alex, don't."
"But—"
"I’m sorry for what I said to you on the phone," he said. "Can you forgive me?"
Had she heard right? Alex shook her head. "I mean yes." She nodded. "I- I’ve been looking for someone to blame, too."
Mr. Richards stared at her. "I heard what happened to you at Taryn’s apartment. Are you okay?"
"I’m much better thanks. How’d you—?" Alex tapped her forehead. "Oh, Jordan, of course."
Mr. Richards nodded. "I understand your motivation, but your safety is far more important to us. Meddle in police business, you get into trouble."
Tell me about it. "I know. I appreciate your concern."
They talked awhile longer before embracing. A father-daughter hug, filling her with a longing she thought he felt, too.
Later, following rounds of conversation with students and staff, who’d flown down for the funeral, and people who'd known Taryn for ages, Alex slipped out to escape the stifling heat inside. A late afternoon breeze caressed her cheek like the cool side of a pillow as she stepped onto the veranda. She wandered over to the stone hedge traversing the perimeter of the porch. Placing her hands on its rough surface, Alex stared out at the vast estate trying to envision Taryn there. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Jordan hurrying away from the house. Now where was he off to?
CHAPTER 63
After a brief stop at the La Fontaine house, Cole headed to Girnwood Institute in Ann Arbor where Raphael attended school, according to the maid. Two and a half hours later he arrived, the trip almost doubling due to the blizzard. The private school, a sprawling campus of five buildings, sat back from the road surrounded by a sea of evergreens, winterized trees, and snow-covered sculpted landscaping.
Carolyn Darling, the Administrative Assistant, greeted him as he wiped his feet on the floor mat inside the office.
Displaying his badge, he introduced himself. "I’m here to see Raphael La Fontaine."
Ms. Darling's face scrunched in thought. "Sorry, I don’t recognize the name."
"Should be a junior or senior."
She left the counter, stepped over to the computer. After clicking on the keys for twenty seconds or so, she swiveled to face him. "He's not in our data base."
Cole drummed his fingers on the counter briefly. "Could you see if he attended last year?"
Ms. Darling nodded and moved to the file cabinet. She pulled out a thick binder and carried it to the counter. Using a rubber tipped finger, she leafed through the pages. "Last name La Fontaine?"
"Right."
"Here he is but he hasn’t attended for about a year and a half," she said, pointing to the name.
"May I see the yearbook from two years ago?"
"Sure." From under the counter, she withdrew a green book with a falcon on the cover and pushed it across the counter to him.
Cole flipped through the pages and stopped. He pointed to a picture. "I can’t believe it. My old English teacher. Is she still here? I’d like to say hello."
Ms. Darling peered at the photo. "No, afraid not."
"Says here she’s the Dean of Students."
"Mr. Chapman is the dean now."
"Too bad. Know where she went?" Cole asked, flipping through the pages.
"Sorry, I’m new this year."
Cole came to the page on which Raphael La Fontaine’s photo belonged. "Camera shy."
"It happens. Kids get sick, or blow it off."
He knocked on the countertop. "Well, thanks for your help."
Cole rushed to the car in a hurry to get back to the city. What he found had put another kink in the metal of a very twisted case.
*
Alex wound her way around the occupied tables and chairs on the veranda, her sandals clicking on the cobblestones and clopped down the stairs to the backyard. Her shoes sank into the grass, tickling her toes. The blades cool, like the air.
She followed Jordan to the barn and squeezed through the crack in the door, the smell of manure and hay assaulting her nose. Adjusting her eyes to the dim interior, she heard a snort from one of the stalls. Movement inside another told her it, too, had an occupant. Jordan was nowhere in sight.
Her gaze roamed the barn, coming to rest on a ladder leading to the loft. According to Taryn, Jordan had a fear of heights. Did that include ladders? She stepped onto the first rung and ascended slowly. Quietly. Okay, so she planned to spy on him. She stumbled on one of the rungs and listened. No sound from above, she continued up to the hay-covered floor of the loft.
Jordan sat in the middle, his back to her, staring through the large opening framing the estate like a mural. From this height, the same view she’d admired from the veranda elevated to breathtaking. In the distance, a patchwork of pines, mixed with the bare limbs of the hardwood trees of Georgia, dotted the foothills. Their rock surfaces of granite, pockets of marble and quartz shimmered under the sun’s late afternoon rays. Traces of pink in the blue sky hinted at the sun’s imminent departure. Jordan’s elbows rested on his bent knees. He barely stirred.
What was he thinking? Did he miss Taryn as much as she did? Jordan and Taryn had been dating for four months. It seemed much longer. What had Taryn seen in him? Nice looking, dressed well, he knew the right thing to say. They frequented the best restaurants, bought season tickets to the Fisher Theatre and the Detroit Pistons games. Jordan was a good catch for any woman seeking a full life and security.
Taryn had suffered a nasty breakup several years before they met, a bad boy who beat their relationship into the ground with broken promises and other women. Taryn hadn’t dated again until she met Jordan. Alex had watched him closely when the three of them went out. His eyes never strayed to other women. No question, he’d been crazy about her. Crazy enough to murder her if she went out with someone else? Ridiculous. Had he ever found out about Martindale? She hoped not. The knowledge would devastate him.
Uh-oh, a sneeze coming. Ordinarily, she’d welcome it, but now it threatened exposure. She stifled the ‘ah,’ but let go of the, "Choo."
Jordan turn
ed his head. "Oh, it’s you." He looked away.
"Sorry. Am I intruding?"
He sighed. "This was Taryn’s favorite place."
Alex drew closer. "I can see why. The view's spectacular."
"She used to come up here to get away from her brothers." Tears swam in his eyes.
Alex’s vision blurred. She brushed the rolling tears from her cheeks.
"I've been remiss by not extending my condolences," she said.
"Me, also. Though you never gave me the chance." Jordan shed his jacket, spread it on top of the hay. He patted it.
Alex sank onto the silk lining. She folded her legs in front of her, draping the wide-legged pants over her ankles. Hands in lap, she fingered her silver bracelet. Not knowing what to say, she remained quiet. After a minute, she pointed to his hand and said, "What’s that?"
Jordan dropped his gaze. "Nothing." He moved his hand out of sight.
"May I see?" she asked, holding out a flat palm.
"Why?"
"Because I’m nosy," she said. "And I think it has to do with Taryn," she added softly.
"I wanted to surprise her."
"May I see?"
Jordan handed her a pair of tickets.
Alex read aloud, "Titan Sky Diving & Company." She gave him a side-long look. "Taryn told me you’re afraid of heights."
He offered a sad smile. "When I was ten, I fell twenty feet out of our maple tree." He sighed. "It didn’t only cost me six months in a body cast." Jordan rose and edged over to the opening. "Once I met Taryn, I realized how much I'd missed." He stared out at the horizon. "You know what I mean."
Alex nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. She read the date on the tickets. "June fourteenth. The day after school gets out."
"Flying never bothered me. Just open spaces."
"How do you know—?"
"I can do it?" Jordan asked, his back to her.
"Yes."