Laurel Heights (Haunted Hearts Series Book 1)

by Denise Moncrief

  She attached the safety chain and cracked the door open. “I already told you I don’t know him.”

  “Open the door, Miss Standridge. We have to talk. I insist.”

  She glared at Grayson through the small opening. He insisted? Really? The impertinent pig. What was he going to do if she refused?

  “I can get a warrant. Why don’t you make this easy for both of us?”

  A warrant? She’d already told him he could search the grounds. He didn’t need a warrant. She had nothing to hide. It was an idle threat, a threat cops used when they were trying to intimidate someone into cooperating.

  She rubbed her eyes. Last night’s drama had deprived her of sufficient sleep. She needed rest and was in no condition to tangle with the cop, but she’d dealt with enough cops in her life to recognize the signs. Grayson wasn’t going to give up. He’d harass her until she allowed him in the house so he could satisfy whatever curiosity he had about her. She might as well get the inquisition over with.

  She slipped the chain and opened the door, but stood in the threshold with her arms crossed over her chest, presenting him with a less than welcoming attitude.

  “Can I come inside? I don’t want to discuss this with you on your front porch.”

  She finally stepped aside and allowed him to enter the house.

  He pulled a photo from his jacket pocket and flipped it in front of her eyes. “Are you sure you don’t know this man?”

  She recognized the picture—the one he showed her the night of the accident. “I already told you I don’t. I’m not going to change my answer just because you want me to.”

  He blinked and then smirked. “I think maybe you should.” His reply held a bite. “This is James Raymond Standridge.” He waited as if letting the information settle into her consciousness, as if he had just caught her in a lie and was allowing her time to acknowledge her deceit. “Your first cousin. Now do you want to change your story?”

  “I still don’t know him.”

  “Are you telling me you don’t know your own cousin?”

  No, she didn’t. She hadn’t even known she had an aunt. Not until Celeste’s lawyer called. He wouldn’t have found her if she hadn’t made one more trip back to her house in San Diego before she had left town. She’d intended to pack a few things and take the next bus north toward Oregon. Maybe she would have even made it all the way to Washington. The lawyer’s call had changed her plans.

  The cop didn’t need the details.

  “I didn’t know I had a cousin. I didn’t even know I had an aunt in Arkansas until a little over a year ago. I thought my father was an only child. That’s what my mother told me anyway.”

  “Really?”

  His skepticism grated on her last nerve. She wanted to punch him, but she couldn’t. He was a cop, and cops didn’t handle physical confrontation too well. Their first reaction was usually to pull out a pair of handcuffs and spit out a recitation of Miranda rights.

  “So he was my cousin. What’s your point?”

  “Lying seems to be a habit of yours.”

  She stuffed her fists under her armpits, trying desperately to control the urge to commit a criminal act on a member of law enforcement. “How can you make that kind of judgment about me? You don’t know me.”

  “The San Diego police know a lot about you.”

  She started to reply, but snapped her mouth shut. His comment deflated her indignation. She had lied to the police in San Diego repeatedly when she believed she was being loyal to Rand, but she had finally told Det. Foster the truth. Not what the San Diego cop wanted to hear, but what really happened.

  The truth was supposed to set her free. Funny, she didn’t feel free.

  She relied on every ounce of willpower she could manage not to crumble in front of Grayson. “I have no reason to lie to you about anything. I came here to start over.”

  Her quiet answer seemed to confuse him for a moment.

  “Don’t you think it’s awfully strange that a cousin you didn’t know you had was murdered only a few hundred yards from your driveway?”

  She backed away from him and sat on the nearest sofa. A sudden burst of sadness overwhelmed her. Not only did she have a cousin, but he was dead, and she’d never be able to talk to him about her family. So many questions would go unanswered. As far as Laurel knew, she was the last of the Standridges.

  “Was he Celeste’s son?”

  “You don’t know?”

  “My father left us when I was very young. My mother didn’t talk much about him or his family. When I asked questions, she got kind of vague. Like I said, I didn’t even know he had a sister.”

  He parked his behind on a side chair across from her, propping his forearms on his upper legs and tenting his fingers before he stared her in the eye. Grayson would have been some sweet eye candy if he hadn’t been a freaking cop. Dark brown hair. Deep blue eyes. A strong chin. He had one of those symmetrical faces that cameras loved. He would have been Hollywood perfect but for the scar on his left temple that started on his forehead and ran into his hair.

  “Miss Standridge?”

  He had been talking, and she had been ogling. Heat warmed her neck. “Huh?”

  “You sure you didn’t hear or see anything suspicious that night?”

  She’d never told him she didn’t. In fact, she’d suggested he search her property. Was he dense or just fishing for information?

  “I thought I saw a light in my garage that night.” She wanted to smack herself for telling him.

  Mr. Good Looking had flustered her into revealing more than she intended. He probably used his good looks to his advantage when interrogating unsuspecting female witnesses.

  He sat up straight. “Why didn’t you tell me that?” Annoyance edged his question. “Anything else I need to know?”

  She bit her lower lip and shook her head. No way was she telling the nosey cop about her nighttime terror. He would think that at best she imagined things or at worst needed psychiatric therapy.

  She had just told him she wouldn’t lie to him, yet not telling him about the nightly activity in her house seemed like a lie of omission. A pain hit her in the stomach. When she left San Diego, she had thought she was done with cops and interrogations.

  “Why didn’t you call the Sheriff’s office?” He didn’t sound as if he believed her. Suspicion and thinly veiled accusations laced every question he asked.

  “I’m so tired of dealing with…” She glanced up at him. The truth had almost tumbled out of her mouth. Talking to cops was never a good idea, and especially not when she was exhausted. “I’m tired of dealing with cops.”

  “I can understand that.” His comment was crisp and sharp, layered with sarcasm and condescension.

  She doubted he understood anything about her or the horrible life she’d escaped. He was about to say something more when Chase pushed through the kitchen door with a duffle bag in his hand. She hadn’t even heard him knock. Had she left the back door unlocked? Certainly not. How did Chase get into the house without a key?

  Grayson eyed Chase with undisguised suspicion.

  Laurel stuttered an introduction. “Chase, this is Lieutenant Grayson.”

  Grayson rose from his seat.

  “I hired Chase to help me with the renovations.” Why did she sound as if she had to defend Chase’s presence in her house? To explain him to the cop?

  Grayson’s face registered disbelief, but he masked his reaction quickly. The cop probably thought something else was going on between Laurel and Chase. Well, nothing had happened. Not yet anyway.

  “Is there something we can help you with, Lieutenant?” Chase sounded so officious.

  She wanted to fist pump him or something, just to acknowledge that she appreciated the way he pushed the cop’s authoritative stance right back at him.

  “Could you look at this picture and tell me if you know the man?”

  Grayson shoved the photo at Chase, but Chase didn’t move to take it from th
e cop’s hand.

  “I don’t know anyone in Arkansas except Laurel.”

  The tension between Grayson and Chase ramped up another notch or two.

  “How did you come to move here?”

  “I threw a dart at a map.”

  Chase’s facetious answer seemed to rattle Grayson. The cop frowned.

  Chase smiled, but there was no warmth in his demeanor. “I move a lot.”

  The deputy nodded his head as if he understood what Chase was implying.

  “If you want a full report about me, ask Richards. He’s already done a background check.”

  “Richards?” Grayson smirked. “What is Richards going to tell me?”

  Chase glanced at Laurel. “I don’t know for sure, but you’d better check it out to make sure he gets the details right.”

  Sharp speculation flared in Grayson’s eyes. “I’ll make sure I do that. Now, please... Look at the photo.”

  He pushed the photograph at Chase again, who hesitated for a moment before he took the picture and examined it.

  “Never seen him before. Just like I said.” He returned the photo to Grayson with a snap of his wrist.

  “Miss Standridge told me she saw someone moving around in her garage the night this man died.”

  That’s not what she’d said. She mentioned the light but never speculated what caused it. The cop was putting words into her mouth. It was a logical conclusion, but she didn’t like the cop jumping to conclusions, even though he was probably right. What else would have caused such an unusual occurrence if not for the presence of an intruder in her garage?

  Chase didn’t blink. “I wasn’t here then. I wouldn’t know.”

  He turned to her and shot her a curious look. He appeared to be distressed by the cop’s line of questioning.

  Why didn’t Chase want Grayson to know she had an unwanted visitor? Why shouldn’t she tell Grayson what she’d seen? If there had been someone in her garage, maybe the cop could catch the intruder, and she could get some rest.

  “Have you seen or heard anything unusual?” Grayson addressed Chase as if he knew he wouldn’t get a straight answer.

  Laurel was grateful Chase had arrived when he did. He had become the buffer between her and Grayson that she needed to survive the interview.

  “No.” Chase’s tone was devoid of inflection, betraying no emotion. His self-control impressed her.

  The cop nodded at the duffel bag. “Planning a sleepover?”

  Chase sighed as if the cop’s questions were getting tiresome. “I’m moving in until the renovations are complete and Laurel starts getting paying guests because she’s scared to be here alone at night.”

  “That’s very considerate of you.” Grayson’s comment held so much unspoken meaning, none of it nice.

  “Yes, it is, isn’t it?” Chase’s tone had a sharp edge.

  “Does she know about your past?”

  Okay, that was enough. Laurel was tired of Grayson’s sarcastic attitude. “If you’re referring to his time in prison...” Laurel stood and glared down at the cop.

  He shifted, obviously uncomfortable with her standing over him.

  “I know all about that. He told me everything the day I hired him.”

  She glimpsed Chase from the corner of her eye. He sat very still. She had been afraid he’d react to her lie, but he held his tongue and exuded a calm demeanor, allowing her to deceive the cop.

  “I never met my cousin, so I didn’t know what he looked like and couldn’t identify him from that picture you keep shoving at me. I certainly had nothing to do with his death. There’s nothing else I can tell you.”

  Grayson rose to his feet and stood face to face with Chase. “What’s with the bandage on your forehead?” Grayson just wouldn’t get the hint that it was time for him to leave.

  Chase glanced at Laurel, and she raised her eyebrows. If he wanted to tell, then he could do the talking.

  “I was trimming an overgrown bush by the garage and one of the limbs swung back and popped me in the face.”

  Laurel squelched the impulse to cringe. It appeared Chase was as proficient at lying as she was. What lies had he told her? Who was Chase Brennan? She was glad he chose not to tell the cop about the strange, seemingly paranormal activity in her house, but the ease with which he deflected the cop’s questions made her question everything about the man. Suddenly, his appearance on her doorstep looking for work didn’t seem so much like a coincidence.

  Finally, Grayson broke the awkward silence and addressed her while keeping his eyes on Chase. “Do you mind if I have a look see in the garage?” The two men appeared to be in a stare down. What kind of silent communication was passing between them?

  Surely, there was no harm in allowing Grayson to have a look. “Go ahead.”

  Within minutes, Grayson had gone to his vehicle, retrieved a flashlight and a pair of bolt cutters, and busted the lock on the door. Laurel stood back, not wanting to go anywhere near the garage.

  Grayson motioned for Chase and Laurel to remain outside while he entered the building with his hand on his service pistol.

  “All clear,” he finally called to them. “You can come in now.”

  Chase followed Grayson into the garage. Laurel stood in the doorway right behind him, reluctant to step inside. From the entrance, the place appeared just as creepy as she had imagined it to be. The rank smell of mold assaulted her nostrils and turned her stomach. Her already tense insides revolted at staying another second.

  She almost bolted and ran, but Chase reached behind him and grabbed her hand, squeezed it once as if reassuring her. She was thankful for Chase’s intervention. If she had run, it might have seemed suspicious to the cop.

  Grayson shined a high beam light around the inner recesses. “There’s a door over here.”

  He handed Chase the flashlight and then used the cutters to remove the lock from the inner door. Grayson then took the light from Chase and examined the interior of the room. He chuckled as he went all the way inside. Chase dropped her hand, moved to stand in the interior doorway, and started laughing as well.

  “What is it?” Laurel didn’t appreciate being left in the dark, both literally and figuratively.

  She took another tentative step into the garage, as far as she wanted to go.

  “There’s nothing in here but an old still.” Chase planted his hands on his hips, but didn’t move, blocking her view. “Was Aunt Celeste a moonshiner?”

  She snorted. “Very funny.” She crossed the garage and pushed him aside to peek in the door.

  “Is that what you’ve been hiding in here, Laurel?”

  Chase’s teasing was ill-timed. She wanted to punch him, but she couldn’t. The cop observed their interaction with sharp eyes as if he was taking mental notes of their conversation.

  “I haven’t been hiding anything,” she sputtered. “I have nothing to hide.”

  “Then why the lock?” Chase’s questions were worse than the cops.

  “I didn’t put it there.”

  “Why didn’t you bust it? Didn’t you want to know what was in your garage?”

  Why wouldn’t Chase shut up? That was the question she didn’t want to answer. The very question. She didn’t want to explain why garages made her so anxious. Her throat tightened and her hands trembled.

  “I didn’t want to…the place is too…creepy…it reminds me of—”

  “It’s all right. You don’t have to explain.” Sympathy softened Grayson’s words, a surprising stance for the cop.

  She appreciated his diplomacy. He obviously knew about Rand’s attack and realized she hadn’t told Chase about it.

  “Maybe we should go back to the house. I have a few more questions for you before I leave.” Grayson’s tone was unconditional and left no wiggle room for argument.

  She caught a you-have-some-explaining-to-do glance from Chase. She glared at him, fully understanding the look. She didn’t owe him any explanations. He owed her a few.

 
****

  Grayson sat at the kitchen table across from Laurel while Chase leaned against the counter behind her. The cop pulled a small notebook and a pen from his jacket pocket and jumped right into his questions. “How were you related to Celeste Standridge?”

  Chase studied the cop while Grayson studied Laurel. Why was he asking her that? He already knew Celeste was Laurel’s aunt.

  Laurel seemed confused by his question, as she should have been. “She was my brother’s older sister.”

  “Did your father have any other siblings?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t even know about Celeste until her lawyer called me.”

  Laurel shifted in her chair. She picked up a napkin, unfolded it and smoothed the wrinkles out, and then folded it back and ran her finger along the crease.

  “You said the dead man was my first cousin. How could that be? Celeste didn’t have any children. At least, that’s what her lawyer told me. You seem to know more about my family tree than I do.”

  Grayson scribbled in his notebook. Chase leaned forward hoping to catch a glimpse of what he was writing, but the cop shielded his notes with his arm.

  “He was Celeste’s son. I have a copy of his birth certificate.”

  “Her lawyer...Mr. Franklin...said she didn’t have any other heirs.” Laurel’s voice rose with her argument.

  Grayson was obviously tilting her world, undermining everything she believed about her relationships. Chase bit back the urge to interrupt the cop’s interview and shield her from any further hurt. It was an unreasonable inclination since he was probably going to hurt her even more than Grayson’s revelations.

  Grayson glanced up from his scribbling. “Franklin told you there were no other heirs, but he didn’t say there were no other descendants. She apparently sent James away years ago. She left him out of her will on purpose, but Franklin wouldn’t tell me why.”

  “Sent him away?”

  “Sent away by his mother.” Grayson made Celeste’s decision sound like a crime worse than murder. Did the cop have abandonment issues of his own?

  Chase wanted to smack Grayson for throwing tidbits of information at Laurel one at a time, but he was well aware how cops worked. Chase recognized the glint in her eyes. If Grayson didn’t back off, Laurel was going to rip him up one side and down the other.