by Brenda Novak
“I didn’t hurt her,” Sean said.
“Then who did?”
“When I found her in the garage, she was already dead. I thought Sydney had freaked out and killed her in a jealous rage. If you’d heard the way she talked about Andrea after she—”
Every muscle in Tucker’s body bunched. “You found Andrea in the garage?” he repeated slowly.
“I can’t talk about this here,” he said.
“Then meet me later.”
Sean sighed. “This is never going to go away, is it?”
“Just tell me the truth,” Tucker said. “Then it’ll go away for both of us.”
“If it was that simple, I would’ve said something long ago. Come by the house tonight,” he said, and hung up.
TUCKER KNEW when he went to Sean Marshall’s that night that he could be walking into a trap. Sean could have the police waiting for him, or some other surprise planned. But now that he was so close to finding out something about Andrea’s murder, he had to take the chance. The only thing he regretted was the fact that he’d had to bring Landon along. He wanted to spare his son as much unpleasantness as possible, especially when it concerned Andrea. Considering the circumstances, however, he didn’t have a safe place to leave him.
Landon stood next to him at the door, somber and remote, as though visiting the old neighborhood had cast the same pall on him as it did on Tucker.
“You okay, pal?” Tucker asked.
Landon nodded just as Sean opened the door wearing a black T-shirt with a motorcycle on it, a pair of khaki shorts and leather sandals.
“What’s he doing here?” he asked, scowling at Landon.
Tucker placed a reassuring hand on his son’s shoulder. “He goes where I go.”
Sean opened his mouth to say something else, but Landon cut him off with a polite, “Hello, Mr. Marshall,” which seemed to remind Sean of his manners.
“Hi, Landon,” he said grudgingly, then pushed the door open wider and waved them both inside. “Sydney’s here.”
“Is there a reason?” Tucker asked.
“You’ll see. Come in.”
Tucker followed him into the kitchen, where Sydney was sitting at the table, staring off into space. Dressed in a pair of ankle-length slacks and a sleeveless blouse, she had her arms folded and was leaning back with her legs stretched out. When they came in, she stood and smiled hesitantly. “Hi, Randy.”
Tucker nodded at her, noting the subtle changes in her appearance—the extra lines around the eyes, the new hairstyle, which was much shorter in length and darker in color than the way she used to wear it. Unlike Sean, Sydney had lost weight. Gone were the extra pounds she’d gained with her pregnancies. She looked good. “How are you?”
“I’m sure we’ve all been better, right?” She embraced him before turning to Landon. “Hi, Landon. Bet it’s great to see your dad, huh?”
“Yeah,” Landon said.
“Any chance you could put in a movie or something for Landon while we talk?” Tucker asked.
Sydney glanced at Sean. “That’s probably a good idea. Come on, big guy, let’s go see what we can find.” She led Landon into the living room and didn’t return for several minutes.
Meanwhile, Tucker leaned against the counter and tried to read Sean’s expression. What was going on? It didn’t appear that his old friend had betrayed him to the police. So what did he have to say about Andrea’s death?
The blare of the television reached the kitchen just as Sydney walked back in. “God, Sean. You don’t have anything here anymore,” she said. “The poor kid’s watching a tape of an old basketball game you recorded.”
“We don’t need long,” Sean said.
“For what?” Tucker asked.
“For this.” Sean pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to Tucker.
Tucker slowly unfolded it to find a crude, hand-drawn map. He raised a questioning eyebrow at Sean.
“That’s where you’ll find Andrea’s remains,” Sean explained.
Tucker sucked in a quick breath and told himself not to overreact. “What are you talking about? How do you know?” he demanded.
“Because I buried her.”
Nothing could have held Tucker back in that moment. Moving before he even knew what he was going to do, he grabbed Sean by the shirtfront and pinned him against the counter. “You son of a bitch! You knew where she was all this time and didn’t say anything? You let me go to prison, let Landon lose his father—”
“Randy, wait,” Sydney interrupted, putting a beseeching hand on his arm. “You have every right to be angry, but this isn’t going to help. There’s more.”
Emotion was pouring through Tucker like a river. Logic told him he’d be smarter to let go of Sean and hear the rest of what he and Sydney had to say, to hear it all. Vengeance told him it was time to exact the retribution he’d craved for the past two years. This man had slept with his wife. Tucker could forgive that. But Sean had also caused Landon to be taken away from him and that Tucker could not forgive.
“Talk fast,” he snarled.
“Let go of him first,” Sydney said.
Logic or emotion? Tucker stared into Sean’s eyes, wavering. In his former life, he’d learned to solve problems with his mind. In prison he’d learned to solve things with his fists. Now using his fists came more naturally to him. But Sydney was whispering that Landon was in the other room, and the thought of his son ultimately cut through the anger shrouding Tucker’s brain.
“Tell me everything you know or so help me I’ll beat it out of you,” Tucker growled, and he meant every word. He was finished paying for another man’s crime.
The second Tucker released him, Sean shuffled to the far end of the kitchen. “I didn’t kill her,” he said. “I had nothing to do with her death.”
“Then why did you bury her?”
“I told you. I thought Sydney killed her. Once Sydney found out what went on at the cabin, she hated Andrea. She hated her for the affair, of course, but it was more than that.”
“She took Sean even though she didn’t want him,” Sydney said.
“She often talked about wanting to kill Andrea,” Sean went on. “She said she didn’t deserve to live, that she couldn’t bear to look at her anymore, and…and other stuff.”
Tucker looked at Sydney.
“I didn’t kill her,” Sydney said. “But I’d be a liar if I told you I thought she got anything more than she deserved.” Her voice, even now, was vehement.
“When I came home that night, Sydney was gone,” Sean continued, the words coming faster now. “I knew my mother had picked up the girls from school and was keeping them for the weekend. She could tell we were having marital problems and wanted us to have some time alone to work things out. Sydney was supposed to be waiting for me so I could take her to dinner, but she wasn’t here, and there was no note or anything. So I got a little nervous, wondering if she and Andrea had gotten into it, and went over to your place looking for her.”
“And?” Tucker said coldly.
“When I couldn’t find anyone inside the house, I went to the garage to see if the cars were gone. I found Andrea lying on the floor. She’d been beaten pretty badly.” He grimaced and his skin turned a pallid gray. “She was already dead.”
“You didn’t think to call an ambulance?” Tucker asked. “The police?”
“And have Sydney go to jail because I was too weak to rebuff Andrea at the cabin? I couldn’t do that. I thought what had happened was my fault. So I tried to protect my family by getting rid of Andrea’s body.”
Tucker stared down at the map he still held in one hand. “You buried her in the desert not far from Coolidge.”
Sean nodded.
“And where was Sydney?”
“I was just getting in my car to go to the grocery store when I heard you and Andrea arguing,” Sydney answered, taking over. “When you left, I tried to follow you. I wanted to tell you about the affair. I thought she shoul
d lose you, that a woman like her didn’t deserve a man like you. I hoped Sean and Andrea’s affair would be the final straw, and your leaving her would be my revenge. But you were driving fast, and I lost you in traffic. I drove around for a while, hoping to find you, but I never did. I even stopped at the coffee shop there on Broadway where the four of us used to hang out after the movies and had some iced tea while I watched the road. I knew you’d probably come back that way, but I had no luck. By the time I got home, there was no one at either house, and I couldn’t reach Sean, even on his cell.”
“So who killed her?” Tucker asked.
Sydney and Sean exchanged a guarded look. “We don’t know for sure,” Sydney finally said.
“But you have your suspicions.”
“At first we thought it was you,” Sean said. “Sydney saw you leave and followed you, but that didn’t mean you didn’t kill Andrea before you left.”
“That argument you had with Andrea was pretty heated,” Sydney concurred.
Tucker split his gaze between them. “What changed your minds?”
“I saw your brother pulling away from your house just as I was getting home to meet Sydney,” Sean said.
His brother? Tom had never mentioned coming to the house that day….
Sean was still talking, explaining what he’d seen and what he’d surmised from it, and Tucker forced himself to pay attention. “When I found Andrea, I assumed Tom had knocked at the door, couldn’t rouse anybody and left. I thought we’d been lucky, that if he’d found Andrea, Sydney would be going to jail for sure. But then he did something that’s always made me wonder….”
Tucker could hardly speak for the sick feeling inside him. “What was that?”
“He came over just after you were arrested and said he had the photographs of me and Andrea. He said if I told anyone about seeing his car at your place the day she was killed, he’d take the photographs to the police. Then it would be anybody’s guess as to who’d wind up going to jail for murder.”
“You’d disposed of the body and you sank Andrea’s car in the lake. You had no alibi and were at the scene of the crime.”
Sean nodded. “Exactly. I was afraid there’d be some sort of evidence in the car linking me to the murder.”
Tucker didn’t know what to believe. He had only Sean and Sydney’s word that what they were telling him was the truth. Maybe they were making some last-minute attempt to shield themselves. Or maybe they were trying to implicate his brother to confuse the issue. Tom had always been a screw-up, had frequently landed himself in trouble. But he wouldn’t have hurt Andrea. He’d have had no reason to hurt her. And he wouldn’t let Tucker go to prison for something he didn’t do…would he?
AFTER LEAVING the Marshalls, Tucker drove straight to his parents’ house. He’d assumed the police would be keeping an eye on their place, knew he was increasing his chances of being picked up. But he was beyond caring about this possibility or that. He needed someone trustworthy to watch Landon, and he needed it right away. Because he was going to his brother’s house.
From the moment his parents opened their door, they were warm and supportive. In deference to Landon, they didn’t ask a lot of questions. Tucker knew they had no idea that Tom was involved. They believed Tom had stumbled onto the pictures, then hidden them to keep Tucker from being hurt, and Tucker didn’t want to tell them anything different. Not until he’d had a chance to talk to his brother. Just now, he wasn’t sure he believed it himself.
His parents immediately made Landon feel welcome, gave Tucker Tom’s address and let him go. To Tucker’s surprise, he drove in and out of the neighborhood as if he was any other law-abiding citizen and not an escaped convict. He didn’t see one cop.
Tom was now living in Scottsdale on Camelback Mountain, one of the most prestigious areas in the valley. Tucker was shocked at how much he’d come up in the world—and that he’d used his own brother to do it.
The night was cooler than the past few weeks had been. Already Tucker could smell a touch of autumn in the air. It certainly wasn’t the turning of the seasons one would experience in most of the rest of the country; the change was far more subtle. But after living in Arizona his whole life, Tucker could tell when autumn was on its way, and he couldn’t wait. The heat this summer had been almost unbearable.
The other cars on the road, the streetlights, the storefronts and pedestrians flew past in a blur as Tucker sped through Tempe. Scottsdale was only fifteen or twenty minutes away from where his parents lived in Mesa. He’d be there shortly.
The winding road that led to Tom’s sprawling mansion was darker than the wide busy streets of the city. Tucker slowed as he crawled up the mountain, checking numbers on mailboxes as he passed. Finally he came upon the address his parents had given him for Tom and turned in to find a two-story Mediterranean-style house. The place was well lit, and several cars clogged the drive, all of them new or nearly new, and very expensive.
Tucker pulled his rattletrap Datsun in behind a shiny new Jaguar and cut the engine. His hair was windblown from traveling with his windows down, and his back was sweaty. Having gone several days without shaving, he could imagine how unkempt he was going to appear to the people in his brother’s house, but he didn’t care. He’d never been so angry or so determined in his life.
Slamming out of his car, he stalked up the drive and banged on the door.
A Mexican woman answered his knock. Dressed in a floral dress, she was small-boned with brown, wrinkled skin and black eyes that shone brightly in the porch light. Tucker guessed she was the housekeeper he’d spoken to on the telephone.
“I’m afraid Mr. and Mrs. Tucker are entertaining tonight,” she explained in her thick Spanish accent, stepping into the opening of the door to block his entry. “You’ll have to come back tomorrow.”
Tucker wedged his foot in the door before she could close it. “You haven’t even asked who I am,” he said.
“I don’t have to. I can tell you’re not part of the party.”
“Or Tom told you I might stop by,” he said.
“Mr. Tucker is busy at the moment.”
“I’m afraid he’s not busy enough. I’m going to talk to him whether he wants to see me or not, so if you don’t want a scene, I suggest you go get him.”
She surprised him by meeting this statement with steely defiance. “Mr. Tucker won’t appreciate the interruption.”
“Tell Mr. Tucker I don’t give a damn whether he appreciates it or not.”
Her mouth flattened into a short straight line as she glared up at him. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll tell Mr. Tucker you’re here.”
“You do that,” Tucker said.
Tom came to the door only moments later. Standing six foot flat, he was husky but well-built and looked spit-polished in a black suit and tie. His hair wasn’t nearly as dark as Tucker’s, and his eyes were more of a murky hazel than blue, but Tucker had heard others comment about their looks often enough to know they resembled each other a great deal.
“Randy, are you crazy?” Tom immediately demanded. “The police are scouring every corner of this city! You think they don’t know where I live? That they won’t check here? That’s why I couldn’t take your call the other day, man. I think they have my phones tapped.”
“That sounds a little paranoid, even to me,” Tucker said dryly.
“Hey, anything to protect my baby brother.” To Tucker, Tom’s smile appeared insincere. When had his brother become such a bastard?
Tucker stepped back to make a show of examining the house. “Nice place you got here. Were you protecting me when you spent my money to buy it?”
“Hey, that’s not fair,” his brother said. “I’m gonna give you your money. Don’t worry about that.”
“When, Tom? Now?” Tucker asked.
“Well, not now exactly.” He smiled again, but his hands were fidgeting. “I’ve invested it, you know,” he said, loosening his tie. “But it’ll make a nice return. I promise you
that. You’ll get your money, and then some.”
“You don’t make money by throwing parties and taking cruises,” Tucker said. “You gotta work if you want to earn a profit, Tom. But then, work’s never been very high on your list of priorities, has it?”
Tom laughed as he shoved his hands into his pockets, but Tucker could see he was working hard to keep up his congenial veneer. “There you go again, little brother,” he said. “I just got married. A man’s allowed to celebrate, isn’t he?”
Propping his hand against the house, Tucker leaned close. “That depends on whether he’s doing it on his own dime. But we can argue about the money later. I’m here about something else.”
“What’s that?” Tom yanked on his tie, seemed surprised to find that he’d already untied it, and proceeded to unbutton the collar of his starched blue shirt. “If you need a few bucks to get you through, you know I’m your man. I have some cash here. Just give me a second and I’ll run up and grab it so you can be on your way.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Tucker said.
Finally, Tom’s smile faltered. “What do you mean? The police could show up any minute.”
“Then maybe you’d better invite me in.”
Tom glanced over his shoulder. Tucker could hear voices, laughter, the clink of silverware coming from inside the house. “It’s not really a good time, Randy. We’re having a few friends over, and—”
“And?” Tucker lifted a challenging brow. “Don’t you want to introduce me to your wife?”
“Someone might recognize you. Tomorrow would be better. Let me get you that money—”
“I didn’t come for money.” Tucker watched Tom intently, still hoping the Marshalls were wrong. He didn’t want to believe that his own brother could destroy his family, seemingly without conscience. He didn’t want his parents to have to face it, either. “I know, Tom,” he said evenly. “I know what you did to Andrea.”
Tom’s expression didn’t change. “What are you talking about?”
Tucker felt a burst of hope—until he realized his brother’s expression had changed, ever so slightly. There was a hostile gleam in Tom’s eyes that Tucker had glimpsed before whenever he’d caught Tom in a lie.