All the men said no at the same time. For the chief and the deputy, that was common sense, if not the law. For Mitch, though, it was an absolute. Alone, she would always be in danger.
“Look,” Mitch said, trying not to sound desperate and not succeeding, “you have to take her with us, right? Can’t leave her here. Maybe we can come up with something.” A thought exploded inside him. “Neesy! Uh… Denise Brown, from Crick’s. Julia could stay with her.” He knew instinctively that Neesy would do it. No matter what had happened between them, Julia was neutral territory. An enormous wave of relief washed over him. “Call Neesy.” He gave them her number. “She’ll come get her.”
But when the deputy made the call, there was no answer.
“Okay, it’s Christmas Eve,” Mitch said quickly. “She’s out. But you can track her down, can’t you?”
“Maybe,” the chief said. “In the meantime, kid’s got to stay somewhere tonight. Burgess,” he said to the deputy, “get hold of someone from the county and have them meet us at the station.”
The relief Mitch felt a few minutes ago vanished into a new surge of panic. In the middle of the sickening, rolling, helpless swell, a new voice cut in.
“Abraham? What’s going on here?”
Hannah Blunt stood in the open doorway. She was holding a couple of gaily wrapped gifts and had a red bow pinned to her coat. The sight of her, festive with the holiday, was incongruous to the point of bizarre.
“Police business, Miss Hannah,” the chief said.
“Clearly,” Hannah said. “What kind of business requires handcuffs on Christmas Eve?”
“They said he killed someone named Alicia,” Julia burst out. “We don’t even know anyone named Alice!”
Hannah looked from the chief to Mitch and back again. When she came back to him, her sharp eyes seemed to take in every shadow in his dark soul.
“I’ll meet you at the station,” she said crisply. “Julia, you’ll come with me.”
“Now, Miss Hannah,” the chief said, raising his hand so the lighter brown palms faced them, “you don’t want to get involved with this.”
“I’m sure you’re right, Abraham,” Hannah said. “Come on, Julia.” She held out a hand.
“I want to go with Mitch,” Julia said.
“And I want to have a relaxing Christmas Eve. Doesn’t look like either of us is going to get what we want.”
“Grab your backpack and go with Hannah, Jules,” Mitch said.
The fear in her face intensified. “I don’t need my backpack.”
“It’s just for tonight.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll see you in a few.”
“Promise?”
“You bet.”
Still scowling, she picked up one of the backpacks by the door and gave him one last look. Then his girl, his child, the creature he’d risked everything for and whom he had no earthly right to, slid her hand into Hannah Blunt’s and walked into the night.
16
Neesy sat at the bar at the River Road Café, nursing her Christmas Eve beer. Ron had made an effort to keep up with the season. A string of colored lights hung above the liquor bottles leaning against the back wall, and a tiny tree in one corner of the bar flashed on and off all night long. Other than that, it was business as usual.
Well… not quite usual. There was practically no one there. Everyone was off enjoying some kind of festivity. Or so it seemed. Maybe they were just celebrating at home.
Sitting in the café bar on Christmas Eve might seem depressing to some, but Neesy was exactly where she wanted to be. She didn’t like spending Christmas at home. Too many memories. Daddy getting plastered. Wrecking the tree. Punching Uncle Henry until Henry stopped coming. Then punching Mama and, of course, her.
She shuddered. No thanks. Her parents may be gone, but their ghosts still lingered. She’d stay right here with Dolly and Shania and Mr. Cash blaring the same twangy Christmas songs year after year.
And tomorrow…
She smiled a small secret smile.
Tomorrow she’d go to Mitch’s house. True to her promise, she’d stayed away from him. Well, mostly. She had done him a favor or two, but that wasn’t the same as throwing herself at him, was it? And now he’d asked her over. She sipped her beer, pondering the invitation. Maybe she wouldn’t even go. She might just let Mr. Mitch Turner spend the holiday without her lovely company.
Yeah, right. She shook her head at her own deluded self.
But if she did visit him… who knew what might develop? If she could keep her head on straight and her hands where they belonged.
“Hey!” The bartender tapped her shoulder. “That your phone?”
How he could’ve heard anything over the music she didn’t know. But she checked, and sure enough there was a message.
She took it outside so she could hear and shivered in the cold. Maybe it was Loritta, checking to see if she’d stop by. She always invited Neesy over on the holidays. It gave her somewhere to go, but after a while she always felt a little smothered, what with Loritta shoving rolls and mashed potatoes at her and making sure she was all right every five minutes.
Neesy shook her head at herself. Little ingrate. That’s what she was.
Not really. Just not used to being treated right. Worried over. Cared for. Made her feel uncomfortable.
You’re a poor sick little puppy, Neesy Brown.
Maybe. But she’d skip Loritta’s tonight and go tomorrow. Save it in case the thing with Mitch didn’t work out.
She punched into her voice mail, her story set. But it wasn’t Loritta; it was Nate Burgess.
Something had happened to Mitch.
Because of the holiday, the small police station was empty when Hannah arrived with Julia. The minute they got there, Julia demanded to see Mitch.
“I’m afraid that isn’t possible now,” Hannah said.
“But he promised.” The fear that crossed over the child’s beautiful features was enough to wring even Hannah’s heart.
“You’ll see him later.”
“Swear?”
Hannah opened her mouth, not sure what to say. A vague childhood memory swooped over her, and she raised a hand, gazing at the appendage as though it belonged to someone else. “I… I swear.”
Julia looked doubtful but let herself be led to a bench along the wall. She drilled Hannah with a last warning look, then took a book out of the pack and settled in to read.
Or at least that’s what it looked like. Hannah suspected it was just a pose to get the grown-ups off her back. After all, how could she concentrate on anything given the circumstances?
But Hannah didn’t check. She sat at an empty desk until the chief walked in from a back hallway, signaled to Hannah, and then let her into his office.
“You sure you want to mess with this? Pretty open-and-shut.” He handed Hannah a stack of papers. “Found these on Ms. Townsend’s computer.”
“Shelby Townsend? What were you doing there?”
He explained the circumstances and Shelby Townsend’s seeming disappearance.
Hannah blanched. “My God. You don’t think Mitch—”
“Don’t know what to think yet. We got a crew searching the woods behind her house, but it’s dark and so far they haven’t found anything. But your boy certainly has motive enough.”
He nodded at the papers in her hand. She shuffled through copies of news articles dated over ten years ago. The woman Mitch was accused of killing, Alicia Ruiz, had fine, delicate features. Large, dreamy eyes, dark hair. She could see some of that in Julia’s face. But more, much more, in Julia’s face came from the other character in the tragedy: Mitch’s brother, the fabulously wealthy, powerful celebrity artist Dutch Hanover. He had the wildly handsome looks that promised great beauty in Julia. And though none of the pictures were in color, many mentioned his startling blue eyes.
Then there was Iona, the cool, blond matriarch who was by Dutch’s side in every picture. She always stood a little behi
nd, as though ceding Dutch center stage. Yet Hannah’s eyes were drawn to her icy patrician features as though Iona, and not Dutch, was the real power behind the Hanover throne. She must have been, since her husband, the late Henry Hanover, had succumbed to a heart attack, leaving Iona to raise their two boys.
While Dutch had the beauty and the talent—and clearly the family support—Hannah wasn’t sure what Mitch had, or did for that matter. He had been on the Hanover Industries board of directors and several charity boards, but she suspected that was just window dressing. As she read between the lines, it seemed as if Mitch didn’t do much of anything. Which was strange because the man she knew—from the rescue of Sara Jean to the care he took with Julia to the hard work he did at Crick’s—was anything but a deadbeat.
Had something changed him? Murder, for instance? Was the indolent rich boy now making up for the terrible crime he committed?
The news reports didn’t say. What they did tell was a story as predictable as a soap opera. Rich family, poor girlfriend. An attachment no one wanted. According to the reports, Mitch saw her first. He took her out, bought her clothes and jewelry. But no one thought he meant anything by it. Evidently, he’d had dozens of women, and he treated them all the same: love ’em and leave ’em. The photos of Mitch seemed to substantiate that claim.
Hannah picked one up. It showed a younger, but still recognizable, Mitch. Dressed in black tie, with a golden-haired beauty on his arm, he sported a gleaming smile and a careless wash of hair over his forehead. The caption could easily have been “rich people at play.” But the headline read HANOVER HEIR WANTED IN WAITRESS MURDER AND KIDNAP.
The article went on to imply that Alicia’s relationship to the brothers became serious only when Dutch stepped in—perhaps to warn her of Mitch’s fecklessness. Or the fact that the family would never accept her. But something untoward happened. They fell in love. And that love led to a child.
According to other articles, there had always been rivalry between the brothers, especially over women. When Mitch discovered Alicia was seeing Dutch, Mitch murdered her, stole her child, and left his brother grief-stricken and desperate to find her, the sole living remnant of his lost love.
Hannah sifted through the papers, giving herself time to take it all in. Usually, she loved being right. Not this time. This time she wished her instinctive suspicion of Mitch Turner had proved wrong.
Then again, all of this was pure speculation. Media churning to sell papers and raise ratings. Everyone loved a love triangle, but she couldn’t get drawn into the sentimentality. This was murder and kidnapping. Nothing sentimental about that.
“This is just media spin,” she said to Abe. “Was an arrest warrant issued?”
He slid over a sheet of paper. “NYPD faxed it over.”
She reviewed the warrant.
“FBI’s been notified, too.” Abe told her about the phone call from Agent Carrick.
She pressed her lips together. “Well, then, I’d better have a word with Mr. Hanover.”
Abraham led her to the interview room, where Mitch immediately jumped to his feet. “Where’s Julia?”
“From what I’ve seen,” the chief said, “you don’t have the right to ask that.”
Mitch’s jaw tensed. “Whatever you think you’ve seen, I’m the only family she knows.”
“She’s fine,” Hannah said. “She’s outside in the office, reading.” She turned to Abraham. “You can remove his cuffs.”
“He’s a murderer, Hannah.”
“An accused murderer. And I don’t think he’s going to hurt me. Are you, Mr. Hanover?”
He gave her a short, bitter laugh. “What happened to ‘Mitch’? And no, of course not.”
The chief removed the cuffs, albeit reluctantly. “I’ll be right outside.” He gave Mitch a last warning look and left.
She sat in a chair across the table from him and shuffled through the articles and the warrant. “So, what do you have to say for yourself?”
“Promise me you’ll take Julia.”
She looked up. He was eyeing her with a hard, relentless gaze.
“Why don’t we start with what you can expect to happen next.”
Mitch leaned forward. “First promise me you’ll take Julia.”
Julia. That was the real tragedy here. Hannah didn’t want to begin thinking about what Julia would do or where she would go. Not with her, that was for sure. She wasn’t good with kids. They made her nervous.
“You’re the one in trouble here,” she said. “Do you understand the seriousness of these charges? New York is a capital punishment state. We’re talking about your life here.”
“It’s you who doesn’t understand,” Mitch said. One leg was jittering up and down, a constant nervous twitch. “What happens to me isn’t important right now. What happens to Julia is.”
“We can talk about Julia later.”
He grabbed her wrist. “Promise me.” He squeezed.
She bit down on her jaw. “Let go.”
“Not until you—”
“Let go; you’re hurting me!”
The door punched open. “That’s enough.” Abraham wrenched Mitch back. “If you can’t behave yourself, we’ll make sure you do.” He secured Mitch’s hands to the table so he could cuff them to the anchor set in for that purpose.
Mitch didn’t protest. He kept his gaze square on Hannah while Abraham chained his hands. “She won’t be safe,” he said to her. “Are you listening?” He started to stand up. “She won’t be—”
“Sit!” Abraham pushed him back down.
“I’m telling you—” Mitch said.
“You need to calm down.” The police chief dragged Hannah out of the room. “Let’s give him a few minutes.”
As they left, Mitch shouted after them. “She won’t be safe! Listen to me! She won’t be safe!”
The door shut on his ravings, but Hannah could still see him behind the one-way glass, straining forward, trying to break free, his face packed with fury, frustration, and something else.
Fear.
17
Neesy burst into the vacant police department at a run. “Mitch? Anyone here? Mitch?”
“Neesy!” Julia enveloped her in an embrace that was more terror than affection. It was a strange feeling, holding that little body close. Not unpleasant, but unexpected.
“My goodness, girl. What happened? Is your dad okay?”
“They said he killed someone named Alicia. I keep telling them we don’t even know anyone named Alicia!”
The story shook Neesy up almost as much as it did Julia. Mitch Turner a killer? Ridiculous.
“Where is everyone?” Neesy asked.
“Ms. Blunt stuck me here and went down there with the policeman. I don’t know where my dad is. And he promised I could see him.”
“He never broke a promise to you, did he?”
She shook her head. Lucky girl.
“Well, I’m sure he wouldn’t start now. Not if he can help it. Stay here, and I’ll see if I can find him.”
Julia hesitated, then slouched back onto the bench against the wall. She wanted to go with Neesy, that was clear. But something else was going on, too. Like she was afraid of finding out more than she wanted to know.
Maybe not so lucky.
Neesy left Julia and went through an inner doorway in the direction the girl had indicated. She hadn’t been here for years. Not since her daddy had passed. But the smell came back, familiar as ever. That overly clean, bleachy smell.
Picking up Daddy from the drunk tank never required her to go farther than the outer room, though, so this was new territory. The hallway was empty, and the chief’s office was open. She hesitated in the doorway, told herself she probably shouldn’t. But she did.
She went straight for the desk, saw a bunch of articles that looked like they’d been printed out from a computer. A picture of Mitch caught her eye.
She gaped. Man alive, he cleaned up nice.
A pang of jealous
y went through her. That woman he was escorting in the photo was tall and thin and blond and expensively dressed—everything women these days were supposed to be. No wonder Mitch didn’t seem too interested in Neesy. Not if this is what he was used to.
She checked the date. Eleven years ago. A long time to be holding out for someone like that.
Her attention was caught by the other photographs, too. The beautiful, dark-haired victim, the unearthly handsome father of her child. The accusation in the headline.
Shaken, she sank into the chair behind the desk. Was it possible? Could the man she knew—the devoted father, the short-order cook, the working-class hero—really be some kind of fugitive?
You couldn’t argue with a picture. And that was Mitch all right. What did they call him? Scion. Scion of the Hanover family, one of the wealthiest in the country.
The beer swirled unhappily in her stomach. He’d played her. Played everyone. Pretending to be one of them, pretending to need a job, a home. He’d forced that child to live like a hobo when she could be living like the princess she was.
But why? Why?
The Mitch in the paper didn’t seem like the Mitch she knew. She couldn’t imagine that man doing any of the things he was accused of.
And yet… no getting around Julia. His own brother’s child. If he’d kidnapped her, couldn’t he have done everything else?
All this time, had she been hankering after a killer?
Then again, if a man caught her eye, you could take it to Vegas there was something wrong with him.
“What the hell?”
Neesy jumped. The police chief stood in the doorway, scowling. He marched up to the desk, and she quickly vacated it.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing,” she said. “I was looking for you. For someone. The door was open and—”
“These are official police documents.” Abe swept up the papers on the desk. “They’re not for public viewing.”
“I don’t mean to argue, but all I saw were newspaper articles.”
“Good.” He stuffed the papers in a drawer. “Now, what can I do for you?”
“I’m… I’m Neesy Brown.”
Two Lethal Lies Page 10