He ordered, “Keep the light steady.”
Tuning out the older man’s exhortations to wait, he started down.
Testing roots and branches, not only for helping him down, but for whether they would hold when he climbed back up with Maggie. He moved slowly. Pulling down a branch or bush or starting an earth slide could dislodge the slope’s hold on her car.
Sweat traced down his back, but his hands were dry and steady.
He checked over his shoulder for a final foothold and let himself look into the car for the first time. Maggie stirred, trying to sit up, pushing her hair out of her eyes.
“Stay still, Maggie,” he commanded.
She turned toward him. Blood tracked down her right cheek, but he saw recognition in her eyes — of him and of the situation.
“Don’t move until I tell you.” He called up, “Dallas. Get the light on the front. Yeah, now down, to the tires.”
The upside tire had nothing to stop it. He couldn’t see the other front tire, the one on the passenger side, not without climbing down and he wouldn’t be able to see anyway, not without better light.
He moved back to the door, wrapped the hose around his shoulder twice, braced his legs then tried the door handle. It was locked.
He met Maggie’s gaze through the closed window and for a fraction of time thought she would refuse to open it. Instead, she reached across and unlocked the door.
He held her gaze as he slowly opened it. Halfway, a groaning creak came from somewhere on the far side of the car.
“Can you move?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Undo your seatbelt. Good.” He extended his right arm. “Grab my wrist.” Their grips overlapped. “Slow and steady.”
She pushed partway out. The groan from the far side intensified. Her grip reflexively tightened.
The hell with slow. He pulled her out, wrapped her against his side, her feet scrambling for a hold.
“You said slow a—”
“Save your breath for the climb.” He kept her against his side.
Above, he saw Dallas shift the flashlight and J.D. caught a glimpse of the older man’s anxious eyes pinned on them.
Then the light steadied, guiding their slow, cautious climb, with Maggie tight to his side.
Up, handhold by careful handhold.
Until, finally, he heaved her, then himself over the edge, to horizontal ground.
Dallas fussed over them, but she looked straight at him.
As soon as her breath came back, she said, “Where did you come from?”
“As I pulled in, Dallas was heading out with a flashlight to see what had made noises he and Evelyn heard.”
“You must have seen him — it. The truck that pushed me over.”
“Somebody pushed you?” Dallas asked.
“A truck. You must have seen it leaving.” That was directed at him. “Unless—”
Her suspicion was back in full force.
J.D. sat on his heels. Looking at her.
“I went over the edge and then there you were, right away. You … You must have seen the truck.”
He supposed he should thank her for her hesitation.
“You lost consciousness, Maggie. Who knows how long you were unconscious,” Dallas said.
She didn’t take her eyes off him.
“You were out when I started down after you,” he said.
“But Dallas heard sounds, then came to check. The timing…”
The woman was bruised and battered, yet still piecing together bits of information, still checking his alibi. Didn’t she realize what trouble that could get her in?
“Oh, my dear, there was certainly some passage of time between first hearin’ the sounds and arrivin’ where J.D. saw me. I wasn’t at all certain I’d heard something, and then there was the matter of puttin’ my hands on a flashlight. And I do not move with the speed I once did,” Dallas concluded.
The siren-wailing vehicles came to a stop, ending Maggie’s putting together of clues.
They treated the cut in her scalp — “Not bad,” said the medic. — while the sheriff arrived and took over the scene.
After Gardner confirmed Maggie was okay, he ordered them to “stay where you are and don’t talk until I get back.”
He returned when he was satisfied the situation was under control. Then he looked from one to the other of them. “What the hell happened?”
“A vehicle — truck, I’m pretty sure — tried to push my car into the ravine,” she said.
“Maggie thinks it might have been me,” J.D. said evenly. “You’re welcome to examine my truck.”
“It wasn’t, J.D. He saved her,” Dallas jumped in. “I came from the house and—”
Gardner raised a stop sign hand. “Hold on, Dallas. Maggie?”
“I… I don’t know. He got here so fast. But I — I think I better tell you about a conversation I had.”
They sat in Dallas’ den, and he watched her bruises begin to bloom and her movements stiffen as she told them about another of Laurel’s sexual conquests and her sister’s threats.
* * * *
After the first time she reported her conversations with Ed and Charlotte, the sheriff gave several orders, then they all went to the sheriff’s department, where she repeated it, waited for the formal statement to be printed, read it over, and signed, while J.D. and Dallas were questioned separately.
Now they all crowded into the sheriff’s office.
“J.D.’s truck came back clean,” Gardner announced. “We’re going out to Rambler Farm now.”
“I don’t know if you have enough, Sheriff,” she’d said.
He scrubbed a hand across his face. “No sense waiting. At this rate, I can’t take the risk. If she’s wild enough to try to do that to you… Besides, word’ll be all over by morning.”
“There could be other explanations. Someone else—”
“First thing is we’ll check for damage to any of vehicles.”
“Even if… It doesn’t mean she killed the others.”
“You’re defendin’ her?” Dallas asked with a hint of humor.
Gardner said, “Jealous of her sister, that’s clear motive, and if Rick was figuring it out, that’s motive. Fits with this attack on you, too. You’re real fortunate J.D. was right there.”
Gardner and his deputy left for Rambler Farm, while she, Dallas, and J.D. returned to Monroe House.
Evelyn and Scott were waiting there.
Scott jumped up. “Maggie! Are you okay? I came as soon as I heard. It’s all around Shenny’s. The guys from the wrecker that pulled your car out came in and were talking all about it.”
“Sheriff Gardner was right,” she muttered. Then she groaned. “My car. How am I going to get home?”
“My second boy has a couple car rental places,” Evelyn said. “I’ll have him have a car here for you tomorrow.”
“Thank you. That’s very kind of you. I don’t know how I didn’t think about it until now.”
“Well, you can just not think about it anymore,” Dallas said. “Like you don’t have to think anymore about something naggin’ you from the transcript.”
“The transcript? Was there something wrong with it?” Scott asked.
“If there is, I couldn’t ever pin it down,” Maggie said dryly. “I kept thinking there was something, but I read it over and over and couldn’t find it.”
“If you couldn’t find it, it must not be there,” he said with a smile.
She tried to smile back. She wasn’t sure those muscles worked anymore. Especially when she looked at J.D.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
Sunday, 4:43 a.m.
The call came shortly before five a.m.
They were all still in Dallas’ den, waiting. None of them willing to leave.
Another judge had sworn out a warrant and Charlotte Blankenship Smith was in custody for charges connected to the attack on Maggie.
Not only was there damage to her vehic
le in the right place and what initially appeared to be the right colors of paint transfer, but Charlotte hadn’t denied it, despite her husband’s and father’s shock. In fact, she said nothing.
“Best thing for her to do,” Dallas said. “Well, that’s that.”
Maggie stood. “I’ll leave in the morning — uh, later. After I get some sleep,” she amended.
“No need, no need,” Dallas said.
“No reason for me to stay.” She was aware of Dallas’ and Evelyn’s gazes going to J.D.
He did not look up as he said, “She’s got to get back to her real job. Her boss wants her there Monday morning.”
True. All true.
Yet it was a dismissal.
She walked alone to the guesthouse in pre-dawn light that seemed brighter than it truly was because it was pushing against the dark.
No need for an escort now.
But once inside, as she went to close and lock the door behind her, she sensed a presence out in the shadows.
J.D.?
Making sure she got in all right?
Maybe Dallas sent him. Or Evelyn.
That was probably it.
* * * *
Maggie woke up stiff and with an ache where the scalp cut had let loose all that blood.
But the afternoon was sunny and warm. She got up and opened the big windows. The lack of screens didn’t matter this early in the season, before mosquitoes arrived. The wind moved branches into restless nods and swept into the room.
That helped her fog.
A hot shower helped more.
A text invited her to come to Monroe House for brunch as soon as she was up.
She dressed and packed quickly. A new car was waiting down the lane … behind the police tape marking off where her Honda met its end.
Evelyn was cooking for a steady stream of law enforcement, passing through for food before leaving town.
Dallas was there, of course. Scott was talking with Deputy Abner — she never had found out if it was his first or last name — the state trooper, and the woman from the front desk.
To her surprise, Eugene and Renee Tagner were there, as well, chatting with Doranna and Barry. She recognized other faces from the memorial service, including the redhead Robin and her sidekick. Maggie steered clear.
No sign of J.D.
“Hasn’t been here,” Dallas said quietly to her. “Addingtons came by earlier, said to give you their best and hope you’ll stay in touch. I believe they were headed to Rambler Farm to console the judge and Ed. Good people, those two.”
Sheriff Gardner came in, looking worse than ever, yet with a hopefulness deep in his tired eyes.
He packed away a considerable amount of food. Maggie pecked at hers. They finished at the same time and walked out through the kitchen together.
“Thank you, Mrs. DuPree — Evelyn. Thanks to you, too, Maggie.” Gardner extended his hand.
They shook, meaning it.
He left. She didn’t envy him the paperwork ahead of him.
Evelyn gave Maggie the keys and papers for the rental car. Scott and Dallas came in, each of the three of them hugged her. She did not get hugs from Eugene, Renee, Barry, or even Doranna.
Then she was walking down the lane to a strange car, to leave a place she’d barely recognized when she’d returned a week ago, feeling … something she couldn’t pin down.
J.D.
He stood in the center of the lane, not far from the car parked well back from the police tape around the remnants of the fence, watching her come toward him.
She wouldn’t let herself falter, closing to two feet before she stopped.
“I was wrong, J.D. I’m sorry. You should not have been prosecuted.”
He looked at her for a long moment, his expression revealing nothing. “You know why I wouldn’t declare my innocence to you Friday night?”
She had no answer.
“Because as long as I didn’t say it, I didn’t have to know you didn’t believe me. I should have known how strong your need to see the ending is. The way you build a case, you need to know where you’ll be at the end. But that’s not how it works with people. Good-bye, Maggie.”
He stepped aside.
Her breath stuttered. But she pushed herself forward, reaching the car, unlocking it. With the door open she faced him.
“I’m truly sorry, J.D. I wish you well.”
He declined his head in acknowledgement. “Go back to your job, Maggie. You are one hell of a prosecutor.”
He was still standing there, watching her car the last time she checked the rearview mirror.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
She drove. She saw the road, the rare other vehicles, the sky, the trees, all with no consciousness of seeing them. Except to notice the designs the lengthening shadows of budding trees made on the road’s surface.
Designs…
Patterns.
They look like each other — and you.
Had Charlotte followed a pattern?
Are you testing if I know up-to-date research says many serial killers don’t stick to the rigid timelines and MOs popular media portrays? I do.
J.D. said that at the Monday briefing. He was right.
The image of serial killers operating like clockwork was only one behavior. They could react to triggers that had nothing to do with time, sometimes spaced out, sometimes not.
Had Charlotte’s trigger been thinking Pan and Laurel would get their happy endings — Pan going off with J.D., Laurel getting the money she wanted from Eugene.
But, wait, how could Charlotte know Pan was going off with J.D.? Only Rick and the divorce lawyer had known that. Everyone else thought Pan was going to stay, to work on the marriage.
Except the mysterious “someone coming.” Pan could have told that person.
Charlotte?
Standing up on that ridge, in the woods, watching Pan until her shoes sank deep in the muck?
It was possible. Emotions strong enough to drive someone to murder could overcome other habits.
But which emotions had been strong enough?
Had Pan been killed because the murderer thought she was going back to her husband? Or because the killer knew she wasn’t?
And the same thing with Laurel.
Another connection — the uncertainty of their marital futures.
Patterns.
What was it Renee Tagner said about men following a pattern when it came to affairs of the heart?
More’n likely it starts with their mama’s like those old Greek plays say… and unless they’re smart enough to heed a strong woman, they keep repeatin’ it.
Eugene, for sure. Rick Wade, with his affairs.
Ed Smith?
Being controlled by Blankenship women, perhaps. Anything else?
J.D. Carson.
He had let Pan go — telling her to go back to her husband. Just now he’d told her to go back to her job.
But she wasn’t part of this pattern. She was outside of it. Except for the calls.
And the break-ins?
No sign there’d been break-ins for Pan or Laurel. But then they’d been living with their families. Harder for anyone to break in undetected.
Complicated families.
Jamie and Ally. … Aunt Vivian.
Not going there.
Stick to patterns. What Renee had said.
But instead of Renee Tagner’s voice in her head, she heard Mrs. Barrett’s.
Teddie would talk about the other boys, this one saying that funny thing and that one making this joke, but the names came so fast and it seemed all were the same, if you know what I mean. This one somebody’s brother or uncle or cousin.
Why did that gnaw at her? Gnawing — like the something in the transcript? God, if something was telling her to dig deeper into Teddie’s death, she hoped she had better luck than she’d had with the transcript.
There was no indication Charlotte had a motive for hurting Teddie.
Didn’t fit a
ny pattern.
Jealousy could give her a motive to kill Pan, certainly to kill Laurel. And covering her tracks could explain Rick Wade if he got on to something. But then why was he making those phone calls? Happenstance? And what about Teddie?
His mother did some sewing for Charlotte, but what direct dealings did she have with him? Certainly not sitting in Shenny’s plying him with drinks, directing his memories. They’d have heard that.
No. To have Charlotte be the murderer, Teddie’s death had to be an accident.
Her gut said it wasn’t.
She chuckled shakily. Great. Listening to her gut.
Her phone rang. Audio caller ID announced Nancy Quinn.
“I heard about the arrest of the judge’s older daughter. Where are you?” her assistant asked.
“On the way back.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah.”
“You don’t sound it.”
“Nancy—”
“Fine. I’ll butt out. Heard Bel got you some intel. Any help? Did it fit in?”
Fit in with the pattern.
Maggie braked, saw a crossroad ahead, braked harder, and flipped on her signal.
“No, it didn’t help. Yes, it fit in.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I’m going back, Nancy.”
“You mean you’re coming back.”
“No. I’m turning around and going back to Bedhurst. You’re right. What Bel found doesn’t point to Charlotte, but it does fit the pattern. That needs to be looked at.”
Nancy was silent a moment. “I don’t know what that’s about, but you sound more like yourself. The most like yourself you’ve sounded since you went up there. Hell, since before you got involved with Isaacson. What should I tell Vic in the morning?”
“Nothing.”
Maggie could imagine Nancy’s smile as she said, “My favorite thing to tell Vic Upton.”
* * * *
Once headed toward Bedhurst, Maggie hit speed dial.
“I’m not going to make lunch tomorrow.”
“Oh?” There was something odd in Jamie’s voice. Not the usual I’m-too-upbeat-to-show-I’m-disappointed tone that served up double scoops of guilt.
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