by Dianne Miley
Her stomach clenched. Would they arrest her? And what if Rachel was guilty? She’d withheld that evidence too.
“We have to consider you a suspect,” he continued with utmost gentleness. “Do not leave Crystal Falls until this investigation is over. If an emergency arises, notify us of your whereabouts before leaving town.”
She stared at him in shock. “But what about Mr. Gallagher?” she asked desperately. “He was sneaking around Calvin’s woods yesterday. I saw him from the kitchen window.”
Deputy Warren leaned back with a satisfied smirk.
“Hmmm. Doesn’t mean much. He traps out there.” Hunter frowned at Warren’s smirk. “You know Baldy reports him trespassing. Those two hate each other.”
Her stomach dropped. Her one hope dashed to bits.
“But we’ll check into it,” the chief replied with skepticism. “Anything else we need to know?” he implored.
“No.” She shook her head—too hard.
He sighed. “If you think of anything, call me. Day or night.” He switched off the tape recorder and stood.
“Mr. Mitchell,” he called. “We’re done here.”
Brett appeared in a split second. The chief offered wet handshakes and plopped his dripping hat onto his head and walked to the door.
“I’ve got to notify next of kin,” Hunter announced.
Next of kin? Oh no—his wife. She slumped into the chair. Rachel would hate her forever.
“Warren, get her gun.”
Like a robot, she followed the deputy into the rain. She’d never been in a police car before. She startled when the windshield wipers sprang to life. Headlights beamed through the dark morning, illuminating sheets of rain in their path.
White beacons shone from the chief’s car behind them, backing onto the road. His red taillights disappeared over the hill—headed toward Honeysuckle Lane.
Warren turned into the farmhouse and stopped behind the Camaro. Thank goodness her parents were at church. Wordlessly, she retrieved the shotgun and handed it to him.
“Thank you, Miss.” His thin figure silhouetted in the headlights. He slipped into his car with the long parcel and vanished into the gray rain, taking her future with him.
****
The storm passed, leaving a wet, wind-whipped landscape. Sunshine filtered through the clouds. Laura composed herself. It had been an hour since the police had gone. Her parents would be home any minute, ready for an ordinary Sunday dinner.
Surely Hunter had given Rachel the news by now. Laura couldn’t wait and see if she showed up for dinner. She had to see her sister, had to explain. She needed reconciliation, and she needed the truth.
Wilted roses at Rachel’s doorstep needed to be cut back. Mind reeling, Laura knocked on the door. Water dripped from the eaves onto her head. She stepped back, squishing wet leaves beneath her feet. September brought a change of season to Northeast Ohio, but today was unusually cold.
She gathered her courage and knocked again. At last the door opened a crack, and Rachel glowered through the gap. The girls fought and cried in the background.
“Rachel—” Laura began.
“Girls, go to your room,” Rachel interrupted, pointing toward the hallway. Her stupefied daughters obeyed without batting an eye.
“I’m sorry. Please, let me explain,” Laura begged.
Wet hair snaked around Rachel’s shoulders like Medusa. Molten green eyes shot flames of fury. She threw the door open, drew back her arm, and slapped Laura across the face.
Shaken, Laura grabbed the doorjamb for balance and stared into her sister’s crazed eyes.
“How could you?” Rachel shouted, and slammed the door a mere inch from her fingers.
Staring at the flower wreath on the door, Laura brought a hand to her stinging cheek and blinked. An icy drip on her head chilled her to the core.
Rachel wouldn’t be coming for dinner. Her parents would be upset. Laura had control over nothing. She couldn’t prove her innocence, restore her relationships, or keep the man she loved. There on Rachel’s doorstep, her heart froze like ice. Numb, she vowed to protect herself from any more losses.
****
“What am I supposed to do?” Brett asked his mother late that afternoon.
“Do you think she’s innocent?” Angelina questioned from her antique rocking chair.
He squirmed in his father’s worn recliner. “She claims she only fired two shots, but I heard three. I want to believe her. I don’t think she’d kill him, but she’s hiding something.”
“Maybe she’s protecting someone else.”
“It’s possible.” Brett remembered that night. “Chad and her father were both out there with shotguns.”
Her eyes widened, but she waited for him to continue. She rocked, crocheting a doily. Like she needed another one. But her rhythm soothed him, let him focus.
“Chad hated how Jake treated Rachel,” he thought aloud. “But he was up all night searching that creek for him and then all the next day.” He shook his head. “He couldn’t just blow away his brother-in-law, and then come in and ask about the race.”
Angelina untangled a knot in her thread. “Mr. James couldn’t do it, either,” she said. “Despite everything Jake did, he was still family.” Her fingers moved swiftly, wrapping thread around needle. “Family loyalty runs deep with the James.”
“You’re telling me!” Brett was well aware of those family ties. He’d never be able to tear Laura loose.
Angelina smiled and her fingers stilled. “When you become part of the family, you’ll appreciate that.”
“I don’t think that’ll happen. Even if she's innocent, she’ll never leave her family for me.”
Lilacs For Laura
Lilacs For Laura
Chapter 19—Wicked Witch of the West
“Love will find a way,” Angelina assured Brett with an all-knowing nod. Her dark eyes sparkled as she twisted thread.
“Don’t be so darn sure.” His deep hurt brewed into anger.
“You love her more than anything. I can see it in your eyes.” She hummed to classical music on the radio.
“Yes, I do.” Her certainty infuriated him. He ground his heels into the footrest. “But I didn’t get this opportunity so I could be a half-hearted carpenter buried under student loans.” He balled a fist and pounded the arm of the recliner.
She frowned. “I see your father’s stubbornness in you.”
“That hurts, Mom,” he retorted. “And going back to work for Dad is not an option.” He’d never go back there.
“Love often requires compromise.” She rocked like a wise old grandmother although she was only forty-five.
“Oh, is that what you call it?” Indignation roused him. “Is letting Dad dictate your entire life, even the clothes you wear, what you call compromise?” Dad kept her home and frumpy.
“No, it’s not.” Her cocked eyebrow issued a warning. “Your father compromises in other ways.”
“Like what?” He hated using an angry tone with her, but emotion slipped out with his words.
She set her crocheting on a side table and planted her feet. She leaned forward, ready with an answer. “He says nothing of how much I spend on plants and fertilizer. He mows around my rose garden, never complaining about thorns catching on his pant legs or scratching up his arms.
“Your father works hard to give me a good life.” She leaned back and pushed off with one toe to begin rocking again. “I enjoy staying home, keeping the books, and gardening.”
“But he doesn’t want you to have a job.” Exasperation surfaced in his voice.
Her rocking stilled. “We could use the money, Brett. Your father makes many sacrifices for me.”
“Okay, okay.” He raked a hand through his hair. “So am I supposed to sacrifice my talents to have the woman I love?”
“No. But compromise is a two-way street.” Her dark eyes unveiled motherly insight. “You’re asking Laura to change her entire life for you. What are you
willing to change for her?”
He sighed deeply. “I don’t know.” He scrubbed his unshaven face. Leaning his forehead into his hand, he stared at his denim-clad thigh. “If I stay here, I’ll resent her. And if she leaves Crystal Falls, she’ll resent me.” He begged her for advice. “What am I supposed to do?”
“Pray.”
Her standard answer for everything. “I have been! It’s not working.”
“Keep praying anyway. And talk it out with Laura. Find a way to make it work,” she answered with a faith and wisdom Brett couldn’t fathom. And she rocked.
“I’ll try, Mama.” He stood and stretched, unable to deal with the emotional turmoil any longer. “I’d better go before Papa Bear gets home and finds me sitting in his chair.”
She waved a hand and chuckled. “It would do him good to share.” Then her dark eyes grew sad. “You haven’t seen your father in a while.”
“Good observation.” He coolly walked across the freshly vacuumed carpet, leaving footsteps in the dark green pile. “He kicked me out, remember?”
“He didn’t want to but you got sassy with him.” She followed him into the kitchen.
“Thought I’d come crawling back, didn’t he?” He faced her.
Her frown confirmed his assumption.
“He only kicked me out because I wouldn’t let him control me.” Brett slipped on his tennis shoes at the back door.
“Oh, honey.” She embraced him. “He’s only trying to keep you close.” She smoothed the hair from his brow. “I know it’s uncomfortable, but your father really does love you.” Sincerity filled her dark brown eyes.
“He has a funny way of showing it. Somewhere I heard if you love something, you set it free.”
With a warm and compassionate look, his mother turned the tables. “Is that how you feel about Laura?”
He took a deep breath, thinking it through. “In a way,” he admitted. “I don’t want to control her. I just want to be with her. But how will that work if she’s here and I’m in Charlotte?”
“If you really love each other, you’ll find a way.”
“I hope you’re right.” He stepped toward the door.
She smoothed the cherry print fabric of her apron and tucked a strand of hair into the dark bundle at her neck.
Brett kissed her cheek. “You really should let your hair down,” he teased. “You’re a hot mama underneath that apron.”
“Now don’t start,” she admonished, smacking his shoulder. “Maybe I don’t want to be a hot mama.”
He left laughing, but his inner conflicts waged worse than ever. Compromise was not the advice he’d wanted to hear.
****
Crystal Falls always bustled with tourists on Labor Day. Laura expected no less on this dreary Monday. Business had faltered, and with everything happening around her, she hadn’t followed through with her marketing plans. Not that her parents would agree to them. But the flower shop provided stability, security, and joy, no matter what losses she endured in her personal life. Her family had always been her rock, her foundation, and now it was shaken.
After a horrific weekend, she drove to work with a sense of purpose. Like her family, Rosebuds defined who she was. But unlike people, the business would not turn against her. She would cling to that, and protect her heart from pain. She’d plan some promotional events to forget her problems.
Approaching the shop, she saw her mother on the sidewalk, furiously scrubbing the display window.
MURDERER screeched across the glass in red grease paint.
No. They couldn’t take this from her too.
Trembling, she parked behind the building and slipped in the back. She stumbled into the shop in a daze, unable to remember her morning routine.
Avoiding the front window, she stayed behind the counter. A red number eleven blinked on the answering machine. Check the messages. Get a message pad, a pen. Press the button. Writing in slow motion, she gathered her wits between each message.
Six hospital deliveries, three home deliveries, and the one and only October wedding had been cancelled, along with the order for five dozen chrysanthemums for the town square. The grocer informed them—via taped message—another florist would be supplying their floral department.
That coward! His father came from England with Grandpa.
“That there takes the cake,” Emily huffed in a faint Virginia accent as she stomped in the door and let it slam. Her wind-blown hair stood in all directions and her eyes burned with fury. A bottle of Windex and roll of paper towels stuck out of her apron pockets, but she wielded a razor knife in her fist. “I swear that was Myrtle Winthrop’s perfect block letters.”
“Big surprise,” Laura said flatly. “Wait ‘til you hear the messages.”
“I heard that last one,” her mother grunted. “Traitor. How could he betray a friendship based on rumors and lies? He’s known your father since birth!”
“No control,” Laura moaned. “No control over anything.”
Emily’s face grew determined. She marched behind the counter and thrust the razor into a drawer. “We’re better off without them. Who needs enemies with friends like that?”
She snatched up a dust rag, standing with one hand on her hip and a scowl on her face. She opened her mouth to speak, but turned on her heel when the front door swung open.
****
Brett heard the crunch of gravel and looked up from the television. Morning talk shows hadn’t kept his mind off Laura anyway. He wished Chad needed him today. Holiday or not, he’d rather be pounding nails than moping around the house.
He flicked off the TV and walked to the window. Two black and whites pulled into the driveway behind his ‘Vette. A shiver trailed down his spine. Hiding behind the curtains, he watched and listened as Chief Hunter blustered out of the lead car.
“Blast it!” The chief exclaimed. “They’re not at work?”
Mild-mannered Deputy Warren approached from the second car. “It’s Labor Day, Chief. Everyone’s off work but us.”
Shaking his head, Hunter got paraphernalia from the trunk.
Silently, Brett listened to hear what they said. Laura was no killer. He believed in her no matter what. He loved her.
“I can’t believe we didn’t find him,” Warren commented.
“We’re half a mile upstream from the accident.” The chief sounded miffed. “Who’d have looked for a wounded man upstream?”
“Santos didn’t want to be found.” Warren said as they walked toward the woods. “So who do ya think killed him?”
Brett strained to hear. The chief grunted, then his voice faded into the distance and Brett couldn’t make out the rest. He peeked out. They approached the area where the bottle was found and vanished over the ridge.
He had to know what they found. He grabbed a jacket and snuck across the yard. At the edge of the woods, he hid behind a tree and peered over the yellow caution tape. Warren was fifty feet away headed through dense underbrush behind the barn.
Lining up his profile with the tree, Brett held his breath. Where was Hunter? Stealing a glance, he spied him studying a tree. He scraped off bloody bark and dropped it into a baggie before bustling to catch up with Warren.
“Hold up!” he called with frustration, bending under low branches and winding around clumps of brush. Brett tagged along at a safe distance, watching from beyond the taped-off area. He wouldn’t violate it just in case they spotted him.
Hunter stubbed his toe on a tree root, and then slipped in a patch of mud. Brett stifled a laugh, remembering the puddle he’d slid through yesterday. What a klutz.
But remembering Laura’s interrogation and the dire consequences thwarted his humor. He continued surveillance.
Up ahead, Hunter stopped near Warren. They appeared preoccupied, so he risked sneaking closer. Crouching near a thicket, he heard Warren exclaim, “Santos knew darn well we wouldn’t find him in this area. As many times as he’s been in custody, he knew the procedures as well as we di
d.”
“Speak for yourself,” Hunter grumbled. He pulled a scrap of fabric from the thorns and added it to his stash of evidence. “No one will miss that troublemaker. Least of all his wife.”
“Do ya blame her?” Warren asked with disgust.
“No. Can’t say that I do. But the law’s the law.”
“Whatcha getting at?” Warren asked.
Brett’s stomach churned.
Hunter sighed. “When I notified Mrs. Santos of her husband’s death—I don’t know. It was one of the strangest reactions I’ve ever seen. Really makes me wonder, ya know?”
“What’d she do?”
Brett inched forward from behind a tree, listening closely.
“She wasn’t sad, just shocked.” The chief shrugged. “Nothing I can put my finger on, but she was really angry about her sister making a statement.”
“You think she killed him?” Warren asked doubtfully.
“I don’t know,” Hunter replied. “They’ve always been good girls. Their family founded this town.” He shook his head sadly. “But those two have more motive than anyone by my estimation.”
“You think Laura’s covering for her sister?” Warren’s voice grew high-pitched and disbelieving.
“They both have plenty of motive and no alibi.” His chest puffed out and his bombastic voice held a hint of condescension.
The deputy rolled his eyes. “I still think Gallagher made good on his big mouth threats. Framing Rachel gets his revenge.”
Apparently unaccustomed to having his judgment questioned, the chief bristled. “I already checked into that,” he barked. “Clyde Gallagher sat in the bar until closing Saturday night. Five witnesses gave him a rock solid alibi until 2 A.M.”
“Those hooligans all cover for each other,” Warren argued.
The look Hunter gave him said, ‘you’ll never learn.’ “I know all about those hooligans. It’s my job to know. The bar owner verified it. He’s a friend of mine.”
“A friend of yours?” Warren’s face was incredulous.
Brett winced, squirming as the chief’s face turned red.
“I don’t like what you’re insinuating, Deputy.” Hunter yanked up his sagging pants and jammed his hat down on his head in frustration. “Gallagher’s too stupid to think up a frame job like that. There’s a murderer in Crystal Falls and it’s up to us to stop him. So let’s get on with it, shall we?”