Don't Make a Sound: A Sawyer Brooks Thriller

by T. R. Ragan

  “Why didn’t you pick up my call or at least text me after you left Uncle Theo’s house?”

  “I got distracted. I’m sorry.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m sitting in my car, staring at the tree where Isabella Estrada was found.”

  “Oh, shit. I never asked you who was killed. I didn’t realize it was Caden’s sister.”

  “Did you know her?”

  “No, but I knew Caden. My friend liked him, and we hung out at his house a few times. He was a momma’s boy back then, and he wasn’t happy to learn his mom was going to have another baby.”

  “When I talked to him, he came across as genuinely upset about her death.”

  “I’m sure he was. I mean, that was sixteen years ago,” Aria said.

  “He was in my class,” Sawyer said. “I just remember him being shy.”

  “I think he was a sophomore when I was a senior in high school,” Aria told her. “I never told my friend, but he used to follow me from class to class. I have no idea how he got to his own classes on time.”

  “Hmm. He’s living in Oregon. He’s engaged, and he wasn’t in town when his sister was killed.”

  “Did Isabella have a boyfriend?”

  “Yeah, a forty-year-old married man with two kids.”

  “Dang.”

  “I went to his house to talk to him,” Sawyer said. “He refused to talk to me in private and didn’t like me telling the truth in front of his wife, so he lunged at me and tried to strangle me.”

  “What the fuck? Are you okay? Has he been arrested?”

  “I’ll be fine, but no, he wasn’t arrested.” Sawyer took a look in the rearview mirror and brushed her fingers across the purplish dots around her throat. “Even Mom blames me for bothering him and his wife and intruding on their lives.”

  “And yet after all that, you’re still in River Rock,” Aria reminded her.

  “Yeah, I’m still here. Once I get the details from Chief Schneider and talk to a few more people, I’ll have no choice but to wrap this up and come home.”

  “The sooner the better,” Aria said.

  Sawyer sensed something in her sister’s voice. “Are you okay?”

  “You have so much going on that I shouldn’t bother you with this, but Harper has been acting strange, and I’m worried about her.”

  “Strange in what way?”

  “You know how she always cleans, eats right, and makes time for yoga and meditation?”

  “Yes. Go on.”

  “She’s been leaving the house at odd times. Her yoga mat hasn’t moved from the basket in the family room. There’s never fresh fruit or anything to eat. When she is home, she looks exhausted, like she doesn’t sleep anymore. This morning I went over there, and the kitchen sink was piled high with dishes. That’s a first.”

  Sawyer couldn’t help but smile. She’d only been gone a few days. “I’m sure Harper is fine.”

  “Damn! I have more to tell you, but I have another call coming in from work. I’ve got to go.”

  After she hung up, Sawyer got out of the car and walked toward the tree. Isabella Estrada.

  Why had she been out here in the middle of nowhere?

  Sawyer walked back to the area where she’d gone to last time. She’d completely forgotten about the tiny bit of fabric she’d found until now. She stuck her fingers into the back pocket of her jeans and remembered she’d been wearing her nicer slacks for the funeral. She’d have to search for it later.

  Twigs crunched beneath her sneakers, and light struggled to reach the forest floor, instead tossing shadows all around her, making her nervous. The flattened area was still there. Nothing had changed.

  Continuing on, shrubs and trees wherever she looked, she noticed one shrub that had distinctly broken branches. She walked that way. There were footprints, hardly any fallen leaves. Someone had been in this exact spot for a while. Maybe hours. Waiting. Watching. She crouched down until she could see right through a hole that had been made through the brush. She stared, tried to figure out what someone might have been looking at or for. Past a grouping of trees, she saw what looked like a path. She jumped back to her feet and slowly headed that way, taking note of broken branches and flattened earth where someone had stepped. Her heart hammered against her chest. She was following Isabella’s attacker’s same path. She was sure of it. She stopped when she reached a narrow trail. She knelt down where both sides of the trail had obviously been disturbed. There were divots in the earth where Sawyer imagined Isabella had tried to crawl away, grasping for a hold and finding none.

  Who did this?

  On her feet again, Sawyer decided to follow the path. She could go left, which would take her back toward the crime scene, or she could go right.

  She went right.

  Walking at a good, clipped pace, she kept her gaze on the meandering footpath ahead, looking for anything abnormal. The earth below her feet was damp and devoid of leaves. She’d been walking for at least five minutes when she heard the snap of a branch.

  She stopped and listened.

  A woodpecker sounded in the distance. A flutter of leaves fell to the ground to her left. Twigs and forest debris crunched nearby. She held her breath as she turned toward the sound and reached into her front pocket for her pepper spray. “Who’s there?”

  Nothing.

  She couldn’t stand there forever, so she took another three steps. This time when she heard the crunch of leaves somewhere behind her, she kept walking, quickened her pace, her thumb on the nozzle of pepper spray. Her heart raced. The footfalls became loud and pronounced, gaining ground. She stopped and turned around in time to see someone dart off and disappear behind a row of tall pines.

  What the hell?

  Something brushed up against her.

  She screamed.

  Shit! It was a dog. A golden retriever with floppy ears and a wagging tail. She was trying to read the tags when a line of people appeared on the trail ahead. She recognized the man in front as the gentleman who had spoken at Gramma’s funeral, the guy in the plaid suit who had talked about aging and how important it was to get moving.

  She knelt down and gave the dog a proper greeting, rubbing the fur on his back and neck. “Good dog.”

  “We heard a scream,” the leader of the pack said as he approached. “Did Frodo scare you?”

  “It wasn’t the dog’s fault,” Sawyer said. “I was feeling a little skittish.”

  “Understandable.” He looked around as the four men and women behind him came to a stop. “You probably shouldn’t be out here alone, especially after what happened to that young girl.”

  “You’re right. If you don’t mind, I’ll follow you back toward my car,” she said, pointing. “It’s parked back that way in the direction you’re headed.”

  He nodded.

  She gestured toward the path behind him and his friends. “Does the path lead to the park?”

  “Yessiree. Next time you want to go for a walk, come with us. We meet in front of the bear statue at nine thirty every day.”

  “Ten thirty a.m. on Sundays,” someone in the group corrected.

  “That’s right. Join us anytime,” he said. “We need to keep moving.” He made a twirling motion with his finger to let her know it was time for her to turn around and get going.

  Ten minutes later, Sawyer climbed in behind the wheel, made sure all the doors were locked, and then buckled up. She gave a quick wave to the men and women waiting to see her safely off, then pulled away.

  As she drove along the dirt path back toward the main road, she peered into the woods. Somebody was still out there. She could sense it. Even now, someone was watching her.

  She’d only talked to a few people about Isabella. She couldn’t imagine the math teacher being let out of his wife’s sight. And what about Uncle Theo? It would have been almost impossible for him to get to the woods before her. And he had no idea where she was off to when she’d left his house.

 
As she merged onto the main road, she thought about what Uncle Theo had said. “They weren’t my friends,” he’d told her.

  What had he been talking about? Was he trying to tell her that the rape fantasy parties weren’t his idea? Had someone put him up to it?

  And what about the fearful look in his eyes when she’d asked him if he’d been prowling around the cottage last night? He’d adamantly denied being there.

  Uncle Theo knew something.

  She never should have let him off the hook so easily. She was going back to see him. If he broke down and cried, she’d wait him out, make him tell her what he knew.

  He owed her that much.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Aria was waiting for the next customer in line to tell her his order when she noticed Harper across the street, walking at a brisk pace.

  She took off her apron, told her manager it was an emergency and she would be right back. A wave of stifling-hot air hit her the moment she stepped outside. She rushed to the curb and glanced across the street as Harper was stepping into a deli. As soon as traffic allowed, she crossed the two-lane road. What the hell was Harper up to?

  Midtown was busy this time of day, and she weaved through a throng of people to get to where she’d seen Harper disappear. Pulling the door to the deli open, she didn’t take a breath until she saw Harper in line at the take-out register.

  She came up behind her and said, “There you are!”

  Harper let out a gasp as she turned around, obviously surprised to see Aria.

  “You weren’t at the house this morning,” Aria said, stating the obvious. “You’ve been sneaking off a lot lately.”

  “Are you keeping tabs on me?”

  “Maybe I am. You’re not having an affair or something stupid like that, are you?”

  She shook her head. “Of course not.”

  “You want to know why I believe you?”

  “Why?”

  “Because you look like shit. Nobody ever looks like shit when they’re having an affair.” Aria wrinkled her nose. “Have you taken a shower lately?”

  Harper huffed. “It’s not easy, taking care of two kids and a husband. I can’t remember the last time I had a day off to do whatever I pleased. After I leave here, I think I might treat myself to a mani and pedi.”

  “Your kitchen sink was filled to the brim with dirty dishes. I’m not judging, but that’s simply not something you’ve ever been okay with. Something’s going on.”

  Harper was up next.

  Aria watched as four twelve-inch sandwiches and napkins were put inside a plastic bag and handed over the counter for Harper to take. She’d obviously called in the order because she took the bag and headed for the door.

  Aria stayed at her heels. “You’re going to eat all that?”

  Harper said nothing as she pushed her way through the door and weaved through the crowd as if she could so easily brush her little sister off.

  “Come on,” Aria said, loud enough for anyone to hear. “It’s me, your sister. Tell me what’s going on here.”

  Harper stepped into a small alcove out of the way of other pedestrians. She exhaled. “I didn’t want to tell anyone because it’s private, but I’m going to tell you so you’ll get off my back. And then you’re going to promise me you won’t tell anyone, and that includes Nate, the kids, and Sawyer. Promise?”

  “I promise,” Aria said. “Unless you’re seeing another man . . . then my promise is null and void.”

  Harper rolled her eyes. “I’m writing a book.”

  That was the absolute last thing Aria expected to come out of her sister’s mouth. “You’re shitting me.”

  “If you mean to ask if I’m serious, I am.”

  Aria narrowed her eyes. “I never once in my lifetime heard you talk about wanting to write a book.”

  “Because I didn’t want anyone telling me it was a stupid idea.”

  Aria lifted her chin. “What are you writing about?”

  “It’s going to be a memoir.”

  “Who are those sandwiches for?”

  “My critique partners.”

  “You have critique partners?”

  “Yes. We’ve been helping one another for over a year.”

  Aria wasn’t convinced. “Helping each other in what way?”

  “Like helping each other learn to narrow our focus and use elements of fiction to tell our stories.” Harper sighed. “I need to get going. I’ll talk to you more about it later, okay?”

  Something wasn’t right, but Aria nodded. “Fine. We’ll talk about it later. You’re sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m good.”

  “And what about the baby?”

  Harper stiffened. “The baby is good too.”

  Aria continued to scrutinize her. Harper might look like a wreck, but she also appeared to be less tense. Her mouth wasn’t pinched. She wasn’t exactly glowing, but she looked . . . satisfied.

  “For the first time in my life, I’m doing something for me,” Harper added.

  Aria stepped forward and hugged her sister. Sawyer wasn’t the only one who seemed to have a difficult time showing affection. Harper and Sawyer were as different as they were alike. All three of them had never had their emotional needs met, leaving them to grow up in a world full of fear. But it wasn’t the physical, observable signs of problems that worried Aria. It was the things she couldn’t see inside her sisters.

  Aria watched Harper run off. Despite the inspiring speech about finally doing something for herself, Aria wasn’t falling for it. Something wasn’t adding up. But right now, Aria felt the need to focus on Sawyer. If Sawyer wasn’t back by the end of the week, she was going to River Rock to bring her home.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Sawyer pulled up in front of her uncle’s house for the second time, glad to see that his truck was still in the driveway. On the way there she’d been thinking about what she wanted to say to him. Instead of using verbal darts, she decided she would use a kinder, gentler approach. She wondered if she could pull it off. It was clear that all the built-up anger she’d been harboring inside for so long hurt her more than it hurt him, but she couldn’t seem to turn it off.

  Her therapist often reminded her of something Martin Luther King Jr. had once said: “Darkness cannot drive out darkness, only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate . . . only love can do that.”

  As she walked up the path leading to the door, she repeated those words over and over, but she still felt the anger bubbling inside.

  Uncle Theo didn’t come to the door after she knocked. He’d probably seen her drive up and was hiding, hoping she would go away. She reached for the doorknob, surprised when it turned and she was able to open the door and walk inside. “Uncle Theo. I know you’re here. I didn’t come back to yell at you. I just want to talk.”

  Silence.

  She exhaled as she walked across the living area to the kitchen. The picture she’d ripped to pieces was still scattered across the linoleum. “I need you to tell me what you know,” she said, walking slowly, afraid she might scare him into sneaking out the window. “You said something about the parties you threw not being your idea. Whose idea were they, Uncle Theo? I need to know.” She stopped beneath the doorframe leading into his bedroom.

  Her stomach clenched.

  Uncle Theo hung from the ceiling fan by a thick cord. His face was swollen, eyes bulging from their sockets. His feet dangled a few feet from the ground. It was easy to surmise that he’d pushed the mattress aside and used the bins Sawyer had pulled from the closet earlier to reach the ceiling fan before kicking them aside.

  A dull ache settled in her chest as she walked toward him and placed her fingertips around his wrist to see if there was any chance she could save him. There was no pulse.

  She felt hollow inside. Not because he was dead, but because she didn’t care that he was dead. He was everything wrong with the world. Mostly, he was a coward. He could have helped her by telling her wha
t he knew, but instead he’d taken the easy way out.

  She walked outside and called 9-1-1.

  Sawyer sat on the front stoop of Uncle Theo’s house, answering Chief Schneider’s questions. She’d already told him about her early-morning visit and finding the bin filled with child pornography. She’d also told the chief she had returned to Uncle Theo’s house because she still had so many questions that only her uncle could answer.

  The emergency lights from the chief’s police vehicle had been left on. Sawyer turned a few inches to her left to shield her eyes from the swirling glare.

  The chief was five foot nine with a bulging gut. He’d grown another chin since she’d seen him last. He still had kind glass-green eyes beneath crinkled eyelids. His hair was mostly silver and gray like his mustache, and she wondered how many more years he had before retirement. He looked weighed down by his belt with its heavy flashlight, security holster and pistol, magazine clip, and baton.

  “So what was your uncle’s state of mind when you left the first time?” the chief asked her.

  “When Uncle Theo let me inside, he looked beat up by life. And then when I found his stash of pornography, he freaked out.” Sawyer decided to leave out the part about accusing Uncle Theo of murder, since she had a feeling the chief wouldn’t appreciate her overstepping any boundaries when it came to his investigation.

  “Freaked out?”

  “Got a crazed look in his eyes,” Sawyer said. “Uncle Theo looked suddenly possessed. He told me the devil was close and that I’d better run.”

  The chief made a note on his little pad of paper he’d pulled from his shirt pocket. “I’m still not clear on why you returned since you’d already had your say.”

  Aspen came out of the house then, glanced from Sawyer to the chief, and said, “We’ve got him bagged up and ready to go.”

  “Good. Now block off the house with caution tape,” Chief Schneider told him.

  Aspen got to work.

  “So, what sort of questions did you plan on asking Theodore the second time around?”

  She was tired of beating around the bush. Maybe the chief could answer a few questions. “I wanted to know more about the rape fantasy parties he used to take Aria and me to.”