by LENA DIAZ,
“But she wasn’t trying to kill me.”
He gave her an incredulous look. “She shot a rifle at you.”
She shook her head. “If she was trying to kill me, I’d be dead, wouldn’t I? Marcia was an amazing shot even back in high school. If she says she was just trying to scare me, I believe her.”
He shook his head. “You’re saying you don’t want to press charges.”
“That’s what I’m saying.”
He shook his head again. “Unbelievable. Fine, I’ll tell the chief. Back to the grocery store investigation. I’ve got some questions for you. But first let me explain a few things. I probably shouldn’t be telling you any of this. Well, no probably about it. The investigation is confidential, and I need your word that you won’t share these details with anyone else.”
“It’s not like I’m receiving social invitations in this town. Who would I tell?”
“I’m serious. Your lawyer, a clerk at the bank, anyone at all. Not a word.”
“Okay, okay. I won’t tell anyone.”
“When you and I talked at the diner, you told me that one of the gunmen said Reggie told them a woman was heading toward the checkout. That set off alarm bells for me. It sounded like the gunmen had inside information, someone inside the store, maybe an employee, letting them know when it was the right time to come inside.”
“The right time? Like when there weren’t that many customers?”
“More like when you were inside.”
“Me? You really were serious earlier when you said I might have been the target?”
He slowly nodded.
She listened in stunned disbelief as he told her about a cashier named Reggie who’d partnered with the gunmen. Her hand shook as she pulled the afghan closer. “You’re saying that someone is trying to...kidnap me? They want to force me to...confess?”
“According to Reggie, yes.”
“Well. I guess we know who’s behind that. It’s Mr. Caldwell, Bobby’s father. Has to be.”
He nodded. “Makes sense. That’s the first person I thought of, too. He’s got plenty of money, owns thousands of acres of farmland in this county, and his family comes from old money up in Chattanooga. Plus, he’s made no secret over the years that he always thought you did it. After all, you and Bobbie had a...history.”
She frowned and was about to dress him down when he held up a hand to stop her.
“I’m not blaming the victim here. I know he stalked you during your senior year. History was the wrong word.”
“You think? Yet another reason I’m no fan of your boss, by the way. He didn’t do anything to stop Bobby. No one did.”
He winced.
She immediately regretted her outburst. “Except you. I know you tried to help me, got yourself in trouble more times than I can count by going after him.”
“Fat lot of good it did. His father’s security guys tossed me on my butt just about every time before I could get close to Bobby. I’m really sorry, Bex. I’m sorry I didn’t do more. I know it was a really tough time for you.”
“Tough?” She fisted her hands in the afghan. “No one could help me—not the school, not my mom, not you, not the police. I was miserable, Max. My life was a living hell that year.” She sucked in a breath and looked at him, too late wishing she could recall her words. “I don’t mean that you and I—I mean, it was also the best year.”
“After Bobby was found,” he continued, as if she’d never spoken, “his father kept lobbying Thornton to arrest you. But, like you said, there was never enough evidence. So after that initial forty-eight hours in the cell, he had to let you go.”
“Yeah, nice guy. Holding a terrified teenager in jail after ignoring her calls for help for nearly a year.”
“Bex, that was a long time ago. Looking back, can’t you see there was more to it than that? He was also protecting you. From Bobby’s father. Those two days were a cooling-off period for everyone. Thornton feels terrible about failing you, not being able to do anything about the stalking without proof. He was determined to protect you from the fallout.”
“Let me guess,” she said. “He told you that? Because he sure hasn’t ever said anything like that to me.”
“Not exactly. But I was there, too, spoke to him more than you in those early days, since you wouldn’t let me visit you. I figured out what he was doing even if he was too gruff and stubborn to explain his actions.” He shook his head. “He’s never been one to explain himself. But I’ve worked with him since I graduated. Aside from odd jobs on farms and mowing yards, being a cop in Destiny is the only real job I’ve ever had. So I’ve had plenty of time to get to know him. He’s a good man, Bex. Locking you up wasn’t out of meanness or because he really thought you’d killed Bobby. Believe it or not, he cared what happened to you.”
She stared past him, through the windows to the dark backyard, illuminated only by moonlight. Max might be able to see some good in Thornton. But she’d never experienced anything but the harsh reality of a policeman who did things by the book and wouldn’t help her no matter how many times she pleaded for him to stop the stalking. And then the moment something happened to Bobby, he’d locked her up. She’d never forgive him for that.
“You think Robert Caldwell Senior hired those men to go after me?” she asked, refusing to discuss Thornton anymore.
He let out a deep sigh. “I think it’s possible, highly likely. But while some of the other guys track down that lead and talk to Mr. Caldwell, I’m here to talk to you. Bex—”
“You want me to tell you about that night.”
He nodded. “Your mother, God rest her soul, thought she was protecting you by not letting you talk to the police back then. But the problem is that it only makes you look guilty. Bobby’s father has built this up in his mind for years, convinced that because you left town, you must have been guilty.”
“I didn’t leave until two weeks later. It’s not like I just disappeared overnight.”
“Doesn’t make much difference. You never gave a statement. The investigation stagnated because of it. In Caldwell’s eyes, you’re guilty. Period. And he’s gone ten years without someone paying for his son’s death. You show up in town, he hears about it and bam, gunmen raid the store when you’re there and go searching for you, paid by some anonymous guy.”
“Anonymous?”
He nodded. “One of the gunmen in the hospital wanted to cut a deal. But the deal was to give us the identity of whoever hired him and the others to go after you. He couldn’t give us his identity.”
“How much money are we talking?”
“Ten thousand dollars. Each.”
“Wow. Fifty thousand dollars is more than the average person could afford. But ten thousand apiece wasn’t exactly making those guys rich. I wouldn’t risk my freedom for a penny less than a million,” she joked.
“I didn’t say they were smart.”
She smiled. “What exactly do you need from me? Do you want me to say I didn’t do it? That I didn’t kill Bobby?”
“That would be a good place to start.”
The silence stretched out between them.
“Bex—”
“You need to leave.”
His brows raised. “Back up. What just happened here?”
“Nothing happened. It’s late and I’m exhausted. I need to get some sleep. So do you.” Holding the afghan around her like a robe, she stood and headed into the kitchen.
Max followed her. She could hear him close and lock the door to the sunroom behind him. By the time he caught up to her, she had the front door standing wide-open.
His gaze flicked to the door, then to her. “What time do you get up in the morning? I’ll bring breakfast and then we can continue with our conversation.”
She shook her head. �
�I’m not answering any more questions. Don’t bother stopping by.”
His brows lowered in a deep slash. “I’m trying to help you, Bex.”
“No. You’re trying to solve a case and you think that by dredging up the past you’ll find some clue. Well, you can do that all you want, but you’ll have to do it without me.”
He stepped closer, looking down at her with a deep frown wrinkling his brow. “I could arrest you for obstructing a police investigation.”
“Go ahead. Then you and Thornton can share some stories over a couple of beers about how you both threw me in jail.”
His eyes narrowed, but not before she saw the flash of hurt in them.
Her shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry, Max. I shouldn’t have said—”
He stepped through the door without another word.
Chapter Thirteen
Bex towel-dried the breakfast dishes and packed them into a box. That was the last of them. From here on out, however many days she had left in Destiny, she’d use paper plates and disposable utensils. Tomorrow was trash day. She’d empty the refrigerator tonight and set the bags at the curb.
She’d already had her RAV4 taken to Eddie’s to get the windshield fixed. Ralph, the owner, was going to sell her mom’s Taurus for her. Movers were scheduled to arrive later in the week to take the boxes she’d designated to go to her condo in Knoxville. Then, as soon as her lawyer gave the okay, an auction company would hold an estate sale for everything else, including the house. In just a few short weeks, it would be as if her mother had never even existed.
A sob escaped before Bex even registered the tears flowing down her cheeks. Her knees buckled and she sagged to the floor.
“Oh, Mama. Mama, Mama, Mama. I miss you so much.”
The grief hit her like a tidal wave, pushing her under, drowning her in darkness and sorrow. She’d cried when she’d first gotten the call from the hospital, of course. But that was nothing compared to the paralyzing pain that racked her now. She curled into a ball and cried until it seemed like there was no moisture left in her body to form any tears, until her throat ached from the strength of her sobs. And then she fell into an exhausted slumber right there on the kitchen floor.
When she woke up, only a short time had passed. But it felt like a lifetime. Her lifetime, her mother’s, her family’s. Nothing would ever be the same again. She’d never hear her mother’s voice on the phone. Never see her smiling face when the limo pulled up to Bex’s condo for one of her mom’s trips to Knoxville. Never swap much-loved books in the mail with favorite passages highlighted in pink. Bex had thought she’d dealt with her grief before coming back to Destiny. But apparently she’d had to see the house all packed up to really push her over the edge and make her face her tremendous loss.
Feeling bruised from the emotional hit she’d just taken, she pushed herself up to sitting and rubbed her bleary eyes. This little house had been her home for eighteen years. She’d been happy here, the doted upon only child of two incredibly loving parents. Now both of them were gone. And Bex wasn’t sure how she could go on without them.
She was tempted to curl back into a ball. But she could almost see her mother scowling at her and telling her to “suck it up, Buttercup.” Her mom never suffered whining or pity parties. Bex wasn’t going to insult her memory now by ignoring all the life lessons her mama had taught her.
After replenishing her parched body with a bottle of water, Bex went outside to check the mail that she’d forgotten to check yesterday. That was one more thing she needed to do, set up a forwarding address. She supposed she could do that online tonight.
The bodyguard assigned to watch her this morning sat in his SUV parked in the grass across the street, no longer bothering to pretend that she didn’t know about them.
She waved and he waved back. Having him there made her feel safe. But she cringed at the thought of how much the twenty-four-hour security was costing Max. As soon as she sold her mom’s house she’d pay him back. She’d caused enough problems for him. Having him lose his savings wasn’t going to be added to that list.
She opened the mailbox and pulled out the short stack of envelopes—a final bill from the funeral home, the electric bill and a manila envelope with no return address or stamp. She hesitated, a cold prickle of unease flashing through her.
It wasn’t uncommon for people this far from town to stick a note in each other’s mailboxes. It was most likely a note from one of her mother’s friends, wishing her condolences. But with everything that had happened since her fateful trip to the Piggly Wiggly, the envelope took on a more sinister appearance.
The sound of shoes crunching on dried leaves had her looking up to see the bodyguard crossing the road toward her. He stopped in front of her.
“Miss Kane, I’m Neil Granger. I couldn’t help noticing the worry on your face. Something wrong?”
“Maybe. It seems silly, really, but this—”
“Didn’t go through the post office.” He frowned down at the envelope. “Mind if I open it?”
Since he was already pulling on a pair of latex gloves, she didn’t bother answering. When he was ready, she handed it to him.
“Please step back,” he said.
Her throat tightened at his request. Did he think someone had hidden something dangerous inside? It didn’t seem possible, as thin as the envelope was. But she stepped back anyway, watching him carefully pat down the surface and examine the edges before pulling the flap open. He peeked inside, then his posture seemed to relax and he motioned her forward.
“It’s some kind of picture.” He reached in and pulled it out. His gaze shot to hers, and he slowly turned the picture around.
Bex blinked in shock as the proof of her sins stared up at her from an eight-by-ten glossy photo. She couldn’t fool herself any longer. This wasn’t something she could run away from again. It was time to finally face her past.
* * *
MAX PROPPED HIS booted feet on top of his desk and leaned back in his chair, watching the sun burn away the last of the morning fog through the police station windows. Yet another chilly day had dawned with no viable leads about who had arranged for the gangbangers to go after Bex in the grocery store. To say that he was getting frustrated was an understatement.
One desk over from him in the expansive squad room, Colby was leaning back in his chair, too. Both of them had the case files up on their computer monitors and were tossing theories back and forth.
“The Marcia thing is still bothering me,” Colby said.
“Tell me about it. I didn’t expect her to be released so quickly. She should be toughing it out in a jail cell right now.”
Colby jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at the chief, who was talking to Donna by the interrogation room. “His orders. When you didn’t call back saying Miss Kane wanted to press charges, he wouldn’t let us lock her up. Sorry, man.”
“Nothing you could do. I’d just feel better if she wasn’t on the loose with that rifle. If she told us the truth, then her emotions are running high and impairing her judgment. What’s to stop her from deciding to go after Bex again?”
“And if she’s lying?”
“Then maybe whoever hired the gang to hold up the grocery store hired her, too. What did we find on Caldwell senior? Do we have anything at all to link him to any of this? His belief that Bex killed his son is no secret. And he certainly has the funds to hire anyone he wants to do just about anything.”
Colby dipped his head in acknowledgment. “Donna’s been following that angle and so far she’s got nothing. Obviously he’s too sick right now to have gone to Knoxville. And we can’t get a look at his finances to look for payments to any thugs without a warrant. Trust me. Donna tried. But the judge turned her down, said he needs something more than conjecture.”
“Did she interview him?”
“Officially, no. He’s refusing to talk to us. But she caught up to him outside the hospital before one of his chemo treatments. She barraged him with questions as his son, Deacon, pushed his father into the hospital. Didn’t do any good and his lawyer called the chief later threatening a lawsuit for harassment if we pulled something like that again.”
Max shook his head. “Other than what I got from Lenny Stinsky, we’ve got nothing from the shooters, either. None of them are talking. I’ll give it to Caldwell senior, or whoever is behind this, they picked the right thugs to hire. Or maybe threatened them with some dire consequence if they talked.”
He tapped his right hand on his thigh, thinking it through. “Lenny and the other one who was shot are still in the hospital. Maybe we can play them against each other, even with their lawyers present, and get one of them to take a deal.”
“I thought Lenny Stinsky didn’t know the name of the guy who hired them. That only leaves the Chucky guy. And he’s a hard-core criminal. I don’t see us getting him to go for a deal.”
“He’s facing hard time for the grocery store holdup.”
Colby shrugged. “You can try to talk to him. I certainly didn’t have any luck.”
“Maybe I’ll head over there in a little bit.” Max tapped his thigh again. “Even if he doesn’t have a name, he’s got to have a better description, maybe even of the make and model of the car. If we can narrow it down, get the specific date when it happened, too, we might generate a viable lead on who was in that car that night.”
“Like I said, I already tried. But hey, maybe after stewing in the hospital for a few days he’s softened up. Or getting worried about heading to jail when he gets discharged. Caldwell seems like the logical money man. Maybe one of his security guys is the man who drove to Knoxville. I can work up a list of everyone who works for him and—”
“Already did.”
They both turned to see Donna standing a few feet away. The chief was still on the far side of the room, talking to Blake this time.
“Did what?” Colby asked.