Aw, hell, who was he trying to fool? He’d marry Rachel today if she would say yes, and he would welcome and love as many kids as she wanted to have.
The living room was so crammed with women that Tom and Brandon had to shoulder their way in, trying to be polite about it. The combined odors of hairspray and perfume hung in the air. The two of them worked their way over to the couch where Sarah slumped, vacant-eyed, with Brandon’s mother on one side and Joanna McKendrick on the other. Marie Connolly had apparently come straight from the bakery she and her husband owned, and she still wore her customary black slacks and pink shirt, with the logo Connolly’s Country-Fresh Baked Goods stitched above her heart. She had an arm around Sarah’s shoulders.
Joanna, a middle-aged blond woman dressed in the jeans and boots she wore around her horse farm, looked up at Tom with sad, weary eyes and shook her head as if she had no words for what she felt. She pressed a clean tissue into Sarah’s hand and lifted the hand to catch a trickle of mucus before it ran down over her lips.
Tom realized all the women had fallen silent, waiting to hear what he would say to Sarah. “I don’t have any news,” he said. “I won’t bother you with questions now, but I’d like to talk to Dan.”
Sarah stared into space, giving no sign that she’d heard Tom. Joanna said, “He’s on the porch.”
With Brandon trailing him, Tom continued through the house. In the kitchen, platters and serving dishes covered with aluminum foil crowded the breakfast table and counters—hastily assembled condolence gifts from people who had little else to offer except their words and their presence. The aromas of beef, chicken, and freshly baked bread came as a relief to Tom after the chemical haze in the living room, but he wondered how long it would be before the Beechers felt like eating again.
They found Dan, and a dozen other men, on the big screened porch at the rear of the house. Dan stood at the screen, staring mutely into the backyard and the woods beyond. The family’s yellow Labrador, Scout, sat at his side, leaning into his leg as if propping him up. The other men stood back, giving Dan space.
Tom touched Dan’s arm, startling him into awareness. “Can we talk for a couple of minutes? I have to ask you some questions.”
“What good are your questions now?” Dan’s voice came out hoarse, his words a little slurred, making Tom wonder if he’d taken a drink to dull his pain. “She’s gone. We’ve lost our daughter.”
“I need you to focus right now on helping us find out who did this. That’s the best thing you can do for your family. Can we talk somewhere in private?” Megan, Tom realized, had probably retreated upstairs, and he didn’t want to go up there with Dan and disturb her. “Why don’t we go out in the yard?”
Dan heaved a sigh and nodded. Tom pushed open the door to the yard and let Scout run out first.
On the small flagstone-paved area that served as a patio, several folded plastic chairs lay in a stack and a grill on wheels stood under a protective black cover. Dan followed his dog onto the lawn.
Falling in next to Dan, with Brandon on the other side, Tom said, “You told me earlier that you think Skeet Hadley had something to do with Shelley’s death. I wanted to ask you—”
“He had everything to do with it.” Dan swung around to glare at Tom. “I should’ve stopped him before it went this far. I’ll never forgive myself for not—” He choked up and couldn’t go on.
“Exactly what has Skeet done to make you think he would hurt Shelley?”
Swiping a hand across his face, Dan blinked back tears. “He’s been over here I don’t know how many times, telling me I had to put a stop to it, make Shelley back off. But damn it, she wasn’t doing anything to the Hadleys. It didn’t involve them.”
“Did he ever harass Shelley directly?” Brandon asked.
“Oh yeah. He kept calling her, telling her what she was doing was wrong, she was just causing the family a lot of grief on top of what they already suffered. She bought a new cell phone with a new number just to keep him from getting to her. And I had to throw him out of the house every single time Shelley came home. He just wouldn’t leave her alone about it.”
“Today is the first time I’ve heard about this, Dan.” Tom didn’t try to hide his exasperation.
“Why didn’t you report it?” Brandon asked.
Dan threw up his hands. “I wish to god I had. I wish we’d taken out some kind of order to keep him away from her. Away from us. But Shelley said she understood, and she didn’t want to hurt the Hadleys by getting Skeet in trouble with the law. God, why did I listen to her? Why didn’t I do something to protect my daughter?”
“Don’t blame yourself,” Tom said, although he knew he’d feel the same way in Dan’s situation. “Aside from Skeet, can you think of anybody who would’ve wanted to hurt her?”
“I told you it’s a waste of time to—”
“I know, I know. Just bear with me here. Was she having problems with her boyfriend?”
Dan pulled in a breath, let it out, as if forcing himself to be patient. “There’s a boy she hung around with, but I don’t know how serious they were about each other. We never met him. His name’s Justin something. He’s a photographer. Didn’t sound to me like he amounted to much, but she liked him. I never got the feeling he was giving her any trouble.”
Tom wrote down the first name. He’d have to find out more from the Fairfax detective.
“Skeet’s the one you ought to be looking at,” Dan said.
“I intend to. Meanwhile, I want you to stay away from him. Stay away from all the Hadleys.”
Dan’s jaw clenched.
“Think about Sarah and Megan. You don’t want to do anything to make this harder for them.”
Dan held Tom’s gaze for a long moment, then shook his head. “I’m not making any promises I can’t keep.”
Chapter Five
Rachel pushed rice around on her plate with a fork as she tried to come up with words to tell Tom about Michelle’s impromptu visit without making it sound as if a ton of trouble was about to crash down on them.
Since they’d sat down to dinner at the kitchen table he’d barely spoken, and he ate mechanically with a distant expression on his face. Rachel knew he was totally absorbed by the Shelley Beecher case. He’d changed into his brown uniform and planned to get back to work after eating. She might not talk to him again until morning, and she couldn’t wait that long to tell him Michelle would be there in a few hours.
The mantel clock in the living room began chiming seven, as if nudging her to get it over with before she ran out of time. On the kitchen wall next to their table the bird in the old cuckoo clock popped out and added its raspy chorus.
Rachel waited until the clocks fell silent. “I’m sorry I can’t give you more notice than this, but my sister’s coming to stay for a few days.” Her voice sounded like a shout in the quiet kitchen. “She’ll be here tomorrow.”
For a moment Tom seemed to have trouble focusing on what she’d said. He blinked. “Your sister?”
“Yes.” Avoiding Tom’s direct gaze, Rachel grabbed her glass and swallowed a gulp of water. “Michelle’s having…a problem, a fairly serious one, and she needs to get away for a few days. She wants to talk to me about it.”
Tom folded his napkin and tucked it under the edge of his plate. Rachel could tell he was trying not to show a reaction, but she caught the sudden wariness in his eyes.
“A marriage problem?” he asked. “Is she leaving her husband?”
“No, it’s nothing like that. In fact, Kevin’s driving her out here, but he has to go back on Monday because of work.”
Frowning, Tom said, “She has a serious problem and her husband’s going to drop her off and leave her?”
“Yeah, that surprised me too,” Rachel admitted. “He’s always so protective toward her. But he has something major scheduled at work, a negotiation of a settlement in a big lawsuit, and he’s in charge for his firm. He can’t be replaced.” She paused. “You’ll like him.
He’s a great guy. And I really am sorry to surprise you like this, especially now. Do you mind?”
“Of course not. She’s your family. It’s about time I met her. And her husband.” Tom’s words rang hollow, without the warmth of enthusiasm, and his smile looked forced.
Rachel’s answering smile felt no more genuine on her face. Just look at us. Just listen to us. You’d think we barely knew each other. “Thanks. I know you’re busy—”
“Yeah, and I will be for a while. I’ll do my best to spend some time at home, but I can’t promise anything.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Rachel wanted Tom and her sister to spend as little time together as possible. Michelle could be charming when she made the effort, but she could also try the patience of a saint, and Tom was nowhere near sainthood. “It’s just as well that we’ll have some time alone together. I think she needs emotional support more than anything.”
Tom gave Rachel a long, assessing look, the kind of scrutiny that told her he was picking up on every tremor of anxiety. He knew her relationship with Michelle was shaky at best, and he had to realize that only something extraordinary would bring Michelle all the way to Mason County to seek comfort from Rachel.
“You haven’t told me exactly what kind of problem she’s having,” he said. “The longer you stall about telling me, the more I worry. Out with it. What’s going on with your sister?”
Rachel pulled in a deep breath, released it. “Some guy is stalking her.”
“What? Does she know who it is?”
“No, she doesn’t, and she hasn’t been assaulted or anything like that. But she feels threatened.”
“Has she reported it to her local police?”
“Yes,” Rachel said, “but they told her they couldn’t do anything unless she’s attacked or she can prove who’s harassing her. She’s scared, she feels defenseless, and I don’t blame her.”
“What did she tell you? What’s happening?”
Rachel repeated what little she knew. “I know it might not sound like much to the police, but this kind of thing can be terrifying for a woman, even if the nut case never comes near her.” She paused. “And I know from my own experience that sometimes guys like that don’t stop with threatening phone calls.”
“Right. To be on the safe side, you have to assume they’re going to escalate.” Tom frowned and raked his fingers through his hair. “Rachel, has it occurred you that this stalker might follow Michelle? If he’s really obsessed with her, he could show up at our door.”
Good god, Tom was right. Why hadn’t the possibility even entered her mind until now? Rachel wavered. Her first instinct was to argue for the right to shelter her sister, but at the same time some part of her was reaching for an out, hoping Tom would provide it. “Does that mean you don’t want her to come? You don’t think it’s safe?”
“Just hold on now.” Tom raised both hands. “I didn’t say that. She’s welcome, her and her husband both. But I want to get more details from her. Unless there’s some hard evidence, stalking isn’t easy to prove in a legal sense, and the police can’t do much about it.”
“I’m not trying to hand this over to you to fix,” Rachel protested. “You have enough to do without taking on Michelle’s problems.”
“Yeah, right, your sister’s being stalked and you want me to forget I’m a cop and ignore it.” Tom grinned, and the chill in the air between them gave way to a familiar warmth.
Rachel smiled. “Okay, I thought you might be able to do something, or give her some advice that would help. And if you can, I’m sure she’ll appreciate it. But mostly I think she’s just looking for a few days off the guy’s radar.” She scooped up a forkful of rice and went back to eating, hoping to signal her own confidence that it would all work out for the best. A confidence she didn’t feel.
“Well, I have one more place to go before I can call it a day.” As Tom rose to leave, he added, “I think you ought to know that Detective Fagan’s on his way here. He’s been working Shelley’s disappearance.”
Rachel’s fork slipped from her fingers and fell onto her plate with a clink. “Have you been talking to him about the Beecher case for the last month? Why didn’t you tell me?”
Tom gripped the back of his chair and sighed. “I’ve only talked to him two or three times about Shelley, and I didn’t see any point in mentioning it. It didn’t have anything to do with you.”
She crumpled her napkin and threw it onto the table. “It’s a good thing you’re working the case now. I wouldn’t trust Fagan to get anybody convicted for Shelley’s murder. Considering his record.”
Tom pushed his chair back under the table. “I’m not trying to defend him, but you know, it’s not always the fault of the police when a jury acquits a guilty person and sends him to a mental hospital instead of jail.”
That sounded like a defense to Rachel, and it stung. Had he been humoring her all along, secretly dismissing her anger at Detective Fagan as unjustified while letting her believe he agreed? She pressed her fingers to her side, where she felt the raised edge of a scar through the fabric of her shirt. The memory seldom invaded her conscious thoughts anymore, but now and then it still ambushed her at night, the whole terrifying experience playing out in her dreams, until the burning pain of the bullet slicing into her body jolted her awake. “Just keep him away from me while he’s here,” she said.
“There’s no reason you have to cross paths.”
Rachel rose, grabbed their plates and carried them to the sink. She took out her anger and disappointment on the dishes, scraping leftovers into the sink, jamming them into the garbage disposal. Tom hovered beside her as if uncertain what to do or say. “Go,” she said. “You have work to do.”
He laid a hand on her shoulder. Rachel froze.
“I don’t want to leave with you mad at me.”
Rachel closed her eyes, exhaled, forced her body to relax. She wasn’t being fair to Tom. Whether he was right or wrong, whether he did it smoothly or clumsily, his first impulse would always be to protect her, and that was all he was trying to do now. “Michelle, Fagan,” she said. “It’s just a lot at once.”
“I know.” Tom leaned to kiss her on the cheek. “We’ll have to make some time to talk. I’ll try not to be too late.”
Rachel turned to kiss him on the lips, reining in the urge to throw her arms around him and hold on. Then he was gone.
***
Driving away from the farm, Tom tried to put Rachel out of his mind for now. He couldn’t shake the feeling, though, that he’d let her down. He wished he’d told her earlier about Fagan working the missing person case so she wouldn’t have been blindsided by the news that the detective was about to show up in Mason County.
As if hitting her with that wasn’t enough, he’d come off sounding negative about her sister. Rachel had surprised him with the news that Michelle would arrive in less than twenty-four hours, and he knew he hadn’t done a good job of hiding his feelings. Rachel loved her sister, but nothing she’d told Tom made him want to have Michelle as a guest in their house. She was dumping a huge emotional burden on Rachel, with her story about being stalked. Tom wasn’t sure he believed any of it. Anonymous calls? Could be kids playing pranks. Things moved around in her office? The cleaning staff could be responsible. But if she really was being stalked, they had to worry about the guy following her to Mason County.
He drove a few miles down the road to the Hadley property. Blake and Maureen lived with their younger son Skeet and Blake’s mother in a big white farmhouse that had been in the family for generations. The farm around it had gradually diminished in size as family members went into other types of work and sold off parcels. Brian, the older of Blake and Maureen’s two sons, hadn’t done any farming, but he’d built a small house of his own on the land when he married. His widow, Grace, still lived there with their two kids, a boy who probably couldn’t remember his father and a girl born shortly after Brian’s murder.
Tom parked in the gr
avel driveway and mounted the steps to the wide, covered porch. He rapped the brass door knocker, in the shape of a banjo, hard enough to be heard at the back of the house, in case the family was still at the dinner table.
Blake, the tall, broad-shouldered head of the family, swung open the door. When he saw Tom, he crumpled his paper napkin in one hand, raising ropey muscles along his forearm. Before Tom could speak, Blake said, “Soon as I heard about the Beecher girl, I knew you’d be coming around. We’re finishing up supper. Might as well get the interrogation over with, I guess.”
“I didn’t come to interrogate you.” Tom opened the screen door and stepped into a hallway that stretched the length of the house. Photos of several generations of Hadleys, all of them with musical instruments, lined the walls. “I just need to ask you a few questions.”
“Well, you’ll have to excuse me if I don’t see the difference.”
Blake led the way past the unused dining room to the kitchen, where the family sat at a big round table. Maureen, as rangy as her husband, sat next to Blake’s frail mother, who had been in a wheelchair since suffering a stroke. Brian’s widow, Grace, a pale-skinned young woman with brown hair and eyes, sat between her children. Crowded together in the middle of the table were several nearly empty vegetable serving dishes and a platter holding the remains of a chicken.
Skeet, the person Tom most wanted to talk to, wasn’t there.
“Evening,” Tom said to the women. “I’m sorry to interrupt your dinner. Is Skeet around?”
“Out with some friends,” Blake said. He stood behind his wife with his arms folded across his chest.
Tom gave up any hope he’d had of going home to Rachel after he finished here. He wanted to talk to Skeet tonight, and he’d probably have to spend some time tracking him down. “I’d like to speak to the two of you,” he told Blake and Maureen, “and you, Grace. One at a time.”
“Oh no, you don’t.” Blake glared at Tom as if expecting a fight. “You’re not going to separate us and try to get us to contradict each other. You’ll talk to all of us together or you won’t talk to any of us.”
Bleeding Through: A Rachel Goddard Mystery (Rachel Goddard Mysteries) Page 4