“I don’t know,” Rita snapped. “So you might as well stop asking. Go ask Saint Grace what was going on with Brian. She was always snooping on him, keeping tabs on everything he did and who he did it with.”
“Saint Grace? Brian’s wife?”
“Yeah. That was his nickname for her, not mine.” Rita glanced past Tom, and her face brightened with relief. “Here comes a customer. I can’t talk to you anymore.”
She turned her back on Tom and gestured to a woman who hesitated at the entrance to Rita’s aisle.
Tom left with more questions than he’d brought. Taking Rita’s advice, he set off toward Grace Hadley’s house.
***
Good timing. Grace Hadley was turning into her driveway when Tom approached her house from the opposite direction. He pulled up behind her car and parked. Grace got out and held the rear door open for her young son and daughter, but she was watching Tom with that baleful What do you want? expression he’d seen a lot of lately.
The kids scrambled from the car, dragging book bags behind them, and Grace shooed them toward the house as if she wanted to get them away from Tom. She wore white nylon pants, white athletic shoes, and a gaudy flowered tunic, her uniform as a dental hygienist. With her brown hair scraped back and caught in a clasp at the nape of her neck and her pale face lacking makeup except for lipstick, she appeared tired and older than her late twenties.
“Hey, Grace,” Tom said as he rounded the front of his cruiser. “Got a few minutes to talk to me?”
“I’m just bringing Mark and Lucy home from school. They’ll need a snack now.” The children had reached the front porch.
“I don’t mind waiting,” Tom said.
Grace’s lips formed a hard red line, and for a second he thought she was going to argue with him, but instead she wheeled around and marched toward the house. Tom took that as an invitation, however grudgingly extended, and followed her up the steps and inside.
The living room of the small house looked like a toy store in the aftermath of a tornado. Stuffed toy pandas and penguins crowded the couch and chairs, and a miniature truck, a six-car train, a helicopter, and three green plush dinosaurs scattered on the rug rendered foot traffic nearly impossible. Grace kicked the train aside and said, “I’ll be back in a minute. Find a spot and sit down.”
That sounded like an order, but Tom ignored it and trailed her to the kitchen, which opened off the living room.
When she noticed him leaning in the doorway, Grace paused with a gallon jug of milk in one hand. “Can’t you give me a minute to get the kids settled?”
“Go right ahead. Pretend I’m not here.”
“As if,” Grace muttered. She plopped the milk jug onto the wooden kitchen table between the boy and girl, grabbed two glasses from a cabinet, slammed the door shut, retrieved a box of oatmeal cookies from another cabinet. The house didn’t seem to have a dining room, so this must be where the family ate every meal.
The children’s placid faces showed no surprise or concern at their mother’s agitated behavior. They must be used to it, Tom realized.
When the children had full glasses of milk and the cookie box lay open between them, Grace pushed past Tom into the living room. She scooped a family of five pandas, large and small, off a chair. “Sit down.”
Tom waited for her to sit first, but she stayed on her feet. With her arms full of black and white bears, she moved to a plastic bin in a corner and tried to lift the lid with the toe of her shoe. Tom stepped in to raise it and got a glare for his trouble. Grace dumped the pandas into the bin, on top of a jumble of other toys.
“Will you please sit down?” she said.
“If you will. Come on, aren’t you tired? Haven’t you been on your feet all day at work?”
Grace rubbed at her forehead with her fingertips as if she had a headache. Tom pushed toys aside on the couch and Grace sat in the cleared space without acknowledging his gesture.
He took the chair she’d cleared for him, across the coffee table from her. Trying a wry grin, he gestured at all the toys. “I’m guessing overindulgent grandparents?”
Her little laugh came out sour and hollow. “You have no idea. I don’t know how to stop them. And there’s more of this junk over at their house. Well, you saw for yourself. What do you want? I’ve got a million things to do before I start dinner.”
“I need to know what contact you’ve had with Shelley Beecher and what the two of you talked about.”
Grace grabbed a plush dinosaur from the couch and began plucking at the raised plates along its spine. As if speaking to the toy, she said, “I never had a real conversation with her because I didn’t have anything to tell her. I couldn’t make her leave me alone, but it was all one-sided. I hated her raking up that stuff and trying to drag the rest of us into her stupid little—”
An angry squeal from the kitchen cut her off. With the toy still in her hand, Grace jumped up and rushed to investigate.
Sighing, Tom sat back and waited. Maybe he should have gone to see her at the dental office, pulled her away from work for a private talk. But then she would have been hurried and annoyed that he was throwing off her schedule.
After a couple of minutes of hushed instructions to her children, the words inaudible but the no-nonsense tone unmistakable, Grace closed the door between the two rooms and returned to the sofa. She stroked the plush dinosaur absentmindedly and spoke before Tom had a chance to say anything. “You know what I think about Shelley? I think she was one of those girls who get a kick out of being involved with a man who’s in prison. She might have started working on Vance’s case to get some legal experience, but it was pretty clear she got real involved with him on a personal level.”
Tom raised an eyebrow. Nobody else had said anything remotely like that. “What made you think so?”
“It was the way she talked about him, her whole attitude. She said she’d gotten to know him and she believed he had the soul of an innocent man.” Grace snorted. “The soul.”
“Did she give you any idea who she thought was guilty, if Vance didn’t do it?”
Tom expected a no, but he felt disappointed anyway when Grace shook her head.
“She thought Vance was innocent, that’s all I know. One thing she said was it didn’t make sense for him to keep the murder weapon and leave it in his car. Well, if he was high on drugs and couldn’t think straight enough to cover his tracks, that’s all the explanation I need.”
“Drugs?” Tom said. “Do you have some reason to think Vance was using drugs the night Brian was killed? Did you see him? Did he act like he was high?”
“They all smoked weed before their concerts.” Grace glanced toward the kitchen, where the kids still seemed to be arguing about something, their exchange muted by the closed door. She lowered her voice to a near-whisper. “I think they were getting into stronger stuff too.”
Tom also spoke quietly. “The whole band, including Brian?”
Grace nodded, sorrow and anger and resignation warring in her expression. She leaned forward, closer to Tom, and he mirrored the movement. “His mom and dad’ll deny it to their dying day, but he was smoking dope all the time and I think he was starting to snort coke. Wasting money on drugs when we needed things for the kids. He was all wrapped up in that show business stuff. I knew it was going to destroy him one way or another.”
The children had gone silent, and Tom wondered how much they were overhearing. Grace had probably communicated her opinion of their father to the kids over the years, but Tom had to wonder why she was speaking so openly to a cop. He wasn’t going to ask her and risk shutting her up. “So you didn’t want Brian to pursue a career in music?”
“Do you have any idea what a dirty business it is? The music business? Drinking, drugs, women throwing themselves at the men in the band. I mean, all Brian’s band had were CDs they put together themselves and sold on the Internet and at concerts, but they were already acting like stars. That was what my husband wanted. To be a s
tar. His big dream was being up there on the stage with a whole big crowd of women screaming his name.”
“Wasn’t that dream about to come true? Weren’t they about to sign a deal with a music label?”
She turned her eyes toward a side window, and when Tom followed her gaze he saw Blake and Maureen Hadley’s house a hundred feet away. Close quarters. Her in-laws—former in-laws—could keep track of everything she did, every visitor she had.
Grace didn’t acknowledge Tom’s question about the record deal. She went on, “Whenever we had an argument, he’d throw it in my face, he’d tell me he could have a dozen women every night of the week if he wanted to. What was I supposed to say to that? How could I compete with it?”
Maybe a blunt question would get her attention. “Did you feel like you were losing your husband because of his career?”
Grace stayed silent for a moment, eyes still fixed on the window, her fingers kneading the soft little dinosaur. When she spoke, she sounded weary and deeply saddened. “If he’d lived, he would’ve left me by now. He’d be living somewhere else in a fancy house. But I never would’ve let him walk away from his kids. He was their father, and he had responsibilities. I would’ve made sure he lived up to them.”
“Did you know at the time that he was involved with Rita? Was he going to leave you for her?”
She shifted her gaze to Tom. “That won’t work, deputy. It didn’t work when Vance’s lawyer tried it, and it won’t work now.”
“What won’t work?”
“Trying to make it look like I could’ve killed my husband out of jealousy.”
“I wasn’t implying that. Vance was tried and convicted, and I haven’t seen any reason to doubt that he’s guilty. We’ve gone way off track here. All I’m interested in is whether Shelley was doing something that might have ticked somebody off. Are you positive she never pointed a finger at anybody else for Brian’s murder?”
“Sorry, no, she didn’t. And you want to know something? I don’t give a shit who killed Brian. If it turned out to be somebody besides Vance Lankford, it wouldn’t change a thing for me. ” She tossed the toy aside and it tumbled off the sofa onto the floor. “All I ever wanted was to get married and stay home and raise my kids. Now I’ve got two kids to raise by myself, and I’m just barely scraping by with a job I hate. Sticking my hands in other people’s mouths, cleaning their dirty teeth.”
“You could try something else, get some training, maybe move someplace where the pay’s better.”
“Are you kidding? The Hadleys would fight me tooth and nail if I tried to take the kids somewhere else. They’re always saying Mark and Lucy are all they’ve got left of Brian.” In a sudden burst of energy, she jumped up and started plucking toys off the floor and tossing them into the bin. “God forbid I’d ever want to get married again. They wouldn’t let some other man be a father to Brian’s children. Not that I’d want to marry anybody around here.”
“Grace, I need to know whether anybody in Brian’s family had anything to do with Shelley’s death. I can’t turn a blind eye to the way they all felt about what she was doing. Skeet acts like he would have done just about anything to stop her. Help me out here, so I can move on and leave you alone.”
She stooped, lifted the string of connected train cars with both hands, straightened and met Tom’s eyes. “Even if I knew for sure that one of them was responsible, I wouldn’t tell you. I depend on them, do you understand? I don’t own this house. Brian built it, but he didn’t own it, it belongs to his parents. As long as I’ve got their precious grandkids, we can live here for free. My family can’t take us in, and I don’t see how I’ll ever be able to afford a place on what I make. So I need things to stay just like they are.”
“You’ve said a lot of things to me today that the Hadleys wouldn’t like.”
“Nothing I haven’t said to them, more than once. But I didn’t accuse them of murder, and I’m not going to. I’m stuck with Blake and Maureen.” She let out a long sigh and her shoulders slumped. “And Skeet too.”
Chapter Sixteen
Rachel’s last client of the day rescheduled, so she was free to go home early, taking Michelle with her. She called and left a message for Tom, telling him the coast was clear if he wanted to come over and take fingerprints from the frames on her office wall. When they left the clinic Michelle seemed upbeat, almost cheerful. Just as well, Rachel thought, that she hadn’t told her sister that she believed the stalker was here in Mason County and had already proved that locks couldn’t stop him.
As they neared the farm, though, Michelle began the slide into anxiety again. She fidgeted with her hair, her seat belt, the computer on her lap. “It’s so isolated out here. What if something happened? How would we get help?”
“The same way we would anywhere else. Pick up a telephone and call the cops.”
“But it’s so far out in the country. And the Sheriff’s Department is so small, they can’t have many officers on duty at a time. How long would it take—”
“Nothing’s going to happen, Mish. Besides, Tom lives in the same house, remember?”
“He can’t always be there.”
“He’s there at night, when we are.” Rachel could only hope his work wouldn’t keep him out late tonight, running around and unreachable. Tomorrow night he might have to stay in Northern Virginia, but she didn’t want to tell Michelle about that yet.
When they walked into the house, Michelle seized on something new to fret about. Watching Rachel pet Frank, who had greeted them at the door, she asked, “Where’s the dog? He was here this morning. What’s happened to him?”
“He’s with Tom’s Uncle Paul. He picks Billy Bob up and keeps him most of the day.”
“Oh.” Michelle clutched her laptop to her body like a shield, standing immobile in the hallway as if reluctant to venture farther into the quiet house. “Maybe you should check and make sure Tom’s uncle has him?”
“He’ll be driving up any minute with the dog.” Rachel wasn’t worried about Billy Bob, but Michelle’s general apprehension had infected her. She stepped into the living room and flicked the wall switch, and when light flooded the room she glanced around to see if anything was out of place. If he got into my office, he could get in here.
Everything looked normal. Again she told herself not to give in to paranoia.
But sometimes paranoia is just good common sense, the cautious part of her countered. Sometimes somebody really is out to get you.
She had to stop this.
While Michelle went to her room, Rachel fed Frank and Cicero, then started upstairs to change clothes. Normally she would go for a run if she had spare time between work and dinner, but she couldn’t leave Michelle in the house alone.
She rapped on the door of Michelle’s room and opened it when her sister responded. Michelle stood in front of the bookcase as if she were choosing something to read.
“Want to go for a run?” Rachel asked.
“A run? Me?”
“Okay, I guess not. I’ll skip it.”
“Oh. Is that what you’d do if I weren’t here? It’s all right. Go ahead, don’t let me stop you.” But Michelle seemed to be folding into herself, crossing her arms, hunching her shoulders. A fearful note crept into her voice when she asked, “How long will you be gone? It’ll be dark soon. You don’t run around outside in the dark, do you?”
“I’m not really in the mood for it.” Abandoning all hope of exercise, Rachel crossed the room to her sister. She gestured at the bookcase. “If you want something to read, I can drive you to the county library, but they have a pretty small collection. I have a stack of new books, but I’m not sure any of them would appeal to you. History and biography, mostly.”
Michelle shook her head. “No, I brought my e-book reader with me, and it’s loaded with books. I was just thinking about Tom’s parents, sitting up in bed side by side at night, reading before they went to sleep. Mysteries for her, I’m guessing, and the books on history a
nd the military were his. It’s strange, I hardly know anything about them, but I can almost feel them in this room.” She looked at Rachel. “Were they happy? Did they have a good marriage?”
“I never knew them, but Tom and his brother Chris had a happy childhood, so it must have been a happy home. I’m sure they had their problems now and then, like any couple.” Problems like the other woman Tom’s father had been close to, the arguments Tom had overheard late at night. Sharing those memories with Rachel had been painful for him, and she wouldn’t casually pass any of it on to her sister. What concerned her at the moment was Michelle’s rapid descent into melancholy after an uneventful afternoon.
Michelle moved around the room, examining the framed renderings in embroidery of an autumn mountainside, a pair of hummingbirds, a monarch butterfly. She stopped at the dresser and picked up a photo of Tom and his brother Chris as boys. “Perfect family,” she murmured.
“No family is perfect,” Rachel said. “Perfection is an unrealistic goal.”
Michelle set the picture back on the dresser and folded her arms as if she felt chilled. “That’s certainly the truth.”
Rachel touched her shoulder. “Mish, what’s wrong? I mean, well, is something else bothering you, in addition to the obvious? Is it Kevin?” An easy enough guess.
Tears pooled in Michelle’s eyes, but she blinked rapidly until they were gone. “I wish he were with me. I wish he wanted to be with me. But when he doubts everything I say, being around him is unbearable.”
“I’ll admit I’m disappointed he’s not being more supportive,” Rachel said. “But he loves you. You’ll get past this.”
“I’m not so sure.” A shudder ran through Michelle. “My stalker would probably be very happy if he knew what he’s doing to me. All this anxiety, the stress I’ve been under, it’s made me see just how insubstantial my life is. I feel as if everything is falling apart and crashing down around me. Believe me, I know how melodramatic that sounds, but I don’t know how else to say it.”
Michelle turned away, walked to the window, and spoke with her back to Rachel. “Kevin wants a family. He’s been talking about it nonstop for a year. He wants to start having children before we get any older.”
Bleeding Through: A Rachel Goddard Mystery (Rachel Goddard Mysteries) Page 13