by C. B. Clark
Shit. Declan reached into the backseat, grabbed the small suitcase and her purse, opened the door, and handed them to Winters. His throat slammed closed. He might be a fully-grown adult, but he couldn’t help feeling like an awkward, insecure kid around the old judge. The bitter taste of resentment filled his mouth at the thought of what this man had done.
“Thank you.” Winters’ voice was clipped. He assessed Declan, and his mouth tightened into a thin, disapproving line as if the words hurt. “Thank you for bringing her home.”
Declan nodded, feeling as if he were a bobblehead doll. “I’ll get someone to fix the tire and have her car delivered here tomorrow morning.”
“I’d like to compensate you for your trouble. Where do I send the check?”
Declan snorted. “To the devil.” He put the truck into reverse and squealed out of the driveway, uncaring that the old man had to scramble out of the way to avoid being sprayed by muddy water.
Chapter 2
Carrie Ann sagged against the bedroom door listening to the squeal of truck tires on the driveway as Declan sped away. She’d known coming back wouldn’t be easy. After twelve years, how could it be? Especially since she’d made it clear she hadn’t wanted to come back, wouldn’t have, if she’d had a choice.
A tap at the door drew her out of her thoughts. Go away. Leave me alone. She couldn’t bear another confrontation. Not tonight.
“Carrie Ann? May I come in?”
Her heart sank. Resignation set in. She walked over to the bed and collapsed onto the pink satin cover. “Come in.”
The door opened, and Vivian Morgenstern Winters strode into the room.
Carrie Ann bit back a gasp. Her aunt had always been slim, but now her body was emaciated, her bones protruding like thin, brittle twigs beneath her crepe-paper skin. Beads of perspiration highlighted her sallow complexion and gaunt face. Her hair, once a thick, lustrous, dark-brown, was streaked with gray. Patches of shiny scalp shone through the wispy strands. The old woman’s hands trembled, and she leaned against the desk, clutching the back of the chair as if for support.
She’s sick. The astounding thought raced through Carrie Ann, but then Vivian spoke, and all concern for the older woman’s health fled.
“Hello, Carrie Ann. It’s been a long time.” Vivian’s withering scrutiny seemed to take in the mud on Carrie Ann’s clothes and the damp and dirty patches staining the flowered, satin bedspread. Her mouth tightened. “Leland told me you were caught in the storm. A flat tire? Really, my dear, you should’ve stuck to the main road. I’d have thought you knew better.” She pointed toward the window where rain pelted against the glass. “Especially on a night like this.”
Carrie Ann refused to let Vivian upset her. She was no longer a child. Vivian didn’t have any power over her. Yeah, right. So why come back to Cooper’s Ridge?
“Your clothes are soaked. You’ll catch a chill.” Vivian rambled on, oblivious to her niece’s simmering resentment.
Goose bumps prickled on Carrie Ann’s arms. She hated to admit it, but Vivian was right. She was cold. While Declan had checked on her flat tire, she’d changed out of her wet coat and blouse and put on the shirt he’d tossed at her. Her nostrils had flared at the familiar scent clinging to the soft cotton. She’d have ripped off the shirt, but she’d been freezing, and the shirt was the only dry clothing she had until he retrieved her suitcase from her car.
She shivered again. “I was going to shower and change into something warmer, but…” Her voice trailed off, making it clear Vivian had interrupted things by her visit.
“I won’t keep you long, my dear. I wanted to welcome you back home.” Vivian’s eyes bore into Carrie Ann’s. “Leland told me Declan brought you home.”
“Yep.” The less said on the subject of Declan McAllister, the better.
Vivian’s eyes narrowed. “You’re still angry at him.”
“Of course not.” Anger implied she cared, and that Declan still had the power to hurt her. “I haven’t thought of him in years. Furthermore…” She paused at the knowing simper on Vivian’s face. She was protesting too much, but she couldn’t stop, and the words kept spilling out. “I don’t have any feelings for him. Not anymore. It’s been years. Whatever Declan and I had is ancient history. Besides, what was I supposed to do? He was the first person to come by tonight when I was stuck on that godforsaken road. I needed help. My tire was flat. There wasn’t a spare. I didn’t want to spend the night in the rain waiting on the off chance someone else would come by.”
Vivian raised her eyebrows. “So you don’t care for him?”
Carrie Ann rolled her eyes. Vivian hadn’t been listening. No surprise. She never had listened. The prickliness between them hadn’t changed either. But she had. She met Vivian’s gaze. “You don’t have to play the role of the caring aunt. We both know it’s bullshit. You know why I’m here.”
Vivian opened her mouth to speak.
Carrie Ann cut her off. “Where’re my mother’s possessions?”
“You’ve just arrived, dear. I thought we could visit first and catch up. I haven’t seen you in a long time.”
“I didn’t come back for a family reunion. I’m here because you ordered me to appear.”
“You always were so dramatic, my dear. I didn’t order you to come home. Goodness me, you’re an adult. I couldn’t possibly tell you what to do.”
Carrie Ann grimaced. Here we go again. “Okay, would you mind telling me why you asked me to come to Cooper’s Ridge to pick up my mother’s possessions? Why couldn’t you ship the box to me? It would’ve saved us both a lot of bother.”
“You’re still hurting, aren’t you, my dear?” The lines in Vivian’s forehead deepened. “You’re so angry. This is my fault. I’m sorry.”
Carrie Ann swallowed over a sudden lump in her throat. In all the years she’d lived with this woman, she never remembered receiving a kind word from her. She recalled countless harsh criticisms, angry words, bitter sarcasm, but never an apology.
Vivian’s harsh, racking cough broke into Carrie Ann’s thoughts. Her aunt’s gaze once again traveled over her damp and mud-spattered clothing. Her frown deepened. “Our little chat can wait until tomorrow, when you’re more”—her narrowed eyes inspected the stains on the comforter—“presentable, shall we say?”
Carrie Ann almost smiled. This was more like what she was used to. She was tempted to push, to force the old woman to give her the box of her mother’s effects now, but past experience had taught her the futility of arguing. Vivian would let her see her mother’s possessions when she was ready, and only then. “I guess I’ll have a shower then.” She pinned Vivian with a hard look. “But we’ll settle this first thing tomorrow. I’m not staying any longer than I have to.”
Vivian paused with her hand clutching the door handle. “I’m glad you’re home, Carrie Ann. I’ve missed you. Leland and I both have.” She shuffled out the door, closing it behind her.
Carrie Ann stared after her. Had Vivian Morgenstern Winters actually said she’d missed her? She shook her head in disbelief. A shiver rippled through her, and she crossed her arms over her chest. A hot shower was just what she needed.
Tugging off Declan’s shirt, she lifted the soft cotton to her nose and inhaled. A thousand bittersweet memories assailed her. In the next breath, she threw the shirt on the floor as if the material singed her fingers. Tearing off the rest of her damp clothes, she tossed them on top, hiding Declan’s shirt from view. She wrinkled her nose. Was it her imagination, or could she still smell him on her? A shower was definitely in order.
Hours later, sheets tangled around her ankles, pillow damp beneath her face, she awoke. It had been a long time since she’d awakened in the middle of the night with tears streaming down her cheeks. Seeing Vivian, Leland, and Declan resurrected painful memories; memories she’d fought hard to put behind her.
Last week, Vivian had contacted her, breaking twelve years of silence. Her aunt had found a box of Carrie Ann’s l
ong-dead mother’s personal possessions. The devastating fire, which had killed both her parents when Carrie Ann was five years old, had destroyed everything else. The prospect of learning more about the woman who’d given birth to her was irresistible. Vivian, being Vivian, had refused to ship the box, threatening to throw out the effects if Carrie Ann didn’t return to Cooper’s Ridge and pick them up in person. Now here she was, back in the one place she’d vowed never to return.
Throwing back the covers, she swung her legs out of bed. A cup of warm milk with brandy would help her sleep. The timbers in the old house creaked and groaned, settling in the cool, predawn air as she made her way down the stairs to the kitchen.
She touched the switch and the lights flickered on. A shiny new fridge and stove with matching stainless-steel dishwasher and microwave gleamed under the bright fluorescent lights. What had once been a dark and dreary room filled with outdated appliances, was now a bright, cheerful, modern kitchen. Some things in the old house had changed.
Crossing to the fridge, she took out a bottle of milk and poured some into a pot that she set on the stove to heat. Now for the brandy.
She turned on the overhead light in the pantry, expecting to see the shelves filled with jars of homemade, canned peaches, tomatoes, jam, green beans, pickles, and boxes of dry goods. She blinked. The pantry was empty. A thin layer of dust covered the two remaining jars of preserves. What the heck? Vivian had been a firm believer in preparing for any number of disasters, and she’d always ordered the current cook to stock the pantry with enough food to withstand weeks, if not months, of forced isolation. Another example of her aunt’s need for control.
A vision of Vivian’s gaunt face and stick-like figure rose before her, and with the image, a frisson of unease trickled along Carrie Ann’s spine. Again, she shook off her worry. Whatever was going on with Vivian wasn’t her concern.
Hopefully, some things hadn’t changed. She stood on a stool and reached to the back of the top shelf and grabbed the bottle of brandy sitting right where Leland had always kept it hidden. Walking back into the kitchen, she poured brandy into a cup and added steaming milk. Leaning against the counter, she raised the mug and sipped, sighing as the doctored milk coursed down her throat, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake.
The kitchen door swung open and she jumped, slopping some of the hot drink on the floor.
“Oh, Carrie Ann, it’s you. I saw the light on and wondered who was up burning the midnight oil.” Leland smiled at her.
“You’re still awake?” Other than a brief conversation when she’d first arrived, the last time she’d seen Leland had been when he’d driven her to the clinic twelve years ago.
“I don’t sleep like I used to.” He shrugged. “Too much on my mind, I guess.” He pointed at the bottle on the counter. “I see you found my secret stash. Is there enough for me?”
Nodding, she ripped off several sheets of paper towel from the roll on the counter and crouched down and wiped up the spilled milk on the floor.
Leland poured brandy and hot milk into a mug. “You’re looking well.”
“I’m doing okay.”
“I’m glad. How’s your daughter? Bonnie, isn’t it?”
She hesitated. Anything she said would be passed on to Vivian, but the genuine concern in his faded blue eyes softened her resolve. “She’s great. Happy, smart, and fearless.” Her pride in her beautiful daughter warmed her.
“If she’s anything like her mother, she must be something special.” His smile widened. “Vivian and I would love to meet her.”
She snorted. “Yeah, right. Vivian’s the soul of motherly love.”
“She’s changed, Carrie Ann. She’s not the same woman you knew.”
I’ll bet. Carrie Ann didn’t say the words aloud, knowing they would only hurt him. Leland had always defended Vivian, never seeming to see the harsh, cruel streak that ran through his wife.
Silence settled over them, broken only by the steady ticking of a clock on the wall and the hum of the refrigerator.
“It’s good to have you home.” Leland’s deep baritone was rough. “Your aunt’s happy you’re here. Seeing you again means a lot to her.”
She choked on a swallow of milk. “I don’t believe you.”
Leland opened his mouth to say something, but took another sip of his drink instead.
Again the incessant ticktock of the clock filled the room.
“I was surprised to see McAllister.” He finally broke the thick silence. “He hasn’t been back in town for years.”
“Declan doesn’t live in Cooper’s Ridge?”
Her uncle shook his head, his short, silver hair catching the light. “He moved away ten or so years ago.”
Whenever she thought of Declan McAllister—and she didn’t think of him, not ever—but if her thoughts did happen to wander to him, she pictured him living in Cooper’s Ridge. He’d always said he’d never leave, not until he proved how wrong everyone was about him. “I can’t believe he moved away.”
“His circumstances were challenging, to say the least. A few months after you left town, his mother killed herself.”
She inhaled a quick breath.
“Sad, but you know how she was, always locked in her bedroom, drinking herself into a stupor. God knows what crazy concoction of drugs she used.” He sighed. “One night she took too many sleeping pills. The pills and the booze killed her. Declan found her.” He scrubbed his hand over his chin. “Old man McAllister smashed his car into a tree a week later. The coroner said his blood alcohol level was double the legal limit.”
She fought to swallow, her mouth an arid desert. “He’s dead too?”
Leland nodded.
She blinked back the sting of tears. Declan must have been devastated, losing both parents so close together. Even though his relationship with his mother and father had been strained, they were the only family he had.
“Between the accusations he was a murderer and his parents’ deaths, the stress was too much. Like the coward he is, he fled Cooper’s Ridge. Far as I know, he didn’t tell anyone he was going. Slunk out in the middle of the night. One day he was here, and the next he was gone.”
“Things must have been bad.”
“After…” He seemed to be searching for the right words. “After everything that happened, folks around here made his life pretty miserable.”
“Surely, once he was cleared of the charges, things were better. I mean, once people knew he was innocent, they stopped harassing him.”
Leland shook his head.
“I don’t understand. Why not?”
“When Skye Lawrence’s murder wasn’t solved and no one was found guilty, people took to blaming McAllister again. You know how everyone always said he was a bad seed, exactly like his old man.”
“But that’s not true. Declan’s nothing like his father.” She bit her tongue to stop the flow of protestations. Declan could fight his own battles. He didn’t need her defending him. But she couldn’t help adding, “Declan’s innocent. The sheriff didn’t find any real evidence to prove he hurt Skye.”
“People react strongly when they’re frightened.” Leland set his cup on the table and met her gaze. “As far as I’m concerned, they had good reason to be afraid. He murdered that poor girl. I’m only sorry we couldn’t prove it.”
“It wasn’t for lack of trying.” Bitterness filled each word. “You did everything in your power to have him convicted.”
“I had to, Carrie Ann. I’m a judge. My job is to protect the citizens of this county from dangerous criminals.”
“Declan was innocent. He didn’t do anything to Skye. Besides, he’s innocent until proven guilty. Isn’t that what you always told me?”
He smoothed the palm of his hand over his hair. “We’ve been through all this before. Let’s not do it again. I hope we get a conviction this time. I intend to do my best to see the bastard pays for what he did.”
She set her cup down with a clatter. This time?
She opened her mouth, but he raised his hand and stopped her before she could get a word out.
“I don’t want to talk about this now. Not on your first night back.” He stood and took his empty cup to the sink. “Besides, it’s high time I went to bed. I have a full day in court tomorrow. Good night, Carrie Ann.”
“Wait.” She jumped to her feet, shoving back her chair. Her hand brushed against her mug, and the cup fell, landing with a loud crash on the tile floor, splintering into dozens of tiny shards. She glanced up, a plea on her lips.
The room was empty. He’d gone.
Chapter 3
The next morning, Carrie Ann took a deep breath and braced herself to confront her aunt. Her stomach fluttered at the thought of what was in the box of her mother’s effects, forgotten all these years. She knew so little about her parents. Vivian had always refused to discuss them.
A note taped to the fridge informed her Vivian had already left for her clothing boutique. Leland was at the courthouse. She could search the house, but Vivian wouldn’t have left the box somewhere she could easily find it. Her aunt would demand, and receive, her pound of flesh before she handed over Carrie Ann’s mother’s things.
She poured a cup of coffee and reached for the newspaper folded on the counter. The Cooper’s Ridge Chronicle, published biweekly, was filled with more local gossip than news. Skimming through the pages, she learned two high school classmates had recently given birth, one to a set of twins. A new restaurant had opened, specializing in authentic Asian cuisine. Gotta love small town papers.
Amid the results of the recent Fall Fair baking and canning competitions and an ad for Buckner’s Pharmacy was a short article with the headline ‘Old Murder Case Revisited’. Her hands shook, rattling the paper, making the printed words almost impossible to read.
According to the article, the long-unsolved murder of eighteen-year-old Skye Lawrence was being re-examined by county officials. Judge Leland Winters was spearheading the inquiry. The article speculated this new investigation would result in the killer of the pretty, high school senior finally being brought to justice.