She gave a half-hearted shrug.
“You probably didn’t follow the instructions. Maybe I should help you later?” He eyed the bruise on her cheek that she’d attempted to cover with makeup.
“Yeah, because the last time you tried helping me worked out brilliantly.” She caught a lopsided smile from him out of the corner of her eye.
“I promise, no one will fall on anyone’s lips this time.”
“Sure . . .” She rubbed her forehead, pressure building behind her eyes.
“But let’s get back to baseball.” He gripped the wheel with one hand and rested his other in his lap.
A sudden warmth nestled inside her stomach at the memory of his hard-on pressed to her when she grinded against him Saturday night.
“I was at a medical conference in L.A., and a group of doctor friends I was with, mostly guys, were big baseball fans, and they wanted to catch a game.”
Seeing him on the field that day had shattered her.
She had lasted twenty minutes before faking an illness. She’d spent the rest of the evening with Ben and Jerry’s ice cream.
“Why didn’t you approach me?”
She laughed, which had him catching her eyes for a moment. “I don’t think they just let people from the stands talk to famous players.” She forced her gaze back out the window because looking at his blue eyes was like looking directly at the sunlight. Painful.
“You could’ve tried. If I had seen you—”
“If you saw me, you would’ve probably up and left in the middle of the game. You know, since that’s what you do. You leave.”
His knuckles whitened as he held the steering wheel even tighter. “Was that the only time you saw me . . . but I didn’t see you?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, just so you know, I wouldn’t have run,” he said as they rolled into the parking lot at the station a few minutes later.
Her pulse accelerated, and her slightly trembling fingers looped around the door handle, but with Ben’s hand now on her shoulder she stilled.
“Be careful in there.”
“What do you mean?”
She squared her body to face him, and he heaved out a soundless breath as he pulled his arm back. “They’re looking for a suspect, and you know both of the deceased. They might play hardball with you, so just use your words wisely.”
A stone sank in her stomach, sending a rippling effect of reactions throughout her body. “Oh my God. I would never—”
“Of course not.”
“And we were in Asheville when Lydia was killed.”
“According to forensics, Lydia was killed Friday morning, which means you were still here. They just didn’t discover her body until Sunday, when she didn’t show up for her next shift.”
She raced through the timeline in her head. “Jesus,” she whisper-yelled.
“Everyone’s a suspect until proven otherwise.”
“Is that what you heard?”
“More like what I overheard.”
Overheard? She didn’t even want to know what illegal activity Ben was doing.
“Come on.” Ben got out and circled the SUV and opened her door.
Her chest constricted as a new wave of emotions soared through her at the sight of his outstretched hand.
“And what about you? Are you a suspect?” She took his hand, allowing him to help her out.
“No.”
“And why not?” she asked as they walked.
“I have an alibi for Ralph’s murder.”
“Which was?”
He reached for the police station door and opened it, stepping back to allow her entrance first. Always with the chivalry.
“I was in the middle of an argument with a pop princess.”
“Care to explain?”
“Not really worth it.” His lips tightened, and she knew she wouldn’t be getting anything else out of him on the matter. Ben had always been like that. When he’d made his mind up about something, he was done. Well, except as children. She’d managed to tickle information out of him as a kid. She highly doubted that would still work.
“Riley?”
She pulled her attention away from Ben.
“What are you doing here?” Mandy approached her, but her eyes were on Ben.
“I assume the same as you,” Riley said. “This is Ben Logan.”
Mandy reached for his hand. “Hi.” Her eyes continued to linger on him as if she were unsure whether she wanted to kick him in the butt for having hurt Riley years ago . . . or kiss him.
“Sorry for your loss. I heard you worked with the recent victim.” Ben released his grip.
“Thanks. Our entire surgical team is here, actually. We were the last people to see her. We had an emergency surgery at four a.m., and she went home right after—” She cut herself off, tears suddenly threatening.
Riley wrapped her arms around her friend. “Hang in there.”
“She was so young.” Mandy hiccupped and pulled back, just as Daniel entered the room from behind a closed door.
“Daniel,” Riley said under her breath.
Daniel’s eyes roamed over Ben, taking him in as if sizing him up for competition. His shoulders went back, and his chin jutted forward.
Did he recognize him from her old photos? Or from the images of Ben all over Ralph’s place?
“You okay, honey?” Daniel asked.
Honey. He was staking his claim.
“Shocked by all of this,” Riley finally answered.
Ben reached for Daniel’s hand. “I’m Ben, an old friend of Riley’s.”
Daniel’s forehead creased as he grasped Ben’s palm. He had to be wondering what the hell she was doing with Ben.
Riley shifted her attention to another doctor coming from behind the same door a second later, and her stomach churned at the sight of him: her damn one-night stand from a few weeks back.
The police officer behind the desk in the waiting area skirted her attention back and forth between Riley and the other men as if she were curious as to what might happen, too. Could she sense the tension?
Riley sure as hell could.
Mr. One-Night Stand simply nodded her way and left the station.
“Baby, did the sheriff call you for questioning, too?” Daniel asked.
Ben cleared his throat and left her side to approach the officer at the desk.
“Yeah, he did. I just don’t see how Lydia’s death is connected to Ralph’s, but it can’t be a coincidence they were both killed like this, right?”
Daniel’s eyes darkened. He had to be in mourning.
And he’d been there for her at Ralph’s wake, so even if she wasn’t up for it, maybe she needed to do the right thing and offer emotional support to him, as well.
“If you, uh, need anything, let me know.” She forced out the words and met Ben’s eyes when he returned, standing alongside Daniel.
“Thank you,” Daniel said. “Well, I’m late for surgery. I’ll call you later.” A grimace tugged at his lips. “We clearly need to talk,” he added in a low voice.
All she could do was nod and watch her ex leave.
“I should go, too,” Mandy said once Daniel was out of sight. “You’re staying at your parents’, right?”
“Yeah,” she said and reached for her forearm and squeezed. “We’ll talk soon, okay?”
“Of course,” Mandy said before leaving.
Riley dropped into a chair. “Don’t say anything.”
“Say what?” Ben sat next to her and crossed his ankle over his knee, holding on to it.
A few more doctors left the station while they waited, her nerves fraying with each passing second.
“We broke up last month,” she sputtered as if she needed to clear the air for some reason.
“I assume that was your doing?”
She caught a smirk out of the corner of her eye. “Why do you say that?”
“Honey. Baby.” A light chuckle fell from his lips. “Not to ment
ion the death stare I got because I have a penis and was standing next to you.”
Her hand landed on her chest as she fought back a laugh. “You did not just say that.” She glared at him, her eyes wide, her cheeks warm from embarrassment.
Ben shrugged, his eyes almost twinkling. The man was so good at taking shitty situations and making her smile. “Just saying . . .”
“He—”
“He’s too old for you,” he interrupted.
She had intended to say: He knew how much Ben had hurt her, but . . . “Too old?”
“He’s what? Fifty?” A dark brow raised, the nearby scar shifting with the movement. She wondered how he had gotten that one.
A scar on his face. Hand. Where else was his flesh marked by injury?
It hurt to even think about it.
“Forty-five. And I’m old enough to make my own choices. You, on the other hand, you could use a little guidance in your love life. Perhaps by dating someone other than a model, and maybe a woman who has a few numbers more interesting than her bra size.”
Ben tipped his head back, and a deep rumble of laughter filled the room. “So, you’ve been keeping tabs on me, huh?” He rubbed his hands on his thighs. “And what do you have against models? You were never so judgmental in the past.”
And she wasn’t now. What is wrong with me? “My mother loves to irritate the hell out of me by talking about you. You’re telling me Sally doesn’t do the same?”
“No, my mom knows better than to talk about you.” His voice was calmer this time. Deeper.
The mood suddenly shifted like wind in a storm, but then Riley caught sight of the sheriff coming into the room, and her next thoughts died on her tongue.
“Dr. Carpenter.” He tipped his hat her way before changing his focus to Ben, his eyes taking on some of the hunter green from his uniform. “And why are you here?”
“Moral support.” Ben stood and glared at the sheriff. “I’ll wait for you here.”
“That’s really not necessary,” she said while rising, her legs a little unsteady.
“I know,” he said before the sheriff led her deeper into the station.
The place was familiar, but she hadn’t been there in years.
Ben and Nate had dared her to skinny dip in Old Man Johnson’s pond at midnight one summer when she had been sixteen.
Unfortunately for the guys, they had never gotten to see her jump in naked because Old Man Johnson had shown up with a hunting dog and flashlight.
The sheriff at the time had thought all three of them needed an hour in jail to learn some ridiculous lesson about trespassing.
More memories tugged at her mind, blowing through her until they nearly touched her soul. It was as if she could feel Nate, too. As if he were trying to get to her, to make her feel something—but she was sure Ben’s presence was why this was really happening. Stirring up all her tightly bottled emotions. The problem was, Ben could easily break her bottle . . . and then what would happen?
She sat down in a small room that only had a desk and two metal chairs, and a harsh slap of reality hit her.
“We’ll be recording this conversation.” The sheriff didn’t sit. Instead, he placed his hands on his hips, and someone else walked into the room. She’d never seen the man before, but she assumed it was the detective who’d been brought in to work the case.
“I’m Detective Shumsky.” A pinch of the Mississippi Delta flowed through his voice.
She placed her hands on the table in front of her, not sure what the hell to do with them.
The detective sat in front of her. “You knew both victims, but we understand you were very close to Mr. Chandler,” the detective started, his voice as smooth as a polished stone. “When was the last time you saw him alive?”
“It’s Dr. Chandler. He had a Ph.D.”
“Okay. When was the last time you saw Dr. Chandler?”
She glanced at the recorder on the table. “The Saturday before he died. We usually take a walk in the park.”
“And did he say he was having trouble with anyone? Dating anyone that you knew of?” A fat bottom lip was all she could see beneath the gray mustache when his mouth moved, and his eyes were like silver bullets as he zoned in on her, trying to get a read on her.
“Ralph would never date. His wife, Maureen, was his soul mate, and he said he could never find another.” Her lips pursed in thought. She’d always agreed with him. Once you found the one, there was no one else—which had been her problem year after year.
She blinked a few times, the harsh pain of loss moving into her throat. “Ralph was a sweet man. He’d sooner apologize for something he didn’t do wrong before he’d get into an argument. So, no, he wasn’t having issues with anyone.” She arched her shoulders back, feeling the need to sit taller. “At least, not that he told me about.”
A large hand swept over his jaw as his eyes narrowed. He was probably in his early fifties, and there was experience in his eyes, which should have made her happy, but his icy stare moved right through her skin and into her bones.
“Exactly how old were you when Nate Chandler died?”
Her heart stuttered in her chest at his words. “Nate? Why are you asking about him?”
“Please, just answer the question.”
“Surely you already know the answer.” Her palms pressed harder down on the table now, an attempt to ground herself.
“Three people are dead.”
“Three?” Her spine stiffened. Had someone else died?
“I’m referring to Nate Chandler,” he said. “Three people you knew are gone.”
She took a pained breath. “I don’t understand why—”
“Did you know Ralph Chandler had you in his will?”
Her heart catapulted into her throat, and she almost choked on it.
Oh, God. Her mouth grew parched, and her lips dried by the second as if in the desert heat. “Not until after he was killed.”
“You spread his ashes, along with those of his wife and son. Is that correct? Just this past weekend?”
She nodded, shocked at the turn of conversation.
“And where were you when Nate fell off the mountain?”
His back-and-forth questions from the past to the present had her mind spinning. Was this a tactic? Was he trying to throw her off, to disorient her?
“I was belaying Ben Logan. Nate had chosen to climb without a rope. So, if you’re suggesting I pushed my boyfriend off—”
“Whose idea was it to climb without a rope?” He leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms.
“Why are you wasting your time talking about an accidental death, when there’s a killer out there?” She pushed back from the table and stood, her legs shaky, her body thrumming with unease.
“Try and calm down,” the sheriff said.
Riley pinched her eyes closed for a moment. The room was closing in, the walls pushing together as a swell of fear bubbled inside her chest.
This. Is. Not. Happening.
She replayed the words over and over in her head like a broken record, willing herself to wake up and for it to be two weeks ago and for Ralph to still be alive.
When her eyes found the detective again, she sat back down, defeat washing over her.
“Answer the question.” The detective clasped his hands on the table, his thick fingers threaded loosely together.
“Nate was a daredevil. He loved to free climb. I begged him not to all of the time, but it never did any good,” she finally answered, a soft tone to her voice. “And I loved Ralph like a father, so if you’re implying I had anything to do with either of their deaths, you’re barking up the wrong tree.”
“You’re a brilliant woman. Top of your class. You could have worked at any hospital or with any practice in the country, from what I’ve been told. Why would you come back to this little town?” Shumsky asked.
“Because I was Ralph’s only family. I cared about him. He didn’t have anyone.”
“W
ere you two having an affair?”
Her face pinched tight, and she tried to lasso in her anger at the question. “Absolutely not.”
“And where were you on the night Ralph was killed?”
She scrambled to remember, to think of an alibi. “I was home.” A thick lump moved down her throat at the realization that she’d been alone. “I would never hurt him. How could I ever stab him?”
“How’d you know how he was killed? Those details haven’t been released.”
Shit. “Small town. Everyone knows.” She didn’t want to get Ben in any trouble.
“And Lydia Harper? Where were you last Friday morning?”
She’d canceled her appointments with her patients that day, which had infuriated her least favorite, Jeremy Stanton.
“I was home packing for the trip to the mountains.”
“Which was where you dumped the ashes?”
“Dumped isn’t really the nicest of terms, but yes.” She bit the inside of her cheek. Any sense of calm left within her disintegrated by the second.
“Did you have a key to Ralph’s home? To his office?”
“Only his home.” She pressed her clammy palms to her black skirt, rubbing them against the material.
“And were you aware of the fact that Lydia was sleeping with your ex-boyfriend, Dr. Daniel Edwards?”
Her mouth rounded for a brief moment. “Wait. What? You have your facts wrong. Lydia was hooking up with Bobby.” Her fingers fused together on her lap as she filtered through the few facts she knew about Lydia.
“I know Bobby,” the sheriff said straight away. “The man bled red, white, and blue for this country. Not sure if you’re implying something, but—”
“Excuse me?” Riley couldn’t help but cut him off. “How do you even know which Bobby I’m referring to?” She folded her arms. “There are at least twenty Bobbys within a three-mile radius of this station alone.”
Silence seized hold of the room as the detective stole a look over his shoulder at the sheriff.
“Clearly, someone else mentioned his name,” Riley commented.
Mandy had been in there before her. She must have brought up the fact that Bobby had been sleeping with Lydia.
“And for the record”—she began, a swift breeze of confidence soaring through her words—“Bobby may be a war hero, but that shouldn’t make him immune to your investigation. You’re not impartial because you’ve known me all of my life, and so I’d expect the same treatment for him.” Her words billowed out of her mouth like smoke eating the air—hot, hard, and fast.
The Final Goodbye Page 9