“Please, pray tell me why, Shiloh.”
Shiloh stared at the curls that looked as if Gwen had combed them with her fingers. He curled his hands into tight fists to keep from touching her. He’d thought about reversing his decision just to have his wife back to the way it was before the Wesley Gibson incident. But whenever he recalled his reaction to hearing the gunshot and knowing that Gwen could possibly be in the line of fire he refused to relent.
“That was another time. People were in another place.”
“What aren’t you telling me, Shiloh?”
“You’re going to have to talk to people who were alive back then.”
“Like who?” she said softly, her eyes narrowing.
“My mother and a number of the Genteel Magnolias.”
She wavered, trying to understand the man she’d married. In one breath he’d warned her not to get involved in the cold case, then his mood changed abruptly when he offered information that could possibly give her a lead in the decades-old murder.
A smile softened her mouth. “Thank you, Shiloh.”
His gaze fixed on her mouth, he leaned over and kissed her. “You’re welcome.”
Gwen stared at the man she loved beyond description. She wanted to forget that as a newlywed she hadn’t felt very married, that she’d missed the passion, the intimacy she’d experienced with her husband.
“Don’t go up. Not yet,” she urged softly.
The gold in Shiloh’s eyes disappeared, leaving them a deep green brimming with tenderness, understanding and a gentle passion. He ran a forefinger down the length of her short nose. “Why?”
A mysterious smile lifted the corners of her lush mouth. “Give me a few minutes to put the desk in order, and I’ll go with you.”
Shiloh’s laid-back body language belied the anxiety knotting his stomach muscles. He didn’t want to get his hopes too high, but he prayed he would get his wife back. He wouldn’t rush her, would follow her lead, but he’d missed her, missed her despite the fact they shared a bed. He watched intently as she placed a number of typed pages into a folder before slipping them into a monogrammed leather case.
Reaching over, he turned off a desk lamp, and swept her up in his arms as a soft gasp escaped her. “Have you weighed yourself lately?”
Gwen gasped again. “No, I haven’t. Why are you asking?”
Shiloh climbed the staircase as Cocoa sat at the bottom, watching their retreat. The tiny puppy still hadn’t learned to navigate the staircase.
“You’re putting on weight.”
She closed her eyes and rested her head on his shoulder. “I don’t know why, because I’m not eating that much.”
Burying his face in the scented strands brushing his cheek, Shiloh concentrated on placing one foot in front of the other. He entered their bedroom, placing Gwen on the bed. Slowly, methodically he removed her T-shirt and shorts, leaving her bikini panties. His gaze lingered on her breasts as he went through the motion of untying the drawstring to his pajama pants. He pushed them down his hips and stepped out of them. Less than a minute had elapsed when he slipped into bed, turned off the bedside lamp, and gently pulled his wife to him. She’d didn’t struggle or protest, melting against his side.
It was a truce, a very fragile one, and an unspoken promise to return to the way it had been and would be again.
* * *
Two days after Shiloh suggested to Gwen that she talk to his mother she uncovered something that she’d gone over countless times. She’d compiled a listing of the names of the school’s student body, then cross-referenced them with clubs that Shelby belonged to. There was one name that came up time and time again: Nash McGraw. The future publisher of the Teche Tribune had been a classmate of Shelby Carruthers and had joined every club of which Shelby was a member.
Positioning the desk lamp, she peered at the pictures featuring the various school clubs. Sure enough, Nash was in every photo with Shelby. There were only a few shots where he’d remained in the background, but in many he was in the foreground with Shelby.
There was one photograph that held her rapt attention, and because the yearbook pictures were grainy and in black-and-white, some of the images weren’t as sharp then as they would’ve been with the current cutting-edge technology.
She flipped back to the group photograph of the graduating class for 1963, then to the upcoming class for 1965. There were only thirteen dark faces in 1963, twenty-six in 1964, and fifty-two in the class of 1965. It appeared as if Louisiana had lagged behind some other southern states in integrating their public schools. Gwen opened and closed the drawers in the desk, searching for a magnifying glass.
Reaching for the telephone, she dialed Shiloh’s number at the station house. A clerk answered the call and put her through as soon as she identified herself.
“Hey, you.”
She smiled. “Hey, yourself. I need to ask a favor of you.”
“Ask away, beautiful.”
“I need you to stop and pick up a magnifying glass.”
“Why would you need a magnifying glass?”
“I can’t explain on the phone. Please, darling, pick one up for me.”
His laugh flowed through the earpiece. “You know I can’t deny you anything. I’ll bring it home on my dinner hour.”
“Thanks, my love.”
“You’re welcome.”
Gwen ended the call and let out an audible sigh. There were a few photographs she wanted to give a closer look.
But first she had to decide what she would prepare for dinner. She’d teased Lauren about settling into her role as mother and housewife as easily as a duckling took to water, but she’d confessed to her cousin that she also loved being married and looked forward to becoming a mother.
* * *
The pages of the 1964 St. Martin Parish High School yearbook were littered with yellow Post-its. One in particular held a red check. Gwen held the magnifying instrument over Nash’s image, her heart thundering like the hooves of a racehorse.
She squinted, and then pulled back to get a better perspective of what she’d recognized as a handgun tucked into the waistband of Nash McGraw’s slacks under a jacket. But on the other hand it was the expression on Nash’s face, and not the gun, that caused her breath to catch in her throat.
Nash wasn’t looking at the photographer, but at a black male student who’d captured the adoring gaze of no other than Shelby Carruthers.
“Shiloh?”
“Yes.”
“Come look at this, please.”
“Can’t it wait until I finish typing?”
“I don’t think so.”
Shiloh saved what he’d typed into his computer, then crossed the room and leaned over Gwen’s shoulder. “What do you have?”
She pointed to one photograph before handing him the glass. “Look at this one and tell me what you see.”
Shiloh read the picture caption. “Nash McGraw, Shelby Carruthers and Jason Jefferson.”
“No, Shiloh. Take a closer look at Nash.”
His eyes narrowed. “He’s carrying a gun.”
“Can you tell the caliber?”
Shiloh angled his head. “No. Why?”
“Shelby Carruthers was shot with a small-caliber handgun. The ballistics report Jimmie gave me verified the bullet that killed her was a .22.”
Hunkering next to her chair, Shiloh gave his wife a long, penetrating stare. “What are you not saying?”
“I think Nash McGraw murdered Shelby Carruthers.”
Shiloh sat on the carpeted floor and eased Gwen down on his lap. He looped an arm around her waist. “You can’t go around accusing someone of murder without evidence.”
Gwen shifted until she faced her husband. “I don’t have any evidence—at least not yet, but I do have a theory.”
“Theories are for scientific experiments, darling.”
“I went over every photograph in the yearbook, and he’s in every photograph someone took of Shelby. If he’d
done now what he did then it would’ve been called stalking.”
“They were classmates, Gwen.”
“True. But he joined every club she belonged to. I spoke to Dahlia Townsend this morning, and she told me that Nash used to follow Shelby around like a lovesick puppy. That confirms my theory about his stalking. Dahlia also told me that Nash and his father argued constantly. Nash wanted to go to UCLA because Shelby had applied to go there. The elder McGraw wanted Nash to attend Loyola, his alma mater, graduate, and eventually take over running the newspaper.”
Pressing her forehead to Shiloh’s, she kissed the end of his nose. “I need your help, Shiloh. I want you to get a warrant to search Nash’s house for the gun. I’m certain he didn’t throw it away because if it’d been found, then it might have been traced back to him.”
Shiloh wrapped his arms around Gwen’s body, holding her protectively to his heart. “You’re getting ahead of yourself, Lois Lane. First of all, no judge will issue a warrant based on your theories. And secondly, Nash McGraw is a descendant of one of the parish’s prominent families.
“He’s been married to the same woman for more than thirty-five years. He’s a father, grandfather, and despite his neutrality as a newspaper publisher he wields a lot of political clout. And I’m willing to bet that he if decides to run for public office he’d win.”
Gwen shook her head. “I don’t know what it is, but my woman’s intuition tells me that Nash had something to do with that girl’s death.”
A low rumbling sound came from Shiloh’s chest when he laughed. “Does your intuition tell you what your husband has planned for his wife for their day off together?”
“Tomorrow?”
“Yes, tomorrow.”
She kissed his chin. “Whatever you have planned will have to wait because your girls have doctors’ appointments. Cocoa has a vet appointment at ten and I’m going to the gynecologist at two.” Gwen had decided not to wait until October for an annual exam.
Lines of consternation marred Shiloh’s forehead. “Is something wrong?”
She expelled a sigh. “I don’t know. My period isn’t normal, and I’m tired all the time. I know I’m getting enough sleep, and I have to force myself not to take naps.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“You don’t have to, Shiloh.”
“But I want to. Later on we’ll go somewhere and have an intimate dinner.”
“How intimate?” she asked.
“Very, very intimate.”
“That sounds good to me, lover,” she crooned seductively.
Shiloh kissed her forehead. “Why don’t you go upstairs and turn in. I’ll be up as soon as I finish typing my notes.”
He stood up, bringing Gwen with him, and staring at her retreating figure until she disappeared from his line of vision. Moving over to the desk, he picked up her printed notes. He sat down, the shock of what he was reading hitting him full force. His wife’s meticulous notations were as detailed and comprehensive as a law clerk’s.
Her theories were more than that. They were facts, broad, concrete facts. After he’d read the report from the coroner’s office he knew Shelby’s killer wasn’t a she, but a he. There was evidence that Shelby Carruthers had been raped!
* * *
Gwen glanced at the pet carrier on the rear seat before maneuvering out of the parking lot behind the small animal hospital. Cocoa was still asleep.
The spirited canine had snarled and snapped at the veterinary assistant whenever she tried opening the puppy’s mouth to examine her teeth, and in order to complete the examination Cocoa Taylor had to be sedated.
Her cell phone rang. She glanced at the display. “Yes, Mrs. Carruthers.”
“You’ve got to come quick.”
Gwen heard the panic in her voice. “What’s the matter?”
“Please come and I’ll show you.”
Ending the call, Gwen executed a U-turn, heading in the opposite direction. When she drove onto the property Gwen saw a police cruiser and Shiloh leaning against a porch column. What, she pondered, was her husband doing at Janet’s house on his day off? She got out of her car and made her way up the three steps to the raised porch. She couldn’t pull her gaze away from his stoic expression.
“What happened? Why are you here?”
Shiloh grasped Gwen’s hands. He saw his wife staring at him with a look in her eyes he’d never seen before: fear.
“I got here just before you did. Mrs. Carruthers placed a nine-one-one call when someone threw a brick through her bedroom window.”
Gwen blinked once. “Maybe it was a bunch of kids acting out. But why were you called on your day off?” she asked for a second time.
Shiloh shook his head, his gaze fusing with hers. “It wasn’t a bunch of kids. And Jimmie called me when Mrs. Carruthers told him about the note wrapped around the brick.”
“What did the note say?”
“Whoever typed the note warned Mrs. Carruthers that if she doesn’t stop asking questions, she’s going to end up like her daughter.”
“I don’t understand, Shiloh.”
“What is there not to understand?” he spat out. “You’ve opened a Pandora’s box, and in doing so you’ve spooked a murderer who thought that he’d committed the perfect crime.”
“There’s no doubt my asking questions has someone running scared, but who?”
“Who else knows you’re trying to solve Shelby’s murder?”
“I don’t know.”
“Think, Gwendolyn!”
“Don’t yell at me, Shiloh.”
“I’m not yelling, darling. I just need answers so I know how to deal with this depraved cretin.”
“I’ve had contact with people at the D.A.’s, M.E. and St. Martin Police Department offices. You know I spoke with Dahlia and Nash. What I don’t know is how many people Janet Carruthers told.”
Shiloh nodded. “Let’s go inside and ask her.”
CHAPTER 20
Shiloh flipped the pages of a parenting magazine without reading any of the articles. The smiling faces of babies staring back at him drew a smile from him. He wondered what the children he’d have with Gwen would look like.
The thought of Gwen pregnant unnerved him. He didn’t want it to become a reality, not now, not when she’d involved herself in solving the prom queen cold case. Janet Carruthers had admitted that she’d told a number of friends that Gwendolyn Taylor, a reporter for the Tribune had offered to help solve her daughter’s cold case.
Shiloh had turned over the note to the crime lab for fingerprint analysis, but whoever had typed the note had used gloves. Even the paper was unremarkable—a common rag variety sold in most office supply chains.
He was aware that the only way two people could keep a secret was if one were dead. A murderer had struck forty-two years ago, and there was no doubt he would strike again if not apprehended. The one noteworthy aspect of the law was there was no statute of limitations on murder.
* * *
“Mr. Harper, would you please come in.”
Shiloh’s head came up and he rose slowly to his feet. A nurse wanted him to follow her. His heart pounding painfully in his chest, he made his way out of the waiting area and into a large sun-filled office. All of his trepidation dissipated when he saw Gwen’s smile.
She stood up and looped her arms around his neck. “We’re going to have a baby,” she whispered close to his ear.
He went completely still. “Are you sure?”
“Very sure,” her doctor confirmed. “Congratulations, Shiloh.” Doctor Stephan Honoree and Shiloh Harper had attended the same high school and graduated the same year. Stephan had gone to college to enroll in a premed program, while it’d been prelaw for Shiloh.
Shiloh smiled at Stephan. “Thanks.”
He’d thanked his former classmate when he should’ve been thanking his wife. He’d suspected Gwen was pregnant, but she’d insisted she wasn’t. She’d put on weight, tired easily, and her body rejec
ted anything with a trace of alcohol. Everything had happened so quickly: falling in love, marriage, and now the news he was to become a father.
Gwen felt the runaway beating of Shiloh’s heart against her breasts as he sagged against her. “Don’t faint on me, Shiloh,” she chided softly.
He forced himself to stand upright. “I’m okay. When?” he asked Stephan. “When…can we expect the baby?”
“I’m estimating late April, but it can be earlier, because right now I’m not able to pinpoint conception. However, as Gwendolyn advances in her pregnancy the due date will become more apparent.”
Shiloh’s right hand made soothing motions over Gwen’s back as he met Stephan’s gaze. “Is there something I should know…do?”
“Just make certain she doesn’t overtire herself.”
Gwen wanted to tell the two men there was no need to talk about her as if she weren’t there, but fatigue weighted her down like a lead blanket. And the fatigue returned the same time every day like clockwork—midafternoon.
“My nurse will give you a prescription for a supply of prenatal vitamins, some literature both of you should read, and an appointment for Gwendolyn to come back in a month.”
Shiloh extended his right hand. “Thank you, Stephan.”
“I’m honored that I’ll have the privilege of delivering your firstborn.”
Shiloh held Gwen’s hand as he led her to the parking lot. He still could not believe they were going to be parents. When he’d asked Gwen to “make a baby” he hadn’t thought it would happen so quickly.
She fell asleep as soon as he drove away from the doctor’s office. She didn’t wake when he stopped at the pharmacy to fill her prescription, or when he undressed her and put her to bed.
She woke hours later, and instead of dining out they grilled salmon, corn and vegetable kabobs on a gas grill. Gwen made several calls to Massachusetts to inform her family members that she was pregnant, while he made his own celebratory telephone calls.
* * *
Shiloh shifted to a more comfortable position on the bed. “I want you to stop working.”
Gwen went still as she listened to the steady beating of Shiloh’s heart under her cheek. “You’re kidding, aren’t you?”
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