by B. J Daniels
“You want retribution,” Ruth said simply, her back to Anna as the older woman continued to look out into the darkness.
“No. I need to know what happened that night. I need to know if I was somehow responsible. I need to know the truth, especially now that I fear Gillian was killed because of her involvement. She’d been trying to find the hit-and-run driver for me for the past eight months.”
“Why would you think her death has anything to do with the accident after so long?” Ruth asked. “Because of that hen-scratch on an old envelope? Who knows when she even wrote that? It could have been about an entirely different matter altogether.”
“Maybe it wasn’t about Tyler’s death,” Anna said. “Maybe I’m just clutching at straws. But how do I explain Gillian’s death then?”
She saw Ruth stiffen at the window. “It’s late,” she said, turning to look at Anna.
Anna rose from her chair. Earlier, in the shared loss of their sons, she’d felt close to the woman. But now she felt a distance she didn’t understand. Maybe Ruth felt she’d revealed too much to a total stranger.
Ruth’s cell phone rang. She drew it from her pocket, checked caller ID and turned toward Anna. “I’m sorry, but I have to take this. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”
Ruth left her alone in the sunroom. Only one lamp fought off the darkness outside the windows.
Anna turned it off and stood in the blackness waiting for her eyes to adjust, thinking about what she’d learned tonight. Not much, and yet she still didn’t know why Gillian had gone to the rest stop to meet one of the Fairbankses—or even if she had.
As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she stepped to the window where Ruth had been standing earlier and looked out. She could see the lake past the back of the house and the stand of dense pines that ran from the lawn to the water.
That’s when she saw him. A man standing in the shadow of the pines looking up at the house. One of the yard lights reflected on his dark hair and just enough of his face. Jonathan. What was he doing out there? Spying on her and his mother?
Suddenly he seemed to realize that someone was watching him and he stepped back into the trees. She felt her pulse jump. The man hadn’t limped.
CHAPTER TWENTY
RUTH FAIRBANKS TOOK the cell phone call on the way to her room. “Yes?” She’d already checked the caller ID and knew exactly who was calling and why.
“I have the information you asked for, including everything that could connect this woman with your family. But I’ve got to warn you, you aren’t going to like it,” the voice on the other end of the line said without preamble. The man was one of her husband’s former “associates.” He sounded annoyed, probably more with her husband than her. Big Jim had foolishly thought her so ignorant of his ways that he didn’t dream she knew about this particular “associate.”
She stopped in the empty hallway. “Just get me the information. I’ll be the judge of what I’ll like or not like.”
“I’m sending it out by boat. I assume you won’t want my man coming to the main dock.”
“You assume right. How did you handle this sort of thing for my husband?”
“There is an old building on the north end of the island.”
Ruth smiled, not in the least surprised. Big Jim used to often take a walk after dinner, saying he needed a cigar. He would disappear down the path toward the north end of the island. The pines were thick at that end, the old cottage barely visible. Near there was the only spot a boat could come in that wasn’t rocky shore.
“When shall I meet him there?”
“I figured you’d want it done the same way I did with your husband.” There was an edge to his voice. “My courier is probably already there. He will leave the information in the wood box outside the cottage.”
So that was how Big Jim did it. Sometimes she was amazed at the things she had learned about her husband after his death. Big Jim had more secrets than she would ever have imagined. Was it like that in all marriages? Or was it because she’d married an overly ambitious man involved in politics?
Her husband had certainly never known her. He would have dropped dead of a heart attack sooner if he’d had even a clue as to what she was thinking ninety percent of the time. But then she might have felt the same way had she known everything her husband was capable of.
She thought of her son Jonathan. He was so like Big Jim. He truly believed nothing mattered but the outcome. The means to the end. She liked to believe he got that from Big Jim—and not from her.
“How shall I reward you for your services?”
Silence, then, “Your husband would leave a plain white envelope in the wood box with an appropriate number of bills.”
“Why reinvent the wheel when it sounds as if my husband’s methods worked so well.”
The other end of the line was silent. As perverted as it was, she was for the first time thankful Big Jim had been the way he had. If nothing else, he’d taught her that she could get anything she wanted—for the right price and a little leverage. They agreed on a sum, then she said, “I’ll let you know if there is anything else I need.”
She would use him again. Just as Big Jim had. She’d learned long ago that once someone had their hooks in another, only death could free him. Obviously, her husband’s associate understood that as well.
Sadly, it was human nature, she thought, as she snapped her phone shut and opened the door to her room and froze.
He was standing silhouetted against the evening sky, his back to her. Jack?
GIVEN THE HOUR AND THE FACT that Walker should have been off duty, Nash knew exactly what his subordinate was doing.
“Walker,” Nash said as he closed the door behind him. “What’s going on?”
“You didn’t call in the state boys on the Gillian Sanders murder case,” Walker said without getting up.
Nash shook his head. “You and I can handle it.”
Walker gave him an incredulous look.
“I admit I haven’t been of help so far,” Nash said, as he pulled out a chair across from the desk and sat down. “The truth is I just found out that Lucinda is pregnant.” He nodded at Walker’s surprise. “I’m going to be a father. Imagine, at my age. The news has really thrown me for a loop, but I couldn’t be happier.”
“Congratulations,” Walker said after a moment, as if not sure what to say.
“So tell me how the case is going. Anything new? Did you find a connection between Anna Collins and the Fairbankses?” He saw Walker hesitate.
“I’ve requested phone records on all of them.” Walker nodded knowingly. “Judge Gandy must have called you. That’s why you’re down here.”
Nash knew that Walker was smart and had great instincts. He just hadn’t realized how sharp he was. “No chance of getting phone records on the Fairbankses unless we have something we can take to the judge to convince him.”
Walker nodded.
Nash reached over and turned the computer screen to face him. “I see you have the report on Anna Collins’s hit-andrun.” His pulse quickened. He frowned as he leaned forward and tapped the keyboard to bring the report he’d glimpsed behind it up on the screen.
He lifted a brow as he looked at Walker and tried to keep his voice level. “Jack Fairbanks’s stolen-vehicle report?”
Walker said nothing.
Nash’s cell phone rang in his pocket. He’d told Lucinda to call if she needed him. He stared at Walker for a moment, then dug out his cell and checked caller ID. Lucinda.
He snapped the phone open and stood, turning his back to Walker. He was shaking inside, scared even before he heard Lucinda’s voice. She was crying.
“What? Lucinda, I can’t understand you.”
“I’m spotting,” she repeated between sobs. “I think I’m losing the baby.”
His heart stopped dead in his chest. He’d built this house of cards and they were all coming down around him. “I’ll be right there.”
RUTH FROZE AT THE SIGHT OF t
he man silhouetted against the yard light shining into her dark room. Jack. All her hopes and dreams rushed together in an instant of blinding gratitude.
Then the man turned.
“Jonathan.” Her voice betrayed her. She could see it in her son’s face as he turned.
“Mother.” His voice reeked of contempt. He’d heard her disappointment when she’d realized it wasn’t Jack. He limped toward her and for a moment she thought he might strike her. “I can’t take any more of this. It has to stop. Now.”
She had no idea what he might be referring to since there was so much divergence between them. But if she had to guess, she would have surmised it had something to do with Anna Collins.
“Jack is dead,” Jonathan spit. “It’s time you faced that as well as why he’s dead.”
“I don’t want to discuss this with you,” she said, suddenly feeling weak. She moved to one of the chairs and lowered herself into it, even though it gave Jonathan the advantage when he moved to tower over her.
“Jack wanted to go sailing that night knowing there was a storm coming in,” he said, his voice rising. “You knew he’d been despondent—”
“No.” She glared daggers at her son. “Jack didn’t kill himself.”
“How could you have not seen it, Mother? He had no purpose in life, no ambition, no aspirations. He knew he’d never have to work a day in his life. Every day had become the same and he could see the next fifty years stretched out in front of him, living on this island waiting for you to die, the son of Big Jim Fairbanks his only claim to fame.” Jonathan leaned down, placing his hands on the arms of her chair. “He was miserable and if anyone was to blame it was you.”
“That’s not true. Pet was the one making him miserable. Her greed. My God, Jonathan, the woman spent thousands of dollars on a face-lift. A face-lift at her age. Jack had to know she was doing it for some other man. Why do you think he was divorcing her?”
“If anyone destroyed his marriage it was you, Mother,” Jonathan snapped. “You babied Jack, turning him into a mama’s boy. You always took his side even when…” His voice broke. “Even when he did this to me!” He brought his hand down hard on the artificial leg, the thump loud even in the large room.
Her eyes flashed with anger. She could feel her blood pressure rising like hot acid in her bloodstream. “It was an accident. You know that. He would have never meant to hurt you.”
She saw Jonathan flush.
“Are we back to that, Mother?”
She turned away, trying to hide the fact that she still believed the swimming “accident” by the docks when the boys were young and Jack nearly drowned had been anything but an accident.
“You really believe that I could kill my own brother?” Jonathan demanded as he limped toward her. “Say it, Mother. Come on, let’s get it all out in the open.”
She lifted her face to meet his eyes. Eyes so like her own. Eyes like Jack’s. “You were always jealous of him even when he was an infant. Later you used the loss of your leg against him, to control him. Yes, I think you’d kill your own brother.”
The moment the words were out, no matter how truthful, she wished she could call them back.
Jonathan smiled ruefully as he passed her, but she could see the hurt in his face. “Thank you, Mother. I can’t tell you how your faith in me warms my heart.”
A part of her cried out that this was her son. The only one she had left. What if all it took was her love to transform him into the caring man Jack had been?
But as she started to reach out to him, she drew back her hand. It would take more than love to change Jonathan. It would take a miracle.
“I overheard what your father said to you the day before he died,” she said, steeling her heart against the hatred of her only living son as he reached the door to leave. “I heard him say Jack’s name. Your father knew you’d done something to your brother, didn’t he?”
Jonathan stopped and turned, seemingly surprised. For just an instant, concern flickered in his eyes. Then he smiled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mother. And who is going to believe a woman who not only professes to see dead people, but also blows thousands of dollars paying a charlatan to talk with them?”
“Don’t threaten me, Jonathan.”
His smile faded. “Threaten you? Mother, really, I insist you see a doctor. I’ll have Pet make you an appointment. I fear you have Alzheimer’s, since you’re talking as crazy as Dad did before he died.” He turned on his heel and left her alone in the room.
Ruth Fairbanks drew her wrap around her shoulders as a chill settled into the room that had been unusually warm earlier.
AFTER SEEING THE MAN ON the beach, Anna found the back stairs, moving quietly down them until she found a way out of the house. She’d seen the man in the thick stand of pines just off the lawn. He’d been watching her and Ruth, she was sure of it.
She hurried across the short expanse of grass and was instantly swallowed up in the cold darkness of the pines. The wind rustled the boughs high over her head. She stood without moving, listening, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the blackness.
Now that she was here, she felt a chill ripple over her skin and the first real tremor of apprehension. This had been foolish. For all she knew, she was standing just feet away from the man who had killed Gillian.
A rustling of pine needles. Someone moving just ahead of her. She took a step, swallowing back her fear, determined to know the truth. That was why she’d come here. A branch brushed across her shoulder, making her jump.
She stopped and held her breath. He had stopped, too. She thought she could hear him breathing—he was that close in the darkness.
“Jack?” Her voice broke. She cleared her throat and said more loudly. “Jack, I know it’s you.”
She heard him move next to her. He’d been even closer than she’d thought. She caught his scent. Not Jonathan’s too-sweet cologne. Not Jonathan.
Fear paralyzed her as a dark shape stepped into her path. The gasp was involuntary. She must have blinked, because in an instant he was gone.
Her pulse drummed in her ears. She stumbled back, suddenly wanting only to be out of the pines. Turning, she ran, branches slapping at her.
It wasn’t until she was almost to the beach, far from the pines, that she stopped and looked back. The pines were etched black against the dark sky. She had the feeling he was watching her, pleased that he’d frightened her, as that had been his intent. She was shaking, her heart thundering in her ears, her mouth dry.
Jack Fairbanks was alive.
Or someone wanted her to believe he was.
WALKER HAD JUST TURNED OFF the light to leave his office when he heard the fax machine in another room.
He snapped the light back on and walked down the hall as the first faxed page whirred out. Walker snatched the sheet from the basket when he saw what it was. The phone records he’d requested.
While he hadn’t been able to get phone records on the Fairbankses, these were the rest he’d requested.
He sat down at his desk again, studying each page. Anna Collins’s calls were almost all to two numbers. He checked in the reverse directory, not surprised to find that Anna had called Gillian Sanders repeatedly along with another number belonging to David and Mary Ellen Harper.
The friend she said had told her that the divorce hadn’t gone through? Mary Ellen Harper.
The other number Anna had called was listed to Collins Realty, owner Marc Collins. Walker remembered Marc Collins saying something about business being down. Is that why Collins had called off the divorce? It crossed Walker’s mind that a husband who couldn’t afford a divorce might decide there was a better way to get rid of his wife—like framing her for murder.
He checked the calls Gillian had made, surprised how few he found to Marc Collins’s office or his cell. If the two really had been having an affair—
On the day Gillian was murdered, she made a call to Marc’s cell that lasted five minutes. The ca
ll had been made at 4:03 p.m.
Walker quickly flipped through Marc Collins’s phone records. Sure enough Marc had called Gillian back after that initial call at 4:15 p.m. That call had lasted three and a half minutes. At 4:12 p.m. Marc had called his wife.
Is that when he’d told Anna he wasn’t divorcing her and to get dressed for dinner?
Walker swore as he saw the next two calls Marc Collins made. The first was right after his call to his wife. Collins had called a divorce lawyer. No doubt to actually stop the divorce.
From the order of the calls it would appear that whatever he and Gillian Sanders had said to each other it had precipitated his calling off the divorce.
But it was the second call that had made Walker curse in surprise. The number was from a local cell phone. He dialed it.
The line rang four times before voice mail picked up.
“Jonathan Fairbanks is not available. If you wish to leave a call-back number—”
Walker hung up, heart racing. He’d been looking for a connection between Anna Collins and the Fairbankses.
But the connection he’d found was between Marc Collins and the Fairbankses. Marc had called Jonathan Fairbanks’s cell phone on the day Gillian Sanders died. No chance of a wrong number. The call had lasted six minutes.
RUTH FAIRBANKS WAITED OBVIOUSLY until she was fairly sure everyone had retired to their rooms, then she dressed and quietly slipped out of the house.
She wore all black and felt like a cat burglar as she kept to the shadows of the pines until she was far enough away to turn on her flashlight.
The air was cold and had a bite to it, but she barely felt it. Her fight with Jonathan had only made her more anxious to know what her source had uncovered.
Jonathan was afraid. That alone worried her.
It had been years since she’d ventured out at night on the island. Even more years since she’d been to the north end where her old family cottage still stood.
She felt stronger and in control. It was a good feeling, one she’d had to hide around her husband when he was alive. Big Jim liked to believe he was running everything. Just like Jonathan.