Take Me Back (Paradise, Idaho Book 4)

by Rosalind James

  IN THE FAMILY

  Jim went with his mother and Cole to see Bob Jenkins on Monday, as he’d promised. Bob listened to Cole’s halting explanation with his shrewd eyes traveling between the three of them, finally resting on Cole with a speculative expression.

  “So you tried to push Hallie into leaving town,” he said at the end. “And you’re saying she’s not going to press charges?”

  “That’s what she said,” Jim said. “Of course, she could still change her mind.” He didn’t want Cole to get too comfortable. “So what about that money for the paint?”

  “And we’d like to get Cole some counseling, too,” Vicki said, “to help him adjust to all these changes. Which I imagine could get a little expensive, take a while.”

  Bob waved a hand. “That seems like a good idea, and it’s easy enough. I just have to get Aldon Cranfield to sign off on it. I should be able to do that within the next couple days.”

  “Better get there early in the day,” Vicki said drily. “Why Henry would appoint him as a trustee, I can’t imagine. If Cole’s money is tied up in that trust until he’s twenty-five, who knows how far Aldon will slide by then? Everybody knows he’s dipping into that bottle in his desk by two every afternoon.”

  “Well, never mind,” Bob said. “When Henry got an idea in his head, there was no talking him out of it, but I assure you that I’m watching out for Cole’s interests. I’ll be reviewing the statements carefully to make sure Aldon hasn’t made any mistakes. But to get back to Hallie, I have to say—she’s more forgiving than her father would have been. Henry could be a bad enemy. Hallie takes after her mom more, I guess. She’s probably getting pretty nervous, between what happened here and those letters, even though she knows now that the graffiti came from Cole. You sure you didn’t send the letters, too?” he asked Cole.

  “No,” he said earnestly. “I mean, yes, I’m sure. I didn’t send them, I swear.”

  Jim believed him. He’d hammered on his brother some more on the way over here, with his mom pitching in, had asked Cole some questions that would’ve tripped him up if he’d sent them. He’d done the same with Tom Ingeborg the night before, and he was satisfied that neither of them had sent the letters. The letters weren’t impulsive. They were a steady campaign, a slow, insidious drip-drip-drip on Hallie’s sense of safety.

  “Kinda being hit from all sides, isn’t she?” Bob said, echoing Jim’s thought. “And now she’s involved the sheriff’s department, which tells me she’s feeling mighty unsafe. If you’re talking to her, you might suggest that she spend some of that money she’s getting on some security measures, just for some peace of mind. Or maybe I’ll drop by sometime and check on her, mention that myself.”

  “She’s done it,” Jim said. “She’s bought security cameras. That’s how Cole got busted.”

  “Hmm,” Bob said. “Not a bad thought, although the letters sound like a parent to me, something to do with the school. ‘Two isolated incidents,’ that’s what I’d call it. Why would the letters have anything to do with the money?”

  “I wouldn’t call it that,” Jim said. “And I’d say that whoever’s sending the letters is underestimating her.”

  Bob’s gaze sharpened. “Do you have a reason for saying that?”

  “Call it a cop’s nose twitching.”

  “Ah. Well, in the law, we don’t deal so much in twitches. We tend to like cold, hard facts. And the facts I have are that Hallie’s got somebody mad at her, and that she wasn’t home on Friday night.” He gazed at Jim. “Was she hiding out, maybe? Scared about the letters after all? I saw her in here when we read the will, of course, and I’ve talked to her some since. I’d be happy to think she’s toughened up, but I’m not so sure. Or is there some other explanation?”

  Jim looked back at him. “Why do you want to know?”

  “Well . . .” Bob spread out his hands. “I am Cole’s trustee, and his interests aren’t necessarily the same as Hallie’s. In fact, they’re diametrically opposed, aren’t they? My job is to make sure the terms of the will are carried out, but as far as the individual parties . . . with a situation that’s getting this complicated, Cole may want to have legal representation to ensure his interests are looked after.” Bob cleared his throat, then addressed Vicki. “As you’re Cole’s guardian, I’m thinking that you may want to have a conversation with me about protecting his interests. And that it may be better if it’s a private conversation, so I can spell it out to you a little better. Family . . . that always gets tricky, doesn’t it? So many different . . . priorities.”

  “Not really,” she said.

  “Mom,” Jim began.

  Vicki held up a hand and said, “Mind if we take a minute, Bob?”

  “Of course.” He stood up. “Whatever you need. Use my conference room.”

  “Thanks,” she said.

  Bob led them to the room and said, “Just poke your head into my office when you’re done.”

  When he closed the door, Vicki looked at Jim and said, “What?”

  Jim pulled out his phone and dialed a number. When it picked up, he said, “I’m sitting in your conference room. Could you come in here, please?”

  His mother looked at him, a little smile on her face, and said, “You always were a whole lot smarter than you liked to let on.”

  Thirty seconds later, Anthea was sliding into a chair beside Jim, saying, “I didn’t hear you were coming by.”

  Vicki said to Jim, “You tell her. You’re the best at explaining.”

  Jim did it, laying out the facts, quick and concise. Anthea heard him out to the end, making a few notes on a pad, nodding.

  “So why am I here?” she asked when he was done.

  “Because,” Vicki said, “I’m not letting Bob, or anybody else, drive a wedge between Cole and Hallie. There’s nothing worse than family ugliness over money, whether it’s a daughter-in-law taking the good china that the daughter thought was coming to her and cutting that family in two, or a brother and a sister trying to do each other out of millions of dollars. I’m not having that in my family. I spent all night and all day thinking about it, and I’m not doing anything—anything—that’s going to make that more likely to happen, including—especially—hiring somebody to help it happen. That kind of ugliness makes the person who does it ugly, too.” She turned to look at Cole. “If you go after your sister’s money, you’d better know that you’ll be breaking my heart. You’d better know that I’d want to lie right down and die if I thought that was the son I raised.”

  “Mom,” Cole said, “I get it. I got it yesterday. You don’t have to tell me.”

  “That means,” his mother went on, “that even if you knew for sure that Jim and Hallie were having sex, you wouldn’t tell anybody. Anybody. Bob. Your friends. Anybody. You’re not saying, well, here’s a way I can get her money, and all I have to do is tell, and anyway, I didn’t do it, she did it. You’re not going to do that, because you’d be hurting her, you’d be hurting Jim, and you’d be hurting me. For nothing. Nothing that matters. For millions of dollars that you don’t need. That you want, and then you’ll want more and more and more, until nothing will ever be enough. I don’t care if you walk in on the two of them stark naked and doing the wild thing in your bed. You keep your mouth shut, you hear? They’re your family.”

  “Mom,” Cole said. “Geez. Ick.”

  She ignored that. “Promise me.”

  “All right,” he said. “I promise. Geez.”

  “Not enough,” she said. “Sit here in front of your brother and your sister and me and promise us that you won’t. Tell us that you love us more than your father’s money.”

  “What do you want?” he said.

  “Cross your heart,” Anthea said.

  “What am I, five?” he complained.

  “Nope,” she said. “But it still counts.”

  He drew the X on his chest. “I cross my heart that I won’t go after Hallie’s half of the money. I won’t do anything else to tr
y to get it. And I will always love my mother bestest of all. How’s that?”

  “Sarcastic,” Jim said, “but not bad.”

  “But, dude,” Cole told him. “Don’t do it in my bed. Come on.”

  Jim had to smile. “Nah. Cross my heart.”

  “Right,” Anthea said. “So we done?” Managing, as always.

  “No,” Vicki said. She opened her purse and took out her wallet. “In the movies, somebody gives the attorney a dollar, and that makes them her client. Is that actually how it works?”

  “Well, yes,” Anthea said. “You have to hire the person.”

  Vicki pulled out a bill from her wallet. “All I have is a five. That’ll have to do. You’re your brother’s attorney now. I’m hiring you. As his guardian, I’m telling you that from now on, we’re only talking to you. We’re keeping this in the family.”

  ALL THE WAY AROUND

  It was proving a whole lot trickier than the killer had hoped. Hallie wasn’t showing any signs at all of being scared off. In fact, she looked to be hunkering down. Refurnishing the house, making it hers. Settling into her job at the school like she was planning to stay there, even though her contract was only for the semester.

  The graffiti incident had been in the police blotter on Monday morning, and news had gotten around pretty quickly in the days since, but even that hadn’t seemed to shake her, and the letters weren’t doing a thing, either. For somebody as soft as she was, she was sticking like a burr. But then, nothing had been violent yet. Could be she thought it was only words. And she’d be used to hard words after growing up with Henry.

  Physically, though, she was probably still timid. That was unlikely to change in a person. She’d sold Henry’s snowmobile, his Jet Ski. Probably didn’t like to go fast. That was a thought to consider, if worst came to worst.

  There was no need to go there yet. The will had included more than one condition she had to satisfy, after all, and in that other area, she didn’t seem to be doing nearly so well, did she?

  She’d been seen running through town with Jim Lawson in the early morning hours. She’d admitted that he’d been at her house a couple times. He’d helped her clean out her house and repaint her garage. And best of all, he’d been spotted at Sangria Station with her. Holding her hand. On a night when she hadn’t come home.

  Too bad there was no proof beyond that.

  That was the tricky thing. Proof. Unless you actually got eyewitnesses to spot them having sex, how did you prove that two people had had a sexual relationship?

  If they’d spent the night together, that was how. If only their cars had both been in a motel lot on that night when Hallie hadn’t come home. A bill passed to a front-desk clerk, a look at the motel register, a talk with a maid—those might have been enough. If only their cars had been in the same place. And if only you knew in time.

  A private investigator. That was a thought.

  Who Jim would spot, or hear about, in a heartbeat.

  The answer came a couple hours later, popped into the killer’s head just like that. It was simple, and a bit of online research confirmed it. If Jim and Hallie couldn’t keep their hands off each other already, even in a restaurant, something would happen by February. Or, better, multiple somethings. A pattern of secret meetings, simultaneous disappearances, and the records to show where they’d both been. It would be easy. No need to test Hallie’s courage at all. No need to escalate. All neat and clean. They’d hang themselves, with no need even to provide the rope.

  A discreet order, paying extra for fast delivery, and by Friday, everything was ready for step one.

  Hallie’s car was easy, too, parked as it was at the staff lot of the middle school every day. A quick trip home for a change of clothes, finishing the outfit off with a camo parka nobody would associate with the killer, even if anyone happened to notice the lone pedestrian hurrying up the street, head down and hood up, in a driving pre-Halloween storm in which rain was rapidly turning to sleet. A dash through the parking lot as if heading for the shelter of the school, a hand on the rear bumper of first one car, then the other, weaving through the rows. Hands in your pockets already, because it was nasty out here, then a rapid downward bob. A hand under the rear bumper, and turning and dashing back the way you’d come.

  Easy.

  The other vehicle was trickier. Garaged, which was inconvenient. And there were people you could follow to find your moment and people you couldn’t. Not in a town as small as Paradise. Not with somebody who’d been trained to watch for pursuit.

  There was no rush, though. It was barely November. Patience, that was all. Of course, bugs would be the best. Yeah, that would be proof. You’d have to get access, but that would be possible, too. It only required patience.

  It was all starting. A few hiccups, but overall, playing out almost as if Henry had known this would happen. Could he have planned it this way, somehow?

  Yes. Of course he could have. Henry had cared about one thing above everything and everybody else. Winning. It didn’t matter who it was. Even blood ties didn’t register with Henry the way they did with other people. The killer had seen that often enough.

  Given all that, what could be more likely than that Henry had set Hallie up? She’d seemed to live her life to defy her father, and her last five years denying him altogether. That had galled him. It had more than galled him. It had infuriated him. Wouldn’t it have been just like him, then, to put her into a situation where she’d fall, where she’d fail? Where she could be humiliated and exposed? Where she’d have the prize in her grasp and know that it was her own fault that she’d lost it?

  Yes. That would have been exactly like Henry. The killer hadn’t helped Henry in his last moments, maybe, but helping this situation along would surely make up for it. Or maybe you could look at it another way entirely. What would Henry have hated most? Helplessness. Impotence. Having his wishes ignored, his anger and threats disregarded. He would’ve fumed in a hospital, raged in a nursing home.

  On the other hand . . . a quick exit in the prime of his life, before he’d lost his eye for a big-game animal or a pretty woman, or his ability to hunt either of them down and win his trophy. While he’d still been the prince of his domain, the conqueror of his kingdom, the master of all he surveyed.

  And now he could win from beyond the grave as well.

  Yes. You could definitely call it a favor all the way around. One final service to a man who had lived to be served.

  SURPRISE PACKAGE

  Jim had the front end of the truck jacked up, switching over to his winter tires. He’d left it late, not doing it until mid-November, with the first major storm of the season blowing in the night before. But then, he’d been busier than usual, too.

  He remembered what Hallie had said when she’d been telling him about Cletus, about her life being more complicated now. That sometimes complicated was better. It was true. And she could go on and complicate his life a bunch more as far as he was concerned.

  Unfortunately, other than talking to her on the phone the week before about the graffiti incident, during which she’d—no surprise—told him she wasn’t pressing charges, he hadn’t seen her since that night at her house. When he’d told her about Maya.

  There’d been something odd about her when he’d left. Like she was drawing back. She’d asked him to tell her, though, and she’d seemed to care so much. So why would she do that?

  She’d felt like it was too much involvement, maybe. Or she’d worried that it was getting out of control, that he couldn’t be with her without touching her. The way he’d come back that night without asking her if he could, without seeming to care that he was putting her at risk by doing it.

  Damn it. All right, maybe complicated wasn’t better.

  He got the front tires on, then jacked up the back of the truck, got the stands in place, and was working on the left rear wheel when Mac came out to the garage.

  “Hey, partner,” he said. “Coming out to give me a hand?�
�

  “Dad,” she said. “I have a crisis.”

  He put down the wrench and swiveled on his haunches. “Oh?”

  She stood there, hand on her hip, drumming her fingers, and frowned absently. “So I bought Candy a make-your-own-jewelry-box kit for her birthday party tonight, right?”

  “Uh . . . I don’t know. Did you?”

  “Yeah. I did. And today Monique was texting me about the party, and she said she got that for her. And Monique’s Candy’s best friend.”

  “OK,” he said cautiously.

  She sighed as if he were dense. “So if she’s her best friend, I have to let her give it to Candy. Because it’s what Candy really wants. I guess I could give it to Monique next month, when it’s her birthday, if she invites me to her party, and then they could match. She and Candy could match, I mean. But I’d have to tell Candy first, so Candy doesn’t buy her that.”

  Jim was working on the lug nuts again. This didn’t seem like a crisis so much as a long, girl-logic talk of the type he never understood. “Or you could just go on and give Candy the box and let her return the extra one and buy something else,” he said, even though he was pretty sure that would turn out to be wrong. “Give her the receipt. That’s like—free present, get what you want.”

  “Dad. No.” As he’d figured, he’d been wrong. “She wouldn’t do that. She’d have to pretend she was excited about getting two. She’d have to say, ‘Oh, that’s great! Now I can have one for earrings and one for everything else!’ or something like that.”

  “Right,” he said. “Sounds like you had a problem, but you know the answer. Not sure why it’s a crisis.”

  “Because I have to buy a new present before the party.”

  “So we swing by the mall on the way.”