by Dawn Brown
Had his father been the one in his desk? Jonathan’s saliva dried up and he had to clear his throat before he spoke. “Should there be?”
“I know you like things just so and I wasn’t sure your brother or your wife would remember to put everything back in order after he finished banging her.”
Relief washed over him. Thank God his father hadn’t seen. The old man was very astute; he would have known instantly what the ring meant.
Lara and Richard. Had they been searching together or had one interrupted the other? And would either of them understand what the ring symbolized?
“I told you when you married her she was trash.”
“That you did.” Jonathan struggled to keep from rolling his eyes. He’d known about Lara and Richard for months. If his father had only just found out, the old man had certainly lost his touch.
Deep frown lines creased Samuel’s wide forehead as his pale gaze bored into Jonathan. “I thought you should know.”
“And I appreciate your tact.”
His father’s skin turned deep red from his sagging jowls to his scalp, visible through the steely gray crew cut. For a moment, Jonathan thought Samuel might explode, but instead his lips curved into that dreadful smile—the same one he had feared as a child and sometimes saw twisting his own mouth as an adult.
“You always did have a soft spot for trash.” The old man chuckled and turned away.
As Samuel left, still snickering to himself, Lara pressed her back against the wall behind one of the Romanesque pillars lining the long hall like silent gray soldiers. She hoped to God he wouldn’t see her.
As his footsteps echoed off the marble floor, fear gripped her heart and squeezed until she could hardly breathe.
Jonathan knew. The words drummed again and again in her head. Closing her eyes, she swallowed back the thick bile bubbling in her throat.
How could she be so careless? First she had forgotten to lock the desk and now Richard. She couldn’t lose this life. Not after all that she had done to get it. She needed damage control and fast. It would take time to put things in place; she only hoped she had enough left.
A few hours and a hot bath later, Haley wondered if giving the man suspected of murdering her sister an ultimatum had really been such a wise decision. She settled on her ugly, mustard-colored sofa, with a cup of tea cradled in both hands, absorbing the warmth through her skin. Probably not.
Granted, she did enjoy his dumbfounded expression, but waving a red flag before a bull was never a good idea. The problem was, she couldn’t quite reconcile Dean with the person who had slit Michelle’s throat and buried her in a basement.
Stop thinking about him.
Intent on pushing him from her mind, she leaned forward, set her cup on the battered steam trunk she used as a coffee table, and picked up the want ads.
Another posting for a bookkeeper in Toronto. Absently, she tugged her lower lip with her teeth. Should she send her resume? She doubted anyone would call. What could it hurt?
But what if someone did?
Her stomach quivered with a combination of excitement and terror. What if they did call? What if they offered her a job? Her heart accelerated when she thought of packing up and leaving, of walking away from the town where she had lived her whole life and being absorbed into the city.
Yeah, right, who was she kidding? She wasn’t a kid anymore, or Paige. She couldn’t simply walk away from her responsibilities. Hareton Furniture Restoration was hers now, for better or worse. And there was also the small issue of her mother. If Haley didn’t look after Mom, she doubted very much that Garret would pick up the slack. Still, the idea of telling them all to go to hell held a certain appeal.
She tore the ad from the paper and set it on top of the other similar clippings in the side table drawer. They were starting to pile up. She should go through them and throw some of the older ones away. Instead, she slid the drawer shut and turned back to the paper.
The sudden pounding on her front door made her freeze. It couldn’t be Dean. Not this soon, and not at her house. She went to the window and pulled back the filmy lace curtain.
Garret waited, looking down at something in his hand. God damn it, could she not have a moment of quiet? Haley stomped to the door and yanked it open.
“What?”
“I need to talk to you,” Garret said. Not bothering to wait for an invitation, he pulled open the screen door and let himself in. “Here.”
Haley looked down at the crisp blank envelope in his hand.
“This was wedged in the door.”
“Thanks.” She took the envelope and turned it over in her hands.
“What is it?” Garret asked, looking over her shoulder.
She shrugged him off and edged away. “It feels like a card.”
“Aren’t you going to open it?”
“Later. What are you doing here?”
He sat down on the sofa and glanced at the paper she’d left on the cushion. “Are those want ads?”
“I’m thinking about taking some more courses,” she said and scooped up the newspaper.
“What for? You’re doing fine at the store.” His voice raised an octave.
“The more I can do myself, the less I have to pay an accountant for.”
“If you’re concerned about money, you should reconsider moving back in with Mom. All of this—” he gestured widely, “—is an unnecessary expense. Besides, after everything that’s happened, I don’t like the idea of Mom alone so much. She could hurt herself or someone else.”
Haley flopped into the armchair opposite him. “My sanity’s worth the expense. If you’re so worried about Mom, why not have her live with you?”
“We’ve been through this. I can’t have her around the children.” He shook his head, his face etched with his well-practiced saddened-by-her-selfishness expression. At one time she would have fallen for it and let herself be sucked in by some misplaced sense of guilt. But not anymore. Garret continued, nevertheless. “Well, if you insist on your own place, at least buy something. A mortgage payment would only be slightly more than what you’re paying in rent, and you wouldn’t be throwing your money away.”
She stifled a shudder. The idea of buying something here, in Hareton, left her feeling like a caged animal. “Look, if you’ve come here to lecture me about my finances, save it. It’s been a long day.”
“Longer for some.”
“So that’s why you’re here? You’re mad because I left early?”
“No, that’s not why I’m here. I do think what you did was selfish—”
“I can give you some examples of selfish.”
“A detective Faron will be contacting you.”
“Why?” Surprise softened her voice.
“He has some questions.” Garret took a deep breath. “Have you heard any talk about Dad?”
Haley thought of Mrs. Yolken’s hungry gaze. “Just some ugly gossip.”
“Me too.”
“Is Dad a suspect?”
“I don’t know, but I’m worried. You’ll let me know what the detective says?”
Haley nodded and waited for him to get up to leave. When he didn’t, they sat in a moment of awkward silence.
“Are you going to open that envelope?” Garret asked at last.
“Why are you so interested?”
“I’m concerned. I understand you were talking to Dean Lawson today.”
She narrowed her gaze. “Who told you? Erin or Paige?”
“Does it matter? What were you thinking?”
“I didn’t even know who he was.” If Garret was this annoyed about a few words exchanged in a parking lot, she could only imagine his reaction if he knew she’d been inside Dean’s hotel room.
“What the hell is he doing back anyway?”
Haley shrugged. She should know by tomorrow, but thought better than to tell him.
“When I think of what he did…” Garret’s eyes darkened. “He would have gone to jail if Da
d hadn’t given him a chance. And Lawson thanks him by murdering Michelle.”
She swallowed the lump lodged in her throat. It hadn’t been her father who had saved Dean from jail, or a juvenile detention center, or wherever troubled sixteen-year-old boys went after totaling stolen delivery vans. It had been her stupid adolescent crush. If she had just kept her mouth shut, Dean would have been sent away. He and Michelle would never have dated. And Michelle would still be alive.
“What did he say to you?”
“Nothing really. I thought he looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him. I asked him if he knew Michelle and he said he did. That pretty much sums up the conversation.”
“Humor me, open the card.”
“For God’s sake,” she muttered and set the newspaper on the floor. The envelope hadn’t been sealed, so she only needed to lift the flap and slide the card out.
On the front was a glossy black and white photo of two little girls dressed in grown-up clothes.
“Who is it from?” Garret asked.
Haley opened the card. “I don’t know.” She turned it so he could see. “It’s blank.”
“That’s strange.”
“It’s probably some kind of condolence card.”
“Who doesn’t sign a card?”
She shrugged. “Someone in a hurry?”
“The whole thing is off.” He stood and crossed the room. “I wish you would stay with Mom and Paige.” When she started to protest, he interrupted. “Just until Lawson is gone. I don’t like you here alone.”
“I’ll be fine. Paige isn’t leaving tomorrow?”
“No. Faron asked her to stay on. He wants to speak to her too.”
“Maybe Dad’s not the only suspect.”
“Anything’s possible,” Garret said as she walked him to the door. “Keep your doors and windows locked.”
She snorted. “I’ll see about getting some bars for them tomorrow.”
“This isn’t a joke, Haley,” he snapped.
She gentled her voice. He’d lost a sister too, and she wanted very much to believe that his concern was more than the fear of losing his mother’s primary care taker. “I can look after myself. Besides, I doubt Dean’s going to come skulking through my windows in the middle of the night.”
“I hope you’re right. Call me when you hear from the police.”
She nodded and said good-bye as she closed the door behind him.
With a frown, she looked down at the card still in her hand. It was a strange condolence card. Where was the typical lily or the “Our Deepest Sorrows”?
Just throw the damn thing out and forget it.
Haley went to the kitchen to do just that, but hesitated over the garbage. With her fingertip she traced the outline of one of the little girls.
The sudden ding-dong of the doorbell made her heart jump.
“Christ, Garret,” she muttered. “What now?”
She slipped the card into the envelope before setting it on the windowsill behind the sink. Quickly, she walked to the living room window and peered outside. Dean stood on the porch with his hands jammed in his jeans pockets, rocking back on his heels. A brown legal-sized envelope was tucked under his arm.
So, she’d been right. Dean wouldn’t come sulking through her window. He’d boldly ring the bell and wait for her for her to answer.
Chapter Seven
She could pretend to be out. After all, did she really want to deal with a potential killer in her home? Haley sighed. It would never work. Her lights were on and her car was in the driveway. From the window, Haley watched Dean press the bell again, then his eyes met hers through the glass. He smirked. Crap.
She walked to the door, turned the bolt, and pulled it open. “When I said you had until tomorrow, I didn’t think you’d show up at my door in the middle of the night.”
He glanced at his watch. “It’s ten-thirty, hardly the middle of the night.”
“It’s late,” Haley said, rubbing her bare arms. The frigid wind whipped through her thin T-shirt and cotton pajama bottoms as if she wore nothing at all. “What do you want?”
“It’s what you wanted. Can I come in?”
“I’m not in the habit of inviting accused murderers into my home.”
“This may come as a shock, but I never was actually accused. Questioned. I was questioned and that’s all. Never charged, never convicted. For whatever that’s worth.”
“Only because no one could prove it.”
His eyes flashed. “That’s right, criminal mastermind that I was, at nineteen I achieved what so many career criminals only dream of. I committed the perfect murder.”
Haley glared at him through the mesh of the screen door, mildly impressed. He could give Paige a lesson in sarcasm.
“Look—” he waved the envelope at her, “—in the morning I go to the police with this. You can see it now or hear about it tomorrow.”
She pushed the screen door open. “Won’t you please come in?”
“I thought you’d never ask.” He stepped past her into the small foyer, brushing against her as he did. Goose bumps spread over her skin, having nothing to do with the cold. She stepped back quickly and he smirked again.
“You’re in. Now, let me see what you have.” She reached for the envelope, but he snatched his hand back.
“May I sit down?”
“Sure, why not? Maybe I could get you something to drink, fix you something to eat.”
“I’d love a coffee.”
“Then you should have picked one up on your way over,” she snapped before flopping onto the sofa.
Dean lowered himself into a frayed armchair opposite her and glanced around the small room. Did the battered, mismatched furniture surprise him? Had he expected the beautifully finished antiques that had filled her parents’ home? Her father had loved his work. And she wasn’t her father.
“What?” she demanded.
He met her gaze. “This is a nice place. Cozy.”
“I’m so glad you like it. Are you going to tell me what you’re doing here?”
He looked away from her, dropping his gaze to the envelope in his hand. He lifted the flap and tilted the envelope so the papers slid into his palm.
“I didn’t kill Michelle,” he began. “But I know who did.”
Haley leaned back and folded her arms over her chest. “Really? Who?”
He hesitated as if searching for the right words. “I only came to be a suspect because I argued with Michelle in front of half the bloody town the day she disappeared.”
“I think it may have been the content of the argument that did you the most damage. When she accused you of stalking her, and telling people that you were still sleeping together months after you’d stopped dating that might have come off as a tad suspicious to some.”
“Two things I never did, by the way. I had no idea what she was talking about. Christ, I broke up with her.”
That was true. Haley worried her bottom lip. He had ended their short relationship. She remembered standing with Paige, their ears pressed to the thick door dividing the shop from the store, listening to Dean and Michelle argue. Michelle had been furious. Being dumped by someone two years younger than her with his background had probably been quite a blow to her ego. Haley had been secretly pleased. She never liked them together anyway.
“So who sent her all the flowers and started the rumor that you were still seeing each other?”
“Lara started the rumor.”
“Lara was her friend.”
“She was, and look who she married. I think we can safely assume the motive.”
Ridiculous. The whole thing sounded like a bad made-for-TV-movie. “How do you know it was her?”
“I had a nice talk with Lara earlier tonight.” He shook his head, almost to himself. “She confirmed everything.”
“So, what are you thinking here? Lara killed Michelle so she could marry well and then let you take the blame?”
“No.”
She sighed. “I think I’m missing your point.”
“The point is, I didn’t do it, and without that confrontation, there’s really nothing else to implicate me.”
“A witness saw the store’s delivery van empty on the side of the highway past midnight.”
“Lots of people had access to that van.”
“But you were the only one who had stolen it before."
“No, I’m the only one who got caught. Your brother and sisters took the van regularly without your father or Nate knowing.”
“Fine, you’ve exonerated yourself in my eyes, but why bother if you know who the killer is?”
“I just don’t want you to think that I pulled a name out of the air.”
She narrowed her eyes, apprehension tickling the base of her skull. “What name?”
“Your father killed Michelle.”
Fury flooded her veins. She leapt from her seat and pointed at the door. “Get out.”
“Listen to me—”
“No. Get out!” What had she been thinking, listening to him?
“Haley, by this time tomorrow the whole town will know. Do you want the heads up or not?”
“How could you do this to him? You would have gone to jail, if it hadn’t been for him.” If it hadn’t been for her asking her father to give Dean a chance. “He saved your sorry ass.”
“I wanted to be wrong. I never wanted it to be him.”
“So you say, but that’s not going to stop you from accusing a man who, conveniently, is no longer here to defend himself.”
He continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “I suspected him almost from the start. When Al called and told me that Michelle had been found, and where, I was certain.”
“My grandmother’s house?” The detective.
He nodded.
“Anyone could have hidden her body there. My grandmother lived with us for nearly a year. She was still living with us when she died.” Haley stopped and took a deep breath, while she tried to ignore the tightening in her throat. “Anyone, yourself included, could have gotten into her house.”