“How's Melinda?"
“She's going to be fine."
“I'm thankful for Marty's sake.” Then she grimaced. “I saw Ken in the hallway. I don't want him here. I kept my head turned with the sheet pulled up so he couldn't see me. Then I saw Detective Hoffman talk to him and he left. What did Tom tell him?"
“Tom had a restraining order put on Ken. He's not allowed to see you."
“Please tell him ‘thank you.’”
Angie noticed Sandy struggling to keep her eyelids open. She touched her shoulder. “You get some rest, I'll talk to you later."
Tom and Angie left the hospital and went to the courthouse, where Angie posted bail for Marty and drove her home. They brought her up to date on Melinda's and Sandy's conditions.
* * * *
Ken Weber pulled up in front of his house and found a woman with two small children standing at his gate.
“Hello, can I help you?” His stomach knotted when she lifted her eyes to search his face and he recognized her.
“Hello, Mr. Weber?"
“Hello, Mrs. Conners.” What a pathetic-looking woman, he thought. No wonder Ryan stayed at the office all the time. Who'd want to go home to her and those two filthy children? “I'm very sorry about your husband, Mrs. Conners, but there's nothing I can do. The company lawyer is handling all the financial papers. You'll have to talk to him for any guidance."
Her sunken eyes stared at him. “That's not what I'm here about, Mr. Weber."
He frowned. “What is it then?"
“My husband left me a letter. Told me to talk to you about anything I needed and you'd see to it that I would be well taken care of.” Her voice darkened. “If anything happened to him."
His chest tightened as he narrowed his gaze on the woman. “I don't understand what you're saying."
“You see, I know what the two of you were doing. My husband described it all in his letter. He said if you didn't honor my request, I should go to the police."
Ken glared at her. “I'd like to see that letter. Why don't you come inside and we'll discuss this further."
“No. My husband also warned me not to be alone with you at any time. You frightened him, Mr. Weber. And Ryan didn't scare easily. I have a copy of the letter for you. But don't underestimate me either. I have the original in a sealed envelope in the hands of a lawyer. If anything should happen to me or my daughters, it will be opened.” She handed him a long white envelope, picked up one of the young girls and balanced her on her hip, then took the hand of the other and walked away. Suddenly, she stopped and turned around. “I'll let you know what I need."
Tapping the envelope on his hand, Ken watched her until she disappeared around the corner. He'd definitely miscalculated the shrewdness of Ryan Conners. And now his wife.
Ken headed straight for his bedroom when he got inside the house, anxious to see what the police had confiscated. When he slid open the closet door, he hit the wall with his fist. “What the hell! They've taken all my goddamn suits."
He then walked through the house and out into the back yard, where he noticed they'd messed with the dead coals of the barbecue. “What'd they think I did? Burn something?"
Slumping down on one of the lounges, he stared into the pool. He'd made a big mistake in turning his family against him. But the pressure of their accusations and questions had almost sent him over the edge.
He went into his home office and sat down at his desk. He slit open the envelope. The letter consisted of five pages. When he finished, he sat back in his chair and wiped the sweat from his forehead. “That son-of-a-bitch had balls, more than I ever gave him credit for,” Ken muttered aloud, wadding the letter into a ball.
* * *
Chapter Twenty-five
A grim expression shadowed Detective Maxhimer's face as he left the local Goodwill store carrying a bundle under his arm. His hunch had paid off after hitting several charity outlet stores and coming away empty-handed. This one even had a record of a Mrs. S. Weber having donated several bags of clothes and miscellaneous items. Fortunately, the store had gotten behind schedule in sorting their items and several pouches stood untouched in the store's holding area.
Cliff went through several bags without success until he came to the last one. Mid-way through the sack, he found a neatly folded dark gray sports coat. It showed little wear and no damage. A seam tag bore the inscription: “Made especially for Ken Weber by Amos Jackson, Tailor.” “Pay dirt,” he mumbled. “You made your first mistake, Ken Weber."
Knowing there had been drastic advancements in DNA testing, he figured the results would be delivered within a few days. Meanwhile, he'd keep a man on Weber. He didn't trust him. Never had. Also, he worried about Mrs. Conners and those two pitiful little urchins. If Autumn knew anything, their lives might be in danger. Even though he'd questioned her several times, she seemed nonchalant about her husband and his work. However, that didn't mean she wasn't shrewd. He'd checked on her background. She and Ryan had met in college. Both carried high grade averages and had graduated with honors. They never belonged to any social clubs in college but a counselor remembered them as participants in rallies and marches against the establishment.
One classmate remembered them as loners, strange or weird. The woman's solitude worried him. If he could find a legal reason, he'd also have a man watching her and those two kids. Since the death of her husband, he'd made it a daily routine to cruise by her place and check for signs of activity.
Back at the station, Cliff wrapped the gray sports coat and sent it to the lab with priority instructions. Now, he'd play the waiting game.
* * * *
Angie stared out the kitchen window toward Marty's cottage as she waited for Tom to come out of the study. Marty had wanted to fix them dinner, but Angie refused her offer and insisted she go rest.
Her mind wandered over the events of the long day and she suddenly felt exhausted. Yet, Angie didn't want Tom to leave. She'd grown dependent on him for support through these trying times and needed him tonight. Then it struck her that he must be starving. It had been hours since either of them had eaten. One way to keep him with her a little longer would be to start preparing dinner. Immediately, she grabbed an apron from the drawer and opened the refrigerator. By the time Tom joined her in the kitchen, she had meat frying, a sauce cooking and spaghetti boiling.
“Hey, what's going on in here?” Tom asked, eyeing the stove.
“Well, I thought it time we had some nourishment. It's been a long day."
“You got that right,” Tom said.
“Any news from the station?"
“A little. I talked with Cliff before he left to go home. He's making a few strides on his own, but nothing of importance at the moment,” he lied, not wanting to load her down with more heavy stuff. “Can I set the table?"
“Sure.” She pointed at the cabinet where the dishes were stacked.
Angie smiled to herself, noting that he did a darn good job of putting the utensils where they belonged. She put the spaghetti and sauce into bowls and placed them on the table.
After dinner, Tom pushed back his plate and patted his stomach. “You don't know how nice it is to eat something besides fast food and frozen entrees."
She laughed. “I can tell you enjoy a home-cooked meal, even though it's nothing special."
“I loved every bite. And to show my appreciation, I'll do the clean up."
“We'll do it together."
As they worked, Tom reached around her to get the dishcloth when she accidentally turned into his arms. He caught her from stumbling and their eyes met. Her heart skipped a beat. Tom backed away clumsily, releasing her arm.
“Uh, sorry. I wanted to wipe off the table. I sort of made a mess."
He quickly ran the cloth across the table. Angie stood frozen to the spot, staring at him. The electricity she'd felt between them kept sparking inside her.
Tom turned around, one hand full of bread crumbs, the other clinging to the dishclo
th, and looked at her with a puzzled expression. “Am I not doing this right?"
Feeling her face grow warm, she shoved loose wisps of hair behind her ears and quickly turned toward the sink. “No, you're doing fine.” What's the matter with me, she thought. Bud's only been gone a couple of months and you're feeling like a giddy young girl on her first date. Get hold of yourself. This man's a good friend and you need him. Don't push him away with your silliness.
Tom put the last plate into the dishwasher and closed the door. “Thanks, Angie, I really enjoyed the dinner. I'm going to get out of here and let you rest. You know how to reach me."
She started to protest but felt it best not to push her luck. “Glad you stayed. I'll talk with you tomorrow after I get Sandy back here. I hope she'll settle down and be her old self again."
He waved his hand. “Don't expect miracles. The woman has a lot to face."
“You're right,” she said, walking him to the door.
* * * *
On the way to his place, Tom found himself thinking not only about what Cliff had reported, but of Angie's reaction to their touch in the kitchen. Did he imagine it or did she too feel the electricity between them? Her stunned reaction told him something. But what? How should he interpret it? God only knows how badly he wanted her to feel the same as he did. But those were hopeful dreams. Proceed with caution, remember she's recently widowed and her emotions are very fragile.
He promised Cliff on the phone that he'd drive by the Conners’ place on his way home. The news he'd received from his right hand man disturbed him. Cliff seldom made a misjudgment on a case, and when he told him how concerned he felt over the Conners family, it bothered Tom. Even though Cliff had a man on Ken, he worried that somehow he might get past him. Would Ken really harm Conners’ wife and children? Tom shook his head. “God, that's a scary thought,” he mumbled.
When he turned the corner and headed toward the Conners’ house, his heart leaped into his throat. He'd swear Ken Weber's BMW, identical to Sandy's except for its color, a light green, had just pulled away from the Conners’ house. Tom came to a screeching halt, dashed up the sidewalk to the front entry, and pounded on the front door.
When he received no answer, he called out. “Mrs. Conners, this is the police. Open up."
He heard the faint padding of footsteps. Then the door opened only as far as the security chain allowed.
“Yes, what do you want?"
Autumn Conners had a dark shawl wrapped around her shoulders. The smell of rancid cooking oil, mixed with dirty diapers, drifted out the crack in the door, penetrating Tom's nostrils. He stepped to the side without losing sight of the woman. “Did Ken Weber just leave here?"
“No one has visited me.” With that, she shut the door and threw the deadbolt.
Tom walked with heavy steps back to his car. He felt the fatigue of the day taking over. He pulled away from the house and called Cliff on his cell phone. “I can't swear to it, but I think Ken Weber just paid a visit to Mrs. Conners. She's okay, but denied his visit."
“She's lying,” Cliff said. “My man just followed him there."
“Why would she lie?"
“Because she's got Ken over a barrel somehow. I think she knows something and is gonna make sure she's taken care of for the rest of her life. What she doesn't realize is that she's dealing with a madman. We'll have to keep a close watch on that family for the next couple of weeks, until we get the test results back from that sports coat. Let's hope we can get him behind bars before he does any more damage."
After they concluded their conversation, Tom felt the last drop of energy drain from his body. There had been few clues in Bud's murder, but with the Conners murder, evidence seemed to be falling into place. Something else nagged at the back of his mind, but he couldn't put his finger on it.
* * * *
Angie lay in bed in the darkened room, staring at the ceiling. She felt bewildered by her reaction to Tom's touch. The spark she thought had died with Bud, had come alive. But it's too soon, she thought. I've not even had time to realize I'm alone in the world. Bud's murderer hasn't been caught. And all the other things happening. Maybe I'm just vulnerable and miss a man's touch. No, that's not true, she thought. I've certainly got more sense than that.
She rolled over and covered her shoulder. What did Tom think of her response? He noticed something, that's for sure. She'd just stood there staring at him like some silly schoolgirl and he looked so alarmed. Poor guy. All he needs is another crazy woman to deal with. She flopped over on her back, pulling the sheet up around her chin.
Her thoughts went to Marty. Would Melinda press charges? Would the state prosecute her for shooting Melinda with the intent to kill? However, Melinda had attacked Marty and no telling what she intended to do if I hadn't intervened. Would Melinda claim I'd pulled a gun on her? Oh, dear, I could be in some serious trouble. But I couldn't let her hurt Marty anymore.
Even though Sandy ran to Melinda's side when she heard the shots, she may not have seen what happened. Did she think I shot Melinda? She knew I had the gun. Of course, in her state of mind at the moment, Sandy might not have comprehended the situation.
Dear Sandy. You've definitely been through hell these past few days. Before I pick you up in the morning, I'm calling the twins. They should be here. I know you won't agree, but this situation with Ken is boiling. You need your girls with you.
Angie drifted off to sleep, her dreams a jumble of facts and fiction.
* * *
Chapter Twenty-six
Ken pulled into his garage and glanced up at the rearview mirror. His mouth twitched when he saw a car slowly pass the house. “Don't get paranoid, you know they're watching you. Act normal,” he said aloud. He pushed the button to lower the garage door and went inside the house.
So, you paid a sympathy call on Mrs. Conners. She's in financial straits and Ryan's old Buick is on its last legs. With two babies, she needs a reliable car. “A new car,” she said. He slammed his fist against the wall. “I know this won't stop,” he yelled. “She'll bleed me dry. What will she want next? A designer wardrobe, which she damn well needs? Or better yet, the house next door to me."
He flopped into a chair and dropped his head into his hands. Then he gradually raised his head, a sly grin curling the corner of his lips. If she's in such financial straits, how'd she hire a lawyer? Maybe that original letter is right there in that damn filthy house. He jumped up and paced the floor. Think, Ken, think. A woman like that. Where would she hide a letter that she didn't want anyone to find? He'd sleep on it and think about it in the morning with a clear mind.
* * * *
Angie's spirits rose when she arrived at the hospital and found Sandy bright-eyed, dressed and waiting.
“I hope you feel as good as you look."
“The doctor tells me I'm not out of the woods and must control my stress. Fortunately, I didn't completely break down, but almost."
Angie followed the nurse pushing Sandy in the wheelchair toward the exit, when suddenly she stopped in her tracks. Coming from the opposite hallway was another chair being pushed by a volunteer. The first thing Angie noticed were those green eyes staring from beneath the bandaged head. Her arm in a sling, Melinda frowned when she spotted Angie. She motioned for the woman to turn the chair around and they headed back the way they'd come.
Angie hurried forward and got Sandy into the car. She wondered who would be picking Melinda up. She saw no signs of Marty. The only one in the waiting room was a man in shorts and a tank top, with a long braid.. More than likely Melinda's boyfriend.
In the car, she remained silent for a few moments, gnawing on her lower lip.
“What's on your mind, Angie?"
She smiled. “I forget you can read me like a book. I did something this morning and hope you'll approve."
“Oh, what's that?"
“I called the twins."
Sandy stiffened, then relaxed against the seat. “You did the right thing. I've thou
ght about the girls all morning. Thinking how I should let them know what's going on. After all, this is part of their lives."
“I didn't tell them any of the problems associated with Ken. I just told them you'd been under a lot of stress and were in the hospital overnight, but that you were fine and coming back to my place today."
“How did they respond?"
“They want to talk to you."
Sandy nodded. “I'll call them."
“You know they're welcome to come stay here if you want them with you."
“Thanks Angie. But I really think it best for the girls to stay with mother until this thing blows over."
Once at the house, Angie excused herself so Sandy could talk with the twins in private. “I'm going over to see Marty. I told her to take off until tomorrow morning. I think she needs to know I haven't deserted her."
“You're thoughtful and kind. No wonder everyone loves you."
Angie felt her face flush as she went out the kitchen door. She crossed the driveway and knocked on the cottage door. Marty greeted her with open arms. “Oh, Mrs. Nevers, I'm so glad to see you."
“Hello, Marty. I wanted to check on how things were going. Did the lawyer contact you?"
“Yes. But I'm scared. I don't want to go to prison."
“I'm sure you won't,” Angie said, waving a hand. “What did he say?"
“He thinks I might have a good chance of getting no more than probation since Melinda hit me. They took a picture at the jail and my lip showed up real puffy. I told him that wasn't the only time she'd done that. He's going to play it up with how many older people get abused by their children."
“Has he spoken to Melinda yet?"
“She wants the whole thing dropped. Doesn't like the idea of being dragged through the court system.” Marty shook her head and grimaced. “I called her at the hospital, but she said she had nothing to say to me and hung up."
Angie sat down on the couch and clasped her hands in front of her. “It might be just as well, Marty. I know this sounds cruel, but she's going to be nothing but trouble and heartache for you if she doesn't settle down."
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