THIRTEEN
Don’t wait too long. Rich’s words haunted Nicole the rest of the day. She’d pick up the phone and then set it down, fear winning the war against conscience. The sky had darkened to a mottled purple by the time Nicole worked up the courage to put the call through.
She shifted from one foot to the other as the phone rang. When she handed Rich the pieced-together letter, would he be compelled to arrest her for some sort of obstruction? And what had he thought about her continued meddling in the case by showing up at the Ellings’ house? Surely, he must have deduced that she’d found the yearbook. His questions of Hannah betrayed that he’d laid hands on a copy, as well.
“This is Chief Hendricks.” His mellow bass fell easy on her ears.
“Can you stop over?” Her voice resonated sorrow and resolve.
“I’m just leaving the office. I’ll be right there.”
Rich’s SUV pulled up to the nonexistent curb at the front of the Keller home a few minutes later. Nicole waited on the sidewalk, holding the bag with the letter inside. She motioned for him to stay inside his vehicle then climbed in the passenger side of his unit.
“Might as well get it over with. Here.” Nicole handed him the bag.
She twisted a strand of hair around a finger, while he studied the pieced-together scraps of paper.
“Where did you get this?” His gaze skewered her.
She rubbed sweaty palms against jean-clad legs. “Can we drive while we talk?”
His stare remained hard on her for several seconds, then he put the vehicle in gear and sent it up the road. Nicole’s heart stuttered. The timbre of his voice and the twitch of a muscle in his jaw betrayed banked anger. They headed out of town.
“Now you need to tell me everything you know,” he pronounced.
Anybody who didn’t come clean after those words spoken in that tone of voice needed their head examined.
A desperate little laugh left Nicole’s lips. “I don’t know much of anything, but terrible suspicions keep racing through my head. Sometimes I think I might go nuts if I don’t get real answers soon.”
“I’m with you on getting answers.”
Rich headed the vehicle out of town onto township roads. Gravel crunched beneath the tires as farmsteads flowed past. His silence was expectant.
Nicole exhaled a long breath. “I found the letter yesterday in the missing garbage bag. The bag was stuffed in the backseat of my car. There’s no indication who wrote the letter or who it was meant for. If the note didn’t belong to my grandmother, I assume it came into her hands somehow, and I suspect she tried to destroy it to protect either the author or the recipient or both.”
Nicole didn’t say that her grandfather was the likely candidate as recipient, but she didn’t have to mention the obvious. The knowledge hung heavily between them.
Rich sent her a narrow-eyed glance. “You should have let the professionals handle the evidence.”
“I know, but I didn’t. You can arrest me if you want, but I assure you I wore gloves, and I kept the garbage bag and all its contents. You’re welcome to the whole mess.” She spread her hands. “Who put the garbage bag in my car is a mystery, too.”
“Someone wanted the letter found.”
“But who would have something to gain from exposing the evidence? Not my grandmother, and certainly not any other person who might have been criminally involved in whatever happened to that baby.”
“Someone out there knows what happened and wants the guilty party punished,” Rich said, “but they don’t care to come forward.”
“They also must have been watching our house that night—maybe other nights, too.” Nicole shivered. Could this watcher be dangerous? Dangerous enough to attack her grandmother? Maybe the person was mentally unbalanced. Fern Elling’s feral gaze appeared in her mind’s eye. “Fern’s a good half a bubble off center, and not in a benign way like Hannah. She’d have powerful motive to want her son’s killer caught, but I can’t understand why she wouldn’t simply come forward with whatever she knows.”
“Fear?”
“Of who? Her husband’s a scary guy, but he’s got the same reason to expose the killer as she does.”
Rich let out a low hum. “Melody was only a toddler when the kidnapping occurred, and Mason wasn’t even a glimmer in her eye. Which leaves—”
“Hannah.” Nicole finished his sentence with a laugh. “The idea of that sweet, persecuted little dumpling being dangerous is…well, ludicrous. Unless…”
“Spit it out. Full honesty, remember?”
“My grandmother always warned me about her. I never understood why until I found that yearbook photo of her and Grandpa. But maybe the answer goes beyond jealousy of an old flame. Maybe the warning has substance.”
“You mean she’s some sort of sociopath?”
“Or maybe Samuel is my grandfather’s love child with her.” Nicole gulped a shaky breath. “There, I said it.”
Rich shook his head. “I’ve considered that possibility, too, but if so, why would Simon and Fern claim the baby as their own? The Ellings are set on having a male namesake of direct descent. They don’t even believe Mason qualifies.”
Nicole smacked her palms together. “I can’t get around that question, either, but I’d like to donate a DNA sample anyway. I need to know if the child I found was my uncle.”
“All right.”
“Thank you.”
Her chest tightened. What if the test revealed a familial relationship? How would she cope with losing an uncle she never had the chance to meet—possibly at the hands of her grandfather, the child’s father? Her stubborn, blind-faith resistance to that idea eroded with each new discovery.
Rich brought the vehicle to a halt at the stop sign before a state highway leading back toward the lights of Ellington. On the other side of the road, pole lamps illuminated a half-full parking lot around a supper club. A sports car peeled out of the driveway onto the tarmac, burning rubber toward town.
Hissing a breath, Rich switched on his bubbles. “Tighten your seat belt. You’re in for a ride. That’s Mason Elling’s car.”
Nicole’s back pressed into the seat as Rich hit the gas and flipped on the siren. The car ahead of them sped up, and Rich followed suit.
“Taylor Mead better not be in there with him,” Rich growled.
“Who?”
“Dr. Mead’s daughter. She’s been seeing Mason.”
“Good girl fascinated with bad boy?”
“You got it.”
Nicole gripped the sides of the bucket seat, while Rich got on the radio and called all available units, sheriff and highway patrol included, to intercept the speeding sports car. A mile sped beneath their tires, then two, and then the city sign whipped past in a blur.
Ahead, a black-and-white sat sideways across the road, lights flashing. The sports car didn’t slow down. It jumped the curb onto a grassy verge outside a tire shop, whipped around the blockade and reentered the street. Rich didn’t slow down, either. Nicole’s teeth snapped together as they hopped the curb. He was already giving commands on the radio for a fresh blockade that would funnel Mason’s car onto a dug-up street. The terrain would force the driver to put on the brakes.
“We don’t want a high-speed chase all over town,” Rich spoke into his mic. “I need units coming at him from both side streets and the alleys so he can’t turn off. I’ll be on his tail. When he reaches the dirt pile the infrastructure crew dug out of that road today, he’ll have to stop. A parking-lot fence on one side of the road and a tall hedge on the other should keep him from pulling a repeat of his earlier dodge stunt. And there’s an eight-foot pit ahead of him beyond the dirt mound. Watch for him to make a break for it on foot. Mason’s not going to give up easily.”
He lowered his mic, and Nicole met his glance.
“You okay?” he asked. “I wish I could let you out, but I can’t stop.”
“Go for it. This fool needs to be caught before he hurts someo
ne.”
Rich’s teeth flashed white in the dimness. “You’re the woman of my dreams!”
A warm flush spread across Nicole’s skin. Rich was only using an expression, but she liked the sound of those words way too much. She should be dismayed, but things were happening too fast for her to worry about her giddy reaction now. They turned onto a rough and rutted road. The sports car slowed. Marginally. Then it surged ahead, bouncing and leaping like a spooked deer in hunting season. Sirens wailed. Units converged. The dirt pile loomed in front of them, a good four feet of solid blockade. A cracked slab of dislodged concrete leaned against the mound.
Mason’s car sped up, and Nicole’s heart seized in her chest. The young man wasn’t going to—
“Don’t do it, kid!”
Rich’s cry merged with Nicole’s scream. The sports car shot up the unintended ramp and went airborne. For a breathless second it soared. Then it plummeted, front end first, and disappeared. The screech of tortured metal and crash of bursting glass rent the air above the peal of sirens.
Rich skidded his unit to a halt. They gaped at each other.
“Stay here.”
Nicole didn’t need Rich’s terse command. Whatever lay beyond that dirt pile, she didn’t want to see.
“I’m alive. I can’t believe I’m alive.” Taylor Mead kept repeating those words over and over as she clung to Rich’s hand. Light from the open rear of the nearby ambulance spilled over them.
The young woman lay on a gurney with her head and neck immobilized, as well as both her legs, which were clearly broken. A few glass cuts marred her arms and face. Around them, emergency workers went about their tasks. EMTs were assessing Mason Elling on another gurney. He wasn’t doing as well as Taylor. Massive head injuries. He hadn’t been wearing his seat belt when his car flipped and landed in the pit. They’d have to get a crane to fish out the wreckage.
Rich looked up to see Nicole hovering a few feet away, hugging herself and staring around. He’d take her home as soon as the ambulance left with Mason and Taylor.
The young woman tugged on his hand. “You were right about him. Mason, I mean. I thought I could help him…save him.” Tears dripped out the edges of her eyes.
Nicole stepped up and dabbed at the wetness with a tissue she pulled from her pocket. She met Rich’s approving gaze, colored and looked away. This woman was a compassionate treasure.
“Shhh,” Rich told Taylor. “You don’t have to talk now.”
“But I do. You need to know. He was drunk, raving about the blankety-blank pigs always trying to arrest him. I kept begging him to stop, but he yelled at me that he couldn’t let you get your hands on his car. He said, ‘I’m not going to take the rap for them.’ But I kept begging, and then he punched me in the face.”
Rich’s spine stiffened. Was the blood beneath her nose and the puffiness under her left eye from Mason, not the accident? What was Mason’s car hiding? The vehicle was going to get the fine-tooth comb. And if Mason wasn’t so injured already, Rich would be hard put not to return the treatment he’d given this young woman.
“Oh, my baby!” The shrill cry drew their attention.
Sharla hurried toward them. Rich stepped aside, and the doctor leaned over her daughter, touching her face and weeping. Then she whirled on him.
“What were you thinking? Conducting a high-speed chase in town and with my daughter in the car!”
Nicole stepped back from the gurney. “Rich did all he could to stop the vehicle safely.”
Sharla glared at Nicole. “What do you know about it? Do you have a child?”
Nicole jerked as if slapped. Rich went to her.
“I’m going to be okay, Mom,” Taylor inserted. “It’s my own fault I was in the car with a nutcase.”
“Oh, sweetheart, I just…”
The words faded as Rich took Nicole’s arm and drew her away from mother and daughter.
“Typical parental reaction,” Rich said.
“I know.” The words were terse, weighted with sadness.
The situation was awful, but something about what Sharla said to Nicole had turned her face pasty pale.
“Let me drive you home.”
“Please.” Nicole nodded then she gasped.
Rich followed her gaze. The EMTs had stopped working over the inert form of Mason Elling. One shook her head, the other pulled a sheet over the young man’s face. Rich groaned. The Ellings…the townsfolk…were about to get slammed with a fresh shock.
He and Nicole climbed into his SUV, and he gazed at her stricken profile, but held his peace.
Nicole turned her head toward him. “A situation like this gives me a rare moment of gratitude that Glen and I didn’t have children.”
“You wanted kids?”
“Passionately!”
As Rich wove slowly through the streets toward her grandmother’s house, she told him about finding out that Glen couldn’t be a father, his bitterness and distraction, her hope to adopt and then his death.
“I’m honored you told me,” Rich said. “If my opinion counts, you’d make a great mom.”
She brushed a hand under her eye. “But will I ever get the chance to be one? My empty arms make finding that baby under the rose garden so much harder to take. I can’t imagine cutting off the life of an infant. Not treasuring a child as a precious gift.”
Rich hummed. “You and I feel the same way about a lot of things—kids, too.”
“You’ve raised your family.”
He shook his head. “Karen and I wanted more, but after Katrina was born we found out Karen couldn’t get pregnant again. Katrina became the center of our world, sometimes to her chagrin.”
Nicole let out a small laugh. “I can’t imagine you’d want to start that cycle over again, though. You deserve another chance at happiness with a companion who doesn’t expect you to change diapers.”
Rich’s heart tripped over itself. Was she probing to see if he’d be willing to have another family? Was fatherhood one of her criteria for a new man in her life? Rich mentally slapped himself. Why hadn’t he picked up on the issue of children sooner? Of course, she’d assumed he didn’t care to go the daddy route again. She’d assumed wrong.
“To tell you the truth, populating my lonely home with rugrats would suit me to a T.”
He pulled up outside the Keller house, and she stared at him with a grip on the door handle. “You’re kidding. Right?”
Rich crossed his heart and pointed Heavenward.
“I thought…well, it seemed obvious.” She spluttered a laugh. “And what would your daughter think of such a thing?”
Rich grinned. “I’d have a hard time keeping her away at college if she had a baby brother or sister to play with at home.”
“Oh, dear. Oh, my. I think…I can’t…” Nicole sounded like someone had body-slammed the air out of her lungs. “I’d better go. Thanks for the ride.” She burst out of the vehicle, scurried up to the house and disappeared inside without a backward glance.
Rich gaped, stunned. He’d expected to hit a home run with her in the kid department. Instead, she ran like a scalded cat. Women! He shook his head and turned his unit toward the Elling home. Breaking the news about Mason to the town’s leading family should distract him big-time from a certain dark-haired female with a heart-shaped face and big brown eyes.
Nicole shut the door behind her and leaned against the panel, eyes closed.
Rich wanted children. He wanted children. He wanted children.
The realization streamed through Nicole’s heart in a nonstop paean. Her head wanted to put the brakes on. Just because Rich welcomed children didn’t eliminate the obstacle that he was a cop. Yes, a cop who wanted children! A cop who made her pulse skip with one sidelong look. And when he smiled? Oh, baby! And that brought her back to children. She could feel that little one snuggled in her arms, so sweet, so soft. And that wonderful newborn smell.
Stop it! Just stop!
Nicole opened her eyes and marc
hed into the living room, where she dropped her purse onto the couch, and then proceeded to the kitchen. She needed a glass of warm milk and a night of halfway decent sleep. Like that was going to happen after this evening’s horror. She popped a mug of milk into the microwave and slumped with her back against the edge of the counter. Her heart didn’t have a lick of sense where Rich was concerned, but after a little much-needed rest, her head would prevail. She’d make sure of that.
The next day found Rich in the office early, despite his late hours the evening before. As he’d suspected, his duty call on the Ellings had been wrenching and wretched. Melody fell apart and wailed like he’d never heard in his life, and she seemed to blame Simon for Mason’s death, hurling terrible words at her father. Fern wept silently and hugged herself. Hannah lurked in the background, chin up, gaze sad, as if resigned to continuous disaster. Predictably, Simon raved against the police department and threatened Rich’s job, which was what brought him bright and early to the office, fielding calls from public officials, concerned citizens and reporters.
Simon might be interested to know that, except for a few old Elling cronies, public opinion supported the police department. This community knew Mason was an accident waiting to happen. Folks were relieved the wild child didn’t take someone else with him. The young man tried though. He surely did. But Dr. Sharla had already been on the phone to Rich this morning, apologizing for last night’s outburst. Taylor was going to be fine. With a pair of broken legs to recover from, she wouldn’t be heading off to college in the fall as planned, but her recovery should be complete in time. And maybe she’d gained some hard-won wisdom about relationships. That just left the rose garden baby case, the thefts, the attack on Jan Keller, and the arson on his department’s overflowing plate.
Rich brought up his e-mail and spotted a message from the MBCA tech in St. Paul. The subject line said DNA results.
“Hallelujah,” Rich muttered under his breath and clicked on the message. He read the comparison from the hairbrush and the infant’s bone marrow and let out a low whistle.
Jill Elizabeth Nelson Page 14