“Okay, just tell me why you think my name’s floating around a freaking murder investigation!”
“Kathy had a mean streak. She was street savvy, smart, and trusted no one. I imagine she wanted leverage to hold over Richard’s head. She probably researched all she could find out about me while plotting my downfall. I bet you she discovered I used to work at Benton & Baxter and maybe went to the website or something. She must have recognized Richard and remembered about you, which in turn, made her feel confident, assuming it was a safety net she could use. You know, threaten to expose his dirty secret.”
“No one is safe around Richard.”
“No one was safe around Richard. Past tense, Nicole.”
“Oh, Sam! Is it true? He’s dead?”
Pulling into the empty parking lot as more snow fell from the dark skies, Sam parked then closed her eyes. “Yes.”
“Ding dong the dick is dead! I’ll…”
The phone died.
“Shit. Damn battery,” Sam muttered while tromping up the steps to the front door.
Once inside, she smiled. Resa’s sweet perfume hung heavy in the foyer. Setting her purse and keys on the reception desk, she checked the locks one more time then went upstairs.
Noticing the light shone under the guest bathroom door, Sam knocked. “Hey, girl. It’s me. Gotta do the same then I’ll meet you downstairs, okay?”
“Sure! Taking out my contacts. My eyes are on fire.”
“I bet. Hey, my phone’s dead. Will you text Mom and Suzy? Let them know you’re here and I’m charging my phone?”
“You bet.”
Reaching the master bath, Sam pulled the skull cap off then plugged her phone into the charger. The reflection staring back looked like a crazy woman teetering on the cliffs of insanity. “Now I look like a killer when no longer necessary! Figures. Get it together, girl! You saw the aftermath—talked to the detective. There’s no way Richard survived the explosion. He’s dead. It’s over. Breathe.”
After relieving her bladder, Sam went to the sink, splashing her face with warm water then slathering on some lotion to alleviate the dryness from being out in the cold. She stared at the inviting bed. Her body was exhausted but mind too keyed up to sleep. She knew Resa would pepper her with questions and they would end up watching the sun rise together.
“Coffee. Need coffee—with a shot of bourbon. Several.”
Plopping back on the commode, she pulled off her boots. She reached for the Glock yet stopped. The niggling annoyance from earlier suddenly hit her full force.
Scrambling to her feet, she turned on the cell. It had less than 10% power but was enough for what she needed to do. With a few clicks, she found the news video from earlier.
“Please, let me be wrong,” Sam whispered while a tear slid down her face. “Let it be there.”
She watched it twice.
She didn’t see Richard’s four-wheeler in the rubble. “Oh shit!”
“Outside smoking. What’s taking you so long?”
She almost cried out with relief at Resa’s text.
Yanking her boots back on, Sam opened the bottom drawer of the cabinet. Extracting another, smaller gun, she stuffed it inside the boot. “Just in case.”
Unplugging the phone, she grabbed the charger then headed downstairs, cursing the stupidity for allowing herself to believe the nightmare was over. She would feel better when Resa was safe inside the house.
When her foot touched the final stair, the lights flickered several times then went out. Sam’s heart thundered inside her chest. “It’s the storm. A transformer probably blew. Stop freaking out.”
Glancing out the window, her throat locked up.
The streetlight was still on.
A chill ran up her back from fear, and cool air coming from the conference room.
Instincts on fire, Sam pulled the Glock. “Resa?”
Crouching low, she leaned against the wall. Extracting the cell from her pocket, she clicked on the flashlight app, shining it toward the conference room.
The trap door was open.
She almost screamed.
Oh, God. Please let Resa be out on the deck.
“Sam?”
The sound of Resa’s voice made Sam jump to her feet. Taking the first step toward the room, her brain registered the fearful, muffled tone. She stopped in mid-stride when the familiar, terrifying aroma of sandalwood and leather tickled her nose.
No! No! No!
Richard stepped out of the shadows of the conference room, holding Resa’s body against his own with a knife to her neck. “Drop the gun and phone then come join us. If you don’t, I’m afraid the blood from this bitch will stain these pretty new floors. Ten seconds. Nine. Eight. Seven.”
Sam stared at Richard’s disheveled appearance. His clothes were wet, hair plastered to his face. She dropped her phone. It took everything she had to set the Glock on the floor.
“Six. Five.”
Richard pressed the tip of the knife into Resa’s neck. She let out a muffled yelp.
Sam’s heart pounded at the sound of her friend’s pain. Guided by the dim rays of the streetlight, she walked into conference room, stopping in the doorway.
“Let there be light.” Richard flicked a lighter, stretching his free arm, touching the flame to several candles situated on the conference room table.
Sam noticed streaks of red on her friend’s neck. The two exchanged a painful look, each sensing the fear in the other.
Every nerve on fire, mind fueled by rage, Sam set her jaw. “This is between us, Richard. Let her go.”
“Sometimes innocent bystanders get caught in the crossfire. If you don’t believe me, ask the Hales. Oh, wait—they’re dead and thus, unable to respond. The pole-hugging wife was a lot of things, none of them among the realm of innocence. I went a tad overboard disciplining her errant behavior. Can you believe she had the audacity to try and fight back? You should have seen her when she came at me, face all scrunched with anger. I made her face disappear.”
Resa whimpered.
Sam bit her cheek to keep from screaming.
“Come now, my little broken eagle, sit, and convince me why I should let the two of you live.”
Sam prayed Richard said the code word loud enough to be picked up by the watch. Swallowing hard, she sat in the chair closest to her, knowing death was only minutes away for one of them.
It won’t be me or Resa. As God is my witness, it won’t be me or Resa.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Wednesday, December 7, 2016
“WHY IN THE world is Judge Hornsby at Samantha’s?”
“Charmaine, please sit down. You’re going to worry yourself to death.”
Grimacing at Bradford, she ignored the request. Her gaze bounced between the TV and tablet. “I’m already dying, so if I go out because of concern over my child rather than cancer, yay for me.”
Rising from the edge of the bed, Bradford strode over to the small fridge, grabbing a bottle of water. “I’m not going to dignify those words with a comment. Here, at least keep yourself hydrated.”
Sighing in frustration, Charmaine accepted the water. “I’ll drink if you answer my question.”
“It’s not my…”
“Don’t you dare say it’s not your secret, Bradford,” Charmaine snapped. “I’m sick of that word! Look what’s happened because of secrets! Why is Judge Hornsby…oh, my God. He’s Kip’s father, isn’t he?”
Bradford’s gaze dropped to his hands. He didn’t answer.
Charmaine let out a string of expletives. She launched the water bottle across the room. Releasing some of her anger helped calm her nerves. “I’m glad Maria’s dead.”
“As are a lot of people.”
Charmaine narrowed her eyes. “Yes, I’m aware. Ugh, enough talk about the past. We need to deal with the now. Check the road situation again please.”
Bradford tapped a few keys on his phone, pulling up the I-Drive Arkansas app. “Highway 2
3 is still a solid sheet of ice. I’m not risking our lives on those curvy roads. Period.”
“Can’t we take 62 then cut over to 21? Go the long way?”
“I’m afraid not. There’s a multi-vehicle pileup on 62 near Berryville.”
Charmaine’s pacing increased. “I can’t believe we’re stuck here! Why did I let you talk me into…?”
“Stop it. Like me, Sam’s main concern was the safety of you and your family. The second she heard about Richard’s abrupt decision to leave the firm, she’s the one who called me, insisting I get everyone out of town. She sensed something was wrong. She was right.”
Tears welled-up in Charmaine’s eyes. “I should’ve taken care of him myself. I waited too long and look what happened? Other people are dead!”
Bradford pulled Charmaine into a tight embrace. “Don’t, honey. There’s no way any of us could’ve anticipated what happened tonight. Try looking at the bright side: Richard’s dead, and not by Samantha’s hands. At least she won’t be saddled with the baggage she killed him the rest of her life. Everyone’s safe now, which was the goal.”
“True. I just don’t understand why Kip and Kathy were at his house.”
Pulling back, Bradford motioned to the bed after handing her a tissue. “If you sit down and rest, I’ll tell you.”
Nodding once, Charmaine grabbed her phone from the nightstand. As she set the tablet down, she glanced at the screen then gasped. “Oh no.”
“What is it?”
She pointed to the blinking Breaking News! from Channel 7’s website. “Kip didn’t make it. God, let me call Sam first then tell me what the hell’s going on.”
“Sure. I need to call Nathanial too. The news will be hard for him. He planned on attempting some sort of relationship with Kip and his grandson, Grayson. Damn. Poor kid. He’s truly an innocent lamb yet will suffer the most.”
Wiping a tear from her chin, Charmaine called her daughter. It went straight to voicemail. Her chest tightened. She typed out a quick text then tried calling again.
She got the same result as before.
“Nathanial—it’s Bradford. Uh-huh. Yes. I’m so sorry. Are you…? Oh, I see. When was that?”
The simmering pangs of fear ignited in Charmaine’s chest. “Sam’s not answering.”
Bradford’s gut was on fire though he hid it well. “Would you please do us a favor? Charmaine’s concerned because she can’t get in touch with Samantha. Great! Thank you. You’re probably right but just in case.”
Rising to her feet, Charmaine asked, “Is he going over there to check on her?”
“Yes, honey. He’ll call as soon as he gets there. Sam’s probably on the phone with law enforcement or perhaps CPS in Memphis. I’m sure she’s worried about Grayson.”
“I’m worried about her.”
“No need to fret, baby. Her monster was slayed by the hands of another. Let me use the restroom then I’ll massage those tight muscles in your shoulder. Okay?”
Charmaine nodded.
Once inside the bathroom, Bradford typed out a text to his closest friend, Carl, who was still on the force. “You on duty tonight?”
Bradford flushed the toilet while waiting for a response.
“Yep. Need skates rather than tires. Ha ha.”
“Need a favor. 10-40 at the old Halstead place.”
“I’ll try. Buried up in accidents on 70.”
“It’s important, Carl.”
“Give me twenty and I’ll head that way.”
“Appreciate it.”
Turning on the faucet, Bradford said a silent prayer his gut instincts were wrong.
Charmaine grinned as Bradford stepped out of the restroom. “Resa sent a text. She’s at Sam’s and you’re right—her phone is charging. Thank God.”
Stretching out next to his woman on the bed, Bradford felt a rush of relief. “See? I told you. Now, let me at those sexy shoulders, fiancé.”
“My turn in the bathroom. Be right back.”
Waiting until she closed the door, Bradford sent another text to Carl. “Scratch last text. All is well. Stay safe on the roads.”
“You sure?”
“Yep.”
“10-4. Off to rescue another stranded motorist. No rest for the weary.”
Bradford almost called Nathanial yet decided against it. The man probably needed some human interaction after losing his wife.
NATHANIAL STARED AT the living room walls, a glass of bourbon in his hand, chest heavy with regret. His gaze darted from one piece of memorabilia to another. Taking a deep breath, he inhaled the faint traces of Clara’s favorite perfume, White Shoulders, before the scent molecules disappeared forever.
“I’m so sorry, my love. If I could go back in time, I would get things right. You were a wonderful wife, loving mother, pillar of strength and forgiveness. I never deserved to have you in my life, but as God is my witness, I’m beyond grateful you were.”
Throwing back the remainder of the drink, ignoring the burn as the amber liquid made its way down his throat, he rose from the couch. With slow, wobbly steps, he headed to the bedroom to retrieve Clara’s personal papers from the desk.
Though he dreaded the task of making funeral arrangements, he had no choice. There would be no help from Gregory. He made it clear in the emergency room he wouldn’t attend Clara’s services, only the viewing, and was adamant he wanted to do so alone.
Stepping inside the room, he flicked on the light. His heart clenched. The paramedics knocked several of Clara’s favorite knickknacks off the bedside table while working on her before loading her unresponsive body onto the stretcher.
Tears streamed down his face. Bending down, he picked up the shattered remnants of the porcelain angel he bought his new bride on their honeymoon.
“Oh, Clara. What am I going to do without you? It should’ve been me, not you.”
A buzzing noise from the closet made him jump. Rising to his feet, he followed the sound. On the floor by the door, he found his cell, remembering he set it there while dressing in warm clothes earlier.
He missed the call from Gregory, one of several.
Hitting redial, he said a silent prayer his son had forgiven him or had a change of heart about attending his mother’s funeral.
“Let me guess—you’re drunk and couldn’t find the phone.”
Gregory’s words were posed as a statement of truth rather than a question.
Nathanial took a deep breath, unwilling to rise to the baited comment. “Sorry I missed your call, son.”
“Calls,” Gregory corrected.
Heading back to the bar in the living room, Nathanial sighed. “Again, I’m sorry. I was going through some of your mother’s things and I...”
“Stop. I didn’t call to listen to you wallow in self-pity. Mom’s dead because you killed her, so deal with it.”
Stiffening at his son’s angry tone, knowing he was working a case and mourning the loss of his mother, Nathanial fixed another drink. “Guess I deserved the dig.”
Gregory snorted. “Oh, you deserve much more, but nothing I say or do will be worse than what you did to yourself.”
Taking a long drink, Nathanial closed his eyes. “I can’t argue with you on that point.”
“We need to discuss your dirty secret.”
Buzzed from the bourbon, Nathanial couldn’t hide the irritation from his voice. “Ah, so the call is to rake me over the coals again?”
“No. Though it goes against everything I believe in and stand for, it’s to discuss this case with you.”
“Oh?”
“Are you aware the unwanted fruit of your loins bit the big one?”
The hateful words made Nathanial cringe. “Yes.”
There was a long pause before Gregory asked, “Do you intend on doing something about the kid in Memphis?”
“Why do you ask or care?”
“Are you serious? I care because I’m thinking about my children. My mother. If you let this cluster-fuck you star
ted years ago become public knowledge, your reputation will be shredded. I don’t give a flying fuck about yours, but I do about those I love. I won’t have my mother’s memory, or the lives of my children, be tarnished by your sins. I won’t.”
Nathanial’s anger flared. Rather than responding, he took another swig.
“After wrapping up a few things, I’ll call the investigation closed. The extortion plot between the Hales and Benton didn’t involve you, thank God. It’s all about some dead stripper Benton allegedly assaulted while in college who used to dance at the club owned by your daughter-in-law. Apparently, she saw an opportunity for some quick cash and ran with it. Lucky you.”
“Gregory, enough. I’m tired of listening to your nasty jabs. If you wish to continue the conversation, please do so with a little respect. Despite your feelings toward me, I am your father.”
“And Kip’s. Don’t forget that, father,” Gregory spat out. “There are no ties to you in this disaster, so leave it that way. The kid doesn’t know you and believe me, he doesn’t need to, so please, if you’re entertaining the idea of connecting with him, don’t.”
Unable to hold it in any longer, Nathanial exploded. “How dare you tell me what to do with my life, Gregory. I will not tolerate such…”
“You’ll tolerate it or you and your partner in crime will face some major consequences.”
“Is that a threat?”
“No, it’s a promise. I may no longer possess the evidence, but in this day and time, all it takes is one little whisper from an unnamed source to spark a fire.”
Stunned, Nathanial collapsed onto the couch. “I can’t believe you would do such a vile thing.”
“Yeah, well, you shouldn’t be. I learned from the best.”
The line went dead. Nathanial stared at the phone, shocked at his son’s words and the venomous way he spoke.
He downed the rest of the bourbon then threw the glass across the room at the fireplace. It shattered into thousands of glittering pieces. “Just like my fucking heart.”
The phone buzzed in his hand. Closing his eyes, unsure how much more sorrow and anger his heart could take, he answered. “Yes?”
Fatal Agreements Page 33