The Witness Series Bundle

by Rebecca Forster

  He reached in his own pocket, pulled out a couple of bills and put them in the little black folder the bartender had left. Taking a deep breath, Josie reached for her phone. She dialed Hannah once more. Once again the phone rang and rang.

  "I've got to go home, Archer."

  "She's still not answering?" Josie shook her head.

  "Don't worry about it, babe. Her mom will be home soon enough. If there's something wrong, she'll call. She's not that stupid."

  Josie got up. Archer did the same. Josie was half way to the door when Archer called to her. She looked back. He reached to the floor and ambled over to her.

  "I've got a present. Linda Rayburn left it."

  Archer lifted her hand, put something inside and closed her fingers over it. When Josie opened it she found a box of matches that had come from Linda Rayburn's purse; matches that stood in when her fancy silver lighter couldn't manage a flame.

  "Coffee Haus," Archer said.

  "She stops there sometimes," Josie said wearily, twisting the box between her fingers with little interest.

  "It's not exactly around the corner from Malibu so either she's been up that way to see her husband or. . ." Archer hesitated.

  "Or?"

  "Or, Linda Rayburn had them in that purse all this time. The cops searched the house, but I'll bet they didn't search the people who lived in the house."

  Josie's hands closed over the matches.

  "You'll check it out?"

  "First thing in the morning, babe." Archer put his arm over her shoulder and steered her out the door. "I'll swing down Malibu way while I'm at it. Just a little drive by to make sure Hannah is doing okay?"

  "Thanks, Archer. Want to come home with me?"

  He shook his head. "Not tonight. You're tired. Get some rest."

  Josie kissed him. Her arms went around his waist. He felt good but he was right. She needed to be alone. There was a lot to think about. Flipping up the collar of her jacket she walked home.

  Josie lay down on the couch with the phone in one hand, her other buried in Max's fur. Her eyes were on the picture window even though she couldn't see the ocean. Not meaning to sleep without talking to Hannah, sure that Linda's accusations and protestations would keep her awake all night, Josie somehow drifted off. She dreamed of dead children and childless women.

  CHAPTER 29

  Hannah sat on her little stool in the sand. She had a joint but it was untouched. She had spent the night pacing the beach, the house, her room, measuring off space to pass the time until her mother came home. Josie was gone. Hannah had left a message and Josie would call. She was sure of that. Once Hannah thought she heard the phone ringing and she ran fast into the house, but it must have been her imagination. No one was on the line. She went back to the beach, and her stool, and the cold, wet night until it got too cold, and too wet. Finally she went inside, wishing she wasn't alone – until her wish came true.

  Kip had come in so quietly, so unexpectedly that Hannah almost died of fright. It had been days since she'd seen him and nothing had changed: not his long face, his thinning brown hair, his white shirt and beige coat, his khaki slacks. He looked the same yet there was something different. Kip was looking right at her. He actually saw her. He had never done that before.

  "Where's your mother?"

  Hannah shook her head. She tried to answer and couldn't. The second time she managed a whisper.

  "I don't know."

  Kip didn't move. He didn't seem to be breathing but his eyes trailed over Hannah. He took in the twists and turns of her hair, the slope of her cheekbones, her lips, the cut of her t-shirt, the cleft of her breasts. Hannah's skin jumped with the prickle of nerves. Her heart beat faster even though she breathed more slowly. Maybe everything hadn't ended with Fritz's death. Maybe. . .

  Kip took a step. He was leaving. No. He changed his mind. Hannah could see the vent on his coat, the flash of a heel on his shoe. She could feel him thinking. His hatred seeped through the wall. His heel was raised as if he might go forward, but then again he might fall back. She prayed for him to disappear. Instead Kip Rayburn walked right into her room. She cringed on her stool. One more step. He was standing over her, so close she could smell him. The smell of fear was on him. Hannah knew it well.

  "You are a stupid little bitch. Everything would have been fine without you. Everything." Kip lowered himself, hunkering down so he could look straight at her. "The mere fact that you exist is abhorrent to me. What you did to my father turns my stomach."

  "I didn't–" Hannah said.

  "You didn't what? Hit him? Push him? Seduce him? Make him so much less than he was? Well," he sighed, "I think you did. But what's really sad is that, in the end, it's all my fault. I brought you into this house. I knew he was weak, and I brought you here to tempt him. You and me, we're guilty as sin. But he was my father, Hannah. Mine. And you took him away from me when he didn't really want you." Kip pointed a finger at her. His entire body vibrated with his desire to hurt her. "In fact, no one has ever wanted you, have they?"

  "My mother did. My mother does," Hannah whispered.

  "Really?" Kip stood up and looked around at the room. "Then where is your mother? She's not here. If she wanted you so much then why isn't she here?"

  Hannah shook her head. Her lips moved with the counting. But Kip had had enough. He reached out and clamped his hands on the side of her head to stop her. He pulled her close, half off her little stool.

  "Stop it. Stop it or I'll. . . ."

  Just when Hannah thought he would squeeze hard enough to crush her skull they heard sounds. A door closing. Footsteps. They were paralyzed, linked together in their private little power struggle only to be suddenly reminded there was another world. Slowly Kip released her. He was pale, shaking as if surprised to find he could be so vicious, yet not really surprised at all. It ran in the family.

  "Kip?"

  Linda Rayburn stood framed in the doorway looking at everything. Hannah. Her legs pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped around them, trembling as if she was chilled to the bone. Against the wall was Kip, his arms hanging slack by his side, his expression melting with his anger and grief and, above all, hatred.

  No one spoke. Finally, Kip threw himself toward the door and pushed past his wife. Panicked, Linda screamed at Hannah.

  "What have you done? What?"

  "Mom, I–" Hannah said, but Linda didn't wait for an answer. She darted after her husband.

  "Kip, wait. Wait." She caught up with him in the dining room, unable to make him stop until she sprinted ahead.

  "Get out of my way, Linda. It's all over. My life is over. Everything is over. And it's her fault. I don't want to look at her. I don't want her in my house."

  "What about me? Do you want me? Isn't that why you came? To get me? I can make it better. I always have. I always will." Linda hustled in front of him, her hands out, touching his chest, his shoulders.

  "Just get out of my way," he slapped at her hands but she persisted.

  "No, answer me. Kip for once in your life say what you want. What do you want?"

  Kip grabbed her hands and shook them.

  "I want people to stop talking about us. I'm sick of it. I can't go anywhere. People ask me if my father really did those things to me. At the club they make jokes about the women and girls and my father. They look at me and wonder if I ever did what he did. The governor called. He is withdrawing the nomination. Can you change that?"

  "Yes. Yes. I promise. I'll talk to him. We'll figure something out. It will be all right," Linda insisted, frantic to calm him. It was an impossible task.

  "Don't be stupid. Nothing will be all right. Not until she is gone." He whipped his head around to glare at Hannah. She had followed cautiously, hugging the walls, the furniture, watching to see where the danger was coming from. But Kip's eyes were blurred. He saw nothing, and he could do nothing. He dropped his head and shook it. "Everything was fine when it was just
him and me. No one knew. I could take anything if nobody knew."

  Linda pulled him to her. When he resisted, she moved into him, forcing herself on him, angry and determined to stop the hemorrhaging emotions that would kill reason.

  "I know. I do know. I swear. I've been there. But I can make it right."

  She soothed him with the truth. It was an awful, ugly truth that weakness was better stomached in private, behind the doors, in the dark. Fritz knew that. Kip knew that and, most of all, Linda knew. The weak were bound together. Maybe that was why Fritz and Kip and Linda had coexisted as easily as they had. Maybe that was why Hannah never found her place in the Rayburn mix. Her weakness was open. It didn't shape her heart and soul; it only touched the delicate tissues of the mind.

  "Mom?"

  Instinctively Linda pulled Kip closer as if to protect him from her daughter. Kip twisted out of her grasp and stepped behind his wife. He ran a hand through his hair. His plain face was mottled with the color of emotions long held private.

  "Leave him alone." Linda closed in on Hannah and lowered her voice. "Haven't you done enough?"

  Hannah's eyes flicked to Kip and back to her mother. Her hand reached out. She touched Linda's arm. Once, twice, three times and Linda slapped her away.

  "Mom, please. I didn't do anything. He came here. He scared me. I thought it was going to be like Fritz."

  "Stop it." Linda grabbed Hannah's arm and railroaded her back into her room. She whipped Hannah against the wall, out of Kip's sight. "It's not going to be like that. Don't even think it. Kip's not like that, but don't push him, that's all I'm saying."

  "But. . ." Hannah grappled to get a hold on her mother. Linda gathered Hannah's hands together and held them tight.

  "I'm telling you to trust me. I've got to take care of Kip so I can take care of us – of you."

  "No, I'm not going to do it anymore. I'm not going to take care of her," Kip screamed.

  Linda let go of Hannah's hands. Kip wasn't finished with them.

  "Kip, calm down. We'll work this out."

  "You work it out. You take care of it." Kip turned to leave. "But not with my money. Not in my house. Not for that little bitch."

  "Christ," Linda muttered, watching his back as he stormed away. "Kip, wait. I'm coming with you."

  "Mom!" Hannah screamed, choking back her sobs. "Don't leave me. Please, Mom. Don't leave. Don't."

  Linda bared her teeth and her eyes flashed as she turned on her daughter. Everything was walking out that door, and she'd be damned if she'd let it go without a fight.

  "We need him you little bitch," Linda hissed, turning again to rush after her husband.

  It was then Hannah changed the trajectory of the night. With a scream she flew past her mother and lunged at Kip Rayburn. She was crazed with the fear of being left alone, out of her mind with the thought that her mother – her mother who she loved beyond reason, who she would do anything for and had done anything for – would leave her for this person.

  "You can't take her away. She's supposed to be here. I'm not supposed to be alone," Hannah screamed.

  Tripping on the slick floor, Hannah's knees hit hard but she was close enough to take hold of Kip's legs. She grappled. She pulled hard. Kip fell forward, smashing his shoulder against the wall. Fritz's black and red canvas shivered above as he steadied himself. Hannah grunted, crawling up his leg, snatching at his clothes and screaming, but he was quick. One leg was free. Kip kicked hard catching the side of Hannah's head. She reeled back and rolled into the opposite wall. Linda screamed. Hannah's arm flew across her brow, her other hand went to her lips to stifle the cry. She would not cry. Never again. Never in front of him.

  "Kip stop!" Linda joined the fray, yelling again and again.

  Hannah heard him coming. She heard Linda's high heels click on the floor and Kip's grunts as he struggled with his wife. Then it was over. Only the sound of breathing could be heard in the big, high-ceilinged house. Hannah felt Kip standing over her. Her eyes flew open. She would not close them. She would watch whatever was coming. This time Hannah Sheraton was determined to watch it happen.

  But Kip Rayburn did nothing. He just stood there, his fists balled as he looked at her.

  Slowly Hannah struggled to stand up. Kip stepped back. She leaned against the table, pained to see that Linda was waiting to see what would happen, and who would win. Kip stepped back again and again until he was at the door. Hannah matched him. Her head hurt. She put out a hand to steady herself. She took one step forward, and then another. Her lips moved with counting.

  "Two," she whispered. "Three. Four. . ."

  "You're a lunatic," Kip said coldly.

  Hannah stopped moving, counting, thinking. Linda was immobile even when Kip walked past her, heading out the door to his car. Mother and daughter looked at one another: One pleading for help, the other steeling herself with determination. Linda rushed to Hannah and took her by the shoulders. She shook her hard.

  "Don't you call anyone; don't you answer the phone. They'll take you away if you do. I swear they will. They'll take you away Hannah. Do you understand? Don't do anything until I get back. I'll fix it, if you don't screw it up now."

  Those were the last words Linda Rayburn spoke before she ran after her husband. Hannah stumbled after her mother, stopping before she reached the thorn gate. She heard two car doors slam and the squeal of tires on the drive. In the ensuing silence, for just a moment, Hannah Sheraton crumpled onto the tiled patio. Her only company was a tortured woman of bronze forever standing alone in the still pond waters of Fritz Rayburn's home.

  ***

  Hannah dressed fast. A coat. A hat. A scarf. She looked at the phone once more, wanting to call Josie.

  Don't talk to anyone.

  Don't screw up.

  They'll take you away.

  Hannah buttoned her coat as she ran through the house and opened the door to the outside. The Volkswagen was there, still booted. The old Mercedes was in the garage. Hannah ran for the kitchen and rummaged through the drawer where they kept extra keys. Nothing. She pulled the drawer further out to search in the back but she pulled too far and the drawer fell with a clatter to the floor.

  Jumping back, Hannah cursed and ignored the mess. If the key to the Mercedes was there she didn't have time to look. She needed to figure this out and there was only one place she could go.

  Seconds later Hannah was running through the house, past Fritz's paintings, out the front door, and past the statue. She burst out of the thorn gate and didn't bother to close it. Hannah ran all the way to the highway. The sound of the ocean drove her on. The sound of cars pulled her forward. Someone would stop for her. They had to. She would make them. Someone needed to get her where she was going before she did something she shouldn't do.

  ***

  Linda Rayburn stood naked at the long windows that overlooked the grounds of the Palisades house. One arm was crossed under her heavy breasts, the other was crooked, a cigarette held between her fingers. Thoughtlessly she brought the cigarette to her lips, pulled the smoke deep into her lungs, and held it there before letting it seep out through her lips.

  Behind her Kip slept in the big bed, curled like a child into a tight ball, one hand under his cheek, exhausted from his meltdown. In front of her, Linda could see the west wing of the house. The charred wood had been removed, new wood rose in its place, framing the room just as it had been before the fire. The yellow crime scene streamers were long gone. The little stone boy peed into the fountain. The gardens were manicured. The stars twinkled. The Palisades slept and Linda Rayburn wanted to lay her head down on her pillow and do the same, but there were too many things to think about.

  Hannah. Number one. Always Hannah. That had been an ugly scene. Kip had been wrong to kick her, Linda wrong to leave her, but what was done was done. Linda should feel guilty for following Kip, but she didn't. A genetic flaw. Her perpetual failing. She wouldn't apologize for it even to herself
. You worked with what you had, you did what you could, and you made choices based on need. Kip needed Linda more than Hannah did, and Linda needed Kip. Hannah was strong and always had been. She would survive the night. Linda wasn't sure Kip would have if he'd been left alone.

  Josie. She was in the mental mix. Funny how, in the dark, Linda could see so clearly. Her path had crossed Josie's so long ago and only for a short time. Yet it was as if Josie had been with her every damn day of her life since college, looking over her shoulder, passing judgment. She put her back against the wall and watched the cigarette smoke wend its way toward the ceiling. She admitted it was all in her mind – this thing with Josie. That sense of competition, of being not quite as good as Josie Bates. Or at least it had been. Now it was real. There was a tug of war for Hannah's future, and that's not what Linda had anticipated at all when she sought Josie out. This was supposed to be a win-win situation, but Linda was losing.

  The cigarette came to her lips. The smoke filled her lungs.

  No, this wasn't what she had anticipated at all.

  Her eyes roamed the room. It was more beautiful than any she could have imagined in all of her years before she met Kip. She let her gaze rest on her husband.

  Kip. Kip. Linda would like to think that she loved him, but the bottom line was she didn't know how to do that. He made her the center of his universe, which was better than Linda had ever had, so she was grateful. He'd had it tough with Fritz. Linda understood. She was sympathetic. She even liked Kip because he didn't demand a whole lot. But love him? No. She was broken somewhere inside. She couldn't love like other people. But for Kip she came close. For Hannah she came even closer. For herself?

  Well. . . .

  Linda stubbed out her cigarette and crawled into bed with her husband. He uncurled himself. She put her arms around him and lay with her face against his back. She could have done worse. She had done worse than Kip Rayburn. In the end, it was really Hannah, Linda worried about. Poor, sad, sick, dangerous Hannah. Only Linda knew how dangerous Hannah could be, and it scared her to death.