“C’mon, darlin’.”
He reached for me. I flowed—literally, but against the tide—into his arms and wrapped my arms around his neck. He was ice cold.
He didn’t seem to mind. “Let’s get you to shore.”
“You, too,” I said, hanging on.
“I’m all right.” He kept wading.
I swallowed. “The others?”
“We came ashore half a mile or so farther down. They’re on their way.”
All of them, I assumed. If not, surely he would have said so.
We sloshed through the last of the water halfway up the ramp. “You can put me down,” I told him. “I can walk.”
“When we get to the top. You sure you’re all right?”
I was sure. “Couldn’t be better.” Now.
He laughed. And although he was soaked to the skin, and his back teeth were chattering, he managed to make it sound good.
We got to the top of the ramp just as two things happened. Mother’s Cadillac screeched into the parking lot, followed a second later by Catherine and Jonathan’s minivan. And Audrey and Darcy staggered out of the woods at the far end of the parking lot, supporting Mrs. Jenkins between them. All three of them looked like drowned rats, with their hair and clothes plastered to their heads and bodies.
The passenger door on the Cadillac opened, and Mother ran to the trunk. It popped, and she grabbed a stack of blankets and hurried toward the three women. The minivan, meanwhile, also stopped, and Catherine jumped out and followed. Dix hustled over to the trunk of the Cadillac and grabbed a couple more blankets. For me and Rafe, as it turned out.
“I’m fine,” I said when he got close enough to us. “It’s mostly my legs that are wet. Rafe is soaked.”
“You’re soaked now, too, darlin’.”
I guess I was, from the water flowing into the back of the car and from being carried against his body. Not as wet as he was, though. I was still wearing my wool coat, and while it had absorbed some of the water, it wasn’t sodden. He was, from top to bottom.
Dix wrapped one of the blankets around him. “Let’s get you back to the house. The others can go with Mother and Catherine in the van.”
“The SUV...” I began, with a glance over my shoulder at the boat ramp.
“We’ll get it pulled out. For now, the sheriff has to see it.”
He started herding us toward the Cadillac. On the other end of the parking lot, Darcy and Catherine were wrapping Mrs. Jenkins in blankets, while Mother was sobbing on Audrey’s shoulder. I guessed they’d made up. Nothing like the possible death of a loved one to align people’s priorities.
I turned back to Dix. “Did you call him? Bob Satterfield?”
“I called everybody,” Dix said. “911, Bob, Tamara.”
“You called Grimaldi?” All the way in Nashville?
“I thought she’d want to know what was going on,” Dix said, and he was probably right about that.
“Todd?” If I haven’t mentioned that my brother and Todd Satterfield have been best friends since kindergarten, I’m mentioning it now. I wouldn’t put it past Dix to think that Todd should know what was going on, too.
But Dix shook his head. “He’s having Thanksgiving with Marley and Oliver. And anyway, I don’t think he’s getting to prosecute this one.”
Probably not. The Bristols—or Hammonds, I guess—would be going on trial in Nashville. For the murders of Beverly Bristol, Julia Poole, and Alton Fesmire, and the attempted murder of Mrs. Jenkins. And me.
If Maury County wanted to pursue charges beyond that, Bob Satterfield could fight Tamara Grimaldi for the Hammonds.
“I don’t suppose you thought to call Patrick Nolan?”
“As a matter of fact,” Dix said, and opened the back door of the Cadillac for me, “he’s down the road sitting on your friend until someone from the sheriff’s office can haul him off to jail. This being outside the Columbia PD’s jurisdiction, Patrick made a citizen’s arrest. With a little help from his badge and gun.”
Good for him. “I’m sure the bad guy didn’t realize Nolan was out of his jurisdiction.”
Dix shook his head. “We’ll pass them on our way back to the mansion. You can identify the guy then.”
“I didn’t see his face,” I said. “He was still wearing the hood and ski mask when he got into the SUV.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Rafe said, crawling in behind me, still hanging onto the blanket Dix had wrapped around him. “We all saw him. We all saw what he did. He ain’t getting away with it.”
No, he wasn’t. I waited until he was settled next to me, and then I snuggled in next to him—I was already wet, so what did it matter?—and waited for Dix to start the car and take us home.
Twenty
Fesmire’s BMW was parked on the side of Oak Street just before we got to the main road. Patrick Nolan’s Charger was in front of it, and when we rolled slowly past, we saw the outline of our bad guy in the back seat. And Nolan in the front, patiently waiting to be relieved of his prisoner.
Dix pulled over to the side of the road in front of the Charger, and stopped. Rafe opened his door, and I scrambled out after him. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
He shot me a look over his shoulder. “I’m not stupid enough to take a shot at him in front of a cop.”
Maybe not. But it had to be tempting. This guy had put Mrs. Jenkins inside a plastic bag and thrown her in the river. I wanted to punch him.
“Besides,” Rafe added, “he’s cuffed. I don’t hit people who can’t hit back.”
Good to know.
“I just wanna know who he is. Don’t you?”
I did, actually. So when he made his way over to Nolan’s car, I followed.
Nolan powered down the front window, and his eyebrows rose at the sight of Rafe’s wet state. “You all right, Agent Collier?”
“Fine,” Rafe said.
Nolan swallowed. His rather prominent Adam’s apple bobbed. “Darcy? Her mother?”
“They’re all fine,” I assured him. “They’re right behind us, in Catherine’s minivan. Along with Mother and Mrs. Jenkins. Everyone’s all right.”
“We just wanted a look at your prisoner.” Rafe bent and peered into the backseat. I bent, too. With a little difficulty.
Nolan had stripped the guy of the hood and ski mask, although he was still wearing the wet camouflage coveralls. And Nolan had the heat cranked, probably so the guy wouldn’t freeze to death. Nice of him. I couldn’t find it in myself to care too much, to be honest. This jerk had tried to kill not only Mrs. Jenkins, but me and my unborn baby. And in the process, he might have killed Rafe, Audrey, and Darcy, as well. Why shouldn’t he freeze?
I recognized him. One of the twins from the funeral. The skinnier one, who’d been wearing the gray suit. Not the florid one who’d been yelling at Fesmire.
Although given that this guy had driven here in Fesmire’s car, and we’d watched him throw Mrs. Jenkins in the river, meant that he was in this up to his eyebrows, whether he’d confronted Fesmire at the funeral or not.
Rafe, of course, had met him before. “Lester Hammond. I don’t suppose you’ve got anything to say for yourself?”
Hammond just stared at him. Sullenly.
“Just as well,” Rafe said. “You’ll be booked into the Maury County jail for a bit. I’m sure they’ve got some charges they’d like to lay on you.”
Like kidnapping and a few counts of attempted murder that had happened here in their jurisdiction.
“After that, you’ll be transported back to Nashville where you’ll be charged with the murders of Beverly Bristol, Julia Poole, and Alton Fesmire.”
“I didn’t do nothing to Aunt Beverly,” Lester Hammond growled. “And you can’t prove I had anything to do with what happened to Julia or Doc Fesmire.”
“I guess that means your brother did your aunt while you were keeping Julia busy.” Rafe gave him a tight smile. “And then you did Julia while he took the boat back up to Shelb
y Park to pick you up.”
Interesting. I hadn’t considered that maybe the murderer had boated away from the park. I’d wondered whether he’d had a car parked there—risky, in case someone saw it and noticed the license plate—or whether he had walked home. Once Rafe had told me that neither of Beverly Bristol’s family members lived in walking distance to the park, I’d settled on the parked car as the solution, risky or not. But this worked, too.
Worked very well, as a matter of fact. Ten minutes on the river, and you’d be in Madison.
I heard the sound of an engine, and then another. Catherine’s minivan was making its way toward us from the river access. When it came alongside, Catherine slowed to a stop and the passenger side window rolled down. “We’re going home,” Mother said, with a look at me and Rafe. To Nolan, she added, “Come to the mansion when you’re finished. Darcy will be there.”
Nolan nodded. “Yes’m.”
The window rolled back up and enclosed my mother, who I thought had done a credible job of imitating Queen Elizabeth. The van rolled on, all the way out on the gravelly side of the road to pass the squad car coming in the other direction.
It went past us, made an eight-point turn, and pulled to a stop beside the Charger. The door opened and sheriff’s deputy Cletus Johnson emerged.
Cletus and Rafe have always had a contentious relationship, mostly due to Cletus’s ex-wife, Marquita, who went to work for Rafe, minding Mrs. Jenkins, after she left Cletus and their kids. And then she ended up dead, which Cletus blamed Rafe for.
I braced myself as I waited for the fireworks to begin. But Cletus didn’t say anything. He gave Rafe a look, but addressed Nolan. “I’m here to transport the prisoner.”
“He’s all yours.” Nolan gestured with his thumb into the backseat of the Charger. Rafe pulled the back door open.
Cletus gave him another look, but didn’t tell him to keep his hands to himself. It was a step in the right direction, I thought. And it wasn’t Rafe who reached in and grabbed Hammond. Cletus did that. Rafe just kept watching as Cletus yanked Hammond out of the car.
The thing is, Rafe simply standing there looking, is enough to make strong men wet their pants. Hammond’s were already wet through and through, so I couldn’t tell if he did, but it wouldn’t surprise me.
“We’ll talk later,” Rafe told him. You could take it as a promise if you wanted, but it sounded more like a threat. And although Hammond tried to act like he wasn’t worried, he couldn’t quite pull it off.
Cletus shoved him into the squad car—making sure not to hit Hammond’s head on the top of the door frame; we didn’t want anyone to be able to scream about police brutality—and closed the door on him. “Thanks,” he told Nolan.
Nolan nodded. “Sorry to make you come in to work on Thanksgiving.”
Cletus shrugged. “Someone has to do it. And the kids are with my mama. They’ll make a plate for me for later. You have a good one.”
He gave Nolan a nod, gave me a nod, and grudgingly, gave Rafe a nod. And got in the squad car and took Lester Hammond away.
“We’ll see you at the mansion,” I told Nolan. He nodded. We got into the Cadillac again, and headed home.
* * *
It wasn’t a long drive. Three minutes later we pulled to a stop behind Catherine’s car. The minivan wasn’t here yet, so it must have taken a left beyond the cemetery and gone to Audrey’s house, most likely to give her and Darcy the chance to get out of their wet clothes into something dry. Mother’s clothes weren’t likely to fit either of them—she was too short or they both too tall—and mine weren’t either, at the moment. Hopefully they’d find something to put on Mrs. Jenkins, as well.
“Can you take care of Nolan while we go change?” I asked my brother. “I want Rafe into something dry as soon as possible.”
And I wanted out of my own wet booties and hose.
Dix nodded, as the Charger came up the driveway. “Don’t worry. We’ll find him a beer and make him comfortable. I’m sure Darcy’ll be here soon, too.”
Probably so. “She likes him a lot. So be nice to him.”
“I was nice to your boyfriend,” Dix said, “wasn’t I?”
Rafe arched a brow but didn’t say anything.
Dix added, “Even that jerk you married. The other one. I was nice to him, too.”
I guess he had been. At least until Bradley cheated on me and wanted a divorce. “So you’ll be nice to Nolan. And not screw things up for Darcy.”
Dix nodded.
“Is Grimaldi coming?”
He checked his watch. “She’d probably halfway here by now.”
Good. It wasn’t how I had planned for things to go, but I was still happy that Grimaldi was coming. At least she’d be able to spend a little time with us before she had to interrogate Hammond, and maybe take him back to Nashville with her.
As the Charger pulled to a stop behind the Cadillac, Rafe and I headed up the stairs to the front door, and then—after greeting Pearl—up to the second floor.
“Strip,” I told him in the hallway. “Go straight into the shower. Make it hot. Just drop your clothes on the floor. I’ll get them.”
“I think I should prob’ly strip down in the bathroom. I think your brother-in-law’s here somewhere. With all the kids.”
He had a point. “Maybe that’s a good idea. I’ll wait until I hear the water running and come get your wet clothes. Don’t lock the door.”
“You could join me.” He winked.
I could. It was tempting. After worrying that I’d lost him, and almost being stuck in a sinking car myself, making love sounded nice. The closeness. His arms around me. But to be honest, I wasn’t feeling that great. My back hurt. So did my stomach, a little bit, around the bottom. I’d probably banged it trying to get over the backseat in Dix’s car. No surprise, the way I’d been twisting and turning. And I was feeling sort of nauseous. A result of the stress, no doubt.
Maybe I needed to eat something.
And anyway, satisfying shower sex was pretty much impossible at this stage of the game no matter how I felt. Bed sex was so much better.
“Tonight,” I told him. “There are a lot of people here right now. I feel weird.”
He gave me a closer look. “You all right?”
I smiled. “Fine. Just a little tired from all the activity. And stress.”
He nodded. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
“I’ll find some dry clothes for you,” I said, and waited until he’d disappeared behind the bathroom door before I headed into our bedroom. He hadn’t brought a change of clothes beyond jeans and T-shirts—the nice clothes he’d brought for dinner were now a sodden mess on the bathroom tile—so I laid out a pair of jeans and a long sleeved Henley with dry socks and underwear. When I made my way across the hall on bare feet, he was in the shower, humming.
“I’m taking your clothes,” I told the shower curtain, gathering them up. “You have dry ones on the bed.”
“I’ll be there in a minute.”
I took him at his word, and went back into the bedroom to wait. And lo and behold, a minute later he wandered in, with one of Mother’s fluffy towels wrapped around his waist. Looking at him wasn’t as good as making love in the shower, or on the bed, but it made me feel better to see him safe and whole. And the fact that he was mostly naked gave me a nice little tingle.
I smiled. He smiled back. “All right?”
“Fine,” I said. “I just need some food, and some time to relax. And everything will be OK again.”
He nodded. “You watching me change?”
I told him I thought I might.
“Wanna turn on some music before I get started?” He started humming the windup to You Can Keep Your Hat On, complete with hip movements.
“I think we can save that until we’re in our own house,” I said primly, “don’t you? There are too many people here. And kids.” And even if I would be happy to watch him strip, they wouldn’t.
“We’re go
nna have to get used to that,” Rafe told me. But he dropped the towel without music, other than the one he was making himself.
I smiled appreciatively. He chuckled, and reached for the underwear. He doesn’t always wear it, but since we were in my mother’s house, I didn’t feel right about sending him downstairs without any. Even if Mother would never know the difference, I would.
He lifted the jeans next, and looked at them. “Guess I won’t be impressing your mama this year.”
“My mother’s already impressed,” I said. “And is probably more impressed now than she was before. I don’t think you have to worry.”
He pulled the jeans up and reached for the zipper. “I wasn’t exactly worried.”
No, I didn’t imagine so. “I was. Not about that. But about you not making it out of the water.” About any of them not making it out of the water.
And about me not making it out of the water. And the baby.
“We were all right,” Rafe said, pulling the Henley over his head and down over all those lovely muscles. “We didn’t go far. Darcy’s a strong swimmer. Audrey’s all right. They didn’t need help. So we could all help my grandma.”
“I can’t believe he’d do that!” Hammond.
“I can,” Rafe said grimly. “Anybody who’d snap his eighty-year-old aunt’s neck and toss her down the stairs—for money!—is capable of anything.”
When he put it like that. “I think the other brother probably did that. While this one was entertaining Julia and keeping her out of the building.”
“Don’t matter,” Rafe said. “They planned it together. They were in it together. And anyway, this is the guy who slit Julia’s throat and left my grandma to drown. He’d done it before. I ain’t surprised he’d do it again.”
Maybe not. I shuddered, and then smiled. “I’m glad it all worked out.”
He nodded. “Ready to go on downstairs?”
I guess I was. “Give me a hand?”
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