Unspoken Fear

by Hunter Morgan

  "I don't need to be paid the overtime."

  "What you need is rest and time away from this. Monday morning will come soon enough."

  "All right, fine." She took the bowl from his hand.

  He headed for the door. "Thanks for the ice cream."

  "Any time."

  He opened the door, stepped out into the humid night, but his hand still rested on the doorknob.

  "I'm glad you came by, Snowden, even if you didn't do it on purpose." She held the dirty bowl in her hands. "I mean, I know you didn't but—"

  "It's OK," Snowden said, half smiling. "I know what you mean. I don't know why I came this way, but I'm glad I did."

  "See you Monday, then." She rested her hand on the doorknob he'd just vacated. "And we're off our even/odd days. You have to buy the coffee."

  He glanced back at her over his shoulder as he walked away and was glad the porch light was out. Glad she couldn't see the dumb look on his face and know how ridiculously smitten he was with her.

  * * *

  Noah saw the headlights through the window over the kitchen sink. He'd been sitting at the table in a pair of plaid cotton sleep pants, using the excuse that he was waiting for the wash to be done rather than waiting up for Rachel. They were divorced. She had a right to go see the latest Brad Pitt movie with whomever she wanted to see it with.

  He debated whether or not he and Chester should hightail it to bed before Rachel walked in the house. But the dryer was still running and he hated to leave the load of clothes for her to fold herself when he'd started the load in the first place.

  The BMW stopped in the driveway, and he heard a car door open and then close. He doubted there had even been time for even a quick good night kiss. He smiled to himself, reaching for his glass of iced tea.

  Rachel came up the steps, across the porch, and in the front door. The BMW turned around and headed back down the driveway.

  "Hey," she said when she saw him sitting at the kitchen table. She didn't seem particularly surprised he was there. "You didn't have to wait up for me."

  "I know. I wasn't really. Dryer is still going." He hooked his thumb in the direction of the laundry room. "I thought I'd hang the shirts before I went to bed. Mallory's swimsuit is in there too. Grape Popsicle. I know she'll want it tomorrow."

  "That's nice. Thanks." She smiled, walking to the refrigerator. As she went, she stood on one foot and then the other, removing her sandals. "Ah. That's better." She dropped them on the floor and opened the refrigerator, grabbing a bottle of water.

  "So, you have a nice evening?" Noah kept his tone light.

  "Yeah, it was fine." Leaning against the refrigerator, she pushed silky hair from her eyes and tipped back the water bottle.

  "How was the movie?"

  "We ended up skipping it." She lifted one shoulder and let it fall. "Had dinner. Went for a walk on the boardwalk."

  He nodded.

  "How's Mal's head?"

  "Fine. Just a bump. Not even a headache when she went to bed." He swirled what was left of his iced tea in the bottom of his glass. "I, uh... had a little thing with Mattie tonight."

  She drew the bottle away from her mouth. "A little thing?"

  "I'm sure it's nothing." He thought for a moment. "I hope it's not anything." He turned in his chair to face her. "After you left, I came inside with Mallory. Got her settled. Mattie never came in so I went back out to find him, and he was hiding in the front seat of your car in the garage."

  She wrinkled the end of her freckled nose and took another sip of water. "Odd place to hide."

  "Rachel, he had your keys."

  This time she lowered the water bottle to her side. "You're kidding me. Had he started the car?"

  "I don't think so."

  "Why would he take my keys? He doesn't know how to drive... does he?" She walked to the table, taking the chair across from him. She pressed her hand to her mouth. "Oh, Noah, that morning the car had been moved. I accused you of—"

  "It's OK. Logical conclusion. As for Mattie actually driving the car, I doubt he can. I certainly never taught him."

  "I certainly didn't either."

  Noah's brow furrowed. "But I don't recollect ever teaching him how to drive the lawn tractor, do you?"

  Rachel thought for a minute. "God, no." She met his gaze, her concern shining in her eyes. "I don't, but he drives it around the yard all the time."

  Noah pressed his palm to the table. "Anyway, I tried not to make a big deal about it. I just told him it would be dangerous for him to even move the car."

  "Mallory know anything about him driving my car?"

  "Well, not really, but that got interesting too. According to Mallory, Mattie's still afraid of the voice." He hesitated. "She also said that he had promised to protect her from the voice. That he would kill anyone who tried to hurt her."

  Rachel's eyes grew rounder. "She said he said kill?"

  He nodded. "With a sword."

  She looked away for a minute. "I don't know..." She turned back to him. "What do you think we should do?"

  "Probably nothing other than watch him. Honestly, you know what an imagination Mallory has. This wouldn't be the first tall tale she's told." He said it gently, not wanting her to think he was criticizing Mallory or Rachel's parenting. "And neither of us has ever heard Mattie say a word."

  "You're right." She nodded in agreement. "We'll just keep an eye on him." She covered his hand with hers. "I'm sorry. I knew I shouldn't have gone out tonight. You shouldn't have had to deal with this alone."

  He gave a wave with his hand, careful not to move his other hand out from under hers. "It's fine, Rachel. Everything is fine."

  "And how about you?" she asked softly, gazing into his eyes. "You feeling OK? No more blackouts?"

  He shook his head. Of course, he wouldn't have told her for the world that he'd experienced another bad one Saturday night after the picnic. That he'd woken up outside in the Pinot field, lying between two rows of trellises. He'd had one last night, too, though he'd never made it out of his bed, as far as he knew.

  "I'm fine," he insisted, wondering what she would do if he leaned forward and kissed her. Their faces were barely a foot apart. It would be so easy—

  The dryer buzzed loudly, startling them both. She straightened in the chair, pulling her hand away from his. He sat up, feeling like an idiot.

  "I'll get it," he said.

  "No, I will." She was already on her feet.

  Noah watched her disappear into the back, heard her open the dryer, and the buzzing alarm ceased. He carried his glass to the sink. Rachel had wanted him to kiss her. He had seen it in her eyes. Seen the way she pursed her lips.

  He turned on the faucet and watched his glass fill with water. He didn't know what to do. Did he need to just follow his instincts and kiss her the next time the opportunity presented itself? Or did they need to talk this through like—

  "Noah." Rachel startled him, coming right up behind him. He hadn't even heard her come back into the kitchen. "Where the hell did you get this?" she demanded.

  He turned to find her shaking a business card at him. "Where did I get—" Then he realized what she had in her hand. He'd left it in his pocket. How could he have been so stupid as to have left it in his pocket and then washed his jeans?

  "Well?" She planted one hand on her hip, still shaking the fertility clinic appointment card. She was as angry as he believed he had ever seen her. "I'm waiting..."

  Chapter 23

  Noah turned around to cut off the water, then back to face Rachel... not wanting to face her. He was angry and confused, and angry and sad. Sad that his genes mixed with hers were never able to produce a child who could live more than a few months. Confused as to why she would have been inseminated with another man's sperm without consulting him. But mostly he was just angry that she didn't tell him at the time. She didn't tell him then and she hadn't told him now, even after he returned home.

  "You had no right to snoop in my perso
nal papers," she accused.

  "I wasn't snooping. I was looking for those warranties the other day where you told me to look. The file cabinets are a mess, Rachel. It was just there." He motioned lamely.

  "You mean you've had this since Sunday and not said anything?" Her mouth tightened into a thin line.

  He looked down at the hardwood floor, scuffed by time and his beloved family who had treaded here. "I meant to say something to you that day, as soon as I found it, but you were upset about Skeeter Newton and..." He let his sentence trail off into silence.

  She was quiet for a second.

  He looked up. "I'm sorry, Rachel. I'm sorry I found it. I'm sorry I didn't say anything that day." He hesitated. "But now I have to ask. Did you go through with it? Did you get a sperm donation so that we could have a child of our own?" He went on faster than before, unable to conceal the emotion in his voice. "Rachel, that appointment was only a week before I went to jail."

  She folded her arms over her breasts, the card still in her hand. "It's none of your business." She sounded on the verge of tears.

  "I know it's not."

  "You abandoned me, Noah. You gave me up for a bottle of vodka," she charged, her voice choking with anger. Pain.

  "I know. You're right, I did and I'm so sorry. I don't know how many times I can say I'm sorry, but I mean it every time, Rachel, I swear that I do." He reached out to her, but she pulled away.

  "Do you have any idea how angry I've been with you?" she demanded. "How you broke my heart? For sweet God's sake, Noah, I've loved you since I was in the eighth grade!"

  He just stood there and listened, not responding, because what was there to say?

  "You left me, you left me with this house, the vineyard, your parents' estate to settle. Then there was the baby."

  "I didn't know you were pregnant. If I had known—"

  "If you had known, what?" She met his gaze with fiery green eyes. "You'd have stopped drinking? You'd have realized how ridiculous your assumption that God had forsaken you because your parents were murdered was? Because our sons died? Are you telling me you would have gone to AA like I'd been asking you to, for a year? What would you have done differently?" she demanded. "If you had known I was pregnant, you wouldn't have taken the truck that night, after I begged you not to?" She sniffed, wiping her nose with the back of her shaking hand, still looking at him. Beseeching him.

  "I don't know," he whispered.

  Again, she was silent for a moment. "Well, at least you're honest. I'll give you that." She threw up her hand, still clutching the appointment card, and then sniffed.

  Noah grabbed a paper towel sheet off the roll on the counter and offered it to her.

  She snatched it out of his hand. "Thank you."

  "You're welcome."

  She blew her nose.

  Noah just stood there, hands at his sides. "You want to sit down?" he asked quietly. "Talk about this?"

  She took a deep breath, sounding calmer when she spoke again. "No, Noah, I don't want to sit down. I don't want to talk about it." She wadded the paper towel up in her hand. "I didn't even know I was pregnant the night of the accident. Then, everything happened so fast and I was so angry with you. So hurt..."

  Noah could feel his gut twisting inside. How could he have done this to Rachel, to the one person he loved more than anyone on earth? "No, it's all right. I understand." His voice was stronger than he expected. "If I'd been in your shoes, I don't think I would have told me either. I didn't deserve to know." He exhaled, realizing he shouldn't push her any further, but realizing that he had to, just the same. "So that's how Mallory was conceived? You never slept with another man, Rachel?"

  Her eyes were filled with moisture, but she was no longer crying. "I never slept with another man. There's never been anyone but you."

  Noah was still overwhelmed by his sadness, but somewhere inside, he felt a warm glow. There had never been anyone else but Rachel for him. Never would be. "I'm sorry I asked that. I just had to know. I don't know why, but I did."

  She nodded, wiped her nose again with the paper towel, and walked to the trash can to throw it away. "I'm going to bed."

  He considered suggesting again that they talk, but he sensed this wasn't the time. They were both too emotionally wrought. There would be time to talk later. A great deal of time, he hoped. "OK. I'll finish up the laundry and turn out the lights."

  She stood at the garbage can and studied the card in her hand for a moment, then tossed it in.

  "See you in the morning." He watched her walk out of the kitchen, and then something made him turn around. Something on the porch. A movement?

  No.

  He peered through the window over the sink, trying to see beyond his own reflection in the glass. There was nothing there. No one there, just... shadows. Darkness. But there was a feeling. A feeling of something evil lurking.

  A shiver trickled down Noah's spine.

  Evil lurking? That was ridiculous. Where did those thoughts come from? It had been a long time since he had believed in any evil beyond the evil of men.

  He checked the lock on the door, flipping off the kitchen lights. Despite his own reassurances, he walked out of the kitchen, resisting the urge to look over his shoulder.

  Afraid of what he might see...

  * * *

  "Mrs. Newton." Delilah smiled.

  "Sergeant Swift." The woman in her midsixties, still in her polyester church dress, pushed open the back door. "Come in."

  "Just for a second. I stopped by on my way home from church to see how you were. See if I could do anything for you."

  Mrs. Newton led Delilah into a pretty, old-fashioned kitchen. "You just missed Harry. He went down to the store for bread and the newspaper."

  "I'm sorry I missed him," Delilah smiled, wondering if there was extra punishment for telling lies on Sunday. In truth, she'd been sitting in her car down the street watching their house, debating whether to try to see Mr. and Mrs. Newton together, or wait to see if Mr. Newton left the house. She'd gotten lucky in less than an hour.

  "So you're OK, I mean... I know you're not OK," Delilah said, her empathy genuine. "I just wondered if there was anything we, the police department, could do for you."

  "The funeral's tomorrow." She took a pitcher of iced tea from the refrigerator. "Would you like to sit down, Sergeant? Have a glass of tea?"

  "No, really, I can't. I have to get home and give my mama a ring. We always talk on Sundays."

  "Delbert and I always talked on Sundays. I'd bring him the paper after Harry was done with it." Her eyes clouded with tears and she turned away, setting the iced tea pitcher on the counter. "You'll need to add sugar or sweetener. Delbert always said that my tea was..." She averted her gaze and sank into a chair, catching a fold of her flowered dress and rubbing it between her thumb and forefinger. The woman's arthritic hands were swollen and must have been painful, but she didn't seem to notice.

  Delilah let an appropriate amount of time pass and then pushed forward. "Mrs. Newton, if you don't mind, I have a question. And... if you don't feel like you want to answer it, that's fine. It's just that the more information we have, the faster we'll find out who did this to your son."

  She turned to Delilah. She had obviously been a very pretty woman once upon a time, though her hair was white and her skin wrinkled, she had incredible blue eyes. "Delbert always made poor choices with friends," she murmured.

  "So you think a friend did this?" Delilah took a step closer.

  "I don't know, Sergeant. If I did... if I had an idea..." She opened her arms in a plea.

  "That's all right." Delilah walked around the small kitchen table, moving closer to Mrs. Newton. "When we talked, ma'am, and we briefly discussed why someone might accuse Delbert of being a thief, I... I got the impression you wanted to tell me something."

  "He was never charged with anything," she said quickly.

  "I understand that." Delilah moved closer, keeping eye contact. "But... could he possi
bly have been involved in some kind of robbery?"

  Her lower lip trembled and she clasped her hands, one thumb massaging a swollen knuckle.

  "Mrs. Newton, any information might help."

  She was quiet for a moment, and then she glanced up. "I overheard him one night talking to friends in the driveway. It's been years, Sergeant."

  "It's all right." Delilah reached out and took her hand.

  Mrs. Newton looked away, then back at Delilah. "They were talking about holding up a store," she whispered. "A mini-mart or something. About how little money they had gotten. They... they were angry."

  Delilah nodded.

  "I asked Delbert about it later." Her jaw trembled. "He said I misheard."

  "Did anyone else know about it?"

  "I don't know. His friends, I suppose. The ones he did it with. I don't even know who they were." Her voice took on a somber tone. "One died a couple of years back, another... another went to prison, I think."

  "So you never mentioned this to Mr. Newton, to a female friend, perhaps?"

  She shook her head, seeming to refocus. "No, no one." She glanced up. "Well, I did talk with one person about it at the time. I didn't know what to do."

  Delilah held her hand. "Who did you talk with?" Mrs. Newton smiled, that far-off look in her clouded eyes again. "He was always so nice to me, so understanding of how difficult it was to have a child like Delbert."

  "Who did you discuss the matter with, Mrs. Newton?" Delilah repeated.

  Her blue eyes settled on Delilah. "Father Gibson."

  * * *

  "Thought about how you're going to phrase your question?" Snowden walked behind Delilah, allowing her to take the lead entering the dental office.

  She appreciated his confidence in her, but at the same time, she appreciated his presence. In truth, she really didn't know what she was going to say to Dr. Cary. How did one tactfully ask if he'd purchased a hatchet to murder someone?

  "I just thought I'd be honest with him. Tell him we're following every lead, no matter how far-fetched or how certain we are that it's taking us in the wrong direction. Tell him he's not a suspect, but it's only fair that each person who purchased certain implements in town be interviewed." She glanced over her shoulder at Snowden as she reached for the door. "That sound OK to you, Chief?"