Before she could reach the coffeemaker, Lindsay snatched up the pot. She poured steaming coffee into Rachel’s cup. “Tom must be totally baffled,” she said as she returned the pot to the hotplate.
Refusing to take the bait, Rachel sipped the coffee. Too bitter to drink. Grimacing, she set her mug on the counter
“I mean,” Lindsay went on, “there was no sign of forced entry at your house. I don’t suppose you’ve been handing out keys left and right, and I’m sure you wouldn’t leave a door unlocked at night. So…what other explanation could there be?” Her blue eyes widened in disingenuous inquiry.
Rachel stared at Lindsay. Good god, she’s accusing me of making the whole thing up. She wasn’t going to defend herself to Lindsay or stand here debating theories. “I have things to do,” she said, and turned to leave.
Joanna appeared in the doorway, yawning. “Oh, my lord,” she groaned, “I’m getting too old to stay up half the night. I need caffeine, delivered by IV if possible. Rachel, honey, are you okay? Did you get any sleep?”
“Yes. I’m fine. I was just on my way out.”
“Here you go,” Lindsay said, handing Joanna a mug of coffee. “Sit down and I’ll make breakfast for us.”
“Thanks,” Joanna said. She told Rachel, “I’ll get a locksmith out to the cottage this morning. You tell him what it’ll take to make you feel safe. I don’t want you to settle for less, okay?”
Rachel smiled and gave Joanna an impulsive hug. “Thank you. And thanks for taking us in.”
As Rachel walked down the hall toward the stairs, the door to the den opened and Holly stuck her head out. “Come here a minute,” she whispered.
Rachel slipped into the room and Holly closed the door after her. “What’s going on?” Rachel asked.
Holly kept her voice low. “I can’t stand her. I’ve gotta get away from her. Can we go home now?”
“Absolutely. Let’s get our things and go right now.”
They moved their few belongings, along with Cicero and Frank, into Rachel’s vehicle. Rachel heard Lindsay talking in the kitchen when she quietly pulled the front door shut for the last time.
On the drive to the cottage, Holly burst out, “I’m startin’ to think Joanna’s not a good judge of people like I thought she was. That woman—Lindsay—She’s just—She’s…she’s mean.”
Rachel couldn’t help smiling at Holly’s limited store of derogatory descriptors. “Let’s hope we won’t see much more of her.”
“I’ve seen enough already.”
“Has she done something I don’t know about?” Rachel glanced at Holly to find her face screwed up as if she were about to cry.
Holly’s cheeks puffed out when she expelled a noisy breath. “I wasn’t gonna say anything to anybody.”
“About what?” Rachel braked to let one of Joanna’s farmhands drive a pickup truck loaded with hay from the barn to the stable and paddocks across the road. The driver lifted a hand in greeting and Rachel answered with a wave. She prodded Holly, “Tell me what happened.”
“I got up real early, and I thought I’d get some cereal.”
“And?” Rachel drove on toward the cottage beyond the stable.
“I opened the door to go in the kitchen and there was Lindsay, comin’ out of Joanna’s office. She was closin’ the door real quiet, and she didn’t see me at first. Then she turned around and saw me and she got this look on her face, like she just wanted to hit me or somethin’. She talked real low so nobody else could hear her, but she was practically spittin’ in my face. She said I was spyin’ on her, and if she ever caught me at it again she’d make me sorry. But I wasn’t spyin’. I was just goin’ to get some cornflakes, and I couldn’t help seein’ her. And the really weird thing is, she told me I’d better not be gossipin’ about her, tellin’ people I saw her. I didn’t ask her what she was doin’ in Joanna’s office because she probably would’ve bit my head off, but her tellin’ me to keep quiet about it sure made me curious, you know?”
“I would have been curious too,” Rachel said. “Heck, I’m curious now.”
Joanna didn’t like anyone entering her business office without an invitation. Rachel had always assumed Joanna kept the door locked when she wasn’t in the room, but apparently she didn’t. What reason did Lindsay have to go in there?
Chapter Twenty-one
“Something tells me we’re about to get another warm reception.” Tom pulled into Lloyd Wilson’s yard.
Like Dave Hogencamp, the old man had seen Tom and Brandon drive up. Flanked by his two big mutts, Wilson hobbled toward them as fast as his arthritic limbs and his cane allowed.
“Dogs look friendly, at least,” Brandon said, reaching for the door handle.
“The devil himself could walk into the yard and those two would be drooling all over him, begging to be petted.” Tom stepped out and raised a hand in greeting. “Hey, Lloyd. I need to—”
“You’re just the man I want to see,” Wilson broke in. He sounded excited about something, far from hostile. “I was gonna give you a call this mornin’.”
“Oh?” The dogs presented themselves, one on each side of Tom, tails wagging and tongues lolling. He used both hands to pat their heads. “What about?”
“I got it straight in my mind now, what was goin’ on over there—” Wilson jerked his head in the direction of the Taylor property on the far side of the woods. “—that mornin’ before the fire got started.”
While the dogs turned their attention to Brandon, Tom leaned against the cruiser and studied Wilson for any sign that he was mounting a diversion. How he could have gained entry to Rachel’s house was a big question, but Tom could easily see him losing his balance and stumbling around the living room in the dark. “Is that right? What’s your story now?”
Wilson bristled at that, squaring his hunched shoulders. “It ain’t a story. It’s what happened.”
“I’m more interested in where you were last night,” Tom said.
“Last night?” Wilson looked baffled. “I was right here at home. Why?”
“Did you have any visitors? Can anybody back you up?”
“Back me up? What are you gettin’ at? What happened last night?”
“Somebody tried to kill Rachel Goddard.”
“Oh my lord.” Wilson’s face went pale and he started to sink.
“Hey, watch out!” Brandon yelped. He and Tom grabbed Wilson by the arms to keep him upright.
Clutching his cane, Wilson looked from Tom to Brandon. “Is she all right? Why would anybody want to hurt that sweet young woman?”
“She’s fine,” Tom said. “We’re not sure of the reason, but somebody tried it, there’s no doubt about that.”
“That’s wicked. That’s just wicked.” Wilson fumbled in a pocket and pulled out a handkerchief that looked as if he’d used it to clean garden tools. Unashamed, he mopped at his teary eyes and wiped his nose.
“What did you want to tell me?” Tom asked.
Stuffing the cloth back in his pocket, Wilson drew a deep breath, steadied himself, and said, “They was both over there at the same time.”
“Who? What are you talking about?”
Wilson looked up at Tom. “Scotty Ragsdale’s car and that sports car. They was both over there at the Taylor house at the same time, the mornin’ Miz Taylor died. And it was around that same time I heard a gunshot.”
***
Tom and Brandon debated all the way to Ragsdale’s house, but neither of them could stick to a single side of the argument.
“We have to take Lloyd seriously,” Tom said, “because he’s the only witness we’ve got who can put both Ragsdale’s car and a Jaguar at the Taylor house that day. On the other hand, he’s about as unreliable as they come. We still can’t be sure he’s right about the time, and the time would tell us whether the Jaguar was Hern’s or his mother’s.”
“Wilson’s not even sure it was black or dark blue,” Brandon
said. “Does it mean anything if one of them was over there the same time as Ragsdale? Can you see Ben Hern or Karen Hernandez teaming up with Ragsdale to kill the Taylors?”
“It’s not likely,” Tom said, “but even Lloyd’s not claiming they left at the same time. Ah, hell, this isn’t the first story he’s come up with. He might tell us something different tomorrow.”
“Yeah.” Brandon heaved a sigh and fell silent.
“One thing we can believe is that he heard the shot that killed Meredith,” Tom said. “When we get a match on the slugs from both her and Cam, we’ll know for sure we’re not dealing with some weird coincidence.”
Scotty Ragsdale didn’t answer a knock on his door, but Tom heard the whine of a power tool coming from the back yard. He and Brandon walked around to the shed behind the house. The wide door stood open. Inside, Ragsdale bent over a small chest, his eyes protected by goggles, his gloved hands guiding a power sander across the top of the chest. When he caught sight of Tom and Brandon, he switched off the sander, pushed the goggles to his forehead, and watched the deputies warily as they entered the shed.
“Morning,” Tom said. He gave the chest an appraising look. It had been stripped down to bare wood, and curls of apple green paint littered the floor around it. “That’s a nice little piece. You refinishing it for somebody?”
“Restoring it,” Ragsdale said, his voice flat, his eyes cold with distrust. “Some idiot slapped green paint on it.”
Tom nodded. He’d heard that Ragsdale did good work. “How are you holding up? You took Meredith’s death pretty hard.”
“I’m doing all right.”
“Glad to hear it,” Tom said. “It’s not easy losing a good friend.”
Brandon strolled around the shed, checking out the tools, chemicals, and paints on the shelves. Like a rabbit surrounded by foxes, Ragsdale tried to keep an eye on both deputies. Brandon ended up behind Ragsdale, and he nodded to let Tom know he was ready in case the man gave them any trouble. Ragsdale glanced over his shoulder but seemed reluctant to turn his back on Tom.
“What do you want?” Ragsdale asked. “I don’t have anything else to tell you.”
“You remember Karen Richardson, don’t you?”
Ragsdale opened his mouth, closed it, licked his lips. “Who?”
“Come on, Scotty, you know who I mean. She was a VISTA, same time Cam and Meredith were.”
Ragsdale rolled his tongue around in his mouth, swallowed, shrugged. “So? What are you asking me about her for?”
“Her name’s Karen Hernandez now,” Tom said. “She was here visiting her son last week.”
Ragsdale didn’t respond, and Tom let the silence draw out. A line of sweat popped out on Ragsdale’s upper lip, and he wiped it on the sleeve of his tee shirt. “So what? That supposed to mean something to me?”
“How well did you know her back then?”
“I—” Ragsdale paused, yanked off his gloves, bunched them both in one hand. “I didn’t really know Karen at all. Just to say hello to.”
“She wasn’t a friend of your sister like Meredith was?”
“No. They didn’t get a—” Ragsdale stopped abruptly and clamped his mouth shut.
“Your sister and Karen didn’t get along?” Tom asked. “Why was that?”
“I don’t know. Girls. Who the hell understands what goes on between girls?”
Tom smiled. “Yeah, I know what you mean. Did Meredith get along with Karen?”
Ragsdale rubbed the palm of his free hand on his pants leg. “I don’t know what you’re getting at.”
“Were they friends? Meredith and Karen?”
“Yeah, I guess. Sure, why wouldn’t they be?”
“Well, then,” Tom said, nodding, “if they were old friends, I guess Karen stopped by to see Meredith when she was in the county.”
Ragsdale’s gaze jumped from one spot to another, landing everywhere except on Tom. He threw a glance over his shoulder at Brandon, who stood behind him with arms crossed. “I don’t have any way of knowing who she went to see.”
“It’s kind of puzzling you’d say that, since you were at Meredith’s house when Karen stopped by.”
Ragsdale’s eyes widened. “What?”
“Your car was seen at the Taylor house at the same time as Karen Hernandez’s Jaguar. The morning Meredith died.”
“Says who? Who have you been talking to?”
“Anybody driving by would have noticed it,” Tom said. “A Jaguar stands out around here. What went on that morning? What did Meredith and Karen have to say to each other after all this time?”
“I don’t know anything about it. I wasn’t there.”
“Your car was there.”
“No.” Ragsdale shook his head. “No, it wasn’t.”
“We have a witness, Scotty.”
“I don’t give a damn what you’ve got.” He might have been aiming for bravado, but his voice wavered like a guilty child’s.
“And we have a witness who saw you driving near the McKendrick farm last night,” Tom lied, “around the time somebody broke into Rachel Goddard’s house and tried to kill her and Holly Turner.”
Ragsdale’s breath was coming fast and rough now. He backed away from Tom and collided with Brandon. With a startled cry, he stumbled forward again, banged a knee on the chest. “God damn it!” he cried, hopping on one leg and grasping his knee.
“What’s going on, Scotty?” Tom asked. “What’s your part in this?”
Ragsdale straightened, sweat dripping from his hairline. “I’m not saying another word to you without a lawyer.”
“Scotty—”
“You can’t ask me any more questions until I get a lawyer. You hear me? I’m done.” He still looked scared, but resistance had taken hold in his eyes and voice. “You might as well leave.”
Tom hesitated, but he knew when he had to quit. “You’d better go ahead and hire a lawyer soon,” he told Ragsdale. “You’re going to need one.”
As they drove away, Brandon said, “He sure acts guilty.”
“But guilty of what?” Tom said. “Did he fire the shots, did he light the fire? I believe he’s capable of it, especially if he wanted Meredith to himself and couldn’t get her away from Cam.””
“If I can’t have her, nobody can? That kind of thing?”
“Yeah. Maybe what we’re seeing now is remorse, and panic over the way things are snowballing.”
“What about Hern and his mother?” Brandon asked.
Tom thought about it. “I wonder if Karen Hernandez showing up here could have somehow triggered the Taylor murders. But why, and how it all fits together—I can’t see that yet. And I can’t even guess whether Karen Hernandez is alive or dead.”
***
By the time they returned to headquarters, a small swarm of journalists occupied a corner of the rear parking lot. They surged forward when they saw Tom pull in.
“Wow,” Brandon said, craning his neck to watch the reporters and camera operators trailing the car. “CNN. MSNBC. I wonder if Campbell Brown’s here. My mom’s a big fan of hers.”
Tom parked as close as possible to the back door of the squat cinderblock building, hoping to get inside before he was waylaid, but a dozen journalists surrounded the car before he’d yanked the key from the ignition.
“You gonna make a statement?” Brandon asked. “This is big news, a famous senator’s daughter getting murdered. Mom says they’ve been talking about it on all the cable news stations. Mysterious circumstances and everything.”
Tom didn’t answer. Putting on what he hoped was a forbidding expression, he shoved his door open, nearly knocking a slick-haired male reporter off his feet. He slammed the door shut behind him and held up both hands to quiet the explosion of questions. “We’ll have a statement later in the day.”
And exactly what am I going to tell them? he asked himself as he elbowed his way toward the sanctuary of the building. Tha
t this is the third day since the Taylors died and I’m not one damned bit closer to an arrest? That the killer’s still around and now he’s after Rachel and Holly?
When Tom and Brandon walked into the squad room, Dennis Murray waved Tom over to his desk.
“Tell me you’ve found Karen Hernandez,” Tom said.
Dennis cupped a palm over the telephone receiver. “Sorry, no luck with that. But somebody from the NYPD’s on the line. He’s got something for us on Hern.”
“Transfer the call to my office.”
The cop on the line, Jim O’Neal, turned out to be a booking sergeant at a Manhattan precinct, with an accent Tom had never heard outside of TV and movies. “This guy you’re looking at, you know he uses two names?” O’Neal asked.
“Yeah, I know.” Tom sat forward, pulling a pad and pen closer. “Benicio Hernandez and Ben Hern.”
“Yeah, Hernandez is still his legal name, I hear. Never changed it. I didn’t know he was the guy in the funny papers till after it was all over.”
Tom heard a squeak like a swivel chair that needed oil. He pictured O’Neal as a grizzled veteran in middle age, spending most of his working day in a chair while he waited to retire.
“Until what was over?” Tom asked.
“We never got all the details because nobody brought charges. Once Hernandez got his lawyer involved, the girl’s daddy decided not to put his little darling through the ordeal of making a case. In other words, Hernandez paid him off.”
“Whoa,” Tom said. He grabbed the pen, poised it above the pad. “What girl? What kind of charges could have been brought?”
“She was a minor. Fifteen, sixteen, I forget which. Her father was threatening to charge Hernandez with statutory rape.”
Chapter Twenty-two
Rachel swiped a cloth over the coffee table one last time and turned to survey the living room. “Are we finished?” she asked Holly.
“Yep, we got it all.” Holly sat at the bottom of the stairs, holding a filthy cleaning rag. “But it’s not right we had to do this. The cops ought to clean up after themselves.”
Broken Places Page 14