Broken Places

by Sandra Parshall

  “On the other hand,” Morton said, “if he does believe it, he might decide not to go near her. He might want to let her rot, wherever she is.”

  Tom shook his head. “If she’s still around, he’ll go to her, I’d bet on it.”

  ***

  Rachel didn’t have enough room to stand up in the dark space under the stairs. She sat with her knees drawn to her chest, breathing in hot, stale air, and fought the urge to vomit. Waves of pain radiated from her cheekbone, intensifying with the slightest movement of her jaw. She had let the blood drain from her mouth so she wouldn’t swallow more of it, and the front of her shirt felt sticky against her chest, but at last the bleeding had stopped. The metallic smell of blood mingled with the odors of mold and her own sweat.

  Why didn’t I fight harder? Why did I let this happen? Even as Rachel berated herself, she knew she’d had no choice. If she’d kept fighting back, she would already be dead.

  Where were they now? Rachel strained to make out what Lindsay and Meredith were saying but caught only fragments of their agitated exchanges, as if they were moving around, in and out of her hearing. She mopped her face with the hem of her shirt and leaned her ear against the door.

  “…give me back my phone so I can call 911,” Lindsay said. “You look like you’re crashing again. You need a doctor.”

  “No!” Meredith said. “…not calling anybody…don’t understand…”

  “Then help me understand. Explain it to me.”

  They both seemed to move farther away, and for a couple of minutes Rachel heard only the indistinct murmur of their voices. Meredith must have taken Lindsay’s cell phone, too. Rachel felt herself drifting perilously close to despair as she let go of the hope that Lindsay would summon help.

  Something scraped against the door, a shadow blocked the light at the bottom. In a panic Rachel scrambled backward until she hit a wall. Then she heard a snuffling noise and realized Meredith’s dog had found her.

  “Cricket, no!” Meredith yelled. “Get away from there!”

  The dog whined, the shadow disappeared.

  “Mom, try to stay calm,” Lindsay said. “You’ll make yourself sicker.”

  Rachel curled her hands into fists, nails biting into her palms. Think, think! There must be a way to get out of here. But her freedom, her life, depended on Lindsay now, and Lindsay seemed as helpless against Meredith as Rachel was.

  ***

  With Scotty Ragsdale’s paperwork conveniently misplaced and half a dozen deputies on standby for a possible surveillance and arrest operation, Tom waited alone in the conference room for the Blackwood twins to bring the prisoner over from the jail. He drummed his fingers on the pages he’d printed from Meredith’s novel and mentally reviewed recent events, reassuring himself that his theory made sense.

  He was sure he’d figured out most of what had happened, but one thing continued to niggle at him: Who had gotten into Rachel’s cottage and turned on the gas without leaving any evidence of a break-in? It must have been somebody with a key, but Joanna was adamant that no extra keys were floating around.

  Wait a minute. Tom’s fingers stilled as he tried to recall exactly what Lindsay had said the night before. Something about keys. She’d been explaining why she still had a key to his house although she’d returned the one he’d given her.

  You remember how I was always losing keys and Mom had to make sure we had extras. That was it. But why would Meredith have a key to the cottage in the first place?

  Tom pulled his cell phone from his pocket and called Joanna again. When she answered, he said, “I need to know whether the Taylors ever stayed in the house where Rachel lives now.”

  Joanna was silent a moment, then said, “I guess you won’t tell me why you’re asking that question either.”

  “Sorry, I can’t. But it’s important.”

  She sighed. “Meredith and Lindsay stayed there for a few days, a long time ago. Lindsay couldn’t have been more than thirteen or fourteen at the time. Meredith and Cam had some kind of spat, I don’t remember what it was about, and I suggested they get a little distance from each other. I guess it helped, because Meredith and Lindsay went back home. Tom, what—”

  “Thanks.” He hung up.

  ***

  A few minutes later, Scotty Ragsdale slumped in the same conference room chair where the sheriff had sat not long before. Resting his cuffed hands in his lap, he fixed his gaze on the tabletop and refused to look at Tom, who sat across from him. The Blackwood twins stood guard behind Ragsdale.

  “How are you feeling, Scotty?” Tom asked.

  “Like you give a damn,” Ragsdale muttered.

  “Well, I do, believe it or not. You’re going through a rough time. Worst time of your life, maybe—except for when your sister died.”

  Ragsdale jerked his head up. “My sister’s death is none of your business.”

  Tom let that go for the moment. “Your sister was friends with Meredith, wasn’t she?”

  “What about it?” Ragsdale shifted in his chair, tapped one foot on the floor. “My folks been by yet? They should’ve come up with my bail by now.”

  “I’m sure they’re working on it. What I was about to say is, we found a lot of CDs in Meredith’s safe deposit box when we opened it, and most of them have book manuscripts on them.”

  Ragsdale narrowed his eyes, making the bags under them more pronounced. “You went through her stuff? Why?”

  “We have to examine everything in a murder case. There could have been something there to point us to the killer.”

  Wary now, Ragsdale watched Tom but didn’t respond.

  “Anyway,” Tom went on, “like I was saying, we found a bunch of discs with her writing on them. And one of them stands out. It’s different.” He paused and leaned forward over the table. “Did you know Meredith was writing a book about her experiences as a VISTA?”

  Ragsdale drew in a deep breath and released it, his shoulders rising and falling, and he seemed to relax a little. “Yeah, she told me about it. She said she was going to write the truth. What it was really like.”

  “Didn’t you read it? I know the two of you shared your writing.”

  Ragsdale shook his head. “She said it was just for herself. Things she had to work out for her own peace of mind. She didn’t want anybody to see it.” He threw a scornful look at Tom. “She sure as hell wouldn’t want you to read it.”

  “Ah,” Tom said, hoping he sounded surprised. “That explains it, then. Why you didn’t hold it against her. You didn’t know the truth. Or maybe you knew, but you forgave her?”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Ragsdale was starting to fidget, flexing his shoulders, squirming in his seat. “Forgave her for what?”

  Tom sighed. “I guess you really don’t know. I hate to break it to you, after you were friends with her for so many years.”

  “Break what to me? You know what I think? I think you’re jerking me around.”

  Tom looked down at the printed sheets in front of him on the table. “I was going to let you read this, but maybe that’s not a good idea after all.”

  “Read what, damn it?” Ragsdale jumped to his feet, but the Blackwoods were on him in an instant, shoving him back into the chair. “What is that? Just tell me, for god’s sake. Cut the bullshit.”

  “It looks like the last chapter Meredith worked on before she died. At least, it’s the last backup she made. It’s the chapter about your sister’s death.”

  Ragsdale’s mouth opened, closed again.

  “If what she wrote is the truth—Well, I believe you have a right to know. That is, if you think you can face it.”

  “You’re full of shit, Bridger. There’s nothing Meredith could have written that I’d be afraid to read. I lived through it, remember?”

  “All right then.” Tom turned the pages to face Ragsdale and slid them across the table.

  Ragsdale used both cuffed hands to pu
ll the papers closer. He leaned over and began reading. Tom settled back in his chair to watch Ragsdale’s reactions.

  The first pages of the chapter brought a sour smile at one point, a shake of the head at another. As he neared the end, his face went slack and pale. By the time he finished, he sat rigid in his chair, staring at the last page, all emotion blasted off his face by shock. The sound of his rapid breathing filled the quiet room.

  At last Ragsdale said, “It’s fiction. She decided to…She must have decided to get away from the truth. Give it more dramatic conflict.”

  “But you said she was writing down some things she needed to get off her mind,” Tom said. “And, you know, I’ve checked out a lot of the other incidents and people she wrote about, and it all seems to be true. Of course, I can’t check out her story about your sister’s death because the only people who knew about it are dead now.”

  Ragsdale’s gaze flicked to Tom, then away. “It’s not true. I don’t believe it.”

  “Well, maybe that’s for the best,” Tom said. “That you don’t believe it, I mean.”

  A minute passed in silence, Ragsdale rocking back and forth in his chair, Tom studying the stew of emotion on the man’s face. He looked like he wanted to cry. He looked like he wanted to hit somebody.

  “I’ve gotta get out of here,” Ragsdale blurted. “Where the hell are my folks? What’s taking them so long to post my bail?”

  “I’ll go check on it,” Tom said. “See if they’ve been by yet.”

  He walked out in the hall, closed the door behind him, and gave the thumbs up to Dennis Murray, who was coordinating the tail on Ragsdale.

  Tom waited a few minutes before he returned to the conference room.

  “You’re in luck,” he said. He reached for Ragsdale’s hands, unlocked the cuffs. “Your bond’s been posted and you’re free to go. These two deputies can give you a ride back to your place.”

  Chapter Forty-five

  Rachel shook her head, wincing at the burst of pain from the movement, willing herself to stay alert. The heat and stale air inside her dark little prison made her woozy, fear exhausted her, and she longed to surrender and slip into unconsciousness.

  How much time had passed? She had no idea. The staff at the animal hospital would worry when she didn’t return for her appointments or answer her phone. They would call around, trying to find her. But would they call Tom? Even if they did, he would never think to look for her in Pauline McClure’s abandoned house.

  She had only herself to rely on. She couldn’t count on Lindsay to help her. If Meredith decided to kill her, she would have to open the door. Rachel would get one last chance to save herself. She had to be ready. But how could she escape from a woman with a gun?

  You can do it, Rachel told herself. You can. She went over everything she’d learned in the self-defense class she’d taken two years before. Use your feet. Bite. Use your fingernails. Go for the eyes. Grab her hair. You can do this.

  Rachel heard Meredith’s voice again, strengthening and fading like a bad cell phone signal. “…Scotty’s idea…forced me into it…left me here…in love with me, he wants me to go away with him.”

  “You’re saying he did it all?” Lindsay asked. “You didn’t kill anybody?”

  “Of course I didn’t! I’m not a murderer.”

  “All right then. Let’s call Tom. You can explain everything to him.”

  “No!” The rest of Meredith’s answer was too faint to make out.

  Don’t walk away, Rachel silently begged. Come closer, come closer.

  Lindsay said something Rachel couldn’t make out, then Meredith’s voice became clear again. “…know how hard your father was to live with sometimes. He thought I might inherit something when Dad died, and we’d have enough to keep the paper going. He was furious when I didn’t get a cent. Then he thought I’d get a lot of money when Aunt Julia died, because she’d helped me before. Cam blamed me when she left all her money to charity. He said I should have sucked up to her when I knew she was dying.”

  “But she left you all that jewelry. I’ve seen it, Mom. It’s worth a fortune. If you wanted to leave with Scotty, why didn’t you just sell the jewelry and take off?”

  “I wasn’t sure what I wanted. I thought I might just leave by myself and start a whole new life. If Cam or Scotty knew about the jewelry…I wasn’t going to turn it over to either of them. Whatever I got for it was mine, not theirs.”

  “But you let Scotty believe you were going to leave with him? The two of you were making plans?”

  Meredith’s answer was a mumble.

  “Why did Scotty kill Dad? And Karen Hernandez, and Lloyd Wilson—Why did Scotty do such a crazy thing?” Lindsay sounded as strung out as her mother, close to breaking. “Was he the one who tried to kill Rachel?”

  Rachel shifted, sat straighter, flexed her cramped legs. The sound of her own labored breathing echoed in her ears.

  “Yes,” Meredith said. “He went over…the house fill up with gas, then set it on fire…would have exploded.”

  “How did he get in?” Lindsay asked.

  “I gave him a key, God help me. We used to meet there sometimes at night, before she moved in.”

  “Why did he want to kill Rachel?”

  “She saw him in the woods with Cam. He had to get rid of her.”

  I didn’t. I didn’t see anything.

  “According to Tom,” Lindsay said, “she didn’t see anything,”

  “That’s what Tom wants you to believe. She saw Scotty, and she told Tom.”

  “Then why didn’t Tom arrest Scotty?”

  “Because he knows I’m alive too. He’s pretending to believe I’m dead, but he’s really searching for me so he can lock me up. Scotty must be staying away because he’s afraid Tom will follow him. But he’s coming back, he’ll find a way—”

  “Scotty’s not coming back. He’s in jail. He got high on meth and attacked Tom and Brandon Connelly. He’s been locked up ever since.”

  “Oh, no. Oh, dear god.”

  “Mom, if you’re innocent, why—”

  “Of course I’m innocent!”

  Rachel heard nothing more for a moment and thought they’d moved away. When Lindsay spoke again, her voice sounded weary, placating. “Okay, I didn’t mean to upset you. We don’t have to talk about it anymore. We need to get more food into you. Do you have your testing supplies with you? Let me check your blood sugar.”

  Rachel couldn’t hear the rest. She leaned her throbbing head against the door. Please, Lindsay, get your phone away from her and call Tom. Do the right thing for once.

  ***

  Tom braked hard at the fork in the road, and Brandon pitched forward in the passenger seat, straining his seat belt.

  “Where the hell did he go?” Tom motioned at the choices ahead of them. “I should’ve stayed closer behind him.”

  Everything had gone smoothly until now. Kevin and Keith Blackwood had dropped Ragsdale off at his house, and the minute they were out of sight Ragsdale jumped into his car and tore off in the opposite direction. Tom and Brandon had followed in the sheriff’s personal car, an unmarked green sedan, and the Blackwoods and Dennis Murray trailed in Sheriff’s Department vehicles.

  Tom blew out a breath and grabbed the radio from its hook. When he raised a signal and connected with the two cars behind his, he said, “We lost him at the junction of Albemarle and Dunkirk. Brandon and I are heading east. The rest of you head west. Let me know if you catch sight of him.”

  He swung the car onto Albemarle Road. “You know whose house is out this way, don’t you?” he asked Brandon.

  “Oh, yeah. Meredith could hide there for a long time without anybody seeing her.”

  ***

  What’s happening? Rachel was sure she’d heard—Yes! There it was again, a man’s voice. She couldn’t make out words, but a man was in the house. Who? She didn’t care. She had to take a chance.

&nbs
p; She pushed herself to her knees and banged her fists on the door. “Help me!” she screamed. “Help me! I’m locked up in here! Help!”

  “What the hell—” a man said, close enough now for Rachel to hear him clearly. “What’s going on?” Heavy footfalls approached.

  “In here!” Rachel pounded on the door. “Under the stairs! Let me out!”

  “Who is that?”

  “No, don’t open it!” Meredith cried.

  The latch clicked. Rachel shoved the door open and tumbled into the hallway on her hands and knees. Meredith’s dog trotted over to her, tail wagging.

  “What’s she doing here?” the man exclaimed.

  Rachel scrambled to her feet. The corridor was dim, shadowy, but so much brighter than the dark space she’d escaped that she blinked, trying to make her eyes adjust. The dog huffed and sniffed at the blood stains on her slacks. “Meredith locked me up. She was going to kill me. Help me, please help me.”

  But when Rachel looked up at the man’s face, she realized she had made a terrible mistake. This was Scotty Ragsdale, Meredith’s friend. The man who tried to kill her and Holly.

  “We have to get rid of her,” Meredith said.

  He scowled at Rachel, then at Meredith. “If you think you can get away with doing it like this, you’re crazy.”

  Meredith exploded. “Who are you calling crazy? She wouldn’t be a problem now if you’d done your part right. How could you dump me here and desert me, with nothing but dog food—I could have died while you were off getting high.”

  “Shut up!” Ragsdale roared. He swung his arm and struck Meredith in the face so hard that she staggered backward.

  Meredith let out a wail. The dog howled.

  “Stop it!” Lindsay cried. Rachel hadn’t spotted her before, but suddenly she was there, beside her mother. “Leave her alone!”

  “What’s your daughter doing here?” Ragsdale demanded. “How many more people did you tell?”

  Rachel backed away, into the empty, darkened dining room. If she could get to the kitchen while they were distracted, if she could get to the back door—