Past Suspicion (Christian Romantic Suspense)

by Therese Heckenkamp

  I was greatly conscious of the bulky box of plants as I maneuvered it awkwardly inside with me before slamming the door. I sat with my ears burning, waiting for Justin to make some derisive comment about me and my cargo.

  He pulled smoothly away from the curb. “Some nice looking plants you’ve got there,” he said, not taking his eyes off the road. Resentment sparked inside me, ready to kindle into anger. “But isn’t it kind of pointless to start a garden when you’re going to be leaving soon?”

  The rain, pouring down heavily, created a blind of liquid silver. I couldn’t see out the window. “I didn’t say I was starting a garden.”

  “Okay. Then what do you want with all those plants?”

  I was tempted to make a sharp comeback, something like: “To throw them at you!” but I kept my lips pressed tightly together, determined not to let Justin get me angry. Then I wondered why I so often felt hostile toward him. Was it because he knew just what to say to irritate me? Or was it possible that I was using anger as a way to hide gentler feelings? Maybe I was afraid of revealing these feelings because I wouldn’t know how to handle them.

  “To plant them,” I replied.

  Justin smiled but wisely dropped the subject.

  During the silence that resulted, my eyes followed the rapid movement of the windshield wipers. No matter how viciously they thrashed the rain, they did no good. I wondered how Justin could drive. By instinct? As I sat there, a strange feeling prodded at me, like it had last night when I’d first sat in this Jeep with Justin. My eyes still following the relentless wipers, it came to me.

  “Is this green Jeep yours?” I burst out.

  “No, I stole it. Of course it’s mine.” He laughed. “Why?”

  I remembered days ago, the Jeep in the parking lot of Little Italy—the Jeep Philip had just missed hitting. True, I’d only caught a glimpse of it, but it had been green. It could very well be this Jeep. Justin’s Jeep. I sucked in my breath. And that meant Justin had also been at Little Italy.

  “Well, are you going to answer me?”

  “I think I saw it the other night—when I was out with Philip.” I watched Justin closely, waiting for a reaction; but, frustratingly, he never faced me, and his profile was not enough for me to read any change of expression.

  “What—this Jeep?”

  “Yes. Well?” Reassure me, I thought.

  “You might have.” His voice gave me no clue. “Or it might have been any number of other green Jeeps.”

  Or not, I thought, uneasiness closing like a hand around my heart. Why couldn’t he deny it or give me a straight answer? I didn’t recall seeing Justin at the restaurant that night, but then I hadn’t been paying attention to the other customers; I’d been too absorbed in myself. He could have been hidden at one of those dim corner tables, and I’d never know. I recalled how he had come to the park, then to the library with me, and I tried to remember if I’d mentioned where I was going that night. I was pretty sure I had. Which led to one conclusion: if Justin had been at Little Italy, it would not have been a coincidence.

  Maybe I’m just being paranoid, I thought. After all, in California I wouldn’t think twice about seeing the same kind of car even three times in the same day. Sweat broke out on my forehead. I wouldn’t be so paranoid as to keep track in the first place!

  Then again, this wasn’t California. This was Lorens, Wisconsin, a small town, and how many people drove identical automobiles?

  As a gigantic bolt of lightning ripped across the sky, producing a thunderous crash, I jumped in my seatbelt, almost spilling the plants. Dirt sprinkled onto my feet. I quickly acted as if I were adjusting the plants in the box. I didn’t want Justin to think I was afraid.

  But I was. I didn’t like storms. I didn’t know what to expect, and I gripped the edges of the cardboard box so tightly my knuckles hurt.

  Justin, not seeming to notice, was rambling on about his Jeep. “ . . . a bit beat up, and it sure guzzles the gas, but it’s always gotten me where I want to go.” He smiled. “And it comes in mighty handy for saving girls who get caught in storms. Here you go,” he said, pulling to a stop. I looked up to see we were in my uncle’s driveway.

  Justin turned to face me. I found myself looking into his brown eyes, eyes that led to somewhere I’d never been . . . and I searched them, desperately wanting my suspicions to be wrong.

  “Thanks for the lift home,” I said. “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come along when you did.”

  “You’d have gotten very wet. Come on, give me that box and we’ll make a dash for the door.”

  Gladly, I turned the box over to him, and a moment later we were standing at the front door, dripping under the shelter of the veranda. A fierce wind shrieked around us like a wild creature. Thunder reverberated so close that I thought this must be the end, and I wished I were inside, hiding under a bed.

  The moment I put my hand on the doorknob, I felt a terrible chill run through me. The door was locked, and I hadn’t taken a key. I knew my uncle kept one hanging inside on a rack, but I’d been so preoccupied this morning, I hadn’t thought to take it. When I left, I locked the door behind me out of habit, since I’m always the last one out of the house when going to work. All this raced through my head in an instant, while Justin stood on the porch holding the box of plants, dripping patiently. What was I going to do?

  Trembling, both from the cold and the fear of being stuck out in this storm, and—worst of all—admitting my incompetence to Justin—I slipped my hand in my pocket, making as if I knew what I was doing. When my fingers touched cold steel, my heart leapt. For a second, I almost believed wishful thinking had made the key materialize; but as I drew it out, I remembered it was the one I had found just this morning down the side of the chair.

  It looked as if it could be a house key. At that moment, there was nothing more I wanted it to be. With a silent prayer, I placed it in the keyhole.

  It fit, and the key turned easily. Sending up another prayer of thanks, I darted a look at Justin before pushing open the door. He gave no sign of having noticed the drama I’d just gone through.

  We had just stepped inside, and I was still holding the door open for Justin, when the wind tore it from my grasp and slammed it shut behind us. Instant darkness. I felt as if I’d entered a tomb. Or, at the very least, the wrong house. I flipped a light switch but nothing happened.

  “Power must be out,” said Justin. After crouching to set the wet plant box on the floor, he stood up.

  I’ll never know what he meant to do next, for I was struck with terror that he would go, leaving me alone in this creepy house in this nightmarish storm, and I clutched at his arm. “Don’t go!”

  It was too dark to read Justin’s face. I wondered if he wore an amused smile, or if he looked as embarrassed as I felt. I quickly tried to amend my words, to make them sound like anything other than the panic-stricken plea they were. “There’s no reason for you to go,” I said slowly, deliberately. “You don’t want to drive in that. The storm’s getting worse. It’s dangerous.” I felt my face flushing, and for that reason I was thankful for the darkness.

  “I won’t go,” he said, “if you don’t want me to.”

  “You gave me a ride home. The least I can do is let you stay.”

  “Of course. It’s only right that you should pay me back. Thanks.”

  The words sounded dry, and I sensed he was scorning me, though I wasn’t sure why. A great crash of thunder put an end to my speculating. I automatically reached for Justin’s arm, but he grabbed mine first and pulled me away from the door.

  “Let’s get downstairs.”

  I thought I felt the house shaking.

  “Go! Go!” he ordered, almost pushing me down the stairs and into the basement.

  We retreated to the farthest wall. In the cool, dim concrete surroundings, I tried to catch my breath, but musty air clogged my lungs. There was no light to see by, but when I raised my eyes, I found them looking into
Justin’s, which almost shone in the darkness. Eyes in the dark can be a scary thing. But I wasn’t scared.

  “Do you have any flashlights or candles down here? Any matches?” Justin turned and began rummaging along the wooden shelves lining the wall.

  “Maybe,” I said, having no idea, but joining in the search among canned foods and boxes. I didn’t know anything about the basement because I’d only been down here once—soon after I’d arrived—pausing on the bottom stair only long enough to know it was a basement.

  “Here we go.” Justin struck a match and lit a twisted gold candle. Tear-shaped drips of solidified wax clung to its sides; I wondered when it had last been lit, and what for. “That’s better.”

  But I didn’t think so. If anything, it was worse—the flame heightened the eeriness of our surroundings by bringing out the shadows. Flickering shadows. Justin moved to a corner and I followed.

  I tried not to flinch at a loud thunderclap. “I don’t like storms,” I said between clenched teeth. The only answer I got was another crash of thunder. “I hope there are no tornadoes.” I rubbed my cold arms and found myself saying, “Ever since I saw The Wizard of Oz when I was little, I’ve been terrified of tornadoes.” I stopped. What a dumb thing to say. I blamed it on the darkness, the storm, the basement, my crazy situation. I stole a glance at Justin. His face was shadowy, but I thought I saw a smile.

  “At least I don’t have to worry about tornadoes in California,” I added defensively.

  “No, I guess not. Instead, you worry about earthquakes.”

  “Ha, ha.” I didn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing I was, in fact, more afraid of earthquakes than tornadoes.

  Something must have caught Justin’s eye, for he returned to the shelves and started fumbling around. He came back with some kind of brown, leather-covered box. “What’s that?” I asked.

  He pulled up a thin antenna, a wand of silver in the candlelight. “A radio.” He wiggled some dials and the radio began making crackling sounds, interspersed with high squeals. “Maybe we can pick something up on this storm.”

  I waited in my cold, dusty corner, watching Justin’s capable hands working the dials. His long, slender brown fingers. My gaze moved up to his dark hair, which fell slightly over his forehead as he looked down, so intent on the radio in his hands. Shadows highlighted the tense muscles of his face as he concentrated, frowning slightly.

  A voice suddenly broke through the static. “—severe thunderstorm warning—crackle—crackle—in effect until—crackle—thirty P.M.—crackle—crackle—tornado warning”—my heart stiffened—“to remain in effect until—crackle—advise you to seek shelter—crackle—a low area—crackle—”

  Justin took one glance at me and switched the radio off.

  “Darn thing’s enough to give me a headache.” He stared at the radio in his hands. “It’s nothing we don’t already know. We’ll be fine.”

  I thought I felt the house rattle and I backed so far into my corner I was almost climbing the wall. “My uncle’s still in town, at the bookstore—”

  “He’ll be fine, too,” Justin assured me. “Hasn’t he lived here his whole life? I’m sure he’s seen worse storms than this. He’ll know what to do.”

  I began nodding my head in agreement, then froze, my eyes riveting on Justin. “How do you know he’s lived here his whole life?”

  Justin didn’t answer right away, just stood there holding that old radio, looking at me as if he didn’t quite understand the question. Finally he spoke. “You might be surprised by how much I know about you and your family.”

  I’d expected a denial, a joke. Not this. A finger of fear, something I’d felt too many times already in Justin’s presence, touched me. An icy touch. Something that, no matter how many times you feel it, you can never get used to. Ever since I’d first met Justin and he’d left me with his strange words of warning, I’d felt something wasn’t quite right about him. Little things, but little things add up.

  “What do you mean? What do you know about my family?” My voice came out in a parched whisper.

  Justin set the radio down. “I’m a reporter. I know lots of things. And what I don’t know—I can find out.”

  “You didn’t answer me.” I wasn’t going to let anything slip by this time, no matter how much I might not want to hear it. “What do you know about my family?”

  “You don’t have to make it sound like you’re accusing me of something criminal. Your uncle’s last name is Hutch, right? Okay. Now, if you can recall, I was planning to do a story on that old bookstore of his. So I found out who runs it and where he was from. Turns out he’s lived here his whole life.” Justin spread out his hands. “It’s that simple.”

  Sure, Justin made it sound rational enough, but I was beginning to think he had a special talent for that.

  “Nowadays it’s not so difficult to find out what you want to know,” he continued, “as long as you know the right channels to go through.”

  “Doesn’t a person have a right to privacy anymore?” I asked angrily. “It shouldn’t be that easy.”

  “Maybe not,” Justin said, “but it is.”

  “And then some things that you need to find out, you can’t.” I looked down at my hands. “It’s so frustrating.”

  “Things such as…?”

  “You know.” I sighed, too tired to evade the truth. “About my mother. If I could just know what really happened up at the mansion that day she fell, or at least talk to someone who knows, who was there…like that Christopher Renton. He was a lead, but it didn’t get me anywhere.” I spoke vehemently now, forgetting the storm. “I feel like I’m up against a brick wall and there’s no way to get through.”

  “Then maybe you should stop trying. You’ve done enough. Maybe it’s time to leave the past alone.”

  I’d told myself the very same thing, but hearing Justin tell me made me all the more determined not to give up. “No, I haven’t done enough! I can’t just quit.”

  Justin sighed. “Why are you so stubborn?” He ran his hand through his hair. “Why is this so important to you?”

  “Because—because the past affects the present—my present. And my future.”

  Justin’s eyes fixed on mine. “How?”

  I was struck with a sudden, deep desire to startle Justin, and in a split second, I made my choice. “We’re close,” I whispered, “very close to finding the treasure map. The one that Connie Ingerman supposedly hid and no one ever found.”

  I admit now that what I did was foolish—no, make that plain stupid—revealing such information to please a whim—but I didn’t realize the danger at the time. “Someone did find it. My mother. And I’m going to find it next.”

  I was disappointed by Justin’s reaction, or lack of. I saw no shock on his face, only a sort of steady, intense concentration.

  “We’re close,” I continued, not knowing when to shut up, “closer than anyone.” I was surprised at myself for showing such fervor. It didn’t sound like me speaking. In fact, it sounded like Philip. He was the one devoted to finding the map. I hadn’t even cared much about it, exciting as it sounded. What really mattered to me was learning about my mother. My eagerness about the map had come from Philip’s contagious enthusiasm; but he wasn’t here now, so why was I speaking like some sort of feverishly greedy, gold-struck fool?

  “We?” was all Justin said.

  “Philip Barnstrum and me.”

  “Oh, yeah. Philip Barnstrum. Sorry, I just can’t seem to remember that name.”

  Even if there was a mocking tone to his voice, it didn’t camouflage the seriousness in his eyes, and I was suddenly afraid I had said too much. Way too much.

  “You won’t—say anything about this to anyone, right?” I tried to disguise the worry in my voice, but failed miserably. What had I done? Had I lost my mind? I’d just revealed the story of the century to a story-hungry reporter! And if Philip ever found out how I’d betrayed him—

  “Don’t sound so
worried—”

  “I’m not. I just don’t want you to go—spreading the news. For obvious reasons.”

  “Why did you tell me, then, if you don’t trust me?”

  I didn’t answer. I didn’t know the answer.

  “Look, I use facts, not assumptions. And you haven’t discovered the map yet. Have you?”

  I shook my head.

  “Then it’s nothing concrete. I don’t use rumors. So relax.”

  He picked up the radio and resumed fiddling with the knobs. “Of course, if you do make a big discovery, I’ll be the first to know, won’t I?”

  I didn’t answer.

  “After this Barnside guy I mean, of course.”

  “Barnstrum,” I said.

  But I still didn’t answer his question.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Though the storm continued to rage outside, with a fury that battered the walls and penetrated the basement, I was aware only of the silence between Justin and me.

  Justin continued to play with the radio. I listened to static and squeals until I wanted to snatch the radio and throw it out a window. But I managed to control myself, mainly because I had a feeling Justin was trying to annoy me; and if he was, I certainly wasn’t going to let him know he was succeeding. Also, the closest window was farther away than I was willing to go.

  “Are you looking for another weather report?” I finally asked, careful to keep my voice patient.

  “No.”

  I clenched my teeth.

  “Here we go!” Justin set the radio on the shelf and looked up in triumph as music began playing. I was so surprised, I smiled.

  Justin smiled back. Without warning, he held his hand out to me. He even swept a bow. “May I have this dance?”

  My smile faded as I hesitated. I hoped Justin couldn’t see me blushing. “I—I’m not a very good dancer.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Justin said. “I am. Just follow me; you’ll get the hang of it.” I caught a faint, insolent challenge in his eyes.

  I lifted my chin. “All right.” And I took his hand.