The Evil That Was Done (Secrets of Redemption Book 3)

by Michele PW (Pariza Wacek)

  “Why?”

  “Because ... “ I paused. I was going to tell her what I told the detective, but then I remembered that Chrissy had had her own experience with Aunt Charlie. “Aunt Charlie told me to,” I said simply.

  Her expression changed to understanding. “Ah. Did Aunt Charlie also tell you if she did it or not?”

  She saw the answer on my face and grimaced. “Okay, I have to get to work. What are you doing in here, anyway?”

  I glanced at my art. “Oh, well ...” I fumbled a bit. I wasn’t sure if I was ready for Chrissy to see what I had done, nor did I think there was time to get into the whole searching for evidence thing. “I guess I thought it was time to finally look at my old paintings.”

  She took a few steps closer. “They’re good,” she said. “I like that one, especially.” She pointed to a self-portrait that, if I remembered correctly, was half finished. Dark colors swirled around a haunted face with huge eyes. I had started it the week before Jessica disappeared. Staring at it, I had to suppress a shiver. Daphne had always said I was acting crazy before that party. The painting certainly seemed to prove it.

  “I never did finish it,” I said.

  “Looks finished to me,” she said, before glancing at her phone. “Oh crap. I’m late. I have to go.” Without saying goodbye, she turned and hurried out of The Studio, her footsteps creaking on the stairs as she bolted down.

  I turned my attention back to my old self-portrait. I couldn’t even remember why I had set it aside from the rest, but after Chrissy’s comment, I studied it with fresh eyes.

  When I first saw it—the swirls of navy blue, deep purple, and dark red that came together to suggest a face—I was immediately uncomfortable. There was something unsettling about the painting that I couldn’t put my finger on, so I had quickly moved on.

  But now, looking at it again, under the unmistakable haunting energy that seemed to cling to the canvas, I detected sadness.

  Why was I sad? The fear I could understand; I had been super paranoid at the time due to a bunch of factors. But not the sadness.

  What would I have had to be sad about?

  From behind me, I heard the stairs creaking. Chrissy again. “What did you forget?” I asked without turning around.

  She didn’t answer me, but I thought I could hear her breathing. “Chrissy?” I asked, but there was something ... wrong. The breathing was too deep, too heavy, too ... excited.

  “Chrissy?” I asked again, starting to turn as something crashed into the back of my head, and everything went black.

  Chapter 32

  Consciousness drifted back to me slowly. The first thing I was aware of was pain. My head was pounding with bright, hot sparks of agony every time I blinked.

  The second thing was confusion. Was I lying on the floor? I seemed to be, as I could feel the edges of a rough cloth under my cheek as my eyes focused on the ground beneath the piece of furniture in front of me. Was it a dresser? No, wasn’t I in The Studio? There’s no dresser in The Studio. And ... wait a minute. Was that Mad Martha’s locket? I blinked, wincing every time a dart of pain shot through my head, trying to get a clearer look. Yes, the heavy gold chain with the ruby rose and emerald leaves was unmistakable.

  Where was I? Was I still in the house? And why was I lying on my stomach?

  “Oh, you’re awake,” said a familiar voice behind me. I struggled to see who it was, but with my hands bound behind my back, it was difficult to move my head. All I could really make out was a pair of cowboy boots and the edges of a navy-blue braided rug.

  Was I in Mia’s room? Why? And who did I know who wore cowboy boots?

  “Relax,” the voice said, sounding amused. The figure crouched down, and I finally got a look at my attacker.

  It was JD. The cowboy. The one who was constantly flirting with me.

  Why was he in Mia’s room? And why would he tie me up?

  “JD? What ...? I don’t understand. What’s happening?” I couldn’t get my head around anything.

  He grinned at me before plopping down onto the floor, cross-legged. “Surprised to see me? You really shouldn’t be.” He made a tutting sound. “You’re not nearly as smart as your aunt.”

  “My aunt?” Was I even hearing him correctly? Could getting hit on the head impact hearing? “What does she have to do with anything? And how do you even know her?”

  “I know lots of things, Becca,” he said smugly. “Things you really ought to know too.”

  “Like what?” God, Becca, think. My brain felt so thick and fuzzy. There was something I was missing, something important, and I needed to figure it out.

  “Like what is really going on in this town.”

  My mind scuttled around frantically. “Are you talking about Gwyn? And Ellen? Did you kill them?”

  His expression fell. “That’s the best you can come up with? I would have thought that would have been obvious the moment you saw me.”

  How in the world could that have been obvious? I wanted to ask, but something inside me cautioned me against it. I somehow intrinsically knew it would be the wrong thing to say. Instead, I licked my dry lips, trying to buy some time. Every time I moved my head, white-hot pain shot through my skull, and I was starting to feel nauseous, as well. Was JD crazy? How did we all miss it? “Maybe don’t hit me so hard on the head then,” I retorted.

  He stared at me, and for a moment, I thought he was going to punch me again. But then he threw back his head and laughed. “Okay, you got me,” he said. “Maybe I did hit you harder than I intended. That explains why it took you so long to come to.”

  So long to come to? How long was I out? I thought about asking him, but changed my mind. “Why did you kill Gwyn and Ellen?” I asked instead.

  He grinned. “Oh, come now,” he said, his voice back to a light, teasing tone that failed to disguise the hint of madness underneath. “You don’t think I’m going to make it that easy for you, do you? Why do you think I killed them?”

  “To set me up?” I rasped.

  “Yes!” He shot his fist into the sky. “Score. You want to go for two?”

  I opened my mouth to ask him why he wanted to set me up, but I quickly closed it. Clearly, he wanted me to figure things out for myself. It seemed smarter to keep him talking. I had no idea what time it was, but if I was lucky, Mia would be home soon.

  Although, my luck hadn’t been so great lately.

  “You’ve been following me, haven’t you?” I croaked out. “That’s how you knew that I kept running into Gwyn. And what happened with Louise at the memorial service. You were in that blue truck.”

  “See, I knew you had a few brains in that pretty little head.”

  “You were the one emailing me. How did you get into my computer?”

  “I broke into your house and installed a virus on it that allows me to access it remotely.”

  God, it was worse than I thought. He had been in my house, touching my things … going through my computer. I felt so violated.

  Wait. When did he break in? It had to have been a while back. Before the emails started. A few more pieces fell into place. “That night. Oscar sensed you.”

  He gave me a puzzled look. “Oscar?”

  I didn’t want to talk about my cat. “I heard you,” I said instead. “I heard the door click. And I saw you outside.”

  “Ah,” he nodded. “I wondered about that. I saw the lights go on in the kitchen. I thought I had been quiet enough, but…” He lifted his hands in an “oh well” gesture.

  “You had me drive all the way out to The Grand Slam bar,” I said. “Why?

  His gaze shifted, and he seemed far away. “That bar was very good to me,” he said. “It’s where I met Ellen. I needed a place that was out of town, so there would be less chance of running into someone who recognized either of us. It was easier than I expected. I did
n’t even have to drug her—she was already tipsy when she arrived. All I had to do was order her a few drinks, and she was putty in my hands. Literally.” He laughed, a revolting sound, and I struggled to keep my face from revealing my disgust. It was like a mask had shifted, allowing me to see the real JD that had been hiding underneath all along. “No one saw a thing. I thought, well, it worked so well with Ellen, why not invite you out there, too?”

  “And how did you know I would follow you down that dirt road?”

  His grinned widened. “ I didn’t. I couldn’t believe my luck, actually. I thought I was going to have to drug you and plant you out there. You saved me a ton of work.”

  “But ...” I struggled to make my brain work. “Why would you lure me out to that bar if you weren’t going to do anything to me?”

  “Think Becca,” he said, his voice faintly condescending. “I needed to know if you would follow the email instructions. My plan was to send you an email with a story about how something had come up and I couldn’t meet you, and schedule a second time. I figured you’d be more likely to let your guard down the second time. After all, nothing bad happened when you showed up the first time; why would something bad happen the next? That would be my chance.”

  Slowly, oh so slowly, my foggy brain clicked the pieces together. “You were the one who drugged me at The Jack Saloon.”

  “Of course.”

  “But, how? I never saw you in the bar. And how did you get Mia’s phone?”

  “Oh, come on.” He shook his head. “You were doing so well. Don’t tell me you forgot I work at Aunt May’s.”

  I closed my eyes. Of course. As an employee, not only did he have access to the employee lounge, but also to the scheduling. He probably knew Chrissy’s and Mia’s schedule better than they did.

  Oh God. A cold pit of dread formed in my stomach. He probably timed today’s break-in with their schedules, as well. For all I knew, they could both be working a double shift. It might be hours before they’re home.

  I was on my own.

  “You were at the bar,” I said. “You were in disguise.” The bearded, tattooed guy floated through my memory. Even then, I had felt like there was something off about him.

  He smiled delightedly. “Yes! That’s the ticket.”

  I thought about the guy who had bumped into me, knocking my drink over. What was his name? I couldn’t remember now.

  “So, you got a guy to knock over my wine so the bartender would bring me a drugged glass? What did you say to get him to do that? Or was that a lucky coincidence, as well?”

  “I told him I kept asking you out, and you kept turning me down, so would he mind distracting you so I could surprise you with a ‘present.’ Of course, he didn’t know the ‘present’ was drugged wine. I had intended to slip the drug into the wine you were already drinking. Getting it into the new glass was just a small challenge.”

  “You surprised me all right,” I muttered.

  “I know. It worked out better than I expected. Other than ruining your shirt,” he said with what looked like a small frown. “And if I hadn’t been able to slip you the drug in the bar, I was planning on chloroforming you in the parking lot.”

  Great. Just great. “So, you drugged me and then drove to Gwyn’s to kill her.”

  JD looked pleased with himself. “Yep. Although it wasn’t much of a challenge.” He looked faintly regretful. “I surprised her while she was sleeping. It was over before it barely started.”

  Every part of me was screaming to get away. I wanted to shove myself under the dresser and squeeze into the tiniest space possible to get as far away from him as I could. It was so surreal, lying just inches away from a murderer, talking about his kills.

  And what was he going to do to me when he was through talking?

  Oh God, I was going to be sick.

  Steady Becca, another voice inside me said. Your hands are tied. You’re on your stomach. You can’t get away, at least not right now. Right now, the only thing you need to focus on is keeping him talking.

  Keeping him talking. Right.

  “You did all of this to set me up,” I said. “You wanted everyone to think I killed Gwyn and Ellen.”

  “Yep.” He seemed inordinately pleased with himself, and my hands itched to slap the smug expression off his face.

  Not helping, Becca.

  “But ...” My voice trailed off as I noticed the expectant way he was studying me. He was enjoying watching me make the connections, I could tell. But I had absolutely no idea why JD would do all of this to me. He just arrived in Redemption. He barely knew me.

  Unless ...

  Find the evidence. My aunt’s voice floated through my head. Your life is in danger, unless you find the evidence.

  What if it was someone who knew Jesse? Daniel had said, sitting across from me at the kitchen table.

  Oh God, Daniel! Why couldn’t he show up now?

  My mind was spinning ... what if he was on to something? Could there be a connection between JD and Jesse?

  JD was too young to have been friends with Jesse. He would have been a child when Jesse disappeared.

  Unless ... what if Jesse was JD’s father? The “secret” girlfriend could have been pregnant when Jesse disappeared.

  “Are you ... is this about Jesse?”

  His face twisted. “Jesse? God, no. He was stupid. Weak. This has nothing to do with Jesse. God, why would you even think that?”

  “I ... I ...” Oh no. I didn’t want to make him angry. But, if not Jesse, then ...

  Find the evidence. Your life depends on it.

  Realization washed over me like a tidal wave.

  “You’re Jonathan’s son, aren’t you?” I asked.

  His face lit up and he shot a fist up in the air for a second time. “Yes! She shoots; she scores!”

  I half-smiled, trying desperately to keep myself from drowning in panic. All at once, I was acutely aware of how much danger I was in.

  My aunt killed this man’s father and buried him in the basement.

  I tried to shift unobtrusively, fumbling with my bonds. How could I get away?

  JD didn’t seem to notice. “I probably should be thanking you,” he said conversationally. “You did what I wasn’t able to.”

  I licked my dry lips. “Which was?”

  His expression twisted. “Getting the truth out of your aunt.”

  “I didn’t ...” Did he somehow know about Aunt Charlie’s nightly visits? That she came to me in dreams? No, that was impossible. “What do you mean?”

  JD rose to his feet, suddenly agitated, and began pacing back and forth. “She refused to tell me what happened to my father. I knew she had something to do with it. I knew it. But she just kept insisting that he left.”

  Wait a minute. JD was making it sound like he had actually spoken to my aunt. While she was still alive. “Did you meet her? My aunt?” I asked cautiously, not wanting to upset him any more than he clearly already was, but needing to get to the truth.

  “She was the most frustrating woman,” he said. “I have no idea what my father saw in her.”

  “So, this isn’t your first time in Redemption,” I said.

  He frowned at me. “How could it be? This,” he raised his arms up, “was the last place my father was seen alive. I had to come back.”

  “I don’t blame you,” I said, shifting so I was more on my side than my stomach. I tried to make it seem like I was doing it so I could more easily have a conversation with him, but in reality, I was trying to hide my frantic efforts to get my hands free. “You needed the truth.”

  “You’re damn right I did,” he said. “I knew you’d understand. That’s why you dug in the basement for me.”

  I didn’t bother to correct him. If he wanted to think I was digging in the basement for him, then let him. I was m
ore focused on my back pocket. There was something in there. I could feel the bulge when I shifted to my side. What was it? My phone? “The truth needed to come out,” I agreed. The ropes weren’t budging. I needed some sort of cutting device to get loose. My mind raced. Could I somehow angle myself just right to use a corner of the dresser without him noticing? “When was the first time you returned to Redemption?”

  That far away expression returned to his face again. “Jessica.”

  I froze. Did he just say “Jessica”?

  “You knew Jessica,” I said, forcing myself to keep my tone conversational despite the urge to scream. How could he possibly have anything to do with what happened to Jessica?

  “She looked a lot like her uncle. Did you know that?” he asked.

  “Yeah, I’ve heard that before,” I said.

  “I couldn’t believe it, the first time I laid eyes on her,” he said. “You have to understand; I had been dreaming of coming back to Redemption ever since my mother took us away. We went to live with my son-of-a-bitch grandfather on his farm in the middle of nowhere. I had to stay there way longer than I wanted. I had to protect my sister from that bastard.”

  My head was whirling, balancing the weight of his words with the desperation building inside me to get away. “Of course you did,” I said. “That’s what a good brother does.”

  “Damn straight,” he said again. “So, Jessica was already sixteen when I first saw her. So were you.”

  My eyes widened, and involuntarily, I sucked in my breath sharply. “You were here that summer,” I said, my voice squeaking. I tried to get myself back under control. I had a feeling the worst thing I could do was show JD my fear. I tried again. “I don’t remember you.”

  “I got a job that summer with your neighbors, the Jones’.”

  I nodded. He was talking about our one-and-only neighbor who owned the farm next to us. “I did it to keep an eye on your aunt,” he continued, “I wanted to talk to her, ask her what happened to my father. It took some doing, but eventually, I was able to get her alone to ask her my questions.”

  “Did she answer?”

  He frowned, and I could see the rage lurking below his expression. “She lied. But it doesn’t matter. I know the truth now. And that summer was better than I could ever have imagined.”