“Like Spencer not going into Isabella’s art studio.”
“Right.”
“What would happen if he did go in?”
She stared at him. “What do you mean?”
“Just what I said. The studio was off-limits for him. What would happen if he ignored that rule and walked in? Or moved something? Or took something, because he couldn’t stand the mess?”
“He wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t go into her studio.”
“Because of the way she would react if he did?”
“Because they had agreed on rules and boundaries,” Molly growled. “And he wouldn’t want to go in her studio.”
Zachary thought back to the chaos and disorder that ruled in Isabella’s studio. He pictured Spencer standing in the doorway, as he had a couple of times. He didn’t hover in the door, wishing that he could enter. He didn’t look longingly at the disorderly shelves and tables, wanting to straighten them. Rather, he had hung back as if he couldn’t stand to enter.
“What about Spencer’s office? Was Isabella allowed to go in there?”
“It was his space,” Molly growled. “Is his space. I don’t know if she is allowed or not, but it’s his space, and she respects that boundary. You can’t think that she would want to go in there and interfere with his things.”
“No, I don’t think that. But would she go in there? To talk to him? To leave the mail on his desk? To pick up a toy that Declan had left in there? What are the rules?”
“You’ll have to ask them.”
“And what were the rules for taking care of Declan? They each had separate responsibilities?”
“Yes. Of course.” Molly nodded vigorously. “They were very good about sharing responsibilities. Spencer took Declan in the mornings. He made sure that he had breakfast and lunch and played games with him. Did chores or went on walks. Then in the afternoon, it was Isabella’s turn. She’d take over so Spencer could work in peace.”
“What did she do with Declan?”
“What do you mean? Looked after him.”
“You listed off things that Spencer would do with him. Make him breakfast. Play games with him. Take him out for a walk. What things would Isabella do with him?”
“Well… put him down for his nap. It’s very important for young children to get enough sleep, or they get grumpy. Being chronically short on sleep makes a person sick, overweight, more prone to catching everything that goes around.”
“Uh-huh. And?”
“And what?”
“What else would she do with him? Put him down for a nap. What else?”
“I don’t know. A hundred different things. Do an art or craft with him. Watch him while he played in the backyard.”
“She didn’t spend as much one-on-one time with him as Spencer did. She found ways to do other things while it was her time to look after him.”
“There’s nothing wrong with letting him nap or watching him playing in the back yard.”
“Of course not. That’s not being negligent.”
“That’s right.” Molly nodded her agreement.
“But it does show a pattern. It shows that she wanted to continue to follow her own routine, and only did what she had to in order to accommodate Declan.”
“You’re wrong. She loved Declan. She loved spending time with him.”
“Maybe she didn’t always share her feelings with you. Maybe she felt like she couldn’t tell you how inadequate she felt, or how she didn’t want to be with Declan all the time. Maybe she was afraid that you would judge her for not wanting to spend as much time with her child as she possibly could.”
“I would never criticize her for that. Parents are people too. You still have to take care of yourself. I would understand that she couldn’t take care of Declan all the time. She needed time to herself. Isabella has always needed alone time. Time to regenerate, to work on her art.”
“And she wasn’t getting that, not when she had to watch Declan while she painted. She didn’t really get alone, undisturbed time, did she?”
“She did. Mr. Goldman, you’re talking in circles. I know she needed time for herself. She had a husband. She had me. She didn’t need to do anything to get rid of Declan. If she wanted help for a few hours, she only had to ask.”
“But it wasn’t just a few hours. It was every day. Every single day, she had to look after him, listen to his inane, childish chatter, clean up after him. She had to make sure he didn’t touch any of her precious things. She had to feed him and change him and be there for him. Children take a lot of work.”
“You think I don’t know that? I raised Isabella as a single parent. There were no breaks for me. No husband, no grandparents. She was a very high-needs child, and there was no one to help me. Don’t you tell me how hard it is to raise a child.” She shook an accusing finger at him. “You don’t have children. You told me that. You can’t understand what it’s like to raise a child on your own, but I do. And Isabella wasn’t on her own.”
“Maybe not; but maybe she felt alone. You had raised her by yourself, but she couldn’t raise a child with the help of her husband. She felt like a failure. That’s why she killed Declan, and that’s why she tried to kill herself, overwhelmed with the guilt of it all. The guilt of not being able to be the parent she wanted to be and the guilt of killing her own child.”
Molly stood up. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
Zachary didn’t move.
“Leave,” Molly repeated. She motioned to the door. “If you don’t leave, I’ll call the police and have them arrest you for trespassing. I’ve had enough of this.” Her lips twisted into angry shapes before she managed to spit the rest of the words out. “Please submit your final report to me. By mail. Then I don’t want you to investigate anymore. You will be done.”
Zachary stood slowly. He walked to the door and let himself out.
Chapter Eighteen
It had been an emotional day, and Zachary knew that he needed to take the time to complete the final report on the Bond case and get it off to Molly. Then he had to decide what he was going to do about the case. The more he looked into it, and the more he discussed the merits of the case, the more certain he was that the only culprit could be Isabella.
No wandering child killer had happened by their yard and spotted Declan. They hadn’t snatched the child or persuaded him to leave the safety of his yard, dosed him with cough medicine, and drowned him in the pond. The timeline was too tight. The killer’s goal had to be drowning him from the start. They hadn’t tried to kidnap him or harm him in other ways and been thwarted. They had to have gone straight from taking him from the yard to killing him within an hour or so. The crime suggested a parent. A frustrated caretaker overwhelmed with the pressures of taking care of a child.
But he couldn’t go to the police and say that he was sure that Isabella had murdered her only child. There was no evidence to clinch it. The case had already been closed and Zachary could offer nothing to change their minds.
He plowed through the written report anyway. He had already made his opinion known to Molly, so he didn’t mince words. He didn’t try to phrase the file diplomatically as he had before. She knew what he thought, and he needed to lay it all out without flinching. She could do with it what she liked. Shred it or burn it so no one else could ever read it.
When he was finished—or at least finished the first draft—he sat back in his chair, making it creak angrily in protest. He called Kenzie on an old flip phone he had just activated.
“Are you free for a late dinner?” he suggested.
“I’ve actually already had dinner. I was starving.”
“How about a nightcap, then?”
“Sure,” Kenzie’s voice was warm, “that would be nice. Where do you want to go?”
His options were getting more and more limited. Nowhere that Bridget might go. Nowhere any of his subjects might go. Not to the inn. Somewhere in town so he could get there easily by bus. Or he co
uld call a cab when he was ready to go home. Maybe Kenzie would offer to drive him home, which might lead to better things.
“How about… there’s a little pub called The Four-Leaf Clover. Have you ever been there?”
“No… but I know where it is. It’s across from Old Joe’s, isn’t it, where we ate…”
“Yes.”
“And we’re not going to run into Bridget there, right?”
“No. She never went there.”
“Let’s hope she doesn’t start.”
The nightcap went well. They were both relaxed, tired after a long day, but happy to have put their work behind them, not still stressing out over it. Zachary was able to stop being so self-conscious about his movements. To stop worrying that he looked like someone with brain damage, and just relax.
“You’re glad to be closing the Declan Bond case?” Kenzie asked.
“Yes. I wish I could do something more about it, but that will be up to someone else. I don’t have anything new to give to the police, so all I can do is tell Molly my opinion. And that’s that.”
“Good. I’m glad you’re getting that one out of your hair. And the others…? Are you still working on any of the others that… that the note could have been about?”
“I’ll have them all closed off soon. I’ll start new cases… not have to worry about those other ones anymore.”
“Yeah. Good. Because I don’t want any more accidents.”
“Me neither,” Zachary agreed.
Even so, he was still a little nervous when they finished their drinks and went out to Kenzie’s little red sports car. Zachary walked around it, looking for anything suspicious. There was no note on the windshield. Nothing attached under the bumpers. He took a good long look under the car for anything that didn’t look like it belonged, or any fluids dripping underneath. When he declared it safe and got into the passenger seat, Kenzie didn’t tease him about his paranoia.
And he noticed as she backed out and shifted gears that she kept testing the brakes. Pressing down to make sure she still had pressure. Easing out of the parking space slowly and being even more cautious when she pulled out onto the main road, slowing significantly before curves and being unusually careful at intersections. Zachary kept an eye on the mirrors, trying not to be obvious about it. He caught Kenzie’s eyes on him a couple of times and knew that she had noticed.
They both breathed a sigh of relief when they made it to the parking lot of Zachary’s building, and Kenzie pulled into Zachary’s reserved parking stall, empty because he hadn’t yet replaced his car. Zachary got out and walked around the front of the car to meet her as she got out.
He swore.
Kenzie looked at him, eyes alarmed, and turned to see what he was looking at. Bridget was striding across the parking lot toward them, and her eyes were blazing. She looked crazed. Zachary checked her hands to make sure she didn’t have a weapon. Kenzie backed away and looked at Zachary worriedly. She slid out her phone, and Zachary knew she was dialing 9-1-1, getting ready to press ‘send’ and get them on the line.
Bridget started yelling and swearing before she reached them, calling Zachary names up and down, her face bright red.
“What’s wrong?” Zachary questioned. “What’s going on?”
“You dog! You stupid, inconsiderate lowlife! I knew you were a jerk, Zachary, but this takes the cake!”
“What?” Zachary held up his hands defensively. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“I took my car in to the shop for some servicing. What do you think they found?”
Zachary swallowed. He glanced aside at Kenzie, then back at Bridget. “Whatever has upset you, we can deal with it,” he soothed. “We’ll sort it out.”
She slapped him across the face. Zachary was too slow and clumsy from his spinal cord injury to react and pull away in time and took the full force of her assault. Out of the corner of his eye, Zachary saw Kenzie moving to place the emergency call and raised his hand to stop her.
“You don’t think he deserves it?” Bridget challenged Kenzie. “I should slap him silly!”
“For what?” Kenzie demanded.
“I took my car to the mechanic, and he found something on the inside of the bumper.”
Kenzie shook her head. “What did they find?”
“A tracking device! A device that transmits my location, no matter where I go. So that he—” she shot a glare at Zachary, “—can know where I am at all times. Any time, night or day, he can look at his receiver, and see where I am. What do you think of that?”
Kenzie looked at Zachary. “Really? Is that true?”
“Ask to look at his phone and computer,” Bridget said. “Which is it on, Zachary? Or is it on both?”
He swallowed, keeping his mouth shut. He’d be in trouble if he denied it, and in trouble if he admitted it. There was no right answer. He was glad that all he had on him was his old flip phone, which didn’t even have any games on it, let alone the GPS tracker app. The computer back in his apartment was another story.
“Why would you be tracking your ex-wife?” Kenzie asked slowly.
Zachary brought his hand up to his face to rub his forehead. He felt like his hand was disembodied, not actually part of him. He rubbed the furrows between his brow slowly, trying to figure out what to do or say next.
“Bridget. I was just…”
“Just what?” she demanded furiously. “I’m curious. Just what excuse do you think would justify stalking me? What would the police say if I took this to them? You want to go to jail?”
“You were so upset when you ran into me and Kenzie at the restaurant. You made it clear you didn’t want to run into me anywhere. If I could check your location, I could make sure I didn’t…”
Rather than looking reassured at this, Kenzie looked appalled. “So those times when I asked you if we were safe to go to a restaurant, to the inn, or somewhere else, the reason you knew Bridget wouldn’t be there was you were tracking her?”
Zachary could tell by her voice that she did not want an affirmative answer. He looked at Bridget, a quick sideways glance to see just how angry she was, checking her position to make sure she wasn’t going to hit him again, even though he knew he wouldn’t be able to avoid it if she did.
“I’m taking out a restraining order,” Bridget said. “This is going too far. You stay away from me, and you stay out of my life!”
“Wait a minute here,” Kenzie spoke up, addressing Bridget. “You’re the one who just hit him. You’re the one who freaks out if you see him out in public. Who keeps calling me about him. You came to see him at the hospital, acting like you’re all concerned. From everything I’ve seen, there’s pretty good reason for him to want to keep track of your location.”
“I had to go to the hospital. He still has me down as his emergency contact.”
“There’s no requirement for you to go to the hospital. You just tell them no.”
“And you’re the one who broke into my apartment,” Zachary said tentatively. “There’s a police record of that. Are you going to tell the judge that?”
“I didn’t break in!” Bridget shouted, taking a step toward him.
Zachary took a step back. Kenzie moved in closer; her hands clenched into fists. “If you hit him again, I’m calling the cops,” she warned. “What’s all this about breaking in?”
“Christmas Day,” Zachary said. “When I was at the hospital with Isabella’s family. She came by here. Used her key to get in. I called the police because I thought she was a burglar.”
“You are sick; you know that?” Kenzie addressed Bridget. “Maybe you should get some help. Some therapy. Because you’re the one who won’t leave him alone. For all I know, you’re the one that cut the brake lines on his car.”
Zachary watched Bridget carefully for her reaction. He knew that her car hadn’t been anywhere near the inn that night. What about Gordon? Had he done her bidding? Or had she borrowed his car, knowing that Zachary might recognize hers if he s
aw it in the parking lot or following him on the street? He had never asked the police if they’d looked into the possibility that she was involved in the sabotage.
“I didn’t do that,” Bridget hissed. Her face contorted with rage. “I wouldn’t do anything to hurt him. If I need therapy, that’s his fault too. Do you have any idea what it’s like putting up with his crap day in and day out? With his suspicion and paranoia and having to check and recheck everything? He’s never had a healthy relationship in his life. I warned you. You don’t want to lose years of your life to this creep. He’s like a soul-sucking vampire. It’s no wonder I ended up getting cancer. The stress of having to deal with his obsessive behavior every day wrecked my health. I got sick because of him!”
Zachary couldn’t have been more staggered if she’d punched him. His gut and his chest tightened, and suddenly he couldn’t breathe anymore. His legs were like jelly, and the world turned all wavy in front of his eyes. He knew it had finally happened. He was having a heart attack. She had broken his heart. He had suspected she blamed him for her cancer, but it was the first time she had put it into words.
“Zachary!” Kenzie grabbed at Zachary as his knees hit the ground, then his body. He curled up in agony, clutching his chest and unable to draw breath. “Zachary!”
“Look at him!” Bridget jeered. “Look how far he’ll go to get your sympathy. You imagine living with a man who has a panic attack any time you have an argument! I stayed with him because I thought he would die if I didn’t. I seriously thought he was going to keel over and die if I left.”
“Zachary!” Kenzie was clutching at him. “Should I call 9-1-1? Do you need a pill? An inhaler? What can I do?”
He couldn’t draw breath enough to answer her. The world was going dark around him. By the time an ambulance got there, he’d be dead.
“He’ll have pills in his apartment,” Bridget said grudgingly. “I don’t know why he doesn’t carry them with him. Or have something he can take every day to prevent it from happening in the first place. If we can get him up there…”
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