Shaking, I glanced around, taking in my surroundings and the time of day. Evening crept toward night; tree branches danced with the help of a cool breeze. Cars inched along the road in front of the townhouse complex where I lived. I was a block from my home. Last I remembered, dinnertime was still a few hours away, and I had decided to rest on the carpeted floor of the townhouse I shared with Rick.
Amnesia. I shuddered. A trip to the hospital wasn't something I could put off any longer. Wandering the streets while my memory faded in and out was not smart or safe. The wail tempo increased. Buildings and people swirled in front of me, mashing into one indistinct object before separating and then sharpening back into focus.
The sound registered in my confused brain. Sirens. That must've been what had snapped me out of the zone where my battered mind had escaped. I turned to look at the line of brick townhouses on my block and saw an equally long line of police cars and rescue vehicles.
People congregated around the vehicles. Something awful had happened. Everyone spoke in a whisper. Harsh, excited sounds. Crying mothers clung to their children. Men shook their heads in bafflement. I'd seen those expressions on the news. I saw it whenever a crime had been committed in a neighborhood that people whole-heartedly believed safe.
"It's my fault." I choked on the whispered words. The burglar struck again, and this time he hit someone too hard.
I needed to let the police know this guy had struck more than once. Taking in a deep breath, I started toward the police cars, but the pain and anger in my neighbors' faces froze me. If I announced what happened to me to the police, my neighbors would all know that I could've prevented the tragedy.
Had my decision to play cops and robbers resulted in one of my neighbors' deaths or a vicious attack?
I turned and walked away. I'd let my feet carry me somewhere. They seemed to have done that once already today. Later, I would go to the police department and explain everything… once I worked it out in my mind. My legs obliged me and carried me to a rundown street somewhere off of Eighth. I thought it was East, but maybe it was West Eighth. I didn't see any signs to confirm one way or the other.
I walked around the corner and tried to get my bearings. It was West Eighth, the old part of town. I remembered the small corner convenience store that resembled a soda shop from the 1950s. I had stumbled across it last week when I went in search of the building where my murdered great-uncle had set up his private detection office.
The city planner had told me the crumbling building was still standing, but was scheduled for demolition. I had searched all over, but was unable to find it. I could have asked Mom or Grandma, but I didn't want to upset them by letting them know I intended to uncover family history they wanted buried.
I paused in front of the soda shop and stared at the newspaper rack. A peek at the headlines would give a heads up on what happened in my neighborhood without having to ask the neighbors or the police. I didn't want to hear that someone was killed because I had played detective.
Entering the shop, I made my way to the newspaper racks located near the automatic teller machine. Pretending to use the machine, I leaned over to read the headlines—nothing about a murder, or a robbery, or why police cars lined my street like the start of the national donate-to-the-police campaign.
I was an idiot. Of course, there was no story in the paper. Newspapers were printed in the dead of night and delivered bright and early in the morning before the commuters left home. I wouldn't learn anything from the newspapers until tomorrow. My choices amounted to going home and asking questions, going to the police station and asking questions, or going home and waiting for the late-night news. I picked the last option.
After I left the store, my head started to swim again, images wavering in front of me. I stood in the middle of the sidewalk and took in deep breaths, trying to stop the tilting of my world.
People invaded my space, coming so close I was surprised no one knocked me to the ground. Man after man, woman after woman breezed by on either side of me as if I weren't there. There was a good foot on each side of me with clear traffic space. Why did these people feel the need to get close enough to see if I was wearing earrings or not?
Of course, they could be under the impression that I was an irritating teenager who was intentionally trying to get in their way, and they wanted to teach me a lesson. I wanted to stay put and make the walkers continue to come within spitting range, but I was too old for that behavior. There was also the chance someone might intentionally knock me on my butt. Since I didn't feel like seeing how many bruises could occupy my body at the same time, I forced my legs to propel me down the sidewalk.
"Hello, sweetheart. I've never seen you around," a voice, deep and definitely male, rumbled from a shaded corner. "You new here?"
I took a step toward the voice and peered into the faded darkness. A tingle raced up and down my back, and my breath locked in my throat. I should have thought more careful, self-defensive thoughts, but all I registered was the hotness factor of the male hiding in the shadows. Gorgeous. Flawless.
The blonde, muscular man leaned slightly against the wall. The beige suit he wore outlined every muscle, and a fedora rested on his head. He tilted the hat back and gave me a grin. I was sure it was meant to cause my toes to curl and my thoughts to turn to strawberries, champagne, and lowering Rich's appeal a notch. It worked.
"Um… hi," I said.
"You lost, little one?"
If it hadn't been for the fact that he vaguely resembled a man that resided in fantasies and on covers of paranormal romance novels, I would have bristled at the 'little one' label. I offered him a little leeway.
"Not lost, just sightseeing." I widened my eyes to stop them from batting.
"Not the wisest place to do it in."
"I can take care of myself."
He took off his hat and twirled it around his finger. "There's no need for you to worry about that anymore."
Oh, great, a Mr. Macho. The little lady can't take care of herself. Oh, no, she needs a man to help her walk down the street. Honestly, I wouldn't have minded having him by my side or even walking arm in arm with him, but it had better be because he wanted my body, not because he believed I needed the protection only his maleness could provide.
I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, right, because you're here to take care of little ol' me. Nice talking to you, but I have places to visit."
"There's no need for you to rush. You'll be here for a long time." His smile deepened.
I couldn't stop the small shiver that rose up my spine. I folded my arms against my chest. His mouth portrayed more of a sneer than a you-want-me quality. I stepped back, retreating into the remainder of the dimming evening light.
"There's nowhere to run off to."
"I'm not running. I just need to go meet my friend." I hoped he didn't remember my earlier claim of sightseeing.
He laughed, a low rumble filtering from his chest and out his mouth. He took a quick step forward and came almost face-to-face with me. "You're going to be waiting for a while."
If I had been meeting a friend, that comment would have brought terror to my heart. But since I wasn't, it only made me cautious of Good-Looking. "Well, thanks for giving me their message. Goodbye."
"No reason for you to say goodbye. You can't leave."
I spun around to kick him, hit him, anything that would make him let go of me when he grabbed my arm, or my waist, or my throat. His hands were clasped behind his back, and he walked backward until his back was once again near the wall.
It was beyond time to get away from him. I turned.
"Why don't you go back home, little one?" he called after me, the voice no longer sexy, but taunting. "I'll see you around."
I ran. I kept thinking I should look over my shoulder see if he was following me, but if he was, I didn't want to know.
"You okay?" a female voice called out when I rounded the corner.
I didn't hear the sound of footsteps behind
me. The guy hadn't followed me. Thank you, God. I leaned over to take deep breaths, even though I didn't feel winded.
A woman about my age with long blond hair came from around the corner and stood next to me. Her face showed concern. I stood up and ran my fingers through my hair.
"You okay?" she asked again.
"Yeah, fine," I choked out.
"Someone chasing you? I've been around for a long time, and I know a certain guy who has a habit of spooking new people."
"Is it that obvious I'm not from this neighborhood?"
Her face grew serious, but I couldn't determine what I said to caused it. "Yes." She didn't offer an explanation.
"My name's Abigail."
She opened her mouth to speak, then clamped her lips shut. I could have sworn she was going to say, "I know," but there was no way she could know who I was.
"That man you ran into isn't a real threat, unless you let him be. The best thing to do is to stay away from him. Pretend he's not talking to you. He likes to say crazy things. He should be somewhere else, but no one can put him there. At least, not yet."
I nodded as she rattled off these words of advice, or instructions.
"Listen, Abby, events are going to get pretty weird around here. If you have any questions, find me, and I'll clear them up for you. Just don't listen to him. Nothing he can tell you will help you. Trust me on this."
"Okay," I said. Who was she that I could trust her? And about what? She did seem knowledgeable on handsome-but-crazy in the alley, but I had no intention of needing to know more about that guy. "But I'm not going to be coming back here."
She studied me hard, looking into my face and eyes as if she were reading my past, deciphering me. What did she want to know? What couldn't she ask? Did I remind her of someone she should know and was afraid to ask in case I was offended?
When she pulled her eyes from me, I could tell she hadn't found her answer. "I have to go. I'll see you around, okay?"
Did I know her? Had the amnesia returned? "Who are you? Wait!"
She had vanished. I could go after her, but I didn't feel like chasing after someone I didn't know, or at least didn't remember knowing. But she knew me. But if that were the case, why would she just leave me here? Leave me to my own devices? I stood in the street yelling like a lunatic, and no one even glanced my way.
"Fire!" I screamed.
A man paused briefly with a confused look on his face. His eyes scanned the area. His gaze went over me, but there was no hint that he saw me. Could someone be that self-absorbed? He hummed, shrugged his shoulders, and went on his way. No one else paid me any attention. It was like I was invisible, like I didn't exist.
I shuddered and tried to blink the tears away, but it only caused them to run down my face. I couldn't stop. My body shook with sobs, and I couldn't stop the sound from leaving my throat. Nobody noticed. Nobody cared. I cried harder. I wiped away the tears. I had to get a grip in order to find out what was going on. I'd find no answers standing in the middle of a sidewalk sobbing.
Answers. That was what I needed, but the best course of action was to decide on the questions… the direction to take. I took a deep breath. First item on the agenda, find a nice, quiet place to sit and center myself in order to think up a rational plan. My favorite thinking spot was a park near my home, the place where Rich and I walked and talked about our future. The first place where he told me he loved me, the first place where we had kissed.
I could picture it in my mind. A cluster of cherry blossom trees snaked up a small hill; long branches arched over the small mound, moving downward as if to caress the grass. When in full bloom, the branches and blossoms offered the perfect veil to hide a couple, away from the playground, away from people. There were no benches, just a perfect place to sit quietly and bask in love or think.
Time to stop daydreaming. With a sigh, I opened my eyes and pulled in a large breath of air. I was at the park. Somehow my feet carried me to the place I wanted to be, needed to be. I wished Rich was there. He would help me sort through all this mess. Of course, maybe this mess wouldn't have started if he had been there.
It could have been him, a voice whispered in my ear.
I shuddered and wrapped my arms around my middle to fend off the chill. No. Not Rich. Never Rich. I was glad Rich hadn't been home.
Sitting on the grass patch underneath a tree, I contemplated the three big questions slamming into my brain. Who had broken into my house and hit me on the head? Was it random or not? Did that person strike again? And the most important question, the one I really didn't want to ask because I was afraid of the answer, who else had been hurt or killed? I didn't even want to consider the last question, but everything I had seen pointed to that conclusion—all the fire trucks, all the police cars, all the neighbors sobbing with harsh grief etched on their faces. It had to be murder, plain and simple.
"I have to go home." I couldn't rationalize away that solution. There was no other option, no other solution, and no other plan. I had to return and confront reality.
I bet my Great-Uncle Callous had been a confrontational kind of guy. Actually, I was sure that was the truth, considering how he had died. A man had to be confronting something to get shot at four times, two of those bullets hitting the intending target. I wondered how much he knew when he died.
Did he know his young partner was two-timing him? The man had worked hard to get hired so that he could ensure that Great-Uncle Callous never uncovered the truth about who had diverted some finances for the new wing at the college. Had the men behind the killer intended for that to be the outcome? Murder? Or was it a decision solely made by Denver McKay?
I blew out a puff of breath and leaned back, propping my body up on my elbows. What had that quarter of a million dollars been used for that it led to a man's death rather than the truth being told? Justice was blind, but usually not visually impaired enough to allow $250,000 to wander away in a five-month period without seeking it.
I wondered what Great-Uncle Callous would do in my situation. The answer arrived without hesitation. Go home. Back where it all started. Home. I shivered. Why did that thought scare me so?
CHAPTER SIX
"Hell was still an option."
"Callous."
My name pulsated with grief. I recognized the voice of my baby sister, Genevieve "Jenny" Smith. In the last fifty-five years, she had requested my presence four times—when my niece Laura married, when my nephew Todd married, when Laura had given birth to Abby, and lastly, when Joe, her husband, died three years ago.
Her voice sounded the way it had the last time.
I traveled to her house, the same house Joe and she had bought when they married sixty-five years ago. It was located in a suburb of Virginia where horses and wine competed as the biggest claim to fame and employers of the area. Jenny had been a horse girl from the time she could walk and talk. Dad laughed when haha, for horse, had been the first words to slip past Jenny's lips.
Joe had been a wine connoisseur. His family had worked the vineyards for another family for generations. Joe went off to business school and returned to take over the operations for the other family once their own children decided wine wasn't in their blood.
However, the kids had been happy to continue to take profits from the business and put that money into their own failed ventures… or into other vices not quite as refined as Bordeaux.
Lights blazed around the well-kept two-story house. The white paint glistened and a dark red door and shutters added some bold color. Different from the last time I visited. The flowers had started to sprout out of the window boxes and in the areas designated okay for a garden. And the swing that I had made for Todd when he was a toddler now hung by threadbare rope from a large branch almost ready to crack.
Jenny had fought me over that swing. Not safe for a two-year-old. No back. His little chubby hands wouldn't be able to grip the rope tight enough. I promised Jenny that I wouldn't let go of the kid, I'd just swing him back and
forth with my hands wrapped around his. Joe told her to let us be.
When I plopped Todd onto that swing, the child screamed like I had walloped his backside with the wooden board rather than placed him on it as gentle as a mother's kiss on a baby's cheek. I thought swinging would help. Nope. Kid screamed louder. Jenny whooshed in and swept Todd off the swing and into her arms.
Laura. Now Laura loved that swing. Though, she had spent more time standing and jumping from it than sitting on it.
All those years with no little kids around to enjoy it, and Jenny still kept the swing. They didn't make them like that anymore. Good sturdy rope. Nice solid maple varnished until it glowed. A wind moved the aging swing back and forth. Time moved on, a continuous cycle of comings and goings.
"Oh, Callous." Jenny's soft voice enclosed around me. "How can this happen again?"
I floated into the house, then to her bedroom where I found her the last time she had called for me. I pictured her lying on her bed, head resting on top of her folded arms. When I arrived, the bed was empty. The picture of Joe maintained its place of honor on the end table on the left side of the bed, the side he had slept on for sixty-five years. His death three years ago was the only event that could have stopped years from being added.
The quilt on her bed was pale blue, bunched up, and pushed toward the foot of the bed. Horses in vibrant blue, green, and yellow pranced over the fabric. It was a happy-looking bed cover. I floated through the house. Where was Jenny? What had happened to cause her to leave her bed without making it? Even when she was four, she had made the bed.
I paused and closed my eyes, focusing on the sound of her tears and the breaking of her heart. I pushed everything out of my mind and melted my existence into the air. She wasn't there at the house. She was somewhere closer to me, closer to Joe. She was at…
…the cemetery. Jenny sat on the grass beside my grave. Her hands pressed against her face as she sobbed into them. "I don't know who else to turn to."
"Why did they kill her?" Jenny wailed. "God, why did you take her? Why?" She laid her quivering body on top of my grave as she cried harder.
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