Past Deeds

by Carolyn Arnold

  Kelly pounced on that. “And that seems feasible. Three months between the first and second victim, two between the second, and now only one between number three and Reid.”

  “Still doesn’t explain Sherman being pecked off somewhere he didn’t frequent.” Paige took a deep breath. “I don’t think we’re looking at a hired gun.”

  Kelly’s shoulders sagged.

  “I do think all four victims had something in common,” Paige said. “We need to figure out what.”

  “Better yet, whom,” Jack said. “Thanks, Nadia. We’ll take it from here.” With that, he ended the call. “Paige, I want you and Brandon to stay here and go through the packet with an eye for detail. If the three previous shootings relate to our case, I want to know without a doubt. How did you make out with William Pratchett?”

  Paige resisted the urge to glance over at Brandon. Jack didn’t need to know what Jack didn’t need to know. She said, “As I’ve made clear, I don’t think we’re looking at a hired gun, but does Pratchett have the means to hire someone for his dirty business? Sure, but I don’t think he did. And now that we’re talking about three previous victims spread out across the country, I think it’s safe to rule out the Pratchett family.”

  “I agree about the Pratchetts, but I’m not ruling out a contract killer just yet.” Jack gripped the edge of the table as he stood. “Kelly and I are going to talk to Mrs. Reid again, see if we can shake any more out of her, like possible knowledge of her husband’s affairs or his connection with Wilson Place. If we’re lucky, she might give us a lead.”

  Paige wasn’t going to continue to argue about a hit man. She’d let things sit and see what she and Brandon discovered in Nadia’s information packet.

  -

  Fifteen

  There were three cars in the Reids’ driveway, and Kelly’s heart sank. Family and friends would be inside—all there to support each other through this rough time. It would be ideal if she and Jack could turn away, but it was crucial they speak to Arlene. Kelly couldn’t let herself be influenced by emotion, as Jack had more recently reminded her.

  Jack had his hand out to press the doorbell when the door was opened by a silver-haired man. Kelly would peg him in his seventies, but he was in terrific physical shape and had piercing gray eyes.

  “Can I help you?”

  Jack lifted his badge, and so did Kelly. “We need to speak with Arlene.”

  The skin at the corners of the man’s eyes pinched, and he let his gaze take in first Jack, then Kelly. “She’s not doing so good.” The man stepped back, letting them inside the home. “Please don’t upset her any further.”

  “We shouldn’t be too long,” Kelly said softly.

  The man dipped his head.

  “Are you a relation to Arlene or Darrell?” Kelly asked.

  “I’m Arlene’s father. My name’s Bert Pryce.”

  Solemn voices filtered down the hall toward the entry.

  Bert looked over a shoulder in the direction of the conversation, then back to her and Jack. “Beverly’s by Arlene’s side—that’s my wife and Arlene’s mother.”

  “From the looks of outside, there are a few friends and family here,” Kelly said.

  Bert nodded slowly. “Arlene’s brother and his wife. And my wife and me.”

  “Grandpa?” A teenage boy, who could have been a young Darrell Reid, stepped up next to Bert, and his gaze danced over Kelly and Jack. “Who are they?”

  “Riley, these are FBI agents investigating your father’s death.” Bert sought out Kelly’s gaze for reassurance. They hadn’t gotten out yet that they were investigating the case in so many words, but Kelly nodded her head in confirmation.

  “His murder, gramps. You can say it.” Anger flashed through the young man’s eyes as he locked them with Kelly’s. “You find out who did this to my dad?” Riley’s shoulders were rigid, his body wired tight like a wild cat about to spring on its prey, but there was so much unspoken vulnerability to him. Grief had chipped into his soul and was washing away his innocence.

  “We’re sorry for your loss, Riley,” Kelly offered and gazed over at Bert to carry the condolence to him as well.

  Riley’s shoulders relaxed, just a bit, but he recovered his tough-guy act by thrusting out his jaw. “Mom needs to know who did this.”

  “We’re still working to find out that answer,” Jack said.

  Bert put an arm around his grandson. “Why don’t you go see if your mother needs anything?”

  Riley gave one more withering look at Kelly before leaving in the direction from which he had come.

  Bert glimpsed after his grandson, and when he disappeared up a back staircase, Bert turned around to them. “He’ll be fine. He’ll recover, bounce back. It’s just been quite a shock.”

  “Understandably.” At face value, Bert’s words could sound callous, but Kelly could also see the sad truth in them. Life would go on. A new normal would be found.

  “If you could take us to Arlene…” Jack gestured down the hall.

  “Yes, of course. This way.” Bert led them to a different sitting room than where they’d been earlier that day. When they stepped inside, all conversation stopped, and four sets of eyes were on her and Jack.

  Arlene was sitting in a loveseat with an older woman beside her. A man and woman Kelly pegged in their forties sat on a couch, nestled close to each other. This was probably Arlene’s brother and his wife.

  “Arlene,” Bert started, “the FBI wants to speak with you.”

  Arlene’s eyes sagged like a hound’s and were puffy. She had been twisting a frilly handkerchief in her hands to within inches of its life, but she stopped and sat up straighter. “Agents, did you find his killer?”

  “Not yet, but we have some questions for you.” Jack put his gaze on everyone else in the room in turn. “Alone, if that’s possible.”

  The Pryces looked at each other, not quite seeming to understand why they had to leave, but the brother and sister-in-law were the first to comply.

  The mother took Arlene’s hand. “I would prefer to stay.”

  “Mom, I’ll be fine.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’m sure.” Arlene squeezed her mother’s hand and let it go, and the mother got up.

  Bert held out his hand for his wife to take, and the couple left the room.

  “We appreciate you talking with us alone.” Jack took one of the recently vacated spots on the couch. “We have some questions we need to ask you about your husband, and they might make you uncomfortable, especially with your family around.”

  “Whatever it is, I’m sure it would have been fine, but I appreciate you considering my feelings.” She started working over the handkerchief in her hands again.

  Kelly sat next to Jack, and he gestured for her to talk. She wanted to jump right to asking if she was aware her husband may have been cheating on her, but that would have been too direct a place to start. “Mrs. Reid, did your husband have any friends or enemies who might have had a connection with the military?”

  “Um, not that I know of. Maybe?” Arlene was peering into her eyes, trying to read them. “My husband knew a lot of people. There’s no way I’d know of all of them. Do you think that someone in the military killed him?”

  “All that seems likely is whoever killed your husband had experience with firing a rifle at long range,” Jack told her.

  “I don’t know why anyone in the military would want to kill him. Maybe if it’s related to a case?” Her eyes sparkled briefly with hope at her epiphany but dulled just as quickly. “I don’t know why anyone would have wanted to kill him.” Her voice cracked, laden with grief. “I wish I could help you.”

  Kelly sat back and relaxed, hoping her body language would make Arlene more comfortable, like she was in the company of friends, not FBI agents. “Mrs. Reid, this is a delicat
e question, but do you know if your husband was having an affair?”

  “Dad would never do that,” Riley snarled, storming into the room with the force of a gale wind. He was holding a glass of water.

  “Riley, please,” Arlene petitioned her son. “Go be with your grandparents.”

  “No, Mom, no way.” Riley dropped next to his mother and handed her the glass, and she let the handkerchief drop into her lap.

  Kelly leaned forward. “We’re not saying that your father—”

  “Yes, you are. You think he cheated on Mom,” Riley interrupted.

  Kelly couldn’t deny that one and remained quiet.

  Arlene sniffled and blinked away tears. There was an electricity of anticipation in the air like secrets were about to come out.

  “We just need to ask these kinds of questions,” Kelly explained. “It’s part of the process.” She gave Riley a reassuring smile, but the teen was unmoved.

  He shook his head and looked at his mother, who now had tears streaming down her face. “It’s a stupid process, then. You’re upsetting my mother.”

  “Unfortunately, murder investigations usually cause discomfort. But trust me when I say that we wouldn’t ask the questions we do unless it was absolutely necessary,” Kelly said.

  “Trust you?” Riley scoffed.

  Arlene put a hand on her son’s shoulder. “They’re just doing their jobs.”

  “Well, I don’t like it.” He stormed from the room.

  “I’m sorry. He’s…”

  “There’s no need to apologize.” Kelly thought Riley was doing quite well, considering his world had just been shattered. A grown woman of thirty-three, she didn’t think she’d handle news of her estranged mother’s death as well—or her brother’s, for that matter.

  “He wasn’t close with his father,” Arlene volunteered, then took a sip of the water, setting the glass down on a side table. “Darrell was always so busy with his work, and it came first. I just hope Riley realizes that Darrell loved him as much as his own heart.” She picked up the handkerchief and started kneading it in her hands. “The timing of Darrell’s death is probably what’s making this all the worst for Riley.” Her chin quivered, and more tears fell. These she dabbed with the handkerchief. “He and Darrell had an argument yesterday afternoon. Their last words to each other were angry ones.” Arlene licked her lips, and the admission seemed to suck the air from her. Her body sagged.

  Sadly, there often wasn’t any closure, no pretty bow tying everything up nice and neat.

  “You said ‘yesterday afternoon.’ Was Darrell not around last night?” Kelly figured Arlene had opened things for her to work her way back to the topic of affairs.

  “No, he worked late. Sometimes he slept in his office.”

  Kelly peered into Arlene’s eyes, trying to figure out if she was afraid to voice her suspicions about a cheating husband for fear of making them real or if she intentionally was withholding the fact that she knew about it. “Mrs. Reid, do you think your husband was having an affair?” There were times the direct approach was called for, but Kelly put it out there as tactfully as she could.

  “Darrell and I had our problems. We often didn’t see eye to eye, but that was what I loved about the man. He challenged me to think differently. There’s no growth when everyone around you is just like you. Sometimes the people who rub us the wrong way make us flourish the most.”

  Arlene’s phrasing rub us the wrong way could imply their problems were quite significant.

  “Did your husband feel the same way?” Jack asked.

  “I’d like to think so.”

  Jack crossed his feet at the ankles. “You don’t think he ever sought out companionship with someone more like-minded with himself?”

  Kelly admired the way Jack used Arlene’s own reasoning as a springboard to press such a delicate topic as infidelity.

  “If he did, I didn’t know about it.” Arlene glanced from Jack to Kelly. “We still made love regularly. He always had time for me.”

  But not for his son? Kelly was skeptical about Arlene’s claims, but she couldn’t exactly come out and call the woman a liar.

  “If anyone’s told you that Darrell cheated on me, they are either lying or wanting something,” Arlene said adamantly. “Our family does have money, and that can bring out the haters, people who are jealous we have it all. Or at least did.” She had gone from hapless widow to a woman of independent means and influence. Someone who was proud and had an image to protect. Someone, who if cheated on, would be humiliated and might even take things into her own hands—or hire someone else to get dirty. And Arlene would have enough money to afford a high-end killer.

  “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Reid.” Jack nudged Kelly’s arm, and they saw themselves out.

  “Shouldn’t we be talking to the rest of the family? Even to get their take on the Reids’ marriage?” she asked.

  “No one in that household is going to talk to us.” Jack lit up a cigarette outside the driver’s-side door of the SUV. “I’m going to have Nadia subpoena her financial records.”

  “In case she hired someone?” Hope lit in her soul—he hadn’t abandoned the hired-gun theory as she was certain Paige had.

  Jack took a drag on his smoke. “Exactly.”

  -

  Sixteen

  The sniper cut in front of a minivan full of kids, and the suburban mom behind the wheel honked and gave her the finger. That was the problem with the world today. Some example, Mom. But everyone was out for themselves, and that meant no one was reliable. Those who tried to convince others that human beings were mostly good were lullabying themselves into a coma, shutting out reality. Even well-meaning “friends” offered advice or sentiments tainted with their own personal ambitions. Like when her mother had died, and the nurses told her that Mother was in a better place. She found that hard to believe. It was easier to accept that the nurses just wanted to project self-importance—as if anyone was an authority on what happened to the dead.

  In her last few years of Mother’s life, doctors claimed that a disease was eating her mind, but the sniper wondered if maybe her mother had been the most lucid of her life, attaining some elevated state of awakening. After all, the moments of clarity seemed to hit so intensely, the erratic swings from bitter heartbreak and devastation to acceptance and forgiveness so fierce, the sniper felt as if she’d experienced them firsthand.

  Mother had gone on about the vileness of people in a hot rage some days, and on other days excused them. As if her suffering had been of no consequence—or even her own fault. And while her mother may have been willing to forgive and sweep over transgressions, the sniper wasn’t. And it didn’t matter how many days passed or how far she traveled.

  The past was strapped to the bumper, clanging like a bunch of tin cans against the road in her wake. But every once in a while, a small voice would slither from the darkness and whisper that what she was doing was wrong. Like an interlude of conscience that would roll in with the fierceness of a tidal wave. Destructive yet restorative. At these times, she reminded herself she was simply defending herself against a world that had gotten her in its jowls, bit down, and shook her like she was in the throes of a rabid dog. So what if her actions were technically wrong—at least when measured against society’s standards? She couldn’t stop herself. Even with the FBI looking for her, she was determined to keep going until she finished her mission. And to complete said mission, she had to continue moving forward. To turn around now, to go into hiding would only be weakness.

  “Fortuna favet fortibus!”

  Fortune favors the strong.

  She merged onto Interstate 395 East, headed toward her final stop, prepared to put an end to this mission once and for all. But her mind kept going back and forth, balancing the scales of good and bad and which way her actions would weigh heavier. Maybe she should he
ed the soft voice trying to be heard.

  She reached into the console, pulled out an orange prescription bottle, and shook it. Empty. Just like she was—empty and adrift, with nothing to lose. She tossed the container into the back seat and pressed harder on the gas pedal, focused ahead.

  -

  Seventeen

  Cheating husbands get taken out. I could imagine the headline, and I hated it—not that we knew they were all cheaters yet. I’d like to think there was a deeper motive to the killings than a wayward spouse. You cheat on me, so I kill you. Ouch!

  I glanced over at Paige, who was set up on the other side of the conference table. She had one foot up on her chair, her bent knee to her chin, and she read the reports from the folder in front of her, her lips moving slightly at she did so. I couldn’t miss the irony that I was holed up with Paige—whom I’d had an affair with—digging into men’s lives who seemed to have been a little less chivalrous than morals demanded. I also had a hard time ignoring the fact every time I looked at Paige, my heart picked up its pace. But I would ignore it as long as we worked together, and I had Becky in my life. Cheating once was enough, and I thought I’d buried all the guilt that came with it, but apparently, it had just been lying dormant beneath the surface, ready to bubble up and overwhelm me. For a brief moment, I wondered if it was this guilt that kept holding me back from finding any sort of comfort in a committed relationship. Maybe on some level, I didn’t think I was worthy of one.

  But these men, even if they were unfaithful… It would hardly seem possible that one person had been wronged by all four men and decided to take them out. That reasoning lent itself to a hired gun, even if there wasn’t a money trail to support it.

  I peeked up at Paige again, taking in how her red hair hooked over a shoulder, how her lipstick had faded more from her top lip than her bottom one.

  I put my folder down and made it obvious I was watching her.