Faceless

by Alexandra Ivy

  Edgar gasped, obviously shocked by Noah’s blunt confession. “My relationship with my wife is none of your business.”

  Noah shrugged. “Wynter has questions and she’s not going to be satisfied until they’re answered. You can tell me. Or tell your daughter. Your choice.”

  “Why now?”

  “Because she no longer believes her mother’s death was an accident. She’s going to keep digging until she’s certain she has the truth.”

  Edgar turned away, his back stiff. “I met Laurel when I was finishing my PhD. She was unlike anyone I’d ever known and I was dazzled.”

  “Love at first sight,” Noah murmured. He’d been dazzled a time or two. Thankfully they’d quickly fizzled out and he’d realized it had been nothing more than a brief madness.

  “Something like that,” Edgar muttered. “We dated a few weeks and I was offered a position teaching at Grant College. It was what I always wanted so I took the job. I also asked Laurel to marry me despite that fact we barely knew each other. We should have waited, but I was certain she would forget me if I didn’t take her to Larkin.” He slowly turned back to reveal his pained expression. “Within the first year we realized that we were like oil and water. Complete opposites who were destined to never find peace together.”

  “It’s not that unusual,” Noah pointed out. “Lots of people rush into marriage and then regret it. Why didn’t you get divorced?”

  “That would have been the simple solution. Instead we made a game of punishing each other. It was . . .” The older man released a strange laugh. “Toxic. But it was also addictive, and neither of us was willing to walk away. Especially not after we discovered that Laurel was pregnant.”

  “Was Laurel a good mother?”

  The older man grimaced. “Having a child wasn’t something that my wife ever wanted.” He held up a slender hand as Noah’s lips parted. “Don’t get me wrong, Laurel adored Wynter. There were times I would get up in the middle of the night and she would be in the nursery rocking Wynter. Or standing beside the cradle, sketching her as she slept. But Laurel found motherhood as oppressive as being a wife. She didn’t want to have to spend her days at home with a baby, or worse, devote endless hours to playdates, dance lessons, and birthday parties.”

  Noah could hear the bitterness in Edgar’s voice. He resented the fact that Laurel hadn’t been a motherly type of woman.

  “Did you want to be a father?”

  Edgar’s lips twisted. “Touché. I was equally unwilling to sacrifice for my daughter. I was ambitious, and I devoted my time and attention to the college. I didn’t even realize how selfish I had been until the past few days. Now . . .” He allowed his words to trail away with a regretful shake of his head.

  Noah didn’t press the issue. Edgar might not have been the most attentive father, but he hadn’t been abusive. And Wynter had never feared she wouldn’t have a stable home with food on the table. Plenty of kids had it worse.

  “You told Wynter that her mother was intending to end her relationship with Drake Shelton the weekend she was killed,” Noah said, homing in on the information that mattered most to Wynter. “Was that true?”

  Edgar took a second to answer. It was obviously a touchy subject, but at last he gave a restless lift of his shoulder. “Yes, but it was a promise she’d made a dozen different times with her various lovers.”

  Noah arched a brow. He tried to imagine how he would feel if he knew that Wynter was leaving his bed to seek the arms of another man. It was impossible. Wynter wouldn’t cheat. She might tell him to his face that it was over and walk away, but she didn’t know how to play games. “And that didn’t bother you?” he asked.

  Edgar narrowed his eyes. “Not enough to kill her, if that’s what you’re trying to imply.”

  Noah lifted his hands. “I’m not implying anything, but it does seem unlikely you wouldn’t care that your wife was sleeping with another man.”

  “By the time Laurel died, we led separate lives. We stayed together for Wynter, but she had her amusements.” He deliberately paused. “And I had mine.”

  Ah. Noah felt a sharp stab of dislike. This man had allowed his wife’s flashy infidelity to obscure his own sins. She was labeled a whore, while he could play the long-suffering victim. And all the while he was just as guilty.

  “You were having an affair.”

  Edgar’s lips pinched, as if he could sense Noah’s loathing. “It wasn’t just an affair. I was in a relationship.” He glanced toward the mantel over the faux fireplace, unwilling to meet Noah’s condemning gaze. “We were together the night Laurel died.”

  Well, that cleared up one mystery, Noah acknowledged. “That’s why the sheriff couldn’t track you down.”

  A hint of color touched Edgar’s gray face. “We were at a hotel out of town.”

  Noah frowned. If his wife was out of town, why would he go to the trouble of spending money on a hotel? Unless she was married and he was worried her husband might come looking for her. Or . . .

  Glancing toward the mantel where Edgar had been looking when he mentioned the affair, Noah took in the framed pictures. A couple were of Wynter at various school events. And then there was one larger than the others of Edgar standing in a dark-paneled office, being handed a scroll by a bald-headed man. Both men were in full academic regalia, with wide smiles. Noah assumed it was the day Edgar was named dean of the English department. His attention settled on the woman standing next to Edgar, gazing at him with open adoration.

  Linda Baker.

  “The secretary?”

  Edgar clicked his tongue in reproach. “She’s much more than just a secretary.”

  Noah arched a brow. There was a fierce edge in the man’s voice that warned his feelings weren’t all in the past. “You’re still together?”

  “Yes.”

  Noah silently wondered if Wynter had somehow suspected the two were in a relationship. It might explain her instinctive dislike of the older woman. “Why keep it a secret?”

  “She works for me.”

  “That’s simple enough,” Noah said. “Marry her.”

  Edgar flinched, as if Noah had suggested he leap off a cliff. “I made that mistake once. I’m never making it again.”

  Noah stared at him in disbelief. He wasn’t sure he’d ever encountered a more selfish bastard. He’d been willing to have sex with Linda Baker, but he wasn’t willing to make their relationship official. He’d kept the poor woman trapped in a sleazy affair for over twenty-five years.

  It wasn’t just an abuse of power, it was an abuse of human decency.

  With an effort, Noah swallowed the words that hung on his lips. He planned to make this man his father-in-law in the very near future. It didn’t seem the best choice to start off their relationship by calling him a humongous dick.

  “So it was just fear of marriage that kept you from making your secretary your wife?”

  “No.” Edgar bent his head, his eyes locked on the wedding band still wrapped around his finger. “I’ll always love Laurel. No matter how many times she broke my heart.”

  * * *

  Wynter had braced herself for the pain of sorting through her mom’s belongings. It didn’t matter how many years passed, the trauma of losing a parent never eased. And the fact that she’d been taken away in such a senseless act of violence only made it worse.

  But Wynter hadn’t expected the bittersweet joy that cascaded through her as she unloaded box after box. She’d heard story after story about her mom. Some good, some bad, some jealous, and some glossed with obsessive love. But the bits and bobs in the boxes were her mom speaking directly to Wynter.

  The old yearbooks showed a vividly happy teenager with a contagious smile and talent for commanding attention. In each picture she was the obvious center of attention, the queen bee of the small hive. She was a cheerleader, a class president, on the homecoming court, and of course, her art was splashed in every corner of the high school. There were also pictures of Drake She
lton. He was young and handsome and without the petulant bitterness that had marred his expression when she’d seen him just a few days ago. As if he was looking forward to a brilliant future.

  Wynter had touched the pictures, unable to believe that two such promising souls were dead.

  She turned her attention to the scrapbooks, her heart melting as she realized they were filled with her baby years. There were clips of her fuzzy white hair, and ink prints of her tiny feet. There were also endless pictures of her pasted onto the pages, but it was the sketches at the back that captured Wynter’s attention.

  They were simple charcoal outlines, but each one captured the very essence of Wynter in that precise moment. The soft curve of her baby cheeks. The inquisitive tilt of her head. The outstretched arms and swirl of her dress as she danced to music only she could hear.

  It wasn’t just the magnificent talent that her mother shared on the page. It was her unmistakable love for her daughter.

  Tears trailed down Wynter’s face as she packed away the boxes. She hadn’t found what she was searching for. There were no old diaries, or letters from mysterious lovers who might want her dead. No debts to shady loan sharks, or jealous wives who might want her out of the way.

  No, she didn’t find what she wanted, but she did find what she needed.

  Shoving the last box back into the closet, Wynter was about to shut the door when she noticed a small metal container on a high shelf. It was the sort of thing that was used for important papers.

  Wynter hesitated. She was looking for personal items, not business stuff. But then again, she might not ever get a chance to search through the closet again. Might as well take a quick peek.

  Grabbing the box, she flipped open the lid and grabbed the thick stack of papers that was folded inside.

  A quick glance was enough to tell her that it was some sort of official document. There was the name of a law office printed at the top and below that a bunch of overly complicated words and mumbo jumbo that cost 125 dollars an hour to have written.

  A will.

  Her mom’s will.

  Skimming through the pages, she managed to decipher enough of the legalese to determine that most of what she’d been told about the will was true. Laurel had set up a trust fund for Wynter. She’d given money to the college for an art scholarship, a few other small donations to local artists. Wynter was startled, however, by the size of the bequest given to Tonya Knox. Fifteen thousand dollars was more than just helping a struggling student through college. It was no wonder the woman had hoped to open her own studio with the funds. And then there was the inheritance for her dad.

  One hundred thousand dollars.

  It wasn’t that unusual for a young woman to have a large life insurance policy. Two hundred thousand dollars was only a fraction of what she could be expected to make if she’d worked full-time for thirty years, or the cost of being a caregiver to her children and husband. What surprised Wynter was the fact that her dad had spent the years she’d been at home barely scraping by.

  They hadn’t been poor. Her dad had made a decent, if not fabulous, salary. And there’d never been any question that there would be food on the table, and that Wynter could have nice clothes as well as take up any hobby she wanted. She had piano lessons, dance lessons, and a week at drama camp each summer. But her dad wore clothing off the rack, they never took vacations, and when she’d turned sixteen, Wynter had known she would have to buy her own vehicle. Plus, her dad had made it clear that if she wanted to go to college, it would have to be at Grant where her tuition would be free.

  So where did the money go?

  Replacing the will in the box, Wynter closed the closet and made her way back upstairs. She didn’t know if she felt better or worse now that she’d peeked into the mysterious boxes, but she felt more ... complete. As if a hole in her heart had been filled.

  Those sketches were physical proof that her mom had cared about her daughter. And that she’d spent endless hours watching Wynter as she’d grown from a baby to a young girl.

  Entering the living room, Wynter discovered the two men standing a few feet apart, the air sizzling with tension. Predictable, considering that Noah was trying to find out if her dad was somehow involved in the murder of his wife.

  As she walked to stand beside Noah, her dad sent her a weary glance. She’d never seen him look so tired.

  “Did you find what you were looking for?” he asked.

  “In some ways.” Wynter released a soft sigh as Noah wrapped an arm around her shoulders. It was a silent promise that she didn’t have to do this alone. Exactly what she needed. “I do have a question.”

  Edgar frowned. “About your mother?”

  “About her will.”

  “Oh.” The older man looked oddly relieved. “It was fairly straightforward. Your inheritance was put into a trust until you reached the age of eighteen, and you were to be given any proceeds from the sale of your mother’s art. I preferred to keep her collection at the college instead of trying to sell it. I assumed you would want to keep it in the family.”

  Wynter was deeply relieved her mom’s collection hadn’t been broken up and sold. She had no idea what it might be worth, but she wasn’t ready to part with any of it.

  “It’s not about my inheritance,” she said, her gaze locked on her dad. “It’s about yours.”

  She’d clearly caught him off guard. “What about mine?”

  “You received one hundred thousand dollars.”

  “Yes.” He nodded, looking confused. “It was what the life insurance salesman suggested. I have the same amount in my policy.”

  “That’s a lot of money.” She pointedly glanced around the room that had gone past comfortable to shabby. The carpet was worn, the furniture was sagging, and the wallpaper beginning to peel. “What happened to it?”

  Edgar shrugged. “I donated to several charities, and I paid off this house to make sure you would never have to worry about having a home. Your mom would have wanted that for you.”

  That still had to leave at least fifty thousand dollars, Wynter silently calculated. “And the rest?”

  “I gave it to your grandfather.”

  His tone was matter-of-fact, as if Wynter should have known that the money would go to the older man.

  “Why?”

  “He’d been forced to give us money on several occasions during our marriage,” he told her. “He even took out a loan to pay off the creditors who threatened to take your mother to court. I wanted to make sure he didn’t have to worry about his debts.”

  Wynter grimaced. It wasn’t shocking that her mom had delinquent credit cards, or that her grandpa had paid the bill, but it was confusing to think that the thrifty, hardworking Sander Moore could have needed such a large sum of money. After all, he’d inherited his land from his father, and until he’d been shot, he’d never had any long-term illness. She would have assumed he was comfortably settled.

  “He must have had a lot of debts,” she muttered, horrified by the thought it might have been the need to constantly bail her mom out of debt that had put him in financial troubles.

  As if sensing her fear, her dad sent her a reassuring smile. “Small farms in this area stopped being profitable years ago. Something your grandfather refused to accept,” he told her. “I told him a dozen times over the years that he needed to sell the place while he could still make a profit, but he nearly bit off my head at the mere suggestion. He was determined to hold on to that farm even if it meant drowning in debt.” His lips twisted. “Like a captain going down with his ship, I suppose.”

  Wynter slowly nodded. Sander Moore was nothing if not stubborn. She remembered a feud he’d had with one of his neighbors. He claimed the plot of pasture the man was using to graze his sheep was on his property. It didn’t matter that he never used the land. One night he went down with a tractor and plowed the pasture until there wasn’t one blade of grass to be found. “Problem solved,” he’d told her, a grin of satis
faction on his wrinkled face.

  Shaking her head, Wynter returned her attention to her original question. “Why not keep at least some of the money? Just enough to buy a new car or update the house?”

  Edgar looked genuinely shocked. “I wasn’t going to profit from your mother’s death,” he snapped. “I might not have been the best husband, but I was devastated when she was killed. I’m not sure I’ve ever accepted her death. Not in my heart.”

  The words echoed through the air, bouncing off the walls with a defiant anger. Wynter released a harsh sigh. She believed him. Not only that he wasn’t going to profit from his wife’s death. But the fact that he still loved his dead wife.

  Did that prove he hadn’t been involved in her murder? Love was just as dangerous as hate, wasn’t it? Maybe more dangerous. But for now she was going to cling to the belief that he had no idea what had happened that awful night.

  “I’m going to the hospital to visit Grandpa,” she said, her voice softened. “Do you want to go with us?”

  Edgar reached up to run his fingers through his hair, his shoulders once again slumping. “No, I have to prepare for tomorrow.”

  “What’s happening tomorrow?” she asked.

  “I’m going to announce my retirement.”

  Chapter 23

  Dr. Erika Tomalin placed her empty mug in the sink and grabbed her handbag off the kitchen table. She wanted another cup of coffee. It’d been a restless night, and the urge to sit at the table, reading the morning paper as she allowed another dose of caffeine to seep into her bloodstream, was tempting.

  It was only the knowledge that her mother would be waiting for her Sunday visit that propelled her toward the door that opened into the connected garage. She’d placed her mother in a nursing home three years ago after a nasty stroke that had left the older woman partially paralyzed. It was a two-hour drive, but while it would be more convenient to have her mother closer, she had enough training as a counselor to know that her relationship with the older woman was better when they had space between them.