“After I shot your mom I ran to the truck. The cashier was standing there.”
“Standing where?”
“In the window of the station, staring straight at my truck.”
Wynter flashed back to the picture the sheriff had saved for her. He’d obviously been troubled by the fact that there’d been no reason to kill her mother, but had he also seen the outline of the cashier in the window? A cashier who’d claimed to be in the storage room during the shooting.
“So what?” she asked. “Lots of people drive trucks in this area.”
“Not like mine. I bought a clunker from the junkyard and spent months salvaging parts to get it up and running. The body was a rusted red with a yellow hood and green doors. There was also a huge dent in the bumper.” He shook his head in disgust. “I couldn’t let her describe it to the cops. They would have tracked me down in a heartbeat.”
“Why didn’t you kill her that night?” It was an awful question, but it kept him occupied as she finished cutting the tape.
“I assumed that someone had heard the earlier shots and called the cops. I couldn’t risk taking time to go into the station and then hope I could get back to the truck and drive away before they showed up. Pike isn’t that big of a town.” Ollie slowed as they reached the edge of Larkin. “Instead, I pointed the gun straight at her. She screamed and ran toward the back of the station.”
Wynter arched a brow. It didn’t seem much of a threat. “That’s it?”
“No. I drove several blocks and then parked so I could return to the gas station. I hid in the shadows of an alley just across the street. When the sheriff brought the cashier out of the station to question her, I stepped into the light long enough to let her see that I was watching her.” He abruptly laughed, a weird sense of elation in his voice. “She fainted. I knew then that she’d keep her lips shut.”
Wynter ground her teeth. Tillie Lyddon had obviously been traumatized by that night. Just another victim who’d paid the price for an old man’s bloated pride.
“And that was that?” Her tone was deliberately tart. “You went back to Larkin and got your money to start your business.”
“As you said, ‘That was that,’” Ollie agreed, turning onto a side street that would take them through the residential section of town.
Where the hell was he going? She’d somehow assumed they’d head to her grandpa’s farm. It was where all the other horrible things had been happening. But if he had a destination in town, that meant she had only minutes to get ready to make her escape.
Forcing herself to take slow, deep breaths, she pressed the blade until she reached the far edge of the tape. She didn’t want to cut all the way through and risk having the binding fall away.
At the same time, she struggled to keep the conversation going. “So what changed? If you’d gotten what you wanted, then why risk killing Tillie and the others?”
“You stayed the night in Pike.”
Wynter blinked, waiting for more. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“I was there.”
“In Pike?”
“At the cemetery.”
“Why?”
“It was a monumental moment in my life, Wynter,” he chided, as offended by her question. “Like you, I felt compelled to mark the yearly anniversary with a visit to Laurel’s grave.”
Wynter stared at Ollie’s profile through the steel mesh, struggling to accept what he was telling her.
“You’ve been following me to the graveyard every year?”
“I wanted to pay my respects.”
A shudder raced through Wynter. While she’d been standing over her mom’s grave, mourning the woman who’d been brutally taken away from her, the bastard who’d shot her was lurking in the shadows. That was just ... sick.
“God,” she muttered.
She could see Ollie’s jaw tighten, as if he was resisting the urge to insist that he was there to somehow honor her dead mother. Instead, he jerked the steering wheel to turn onto Cedar Avenue.
“I saw you talking with someone at the sheriff’s grave and then you went to that house a few blocks away. It seemed odd, especially when you checked into the motel,” he admitted. “I knew something had happened, but it wasn’t until I saw you talking to Tillie that I realized you were digging into the past.” He slowed to a rolling stop at the flashing red light. “Why?”
“Sheriff Jansen had a photo of my mom. She’d already given you her purse so he wondered why you would shoot her,” Wynter told him. There was no point in lying. “It obviously stayed on his mind over the years.”
“Ah.” Ollie clicked his tongue in regret. “I was such an amateur.”
“A lethal amateur,” Wynter reminded him in harsh tones. “How many people did you end up killing?”
His expression remained undisturbed. He wasn’t remotely offended to have his murderous spree thrown in his face. In fact, he seemed so proud of shooting her mom.
“I didn’t want to hurt anyone,” he protested. “That’s why I went to your apartment. To leave the note.”
“That was you?”
“Who else?”
“Did you really think a note was going to stop me finding out what happened to my mom?”
“It should have. None of this would be necessary if you’d just let the past stay in the past.”
He pressed on the gas, childishly swerving the van to slam her against the steel mesh barrier. Wynter smacked her head, but she wasn’t worried about the sharp pain. It was the fact that the unexpected jerk had dislodged the cutter from her hand to send it skidding toward the back of the van.
For a crazed second she considered diving after it. It wasn’t much of a weapon, but it was better than nothing. Then sanity returned. She couldn’t risk Ollie discovering that she’d managed to cut through the tape.
She ignored his soft laugh as she struggled to straighten. “I suppose you used the key I gave you to make the repairs in the kitchen.” Wynter frowned, abruptly remembering that Ollie was in her parking lot when she’d pulled in. She’d been so stupidly blind. “Christ, I should have suspected you were lying about the mystery intruder.”
“Oh no. I wasn’t lying about the intruder. At least, not entirely,” he protested. “While I was inside your apartment there was a knock on the door. When I glanced out the window I could see someone heading back to their car that was parked behind the restaurant.”
“Who was it?”
“Mona Shelton.”
Wynter made a sound of shock. “Mona? What was she doing there?”
He shrugged. “At first I didn’t recognize her. Then I saw the decal in the back of her window that said Shelton Construction and I realized it had to be the lover’s wife.” Ollie lifted his hand as he waved to someone on the street. As if it was just another day, driving through the streets of Larkin, and he wasn’t holding a woman he’d known his entire life captive in the back of his van. “I intended to follow her and demand to know what she was doing there, but you showed up.”
Wynter considered what had happened after she’d discovered Ollie in the lot. Noah had shown up, and then the cops. She’d been too freaked out by the break-in to stay, so she’d moved to the farm.
The next morning she’d gone to her greenhouses. Yes, that was right. And Noah had been there. A few minutes later her grandpa had returned home....
She sucked in a sharp breath. “So when you realized the note wasn’t going to stop me, you decided to shoot me?”
“Shoot you?” He snorted. “You’ve seen me fire a rifle, Wynter. You can’t imagine I would miss if I was aiming at you?”
That was true. He’d always won the skeet shooting contest at the fair. “Grandpa?”
“Ding, ding,” Ollie taunted. “Sander came to see me that morning. He said he was going to tell you everything. I couldn’t allow that. Just because he had a crisis of conscience didn’t mean I was going down with him.”
Wynter didn’t know what to fee
l. She would never forget her horror at the sight of her grandpa lying on the ground with blood coating the side of his head. But now that she knew the truth, she was no longer plagued with guilt that she was somehow responsible. Sander Moore had been shot because he’d hired a lunatic to kill her mom.
“Were you trying to frighten him into silence or did you want him dead?” she asked, her voice oddly matter-of-fact.
“Dead.” Ollie sent her a glare through the rearview mirror. “But your boyfriend distracted me when he knocked you to the ground.”
Wynter didn’t want to think about what would have happened if Noah hadn’t been there. Her emotions were complicated when it came to her grandpa, but she didn’t want him dead.
It was easier to focus on Ollie and his ready willingness to play the role of Judas.
“He was like a father to you,” she accused.
Ollie snorted. “Being like a father isn’t a compliment to me.”
“Fine, fathers can be challenging,” Wynter conceded in dry tones. “But my grandpa was at least willing to hire you when your dad walked away.”
“And you think I should be appreciative?” He watched her in the mirror, waiting for her to give a hesitant nod. “Let me tell you about my relationship with Sander.” His voice was suddenly harsh. “He worked me like a dog and paid me off the books so he didn’t have to worry about child labor laws. I had to show up no matter what the weather, or if I was sick, or if I wanted to take a day off to join my friends.”
“Why did you stay?”
“I had no choice. My mother didn’t make enough money to pay for rent and groceries.” His shoulders lifted in a careless shrug. “I worked or I starved.”
Wynter didn’t feel sorry for Ollie. He was evil through and through. But she suspected he hadn’t become this way on his own. There’d been a lot of hands sculpting him into the soulless monster he’d become.
“You didn’t feel any guilt when you pulled the trigger?”
Ollie slowed at another intersection and Wynter glanced out the front windshield. They were reaching the center of town. The perfect place to try and attract the attention of the pedestrians who were strolling along the sidewalks. Or even one of the vehicles that flowed through the traffic next to the van.
Only the knowledge that she was trapped kept her from screaming. As long as she was locked in, it would be too dangerous to try to call for help.
“The only thing I felt was annoyance that I’d missed putting a bullet between his eyes,” Ollie drawled. “Unfortunately there was nothing I could do once he was taken to the ICU. There was always someone watching him. All I could do was pray that he would die, while I tidied up the other loose ends.”
The stark lack of regret in his voice assured Wynter there was no hoping that she could convince Ollie to release her. He might claim to think of her as a sister, but he was a true sociopath. He didn’t have the ability to care about anyone but himself.
The only thing she could do for now was keep him talking and hope someone was searching for her.
“What loose ends?”
“Mona, for one.”
Wynter was reminded that the woman had traveled to Larkin, presumably to see her. And that mystery visit had led to her death.
“You used my phone to lure her into your trap,” she accused.
“Yes, I found it when I went to the farm to do the chores,” he admitted without hesitation. “I didn’t really know what I was going to do with it until it occurred to me that it would be a perfect way to get rid of the woman.”
“How did you get her number?”
“Her husband was kind enough to have two numbers listed on his construction website. A quick computer search revealed he was a one-man business like me, so who else would the second number belong to?”
That answered one question, but not the actual reason he’d murdered the poor woman.
“Why?” Wynter made no effort to hide her revulsion. “You had no idea what she might have wanted. I have no idea what she wanted.”
“Why would she travel to Larkin if she didn’t have something important to tell you?” Ollie retorted in defensive tones. “It was possible she’d seen me the night your mom died.” He said it as if he had no part in her death. “I have no idea how long she’d been lurking in the shadows outside the cabin that night. Or if she’d seen me trail your mom out there. And even if she didn’t know anything about my connection to the murder, she’d seen my van in the parking lot when she arrived at your restaurant,” he reminded her. “And for all I knew she might have caught sight of me when I looked out the window. I couldn’t allow her to tell you that I was the one who’d left the note.”
Wynter flattened her lips. He was making excuses. He’d obviously wanted to kill Mona and had found a reason to fulfill that desire.
“And what about Drake?” she demanded.
His fingers tightened on the steering wheel. Could he hear the edge of disdain in her voice?
“It was possible she’d confessed she’d been spying on the cabin that night.” She could see him grimace, as if realizing his words sounded lame. “More importantly, I’d hoped to make it look like he’d been the one to kill his wife and then committed suicide.”
“How did you get him to Larkin?”
“I used your phone.”
Wynter hissed in shock. “You called him?”
“No, I sent him a text.”
Drake hadn’t struck her as a particularly naïve man. Just the opposite. Why on earth would he answer a random text from a stranger?
“What did it say?”
“That you wanted him to have the love letters he’d sent to your mother.”
“How did—” She bit off her words. There was only one way Ollie would know how to manipulate Drake Shelton. “You were spying on us when we went to talk to him.”
“I had to know how much you’d managed to figure out.”
Wynter shook her head in disgust. “Not nearly enough,” she muttered.
“Too much,” Ollie argued. “If you’d left it alone, none of this would have happened.”
“Don’t blame me.” Wynter would be damned if she took any responsibility for Ollie’s descent into madness. “I think you enjoyed hurting them.”
“No.” He slowed the van, as if lost in the pleasure of his memories. “I enjoyed the chaos. The lights. The sirens. The screams. They made me feel.”
“Feel what?”
“Feel,” he repeated. “Until I was standing in that alley watching the police and ambulances and fire trucks surround the gas station, I’d never experienced excitement. There were people shouting and you were screaming.” He released a shuddering sigh. “My heart was beating so hard I thought it might leap out of my chest. It was amazing.”
Amazing? Her lips parted to inform him that there was nothing amazing about murder, when Ollie abruptly turned the steering wheel and cut across traffic to pull into an empty lot.
Wynter bounced against the side of the van, once again smacking her head. But that wasn’t what ripped the gasp from her lips.
No, it was the realization of where they were.
Wynter Garden.
Chapter 31
Noah parked behind the white brick building that had once been an auto shop. He glanced around. No sign of Oliver’s van. Perfect.
Climbing out of the Jeep, he moved to peer through the small window above the dumpster. He could see the empty bays that were now lined with floor-to-ceiling shelves packed with spare parts. There were wires, switches, PVC pipe, and a hundred other doohickeys needed by a handyman. The center of the bays were used to store the large table saw and the bulkier equipment that wouldn’t fit in a tool cabinet.
The lights were off, as if Oliver didn’t intend to return for a while.
Noah moved to the back door and turned the knob. No surprise that it wouldn’t budge. It was a small town, but someone would walk off with the tools if they were left lying around.
The door, h
owever, was as old as the building, and with one firm shove with his shoulder, Noah managed to bust the flimsy lock. If Oliver wanted to press charges against him for trespassing, Noah didn’t give a shit. He’d even pay for a new door if his suspicions were wrong.
Stepping into the narrow hall, Noah passed the small bathroom and the opening to the bays. His only interest was in the office that was at the front of the building.
The door was closed, but thankfully it wasn’t locked. Pushing it open, he stepped into the narrow space that had once been the reception area.
The space was remarkably tidy, with a line of filing cabinets along one wall and a wooden desk near the large front window. Pausing to make sure that no one was walking past the building, Noah crossed the plush carpeting to shuffle through the files piled on the desk.
He found bills, and order forms, and bank statements, but nothing that revealed Oliver was involved in the murders. With a frown, Noah turned to leave only to halt when he caught sight of the door nearly hidden behind one of the file cabinets. A private bathroom? A storage closet?
Noah hurriedly moved to pull open the door. It wouldn’t hurt to check it out while he was there.
What he found was a sharp flight of stairs that led to the second floor.
Of course. Like Wynter, Oliver had created an apartment above his place of business.
Noah refused to consider the right or wrong of intruding into the man’s private space. Nothing mattered but protecting Wynter.
Nothing.
Jogging up the steps, Noah discovered himself in an open loft, with a living room that flowed directly into the small kitchen. He could see a door that led to the bathroom and on the other side an opening that revealed a large bedroom.
Noah did a quick search of the living room and kitchen before heading into the bedroom. That seemed the logical place to hide any evidence. Stepping into the shadowed room, Noah ignored the narrow bed and the bookshelf. Instead he concentrated on the dresser, pulling open the top drawer to find neatly folded boxers and socks arranged by color. Who did that?
With a shake of his head, he pulled open a second drawer to find white T-shirts and—
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