Love Inspired Suspense April 2021--Box Set 2 of 2

by Laura Scott

  “Me, too.” She took a final look around. “Beautiful,” she repeated, more to herself than to him, and then gave a slight shake of her head, clearing it. She’d spent enough time mooning over what she didn’t have. It was time to get to work.

  “This is how I’ve been spending my time,” Liam said and gestured to two huge whiteboards set up by a bank of windows.

  Pictures of the bus accident victims and survivors, along with family members, covered one board.

  “What do you see?” he asked, then quickly covered his mouth as a yawn escaped.

  She glanced at him and frowned.

  Dark crescents underscored the bleakness of his eyes, and the skin stretched tighter across his cheekbones. He looked totally drained.

  “How much sleep have you gotten in the last few days?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. A few hours here and there.”

  “You won’t be any good to yourself or to the investigation if you don’t get some shut-eye.”

  Anger flashed in his eyes before he gave a jerky nod. “I hear you. Humor me for now and tell me what you see. Then I’ll get some sleep. I promise.”

  “I’m holding you to it.” She studied the board again. “Connections. You and Marie. Marie and Reva. Brett and Rosemary. Sam off by himself. Mr. Pope, the driver. You probably know that he died last year.” She took two steps back, cocked her head at a different angle, hoping for a new take on the pictures. “What I don’t see is how they help us discover who’s doing this.”

  “Me, either. The pieces are there. And so is the answer. I feel it in my gut. I just don’t have them in the right places yet. If I juggle them into different places—” he moved the pictures around “—they still aren’t telling me anything.”

  She tucked her thumbs in the back pockets of her jeans and rocked back on her heels. “Like a jigsaw puzzle.”

  “Just like.”

  “Maybe we aren’t asking the right questions.” Another rock back on her heels. At the same time, she rolled her bottom lip inward and caught it between her teeth.

  “What do you mean?”

  “We’ve been asking who has reason to kill the survivors.”

  Liam’s nod was thoughtful. “What should we be asking?”

  “Maybe we should ask ourselves why now. Why did the killings start when they did, and what secret is someone trying to hide? This is more than just killing off those who got out of the bus that day. If that were the case, the killings would have started a lot sooner.”

  She spoke slowly as the theory took shape in her mind. “Something’s changed. Something important enough that makes it imperative the survivors be eliminated. If we knew what that something was, we’d be a lot closer to finding the killer.

  “Why now?” she asked again. “After fifteen years, why start killing the survivors now?” She circled back to the idea of secrets. “Secrets have a way of coming out no matter how deeply they’re buried. We discover that secret, we find the killer.” She said it with more certainty this time.

  Liam reached out to brush an errant strand of hair from her face.

  She started at his touch.

  “I’m sorry,” he said and withdrew his hand quickly. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “You didn’t.” That wasn’t strictly true. His touch had startled her, but not for the reason he thought.

  Since Ethan’s death, she’d worked alongside men. The accidental brush of an arm or a hand had left her unmoved. So why did Liam’s touch evoke such a reaction?

  It made no sense. No sense at all.

  With herculean effort, she pushed away the feelings and focused on the job. She kept coming back to the same question. What had happened in the years between the accident and now to make someone want to kill off the survivors?

  She and Liam bounced theories back and forth, but none felt right. Most people didn’t murder without a reason. Even psychopaths had a reason, even if it was one only they could understand.

  “Your theory about a secret would explain why the killings started now, rather than five, ten or fifteen years ago.” He went quiet, and she knew he was rolling it around in his mind. “Lots of people have a secret or two in their past, something they’d prefer others not know, but a secret worth killing for? Something that big takes it to a whole new level.”

  “That’s why it’s so important you think back on that day. Something happened. Something besides the accident.”

  “Something bigger than five kids dying?” Skepticism was heavy in his voice.

  “Maybe something that points to the reason the bus driver fell asleep at that moment.” She pulled up memories of that time. “Pope was never charged, though plenty of people were clamoring for just that, including my parents. They wrote letters to the district attorney and demanded he be held accountable, but nothing ever came of it. I remember feeling sorry for his wife and son.”

  “They left him,” Liam said. “I can’t say that I blame them. And we can’t escape the fact that he was to blame for the bus going off the bridge. He fell asleep. It wasn’t like he set out to kill anyone, but he was responsible. Your idea about a secret is a good one, but I don’t see where this is leading.”

  Discouragement settled in as she accepted the truth of that. Her theory that someone was killing off the survivors to keep a secret was just that: a theory. She had nothing to back it up. Nothing but a hunch. Cases were built on irrefutable evidence.

  “I see you included the bus driver’s family. Why don’t we pay them a visit tomorrow? His wife or son might remember something of that day.”

  “Why don’t we?”

  Mindful of the time and his promise to get some sleep, she said, “Time for me to leave. Can I take a picture of the boards before I go? I want to study them at home.”

  “Go ahead.”

  Using her cell phone, she took pictures of the two boards. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

  At home, she looked over the pictures again. Nothing popped.

  * * *

  The following morning, Paige and Liam were on their way to the last known address of the bus driver’s wife and son. A little digging revealed that the driver’s wife had taken their then twelve-year-old son and left her husband shortly after the accident.

  It couldn’t have been easy for them, Liam reflected. Calvin Pope had been regarded as the villain of the piece and had taken the brunt of blame for the deaths. Though he hadn’t been charged with a crime, it had been close. In the end, the city prosecutor had decided that a trial would only prolong the suffering and pain of those families who had lost a child. No evidence had come to light that he had planned the accident. Driver error was the consensus, a tragic accident with deadly consequences.

  Though there was no law against drowsy driving in the state, civil cases had been brought by two families of the kids who’d died. The other three families, including Paige’s, had elected not to go that route, deciding not to prolong the agony. The juries had ultimately ruled against the families, creating more bitterness, more pain.

  As Liam followed GPS directions to Pope’s wife’s house, he noted the increasingly run-down conditions of the community as they neared the address. The neighborhood had obviously not been on the receiving end of city funds intended for the gentrification that was sweeping through much of the area. Overgrown grass and cars set up on blocks in front yards composed much of the landscaping. Every once in a while, a pot of flowers sat on a stoop, a valiant effort to bring some color to the dreariness of the neighborhood.

  Graffiti warred with gang symbols on walls and garage doors. More often than not, the gang symbols won, a silent testament that violence had more than a toehold in the community.

  He kept his weapon close at hand.

  “What happened to Pope’s wife and son that they had to move here?” Liam wondered aloud, though h
e could guess the answer.

  “Fallout from the bus accident.”

  “Of course.”

  The Pope home wasn’t the worst on the street, but it came close.

  “I don’t mind saying that I’m glad we’re both carrying,” Liam said, narrowed gaze taking in the surroundings.

  The house bearing the address of Pope’s wife and son hunched over, as though it had been beaten down by despair. Like the rest of the neighborhood, the dwelling might have been attractive at one time. The simple design with large windows and a deeply pitched roof hinted at good bones, but it had peeling paint, missing shingles and cracked windows.

  Kudzu grew with wild abandon around the cement foundation, while ivy made its way up the crumbling brick exterior and air-potato vines dripped from the porch eves.

  Liam gave a firm rap on the door.

  A woman who looked like she could be anywhere between fifty and eighty greeted them with an unsmiling mouth. Hair that might once have been light brown was a dull gray, and it framed a thin face tight with harshly carved lines that spoke of a joyless existence.

  Like the house, Mrs. Pope hunched over, as if she, too, had been beaten up by life. She held the door open a few grudging inches and lifted a scowling face at them.

  “I’m not buying nothing, so don’t waste your breath trying to sell me something I don’t need. I don’t have money for useless stuff that just takes up space.”

  “That’s good,” Liam said, “because we’re not selling anything.” He quickly introduced himself and Paige before the woman could slam the door in their faces and explained about the accidents that had brought them there. “We’re hoping you can help us make sense of what’s happening,” he concluded.

  “Come on in, if you have to.”

  As though in afterthought, she pointed to a couple of chairs. “Sit down if you’ve a mind to. But don’t be expecting me to entertain you or nothing. I’ve got better things to do with my time.”

  She pointed to the young man slouched against the wall. “That’s my son, Cal Jr.” His posture shouted boredom, but the expression in his eyes was one of sharp interest.

  To prove her point, she picked up a newspaper and cracked it open. She squinted at the paper—not surprising since the room seemed shrouded in darkness.

  Liam glanced at the two windows and saw veils of vines obscuring much of the light. He shifted his gaze to the one piece in the room that spoke of happier times: a photograph of a school class with printing announcing it was Mrs. Fletcher’s sixth grade.

  “Mrs. Pope, if you could just give us a few minutes of your time,” Liam began.

  “I don’t know why you’re here. Me and my boy don’t have nothing to do with them accidents.”

  “I’m sure you don’t,” he said in a placating manner.

  She lifted her head and glared at him. “So why are you here if you don’t think we had anything to do with what’s happening? And it’s Hawkins now. I dropped the Pope a long time ago. I don’t need the bad history it carried. I have enough problems without carrying around the misery of the past.”

  “Mrs. Hawkins,” Paige said, trying again, “do you have any idea of who might want the survivors of that day dead? You have a unique perspective, being the wife of the driver and not a member of any of the families who lost someone.”

  The woman snapped the paper shut and leaned in, eyes hot with resentment. There was an eagerness to her, like she had been waiting for the right audience upon which to air her grievances. “Who’d want those kids dead? You mean ’sides me?”

  “What do you mean by that?” Liam asked.

  “I mean that accident destroyed our lives. It tore our family apart and left us broke and homeless. Me, Cal Jr. and Calvin himself. He might as well have died, too, for all the good his being alive did us. Him passing away last year was a blessing. It surely was. Least he had a bit of life insurance for Cal Jr.”

  “Five families lost a child,” Liam said, striving for neutral. “Surely you haven’t suffered more than they have.” What kind of woman compared herself to those families who endured such a horrific event as losing a beloved child?

  The older woman sneered at Liam and then Paige. “You think you’re so high and mighty, Mr. Liam McKenzie and Ms. Paige Walker.” She fixed her gaze on Paige. “I remember you, all right. You didn’t belong in high school any more than a one-eyed goat did. My Calvin came home and laughed at you, trying to fit in with all those kids so much older than yourself. He called you a poseur. What good did it do you anyway?”

  Liam wanted to defend Paige from the attack, but he didn’t know what to say. He glanced at her, saw that she was holding herself calmly under the attack.

  Mrs. Hawkins continued with her tirade, shaking her finger with such vigor that her whole body quivered. “I know you lost a brother, one of those glory hounds on the football team, full of themselves. But you didn’t lose your whole life. That’s what happened to my boy and me. Look around. What do you see?”

  She gestured to the cluttered room with its peeling paint, cracks in the walls and water stains on the ceiling. “Junior and I moved here after that first year. People in Willow Springs turned mean. Real mean. Blamed Calvin for what happened. I admit he wasn’t much, but he put food on the table and kept a roof over our heads. I never had no education. Married Calvin at seventeen and never did graduate high school.”

  A brief smile softened her face, giving Liam a glimpse of the girl she’d once been. “We were in love and ready to take on the world no matter what our parents said. I always wanted to go back to school or get my GED at least, but Calvin...he wanted me home.” The smile died. “He did his best to take care of us, I’ll give him that. Maybe it was his fault he fell asleep on the bus, but was that any reason to run me and Junior out of town? We didn’t do nothin’ wrong.”

  Liam started to say something, but Mrs. Hawkins wasn’t finished.

  “I won’t deny that Calvin could be lazy, but a woman can’t be held responsible for what her man does, can she? It wasn’t fair. Not fair at all. I know what you kids called Calvin. Old Goat Pope. He pretended that it didn’t bother him none. But I know it did. He did his job and that was that. You kids just had to torment him, didn’t you? You had no call to do that. ’Course after the accident, he didn’t have a job. That day changed everything.”

  “For a lot of people,” Liam said.

  Mrs. Hawkins sat back, flipped open another tabloid with enough energy to cause it to tear. “Now look what you made me do. I wanted to read what’s happening over there in England with those royals. Their shenanigans make for a good story, even if I’ve got no truck with them. Bunch of spoiled brats with too much money and not enough work to keep ’em out of trouble, if you ask me.”

  Clearly, the woman didn’t expect a response to her rantings. And Liam wondered, what was there to say? Pope’s wife blamed everyone else for her circumstances. She was so caught up in her own misery that she couldn’t see beyond it to what was happening outside her own narrow-minded world.

  “What happened to your husband after the accident?” Liam asked.

  Mrs. Hawkins spat out something that Liam decided he was better off not hearing. “What do you think? Calvin lost his job and the puny benefits that came with it. He was called a murderer. People wanted someone to blame, and he was a handy target. The school board fired him. There was talk about arresting him and making him stand trial. Like he wanted those kids who thought they were so high and mighty to die. He didn’t have any liking for them, but he didn’t wish them dead.”

  Liam flinched at the spiteful words. He tried to feel sorry for the woman, but Mrs. Hawkins’s hostility made it hard to summon up much sympathy. “You sound angry.”

  Hawkins pointed at Liam with a bony finger, accusation rigid in every inch of her posture. “’Course I’m angry. Angry at you.”

  Tak
en aback by the attack, he only stared at her.

  “You’re angry at Mr. McKenzie for saving your husband’s life?” Paige asked, voicing the same question Liam had.

  “I heard you were smart. Turns out you ain’t so smart after all. He should have let Calvin die.”

  Her son pushed himself off the wall where he’d been leaning. “Ma, don’t be saying those things. You’ll give folks the wrong idea.”

  “I don’t care what idea they got. Truth’s truth. I won’t apologize for it.” Arms folded across her chest, she sat back, anger vibrating from her entire being.

  “You can’t mean you’d prefer your husband had died,” Paige said, horror deepening her voice.

  “Mean it? Of course I mean it. I mean it as much as I’ve meant anything in my life. If Cal had drowned along with those kids, it would have been different.” A self-righteous sniff punctuated the words. “I’d have collected on his insurance. It wasn’t much, but it’d have been enough to keep me and my boy going at least for a few years without me working myself into an early grave. I cleaned office buildings until my hands were callused and my fingers bloody. I got to where I couldn’t do the work anymore, so now I’m on disability. Scrubbing floors and toilets is hard on the body, but it was the only job I could get. Nobody wanted to hire the wife of the man who killed five kids.”

  Gone was any semblance of civility as venom continued to spew from her. Harsh color stained her cheeks, and she aimed her rage at first Paige, then Liam. “When I found out what had happened, I was furious. If Cal had died trying to rescue those kids, he would have been called a hero. Instead, he was the man who had killed five spoiled brats.

  “Thanks to your man here,” she said, returning her attention to Paige, “Cal lived, so he was the villain. The rest of you got butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-the-mouth sympathy from the whole town. People couldn’t do enough for you. All I got were mean words and nasty looks. Someone even threw rocks through our windows. I ask you, did I deserve that?”