The Next Widow: A gripping crime thriller with unputdownable suspense (Jericho and Wright Thrillers Book 1)

by CJ Lyons

  They stood in silence for a long moment—Luka searching for words adequate to the task, words that wouldn’t sound trite or dismissive; Leah staring at him as if he had the key to understanding her husband’s secrets. Until finally, a departmental Taurus sped down the drive, skidding to a stop behind Luka’s car. Harper barged out of the driver’s seat at her usual breakneck pace.

  “Glad I caught you,” she said to Luka, eying Leah as she spoke. “I didn’t get a chance to update you on a few items Krichek just sent me.” She joined them at Luka’s car. “Mrs. Wright, perhaps you could clear up something for us.”

  Leah frowned. “What?” She stamped her feet and glanced to the house, her frown deepening. She didn’t trust her mother with her daughter, Luka realized and wondered at that. Something Harper might untangle during the night, perhaps.

  Harper’s smile was as fake as her suddenly saccharine tone. She held her phone up to Leah. “I don’t suppose you recognize this woman? Or this one?”

  Luka glanced over Harper’s elbow. Two grainy black and white photos of a woman in scrubs and a doctor’s white coat, holding a bouquet of roses, long dark hair pulled forward to hide her face. Despite the fact that the time stamps on the photos were hours apart, it was definitely the same woman.

  “A woman bought both bouquets of roses you received,” Harper continued as Leah stared at the photos, her face tightening into a blank mask. “Any idea who she could be? Someone about your height and build, hair the same?”

  Leah shook her head mutely, her feet shifting to point toward the house as if ready to bolt. She pushed the phone away and looked up to stare not at Harper but at Luka. “You think I bought them, sent them to myself? Why would I do that? Unless you think I—” She spun away, turning her back on them, heading up the porch steps. When she reached the top she whirled, staring down at them. “No. I don’t care what you think. I didn’t have anything to do with my husband’s death.” She ran inside, slamming the door behind her.

  Harper rocked back on her heels, a smug smile crossing her face as she pocketed her phone. “That went well.”

  “You think?” Luka said, his gaze on the empty porch with its lonely swing shuddering as the wind gusted. He checked his phone—Harper was one of his missed texts. At least she’d tried to reach Luka before pouncing on Leah like a hawk swooping in on its prey. “Not sure alienating our primary witness is the best tactic.”

  “Primary suspect, you mean. C’mon, boss, look at the photos. It’s her. Gotta be. Who else would send the flowers? They don’t make any sense otherwise—sure as hell isn’t your guy Cochrane dressing up in drag.”

  “Exactly why would she send the roses? Especially the second ones? We had nothing to tie her to anything, she had a solid alibi—”

  “Partially established by the first set of roses,” Harper reminded him. “That whole conversation with the desk clerk, making sure someone saw her leave the ER and noted the time. C’mon, that doesn’t feel like a setup to you?”

  “Maybe,” he allowed, leaning against the Taurus as the upstairs lights turned on in the house. They cast a warm yellow glow that fell short of him and Harper, leaving them in shadow. Boundaries, he thought. Police crossed over them all the time, invading sacrosanct, private territory. So did ER doctors—patients stripped naked, turned into injured bits of flesh to be mended. It would take a degree of detachment to do that job. He remembered how calm Leah had been when he interviewed her in her daughter’s hospital room last night. “But those second roses…”

  “Attention,” Harper guessed. “Excitement. Drama. Maybe she’s seen too many movies, wants to play the suffering victim longer, who knows?”

  He shook his head. “No. That’s not it. She’s not like that.”

  Harper crossed her arms over her chest, her glare at the house filled with contempt. “I’ll give you one thing, she’s a damn fine actress. Maybe the second roses were to set up an imaginary threat, give her an excuse to run away with her daughter.”

  “If so, it backfired, because now she’s stuck with you.”

  Her smile bared her teeth. “Yep. And I’m not about to let her get away with shit.”

  Luka swallowed his sigh—Harper had to learn her own lessons, especially the one about not getting so wrapped up in a theory that you twisted the facts to fit it. But at least he wouldn’t have to worry about Leah or her family tonight. No way in hell was Harper going to let them out of her sight.

  “We got a warrant for the widow’s phone yet?” Harper asked.

  “Krichek’s working on it.” Convincing a judge to allow them to invade a grieving widow’s privacy required both probable cause and finesse. “But, it’s just to cover our bases. Leah gave me her phone voluntarily.”

  Luka’s own phone kept buzzing. He slid it free and glanced at his missed messages: Janine, asking when he’d make it back to the farm. No time soon, but he wasn’t about to upset her further by texting her back. At least she hadn’t mentioned Tanya; that was progress. He pocketed the phone, his mind still on Harper’s argument.

  “She gave you her phone?” Harper scoffed. “It will be wiped clean—she probably already had a burner we know nothing about. But we should also get on the new phone, see who she calls from it. She’ll think she’s safe using it.”

  He understood Harper’s eagerness—her first homicide, first major case. Of course she wanted to be the one to crack it. He remembered that feeling. But she was missing something—they were missing something. He studied the house where Leah Wright had spent most of her youth. He had a vague recollection of coming here when he was a kid, riding in Pops’ truck, Nellie Quinn greeting them with lemonade that she’d garnished with fresh peppermint plucked straight from her kitchen garden.

  Must’ve been before Leah moved in with Nellie. Had she enjoyed growing up here as much as he’d enjoyed his grandparents’ farm? For him, the farm had meant freedom; some of his most joyful memories had taken place there. From the outside this house appeared to be a similar safe haven. Appeared. Maybe it was a trick of the light, the same way it gave the snow a nostalgic glow of wonder, masking its actual threat.

  He reminded himself that Leah had left this home as soon as she was able. Instead of her safe haven, perhaps this house was an anchor forged by guilt. Weighing her down, forcing her back after her great aunt had become ill.

  “Her colleagues all say she’s a good doctor, dedicated. Maybe too dedicated,” he added in the interest of full disclosure. “The head of trauma surgery thinks she has a God complex. Likes to pull people back from the dead, no matter the consequences.”

  “Control freak. Used to getting things her way,” Harper said. “You said she moved here from Pittsburgh when her aunt got sick, took care of her until she died?”

  “Great aunt. You thinking there’s something there?” The snow was falling steadier now, to the point where if he stood still for too long it gathered in the folds of his coat.

  Her shrug was much too casual. “Her kid would’ve been a toddler, right? Couldn’t have been much fun taking care of a sick old lady, juggling a kid and husband while starting out at a new job in the ER here. And Good Sam isn’t any prestigious big-time trauma center—not like Johns Hopkins or Pitt. I’ll bet she missed the action, maybe helped the old lady along—she inherited this place, right?”

  “You think Leah Wright killed her great aunt?”

  “I think Leah Wright is a woman who isn’t afraid to go after what she wants,” Harper answered him. “She likes control. And when she loses it? That’s when she’s dangerous.”

  Luka didn’t agree with Harper’s theory about Leah’s involvement in her great aunt’s death, but he couldn’t argue with her. After all, their only other potential suspects, Cochrane and Katrina Balanchuk, both had alibis. He couldn’t ignore his gut—this killing was personal—but that left only the widow.

  He wanted to trust Leah—but he had to examine every angle. He made a note to call the ME’s office, have Maggie dig into Nell
ie Quinn’s medical records. Which meant prepping yet another warrant. He eyed the snow collecting on the Taurus’s windshield. He had to get back to the station house, shouldn’t take time for personal business at the farm. But then Janine texted again, this one only three characters:

  911

  Harper stepped toward the porch, her gear bag slung over her shoulder, then turned back, smiling at Luka. “You know it, boss. There’s something there.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Because you stopped calling her Leah.” With that, she gave him a wave and sprinted up the steps, into the house.

  Luka’s sigh was part exhaustion, part exasperation and quickly swallowed by the wind. He fingered his phone. Time to face the music.

  He climbed into the Taurus and steered down the drive, heading towards home. Harper’s words echoed in his mind. Could he have been wrong about Leah Wright? Was this all some kind of elaborate game she’d orchestrated to get rid of a cheating husband, create an unimpeachable persona as a grieving widow, and then collect the insurance and her daughter, escape to live the life she wanted, free of family obligations? She could have sent the flowers to herself, the motorcyclist could be her accomplice, and the ten thousand dollars Ian withdrew could have been for her.

  Which was the real Leah Wright? Would they ever know?

  Thirty

  Leah stood inside the open front door, watching Harper and Jericho talk. She felt like a child again, hiding and trying to eavesdrop as the grownups talked about her. After Ruby would leave, she’d dissect every half-heard conversation, trying to figure out what she’d done wrong.

  Not now. Now she was an adult with a child of her own to care for. She closed the front door and turned her back on the conversation outside. The foyer opened up onto a staircase, beside it a narrow hall leading back to the kitchen, and on either side, archways leading to the formal dining room and the living room with its large river rock fireplace.

  She turned to the living room. Nothing had changed. Same ancient leather sofa and tapestry chair with its curved back and wide rolled arms, just the right size for a young girl to curl up and doze beside the fire. Same braid rug, same singed spots near the hearth, same photos lining the mantle: Nellie and her sister—Leah’s grandmother; their parents and grandparents; a sepia wedding photo of the great-grandparents; some anonymous ancestor’s christening photo; and all of Leah’s school pictures lined up in a row documenting her evolution from gangly, crooked-toothed child to shy and awkward teen and finally to beaming med school graduate, radiant bride, and even more exhilarated mother, giving way to photos of Emily as a baby and then a toddler. Until Emily seemingly stopped growing, frozen in time at twenty-eight months when Nellie had gotten sick.

  And yet, everything had changed. Gone were Nellie’s personal touches—her never finished knitting projects, Leah’s clumsy elementary school art class clay pots, esoteric seed catalogues and the medical paraphernalia that had cluttered the space during Nellie’s final days. Gone also was her special smell, raw earth perfumed by lavender and roses. Vanished was the feeling of peace.

  “I put you and Emily in Nellie’s room,” Ruby said from the top of the stairs.

  Leah clutched her bag tighter and nodded, starting up the steps, instinctively avoiding the creaky third one.

  “Emily’s just out of the tub. Don’t worry. I had a clean nightgown ready for her.”

  That made Leah pause, glancing up at Ruby with narrowed eyes.

  Ruby didn’t flinch, merely shrugged. “You can’t blame me for hoping that someday… and now, here you are,” she finished brightly as if oblivious to the reasons behind their unscheduled family reunion. “She’s asking if you can braid her hair before bed.”

  Leah reached the top of the steps and after a long, silent moment Ruby stood aside so that she could pass without their touching. Leah walked down the hall, her steps echoing into the past as she retraced the path she’d taken a thousand times. The guest room was the first she passed, followed by her old room at the rear of the house. It faced north with a glimpse of the river beyond the woods in the winter. The door was open and Leah couldn’t help but glance inside—the bed was the same as was the faded oriental rug that once upon a time Leah had pretended was a flying carpet, but all other traces of her childhood had vanished, replaced by Ruby’s flea market clutter. Why hadn’t Ruby taken Nellie’s room, which was larger? Surely not out of guilt?

  No, Leah thought as she noted the blackout curtains Ruby had hung. Nellie’s room got the morning sun and Ruby was never a morning person. Just that simple.

  Leah turned to retrace her steps back down the hall to the front of the house, passing the bathroom with its old-fashioned claw tub, steam still fogging the mirror over the sink. Then she reached Nellie’s room with its wide bay window stretching out over the front porch roof. The antique spool bed still faced the window, a dressing table on the far side. A rocking chair was positioned in front of the window and Leah could swear that it moved—as if its owner had just stepped away. She inhaled deeply, not sure if she imagined Nellie’s scent; but real or not, it still relaxed her.

  “Mommy, look, Miss Ruby gave me a fairy princess dress.” Emily bounced on the bed, spreading the ruffled skirt of the nightgown with its brightly sparkled neon pink picture of a fairy with a tiny waist and voluminous hair. The image was everything she never wanted Emily to aspire to, but she said nothing. Emily turned so that her back was to Leah and said, “Braids, please.”

  She’d inherited Leah’s unruly hair, which required some form of restraint before a night of Emily’s tossing and turning—otherwise it would be a knotted mess in the morning. Emily handed Leah a wide-toothed comb that, like the nightgown, appeared to be brand new. Leah ran it through Emily’s curls. “Sure you’re ready for bed, not hungry or anything?”

  “No. I just want to be away from people. And scary stuff.” She glanced over her shoulder. “It’s nice here. But I’d like it better if I had Huggybear to keep me safe.”

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to do with me for tonight. We can go to the store, find a new Huggybear tomorrow.”

  “There’s only one Huggybear! He’s special-extra!” Emily wiggled and squirmed, making Leah tug harder than she’d intended. “Ow, that hurts.”

  “Sorry, pumpkin, I hit a tangle. Hold still for a second.” Leah teased the comb through the knot of hair—or at least she tried to until Emily jerked forward, whipping her head away, the comb slipping from Leah’s hand still caught in the snarled hair.

  “Mommy, stop! It hurts! That’s not how Daddy does it. I want Daddy to do it.”

  Daddy had a magic spray can of detangler, but Leah was too exhausted to try to explain. Instead she reached for Emily and pulled her back onto her lap, wrapping her arms around her. “I wish Daddy were here. I would give anything. But we’re just going to have to muddle through this together, you and me.”

  Emily’s body was rigid, not yielding to Leah’s hug, but finally she ducked her head and held her hair out to Leah. “Careful,” she warned as if Leah was preparing to defuse a nuclear warhead.

  “I’ll go slow,” Leah promised. She slid the comb free and instead used her fingers, slowly, gently, weaving them through Emily’s curls. She massaged Emily’s scalp like she had when Emily was a baby—she even took a sniff, missing the scent of the no-tears baby shampoo. Slowly, Emily relaxed. Leah began working her hair into a braid, her fingers mindlessly finding their rhythm in time with Emily’s breathing. Emily’s shoulders relaxed, giving Leah hope. A few hours of sleep, time for the brain to re-set, help to bury some of the day’s trauma—they both needed that.

  “No, Mommy,” Emily murmured as she reached a hand to trace Leah’s work. “Princess braids. Like Daddy does.”

  Princess braids? That was new. Leah searched her memory, trying to remember any special princess hairstyle she’d seen Ian replicate. Unfortunately, every time Ian did Emily’s hair for dress-up, it never looked the same way twice. At
least not to Leah’s eyes. “I’m sorry, sweetie. Tell me what princess braids are?”

  Emily flounced in Leah’s lap, her head knocking against Leah’s chin. “You know. Princess braids. Like Daddy does.”

  Leah took a settling breath and unwound her braid. “Princess braids? So two of them?” She began to divide Emily’s hair but hit another tangled area.

  Emily cried out and lunged off the bed.

  “Daddy knows. You don’t. I want Daddy,” she screamed, yanking at her hair until it was a knotted mess once more. “Why isn’t Daddy here?” Now came the tears, gushing down her cheeks as her hands fisted and her chest heaved. “Why didn’t you fix him? Doctors fix people. Brody said you saved him. Why didn’t you save Daddy?”

  Leah reached for Emily, who dodged her. She backed away until she hit the bed, standing there, face flushed and furious, fists flailing as if Leah were the enemy.

  “It’s all your fault!”

  The words broke Leah. She had no reply, no answers, no idea how to ease her daughter’s pain. Before she could even try, the door opened and Ruby was there holding a large purple stuffed bear.

  “Look what I found!” she said as if the bear were ancient treasure instead of still attached to its price tag. “Emily, sweetheart,” she crooned in a honey-flavored tone Leah had never heard come from her before, “let’s crawl under the covers and read a story.”

  Ruby moved to stand between Emily and Leah, crouching to Emily’s level and bundling her into her arms, practically rolling her and the bear beneath the quilt. Emily aimed one last condemning scowl at Leah, then turned away, focusing on Ruby, who edged onto the bed beside her.

  Leah stood speechless for a long moment. When she swallowed it felt like broken glass, her earlier tears had left her so parched. Ruby chose a book from the stack on the nightstand. She and Emily huddled together, head to head, the book open like a shield between them and the rest of the coldhearted world. Between them and Leah.