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

by CJ Lyons

  Leah fled to the bathroom, closing the door. With quick, jerking motions she shed her now-filthy scrubs and changed into clean underwear, yoga pants and a sweatshirt from her gym bag. When she finally raised her face to the mirror she stared at the red-eyed empty husk that was her reflection. Hell, she couldn’t even keep her own hair combed, much less master princess braids. Had she been fooling herself all these years, pretending she and Ian were equal partners in raising Emily?

  Because Emily was right. Leah hadn’t always been there for every bedtime kiss, every dress-up princess party. She’d missed so much.

  The woman in the mirror blinked, her forehead creasing. How the hell was Leah going to do this without Ian? What if Emily grew up hating Leah for not being there—for not saving Ian? For always finding the time to go to work and save someone else.

  Finally, she turned the water off, patted her face dry, and went back down the hall to stand outside Emily’s partly open door. Soft golden light spilled out, warm against the oak floorboards. Ruby’s voice, a lullaby singsong as she read about an animals’ pajama party, was hypnotic, so seductive that Leah felt her own body slump against the wall, desperate for sleep.

  Then she heard the words that stole away all thought of sleep. “Read it again, Ruby. You tell it almost as good as Daddy. Can I stay here with you until he comes home?”

  Choking back fresh tears, Leah pushed away from the wall and ran down the stairs, past the dining room where Harper had settled herself, and out the door.

  Thirty-One

  The thought that Leah might have been involved in her great aunt’s death haunted Luka the entire drive to Jericho Fields. Could he have been that wrong about the woman? And then there were the images from the gift shop security camera. They sure as hell looked a lot like Leah Wright.

  As he drove he used the time to call Krichek for an update on the myriad of details swirling beyond the drama that was Leah Wright. “CSU’s almost finished with the scene,” Krichek reported. “They want one last pass tomorrow. No helpful results on anything yet.”

  Which explained why they were headed back to the scene for another run. Given the extent of the scene, Luka was sure the forensic guys were just as frustrated as he was about the lack of actual usable evidence. “Radcliffe come up with anything on the motorcycle?”

  “Just got off the phone with him. Bottom line was don’t call him, he’ll call us. I did follow up on Trina’s alibi, still waiting to hear back from her roommate. Ray’s checking on Cochrane’s.”

  More nothing. Luka yearned for a single solid lead to follow up on—other than the ones that seemed to lead to the widow. Despite everything, he still couldn’t fathom a scenario that included Leah Wright participating in her husband’s torture and killing, not with her daughter there in the house. “Anything on the gift shop video? Confirmation that it was Leah Wright who bought the roses?” Or not, he hoped.

  “Only thing new is that I got Ian Wright’s credit cards and phone records: it definitely wasn’t him. Can’t prove it was the wife, not yet, but also can’t rule her out.”

  “Thanks. Have Ray call me as soon as Cochrane’s ready to talk. His parole officer should have him in custody by now.” Luka blew his breath out, fogging the windshield. He had no choice but to keep focus on their most viable suspect. “Keep working the widow—we know she didn’t do the actual murder, so there must be a trail leading to whoever she was working with.”

  By the time he reached the farm the temperature had fallen enough that the snow was sticking, clinging to the apple trees like sugar on lollipops. All the lights were on in the house—including on the second floor that Pops no longer visited, the stairs too steep for him to climb, which told him that at least Janine hadn’t fled, abandoning Pops to the Jericho family craziness. Other than Janine’s Explorer there were no other cars in sight, so hopefully that meant Tanya had kept her word and stayed away. For good this time, if there was a God.

  He climbed out of the Taurus. He wouldn’t be here long, too much to do, but he could at least grab a bite to eat, a change of clothing, and smooth Janine’s ruffled feathers and Pops’ anxiety over his wayward granddaughter. Luka strode up the back steps—only company used the front door—and entered.

  He stood in the alcove inside the door, the mud room his gran called it. The smell of sizzling beef greeted him before he could stomp the snow from his shoes. Inhaling, he hung up his coat and stepped into the kitchen. Pops was at the table, Janine stood at the stove, but what stole his attention was the boy seated across from Pops in Luka’s chair. He was maybe seven or eight with dark, wiry hair and pale hazel eyes. As Luka stopped and stared, the boy looked up at him with a fearful expression.

  “Who—” Luka started.

  Pops sprang up from his chair, more energetic than Luka had seen him in months. “Luka, you just missed Tanya. This is Nate. Tanya’s son.”

  Son? Tanya had a son?

  “Where the hell is she?”

  “Language,” Janine chided.

  “She’s gone. Dropped Nate and left.” Pops’ face clouded even as he laid his palm on Nate’s head, rubbing the boy’s hair and pressing him to his seat. “You need to find her.”

  “I do?” So damned typical. Tanya blowing into Pops’ life and dumping her kid on him. “Why?”

  That earned him a glare. Janine brought a pan of roast beef to the table and replenished Nate’s plate. “Why don’t you two talk outside?” she said pointedly.

  “It’s okay, I knows already,” Nate mumbled as he chewed, his mouth open. “Mom’s not coming back. Says I live here now. Says she’ll never be back. I’m on my own now.”

  His delivery was so straightforward, so devoid of any sentiment, that Luka felt moved. Knowing Tanya, he could only imagine what the kid had been through.

  “No,” he surprised himself by saying. He took the seat beside the boy, waited until the kid managed to make some slight semblance of eye contact. “You’re not alone. You’re here with family.”

  “You’re the cop,” the kid said with suspicion. “You gonna call family services? I don’t want to go to another foster. Better off by myself.” His jaw tightened even as hope pushed past his anger for a fleeting moment. “Unless… you can find Moms? Bring her back, get her help? Before it’s too late?”

  “What do you mean, before it’s too late?” Luka asked despite himself. For the past decade he’d assumed it was already too late for Tanya—if his parents would have only seen that, they’d still be alive. But he remembered how gaunt she’d looked at lunch today. And how he’d stalked off without giving her a chance to explain. After all these years, was he wrong about his little sister?

  Pops lowered both hands to Nate’s shoulders, squeezing them in encouragement. “Tanya got herself clean, son. Worked hard—got custody back, took good care of Nate. All on her own.”

  “It was nice,” Nate said wistfully. “I had my own room, got to stay at the same school for a whole year. But then…”

  “She’s sick,” Pops said in a choked whisper. “Dying even. And she’s out there, all alone.”

  Nate dropped his fork, clattering against his plate. He swiped at his eyes, then glanced up at Luka, his stare filled with longing. “You’re the cop. You gotta save her. That’s what family does, she said. Family helps each other, no matter what.”

  The last came out as a challenge—pure Tanya. A challenge Luka had no idea if he could meet.

  Luka waited a few moments while Nate finished eating and retired to the den. Last thing he wanted was to traumatize the kid more.

  “Tanya came alone first, this morning,” Pops started. “You all were gone. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I opened the door—she looked good, real good. Clean, right? Polished up, makeup, nice outfit, not too showy, more like professional. I did what you told me, didn’t let her in, sat her down on the porch. At first. Then we got to talking and I saw she might look good on the outside but there was something bad going on inside. Like your gran before sh
e passed. Huffing after every few words, lips pale, that hacky cough. I asked but she waved me off. Told me about being in jail for a few months down in Baltimore year before last. Getting clean—more, getting right. Job, halfway house, an apartment. Then she told me about Nate.”

  “You said she got her rights back, took him from foster care—you’re sure she did that legit? Didn’t just take him?” Luka would’ve loved to run a NCIC check on his sister but that would raise a ton of red flags, maybe even get him fired. But if he suspected the boy was at risk, he could bend the rules.

  Both Pops and Janine shook their heads.

  “I grilled her when she came back tonight with the boy,” Janine said. “Wasn’t about to be part of something illegal. She has court papers and all. But—” She glanced at Pops, who nodded. “She’s sick. Said it’s a heart infection, got it from shooting up. Chronic. They’ve tried all the meds but the bacteria just get resistant and now there’s no hope left. She came here to find a home for her boy before…” Her voice caught. Luka was surprised. Hard-as-nails Janine actually bought Tanya’s sob story?

  “Before it’s too late,” Pops finished.

  “How much?” Luka asked. “How much is she asking for? What’s it going to cost us to get her back on her feet? Help out with the boy? Pay the doctor bills, whatever?” Both Pops and Janine stared at him as if he was the con trying to take advantage of them and not Tanya. “Don’t you see? It’s just another one of her lies, dressed up in a nice outfit and a sob story that, thanks to patient confidentiality, we can’t ever check. Nice touch bringing the kid along to tug on our heart strings.”

  Pops sank into his seat. “Luka Jericho.” His tone was mournful. “When did you grow such a stone-cold heart? Your gran is surely rolling in her grave, hearing you talk like that.”

  “Pops, don’t you see? It’s a scam. It’s always a scam with Tanya. If Mom and Dad hadn’t bought her lies, they’d still be alive. Do you seriously believe a single word from that girl’s mouth?”

  “You didn’t see her—” Pops started, then stopped, one hand covering his mouth as if holding something bitter back.

  But he had, Luka thought. He was thankful he hadn’t told Pops about meeting Tanya at Good Sam. She’d looked okay for a life-long junkie. At least he’d thought so at the time.

  “He’s right,” Janine said. “I’ve taken care of a lot of people in their end stages. She wasn’t faking. Your sister, she’s not got long, sad to say.”

  “Only thing she asked me for was to keep Nate safe,” Pops said. His voice cracked. “How could I say no?”

  Luka swallowed, torn between sympathy and anger.

  Janine cleared her throat, rearranged the bowls Luka had just put into the dishwasher, then looked up. “Honestly,” her voice dropped to a whisper as she glanced down the hall to the den, “I’m not sure she’s even coming back to say goodbye. I think maybe she went to end things, go out on her own terms.”

  “You don’t know Tanya,” Luka protested.

  Janine pressed her lips together, shaking her head. “You’re right. I don’t know her and I’m not family. But if you want to say goodbye or give that boy in there a chance to make his peace with his mother, then you’d better start looking for her. Now. Tonight.”

  Pops nodded his agreement. “I begged her to stay, wait for you, but she wouldn’t. Said you’d never understand, would start a fight about all the bad things she’d done that you never let her forget. Said you’d never forgive, either. Have to say, she had a point.”

  He pushed his chair back, stood, and walked to the cubbyhole desk in the corner that had been where Gran ran the household. Pops opened one of the many drawers and pulled out a wad of papers. “Left these. Boy’s birth certificate, school record, Tanya’s custody papers, and this…” He shuffled through the sheaf until he found the document he wanted. “Signed over custody and guardianship to you, Luka. That boy’s your responsibility now. You have to do right by him.”

  Luka took the paper, scanning it. It seemed legit. What the hell did he know about kids? He was shaking his head even as his mind spun with the ramifications. Money. Kids took lots of money and he was already spread thin keeping up with Pops’ medical bills and the upkeep on the farm. Clothing, shoes, school—and what about after school, who would watch him? Couldn’t saddle Pops with that—or the kid with taking care of Pops. And no way Janine would go for it—she had her own family to deal with.

  Luka read the papers once more. This was happening. Whether he liked it or not. That kid in there, that boy who’d already been through more than his fair share, seen too much, too young—he was now Luka’s responsibility.

  And Luka had no idea what to do.

  Before his mind could begin to process the idea of fatherhood, his phone rang. Ray.

  “Bad news,” he said without preamble. “All those videos slamming Leah Wright? We traced them back to Cochrane. This guy has even more of a hard-on for her than we thought. And just heard from his PO. Cochrane ran, he’s in the wind.”

  “What about his alibi for last night?”

  “No one saw Cochrane at the bar. And he clocked off work in plenty of time to make it to the Wrights’ place.” Ray cleared his throat. “And maybe even worse news. That apartment where Katrina Balanchuk lives? It’s not hers. It’s owned by her partner, a professor. Doctor Olivia Karmody. And guess what? She teaches chemistry.”

  “As in—”

  “As in the lady has done a bunch of papers about street drugs, including PCP and meth.”

  Both found in Ian Wright’s preliminary tox screen. “I’m on my way,” Luka said as he grabbed his coat.

  Pops blocked his path to the door as Janine looked on, frowning in disapproval. “Luka, no. You can’t leave. You need to find Tanya. She’s family.”

  Luka sighed. “I’ll put out a missing person’s report on Tanya. Did she say anything about where she was headed?” Both Pops and Janine shook their heads. “What kind of car was she driving?”

  Janine answered. “Silver. Or gray. Small. Maybe a Honda, like a Civic? Or a Toyota. I’m not sure.”

  “Maybe I can trace her cell. How much cash did she have?”

  “First time she was here I gave her forty dollars,” Pops said. “Enough for gas for her to fetch Nate, bring him up from Baltimore.”

  Which meant she probably had enough left over for a bag of heroin. If she truly was clean, would that be enough to OD on? If she actually was looking to kill herself. For nine years Luka had imagined Tanya dying in an anonymous dark alley, nodding off and never waking up. He’d always hoped she had the decency to make sure anyone who found her had his number to call, spare his grandparents that burden. But now that the prospect seemed imminent, he hoped he was wrong. That Tanya herself would call him, let him help. Maybe Leah would know a doctor who could save his little sister—

  His focus snapped back. Cochrane was on the loose, Leah and Emily might still be in danger. “I’ll do what I can,” he promised Pops. “But right now, I have to go.”

  Thirty-Two

  Leah fled to the back garden where she was relieved to find that Ruby hadn’t destroyed her favorite childhood sanctuary, a miniature plywood pagoda so thickly overgrown with flowering vines that even as a child she had to crawl on her hands and knees to enter its quiet, perfumed embrace. Now it was surrounded by muddy patches where snow had drifted off the peaked roof and melted in the day’s warmth, the puddles already frosted with new ice forming. The stars were obscured by thickening clouds promising more snow to come.

  The wind sang through the forest, drowning out Leah’s heavy, choked breaths. Vines twisted across the sagging wood structure like something out of a nightmare. Or one of Nellie’s fairy tales. It seemed the only time Nellie put aside her pragmatic, practical, pilgrim-like austerity was after the lights were out, the chores and homework finished, and bed was beckoning.

  “Once upon a time,” she’d start, and Leah learned to love those four magic words because anything
could happen afterward. Nellie taught her the value of hard work, self-reliance, facing harsh realities… but with those four words, she also taught Leah the wonder of possibilities, to dream, to imagine the impossible.

  She sank to her heels, examining a tangle of uprooted roses, their canes black and brittle, snapping between her fingers. The wind howled in pain, deep and throaty as a man fighting for his life. A flash of blood filled her vision, the horror that she’d found last night when she’d returned home.

  Home. She had no home, not without Ian. He was the one who made it all work, made them work. What was she going to do without him? She couldn’t go back to her job, not with the hours the ER demanded, yet the ER was her life. Even if she worked shorter hours, she’d still need help with Emily. But how could she invite a stranger into Emily’s life, after what Emily had been through? She crumbled the dead rose bark between her fingers. No way in hell could she trust Ruby with Emily. Sooner or later, Ruby would be Ruby, abandon Emily, betray her trust, or worse, make her feel worthless, discarded.

  No. Leah was not about to let Emily be exposed to Ruby’s unique brand of poison.

  She stood, staring at the tiny pagoda, half-tempted to crawl inside, curl up, and let the night chill take her, numb her to reality. The soft glow of the lights from the house seemed as ethereal as Nellie’s fairy tales. Maybe it wasn’t real. For a second she wished she had the power of denial that Ruby wielded so effortlessly.

  Denying Ian? That was no answer. Like the princesses in Nellie’s stories, Leah was trapped in a labyrinth and would have to fight to find her own way free.

  Her phone rang. It was Jessica—the psychiatrist’s timing was uncanny. Just as Leah was feeling lost, here was a reminder that she wasn’t alone.

  “Thought I’d call, see how you were doing,” Jessica said.