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

by CJ Lyons

  “Honestly, I’m spiraling.” The confession felt good—as if Leah no longer needed to pretend that she was in control of anything, including herself.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Emily had a panic attack on the way here—she saw someone on a motorcycle she thought was the killer, actually turned out it was a woman, but she just lost it, complete meltdown. Now she seems fine, even let Ruby put her to bed, said she never wants to leave.”

  “Kids her age—”

  “I know, I know, resilient. And that’s great, really. But me, all night, I’m barely hanging on. My chest is pounding, I can’t sit still, and I keep seeing Ian—imagining Ian—and I’m all over the place. I’m sad and pitiful then I try to focus on the good times but then I get angry, so, so angry…” She turned away from the house with its warm glow and faced the dark woods, the treetops rustling in the wind as if some unseen force ran across them, desperate to escape the coming storm.

  “It’s normal to be angry, to even blame the victim for what you’re experiencing. That doesn’t negate your and Ian’s love. Not at all. Try closing your eyes. Slow, deep breaths. Think of Ian. Of when you knew you loved him. Maybe when he proposed? Or when you first met?”

  Leah did as Jessica instructed, allowing the other woman’s soft words to hypnotize her. The images spinning through her mind morphed: Ian at the far end of the aisle, fidgeting with his tux, looking pale and ready to bolt from the church—the only time she’d ever seen him nervous, except during Emily’s delivery. Him holding Emily as a newborn, her barely filling his hands, and the look on his face. Fierce, protective, true bliss.

  “Tell me how you and Ian met,” Jessica coaxed Leah.

  “At Phipps Conservatory in Pittsburgh. We were both taking an adult ed art class. Drawing and painting the flowers and plants. I was a resident, working weird hours, but that month I was doing a derm rotation so had my nights free and needed something relaxing, something that got me out of myself, connected me to the real world, you know?”

  “And Ian, why did he take the class?”

  “It’s what he did when he was lost in a problem at work—he’d pick a random class that fit his schedule.”

  “So you both, in some way, were searching for connection. Escape. And you found each other.”

  “Right.” Leah chuckled. “I told him that first night he was full of it. That the real reason he took those classes was to pick up girls.”

  “A physical connection is still a connection,” Jessica said in a serious tone. “You mentioned earlier that you felt distant from Ian—is that something new in your relationship?”

  Now Leah hesitated. “No. It’s a pattern—my pattern. It’s not easy for me to trust, to rely on someone else. I mean, you met Ruby, can guess about where I’m coming from. But Ian was patient, he never tried to change me, he just waited. He was always there when I needed him most, without me even needing to ask.” Her eyes stung with the wind and the cold, moisture freezing against her eyelashes. “Until now.”

  They were both silent. Leah swallowed. The knot in her throat began to ease, allowing her to breathe again. She tried to hold onto the image of Ian, that first night they met, his earnest expression as he attempted to sketch an orchid, stepping back to get the right perspective, toppling the woman behind him into a lily pond. Oh, the look on his face as he helped Leah out, her clothes clinging, revealing, her face on fire with embarrassment, the other students gawking. And Ian, like some gallant from ancient times—or one of Nellie’s stories, which always had twists and laughs—promptly jumped in the water as well, so that now people were laughing and staring at him, allowing Leah to escape.

  The image was clear in her mind, so clear she wanted to reach out and grab it, hold it in her palms to savor it.

  “Less angry?” Jessica asked. “Any other feelings? Fear? Guilt?”

  It was as if the other woman read Leah’s mind. “All of the above. When Emily lost it, she screamed at me, told me it was my fault Ian was dead, that I should have been able to save him.”

  “Kids her age, the concept of death—they struggle with permanence, causality.”

  Leah spun in a tight circle, her shoes sinking deeper into the muddy ground. “Or she’s right. If I’d gotten there sooner—”

  “You might be dead, too. Then where would Emily be?” Jessica paused. “What made her think you could save Ian? She’s a little old to expect her parents to be all-powerful gods.”

  “She knows what doctors do. And Brody told her that I saved his life when he was young—back when I was a chief resident in Pittsburgh. Guess he must have made an impression on her, because now she both blames me for not bringing Ian back from the dead and she talks like she expects him to walk back through the door any minute.”

  “Brody told her that?” Jessica’s tone was sharp with disapproval. “I need to talk to him about what’s appropriate—”

  A noise came from the house. It sounded like a scream. Leah took off, running, the phone forgotten in her hand.

  Thirty-Three

  The scream propelled Leah forward—Emily! Her feet slipped in the mud and newly fallen snow. As she rounded the corner, a man plowed through the front door, the screen door banging in protest. He leapt from the porch, flying past all seven steps, racing out of sight into the trees beside the drive.

  “Leah, Leah! What’s happening?” Jessica’s voice reminded her that she still held the phone.

  “Call 911,” Leah shouted as she pounded up the porch steps.

  Leah waited a moment, huddled to the far side of the open front door. No one followed the man, there was no sign of him returning, and no sounds coming from inside. Cautiously, she stepped over the threshold.

  “It’s me,” she called out in case Harper was pursuing the intruder, poised to shoot. Her voice stuttered and tripped over the silence.

  The first floor was completely dark, no lights on at the landing above either. Leah was desperate to rush up the steps to get to Emily, but images of last night filled the shadows, leaving her terrified of what she might find. What if her daughter was lying beside her bed in a pool of blood?

  Her entire body trembled with urgency. But panic held her in its merciless grip, frozen, barely able to swallow air. Then a muffled moan came from in front of her and her training took over, breaking her free. She snapped on the lights, blinking at the scene they illuminated. The upper half of the banister was splintered, and Harper lay face up on the floor, motionless. Her gun was across the foyer, halfway down the hall to the kitchen.

  Leah rushed to the detective, kneeling at her head to immobilize her neck. “Harper, open your eyes. Can you hear me?” No response. Airway clear, breathing normal, obvious hematoma already forming at the temporal parietal region. As Leah palpated the detective’s cervical spine and skull, Harper moaned again, her eyes fluttering open. She flailed, trying to get up, but Leah held her still. “Stop. Look at me. What’s your name?”

  She’d been hoping for one of the detective’s signature disdainful glares, but instead the younger woman blinked in confusion, then whispered, “Naomi.”

  “Naomi what?”

  “Harper.” This more certain, stronger. But then Harper tried to raise her left hand to her face and cried out in pain, unable to move it above her chest.

  “Hold still,” Leah commanded. “You might have a neck injury. I need you to hold still while I check on—” She swallowed, unable to say Emily’s name. “Just hold still. Help’s on the way.”

  At least she hoped it was. She grabbed her phone and stood, dialing 911 as she approached the staircase. The sense of déjà vu as she told the operator what was happening was overwhelming. It didn’t help that there were dents in the plaster wall of the staircase and that a vase of Nellie’s dried roses had toppled over from the table on the landing, their petals spewed down the oak steps like drops of blood.

  She had to get to Emily. She wanted to vault up the steps, to fly down the hall, but it was as if part
of her was trapped in the nightmare of last night.

  Focus, she told herself. Emily needs you. Despite the evidence of a struggle on the steps there was no actual blood, and the level of violence was nowhere near what had happened at her home.

  One step up, holding her breath, listening. The house was silent, no sounds of another intruder. Another step, her hand pressed against the wall. And another until she reached the top of the stairs, flicked the landing light on, and finally breathed deep.

  “Emily,” she called out, her voice choked. Unable to restrain herself any longer, she raced down the hall to the closed door of Nellie’s bedroom. “Emily!” She hesitated with her hand on the doorknob, only a split second, a mere moment, but one that damned her as a coward. Bracing herself for what she might find inside, the image of Ian’s body filling her vision, she opened the door. “Emily, it’s Mommy.”

  She turned on the lights. Nothing seemed disturbed—except the bed was empty, covers thrown back. “Emily, it’s okay. It’s just me.” Leah crouched down, looked under the bed. Nothing but dust, old shoe boxes, and a stray hair band. She stood, a strange fluttering filling her chest. Where was she? “Emily, come out. It’s okay, everything’s okay.”

  She threw open the closet door. Empty except for naked wire hangers rattling as if indignant at her intrusion. She whirled around. There was nowhere else to hide. But she’d heard Emily scream when she was outside—hadn’t she? Could there have been a second man, one who’d taken her?

  Sprinting down the hall, she opened every door. The linen closet: no Emily. The bathroom and guest room. Both empty. The door leading to the attic stairs—Emily would have never climbed those alone in the dark, but still Leah opened it and turned on the light. “Emily?” Her voice echoed through the cavernous rafters overhead. No answer.

  The only room left was her old room, the one Ruby now used. She opened the door, nose wrinkling at the stench of marijuana. Turned on the light. Ruby was sleeping, oblivious to the world. And beside her, snoring lightly, was Emily, one of Nellie’s old quilts covering her. Leah rushed to her, pulling her free from the quilt and into her arms.

  “Emily!” She shook her and Emily’s eyes opened halfway.

  “Huh?” She blinked. “Go ’way, Mommy, I’m sleeping.” Her eyelids drooped shut and her head sagged.

  Leah reached over Emily to pull at Ruby’s arm. “Wake up,” she commanded. “Wake the hell up!” Ruby had always slept like the dead—the combination of alcohol, marijuana or whatever pills she could get her hands on, along with an absolute lack of a conscience. “Ruby!”

  Ruby groaned, attempting to swat Leah away. Leah slapped her hand down. “What did you give her?” she demanded as Ruby’s eyes slitted open. “What did you give Emily?”

  “What?” Ruby yawned and sat halfway up. “What’s the matter?”

  “What did you give my daughter?”

  “She had a nightmare. Couldn’t find you. So I gave her the same as worked for you when you were a kid and I needed you to sleep. Mixed Benadryl in with juice. Works a charm.”

  Yeah, until you woke up in the backseat of some stranger’s car parked out in front of a bar, not knowing when your mother would return. Leah said nothing, fearful that if she did, she might scream, wake Emily and scare her. Not that anything she said would do any good. She took a few deep breaths, swallowing her anger as she carefully smoothed the covers back around Emily. No need to wake her, the sleep would do her good.

  Once she was calm again, she turned to Ruby. “Get rid of that pot, along with anything else you might have stashed. I’ll not have Emily in a house with that garbage.” Not that she and Emily were staying. She glanced at her sleeping daughter and sighed. Every decision Leah had made to keep her safe, to take control of this nightmare, they’d all somehow backfired. And she had no idea where to go next. “You might want to get dressed,” she told Ruby as she headed out the door. “The police are on their way.”

  “Police? Aren’t they already here? That girl, Harper?”

  Leah didn’t bother with an answer. She jogged down the hall and back down the stairs to check on Harper. Nellie’s house was just outside city limits in the unincorporated area covered by the state police and a volunteer fire/ambulance service, so response times were slower than in the city. When she got to the foyer Harper had vanished, leaving behind a smear of blood where she’d hit her head. Her gun was gone as well.

  “Harper,” Leah called as she glanced into the living room. Nothing. She retreated and followed the narrow hallway back to the dark kitchen.

  Harper was slumped over the sink, pistol clutched in one hand, the other holding her hair back as she vomited. Leah clicked the light on. Harper wobbled as she spun around, raising her gun halfway, her hand shaking.

  “It’s me, Leah.” Leah stood stock still until Harper nodded and lowered the weapon. She carefully approached the detective, keeping her hands visible. “You hit your head. Blacked out. Have a concussion at the very least. Why don’t you sit down, let me check you.”

  Harper allowed Leah to lead her to the kitchen table and help her into a chair. At least there were no signs of a cervical injury, but Leah noticed that Harper hadn’t raised her left arm, the one she held her gun with, all the way. Probably a clavicle fracture. She was more worried about the detective’s head injury. If it had been Harper’s yell that she’d heard, then the detective hadn’t been unconscious for more than a few moments before Leah found her, but that still didn’t rule out a bleed.

  “Do you remember what happened?” she asked as she checked Harper’s pupils. A little sluggish, but equal.

  “Have to call it in, clear the house.” The words came slowly as if Harper had to search for each one. “I saw him.”

  “He’s gone. Emily and Ruby are safe upstairs. Slept through everything. The police and an ambulance are on the way.”

  “Jericho—”

  “You want me to call him?” It was a good idea, would save time explaining everything to the state police. And, given the large territory the local barracks patrolled, Jericho might get here first. She was glad she’d left Ruby and Emily upstairs. She remembered the chaos the police had left behind at her house.

  And now here she was, in the middle of another crime scene.

  If she and Emily weren’t safe here, if the police couldn’t protect them, then where could Leah run to next?

  Then another thought struck her. The killer’s notes had targeted Leah. What if Leah hadn’t been keeping Emily safe by insisting they remain together? What if Emily was in danger because of Leah?

  Who could Leah trust to protect her daughter?

  Thirty-Four

  After Leah hung up from Jericho, she went upstairs to Ruby’s room. Emily was still fast asleep, drooling onto her pillowcase, her arms wrapped around the outrageous purple bear Ruby had given her. Ruby hadn’t dressed but she had put a robe on over her pajamas and was standing in the closet, reaching up from her tiptoes to the ledge above the door.

  “There, happy now?” she asked Leah. She lowered her arms. “No one will find them there.”

  Leah thought Ruby severely underestimated the capabilities of the police, but as long as any drugs were far out of Emily’s reach, she didn’t care. Not like she and Emily would be here for very long. As soon as she figured out a safe place for Emily, they were gone.

  “The police should be here soon. Will you keep an eye on Emily?”

  “Of course. While you do—what?” Somehow Ruby made it sound like she’d gotten the raw end of the deal, watching a sleeping child from the comfort of her own bed.

  “Detective Harper is hurt. If you’d prefer to—”

  “Go, go. We’ll be fine,” Ruby said, sounding like a martyr. As Leah went out the door, she whispered, “That man. He had a gun?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Why didn’t Harper just shoot him?” She made killing a man sound so cavalier.

  Leah closed the door. By the time she returned
downstairs Harper was over the sink, vomiting again. Leah had just gotten the detective back to the kitchen table, a ceramic mixing bowl serving as a makeshift emesis basin, when the front door banged open.

  “Harper?” Jericho’s voice called.

  “In here,” Leah shouted back.

  He strode in, coat open, hand on his weapon, gaze searching the space before finally focusing on Harper. “I looked around outside, no signs except a few boot prints in the snow. He’s gone. How is she?”

  “At minimum a broken collarbone and a concussion. But she needs observation and a CT scan to rule out a bleed,” Leah answered.

  Harper raised her head, hugging the bowl close. “I’m fine, boss.”

  “Good. Tell me everything.”

  “He—I—” Harper started, then stopped again, her mouth working silently, brow creased in confusion. “I saw him, I know I did.”

  “And?”

  “I—I—” She stuttered to a stop. Gave her head a small shake then grimaced in pain.

  “It’s not uncommon to sustain a period of amnesia after a head injury,” Leah told her.

  Jericho sighed and laid a hand on Harper’s shoulder. “Give it time.”

  The ambulance’s siren echoed through the night. Leah gave the paramedics the rundown then stood aside as they packaged their patient for transport. Jericho secured Harper’s weapons—her duty pistol, another strapped to her ankle, and a knife. As he deposited them on the dining room table alongside the detective’s other gear, he beckoned Leah to him.

  “What did you see?”

  She told him everything, finishing in time to repeat her story for the state trooper who arrived just as the ambulance was leaving. While she was talking to the state trooper, Jericho was busy on his phone—calling in reinforcements, no doubt. They kept her away from the foyer and stairs, sequestered in the kitchen just as Ruby and Emily were upstairs.

  The state police and Jericho were in the living room trading notes when a knock came at the kitchen door. Leah glanced up in surprise, then stood and unlocked it. “Jessica, what are you doing here?”