Vows of Silence

by Debra Webb

  “Lacy, you need to stop worrying about the things Kira said. She was just angry. She’ll be fine by this evening. You wait and see.”

  Lacy wanted to believe it would be that simple but she knew better.

  “Melinda.” She sat down on the sofa next to her friend. They’d had dinner already. There was nothing left to do except obsess on what she couldn’t accomplish—finding the truth. “Don’t you see how important it is now that we determine exactly what happened to Charles? Our lives may depend on it.”

  Melinda shook her head. “I wish you would stop. This is just too hard.”

  Lacy hated that she made Melinda relive the past by talking about it, but the ugly past was back to haunt them. They had to face it head-on. The feeling that Melinda was either hiding something Kira had said or trying to pretend this whole mess would just go away kept digging at Lacy.

  “All of us had reasons to want to kill Charles,” Lacy admitted. “But how can we be sure if one of us really did when we refuse to talk about it. Cassidy is dead. We don’t have to play by the rules she set anymore.”

  “You should be ashamed, Lacy,” Melinda scolded without actually looking at her or infusing her voice with authority. “She was our friend. We trusted her. Why would we change that now?”

  “Because someone killed her,” Lacy argued. “Because that same someone may be the person who killed Charles.” She wanted to add Pam, too, but she couldn’t do that yet.

  Melinda got up and walked away from Lacy. “I’m not going to talk about Charles’s murder, Lacy. I just can’t.”

  “What about the money?” she offered. “What happened to the hundred thousand that Charles withdrew that day? What if Bent Thompson did take it? What if he knows the truth and is just trying to make it look like we did it?”

  Melinda spun around to face her, her expression twisted with pain that no amount of pretending could veil. “We did do it, Lacy! Don’t you remember? Why do you keep pretending we didn’t? We! Do you hear me? We killed him? You know that. And our actions are the reason Cassidy is dead. It’s too late to change that. Let’s get past it.”

  “But we didn’t take the money!” Lacy argued still. “Someone else took it, which means someone else was involved.”

  “He probably gave it to one of his whores,” Melinda lashed out. “Are you satisfied now? If I had my guess, he gave it to that tramp Pam Carter. She’s probably living it up somewhere on his money.”

  Lacy had to look away. How could she keep this from Melinda? It would be all over the news by tomorrow.

  “He didn’t give it to Pam Carter,” she relented.

  Melinda’s head came up. “How do you know that?”

  “They found Pam’s body…her remains.” She rubbed a hand over her face. God, she hated to do this. “She was murdered with the same weapon used on Charles.”

  Melinda’s eyes widened in disbelief. “That’s impossible.”

  The vehemence in her words surprised Lacy. She had no more idea about that than Lacy did. “It’s true,” she assured her. “They’ve already done the ballistics on the bullets they recovered from both Charles’s Mercedes and Pam’s rudimentary grave.”

  Melinda wandered back to the sofa and plopped down as if she could no longer hold up her frail weight. “This is crazy. I don’t understand.”

  What she didn’t know was that the worst was yet to come. “They didn’t find any money with Pam’s remains. But they did discover one other thing.”

  Melinda’s eyes met hers and this time they were all too alert. “She was pregnant, Mel,” Lacy said with an ache in her chest. “I’m sorry, but there’s reason to believe it was Charles’s baby.”

  Something changed in Melinda’s eyes then. She shut down and drew back into her shell like a frightened turtle.

  “I wish I hadn’t had to tell you this, but it’ll probably be in the papers tomorrow. And even if they don’t release the part about the baby’s paternity, since it probably hasn’t been confirmed, you know there will be speculation.”

  “I don’t want to talk about this again.” Melinda stood. “I’m going to lie down now. I’d appreciate it if you don’t disturb me.”

  She left the room in that same daze of denial she’d displayed when Lacy first arrived. Lacy wanted to go after her, but she understood that her friend needed time to absorb the awful ramifications of what Lacy had just told her.

  Lacy closed her eyes and rubbed at her temples. “Charles, you bastard,” she muttered, “why didn’t you just stay buried?”

  Feeling too restless to retire this early herself, Lacy tried to call Kira. She didn’t mind making the first move toward reconciliation. They couldn’t let this thing fester between them. It would only make bad matters worse.

  Kira had turned off her cell phone and there was no answer at her folks’ house. Annoyed, Lacy hung up. Not that she actually blamed Kira. With the way Brian called, ignoring the phone was the only way to shut him down.

  She couldn’t help wondering if, when this was over, assuming it was ever over, Kira could go back to Brian and pretend Brad hadn’t touched her life again.

  Lacy studiously blocked the images from last night and this morning. It would be so easy to wake up in Rick’s arms every day for the rest of her life.

  But at the rate she was going she would either wake up dead or in prison.

  Neither really appealed to her.

  But no one wanted to cooperate in fighting the inevitable of one of those two ends.

  She had no way of getting to the bottom of this mess if she couldn’t get any cooperation.

  She prayed Rick would have more luck. As much as she didn’t want his investigation to ruin any of their lives, someone had to uncover the truth.

  No matter the cost.

  She moved to the family room and turned on the television to watch the weather situation. Maybe her parents would be able to head home by tomorrow. If only the weather would cooperate.

  Rick stared at the list Brewer had compiled for him.

  Right there smack in the middle of a hundred or so other names was Lawrence Oliver.

  Lacy’s father.

  He’d registered a .38 nearly twenty years ago.

  The registration was still valid.

  Rick rubbed his chin and studied the list as if he could make that one name go away, but he couldn’t.

  Lacy had had access to a .38 on the day Charles was shot. Whichever .38 had killed him was undeterminable, but the fact remained that she’d had motivation and now, apparently, the right caliber of handgun to commit the crime.

  If there was a ballistics match she would have some major explaining to do. But first he had to get the weapon. Since the Olivers were still out of the country, his only option was Lacy. Not good.

  The idea that two different weapons had been used didn’t make sense. Maybe the poor bastard had had himself two violent confrontations that day. How could both have occurred so close together and why hadn’t he sought help after the first one if he were conscious?

  Again, it didn’t add up.

  But damned little about this whole thing did.

  Cassidy Collins had been strangled. They were no closer to determining how or why than they were the morning they found her body.

  No evidence. None. Not one speck.

  Other than the two slugs recovered from Charles’s trunk, basically the same situation existed with his case. Pamela Carter’s situation was no better.

  No real evidence, plenty of motivation and potential suspects, but nothing concrete.

  It was as if a ghost had killed all three.

  But that wasn’t the case.

  Proving it, however, was another matter.

  Nigel Canton’s movements appeared to be restricted to work and home. Bent Thompson couldn’t be found. He’d stayed out of sight since Rick warned him to leave Lacy alone.

  Rick glanced at the clock on the wall next to his desk. Nine. He should go home. He was damned exhausted.

&nb
sp; The idea that at this time last night he and Lacy had been in his bed drilled straight into his thoughts. He wanted desperately to touch her again. To call her right now just to hear the sound of her voice.

  But she didn’t want to trust him. She was afraid to risk further contact with him. He understood the problem perfectly. She had something to hide related to Charles Ashland’s murder and she didn’t want to risk his prodding it out of her.

  Too bad she didn’t know him better than that. Last night had had nothing to do with the investigation. Whether or not he could convince her of that when this was over, he couldn’t say. He’d just have to ride it out and see.

  For now, he had to do what he could to protect her. According to Brewer, she and Melinda hadn’t left the house. Larson was stationed outside the Jackson home. Kira’s folks had attended church tonight, but she hadn’t left the house.

  Rick rubbed at his burning eyes and decided to call it a night. Maybe he could drift off to sleep with the scent of Lacy Oliver permeating his sheets.

  If he were really lucky, maybe he’d dream about making love with her the way they had last night.

  As he turned off the lights in his office the phone rang. Damn. And he’d thought he would get away at a decent hour.

  Considering the way things had been going in his town, he braced himself for just about anything.

  “Summers.”

  “Chief, this is Larson.”

  Rick frowned. Larson sounded unsteady. “What’s up?”

  “You need to come over here right now, Chief. The Jacksons came home from church a few minutes ago and well…their daughter, Kira…she’s dead, Chief. I’ve already called the coroner.”

  Rick didn’t recall hanging up. The next thing he knew he was en route to the Jackson home. He kept turning over and over in his head the idea of how anyone could have gotten in and killed her with his deputy sitting right outside.

  Pure fear trickled into his veins. He pulled out his cell and entered Melinda’s home number. He needed to hear Lacy’s voice. Now.

  Bent had decided exactly what he wanted. He’d set up the big meeting. All he had to do now was make his desires known. He’d waited a long, long time for this.

  “Are you ready to know the value I’ve placed on the rest of your life?”

  His reluctant guest stared at him as if he were nothing but a cockroach to be squashed if the opportunity permitted.

  But if anyone was going to do any squashing it would be him. Bent had to laugh. It felt so good to be in control. He liked that something as trivial in the grand scheme of things as that pitiful little .38 he’d hung on to for all that time had opened up the same opportunity for him as winning the lottery. He had big, big plans.

  “I was thinking,” Bent said, dragging out the moment. He so loved this feeling of dominance, “that maybe I would like to—”

  “Die?”

  His full attention jerked back to the person seated next to him in his old Camaro. He opened his mouth to ask what the hell that remark meant when he saw the gun, and his words deserted him. He hadn’t expected this…not in a million years.

  As streetwise as he was, he’d screwed up. He’d counted his chickens before they hatched.

  Chapter 16

  Rick watched through the viewing window as Jacob Griggs, assisted by a surgeon, removed the slug from Kira Jackson’s chest cavity. He hated that this procedure was necessary. The family didn’t want an autopsy and, frankly, one wasn’t necessary. A single gunshot had killed her. The necessary blood tests could be conducted without a brutal, full-scope autopsy. But a partial examination was necessary to search the body for prints or any trace evidence left by the killer.

  And he had to have the slug, which was still lodged in bone.

  Jacobs and the surgeon who’d been on call were taking great care not to do any unnecessary damage in deference to the family’s wishes.

  Kira’s parents had called her brother’s military unit in Texas to make him aware of the tragedy, as well as any other relatives who lived outside Alabama. Arrangements had been made with the preferred funeral home to take charge of the body when Rick was finished with the necessary official procedures.

  He couldn’t promise that it would be today, but he would do the best he could.

  Kira’s nude body had been wrapped in a shower curtain and left in the bathtub of her family’s home.

  This killer wanted the world to know that he or she was avenging the death of Charles Ashland, Junior. First Cassidy’s body had been shoved into the trunk of her car and driven to the lake to the exact spot where Charles had been dumped ten years ago. Then Kira was murdered and her nude body wrapped in a shower curtain in a manner similar to the way Charles had been done.

  Whatever the secret Lacy and her friends had been hiding, someone else knew about their involvement. If he’d had any doubts whatsoever, he had none now.

  He’d relieved Deputy Brewer from duty and sent another of his men to watch Melinda’s house. Brewer was devastated. Larson had been interrogated up one side and down the other and he was certain no one had come into the house on his watch. Since he hadn’t set up watch on the Jackson home until after Kira left Melinda’s, Rick estimated that the killer could have been waiting inside the house for the right opportunity. There wasn’t any way to know yet. Forensics techs were going over the house in an attempt to find anything that might help determine who had committed this heartless crime.

  When had living in Ashland become so damned dangerous?

  The whole town would be in an uproar as soon as the news was out. The media frenzy would only get worse.

  But none of that was at the top of Rick’s worries just now. He had to stop the killer. Two of Lacy’s friends had been murdered. That left only Melinda and Lacy.

  Griggs motioned to him that he’d gotten the slug and Rick breathed a sigh of relief. Kilgore would rush the slug to ballistics and they’d do a comparison test ASAP.

  Right now he wanted to get over to Melinda’s and break the news to Lacy. He’d asked the Jackson family not to inform anyone local until morning. They had agreed, or maybe they’d simply been too much in shock to argue. Whatever the case, he was grateful for their cooperation.

  Last night he’d ordered his men to maintain radio silence so to speak to keep things quiet, but he couldn’t prevent those damned reporters from doing their job. Too many were watching. Two or three had swarmed the street outside the Jackson home, but one of his deputies had kept them at bay. Another handful had picked up on the call to the coroner and followed his van.

  The murder would be reported in this morning’s paper as well as on the news. Lacy could already know.

  To avoid the reporters when he left the hospital, Rick had parked his truck in the maintenance crew’s parking area. As he took the elevator to the ground level he decided on a course of action. He waited until he’d made his way through the maintenance division and out the rear exit before he made the call.

  There were only so many readily identifiable players in the saga that was Charles’s murder investigation. Rick was about to give them all a good shake to see what kind of reaction he got.

  When he had Brewer on the line, he asked, “You hanging in there?”

  “I’m ready to do anything I can to help, Chief. I’ve been waiting to hear from you. I need to do something.”

  That was exactly what Rick wanted to hear. “Okay. I want to shake some trees. Find out if Melinda Ashland’s brother is back in town yet and if he is, haul him in for questioning. Same goes for Nigel Canton. Track down Bent Thompson and bring him in if you can find him. And when you’ve got those three in interview rooms I want you to call Senator Ashland and have him come down to the station.”

  A beat of silence throbbed across the line. “Are you sure you want to shake that tree?”

  The whole damned town was afraid of the Ashlands. But Rick wasn’t. “Damn straight. I want to talk to all four of them. This morning. I’ll be there shortly.�
��

  First, he had to talk to Lacy, had to see with his own eyes that she was all right. He should just lock her up and keep her safe until this was over. But she’d never go for it. He’d just have to keep a deputy close to her and even that might not be enough.

  Lacy waved the blow dryer back and forth over her hair, causing the long strands to whip around her face. She watched the strands fly around, her mind on last night and the way she’d tossed and turned. She hadn’t been able to get back in touch with Kira. Melinda had stayed in her room.

  What the hell was happening to them?

  Had a lifetime of friendship come down to this so easily?

  Apparently so.

  As much as she wanted to pretend everything would turn out okay when this was over, she knew that wasn’t going to happen.

  Cassidy was dead. Nothing would bring her back.

  Lacy had made the mistake of getting involved with Rick again. There was no way anything good could come from that.

  She closed her eyes, not caring which way the dryer blew her hair. As much as she wanted to, she simply could not consider what she and Rick had shared a mistake. It was true that nothing could come of it. They lived in two different worlds, and always had. Though society no longer separated them, geography did. Her life was in Atlanta, his was here.

  If she survived this ordeal and left Ashland again, she wasn’t entirely sure she would ever return.

  The memories would be too painful. Her parents could always visit her in Atlanta.

  Forcing her eyes open, she focused her attention back on drying her hair. She’d showered and dressed. Melinda would be up soon and she needed to find a way to make amends with her dearest friend. And maybe Kira would show up at six with a whole new attitude and the two of them could mend fences as well.

  Lacy frowned and listened over the roar of the dryer. Had that other sound been her imagination? Maybe. She was tired, the only decent sleep she’d had was the night spent with Rick. She shivered and tried not to replay the scenes from that night but her mind had a will of its own.

  She ran her fingers through her hair, let the hot air sift between them. The feel of her hair slipping through her fingers reminded her of how it had felt to have Rick’s fingers there. He’d touched her in ways she couldn’t hope to ever forget. Just the memory made her ache for his touch now. Made her want to hunt him down and—