Table of Contents
· Prologue
· Chapter 1
· Chapter 2
· Chapter 3
· Chapter 4
· Chapter 5
· Chapter 6
· Chapter 7
· Chapter 8
· Chapter 9
· Chapter 10
· Chapter 11
· Chapter 12
· Chapter 13
· Chapter 14
· Chapter 15
· Epilogue
Copyright © 2013 Vanessa Gray Bartal
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Prologue
She was everywhere. Her face peeped smilingly from the photos, taunting. Not all the pictures were from a frontal view. Some were bisected bits and pieces—a hint of chin here, a dimple there, one eyebrow quirked in laughter, mocking. There was no end to the torment. Why wouldn’t it end? Peace, sweet peace, that was all anyone could wish for.
There were other people in the photos, of course, but they didn’t matter. Only she mattered; only she could make the hurt burn like acid. The whispered voice came with the pictures, her voice. The things she said were awful—cruel, taunting, vindictive things. Why did she say such awful things? She needed to be stopped.
The rocking chair moved faster and faster. Sometimes the rocking helped. Not tonight. Nothing helped tonight. Tonight there seemed to be only one solution. She would have to be stopped; the voice would have to be silenced. It was the only way to make the pain stop, to make her stop.
The latest picture was a close-up of her face. She was holding a muffin and smiling, always smiling. The time had come. She needed to be stopped; things needed to be put right.
The picture went on the board; a pin pierced the center of her face. A little of the pain leaked away. How much better would it feel when she was gone completely?
This time the whispered words weren’t hers, but they echoed dully around the room just the same. “Goodbye, Lacy.” When the words died down, the rocking started again. Maybe it would help. Maybe it would buy some time for Lacy.
Chapter 1
“I don’t think we’re ready for this.”
“We’re ready.”
“It’s too soon.”
“Lacy, we’ve been dating for months; we’re ready. Other couples do this way before now. I’ve been patient, but it’s time.”
“Could we at least wait until after dark? I don’t want you to see me.”
“No, it has to be now.”
“Jason…”
He put his hands on her shoulders, his tone turning solemn. “We’re ready for this. Past due, really. There is nothing, absolutely nothing that can change my feelings for you. Now put on your shoes and let me see you run.”
She stared uncertainly at her sneakers.
“How bad can it be? What’s the worst that can happen?”
The worst that could happen was that he would finally realize they were all wrong for each other. He, with his natural grace and athleticism, shouldn’t in any realm be with someone as clumsy and awkward as she.
“Trust me,” he prompted.
It was a common refrain, one he said far too often. How could he think she didn’t trust him? She trusted him with her life, her heart—everything. Allowing him to see her run was the last thing she had kept to herself. Until today.
Jason smiled in approval as she sat and laced her tennis shoes. “That’s my girl,” he said.
She paused to give him a petulant frown.
“When this is over, I’ll buy you some ice cream.”
“Don’t want ice cream,” Lacy muttered.
“I’ll buy you a cookie.”
She finished tying her shoe before answering. “Okay,” she muttered. With the promise of a cookie, she could get through anything. They started to run using the same circuitous three-mile route Lacy had been using all year. By all rights, it shouldn’t have been difficult for her, but every step was still a struggle. There were copious amounts of panting and sweat—all on her part. Jason didn’t break stride, wheeze, or pause to bend over and moan every half a mile.
At last it was over. Lacy rested one palm against an oak tree to try and draw a breath. Jason hovered anxiously nearby.
“Do you, uh, need an inhaler?” he asked.
“I…don’t…have…asthma,” she puffed. She was almost afraid to recover, afraid to see his expression after she stopped seeing double. When she finally straightened and the spots disappeared after every blink, he was standing nearby, biting his lip. She had never seen him bite his lip before. That must mean it was worse than she thought.
“Okay?” he asked.
She nodded. He pulled her close and kissed her, crushing her in his tight embrace. “I’m sweaty,” she blurted when she could get a breath. The intensity of the kiss had only made her perspire more.
“Disturbingly so,” he said. “At this point dehydration is a grave concern.” He gave her a squeeze before easing his grip. “Do you have any idea how much I love you?”
“N-no,” she stammered, taken aback by the first utterance of the L-word. There was a part of her that wanted to say, Really? Now? You have to put that out there when I smell like a walrus?
“When I look at you, I see this beautiful and sexy woman who is so far out of my league, and I think, ‘Geez, what is she doing with me?’ And then you open your mouth or try to do anything other than walk, and it’s all so awkward and funny and sweet, and I still think, ‘Geez, what is she doing with me?’”
“Um,” she started but he kissed her again. She was glad for that because she had no response. He thought she was out of his league? Had he ever seen him? The kiss ended and his face was cupped in her hands. “Experts say exercising together brings a couple closer. If I had any idea it was true, I would have run with you a long time ago,” she said to cover the awkwardness. Why couldn’t she say the words as easily as he? They were there, lingering on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t force them past numb lips.
“Yeah? If that’s so, we’re going to start working out together every day.”
“How much closer do you want to get?”
“If you have to ask the question, then you wouldn’t understand the answer,” he said. He edged her toward the tree and kissed her again. The combination of oxygen loss from the run and dizzying emotions from his proclamation made Lacy feel like she was having an out-of-body experience until Jason pulled her back to the present.
“Your hips are ringing,” he said.
“Your biceps are alluring,” she returned.
“No, I meant that literally. Your phone is going off. Are you going to get that?” He let her go so she could reach in her pocket.
“Hello,” she said without looking at the display.
“Lacy, it’s Joe. We have a little problem. I think you should come here.”
“Wha…” she began, but Joe had hung up.
“What’s wrong?” Jason asked.
“I don’t know. Something’s up at the Stakely building.”
“I’ll give you a ride,” Jason said, his eyes narrowing to let her know he was putting his cop face on. He was ever on the alert for danger or criminal activity, sometimes to the point of being paranoid. Lacy didn’t protest the ride, though. Her knees were still weak from the run.
The drive to the Stakely building was blessedly short. Lacy was thankful there was no time to return to their earlier subject. Jason didn’t seem to be waiting on her to return his pronouncement, but how could he
not? Declaring an unrequited statement of love was never fun.
“What in the world?” he murmured as he put the car in park. Lacy craned her neck to see a bedraggled group of people standing in front of the Stakely Building. Joe Anton, her makeshift security guard, sat sullenly on the steps. He stood when he saw Lacy.
“What’s the problem, Joe?” Lacy asked as Jason steered her around the group, eyeing them as he gave them a wide berth. It was obvious they didn’t belong in the town; with their layers of clothing and unkempt hair, they looked like no one Lacy recognized.
The group, stirred to action by the arrival of Lacy and Jason, began to chant. “What do we want? Equal rights for every person who has been suppressed by the ongoing and insidious tyranny of corporate greed in all its forms. When do we want it? Now!”
Lacy had to hear it a few times before she caught all the words. The group, though enthusiastic, was not cohesive.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” she called, waving her arms to grab their attention. “What is this about?”
A woman who looked to be about Lacy’s age spoke up. “It’s about ending corporate greed.”
“What corporate greed?” Lacy asked. “What are you talking about?”
The woman jutted a finger at the Stakely building. “It’s greedy corporations like that who prey on the weak; they ruin everything.”
“That’s not a corporation,” Lacy said. “In fact, everything in there is locally sourced and locally made.”
That gave the woman pause, but only for a second. “Whatever, tell it to the man.”
“I am the man,” Lacy said. “I own this building.”
They hissed at her, this time in unison.
Jason put himself between Lacy and the hissers. “Stifle, weirdoes. Who are you, and where did you come from?”
“I smell bacon,” the woman said. Behind her, a few people began to snort.
“I do, too,” Lacy said.
“Lacy!” Jason exclaimed.
“No, I really do.” She turned and squinted at the building, sniffing. “I think one of the doctors has a contraband hot plate. The fire marshal would have a coronary.”
“I’m still waiting for an answer,” Jason said.
“Keep waiting, pig. We’re well within our first amendment rights.”
“Only if you’re not blocking entrance to the building, which you are. Move over.”
“It’s a big sidewalk.”
“It’s also a big jail,” Jason said. “If you think I won’t haul all of you in for disorderly conduct, then you are mistaken.”
The snorting and squealing intensified to fever pitch. “Oh, we have no doubts that you would do that,” the group’s spokeswoman said. “But you’d better know that the ACLU would be down here so fast. And some news crews and anyone else we can get to cover the egregious invasion of our rights.”
She looked too excited over the prospect of getting arrested and drawing publicity. Lacy tugged Jason’s sleeve. “You’re going to be late for work,” she reminded him.
“I’m fairly certain I’m already doing my job here,” he said.
“It’s okay,” she said, running a gentle hand down his arm. “This is no big deal. I’m sure they’ll go away soon. I’ll call you if anything develops.”
“The pig and the greedy corporate leech are in love—how apropos,” the woman said. Lacy did her best to ignore her, and Jason followed suit.
“I’ll wait here until you go inside,” he said.
“I’ll wait here until you drive away,” she countered.
“I’m not leaving until you’re inside that building.”
She could never win when he had her safety in mind. She knew the loons were harmless, but he wasn’t so sure. She gave up, turned, and went inside, hurrying to a window in Michael’s store so she could watch Jason. He bypassed the jeering group of protesters, ignoring them as he made his way to his car.
“Aw, I was hoping for a fight,” Michael said. He leaned on his elbows and peered through the window, his disappointed gaze fastened on Jason’s retreating backside. “It would be interesting to see who would win between your boyfriend and Mother Jones.”
Something in his tone caught her attention and she whirled to face him. “Do you know anything about this?”
He gave her a sheepish and therefore very un-Michael expression. “I sort of dated the one with the mouth,” he said.
“Is that why she’s here? Is this the hippie version of Fatal Attraction?” Lacy asked.
“No, the date was a bust, but I happened to mention where I worked, and she was intrigued. I was flattered by her interest, and I may have embellished things a bit.”
“Things, what things?” Lacy asked.
“Your totalitarian regime, for one.”
“My what?”
“It’s possible that I labeled you as a fascist dictator,” he said.
“Why would you do that?”
“Because I was trying to find common ground and because I was irritated with you. It was the night you took away my hot plate.”
“But the hot plate rule isn’t mine. The fire marshal said…”
“What the fire marshal doesn’t know won’t hurt,” Michael argued. “And I never thought she would follow me here and set up shop. She was safely ensconced in the capital at the time, but they ran her out.”
“Michael,” Lacy hissed. She ground her fist against her temple. Work had become her refuge since her mother came to town. Now she had Norma Rae to deal with. “How did they run them out of the capital? If you say cattle prod, know that I’m not necessarily opposed to using that option.”
“I have no idea,” Michael confessed. “I wouldn’t have spent so much time chatting her up if I thought she would follow me here. I thought I made it clear that I needed my space.”
“This must be so hard for you,” Lacy said with mock sympathy. “How awkward that one of your psychopathic dates followed you home.”
“I’m glad someone understands,” Michael said. He tweaked her hair. She batted his hand away and shoved his shoulder.
“I should make you deal with this mess, but I’m afraid you would only make it worse.”
“I’m tempted to join them,” Michael mused as he stared through the window. “I haven’t been part of a good protest for a long time. We could make banners. Nothing draws a group of crazy people together like some artfully designed, passive-aggressive signs.” After a few beats of staring wistfully out the window, he turned his attention to Lacy. “Don’t take this the wrong way, love, but you look like you’ve been turned inside out and you smell worse.”
“How could I possibly take that the wrong way? I went for a run. I’m going to go shower. Send someone to get me if the protest picks up.”
They watched as one of the protestors turned in a circle three times, lay down, and prepared to take a nap on the lawn. “You can probably take your time. In fact, I demand it. Three customers have left the store since you came in.”
“That is not tr…” Lacy began, but saw someone leave the store, easing past with her hand over her nose. “Am I really that bad?” She plucked at her shirt, sniffing.
“All I can say is that your boyfriend must love you very much. Or his nose committed suicide. Tell me, has he ever had a brain injury that may have dulled his senses?”
“You’re still talking to me,” she pointed out.
“I am a man of great fortitude,” he said. “Plus, I also love you very much.” He kissed his first two fingers and tapped them to her forehead.
“This is my day to hear it, apparently. Fine, I’ll go get cleaned up.” She turned. He watched her go with a smile before turning his attention back outside to the lame-duck protest.
Installing a shower on the fourth floor of the Stakely building had been a stroke of genius, or so Lacy believed. The idea hadn’t occurred to her until her mother came home and took over her grandmother’s bathroom. How was it possible that a woman twice her age spent twice as long get
ting ready?
After Lacy showed up to work a few times with wet hair and no makeup, she called her contractor and arranged to have a bathroom installed. It was still only half done. The plumbing consisted of some exposed pipes with a showerhead in the middle of a roughly constructed room. She always felt a bit surreal—a tiny dot in the midst of a vast landscape. So far her makeshift bathroom was the only thing that had been done to the warehouse atmosphere of the fourth floor, and it was only a bathroom by the loosest interpretation. She had dragged a full length mirror into the room and propped it against a wall that had been drywalled but not mudded or taped. There was no toilet or sink, but the space served its purpose and got her out of her mother’s reach for a few minutes every morning.
In addition to her toiletries, Lacy had dragged a few changes of clothes to the space. Together with the rack of her biological grandmother’s designer originals, the room looked like the largest and sparsest walk-in closet on the planet. The contractors had done their part to fill in the gap. A table saw, ladder, drop-cloth, paint, and paint paraphernalia littered the space. Lacy had halted work on the project until her mother went away. When Frannie went back to Florida, then the men could resume their work. Until then, Lacy needed it too desperately to care how it looked.
She had just started to shampoo her hair when she had the prickling sensation that she wasn’t alone. “Hello?” she called, but the rushing water and large, echoing space swallowed the word. She turned off the water and listened hard. She heard nothing. “Hello,” she tried again, louder this time. Her heart thudded painfully against her ribs. It was nothing, just my imagination, she told herself. Relieved, she reached for the faucet again and the lights went out. It was morning, but the contractors had kindly placed drop cloths over the windows for maximum privacy. The room was dark; Lacy couldn’t see a thing. Outside the door, she heard the sound of a boot scraping on the floor. She was definitely not alone. Not only that, but she was naked and covered in soap and shampoo. Her little bathroom area had a door but no ceiling. Her walls were eight feet tall; the walls of the Stakely building soared to twenty feet. She had never felt more exposed.
Wedding Day of Murder Page 1
