by N L Hinkens
“Then what?” Lindsay prodded, her voice wavering.
“He crashed into a tree.”
Lindsay pulled her brows together. “Is he … injured?”
Heather blinked back tears, bile seeping up her throat. “I waited in my car for a minute or two, but he didn’t get out, so I went over to check on him. I took the shotgun, in case it was a trap. It was horrible. His head was flopped forward, there was blood everywhere.” She gulped back a sob. “I was about to head back to my car when I saw him twitch. At first, I thought I’d imagined it. But then he lifted his head and looked straight at me.”
Lindsay’s gaze was riveted on her, horror pooling in her eyes. “Did you call 911?”
“No,” Heather choked out the word. “I … I drove away.”
“Seriously? You left him there? We have to call someone—the police.”
“We can’t!” Heather gripped Lindsay’s sleeve. “I can’t tell them I was following him. How would I explain that? Tank might say I threatened him with a gun. I could be held responsible for the crash.”
“No you won’t. He was drinking and driving. I’ll call the police for you, if you want.”
“Then you’d have to tell them how you know about the crash. They’ll want to question me.” Heather groaned and dropped her head into her hands.
Lindsay frowned. “I could call it in anonymously. That’s what you should have done last night.”
Heather let out a sob. “I know, I know. You don’t always make the best decisions either.”
“It’s okay,” Lindsay soothed. “I’m not trying to beat you up about it. You were in shock. You weren’t thinking straight.”
Heather smoothed her hair back from her tear-streaked face. “That’s not exactly true. I knew what I was doing when I drove off. I told myself if it wasn’t meant to be, someone would find him. And if he died, then justice would be served for what he did to Violet.”
Lindsay gave a wary nod. “All right, so what do you want to do now? We could drive out there and see if … you know, if he’s still—”
“No!” Heather gave a firm shake of her head. “Someone’s bound to have found him by now. Emergency crews might be there. And cops hanging around asking questions. We might look suspicious—we don’t live on that road and we don’t have any business being out there. Let’s wait and see if there’s anything about it on the local news this morning.”
Lindsay reached for her phone and began typing. After a few minutes, she tossed it aside. “Nothing about a crash, yet. That could be a good sign. I mean, he’s probably not dead. Maybe it wasn’t as serious as you thought. He might have got out and walked home for all you know. Serves him right if his truck is totaled.”
“I don’t think he was up to walking anywhere.” Heather closed her eyes and let out a long, shuddering sigh. “I’m not saying I want him dead, but I sort of hope he is, if that makes any sense.”
Lindsay ran her fingers through her ponytail. “I get it. But I still think you should have called 911.” She uncurled her legs and got to her feet. “Want some breakfast? We can talk about what to do afterward.”
“No thanks,” Heather said, the thought of food sending waves of nausea through her belly.
“You will once you smell my blueberry pancakes. I’ll make us some hot chocolate too. You could use the sugar. You’re still shaking like a leaf.”
Lindsay was in the process of pouring the pancakes onto the griddle when her mother walked into the kitchen, belting her robe around her waist. “Heather! How are you, Sweetie?”
“Hi, Mrs. Robinson,” she mumbled.
“Do you want some pancakes, Mom?” Lindsay asked.
“No thanks, dear. I just need a coffee to jump start my system. You girls are up early for a Saturday. Off somewhere special this morning?” she asked, as she crossed the kitchen to the coffee maker.
“Nope,” Lindsay replied as she stacked the pancakes on a plate. “Just hanging out. I’ve got a history assignment to do later on.” She grabbed some silverware and signaled with a dramatic tilt of her head for Heather to follow her into the dining room. After placing the pancakes on the table between them, she proceeded to serve Heather a plateful topped with a generous dollop of syrup and butter. “Try and eat something,” she urged her. “It’ll help with the shakes.”
Heather picked up her knife and fork and cut off a small piece of pancake, swilling it around in the syrup and melted butter before putting it in her mouth. She chewed absentmindedly, staring down at a lone blueberry on her plate, wondering if she was doomed to feel this emptiness inside her for the rest of her life. She had wanted to make Tank pay for what he’d done, but she hadn’t set out to kill him. In the moment, she had allowed her emotions to cloud her judgement. Even Lindsay thought she’d done the wrong thing by not calling 911. It had been undeniably heartless, but her heart had been missing ever since she’d learned what Tank had done to her little sister.
“Oh no! Not again!” Lindsay’s mother exclaimed. A moment later, she shuffled into the dining room in her slippers clutching a mug of steaming coffee and frowning down at her phone. ”This is why I don’t like you girls driving home late at night, especially on the weekends. There was a wreck on five-mile road last night.”
Lindsay and Heather exchanged wary glances, the food on their plates instantly forgotten.
“No one we know, I hope?” Lindsay said, the pitch of her voice betraying her.
Oblivious to her daughter’s agitated state, Mrs. Robinson squinted down at the news article. “They haven’t identified him yet—a male in his early twenties.”
“Is he bad … badly injured?” Heather stammered.
Mrs. Robinson made a tutting sound. “A fatality. It’s a crying shame. A young lad like that in the prime of his life. His poor parents. Let’s see, it says here according to the Scott County Sheriff’s Office, the driver was headed westbound on five-mile road shortly before 10:30 p.m. when his truck crossed the road and slammed head-on into a tree. No other vehicles were involved—well, that’s a mercy, at least. Officers say speed was likely a factor in the crash with autopsy and toxicology test results forthcoming. First responders arrived to find the man trapped in his vehicle. He was extricated and pronounced dead at the scene. Investigators are asking anyone with information about the crash to contact the police department.” She sighed and plopped herself down at the table with the girls. “Such a tragedy. A young life snuffed out like that unnecessarily. Probably been drinking by the sound of it. I’m sure his parents preached to him often enough about the dangers of drinking and driving.”
Heather dropped her gaze, her skin prickling. She knew only too well the havoc alcohol could wreak on a life. Violet had paid a heavy price for imbibing, and now her attacker had paid the ultimate price. No one would ever suspect that anything else had killed him. And that’s how it would stay as long as Lindsay kept her mouth shut.
13
Heather woke with a start. She blinked around the unfamiliar room in confusion for a moment or two before it dawned on her that she was in Marco’s guest cottage. It had taken her a long time to fall asleep last night after countless hours spent wrestling with the uncomfortable memories from her past. Her chest tightened with a fresh wave of pain when she remembered that Lindsay was dead. Regret that she’d let their friendship fade over the years ate at her. Lindsay had been the only person she had ever really opened up to. The aching void inside had intensified in the weeks since her friend’s death. If only she were here now so that Heather could talk to her about the disturbing messages. And so Lindsay could reassure her that her secret was safe.
Throwing aside the covers, Heather climbed out of bed and tripped her way into the bathroom to shower. She didn't have time for a pity party. She had to get to work. The first thing on her agenda today was a visit to the most obvious suspect in the arson attack—Marco’s disgruntled former employee, Danny Baxter. The police had interviewed him, but they hadn’t gotten back to Marco with
any feedback, other than to say that he had an alibi for the night in question. But Heather wanted to conduct her own interview. She knew that alibis could be bought for the right price, and she had a good sense of when someone was lying to her—a skill she’d honed over the years as an investigator.
After getting dressed and gathering up her things, she climbed into the car Marco had loaned her and took off down the driveway, waving in passing to Anna and the children who were piling into their SUV dressed for soccer. She picked up a black coffee and an egg croissant sandwich at a drive-thru, and then plugged in Danny Baxter’s address to her GPS.
Twenty minutes later, she pulled up outside a nondescript, single-family home with white siding and a chain-link fence. A lone cherry tree planted in the center of the unkempt lawn was the only nod to landscaping. Heather got out of the car and ran a practiced eye around the yard, searching for any sign of a dog. If Danny had one, it was either inside or tied up in the backyard. She opened the gate and walked briskly up to the front door. The bell didn’t work, so she knocked sharply on the glass oval in the door and stood back to wait. She was on the verge of knocking again, when she heard a raspy male voice call out, “Coming! Gimme a minute.”
When the door opened, she found herself staring down at an unshaven male in a wheelchair. She fought to keep her expression neutral. If this was Marco’s disgruntled ex-employee, he wasn’t their arsonist.
“Can I help you?” he asked, running a shifty eye unabashedly up and down her frame.
“Uh, yes,” she answered, scrambling to compose herself. “I live a few blocks away and I’m knocking on doors asking if anyone’s seen a suspicious man loitering in the neighborhood. My daughter has been followed twice now.” She wrung her hands. “The police aren’t taking it seriously, so I’ve taken it upon myself to go door-to-door.”
The man’s pinched expression took on air of helpfulness. He spun around in his wheelchair and motioned for Heather to follow him. “Come on in.” He led her into a musty family room with a grubby-looking chocolate-colored couch and loveseat and gestured for her to take a seat. “Can I get you something to drink, coffee, water?”
She smiled gratefully at him. “No, thank you. I don’t want to take up too much of your time. I’m trying to cover as many houses as I can, as you might imagine.”
He gave a thoughtful nod. “That’s scary stuff about your daughter being followed.”
Heather pressed her lips together. “I’m not sure if he’s just targeting her, or other young girls too. I’m Janis, by the way. Sorry, I didn’t think to introduce myself properly at the door. I’ve been in such a fluster over this.”
“No worries. I’m Danny. Nice to meet you, Janis,” he replied, eying her bare ring finger.
“Have you noticed any strangers hanging around lately?” she asked. “Or strange cars cruising the neighborhood?”
Danny shook his head. “Can’t say I have. And I would know. I spend most of my time at home.” He slapped the side of his wheelchair. “Ever since the accident.”
Heather painted on a sympathetic expression. “Do you mind if I ask what happened?”
“It was a freak accident at work three months ago. The ladder slipped out from under me. I broke my back.”
“I’m so sorry. What line of work are you in, Danny?”
He gave a mirthless laugh. “What line of work have I not been in, you mean. I was employed as a package handler at a warehouse when the accident happened. But I’ve done it all, painter, truck driver, waiter—”
“Really?” Heather cut in. “I worked as a waitress for years. What restaurant were you at?”
“A few different ones. Madge’s Steakhouse was the most recent.” He rumpled his brow. “I worked at that Italian place on the other side of town years ago—I can’t remember what it’s called now.”
“You mean The Sardinian?”
Danny’s face brightened. “Yeah, that’s the one. I hear he’s opened up two more locations since. I don’t get around much anymore. That new fish restaurant in Moline is supposed to be good.” He hesitated, as if contemplating something. Heather had a horrible feeling he might be about to ask her out. She wasted no time glancing at her phone and jumping to her feet. “I need to go. I have to be back in time to pick up my daughter. I don’t want her walking home from school alone.”
Danny’s face fell. He spun his wheelchair around and led her back down the hallway to the front door. “It was nice to meet you, Janis. I’ll keep an eye out for that creep. If you want to give me your number, I can text you if I spot anything odd.”
“That’s thoughtful of you, but I’m changing my phone number, as a precaution,” Heather responded. “Just give the police a call directly if you see any strangers lurking around.”
She made a hasty exit and hurried around the corner to where she’d parked her car. No wonder the police told Marco his disgruntled ex-employee had an alibi. It would be next to impossible to set fire to a restaurant and make a successful getaway in a wheelchair. She could eliminate Danny Baxter as a suspect, which left her right back at the theory that Marco’s restaurant had been targeted to get at someone else in their group. Reagan’s ex, Roy, seemed an increasingly likely culprit. She plugged his address into her phone and settled in for the drive.
When she arrived at her destination, she parked a couple of houses down and sat in the car surveilling Roy’s house for several minutes. At first glance, it didn’t appear that anyone was home—no signs of life, or cars in the driveway. Still, it didn’t mean to say he wasn’t holed up inside drinking beer and watching TV. He’d done a lot of that over the years, if Reagan was to be believed.
Heather donned her shades, climbed out and made her way to the front door. She tried ringing the doorbell several times, and then knocked before giving up and heading back to her car. She would just have to try connecting with Roy again later.
Glancing at the clock in the car, she realized she still had several hours to kill before Violet arrived back from Boston. The Wi-Fi in Marco’s guest cottage sucked, and she didn’t want to bother Anna by asking her if she could work at the main house. Maybe she should hang out at Violet’s place until she got back—after all, Violet had told her to make herself at home.
She picked up a turkey sandwich for lunch and drove to downtown Davenport where Violet and her husband, Boyd, lived in a charming, newly renovated historic home. Heather pulled into the circular driveway and parked, marveling at how spacious the house was in comparison to her compact luxury condo back in LA. The sprawling abode was at least five-thousand square-feet and had only cost a fraction of what she’d paid for her condo.
She walked around to the back of the house and located the planter where Violet had instructed her to look for the spare key. After opening the French doors, she stepped inside the cavernous kitchen and glanced around admiringly. Violet had outdone herself with the remodel. She had always had great taste, and now she had the budget to match. Heather set down her backpack on an upholstered chair and walked over to the double refrigerator to put her sandwich away. She ran a hand over the gleaming marble surfaces atop the white oak cabinetry, smiling to herself when she noticed the security cameras tucked away in discrete locations. She had been the one who had encouraged Violet and Boyd to install them during the remodel. Years of working as a private investigator had taught her that a small investment in home safety paid for itself in the long run.
After fishing her laptop out of her backpack, Heather headed out to the patio off the kitchen at the back of the house to enjoy some late fall sunshine while she worked. She had access to several proprietary databases that would allow her to run background checks on the list of suspects she’d been given at dinner last night. She would begin with Reagan’s ex—Roy. Of all the names that had come up, he seemed to Heather to be the only one who fit the bill. He had a long history of violent behavior, and a strong motive to go after both Reagan and Marco.
Engrossed in her work, she jumped at th
e sound of voices. Glancing up, she caught a glimpse of Violet and Boyd through the glass.
Violet’s face lit up at the sight of her. She tossed the mail in her hand on the kitchen table and then flung open the French doors to greet Heather, squeezing her tightly. “I can’t believe you’re here. What do you think of the place? Have you had a look around?”
“Not yet. I was waiting for you to give me the grand tour,” Heather said, following her sister inside.
“Good to see you again, Heather,” Boyd said, embracing her. “Maybe Violet and I can take you out to dinner down by the river this evening.”
“Sounds great. I just realized I forgot to eat the sandwich I brought for lunch,” Heather answered with an embarrassed chuckle.
Violet shook her head. “Typical! Don’t you ever take a break from work?” She linked her arm through Heather’s and escorted her into the hallway. “Let’s go on a walking tour right now. I’ll show you everything we’ve done to the place.”
After pointing out all the improvements on the ground floor, which included a new butler’s pantry and fitness room, Violet led Heather upstairs to the expanded master suite replete with a private sitting room and walk-in closet half the size of Heather’s condo.
“I just can’t get over how big your closet is,” she marveled. “It’s bigger than most boutiques in LA.”
Violet laughed. “Anything’s big compared to LA quarters. Come on, I’ll show you the guest room. And I don’t want any discussion about where you’re staying. You can bunk here with us for as long as you want.” She ushered Heather into a bright, spacious room with a stunning view of the manicured back lawn and the river beyond.
“I love being this close to the water,” Heather said in a wistful tone. “It reminds me of when we used to catch tadpoles together.”
Violet joined her at the window. “You really should consider moving home. I know you miss this place, and I miss having you around.” She took Heather’s hand and sat down on the bed with her. “Most of all, I want my child to have a relationship with her aunt.”
