by Lexi Eddings
“Were you able to see his face?”
“No. My house is too far away for me to see that kind of detail, but I’m sure it was a boy. No girl in this town ever had a set of shoulders like that.”
“Did the deputies try to apprehend him?” Hildebrand asked.
“No, but to be fair, they likely couldn’t have caught him. He lit out like his feet were on fire. And besides, there was still a girl in the water to be rescued. Of course, by then, she was gone already, most like.” Mrs. Chisholm tapped her chin thoughtfully. “I’ve often wondered if they’d have been able to get the Walker girl out quicker . . . well, the water in that lake is pretty cold, you know. It’s high summer before anyone can bear to spend much time in it. But on TV they’re always telling about how children who fall through ice are sometimes able to be revived long after they ought to have died. Anyway, I’ve wondered about Jessica Walker and if the lake water was cold enough to give her that sort of a chance. If they’d been able to get her out soon enough, of course.” Mrs. Chisholm shook her head sadly.
“Coldwater Cove isn’t much of a town,” Dr. Hildebrand said. “I doubt you have a diving team standing by. And I suspect your local hospital doesn’t have a trauma center capable of handling such a situation either.”
“Probably not, but then we don’t have this sort of thing happening every day of the week.” Mrs. Chisholm blinked hard and tears trembled on her eyelashes. “It’s so very sad when the young are taken suddenly and the old live on to die a little, day in and day out.”
The scene with the old lady and her wheelchair faded, and Dr. Hildebrand’s face appeared on the screen in a close selfie angle that was not as flattering as the doctor seemed to believe.
“Yes, indeed. It’s a very sad thing,” she pontificated. “Especially if the young person was taken before her time and was somehow helped into that lake.”
A quick shot of the sheriff’s office flashed on the screen.
“Mrs. Chisholm’s testimony that someone else was in the car with the young Jessica Walker sent this reporter searching for the identity of that unknown male.”
A stack of official-looking documents appeared in place of the still of the sheriff’s office, but the focus was too poor for Heather to read even the header on the first page. If Dr. Hildebrand really intended for a network to pick this story up, it would have to be reshot. Heather was no judge of such things, but even to her untrained eyes, the production value was terrible.
“According to police reports, which had inexplicably been sealed by court order, a knife not belonging to the victim was found in the girl’s car. It was a pocketknife with an inscription that allowed the authorities to identify the owner.”
Heather felt cold all over, as if she’d been suddenly dunked in Lake Jewel herself.
“A check of hospital records revealed that the morning after the unfortunate drowning, the owner of the knife was treated for a slash across his ribs that required thirty-six stitches. The doctor notes that the injury was consistent with a cut from broken automobile glass.”
Dr. Hildebrand’s face filled the screen again. “This reporter believes that the injured male was in the Walker vehicle when it went into the water. He kicked out the passenger-side window and swam for safety, leaving Jessica Walker to drown. Then in an unimaginably callous act, he realized he’d lost his pocketknife and dived back down, hoping to retrieve the incriminating blade from the car. But before he could find it, the sheriff’s deputies arrived and he ran away.”
Another official-looking brown folder appeared on the screen, followed by another selfie of Dr. Hildebrand.
“No mechanical problem was ever discovered in the victim’s vehicle. This fact was glossed over by public reports, but in the packet of documents this reporter has painstakingly assembled, it is obvious that the driver of the vehicle purposely chose to drive her car into the cold waters of Lake Jewel.”
Another picture of Jess appeared, this one of her as a member of the homecoming court. Her smile was as sparkling as the little tiara on her head.
“Jessica Walker was an honor student. She was popular and pretty. She was fortunate enough to have been accepted at Brown University and would have started there in the fall. So why would someone with all that going for her drive her new automobile into the lake?”
A still shot of Coldwater General Hospital replaced Jess’s picture.
“The results of Jessica Walker’s autopsy were never made public. The coroner’s findings were not even disclosed to the victim’s family because—and I quote from official documents—‘the Walkers have suffered enough.’” Dr. Hildebrand appeared on the screen. She removed her glasses, making her eyes seem to shrink in size without the distorting lenses in front of them. “But the truth is, Jessica Walker wasn’t the only one who died that night. She took her unborn child with her.”
Jess was pregnant? Heather felt as if someone had punched her in the gut. On the other side of the door, Michael called her name and rapped loudly. She ignored him.
“No paternity was ever established for the fetus, but this reporter believes the father of the child is none other than the owner of the pocketknife, the man who bears a long scar as a memento of that night but has escaped any other repercussion.”
The selfie angle tightened until just Dr. Hildebrand’s very red mouth filled the screen.
“Until now,” the lips said. Then the shot scrolled back and her entire face was visible.
“That man,” Hildebrand paused for effect, “is Michael Evans. Not only was his name engraved on the knife at the scene, medical records reveal that he received stitches for a gash to the torso the morning after the incident. Yes, it was Michael Evans. You may know that name. He is the reclusive creator and CEO of the wildly successful dot-com known as MoreCommas. Here in his hometown of Coldwater Cove, he’s better known as the town screwup.”
Dr. Hildebrand began to natter on about how Michael’s involvement in Jessica’s death had escaped public scrutiny because of the influence brought to bear by his father, who was a well-respected attorney. She ranted about lax oversight of law enforcement and lack of availability of emergency personnel, which added to the tragedy.
But Heather had stopped listening. She closed the laptop on Hildebrand in midsentence. She knew the visiting doctor had cut some legal corners digging up those official documents. If a case had been sealed by court order, how had she obtained it? At the hospital, Heather was prohibited from accessing a patient’s records unless she could demonstrate a need for them, on pain of reprimand or possible termination. How had this out-of-town snoop managed to see not only Michael’s medical records, but also a copy of Jessica’s autopsy?
Heather shoved that issue aside. Could Hildebrand be right? Had Michael been in the car with Jess? He’d already admitted to being there that night, so it was possible. Add the damning evidence of his pocketknife left in the vehicle and the injury he’d suffered, and it seemed a certainty.
But surely he hadn’t fathered Jessica’s baby. Just thinking about it made Heather’s chest constrict. No, if Jess had been pregnant, the father had to be Skyler Sweazy. He and Jess had been a couple since their sophomore year. After graduation, they were heading east to the land of the Ivy League together.
But now that Heather thought about it, her sister and Skyler had been having a running argument that last week or so. Jess would never tell her what it was about. She’d only say the problem would work itself out, one way or another. Had Jess been hooking up with Michael on the side? Was that why she and Skyler were on the outs?
She realized that Michael had stopped banging on her door. It was her temples pounding now. It hurt to think.
Her sister was dead. That much hadn’t changed.
Michael had been with her when she died.
That changed everything.
Chapter 27
I love Heather Walker. She can have my body anytime
she wants. I just didn’t expect to give it to her in pieces.
> —Michael Evans, before he does the only thing
he can think of to try to make things right
“This is an extreme solution to your problem,” Jadis said to Michael as he continued to stuff things into his duffel. “Most men would not consider it.”
“You of all people should know I’m not most men. ‘Extreme’ is my default position.”
Jadis was aware of Michael’s whole story. Since he’d first met her in that tattoo parlor in New York, they’d formed a bond as strong as any brother and sister ever had. She knew everything about him and his past because she was the only one wise enough to help him sort things out. He often joked that if Jiminy Cricket and Yoda had a love child, it would be Jadis—only she was much better looking. But even she couldn’t puzzle out a way for Michael to convince Heather to listen to his side of things since she seemed intent on pretending he didn’t exist.
After being ambushed by Stiletto Girl down by the lake, Michael had waited outside Heather’s door for a solid hour, but she’d never answered his knock. He’d tried calling her the next day. She refused to pick up.
He texted her. She blocked his number.
Even when he showed up at choir, she never glanced his way once. When they broke for cookies and coffee mid-rehearsal, he tried to approach her, but every time he joined the group she was chatting with, she found a reason to be someplace else.
It was like he’d hit the stealth button. He was the Invisible Man as far as Heather was concerned.
“If you’ve got another idea, I’m all ears,” he said to his assistant. “I should have told her everything before Stiletto Girl got to her. It would have been bad, but not as bad as this.”
“You did not wish to hurt her by dragging up the past. That is always commendable,” Jadis said. “But now you are planning to hurt yourself. Do not make a rash decision.”
“It’s not rash. I’ve been considering this since I first heard about it. Why do you think I had myself tested last time I was in Tulsa?” Michael zipped his duffel closed. “Ever since I found out I was a match, I’ve been psyching myself up to do it anyway. This thing with Heather is just the tipping point.”
“Have you considered that risking yourself in this way may adversely affect those who depend on you?” She meant his workers. Jadis had suffered through a lot of instability as a kid. MoreCommas had become her family. She was like a momma grizzly when it came to the company and its employees.
“MoreCommas will do fine without me for a while. Besides, if all goes well, I’ll be back at work in a couple of weeks.”
“If all goes well,” Jadis repeated, crossing her thin arms over her chest. “What about your sister’s wedding?”
“I’ll be up to full speed by the time that rolls around. May have to take it a little easy at the bachelor party, but Jake’s not the kind who wants a blowout in Vegas anyway.”
“Naturally, I support your decisions.” Jadis sighed as he hefted his bag onto his shoulder. “Am I at least permitted to worry about you?”
“You’d better.” Michael snorted and gave her a half smile. “No one else will.”
* * *
Heather usually enjoyed the drive out to the ranch where she grew up, but after all the fall color was gone, late autumn was not the prettiest of times in the Ozarks. In the dying twilight, it was like some old-timey cowboy photograph. The hills and hollows were awash in shades of sepia. The naked trees shivered in the wind, their bony fingers scratching a gray sky.
The bleak landscape suited her mood. Michael’s betrayal had sucked all the color from her world.
He kept trying to talk to her, but she figured her heart was safer behind the stone wall she’d hastily erected. Whatever he had to say, however he might try to explain things away, it wouldn’t change the facts.
He’d been there with Jess at the end, and he hadn’t saved her. He’d run away when she needed him most. How could she have fallen for someone so spineless? Heather wished she could slap herself silly. For once, she was grateful for the “command performance” invitation to dine with her parents. Keeping their interfering suggestions at bay would distract her from her dark thoughts, if only for a little while.
She turned off the main road onto a long blacktop drive that led to the sprawling white McMansion. Her mom had been weaned on the old Dallas TV show and had remade her home into an Oklahoma version of Southfork. A flashy red Beemer was parked by the double front doors. Heather didn’t recognize the car, but she recognized a potential fix-up when she saw one. Whoever belonged to that vehicle was the parentally approved suitor of the day.
Her mother had obviously been watching for her, because she met Heather at the door before she could turn the knob herself.
“Now, darling, before you get your back up, I know you think we meddle, but I promise you that is not what we’re doing tonight. Skyler just happens to be in town on business and it would have been rude not to have him out to the ranch.”
“Skyler again. I thought he’d gone back to Massachusetts,” Heather said wearily. Even if Skyler had made her insides flutter in the least, which he didn’t, it would be beyond weird to hook up with Jessica’s old boyfriend. “What business does a Boston lawyer have in Coldwater Cove?”
“Well, to be honest”—her mother knotted her fingers before her—“your father hired him to handle a rather complicated merger with a fracking company in New York.”
Heather knew better than that. There were no mergers as far as her dad was concerned. This was an acquisition, and the owners were evidently holding out. But she was sure that her dad would win in the end. He wouldn’t be satisfied until the Walker name meant energy production in all fifty states.
“And I suppose there are no attorneys in Coldwater Cove who are up to the challenge?” she asked. The practice Mr. Evans had built and then sold to his partner when he retired was still a going concern and had offices on the Town Square. As long as Heather could remember, her family had used Evans and Farley for all their legal needs.
“Yes, but we’ve known Skyler for years. He’s almost family. Was almost family,” she amended. Her mother linked arms with her and started to draw her along the broad gallery that led to the great room in one of the big house’s wings. “And besides, he’s your friend.”
“No, he was Jessica’s friend.” Heather stopped in her tracks, refusing to be dragged toward the room where the men were waiting. “She was the one you always hoped would marry into the Sweazy family and unite the two giant piles of money.”
“What a thing to say!”
“Doesn’t make it less true.”
Her mother sputtered, but couldn’t seem to form a coherent reply.
Heather certainly never meant to unload, but she’d reached a breaking point, and all her pent-up fears started spilling out of her. “Mom, you can’t remake me in her image. I’m not Jess. I never will be.”
Her mother blinked hard, as if Heather had slapped her. Then she found her voice. “Is that why you’re upset? Darling, I’d never want you to be like Jess. You and Jessica may have been twins, but you’ve always been your own person. The two of you were different from the womb, and your father and I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Her mother reached up and cupped Heather’s cheeks. “You are our precious daughter. You’re strong and smart and beautiful and we love you so very much.” Tears filled her mom’s eyes, and Heather felt her own water in sympathy. No one ever wept alone in her presence. “If we meddle, it’s only because you’re all we have.”
Grief had been a private thing in the Walker household. Even during those early days after Jessica’s death, her parents had rivaled the British in the “stiff upper lip” department, each of them being strong for the other. Now her mother’s voice broke. “We just want you to be happy, sweetheart.”
Heather wished she could protest that she was happy, but that would be a lie. She was utterly miserable, sick over Michael, suddenly tired of her demanding job, and feeling so very alone. So she fe
ll into her mother’s arms, and they hugged each other, clinging tightly for the first time in ages.
“So you don’t wish it had been me taken instead of Jess,” she said softly.
“Never. Not even for a blink. We could never make that sort of choice.” Her mom patted her back for a few more seconds. Then she straightened and put on a bright smile as she dabbed at her eyes with the hanky she pulled from her pocket. “Look at that. You’ve made me ruin my mascara. Why don’t you head on down and join the men while I fix my face?”
“And my face doesn’t need fixing?”
“Of course not. You’re always so pretty. Some people get all red in the face when they cry, like I do, but you can be dropping buckets and still look like a supermodel.”
Wow.
Heather had always figured her parents tried to order her life because they felt sorry for their tall, gawky daughter, that they didn’t believe she could manage on her own. She never dreamed her mother thought of her as a supermodel.
Buoyed up by this revelation, Heather went willingly to the great room to join her father and Skyler. She even enjoyed the easy conversation over the dinner of Cornish hens, roasted potatoes, and asparagus with Dijon-lemon sauce. Alma, the Walkers’ live-in cook and housekeeper of many years, had put the meal together, but since Alma was getting long in the tooth, Heather’s mom always sent her on to her room to rest in the evenings. Between Heather and her mom, the meal was served. Heather would volunteer to clean up later.
“Now, then, daughter,” her dad said as he laid aside his linen napkin, “while I help your mother with dessert, why don’t you take Skyler out on the back patio and see if you can catch any falling stars? The Taurids meteor shower should crest tonight.”
“Dad’s an astronomy buff. Let’s make his night by sighting a few,” Heather told Skyler as she stood. When she and Jess were little, her father would sometimes wake them and carry them out to the dark deck in their jammies to view some celestial event. She treasured those memories of wonder and beauty. It was always a magical moment.
