“Yeah. I went to elementary school with her,” Tom said. His mild tone didn’t match the haunted look that settled into his eyes.
“So you know the family?” Wait a minute. The dead woman had been Melungeon. That was part of the story the locals told about her. “Are you related?”
He shook his head. “No, nothing like that.” He paused and stared into space, his gaze unfocused. “It was my dad’s case. His biggest regret was that he never found out what happened to her.”
Rachel saw the shadow pass over Tom’s face when he mentioned his father, sensed the sadness his memories brought, and she had to snap up a barrier to keep it from invading her. Tom’s arm brushed hers. She took a step back to put some distance between them.
“You can give them closure, at least.” What a dumb thing to say. She sounded like some shallow idiot spouting feel-good psychobabble.
“I’m not so sure about that,” Tom said. “We have to reopen the case. Stir up a lot of bad feeling. To tell you the truth, I…”
The uncompleted thought hung between them, and he seemed to wait for her to prompt him. Maybe he needed somebody to talk to, outside the official circle at work. But she had enough worries without taking on his. “I don’t envy you your job,” she said.
Billy Bob gave a deep-throated bark and tugged on the leash in her hand. “He needs to use the facilities, then he’ll be ready to go.”
Pushing open the door to a dog run, she let the bulldog out. He halted abruptly when he discovered snow on the ground and more falling, but after a loud snort he sallied forth with a rolling gait. Rachel and Tom stayed inside and kept an eye on him through a window in the door.
Rachel pulled a grim face. “I’m afraid he’s been terrorizing my staff today.”
Tom watched the dog plow through the snow in search of the ideal spot to lift a leg. “He’s a menace, all right.”
Laughing, Rachel said, “I’ve got an assistant who’s afraid of him, if you can believe that. Him and dogs in general. I don’t think she’s too comfortable with cats either.”
“You’re kidding. Why do you keep somebody like that around?”
“I can’t fire Daphne. Her father’s out of work and the family needs her salary.”
“You’re too kindhearted, you know that?”
Tom was looking at her the way he often did, with an intensity that made her acutely self-conscious. Her hair was probably a mess. Running her tongue over her lips, she detected no remaining trace of her only makeup, the lipstick she’d applied that morning. She knew she was reasonably attractive, tall and slim, with good features, but Tom’s admiration made her feel uncomfortable and vaguely guilty. The last man who’d looked at her that way had been Luke Campbell. Her former boss. Her former lover.
She pushed her hair off her forehead and said, “Daphne does the rest of the job reasonably well, which is more than I can say for some people I’ve tried out.” A sigh escaped, and before she could stop herself she blurted, “Maybe moving here and buying the clinic was a mistake. I didn’t realize half the staff would quit because an outsider was taking over. I’ll lose my clients if I don’t get this place humming again.” Why are you telling him your problems?
“Come on, be honest,” Tom said. “No matter how much trouble it is, I’ll bet you love walking in here every morning and knowing it all belongs to you.”
“Yeah, well, there is that.” Her clinic, her business. And as hiding places went, it wasn’t bad. “I just wish staffing was somebody else’s worry.”
“I’ve been spreading the word that you’re hiring. In fact, I might have found a prospect for you. No training at all, and she’s not what you’d call polished, but she’s good with animals. I wrote down her name and number.” He pulled a slip of paper from his jacket pocket. “I’m pretty sure she’d be interested.”
“Great. Tell me about her.”
A slight frown puckered his brow. “She’s the murdered woman’s niece.” He gave Rachel a searching look. “Would that bother you?”
“Of course not.”
“And she’s Melungeon, from Rocky Branch District. How do you feel about that?”
Rachel’s mouth fell open. “Is that a serious question? I realize you don’t know me very well, but—”
“Okay, okay.” He held up a hand to stop her. “Sorry, but I’ve learned you never can tell about people. Sometimes you get an unpleasant surprise.”
He was right about that, unfortunately. “Let me give you a pleasant one. Her being Melungeon has nothing to do with anything. I just want somebody who’s willing to work.”
What had happened to Tom that made him assume people were biased until proven otherwise? Rachel had always believed the opposite, but she was lily-white, so how could she know what discrimination felt like? An awful thought occurred to her: Did Tom believe she’d turned down his invitations because his skin was darker than hers? How could she clear that up without embarrassing him? She couldn’t very well say, Oh, no, I rejected you for other reasons.
“Tell me about her,” she said.
He described a shy girl named Holly Turner who loved animals and had some experience with injured and orphaned wildlife. “She’s been working at a diner that’s a drug market, and I’d like to see her get out of there.”
Rachel tensed, her hands curling into fists in the pockets of her lab coat.
“The diner’s owned by a woman called Rose Shackleford,” Tom went on, “but Rose’s cousin Troy runs the drug business in this county, and he sells out of the diner. He also happens to be the prime suspect in the Pauline McClure case. Has been from the beginning.”
“Is there any chance this girl’s a drug user?” Rachel asked. “Or sells drugs? If there is, then I—”
“I’d never steer you toward somebody like that. Even if I didn’t know what happened to you, I wouldn’t do it.”
She looked into his eyes until the depth of compassion she saw there became unbearable. Nodding, she said, “I know you wouldn’t.”
“But she might go down that road someday if she doesn’t get out of there. She seems smart, but kids who start out poor don’t have much chance to get ahead if they stay around here. If they’ve got Melungeon blood and dark skin, that’s another strike against them.” He raked his fingers through his hair, his eyes burning. “It’s no wonder a lot of them get hooked on drugs. The dealers get them when they’re young, and that’s it, their lives are over. It’s damned frustrating because I can’t do a thing about it.”
This passionate anger was a side of Tom that Rachel hadn’t seen before, and one she couldn’t help admiring. She’d always been a sucker for crusaders. “You can help one person at a time, which is what you’re doing now. I’d be happy to talk to Holly Turner about a job. I’ll call her before I go home.”
Rachel held out her hand for the slip of paper, but Tom hesitated, frowning at the name and number. “Why don’t I find out a little more about her first, make sure she’s what she seems to be? If you’ve got doubts about her.”
“You took care of my doubts.” Rachel snatched the paper from his fingers. “You can’t give me a speech like the one I just heard, then back off.”
“Okay, but I have to warn you, the grandmother’s a problem. She doesn’t like Holly talking to strangers.”
Billy Bob barked and Tom opened the door to let him in. Rachel attached the leash and handed it to Tom. “Shannon has your bill at the desk. I need to lock up for the night back here. I’ll let you know if things work out with the girl.”
Instead of saying goodbye and leaving, Tom got the look on his face that usually preceded an invitation. Rachel hated this, hated struggling to say no in a firm but pleasant way. It was harder every time.
But all he said was, “Can you make it home okay in the snow?”
“Oh, sure.” So much for my irresistible charms, Rachel chided herself, but she was relieved. “My Range Rover can go anywhere. Good night, Tom.”
“I’ll see you again soon.”
His smile brought a flush of warmth to her cheeks. The door swung shut behind him and his dog, and Rachel heard his footsteps recede up the hall.
“Don’t push me,” she whispered. “Please.” Despite the front Tom put up, she felt his loneliness and pain when she was near him. She’d heard about the freak road accident that killed most of his family, leaving only Tom and his small nephew alive. Rachel could imagine the grief and survivor’s guilt that made him quit his job as a homicide detective with the Richmond Police Department and move back home to be part of his nephew’s life as the boy grew up. She’d heard that Tom left behind a fiancée who didn’t want to live in the mountains.
More than once Rachel had wondered if Tom was attracted to her because he thought they were alike—two wounded people who could lean on each other. The thought made her cringe. She couldn’t let herself get close to his grief when she was struggling to live with her own problems.
As she flipped the deadbolt into place on the back door, she thought about Perry Nelson plotting his revenge on her, she thought of Luke and the life she’d left behind, and she felt the familiar sinking, the descent from the light into a darker place. So much of her energy went into staying up, sailing far above the reality of her life. If she relaxed her guard for a second, she crashed like a broken kite.
Chapter Five
Rachel didn’t want to wait till she got home to call Michelle and risk her sister hearing about Nelson’s petition on the radio or TV. With the animal hospital closed for the day, she settled at her desk and punched in Michelle’s home number in Bethesda.
“Oh, hi!” Michelle said when she heard Rachel’s voice. “I was just about to call you and give you our good news. Well, Kevin’s news, but of course it affects both of us.”
“Oh? What’s that?” Michelle sounded happy, exuberant, and Rachel grabbed the chance to put off telling her about Nelson a bit longer.
“Kevin’s made partner,” Michelle said. “Faster than any other associate in the firm ever has. Isn’t that great?”
“That’s wonderful, Mish. Give him my congratulations.” Kevin Watters, Michelle’s husband of two years, was a sweet, down-to-earth guy who adored her, and Rachel would always be grateful to him for helping Michelle through the awful months after their mother’s death. She kept hoping they would have a child, one with Michelle’s blond, blue-eyed beauty and Kevin’s generous disposition, but Michelle preferred to devote her nurturing to the autistic children she worked with as a psychologist.
“We’re going out to celebrate,” Michelle said. “I’m sorry I don’t have time to talk long. We’ll catch up tomorrow, okay?”
“Mish, wait. I need to tell you something.”
“What?” Michelle’s voice instantly took on a wary edge. “Is something wrong?”
“I hate to bring this up and spoil your good mood.” Get it over with. “Perry Nelson’s asking the judge to let him spend time at home with his parents. Leslie Ryan’s trying to block it.”
Rachel waited for an eruption of anger, fear, outrage, but Michelle was silent. Rachel heard her draw a breath. When she spoke at last, she sounded icily calm. “No judge in his right mind will let that happen. But if it does—well, thank god you’re not in McLean anymore. After his mother attacked you in the Safeway—”
“She didn’t attack me, Mish.”
“Not physically, but for heaven’s sake, screaming at you in public about ruining her baby boy’s life— You couldn’t be sure she wouldn’t end up assaulting you someday. And you’d never be safe for a second if he got out. You made the right decision, getting away from McLean and the Nelsons and…and everything else.”
Everything else. The memories. Reminders of Mother everywhere she looked. And, of course, Michelle included Luke among the things best left behind. “To tell you the truth,” Rachel said, “I’m not always sure I made the right choice. I loved spending Christmas with you and Kevin, and I’ve been wanting to see you again ever since. But we’re so far apart.”
“I miss you too. I miss you a lot, and I wish we could just drive around the Beltway and see each other anytime we want to. But you went through a traumatic experience, Perry Nelson shot you, and you were in a bad relationship that was just making matters worse. You needed to make a clean break and start fresh. You know that’s the truth, Rachel. Regrets are to be expected, but I’m sure that most of the time you realize you did what was best for you.”
Sometimes Michelle sounded so much like their mother that Rachel could hardly bear to listen to her. Bit by bit, she had perfected that I’m always right and you have to be sensible and listen to me routine.
“Well, anyway,” Rachel said, trying to sound upbeat, “I’m sure everything’s going to be fine. Leslie can handle Nelson. I’ll let you go and get ready for your big celebration. Give Kevin my congratulations and a kiss for me, okay?”
She hung up, feeling absurdly bereft. Why had she believed that Michelle would need reassurance and calming? Michelle, who had once been so dependent on Rachel, no longer seemed to need anything from her, not even her presence nearby. My little sister. My shadow. She had a sudden image of the two of them as children, Rachel racing through the fresh snow with Michelle on her heels, slipping and sliding and squealing, and the happy memory pierced her with sadness.
Oh, stop it. Be glad she’s finally grown up. She certainly took her time about it.
Resolutely turning her mind to other things, Rachel pulled the scrap of paper Tom had given her from her lab coat pocket and called Holly Turner.
The girl answered the phone. Rachel introduced herself, mentioned Tom’s recommendation, and asked if Holly would like to apply for a job. This met with silence from the other end of the line.
“Well,” Rachel said, “if you’re not interested—”
“You offerin’ me a job in town?” The girl sounded amazed.
“Come see me and we’ll talk about it.”
“I don’t have a car,” Holly said, dispirited now. “I can’t drive, anyway.”
“Oh.” How would the girl get to work and back every day? Mason County didn’t have bus service. Rachel was about to make an excuse to end the conversation when Holly spoke up.
“I really, really want to talk about the job. I could meet you at Rose’s diner. I’m workin’ there tomorrow, and I always go early so I can eat lunch before I start work.”
The diner where drugs were sold. No. She couldn’t go there. Rachel didn’t even want to brush up against drugs, the people who sold them, the people who used them. Her fist closed around the paper that held Holly’s name and number, crumpling it into a ball.
When Rachel didn’t answer, Holly said, “I know I’m puttin’ you out, askin’ you to drive over here. But workin’ at the animal hospital, that’d be like a dream come true. And I’m willin’ to do anything that needs doin’.”
Rachel remembered saying something similar to a vet when she’d begged for a part-time job at the age of sixteen. Turning down Holly without interviewing her would be heartless. She loosened the crumpled paper, spread it smooth. The diner couldn’t be all that bad in broad daylight. Could it? “I can get away at lunchtime tomorrow.”
“That’ll be just perfect!”
Rachel jotted down directions. Holly was describing the diner when Rachel heard a woman’s shrill voice in the background. “Who you talkin’ to?”
“Nobody, Gran—”
“Don’t lie to me! I heard you plottin’ somethin’. Give me that phone.”
What on earth? Rachel listened intently, trying to make sense of what was happening. A scuffle, scratchy noises. Were they fighting over the receiver?
The line went dead.
“Good grief,” Rachel muttered as she hung up. The girl was a young adult, but she couldn’t speak freely on the telephone. It was outrageous. Yet Holly’s grandmother apparently didn’t object to her working where drugs
were sold. That didn’t make sense to Rachel.
Would the woman try to stop Holly from keeping the interview appointment? If Holly did show up, and she wanted the job, she could have it. Tom was right. This girl needed help.
***
Seven-year-old Simon barreled out the front door of his grandparents’ house and streaked across the lawn to the driveway. “Tom! Tom, it’s snowing!”
Tom caught his nephew and swung him around. “Yeah, champ, I kinda noticed that. I guess you’ll have to haul out the sled in the morning, huh?”
“You think we’ll have enough?” Simon leaned back in Tom’s arms. In the glow of the porch light, the boy’s small face looked serious, worried. Snowflakes stuck to his spiky black hair. “Grandma says I can’t go on the sled if it’s just a little bit.”
Tom glanced over Simon’s shoulder to the front porch of the rambling Victorian house, where Darla Duncan, the boy’s grandmother, stood with arms crossed. Tall and thin, with shoulder-length brown hair, she wore her usual jeans and shirt. When Tom waved she didn’t respond with so much as a smile.
“Simon,” she called, “come back in the house. You don’t even have a coat on.”
Tom set Simon down and let Billy Bob out of the cruiser. Boy and dog ran to the house together, laughing and barking.
By the time Tom walked into the house and Darla could close the door against the cold, her stern expression had deteriorated into peevishness. “You’re early,” she said. “Supper won’t be ready for a while and Grady’s not home yet.”
Her husband, Grady Duncan, was a deputy and had been a friend to Tom’s father. Tom tried to see his nephew at least briefly every day, but he usually came when Grady was around to act as a buffer between him and Darla.
“I can’t stay for supper, I’m afraid.” Tom wiped his boots thoroughly on the mud rug. God forbid he should leave tracks on Darla’s shining floors.
Disturbing the Dead Page 4
