“I wish I could go back to that night,” she told Mrs. Frechette, who stood in the doorway with two steaming mugs of coffee. “It was the best night I can remember.”
Mrs. Frechette didn’t respond.
Krista’s gaze slipped over the other pictures, images of Liz’s brothers, Ryan and Adam; her little sister, Tracy.
“How are they doing?” she asked, pointing to the photo of the three.
“Fine. Come on, sit down and I’ll fill you in. Let’s see, Adam is still in town, on the fire department and working over at Hydro-Tech. Ryan is in the service. He’s in Afghanistan right now. It’s a worry, but we’re proud of him. Tracy is living in Nashua. She’s married and had her first baby last January. She’s a travel agent.”
Krista took a seat at the dining room table across from Mrs. Frechette. She cupped the blue ceramic mug in her hands, taking comfort in the warmth and the scent of coffee that rose into the air.
“I bet Tracy is a great mom,” she said. She didn’t know what else to say, but she knew Mrs. Frechette was waiting.
“I’m back in Quail Ridge for a while,” she started. “I’m opening a youth center in Burgess Mill. I’d like to dedicate it to Liz and Jay, to their memory. It’s not much in trying to make up for their loss. I could never do that. I thought it would be a start, though.”
Mrs. Frechette reached out and put her hand on Krista’s arm. “I never blamed you, Krista. I know it may be too late for me to say that, but it’s true. Deep down I knew what Ricky said, what other people believed, wasn’t the whole truth. You made a mistake anyone could’ve made. I always felt there had to be more to it.”
Krista released a pent-up breath and smiled. “It’s not too late at all. Thank you for saying it.”
“No, I should’ve made it known long ago. You were like a daughter to me, Krista. Are like a daughter. After the accident, I lost two children, not just Liz. There are going to be lots of people here who won’t be too happy to see you and will make their opinions known.”
“I’ve already had a few run-ins with Matt Burgess.” She gave a short laugh. “I’m sure he’d love nothing more than to see me head right back from where I came from.”
“There’s also Liz’s dad.”
That bit of information socked Krista in the belly like a hundred-pound sledgehammer. She blinked and tried to recover. John Frechette had been like a member of her family as well, a warm bear of a man who took her and Liz to get ice cream and then play at the playground by the school. He taught both girls how to fish and took them out hiking. He’d instilled in Krista the love of the outdoors she had now. He had even given her the first camera she’d ever owned, when she was eleven. If it hadn’t been for him she probably wouldn’t have taken up a career as a photojournalist.
After her own father had passed away when she was thirteen, John Frechette had become the father figure in her life.
And he hated her now.
“Maybe I should leave.” Suddenly Krista felt very uncomfortable being within these walls. “The last thing I want is for you to get into trouble by having me here.”
Mrs. Frechette waved her hand. “This is my house too,” she replied sternly. “Anyway, he’s not due home for a few hours. You just settle down. We’ll finish our coffee and you’ll tell me what you’ve been doing with yourself. I’ll tell you what I’ve been doing and we’ll have a good cry if need be.”
So they did just that. Three cups of strong black coffee later, they were hugging goodbye with the promise they’d meet for lunch and talk about the office assistant’s position Krista needed to fill. She worried about what Mr. Frechette would think, but again her fears were waved away.
“It’s time I dealt with this. I could tuck it away before. Now I know how wrong I’ve been. Ricky had a tighter grip on John than I realized. He always claimed Liz was the love of his life.” Patricia shrugged, her lips tightly pursed for a moment. “Who knows, maybe it’s true. They were just kids, though. I think there was more to it than love. It’s really sad, but you know what they say, money talks. And Ricky’s father talks louder than anything.”
Ah yes, Krista thought grimly. Mr. Crowe. Big shot, man about town. A man not to be forgotten. Ricky hadn’t exactly shared a warm relationship with his parents. He didn’t want anything to do with the way his father rubbed elbows with the ‘right’ people. That was one of the reasons why Ricky was such an ass. Anything to tick off the parents; the more outrageous, the better.
When it came right down to it, however, he used his father’s connections. And that landed her in prison while he went off to console everyone for their loss. John Frechette bought into it, too.
She didn’t feel betrayed, just heartbroken.
“It’s the past.” Krista formed as much of a confident smile as she could muster. She wrapped her arms around Mrs. Frechette’s slight shoulders and hugged her tightly. “I’m not going to think about that.”
“I’ll be here by your side. I may have to come sleep on your sofa, but you’ll have me there to support you,” Liz’s mom said into her shoulder.
Krista knew she was joking about the sofa thing, yet when she drove away, leaving the older woman retrieving her rake and waving goodbye, she worried about the consequences of Mrs. Frechette’s move to back her up.
Matt had a hell of a time adjusting to Krista’s return to town. Didn’t help that over the past few weeks, it seemed everywhere he went he had to see her. Apparently since she’d been ‘outted,’ she had no reason to hide.
Once more she became the talk of the town and lines were being drawn. Sides were being taken. It ticked him off to know both his parents were not as upset as him. Speaking his mind about the whole thing wouldn’t get him anywhere. For the sake of peace, Krista wasn’t discussed in his presence.
It didn’t make her go away. Signs of her work started showing up all over town. He couldn’t walk down the street without seeing posters in store windows, proclaiming the transformation of Burgess Mill into the Quail Ridge Youth Center.
She certainly reached for the stars, he thought as he read the list of things the center would offer. Kids, from age zero right on up to teenagers, would benefit in some way. Quail Ridge was a small town, with a population teetering on two thousand people. It would be hard to keep such a place afloat. Fortunately the town bordered on enough larger towns that he had no doubt there’d be a strong influx of clients coming from those places.
If his personal opinion of her didn’t get in the way, he’d be impressed with what was taking place in the big brick building that dominated the downtown. If anyone else had been running it, he’d love to get involved in some way. But with Krista at the helm, he kept his distance, kept his walls high and fortified with contempt.
She was hard to ignore when he had to pass by the building several times a day.
“Unit seven, there’s a ten-forty-four at Thirteen Birch Road, the Faye residence,” the dispatcher said over the radio.
Matt grimaced and reached for his mic.
“Ten-four,” he replied through a clenched jaw and shook his head. Just what he damn well didn’t need.
Matt turned his cruiser around in the parking lot of the town’s pizza place and headed toward Krista’s house. He didn’t know what he’d find, but somehow this didn’t surprise him. Someone was bound to be up to mischief with her. It was a wonder it hadn’t happened before. Time to put his professional hat on, set the resentment behind him, and act like a cop.
When he arrived in her driveway five minutes later, Krista was standing outside her house, one hand holding tightly to her dog’s collar, the other gripping an aluminum baseball bat. She didn’t look scared in the least. In fact, she’d probably scared whoever skulked around the place instead of vice versa. Fierce and completely pissed off, Krista glowered at him, as if daring him to approach.
Seeing him probably didn’t help matters any. She’d have to deal with it. Matt grabbed his notepad and got out of the cruiser.
The other day her dog seemed sweet and dumb. He showed another side today. No canine grin now. Matt heard the deep, rumbling growl from the dog’s throat. It gave him a second of pause. As soon as she commanded the animal to sit, he did, looking only slightly less menacing. Matt wondered what the heck she needed a cop for. Gus could handle whatever troublemaker was bugging Krista if her baseball bat didn’t do the trick.
“What’s going on?” he asked, regarding her coolly.
Krista rested the bat against the side of the house and let go of the dog’s collar with a command to stay.
“I think it’s Ricky Crowe,” she replied just as icily.
“Ricky?” Not a favorite subject of his. Matt frowned. “Why would he be here?”
Krista laughed humorlessly. “He’s been here before.”
Matt searched the trees beyond the house. They looked void of any human life. About five yards from the edge of her green lawn, the woods thickened with tangled bramble and bushes. Plenty of places for a person to hide.
He turned his attention back to the woman who waited impatiently for him. “Okay, why don’t we start at the beginning?” He flipped opened his notebook and took out his pen, poised to write.
“The first time I saw him was about two weeks ago. He kept driving by the house.”
Matt glanced at her. “That’s not illegal.”
Krista gestured impatiently. “Of course not. But he’d slow down and just crawl by. He must have done that five times the first day. Back and forth, staring at me when I was outside with Gus.”
“Did he say anything?”
“No, just stared. Then last Tuesday I saw someone in the back woods, running from one tree to another. Whether or not he wanted to be seen, I don’t know. If he was trying to hide, he did a lousy job.”
“And you’re positive it was Ricky?”
Krista didn’t respond immediately. Instead she pressed her lips together tightly and shook her head. “Okay, I’m not one hundred percent sure. It looked like him. Dark hair, a little shorter than Jay’s. I think it’s a good guess it was Ricky.”
Matt jotted notes. “Why didn’t you report this when it happened?”
Krista laughed again. As Matt studied her, she regarded him with a chilly gaze.
“With my popularity, especially with the police department, I doubt I’d be taken too seriously,” she replied evenly.
Matt tried to ignore the jab but conceded she had a point. “So what made you change your mind and call today?”
“Come with me.”
Krista led him through the front door, past the living room and into the kitchen.
Shards of glass covered the entire floor, glittering in the afternoon sun. Most of the bay window in the breakfast nook was gone. No, Matt noted grimly, not gone, but redistributed across the bright room. Just past the table, on the floor amidst the litter of glass, lay an old red brick. Scrawled in white paint was the word ‘murderer.’
“Christ,” Matt murmured.
“My sentiments exactly.”
“How can you be certain Ricky threw this? Did you actually see him?”
“No, but he’s been here, or someone who looks a hell of a lot like him, at least five times in the past week, sneaking around in a not so sneaky way.”
“You didn’t see him today, though.”
“No, not this time. Give me a break, Matt, who else could it be? Okay, fine, I’m sure there are others who would think this was very funny, yet under the circumstances I bet my thinking is on the money.”
“How can you be sure? When was the last time you actually saw him? Besides in his car.”
“Fine. Fifteen years ago.” Krista retorted, clearly annoyed at the direction his questioning headed. Her brows furrowed as she propped her fists on her hips.
“So you can’t be one hundred percent sure Ricky had anything to do with this.” Matt could have kicked himself. He didn’t want to defend Ricky any more than he would Krista. He was doing his job. Nothing more. Remaining impartial was a part of the business.
Krista didn’t reply, just shook her head.
“Let me get this out of here,” he muttered and went to work recording evidence.
After taking pictures of the scene, he put the brick in a bag.
“I’ll be in touch. In the meantime, please call the station if you see anyone here who doesn’t belong.”
“I will.” Krista walked him to the door.
She paused, then muttered, “Thank you. I appreciate your help.”
Matt paused and studied her closely. Despite her hardened demeanor, he could see her fear. It wavered in her gray-blue eyes no matter how hard she tried to hide it.
“Just doing my job,” he said gruffly. Damned if he’d be moved by her vulnerability.
She nodded her understanding. Silently, he walked away.
Before heading home, Matt took a detour. The neighborhood up along the ridge served as more of a bedroom community to larger towns like Nashua and even Boston. The average citizens of Quail Ridge didn’t reside in this section.
Though he’d never stopped by, Matt knew exactly where Ricky lived. The hundred-year-old Victorian didn’t seem like Ricky’s type of home, but he went for appearances. The house was high class, so he made it his own.
Matt didn’t relish the idea of going to Ricky’s place now, even for—more or less—official business. He parked the cruiser in front of the attached garage, which he knew housed a silver BMW and a black Lexus SUV. Life had treated Ricky pretty well.
The motion detector light came on as Matt approached the front door. He pushed the bell and waited a long moment until he heard someone approach and unlock the door. It swung open.
Rachel. She froze, her eyes wide. Then she relaxed, but the smile on her lips remained tight.
“Matt.”
Matt knew she and Ricky were an item, and though they’d been together for over a year now—sixteen months to be exact—Matt still couldn’t get used to the idea of seeing them together.
“Hi, Rachel. I need to speak to Ricky.” He was determined not to let his personal opinion of her take over his emotions.
Rachel nodded. She was, as always, perfection, from the dark slacks and claret colored sweater, to her shiny nut-brown hair that fell in a silk curtain over her shoulders. He caught a whiff of her scent; White Linen. That at least hadn’t changed. She stepped back to allow him in. As she closed the door, he spotted the glitter on her left ring finger.
Matt frowned, then shook it off. Rachel’s life wasn’t his concern any longer, hadn’t been since she handed him her diamond solitaire and told him he needed to forget about the past, move on, and have some fun with life.
The ring she had on now had to be at least two carats bigger than the one he’d given her.
She led him into a living room furnished tastefully in antiques. Ricky relaxed on the sofa, watching the evening news.
“Darling, we have company.” Rachel walked behind Ricky, sliding her hand across his shoulders.
Ricky’s gaze broke away from the television and turned on Matt. A smile crawled across his face as he stood.
“Officer Burgess. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Can we talk alone?”
The slick smile grew. Ricky stood taller and set his shoulders back in a subtle attempt to intimidate Matt. Ricky had a good two inches’ height advantage, but Matt wouldn’t fall for those tactics. He could take Ricky down in a heartbeat.
“I have nothing to hide from Rachel. Whatever you want to say, you can say in front of her.”
“I want you to stay away from Krista Faye.�
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For a split second Ricky’s smug expression flickered. Yet he recovered nicely, as Matt expected he would.
“Sorry, don’t know what you’re talking about. What would I want to get near her for? I have no use for her.”
Rachel took a step closer to Ricky. Matt caught the expression on her face as she crossed her arms over her chest, her elegant brows furrowed. She definitely wasn’t comfortable with this conversation. She turned her attention to Ricky.
Matt hid a grin. There’d be trouble in paradise tonight.
“I’ll only warn you once. We’re going to have surveillance on her house. So no more drive-bys. Or walks in the woods, if you had any thoughts about that. And I’m surprised. The brick seems pretty juvenile.” He paused and studied the other man. Even though the expression on his face didn’t change, Matt could see his eyes grow colder. “I’ll show myself out. Have a good night.”
Silence pressed against his back as he left the house. He’d bet as soon as he pulled away, hell would break lose within the walls behind him. Matt didn’t bother repressing his smile. It spread, wide and satisfyingly across his face.
He hoped he got his point across.
The remaining glass tinkled as it landed in the garbage can. Krista put the broom and dustpan away and turned to study the wasted window. It was too late to get anyone in to fix it.
The chilly October night air drifted in. While it smelled wonderful, it wouldn’t do to be open to the elements all night long. Down in the cellar she’d seen some heavy plastic, so she fetched it along with a roll of duct tape and grimaced as she put it up, dreading what it would do to the paintwork. Such is life, she thought grimly.
Where One Road Leads Page 4
