by Patti Larsen
And find me hiding in the worst possible place an idiot like me could hide in a (suspected) murderer’s office. I clasped one hand over my mouth to keep from screaming as the first white toed foot appeared, the hem of her lab coat, big calf lined with varicose veins thicker than a pencil. Fascination and terror mingled as the scent of disinfectant traveled with her in a waft so powerful I choked on it.
I was so dead.
It was hard to register the sound of the office door opening while I lived in the surety of my own doom. It wasn’t until a young man’s voice said, “Ruth,” that I gasped a breath before darkness could close in, the big, white sneaker and nasty purple ropes of vein turning away from me, the corner of her lab coat brushing the desk.
“Pitch. Twice now you show your face when you know not to come here.” She sounded grim and a little anxious. Also hard to discern from my own sheer terror, but I managed.
“We didn’t get to talk the other day,” he said. “We need to discuss the evolution of our arrangement.” He came across so slick while I shivered and hugged my knees and wished I’d never come here.
“Idiot boy,” she snarled, heading away from me, toward him, out the door, closing it behind her before she spoke again. I heard only muffled talking from there, a second door opening and closing and the sound of their voices traveling. Away from me until silence reined.
I was either the luckiest girl in the world or—
My phone made a few final, quick snaps of the piles of paperwork, then of the bag of drugs before I scrambled out of there, sweating and clearly looking guilty of something. But no one shouted after me as I pushed out the doors and ran for my car. No one pursued me when I peeled out of there or followed me in another car while I raced for home.
Five minutes later, panting, hands trembling, I examined the images I took and breathed in relief. Clear. Thank heavens for autofocus and the latest smart phone’s incredible camera. If I’d risked that for blurry images, I would have kicked myself all the way back to New York.
Someone knocked on the passenger glass of my car and I screamed for real this time. Pitch peeked in, grinning, helping himself to the handle and scooting inside, closing it behind him. My car instantly reeked of weed but I didn’t argue, turning toward him with the distinct need to hug him in his future.
“Alicia called me,” he shrugged. “Big sis figured you’d run into trouble and could use some backup.” He looked suddenly sad. “She’s a good kid and I owe her. So.”
“Thanks for the rescue,” I said. “I was under the desk.”
He laughed, a barking sound of derision. “I know,” he said. “I was watching you.” He winked. “Idiot.”
Well, he was right so I wasn’t about to argue. “You’re going to get in a lot of trouble for this.” I showed him my phone, then thought better of it, but he shrugged like it didn’t matter.
“Figured a relocation was imminent,” he said. “That new sheriff don’t have the kind of look the other way, turn his cheek kind of attitude your dad had.” Pitch met my eyes with his, that young gaze old beyond measure. “Not that the old POPO let me get away with anything. But he trusted me when no one else did.”
Fair enough.
“I never meant to get Alicia into trouble,” Pitch said, sounding his age at last. He fiddled with the zipper on his jacket, lean hands scarred and lined and dirty. “She took care of me when Mom and Dad died, did her best. But I didn’t want to be handled, you read me?” I nodded, understanding completely. I’d run away from being handled myself. “Not her fault I’m a jackass, got into trouble. But it is my fault she got dragged in with me.” Maturity from a young drug dealer? Family could make you stronger or drive you nuts. Guess he decided on the former. “I’m going to take all the heat so she’s okay. Sheriff’ll back me. Sissy deserves a better life than I’ve let her have.”
I nodded, not sure what else to say. Pitch drew a deep breath then grinned as if this had all been a grand joke and he was just delivering the punchline.
“Guess I’m out,” he said. “See you. Or not.”
Pitch climbed out of my car, slammed the door. Waved through the glass. Vanished into the darkness. And I let him go. Because what else was I going to do for a brother that loved his sister and saved a stranger’s behind when I needed it?
Daisy wrinkled her nose at the scent of me but didn’t comment, hugging me anyway. Before I could explain I hadn’t been smoking anything illegal, she grabbed her purse and blew me a kiss.
“Thanks, Daisy,” I said, unable to find the words to tell anyone what just happened anyway.
She grinned. “Any time.” And was gone. Leaving me alone with a house full of guests and a very unhappy pug who pretended she wasn’t delighted to see me for about three whole seconds. Then, Petunia bounded to me and bounced about like a puppy for a moment before promptly sitting on my feet.
Pugs.
The B&B printer did a great job of reproducing the images I’d taken. I was surprised how many I’d managed to nab. I recalled having seconds, flying through the sheets, but in the end I had a good thirty solid shots of repeated paperwork that even I as a layperson could tell were not on the up and up. Worst, the fact of the matter, from what I could tell in my Google research of some of the drugs listed, Ruth had been sending the real ones out into the street and giving the nursing home residents the equivalent of placebos.
I’d take these to Crew in the morning and he could handle the rest. That was, just after he put me in a jail cell and threw away the key. Sigh. I could always just mail them to him anonymously? Right, like he wouldn’t know who’d sent them.
My dark kitchen wasn’t helping my mood any. I stood there in the quiet for a long moment, furious with Ryan for playing me, with Pete for playing the people of Reading, at Ruth for causing real harm to the patients she was meant to care for. Fury made me shake all over, until I hurried into my room and collapsed on my bed before I fell down.
Curling on my side felt like the right thing to do, fetal position comforting. The soft grunt of the unhappy pug pushed me up off the comforter and to the closet. I fetched the special stairs my grandmother had made for her, tucked them against the side of the bed and lay down again. A moment later, creaking and groaning her way toward me, Petunia launched herself into my arms and threw herself down with her head in the crook of my shoulder, wet nose against my cheek.
She sighed happily and promptly fell asleep while I lay awake for a long time, listening to her snore and snort, feeling her run in her dreams with high pitched yips of delight, farting her carefree canine way through the night.
And actually felt better for the pug snuggle.
***
Chapter Thirty Five
I felt like a bit of a stalker hanging out by a big tree and trying not to be noticed while the black clothed family of Pete Wilkins put his remains in the ground. Now that I knew how much his son and wife hated him though the lack of tears didn’t seem so out of place.
Nor did the idea Aundrea might have murdered her husband.
I had no idea how much time I had left. The state troopers could be here any second now, though they hadn’t, obviously, protested the funeral. It was already Wednesday and Crew said midweek, didn’t he? I’d put off delivering the file with the photos to him in favor of lurking at the cemetery, because procrastination and I were besties.
And now I was beginning to think Crew was full of crap, had been trying to intimidate me into telling him what I knew because why would the state troopers wait this long to come if they intended to investigate at all? Which I’d been trying to do from the start, so he could go take a flying leap if he thought I would confess to a crime I didn’t commit just because the big boys were getting involved. Which, apparently, they weren’t.
Lying ass. Just like most men I knew. At least now it was clear where I stood. Vivian could have him.
While Jared and I had bonded over his father’s crimes, I wasn’t about to join the mourners or anything, making
sure I kept my distance out of respect if nothing else. Though I had to come because I really needed to talk to Aundrea and, as horrible as that made me, I knew today of all days she’d be the most likely to let things slip.
Yeah, I sucked.
I wasn’t the only lurker apparently, Pamela Shard hovering past a large tombstone with a towering angel on it in her dark suit and her frown, though despite her job as a reporter she didn’t have a camera with her or a notebook out. I watched her watching Aundrea and had a thought even as the funeral service wrapped up—the handful of mourners drifting away quickly as if they’d only come because they had to—leaving Jared and Aundrea to make their way to their car alone.
Even the minister hurried off. I wondered if Pete had something on her, too. Probably. What secrets lay beneath the bubbling adorableness of Reading? I guess if my life was going to continue in this vein I’d likely find out.
I probably shouldn’t have felt a thrill of excitement at that prospect and shrugged it off. Jared spoke to his mother a moment who waved him away. I held my place, watching him drive past, staying out of sight while Aundrea then turned and headed for the tombstone where Pamela had been waiting but had disappeared from the shadow of.
I followed, head down, trying to be discreet, circling to follow Aundrea’s retreating back. She continued down the row of headstones to the far end of the cemetery, where the large marble tombs stood, only a few and obviously old, the mausoleums long left unused. She disappeared behind the first one and I eased around the corner for a peek, not surprised to find her in Pamela’s arms.
Confirming then my guess as to what Pete had to hold over his wife. Especially when the two then exchanged a passionate kiss that made me blush with the intimacy of it. I almost retreated, wanting to leave the women to their private moment, but Pamela pulled away and spotted me, grimacing to Aundrea who tensed, face tight with anxiety.
I held up both hands, approached as if they were deer in headlights terrified and ready to run. Except only Aundrea seemed afraid. Pamela looked irritated.
“How dare you.” Gone was the helpful newswoman who’d come to Petunia’s. She trembled a little, taking Aundrea’s hand while the widow of Peter Wilkins looked down as if she were about to jerk herself free. “This has nothing to do with you.”
“I know,” I said, keeping my voice soothing and soft. “I’m sorry to intrude. But you have to admit, this doesn’t look good for either one of you.” I really was an asshole, Aundrea’s face falling while Pamela gazed at her like she’d been kicked to the curb one too many times. “I’m aware of the fact Pete was blackmailing you, Mrs. Wilkins,” I said, opting for the respectful address instead of going for familiarity. “And now I know just what he was holding over your head.”
Aundrea nodded, free hand swiping at tears trickling down her cheeks. Now she cried. “He knew I was gay when we were teenagers,” she said. Choked a moment. “Made me marry him or he’d tell everyone. I’ve lived a life of hell for thirty years thanks to that man.” She looked up then, defiant and furious. “I’m not sorry he’s dead. But I didn’t kill him if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I’m her alibi,” Pamela said, tugging Aundrea closer. The widow didn’t fight her, tucking into her welcoming embrace. “We were together that night. All night.”
“Aundrea.” My heart ached for her, throat tight with unshed tears. “Why did you stay?”
She shook her head. “You don’t understand. My family and their position in this town.” She tossed a used tissue at the marble tomb we stood next to. Right, she was a Patterson, one of the founding families and the bankroll behind a lot of the developments in Reading, equestrian center and ski lodge among them. “If they found out I’d be ostracized, I’d lose everything.” She shook then, weeping openly. “My father,” she could barely speak but kept going with Pamela’s support, “conspired with Peter. As long as I stayed married to him I kept my trust fund. But if I ever left him—even to be alone—I’d be bereft and cut off.”
All the more reason to truly hate Pete and her family, too. How charming.
“As for me,” Pamela said, “Pete found out about us when we were teenagers.” She winced. “I was the reason Aundrea is in this situation in the first place.”
“It wasn’t your fault, darling,” the widow said, touching her lover’s face gently, smiling a little. “You and my dear Jared have been the only lights in my life all this time.”
Pamela glared at me. “Pete controlled what I published, threatening Aundrea.” She shrugged angrily. “The exposé I was writing, I’ve been planning it a long time. But I’ve never been able to tell anyone what I learned, not even your father. Not until I knew Aundrea was safe.” She lowered her voice, her entire body shifting from powerful anger to despair. “I couldn’t care less about me, but I wouldn’t let him hurt the woman I love.”
Rocks and hard places came to mind. “I’m so sorry,” I said. “Now that he’s dead, what happens to your fortune, Aundrea?”
She snuffled, shrugged. “Some of it goes back to the family. But the bulk is still under control of his estate,” she said. “Which means Jared.” She smiled then, a real smile, making her look beautiful again and far younger than the years she carried. “So I suppose I’m free at last. Which makes you suspect me all the more.”
“I already told her I’m your alibi,” Pamela said.
“But a smart girl like the daughter of our old sheriff surely knows the two of us could have done it together.” Aundrea kissed Pamela softly before smiling at me again. “Right?”
Maybe I was a sucker for a happy couple who could finally be together, but I knew she didn’t do it.
“You were fighting with Ruth last night,” I said. Hesitated as I realized blurting that out meant she now knew I’d been snooping. But Aundrea just sighed.
“I want out,” she said. “Of all of it. I never knew the details, not really, though I was aware Peter was into some horrible things. I always hoped your father would be successful in his case but with Judge Anderson being blackmailed… well, it was clear to me from the beginning Peter wouldn’t be held accountable.”
A judge, huh? No wonder Dad’s case fell apart if he was being undermined by the court meant to bring Pete to justice. I’d have to tell Dad.
“And what about Ruth?” Maybe this was bad timing but Aundrea was talking and seemed willing to go on. “Won’t she try to blackmail you now?”
Pamela hugged Aundrea protectively. “Let her try.”
“No, Fiona is right.” Aundrea snuffled, pulled herself upright. “I’ll just have to face my family’s judgment and the public outrage.”
“And that’s so important, isn’t it?” Pamela sounded suddenly sad, devastated really.
Aundrea flinched, sagged. “My darling—”
And the reality struck me then, just how tragic this really was. Aundrea could have walked away. Yes, it would have meant leaving all that money behind, but she could have figured something out. Been happy with Pamela. Trusted their love. Instead, she’d chosen to suffer, for them both to suffer, all these years because of money and public perception.
Not my problem and I hoped it wouldn’t drive an ultimate spike between these two. They had earned happiness as far as I could tell.
“Aundrea,” I said. “Did Ruth kill Pete?”
She hesitated, shrugged. “I don’t know for sure,” she said. “He had enough enemies out there it could be anyone. But if I had to choose…” She met Pamela’s sad eyes. “Yes, if anyone could kill him, it was his hideous sister.”
***
Chapter Thirty Six
The phone was ringing when I walked into the foyer, Daisy handing it off to me almost instantly. She made a funny face, a little worried, so I knew instantly who it was when I sighed into the receiver.
“What do you want, Crew?”
Silence a moment and I wondered if I pegged it wrong before he spoke, enough anger in his voice I knew I hadn’t gotten away with my
little investigation.
“I just had two people walk into my office,” he said. “Pamela Shard and Aundrea Wilkins. They alibied each other. Told me lots of things.” He huffed softly on the other end of the line and I could see in my mind’s eye his forehead vein popping out, cheeks darkening. “Mainly, that you’re responsible for their appearance. Because you didn’t listen, you never listen, apparently, when a police officer tells you to stay the hell away from the crimes he’s investigating.”
“Again,” I said, so over his attitude, “you’re welcome. Because you really think they would have come to you otherwise?”
Enough silence followed he knew I was right and oh boy did he hate it.
“I have more to tell you if you’re willing to listen,” I said.
“Just spill it,” he snarled, the sound of his chair squeaking a clear indication he was paying attention.
I told him about the key, about Dad and Alicia, knowing I was betraying my father all over again but unable to stop myself. And rushed on to fill him in on the files, the photos I took. He hummed and tsked and grunted often enough I knew he was still there, and was likely writing down all the charges he was going to lay against me so he could lock me away forever.
By the time I was done, whispering now while Daisy smilingly helped some guests with questions about Reading, Crew actually sounded rather calm.
“Ruth is the best fit,” he said. “I’ve already come to that conclusion. And I’m well aware your father’s been continuing his own investigation. I’ve been in touch with the people he met the night Pete Wilkins died.”
“And you no longer think I killed him?” That was a relief.
“I’d be so lucky,” he grumbled. “No, Fee. I told you before, I don’t. But the evidence you found is illegal, you must know that.”
“But you can use it as leverage against her, can’t you?” Damn it, I really messed up, didn’t I?
