Fatal Impulse: A Widow's Web Novel

by Lori L. Robinett

  She went to bed but laid awake until nearly dawn, thinking about ways to track the blackmailer down. Most blackmailers were looking for payment. This one wanted something she didn’t have. She needed to figure out who he was and find something on him. Everyone has a skeleton in their closet.

  The next morning, she got up, showered and dressed quickly. With a mental list in mind, she was ready to get to work. She sipped on cup of strong coffee while she made a list of stops to make.

  Her first stop was Chad’s office. Jennie had done a good job of cleaning the place up before she dropped the key off with Andi, but the realtor hadn’t found anyone who wanted to buy it yet. Chad’s office contents had been boxed up and stored in the building. She intended to sell the contents to a new dentist. Jennie had told her Chad’s personal effects and papers were packed in bankers boxes stored under his desk. Andi pulled the first box out and sat down on the floor to look through it.

  Part of her suspected the photographer was a private eye that Chad hired to follow her. She couldn’t imagine anyone could just happen to be out on a stormy night with equipment like that. Surely he would’ve noted that in his papers somewhere.

  Most of what she found was mundane. There wasn’t even any personal correspondence or notes. Had Jennie culled out what she didn’t want Andi to see? She put everything back in the first box and shoved it under the desk. She went through the second box and found more of the same, mostly handbooks and newsletters and journals relating to the field of dentistry. About halfway through the stack, she found Chad’s leather bound agenda.

  She leaned back against the wall and flipped through the gold-edged pages. Most were notations about patients, with a few social engagements and business meetings sprinkled throughout. One entry in late March caught her eye. It simply said “P - 2 pm Tiny’s Pub.” She dog-eared the page. For most of the other entries, she recognized either the names of his colleagues or friends or the locations, but she’d never known Chad to go to Tiny’s. She flipped forward to the first weekend in April.

  That weekend, he had been in Atlantic City, but told her he went to a conference in Boston. Her blood boiled at the memory of spending her birthday alone. She hadn’t even called anyone, because she didn’t want Dana or her mother to know she was by herself.

  She shook her head as if that could make the memories go away. The notation on that Friday at 5 said simply “AC conf w/ P.” There was a smiley face jotted next to the entry.

  P, again. He had told her he didn’t know anyone going to the conference. Obviously he hadn’t gone to a dental conference in Boston. He’d gone to Atlantic City. And apparently the friend wasn’t just a one night stand he found there. It was a planned getaway.

  She dog-eared that page, too, but wasn’t sure what she could possibly do with just an initial. At least some bar, she could go talk to somebody. But his fling just had one initial. She frowned and went back to the agenda. All that was left were the last few entries before the night he died.

  Only two days before he died, he wrote himself a reminder, “P’s b-day.”

  She hadn’t gotten flowers, a gift or even a card for her birthday. She snapped the agenda closed and tossed it back in the box. As she pushed herself to her feet, her cell phone rang. She pulled it from her purse and answered. It was Dana. “Hey, girl! Just wanted to remind you, I’ll be by to pick you up at 9 tomorrow morning.”

  It took a moment for Andi to remember that she was going to Atlantic City with Dana. While they discussed last minute preparations, she returned everything to the boxes. She paused, opened the second box and pulled out Chad’s agenda.

  By the time she left the dental office, the sun was touching Cadillac Mountain to the west. With a heavy heart, she decided to call it a day and head home. She checked the mail before going in, and noticed a brown envelope, about 6 x 8 or so. No return address, but her name and address were printed in neat block letters with a Sharpie. Her breath caught and she looked around. Mrs. Harrison’s curtain fluttered in her living room window.

  Andi hurried inside and locked the door, then went into the kitchen and pulled a Sam Adams from the ‘fridge before perching on a bar stool. The envelope sat on the counter in front of her. Her eyes never left it, but she popped off the cap and took three good gulps of beer before she opened it.

  32

  As she feared, the envelope contained another grainy black and white picture. This one showed her face. This time she held the heavy flashlight like a baseball bat. Chad’s profile showed his head back and his mouth open in that horrible mocking laugh that she still heard in her nightmares. Goosebumps pebbled her arms and she shivered uncontrollably. Bile rose in her throat and she ran for the trashcan. She barely got the lid up before she threw up.

  Her legs shook so badly, she couldn’t stand up. It felt as if she were melting, as the numbness moved up her body inch by inch and she sank bit by bit to the floor. She had blocked out so much of that night, tried to forget, but the pictures brought back images that flashed through her mind like a slideshow. The memory of his scream echoed in her head and her stomach churned harder. She pushed the lid off the trashcan and threw up until there was nothing left, and her sides heaved to no avail.

  After she lost the beer and everything else she’d eaten that day, she cleaned up. A long, hot shower was in order. As she let the water wash over her, her thoughts turned to Chad and Paul and Caren. Her life was spiraling out of control, but she felt as if she were floating above, watching things happen. She had to take control, or she wouldn’t survive.

  If Caren was out of the way, she was sure Paul would be with her. He’d as much as said so earlier. Then she and Paul could disappear. They could move someplace where nobody knew them, and where the blackmailer couldn’t find her. She’d never be alone again.

  After she dried off, she snatched Chad’s agenda from the bar and took it into the den. Her leg struck the desk drawer when she sat down. It was opened slightly, so she pushed it closed, then rubbed her bruised knee absently. The blotter sat slightly askew so, out of habit, she straightened it.

  As she tapped the paper against the desk, she considered what to do first. She jumped up and headed to the bedroom. She flipped open her jewelry box and dumped the contents, digging through them until she found the pink business card. Portia.

  She grabbed the handset from the nightstand and punched in the number on the card. The phone rang twice, then a man with an British accent answered. He spoke too quickly, so she asked him to repeat it.

  “You’ve reached the Woodson residence, ma’am,” he answered patiently.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, I have the wrong number.”

  She ran back downstairs and pulled out the photocopies she’d found in the desk. She ran her index finger down the paper until she reached Portia Woodson’s name. A stack of newspapers sat in the rack to the right of the desk. Though she’d passed over them earlier, thinking them unimportant, her eyes settled on the article on the front page of the Sentinel. August Woodson, the real estate entrepreneur who owned three exclusive ski resorts in Maine, recently purchased a piece of land bordering Acadia National Park on Mount Desert Island. Near Black Bear Cove.

  A light bulb went on. The vague entries in his agenda.

  P.

  Portia Woodson had gone with him to Atlantic City.

  Huh. Interesting. But did it matter? She didn’t know. Possibly. A woman like that could certainly have funded him with the money to hire a private investigator. Maybe she had been the one to hire the private investigator to follow him. That seemed more likely actually, because someone like that would’ve checked Chad out thoroughly. So, that gave Andi some idea of who her blackmailer was – either Portia Woodson herself, or the PI she hired.

  Andi closed her eyes and pressed her fingers against them. Too much to think about, too many details clogging things up. Thousands of voices scre
amed in her brain, their voices echoing. Her head hurt. All the Portia Woodson element added was the need to get out of town. The heiress wouldn’t be after money – she had plenty of money already. All she wanted was revenge.

  Andi needed to be able to protect herself in case the blackmailer came back.

  She jogged down to the basement. The wooden gun cabinet she’d gotten Chad for their first Christmas together stood against the far wall. She ran her fingers along the top of the case and felt the cold metal of the key. She unlocked the bottom drawer and opened it. Two handguns shone dully in the dim light from the bare bulb that hung from a beam.

  Her mother gave her the Walther P22 when she moved down east to be with Chad, and Chad bought himself the Ruger 9 mm so they could go to the range together for target practice. Andi grew up with guns, since her daddy was a hunter, but Chad didn’t have much experience and only went to the shooting range with her once. Though he wouldn’t admit it, she was a better shot than he and that stung his ego. Dana was a shooter, too, and she was the one who usually went with Andi. Actually, that’s how Dana and her fiancé met, at the gun club.

  She touched the smooth, cold steel of the Walther, then ran her fingers over the molded grip. She grabbed the gun, then pulled a box of ammo out of the bottom drawer.

  33

  Something white caught her eye at the top step. She leaned down, picked it up and turned it over. It was a torn napkin, with seven numbers scrawled across it, 2175560 but the number didn’t mean anything to her. Maybe a phone number or an account number? She tucked it in her pocket so she could check into it later.

  She laid the gun on her nightstand, then went through the house and checked all the doors and windows to make sure they were locked. When she went into the den and flipped the light on, she stopped cold. A brown envelope sat in the center of the desktop, with familiar block print in marker shouting her name. A chill ran up her spine. The blackmailer had been inside her house. And might still be.

  Why hadn’t she kept the gun with her?

  She crept upstairs to retrieve the handgun, then thumbed several bullets in the magazine. Just as she shoved the mag into the gun, a muffled crash sounded downstairs.

  She hurried to the bedroom door then slipped down the steps. Blood pounded in her ears. Every nerve in her body was on alert. Something creaked, and it sounded like it came from the front part of the house. With her thumb she flipped the safety off and continued down, staying close to the wall. The front door creaked open and she dashed down the last few steps. The door clicked shut just as she reached the foyer. She slipped on the wooden floor, quickly regained her balance and ran for the door. She flung it open and stepped out onto the cold concrete. No sign of anyone. She looked in every direction, listened for some indication of which way the intruder went.

  The neighborhood was quiet, nothing out of place, not a soul in sight.

  Her chest heaved with the effort expended and her hand found the doorknob. She backed in and shut the door, then flipped the deadbolt. It was time to have all the locks changed. Maybe time for a security system. The .22 was a welcome weight in her hands.

  It took a good five minutes for her heart rate to return to normal and for the adrenaline to subside. The envelope would have to wait.

  A quick pass through the house revealed no other signs of the intruder. In his rush to leave, the intruder knocked the basket of keys and change off the hall table, but nothing else was missing or out of place. Though she’d already checked the doors and windows before she heard the intruder, she went room by room and checked again. All closed. All locked. All blinds drawn. It made no sense. How did he get in?

  After flicking the safety on, she laid the loaded gun on her nightstand so it would be there when she went to bed and returned to the den. She tore the envelope open. It was the picture she’d been dreading. The same black and white, grainy picture, but this time Chad rocked slightly back on his feet as the flashlight connected with his chest. The rain plastered her long dark hair to her head and back. Chad’s face turned slightly away from the camera and stared at the black and white Andi in disbelief.

  She closed her eyes and felt the cold rain on her face. She heard thunder roll. She heard the muffled thud of the flashlight as it hit his body. She felt the impact jar her arms.

  Her eyes popped open with a start.

  Oh, dear God, what had she done?

  She took a deep breath and shuddered. She’d killed her husband. Goose bumps pimpled her skin as the reality of that night sank in. The photo caught on its way back into the envelope and wouldn’t slide in. She blew into the envelope to open it wider, and saw a piece of paper inside. She pulled it out. The same neat block print as found on the envelope slanted across a piece of ordinary copy paper.

  “Bring the deed, the coordinates and the stock certificates. Be at the cemetery at 11 tonight.”

  It felt like her chest was collapsing in on itself. She glanced at her watch. Four hours to go. Great. She reread the note. Her stomach rumbled and she realized that she hadn’t eaten anything since she’d lost her breakfast. She slipped the photo and note back into the envelope and dropped them on the desk. There was nothing to do right now. Besides, she’d handle things better on a full stomach. Or at least one not rumbling in protest.

  She went to the kitchen, dumped some cereal in a bowl and splashed milk over it. Not exactly meat and potatoes, but faster than nuking a meal. She smiled as she put the milk back in the ‘fridge. It had been so nice of Paul to bring her over milk, eggs and bread earlier in the week. He was so much more thoughtful than Chad.

  She took her bowl into the family room, curled up at one end of the sofa and flipped on the television. She spent the next two hours watching the minute hand creep forward on the mantle clock. The ten o’clock news had the only item of interest. Woodson Enterprises reported spectacular gains so far for the year. Hundreds of employees received bonuses, and there was talk of expanding the ski resort at Sugar Mountain.

  A man shown in silhouette with an altered voice said the company would go public, but a clip of August Woodson showed a frail looking old man who declared no such thing would happen as long as he was alive. The reporter noted rumors of August Woodson’s failing health seemed to be confirmed by the rapid weight loss the man had experienced.

  Time was running out. She had to find out who was behind the photos before the old man died.

  When the clock chimed once to mark the bottom of the hour, she hurried upstairs to change into head to toe black, then tucked her dark hair into a ball cap. She couldn’t wait any longer. It was time to meet the mysterious photographer and find out what the hell was going on.

  34

  One of the life tips Andi’s grandma taught her was that information was power. Though she’d been talking about the need for higher education, it applied to life, too. Andi needed power. She suspected her dead husband’s lover was on her trail, and was very wealthy, and therefore, very powerful. Portia had to have been the one that hired someone to follow him, so it stood to reason that she had the photos and she knew that Andi killed her husband. Either she chose to blackmail Andi to get back what she gave Chad or the PI she hired took advantage of the situation in an attempt to improve his own financial standing.

  The documents in Chad’s desk were the blackmailer’s target, but turning those documents over didn’t guarantee an end to the harassment. Whoever held those photos could make her life miserable, or worse, send her to prison for killing the man who made her life a living hell.

  Andi decided not to turn anything over yet, but intended to find out who she was up against. She drove into town where she parked on the street. After looking around to make sure no one was around, she got out, tugged a dark sweatshirt over her head, and walked around the building to the cemetery.

  The cool breeze ruffled her short hair. Several decent sized trees provided cover, and clouds rolled past the half moon. The clock in the Jeep
had said 10:46, so she had a few minutes before the arranged meeting time. Whoever wanted to meet her probably had the same idea. She veered left, aiming for the southeast corner of the cemetery. A clump of trees on a slight rise looked like the perfect spot to sit and watch.

  A shiver ran up her spine, as much from fear as the chill in the air. It smelled like rain, and she glanced at the black velvet sky. Not a star in sight. Tombstones poked up here and there like crooked teeth, some taller than others. She leaned against the rough bark of an oak tree and waited, listening and watching. Though she knew the chances of spotting anyone in the darkness were slim, she hoped to at least get a look at the vehicle.

  Boy, if the ladies from the Friends of the Library could see her now … she’d come a long way from being Chad’s meek wife, afraid to speak her mind, blending into the background.

  The clouds shifted slightly, and a sliver of moonlight peeked through. She scanned constantly from right to left and left to right, her eyes playing tricks on her as shadows moved and shifted in the pale light. Chad’s tombstone of polished white marble stood out in stark contrast to the older stones. That would be where the blackmailer would be waiting.

  A twig snapped to her left, and she froze, moving only her eyes. An orange glow bobbed between the monuments, glowing brightly, then softening and occasionally disappearing. Her eyes ached with the strain, but the clouds parted a bit more and she spotted a black figure moving towards her. She swallowed hard, shivering. She clenched her teeth together to keep them from chattering. The shadow turned slightly, the orange glow making the figure easy to track in the darkness. Once the figure reached Chad’s stone, the glow burned brightly for a moment, then dropped to the ground and disappeared. Andi stared, afraid to blink. If he would only light another cigarette, she might be able to get a look at his face.