HER SISTER'S KILLER an absolutely gripping killer thriller full of twists

by MICHELLE S. SMITH

  “Actually, I saw you and followed you down. Or rather, St. Patrick did,” amended John, a little awkwardly. “I didn’t want a repeat of the other day, so I thought I’d better check on you.” He looked at her more closely and his brow contracted. “Come here,” he commanded, stretching out his hand to her. She held back, staring at him.

  He dropped his hand and went to her.

  “I’m going to put my arm around you and help you away from the bank, okay?” he said.

  Victoria froze, and he sighed. “You’re sweating and pale, and you look like you might faint, Victoria,” he explained. “Not a good combination near water.”

  “Don’t touch me. I can do it myself.”

  John put up his hands and backed off. “I’m not touching you. But come away from the water.”

  Victoria slowly made her way to drier ground. St. Patrick bounded to her and leaped up, placing his paws on her chest. Her knees gave way unexpectedly, and she sat down with a thud.

  “Good dog,” John grinned. “He’d make an excellent doctor,” he told Victoria. “Knows exactly what to do. And of course, he can’t be sued, so he has no problem pushing his patients around.”

  Victoria shivered although it was warm.

  John sat down near her, keeping enough distance so that the St. Bernard could comfortably fit between them.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked. “Surely it’s not a good idea to come alone?”

  “It’s pretty safe in the day, I’d say.”

  “It’s safe in the evening for most people too,” he reminded her.

  Victoria stroked St. Patrick, focusing on the smooth softness of his fur and counting how many times she stroked him. One, two, three, and breathe. Four, five, six, and breathe. Breathe. Just breathe. She could feel her heart rate steadying, and her pulse no longer hammered so wildly in her neck.

  “I felt I had to come once more, to see if there was anything that would give a hint as to who attacked me.”

  John shifted and as he did so, felt something hard beneath his fingers. He dug it out of the ground and held it up to the light.

  “A cufflink,” she said.

  “Does that mean anything?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. It looks vaguely familiar, somehow. I’ll keep it anyway.”

  John didn’t comment but looked around. “We often come this way to walk. St. Patrick loves the water. Gina used to love water too. Swam like a pro.”

  “How long were you married?” Victoria asked.

  “Not long enough,” he said. He paused then changed the subject. “And you haven’t ever been married?”

  Victoria shuddered.

  “A very comprehensive answer,” he grinned. “You think it would be that bad?”

  “I’m glad to be single,” she replied, pushing the thought of Steve from her mind. “The number of domestic violence incidents I had to intervene in when in Chicago was frightening.”

  “You don’t long for family life?” John asked, and she noticed he looked away as he spoke as though seeing something intangible to anyone else but him.

  Victoria laughed shortly. “I’ve had enough ‘family life’ to last me a lifetime,” she replied. “‘Family life’ put me in therapy for more years than I want to remember.”

  John was silent. Then he said hesitantly, “Want to talk about it?”

  Victoria spread out her hands on her knees, staring at them. “Not really, although it is an open secret in Hancock,” she replied. “My father was abusive. I went to the police, both to protect myself and to prevent him from doing the same to my sister. He ran away to escape arrest shortly after the divorce and died in a freak car accident. I thought I was okay now.”

  “A traumatic attack like the one you suffered recently could bring it all back again.”

  Victoria nodded and put her arms around St. Patrick. “My sister’s death. Coming back home to Hancock. The attack here at Norway Pond. Major triggers. I struggle to sleep, and when I do, the memories all keep coming back.” She put her face against St. Patrick’s fur, and he licked her.

  “He’s a good therapy dog,” teased John. “You might not let me take your hand to help you away from the water, but that dog has you wrapped around his claw.”

  “He’s gorgeous,” said Victoria. “If I had a dog like this with me at night, I don’t think I’d ever have another nightmare.” She looked thoughtfully at John. “And you, John? What is your deep, dark secret? You said you also had skeletons in your closet.”

  John smiled faintly. “Mine?” he asked. “That’s easy. I killed my wife.”

  Victoria scrambled to her feet, her shoes slipping in her hurry. When she saw John wasn’t moving, she froze. He wasn’t even looking at her. He was staring out across the water, his hand over his mouth.

  “Gina was an accountant. We were also living in Chicago at the time. Like you do. She uncovered irregularities in the firm she was working for. She asked me what to do. She just wanted to resign, but I told her to report it to HR, little realizing that those in HR were involved too — they were being paid to keep quiet about the embezzlement. After speaking to HR, she was attacked one night at work and her neck badly bruised. She tried reporting the irregularities again, this time to her boss.”

  “What happened?” asked Victoria.

  “Those who were guilty covered their tracks and made it look like she was the guilty one. She got dragged through an internal investigation and finally was questioned by the police. They searched our home. At the same time, she miscarried our child.”

  “That’s terrible,” said Victoria, still poised to run.

  “Yeah. I thought she was coping, but the strain was too great.”

  “Suicide?”

  “Aneurysm.”

  He reached out a hand to pat St. Patrick as though he was soothing the dog and not vice versa.

  “Why do you say you killed her?” Victoria asked.

  “She was following my advice. If she’d just resigned, she wouldn’t have been under so much pressure. Maybe our baby would have survived. Maybe the aneurysm wouldn’t have happened. I believe so, anyway. The doctor said perhaps it could have been avoided.” He swallowed. “I killed her.”

  “It could have happened anyway. You know that, right?”

  He nodded and turned to look at her with a shrug. “Anyway,” he said, “that’s it. That’s my secret. I live with the knowledge that if I’d protected her better, she might still be alive.”

  Chapter 22

  The evening was cool, and Victoria had her feet tucked up on the shabby-chic couch, her sweater pulled over her knees and her cup cradled in her hands.

  Janet sipped her tea and looked over at her. “So, the annual Hair Ball Gala is coming up,” she said Janet.

  “Hair Ball? Are you kidding me?”

  In reply, Janet held across her phone to Victoria so she could see the online advert for herself. “Don’t you remember from when we were kids? It’s at the Keene Country Club, and it’s to collect money for shelter animals. The theme is Mission: PAWSible. You go dressed as a secret agent.”

  “Enjoy. Sounds fun.” Victoria took a sip of tea.

  “I’m not going alone. Blake phoned to say they’re only getting back the day after the ball. Apparently they’re enjoying themselves and have been adopted by a stray puppy who follows them everywhere. Anyway, long story short, you’re coming with me to the ball.”

  “No way,” Victoria said hastily. “You’re on your own.”

  “And if Steve asks you?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Victoria snapped. “Things are tense between us right now.”

  “What happened?”

  “I accused him of hitting Todd, the war vet,” Victoria muttered. She explained the story.

  “That’s insane!” Janet exclaimed. “Why would he do that? From what you told me, Todd is permanently drinking or suffering from withdrawal. He probably fell.”

  “Maybe,” replied Victoria in a small vo
ice. “Actually, that’s what Steve says happened.”

  “There you go,” Janet replied. She stared at Victoria hard. “You’re deliberately sabotaging any chance with Steve. You know that?” she asked. “Did you see Todd fall at all?”

  “Yes,” replied Victoria. A sinking feeling spread down through her chest and into her stomach.

  “And was it hard enough to cause bruising?

  “I guess. Maybe. I don’t really remember how he fell.”

  “So why are you so scared?”

  Victoria put down her teacup so she could wrap her arms around her knees. “I keep wondering if I can trust him, you know.”

  “Victoria, this is Steve we’re talking about. You’ve known him since you were a teenager.”

  “Yeah, but I wonder if he’s withholding something from me. When we first met up after my sister’s death, he called her Becky. No one does that except those really close to her.”

  “The guy knew her! Of course he was close to her!”

  “But even so—”

  Janet interrupted her. “Okay, then, what about going to the ball with John?”

  “Why John?”

  “He went out of his way to check up on you yesterday when you went back to Norway Pond. And then he walked you home again. And sat drinking coffee with us for an hour.”

  “I think he’s lonely. He lost his wife a while back.”

  “So help him feel less lonely!”

  “Will you cut it out?” Victoria exclaimed. “I’m not interested! Didn’t you hear me say his wife died recently? He’s working through her death.”

  Janet lifted her eyebrows. “He’d obviously worked through enough to fall for your sister.”

  “That’s another reason not to go with him.” Victoria lifted her head. “He still hasn’t told me what exactly their relationship was. Why would a guy who’d agreed just to be friends call her every day for three weeks? Makes him seem more like a stalker.”

  “He doesn’t strike me as a stalker type.”

  “I don’t know. I just don’t think I can—”

  “Trust him,” interrupted Janet. “I know.”

  Victoria stared at her friend and groaned, rubbing her hand over her forehead. “I have a problem, don’t I?” she said.

  “You said it, not me,” replied Janet. “But yeah, you do. I don’t think you’re as uninterested in a relationship as you pretend. I think you’re just scared.”

  “It does frighten me,” muttered Victoria.

  Her friend tapped her on the arm. “The question is not whether they are trustworthy. It’s about you.”

  “I know.” Victoria sighed, feeling suddenly drained. “The question is, will I ever feel ready to take a chance at trusting someone again?”

  Chapter 23

  Victoria was at the police station, the coffee she had poured herself long forgotten, reading through her sister’s file again, when she realized something was missing.

  “Steve?”

  He came through from the next room.

  “Don’t you ever stop working?” he asked, nodding at her untouched coffee cup.

  She ignored the question.

  “Where are the phone records?”

  “Sorry, I still need to add them to the file. It’s been hectic.” He spoke slightly dismissively, and she was immediately nettled.

  “I want those records,” she snapped. “What’s been keeping you so busy anyway?”

  “Fatal Vision Goggles,” he said. He grinned at her blank stare. “It’s a program we were doing at ConVal High School. We joined forces with Liquor Enforcement and let the kids do various simulations using goggles that mimic visual impairment and then got them to do sobriety tests. We’re looking to extend the program now throughout the community.”

  He passed her a pair, and she put them on, curious. “These really affect your judgment,” she exclaimed, trying to walk in a straight line.

  “Yeah,” said Steve. He removed the goggles from her head and smiled down at her in a way that made her heart hammer in her chest.

  She took a deep breath, trying to muster up her courage. “Right,” she muttered, clenching and unclenching her hands, “I hate to admit that I’m wrong, but Janet and I were chatting about the Hair Ball Gala last night and I don’t know how, but we got chatting about you and Todd and everything, and it made me realize that I was out of line. About accusing you of hitting Todd.”

  Steve whistled in surprise. “I should have let you try on these goggles a lot earlier,” he commented, holding them up for inspection. “They clearly have powers beyond limiting alcohol consumption in teenagers.”

  “Very funny,” Victoria said. She swallowed. “Anyway, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

  “Damn,” said Steve. He pulled her closer so that his face hovered above hers. “If I’d known apologizing would make you so attractive, I never would have invited Claire Timms to the ball with me.”

  Victoria felt like she had been slapped.

  “Oh, you invited Claire?” She managed to sound nonchalant. “That’s great.”

  He half-smiled. “You sure?”

  “Of course,” replied Victoria. She pulled away. She was conscious of a tugging ache beneath her rib cage. “What about Joe?”

  Steve grabbed her arm to prevent her from walking away. “What do you mean, what about Joe?”

  “I got the idea he was keen on Claire.”

  Steve smiled grimly. “Yeah, so did I,” he said.

  Victoria’s eyes narrowed. “You’re using Claire, aren’t you?” she asked suddenly.

  “Of course not.”

  “Yes, you are,” she insisted. “You thought by asking her out, you could score off Joe at the same time. You’ve never liked him, ever since he used to follow Becky around, and you hated that Claire favored him the other day in the shops rather than you.”

  Steve scoffed. “That’s ridiculous. I know the real reason why you’re so angry.” He held her gaze. “Admit it. You’re not worried about Joe. You’re jealous!”

  Victoria laughed. “Now you’re being ridiculous.” She shook herself free from his hold and walked out, head up high, to the bathroom. When she was finally alone, she sat down on the toilet seat and burst into tears. Had she lost him forever?

  Chapter 24

  Victoria was too restless that evening to settle down.

  “For heaven’s sake, leave your phone alone,” Janet said, staggering through into the living room with a huge pile of men’s clothes. “He’s not going to contact you more quickly if you keep staring at it.”

  “I never want to speak to him again,” Victoria said. She tossed the phone aside.

  Janet nodded. “Which explains why you keep checking your messages,” she said. “Come and give me a hand here.”

  “Are you throwing Blake out?” Victoria gasped in awe at the pile of clothing.

  “Of course not! But he’s a hoarder, so while he and the kids are safely out of the house, I’m going to sort through all his things and donate his old stuff to the local clothing sale. What do you think of this? Too old, or do you think that this rip could be mended?”

  Victoria blinked at the jeans. “Won’t Blake be angry if he comes home to find half his clothes gone?”

  “He won’t even notice,” said Janet. “There’s stuff here from way back. I found a receipt from 2012 in one pocket.”

  “Okay, I take back what I said,” Victoria told her. “The man clearly has a problem. Here, let me help you. Shall I put stuff to give away over here? I’ll get a bag to put it in.”

  After half an hour, they had amassed a sizable bag of clothing, dating back, Janet insisted, to Blake’s college days.

  “If you’re still full of nervous energy, how about taking this stuff down the road to the Meeting House for me?” asked Janet. “I’ll get dinner ready in the meantime.”

  “Deal,” replied Victoria. She hoisted up the bag and threw it over her shoulder.

  By the time she had droppe
d off the clothes and left the building, the street was quiet, and Victoria glanced to the left and right nervously as she set off. It’s just Main Street, she reminded herself, not Chicago. You’ll be fine.

  She halted as she heard voices from behind the Meeting House. Maybe it would be more sensible to walk part of the way with whoever was there if they were also heading home. She went around the building to see who was talking.

  “Todd?” she muttered in surprise. The war vet was talking to someone that she couldn’t see from her vantage point. Todd was unusually animated, his amiable face flushed and excitable. She saw he was holding a beer bottle in one hand, its contents half full.

  “I saw you,” Todd was saying to someone. He repeated himself, his voice rising. “I saw you on the trail, bending over her body, didn’t I? That was you, wasn’t it? And it was you who gave me that note for the detective. Wasn’t it?”

  Victoria, her pulse racing, crept a little closer. The other person said something in a low tone, and Todd gesticulated angrily. “Thought that would make you take notice,” he said. “Yes, you are listening now, aren’t you?”

  An inaudible question from the other person made Todd pause, and then he took a draught from the bottle in his hand.

  “I liked Rebecca,” the beggar said sorrowfully. “She was always kind. Not like you. Not like you at all.”

  Victoria placed her hand over her mouth and crouched down behind a bush.

  “I saw her scarf lying on the ground. I tried to put it over her to keep her warm while I went to get help, but—” The beggar paused and took another drink. “Then I realized she was dead.”

  Todd wiped his mouth with his hand and drank again. “I was scared. I was standing there alone with her, with my hands on her scarf, and I was scared. I knew no one would believe me when I told them what I had seen. They would just lock me up and say I did it. So I took the scarf instead. I forgot about the beer bottle. I wasn’t thinking straight.”

  Then his face changed, and he set his mouth. “But now her sister is here. She won’t give up. She will believe me.”

  The voice muttered something, and Todd stumbled forward as he bent toward the person to listen. “How much?” Todd asked, his usually vague voice sharp in his excitement. “No, I want more. Much more money. What is your life worth? What is it worth to you?”