Past Forward- A Serial Novel: Volume 3

by Chautona Havig

  “Can I pay you?”

  The kid grinned. “Sure. Buy me a coffee. Thanks, lady, you’re all right. Weird. Trippin’, but all right.”

  She passed him a folded bill and smiled. “Thanks again.”

  As she left the building, the guy glanced at the bill in his hand. “Fifty bucks for a basic name search? Wow.”

  The cab pulled up in front of a huge estate. Large iron gates blocked the driveway. “Are you sure this is the place?”

  “That is the address you are giving me. I am just following directions.” The man’s accent was delightful. Willow loved the various accents she heard in Rockland.

  “How do I get in?”

  “I am not knowing. You should press the button.”

  “Don’t go anywhere.” Willow remembered how Bill had paid a driver extra to keep him waiting and handed ten extra dollars. “Can you wait?”

  “I will wait.”

  Willow slammed the door shut harder than necessary, making her jump. She walked to the gate and looked for the buzzer. She found what looked like a doorbell and pushed it. A voice asked who it was. “I’m Willow Finley. I’m looking for Lynne Solari.”

  Several minutes passed. The cab driver shrugged as she looked at him for help and then the gates slid backward mechanically. “Come in please.”

  She slipped inside the car and shut the door. “Will you go inside with me? Not inside the house but the gates so I have a way out?”

  Lynne met her under the portico. “Oh, Willow, I never thought—I’m so glad—Come in, come in!”

  “You have a lovely home.”

  Beaming, Lynn smiled. “Thank you. I can’t believe you’re here.”

  “You know I came for a reason,” Willow began hesitantly.

  “Of course. My husband thinks my blonde hair is indicative of the number, or lack thereof, of brain cells in my head, but I’m not exactly stupid.”

  “That’s what I told him.”

  Lynne allowed the color to drain from her face. “You saw Steve? When?”

  “Two weeks ago.”

  “I’m almost afraid to ask why.”

  “You should be,” Willow agreed. “I won’t insult you by pretending not to know that your husband is a dangerous man. I told him he underestimated you. I don’t think he believed me at first.”

  Willow’s words struck horror in Lynne’s heart. If Willow had convinced Steve that she wasn’t an ignorant wife who blindly supported her husband, it’d be dangerous. He loved her, but everything had its limit with Steve. At some point, he’d even kill her if he thought it was in his best interest. She was less dispensable than most, but everyone was dispensable.

  “Why did you go to him?” Lynne gestured for Willow to sit and offered her something to drink.

  “No thank you. I’m fine,” Willow said. “Did you know he hired someone to terrorize me?”

  “What!” Lynne’s anger boiled. How dare he! He’d promised! What was he thinking?

  Chad says he thinks because he thought I might beg for help or something, which makes no sense to me, but I think Chad just was desperate to explain it.”

  “But you weren’t hurt, right?”

  The girl’s eyes told her that Willow was still traumatized from her experience. “The man he hired broke into my home, killed my animals, and when I found him, threatened me.”

  “But you’re ok. He didn’t actually harm you.” Lynne worked to calm her fury. She had men who would pay for missing this important information.

  “He grabbed me, told me he’d hurt me if I resisted. I nearly shot him.”

  “I wish you would have.”

  Willow’s smile started and then drooped. “He’s dead. It’s a long story, but the man is dead.”

  “Why would Steve—I don’t understand.”

  “I don’t either but I told your husband that if he hurt anyone that I love, someone who has my mother’s journals would plaster them across the newspapers and the internet. Everyone would know what your husband and son did to me—and to my mother.”

  “I feel sick,” Lynne whispered. “I—”

  “I’m sorry, Lynne, but I couldn’t risk anyone else I care about getting hurt. I don’t have much. I can’t lose anymore, and it’s not fair that I put others in danger. That’s why I’m here. If he doesn’t listen and leave us alone, it will happen.” Her green eyes, mirrors of Lynne’s, pleaded for Lynne to understand. “I gave the information to someone trustworthy. Someone that no one would expect. I just don’t want to hurt you by proxy.”

  “You came here to warn me?”

  “Yes. It’s not your fault.”

  This was it. Time to make her move. She sighed, wiping forced tears from her eyes. “I’m never going to be able to have a real friendship with you, am I?” Before Willow could answer, she ran a finger down Willow’s cheek. “You’re so beautiful. You look just like I did twenty five years ago, but there’s something more to it.”

  “I—” Willow tried to move away from her touch. “I’m not ready for that. I can’t make promises, but I will pray about it. I will try to be open. My mother wasn’t afraid of you. I remember once—”

  Sobs wracked Willow’s body. Emotions she’d stuffed for so long spilled out of her. Lynne held her granddaughter for the first time, smoothed her hair, and comforted her. “What did your mama say, sweetheart?”

  “She said that the one thing she was able to do with the right attitude was pray for you, because no mother should have to find out that her son could do such a thing.”

  “It was hard. I felt so terrible—”

  “Don’t. It’s truly not your fault.”

  “I spoiled him. I gave him everything. It made him selfish—”

  “But he was an adult; he made his choices. At some point, you have to accept responsibility for your actions.” With a deep breath, Willow stood. “I have to go. I can’t stay. Maybe in a few months, when we feel safe again, I’ll talk to Chad, and we’ll pray about it all. Maybe I’ll write and see about meeting for dinner somewhere.”

  “I hope so.” Lynne waited until Willow reached the door and then begged her to wait. “I have something. It was my grandmother’s. Just a minute.”

  Racing up the stairs, Lynne paused to ensure Willow still waited and then hurried to her jewelry box. She took an antique cameo locket from a tiny drawer and grabbed a jeweler’s box. She ripped the necklace it held from it and dropped it carelessly on the floor. Seconds later, she flew back down the stairs and handed it to Willow. “For your wedding. You’re supposed to have something old, right? If I can’t be there, maybe a piece of my grandmother can.”

  “I can’t take this! It’s family—”

  “You’re family, Willow. Right now, with everything going on with Steve, you’re almost all the family I have left. You don’t want me now; you may never want me, but I want it to be a reminder that you’re wanted.”

  “But—”

  Lynne squeezed Willow’s hands around the box. “Ok, if you won’t accept it as a gift, then it’ll be old and borrowed. A two for one special. It’s been a long time since I’ve bargained.”

  Mark Weinbecker stood just inside Steve’s office as Lynne entered. “Hello, Steve, we need to talk.”

  “Just outside, Mark.”

  “Yes sir.”

  Steve waited for his wife to reach his side before pulling her into his arms. “Mmm… you smell wonderful. What brings you here?”

  “My granddaughter.”

  “What?”

  “She came to see me, Steve. She told me very interesting things. She’s beginning to trust me, and with all of your stupidity, I guess I have you to thank for that.”

  “Me?”

  Lynne gave her husband a slow smile. “Mmm hmm.” Her kiss distracted him for a moment. She strode across the office and then turned back to him. “Goodbye, Steve. You should have listened to Willow. She’s right, you know. You severely under estimated me.”

  Steve’s eyes widened as she tur
ned, gun facing him, and pulled the trigger. The shot, hit him between the eyebrows, killing him instantly. Calmly, Lynne retraced her steps, looked in disgust at the sight of blood pooling on the carpet, and sighed as she pulled Steve’s gun from his top desk drawer.

  Fabricating panic, she screamed for Mark. As he entered the room, she fired another shot directly into his forehead. She removed extraneous bullets, before firing each one out of the window of Steve’s warehouse window, using each man’s hand to pull the trigger. By the time she left, a crime scene looked authentic enough to be plausible but just quirky enough to leave a little doubt. Steve had always been too eager to make everything too perfect. Nothing looks perfect. Nothing.

  Before she hurried out the doors, Lynne pulled several her hairs from her head and scattered them from the floor to Mark’s sleeve. One she caught in his watchband. Carefully, she removed her gloves and scratched the man’s neck. With the stage set, she drove home. Franco would be calling about the gunshots soon, and she needed to be gone. Timing was everything.

  Chapter Ninety-One

  “Ms. Solari?”

  “Tia, go away,” Lynne snapped, pulling the covers over her ears.

  “But the police—they are here. They say they must speak to you.”

  She struggled to sit up. “What? Is something wrong—police?” The grogginess in Lynne’s voice was genuine. She’d slept like a baby.

  “They say you must come down and talk to them.”

  “Ok, tell them I’ll be down in a few minutes.” Before her housekeeper left, Lynne asked one more question. “Are they looking for Steve? Did he come home last night?”

  “I looked in the garage, Ms. Solari. His car isn’t here. I don’t think he came home. Should I tell them that?”

  “No. I’ll take care of it.”

  As Tia went down to promise her swift arrival, Lynne stared into the mirror. She looked sufficiently sleepy. She jerked her eye mask from her head and yawned. Wrapping a silk robe around her, she stuck her feet in heeled slippers and strolled downstairs. “Good morning, officers. How can I help you?”

  “Perhaps we could sit down?”

  On command, Lynne’s face drained. “What’s wrong? Is it my granddaughter?”

  “Granddaughter?” The officers stared at one another. “Ma’am, I didn’t know you had a granddaughter.”

  “Most people don’t, but I do. Is she ok? I’ve been worried about her—”

  The senior officer stopped her. “Ma’am, I am afraid I have bad news. It’s your husband.”

  “Steve?”

  “He was found dead a little over an hour ago. Someone reported shots fired—”

  What little color that had returned to her face left once more. “Dead? I just saw him an hour or so ago! He was fine.”

  “You saw him?”

  Yes, you idiots. Like you wouldn’t know that. I’m not going to get caught in a lie. “He was fine!” she wailed. “That Mark Weinbecker! I’m going to kill him!”

  “I’m afraid not, ma’am. He’s dead too. Why did you say that?”

  She collapsed sobbing, presumably as the full weight of their words sank in. She’d been careful not to react too quickly. She had to work the situation, and Lynne knew well how to play it perfectly. Regardless, her granddaughter was safe and that was worth it.

  The officers said nothing for a minute or two as she struggled to compose herself. “I suppose you’re here because I was there. I’m a suspect,” she said at last.

  “Well, we’re here to notify you of course, but yes, we do have a few questions.”

  “The spouse is always a suspect. I can’t decide if that’s unfair or just a really sad commentary on our society.” She paused and then lifted tearful eyes to the junior officer. He’d be more sympathetic. “How—I mean, did he suffer?”

  “Single gunshot to the head. Both of them. It looks like they aimed for each other—”

  The senior officer interrupted but not before fresh tears washed over her. “They’ll blame me. I’m going to jail. I need Johnny Cochran. I never thought O.J. was innocent, but now I see how—”

  Her rantings made no sense to the officers. The younger one suggested she get dressed. “We need you to come down to the station to answer some questions, we need an official identification…”

  Lynne forced herself to choke back a sob. At the officer’s repeated insistence, she hurried upstairs to dress. Minutes later, she returned. At the bottom of the stairs, she paused. “I think I should tell you, I scratched him.”

  “Who?”

  “Mark. He grabbed me, Steve was furious, so I started to slap him and then he laughed. I scratched him. I was trying for the eyes, but I was too mad—” She glanced at her fingernails. “I think I washed my hands. I wonder if that’ll help or hurt me?”

  As they placed her in the squad cars, she looked back up at the younger man. “Is he really dead? Couldn’t he just be injured? Did they make sure?”

  The younger man nodded. “They made sure. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

  As he slammed the door shut, the junior officer stared across the top of the car at the other man. Their eyes met and both shrugged. “That was weird,” the older man mouthed.

  Chad burst into his parents’ house at four-thirty Saturday morning. Taking the stairs two at a time, he raced into Willow’s room and shook her awake. “Willow, get up.”

  “Wha—”

  “We’re going home. Now. Let’s go.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ll tell you on the way. You have five minutes to grab whatever stuff you want to grab and come.”

  “I can’t gather everything that fast,” she protested sleepily. “Go away.”

  He reached into her closet, grabbed jeans and a sweater, and tossed them on the bed. “Four and a half minutes. Hurry.”

  Downstairs, he scribbled a note for his parents, hauled as many boxes of the gifts as he could to the cruiser, and seeing Willow at the bottom of the stairs, pointed to the door. “Go, I’ll grab your suitcase.”

  “Wha—”

  Six minutes after Chad entered the house, Willow and Chad sped toward Fairbury, ignoring speed as though there were no laws. While Chad explained his purpose, his parents slept, oblivious to the friendly abduction beneath their roof. At seven o’clock, Christopher poured a cup of coffee and turned to lean against the counter as he’d done thousands of times over the past fifteen years. A note stuck to the fridge chilled him.

  Mom and Dad,

  Steve Solari is dead. His wife is in custody, but they’ll have to let her go unless they can find a way to charge her. Chief Varney is trying to arrange a “look alike” to be at your house by seven or eight. We’re trying to make it look like she’s still there—just a precaution. We got a tip that Willow is on Lynne Solari’s hit list. Don’t worry. We think it’s bogus, but if it’s valid, you guys aren’t safe either. I’m so sorry. We’ll take good care of her, I promise, and whoever they send here will take care of you.

  Don’t call. I’ll call.

  Love you,

  Chad.

  P.S. It goes without saying, but please pray.

  Just outside Fairbury, Chad insisted Willow duck down in the seat, driving down several back streets slowly as though on patrol. “Ok, at the corner, I’m going to stop and pretend to talk on my radio. Take the key,” he passed it to her, “and go down the back alley to my apartment. Make sure you go up the stairs as quietly as possible and let yourself in. If you see anyone, hide.”

  “Are you sure this is necessary?”

  “No. Just do it.”

  Frustrated by the seeming paranoia surrounding everything, Willow slammed the door shut and stalked down the alley to his apartment. Once inside, she nearly slammed the door shut before she remembered that she was supposed to be quiet. She stood, livid and shaking, staring at the door, and then with all of her strength, swung an imaginary door shut. Again. And again. It felt wonderful for several swings, but eventually she just felt
foolish.

  “Aaaahhh…” she clamped her hand over her mouth. “Lord I am going to go crazy here!” Her silent prayer screamed in her mind.

  Exhaustion washed over her. She and Marianne had stayed up until midnight with Cheri, fitting dress pieces to her and getting the basic shape completed. Three and a half hours’ worth of sleep wasn’t sufficient. She eyed Chad’s bed longingly. Would he kill her? She didn’t care. Within seconds, her shoes lay kicked aside and the blankets covered her as she drifted off to sleep almost immediately.

  Chad found her snoring softly when he finally entered the apartment. He stood, for several minutes, fists in pockets and leaning against the doorjamb, watching her sleep. She was going to get herself killed. She was going to get all of them killed.

  His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he stepped outside to answer it. “Chief?”

  “They’re letting her go until after the coroner’s report. They can’t hold her, so they’re acting like they did the routine questioning to satisfy the citizens.”

  “So how safe is Willow?”

  “Officer Moreno is at your house cooking a bunch of nothingness in your mother’s kitchen. You’d better call.”

  Chad disconnected the call and dialed home. This wouldn’t be pleasant. His mother’s frantic, “Where is Willow!” nearly deafened him.

  “Hello to you too, Mom.”

  “Don’t you play games with me, boy. Where is Willow and what the—”

  “Don’t do it Mom, you’ll regret it.” Chad loved it when his mother got in her “mama bear” mode. She was downright adorable.

  “Chadwick—”

  “Elliot Tesdall, you answer me or I’ll—fill in the blank.”

  “Embarrass you at your wedding,” his mother added without a pause.

  “She’s sleeping. She’s out of danger—at the moment anyway. We think we overreacted, but you can’t ignore a tip like that either. Not when someone else close to the threat has just died.”

  Tears filled Marianne’s voice. “Should she go to Libby’s, or—”