by Zoe Carter
Trevor finally stood up, barely able to get the words out. “He pointed the gun at Lauren. I tackled him and tried to get the gun from him. It went off.”
“As I approached the house I saw someone running from the back of the house toward the woods,” Jennifer said. “Who was that? Who else was here?”
“No idea,” Lauren said. “I saw movement at the window and a guy was standing there, watching. Dark hoodie. I couldn’t see his face, but he was tall.”
As Jennifer called in the shooting and asked for an ambulance, Trevor buried his face in his hands.
“Someone else is involved in this,” Lauren said, and Trevor felt a hand on his shoulder.
“Yeah, someone we don’t know. And Carlington can’t exactly tell us who it is.”
* * *
Lauren stood in front of the Carlington mansion, now off-limits to her and Trevor while the cops and crime scene investigators did their thing.
Jennifer came out. “You’re going to have to give statements at the station. Lewton will be frothing over this, so Dad will need every step by the book. Got it?”
Lauren nodded. “Does Maris Carlington know?”
“Dad went to pick her up from the fund-raising dinner she was hosting.”
“He killed my sister,” Trevor said.
Lauren watched Trevor’s knees buckle, and he dropped down in a kneel. She rushed to his side. “I’m so sorry, Trevor,” she whispered. “But we got him. We found Tammy’s killer. It’s what we set out to do.”
Trevor stood, then turned away, his expression so tortured that Lauren knew she had to give him some time and space right now.
Jennifer motioned to two officers and gestured toward the garage bays. As they rose, Trevor got up and walked up the driveway, standing in the center.
The three garage doors opened. A silver Mercedes was in one. A white Lexus in another. And in the third, under a black tarp and behind two other bikes, matching his-and-hers silver cruisers, was a dark blue Trek bike with white lettering.
Trevor buried his head in his hands. Lauren rushed over to him, but he walked away, stopping on the lawn, the heels of his palms against his forehead.
Jennifer upped her chin to the left and moved a few feet away, and Lauren walked over. “Who the hell was the guy watching at the window? Who else is involved?”
“And why?” Lauren asked. “Carlington said he never meant for anything to happen to Tammy or ‘any of them.’ Then he mentioned the ‘other.’ Does he mean the missing girls? And is some other girl missing right now who we don’t know about?”
“What a mess,” Jennifer said. “What are we dealing with here?”
“Carlington also referred to a ‘he,’ but then clammed up. ‘You don’t understand what he—’ God, what did Carlington get himself mixed up in?”
“Something that Tammy Gallagher found out about—and it got her killed.”
Chapter Eighteen
“As Jen noted at the crime scene,” Hayden Blake said outside the autopsy room at the Thornwood Heights morgue, “Marcus Carlington died from a single gunshot wound to the chest. Based on the angle, he actually shot himself. Whether because Trevor was trying to get the gun from him or because Marcus just wanted to end it all, I can’t say.”
Trevor let out a breath. “I wish it was me who’d killed him. Goddamned bastard.”
Lewton moved the toothpick in his mouth from one side to the other. “Oh, trust me. So do I. You’d be in jail now on murder charges out of a twisted need for vengeance.”
Lauren wanted to shove that toothpick down his throat. “Is that on the record, Lewton?”
Lewton sneered at her, then rubbed his jaw, the area where Trevor had slugged him the other day. “Anyway, the case looks cut-and-dried, really. Carlington either came on to Tammy Gallagher or she came on to him, he snapped for whatever reason and killed her. He knew the press, at least, was investigating him, and he got scared. He probably came on to other girls, and that’s who he meant by the others. Friends of Tammy’s who were complaining she was hogging their sugar daddy.”
Trevor’s fists balled, and Lauren reached a hand over to calm him down.
“Lauren and Trevor saw a man watching at the back window,” the chief said. “Who the hell was that? Who else is involved with this?”
“Million-dollar question, Dad,” Jennifer said. “But I’m sure as hell going to find out.”
“You don’t work at the Thornwood Heights PD, Ms. Riley,” Lewton said, his voice ice cold.
“That’s Detective Riley,” Jennifer snapped. “And it’s a free country.”
“I hate that it’s not over,” Trevor said. “Carlington killed my sister, but maybe he was some kind of a pawn. That’s how it sounded anyway.”
Chief Riley touched a hand to Trevor’s shoulder. “We’ll investigate. You have my word. Now let’s get out of here. No offense, Hayden.”
“None taken,” the medical examiner replied.
Lauren didn’t miss the look that passed between her sister and Hayden. Not a “thanks for working so late on the autopsy” kind of look. An “I’m dying to be with you” look. There was something going on between Jennifer and Hayden Blake; Lauren would bet on it.
A Riley and a Blake in love? That would be complicated, to say the least.
As everyone began filing out of the morgue, Lauren realized that Trevor was just standing there, staring at the gray floor, then at the ceiling, then out the window at the inky darkness, at nothing.
“Hey,” she said gently. “My sister won’t stop investigating. She’ll find out who else was involved. And she’ll get him. Just like she got Victor’s real killer.”
He glanced at her and nodded, then looked away again, but started walking to the exit. She slipped her hand out, expecting him to take it. But she wasn’t sure he even noticed. He shoved his hands into his pockets again.
He was gone, she knew, ineffable sadness overwhelming her to the point that she had to stop walking.
Trevor turned around. “Lauren?”
Tears filled her eyes. She swiped at them, refusing to cry. “Is this it?”
He looked at her, long and hard. Then he reached a hand up to her face, his expression half compassionate, half stony.
No. No fucking way. You are not walking away from me. You’re the man my mother would have wanted me to end up with. You’re the good guy. The right guy. The man the new Lauren Riley has finally figured out she’s worth having.
Don’t walk away from me, goddammit. The tears pricked more.
“I’m sorry, Lauren,” he said and walked out into the night, his hands shoved into his pockets.
Thornwood Heights
July 3
by Lauren Riley
At just past 8:00 p.m., Marcus Carlington, sixty-six, of 1220 Thornwood Lane, was found dead in his home from a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the chest during a struggle for the gun that he’d aimed at two witnesses. Under an informal investigation, Carlington implicated himself and an unknown accomplice in the murder of Tammy Gallagher, the eighteen-year-old found strangled in the woods over a month ago. Mr. Carlington leaves behind a widow, Maris Carlington. If anyone has information to provide, please call Lauren Riley at 555-1232 or email her at [email protected].
“Haven’t seen that pretty reporter around here lately,” Mack said as Trevor filled the cattle trough with grain.
Five days, not that he’d noticed, Trevor thought, glancing at Mack. The man was focused on washing Myrtle, the heifer they’d bought that morning from an auction. Trevor now had 112 head of cattle and twenty-four bulls, plus over six sheep and a bunch of goats. He and Mack and CJ were in the breeding business and had started a dairy farm, CJ very interested in specialty cheeses.
The grain was heavy, and the har
d work suited Trevor. Daily life on the ranch kept his mind off town and Lauren. He was done with it all. Inside he felt numb. What he needed to know was that he’d found justice for Tammy. But the case wasn’t completely solved. Not with a possible accomplice out there.
Except when she’d been questioned by police, Maris Carlington had said that yes, she could see poor Marcus, who did like to “look at pretty young women,” snapping in a rage. Apparently, the man was easily frustrated and yelled at her a lot. Between what Carlington had said to Trevor and Lauren at his house and Maris’s statement, the Thornwood Heights Police Department had closed the case. Marcus Carlington had killed Tammy Gallagher. Chief Riley had come out to the ranch and told Trevor all this two days ago.
“Look,” the chief had said. “We know someone else is involved. But Carlington pretty much confessed, so officially the case is closed. I’ve given Jennifer unofficial license to investigate the missing girls and who the accomplice might be. Jen will get him. Trust us.”
Trust us. Right. And how the hell could Trevor find peace with the case closed but the door slightly ajar?
“The case is closed,” Trevor told Mack as he spread the grain evenly. “Lauren and I were working together to solve it when the police wouldn’t. It was a professional relationship. That’s it. So now I’m back to focusing on the ranch. You think we should move the herd up to higher pasture and spread out hay or wait a couple more days?”
Mack shook his head. “You’re crazy if you let her go. You love that woman.”
Trevor glanced down at the grain sifting through his hands. Yeah, he did. So what?
The truth didn’t matter, right?
Chapter Nineteen
Lauren sat on her bed and tossed her phone beside her, trying to appear nonchalant since her sisters were in her bedroom, and they were supposed to be planning a surprise birthday party for their dad. A week had passed since she’d last seen Trevor, and he hadn’t responded to a single text or call. Everything went to voice mail or remained unanswered. She’d texted him a simple “thinking of you” this morning and had gotten radio silence.
He wasn’t thinking of her. He was done with her. He’d told her how it was going to be, and she hadn’t listened. Or she had and thought she could handle it. She couldn’t.
Tears started streaming down Lauren’s cheeks.
“Lauren?” Jennifer said. Her sister rushed over with a box of tissues from Lauren’s desk. She sat down next to her on the bed. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing new. Got dumped is all,” Lauren said, tears falling down her face in what had to be an award-winning ugly cry. “It’s been a week and he won’t talk to me, won’t answer my texts or calls.” She buried her face in her hands.
Nova sat on the other side of Lauren and put an arm around her. “Sorry, honey.”
“I finally found him,” Lauren said. “The real thing. Someone who makes you want to be a better person. How can this be over?”
“Maybe it just needs some time,” Jennifer said. “The romance, I mean. The case is closed and not closed. It’s weird, Lauren. Trevor never really got a chance to grieve and now he’s still stuck in a holding pattern.”
“I wish he’d let me in,” Lauren said.
Nova squeezed Lauren’s hand.
“ARNF,” Jennifer whispered.
Lauren looked at Jennifer. “What?”
“ARNF. Abby Blake used to write that about our friendship, like in the yearbook. ‘Always remember, never forget.’ That’s where Trevor is right now. In the grip of that.”
Yeah. He was. Maybe she just had to give Trevor some time. Either he’d come to her or he wouldn’t.
She glanced at Jennifer, who seemed to be a million miles away. Thinking about her old best friend. Who she had always remembered and never forgot.
“You’re going to find out what happened to Abby, Jen. I believe that.”
Jennifer stood and turned away. “Dad told me a few weeks ago that Abby came to the house looking for me the night she disappeared.” Her voice caught for a moment, and she sucked in a breath. “He told her I wasn’t here—which I wasn’t—and she was never seen again.”
“What?” Lauren asked, bolting up. “Abby Blake came to the house that night? Why didn’t Dad ever say anything about that?”
Jennifer dropped back down on the edge of the bed. “He was afraid that Connor Blake might think he had something to do with Abby’s disappearance. Payback for stopping Mom’s cancer treatment.”
“Oh God,” Nova said, shaking her head.
“Dad said that Abby looked desperate and scared,” Jennifer said, her voice smaller than Lauren had ever heard it. “He told Abby to leave. He didn’t know that something might have been really wrong. He thought it was just typical teenage drama. But Abby was never seen again after that.”
Lauren dropped back down on the bed. “Oh, Dad.”
Jennifer turned to face her, then looked at Nova. “I don’t need to tell either of you this stays in the vault. Off the record, Lauren.”
“You have my word.”
Jennifer stood up and moved to the window. “I’m continuing my investigation in Abby’s disappearance full-throttle. Everything is connected. Tammy. The man at the window at Carlington’s. The missing girls. Abby. I don’t know what terrible truths are going to come out, but I’m sure things will.”
Once again, Lauren had the itchy feeling that her sister wasn’t telling them everything she knew. There was something else, something driving her. “Jen, what aren’t you telling us?”
Her sister looked out the window, then turned to her and Nova. “Someone has been sending me anonymous, cryptic texts. ‘It’s not over.’ ‘Keep looking.’ Stuff like that. I didn’t know what to make of it until another text said ARNF.”
Lauren gasped. “That has to be Abby! That means she’s alive. She’s reaching out to you.”
“Why wouldn’t she just really reach out, though?” Nova asked. “Call or say, yes, it’s me, Jen, and I need your help or whatever.”
“Because I don’t think Abby can come out of the woodwork or wherever she’s been all these years,” Jennifer said. “Something is making her stay hidden. And I’m going to find out what.”
“Keep me informed?” Lauren asked.
Jennifer nodded. “I will. That’s a promise.”
“Let’s get back to planning Dad’s party before we actually forget what we came up here for,” Nova said.
That seemed to come as a relief to all three Riley sisters. Lauren couldn’t help but notice that she and Jennifer weren’t the only ones distracted at the moment. Nova seemed to have a lot on her mind. But her private eldest sister kept her personal life to herself; she always had. One good thing had come from the past month and all the ups and downs. The Riley sisters had gotten closer. And they would get closer still. With time.
As Nova, ever efficient, took birthday-party-planning meeting minutes, and Jennifer nixed a chocolate-layer cake in favor of a healthier carrot cake, which was negligible, especially with buttercream frosting, Lauren’s contribution was the perfect suggestion for a gift: a new flat-screen TV to hang on the wall in front of their dad’s favorite recliner, so he could watch the Cubs and The Tonight Show in total comfort.
“Remember to comparison shop,” Nova said to Lauren.
“Gotcha,” Lauren said.
The word remember caught in her thoughts. Remember, remember, remember. She closed her eyes for a moment, and what was at the forefront of her memory was Trevor’s face the last time she’d seen him. The grief and the pain and anguish. A man torn apart.
Always remember, never forget.
She bolted up, an idea forming.
A great idea.
* * *
At just after noon the next day, Lauren drove to Trev
or’s ranch, a white trailer hitched to her car.
As she got closer to the house, she could see Trevor hanging saddles in the barn. He turned at the sound of her car and came out, hands in his pockets. He wore a dark brown Stetson, and she could barely see his face. God, she wanted to see his face.
Please let this have been the right decision, she thought. She believed in her heart it was. But Lauren had once been the queen of mistakes, bright ideas that turned out to be ill thought-out lapses in judgment.
He tipped back the hat, the sun lighting his blue eyes. “Hey.”
She was so overcome at the sight of him standing right before her that she could barely manage a “Hey” back.
He glanced behind her car. “What’s in the trailer?”
“Come see,” she said, getting out. He followed her around to the back of the trailer. She opened the latches and the silver doors swung open.
Trevor looked inside and gasped. “Alpacas.”
“You said Tammy had names all picked out for the ones she wanted to get someday. Superman and Lois Lane. The one on the left with the bigger poof of fluff looks like a Lois Lane, don’t you think?”
He stared at the furry white creatures with their long necks and short pointy ears. The alpacas tilted their heads at him. Lauren smiled at them. They were funny looking and absolutely beautiful. Majestic and comical.
Her heart was beating out of her chest. He’s going to tell me to take them back to wherever I got them from.
Tears pricked the backs of her eyes and her throat went dry. “Can’t you just see a little red cape hanging on that other one’s neck?” she asked, pointing. “With a big red S.” She tried to smile but it faltered.
“Did you know that the S doesn’t stand for Superman?” Trevor said.
She stared at him. “What? It doesn’t? Of course it does.”
He shook his head. “Nope. The S is the Kryptonian symbol for hope.”
“Hope?”
He nodded. “Hope.” He turned back to the alpacas and stared at them for a moment. “There’s no hope where Tammy is concerned. I mean, she’s not coming back. But her life meant something, Lauren. She meant something. I want to honor her somehow. Maybe with these weird-looking guys. I can start an alpaca farm in her memory. Did you know that alpaca wool is used for all kind of clothes and hats and bags?”
