“Just windows,” Frances said. “You’d have to break them, they don’t open.”
“And they must be boarded up,” Kinsey added.
“I’m going to look around,” Zane said. “You two stay here.” He didn’t miss the uneasy look that passed between the women as he turned the knob on the door. It had been locked from the outside. Shoving his shoulder against it, he applied thrust and weight and heard the gratifying sound of an old lock giving up.
The lights were off in the basement, so he moved slowly to avoid running into something. He wouldn’t chance the stairs for the simple reason it was obvious the door at the top was closed. Opening that door and walking into the kitchen seemed foolhardy at best. If he was shot, Kinsey and Frances would be sitting ducks.
He stood there for a second, trying to orient himself. The washroom was at the back of the house, but this part of the basement was right under the living area. He needed to be quieter now than he’d been before. He felt his way carefully to the outside wall and reached up to feel the rough texture of old wood. Sure enough, someone had nailed boards over the glass.
After numerous attempts and failures, he finally found one board that wasn’t nailed in as well as the others. He pushed a nearby box beneath the window to improve leverage and managed to pull and twist it free. That provided adequate light to see that there were four windows in a row, all boarded up. Each was about eighteen inches high and a couple of feet long. He needed to find a tool to help himself and fumbled around for several moments until an old golf club caught his attention.
And that’s when he heard a tapping noise coming from the window he’d partially uncovered. The noise came again and he realized it originated outside. He had no idea who or what he’d find, but as he didn’t have a whole lot to lose, he used the gold club to pop off another board.
A man had crouched down to be able to see through the window. Zane couldn’t believe it when the heavily shadowed figure materialized into Detective Woods. Woods pantomimed his reluctance to talk, pointing overhead. Zane realized they were directly under the kitchen.
And yet, this was something of a miracle and what was the saying, fortune favors the bold? Using the head of the golf club, he tapped on the glass until it shattered, wincing at the noise it made. The windows were from before the age of safety glass and jagged pieces gleamed like vampire fangs. He took off his jacket and tried to brush some of them away as Woods leaned in close.
“I came looking for you when you didn’t show up at the impound yard or my office,” he said. “After the last week or so, I figured almost anything could have happened.”
“James Fenwick and the man Kinsey knew as Ryan Jones are upstairs and they’re armed. They’re behind everything. They’re waiting until dark to get rid of us. We have to get out of here.”
“I knocked on the door first,” Woods said. “No one answered, but I knew they were in there and that got me curious. When I saw your rental parked down the block, I decided to do a little snooping. These boarded-up windows looked suspicious. Where are the others? Anyone hurt?”
“They’re close by. I’ll get them.”
“Hurry. I’ll call for backup and work on this glass.”
Zane rushed back to the washroom. He found Kinsey and her grandmother standing apart, not looking at each other. “Come on,” he urged. “We have a way out.”
They didn’t need coaxing. The three of them arrived back at the window to find that Woods had draped his suit coat over the sill. Zane helped Frances climb on top of the box. With Zane shoving from behind while Woods pulled from outside, Frances twisted her body sideways to fit through the jagged opening. She was almost out when a startled scream jumped from her throat. She swallowed it back almost immediately. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I cut my leg.”
“We’ll take care of it in a minute,” Woods said. “Stay low and quiet.” He turned back to Zane. “Let me work on this piece of glass before Kinsey and you come through.”
“Hurry,” Zane urged as Kinsey stepped onto the box. He caught her hand and pressed it against his lips. “I love you,” he said.
As she looked down at him, a smile spread her beautiful ruby lips. “I love you, too.”
“I think I got it,” Woods said. “Give it a try.”
As she began to hoist herself up, Zane heard a noise coming from the top of the stairs. The door was still closed, but the light came on. Zane ran for the stairs, climbing two at a time, rushing as fast as he could. If either man entered the stairwell, they’d catch Kinsey in the act of leaving. He had to stop them.
James appeared right as Zane burst into the kitchen. Zane slugged him square on the jaw and caught his shoulders as he slumped. The other door opened. Ryan paused midstep, but he recovered quickly and the semiautomatic he’d flaunted in the basement appeared in his hand. Zane did the only thing he could think to do to keep from taking a bullet in the gut. He shoved James Fenwick at Ryan with every ounce of strength he still possessed.
The gun went off before both men hit the floor. Zane was already in motion, following them. When he caught a glimpse of the gun in Ryan’s hand, he kicked as hard as he could. The gun spun across the room.
Zane scrambled to retrieve it and held it on Ryan as Ryan shoved James’s limp body off of his. They stared at each other while a pounding on the stairs preceded Detective Woods’s abrupt arrival in the kitchen, weapon drawn. “You’re bleeding,” he said after a quick survey.
Zane glanced down at his side. His white shirt was stained red where the bullet that had killed James Fenwick had apparently passed through his body and nicked Zane’s rib cage. “Just a graze.”
“Please, sit down before you fall down. I’ve got him.”
Zane shook his head. “Not until I see Kinsey.”
“She’ll be out front by now.”
Zane stepped around James Fenwick’s body without a second glance. He opened the front door and saw Kinsey and Frances standing next to a squad car. Kinsey turned. For the first time in over two years he felt whole and complete again.
And the reason was running toward him.
*
“I’M NERVOUS,” KINSEY ADMITTED as Zane turned onto ranch land. He stopped his truck in front of his father’s house. To the world, legally, they were Sandra and Gerard, but to each other, the old names were the ones they used.
“I don’t blame you, sweetheart,” he said, “but I think you’ll like Grace when you get to know her.”
Even as he spoke, the side door opened and a delicate-looking woman with graying brown hair appeared. Kinsey didn’t need anyone to tell her that she was looking at her mother, who rushed out onto the porch and then stopped. She clasped her hands together and held them against her chest as though struggling to keep her heart from leaping from her body.
Kinsey got out of the truck and walked up the stairs. She wasn’t sure what to say or how to act. Even thinking of anyone other than Frances as her mother felt wrong somehow.
Grace reached out and took Kinsey’s hands. “Sandra,” she said softly. “Oh, my dear, I can hardly believe it’s you.”
They sat down on the narrow bench, searching each other’s faces. Finally Grace cleared her throat. “How is my mother holding up? I know it’s been two weeks since, well, everything happened. I wanted to come to New Orleans, but I wasn’t sure it was the right thing to do...”
“Please,” Kinsey said softly. “It’s okay. It’s been a really busy two weeks. Anyway, Frances is being extradited back to Idaho. I’m not sure what charges they’ll bring against her. It’s hard for me to believe she actually murdered my father.”
Grace’s grip on Kinsey’s hands tightened. “About that...you need to understand something. I was different back then. Selfish and stupid...into drugs...my marriage was a joke. Greg was...difficult and high all the time. He kept making me ask my mother for money and she always came through, except for the last time, when she refused. She said we needed to grow up and take care of our baby, get
sober...of course, she was right.”
They were talking about Frances, or technically, Mary. Kinsey had to constantly remind herself about the truth of the relationships she’d taken for granted her entire life. The falsehoods and lies still roamed her mind and heart like a pride of caged lions.
“That last day I was passed out in the bedroom,” Grace continued. “Greg and you were in the living room. The police said he’d just finished cleaning his gun. All the supplies were still on the table. And he was high as usual. Mom came to the house to pick you up and take you back to her place. She took care of you a lot, almost all the time. Anyway, Greg was furious with her for not giving us the money we’d asked for. They got into an argument... I know because their yelling woke me up. You wouldn’t stop crying. It was terrible.
“I tried to get up to help, but I couldn’t get my balance...I was too wasted. I heard Greg tell my mother to leave. She pleaded with him to let her take you with her, that you were crying and needed a clean diaper. He said she would never see you again, period. Again I tried to get control of myself, but I couldn’t focus. Your cries became screams. I guess Greg took out his aggression on the most innocent person in the room. My mother shouted for Greg to stop hitting you. She begged him. And then there was a gunshot...it got real quiet.”
“You don’t have to finish this,” Kinsey said in a shaky voice.
Grace swallowed hard. “Yes, I do. Eventually I made it out to the living room. Greg lay on the floor, his revolver next to him. The door was wide open. You and my mother were gone.”
Kinsey wiped tears off her cheeks. Zane was suddenly standing beside her. He handed her a clean folded handkerchief. A sense of peace flooded her body as he gently smoothed her hair.
“I’m sorry to have to tell you all this,” Grace whispered. “I’m sorry you have to know what your father and I were like. I didn’t protect you. My mother did in the only way she thought she could. I want you to know that I’ve spoken with the district attorney and begged him to consider all the facts before he brings her to trial. But if it comes to that, I’ll speak out for her.”
“Thank you for being so honest,” Kinsey mumbled, and then she spontaneously hugged her mother. “I know it can’t be easy for you,” she added.
Her mother straightened up but kept her hands around Kinsey’s. “I don’t expect you to forgive me or your grandmother for what we’ve done to your life, but please know it wasn’t intentional. Until two weeks ago, I thought both of you were dead. When I got that letter and Gerard agreed to go see what he could find out, I never dreamed I was sending him into such danger. I just had to know. I’ve lived my life in shame and guilt.”
“I think you both have,” Kinsey said. “Maybe it’s time to stop.”
Grace hugged Kinsey this time and that caused a new flood of tears. Finally she spoke again. “I’ve talked to your father, Gerard, and he promises me we’ll help my mother financially. How do we go about getting decent legal help?”
“It’s taken care of,” Zane said. “The lawyer who drew up Bill’s will made sure the inheritance came to her. His practice will defend her if it comes to trial. As for finances, there was a room built behind library shelves crammed with art and old books, antiques, even a crusty old trunk of gold doubloons—Bill was quite a collector. She’ll be okay.”
“And the man who almost killed you?”
“Which time?” Zane asked with a fleeting smile. “The lawyer pushed me into the street and tried to choke me in the hospital, Ryan threw a toolbox on top of us and forced us into the slough.”
“I was thinking about the shooting.”
“Ah, Ryan. Aka, Chad Dodge, Kevin Lester and a bunch of other names. The police have enough on him to keep him behind bars for decades.”
Someone inside the house yelled Grace’s name and Kinsey stood. “Is that Lily?” she asked. “I’ve been worried about her.”
Chance showed up in the open door. “Don’t you know?” he asked. “Lily is gone. She left the same day you and Gerard did.”
“Where did she go?” Kinsey asked.
Chance shook his head. “Just took off. Her and Charlie both. I don’t know where they went. Frankly, I don’t care.”
They all looked at each other for a long moment, Chance’s last declaration hanging in the air like acrid smoke. And then Zane put his arm around his brother’s shoulder and Chance’s bravado slipped off his face.
Kinsey closed her eyes for a moment, unable to bear any more emotion. She heard retreating footsteps as everyone apparently went inside the house, but a second later, familiar hands clasped hers and pulled her against his chest. She opened her eyes and looked up at Zane.
“Let’s go home,” he said as he leaned down to kiss her.
“That sounds wonderful,” she whispered against his lips.
Home. At last.
*
Alice Sharpe’s miniseries,
THE BROTHERS OF HASTINGS RIDGE RANCH, continues later this year.
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Chapter One
The rain had finally stopped. Zachary Winter turned off the windshield wipers of his rental car as he passed the city limits sign for Bonne Chance, Louisiana. Now that the sun had come out, steam rose like tendrils of smoke from the blacktop road and clung to the windshield like shower spray on a mirror. He put the wipers on Intermittent. Rain in south Louisiana was seldom a relief, no matter what the season. Even in April, when most of the country was experiencing spring weather, an afternoon thunderstorm might cool the heat-soaked roads enough for steam to rise, but the tepid, humid air never seemed to change.
The last time he’d been here, in his hometown of Bonne Chance, was more than a decade ago. The name Bonne Chance was French for Good Luck. His mouth twisted with irony. Had his sad little hometown ever been good luck for anybody? He’d certainly never intended to come back. And the reason he was here now was not his choice.
He drove past two national chain grocery stores and a Walmart. “Well, Bonne Chance,” he muttered, “I guess you’ve arrived if Walmart thinks you’re worthy of notice.”
As he turned onto Parish Road 1991, better known as Cemetery Road, a pang hit his chest, part anxiety, part grief and part dread. He’d intended to get into town in time for Tristan DuChaud’s funeral. Tristan had been his best friend since before first grade.
As he rounded a curve, he spotted the dark green canopy that contrasted with the dull granite of the aboveground tombs peculiar to south Louisiana. From this distance, he couldn’t read the white letters on the canopy, but he knew what they said: CARVER FUNERAL HOME, Serving Bonne Chance for Over Forty Years.
He parked on the shoulder of the road, glanced at his watch, then lowered the driver’s-side window. The air that immediately swirled around his head and filled the car was suffocatingly familiar, superheated and supersaturated from the rain.
One hundred percent humidity. Now, there was a hard concept to explain to someone who’d never been to the Deep South. How the air could be completely saturated with water and yet no rain would fall. He usually described it as similar to breathing in a sauna. But that wasn’t even close.
The air down here felt heavy and thick. Within seconds, a combination of sweat and a strange, invisible mist made everything you wore and everything you touched damp. And with the sun out and drawing steam from people as well as roads and metal surfaces, it could be disturbingly hard to breathe.
Getting out of the car, Zach shrugged his shoulders, trying to peel the damp material of his white cotton shirt away from his skin, but he knew that within seconds it would be stuck again. Then he took off his sunglasses. They had fogged up immediately when the damp heat hit them. Without their protection, however, the sun’s glare made it almost impossible to see. He shaded his eyes and squinted at the small group of people who were gathered around the funeral home’s canopy. Most of them were dressed in black. The men had removed their jackets and hung them over the backs of the metal folding chairs set up under the canopy.
He wished he could leave his jacket in the car but that was out of the question. He’d always found it more efficient to travel armed, in his official capacity as a National Security Agency investigative agent. Today, though, a storm had hit New Orleans about a half hour before the plane’s arrival time and not even his high-security clearance could clear the runway in time for him to rent a car and make it to Bonne Chance for Tristan’s funeral service. It looked as though he’d barely made it to the graveside in time.
He grabbed the jacket and put it on, then blew on the sunglasses to dry the condensation. He held them up to the light for inspection and put them back on.
As he walked toward the stately aboveground tomb that held at least three generations of the DuChaud family, he tried to sort out the people gathered there. Townspeople, family, friends like himself. But his sunglasses were fogging up again.
He approached slowly, breathing in the smell of freshly turned earth that mixed with the fishy, slightly moldy smell of the bayou, an unforgettable odor he’d grown up with and hadn’t missed for one second in the thirteen years since he’d been gone.
Alice Sharpe Page 19
