by Jan Coffey
At some point during the hasty packing job, Gwen had come upstairs. Joanna didn’t slow down, ignoring her older sister.
“How long are you planning to be gone?”
“Forever,” Joanna replied, keeping all hostility out of her voice.
“What about the flower shop? I can’t run that alone.”
“I told you before. It’s yours. Do what you want with it.”
“What are you planning to do with your life?”
“That’s my business, isn’t it?”
“You can’t just stay at home and let him take care of you.”
“Him has a name. His name is Andrew.” Joanna’s eyes were blazing when she looked up. “You know, it would have been a lot easier for me to come and take my things sometime when you weren’t home.”
Now that the floodgate was open, she couldn’t hush the arguments inside her head.
“It actually would have been a lot less stressful not to have to see you ever again. I could have pulled a Cate and just walked away without ever saying goodbye. But I thought, what the heck, out of respect for you, we could both have a little closure. I’d even hoped we could walk away without hating each other. Without carrying grudges that would last a decade. But, once again, Gwen, you’ve managed to prove me wrong.”
Joanna zipped the case closed. She dragged the suitcase off the bed and went out through the door, giving her sister no more attention than the molding on the wall.
“What about me?”
Joanna found herself frozen at the top of stairs. It was not the question but the sadness in the voice that stopped her.
“I’ve focused my whole life on Cate…and you…and the business. I don’t know what it’s like to be alone. I don’t know what to do with me.”
She looked into her sister’s tearstained face. “You will survive, Gwen. In fact, I believe you will thrive.”
The older woman shook her head and sank down on the floor, her back to the wall.
“I’m scared, Jo,” she whispered. “I don’t even know who I am…or what I want to do. And I’m too old to make mistakes.”
Joanna left her suitcase at the top of the stairs and walked back to her sister. She crouched down beside the weeping woman.
“Even though you act like some Victorian prude, you are not old, Gwen. You are only forty-one. God, that can be the beginning of a life! And who says there’s anything wrong with making mistakes? For crying out loud, make some! Experience things. Take a trip. Sell the house and the business and go out and travel around the world. Find who you are. Find a cause to fight for. Have sex, for chrissake! None of that has to be a mistake…and who will care if it is?”
Joanna wiped the tears off her sister’s face.
“I can’t give you answers. But I can tell you that you can’t hide behind me and Cate forever.”
She stood up and walked back to her suitcase.
“Does this have to be it?” Gwen asked. “Can’t you and I still be sisters?”
Joanna looked back at her. “I honestly don’t know.”
“Do you think…do you think Andrew would mind if I stopped by and visited with you two sometime?”
Joanna stared at Gwen for a long time, feeling the years of anger and frustration draining away.
“No, Gwen. I don’t think he’ll mind. And I won’t mind, either.”
Picking up her case, she went down the stairs, out the door, and along the walk to the waiting car.
“I love the smell of those roses,” Joanna said as she handed Andrew the suitcase.
Chapter 33
“Don’t you think we might be setting a bad precedent, doing all this cooking and baking and spoiling him like this?”
“No, I don’t think so. Check the cookies.” Léa handed a pot holder to Heather. “After running in a dozen different directions for me in the past week, your father could use a little spoiling.”
“Okay, but remember, you could be burning your own bridges here. I just don’t want to hear any complaints from you three years from now when I’m in college, about kids and housework and Dad not doing his share.”
Léa smiled and turned the burner down under the pot of boiling water she had ready for lobsters. “You are kind of assuming a lot, aren’t you?”
“Another minute or so on these cookies.” Heather slid the tray back in the oven and gave Léa a bear hug. “So when is the wedding? When? When?”
Léa returned the embrace. “We haven’t even talked about it.”
And they might not for a while yet, she thought. Not while Ted’s case was still unresolved.
Things were moving well, though. In the past week, Sarah had been able to get a petition for a new trial approved. And while they were waiting, they’d been able to get Ted transferred to a hospital to get him ready. It had given Léa great joy to visit him there every day this week and see the progress he was making.
Chris Webster’s lawyers, however, had pretty much shut down any further information from him. Though the prosecutor was still working on connecting him to the deaths of Marilyn and her children, the murders of Jason Shanahan and Dusty were clearly tied to him. Of course, there were the lesser charges of destruction of property with regard to the cottage at the Lion Inn, as well as the vandalism of Léa’s house, but those were the least of his worries.
Ted’s murder conviction was still the main thing on Léa’s mind. Sarah had assured her that the fact that Bob Slater’s decision to take the stand voluntarily as a witness for Ted, along with Chris’s apparent guilt, would pretty much mean that Ted would go free. But Léa was still not ready to relax until she saw that really happen.
“You two are not going to elope or anything, are you?” Heather asked.
“If we do, we’ll make sure we take you along.”
“And my grandparents. Dad is the only kid, you know. They’d be so excited to come to the wedding!”
“I can’t wait to see them again.”
“And how about Ted? Wouldn’t you want him to be at your wedding?”
At the very thought of it, Léa felt her throat close up with emotion. She nodded.
“Yes. I’d love to have him there.”
“Dad said the doctors are really hopeful.”
“Ted will always carry mental scars from his loss. But they think he’ll soon be able to function in society, at least. After that, it’s up to him…and up to us to help him, as well.”
Heather smiled and reached into the oven for the cookies. Léa went back to setting the table. Tonight was for Mick, she reminded herself. He’d been everything to her during this ordeal. Her support. Her strength. He had put his own life and job and everything else on hold to help her. To be there for her.
God, she loved him! If she had the power to spoil him for life, she would.
The cookie jar crashed to the floor.
“Jeez! Dad loves that thing. I can’t believe I dropped it.”
“No big deal.” Léa pushed the excited dog aside, crouched down, and started picking up the larger pieces of the ceramic jar. “This gives us an excuse for you and me to go shopping tomorrow. We can buy him new one as a present.”
Since getting their hair done together, shopping with Léa had become one of Heather’s passions. Léa knew it wasn’t what they bought that drew the teenager, but the personal connection they were making.
“Don’t cut your hand. I’ll get the dust pan and the broom.”
Heather ran toward the small pantry but reappeared immediately.
“I left them in the kitchen at your house,” she said, grabbing Léa’s keys off the counter and running out the back door. “I’ll be right back.”
~~~~
With the sun falling in the west, the shadows lay long and heavy across the yard. The sounds of the day were giving way to the silence of evening, and the coolness of the earth was beginning to rise. In the deep shadow of the carriage house, imposing in its decay, the trespasser stood and watched the two houses and waited.
It wasn’t long before the unholy demon came out of one house and ran blithely across the lawn. The keys in her hand jangled as she mounted the steps, unlocked the door, and went in.
Moving noiselessly, the shadow stepped out of the darkness and crossed the lawn to the house.
~~~~
Léa dropped the larger pieces of the broken jar in the trashcan. As she reached for paper towels, her gaze was drawn to the window over the sink. She saw Heather on the back porch of the house next door. The teenager unlocked the back door and went in. A second later the overhead light in the kitchen went on.
“I see you eyeing those crumbs,” she warned Max over her shoulder. The dog was lurking a couple of steps away. She pushed the tray of cookies back from the edge of the counter and suddenly a movement from the other house caught her eye. She stared into the kitchen window across the way in horror.
The blade of the knife flashed as it arced through the air before sinking into Heather’s back.
“No!” she screamed.
As she raced out the back door and across the lawn, her feet hardly touched the ground. She leaped up the back steps and tore open the door.
“Please,” she sobbed. “No.”
She burst into the house and saw Heather lying face down in her own blood on the kitchen floor. She wasn’t moving.
Another memory blinded her momentarily. The image of her mother, lying dead in her own blood, in this same kitchen.
She’d been too late that day, as well.
Léa saw the descending blade and turned, just as Patricia Webster brought the knife down. Her arms shot up in defense, and sharp pain cut through her as the woman struck again and again. Léa’s arms spewed blood from deep slashes on her forearms.
“No!”
~~~~
“Oh, it’s you.” Marilyn turned on the kitchen light. “I told your husband on the phone this morning. There was no need for you to come here.”
She went to the stove and turned on the light above it.
“That is, so long as the two of you shut your mouths during my divorce hearing on Monday, you won’t get any more surprise packages of pictures. And neither will—”
“You told me you’d stop touching Chris. You had him here last night.”
“He’s the one doing all the touching these days. Chris has a wonderful talent.” Marilyn laughed. “One of these days, I should extend an invitation to your husband, too. It’ll be something to get the two of them going at me at the same time. Maybe I’ll send you some pictures.”
She turned to gauge the woman’s reaction. Instead, she only saw the blade of the knife flashing down at her.
~~~~
Chris’s mother raised the knife to strike again, but Léa kicked her hard and stumbled backward herself.
“Why?” she gasped, facing the woman.
Despite her small size, Patricia Webster was strong and quick. She raised the kitchen knife again. “I killed her once, but she came back again to abuse my boy. I’ll kill her again.”
The knife sliced toward her, and Léa jumped to the side, but the blade still managed to pierce the flesh of her bicep.
Heather made a small noise on the floor, and Patricia turned.
“You will not take my Christopher away again. I’ll kill you first.”
Léa threw herself against the woman, grabbing hold of her wrist. The two of them landed hard on the kitchen floor, but Patricia’s grip on the knife never loosened.
“I won’t let you,” Léa panted, pummeling the woman’s face with a bloody fist. “I won’t let you.”
The knife cut her somewhere high on her shoulder, but Léa was beyond feeling pain. Her body was covered with blood—her vision blurred with tears—but she could not give up the fight. Like a wild creature, she used her fist and her legs, anything to stop the she-devil from taking Heather’s life. Grabbing hold of the woman’s hair, she pounded Patricia’s head on the floor.
At some point, the knife dropped from the woman’s hand, but Léa didn’t stop. She continued to bang the head on the floor until she realized, some time later, that her enemy was no longer moving.
“Léa—” Heather whispered weakly from the other side of the kitchen.
It was only then—after hearing that voice—that Léa allowed herself to fall forward and give in to the pain.
Chapter 34
“Neither of us is going to look too good in a bathing suit this summer.”
Mick saw Léa laugh at Heather’s quip, and his heart soared with joy. He’d come so close to losing both of them yesterday. Fear had chilled him when he’d walked into his empty house, then turned to horror when he’d gone to Léa’s backdoor and seen all the blood. The police, the ambulances, the emergency room doctors—none of them could have moved fast enough for him.
Heather’s injuries had consisted of a stab wound along the shoulder blade and a bruise on the head from the fall that had more than likely saved her life. Léa, on the hand, had more than twenty cuts up and down her arms and shoulders. She’d lost a lot of blood.
Patricia Webster had suffered a concussion, but Mick was having a little difficulty mustering any sympathy. She was already out of the hospital and in the custody of the police.
Two years of lies had come undone in one night.
Chris had confessed, over his lawyers’ efforts to stop him.
His mother was too insane to care about consequences, and her version of the night of Marilyn’s murder had spilled out in her hospital bed as her husband sat by, holding her hand.
The pieces all fell together in Mick’s head.
Patricia Webster had stabbed Marilyn to death. Chris had arrived in time to see his mother leave. Entering the house and witnessing what his mother had done, he had set the place on fire to cover his mother’s crime. Killing the two little girls had been unintentional, but their murders were being added to the charges against him. According to Rich Weir, the prosecutor was considering trying him as an adult.
Bob Slater and Ted had both arrived after the fact.
For two years, Reverend Webster had known that his family’s troubles ran deep, but he had chosen silence and prayer as his only course of action.
Mick closed his eyes and sent his own silent prayer of thanks heavenward for his family having been spared.
Family. His gaze locked with Léa’s. Her hands were bandaged, but she reached for him anyway from the hospital bed.
“You can just let those lines in your forehead relax, my love,” she whispered. “We’re okay.”
“I know.” He brushed a kiss across her lips. “I love you. And you still owe me some answers.”
“Well, I’m selling the house. Betty Walters called while you were at the police station. Some crazy writer wants to buy it.”
“I’m looking for other answers,” he persisted.
“Well? We’re waiting.” Heather said. The teenager’s arm was in a sling, and she sat down on the other side of the bed.
Léa smiled and looked from Mick to Heather and back to him. “Yes.”
Sling or no sling, Heather’s shouts woke up every hospital patient in Stonybrook.
Author’s note
We hope you enjoyed Twice Burned and are now ready to spend some quality time in beautiful Bucks County on your next vacation in Pennsylvania. It’s perfectly safe. The murders have been solved, and the fictional town of Stonybrook has been neatly folded and put away in our imaginations. So enjoy your trip.
As most of our May McGoldrick readers already know, we delight in occasionally bringing you glimpses of characters from our past novels, and we loved doing it here. In Trust Me Once, we had the pleasure of introducing Owen Dean and Sarah Rand.
We’d like to thank our readers for their continuous support of our Jan Coffey and May McGoldrick books, and for their delightful question, ‘When is the next book coming out?’ We love you.
In addition to our readers, we’d also like to thank Chief Paul T. Dickinson of the Perkasie (Pennsylvan
ia) Police Department for all his enthusiastic help with our thousand or so questions. We salute, as well, the Perkasie Police Department, who we are happy to say were NOT the model for Stonybrook’s finest. We also want to thank Kate Williams for writing the book, A Parent’s Guide for Suicidal and Depressed Teens. This book is an excellent resource for any parent or anyone dealing with teenagers…troubled or otherwise.
As always, we’d like to thank our sons for their love and patience and for accepting our promise to play more golf next summer!
Lastly, if you enjoyed Twice Burned, please consider telling your friends or posting a short review. Word of mouth is an author’s best friend and much appreciated.
Thank you so much.
Jan Coffey
c/o Nikoo & Jim McGoldrick
www.JanCoffey.com
Fourth Victim
by
Jan Coffey
Copyright © 2014 by Nikoo K. and James A. McGoldrick
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher: May McGoldrick Books, PO Box 665, Watertown, CT 06795.
First Published by Mira books, 2004
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used factiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
