Still, it was hard. They never stopped being your children, no matter how old they got.
Manny had yet to return with the van, and Ben was still out doing whatever he was doing, which left me to my own devices. I headed inside, checked on Sheamus and Wheels, and then grabbed the keys to Manny’s car. There might have been a murder, and I had a cat to find a home for, but I still had shopping to do.
I tried not to think about Joseph and Christine Danvers as I made my way through the grocery, but it was hard. I kept coming back to what Chester had said about Christine possibly being alive, and wondered if there was any chance he was right after all these years. Did she know about his death? Could she have come back to town and killed her husband herself? If so, why?
I simply didn’t know enough about their relationship to form any concrete hypotheses. Could I really trust Chester’s view, considering he worked for Joe? That had to create a bias.
“It’ll be two hundred dollars and forty-five cents, ma’am.” I startled back to the present and shoved my card into the reader. The clerk was giving me a worried look, as if he’d told me my total more than once.
I wheeled the groceries to Manny’s car, knowing I had likely forgotten a few important items in my haze. I packed everything away—rebagging the bread and other squishables that were bagged with sharp, heavy objects as I did—and then climbed into the driver’s seat.
It took only a few seconds for me to realize I was being followed once again.
The sedan pulled out of a space a few cars down in the same aisle where I’d parked. In fact, I’d walked right by it when I’d taken my groceries to the car, but hadn’t noticed it in the sea of vehicles.
The car stayed back, but always in sight as I pulled out of the lot, and onto the main drag.
“Christine?” I wondered aloud. If she truly was alive and had come back to kill her husband, who did she think I was? A mistress? A witness of some kind?
My first instinct was to drive straight to the police station and tell Cavanaugh about my tail. Of course, I doubted the driver would follow me all the way to the station. Even if I called ahead, it was likely they’d vanish in traffic before I got anywhere close to where Cavanaugh would be.
I didn’t want my stalker to vanish; not entirely. If the driver was the killer, or perhaps if they knew who killed Joe, I needed to talk to them. Or, at least, the police did.
One thing was for sure; I wasn’t about to lead my tail home again. Once was enough.
Jacking up the cold air so my ice cream would stand a chance, I turned away from downtown Grey Falls, and headed for a series of roads off the beaten path that I was familiar with. Here, there was more than one dead end road, but enough people around so I didn’t have to worry about my safety.
The brown sedan followed from a distance, but follow it did. I drove with one eye on the road, the other on my rearview mirror. If the sedan were to break off, I wanted to know exactly where it did, and then, perhaps, I could turn the tables on my pursuer and follow them instead.
The car was still behind me as I turned onto a bumpy, pothole-ridden street. It forced me to slow more than I liked, and I feared the sedan might decide to cruise on past, but after a few long seconds, it turned slowly onto the road.
“Got ya,” I muttered, weaving around the worst of the craters in the road. It looked like a meteor shower had struck, but no matter how many times the city tried to repair the road, it ended up looking like this after only a few months. Farm equipment tended to do that.
I continued on for five more minutes, and then made another turn onto a dead-end street. The sign had been knocked over years ago and no one had bothered to right it again. I was counting on my stalker not to know the area well enough to realize what I was doing.
Sure enough, after a few moments, the sedan pulled onto the road, though I noted they weren’t following me as quickly as before. Nerves? Or had they had enough of the wild-goose chase?
Either way, this was it. If I waited much longer, I feared they’d give up the chase and I’d miss my chance.
The cul-de-sac was just up ahead. As I sped up and made the turn quickly, I could feel the tires on the driver’s side want to lift from the road. I was facing the sedan a second later, hoping the driver wouldn’t realize what was happening until it was too late.
Brake lights flared. The sedan came to an abrupt halt, just past a driveway that led to a house that looked to have been left abandoned.
I slammed on the gas and shot forward, heart pounding in my ears. My eyes were locked on the sedan. The driver was sitting bolt upright, but the sun was reflecting off the windshield, making it hard to see them clearly.
The sedan started backing up, so I pressed the gas clear to the floor.
“No you don’t,” I muttered. My entire body was tense, and I feared that if I pressed it too much, Manny’s car would stall. It was already shaking more than it should.
The sedan backed into the driveway, and stopped. I assumed the driver planned on gunning it and speeding away before I could get close.
Unfortunately for him, it was too late.
A dark, wide-eyed face stared back at me from the driver’s seat as I shot past. But instead of a female face, like I expected, I saw the short hair and the well-trimmed beard of a man who couldn’t be far into his thirties.
And then I was past. I hit my brakes and jammed the car into reverse, but I was too slow. The sedan’s tires threw gravel as the driver shot out of the driveway and flew around me. I tried to get my car back into gear and give chase, but by the time I reached the end of the street, the car was gone.
This time, I didn’t hesitate to make for the police station. Now that I had a description of my stalker, I had something to give Detective Cavanaugh.
The Grey Falls police station sat downtown, just across the street from the courthouse. I pulled into the lot and headed for the large plate-glass doors out front. My heart had slowed its rapid hammering, but I still felt jazzed up from the chase. No wonder some people became adrenaline junkies. It was exhilarating, if not terrifying.
I went straight through the metal detectors without setting them off. I had a feeling they didn’t bother turning them on most of the time; it wasn’t like Grey Falls was rife with crime. I made for the front desk and the officer who was sitting there.
“Hello, Officer Mohr,” I said by way of greeting.
“Oh!” The young cop blinked and, for a moment, looked frightened by my appearance. “Hi! Mrs. Dyson, right?”
“Denton, but call me Liz.”
He winced. “Right, right. Liz.” Officer Mohr’s face reddened. I kind of felt bad for him. He’d made a mistake or two during a recent investigation and it appeared as if it had earned him permanent front desk duty. He now had a nameplate sitting atop the desk, which hadn’t been there before. The poor guy looked miserable.
Of course, his mistake nearly caused my son to be charged with murder, so I wasn’t entirely sympathetic.
“What can I do for you, Liz?” he asked. “I hope there’s nothing wrong.”
“Not really.” I glanced at the room behind him. Other cops were at work, but I didn’t recognize any of them. “Do you know if Detective Cavanaugh is in? I have some information for him.”
Mohr paled at Cavanaugh’s name. “I . . . I’m not sure. Let me check.” He rose, and nearly tripped over his own two feet as he scurried off somewhere into the back of the station.
I wandered away from the desk, to the red plastic chairs set against the wall. No one was currently sitting in them, and I decided I didn’t want to change that. I had bad memories of this place, and those chairs. The last time I was here, I’d hoped it would be, well, the last.
Yet, here I was. I really didn’t want to make this a habit.
“You wanted to see me, Mrs. Denton?” Cavanaugh approached, alone. Officer Mohr was back at his desk, head down, furiously scribbling away at something. With the way he kept glancing up at us, I had a feeling he
was only pretending to work, just so Cavanaugh wouldn’t have something to yell at him about.
“Yes, Detective.” Unsure what the proper protocol might be, I reached out a hand. Cavanaugh shook it with a bemused expression. “I’ve learned a few things about Joseph Danvers’s murder. Or the investigation, anyway.”
I fully expected Cavanaugh to chide me for poking my nose into police business, but he merely nodded at me to go on.
I quickly told him about my conversation with Chester Chudzinski, and how he believed Christine Danvers might still be alive. As I spoke, Cavanaugh’s expression didn’t change an iota. He listened attentively, almost passively, though I knew he was cataloging my every word.
“There’s a chance Christine killed her husband,” I said. “That is, if Chester is right about her.”
“I’m aware of Mr. Chudzinski’s beliefs,” Cavanaugh said. “His name appeared more than once in the case files.”
“So, do you think it’s possible?”
He shrugged. “Anything is possible, I suppose. But”—he raised a finger before I could speak—“don’t read too much into it. His findings were dismissed because he was unable to present the officers on the case with any workable evidence. I don’t believe that has changed, has it?”
“Well, no. But what if he is right?”
“I understand why you’re interested,” Cavanaugh said. “But you need to be careful here. There are people who have worked this thing since it started. Just because they haven’t been able to close the case, doesn’t mean they have given up on finding out what really happened.”
“Like Chester.” It came out almost defiant.
Cavanaugh gave me a single nod, conceding the point. “Trust me, we have this covered. Now, was there anything else?”
I felt kind of silly since he’d so easily dismissed Chester’s findings, but I wasn’t about to hold anything back from him.
“That car I told you about followed me again.”
Cavanaugh’s entire demeanor changed. He stood up straighter, his eyes going razor sharp. “Did you catch a plate this time?”
“No.” I mentally cursed myself for not doing so. I’d been so intent on the driver, it had completely slipped my mind. I, obviously, would never make a good detective. “But I did get a look at the driver’s face.”
“Did you recognize them?”
I shook my head. “All I can say is that it was a black man, maybe in his thirties. It happened so fast, I’m not totally sure.” I gave him a quick description, making sure to note how well-groomed he seemed.
Cavanaugh pulled out a notebook while I talked and took notes. “Was there anything else about him that stood out?” he asked. “Did he look angry? Threatening?”
“He looked kind of scared, actually.” Whether it was because he realized I’d gotten a look at him, or for some other reason, I didn’t know. “He took off as soon as he had the chance. Now that I’ve seen his face, I wonder if I’ll ever see him again.”
Cavanaugh frowned at that and reread his notes before tucking the notebook away. “I want you to be careful, Mrs. Denton. You don’t know what this man wants, or what his connection to the deceased might be.”
“If there’s one at all.”
He gave me a flat look that had me blushing in embarrassment. Of course, there was a connection. “If you see him again, don’t try to interact with him, don’t try to get another look. Find somewhere safe and call me.”
“I will.”
“I’ll send someone right away.” He paused, and then, “In fact, I’ll have someone periodically drive by your place to make sure your sedan driver doesn’t try to make a move against you.”
“That won’t be necessary,” I said.
“But I’ll do it anyway. Please, Mrs. Denton, this is a delicate situation. I don’t want you to get hurt. If you or your family hear or see anything that sets you on edge, don’t hesitate to call. I don’t want to scare you, but with a murder on our hands, whatever happens next, could be a matter of life or death.”
6
I spent the drive home staring into my rearview mirror, paranoid that every car that pulled out behind me was going to chase me home. None of them were, of course. The brown sedan was long gone, and I hoped that now that I’d seen the driver’s face, he wouldn’t risk coming after me again.
The house was still empty by the time I pulled up into the driveway. I began unloading Manny’s car, making sure to get the ice cream and other freezer items out first. It took multiple trips, which were complicated by the cats, who kept shoving their noses through the gap every time I tried to open the door. I managed to get most everything inside without one of them escaping.
I was just grabbing the last bag out of the car when Joanne appeared behind me.
Twice in one day?
“Liz, a moment, please.”
Something in her tone had me turning to face her, rather than racing for the front door. “Hi, Joanne. What do you need?”
She glanced down the street both ways before her gaze settled on me. She looked worried, which in turn, made my paranoia leap to new heights.
“Did something happen?” I asked.
“I’m not sure.” Another glance down the street. “I was out watering my plants earlier and this car drove by all slow like. I didn’t think anything of it at first, but then it happened again.”
A chill climbed my spine. “A sedan?” I asked. “A brown one?”
“You know it?” Joanne sagged. “I was actually worried they were up to no good. I didn’t get a good look at the driver, but I could tell they were watching your house. I suppose it’s a friend of yours?”
“No, not a friend,” I said. “Did they stop?”
Joanne shook her head. “Drove by three or four times, and then took off. Haven’t seen them since.”
“When was this?”
“I don’t know. Twenty minutes ago?”
While I was talking to Detective Cavanaugh. I didn’t doubt it was the same car that had been following me. Did he drive straight here after he sped away from me? If so, why?
Dreadful thoughts popped into my head then, none of them good. If he killed Joseph Danvers and now knew I’d seen his face, could I be next? Cavanaugh’s ominous last words drifted through my mind and caused my stomach to churn.
“I’m not sure what you’re doing, Liz, but I don’t like strangers lurking around my house. I don’t want to have to call the police.”
“If you see the car again, you should,” I said. “That man is dangerous.” I didn’t feel safe standing outside talking about it, so I hoisted up my bag of groceries and carried it to the front door without a backward glance.
As I stepped inside, I heard Joanne make a distressed sound and hurry back across the street to her house. I hoped I’d scared a little sense into her. She might be annoying, but I didn’t want anything to happen to her. If the killer was after me because he thought I’d seen something, I didn’t want him coming after Joanne because she couldn’t keep her nose out of other people’s business.
Sheamus was pawing through the bags of groceries as I set the last bag down. I returned to the front door, locked it, and then headed to the back door to make sure it was locked as well. I was anxious for the rest of the family to get home. I needed to make sure they were okay.
Stop being so paranoid, I reprimanded myself. Just because someone was following me didn’t mean anyone else was in danger.
Keep telling yourself that.
I put away the groceries with both Sheamus’s and Wheels’s help. The cats had to stick their noses in every bag, bat at every item to see if it would roll away. A job that should have taken ten minutes took nearly twenty because I kept having to step over the cats, and once, retrieve a bag of Babybels that Wheels tried to roll off with.
As I finished putting everything away, there was a knock on the door.
I hadn’t heard a car pull up, but then again, I’d been focused on putting the groceries away. M
y mind had been miles away, thinking about Joe and Cavanaugh and Chester, and wondering how in the world I managed to get myself mixed up in yet another murder. If I hadn’t locked the door, I doubted I would have noticed it opening if someone were to have pushed their way inside.
I stood in the kitchen, not quite sure what to do. I could see the door from where I stood, but I couldn’t see outside to make sure it wasn’t the man from the brown sedan who had come looking to end me once and for all.
The knock came again, this time more insistent.
It was followed by a series of rapid barks.
I just about sagged through the floor. My imagination was starting to run wild, and before long I was going to start jumping at every sound. Get a grip on yourself, Liz.
I marched to the front door, and without bothering to peek out the window, I opened it.
I wish I hadn’t.
“Liz.” My nemesis, Courtney Shaw, was on my stoop, a small dog carrier in hand. Her blond hair was styled in what I imagined was the latest hip trend. It swept around her face in waves and, for as much as I hated to admit it, made her look like a movie star. Her pink van was parked so close beside Manny’s car, I wouldn’t have been able to open the driver’s door. The words Pets Luv Us was painted on the side of her van, amid cute baby animals.
“Courtney.” It was as close as she was going to get to a hello. “What are you doing here?”
She flashed me the briefest of smiles before she used the dog carrier to force me back into my house so she could come inside. “It’s hot out there, isn’t it?” She checked her nails like she thought the polish might have run in the heat. “I don’t see how you of all people can stand it.” She looked me up and down. I could almost see her mentally weighing me.
And, yes, I do mean in pounds.
“I manage,” I said, closing the door before one of the cats could get out. “You didn’t answer my question.” My gaze moved to the carrier. The dog inside was barking, a high-pitched, snarling yap that sounded like the pooch might be half rabid.
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