“Who in thunder would be out in weather like this?”
Not the friendliest greeting she’d ever encountered. She stepped closer, edging her daughter to one side, and gazed up into the man’s scowl. What was familiar about him?
Their prospective host looked to be in his mid-thirties—not much her senior. He was of medium height and built sinewy like a marathon runner. Not classically handsome, but arresting with that square chin, rugged cheekbones and coal-black hair curling around his ears. Piercing eyes the color of fog on the ocean scanned her up and down, then flicked toward Caroline. Icicles jabbed into Laurel’s marrow as recognition dawned.
David Greene—Texas oil millionaire, and accused murderer.
The money explained the paved driveway stretching at least a mile into the woods, but it didn’t explain what this unconvicted killer was doing in the Rocky Mountain wilderness.
Three years ago, he’d been the chief suspect in the strangling death of his girlfriend. The man had been found, passed out from booze and drugs, beside the dead woman, but his lawyer’s machinations had gotten everything incriminating removed from evidence until a grand jury concluded there wasn’t enough justification to go to trial.
What does it take these days to get a conviction? said some of the friends who worked with her in their nonprofit foundation. A sign around the louse’s neck saying, I Did It? Laurel understood the sentiment. Working daily with single parents, many of them abandoned or abused, tended to expose them to examples of wealth tipping the scales of justice until the guilty walked free and the innocent suffered. Was the Greene case another one of those?
“You’d better come in before we all freeze.” The man opened the screen door.
Caroline darted forward, but Laurel grabbed her daughter’s jacket sleeve. The girl shot her a wide-eyed look. Caroline probably didn’t recognize their host, or she’d be tempted like her mother to run back out into the storm. Laurel glanced over her shoulder, and a wind gust shot a geyser of snow swirling from the steps onto the backs of her legs. She shivered.
On an inner groan, she released her daughter’s jacket. What choice did they have? They could freeze to death or take their chances under the roof of a possible killer.
*
Why today, Lord?
David assessed his unexpected guests, certain that the woman had grasped his identity in two seconds flat. She and the girl had stepped inside barely far enough for him to shut the door. The woman’s wary brown gaze hadn’t left him—as if she thought he might leap on them at any instant with evil intent. That’s what came of his brand of notoriety, and the reaction had grown old a long time ago.
The girl seemed oblivious, gazing around the rustic luxury of the cabin with hardly a second glance for her reluctant host. In fact, her gaze seemed riveted on the baby grand piano. Was he in for an afternoon of “Chopsticks” on the ivories?
Why today of all days for drop-ins, Lord?
The repeated mental question held more than a hint of a whine. Not a worthy or wise approach toward the Almighty.
David took a deep breath. Better start over, both with God and with his guests. He could hardly send the shivering pair back into the storm, however much he wanted to be alone today—the anniversary of Alicia’s death.
“Hi—uh—I’m David Greene.” As if the woman didn’t know. “Leave your wet shoes on the mat by the door. May I take your coats? There’s a fire.” He motioned toward the cozy blaze snapping in the fireplace. Now he was babbling like an imbecile. Why could he never get used to the waves of suspicion wafting from people? He cleared his throat. “You can warm your feet.”
A big grin bloomed on the girl’s delicate features, an immature copy of her companion’s more defined face. The girl’s mother or her older sister?
“Great! I’m Caroline,” the teenager said as she scraped her snow-laden shoes off her feet. She tipped her hood down, revealing a thick blond ponytail, and then shrugged out of the jacket. Underneath she wore the standard teenage garb of jeans and layered shirts.
The woman responded more slowly, shedding her soggy shoes and long coat, reluctance etched in drawn brows. She wore a green print blouse and a pair of tan slacks. The outfit complimented her fair complexion and slender figure. In her stocking feet, the top of her tawny head barely reached David’s chin. She clutched her coat tight to her chest, even as the girl relinquished hers to his care.
“I’m Laurel Adams, and this is my daughter, Caroline,” the woman said.
A soft flush of color crept across high cheekbones as she no doubt realized that the girl had already introduced herself. At least now the relationship between the pair was clarified.
Rubbing her hands together, Caroline took off for a spot near the hearth. The girl sank into an easy chair and extended her toes toward the fire.
“Way cool that you’re out here in the middle of nowhere,” she said. “I pictured Mom and me as popsicles in a ditch or pancakes over the edge of a cliff.” She darted David a half smile.
He grinned back, and the tension under his breastbone eased. He could like this kid. Of course, she might not be so friendly with him when her mother informed her who he was.
A stiff smile tipped the corners of Laurel’s lips. “Thank you for taking us in, Mr. Greene.”
Like he had an option? But then, since she assumed him a killer, she probably thought he was fully capable of slamming the door in their faces.
Suppressing an inner sigh, David took hold of Laurel’s jacket, his direct stare challenging her to release the garment. She let it go and backed away, gaze darting between her daughter and him. He headed for the coat closet next to the entrance to the kitchen. Receding footfalls said that his lovely, frightened guest had scurried for the hearth.
He hung their coats, then swiveled to find Laurel seated in a chair beside her daughter. Her focus was on him. Questions shouted from her expression. He could imagine what they might be. “Did you kill your girlfriend?” probably topped the list. Most folks couldn’t bring themselves to be so blunt as to ask the question directly, but then, most people weren’t snowed in with him.
“Our cell phones don’t have service here,” she said. “Would you have a landline so we can let people know where we are?”
An innocuous question, if a person ignored the subtext of fear.
He shook his head. “No landline. When I come to the mountains, I’m not big on communicating with the outside world.”
Her lips flattened, then she attempted another smile that only succeeded in becoming an anxious grimace. “How about internet service? We could instant message or email or—”
He shook his head. “I have a CB radio. I can give a holler to the authorities in Estes Park as to your whereabouts, and they can communicate with your husband or anyone you’d like.”
“It’s just Mom and me.” Caroline waved a breezy hand. “Has been for a long ti—”
The pointed clearing of her mother’s throat cut the girl’s words short, but David got the picture. Or at least a hint. The specific reason for the absent dad/husband remained a mystery.
“You won’t be going anywhere soon anyway,” he said. “This storm is anticipated to last through the night, and it’ll be longer than that before the roads are cleared. Why don’t we take the chill off over a cup of coffee? Or cocoa or tea, if you prefer.”
“Tea would be awesome.” Caroline threw a grin over her shoulder. “Do you have anything fruity and spicy? Sniffing the steam jazzes my sinuses.”
A chuckle spurted from David even as the girl’s mother darted her daughter one of those Mom looks.
“Caroline, we can’t expect our host to wait on us.”
The girl’s expression flattened. “But—”
“I offered, Ms. Adams,” David said.
“Yeah, he offered.” Caroline’s infectious grin sparkled forth.
David tendered a slight smile in return. “Tea it is, then. If you’re looking for something to do, help yourself to a bo
ok or a board game.” He waved toward the floor-to-ceiling set of shelves built into the opposite wall.
“Thanks, Mr. Greene.” The girl bounced to her feet. “I know my mom’s bummed about missing her speaking gig, but we might as well make the best of being snowed in. Right?”
“You’re a public speaker, Ms. Adams?”
His question jerked Laurel’s focus away from her daughter, and her gaze met his. A spark lit the brown depths. “I travel quite a bit, speaking to groups about grief, loss and single parenthood.”
“Yeah, and she’s even got a reputation for being funny. Can you figure that?” Caroline giggled as she drifted toward the laden bookshelf.
“Really?” David raised his eyebrows.
Color rose in Laurel’s face.
He swallowed a smile. Whether or not her speeches were funny, the subject matter was still serious. Raising a kid alone was no laughing matter. Not that he’d know about it firsthand, but the mere thought gave him the willies.
Laurel’s chin lifted, and she rose in a fluid motion that dripped elegant dignity. David caught his breath. His mother was the only other woman he’d known to command a room so completely with a simple action. An ache throbbed deep in his chest. After all these years, he still missed Mom. Always would. This woman had his mother’s air of confident grace, though an unfortunate pinch of pride stiffened her spine.
Laurel wandered toward the bookshelf in Caroline’s wake. “Several years back, a few partners and I started a nonprofit organization called Single Parents Coalition. Have you heard of it?”
“Can’t say that I have, but it sounds like a needed service.”
“Oh, it is!” Her whole face softened and lit, and David’s heart went kabump for reasons he couldn’t entirely explain. Perhaps he was just responding to her passion for her vocation.
“I’ll get the tea.” He faded into the small but complete kitchen, and got busy at the single-cup brewer.
He shouldn’t let himself be too interested in his uninvited guests. There was no point in getting friendly with these people. The cloud of suspicion over his head nullified any prospect of warmth or ease between them.
Too bad even he didn’t know for sure what happened three years ago. He had no recollection beyond a night of partying that ended with him passing out—normal in those days.
What wasn’t usual? Waking up to the cold snap of handcuffs around his wrists, the reading of rights snarled from an icy-faced detective and the chilling sight of his girlfriend—a woman he’d planned to make his fiancée—lying lifeless by his side, strangled to death with her own scarf.
Sometime during his blackout had he attacked Alicia? That was the question he’d hoped to answer during this annual time of seclusion and crying out to God to release his memories. Maybe he’d get a breakthrough this time. Even if he discovered the worst about himself, at least he would know. The truth would bring a form of peace. It would be a relief to own up and take his punishment.
Now he was stuck with these people invading his space and his chance for self-reflection was lost. In its place, he got the judgment of strangers. Couldn’t they at least offer him the benefit of the doubt? But why should they? He didn’t even know if he should offer himself that much grace. Yet what no one seemed to understand was that as long as suspicion of murder hung over his head, rejection and isolation ensured he was serving a life sentence in Solitary.
The tune of “Chopsticks” from the baby grand dragged David from his mulligrubs. He flashed a wry smile toward the fresh lemon he was slicing into wedges. Caroline, no doubt. He added the dish of lemon to the tea tray and headed with it toward his guests.
“Honey, you haven’t asked permission to touch our host’s piano.”
The soft-voiced rebuke from Laurel met his ears as he entered the living room.
“It’s all right,” he said, taming his grin.
Caroline whirled from the piano, ponytail flipping and color in her cheeks. “I’m sorry, Mr. Greene.”
“No problem.” He set the tray on the small dining table in front of Laurel. “Feel free to do the honors.” He motioned toward the steaming teapot and the empty cups.
If he didn’t know better, he might think a smile had flickered across Laurel’s face. She poured the tea with quiet dignity.
“Thank you, Mr. Greene.” She handed him a cup, her gaze frank and open. “You’ve been very gracious to a couple of strangers bounding in on you.”
David barely stopped his jaw from sagging as he accepted the offering—both the tea and the slight thaw in attitude.
“Call me David, please. When you say Mr. Greene I feel like you’re talking to my father, and if you shorten it to Dave I’ll think I’ve gone back to grade school.”
“David, then. But you—” Laurel wagged a finger at her daughter “—should refer to him as Mr. Greene. It’s basic respect, like the way you address your teachers at school.”
“Gotcha, Mom.” Caroline accepted her cup and brought it to her nose. “Mmmm. This stuff smells great! Thanks, Mr. Greene.” Her enthusiasm was followed by a distinct slurp.
A chuckle escaped David’s throat, and Laurel lifted her cup to hide what looked like a suspicious twitch of the lips. Small talk occupied the next minutes, but at last David set his cup down and stood.
“I can fire up that CB radio now. It might take me a few minutes to tune it in to the right frequency. I’ve almost never used the gadget.”
Laurel rose. “Yes, please, that would be great. Let me know when I can speak to someone. In the meantime, I’d like to step outside and bring in our luggage. It would be so good to freshen up a little.”
“I wouldn’t feel right leaving you to go out in the storm.” He moved toward the coat closet and grabbed his outdoor gear. “I’ll get the bags if you give me your keys. We can do the radio after your things are inside.”
“You’ve done enough for us, Mr. Greene. I’ll handle it.”
Stubborn woman. His mom had been, too, but in her the trait hadn’t irritated him. “We’ll do it together, then.” If he could take back the bite in his tone he would.
Posture stiff, Laurel took her coat from him. He resisted the impulse to hold the garment while she shrugged into it. Under current circumstances, the common courtesy ingrained into him by his upbringing might feel like an invasion of her space. He put on his jacket, hat, boots and insulated mittens, but refrained from commenting about the wet loafers on his guest’s feet.
“I’ll set up a game of Scrabble while you get the bags,” Caroline said.
Tugging on thin gloves, Laurel nodded at her daughter and led the way to the door. David pulled it open for her. At least he could do that much.
Snow particles stung his cheeks, and icy air washed David’s face as he forged onto the porch after Laurel. He followed close on her heels as she eased down the steps. As she reached the ground, a drift swallowed her legs to the knees. He shook his head. She should have unbent enough to let him do this for her.
Frowning, he slogged after her toward the dark bulk of the car. The wind had already driven snowdrifts up to the bumpers. At last they reached the car’s trunk. Laurel fished a set of keys out of her coat pocket and pressed a button. The trunk lid sprang open, blocking the wind. David gratefully inhaled a long breath free of ice particles.
Laurel’s scream froze the oxygen in his chest. The car keys dropped from his guest’s lax fingers. David caught the keychain, then followed the line of her gaze into the trunk. There were suitcases, all right. But something was sprawled atop them. Or rather someone. The fact that this person was no longer among the living was clear in the frozen stare and facial expression locked into an unnatural contortion.
Bitter bile stung the back of David’s throat. He’d seen the body of a murder victim before—exactly three years ago to this day. At least no one could claim he’d killed this woman.
The same couldn’t be said of his guests.
TWO
How could this be?
Laurel blinked and shook her head, but the corpse draped across her luggage didn’t disappear. And Laurel knew the woman. Did she ever!
How did the body of Melissa Eldon—Caroline’s detested biology teacher—wind up in her car trunk? Laurel’s pulse roared in her ears. How did the woman die? No noticeable injuries sprang to Laurel’s attention.
And where did Ms. Eldon meet her end? Absurd to believe she crawled into the trunk of her own free will and expired. No restraints tethered the splayed body so she must have been dead before someone dumped her remains in the trunk—after Laurel stowed their bags last evening and before she and Caroline left town. The thuds and thumps from the trunk when they had nearly run off the road took on horrific significance. Nausea churned her stomach.
Think, Laurel. Think logically.
Other than herself, only Caroline would have had access to the car keys and the trunk remote control. She kept a spare set on top of the refrigerator in the kitchen. No! Laurel would never believe her daughter was responsible.
But what if the law didn’t see it that way? Blackness edged her vision, and she swayed.
A firm hand caught her elbow. Gasping, she gazed up into eyes as gray and piercing as driven rain. Laurel went still. If only this man were someone she knew and trusted. Strong arms around her might never be more welcome. She pulled away and stiffened her spine.
“Do you know who this is?” he asked.
Laurel didn’t answer. Her voice had lost the ability to respond. David tugged off one of his gloves, leaned into the open trunk and touched the woman’s throat with a pair of fingers.
By an act of will, Laurel unlocked her lips. “Any pulse?” She already knew the answer, but she had to ask.
“Not a flicker.” David straightened with a grimace. “You’re out of luck on your suitcases. We’d better not disturb anything until the authorities get here.”
“This is so awful! That poor woman!”
“We may as well sort out our thoughts inside where it’s warm.” His hand pressed gently against her shoulder. With the other hand he slammed the trunk closed on the grizzly vision. “We’ll have to fire up that CB radio immediately.”
Love Inspired Suspense January 2014 Page 22
