by T. R. Ragan
Shivers coursed over Sawyer. “As I stood there on the porch,” she said, remembering, “Uncle Theo came up behind me. He wanted to know where everyone was. I said I didn’t know. And that was the truth. His fingers dug into my shoulder, and he made me come inside, led me into the salon where four men I had never met were waiting. That’s the night I was put on the market. I went numb after the first man led me to my bedroom and raped me. I don’t know how long that night lasted. A day? A week? I do know that I forgot everything except standing on the porch and watching you leave me.”
Harper reached for Sawyer and pulled her tight, holding her there for a long while. “I’m sorry I didn’t come back for you. I didn’t know how to convince you to come with me, and I was worried they would find Aria.”
Aria crawled over and joined in the hug.
That’s how they fell asleep. Three sisters holding each other close.
Sawyer never wanted to let go.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Sawyer was the first to awaken the next morning at six. She slipped on a clean T-shirt and the slacks she’d worn to Gramma’s funeral, since her jeans needed to be washed. She made enough coffee for all three of them. By the time it was ready to drink, Aria and Harper were up. Together they folded the blankets and put everything away. Nobody mentioned Mom and Dad. There would be time to talk about what to do with the house later.
“Chief Schneider said he would be coming by this morning,” Sawyer said. “He has more questions and wants to make sure he has all the correct contact information before we go.”
Sawyer looked at the clock. It was seven thirty. “I have to say goodbye to Melanie and Aspen. It shouldn’t take long. I’ll be back before the chief arrives. I promise.”
Aria didn’t look pleased.
“Don’t worry,” Sawyer told her. “I’ll be right back.” She grabbed her coffee and keys and headed off. Outside, she breathed in the cool air. It took a couple of tries to start the car. She gave the engine a minute to warm up before driving away.
Something niggled at her as Sawyer thought of Isabella Estrada tied around the tree. She knew Mom was capable of murder. Mom might be petite and fragile in appearance, but she’d had the strength to swing an iron poker with enough force to kill her father. She’d also taken out Melanie and Harper. Every time, though, Mom had had the element of surprise on her side and was able to catch her victims off guard.
But did Mom have the strength and stamina to keep up with Isabella during one of her runs and then strangle her before or after tying her to a tree?
She’d read enough true crime to know it wasn’t easy to strangle someone to death. Isabella was young and strong. She would have been able to fight back and ultimately get away.
And what about the day Sawyer went to the crime scene to take a look around? Had Mom been the one hiding in the woods watching her?
It all seemed doubtful.
She pulled up to the bookstore just as Melanie was unlocking the door. Sawyer tooted the horn to catch her attention. Melanie opened the passenger door. “What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to come say goodbye and tell you thank you before I head back to Sacramento.”
Melanie smiled. “You’re welcome.” There was a crumpled paper on the seat that she picked up before taking a seat.
“How’s your head feeling?” Sawyer wanted to know.
“Great. I think that whack from your mom actually knocked some sense into me.” She frowned. “I shouldn’t talk about your mom under the circumstances.”
“It’s okay,” Sawyer said, stiffening when she saw the piece of paper Melanie had flattened between her palms and was now reading.
“Who killed Isabella?” Melanie read aloud before proceeding to name everyone on Sawyer’s list. “I’m on your list of suspects?”
Sawyer inwardly scolded herself for not being more careful. “Not anymore,” Sawyer said.
“Well, duh.” Melanie shook the piece of paper. “You thought I was a possible murderer?”
“No. Of course not. I crossed you off the list.” Sawyer pointed to the line where she’d scribbled through Melanie’s name. “See?”
“Oh, great. I feel so much better.”
Sawyer sighed. “You had a troubled life, so I added your name to the list. It was stupid.”
“You had a troubled life too,” Melanie pointed out. “Why didn’t you put your name on the list?”
“Because I was the one doing the investigation. I would know if I was the killer.”
Melanie rolled her eyes. “I was kidding.”
“I really am sorry,” Sawyer said. “I didn’t come here to offend you. I came to say goodbye. Are you angry?”
“Me? No. I don’t like it, but life is way too short to be mad about that.”
“I didn’t only come here to say goodbye,” Sawyer said. “I also wanted to invite you to come visit me—us—me and my sisters in Sacramento if you ever get a chance. Maybe get out of River Rock for a while.”
“I’ll think about it, okay?”
“Okay.”
Melanie slid out of the car, shut the door, and headed into the bookstore.
Sawyer knew she’d hurt Melanie’s feelings. She could see it in her eyes, but there was nothing she could do about that now. Once she got settled in Sacramento again, she’d give Melanie a call and check up on her, see how she was doing.
Sawyer plugged Aspen’s address into her navigation system and merged onto the main road. He lived only a minute away. Everyone in this town lived a minute away.
When she pulled up to his house, she was taken aback by the picture-perfect front yard. When his mom was alive, the place had been severely neglected, peeling paint and overgrown weeds. It was 8:00 a.m. He was probably getting ready for work. Since she only planned on being a few minutes, she left her purse and her keys on the passenger seat. She’d only knocked twice when he opened the door. He looked as if he’d just showered and shaved. His hair was still damp, his jaw smooth.
“Wow, look at you!” she said. “Snazzy.”
He rubbed a hand over his chin. “I have been told I clean up pretty well.”
She smiled. “Mind if I come in?”
“Please do.” He opened the door wide, then shut it behind her as she made her way farther inside, stunned by everything he’d done to the place. Gleaming hardwood floors, stone fireplace, and fresh paint. No more sagging old couch or broken windows. The place looked like a model home. “This is amazing,” she said. “Did you hire a decorator?”
“Nope. I did it all myself.”
“Impressive,” Sawyer said. “I came by this morning because I wanted to say goodbye properly this time.”
His eyes widened. “Goodbye?”
She nodded. “I’m heading back home this morning.”
“I thought you were going to stay and work on solving the Estrada murder?”
“I’ve changed my mind,” she told him. “With everything that’s happened, I’m sure you understand why I need to get away from here.”
He rubbed a hand over his face. For a second there she thought he might be about to cry, but he collected himself. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense. But I was hoping we could hang out before you left.”
“I’m sorry.”
“How about some tea?” he asked. “The water is still hot.”
She didn’t like tea. Never had. What she really wanted to do was go back to the house, sign the police report, and get the hell out of River Rock. But judging by the reaction he’d had to her leaving sooner than planned, she said, “That would be great.”
While he was in the kitchen, she walked around the living room, admiring the coaching plaques on the wall. She had no idea he’d become so involved at the school, coaching track and field and basketball.
He brought her a mug of hot tea. “It’s still steeping, but I think you’ll like it. I added a little honey to it.”
She took a sip. “It’s perfect.”
He smiled,
then snapped his fingers. “Let me get you a scone I picked up from the bakery yesterday. You’re going to love them.”
“You really don’t need to.”
“I know, but you need to eat something before your long drive.” He pointed a finger at her. “Give me a minute. I’ll be right back.”
She continued to roam, took another sip of the tea. She peeked into a guest room, again taken aback by how perfectly neat everything was. Even Harper would have been impressed. The door to a second room was locked.
She moseyed back into the main room and wondered what he was doing. He’d installed beautiful stone around the fireplace. On the hearth was an iron ash holder with a small shovel and gloves. Her insides did a somersault as she set her mug on the mantel and reached for the gloves. She turned them over in her hands. The left glove had a jagged hole in it.
A knot formed in her belly.
Reaching into her back pocket, she pulled out the piece of fabric she’d found the day of Gramma’s funeral when she’d driven with Aspen to the crime scene.
The piece of fabric was a perfect match.
Chief Schneider, she recalled, had looked surprised to see Aspen pull up in his truck that day. Aspen had told the chief he’d heard about the homicide on the scanner.
But that wasn’t true.
She’d been with Aspen at the cemetery when he’d walked to his truck. He hadn’t been wearing a radio, and the scanner inside Aspen’s truck was never turned on when she’d driven with him from the cemetery to the scene of the crime.
How had he known where to go?
Aspen returned with a plate full of scones. He stopped when he saw the gloves in her hands. “What are you doing?” he asked.
She quickly dropped the gloves back where she’d found them. With false bravado she said, “Just admiring the beautiful stone.” Her heart raced as she walked slowly back to the coaching plaques she’d seen earlier.
She needed to get out of here. If she ran, could she make it to her car before he caught up to her?
Her gaze wandered to the picture of Aspen with the team. Isabella stood front and center. Hadn’t he told her he didn’t really know Isabella?
She turned and saw that he’d put down the plate of scones. The torn scrap of glove now rested in his palm. “What is this?” he asked.
Her chest tightened. “I don’t know,” she said. “What is it?”
“Don’t play games with me, Sawyer.”
She took a step toward the front door and nearly fell over. The room was spinning.
He glanced into her mug, and that’s when it dawned on her that he’d drugged her tea.
“You killed Isabella,” she said.
“I did it for you.”
He wasn’t making sense. “For me?”
“For us.”
Her vision blurred. It was as if everything was happening in slow motion as he swept her into his arms and carried her down the hallway and into a bedroom. She wanted to fight him, but her arms wouldn’t move.
He put his face close to her head and breathed in the scent of her before placing her gently on the bed. He hovered over her. The tips of his fingers rested on his chin as he appeared to contemplate his next move.
Fear threatened to take control. She had to stay calm if she wanted to get out of here alive. When he left the room, she was relieved to find she could bend her legs and wiggle her toes. Her right arm wouldn’t budge, but her left arm was mobile.
She’d only had a few sips of tea. Whatever he’d given her explained why he’d taken so long to get the scones. He wanted enough time to pass for the drug to take effect. If it was Rohypnol he’d put in her tea, she would lose muscle control and then experience confusion and drowsiness. She’d lost some muscle control, but her vision was already clearing. The adrenaline pumping through her veins took care of any drowsiness.
How long before such a small amount would wear off?
She inwardly counted to ten to try to calm her racing heart.
He returned to the bedside with scissors and a plastic bag. He looked down at her lovingly and stroked her hair. “Please. We need to talk,” she said.
He shook his head at her as if she were a naughty child. “I can’t hear you. You’re going to have to speak up.”
Her heart rate accelerated as he swept up a handful of her hair above her left eye and cut it off in one clean snip.
He was going to kill her. She thought of her sisters and wished she could tell them she was sorry for causing them so much grief.
She concentrated on breathing. It was as if she were outside her body, watching as he stuffed his nose into the lock of hair and inhaled, long and deep. He then carefully slid her hair into a plastic bag and set both the scissors and the bag on the bedside table. “There,” he said. “You have no idea how long I’ve dreamed about this moment.”
The mattress sank lower when he slid onto the bed next to her and pulled her awkwardly into his arms.
She felt a twitch in her right arm. A good sign.
Her face was pressed against his shoulder and neck. She could smell his aftershave.
“I’ve been saving myself for you.”
She said nothing. Maybe her voice had left her again, she wasn’t sure.
“I did kill Isabella,” he admitted. “Mostly because I knew it might be my only chance at keeping you here in River Rock. As it turned out, I discovered how exciting it is to kill someone.” His eyes widened. “It was a high.” He bent his head, chin to chest, in an attempt to look deep into her eyes. “I never would have known I enjoyed killing at all if your mom hadn’t asked me to kill Peggy and Avery.”
Ridiculous. Why would Mom do that? She tried to ask him, but the words came out garbled.
“It must be a lot for you to take in, I know. Don’t frown,” he said. “Yes, I was young, but I hated those girls. Your mom told me that I needed to punish them for humiliating me. She was right. I was slow, and I had a stutter back then, remember? They made fun of me. I was big for my age. Peggy was a tiny thing, fourteen and skinny as a string bean. She was standing by the river’s edge, and I just walked right up to her and bashed her head in with a hammer. Four years later, I did it again.”
Her mom was insane. How could Sawyer not have seen what she was capable of before now? She tried to move. Impossible. She screamed, but a tiny squeak was all that came forth.
Aspen shrugged. “No big deal. I guess your dad was no better than Uncle Theo. Whenever Harper had friends over, he couldn’t keep his hands to himself, so your poor mom had to cover all the bases.” He stopped talking long enough to brush a hand over her face. “Such smooth, pretty skin.”
A chill crept up her spine. Aspen killed those girls? He’d had a learning disability back then, and she’d witnessed him being bullied. He’d been bigger than the other kids but hadn’t known how to use his size to keep the bullies away. She’d felt sorry for him.
Sawyer’s jaw tightened. How long before she would regain movement? Five minutes? Ten?
He shimmied downward across the mattress so that he didn’t need to crook his neck while he looked her in the eye, their noses touching. She pretended to be loopier than she felt. She wanted to bite him, dig her teeth into his flesh and make him bleed. But it wouldn’t be enough, so she lay still.
“I love you,” he said. “I always have. You were always so kind. I think your mom knew I liked you and used it against me.” He smiled. “I didn’t mind, though. I fixed up this house for you. For the longest time I didn’t know how I was going to get you here, but when an idea finally struck, it was like an explosion of fireworks going off inside my head. I knew Gramma Sally needed to die. I still wonder why it took me so long to think of it.”
His hand came to rest on her backside, slid slowly over her, shaking slightly from nerves. “You’re so beautiful.” His lips touched her forehead.
Her stomach churned. There was nothing she could do to stop him. He was in full control, and he knew it. “Don’t feel bad about
Gramma Sally,” he said. “She was ready. I swear she looked relieved when I picked up the pillow and put it against her face. Hardly took any time at all. It was a peaceful death.”
It was all too much. He’d killed Gramma Sally in hopes she would come back, and she’d fallen right into his trap. He had caused so much pain.
“Don’t worry. I won’t torture you like I did Isabella. I care too much about you.” He sighed. “If you would have just spent a little time with me, I know things would have turned out so much differently. I would have spent a lifetime worshipping you.”
She couldn’t listen to any more of his bullshit. A rush of adrenaline swept through her, giving her the strength to pull her knees upward and use her legs to shove him to the floor.
Scrambling off the bed, she wobbled on her feet, grabbed the lamp from the bedside table, and slammed it against his head.
He fell back with a groan, but it wasn’t enough. He was still moving.
Dazed, he pushed himself to his knees.
She had gotten as far as the bedroom door when she felt his fingers curl around her ankle. She pushed the door forward then yanked it back, slamming it into his head.
He released his hold along with a horrified scream.
She ran through the kitchen, heard him thrashing about, shouting for her to stop, telling her she could never leave him.
Stumbling along, she made it out the door, didn’t dare look back. In the car, her right arm refused to cooperate. She had no choice but to use her left hand to put the key in the ignition and turn it. The engine rattled and died. No. No. No. Not now!
She turned the key again. Nothing.
Aspen flew out of the house, his face bloodied. He took the three steps leading from the door to the walkway in one leap.
She turned the key for the third time.
The engine roared. Aspen’s truck was parked in front of her car. She put the car in reverse and slammed her foot on the gas pedal. Aspen dodged the wheels and reached for the back door. She sped forward and rammed into the back of his truck.
Fuck!
She hadn’t meant to put that much speed into it. She hurried and locked the doors right before he grabbed the passenger door handle and jiggled it, the veins in his neck straining as he punched at the windows with his bare knuckles.
