by Brenda Novak
Hooper glowered at him, the mirror, then the floor. “She still writes,” he mumbled. “She knows there’s been a mix-up. That I’m an innocent man, wrongly imprisoned.”
Carter made a show of yawning. “We’re back to that, are we?”
“What did you expect?”
“I thought you were finally going to get it right for a change, make your mother proud.”
He stared at the wall.
“Hooper?”
He blinked.
“Tell me where you buried Rose Hammond, Hilary Benson and Vanessa Littleton.” Pulling their pictures from a file folder, he spread his documentation over the table. Hooper had been charged with eleven murders, but these were three more that hadn’t been connected to him at the time.
Three more…And that probably wasn’t all of them.
His face void of expression, Hooper scanned the photos. “What made me do it?” he whispered to himself, then louder, to Carter, he said, “Why am I so different from everyone else?”
There was no regret in his voice, just a distant curiosity. “I wish I had an answer to that,” Carter replied.
“If only I knew.” Hooper shook his head. “Because I could, I guess. Because the desire fed on me like a…a compulsion, a craving.”
“You do remember these women, don’t you?” Carter said, drawing Hooper’s attention back to the photos.
“I’m trying,” he said, scratching his head.
As Carter watched the other man glance from face to face, he couldn’t help thinking how pathetic Hooper was. Hooper was a lost creature, locked up and alone for the rest of his life. He’d traded the lives of others, and his own future, for his deeply sick obsession.
Maybe the only thing sadder than being one of Hooper’s victims was being Hooper himself, Carter thought. What would it be like to live, knowing you weren’t worth the air you breathed? That you were held in utter contempt by everyone around you?
Abruptly Carter gathered up the pictures.
“What are you doing?” Hooper asked in alarm.
“I’m leaving.”
“But I haven’t told you what you want to know.”
“You had your chance.” Carter knew Johnson was probably having a coronary on the other side of the glass, but he didn’t care. Hooper remembered these women. He was just drawing out the visit, because there was a certain intimacy involved in the hatred Carter felt toward him. Hatred wasn’t a positive emotion, but at least Hooper had achieved a reaction. A strong reaction.
Hooper was so desperate to matter to someone that he was willing to accept the most negative form of interest. But because of what he’d done to Laurel, Carter wouldn’t let him. Why bother hating him, when that was exactly what he wanted?
“Wait, it’s coming back to me now,” Hooper said the moment Carter’s hand reached the doorknob.
“Too late.”
“But they promised me a few packs of cigarettes. And some chocolate.”
Carter paused. “You have ten seconds. Then I leave.”
Hooper cursed and glared at him, but when Carter shrugged and turned the knob, effectively ending Hooper’s dog-and-pony show, he blurted out what Carter had wanted to hear all along. He’d buried all three women in upstate New York, near the cabin his uncle had owned when he was growing up. The police knew of that cabin, had searched it many times, but Hooper had claimed the bodies were buried on a neighbor’s property, near a creek, where the ground was softer.
Carter had Hooper circle the spot on a map, and then he turned to the mirror. It showed him his own grim reflection, with Hooper sitting just beyond him, disappointed and grim himself.
Carter managed a tired smile for Johnson who he knew was watching. He’d gotten it. He’d gotten what he’d come for. And maybe, in seeing how pathetic Hooper was, he’d gotten a little more….
“Tell my mother I helped you out. She’ll be happy about that,” Hooper said as Johnson came in.
“I’m not telling her anything,” Carter replied. Hooper hadn’t told them where the bodies were out of a sense of contrition or guilt. He’d done it to feel a measure of power, a measure of control in a place where he typically had none. He’d also done it to break up the monotony of prison life, to taunt Carter, and to enjoy some cigarettes and candy. A man like that didn’t care about his mother. Hooper probably never had. Or he wouldn’t have broken her heart in the first place.
“Want to know why I think you did it?” Carter asked, pausing at the door.
Hooper looked up at him in surprise. Then his eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“Because you can’t identify with anyone else. You can’t feel their pain or their suffering because you don’t care about them. You care only about yourself.”
Hooper’s thin lips curled into a “you got me” grin. “Tell Laurel I said hello,” he said in a singsong voice.
This time, Carter didn’t clench his jaw. He actually managed to smile. “You should see where I’m living now,” he said. “It’s beautiful. Wide open country. A small café that serves pancakes the size of dinner plates. Rodeos every summer. And a chocolaterie.”
“A what?”
“A chocolate shop. Best chocolate you ever tasted.”
Hooper glanced from Carter to Johnson, as if he didn’t quite know what to make of Carter’s friendly tone. “Maybe you could get me some of that,” he said tentatively.
“Maybe,” Carter replied. “You should really see what you’re missing.” With that, he started to walk out, but Johnson called him back.
“Don’t go anywhere, Carter. I’ve got some good news for you.”
Carter’s mind was still so engrossed in what had just transpired that he didn’t immediately realize what Johnson was talking about. “News?” he repeated in surprise.
“Yeah. We got a hit on that print you brought in.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
SOMEONE WAS INSIDE THE CHOCOLATERIE.
Liz was sure of it. She’d left all the lights on, hoping to discourage further problems, but the back door stood slightly ajar and she knew she’d locked up before she’d left last night. Maybe she’d been reeling after learning about the damage, but she hadn’t walked off and left her shop open.
Hesitating halfway between her car, which she’d already parked in the lot, and the building, she glanced up and down the darkened alley. She should go to the police. But they’d been so little help, she didn’t have much confidence in them. Besides, she didn’t own a cell phone and if she left, whoever it was might get away. She was tired of not knowing who was targeting her, of blaming Keith without proof. He always denied it, as he had again when she’d called him this morning, leaving her nothing more to say. And she couldn’t run next door and ask Mary or another neighbor to watch out for someone. The shops on either side of hers were closed. She’d stayed at Reenie’s until well past eight. Isaac had picked up the kids when school had let out and they’d had dinner, together with Lucky’s family, to celebrate the fact that Gabe had pulled through his operation. Mica and Christopher were still at Reenie’s. But Liz had grown anxious about getting back to her shop. Now that she’d had a chance to begin to recover emotionally, to realize what had happened wasn’t the end of the world, after all, she was ready to tackle the cleanup and repairs.
Whoever had done this to her might have set her back a few days, but she wasn’t about to let one person destroy her dream. Not Mary. Not Keith. Not anyone remotely connected to either of them. She loved The Chocolaterie and would make it a success if it was the last thing she did.
But that didn’t mean she wasn’t frightened to confront whoever it was inside. Mary had mentioned a stranger watching her place, someone in a red Toyota. Was it him?
She took slow, careful steps as she approached the back door.
Movement inside made her knees go weak. What did this person have against her? Hadn’t enough damage been done?
Squatting, so she could run her hands over the ground, she searched for a weapon o
f some kind. Chances were good she’d know whomever it was. Chances were also good the vandal wasn’t dangerous in a bodily harm sort of way. But there was always that remote possibility…
When her fingers encountered the sharp edges of a large rock, she hefted it in one hand and rose, wishing her heart would quit making such a racket. It sounded louder than a jackhammer in her ears and made it difficult to believe she was approaching with any stealth.
The door creaked as she swung it wider. She almost called out to see if anyone would answer. She desperately wanted to hear a familiar voice, so she could be angry—instead of angry and scared. But the element of surprise was really her only advantage.
She crept through the opening, gripping the rock so hard it hurt her hands. In her panicked state, she couldn’t identify any new damage. But there were noises coming from the bathroom. What was it with that bathroom?
The door stood open but blocked her view of whoever might be inside. Light glimmered through a tiny gap by the hinges and Liz could just make out a body and some shifting shadows.
Whoever it was looked large. She was almost positive it was a man. Was it Keith, then? Or the stranger Mary had mentioned?
The hardwood floor creaked as she moved closer. Maybe she was being foolish, confronting this person alone. But she had to stand and defend what was hers while she had the chance.
And now was her chance….
Springing around the door, she lifted the rock and nearly brought it crashing down—on her father’s head. Or make that Gordon’s head. She didn’t quite know what to call him anymore. Not after thirty-two years of calling him Dad.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, momentarily frozen.
He’d automatically shielded his head with an arm, but once he realized it was her he jutted his chin toward the rock she still held in one hand. “You’ve got every right to be angry, but there’s no need to get violent,” he said, offering her a sheepish grin.
She relaxed into a less-threatening position. “I’m sorry. I was afraid—”
“That I was the bastard who did this?” He waved at the destruction around them. “No, I’m just the bastard who said something I sincerely regret.”
She could see now that he wasn’t ruining anything. He was trying to repair the damage. There was a toolbox at his feet. But she didn’t know how to respond to his comment about regretting what he’d said. Did he think he could announce that he wasn’t her father and then pretend he’d never mentioned it?
“How’d you get in?” she asked, stalling for enough time to sort out her feelings.
“I had to break the lock, but I can fix it.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“I wanted to surprise you.”
He’d definitely done that. “Why?”
“Herb over at the real-estate office told me what happened here, so I thought I’d come in and see if I could help clean up. I’m starting by reattaching the sink.”
“That doesn’t explain—what are you doing in Dundee?”
The way Gordon shifted on his feet revealed a fair amount of nervousness. “Maybe you should put down that rock before I tell you the rest,” he teased.
She set the rock on a table. “Go ahead.”
“I live here.”
Her jaw dropped. “You’re not serious.”
He rubbed his hands together. “’Fraid so. I’m now the proud tenant of a rather dilapidated mobile home. But it’s not far from Isaac’s farm.”
“Does he know you’ve moved to town?” she asked.
“Not yet. I just settled in this morning. Not that it took me long. I’m traveling pretty light these days.”
“I see,” she said. But she didn’t see at all.
One second stretched into the next as they stared at each other. Gordon seemed to be waiting for some sign that it was okay with her he was living in Dundee. But she couldn’t imagine why that would matter. She didn’t even belong to him. He’d made that perfectly clear.
“I’m sorry,” she said at last. “I’m guessing you came back because you don’t want things between you and Isaac to stay the way you left them. But I don’t think I can act as mediator, if that’s what you’re expecting.”
“I don’t expect that at all.”
“Then I’m at a loss to know what you want from me.”
“I’m here to fix what I broke, if I can.”
“That makes no sense. Since Mom died, you’ve wanted only to be rid of me—”
“That’s not true,” he argued. “I’ve always wanted you. I just…couldn’t deal with the truth. It was easier to stay busy and move forward as if nothing had happened.” His eyebrows knitted together in a rueful expression. “I told myself nothing had happened. But I’m afraid you might’ve received signals I didn’t even know I was sending.”
Liz moved some rolling carts out of the sugar that had been dumped on the floor. “So what’s changed?”
“Everything.”
“Everything,” she repeated, disbelieving.
“That’s why I’m here. That’s why I’m staying. I’m going to make it up to you and Isaac. I swear.”
Liz had never seen her father so contrite. Where was the big, plastic smile that usually hid what he was really thinking? The pretenses that allowed him to lie, even to himself? The subtle inference that if a problem existed he had no responsibility for it?
“How long?” she asked.
“How long what?” he replied.
“How long will you be here?”
“As long as it takes.”
Liz covered her mouth. She’d wanted this man’s love and attention since she could remember—had worshipped him from afar when he wouldn’t let her any closer. And now, just when she’d given up hope, he was here?
Could she really trust what he was telling her? Obviously, the past still bothered him, or he wouldn’t have acted the way he’d acted for the past eighteen years. That type of thing didn’t change overnight.
“I don’t know if I can deal with this,” she admitted, her heart racing. “I’d like you and Isaac to be able to have a relationship. What Mom did with me…I mean, it shouldn’t impact him.”
“I shouldn’t have let it impact you, either,” he said. “It wasn’t your fault.”
She gazed earnestly up at him. “Whose fault was it, Gordon?”
He winced when she used his name. “Mine,” he said without blinking.
She tried to accept his answer. But it was exactly what she wanted to hear, and he probably knew it. “How can that be true?”
He studied her with an air of sad resolve. “You’ll have to trust me.”
Despite his words, all the questions Liz swore she’d never ask nearly rushed out of her mouth all at once. Questions about how and when and why. But she permitted only one.
“Do you know who my real father is?”
She watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed; could see him struggling with the question.
“I do,” he said.
“How long have you known?”
“In a way, I just found out this weekend.”
Her heart skipped a beat. Let it go, she told herself. She knew she might not like what she learned, that it could be a friend’s father, an enemy’s father, or someone who worked on her parents’ cars or their yard or their house. It could be someone she’d never liked and wouldn’t want to belong to. It could even be someone too old or far too young. Beyond that, if she achieved a name and could put a face to the stranger who’d help create her, she’d forever picture her mother in the arms of this other man and wonder if she’d ever really known Chloe. Besides Isaac’s love, her mother’s memory was the only positive thing she had left from her childhood. She needed to safeguard it so she could pass on Chloe’s legacy to her children.
For all those reasons, Liz knew she shouldn’t ask. But how could she let it go, now that she had the chance? In any case, the word escaped before she could consciously form it. “Who?”
>
“Me, in all the ways that count,” he said with a smile.
She clamped her hands together. “Does that mean you won’t tell me?”
“Can we recover from what’s happened first? Get to know each other again and then, if it’s important to you, talk about it later?” he asked hopefully.
Liz knew that, someday, she’d ask again. As frightened as she was of the answer, it was a question that was going to eat at her. But she didn’t have to know now. They both needed time.
She nodded.
“Thanks,” he said, and then he surprised her by adding, “I love you.”
WHEN LIZ WENT BACK TO COLLECT her children, Lucky and her family were gone, and Reenie and Isaac were cleaning the kitchen together. They touched and kissed and smiled at every opportunity. It always made Liz happy to see them so in love—but tonight it also made her miss Carter.
She told herself she was crazy for feeling as strongly about him as she did. How had she been stupid enough to let herself fall for the wrong guy—again?
Maybe it was because she wasn’t fully recovered from her divorce. Or she was lonelier than she’d realized. Or she was, quite simply, a fool. But she missed him terribly and he’d only been gone two days.
She pictured the woman smiling cheek-to-cheek with him on his cell phone. Had he gone to see her? Were they considering reconciling? Or had he returned home to visit his mother or sisters or both?
He’d given her no clue. She wasn’t even sure she’d hear from him. Or that he’d be all that interested in seeing her again when he got back.
And now her father was back in town, and she couldn’t trust her heart in that situation, either.
“What’s wrong?” Isaac asked.
Liz was gathering together Mica’s jacket and Christopher’s sweatshirt as she waited for them to put on their shoes. They’d been begging her to stay a little longer, so they could see the end of the movie they’d been watching, but after the shock she’d received at The Chocolaterie, Liz craved the solitude of home. “You know Reenie will let us borrow the video tomorrow,” she told them for the third time.
