by Dawn Brown
Dean Lawson. How had she not recognized him? In all fairness, he had been the last person she expected to see at Michelle’s memorial.
“Such a shame,” Mrs. Yolken said again. Haley gritted her teeth until her jaw ached. She wished the woman would find someone else to pump for information. When it came to gossip, Yolken was like a circling vulture, barely waiting for her prey to stop twitching before swooping in.
Mr. Greene slowly got to his feet. “I should see about another coffee.”
The idea of Mrs. Yolken claiming her undivided attention sent a wave of panic through her. “Let me get that for you.”
“Nonsense, Haley.” He waved her off and headed for the kitchen, probably as eager to get away from the other woman as she was.
Crap.
“I just can’t believe she was in your grandmother’s house all that time.” Mrs. Yolken shook her head.
Not this again. That’s right, while my grandmother was staying here, caring for her drunk daughter, someone buried my sister in her basement. She should have drawn up some kind of FAQ to hand people as they came through the door.
“Strange your father never sold the house.”
Haley smiled and looked away. How could she lose this woman?
“One might think he knew Michelle was there all along.”
Haley turned sharply. “What did you say?”
“Oh, dear, I didn’t mean that.” Mrs. Yolken’s tiny, black eyes shone malignantly in her long, horse face. “Just that it seems he almost sensed it.”
“Is that how it seems?” Haley’s stomach churned.
“I hope you don’t think I’m implying anything. I’ve known your family for so long I couldn’t bear to hear a bad word said about any of you.”
Of course not. Haley bit the inside of her lip. Unless, you were first to pass the sordid details along.
“I know your father adored you girls. Even if people are talking, I certainly wouldn’t say a word to encourage such stories.”
Haley opened her mouth to speak, something sharp and scathing, but snapped it shut. The last thing she needed was to give the woman a reaction and something more to talk about over her next bridge game.
“I’m glad we can count on you,” she said instead.
Mrs. Yolken frowned. “Do the police think he killed her there?”
“Who killed her?” Haley asked, her tone sharper than she would have liked.
“Dean Lawson. The police still think he was the one, don’t they?” A hint of a smile touched her thin lips.
“There was never enough evidence to connect him to her disappearance.”
“Ridiculous, after he had been stalking her like that.”
“There was no proof.” But he was back and what did that mean? “Michelle never went to the police and accused him of anything.”
“Half the town saw her screaming at him right there on Main Street, then she vanishes the same night. I’m as sure as my own name, he killed her.” Mrs. Yolken was quiet for a moment. “Will the police search for him now?”
They wouldn’t have to search far. “I don’t think so, there’s still nothing to connect him.”
“But now that Michelle’s body has been found surely new evidence will be found as well. Is Dean Lawson still the only suspect, or are there others?” Her eyes almost glowed with greedy excitement.
“As far as I know, there are no new suspects. If you’ll excuse me, I really should see if Erin or Paige need any help.” Haley stood, her head spinning.
Damn it. How did she not see this coming? Back when her grandmother died, people found it strange her father didn’t eventually sell her house or even rent it out. Now that Michelle had been found, that was all anyone was talking about. Was her father a suspect? The thought brought an icy sweat to her skin.
She needed answers, and she didn’t want to wait until after everyone left.
Slowly, careful not to draw anyone’s attention, she made her way to the front hall and gathered her coat before slipping outside. She climbed into her rusted Chevy Nova and turned the key in the ignition. The motor sputtered, then went silent. After a muttered prayer to the-heap-of-junk car gods for the beast to make it through just one more winter, she tried again. This time the engine caught.
While waiting for the car to warm up, she shivered. She rubbed her hands together and peeked over her shoulder like a guilty teenager sneaking out of the house after curfew. Ten minutes later, an eternity, she pulled away from the curb.
What she really wanted to do was go home, soak in a hot tub and pretend this day had never happened. But first, she needed to make a stop.
She drove down Main Street and parked in front of her store, not bothering to put money in the meter. She didn’t plan to take long.
Inside, Billy stood behind the counter helping a twenty-something couple. He frowned as she entered, but said nothing. She sailed past him into the workshop, and closed the door behind her.
Al jumped at the sound and tried to hide something behind his back. Smoke streamed steadily from a cigarette burning in an ashtray fashioned from an old soda can on the workbench.
“No smoking back here.” The hairs on the back of her neck bristled as she tried to clamp down on her growing anger. This wasn’t the first time she’d caught him. With the flammable chemicals they worked with, it was a wonder he hadn’t blown them all sky high. She tossed the cigarette and ashtray through the open back door into the alley. As she turned to face him, she caught a glimpse of the magazine rolled behind his back and a big, pink nipple on the cover. She sighed. “Break time?”
“Yeah.” Al shrugged. “What are you doing here?”
Probably making a huge mistake. “Where’s Dean?”
His eyes went wide. “I—well—um—how would I know?”
“I know he’s here, I spoke to him at the memorial, and I know you know where he is.”
“Did he tell you that?” His usually pasty skin turned pink.
“No, but you don’t need to be a brain surgeon to make the connection. Have you stayed in touch with him since he left?” Why did that bother her?
His eyes narrowed and he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. She could almost see his mind turning.
“Look,” she said, her patience all but gone. “I’m not going to fire you for knowing him, but if you don’t tell me where the hell he is, I will.”
His shoulders slumped in defeat. “He’s staying at the Mountainview under the name Matthew Clarke.”
“Thank you,” she said, her voice like saccharine. “And if I catch you smoking back here again, I really will fire you.”
The Mountainview Motel was neither on a mountain nor did it offer a view of one, as the name implied. Little more than a row of shabby rooms slightly north of town, Haley was surprised the place managed to remain open.
As she drove into the lot, she spotted Dean’s car parked in front of one of the rooms and pulled up next to it. What was she doing here, really? Hadn’t she had enough drama for one day? Maybe, but she needed to know why he was back. Why now?
With a sigh she opened the door and stepped out into the cold. The walk running the length of the motel had been shoveled, exposing weathered wood planks. She crossed to his door and knocked loudly before she changed her mind.
After a moment, the door swung back and Dean filled the opening. He didn’t look at all surprised to see her. Al had probably called to warn him after she’d left.
She could understand how she hadn’t recognized him. The boyishness had left his face, making his features sharper, almost predatory and, if at all possible, more attractive. Even his body seemed harder and leaner than she remembered.
Her heart rate quickened, and something fluttered in her stomach. Could he really have killed Michelle?
Killer or not, she would have to say something soon. She couldn’t just stand there staring like a twit all day.
“I didn’t recognize you earlier,” she said. Better than silence, but only marginally.
/> Dean leaned casually against the frame. “I figured.”
“Erin recognized you.” She should have stuck with silence.
“What do you want, Haley?” His voice was deep and quiet.
“Why are you here?”
He sighed and moved aside. “Do you want to come in?”
She hesitated. If she went inside that room, would anyone ever see her again? Allister was the only person who knew where she was and she didn’t have a whole lot of faith he’d come to her rescue if she needed him to.
“People know where I am,” she said at last.
Dean smirked, but said nothing as she stepped inside, closing the door behind her.
“Nice place you have here, Matthew Clarke,” she said, taking in the faded beige wallpaper and gold shag carpet. An ugly oil painting of a gnarly sea captain hung over the sagging double bed.
“I wanted to keep a low profile.”
“I thought you would have stayed with Al.”
“Have you seen Al’s apartment?” A faint smile touched his lips. “This place is a palace.”
He had a point. She had seen Al’s apartment once and had gone straight home and showered.
“Sit down,” he offered, gesturing to the only chair in the room. As she pulled it away from the desk, she noticed a thick envelope and file folder with bits of paper curling around the edge stacked neatly in the top corner. She would have loved to go through those pages. To see just what Dean studied on alone in a grubby motel room.
“So,” she said. “Why are you here?”
“Maybe I just wanted to pay my respects.” He sat on the corner of the bed, his eyes bright and his mouth still twisted in that slightly mocking smirk.
“By lurking in the parking lot?”
The grin vanished. “I wasn’t in the parking lot the whole time. I watched the service from the door. When I saw you get up and start to leave I decided to go.”
“You came back for the memorial?”
“Maybe.” He shrugged.
“Or maybe you’re worried there’s something to link you to Michelle after all.”
A tiny muscle twitched in his jaw. “Is that what you think?”
I don’t know what to think, and you’re not giving anything away. “I don’t think you came back here just to watch Michelle’s memorial from an open door. So why not tell me what you’re really doing here?”
“What do you want me to say, Haley? That I did it? That I killed her?”
“Did you?”
“If I did, it wasn’t too smart to come looking for me now, was it?” His voice was quiet, but there was an edge, jagged, like a serrated blade.
A tiny ember ignited within her. A slow fury growing hotter and brighter each time he spoke. “Are you threatening me?”
“No,” he said on a sigh, suddenly sounding very tired. “No, I’m not.”
“Why are you here?” she asked again.
“I’m not ready to tell anyone yet, but when I am, I’ll tell you first.”
“That’s it? That’s the best you can do?”
He nodded.
“Well, sorry, not good enough. Tell me why you’re back. I’m not going anywhere until you talk.”
“Suit yourself.” He shrugged. “I was thinking about ordering dinner. Pizza or Chinese?”
“This isn’t a joke, Dean. My sister is dead.”
“I know. And I will tell you why I’ve come back, but not yet. I need to be sure of some things first.”
“Fine. You have until tomorrow. If I don’t get some answers before the end of the day, there isn’t a person in this town who won’t know you’re here.”
Haley stood and strode out the door, suppressing a smile at the sight of his stony stare.
As she marched to the wreck parked next to his car, Dean stood in the open doorway, half shocked, half irritated, shaking his head.
She’d threatened him.
It took her three tries to get her heap started, taking a little something away from her dramatic exit. But not much. As he closed the door, he could hardly believe it. Quiet little Haley, who used to watch him with those amazing eyes so long ago, had threatened him. And he didn’t doubt for a second that she meant what she said. To think, he actually felt sorry for her for a second there.
He would have to get things done tonight. That was probably better anyway. The sooner he finished, the sooner he could get the hell out of this town. He snatched his coat from the end of the bed and headed out the door.
Lara watched her husband from across Claire Carling’s living room as he spoke to Paige. Dressed in a dark gray suit and crisp, white shirt he looked as immaculate as ever. Perhaps Lara did feel something for him, after all. Wishful thinking. She should have at least had some stirring of jealousy as she watched him devote his attentions to Paige, while he hadn’t spoken a single word to her all day.
With a sigh, she turned away. She should be mourning the passing of her best friend and not obsessing over the state of her marriage, but she couldn’t help herself. If it was possible, he was more distant than usual. And she was afraid of what that meant.
Could he know about Richard? Dear God, what had she been thinking? She didn’t even like Richard and now she might have jeopardized her lifestyle because of him.
“You look good enough to eat.” The hot, whispered breath against her ear made her jump. As if simply thinking about him had summoned him, Richard stood behind her grinning. She turned quickly to see if Jonathan noticed. Thankfully, he was still engrossed in his conversation with Paige.
“Are you insane?” Lara demanded, her voice a harsh whisper. “He could have seen.”
“Yes,” Richard said, trying to keep his expression serious, and failing. Hard, humorless mirth sparkled in his eyes. “I don’t think he would care.”
“I do.” Lara lowered her voice when some of the other guests turned their way. “Enough is enough. This, whatever it is, is over.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” Richard said as she stalked off. He didn’t follow, but she could feel him grinning at her without even looking.
He probably assumed this was just a new game, something to make their affair more illicit and exciting. That she would actually reject him was a concept he couldn’t grasp. He was an attractive man and women rarely told him no. She hadn’t, after all.
She threw on her long, black fur coat, not politically correct, but there was little chance of being drenched in red paint on the streets of Hareton. As she made her way to the door, Erin stopped her. The fear in her eyes turned Lara cold.
“We need to talk,” Erin said softly. “But not here, there are too many people.”
“I’m leaving now. Call me later and I’ll meet you.” She didn’t want to, though. She had enough intrigues on her plate, the last thing she needed was for Erin to add to them.
“Fine, but it has to be soon. Something’s happened, and it’s not good.”
Lara nodded and escaped, leaving Erin and her dire predictions behind.
Barely five o’clock and the sky was almost dark. She hated this time of year. The short days and frigid cold. Houses up and down the street glowed with brightly colored Christmas lights. A sad attempt to make winter somewhat less ugly.
Clutching her coat around her, she crossed the street, unlocked her car, and climbed inside. As she slid her key in the ignition and started the engine, the passenger door opened, making her jump. She expected Richard, continuing his stupid game. Inhaling deeply, she prepared for her most dramatic of irritated sighs. But the breath locked in her throat and her eyes went wide as Dean settled into the seat next to her.
“Hello, Lara,” he said quietly and slammed the door shut.
Her mouth hung open, but no words came. Christ, things were unraveling fast.
Chapter Six
Jonathan drank deeply from his glass. The whiskey burned like molten fire down his throat to his gut, but did nothing to warm him. He stood facing the window and the impenetrable darkness
outside marred by his own faded reflection.
Funerals were depressing and Michelle’s had been no exception. Worse maybe. While coming face to face with his own mortality, he had no choice but to acknowledge the unfortunate role he had played in Michelle’s demise.
Outside, the wind gusted, lifting a cloud of powdered snow from the ledge. There had been snow the night Michelle vanished. Large, feathery flakes had swept over her tracks, erasing all sign of her.
Again he drank, this time draining the glass. He set it on the edge of the desk and turned away from the window, lowering himself into the chair. Memories of Michelle filled his head, despite his best efforts to push them away.
He needed to work. If he busied himself with contract bids, there would be no room for Michelle. He could tuck her image away to that shadowy corner of his brain. Forgotten until the next time he saw a woman with the same blonde hair or caught the scent of Michelle’s perfume.
He lifted his briefcase from the floor and popped open the latches with two simultaneous clicks. From inside, he removed some file folders and a key ring.
He slid a small silver key into the lock on his desk drawer and tried to turn it, but it wouldn’t open. With a frown he pulled it away from the drawer to make sure he had the right one. He did.
He tried again, and again the key wouldn’t turn. Then, with a burst of sudden inspiration, he rotated the key in the opposite direction. The lock clicked loudly into place.
Open. The drawer had been open. How could that be? He hadn’t left it that way last night. He twisted the key again before pulling out the drawer, then turned it so the silver latch popped up.
Someone had broken into his desk—he ran his thumb over the metal, scarred with several deep grooves—and not for the first time.
His expense ledger and the few other items he kept in the drawer appeared untouched. He reached farther inside until his fingers closed around the small velvet ring box. Someone had been in his desk on the day of Michelle’s memorial. Coincidence? Not likely.
“Anything out of place?”
At the sound of his father’s voice, Jonathan released the box as if burned and quickly closed the drawer. The latch, still in the locked position, kept him from closing it all the way and he struggled to clamp down on the irrational sense of panic rocketing through him. He lifted his gaze to his father’s huge frame filling the doorway.
