Suspicions: a novel of suspense

by Christine Kersey

  She hesitated. “I was looking for information on Mark Stone.”

  Stacey noticed Perkins seemed surprised to hear that.

  “Why did you want information on Mark Stone?” Perkins asked.

  Stacey felt anger flaring. “Because you people were accusing my husband of kidnapping Kyle Stone and I wanted to find out who really did it.”

  Detective Clemens looked annoyed at Perkins as he stared at Stacey. He ignored Clemens and asked Stacey, “And did you think Mark Stone was involved? Did you find out your answer?” He finally stopped talking at the look from Clemens.

  Stacey paused. “First tell me why I'm here.”

  The detective nodded. “Fair enough. Mrs. Hunter, we had an anonymous call that said you are involved with Gary Tomlison's murder.” They waited for her response.

  Shocked, she cried out, “Me? Why would I want to kill him?”

  “That's what we'd like to know,” Perkins muttered under his breath. He didn't comment on the fact she wasn't surprised to hear Gary was dead.

  “I hardly knew the man.” She looked from one to the other. “Besides, I was home this morning.”

  Perkins' eyebrows went up. “How did you know he was killed this morning?”

  Detective Clemens looked pointedly at Perkins and he clipped off his next question. “Perkins? May I speak with you outside?”

  Stacey knew she had made a mistake and took the opportunity of the detectives' exit to think of an answer. They came back a moment later and Perkins scowled at Stacey.

  Yet Clemens was smiling. “Now, Mrs. Hunter. How did you know Gary Tomlison had been killed this morning?”

  “Well, I saw it on the news. Didn't they say it happened this morning?”

  Perkins stared at her steadily but didn't say anything. Stacey was grateful to Detective Clemens for making him stop asking her questions.

  Stacey ignored Perkins and looked only at Clemens as she asked Stacey a tough question of her own. “They said a man was found dead but they didn't say who that man was or when he was killed. I wonder how you would know his identity when we didn't?”

  Stacey's hands felt clammy and she rubbed them together under the table where no one would notice. “Did anyone see me leave while my husband was delivering the ransom money?” she asked.

  Clemens glanced at Perkins, then looked back across at Stacey. “We weren't watching your house.”

  Stacey squeezed her eyes shut. “Well, I was there with my children.”

  “Why did you tell Mrs. Tomlison to call the police only hours after Mr. Tomlison had been killed?”

  Stacey opened her eyes and forced herself to look straight ahead. “When I heard the news, I guessed it might be Gary. I went to see Michelle and when I went into the house it looked like it had been ransacked. So I suggested she call the police.”

  “What made you think the dead man was Mr. Tomlison, Stacey?”

  Stacey noticed the subtle change that occurred when Clemens stopped calling her Mrs. Hunter and instead called her Stacey. “The reporter mentioned a scar over his eye that I remembered seeing.”

  Perkins seemed to be enjoying this and couldn't stop himself from asking, “Why would you assume it was Gary Tomlison? There are a lot of men with scars on their faces who would be more likely than a teacher to be a victim of murder.”

  She felt light-headed. “I guess I just had a feeling it was him.” She looked Perkins straight in the eyes. “By then I had found the paper with Gary's signature on it. The one that said he bought the car involved in the kidnapping.”

  Perkins smiled at her. “Yes, your husband's car.”

  “He sold it.” Stacey couldn't believe this.

  Detective Clemens took over. “That's interesting you should mention that, Stacey. As a matter of fact, Mrs. Tomlison told us they never owned a brown Toyota Celica.”

  Stacey bit the inside of her lip to keep from crying.

  “Why didn't you call us right away to tell us your son had been a witness to Kyle's kidnapping, Stacey?” The detective asked.

  She felt her hands begin to tremble. “I . . .I guess I was scared.”

  Clemens furrowed her brow. “Why would you be scared? Did you think your husband was involved?”

  Stacey thought about that morning, only four days before, when she had suspected her husband of being involved. But now she couldn't entertain such thoughts, and she certainly wouldn't admit to the police that she'd had suspicions. “No. It's just that, when Robby described that car, I panicked.” She looked quickly from one to the other. “But I know Jason's not involved.” As they stared at her, Stacey felt the tension increase. “I'm not under arrest, right?”

  Clemens looked at Perkins. “No. I thought we'd made that clear.”

  Perkins nodded.

  “Then I'm free to go, right?”

  “Yes,” answered Clemens, “But I have one more question.”

  She tried to breath normally. “Yes?”

  “Why did you lie about Gary owning your husband's car?”

  She opened her eyes wide. She felt betrayed by this woman who she had thought was on her side. “I didn't lie. I found that paper when I was cleaning out a drawer.”

  They looked at each other, neither one smiling. “Are you saying Mrs. Tomlison lied about owning that car?”

  Stacey stood up suddenly and hit the table with her closed fist. The officers were startled. It took all of her self-control to keep from becoming hysterical. “Don't you see? Someone else is involved in the kidnapping with Gary. Maybe even his wife.” Stacey knew she was grasping at straws.

  Perkins gave her a patronizing look. “You don't really believe that, do you, Stacey?”

  Stacey felt exasperated. “I'm leaving now.”

  They didn't try to stop her as she stood, her heart pounding, and left the police station.

  When she got into her car in the police parking lot, she sat there, too stunned to cry. Who called in anonymously to say I had something to do with Gary's murder? How would that person know I had even met him? Is it the same person who left the message on my machine saying they knew what I was doing? Was it the same person who left the spiders on my doorstep? And most ridiculous of all, do the police think Jason and I conspired to commit a kidnapping? How absurd!

  Starting the car, she slowly drove home. She didn't know what to do, but she did want to talk to Jason about it.

  When she got home, she remembered the milk she had bought at the store and hoped it hadn't spoiled. Putting it in the refrigerator, she went to look for Jason, but was disappointed when she couldn't find him. She needed to talk to him about what had just happened. He would probably laugh at the irony. Because of her he had become a suspect in a kidnapping and now she might be a murder suspect.

  Did the police connect the murder with the kidnapping? Did they already think Gary was involved in Kyle's abduction? Were they just playing with her? Or had they discounted any connection between Gary's murder and the kidnapping? She thought Gary must have been involved and whoever killed him was probably the mastermind.

  She knew she was innocent and hoped the police would soon discover that, too. Balling her fists in frustration, she knew once again it was up to her to prove her own innocence. But she needed to find the real murderer to do that.

  She was hopeful Deanna might shed some light on the whole situation when Stacey went to San Francisco tomorrow.

  She was worn out and beginning to get worried about Jason and the kids. Where were they? It was six-thirty.

  She went into the bedroom and put on a pair of comfortable sweats and a T-shirt, then went into the kitchen to start dinner. As she walked through the family room, she picked up the remote from the top of the television and flipped on the news. While pulling some things out for dinner, she only half-listened to the anchor. She began chopping vegetables and setting them into a bowl, but her knife froze in midair as the anchor began his next story.

  “...we now have the identity of the victim who was fou
nd murdered earlier today. His name was Gary Tomlison. He was a local high school math teacher. The police have no suspects in custody at this time.”

  They cut to video of the crime scene which Stacey hadn't seen before. It was behind a supermarket and yellow police tape was strung around the area like garland on a Christmas tree. A white sheet covered the body. They cut to the anchor again.

  “In other news . . .”

  Stacey wondered who, besides herself, was considered a possible suspect. Again, she thought that whomever had killed Gary was probably behind the kidnapping.

  If the police don't find the true culprit soon, she thought, it's likely that I, along with Jason, will become their prime suspects. Her hand shook as she realized they could even get arrested for this. Who would take care of Robby and Nikki?

  A new fear came over her as the possible scenarios ran through her head.

  Then the face of Deanna Everett/Jackson leaped in front of her eyes. What if she really did kill her own husband? What would keep her from killing again? Did Mark know what kind of woman he was involved with? And why did she leave town at the same time the ransom was delivered and Gary was murdered?

  Carefully putting the vegetables back in the refrigerator, she knew she would have to go back to the police station. Even though she was going to investigate Deanna tomorrow, common sense told her not to wait to let the police in on her fears. But she didn't want to talk to Perkins. And she didn't really want to talk to Detective Clemens either, especially after she had seemed to turn on Stacey. She settled for writing a note to Perkins. She wrote: Check into Deanna Everett or Jackson for a connection to the murder of Gary Tomlison and the kidnapping of Kyle Stone. She's staying at the Hyatt Regency Hotel in San Francisco.

  She didn't sign her name.

  When she gave it to the desk sergeant, he told her Detective Perkins was in if she'd like to talk to him directly. Declining, she instead asked if he would give the note to him.

  She got out of there as quickly as she could.

  This time when she got home Jason was in the family room playing a game with the kids. They all looked up as Stacey entered the room.

  “Where have you been, Stacey?”

  Emotionally exhausted, she decided not to tell him about the mess with the police just yet. She didn't want him to worry about her and besides, he might not let her go to San Francisco if he knew how deep she was into this.

  “I just had some things to take care of.” She gave Jason a bright smile. “But I really need to go to San Francisco tomorrow.”

  Jason jerked his head in surprise. “What on earth for?”

  “Please just trust me. I have to go.”

  He didn't look convinced but nodded anyway. “You don't have to ask me for permission.”

  “I know, but I wanted to tell you.”

  He smiled and turned to the children, asking them to play without him for a while. Then, taking Stacey by the hand, he led her into the living room, away from the children. He sat her down on the couch and knelt in front of her. “Stacey, I just want to tell you again how sorry I am for everything with Patricia.”

  She looked down at the floor, then back up into his blue eyes, her joy dampened. “I know you are, Jason. Now what are we going to do to make sure it doesn't happen again?”

  He stood from the floor and then sat next to Stacey. “I've decided to tell her once and for all to leave me alone.”

  Sighing, Stacey said, “I hope that works, but I think she has other things in mind.” She remembered Patricia's threats from the previous night.

  Jason gave her a puzzled look, but she ignored it. She was determined to have a good evening. “What do you want to do for dinner?” she asked. “Do hamburgers sound okay? I'll go get them.”

  “Sure. That sounds fine.”

  As she drove to the fast food joint, her mind wouldn't stop analyzing her situation. Truly believing there could be a link between Deanna and Gary, she hoped that giving Deanna's name to Perkins would clear things up and their life could get back to normal. She thought about the connections they shared: They both worked at the school, they both knew Mark Stone had money, and now Gary was dead and Deanna was out of town. Why?

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Day 7 – Sunday

  The inside of the Hyatt Regency Hotel in San Francisco was an indoor garden. The entire ceiling was made of glass and on sunny days the sun shone down onto the live trees that filled the atrium. Flowers streamed over the tops of wooden trellises, with tables and chairs resting underneath. The rooms on the inner part of the hotel looked down onto this indoor Eden. The rooms on the outer side looked over the bay and the planes gliding into the San Francisco airport.

  Stacey walked into the lobby and went straight to the front counter, getting in line behind a businessman who carried a suitcase in one hand and a briefcase in the other. When he finished checking in, Stacey stepped up to the counter. The clerk asked her how he could help her and she hesitated for only a moment. “Can you tell me what room Deanna Everett is in?”

  Looking disappointed, he informed her he could not give her the room number but he could call Ms. Everett and let her give out her room number herself.

  Not see any other option, Stacey agreed. The clerk typed some information into his computer, then, as he picked up the phone, another clerk pulled him aside to ask for help with a problem he was having.

  He turned to Stacey. “Excuse me a moment.”

  She nodded and smiled, but when he turned his back she stood on tiptoe and quickly glanced at the computer screen. She was able to see Deanna's room number before he turned back to her.

  Stacey smiled at him again. “You know what? I don't really have time to talk to her right now. Perhaps later.”

  “As you wish,” he said.

  Walking away from the front lobby and into the atrium, she went to the bar and asked for a glass of water, her throat suddenly dry at the thought of talking to Deanna. She sat at an unoccupied table and watched as people finished their breakfasts.

  Any hunger she felt at skipping her own breakfast in order to leave early in the morning for the ninety-minute drive vanished as she thought about how close she was to finding the truth. Jason hadn’t liked it when she wouldn’t tell him why she was going to San Francisco and had balked at her going. But after she had explained it was the only way to get their situation resolved he had finally relented, saying he expected her home before the day was through. She agreed, glad he trusted her enough to let her come here without any explanation.

  Thinking about him and how important he was to her gave her the confidence she needed to confront Deanna and find out the truth. Finishing her water, she left the atrium and walked down the few steps to the main lobby.

  She stepped into the elevator with four other people. After they pushed the buttons for their floors, she reached over and pressed number eight. When the elevator stopped on the third floor, two people got off and one person got on. On the sixth floor two more people got on. There were now five people on the elevator besides Stacey. When they reached the eighth floor, the doors slid open silently. Stacey was about to make her way to the front of the car when she saw Deanna standing there, waiting to enter. Pressing herself against the back wall, Stacey turned her head.

  Three people stepped off and then Deanna entered, punching the button for the fifth floor. Not yet prepared to talk to Deanna, Stacey felt alarm. Deanna turned and faced the doors as soon as she entered. As the elevator began to move down, Stacey silently prayed the other two people would be enough of a shield to block Deanna’s view of her if she turned around. Looking through her purse with studied concentration, Stacey let her shoulder-length hair fall in front of her face.

  The elevator stopped on the fifth floor and Deanna stepped out, turning left. Stacey stayed on, not sure if she should follow her. The elevator began moving again. Making a quick decision, Stacey pushed the button for the fourth floor. She had to wait until the other two occupants di
sembarked on the lobby floor before the elevator began moving upward again.

  Once it stopped on the fourth floor she quickly got out and turned right, down the hall to the door leading to the stairs. She pulled it open and ran up the stairs to the fifth floor. When she got there, she pulled the door open and peeked out. Not seeing Deanna anywhere, she stepped out into the hallway and tried to catch her breath, winded from the short sprint.

  Maybe I should start that exercise routine I've been putting off, she thought.

  She walked past the elevator, heading in the same direction she had seen Deanna go. It had already been about a minute and a half since Deanna had stepped off and Stacey hoped Deanna hadn't already reached her destination.

  Cautiously following the hallway, she came to a curve and slowed as she approached, glancing around the corner, then almost gasped. There stood Deanna, leaning against a railing, staring out the large window that overlooked the San Francisco Bay. An airplane approached, coming in low, heading toward the runway.

  Stacey stood there, wondering what Deanna was doing.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Amanda poured herself a glass of grapefruit juice and set it down on the counter, then picked up the bottle of pills her doctor had prescribed for the stress and popped the lid off. Putting the pill on the back of her tongue, she picked up the glass of juice and drank it down quickly, tossing her head back in the process.

  She heard a sound and turned to see Mark standing there.

  “Do you really need to take those?” he asked, pointing to the bottle on the counter.

  She didn't feel like fighting, but she also didn't like his tone of voice. “Doctor McCullough prescribed them for stress and they do help me to relax.”

  “You don't see me taking anything for my stress, do you?”

  Beaten down by the weeklong ordeal, she was not up to his verbal sparring. “I'm glad you don't, Mark. But I need to.”

  Setting the glass back on the counter, she walked into the living room where an FBI agent was stationed. He had the Sunday paper on his lap, reading the latest news story on Kyle's abduction.