For a moment Tessa dares to hope she’s been granted a reprieve, but that hope dies when she spots the figure of a man leaning against the wall, his arms crossed in front of him.
Lloyd Winters.
He’s watching her through a mask of strained indifference, but Tessa isn’t fooled. Her gaze flits away from him, searching for anywhere else to land.
Mrs. Coburn is the first to break the silence. “Good evening, Ms. Ashwood,” she says sharply. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
Tessa steps farther into the room and gingerly shuts the front door behind her.
“These officers and I have been having a little chat. An enlightening experience, to say the least.” Tessa’s eyes widen at the woman’s poisonous tone. “I’ll see myself out,” Mrs. Coburn says to the female officer, “so you may interrogate Ms. Shepherd as you see fit.”
Mrs. Coburn’s heels click sharply across the floor as she exits the room, leaving no doubt about her feelings regarding her guest, whom she’d apparently be perfectly pleased to see waterboarded among her antique furniture.
“Tessa Shepherd? I’m Detective Joanna Morello with the New York State Police. I believe you know—”
“She knows who I am,” Winters barks.
Tessa flinches, but Detective Morello ignores him and continues in a calm, professional tone that Tessa tries to focus on. “Ms. Shepherd, have a seat. I’d like to ask you some questions, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course,” Tessa replies. She walks slowly to the chair that Mrs. Coburn has vacated and perches straight-backed along the edge, her posture unconsciously mirroring the woman studying her. Tessa has been on the other side of a great many interviews, yet she’s unaccountably nervous.
The anger coming from Chief Winters in palpable waves doesn’t help.
“You are aware of the current . . . situation regarding Oliver Barlow, I assume?” the detective begins.
Tessa nods.
“And you’re also, no doubt, aware that Oliver Barlow has indicated in the latest video that’s been released to the public that you might have some idea of his current whereabouts.”
Tessa is shaking her head before the detective has even finished speaking.
“I don’t,” she says. “I’m not sure why he’d say that, but I truly don’t.”
Detective Morello stares closely at Tessa, her expression giving away nothing. “Are you absolutely sure about that, Ms. Shepherd? When was the last time you spoke to Mr. Barlow?”
Tessa frowns. “It’s been months. Six months, maybe? When he was first released from prison, we spoke more often, but then things got busy at work. I started a new project. He seemed to be settling in okay, and . . . and I just . . .” Even to Tessa’s own ears, the words sound like excuses.
She takes a deep breath. “My life revolves around my work, Detective. For a time, that included Oliver. But the sad truth is, I’m not very good at maintaining friendships.” Tessa doesn’t attempt to defend herself. The causes of her inability to connect to other people may be suited to a therapist’s couch, but they have no place in a police interview.
“Oliver attempted to contact me several times in the days leading up to . . .” She glances toward Winters, whose jaw is tense and flexing as he stares down at his boots. “Leading up to the crime,” she continues, quickly looking back to Detective Morello. “I didn’t take the calls, and he didn’t leave any messages. He gave me absolutely no indication he was planning something like this, I swear to you.”
Morello’s gaze is inscrutable. The silence stretches out, fraught with the emotions emanating from Chief Winters.
“Ms. Shepherd,” the detective says, her voice soft but persistent. “A bright young girl is missing and presumed dead. We have no idea what Barlow has done with her body. No idea where he’s run to, and no idea what he plans to do next. If you have any information that might aid us in this investigation—”
“I don’t,” Tessa says with a vehement shake of her head. “Believe me, I wish I did. I would do anything to make this right.”
Winters lets out a dry, mirthless laugh. It raises goose bumps on Tessa’s arms, and she backs a bit farther into the chair. “It’s a little late for that, isn’t it, Shepherd?”
Tessa has nothing to say to that. He’s right.
“Barlow was right where he belonged before you came sniffing around, shoving your nose into places you had no business being.” He pulls his big frame from the wall he’s been leaning against, and Tessa can see his fists are clenched at his side.
“Winters,” Detective Morello warns in a deceptively calm voice.
Her tone is firm, but still, Tessa’s surprised when the big man heeds her admonishment and shoves his hands back into his pockets. Realization dawns on her.
“You’re with the state police?” she asks needlessly. The detective has said so several times already, but the implications were lost on Tessa in her agitated state. “Bonham PD isn’t taking the lead on the investigation?”
Detective Morello doesn’t blink. “The Bonham Police Department is assisting the New York State Police in a supplemental capacity.”
Winters’s jaw clenches. Tessa has no trouble translating that. Chief Winters and his department have been sidelined. A grieving father whose daughter has been suddenly and violently taken from him. A man used to giving orders and being obeyed. Targeted by his daughter’s killer, publicly taunted and jeered. Yet his hands have been officially tied.
They’d have more luck caging a hungry tiger in a cardboard box, Tessa thinks, eyeing the man with a new and elevated level of caution. She has no doubts who he blames for all this.
“Ms. Shepherd, we’re also here because your safety may be of some concern. We believe it’s in your best interest to be placed under police protection while the investigation of Oliver Barlow’s whereabouts is ongoing.”
Tessa’s gaze swings between the two of them, but Winters is staring determinedly at the wall somewhere above Tessa’s head. Whatever the man’s agenda, it has nothing at all to do with Tessa’s safety.
“I . . . I appreciate your concern, Detective, but I really don’t think—”
“He sent another video,” Winters interrupts. “They’ve managed to get an injunction to block the release to the public, but I’ve seen it. Barlow’s coming for you, Shepherd.”
Tessa leans backward, but it does little to distance herself from the satisfaction in Chief Winters’s voice.
“I don’t understand,” Tessa says, shaking her head. “Oliver has no reason to come after me. I haven’t done anything.”
Detective Morello answers softly. “Apparently, he believes otherwise.”
“That’s crazy,” Tessa says. “Besides, even if he’s looking for me, there’s no way he’s going to find me here.”
But that thought leads her to the next. A cold chill courses down her skin, leaving goose bumps behind.
“My sister,” she says. “You have to warn my sister. Oliver knows where I’m from. If he goes to Linlea, my sister—”
“We’ve already contacted the police in Linlea,” Detective Morello reassures her. “Your sister has been advised of the situation and will also be provided police protection. If Barlow shows up, we’ll get him.”
Relief floods through Tessa and she grasps the arms of the chair for support. There are too many things to process at once. She scrubs her hands over her face, then glances quickly back up at Morello and Winters.
“What did he say exactly? I want to see the video.”
Morello shakes her head. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible. But trust me when I tell you, he’s become increasingly erratic. We believe the threat he poses to you and your family is very real. I can’t overstate how important it is that you take precautions.”
“To be honest, Shepherd,” Winters says in a harsh, unforgiving voice, “I don’t give a damn about your safety. You didn’t give a second thought to my daughter’s safety when you convinced the world a murderer was h
armless, and frankly if he comes after you, that’s no more than you—”
“Enough,” Morello breaks in.
Winters pulls back the finger he’s jabbing toward Tessa’s face and blows out a long breath between puffed cheeks. But he doesn’t need to finish the sentence. Tessa has no misconceptions about where it was leading.
No more than she deserves.
“I don’t want police protection,” Tessa says hoarsely. “I can decline, can’t I?”
Morello frowns. “I would strongly suggest—”
“No,” Tessa says, shaking her head. “Even if he was looking for me, there’s no reason for him to look here. I’m as safe here as I would be anywhere.”
“Ms. Shepherd, I don’t think that’s—”
“You offered, the woman turned you down, Morello,” Winters says harshly. “Maybe she thinks she’s got nothing to fear from Barlow. Maybe there’s a reason for that.”
Tessa glances up in surprise, meeting Winters’s piercing gaze head-on for the first time since she walked into the bed-and-breakfast and found the pair of them waiting for her.
“What are you saying?” she asks, her voice so quiet it’s almost a whisper.
“There’s only one reason you could be so certain that Barlow won’t harm you, Ms. Shepherd,” he says, spitting her name from his lips like it was something foul. “And that’s because you’re in on this with him.”
The accusation runs over her like ice water, chilling her blood.
“You can’t seriously believe—”
“No,” Detective Morello assures her, glaring over her shoulder at the man. “The state police have thoroughly investigated your interactions with Barlow, and at this time, you’re not considered a suspect. Otherwise, you would be coming with me. All we’re asking is if you have any ideas, any at all, that might help us apprehend him.”
“No,” Tessa insists. “There’s nothing. When I knew Oliver, he was an inmate with one goal. A new trial. He wanted to prove his innocence and rejoin his family. That’s all. And God help me, I believed him. If he’d ever given any indication he was capable of something like this, I would have dropped the project immediately.”
Tessa risks a glance at Winters.
“I swear to you, I never saw this coming. If I could go back . . .”
Grief breaks through his stony features for the briefest of moments, but it tells Tessa everything she needs to know about how hard he’s working to hold himself together.
“Find him,” she says softly. Winters’s gaze locks on hers. “Find him and make him pay for this.”
The flare in the chief’s eyes steals her breath.
“I did that once already,” he says in a low voice, every word intended to land a blow.
“Then do it again,” Tessa says in a tone that echoes his. Words tumble from her mouth without thought of the consequence. “Do it right this time.”
Winters moves toward her, quickly coming around the sofa. Detective Morello is on her feet, meeting Winters with a restraining hand before he comes any closer to Tessa. His fists are clenched as tightly as his jaw, and she braces herself for whatever is coming.
But he stops and turns away, wrestling his emotions before he does something he can’t take back.
“Why don’t you step outside?” Morello says to him. “Get some air.”
There’s a pause, then Winters nods and walks quickly to the door. He shuts it carefully behind him, with an impressive level of self-control.
Joanna Morello’s professionalism slips for just a moment and she sighs, running a hand over her hair.
“I hope you understand why I’m going to decline your offer of police protection,” Tessa says. At this point she’s probably safer with Oliver than she is anywhere near Lloyd Winters.
“We can keep him away from you,” Morello tells her. Tessa’s not sure if she’s referring to Oliver or Winters, and the concerned glance she throws over her shoulder toward the door says she’s not entirely sure either.
“Thank you, but I’ll pass.”
The detective isn’t pleased, that much is clear, but there’s nothing remotely pleasing about the situation. Not for any of them.
“If you change your mind, please call me immediately. And if anything, anything at all, occurs to you as far as Barlow’s whereabouts—”
“I won’t hesitate.”
“Then there’s nothing more we can do here,” she says. The detective stands and Tessa follows her to the door. Morello pauses, then looks back to Tessa.
“I think he blames himself,” she says quietly, her hand on the doorknob. “Probably more than he blames you, but you’re an easier target.”
Tessa doesn’t know what to say to that and simply nods. Who the chief blames more . . . it makes no difference in the end.
“We both played our parts. And his daughter paid the price for our mistakes.”
Detective Morello nods and surprises her by holding up her hand to shake Tessa’s. And then she’s gone.
“I’ve taken the liberty of bringing down your luggage.”
Tessa startles. She didn’t hear Mrs. Coburn enter the room. She’s probably been listening from the kitchen the whole time. It is her house, Tessa reminds herself tiredly. She has no right to complain.
“I don’t know why you’ve come here, and to be honest, I don’t much care, but I’ll not harbor someone of your ilk under my roof.”
Tessa shakes her head. Her emotions are shredded and raw, and too near the surface. “I’m sorry . . . my ilk? And what exactly is my ilk, Mrs. Coburn?”
“You’re a liar.” She says the words as if she’s won some sort of prize. “Ashwood isn’t your name. And you’re a person of interest in a police investigation. For murder. How you can sleep at night, knowing what damage your little movie has caused, is beyond me, it truly is.”
Mrs. Coburn pushes Tessa’s suitcase toward her with the toe of her shoe, as if it’s something germ-infested she doesn’t dare touch.
Tessa sighs and grabs the handle to roll it out the door. As far as how she sleeps at night, one thing is certain. She won’t be doing any sleeping under this woman’s roof, or anything else for that matter.
If she has any doubts, the slam of the door at her back sets her straight.
22
It’s too late to knock on the door of another bed-and-breakfast, even if Snowden had any others. Which it doesn’t.
Like a dog with its tail tucked, Tessa points her little black car in the direction of the last town she passed with a population large enough to support a hotel.
The GPS informs her she’ll arrive at her destination in thirty-seven minutes. Somehow, the mechanical voice sounds judgmental.
As she navigates the winding, isolated roads that weave through northern Pennsylvania, the forest looms tall around her. Tessa has come face-to-face with Winters and emerged in one piece, but nothing else has changed. Her thoughts slide to Fallbrook. Tessa can’t shake a pang of loss for the unfinished business she’s leaving in her rearview mirror.
It’s not logical. She’ll be back in the morning. Yet she can’t help feeling like Fallbrook and the mystery of the Cooke family are being pried from her unwilling hands, a gift given, then snatched back before she’s had a chance to unwrap it.
But she has more pressing things to worry about.
She hasn’t been able to reach Margot.
Tessa dials again. “Margot? Are you okay?” she says when the call is picked up. But all she can hear are broken pieces of Margot’s voice. Soon she loses even that.
The text that arrives a few moments later helps to stave off full-blown panic.
Crap signal. Talk soon. Stay safe.
It doesn’t sound like her sister has been kidnapped by a murderous lunatic, but she can’t relax until she’s heard Margot tell her so.
She keeps one eye on the road while she checks the bars on her phone. There’s no point attempting a call until her signal improves.
For eighteen ye
ars, she and Margot were two halves that made a whole. They turned thirty-six this year, on opposite sides of a mountain that Tessa didn’t have the courage to scale. As many years apart as they’d spent together.
She won’t let Margot go again. Not now. Not ever.
Tessa is nearing civilization when the bars on her phone light up, first one, then all of them. She could cry in relief, but she takes a deep breath and continues in search of a hotel. She’ll check in, settle into a room, and find some semblance of calm before she calls her sister again.
She makes it as far as the parking lot.
With the lights of a Best Western burning behind her, Tessa hits redial and waits.
The call connects immediately to Margot’s prerecorded voice mail message. She hangs up and dials again. Same response.
“Margot, I’m worried about you,” Tessa says impatiently to her sister’s voice mail. “Call me back, even if you’re mad. I’ll feel better after I hear your voice.”
She ends the call, then immediately dials again. This time, Margot picks up.
“Tess?”
“Where are you?” Tessa asks immediately. “Are you safe?”
“—fine—police were—about you—”
The few words Tessa can make out are interspersed with bits of static and silence.
“Margot, can you hear me?” Tessa asks, shouting into the phone. Because raising her voice will improve the connection.
There’s no response.
“Margot!”
With a few choice words that would horrify her mother, Tessa ends the call and tries again.
Nothing.
She’s debating throwing the phone out the window and driving over it a few times when another text comes.
Stop calling. I’m fine. Talk tomorrow.
A low, frustrated growl comes out of her throat, and Tessa tosses the phone into the passenger seat.
She pushes her hair back from her face with both hands and catches the reflection of the hotel lights. There’s a room waiting, with a tub, and a minibar, and a bed she’s too keyed up to sleep in.
The Caretakers Page 11
