He might be the only suspect.
Thank goodness Stella had offered to stay at the house with Samuel. The last thing he needed was to sit in a police station for half a day.
“This is a mess,” she muttered.
“What’s that, dear?” Gretchen Sampson looked up from her computer screen. A gray-haired grandmother of ten, she’d been working as a receptionist for the River Valley Police Department for more years than Raina had been alive. Everyone in town seemed to know her, and she seemed to know everyone in town. If there was trouble, she knew it, and if someone was in need, she spearheaded the effort to help.
After Matt’s and Joseph’s deaths, she’d been the first on Raina’s doorstep, offering a casserole and a hug. “Nothing. I’m just...worried about my friend.”
“That good-looking guy Andrew is questioning?” She glanced at the interview room, her gray curls so short and tight they barely moved. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“Andrew seems to think he might have been involved in Butch’s murder.”
“Nah. He’s just being cautious.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“I know I’m right. I probably shouldn’t say, but I heard Andrew talking to Garrison Smith. That young guy who just joined the force? Blond hair and brown eyes? Looks young enough to be in grade school?”
Raina knew who she was talking about. Garrison had transplanted from Miami a few months before the accident. He’d been on the scene when they’d pulled Matt and Joseph from the car, and he’d been with Andrew when he’d broken the news to her. “I know him.”
“He found Butch facedown in a ditch beside the road. Pretty close to where you guys had that incident this morning. There didn’t appear to be any trauma to the body, so Garrison assumed that Butch had died of natural causes.” She paused, apparently waiting for some kind of reaction from Raina. When she didn’t get one, she continued, “He did due diligence. Took pictures of the scene. Including a footprint in the mud near the body. After the coroner realized Butch had been strangled—”
“He was strangled?” That wasn’t something Andrew had mentioned.
“Yes, and whoever did it wanted to make sure he was well and truly dead. His larynx was crushed. Poor guy.” Gretchen blinked rapidly, and Raina was sure she was fighting tears.
“I’m so sorry that happened to him, Gretchen. No one deserves that kind of death.”
“You’re right about that. Butch might have been a drunk, but he helped me around my house after my husband died. Painted my barn one year and fixed the fence when it was coming down. He never asked for anything but a hot meal.” Gretchen sniffed and wiped at her eyes. “But I’m getting off the subject. That print Garrison took the picture of? It didn’t belong to your young man.”
“He’s not—” Mine, she almost said, but stopped herself before she could voice the protest. “How do you know?”
“Easy. Your friend was wearing boots, right?”
“Yes.”
“Garrison said the print came from a running shoe. Nike, maybe. They’re looking into it.”
“It might not belong to the murderer,” she pointed out, and Gretchen shook her head.
“You’re wrong there, dear.” She leaned forward, snagged Raina’s hand and pulled her a step closer. “Now, you didn’t hear this from me, but there was another footprint found. It matched the other exactly.”
“Where did they find the second print?” she asked, her stomach turning. She’d been hoping there was no connection between Butch’s murder and the man who’d chased her through the woods. She had a feeling those hopes were in vain.
“Right near where they picked up that stuffed dog of your son’s.”
“We aren’t sure it belonged to Joseph.” She’d thought it was his, but until she got a closer look, she couldn’t be sure.
“It did. Andrew found a tag on it. Had your son’s name written right on it in blue Sharpie. Joey Lowery. Looked like the little guy had written it himself.”
He had.
The day he’d brought it to kindergarten for show-and-tell, he’d scrawled his name in uneven letters on the small tag. Since he hadn’t been able to fit Joseph, Raina had helped him spell Joey.
She could remember it as if it was yesterday. The way he’d scrunched up his nose and stuck the tip of his tongue between his lips. The way the marker had slipped and left a trail of blue across the kitchen table. She’d scrubbed and scrubbed to get the mark off.
How she wished she’d just left it alone. That tiny little line that her son had made.
She blinked back hot tears, her chest so tight she couldn’t breathe.
“Are you okay, Raina? You look pale.” Gretchen stood and grabbed her arm, her chocolate-brown eyes filled with concern. “Sit down. Take a couple of deep breaths.”
“No. I just need some air. Tell Andrew I took a walk. I’ll be back.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. He really wants to talk to you when he finishes with your friend,” Gretchen called, but Raina wasn’t in the mood for listening. She ran down a short corridor, slowed her pace as she walked into the lobby. A couple of people were sitting in chairs there, the late-afternoon sun filtering in through oversize windows.
She shoved open the door, the fall wreath someone had hung slapping against the glass.
The air had the cool, crisp feel of winter, and she pulled her coat closed, zipping it up against the breeze. Downtown River Valley bustled with activity this time of year, people coming from D.C. and Baltimore to shop for antiques or peruse the artisan shops that lined Main Street.
She headed away from the busy stores, turning onto Elm Street. Matt’s parents had once owned a house there. They’d sold it five months after the accident and used the money to buy a place in Florida. As far as Raina knew, they still lived there. She sent them cards for every holiday and birthday, but they’d changed their phone number and hadn’t bothered giving her the new one.
In their eyes, she’d been the reason their only son and grandchild had died. If she’d been the happy little homemaker she was supposed to be, she’d have been home when Matt decided to take Joseph for ice cream. She wasn’t sure what difference that would have made, but her in-laws had made it very clear that she should have either saved their family or died with them.
Sometimes late at night, when the house was quiet and her thoughts were loud, she was sure they were right. That she’d been the reason for their deaths. That if she’d just been less selfish and more devoted, Matt and Joseph would still be alive.
Hot tears burned behind her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall. She’d already cried an ocean of tears and it hadn’t done her any good. Keeping busy, being active and crawling into bed so exhausted she fell asleep before her mind could wander into dangerous territory was way more effective than crying a million more.
She pulled out her cell phone, dialed Destiny’s number.
Destiny picked up on the first ring, just the way she’d known she would.
“What in the world is going on, Raina?” she nearly screamed into the phone.
“What are you talking about?”
“Did you forget it’s the Harvest dinner for the singles group at church tonight?”
“I told you I wouldn’t be there. I can’t leave—”
“Samuel alone. I know. You’ve said it about a million times. That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m at the church, cooking for this shindig, and Doctor Moron—”
“He is not a moron.”
“Then he’s an imbecile.”
“Destiny!”
“What?”
“Just because you don’t like him—”
“Since when did I say I didn’t like him?”
“Every time I mention his name.”
> “I have nothing against him. I have everything against the two of you getting together. He’s not the kind of man you need in your life. You need one that—”
“I don’t need one at all,” she cut Destiny off before her friend could go on another one of her “you need a good man in your life” diatribes. “And apparently neither do you. Andrew told me you and Lucas broke up.”
“We didn’t break up. I did. He’s too controlling.”
“You never mentioned that before.”
“Because he wasn’t controlling until I decided I wanted to spend a weekend in River Valley instead of going to some stupid psychiatric convention in D.C.,” she huffed.
“Was that the weekend you helped me clean out Samuel’s room.”
“It was. Best weekend of my life, because I realized what a loser Lucas was and freed myself up for Mr. Right.”
“Destiny—”
“Don’t tell me I made a mistake, Rain. I didn’t. If Lucas was the right guy for me, he wouldn’t have left a dozen messages threatening to end it all if I didn’t get back together with him.”
“Did he really do that?”
“Of course he did. Said it was a joke when I called the police and reported a possible suicidal psychiatrist, but I’m not buying it. The guy is sick in the head, and I’m better off without him. Now, can we please get back to Moron Moreland? He has called me sixteen thousand times trying to find out if I know what’s going on with you.”
“Are you sure it was that many times? Kent is a busy guy,” Raina teased as she crossed Trent and continued along Elm. The houses were farther apart on this section of road, the lots at least five acres each. In the distance, the sun hung low over mountains cloaked in gold and red.
“You’re missing the point, Rain,” Destiny responded, not a hint of amusement in her voice.
“What is the point, then?”
“That something must be going on or he wouldn’t be calling. So what is it and why did it take you this long to call me?”
“I was at the police station. I didn’t want to call from there.”
“At the police station?” Destiny nearly shouted. “Will you please tell me what’s going on?”
Raina explained briefly. When she finished, Destiny was silent. Surprising, because her friend was almost never without words.
“Are you still there?” Raina finally asked.
“Yeah. I’m just not sure what to say except...wow!”
“Yeah. Wow.”
“What is Andrew doing to find the guy responsible?”
“He didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“He’s contacting Lucas.”
“Because he owns a blue Jeep? My brother has gone off the deep end.” She sighed.
“Does he know that Lucas—”
“Threatened to kill himself? Of course he does. He’s the first person I told, and he’s the one who told me to call the D.C. police.”
“Maybe that’s why he suspects him.”
“Could be. Andrew is a pretty smart guy. His theories are usually pretty spot-on. I’m just not sure Lucas would go to such lengths to get my attention. Are you at the station now?
“No.” And Andrew wasn’t going to be very happy about that.
Neither was Jackson.
She glanced back the way she’d come. The street was quiet, the sinking sun casting long shadows along the pavement.
“You’re at home?”
“I’m taking a walk.”
“Are you crazy? Someone is after you, and you’re on a leisurely stroll.”
“I guess I didn’t think things through very carefully.”
“Well, you should have. You’re my best friend, the sister of my heart. Anything happens to you, and I don’t know what I’d do.”
“You’d go on.” Just like I have, she almost said. She didn’t.
“I need to call my brother and put a burner under his behind. Maybe that stuffed dog will be the clue he needs to find the guy responsible. Goodwill should know who bought it. I still have the donation receipt the clerk gave me the day I dropped everything off there. I thought I’d wait a while to give it to you.” She didn’t say that she’d been worried about Raina’s mental health, but they both knew it was true.
The room had sat untouched for almost four years. Cleaning it out for Samuel’s arrival had been one of the most difficult things Raina had ever done. “The police will probably want it. Do you mind if I stop by your place and pick it up tonight?”
“You know you can, sweetie. And don’t be sad, okay?”
“I’m not sad.” She stopped in front of a white picket fence, looked into a yard she knew almost as well as she knew her own. The grass wasn’t nearly as lush as it had been when her in-laws had owned the property, and the wraparound front porch looked gray and dingy. There were no curtains in the windows. No furniture that she could see. Someone had hung a for-sale sign near the edge of the property. From the look of things, it had been there a while.
“Then what are you?”
“Terrified?”
“I don’t blame you. This whole thing is creepy. Who would want to scare you like this?”
“I have no idea.” She opened the gate and walked into the yard. The old swing still hung from the porch ceiling, and she went straight to it, sitting down in her familiar spot, the old chains creaking a protest.
“Aside from us, who knew about Joseph’s stuffed dog?”
“Andrew. My family. Probably a few friends.”
“And anyone who read the local newspaper after the accident. Remember the picture they ran? The one with you standing near the wreck holding Joseph’s dog?”
“Actually, I’ve been trying really hard to forget it.” She’d been distraught. Her face had been streaked with tears, her hair a tangled mess. For weeks afterward, she couldn’t walk through a grocery store or stop at a gas station without someone stopping to offer condolences.
“Well, you can’t forget it now. That photo opens up a whole list of suspects. I’d say almost everyone in town saw it.”
“I’ll mention it to Andrew.”
“You’d better, and you’d also better be careful. Someone killed Butch, and that same person could come after you next.”
“I’ll be careful,” she responded, pushing against the porch floor, letting the swing rock back and forth.
A Jeep passed the house, moving so slowly it caught Raina’s attention. Old and dark blue, it had seen better days, one backlight smashed, a dent in the back bumper, the license plate so covered by grime she couldn’t read it. It couldn’t have been the one that had nearly run Jackson down, but her pulse leaped anyway, her throat going dry with fear.
“Raina? What’s going on?” Destiny asked.
“Nothing. It’s just—”
The Jeep pulled into a driveway a few houses up, disappearing for a heartbeat and then reappearing. Pulling back out onto the road and heading back in her direction. She stood, backing up so that she was closer to the house and more hidden by its shadows.
“What?” Destiny nearly shouted. “Raina...seriously, you’re freaking me out.”
I’m freaking myself out, she wanted to say, but the words stuck in her throat as the Jeep slowly passed. It pulled into another driveway, and her heart nearly jumped from her chest as it reappeared, crawled toward her.
“Call the police,” she managed to whisper through her terror. “I’m at Matt’s parents’ old house on Elm Street and there’s—”
The Jeep stopped in front of the house, and she could see a figure in the driver’s seat.
“And what? Raina! What’s going on?”
She would have answered, but the door to the Jeep opened and the driver got out. Black pants, black
shoes, a black coat that hid his build. He was tall, that was all she knew for sure, and he was wearing a hood, a mask, gloves.
She reached for the front doorknob, her heart slamming against her ribs, her blood pulsing with fear.
“Have you missed me?” he asked, his voice the soft raspy warning of a snake waiting to strike.
She yanked at the door handle.
Locked!
She pivoted, rounding the side of the house, jumping from the back edge of the porch, footsteps pounding behind her.
Something snagged her coat, and she was yanked backward.
“You shouldn’t ignore me,” he hissed in her ear, his forearm pressed around her throat. “You should never ignore me.”
She struggled to breathe, to think, to free herself.
In the distance, sirens shrieked, but she could barely hear them over the pulse of blood in her ears.
She jabbed her elbow into soft flesh, slammed her foot on his instep.
He groaned, his grip loosening just enough for her to gulp air, just enough for her to scream.
He shoved her forward with so much force she nearly flew, her shoulder knocking into the old oak tree Joseph used to try to climb, her head smashing into bark Matt had once carved their names into.
She saw stars, and then she saw nothing at all.
ELEVEN
Jackson pulled up behind Officer Wallace’s police car and jumped out of the SUV, bypassing an old blue Jeep as he followed Wallace across the yard. Thank the Lord he’d insisted on driving his own vehicle to the police station. Otherwise, he’d have had to find another way of getting to Raina.
He didn’t think Wallace would have been amused if he’d hot-wired a car.
“Go back to your vehicle,” Wallace yelled, but Jackson had no intention of obeying orders.
He’d played along, answered a million questions about a crime he’d had nothing to do with. He was done playing. Raina was in trouble, and he wasn’t counting on anyone but himself to get her out of it.
“I said—”
“Let’s split up. You take the left. I’ll take the right,” Jackson cut him off.
Protective Instincts Page 10
