“Ah Becky, it’s been so long.” Hilde’s voice quavered slightly, as though emotion tore at her words. “I should have done more. I should have tried harder to reach you.”
Becca’s chest tightened beneath a wave of regret and shame. “No. No. Please don’t blame yourself. I should have reached out to you, visited you. I just…” She swallowed hard. “It’s just…”
The shame burned hotter. Avoiding the old woman because the memories brought so much pain wasn’t an excuse. Not a good one, anyway.
“I should have fought back.” The thin voice quavered and broke. “I shouldn’t have let that horrible woman intimidate me.”
What? Intimidate?
“Wait.” Still holding the old woman’s hand, Becca leaned forward. “What do you mean? Who intimidated you?”
“That horrible, horrible woman your father was married too.” Hilde’s fingers tightened so hard over Becca’s hand, Becca’s knuckles ground together. “I tried to see you, several times. I sent you letters. I called. But I couldn’t get through.”
“I didn’t know,” Becca whispered, lifting the brittle, thin hand to her mouth. The skin felt parchment dry and thin beneath her lips.
“She claimed I was stalking you. Said she’d take out an order of protection against me if I didn’t leave you alone.
“But, why?” The bewilderment flooding her echoed in Becca’s voice. “What could she possibly gain from keeping you away from me?”
“She didn’t want you to find out the truth.” Hilde’s voice wavered and broke.
“About what?”
But the question didn’t come from Becca, it came from Rio, who’d taken a step closer and loomed over the bed.
“Your mother didn’t kill herself.” Hilde’s gaze didn’t budge from Becca’s face, but the thin, blue-veined hand let go and retreated to the bed. “You know that, right? She would never have done that to you. She would never have done that to the child she was carrying”
Silence gripped the room for one heartbeat…two…three before Becca coughed to clear the rasp from her throat. “Mom was pregnant?”
She’d known it, instinctively, since she’d found the ultrasound, but to have it proven so suddenly…it felt surreal. Her chest tightened, and those earlier flight or fight nerves kicked in. How silly, this conversation was the reason she was here. Yet now that the moment was upon her, she wanted to back away, close her ears, ward off the pain.
“Did she say who the father was?”
Once again, the question didn’t come from Becca. The snow-white head shifted on the pillow, as the lined face turned toward Rio’s towering form.
“The mayor. Aaron Hart. Rachel was ecstatic. She said he was going to tell that awful woman he wanted a divorce. She said they were finally going to be a family. Him, her,” the cloudy gaze drifted back to Becca. “You…the new baby.” Grief echoed in shaking voice. “That poor, poor girl. She didn’t kill herself. She would never have killed herself. I tried to tell them that, the detective who came out to do his so-called investigation, the officers at the police station. But no one would listen.”
“You told this to Detective Foster?” Rio’s voice was quiet, but grimness spread across his face.
A frustrated breath huffed out of Hilde. “I told everyone, at least until the Police Chief came out. He said he’d revoke my permanent resident card if I continued making false claims and harassing everyone.”
Another beat of silence fell. Rio was the first to stir.
“Why didn’t you go to Hopewell?” Rio asked quietly.
“I did.” Bewildered disappointment flooded Hilde’s face. “He didn’t believe me. See, Mr. Hopewell had talked to Mayor Hart himself and the mayor told him he’d never intended to ask for a divorce. And then the doctor who did the autopsy told Mr. Hopewell that there had been no baby. And the police chief said she’d left a letter before she hung herself, which made it clear her death was self-inflicted.” She paused to hiccup out a raw breath. “They convinced Mr. Hopewell she’d taken her own life. But he didn’t know Rachel like I did. That poor sweet girl would never have done that to you, Becky. Never.” She choked out a couple more raw breaths, before continuing. “Mr. Hopewell said I would just make things harder on you by filling your head full of conspiracy theories. So, I backed down. But I’ve regretted that decision ever since. I should have stood up to them. I should have stood up for you.”
Becca sat there frozen, Hilde’s run down of events reeling through her mind. The ultrasound couldn’t be faked…could it? But what about the autopsy proving her mother hadn’t been pregnant? And the suicide note…
Hilde had discounted everything the police and Harold had told her, because she’d had faith in her friend, but Rio was trained to judge on evidence. Would the facts Hilde had laid out convince him her mother’s suicide wasn’t worth reinvestigating?
She couldn’t tell from Rio’s flat, distant expression what he was thinking.
“What about that day? Did anything strange happen. Did you see anyone around the estate?” Rio asked, his voice thoughtful.
Hilde shook her head, her platinum hair dragging across the pillow. “Not really. Well, I mean, other than the gate being open when we returned from town.”
Rio frowned. “You weren’t at the estate?”
With a deep sigh, Hilde seemed to sink deeper into the mattress. “No, we’d gone into town. Mathias and I, we picked up groceries for Rachel, and seed and fertilizer and then went to lunch. When we arrived back at the estate, the gate was open.”
“Was that unusual?” Rio asked.
At least he was still asking questions, rather than just accepting his Police Chief’s account.
“Oh, yes, Rachel was paranoid about security. Harold collected many things, much of which was priceless. She was conscientious about making sure the gate was closed and the alarm was armed both night and day.”
“What about the alarm? Was it armed?”
Hilde’s gaze shifted back to Becca, sorrow blurring the faded blue eyes. “No. At least not when we entered the house after Becca started screaming. But she’d just returned from school, perhaps she’d turned it off to enter the house?”
Rio turned to Becca, that distant look still stamped across his face. “Did you turn it off that day?”
Becca cast her mind back, but all she saw was blackness and her mother’s swaying, gyrating body. She flinched, then closed her eyes and practiced deep even breathing until calm and reason returned.
“I don’t think so,” she said as her memory started working again. Not her memory of that day, but of the hundreds of times she’d returned home while she’d lived at the mansion. “I never turned the alarm off. I just opened the door and punched the rearm code into the panel. There was a two-minute timer. If the code was punched in, the alarm would simply cycle back on. I never needed to turn it off.”
Her breath caught as the reason behind Rio’s questions hit home. The gate had been open…the alarm off.
If her mother had been murdered, she must have let her killers inside the mansion.
Which meant she’d known them.
Chapter Nine
With the television a low drone in the background, Rio took a long pull on his beer bottle and turned another page in Rachel Blaine’s journal. Although really, the book was more sketch pad, than diary—with Becca playing a starring role on the pages.
The next drawing was one of his favorites. Becca must have been around five or six. She sat in a wind-whipped explosion of wildflowers with a dreamy look in her dark eyes and a lopsided crown of dandelions atop her rebellious curls.
The sketch, like the dozens of others among the pages, was so detailed he could almost smell the sweet scent of the wildflowers, feel the wind against his skin. Rachel Blaine had been an incredibly talented woman, every stroke of her pencil demonstrated that. Just as most of the sketches illustrated how much she’d adored her daughter.
Why would the woman who sketched Becca in suc
h loving detail kill herself in the foyer? She must have known Becca would be the one to find her dangling body. Would she really put the daughter she so obviously cherished through that kind of trauma?
Hilde Birkeland said no.
Chief Moyer said yes.
Only one of them could be right.
He continued flipping through the pages until he reached the final entry. Frowning, he paused to study the sketch…again. The illustration was of a pendant, with its stone set in a fragile web, almost like a tiny dreamcatcher. The damn thing was familiar as hell, but he couldn’t place where, or when, he’d seen it.
The creak of a door opening, and the soft fall of footsteps came from behind the couch. Becca had finally awoken. He set the diary and his beer down on the coffee table and rose to his feet, turning to face her. Her cheeks were soft, and slightly flushed, but her eyes were turbulent and raw, like the dreams she’d been immersed in over the past four hours had been dark and sad.
“How are you feeling?” he asked quietly, stepping around the corner of the couch.
She’d been quiet on the trip back to Emma’s house. After barely touching the lunch their hostess had provided, she’d cited exhaustion and returned to bed.
“I’m okay.” She looked around the silent house. “Where is everyone?”
“Emma and Tram went out to dinner and a movie. Tag’s back at his place, checking mail and messages.”
“Ah.” The smile she directed at him was wry and maybe a bit suspicious. “In other words, you’re on guard duty. I hope giving Tag and Tram a break didn’t put too much of a crimp in your day.”
“Nothing’s been put off that can’t be handled later.”
He’d called his Captain and passed on everything Hilde Birkeland had told him. His CO had updated him in return. What Harold Hopewell had told Hilde matched perfectly with what Chief Moyer had told Captain Fuentes during their meeting that morning.
Which would have put the fucking investigation to bed, if there had been anything to back up Moyer’s version of events. With the missing autopsy report and missing files, the whole damn case boiled down to he said, she said.
According to Fuentes, Moyer had appeared surprised to hear of the missing evidence and claimed to have no insight into what had happened to it.
Rio wanted to believe him. Hell, Moyer had given him a new career after he’d left the teams. But damnit, there were too many things that didn’t add up. Like the open gate and dead alarm the day Rachel Blaine had died. Like a doting mother killing herself knowing that her daughter would walk in on her body…
…like the two attempts on Becca’s life.
“How’s the pain?” Rio stepped to the side as she headed toward the kitchen. “You’re due for another pill.”
The pain pills were supposed to be taken every six hours, although from what he’d been told, Becca was stretching them out way past that schedule. At least she was religiously sticking to the antibiotic schedule.
“I’m okay,” Becca said, cocking her head to the side and pausing, as though she were assessing her condition. “I’ll take another pain pill before bed.” She shot him a slight smile over her shoulder. “Assuming I can sleep. That nap ran much longer than I’d planned.”
Rio followed her into the kitchen, watching as she filled a glass with water and drained it. “Emma left a casserole. If you’re hungry I can put it in the oven.”
It was barely five, but she hadn’t eaten much breakfast or lunch.
“That sounds good, although I wish Emma wouldn’t wait on me like this. She goes above and beyond.” Turning to face him, Becca leaned a hip against the sink. “Do you think she’d be offended if I left her some money when I return home?”
And there she went again, blowing his perception of her to hell. For someone who was supposed to be so selfish she’d do anything to get her way, she was awfully thoughtful and kind.
“According to Tram, she loves to cook. I wouldn’t worry about it.”
“My meals shouldn’t come out of her pocket book,” Becca said absently.
Rio shook his head slightly, trying to reconcile her behavior with what he’d been told through the years.
As Rio pulled the oblong glass dish out of the refrigerator, Becca moved to the stove.
“What temperature is it supposed to bake at?”
“Three fifty.” Rio set the casserole on the counter.
“What happens now?” Becca asked as they waited for the oven to preheat.
At Rio’s glance, she shrugged, her face calm, eyes sharp. “You must have told your Captain what Harold told Hilde. Did he tell you to drop the investigation into my mom’s death?”
It didn’t surprise him how calm and rational the question was. Not now, anyway. It had become increasingly clear through the past four days that her current responses were poles apart from her past reactions. At some point in the intervening years, she’d learned how to process her emotions.
It was too bad he hadn’t been aware of her history twelve years ago. Jesus, within the framework of her mother’s suicide, and the trauma of finding her mother’s body, her neediness and overreactions made sense. Why hadn’t anyone filled him in on what had happened to her? While his grandmother wouldn’t have known Becca’s history, Adam, Lena and Adele sure as hell would have.
Why the fuck hadn’t they told him?
“As of now, your mom’s case is still open.” Rio hesitated…before mentally shrugging. “But my CO talked to Chief Moyer this morning and Moyer cited everything Hopewell told Hilde.”
Becca didn’t look surprised.
“He was police chief back then?” At Rio’s nod, she sighed. “Then of course he corroborated Harold’s account. He’s the one who fed Harold all that bullshit in the first place. But you’re not dumping the case?” Her eyebrows drew together. “Why not? Didn’t your police chief tell you to drop it?”
“Moyer retired a couple years back. He has no say in this case any longer.”
Becca scratched behind her ear, her face conflicted. After a moment she squared her shoulders and looked him straight in the eyes. “What about you? What do you think happened?”
The old Becca would never have taken the bull by the horns like this. His respect for the woman she’d grown into went up another notch.
“I think there are too many unanswered questions and too much missing evidence. Hell, the fact the case files and autopsy report are missing is shady as hell. Why was the gate open and the alarm off the day your mom died? Why is someone after you?”
She nodded at each of his questions. Her body relaxed and the eyes that held his softened with relief. “Okay. What now?”
“I keep digging. You keep out of sight. We get to the bottom of this.”
She inclined her head again, but then a frown settled over her face. “My time here is almost up. I have appointments scheduled for Monday.”
It was the oddest damn thing. His immediate, visceral reaction to her leaving was resistance.
Strong resistance.
“Can you call your boss? Take more time off.” He fought to keep the scowl from his face.
She chuckled softly, before sighing. “I am the boss. The practice is mine. But I hate canceling on my patients again. Some of them are really struggling and need that weekly ear.”
She owned her own psychiatric practice? Adam sure as hell hadn’t mentioned that. Hell, Adam had claimed that she’d drifted through school, work and life on sexual favors and good timing. But owning her own practice didn’t jive with the kind of parasite Adam had described. To go into business for herself, in such a short span of time after graduating, indicated she’d been driven, a hard worker. There would have been tests to pass, licenses to get, client lists to build.
“You know, I’ve been thinking,” Becca said, before he had a chance to ask the horde of questions hovering on his tongue. “Harold didn’t just leave me the desk. He left me a boatload of money, too. I wonder if he felt guilty about forcing Hilde to t
urn away from me? I wonder if he changed his mind about mom’s suicide at some point between when he talked to Hilde and his death?”
Rio’s eyebrows rose. “How much money did he leave you?”
“$500,000.” She frowned a bit harder and cocked her head as though she were thinking. “But it’s not just that $500K. It’s all the money he sent me through the years to cover tuition, books and living expenses while I was at school. He paid for everything. I wonder if his generosity was guilt induced?”
That news caught Rio by surprise. Adam had claimed their father had paid her expenses and had grown increasingly frustrated by her financial and sexual excesses.
“Your dad didn’t pay for your college?”
Becca shrugged, clearly hearing the surprise in his voice. “I’m sure he would have. But I didn’t need his money. He sent a couple of checks in the beginning, which I mailed back. He quit sending them after I returned the third check.”
She’d refused her dad’s assistance? The parasite, who lived for sex and money, according to Adam and Lena, had returned a small fortune because she didn’t need it?
Why would she lie about that? He studied the absent thoughtfulness on her face. She wasn’t lying. He was sure of it.
Which meant Adam had lied.
What else had he lied about?
Tram and Tag had insisted he talk to Becca about the night of the party, about what had happened. They’d been certain that more had happened that night, than he’d been told.
If something had happened, maybe that incident, along with her history, had influenced her career choice.
“What made you go into counseling?” he asked, easing into the questioning carefully.
“Cyndi, my roommate.” She smiled slightly, her expression affectionate. “I had…difficulty…” her face darkened for a moment before she seemed to shrug the somber mood off. “...adjusting to college life. Cyndi was a junior, three years ahead of me and majoring in psychology. She saw I was having trouble and convinced me to see the campus counselor.” She waved a dismissive hand and stepped away from the counter as the preheating buzzer went off. “As they say, the rest was history.”
Bound by Deception Page 11
