by Ranae Rose
Donovan grimaced.
Clementine’s resolve didn’t waver, but a new idea did occur to her. “You know what? Forget about me going to question the two of them. I’m going to get in touch with my mother – have her meet me somewhere, just the two of us. If my step-father did have anything to do with it, she probably doesn’t have a clue. And if I ask the right questions, she might give away something important without realizing it. Then I could take the information to Detective Wagner – tell him what I suspect, have him look into it.”
The line between Donovan’s eyes didn’t disappear, but it wasn’t as deep as before when he shook his head. “You’re really getting into this detective role, huh? Just as long as you stay away from your step-father, and lock up at night. Remember what I said about the pepper spray. It’s cheap and it’s effective – there’s no reason for you not to have it. Promise me.”
“Sure. I’ll buy some after I leave here.” If it would comfort him to know she’d be carrying it, there was no reason not to. Besides … his concerns had chilled her, had left her with a new edge of concern and wariness.
“I’ll buy some envelopes and stamps too – since I can’t visit you here every day, I’m going to write to you.” The memory of his ammo box loomed in her mind, filling her with regret. She couldn’t go back in time and fix things, but she could write to him in this lonely place.
She would write to him. Without fail.
“Yeah?”
She nodded. “Every day. Though I don’t think I’ll be writing for long – you’re innocent and that’s going to come to the surface, one way or another.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“I’ll keep the fridge stocked with Dr. Pepper,” she said, forcing her voice to remain light. “And when you get out of here, we can head to Ann’s for some pie.”
His gaze was intense, even through the glass. He looked down, coal-black lashes shielding the grey of his irises from view as he stared at her left hand. “Deal. We’ll take our usual booth and set a date for the wedding over pie and coffee.”
* * * * *
It was colder than the previous days had been; a chilling wind blew through the tree line and swept toward the house, carrying the scents of damp earth and decaying leaves. Clementine fastened the top button of her jacket, locking the front door behind herself and double-checking it, just in case. Donovan’s words from earlier that day stuck with her, and she’d meant it when she’d promised to be careful.
God willing, soon she wouldn’t have to watch her back anymore – soon the police would be exploring other possibilities, maybe even locking up an actual killer. And Donovan would be free, at her side. Every time she thought about it, longing gripped her, making her heart beat a little faster, as if that could speed up time.
The afternoon sky was a grey band above fading treetops; in a few hours, it would be dark. It was early enough now that Robert was still at work. Hopefully that meant her mother hadn’t spoken to him, hadn’t mentioned their meeting.
She didn’t dare count on that, though it seemed like a possibility, if only because Robert probably would’ve tried to stop her mother from meeting with her if he’d known. He was controlling like that, and like Donovan had said, appearances were everything to him. His wife meeting with the fiancée of his son’s alleged killer would surely get him all bent out of shape as soon as he found out.
What her mother’s motivation for agreeing to the meeting was, Clementine didn’t know, but when she’d called her mother an hour ago and requested that they speak, she’d said yes. So Clementine climbed into her car and drove for the other side of town, to where her mother was home alone.
It only took fifteen minutes to reach the place, and then she was climbing out of her car, heart beating too fast as she strode across the driveway toward the enormous house armored with white siding and bay windows. It was a dark enough day that the glow of the kitchen light showed through one window, alerting her that her mother probably waited there.
Would they sit down at the table and discuss Trevor’s murder over coffee and a package of her mother’s favorite cookies – pecan sandies? The idea seemed ridiculous. The fact that she was even here at all was ridiculous in its own way; she felt like an intruder only days after Trevor’s memorial service. But then, Trevor hadn’t been her mother’s child. She was. Maybe, in some small way, that still meant something.
“Donovan,” she muttered under her breath as she approached the front door. “Doing this for Donovan.” Her speeding heart softened a little as she knocked.
The door swung inward within moments, revealing her mother. Dressed in her standard attire of khaki slacks and a nice sweater – cashmere, probably – she looked much like she had the last time Clementine had seen her. A little more subdued, maybe, but still polished – still Robert’s wife.
“Clementine.”
“Hi.” She stood, at a loss for what to say.
“Come in.” Pamela stepped aside, revealing a foyer done in various shades of off white.
They did, in fact, end up in the kitchen. There were no cookies, but there was coffee, if Clementine wanted any. She declined – there was already enough acid churning in her stomach. “I have some questions about Trevor,” she said, plunging right in.
Her mother nodded, as if that was what she’d been expecting. On the phone, Clementine had simply told her that she had questions.
“There’s absolutely no way Donovan could’ve laid a hand on him that night. I’m trying to figure out who really killed him and what they could’ve had against him that would’ve driven them to do it.”
Pamela looked at Clementine like she’d sprouted a second head. “That’s what you came here for?”
“Yes.”
“God, Clementine – I figured you came to apologize.”
Anger flared red-hot inside Clementine, inciting an ache behind her skull. She willed herself to rein it in. She’d known this wouldn’t be easy, that gaining cooperation would be like pulling teeth. She couldn’t let this degenerate into a fight – this was the best chance she’d had so far to gain information that might help Donovan. Blowing it wasn’t an option. “I don’t have anything to apologize for.”
“You’ve been living under the same roof as Trevor’s murderer!”
Another bolt of anger, a silent prayer for self-control.
“I was with Donovan all night, and he never left the house. I know that for a fact, which means I also know something else you and the police don’t want to consider – whoever killed Trevor is still out there. Maybe you’re content to let Donovan take the blame, but I’m not.”
“Of course you’re not.” Pamela all but rolled her eyes.
“I’d think it would bother you that someone is lurking in Willow Heights killing members of this family.” She played the danger card – if Robert was guilty, her mother probably had no clue. Which meant that if she believed even the tiniest bit that Clementine was telling the truth when she said that Donovan had never left the house, the fact that the killer was out there might scare her. “We don’t know what the killer’s motive was – what if it wasn’t just Trevor? What if he’s going to hurt someone else?”
Pamela frowned. “Donovan Kemp’s fingerprints were on the weapon.”
“Because the weapon was stolen from his garage. The evidence is circumstantial and isn’t going to hold up in court. Eventually the police will be forced to explore other options. Since there’s a killer on the loose who may have something against this family, I’m choosing not to wait until then to try to figure out what’s going on.”
Pamela’s frown deepened. “How do I know Donovan Kemp didn’t leave the house while you were asleep? Surely you weren’t awake and watching him all night.”
At least she hadn’t called Clementine a liar – not directly, anyway.
“I’m a light sleeper. Always have been – you know that. And the police say Trevor was killed around ten-thirty – we were barely in bed by then.” Tired
from travel, they’d turned in around a quarter ‘till ten that night.
Her mother didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t look comfortable, either. The seed of uncertainty had been planted – the first step toward success. A hint of satisfaction eased Clementine’s anger just a little. She’d have to be like a real detective – use what she knew and suspected to her advantage, play games designed to unearth the truths she sought without letting her mother know that they were what she’d been looking for in the first place.
“If there’s someone out there – a murderer – who took Trevor’s life and is still at large, don’t you want to know who it is and why they did it?”
“This is ridiculous. You’re crazy over Donovan Kemp – you always have been. You’re just trying to… To get him out of trouble.”
“Of course I am – he’s innocent.” She paused, willing her face not to flush with irritation. “And if he was guilty, my asking you a few questions wouldn’t change anything. If there’s nothing to discover, there’s nothing to discover.”
“I don’t even know what you’d want to ask – what happened to Trevor was senseless. There’s no reason why he should’ve been killed.”
“Obviously, someone had something against him. Brutal, random murders just don’t happen in Willow Heights. Did he ever mention anyone having something against him? It doesn’t have to be someone local – anyone, any time at all.”
“No. I don’t remember anything like that, but it’s not like he confided in me. His recent visit – his last visit – was the first time I’d seen him since he visited to celebrate Robert’s birthday a couple months ago. When he was here, he spent most of his time with his father. We had dinner together most nights, but conversation never got heavy.”
With his father. Donovan’s suspicions rose to the surface of Clementine’s mind.
“Anyway,” Pamela continued, “I can’t imagine why anybody would’ve had anything against him.”
Clementine bit back a sharp response. When it came to Trevor, her mother was willfully blind.
“And God, to kill him…” She shook her head. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Clementine. You can’t even imagine what it’s like – Robert’s so upset.”
Clementine’s stomach soured a little more at the mention of her step-father, and her senses sharpened as she listened for information, ready to read between the lines. “What about you?”
“I’m upset too, of course. But Robert… Trevor was his only child.” She shook her head again, and a strand of artificially blonde hair popped free from her chignon. “I knew something terrible had happened as soon as he called – I could hear it in his voice.”
Called? “You were alone when you found out?”
“Yes. Alone in this house, expecting Trevor back at any minute. He’d gone … to the store, I think he said. He was gone for longer than I’d expected, and then – then I found out why. Robert had gone fishing in Cold Springs that evening with a friend from the lodge … he found out what had happened when he got back to town. He was sitting in Ann’s when a police officer approached him. He called me right away.”
Clementine focused all her willpower on maintaining a neutral facial expression as a sense of victory – of exultation – reared to life inside her. Out late fishing? How convenient. Yes, Robert loved to fish, but that was what made it such a perfect alibi. Cold Springs was easily an hour and a half away – an evening fishing trip there would’ve meant returning to Willow Heights well after dark. He’d obviously been out past Trevor’s estimated time of death – ten-thirty PM.
“Why didn’t Trevor go fishing with Robert?”
Pamela shrugged. “He was invited, but he didn’t want to go. I guess he’s never really been the outdoorsy type.”
“He used to fish with Robert all the time when he was a kid.” She bit her tongue. She was saying too much – better and safer to save her suspicions for Detective Wagner, especially now that Robert was looking guiltier than ever.
“I don’t know, Clementine.” Now she sounded exasperated. “The night of his death was supposed to be his last night in Willow Heights, and he had a long drive back to Connecticut in the morning. Maybe he didn’t want to be out late. Do you think I don’t wish he’d gone fishing with his father? None of this would’ve ever happened if he had.”
Clementine nodded, even tried for a sober expression that would hopefully look marginally sympathetic. Now that she had the information she’d come for, she needed to leave. No point in ruffling any more feathers.
“So you’re sure Trevor didn’t mention anything about anyone mistreating him, maybe holding a grudge against him?” she asked again for appearances’ sake.
Pamela shook her head.
“Okay, well… I guess I hoped you’d know something along those lines. Let me know if anything comes to mind.”
“Isn’t investigating this case Detective Wagner’s job?” A weary note entered her mother’s voice.
“I get the feeling I’m more invested in this case than he is, unfortunately.”
Her mother looked like she was going to reply, but Clementine stood. “Obviously I’m upsetting you with my questions about Trevor. I’ll go.”
Pamela didn’t argue, but she did hesitate after rising from her own chair. “Look… I don’t want Robert to know about our conversation. I think he’d be upset if he knew you were here, defending Donovan Kemp. Just… Let’s keep this meeting between us.”
A strange feeling struck Clementine in the center of her chest. Funny – twisted, really – that this was the first mother-daughter secret she and her mother had shared in more than seven years. Convenient, too. “That’s fine with me.”
Finally letting go of the table, her mother straightened, breathing what might’ve been a sigh of relief.
“Goodbye.” Clementine let herself out, crossing her arms over her chest as she walked across the driveway and climbed into her car. Once she was behind the wheel, she drove straight for the house. When she reached it, she’d call Detective Wagner and arrange a time to meet with him – soon.
She had several questions for him, namely whether Robert had been considered as a suspect. His fishing alibi sounded dangerously flimsy, even if he claimed to have gone with another man from the lodge. The lodge he belonged to was little more than a glorified fraternity, and she had no doubt that he could easily recruit a fellow member to lie for him.
And if her step-father had been excused from suspicion because of one person’s testimony, why hadn’t Donovan? The police hadn’t cared that she’d spent the entire night with him, that she knew he’d never left the house. Life was unfair; she’d been well aware of that for more than seven years. But she wasn’t going to make it easy for a man like Robert to tighten the noose that was rightfully his around Donovan’s neck.
* * * * *
Seven o’clock. That was the earliest she’d been able to get Detective Wagner to agree to meet her. The hours between her visit with her mother and her appointment at the police station were an agonizing sort of limbo; on one hand, she was eager to confront the detective with her theory, her suspicions. In her mind’s eye she could see Donovan shedding the yellow jumpsuit, leaving the Willow County Jail behind. They’d have dinner at Ann’s and set a date for their wedding over pie and coffee, just like he’d said.
On the other hand, she was so nervous it felt like something was eating a hole through her stomach. What if Detective Wagner wouldn’t take her seriously? It was his job to investigate, his job to consider all possibilities, including the one that Robert Grier had killed his own son. She knew that, and fully expected him to remind her of that. But the question remained … had Robert even been questioned as a potential suspect? Was anyone else willing to consider the possibility that he might’ve committed the crime?
And if Robert did have a man from the lodge lying about where he’d been on the night of Trevor’s death, who else might be lying – or deliberately overlooking things – on his
behalf?
Small quantities of adrenaline had been leaking into her veins for the past two hours; she was on edge, too jittery to even have a cup of coffee. Instead, she chose to take a bath. It might help calm her down, and besides, it wouldn’t hurt to take extra care to look presentable for her meeting with Detective Wagner. Given the subject she was about to broach, she needed all the credibility she could get.
Peeling off her jeans and sweater as she filled the tub, she resolved to choose a new outfit for the evening – something nicer than jeans and a sweater.
She’d made the bath water a little too hot on purpose, and as she sank into it, she got exactly what she’d wanted: a few seconds of searing bliss as the heat closed in on her, driving all other thoughts from her mind. Then she was submerged to her shoulders, gripping the sides of the tub as everything came back into focus.
Mentally ticking off the list of reasons why Robert was an obvious suspect in the murder, she prayed the logic would be enough to sway Detective Wagner into doing his job: investigating.
Robert could’ve easily approached Trevor, even with a weapon – Trevor wouldn’t have expected harm, not from his father. And Robert might’ve been anywhere on the night of the murder. He also was one of very few people who knew that Donovan had assaulted Trevor years ago, that he might make a believable scapegoat. And there was no question that he held a grudge against Donovan…
Sighing, she soaked her hair, lathering it with her own shampoo, then used Donovan’s body wash. “Cool” – the simple scent reminded her of him and sent a frisson creeping down her spine. When she raised her left hand from the water, the diamond there sparkled beneath a thin layer of foam.
A sound from downstairs jerked her out of her thoughts and sent her heart racing for reasons that had nothing to do with her engagement. Freezing, she listened – hard.
