“No.” Three wrinkles formed between her eyebrows. “In my dream—or flashback—or whatever it was, I wasn’t afraid for Harley. He was the one arguing with my father, but I knew my mother, my siblings, and I would be the ones to pay the price.”
Matt squeezed her shoulder. “It sounded like he wanted to help.”
“But even through the perspective of a little kid, I knew he was making everything worse.” Bree shook her head. “You know what they say about good intentions.”
“You had no other feelings about Harley?” Matt asked.
Bree was quiet for a couple of minutes. “I wasn’t focused on him. He was just . . . there. I wanted him to go away.”
“You didn’t want to go with him?” Matt didn’t understand how Bree had survived her childhood. Sheer courage, he suspected.
“I did, but I didn’t want to leave my mother.” She spread her fingers on his chest. “It was a confusing dream.”
“Sounds like it makes sense to me.” Matt couldn’t fathom what it had been like to grow up in Bree’s abusive, dysfunctional family, but he understood loyalty. “You were sticking with your mom, even though you didn’t want to.”
“The dream was messed up, but so was that part of my life.”
He rubbed her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry I woke you.” She smiled and scooted closer, sliding one long leg over his. “Actually, I’m not. Not at all.”
“Good.” He kissed her.
He’d been waiting for her to come to him like this, but it hadn’t been easy. He’d been running out of patience, hoping she came around.
Hoping he hadn’t fallen in love with a woman who couldn’t love him back.
He hadn’t fooled himself. It wasn’t just about her job. Her reluctance to commit to him went all the way back to her childhood. The soul-deep scars that left her reluctant to trust. He respected her honesty, and her refusal to allow their relationship to move faster than she felt ready. She’d been nothing but transparent with him.
But now, hope bloomed in his heart.
She rested her head on his chest. “I’m not used to needing someone. Not this way.”
He stroked her back. “I want you to come to me for whatever you need.” He brushed her arm with his knuckles. “I’ve been worried that you didn’t need me at all.”
“Why would you think that?” She lifted her head.
“Because you don’t want to acknowledge our relationship publicly. You still want to drive twenty miles out of town to eat in a restaurant.”
Bree winced. “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want apologies. This is the first time you’ve actually reached out to me first.” It felt like a breakthrough to Matt. “The kids will always be your number one priority. I totally understand that. I don’t mind coming in second. But eventually, I was hoping we would reach a point where our relationship became more important than your job.”
Bree rested her head on his shoulder. “You’re right. I’ve let the politics of my job get between us.”
Matt continued. “A huge part of your identity is wrapped up in law enforcement.”
“Yes and no.” Bree levered up on one elbow. “I feel like that’s changing. In the past, I never had anything else to live for. Now I have more than I thought possible. Maybe this case will force me to move beyond my childhood. I need a balance between work and my personal life. I need to actually have a personal life.” She met his eyes. “And I need you in that life.”
“Good.” Matt kissed her on the mouth. “Because there have been times when you’ve acted like a martyr, and that’s damned scary. Do you know what happens to martyrs? They die.”
He searched her gaze. She was so very hard to read, but not because she was dishonest. Although he’d seen her lie quite adeptly when necessary to suspects, in all other dealings Bree was forthright almost to a fault. Even playing the necessary political games required of her public office was distasteful to her. But her best coping mechanism was to bury her feelings. She wasn’t hiding them. She couldn’t find them either.
Tonight, he saw a new clarity in her hazel eyes.
She stretched out a hand and grabbed her cell phone from the nightstand.
“Are you leaving?” he asked, knowing she would want to be home for the kids, but not liking it.
“No.” She set the phone down. “Just setting an alarm. I’ll go home before the kids get up.” She stretched out and closed her eyes. “I think I’ll sleep better here.”
He smiled and tucked her against him, honored to keep her nightmares at bay.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Monday morning, Matt carried his files and coffee into the conference room. Despite getting only a few hours’ sleep, he was energized. Todd was already at the table. His laptop was open, and files were piled around him. Bags underscored his eyes, but his gaze was bright.
Matt set down his take-out cup. “You found something.”
“Wasn’t me.” Todd scrolled on his computer and clicked. The printer in the corner hummed, and he got up to grab the printout.
Bree walked in. She carried a mug of coffee and a glass food container. She set down the container and peeled off the silicone lid. “Dana sent scones.”
“What kind?” Setting aside the paper, Todd reached for the container.
“Chocolate cherry.” Bree sipped her coffee.
Matt met her gaze. She flushed and the corner of her mouth curved. He felt his own mouth mirroring her intimate smile. Todd looked up from digging into the scones, raised a surprised brow, then suppressed a grin before returning his attention to his breakfast.
Bree cleared her throat. “Todd, you look like you have something to say.”
Todd washed a bite of scone down with coffee. “I do.” He tapped the open lid of his laptop. “Forensics transferred the VHS tapes to digital format. They managed to clear up some of the graininess on the surveillance video of Jane Parson and an unknown male leaving the bar a week before her disappearance.” He wiped his hands on a napkin and slid a printed photograph across the table. “Does he look familiar?”
Bree bent over the image and swore. “That lying bastard.”
Matt pulled the image toward him. “That’s Richard Keeler.”
“He said he barely knew Jane.” Bree’s eyes went cold. “I want to question him again.”
“Do you want to bring him in here?” Matt thought there was a better way.
“No. He’ll bring his lawyer, and we won’t get anything out of him.” Bree drummed her fingertips on the table. “Where will he be on a Monday morning?”
Matt checked the time. Seven thirty. “If we hurry, maybe we can catch him at home.”
Bree’s eyes took on a cagey look, like a tiger sizing up a deer. “His wife might be there too. We should talk to her as well.”
Matt lifted a shoulder. “Only one way to find out, unless you want to call him first.”
“Hell no.” Bree stood and stretched. Todd’s news seemed to have reanimated her more than her coffee. “I can’t wait to see his face when we show him this picture.”
“What do you want me to do?” Todd asked.
Bree wrapped a scone in a napkin. “I’d like you to review all the surveillance tapes from the country club the night of the charity event. See if you can spot Richard Keeler entering and leaving the club.”
“Will do,” Todd said with a sigh. “There’s hours of video.”
“Recruit a deputy if you need to,” Bree said. “I’ll leave the scones. Where’s the picture of Keeler and Jane at the event?”
Todd handed it to her, and Bree made several copies. Matt gathered his files and followed her from the conference room. Bree stopped to check in with Marge before they left via the back door. Then they drove the SUV out to Keeler’s place. Bree ate her scone on the way. Morning sunlight shimmered on the shiny coats of grazing horses. Two gangly yearlings chased each other up and down the fence line. Bree parked, and they walked to the h
ouse, where no one answered their knock.
Standing on the porch, Matt gazed out over the land. A horse’s whinny drew his attention to the barn. The doors stood open, and he could see the silhouettes of a horse and three people inside. Two of the shapes looked female. He pointed. “Someone is in the barn.”
The crack of a bat on a ball sounded.
“Sounds like Keeler is practicing again.” Bree started toward the porch steps. “Why don’t you see if that’s Mrs. Keeler in the barn? You’re more charming than I am. Give her that smile.”
Matt jogged down the steps next to her. “What smile?”
She paused on the walk. “Picture me naked.”
He did.
She blew a loose hair off her forehead. “Yeah. That’s the smile. Mrs. Keeler is toast.”
“I was unaware I wielded such power.”
“You have no idea.” Bree shook her head. Turning away, she said over her shoulder, “Now go use it on Mrs. Keeler.”
Wiping the grin off his face, Matt headed for the barn. He stepped through the doorway into the cool dimness of the aisle. A white horse stood on cross ties. Two women and a man stood next to it, murmuring in worried tones. Matt walked closer.
All three people turned toward him. He recognized the groom he and Bree had spoken to on Saturday. The two women were clearly related, mother and daughter, Matt guessed.
The older woman’s dark hair was shoulder length and tucked behind one ear. The daughter wore hers tied back in a long, sleek tail. Both women were dressed in breeches, polo shirts, and worn English riding boots. Neither had bothered with makeup or nail polish. Matt knew Keeler’s wife was in her midfifties, but she could have passed for ten years younger. The daughter looked to be in her late twenties.
The older woman stepped forward. “Can I help you?”
Matt extended a hand holding a business card. “I’m Matt Flynn, a criminal investigator with the sheriff’s department. Are you Mrs. Keeler?”
She accepted the card with a mix of curiosity and caution. “I’m Susanna FitzGeorge. I’m Richard’s wife, but I didn’t change my name. This is our daughter Becca.”
“Ms. FitzGeorge,” Matt said to the older woman.
“Call me Susanna,” she corrected.
Matt gave her a professional half smile, not the smile Bree had suggested he use. “Susanna, I’m investigating an old crime. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
One perfectly arched brow lifted. “A crime?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Excuse me, Miss Becca?” the groom interrupted. “Do you want me to make the poultice?”
“Yes. I’ll hose his leg while you prepare it,” Becca answered, then turned to Matt. “Do you need me?”
“No, ma’am.” Matt shook his head. “I suspect the crime is older than you.”
Susanna’s brows drew together. “Let’s go up to the porch.” She turned to her daughter and touched her arm. “He’ll be all right. Give him a few days’ rest.”
Becca nodded, but looked worried.
With long strides, Susanna led the way up the back lawn.
“What’s wrong with the horse?” Matt asked.
“Probably just an inflamed tendon. Mr. Sparkles was Becca’s first horse. He’s twenty-six now.”
Matt grinned at the name. It didn’t fit the snooty stable. “He looks great for his age.”
“She babies him. He’s more pet than mount now, but she still takes him out for a hack once or twice a week. The exercise is good for him.” Susanna smiled. Pride for her daughter shone in her eyes.
“How many children do you have?” Matt asked.
“Three. Becca is the youngest. My oldest is going to be a father soon, so I have my first grandchild on the way.” She climbed the steps to the back porch and sat in a wicker chair. A fat old cat waddled across the planks to rub on her ankle. She stroked the animal, and it began to purr. Then it plunked itself into a patch of sun at her feet.
“Congratulations.” Matt eased onto a chair facing her. He’d come here to poke an old wound but found he didn’t want to. He liked her. You could tell a lot about a person by how they treated animals. She’d passed his first litmus test.
Reluctantly, he began. “Do you remember Jane Parson?”
“I do.” Susanna crossed her legs. “Our families have known each other forever.” She froze, her hands flattening on the armrests. “You’re investigating her death.”
“Yes.”
“How can I help?”
“Jane disappeared after a charity event in June 1990.”
“Yes. I remember.” Her tone grew wary.
“Did you attend?”
She shook her head. “I was pregnant with my oldest and not feeling well enough. He was born just a few weeks later.”
“But your husband attended,” Matt said.
She stilled. Irritation flickered in her eyes. “Yes. He did. I remember a police officer interviewing us a day or so later.”
“Do you remember what time he left for the event and what time he got home?”
“No.” She blinked and looked at the barn for a few heartbeats. “I think the officer asked me the same question back then. I’m sure I gave him an answer, but it’s been thirty years.”
Matt sensed the first crack in her armor. “How well did your husband know Jane?”
“Why do you ask?”
Matt tugged two photos from his pocket. He handed her the picture of her husband and Jane at the event, the one with Keeler’s hand on Jane’s hip. Her mouth twitched into a brief frown, and anger lowered her eyelids. But she didn’t look surprised.
She gave it back. “Yes. I saw this photo back in 1990. I won’t pretend it doesn’t still bother me.”
“Did Richard have an explanation?”
“He said it was nothing. She’d had too much to drink and was all over him. I knew Jane well enough to believe him.” But doubt crept into her eyes. “If you’re thinking Richard killed Jane, you’re wrong. He isn’t smart enough to successfully pull off a murder, and he doesn’t have the balls. He has a position with my family’s office, but it’s not a real job. He’s fairly useless.”
The Keelers’ marriage was clearly not a happily-ever-after. What would keep Susanna from incriminating her husband? Matt hoped nothing.
“Did you ever suspect your husband of having an affair?” He offered her the image of Keeler and Jane in the bar parking lot.
She hesitated, as if sensing the picture would change her life. But she was no coward. Her chin came up and she accepted the paper. Her eyes glittered with unshed tears for a moment. Then she blinked them away and hardened her features. “You know what? I suddenly remember that night in 1990 very clearly.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Bree found Keeler in his batting cage. Like during her first visit, he glanced at her, then hit several more balls before shutting off the machine. He clearly wanted her to know he was in control and that he’d talk to her when he was ready.
“Mr. Keeler?” She didn’t have time for his ego-driven bullshit. “I need to speak with you.”
He set the bat on one shoulder and turned to face her. His expression was one of cool hostility. “I already answered your questions.”
“I have more.” Bree stared him down.
He walked over and checked the time on a fancy watch. “You have two minutes.”
“That’s all I need.” She showed him the photo of him and Jane from the country club. “Remember this picture?”
He waved it away. “I explained that picture. Jane was drunk. She was all over me.”
Bree squinted at the photo. “You’re the one touching her.”
“Timing. A few seconds before that was snapped, she was hanging on to me.”
“What about this one?” Bree pulled out the enhanced still of him leaving the bar with Jane.
He snatched the image from her hand. White flashed around his eyes as he shook it in her face. “Where did you get this?�
�
“This was taken outside the Railway Tavern.” Bree plucked it from his grip. “Do you remember that night? It was the week before Jane disappeared.”
He leaned closer. Fury glittered darkly in his eyes. His voice dropped as his composure slipped. “Why are you here?”
Bree gave no ground. “Jane Parson was murdered a week after you left a bar with her.”
“How dare you!” A tendon in the side of his neck bulged.
“How dare I what?” Bree maintained the pressure. “Were you having an affair with her? Did you go home with her that night?”
“I don’t have to tell you anything.” His nostrils flared, and his chest rose and fell as he took a deep breath, visibly trying to calm himself.
Bree kept going. She wanted him to lose his cool. “Did your wife know? Did Jane threaten to tell her?”
“You have no fucking idea what you’re talking about.”
“Enlighten me.”
Instead, his fingers tightened on the bat over his shoulder.
Bree took one step back. “Drop the bat.”
“Fuck you.” A drop of spit flew from his mouth. “You can’t come here and ruin my marriage over a thirty-year-old picture.”
“I came here to find out the truth about a woman’s death, but maybe I should ask your wife about this night.” Giving the photo a shake, Bree returned it to her pocket.
He went still except for the fingers flexing on the bat. “You can’t do that,” he said in a flat, dead tone. His muscles tensed, his body preparing to strike.
Bree shifted her weight to the balls of her feet, softened her knees, and pressed the final button. “My criminal investigator is talking to your wife right now.”
Rage bulged a vein in his forehead, and his face flushed impending-stroke red. “You fucking bitch,” he roared.
The bat came down off his shoulder and swung at Bree’s head. Ready, she ducked and weaved. The bat swished in the empty air over her head. She yanked her baton from her duty belt. One flick of her wrist expanded the rod to full length. Bringing the weapon to her chest, she struck him behind the knees with a short backswing.
His legs buckled. He dropped the bat. It hit the ground with a thunk at the same time he went down onto his knees. Bree collapsed her baton and returned it to her belt. She used an armbar to guide Keeler onto his belly. Then she planted a firm knee into the small of his back and cuffed him.
Right Behind Her (Bree Taggert) Page 20
