Unspoken Fear

by Hunter Morgan

  "Yes. It was fine. Quick. Easy." She nodded her head. "Listen, Noah doesn't—I really don't think there's any need for an investigation or anything. I just thought you ought to be aware in case anyone else calls with the same complaint. I know you guys are pretty tied up right now." She hesitated, gathering her courage to say what she'd come to say. "Snowden, why did you need to talk to Noah yesterday?"

  "I told you, a few questions concerning the case."

  "What could Noah possibly have to do with Pam Rehak's death? He didn't even know her."

  "I didn't say he had anything to do with Pam Rehak's death. We've questioned a lot of people in the last couple of weeks about both murders, and Noah was just one of them."

  She looked at him for a moment and then rose to close the door before she spoke again. "Come on, Snowden." She turned around. "I know you better than that. You wouldn't question someone unless you had a damn good reason. And this is the second time you've asked him about Johnny. About his relationship with him."

  "Rachel," he said calmly. "You know I can't discuss this with you. You can't become involved in any way."

  "I feel as if I'm already involved. You know very well I know about the note that was left with Johnny's body. I wasn't supposed to know but I do, and nothing will change that." She grasped the back of one of the chairs. "So is the note the reason you're questioning Noah? Was there one left at Pam's, too?"

  "You're being awfully protective of your ex-husband," Snowden pointed out.

  She scowled, noting he hadn't answered her question. "Someone has to. He's in a very precarious position right now. He's barely been out of prison a month, and alcohol is readily available. You or I can only imagine how hard that must be for him. And then you start coming around, asking him about parishioners he counseled when he was a priest, knowing he can't give you any information. Pushing him anyway." She was quiet for a moment. "I just think it's wrong."

  "It's my job to find out who killed these people, Rachel."

  "That's fine, but it's not your job to make life any harder for Noah right now than it has to be."

  "It wasn't my intention to—"

  "Snowden!" She slapped her hand on the back of the chair. "This isn't just about the investigation and you know it. He knows you and I dated."

  "Over the years, you've dated several people from this town, if I recall correctly."

  "Yes, but you were the only one I—" She cut herself off before she finished her thought. "Look, the truth is, I told Noah about the note left at the scene of Johnny Leager's death, and we're guessing one was left at Pam's place too." She went on faster, not giving him time to respond. "I just think you need to back off from Noah. Whether those two had an affair, you and I will never know for sure, but we both know someone thought they did. You need to figure out who that someone was on your own and leave Noah out of it."

  Again, he was quiet for a moment. It was one of the things about Snowden that had made her crazy when they were going out. "You shouldn't have told Noah about what you overheard here."

  "You're right, I shouldn't have, but he knew Johnny well and..." She let her gaze drift to his commendations on the wall. "And it just kind of came out. Obviously he won't say anything to anyone else." She paused. "I better go. It will be time to pick up Mallory in a few minutes." She started for the door and turned back. "You going to Sister Julie's benefit next Saturday?"

  He frowned, picking up his pen. "My mother bought us tickets."

  "Then I guess I'll see you there." When Rachel walked out, closing the door behind her, Snowden didn't go right back to what he was doing before she arrived. Instead he pushed back in his chair, tucking his hands behind his head.

  He couldn't believe he'd allowed a civilian to hear about a piece of evidence like that. It was just that he was so pleasantly surprised to see her that day and it all happened so quickly...

  Regardless, Rachel had learned of the evidence and now she'd told someone else. A mistake like this one could really screw up a case, screw up his whole career.

  Chapter 14

  Rachel slid the pan of brownies out of the oven, switched off the timer, and noted the time on the digital clock on the back of the stove. The picnic didn't start for another hour, but she was pushing it, as usual.

  "Can we put frosting and sprinkewls on the brownies?" Mallory asked from where she sat at the kitchen table, coloring. Mattie sat beside her, head bowed in concentration as he scribbled furiously.

  "They have to cool a little first, but I think we have time for a little frosting and sprinkles." Rachel tossed the hot mitts into a drawer and pushed it shut before stooping down to look for a cooling rack she knew she had around the kitchen somewhere.

  "Then we can eat them?"

  Rachel could hear her daughter beaming. "No, we can't eat them. Remember? We're going to a picnic and they're auctioning off the desserts. We'll get a dessert, maybe even bring an extra one home for tomorrow, but we can't eat these brownies. Someone else will buy them."

  "But I want brownies with sprinkewls!"

  Rachel rooted around in the dark cabinet, pushing aside cake and muffins pans. "Would you please get Noah to help you with your Ls, Mallory? You're driving me nuts."

  "I'm driving her nuts, I'm driving her nuts," Mallory mimicked, grabbing another crayon from the box on the table.

  "That's right, you are driving me nuts." Rachel stood, the rack she'd been searching for in her hand. "We work together for six months on your pronunciation, and Noah's here less than a week and suddenly you've found a whole basket of Rs."

  Mallory giggled.

  Rachel heard the sound of tearing paper, and she and Mallory both looked at Mattie.

  "No, no." Mallory put her hand on Mattie's large one. "We don't tear the books. Books are our friends. That's what my teacher says," she told her mother.

  "Your teacher's right." Rachel set the cooling rack on the counter, slid the brownie pan on top, and walked over to the kitchen table. It was so unlike Mattie to destroy anything.

  When she moved around to stand beside him, she saw that he had taken a black crayon and scribbled all over a coloring book page of a monkey with a large M on it. On top of the black cloud of scribbling, he had drawn a big red blob and colored it in. Apparently, he hadn't torn the page on purpose, he'd just been coloring so hard that it had ripped from the pressure.

  "What you doin', hon?" Rachel asked Mattie. He was usually pretty good at coloring. He didn't always stay in the lines, but she had never seen him scribble all over a page like that before. As she moved behind him to get a better look, she realized it actually looked like the red blob was exploding out of the blackness, giving the whole page an eerie appearance.

  "It's OK," Rachel told Mattie, reaching over him to turn the page in the coloring book and fold it back, revealing the N page. "See, it's not torn out completely."

  "I'w get the tape."

  "No, Mal—" Before Rachel could get the words out, Mallory was leaping out of her booster seat and bounding across the floor, headed for the office.

  Rachel looked down at Mattie again, who seemed visibly upset. "It's OK, Mattie," she assured him. "It was an accident." She looked up at Mallory rushing back into the kitchen, the Scotch tape dispenser in her hand. "Mallory, Mattie's upset. You need to tell him that tearing the coloring book isn't a big deal."

  "But he keeps scribbwling in my books, and I don't want him to scribbwle, and I don't want him to tear out pages." She dropped the tape on the table. "Here, Mattie, you fix it. You know how."

  Her hands still on the table leaning over the book, Rachel looked up at Mallory climbing back into her booster seat on the chair. "I've never seen Mattie scribble on a page before. He always colors nice."

  "He does so scribbwle. He scribbwled aw over my Nemo book." Mallory gave the coloring book, one of several on the table, a push, and it glided across the table toward Rachel.

  Rachel opened it, and sure enough, the pages had been scribbled all over. She turned t
he pages, one after another. Every single page filled in from the spine of the book to the edge of the page, cover to cover in red and black crayon. She looked up at Mattie with sudden concern. She was no psychologist, but the pages looked to her like demonstrations of anger. Rage. And they were just plain creepy.

  Almost like her dreams...

  She picked up the coloring book, taking it with her to the counter. Setting it down, she moved to the kitchen sink to look out the window. "Mallory, maybe you should go change. I left your clothes on your bed." Even though it was after eleven in the morning, Rachel had allowed Mallory to stay in her pj's, mainly to prevent having to make her change a third time when she spilled something on her clothes before they got out the door. "Noah will be back from the Pinot field any time now, and it'll be time to start getting ready to go. You and Mattie clean up the crayons and coloring books and put them away."

  "Noah's going to the picnic, right?"

  Rachel heard them picking up the crayons and dropping them into the box. "That's right."

  "That's good. I wike Noah."

  Rachel heard Mallory's bare feet hit the floor again.

  "Do you wike Noah, too, Mama?"

  Rachel continued to stare out the window, watching a fat yellow tabby cat stalk something in the grass in the yard. "Yes, I like Noah."

  "Noah wikes you."

  Rachel didn't answer, but that didn't stop Mallory from continuing the line of questioning.

  "But he's not your boyfriend wike my friend Maria's new daddy?"

  Mallory's words almost made her laugh. Or maybe want to cry. "No, he is not my boyfriend."

  "But he wivs with us wike Shawntewl wivs with Maria and her mommy."

  "Mal, please." Rachel turned around. She knew four-year-olds were inquisitive, and the brighter the child, the more curious they could be. She had just read an article on the subject last week in a parenting magazine. But sometimes Mallory's questions were almost more than she could deal with. The child was so perceptive. Even she had noticed a subtle change in Noah and Rachel's relationship since his arrival a month ago.

  Mallory stood looking at her mother, her arms full of coloring books and crayons.

  "Mal," Rachel said with more patience. "Could you please put your things away and go get dressed?"

  The little girl stood there in lime green shorty pajamas, her hair already brushed and in pigtails, and looked at her mother as if contemplating whether or not to press the subject any further. Finally she offered a big smile and trotted off. "Time to get ready to go, Mattie. Go brush your teeth and your hair."

  Mallory disappeared down the hall, and Rachel watched as Mattie slowly rose from his chair and pushed it back under the table. It seemed today as if he moved in slow motion, even slower than usual, if that was possible.

  Something was going on with him. Rachel didn't know what, but something was definitely wrong. She glanced out the window again in frustration at her lack of ability to communicate with a man she had known her whole life. She looked back at Mattie. "You OK, buddy?" She leaned against the sink, watching him slowly shuffle toward the door. His face seemed heavier than before, and somehow sadder, although how she could come to that conclusion, she didn't know. When did Mattie ever express any emotion at all?

  "If there is something wrong, I want to help," she said, watching him go. "I know Noah wants to help, too. But you have to let us know what's wrong. It's the only way we can help you, Mattie. Do you understand?"

  He halted at the screen door that opened onto the porch, his hands hanging limply at his sides. He was dressed the same way he dressed every day in the summer—khaki-colored Dickie pants, a white T-shirt, and a ball cap. Today he was wearing one of Noah's old hats, one Noah must have dug out of the boxes he was apparently slowly making his way through.

  Seeing Mattie standing there, head hung, made Rachel so sad. He was obviously upset, angry, something. And yet, she didn't know how to help him. On impulse, she walked up behind him and slowly reached out her hand to rest it on his shoulder.

  He flinched when she touched him, but he didn't push her away the way he did sometimes. "OK," she said after a minute. "You go get ready, and could you make sure Chester's bowl of water on the porch is full?"

  Mattie's ability to follow directions and complete tasks was limited, but she knew he liked helping out around the house. She imagined it made him feel like he was a part of the family—as odd a family as it was, especially with Noah the ex-prisoner home now.

  Mattie shuffled forward, pushing the screen door open.

  Rachel went to the pantry to get a tub of icing, glancing at the clock on the wall as she passed it. It was eleven-fifteen, and Noah had said he'd be in by ten-thirty so he could shower before they went. It wasn't like him to be late.

  She grabbed the icing and a container of sprinkles, left them on the counter, and went up to her room to dress. On impulse, she pulled a lavender sundress over her head and found a pair of strappy brown sandals in her closet. She was usually a T-shirt and shorts kind of girl, capris or slacks to church. She didn't know what had possessed her to buy the dress the other day when she'd stopped at the Bass outlet to pick up a couple of T-shirts for Noah. She was tired of looking at him in the same three T-shirts he wore, day in and day out.

  Standing in front of the mirror, she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and made a face at herself in the reflection. "Not bad for forty," she said aloud with amusement. "Not bad at all."

  On her way down the hall, she passed Mallory's bedroom door. "Need help?" she called.

  "No," Mallory sang. "I'm coming, Mama. Almost dressed."

  "OK." Rachel returned to the kitchen, looking at the clock again. Eleven-thirty. Noah was an hour late? Now she was beginning to worry.

  Mallory appeared downstairs a couple of minutes later, dressed not in the cute yellow shorts and T-shirt Rachel had left out for her, but a pair of purple and pink polka-dotted knit shorts and a homemade red and green tie-dyed shirt they had bought at a spring festival. She had completed her ensemble with an orange Orioles ball cap Noah had given her and a pair of hot pink rubber rain boots with multicolored butterflies. Rachel blinked in exaggeration, holding up her hands as if the sight nearly blinded her. "Mallory, honey, those things don't match. Please put on the outfit that I left for you on your bed."

  "But I wike this," Mallory ran her hands down the front of her outfit. "And I remembered a hat."

  Rachel went to the cupboard where she stored paper plates and cups and plastic silverware. She grabbed a knife to frost the brownies. "You can't wear that. You have to change. You want to help me frost the brownies first?"

  "Yeah!"

  Rachel retrieved the stool her daughter used to reach the counter, and together they frosted the brownies that were still warm. Licking her fingers on her way to the sink when the task was complete, Rachel glanced at the clock again. He was more than an hour late. "Hey, honey, why don't you go ahead and do the sprinkles yourself? Not too many," she warned. "Then go up and get dressed. I'm going to go check on Noah."

  "OK, Mama."

  Out on the back step, Rachel shaded her eyes and glanced in the direction of the Pinot field. She didn't see Noah or the lawn tractor. She then walked down the driveway, her ankles a little unstable in the sandals on the loose oyster shells, to check to see if he was in one of the fields up front that ran along the road. Still no sign of him.

  Wondering where he could have gotten to, she walked back up the driveway. Mallory spotted her through the kitchen window where she must have been washing her hands at the sink. She waved furiously.

  Rachel waved back. "I'm going to take the truck and go back to the Pinot field to look for Noah. I'll be right back."

  "Si, Mama," Mallory called out the window. Mrs. Santori was teaching her Spanish.

  Rachel walked over to the shed near the pressing barn and climbed into the old pickup. She fished for the key on the floor under the seat, started the truck, and backed out of the shed. Fir
st she drove to the Pinot field, then the Chancellor field, but there was no sign of him or the tractor at either place. Next, she cut through the backyard and drove down the driveway, thinking she just might not have been able to spot him in those fields. The grapevines on the trellises were thriving now, creating walls of bright green leaves and vines that might make it difficult to see him.

  He wasn't there either, and she drove back up toward the house, contemplating what to do next. Could he have driven into town on the lawn tractor? She'd checked and it was gone.

  But that just didn't make sense. He and Mallory had been talking about going to the picnic at Maria's Place while snapping green beans last night on the porch. She'd heard them through the window. He'd seemed as enthusiastic about going as the little girl had. He wouldn't disappoint her. Something was wrong.

  Rachel parked the truck back in the shed and began to walk around the outbuildings. "Noah," she called. "Noah!"

  She wondered if she should call the police.

  She knew it was irrational, but Johnny and Pam's killer hadn't been caught yet. She knew Snowden thought their murders had something to do with the affair they had years ago, but what if he was wrong? What if Noah was in danger, or worse, hurt, lying in a field somewhere?

  "Noah!" She walked around the storage shed where the oak barrels used for fermenting were stored. As she turned, she caught a glimmer of light out of the corner of her eye, a reflection of metal that seemed to twinkle in the bright sunlight. She turned toward the old hedgerow out beyond the last outbuilding. It was a tangled mess, left by the previous farmers, that needed to be cleaned out although they had decided years ago to leave it standing to prevent erosion from the hill beyond it. "Noah?"

  She hurried through the weeds, ignoring the scratches to her bare legs. She discovered a path the wheels of the tractor had made recently and ran in it, heading directly toward the hedgerow.