by Nora Roberts
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
After a difficult hour with Traci, Zane drove back to Lakeview. A quick text with Darby told him she’d been cleared to go to her place—with her whole crew, he was relieved to hear.
Satisfied, he drove into town to assess his own damage.
He pulled up, got out, stood on the sidewalk studying the ugliness behind the police tape.
Worse, he thought, worse than the broken window—and it would take a lot more time and effort to repair. Several people stopped, offering sympathy or supportive anger.
He glanced over at the sound of his name, waited as Britt hurried to him. She simply opened her arms and took him in.
“I talked to Emily, and to Silas. I know everything. I’m so sorry.” She drew back, but kept her arms around him. “First I’m thanking God you and Darby weren’t hurt. Then I’m sick and mad about everything else.”
“We’ve been through worse. It’s just paint.”
She lifted her eyebrows. “Tell me how you really feel.”
“I’m sorry he’s dead. Part of the sorry is because I didn’t get a chance to beat the crap out of him. If he’d aimed three feet lower, I don’t know. But I know Darby sleeps closest to the doors.”
“Where is she? Should I go see her? I can juggle appointments.”
“She’s up at her place—the crew’s with her, and Brody, too. He wanted to help.”
“He’s a good kid. We’ll all help, Zane. Make sure she knows that.”
“Will do. Look, we’re going to draw a crowd here, and I can appreciate the support and still just not want to hear it all right now.”
“Got it.” She gave him a last hug, stepped back for another look at the building. “He sure couldn’t spell worth shit.”
At least it gave him a laugh before he left to go buy a whole lot of paint.
With that task handled, he swung by the police station. He found Lee in his office, writing up a report.
Angling his head, Zane studied the bruise on Lee’s cheek. “Bet you didn’t run into a door.”
“Old man Draper’s cooling his temper in a cell. Sit. Want coffee?”
“I couldn’t stomach any more, but thanks. I’ll start.” He took a chair. “Traci’s pretty shaken up, but she’s got her mom and her sister with her. She’s going to stay where she is for a couple more days. Longer if you think she should.”
“Day at a time.” The chair creaked, a homey sound, as Lee leaned back in it. “We’ve got Clint’s prints on the rifle, on Stu’s truck, on the paint cans, the brushes, even scattered on your office building, Darby’s house. He always was an idiot.”
“Can’t argue.”
“It’ll take longer for the DNA left at your office and Darby’s place. It shouldn’t take as long for the blood match, or the tox screen, the COD. And I’ve got a reasonably clear timeline from Stu Hubble.”
“He’s not a suspect, I take it.”
“Can’t see it. Was passed out cold in his clothes when I picked him up. We’ll have the clothes analyzed, but no paint, no blood to the naked eye. No prints on the rock, but plenty of blood. He’s as big an idiot as Clint, and wouldn’t have thought to wipe the murder weapon—plus, it shows no sign of that.
“Clint got to his house about noon yesterday,” Lee continued. “On foot. Stu’s grandmother confirms that. Stu says they never left the basement, ate, drank, smoked, watched TV, played some games, watched some porn. He thinks it had to be after two when he passed out.”
“So Clint helped himself to the paint and so on, helped himself to Stu’s truck.”
“How it looks.”
“They didn’t have another friend drop by, get drunk with them?”
“Not according to Stu, and he was too scared to lie by the time we got here.”
“Maybe he ran into somebody,” Zane speculated. “Or somebody with a grudge against him—and there’d be plenty—decided to see what he was up to. Killing him seems…”
“Extreme,” Lee finished. “Lots of possibilities. He turns the gun on somebody, gets bashed. He’s with somebody, trips and falls on the rock, they panic and dump him. Or somebody decides it’s payback time, takes the opportunity.
“I’m going to sort it out, Zane.”
Zane remembered the way Lee had sat with him on the cot in the pod in Buncombe after the worst night of his life. “Counting on it.”
“I want you to be careful, you hear? Draper’s got it in his head you must’ve killed Clint.”
“How the hell did I manage that when I’m upstairs trying to keep us from catching a bullet—and calling it in? And about five minutes later letting cops in the house.”
“Facts, evidence, logic—they don’t matter to him. To any of them. He’s going to make bail, so you watch yourself.”
“Let me talk to him.”
“Zane.”
“Has he lawyered up?”
Lee let out a half laugh. “Doesn’t believe in such things—until he does. At the moment, it’s hang the lawyers, which would include you.”
“Let me talk to him. You can observe. If he really believes I did this, Lee, Darby could get caught in the cross fire. She nearly did already.”
“All right. All right, I’ll take you back.”
Lee led him back, unlocked the steel door to the trio of cells. Stu, his back to the doors, snored like a freight train on the cot in the far right cell.
Draper sat on the cot in the far left, and leaped up the instant he saw Zane.
“You sumbitch.” He shot an arm through the bars, trying to grab Zane. “I’ll kill you first chance.”
“Making a credible threat in front of a police officer’s only going to keep you from making bail.”
“Fuck you, fuck your bail. I got other sons.”
“Yeah, you do,” Zane agreed, eyes steady. “Maybe you’d like to keep the rest of your family out of a cell. Here’s how it is. I had people, dozens at my house last night, some of them up to about midnight. I’m with Darby McCray—”
“That whore help you kill my boy?”
His years in the DA’s office had that sliding off his back. “I’d say we settled in to sleep about one this morning. About four—eight after, actually, as I looked at the clock when I rolled Darby to the floor—I was wakened by the sound of gunfire and breaking glass. The exterior doors to my bedroom shattered.”
“Did that yourself, that’s what I say. Trying to fuck with my boy.”
Calmly laying out the facts, Zane continued, “I told Darby to stay down, got over to my closet, got my ball bat in case whoever was shooting broke in. We called nine-one-one. What time did the call log in, Chief?”
“Four-eleven.”
“Sounds right. I stepped on some glass. I expect there are police photos of my bloody footprints. I was pissed, going to go out with the damn bat, but Darby talked me out of it. She cleaned up my foot, and the cops came. Arrival time, Chief?”
“Four-sixteen.”
“You stop and think. How the hell did I get to Clint, get his rifle? Why the hell would I take him to my place, into the woods, bash him with a rock if I had his rifle and meant him harm? And how the hell did I manage to get him into the lake when I had a houseful of cops?”
“You wanted him dead!”
“No, I wanted him to face charges, to face a jury of his peers. And somebody robbed me of the chance to see to that. I want to know who.”
“You was probably screwing that useless whore he married.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, when? You and I know your family kept eyes on her pretty much around the clock. I’ve got my own woman. I’ll make you a promise right now. If anything happens to her, I’ll come for you.”
“Zane.”
He shook Lee off. “That’s the language he understands. Traci’s my client, nothing more, nothing less. I’ll do my best by her. But when it comes to my woman, I’ll do a hell of a lot more. Stay away from me and mine, Mr. Draper, and use your head. Whatever you think of me, you�
��re smart enough to know I couldn’t be in two places at the same time.”
He walked out, waited while Lee locked the steel door.
“Probably didn’t convince him.”
Lee puffed out his cheeks. “He’s thinking about it, which is more than he did before. It’s a big stretch to try to twist you into it, and he’s starting to see it. It might not matter to him. You’re part of the why in his head. So be careful.”
“You, too, Chief. Same reason.”
“Comes with the job. Go on home.” Lee gave him a slap on the back. “Get some food in you.”
He did head home, thinking he needed to board up the bedroom doors, call his insurance company, see when he could get the doors replaced.
Boarding up meant getting some plywood, which meant borrowing a truck.
Maybe he should buy a truck. He wouldn’t be driving the Porsche through the winter anyway.
Just one more thing to think about.
He detoured to Darby’s, tried not to panic when he didn’t see her, the crew, the trucks. All he saw were the obscenities scrawled on her house.
The cops, he assumed, had taken the befouled doormat. One small blessing.
He pulled out his phone, texted:
Where are you?
On the job. The Marsh house. Lee cleared us to work. Where r u?
At your place. Can I borrow your truck?
Sure.?
I need to go buy some plywood to board up the doors. Custom doors, may take a while to replace.
We boarded the doors before we left. You need paint. I went by your office before here. He didn’t spell anything right. Roy would paint for you, but I’m keeping him busy. I’ll send you the name and number of the couple of guys he says would do it pretty quick if you don’t have it. The same ones who painted for you before.
I’ve got it. What about your place?
Soon. I’m not on Main Street. Go home, eat some pasta salad, make the calls.
You okay?
Better. Should be home by six. Late start today.
I’ll be there. I love you.
Aww, first time in a text. Weirdly, I love u 2. Later.
He pocketed his phone, looked around. Wished he could do something for her.
Then it came to him, and seemed so simple. So right. He went home, took care of it, made the calls, ate a little pasta.
When she got home, just after six, he had the outdoor table set—with flowers he hoped he was allowed to cut. And wine ready to pour.
“Well, look at this.”
Darby surveyed the table while Zod raced over to Zane as if they’d been parted for years.
“I figured we both deserved it.”
Her gaze shifted to his. “Don’t we just.”
“I made crudités.”
“You did not.”
He shot a finger at her. “Did. I figured it would start off our three-course meal.”
“Okay, what are the other courses?”
“Pizza and Ring Dings. The crudités are a sop to adulthood.”
“I think I’m in love.”
He took a firm hold of her face, kissed her. “Better be.”
She laid her head on his shoulder, sighed. “Let me go up, get a shower, change so I can be worthy of this amazing meal.”
“I set things up in the guest room, the front-facing one with the window seat.”
She tipped back her head to look at him, then as her eyes blurred, just lowered her brow to his shoulder.
“I figured we deserved that, too,” he added.
Because she didn’t trust her voice, she tried to nod, then just tightened her grip.
“Hang on a second,” she managed.
He did, just hung on in the quiet evening with the odd little dog sniffing their shoes.
“You’ve got a way, Zane. Such a good way. I told myself to suck it up. The boarded doors, the bullet holes. It’s not the room, it was the man. It’s a good room.”
“It’ll be a good room again. But for now, we’ve got others.”
Steadier, she drew back, smiled at him. “Now I’ve got you all sweaty, and probably transferred some stone dust. You oughta come join me in the shower.”
“You have the best ideas. Just let me feed the dog.”
“He ate on the job.” Taking Zane’s hand, she started inside. “Later he can have a you-know-what while I sample your crudité.”
In the shower, Darby sloughed off the sweat and grime of the work. With the mating of wet, slippery bodies, she sloughed off the stress that had curled tight in her all day.
She felt it release, slide away like the water down the drain. Even knowing it would come back, perhaps because she knew, she could steep herself with him, with what they gave each other.
Under the pulse of water, skin slick with soap, hands greedy and gliding, they pushed away the ugliness, embraced the joy.
They kept the door closed on painful reality, sent Zod into spasms of delight with a Milk-Bone. And lighting candles, pouring wine, they talked of anything but what had shattered the peace in the dark hours.
With the light softening, the dog snoozing under the table, Zane poured more wine.
“Ready?”
Darby took another sip, nodded. “Yeah. You?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. Start by telling me how Traci handled it.”
“I’m glad her mother was there, even gladder I took her sister. She needed both of them to help her through the ‘It has to be my fault’ stage.”
“She’s been beaten down, physically, emotionally, so that’s knee-jerk. There were women in my support group who automatically assumed blame for everything. My kid failed his spelling test—must be my fault, terrible mother. It rained yesterday when it wasn’t supposed to, so I must’ve done something wrong.”
“I saw that plenty with abuse victims back in Raleigh.”
“Which is why having you there helped her, too.”
“Hope so. In any case, she’s going to stay in Asheville for a while longer. She’s scared of the Drapers, and she’s not wrong.”
“Do you think they’d try to retaliate, against her?”
No point, he thought, trying to soften it up.
“Payback’s a religion to some people. Darby, you need to know at least right now, they’re twisting this whole thing around so somehow I set it all up, killed Clint.”
“That doesn’t make sense on any planet.”
“Doesn’t have to. I think Horace Draper’s beginning to see that, but it doesn’t mean they won’t try to strike back. And you’re part of that. Not just because you were here, because you’re with me, but because Clint targeted your place.”
“I’ve already figured that out. Maybe he had some problem with me before. He might’ve been the one who broke into my place.”
Frowning, Zane studied his wine. “It doesn’t seem like his style. Not the break-in, but the fact nothing really valuable was taken, nothing was wrecked. Still … you could connect his whacking off on your doorstep with taking your underwear. He was already pissed at me,” Zane considered, “because I wouldn’t take him on as a client. So … maybe.”
He reached over for her hand. “Either way, you need to be careful.”
“We both do.”
“We both do. Meanwhile, Lee’s already matched his prints to your place, my office, the truck, the paint cans, and so on. The idiot Clint was staying with gave Lee a good timeline, up until said idiot passed out. His truck, his paint supplies. They’ll have cause of death, ballistics, a tox screen pretty quickly. The DNA will take a little longer, but Clint’s was already on file.”
She’d thought of all that during the good, physical work of the day. “But none of that’s going to point to who killed him.”
“No, it’s not.”
Reading his face, she tapped a finger on his hand. “You have theories, Mr. Prosecutor.”
“Maybe.”
Now she circled her hand in the air. “Please proceed.”
“All right then. Clint wasn’t what you call a popular guy, not outside his family and a few idiots like Stu Hubble. He pissed off a lot of people. He’d get drunk, start fights, or get grabby with somebody’s wife, girlfriend, sister. He hounded people like the McConnells, he poached on posted land. There’s a guy who lives farther up in the hills who claimed last year that Clint and his brother Jed poisoned his hunting dogs.”
“Well, God!” In response, Darby rubbed a foot over the snoozing Zod.
“Couldn’t prove it, but—Lee let me read Clint’s file—he was adamant. So a lot of people didn’t think of Clint kindly, you could say.”
“And your theory is one of them saw him sneaking up here, followed him, took the opportunity to pay him back.”
“That’s one of them.”
“You have another that worries you more.”
“Yeah. Graham Bigelow.”
“He’s locked up.” Alarmed, Darby spoke quickly. “Lee checked. Emily said—”
“Graham’s locked up,” Zane confirmed, “but that doesn’t mean he couldn’t be a part of this. He’s spent nearly two decades in prison. He knows how the culture works inside. There’s a chance he could have made a deal with another con who was up for release, or knows somebody on the outside. Somebody who’d come here, watch the routine, look for an opening—maybe break into your place and know not to leave prints, not to disturb too much.”
That idea, even as a theory, sent a shiver down her spine. “But … why kill Clint?”
“Stretch the theory. He’s right there. Take him out, cause trouble, upheaval. It took smarts, if we go with straight bad guy, not to take the weapon, not to leave prints again, not to break in and go after us. Smart would know cops would come pretty quick. Smart bides its time, looks for the next opening. If something happened to either of us now, who would Lee have to look at first?”
“The Drapers.”
“You got it. And while he is, whoever did it walks away. I put more into the first theory, but we can’t discount the second.”
“The second’s closer to one of Brody’s.”
