It’s the clothes I was wearing the night I saw the woman being murdered. My brows furrow as I fall to my knees to study them. It can’t be right. It can’t be. But I open them up and spread them across the floor. It’s the same shirt, the same jeans. Except, I’d had them laundered that night because I couldn’t bear to look at them. I’d stored them in the dry-cleaning bags because I wasn’t sure I could wear them again.
I search through the closet, but the hangers and the dry-cleaning bags are gone. I could have sworn they were the only things I hung in the closet. Could I have forgotten? The moldy, earthy smell of damp clothes soaked in lake water wafts up to my nose. The scent is undeniable. It even smells like that night.
Fumbling, I paw at the clothes and roll them into a saturated ball. The water soaks into my apron and jeans, but I can barely feel the chill. I make my way, nearly stumbling, to the kitchen where I throw the clothes into the garbage can and slam the lid shut.
I must have been mistaken. That’s the only logical explanation. I’ve lost time before, forgotten how I spent the day or misremembered events. It hasn’t happened in a long time, and I thought I’d gotten past it, but maybe the stress of losing the money, of witnessing the murder, had brought all those feelings back up.
Even so, I shower with the curtain open, water going everywhere, but I don’t care. The thought of being vulnerable in any capacity has me on edge for the rest of the evening. I can barely choke down my dinner, and because sleeping is an impossibility, I stay up nearly all night trying, and failing, to paint again.
In the first light of dawn, I’m nodding off in the big, old two-seater chair when a knock at the door brings me to my feet and the cup of tea I’d been holding crashing to the floor. I fly to the door, heedless of the shattered china, and wish I’d brought a gun instead of the can of mace. I peer through the lace curtains on the peekaboo window and find a man’s face on the other side.
I nearly rip the door off its hinges as I swing it open, relief turning my legs into Jello. “Uncle Bradley!”
His mouth twitches under a thick silver beard. “Hey there, Peanut.”
I launch myself into his arms, thankful for their comforting weight around me. “What are you doing here?”
“You didn’t think I’d let you stay in some strange town without checking on you, did you? I know you wanted to do this on your own, but you have to give an old man a break.”
Normally, I’d be furious he followed me, but right now, I could use the reassurance. “Don’t be silly. I’m happy you’re here.” I tug him inside and shut the door behind him. “How long will you be able to stay?”
“Just a couple days. Did something happen?” he asks.
I blink a few times. Surely he can’t read my expression that easily? “W-what?”
He gestures to the broken china. “You hurt yourself?”
Relieved, I get to my knees and start picking up the mug. “No, you startled me is all. Honestly, I was half asleep in the chair when you knocked, and the cup went flying from my hands. It’s nothing, I promise.”
Uncle Bradley takes a seat opposite me on the loveseat. “Nothing, huh? You sure about that?”
I put the cup in the trash and grab a hand towel to soak up the liquid. “What do you mean?”
“Come on, Peanut. I know you better than that. I heard on the news that someone witnessed a murder here. A young woman with long blonde hair. An artist.”
I wince. “I was hoping you wouldn’t find out about that.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, and I can’t look up from the floor where I mop up the mess.
“I didn’t want you to worry.”
His sigh makes my heart heavy. “It’s the not knowing that worries me more than anything. You’ve already been through more than enough for one lifetime. You shouldn’t have to go through these things alone.”
I send him a sunny smile. “You don’t have to worry. I’ve spoken with the sheriff, they’re doing everything they can. It may have been a huge misunderstanding.”
“Do you really think so?”
“I appreciate you coming. The people here have been very kind to me. I’ve got a wonderful job, this place. I’m safe here.”
“So safe you witnessed a murder?”
“There’s no evidence so far a murder was ever committed.” The words taste like acid on my tongue. But I choke them out because being smothered once again is worse than thinking I imagined it all.
“Be that as it may, I hope you don’t mind if I stay a couple days.”
I paste on a cheery smile. “Of course not!”
Having Uncle Bradley over cements the decision in my mind not to report the door unlocked or the wet clothes to the sheriff. It was probably nothing, anyway.
Maybe the stress of the past week had finally gotten to me.
Chapter Sixteen
Ford
As the week turns into the weekend, it's made very clear I know nothing about kids, especially teenagers, but with Nell's help, we manage. It isn't pretty, but she's alive, so I consider it a job well-done.
"Do you mind watching her for a couple hours? I want to take a walk around the lake." I ask Nell when business slows down Sunday morning.
"I'm not a kid," Lexie interrupts. "I don't need a babysitter."
"You're not getting free rein of the lodge, either," I tell her, then to Nell, I say, "If she gives you any trouble, there's some rope in the shed. Tie her up and leave her until I get back."
Nells eyes sparkle. "You leave it to me. We'll have a girls' day."
"Just don't burn the place down. Play nice with Nell," I tell Lexie.
"When is Mom coming home?" Lexie asks. She sighs and rolls her eyes, but I can tell her mother's absence is bothering her. Damn Mercy. Much as Lexie is trying to cover up how much it bothers her, there's no hiding the hurt in her gaze.
I've been trying to call Mercy all week. When she did answer, she gave me every excuse in the book. She'll be back in a couple days. Money trouble. Car trouble. Excuse after excuse. The truth is, I don't have any answers for Lexie, and I'm not going to give her an excuse. I don't want to lie to her. I may lie to everyone else, including myself, but I won't lie to her.
"I don't know, sweetheart, but until she gets back, she left me in charge and I say you're going to hang out with Nell for a little while."
Lexie bites her lip. "You're coming back, right?"
I pause at the door and turn back. "Of course I am. We'll binge something when I get back—your choice."
That causes her to smile. "You promise?"
Remembering something Mercy and I used to do when we were children, I lean across the counter, extending my hand. "Pinky promise."
Lexie rolls her eyes again, but she hooks her pinky finger around mine.
The quiet wraps around me like a lover, and I feel a little guilty for how much I'm enjoying being alone as I travel deeper and deeper into the forest. I don't have to take the long way around to get to the opposite side of the lake to begin my search, but after a week of dealing with Lexie's teenage angst and Mercy's absenteeism, I'm remembering why I used to enjoy deployments so goddamn much.
Sheriff Hadley has all but written Peyton's reports off, but there's a nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach that won't let me do the same. I keep coming back to seeing Peyton floating in the water, lifeless. If I had any sense at all, I'd forget the whole thing and go back to being the grouchy recluse, but it's the not knowing that's making me edgy. At first, I wanted it all to go away. For everyone and everything to leave me alone so I could stew in my own misery. I still want that. But as long as I've got Peyton hovering around trying to figure out what happened, I can kiss my so-called peace goodbye.
I may not find anything today, but the last thing I need is for Peyton to decide to play detective and traipse all over Windy Point looking for a murderer. I've had blood on my hands enough in my lifetime—I don't want to add hers to it.
With that in mind, I aim to
ward the shoreline, leaving my sanctuary behind me. We'd had a storm come through a couple days back, and the rain should have churned up any secrets that may or may not lay at the bottom of Bear Lake. Any evidence left from the assault may have washed ashore in the meantime, and this may be my only chance to figure out what happened—once and for all.
I weave through a break in the trees and find a lone figure marching along the beach. At first I scowl, thinking maybe Lexie followed me down after all. Then, I get closer and there's no mistaking the whip of golden hair or the lush ass and pert breasts. My mouth goes dry remembering what those pretty rose-brown nipples taste like. Knowing I can't go there again only pushes me from annoyed to pissed off.
"You're asking for trouble, aren't you?" I say, when I get close enough that she'll hear me over the roaring wind.
At my voice, she spins, and it takes a moment for her eyes to focus in on me. "I really hate that saying," she says instead of answering. "Who actually asks for trouble? It's insulting."
Marching forward, I take her arm in my grasp. Damn woman shouldn't be walking out here on her own. "You shouldn't be here by yourself. You know good and well if there is someone killing people in Windy Point, they've heard that you're the one who witnessed the murder by now. You realize that makes you a target?"
She jerks her arm from my grasp and stumbles back like she can't get far enough away from me. "And you should realize that no matter what I do, I can't stop someone who doesn't operate by a moral code of any sort. It wouldn't matter if I was alone or not if they did want to target me. You of all people should know that."
She's going to be the death of me. "What are you doing out here?"
"I'm working on my tan. What do you think I'm doing? I take back what I said. You must be crazy."
Her eyes go wild. "I spent a long time trapped in my own house, in my own mind. I've been crazy before so that doesn't offend me."
"Good, 'cause I meant it as a fuckin' compliment. Now are you going to come with me to look around, or are we going to spend the next couple hours arguing? There's only so much daylight."
"Why do you have to irritate me so much?" she asks as we begin walking. "You would have thought the sex would have softened you up some."
I snort. "It'd take a lot more than one night to soften me up."
When she falls silent, I begin to think I've offended her. Mentally berating myself, I try to come up with an appropriate apology. This is what happens when you spend the majority of your adult life surrounded by men with nothing but time on your hands.
Before I can, she says, "Thank you," so quietly I almost wonder if I've imagined it.
"You're welcome?"
She stuns me by grinning. "You don't ever treat me like I'm broken. I think I got so used to people coddling me: my uncle, friends, people I used to know, my therapist. It's refreshing to have someone who just doesn't give a damn about how messed up in the head I am."
"We're all a little broken, Peyton."
"Are you ever going to tell me what parts of you are broken? I've shared my scars, it only seems fair," she says.
Isolated the way we are by the sound of the wind rustling the bare bones of the trees and the lap of waves against the sand, it's almost easy to open up to her. "I'm an open book."
"You're a concrete wall."
"Let's work on tackling your demons before we start in on mine," I suggest.
"I wouldn't even know where to start now. My plan pretty much stopped at getting down here and looking around."
I smirk. "We're going to walk around the lake and look around."
"Of course we are,” she says.
The silence is unbearable, so I find myself saying, "What happened to the people who hurt you?" The thought of someone putting their hands on her, terrifying her, is unthinkable. My hands clench by my sides.
"The police tried looking for them, at first, but there wasn't much to go on. Three men in ski masks. Guns. White sneakers is what I remembered most vividly."
"What happened?"
Peyton kicks at a leaf, then picks up a rock and throws it into the lake. It lands with a satisfying plop. "The three of us were at home one random Tuesday. It was late, and we were watching a show on TV when our dog, Lady, started going crazy at the back door. She was a Lab and could be high-strung, so we didn't think too much of it at the time. When she wouldn't stop barking, I went to let her out." The cadence of her voice is panicked, erratic. Her eyes are unfocused and she absently chews on a fingernail. "There was only one of them at first. He came out of nowhere. One second, I was holding onto Lady and the next he had me by the throat against a wall. I didn't even have the chance to scream, to warn my parents."
"Time moves faster when shit starts happening."
"Was it like that for you?" she asks.
"Sometimes. Sometimes it's fast." I look out into the distance. "Others it's like it stops, freezes. What happened next?"
"That makes sense," Peyton says absently. "The one who grabbed me took me down to the basement. I could hear him talking to others, but I didn't get a real good look at them. As he was pushing me down the stairs, I heard my mom scream. My dad was shouting. They didn't stop for a long time. And then they were quiet, real quiet. I almost wished I could hear them screaming and shouting again because it would mean they were alive."
"What did they want?"
"Money, of course. Nothing more and nothing less. We lived in an affluent part of town. My parents were both from well-off families. The police told us they'd stalked us for a couple days to figure out which houses would be the easiest to get into. They were right. I didn't put up much of a fight and my parents paid with their lives."
"Bullshit," I say.
She stops so abruptly her shoes kick up sand. "What?"
"C'mon, Peyton, that's bullshit and you know it. There's no way you can fight off three armed men and survive. You're lucky you got out of there with your life."
"Lucky," she says sardonically. "I'm not sure I'd consider it lucky. For a while all I could think about was I couldn't do anything to save them. That they deserved to live because they were great people, wonderful parents. It should have been me."
"But it wasn't."
She glares at me. "I'm going to remind you of this when I pry out what happened to you to make you such a sweetheart."
"Bring it on."
“Now you said you saw the boat more toward this side of the lake, opposite the dock at the lodge.” I point in the direction.
“Thereabouts, it’s hard to be absolutely certain. Things are a little hazy now after knocking myself on the head.” She pauses, then puts a hand on my arm to stop me.
“What is it? Did you remember something?”
"No, but there is something I feel like I should tell you before I drag you any further into this. You know me, what I've been through. I've been absolutely honest with you about everything."
"A first from a woman, in my experience," I say, thinking of Mercy abandoning Lexie.
"Then I have to tell you, I came home from working at Splatters yesterday and found my clothes from the night I fell in the lake. They were all soaked."
"So what?"
"I could have sworn I'd had them cleaned. But they were so wet there was a puddle underneath them." Her brows furrow and she bites her lip. "You may have been joking about me going off the rails, but I'm starting to think maybe I hit my head harder than I thought."
"Have you been forgetting other things? Losing time? Having headaches?" Considering my own experience, I should know.
"Not that I know of, it's just so strange. I wanted you to know before you start this wild-goose chase again."
"First thing tomorrow morning, you're going into the clinic. I don't want to hear any argument about it."
"I don't want to see more doctors, Ford. I've seen enough for a lifetime."
I can sympathize. "Too bad. I'll drag you there myself if I have to."
She changes the subject, but I make a
mental note to get up early and waylay her before she can evade me. I have to admit, the way she constantly challenges me is going against every natural instinct I have to stay away from her.
"Did Hadley figure out if there were any boats seen that night?"
"He asked around, but no one owned up to it if there were. No boats missing, either."
"So it would have to be someone from the area, maybe, who knows the lake, how to get in and out quickly without being seen."
When she glances over at me, I smirk. "My boat was in the slip all night. I've got security footage to prove it."
Her responding flirtatious smile knocks every sensible thought out of my head. "Just checking." She lifts a hand to shade her eyes as she looks out over the water. "How many docks are there where a boat could get in and out?"
"A dozen or so, give or take one or two. There are houses all along the lake, the slips at the lodge are for regulars. We don't get many this time of year. I checked, and we didn't have any rentals the days before or after."
She drops her hands to her sides. "With as many officers as Hadley had patrolling the area, you'd have thought we'd know more by now."
"Unless the person you saw did a damn good job of covering it up."
Chapter Seventeen
Peyton
My heart plummets to my feet. In the days since I’d witnessed the murder, it had never occurred to me they had seen me in return, at least not as viscerally as it does on the open bank with the cover of trees all around. Anyone could be out there, hiding, watching. Waiting.
“You're kidding, right?" I sputter out. "It was dark. They never looked up at me." Then I recall falling off the dock. Could he have heard me splashing into the water?
"With the way news spreads in this town, he probably knew that night. If not, then the next day for sure, especially if he was local."
"If you're trying to scare me, you're sure as hell doing a great job of it."
"It's about time you got scared. You need to be more careful when you go out on your hikes. Bring someone with you."
Traitor (Last to Leave Book 1) Page 11
