Sneaking out wouldn’t be a problem. Her uncle was still working, and Memphis was asleep in her sister’s room. The dog always slept with Melody. He was protective of them and woke at the slightest sound. He was smart, though. If he heard her leave her bedroom and walk downstairs, he would know it was her opening the back door and wouldn’t bark. Getting back into the house would be a different story, but she’d worry about that later.
Abbey didn’t use the front door because the house had a gravel courtyard, and the barn and garages overlooked it. If Po was still up, he could hear her leave from his apartment.
She snuck out the back door, looping around the yard to the driveway. It was risky. Her uncle could come home, but she didn’t see any lights, so she took the chance and sprinted up the drive.
Reaching the road, she checked for traffic. Finding none, she ran across the street and into the woods on the other side. It was pitch black. Abbey couldn’t make out the agreed rendezvous point, so she leaned against a tree and waited for her eyes to adjust. It was quiet—too quiet. She ran a hand over the tree trunk. The bark felt rough, and the smell of sap from the pines filled the night air.
Then a high-pitched scream pierced the silence. Goosebumps prickled and scurried across her flesh. She told herself that it was a fox. She’d heard them before, but it had unnerved her enough to start doubting her plan. She was meeting someone she barely knew just because she needed a ride. How smart was that? If something went wrong, Po was too far away to hear if she called for help.
That’s when a match sizzled and flared in the dark.
Startled, she jumped and heard a chuckle.
Blinded by the light, she couldn’t see his face, but there was nothing wrong with her hearing when he said, “You look like a possum caught in the headlights.”
Fear dissipated and indignation exploded. A possum? How insulting, she didn’t even rate deer status. “Better a possum than a jerk,” she sputtered. “Anyway, why are you hiding all the way back there?”
“A cruiser came by a couple of minutes ago, heading to the Milbourne place. They’ve had one parked on the street since Saturday. I had to stash the bike, so the headlights didn’t pick it up.”
He blew on the match, and everything went dark.
The local police knew her. She couldn’t let them see her with Jesse at this time of night; they’d tell her uncle—or worse—Holly Jakes. “We need to find somewhere safer to talk.”
As if conjured up by simply mentioning them, headlights came into view from the direction of the Milbourne place. They ducked low behind a bush and only poked their heads up after it passed by. It was another cruiser.
“It must be the one going off duty,” Jesse guessed.
Abbey couldn’t make out who was driving. “That was close,” she said, sounding relieved.
Jesse walked deeper into the woods. She heard rustling and a twig snapping before he came back, pushing his bike.
“I know a place where we can talk without being disturbed.”
“Where?”
“Not far,” he said as he handed her a spare helmet. Lifting his off the handlebars, he put it on, slid a leg over the seat and centered the weight of the bike between his legs. He turned on the headlight.
She blinked and turned away. This was her last chance to change her mind. If she got on the back of the bike with him, no one would know where she’d gone. She tried to assess just how bad an idea it was and saw the laughter in his eyes. It was a challenge. She didn’t hesitate. Yanking on the helmet, she fumbled as she tried to thread the strap through the buckle.
He asked with unmistakable amusement if she needed help with it.
“I’m not three,” she retorted with plenty of heat. “I’m perfectly capable of fastening a buckle.”
He grinned but must have noticed her bare hands. “Don’t you have gloves?”
“No.”
“It’s cold tonight, especially on the bike.” He pulled one of his leather gloves off. “Take mine.”
The idea of wearing anything that had touched his skin made her feel weird. “I don’t need them. I’m used to the cold. I ride my horse all winter.”
“But you use gloves.”
Of course, this was true. “I have pockets.” Wishing to end the conversation, she stood on the bike’s peg, cocked her leg over the back of his bike and got on behind him. As her legs slid down either side of his, butterflies took flight in her stomach. Determined not to touch any more of his body than was absolutely necessary, she placed her hands on her thighs and leaned back far enough to leave a space between his back and her chest.
Unfortunately, she couldn’t see him grin as he pushed down his visor. If she had, she might have been prepared for what came next. “Ready?” he called over his shoulder.
“Always,” she yelled with confidence.
“Good,” came the reply as he popped a wheelie—one high enough to force her to wrap her arms around him so she didn’t topple off the back of the bike.
Clinging to him the way a baby chimpanzee would to its mother, she could feel his body quake with laughter. Annoyed, she slapped his shoulder and placed her hands back on her thighs, but he reached back to tug her arm around his waist, pulling her hard against him. Her stomach did a somersault, which she attributed to distaste. To prove her indifference, she decided to leave it there and slipped her other one around him.
They rode down her street, heading away from her house and the Milbournes’ place toward town.
Turning her face to the side to avoid bumping her helmet with his, she pressed her chest against his back and held on. She hoped he couldn’t feel the thudding of her heart through his leather jacket. Protected from the rushing wind by his tall body and cocooned by the helmet from the noise of the engine, she relaxed and let him take her wherever he wanted to go. She’d been on the back of motorcycles before. Both Po and Uncle Cal had taken her for rides on far more powerful bikes than Jesse’s, but there was something different about riding with Jesse. Something far wilder and exciting. Sneaking out of the house when a killer was on the loose was crazy, but this kind of crazy felt far too good to question. She decided to have some fun. Embracing the moment, she threw back her head to watch the passing stars in the heavens high above them. She hadn’t felt this alive since her mother’s death, and she yelled out to Jesse to go faster.
But Jesse slowed down, so he could make a left. She knew the road. It dead-ended at the lake. The only house on the street was a huge, creepy mansion. Was he taking her to the beach?
Jesse slowed even more until the bike’s headlight picked out the name Pine Ledges carved into a stone wall. He turned and rode straight through the open iron gates, heading up a steep, twisting drive until the enormous house loomed before them, foreboding in the moonlight. A majestic, long-limbed oak guarded the front of the house, casting shadows that crawled across the grass like inky tentacles reaching out to grab them.
Being caught there was the last thing Abbey needed. She was about to tell him to turn around when he veered off the drive onto a narrow path at the right of the house.
Abbey peered ahead of her into the gloom to see where they were going, but all she could see was a thick hedge that looked impenetrable.
Jesse aimed straight for the center of it, forked right at the last moment onto a hidden path that ran at an angle through the thick bushes. On the other side, she spied a barn. Jesse pulled up in front of the doors and parked.
Hopping off, she hissed, “Do you live here?”
He nodded as he took off his helmet, which he placed on the seat.
“Why didn’t you tell me we’re neighbors?”
He shrugged, pushed open the massive barn door and disappeared into the shadowy interior.
Unbuckling her helmet, she told herself being alone with him was a bad idea. But she followed him anyway.
The weathered barn smelled of rotting timber and damp soil.
“I can’t see a thing,” she whispered into the
cavernous interior even though she knew no one else was there. No need to tempt fate by talking too loudly, she thought. It was one of those nights when the darkness felt malevolent and danger lurked everywhere. Abbey shivered. One thing she knew for sure was that bad things happened on nights like this one.
From the shadows, she heard the unmistakable sound of his leather jacket’s zipper. She tensed. What was he doing?
Jesse clicked on a flashlight and shined it toward the back of the barn. “This way.”
She hesitated, weighing the pros and cons of following him into the gloom before deciding he was the only one willing to help her prove her father’s innocence. With that, she walked into a tack room. It smelled of moldy hay and musty leather. Closing the door behind them, Jesse scanned the room with the light. She spotted an upturned wooden crate and blinked. There were candles and matches on top of it, and a blanket spread out on the floor beside it. Obviously, Jesse had planned to end up there even if they hadn’t spotted the police car. What was he expecting her to do?
Chapter Forty-One
Still uneasy in the gloom, Abbey licked her lips nervously and wondered again what the hell she was doing there. This situation was way out of her comfort zone.
Jesse knelt down on the blanket, set the flashlight on the crate and retrieved a book of matches. As he was about to strike one, she blurted out, “That’s not safe!”
“Don’t worry. There aren’t any windows in here. No one can see us.”
“That’s not what I mean. It’s a fire hazard.”
“Thanks for the warning, Smokey.” He grinned and struck the match anyway.
The tiny yellow flame glowed with power beyond its size and lit the four corners of the room. Abbey blinked. Sulfur swirled in the air.
As the wick sputtered to life, he turned off the flashlight and patted the blanket beside him.
Her hesitation was palpable.
He gave her a wolfish grin. “Scared?”
“I’m not scared of anything.” She uttered the words with enough steel in her voice to hopefully sound convincing. Her experience with boys was limited—way too limited to read the situation with any accuracy. She swallowed.
Candlelight flickered over his face. He wasn’t laughing now. He gazed up at her, his eyes midnight pools in the dim light, his intentions unfathomable. “Why are you waiting?” Although his voice was velvety soft, there was a rasp to it that made him sound a little dangerous.
She squelched her nervousness. If she was going to convince him to help her, she had to trust him—or at the very least—let him believe she trusted him. Careful to keep some distance between their bodies, she sat down next to him.
Jesse leaned back to place a hand on the ground behind her. As he did, his wrist brushed hers, creating an epicenter of heat. From there, her blood seemed to flow like warm maple syrup. The sensation was exquisite, sweet and wonderful. Her breathing quickened.
Jesse raised a knee and draped his other arm across it, looking like a movie star. She turned away, unsure of her expression.
“Now what?” he asked, his voice full of suggestion as he leaned in toward her.
His lips were so dangerously close she could feel his breath on her neck. “I don’t know,” she murmured as she fought to ignore the onslaught of goosebumps racing across her skin. She needed to regain control of the situation or, at the very least, her equilibrium. Shifting position, she inched her body away from his, hoping he wouldn’t notice. The rapid return of his wolfish grin, though, told her that he had.
She pretended not to notice and said with hushed earnestness, “I’m going to prove the psycho who killed Mrs. Milbourne also killed my mother.”
At her words, he grew serious. “You think they’re connected?”
She nodded.
“Was there a fire at your house?”
“No. But I think my sister must have interrupted him before he had a chance to start one and take Mom somewhere else as he did with Mrs. Milbourne.”
Jesse said nothing, just watched her face for a moment as if deciding something. “What happened that night?”
Abbey drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. She never discussed it with anyone. Her uncle had practically begged her to talk to a therapist. She’d refused. There was no getting over this, no moving on. Not while her father was locked up in prison. Nobody understood that, but perhaps Jesse would.
She began in a flat monotone. “I was at my friend Penny’s house when it happened, working on a school project. I stayed for pizza and a movie, and then her mom drove me home.
“On the way over, we heard the sirens. Two police cars sped by us. When we turned onto our street, it looked like a movie set. More police cars, an ambulance and several fire trucks were all parked outside my house. It was surreal. Red lights from the fire trucks and blue lights from the police cars flashed onto the side of our house as if it was a late night Fourth of July parade.
“A cop stopped our car. Penny’s mom told him who we were, and I heard the concern in her voice even though she was trying to act as if there was nothing wrong. Once the cop found out who I was, he radioed someone, and a detective came over to talk to me.
“He said something about someone dying, but I couldn’t take it in. I knew it was bad because Penny started crying. Then my sister walked out of our house. It freaked me out because she was covered in blood. It was on her hands, her face, all over her favorite pajamas. And she walked like she was a zombie. I wanted to go to her, but the police wouldn’t let me. I screamed at Melody, trying to get her attention, but she didn’t even look over at me. They put her in an ambulance and drove off. It was hours before I was allowed to see her at the hospital. She was curled up on the bed, staring at the wall. She didn’t utter a word. The nurse said she’d been given something for shock. They’d bandaged her head because when Melody ran to the phone to call 911, she’d fallen and hit her head on the kitchen counter. I found out later she’d slipped in Mom’s blood.”
Abbey pressed her hands to her face as if to block out the grisly image. “Finally, they put me in a room with Detective Holly Jakes. She seemed so caring at first, so concerned about me, about us all. I learned that my mom was dead, and Melody found her and tried to save her. After that night, Jakes spent a lot of time with us, pretending to be there because she cared about us when she was really there to spy. She made us dinner, helped organize things, even stood with us at the funeral.”
Abbey took a deep breath. “I told her things. Things I shouldn’t have. All because I trusted her.”
“What things?”
She twisted her hands together and cleared her throat. “My dad had us write letters to our mom and place them in the coffin with her, so she wouldn’t be alone. It helped. We got to tell her all the things we never said before. Dad wrote one, too. When I told Holly Jakes about them, she ordered an exhumation, and they dug up my mom’s body, just so she could read our letters. They used Dad’s against him in court. It was awful.” She felt brittle—like she was about to splinter into a million little pieces.
“What did he write?” Jesse asked, keeping his voice soft as if he sensed how fragile she was.
“It was innocent. Dad didn’t mean it to sound so bad. He said it was all her fault because she’d insisted on going to the damn party. If she hadn’t, it never would have happened. The police took that as a confession. My parents had been to a party where they were heard arguing. Dad claims the police misinterpreted the letter. He meant that he was sorry they went because she met her killer at the party. It didn’t matter what he said at that point because the damage was done. When they read the letter out in court, you could feel the jury turn against him.”
Jesse said nothing.
“It was terrible, but it got worse. During the trial, I found out mom was stabbed over twenty times and her throat had been cut nearly all the way through. Only a madman would do that.” Abbey felt short of breath and very cold. Her teeth began to chatter, and the room b
egan to spin.
Jesse slipped an arm around her shoulders.
“At the party, my dad drank too much and said some stupid things, but that was all. Later that night, he went to the high school to blow off some steam. He was the football coach and exercised there practically every day. The police didn’t believe him. They claimed my father went home to wait for Mom and murdered her in a jealous rage. After killing her, the police say he went to the high school to get rid of evidence. They claim he showered, changed into his coaching sweats he kept in his office and dumped his bloodied clothes somewhere else, which they never found because there weren’t any.”
“What did your sister say happened?”
“Melody was there. She was supposed to be at a sleepover, but she got sick and stayed home. She won’t talk about it and gets all freaky if I bring it up. She’s such a pain in the ass. And I’m not allowed to ask her about it. Uncle Cal babies her so much. He won’t push her. Says it’s too traumatic for her and she needs time to process it. Blah, blah, blah. But that’s because Uncle Cal isn’t thinking rationally.”
“Why’s that?”
“He doesn’t know I know this, but I found out he was in love with my mother when they were in high school. That was before Dad dated her. I found some poems or song lyrics he’d written for her. My mom kept them in a shoebox up in the attic. Plus, I know my dad believed my mom was still in love with Uncle Cal. I heard them arguing about it—I mean—discussing it one night when they thought I was in bed. It was the weekend we were going to see one of Uncle Cal’s concerts. He sent a limousine to drive us down to Massachusetts, but my dad couldn’t go because he was sick.”
The candle flickered, casting shadows across Jesse’s face. It was getting cold. Abbey shivered again. Jesse moved closer, pulling the corner of the blanket up over her legs. When he didn’t say anything, she continued, “I’m not an idiot. I know it seems suspicious, but I know my dad didn’t do it. They just jumped to conclusions without considering anyone else.”
“I understand why you want to believe him,” Jesse said. “But how can you know for sure?”
Lonesome Lake Page 20
