Faceless

by Alexandra Ivy

  Noah turned to regard his friend. He knew that tone. She wasn’t happy with the direction the investigation was headed. “You have a different theory?”

  Chelle hesitated. Then, with a jerk of her head to follow her, she circled Noah’s Jeep to make sure they were out of earshot.

  “I did a search of Erika’s home before the DCI showed up,” she admitted, glancing around.

  She didn’t seem nervous, but Noah was betting she didn’t want anyone to know she’d taken the initiative to continue the investigation. No doubt she’d been told to stand down as soon as the big guns arrived in Larkin.

  “Did you find anything?”

  “Blood on the floor of the garage.”

  Noah absorbed the words, suddenly feeling stupid. He’d been so focused on trying to imagine why Erika had gone to the farm, it’d never occurred to him to consider the possibility that someone had forced her out there. Of course, they still didn’t know that. There were lots of reasons there could have been blood on the floor.

  “Fresh?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  Noah frowned, trying not to jump to conclusions. “She could have tripped and hurt herself.”

  Chelle wasn’t nearly so hesitant to make the leap. “Or been attacked and driven to the farm.”

  Noah leaned against the back of the Jeep, folding his arms over his chest. “Is there more?”

  Chelle once again glanced over her shoulder. “I shouldn’t be talking to you.”

  “You know you can trust me,” Noah reminded her.

  There was a long pause, before Chelle revealed what she’d discovered. “I found Erika’s phone in the garage.”

  “And?”

  “And her last call was Saturday night.”

  “Okay.”

  “To Wynter’s number.”

  “Wynter lost her phone days ago,” Noah reminded his companion.

  “We know that, but Erika probably didn’t.”

  “True.”

  “Which means she likely left a message.”

  Noah nodded, wondering why the therapist was calling Wynter. Had she been checking on Sander? The two women weren’t that close anymore, but Erika would certainly know how worried Wynter would be about her grandpa.

  It wasn’t until he noticed Chelle’s patient expression that he realized he was missing the relevant point. “If she left a message, then whoever stole Wynter’s phone would have listened to it.”

  “Exactly.”

  “It would have been easy enough. She has an old phone and never bothered with putting in a security code.” Noah narrowed his gaze. “Do you suspect Erika knew something about the mystery killer?”

  “It would be the most obvious reason someone would kidnap her and haul her to a remote farm.”

  Noah shuffled through his thoughts, trying to arrange and rearrange them in a way that made sense.

  Erika was a therapist. It was possible she’d suspected someone in town who would have the temperament to kill. She might have wanted to warn Wynter. Or maybe someone had said something that struck a memory. She’d admitted to being friends with Laurel Moore. Perhaps she’d grabbed her phone and hit Wynter’s number, never suspecting that she was signing her own death warrant.

  Then what?

  The killer had snuck into her garage, waiting for an opportunity to strike. Last night? Maybe this morning. He—or she—had driven her car to the farm knowing that Sander was in the hospital and that it was empty.

  “The basement,” he breathed.

  “What?”

  “We couldn’t figure out why the door to the basement was open. Wynter was certain that nothing was down there. But if she’d been kidnapped . . .”

  “It’s a perfect place to hold a captive.” Chelle completed his thought. “Or dispose of a body.”

  Noah nodded, his jaws clenched as he battled back the thought of Erika alone and petrified in the hands of a monster. There would be time later to grieve. For now, he had to concentrate on what had happened to her. “It makes more sense that she was forced to the farmhouse instead of having her drive there on her own.”

  “If Erika had found information on the killer, she might have called to warn Wynter without knowing she was putting herself in danger,” Chelle murmured, going back over the time line. As if hoping to clarify what had potentially happened. “When Wynter didn’t answer, she left a message.”

  “If she had information, why not call the police?” Noah asked the obvious question.

  “She might not have been certain,” Chelle retorted. “It’s the trickiest part of being a cop. Some people call nine-one-one if they see a cat cross their lawn. Other people are reluctant to get involved. I’m sure a trained professional like Erika would be well aware of the danger of pointing fingers.”

  Noah nodded in agreement. No one wanted to get someone in trouble if they weren’t one hundred percent confident of their guilt. Especially if it was someone she knew. A patient?

  “Or she was protecting the someone,” he suggested.

  They exchanged a long glance, knowing that Erika would have gone to great lengths to shield the identity of a client. Had the news of Drake’s death spurred Erika to try and do something to protect Wynter while still trying to maintain her professional ethics?

  “Let’s say you’re right,” Chelle murmured. “Erika called Wynter to warn her. Then the killer attacks her in the garage and drives her to the farm.”

  Noah tried to put himself in the mind of the maniac. Had he panicked when he’d gotten the call? Had he rushed to Erika’s house or waited until the next morning? Had he known she would be going into the garage at that time? Maybe he’d somehow contacted the therapist to lure her from the house.

  His train of thoughts were interrupted when he was struck by the difficulty of kidnapping the woman and taking her to Sander’s farm. There was an easier method to silence her.

  “Why not kill her at the house?” he demanded. “Erika lives alone. No one would have found her for hours. Maybe days.”

  Chelle grimaced. “A good question.”

  “And what does Jay Wheeler have to do with any of this?” Noah added.

  He was willing to consider the idea that the older man had been looting Sander’s safe and killed Erika when she interrupted him. But there was no way he could imagine Jay hiding in the woman’s garage and then driving her to the farm to shoot her in the head.

  A muscle worked in Chelle’s jaw, as if she was equally confounded. “Jay Wheeler,” she growled.

  Noah arched a brow. “What’s wrong?”

  “When I was little I loved to put together jigsaw puzzles,” Chelle muttered.

  “That doesn’t surprise me,” Noah said. Since he’d known Chelle, she’d loved doing crosswords and watching mystery shows. Anything to challenge her mind.

  “My younger brother used to think it was funny to slip a piece from another puzzle into the box and watch me struggle to fit it in.”

  “Frustrating.”

  Chelle snorted. “You have no idea.”

  “Do you have a point?” he asked. He wasn’t being rude, but he had a long list of things to do before it was time to return to the hospital to pick up Wynter.

  “Jay Wheeler,” she repeated. “He’s a piece that doesn’t fit into the puzzle.”

  Noah nodded. “You’re right.”

  They shared a moment of mutual aggravation. It was beginning to feel as if they would never uncover the truth.

  Then Chelle heaved a deep sigh. “Did you need anything?” she asked.

  “Wynter had a morning visitor at her restaurant,” he told her.

  “Is that a bad thing?”

  “It was Linda Baker. She stopped by to throw rocks through the window.”

  Chelle turned to fully face him, her brows drawn together as if she suspected he was playing some sort of stupid game. “Is that a joke?”

  “Nope.”

  Chelle planted her hands on her hips. “Why the hell would Lind
a Baker throw rocks at anything, let alone through a restaurant window?”

  Noah gave her a quick rundown of Edgar’s decision to retire rather than have his affair with his secretary exposed, and Linda’s less-than-delighted reaction to being dismissed from her job. Not to mention being dumped by her lover.

  Chelle looked weary. Soul-deep weary. “Have Wynter stop by and make a formal report. And make sure you take pictures of the damage. I’m not sure when we can get an officer over there. The chief is already on a rampage about the overtime we’ve been putting in.”

  Noah lifted his hand. “I’m not sure she wants to bother. I only wanted you to know because Linda made a threat before she left.”

  Chelle’s weariness evaporated as she stiffened, clearly ready to take action. “A physical threat?”

  “No, she said she would go to the cops with information about Wynter’s father.”

  “What was the information?”

  “That Edgar had been at a hotel with her the night Wynter’s mom was murdered.”

  Chelle narrowed her eyes. “And?”

  “And that hotel was in Pike,” he said.

  Chelle jerked in shock. “Shit.”

  “Yep.”

  Chelle bent her head to stare at the tips of her polished shoes. Noah assumed she was trying to determine what to do with the information. Laurel Moore’s death wasn’t in her jurisdiction. But it was obvious she had no faith in the temporary sheriff in Pike.

  She was still silently debating her choices when the sound of her name being called echoed across the parking lot.

  Chelle rolled her eyes. “I’m being summoned.”

  Noah reached out to pat her shoulder. “Good luck.”

  “I’m going to need it,” she muttered, stomping toward the men gathered next to the crashed pickup.

  Regretting the knowledge he’d only piled on to the pressure his friend was carrying on her shoulders, Noah climbed into his Jeep and headed toward the Wynter Garden.

  Tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, he easily weaved through the light traffic. He tried to concentrate on the tasks he needed to take care of before he could return to pick up Wynter, but his thoughts kept straying back to Chelle’s words.

  A piece that doesn’t fit into the puzzle ...

  Was Chelle right? Jay Wheeler had a connection to both Laurel Moore and Sander. And the fact that the trouble had started after he’d returned to Larkin pointed toward him very much being a part of the puzzle.

  But he couldn’t deny that there was something about the older man that didn’t feel right. A nagging sensation that had only intensified now he knew that he was dead.

  What if he’d been a convenient fall guy? After all, they didn’t have any proof Jay had been to the house except for the toothpick that had been lying next to Erika’s body. Anyone could have left it there.

  Well, not anyone, he was forced to admit. It would have to be someone who wanted to frame the older man. And someone who would just happen to have a silver toothpick to leave at the crime scene....

  Muttering a curse, Noah yanked the steering wheel to the side, doing a sharp U-turn.

  He knew exactly who could have access to a silver toothpick.

  * * *

  Wynter had heard about an “out-of-body” experience, but she had no idea what it meant. Not until she slowly turned to watch the familiar man stroll into the room, his hands shoved into his coveralls as he casually approached the bed.

  It felt as if she was floating overhead, looking down at Oliver Wheeler. This was the man who’d worked for her grandpa for years. And stood side by side with her for months as they’d remodeled her restaurant. And happily volunteered at the food bank and during the yearly blood drive. Just last year he’d played Santa Claus for the school assembly.

  He couldn’t possibly be involved in a series of heinous crimes. It was ... unthinkable.

  “Ollie,” she muttered, her lips stiff, as if they didn’t want to form his name.

  Ollie smiled as he halted next to her. “Hello, Wynter.”

  She shook her head, trying to clear away the weird sense of unreality. “I don’t understand.”

  There was a series of beeps from the machines that surrounded her grandpa as the older man struggled to sit up.

  “Careful, Sander.” Ollie pulled his hand from his pocket to reveal the gun clutched in his fingers. Wynter jerked in shock, belatedly wishing the small hospital had metal detectors at the doors. Or at least a guard that didn’t spend most of his time scrolling through his phone. “We don’t want any unfortunate accidents.”

  “You bastard.” Sander flopped back on the pillow, and the beeps settled into a steady rhythm.

  Wynter released a shaky breath. As much as she wanted a nurse to rush in and check on her grandpa, she couldn’t risk Ollie pulling the trigger.

  “Isn’t that calling the kettle black, partner?” Ollie drawled, sending the older man a mocking glance. “You’re the one who wanted Laurel Moore dead. You came to me with the offer.”

  The words hammered into Wynter like spikes, injecting a toxic sense of betrayal as she turned her head to meet her grandpa’s wary gaze.

  “You paid Ollie to shoot my mom?”

  Sander opened and shut his mouth, as if trying to decide whether to cry out for help. Then his gaze dropped to the weapon in Ollie’s hand and he cleared his throat. “I paid him to make her disappear,” he muttered.

  The avalanche of emotions landed on top of her with a crushing force. No. She couldn’t take them all in. The only way to maintain her sanity was to concentrate on something she could process.

  “He was a child.” The words tumbled out of her mouth in a rush.

  Sander’s brows snapped together. He was obviously as shocked as she was by the initial direction of her thoughts. “Bullshit. He was a few days from being eighteen.” His tone was indignant. As if he was offended by Wynter’s question. “Besides, he’d been taking care of himself and his mom for years.”

  “He’s right,” Ollie agreed with a shrug. “I had to grow up young.”

  She stubbornly shook her head. It wasn’t about Ollie’s age. It was about her grandfather’s willingness to exploit the vulnerability of someone who trusted him.

  “You took advantage of a boy who’d been abandoned by his father and depended on you to fill that role,” she grimly insisted.

  Sander snorted, his face flushing with a sudden color. “If anything, he took advantage of me. He demanded twenty thousand dollars.”

  Wynter blinked. She hadn’t expected that. Turning her head, she glanced toward the man next to her.

  “I needed seed money to start my business,” he told her. “I wasn’t going to be a farmhand forever, but I had to go to school to get my electrician’s license. After that I had to have tools and a van and eventually a shop. That all cost money.”

  A sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob was wrenched from her lips. “I can’t believe this.” She pressed a hand over her aching heart, returning her attention to Sander. “It has to be a nightmare.”

  His face settled in peevish lines. “I told you I had no choice. Laurel was going to take you away from me.”

  With an effort, Wynter forced herself to accept the appalling truth. The man she’d loved and respected had committed the ultimate sin.

  “And that gave you the right to murder her?”

  “I was protecting you.”

  “From my own mother?” Her voice was shrill with a raw pain she made no effort to hide.

  Sander plucked at the sheet that was pulled up to his waist. “She’d never been a real mother to you. Never. She dumped you on whoever was willing to take you so she could hop in bed with her latest lover.” His nose flared with disgust. “If she left town with you, who knows what the hell might have happened? She’d probably have left you on your own. Or dumped you with strangers.”

  Wynter wrapped her arms around her waist. She wasn’t going to admit that there might be some trut
h in his words. Dealing with her grandpa’s treachery plus the realization that Ollie was a crazed madman who might shoot her was bad enough to worry about at the moment.

  More than enough.

  “She might not have been perfect, but she would never have put me in danger,” Wynter insisted.

  Sander glared at her as if willing her to believe he had no choice. “You didn’t know her. Not like I did. She was a selfish witch who didn’t care about anyone but herself.” He stuck out his chin, like a little boy who dared to be called a liar. “I couldn’t risk it.”

  Wynter frowned. She was willing to admit that her mom had her faults. A lot of faults. But there was a desperate edge in her grandpa’s voice that suggested he wasn’t just trying to convince her that he’d saved her from a fate worth than death. He was also trying to convince himself.

  “No.” A flood of bitterness joined the venomous brew of fear and disillusionment that churned in the pit of her stomach. “You weren’t concerned about me.”

  “Of course I was,” the older man protested.

  She shook her head. “You were worried about the precious Moore name.”

  “Very good, Wynter,” Ollie commended with a mocking smile toward the hospital bed. “She knows you better than you expected her to, eh, Sander?”

  The older man kept his gaze locked on Wynter, refusing to acknowledge the man pointing a gun at his heart. “If you mean I was tired of seeing your mother turn my son into the town idiot, I’ll agree.”

  Wynter didn’t have to imagine her grandpa’s fury as he watched his flamboyant daughter-in-law blaze a path of pandemonium through stodgy Larkin. Laurel obviously hadn’t cared about scandal. In fact, she seemed to do everything in her power to be a constant source of gossip.

  Even worse, Sander was an old-fashioned sort of man who would expect a woman to obey his commands. The fact that his own daughter-in-law wouldn’t be tamed would have driven him crazy.

  “You were the one embarrassed, not my dad,” she insisted.

  “Because the dolt doesn’t have the sense that God gave a goose,” he snapped. “She was destroying the family reputation.”

  Wynter blinked back sudden tears. How often had the world been bathed in pain and bloodshed because some stubborn man was afraid his pride had been injured?