Whisper of Evil

by Kay Hooper

  “Oh, no, thanks, I can manage. I do appreciate the offer, though.”

  He touched his hat brim again, smiling. “Okay, but don’t hesitate to holler if you need anything. Anything at all.”

  “I won’t.”

  The two deputies got back in their cruiser, and Nell deliberately turned to unload the Jeep rather than watch them leave. By the time she reached the front porch with an armful of groceries, she was aware that the cruiser and its deputies had reached the end of the long drive and pulled out onto the road heading back toward town.

  She didn’t look after them.

  They had left the front door standing open, guarded only by the old screen door, and for just a moment she stood there trying to brace herself both mentally and emotionally.

  Another twinge in her temple urged her into the house before she was entirely ready to go, which was probably just as well. Without some sort of spur, she wasn’t at all sure she would have been able to do it.

  She stepped into an open foyer that was disconcertingly familiar with its polished wooden floor and round, pedestal-leg table. There should have been flowers on the table, of course, and hadn’t there been a rug underneath?

  Shaking off the vague musings, Nell moved purposefully past the stairs toward the kitchen, deliberately not looking through any doorways she passed. Formal dining room on one side, living room on the other, half bath under the stairs—and no need to check out any of those rooms.

  Not yet. Not yet.

  She put the grocery bags on the kitchen counter and spared only one quick look around the bright yellow-and-white kitchen, then immediately headed back out to the Jeep. She needed to get everything inside, and as soon as possible; the twinges in her temple had become a painful throbbing as rhythmic and inevitable as her heartbeat.

  She barely made it, dumping her luggage in the foyer and locking the front door before moving unsteadily back to the kitchen. She fumbled through the bags for the few perishables that needed to go into the refrigerator, fighting the dizziness grimly even as she told herself she should at least find a chair before—

  Blackness washed over her, and Nell crumpled silently to the dusty tile floor.

  CHAPTER TWO

  It was a bit like meditation, he had decided. If he closed his eyes and concentrated, really concentrated, his body seemed to grow very light, almost weightless, and some part of him was able to float away for a while. Sometimes he just floated without direction, not really caring where he went, enjoying the sensations of drifting along without any ties of the flesh.

  True freedom. He’d had no idea.

  Sometimes, however, he focused all his energy and will on controlling his direction, concentrated on reaching a particular place, because there was someone special he had to find.

  Like her. She was easy to find. The effortless connection established so long ago led him to her quickly.

  She was moving about the kitchen, putting groceries away. Preoccupied, maybe even upset or unnerved by the storms rumbling all around on this restless spring night. She looked a little pale, he thought, and there was a square of adhesive bandage on her forehead just above her right eyebrow.

  He wondered if she had fallen. Wondered what would happen if he reached out and touched her.

  He nearly did reach out but stopped himself. No. Not now. Not yet.

  There were things he had to do first. A job he had to finish. He wasn’t the sort of man to avoid his responsibilities, after all. That was not the way he’d been raised, and not his character. A man finished what he started.

  Besides, there was plenty of time for Nell. Time to find out the truth about why she’d come home. Time to find out how much she remembered.

  She walked past him, intent on placing a couple of boxes into an upper cabinet, and he was almost certain he could smell her hair, a clean scent like sunshine.

  He almost reached out and touched her.

  Almost.

  WEDNESDAY, MARCH 22

  Nell woke so abruptly that she heard the broken-off ending of her own strange, muffled cry. She sat there in her bed, staring at the hands that were still raised and stretched out before her as though she had been reaching for something. Her hands were shaking visibly. She felt stiff, so tense her muscles protested with sharp twinges. Her fingers curled slowly, and she made herself relax her arms, lower them. Stop reaching.

  The bedroom was flooded with morning light, the previous night’s storms long gone, and through her slightly open window a cool, moist breeze fluttered the curtains. It smelled damp and earthy, like spring.

  She didn’t have to try to remember the dream. It was always the same one. Little details varied, but the basic framework of the dream had never changed. And even though it wasn’t an every-night occurrence, it happened often enough to be all too familiar to Nell.

  “I shouldn’t have come back here,” she heard herself murmur.

  She had hoped that after so many years, coming back here wouldn’t have made it worse. But she should have known better than that. Even driving down here she had known, had felt the wrenching sensation she had lived with for so long begin to intensify, as if a cord tied to something deep inside her were being tugged insistently.

  Now the pull was steady, urgent. Impossible to ignore.

  Stiffly, Nell slid from the bed and went to take a shower, allowing the hot water to beat down on her while she concentrated on shoring up her defenses. It was hard, harder than it had ever been before, but by the time she was dressed and on her way downstairs, the pull inside her was at least tolerable, pushed down and quieted so that it no longer made her feel she would be torn in half.

  I shouldn’t have come back here. How can I do what I have to with this inside me?

  “Nell.”

  Halfway across the foyer, she stopped with a jerk and turned completely around, staring behind her, all around her. But there was no one there. Absolutely no one.

  “I shouldn’t have come back here,” she murmured.

  “It’s a simple enough question.” Ethan smiled easily as he gazed across his desk at Max Tanner. “Where were you Saturday night, Max?”

  “You mean, where was I when George Caldwell was shot?” Max offered the sheriff a smile no more real than his own. “I was at home, Ethan. Alone.”

  “No witnesses.”

  “And so no alibi.” Max shrugged, keeping the gesture as relaxed as he could. “Sorry, didn’t know I’d need one.”

  “Didn’t you?”

  “No.”

  Ethan nodded, mouth pursed in what was probably supposed to be thoughtful consideration. “You and George had your differences, I believe.”

  He believed. He fucking well knew but had to play his little games. So Max played along.

  “He wanted to buy a piece of property here in town and I didn’t want to sell it. He doubled his offer, I said no sale—and that was it. Hardly anything to kill a man over.”

  Ethan nodded again, lips still pursed. “But there was something else, wasn’t there? Something about a note on that ranch of yours?”

  “He called in the loan. I paid it. End of story.”

  “Is it? Way I heard it, you had to sell off a third of your cattle to pay that note.”

  “So? It left me with two-thirds of the herd and free of any debt to the bank.”

  “But you lost money on the deal. Prices for beef were way down when you had to sell.”

  “The timing could have been better,” Max admitted. “But it was business, Ethan, nothing more than that. George called in the note; I paid it. He was within his rights; I honored my obligations.”

  “You were pissed as hell, everybody knew that. Called poor George a bloodsucker, is what I heard.”

  Max thought grimly how easy it would be to become paranoid in a town where the sheriff “heard” a hell of a lot—including far too many private conversations. But all he said was, “I was pissed. I got over it. And that was two months ago.”

  Ethan frowned slig
htly, and Max knew he was, however reluctantly, at least half convinced that although Max might well act violently out of temper, he was unlikely to do anything rash once the anger was past.

  Try as he might, the sheriff couldn’t even persuade himself that he had found a motive for Max to have murdered George Caldwell, far less any evidence he might have done so. Not yet, anyway.

  Still, Max didn’t relax. He knew Ethan Cole.

  Abruptly, the sheriff said, “So, Nell Gallagher’s back in town.”

  “Yeah. I saw her yesterday.”

  “Spoke to her too, didn’t you?”

  Max glanced toward the front window of Ethan’s corner office and realized what a nice, clear view of Main Street it offered. “We said hello. Not much more than that.”

  “I guess she’s home to clear out the old house, settle the family estate.”

  “So she said.”

  “Home for good?”

  “I doubt it.”

  “She still as pretty as she was back then?”

  “I’d call her gorgeous,” Max replied calmly. “Just like she always was.”

  Reflectively, Ethan said, “Yeah, but she was a bit odd, as I remember. Not so much shy as . . . withdrawn. A loner. With that face, though, she had boys chasing after her from about the age of twelve. All those years, and none of us made much headway with her—except for you, that is.”

  Since it had been a statement rather than a question, Max merely said, “She wasn’t easy to get close to.” He wasn’t about to admit that he had gotten close in the truest sense only once—and paid a very high price for it. “Considering her family’s history and how they tended to isolate themselves out there, probably not so surprising.”

  Ethan eyed him with lifted brows. “You think that was it? Well, maybe. The family did scare at least a few would-be suitors away from those girls, that’s for sure, especially that spooky old grandmother of theirs. And I remember Dad warning me not to do anything to piss off Adam Gallagher—which taking notice of either of his girls was liable to do.”

  Max shrugged. “He was more possessive of Hailey, I always thought. Maybe because she was older and pretty much took her mother’s place after Grace ran off.”

  “Running off seems to be a family trait.”

  Knowing what was coming, Max waited.

  “It was the night of Nell’s senior prom, wasn’t it? She packed a bag and ran off—and left you standing there all dressed up nice and fancy with no place to go.”

  “That’s about it,” Max replied.

  “Rumor had it you two had a big fight.”

  “Rumor got it wrong, as usual.”

  “So what did happen?”

  “Beats me.”

  “You really never knew why she bolted?”

  “I really never knew.” With another shrug, Max said, “I heard a bunch of garbled rumors afterward just like everybody else. Maybe one of them was true. Maybe her father did throw her out for some reason. Maybe there was someone she liked a lot better than me, and she ran off with him that night. Or maybe she found out where Grace was and wanted to be with her mother, and picked that night to go. Maybe one of those rumors was the truth. Or maybe not. The only person who could have told the truth was far away— and didn’t bother to write, at least not to me.”

  “Ouch.” Ethan smiled. “You should have aimed for the older sister instead. I always wondered why you didn’t, considering you went through school with her.”

  “You were always more interested in Hailey than I was.”

  Dryly, Ethan said, “Everything in pants was interested in Hailey. She wasn’t much to look at, but, Christ, that girl did put out some powerful signals. Hard to take your eyes off her when she walked down the street.”

  Max remained silent.

  “Think there’s any truth to the stories about her?”

  “God knows. Something made her father disinherit her.” Max offered the sheriff a wry smile. “I would have thought you’d know the truth about it if anybody would, Ethan, considering how well informed you are about everything else in Silence.”

  “Oh, I imagine I’ll get the truth of it eventually.” Ethan returned the smile. “I always do.”

  Deciding the interview was over, Max rose to his feet. “Yeah, well, I know you have other things to think about these days. With four suspicious—and unsolved—deaths in the last eight months, we all know where your ... attention needs to be focused.”

  Ethan rose as well and didn’t offer to shake hands. “I don’t need you to remind me what my job is.” As Max turned away, he added in the same pleasant tone, “Oh—Max? I did tell you not to leave town, didn’t I?”

  “You told me. And you don’t have to worry. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Make sure you don’t.”

  All too aware that the sheriff was determined to get the last word no matter what, Max simply nodded and left the office. He hadn’t realized how tense he’d been until he was outside, around the corner, and out of sight of that office window and found himself shifting his shoulders in a half-conscious effort to relax.

  Damn Ethan Cole.

  Bad enough to watch a boy you’d liked grow up into a man you didn’t; give that man a badge and almost unlimited authority, not to mention a grudge, and things could get ugly in a hurry.

  Trying to shake off a useless bitterness, Max walked to where he’d left his truck parked and got in. He started the engine but didn’t put it in gear right away. Instead, he found himself thinking about Nell. Again.

  All last night, listening to storms rumbling around and through Silence, he had tossed and turned and thought about Nell. Wondered. What sort of life had she made for herself in the last dozen years? Why had she failed to come home even for the funerals of her father and grandmother? What lay behind Hailey’s odd, brittle smile whenever the subject of her younger sister had come up?

  Most of all, he had wondered if any other man had managed to get close to her even once.

  She had changed, that had been plain to see. Still beautiful, he hadn’t lied to Ethan about that. But the incredible green eyes that he remembered with rather terrifying intensity were guarded and wary now, and there was an air of stillness, of composure, about her that had not been present years before.

  She had been anything but still back then.

  Max thought of the sixteen-year-old girl he had first noticed that hot summer day nearly fourteen years ago, riding a little roan mare bareback, her indecently short shorts baring most of her long, tanned legs and the white cotton blouse she wore far too sheer for his peace of mind. She had seemed wild to him, a little fey, her smile uncertain and her sudden, almost uncontrolled laughter quicksilver in the heavy, damp air. Her honey-colored hair had swung free about her shoulders, glistening in the sunlight, and her wide green eyes had stared at him with a strange look of shock, of . . . recognition.

  Half eager, half fearful.

  Max shook off the memory of that haunting look and grimly put the truck in gear. Enough. Enough of this. Nell Gallagher was back home just long enough to collect a few photographs and dolls from her childhood, and then she’d leave Silence for good.

  He wasn’t fool enough to get involved with her.

  “Not this time,” he heard himself mutter. “Not again.”

  The house roused surprisingly few memories in her, good or bad, possibly because it had been heavily redecorated since she’d last seen it. It was easy to see Hailey’s preferences in the dark fabrics and patterned wallpaper most of the rooms boasted, and in fact the sense of her sister was almost overpowering.

  It made Nell uncomfortable in a way she hadn’t expected, and that as much as anything else eventually drove her out of the house later that morning.

  The Gallagher house sat on property that had once, long ago, been a thriving sugarcane plantation. Over the years, land had been sold off, and what farming was done on the remaining family property was handled by tenant farmers, most of them raising soybeans and
sweet potatoes. What family wealth still existed in the last twenty-five years had consisted of income from the tenant farmers and dividends from Adam Gallagher’s highly successful ventures into the stock market.

  There had almost always been enough money, and frequently more than enough, to live comfortably. She and Hailey had owned horses in childhood and, upon their seventeenth birthdays, had been presented by their father with very nice cars—their use of which had been strictly supervised to the extent of Adam holding the keys most of the time.

  According to the inventory Nell had been provided by the family attorney, the horses and cars were long gone; Adam Gallagher’s old Lincoln was the only vehicle left, and it was sitting on a car lot in Silence waiting to be sold.

  Other things would have to be sold as well. Nell had no idea what would be left by the time debts and taxes were paid, and she didn’t think much about it. She hadn’t come home hoping to profit from her father’s death, after all.

  She walked away from the house now without looking back, allowing instinct or her subconscious to choose between one of several faint paths into the woods. There were probably fifty or so acres of forest separating the Gallagher house from the surrounding farms and ranches, the canopy of greenery high above creating a cool, dim haven where Nell had spent many childhood hours, especially during the hot and humid summers.

  It didn’t feel quite as peaceful now as it had then.

  Even so, Nell kept walking, conscious of a restless urge too familiar to be ignored. She stopped several times, looking around her with a searching gaze, but all she saw was the motionless green undergrowth, some of it still wet from the previous night’s storms.

  That realization had barely crossed her mind when Nell heard a deep, rolling rumble of thunder. She blinked, and between one second and the next the scene around her abruptly changed.

  It was night, not day, and it was storming. She could feel the wind-lashed rain stinging her skin, even blinding her momentarily until she could turn her back to the force of it. She wiped the rain from her eyes and blinked, trying to see, in the strobelike flashes of lightning, what she was meant to.