Bleeding Through: A Rachel Goddard Mystery (Rachel Goddard Mysteries) (18 page)

“Did she give you any idea
who she thought was guilty, if Vance didn’t do it?”

Tom expected a no, but he felt disappointed anyway when Grace shook her head.

“She thought Vance was innocent, that’s all I know. One thing she said was it didn’t make sense for him to keep the murder weapon and leave it in his car. Well, if he was high on drugs and couldn’t think straight enough to cover his tracks, that’s all the explanation I need.”

“Drugs?” Tom said. “Do you have some reason to think Vance was using drugs the night Brian was killed? Did you see him? Did he act like he was high?”

“They
all
smoked weed before their concerts.” Grace glanced toward the kitchen, where the kids still seemed to be arguing about something, their exchange muted by the closed door. She lowered her voice to a near-whisper. “I think they were getting into stronger stuff too.”

Tom also spoke quietly. “The whole band, including Brian?”

Grace nodded, sorrow and anger and resignation warring in her expression. She leaned forward, closer to Tom, and he mirrored the movement. “His mom and dad’ll deny it to their dying day, but he was smoking dope all the time and I think he was starting to snort coke. Wasting money on drugs when we needed things for the kids. He was all wrapped up in that show business stuff. I knew it was going to destroy him one way or another.”

The children had gone silent, and Tom wondered how much they were overhearing. Grace had probably communicated her opinion of their father to the kids over the years, but Tom had to wonder why she was speaking so openly to a cop. He wasn’t going to ask her and risk shutting her up. “So you didn’t want Brian to pursue a career in music?”

“Do you have any idea what a dirty business it is? The music business? Drinking, drugs, women throwing themselves at the men in the band. I mean, all Brian’s band had were CDs they put together themselves and sold on the Internet and at concerts, but they were already acting like stars. That was what my husband wanted. To be a star. His big dream was being up there on the stage with a whole big crowd of women screaming his name.”

“Wasn’t that dream about to come true? Weren’t they about to sign a deal with a music label?”

She turned her eyes toward a side window, and when Tom followed her gaze he saw Blake and Maureen Hadley’s house a hundred feet away. Close quarters. Her in-laws—former in-laws—could keep track of everything she did, every visitor she had.

Grace didn’t acknowledge Tom’s question about the record deal. She went on, “Whenever we had an argument, he’d throw it in my face, he’d tell me he could have a dozen women every night of the week if he wanted to. What was I supposed to say to that? How could I compete with it?”

Maybe a blunt question would get her attention. “Did you feel like you were losing your husband because of his career?”

Grace stayed silent for a moment, eyes still fixed on the window, her fingers kneading the soft little dinosaur. When she spoke, she sounded weary and deeply saddened. “If he’d lived, he would’ve left me by now. He’d be living somewhere else in a fancy house. But I never would’ve let him walk away from his kids. He was their father, and he had responsibilities. I would’ve made sure he lived up to them.”

“Did you know at the time that he was involved with Rita? Was he going to leave you for her?”

She shifted her gaze to Tom. “That won’t work, deputy. It didn’t work when Vance’s lawyer tried it, and it won’t work now.”

“What won’t work?”

“Trying to make it look like I could’ve killed my husband out of jealousy.”

“I wasn’t implying that. Vance was tried and convicted, and I haven’t seen any reason to doubt that he’s guilty. We’ve gone way off track here. All I’m interested in is whether Shelley was doing something that might have ticked somebody off. Are you positive she never pointed a finger at anybody else for Brian’s murder?”

“Sorry, no, she didn’t. And you want to know something? I don’t give a shit who killed Brian. If it turned out to be somebody besides Vance Lankford, it wouldn’t change a thing for me. ” She tossed the toy aside and it tumbled off the sofa onto the floor. “All I ever wanted was to get married and stay home and raise my kids. Now I’ve got two kids to raise by myself, and I’m just barely scraping by with a job I hate. Sticking my hands in other people’s mouths, cleaning their dirty teeth.”

“You could try something else, get some training, maybe move someplace where the pay’s better.”

“Are you kidding? The Hadleys would fight me tooth and nail if I tried to take the kids somewhere else. They’re always saying Mark and Lucy are all they’ve got left of Brian.” In a sudden burst of energy, she jumped up and started plucking toys off the floor and tossing them into the bin. “God forbid I’d ever want to get married again. They wouldn’t let some other man be a father to Brian’s children. Not that I’d want to marry anybody around here.”

“Grace, I need to know whether anybody in Brian’s family had anything to do with Shelley’s death. I can’t turn a blind eye to the way they all felt about what she was doing. Skeet acts like he would have done just about anything to stop her. Help me out here, so I can move on and leave you alone.”

She stooped, lifted the string of connected train cars with both hands, straightened and met Tom’s eyes. “Even if I knew for sure that one of them was responsible, I wouldn’t tell you. I depend on them, do you understand? I don’t own this house. Brian built it, but he didn’t own it, it belongs to his parents. As long as I’ve got their precious grandkids, we can live here for free. My family can’t take us in, and I don’t see how I’ll ever be able to afford a place on what I make. So I need things to stay just like they are.”

“You’ve said a lot of things to me today that the Hadleys wouldn’t like.”

“Nothing I haven’t said to them, more than once. But I didn’t accuse them of murder, and I’m not going to. I’m stuck with Blake and Maureen.” She let out a long sigh and her shoulders slumped. “And Skeet too.”

Chapter Sixteen

Rachel’s last client of the day rescheduled, so she was free to go home early, taking Michelle with her. She called and left a message for Tom, telling him the coast was clear if he wanted to come over and take fingerprints from the frames on her office wall. When they left the clinic Michelle seemed upbeat, almost cheerful. Just as well, Rachel thought, that she hadn’t told her sister that she believed the stalker was here in Mason County and had already proved that locks couldn’t stop him.

As they neared the farm, though, Michelle began the slide into anxiety again. She fidgeted with her hair, her seat belt, the computer on her lap. “It’s so isolated out here. What if something happened? How would we get help?”

“The same way we would anywhere else. Pick up a telephone and call the cops.”

“But it’s so far out in the country. And the Sheriff’s Department is so small, they can’t have many officers on duty at a time. How long would it take—”

“Nothing’s going to happen, Mish. Besides, Tom lives in the same house, remember?”

“He can’t always be there.”

“He’s there at night, when we are.” Rachel could only hope his work wouldn’t keep him out late tonight, running around and unreachable. Tomorrow night he might have to stay in Northern Virginia, but she didn’t want to tell Michelle about that yet.

When they walked into the house, Michelle seized on something new to fret about. Watching Rachel pet Frank, who had greeted them at the door, she asked, “Where’s the dog? He was here this morning. What’s happened to him?”

“He’s with Tom’s Uncle Paul. He picks Billy Bob up and keeps him most of the day.”

“Oh.” Michelle clutched her laptop to her body like a shield, standing immobile in the hallway as if reluctant to venture farther into the quiet house. “Maybe you should check and make sure Tom’s uncle has him?”

“He’ll be driving up any minute with the dog.” Rachel wasn’t worried about Billy Bob, but Michelle’s general apprehension had infected her. She stepped into the living room and flicked the wall switch, and when light flooded the room she glanced around to see if anything was out of place.
If he got into my office, he could get in here.

Everything looked normal. Again she told herself not to give in to paranoia.

But sometimes paranoia is just good common sense,
the cautious part of her countered.
Sometimes somebody really is out to get you.

She had to stop this.

While Michelle went to her room, Rachel fed Frank and Cicero, then started upstairs to change clothes. Normally she would go for a run if she had spare time between work and dinner, but she couldn’t leave Michelle in the house alone.

She rapped on the door of Michelle’s room and opened it when her sister responded. Michelle stood in front of the bookcase as if she were choosing something to read.

“Want to go for a run?” Rachel asked.

“A run? Me?”

“Okay, I guess not. I’ll skip it.”

“Oh. Is that what you’d do if I weren’t here? It’s all right. Go ahead, don’t let me stop you.” But Michelle seemed to be folding into herself, crossing her arms, hunching her shoulders. A fearful note crept into her voice when she asked, “How long will you be gone? It’ll be dark soon. You don’t run around outside in the dark, do you?”

“I’m not really in the mood for it.” Abandoning all hope of exercise, Rachel crossed the room to her sister. She gestured at the bookcase. “If you want something to read, I can drive you to the county library, but they have a pretty small collection. I have a stack of new books, but I’m not sure any of them would appeal to you. History and biography, mostly.”

Michelle shook her head. “No, I brought my e-book reader with me, and it’s loaded with books. I was just thinking about Tom’s parents, sitting up in bed side by side at night, reading before they went to sleep. Mysteries for her, I’m guessing, and the books on history and the military were his. It’s strange, I hardly know anything about them, but I can almost feel them in this room.” She looked at Rachel. “Were they happy? Did they have a good marriage?”

“I never knew them, but Tom and his brother Chris had a happy childhood, so it must have been a happy home. I’m sure they had their problems now and then, like any couple.” Problems like the other woman Tom’s father had been close to, the arguments Tom had overheard late at night. Sharing those memories with Rachel had been painful for him, and she wouldn’t casually pass any of it on to her sister. What concerned her at the moment was Michelle’s rapid descent into melancholy after an uneventful afternoon.

Michelle moved around the room, examining the framed renderings in embroidery of an autumn mountainside, a pair of hummingbirds, a monarch butterfly. She stopped at the dresser and picked up a photo of Tom and his brother Chris as boys. “Perfect family,” she murmured.

“No family is perfect,” Rachel said. “Perfection is an unrealistic goal.”

Michelle set the picture back on the dresser and folded her arms as if she felt chilled. “That’s certainly the truth.”

Rachel touched her shoulder. “Mish, what’s wrong? I mean, well, is something
else
bothering you, in addition to the obvious? Is it Kevin?” An easy enough guess.

Tears pooled in Michelle’s eyes, but she blinked rapidly until they were gone. “I wish he were with me. I wish he
wanted
to be with me. But when he doubts everything I say, being around him is unbearable.”

“I’ll admit I’m disappointed he’s not being more supportive,” Rachel said. “But he loves you. You’ll get past this.”

“I’m not so sure.” A shudder ran through Michelle. “My stalker would probably be very happy if he knew what he’s doing to me. All this anxiety, the stress I’ve been under, it’s made me see just how insubstantial my life is. I feel as if everything is falling apart and crashing down around me. Believe me, I know how melodramatic that sounds, but I don’t know how else to say it.”

Michelle turned away, walked to the window, and spoke with her back to Rachel. “Kevin wants a family. He’s been talking about it nonstop for a year. He wants to start having children before we get any older.”

“Ah.” Rachel joined Michelle at the window. Outside, the growing dusk had robbed the hillsides of color and detail and reduced them to a series of gentle scallops that surrounded the farm like the crust of a pie. “And you don’t want children?”

“He can’t understand why. I work with children, I love kids. He can’t understand why I don’t want a houseful of my own.” Michelle paused. “But you understand, don’t you?”

Their eyes met, and again Rachel felt the ghost of Judith Goddard hovering between them. Respected psychologist, secret child snatcher. Tall and auburn-haired, looking so much like Rachel that no one had ever doubted they were parent and child. But this moment of shared memory felt shockingly different, because Michelle seemed to be offering something she had always before stubbornly withheld: an admission that Judith had done irreparable damage to her life as well as Rachel’s.

“I’d be such an overprotective mother that my kids would hate me,” Rachel said. “I’d be constantly terrified that I couldn’t keep a child safe. I might get distracted or turn my back for one minute…”