Bleeding Through: A Rachel Goddard Mystery (Rachel Goddard Mysteries) (28 page)

Tom nodded. “I wonder where they’d be now if Brian was still alive, if none of that mess had happened.”

“Top of the charts, that’s where they’d be.”

They were silent a moment. Tom thought of Rita slamming groceries into customers’ bags, her expression as sour as her life had become, her dreams nothing but memories. “It’s crazy how much people will throw away in a fit of jealousy.”

“Crazy love, it’ll get you every time. Hey, I’ve never seen this before.” Brandon picked up pages that had been clipped from a newspaper and stapled together. “It’s from the Leesburg paper. A long story and some pictures.”

“Published while Vance Lankford was on trial.” Tom took the pages from Brandon and pointed out the date in the lower corner of the top sheet. Flipping through, he saw photos of the band members talking backstage and performing. One large picture showed a cheering concert crowd. Attached to the page was a Post-it note on which Shelley had written
Last performance, night of the murder.

Brandon leaned closer. “Something’s written on the picture too. What is that, names?”

In tiny block letters, Shelley had jotted names across the chests of many people in the audience. The overflow crowd filled the space at the rear, but shadows obscured their faces and Shelley had named only one person, a man who stood out because he was the only one not clapping or cheering. A dark baseball cap cast its own shadow over the man’s face, and Shelley apparently hadn’t been positive about his identity. Above his head, she’d written
Jordan Gale?

“You see anything that rings your bells?” Brandon asked.

Shaking his head, Tom dropped the clippings onto the table. He swept his gaze over the photos, considering the fates of these people who had seemed on the brink of stardom. Brian was the one who lost his life, but the other band members had been profoundly affected by his death. Vance was in prison, Skeet was consumed by bitterness and anger, Rita had nothing left but memories and, Tom suspected, the self-contempt that came from knowing she helped set the catastrophe in motion. Two other guys had moved to Nashville in search of success, but from what Tom had heard, they’d struck out.

“We ought to talk to Jordan Gale, though,” Tom said. “A lot of people from the audience were interviewed, but I don’t remember seeing a statement from him in the files. You never know when something useful will turn up. He might have seen or heard something that night that could help us.”

Tom’s cell phone rang, and he dug it out of his shirt pocket. Rachel was calling. “Can you come over here right away?” she asked. “Megan Beecher’s here, and she has something to tell you about Shelley.”

***

Tom knew he was inviting trouble. Standing just inside the front door of the animal hospital, he told Rachel in a near-whisper, “I shouldn’t be talking to her without one of her parents present. Dan’s going to have a fit.”

“He wants to know who killed Shelley, doesn’t he?” Rachel said. “If this can help, why on earth would her father object? Look, she’s here, she wants to talk. Don’t put obstacles in the way.”

Tom blew out a sigh. “Where is she?”

“I put her in the staff lounge. Michelle’s using my office.” Rachel led Tom down the rear hall to the so-called lounge. It looked more like a closet to Tom, with four wooden chairs, a table, and a small fridge crammed into it.

Megan sat on one of the chairs with her knees drawn up and her arms wrapped around her legs. When Tom walked in she uncoiled, brushed her hair back behind her ears, and assumed a stiff posture with her hands clasped in her lap.

“Hey, Megan.” Tom and Rachel sat down. “Dr. Goddard said you wanted to talk to me.”

The girl’s words poured out in a rush. She told him about Shelley’s concern that Brian Hadley’s real killer knew she had identified him.

“But she didn’t tell you who it was?”

“She said it wasn’t safe for me to know,” Megan said. “She said it would all be over soon, though, because she was real close to making a breakthrough. She said there was one person who could set Vance Lankford free if she would just come forward and tell what she knew.”

“But she didn’t tell you who that was either?”

Megan shook her head.

Tom had heard only one detail that might open a small crack in the case for him. “You’re positive she was talking about a woman? This person who could help clear Vance?”

“Yes, I’m positive.”

“Megan,” Tom said, trying to keep his voice level and nonjudgmental, “why haven’t you said anything about this before now? Why didn’t you tell somebody when Shelley went missing?”

Tears welled in her blue eyes and she screwed up her face in anguish. “Mom and Dad kept saying she was okay, she was going to show up. And I prayed every day that she’d come back. I couldn’t stand thinking she might have been hurt by the same person who killed Brian Hadley, and I could have prevented it. But that’s true, isn’t it? If I’d told somebody, she would’ve been mad because I broke my promise, but she’d be safe now.”

Megan bent double, her arms over her head as if protecting herself from an expected blow. Tom felt like a louse for making this grief-stricken girl feel worse than she already did.

Rachel left her chair and stooped next to the girl, an arm around her shoulders.

“I didn’t want Mom and Dad to know it was my fault,” Megan gasped between sobs. “But I can’t keep it to myself anymore. They’re going to hate me, and I deserve it.”

“No, no,” Rachel said. “Your mom and dad aren’t going to hate you.”

“But I could’ve saved Shelley and I didn’t.”

“You mustn’t blame yourself. It’s not your fault.”

Tom wasn’t so sure that Daniel and Sarah Beecher would forgive Megan for withholding the information. Right now they were consumed with grief for their older daughter, and they might lash out at their younger child if they thought she could have intervened and prevented Shelley’s death. He could imagine Megan carrying her guilt around the rest of her life, letting it destroy her self-respect and undermine every relationship she formed.

Megan’s future wasn’t his concern right now, though. He had to scrape her memory bare in search of something he could use to catch her sister’s killer. “Did Shelley say anything at all that could help us identify the person she suspected?” he pressed. “Think about it. Did she give you even a hint of who it was? Did you get any impression of what kind of man she was talking about? Think hard, Megan. It’s important.”

She clamped a hand over her mouth and struggled to calm herself. After she dropped her hand, she stared into space for a long moment, grimacing as if combing through her memories was physically painful. At last she looked at Tom, her eyes widening. “I do remember something else. I didn’t even think about it until now.”

“What is it?”

“You remember I told you she said it would be dangerous for me to know who really killed Brian Hadley?”

“Yeah. What about it?” Tom’s heart took off at a gallop, although his rational mind was telling him that a bombshell revelation was the last thing he could expect from Megan.

“She said if she told me, I might give myself away when I saw him. Because he’s somebody I know.”

Chapter Twenty-nine

“It’s better all around if I leave.” Michelle laid a folded blouse in her suitcase and smoothed out the slightest wrinkles with both hands. “If I were the only one being harassed, that would be different, but I can’t let this spill over onto you.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. It’s your safety I care about.” Rachel, standing by the dresser, wanted to scoop everything out of the suitcase on the bed, grab the clothes that lay ready to be packed and stuff them back into the closet and dresser drawers. Instead, she crossed her arms and kept her distance.

Michelle added a pair of slacks to the suitcase, giving them the same meticulous attention she’d shown the blouse. Why did she bother? Everything would get wrinkled, Rachel thought, regardless of how carefully she packed.

“I’m sure Tom will be happy to see me go.” Michelle reached for another blouse.

“What? Has he said or done a single thing to make you feel that way?”

That provoked a humorless little smile. “He doesn’t have to express his feelings overtly. You know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t,” Rachel protested, hoping she sounded convincing. “Tom’s trying to help you. He wouldn’t have Dennis Murray looking into it if he didn’t care about you.”

“He’s doing it for you. And he probably thinks that solving my problem is the only way he’ll get me out of your home.”

Privately, Rachel couldn’t deny the truth of Michelle’s perception—hadn’t Tom suggested that Michelle go back home and hire protection if her husband and the police refused to help her? But she wouldn’t, couldn’t, tell her sister about that. And she wouldn’t turn Michelle away. The stalking episode, and Michelle’s confidences about her marriage, had made Rachel realize how alone her sister was, what a barren and friendless life she led. She need someone she could depend on. She needed Rachel.

Without bothering to contradict Michelle’s statements about Tom, Rachel said, “You have to stay until you’re safe again. Do you want me to go out of my mind worrying about you?”

Michelle began tucking underwear into the little pockets around the inside of the suitcase. “I’m leaving, Rachel. I’m sure Ben will let me stay at his house tonight, and I think he’ll drive me home tomorrow if I ask him to.”

Rachel crossed the room and laid a hand on Michelle’s arm to make her stop her systematic packing. “You haven’t heard what happened at Ben’s house this afternoon. While he was with you.”

Now Michelle looked at Rachel, eyes wide. Her voice came out faint and fearful. “What are you talking about? What happened?”

“Somebody broke in while he was gone. That’s the safe place where you want to spend the night. He has an alarm system, but somebody got into the house.”

Michelle sank onto the bed, shoulders slumped. The folded nightgown she held fell open and draped her knees and legs with pink nylon and lace. “Oh no. Do you think it was because he was with me, because we’re friends?”

Pushing the suitcase aside, tempted to shove it all the way into the closet, Rachel sat next to her sister. “Will you stop seeing yourself as Typhoid Mary? It has nothing to do with you. Tom thinks it’s connected to the murder investigation. Ben knew Shelley, he was helping her, letting her use his computer equipment. The person who broke in might have thought Shelley left something there. My point is that Ben’s house isn’t secure. I’d worry about you a lot more if you were over there instead of here.”

Michelle clasped her hands in her lap so tightly that it seemed to Rachel she would crush the delicate bones. Frustration and desperation flooded her pale face. “I keep going over and over every person I’ve ever met, trying to figure out who would do this to me. How could I matter that much to somebody and not even know who he is or what he wants?”

“We’ll find out eventually.” Rachel patted Michelle’s shoulder. “I wish I could help you more. I hate seeing you so anxious.”

Michelle bowed her head and spoke in a near-whisper. “All the anxiety and stress…It’s doing something to my mind.”

“You’re letting Kevin’s doubts get to you. Don’t start doubting yourself, Mish.”

Michelle straightened and pushed her hair away from her face with both hands. “It’s not that. I’m not talking about Kevin. I feel as if…” She turned to Rachel, her eyes begging for understanding. “I feel like a door has cracked opened in the back of my mind. And memories are slipping out. I think I’m remembering things from—from back then.”

Rachel went cold inside.
If a secret door swung open in your memory, what would you see?
She had silently asked Michelle that question many times, when she wondered what, if anything, of their life before Judith remained in the recesses of her mind. But now she felt a surprising resistance, an urge to flee before she heard the answer. “You can’t remember,” she said. “You were too young.”

“I was three—”

“Just barely.”

“Old enough to remember a little, at least. And it is just a little, flashes now and then.”

The same way it happened to me,
Rachel thought, dread squeezing her heart. She had already experienced the cataclysm of losing her identity, discovering that her life was a lie, and she had spent the last several years rebuilding her sense of self. She didn’t want to go through that again vicariously, through Michelle.

She forced herself to ask, “What do you remember?”

Tears spilled over, but Michelle swiped them away before they could run down her cheeks. “A sad house. A terribly unhappy house. Shouting. Anger.” Michelle looked at Rachel. “Is that what it was like?”

Rachel nodded.

“They were fighting about me, weren’t they?” Michelle said. “Because she had an affair and got pregnant with me.”

Rachel had promised not to protect Michelle from the truth anymore, but this was one reality she couldn’t bring herself to confirm. She didn’t need to. She saw in her sister’s eyes that her silence was confirmation enough.

“But we were happy with Mother, weren’t we? She took us out of an unhappy home and gave us a wonderful life.”