Blind Trust (30 page)

Tom cupped her shoulders. “Every minute you're with your dad increases the risk these goons will figure out who he really is and come after you too.”

“But it was
Vic's
idea to run my father off the road. Not whoever hired him. Maybe—”

“This isn't a debate.” Tom softened his voice. “It's all arranged.”

“No, you have no right!” She spun on her heel and marched back toward the parking lot.

He caught her arm and jerked her to a stop. “I didn't have to tell you, Kate. I could have let you . . .”

“What?” Pain flared in her eyes. “Keep on believing he was already dead?”

“No.” Tom looked away. He hadn't thought he could feel any worse. “Let you believe he was dead again.”

“What?”

A bird took flight at her cry.

Tom glanced around. Hearing and seeing no one, he explained, “That's how we plan to hide the move. Fake his death.”

Her jaw dropped and she just stared at him.

“It's the perfect way to get the heat off him, and you.” He'd managed to keep her name out of Vic's file. The man had been more than happy to
not
have an assault charge added to his list of crimes. Which just left Peter Ratcher to deal with.

“I don't care about me.”

“Well, I do.” His voice caught.

Her mouth opened, then closed again—and let out a soft huff. “Other people know I've been in those woods.”

“Grandma Brewster has no use for reporters, and I doubt Nagy or his son will say anything with charges hanging over their heads.”

“What about his real estate agent and the guy he was showing the property to?”

Tom's gut churned. The interested buyer could be who'd hired Vic. “But you didn't think they'd seen you looking at the plant, right?”

“No, Grandma B made up a story about collecting coltsfoot.” Kate shrugged. “They acted like they believed her.”

Tom prayed it hadn't been an act.

“Patti and Jarrett and Betty know about the plant too.”

“But not where you found it.” Tom grazed the back of his fingers down her cheek. “Kate, you're not going to change my mind.”

“Then I'll quit my job and go with my dad.”

As much as he'd like nothing more than to squirrel her away
in protective custody, at her father's side was the least-safe place for her to be. “What about your research?”

“My dad is more important.”

Tom caught her hand. “He'd want you to stay. He was so proud of you, the work you're doing.”

She blinked away the moisture clinging to her lashes. “He told you that?”

“Yes. He loves you very much.” Tom swept the hair from her cheek and tucked it behind her ear. “Too much to risk your safety after all the years he sacrificed to ensure it.”

She took a step back, hugging her waist.

Tom slowly lowered his hand. “We'll get through this, Kate. We'll figure it out.”

“Like
we
told me Dad was alive. Like
we
can trust each other. There is no
we
. Just like there is no trust. Take me home.”

Suppressing a sigh, Kate arranged the welcome home muffins she'd baked for Verna. They should have been for her dad.

Since he'd been secreted away, all Tom had told her was that he was still in a coma. She wasn't sure she could believe him, because Tom knew she'd move heaven and earth to see her dad again if he awoke.

Pushing the thought aside, she headed across the yard to Verna's. The crisp smell of autumn was already in the air, even though it was barely September.

Late summer dandelions in Verna's lawn had gone to seed and been spread into a snowy blanket by the evening breeze. Strange that Vic hadn't mowed it today. He always mowed it on Tuesdays, and Verna had been one of his few clients who hadn't fired him since he was released on bail last week. He couldn't afford to skip the job.

Or maybe he could, considering that to make bail, he obviously had a benefactor with deep pockets. GPC Pharmaceuticals, she suspected.

Despite how Vic had tried to frame her, she felt a little sorry
for him getting mixed up with the likes of GPC and really sorry for his wife and daughter, but she was having a hard time forgiving him for what he did to her father. To think she'd been seconds from finding him when Vic hit her with that shovel.

That familiar empty feeling threatened to swallow her again. Drawing a deep breath, she knocked on Verna's door. She couldn't let Verna see her melancholy when they were supposed to be celebrating her homecoming.

“Kate,” Verna squealed like she was eight instead of eighty and pulled her into a hug. Whiskers twined around her legs, as happy and healthy as ever. “Come in, come in. Would you like a glass of lemonade?”

“What, no tea?” Kate quipped then instantly realized her mistake. “Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean—”

“Nonsense. Only natural you should ask.” A faint blush colored Verna's cheeks. “The truth is, a warm cup of tea just doesn't comfort me like it used to.”

Yeah, Kate could relate. Ever since Molly Gilmore tried to finish her off with tainted tea the way she'd done Daisy, Kate hadn't enjoyed a cup quite the same way either. She set the muffins on the coffee table next to the lemonade pitcher, wondering if she would again once Molly was finally back behind bars where she belonged. Of course, the way it was looking, that would be at least a year away. And that was not something she wanted to think about today.

She poured the lemonade and handed Verna a glass. Verna's silver hair was glossy and newly styled in short curls. She didn't look nearly as frail as she had. Amazing what cutting a little toxic tea out of the diet could do. That and the TLC she'd gotten at the nursing home. “You look wonderful.”

“I feel wonderful. The Lord worked everything out.” Her
gaze drifted to the photos lining the hallway, and the light in her eyes dimmed. “Well, almost everything.”

As much as Verna's son deserved to rot in jail as he awaited trial, Kate knew Verna would miss him.

Verna took a seat beside Kate on the sofa. “So, what's been happening in your life?”

“Oh”—Kate sipped the lemonade and thought about how much she missed her father—“I've just about finished the research project Daisy and I had been working on before she died. Next month I'm scheduled to present it at a symposium in DC.”

“You must be excited.”

Kate waited for the giddy feeling to bubble up inside her as it had when she and Daisy first realized the importance of their discovery. It never came. Her discoveries didn't seem to matter anymore. Certainly not enough to justify being separated from her dad.

The front door opened. Kate whirled in her seat, Tom's warning to be cautious screaming through her head.

“Lucetta, come join us,” Verna called from her place on the sofa.

Lucetta set down a small suitcase and took three steps before her gaze slammed into Kate's and she stopped. “Oh . . . it's you.”

“Nice to see you again,” Kate said as sweetly as she could manage. She hadn't seen the woman since their argument over the photo of her mother's supposed murderer.

The truth will set you free.

The thought—the Scripture—came out of nowhere.

Lucetta's gaze was glued to the floor.

“Join us,” Kate urged, suddenly feeling ashamed for her
negative feelings toward the woman. Lucetta didn't know what really led to her mother's death any more than Kate had known what had become of her father. How could she blame her for lashing out at the sight of Dad's picture?

The urge to reveal the truth they'd both been denied these last twenty years suddenly overwhelmed her. Except Tom had warned her to tell no one. And even she still didn't know the whole story.

Lucetta perched on the armchair next to Verna, and they chatted about the new live-in arrangement Verna had proposed.

Kate finished her lemonade and contemplated cutting her visit short. She didn't understand why Tom refused to tell her where her father was. It had been two weeks and there'd been no threats, no mysterious phone calls, no one following her.

Not that she didn't appreciate Tom's concern, and the state-of-the-art security system he had installed in her house. She glanced out Verna's living room window at the darkening sky as his words—
the alarm only
works if you remember to turn it on—
whispered through her mind. She jerked to her feet. “I need to go. I”—she glanced at the plate of muffins—“I think I forgot to turn off my oven.”

She hurried to the door as Verna thanked her again for stopping by.

“We'll visit again soon,” Kate promised. It wasn't as if her social calendar was jam-packed. If she didn't count church on Sundays, it'd been pretty much nonexistent since she'd stopped seeing Tom.

She stepped onto Verna's porch, and at the sight of Tom's car in her driveway, her traitorous heart leapt. She was still working at forgiving him. She spotted him on her front porch, reaching for the doorknob.

“Looking for me?” She called out, her heart jumping for an entirely different reason—the scolding she'd get if he found the door unlocked.

His attention jerked her way, a look of sheer panic on his face.

“What's wrong?” She ran toward him, and his expression morphed to relief.

He swept her into his arms and buried his face in her hair at her neck. “Am I ever glad to see you.” His voice came out kind of husky, like he had tears in his throat. His hold tightened, and because she felt silly standing there with her arms dangling by her sides, she slid them around his waist.

She'd forgotten how safe she felt wrapped in his arms. She slipped her hands between them and pressed her palms against his chest. “What's going on?”

The fierceness of his embrace suddenly raised another specter. She gulped down rising panic. “My dad?”

“No.” Apology lined his face and her pulse slowed. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you like that.” He clasped her hand and tugged her toward the house. “Let's go inside.” He scanned the street and neighboring yards before turning to the door.

He didn't seem to notice that it was unlocked and the alarm was off even though she'd been next door when he arrived. Clearly he was rattled by whatever he had to tell her.

She didn't like him coming inside. His presence filled the small living room, and his woodsy scent would linger, tormenting her for hours. She had been so lonely these past two weeks. Of her own choosing, sure. But seeing him, and his family, only made her miss her father—what they could have had—all the more. “What is it?”

Tom slid the deadbolt home, then caught her hand again and drew her to the sofa.

Not ready to sit so close, she bypassed the sofa and sat in the armchair.

A frown whispered over his lips as he sank into a seat opposite. “Vic is dead,” he said without preamble.

“What?” Shock ripped through her even as some part of her brain told her she should be glad. The man had nearly killed her father.

But the worry in Tom's eyes said there was more to it. “We think it happened sometime last night. His car went off the ravine at Turner's Hollow.”

She gasped. “The same place he rammed Dad's car off the road.”

Tom leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, and rubbed the thumb of one hand over the other. “Given the location and timing and lack of evidence to the contrary, the investigating officer is calling it a suicide.”

The air stalled in Kate's chest. He killed himself because of what he'd done?
Oh, Lord, if only I'd forgiven him. Would
he still be alive?
Her chest burned.

Tom's warm touch startled her out of her thoughts. “Breathe.”

She inhaled, easing the pain in her chest only a fraction. “I'm so sorry. I know the Bible says we're supposed to forgive those who wrong us. And I would have gotten around to it eventually. I know I would have.”

Tom touched two fingers to her lips, his touch undeservingly gentle. “This isn't your fault. In fact, I don't believe it was a suicide.”

“What do you think it was?” She held her breath, remembering the sheer panic on his face when she hadn't answered his knock. He thought she was in danger.

More danger than before.

“I think he was murdered by the guy who hired him to dig up the plants.”

She dug her fingers into the seat cushion to try to still the trembling that overtook her.

“So far nothing about Vic being hired has come out in the news. They no doubt wanted to keep it that way.”

She choked. His poor wife and daughter.

“Rumors of Vic's heightened depression after your dad ‘died' created a perfect setup to make his death look like suicide.”

“But you have no proof?” She couldn't mask the desperate hope in her voice. As much as she didn't want Vic's death to be suicide, she didn't need a PhD to know what Tom feared. She swallowed but couldn't dislodge the lump in her throat.

She was next.

Topping Ingredients:

In a large bowl, mix the first five ingredients. In a second bowl, whisk together the oil, egg, milk, and sugar. Then add the liquid ingredients to the dry, stirring only to combine. Spoon batter into paper-lined muffin pans and bake in preheated 350° F oven for 20 minutes or until toothpick comes out clean.

For topping, mix the cinnamon into the sugar. While muffins are still hot, dip tops in melted butter followed by the sugar and cinnamon mix.

For an added surprise, fill muffin liners half full, add a teaspoon of your favorite jam, and spoon batter over top.