Broken Places (12 page)
The rain was only a soft
tap-tap
against the window now. He had pushed Lindsay out of his arms, but he couldn’t shut out the memories of the two of them together in his bed upstairs, in her bed in Roanoke, her legs wrapped around him as they moved in a long-familiar rhythm. An image of Rachel rose in his mind too, not the warm, beautiful woman he loved but the cold, judgmental stranger who had lashed out at him in Ben Hern’s living room.
“Tommy,” Lindsay said, “can you look me in the eye and tell me you don’t love me at all anymore? Can you tell me to my face that you don’t want me anymore?”
Unable to sleep, replaying the whole disastrous evening in her mind, Rachel sat cross-legged on her bed at three in the morning and wondered if she could repair the damage Lindsay had done to her life in the last few days.
The woman’s malignant maneuvering had turned Tom against her with breathtaking speed. When Rachel thought of Tom, a bottomless hole opened up inside her, and she ached with a sorrow that felt like grief.
At the same time, she was angry at him and at herself.
Why do
I want a man who’s that weak, that easily manipulated?
If Tom had loved her, Lindsay couldn’t have come between them. If he didn’t love her, she would only humiliate herself by fighting for him.
Now Lindsay, not content to take Tom away from her, was spreading around a twisted version of what she’d learned so far about Rachel and her family. Hearing Beck Rasey, a virtual stranger, say anything at all about her mother would have been shocking enough, and Rachel was horrified to have her private pain dragged into the open for a hostile crowd to gape at.
Maybe she should cut her losses and get out of Mason County. She would never fit in here.
If Lindsay got her obvious wish and married Tom, she would always see Rachel as a threat and wouldn’t stop until she drove her away. If she probed deeply enough into the Goddard family’s background, she could do extraordinary damage. Rachel wanted above all else to protect her younger sister Michelle from Lindsay’s prying.
She had moved to Mason County because she’d wanted to be among strangers and have the freedom to ignore the past. But ignoring it didn’t erase it.
She longed to see her sister, hear her voice, but Michelle was with her husband, many miles away in a Washington suburb. Rachel didn’t want to call in the middle of the night and scare Michelle out of her wits.
Suddenly she thought of the photo album filled with all the pictures their mother had taken of her and Michelle over the years. The album was the only thing Rachel had kept from their family home when it was emptied and sold. During her first months in Mason County, when she’d felt lonely and cut off from everything familiar, she’d browsed through the pictures almost every day, often smiling with tears in her eyes as she remembered when each one was taken. She’d been drawn back to the album less and less in the last few months, because she’d been happy with Tom and her life here and hadn’t felt the need to look backward.
She switched on a lamp, causing Frank to raise his head from his resting spot at the foot of the bed. He blinked twice, then settled back into sleep.
Rachel opened the closet and reached up to the shelf, where she kept the album. But all she found were the winter blankets, folded and stacked. Where was it? She groped around, shifted the blankets and a couple of sweaters, thinking the album had somehow been pushed to the back. She couldn’t find it.
It was gone.
Dennis rose from his desk and handed Tom the autopsy report on Meredith Taylor. “Just came in. I looked it over. I don’t think there’s anything in it we don’t already know.”
“I’ll read it later,” Tom said, glancing at the cover sheet of the faxed report. “I want to get through the rest of her manuscript before Ragsdale’s bail hearing.”
“You still think you’re gonna find something in that book that’ll make a difference?”
“I’ve about given up hope,” Tom said, “but I want to finish it.”
“Good story?” Dennis asked with a grin.
“It’s pretty sad. Those kids were so naïve I keep wanting to shake some sense into them. I guess idealism has its place, but it won’t get you far in the real world.”
“You’re a hard man, Tom Bridger.”
Tom retrieved Meredith’s CD from the evidence room and took it to his office. He tossed the autopsy report on his desk and sat down at the computer. Waiting for the machine to boot up, he stretched and yawned. God, what a night. He’d slept a total of about an hour. But maybe his haggard appearance, added to the bruises around his eye and nose, would help persuade the judge that Scotty Ragsdale was too dangerous to release on bail.
He slid Meredith’s CD into the computer and found the spot where he’d left off last time.
The story had moved into winter, and preparations for the following summer’s outdoor play about Melungeon history occupied most of Chad’s time. Although this young character bore little surface resemblance to the Cameron Taylor Tom had known, his behavior was unmistakable—sometimes selfish and manipulative, trampling on other people’s feelings, at other times gentle and generous. Like Cam, Chad focused obsessively on empowering the poor.
Meredith had been merciless in detailing the humiliation endured by her alter ego in the book out of love for Chad. Watching Chad with Donna, the character who represented Scotty Ragsdale’s older sister Denise, the Meredith character put her emotions through some pathetic contortions in an effort to see Chad as the innocent object of Donna’s obsession.
Tom read on:
Chad was so patient with her. She was a simple mountain girl and needed a tremendous amount of help if she were ever going to develop the confidence to perform onstage before an audience. He spent hours with her, coaching her on how to speak lines naturally. She threw herself at him, and he used her adoration for the good of the project. She was so completely besotted with him that she would do anything he asked her to and was willing to take his criticism and work hard to please him.
But as the weeks passed, Meredith couldn’t keep up the pretense.
He had spent the previous night with me, in my house, but he told me he couldn’t come over that night. Too much to do, he said, without sharing any details. When I saw him drive off around seven o’clock, I almost followed him, but I resisted the urge. If I spied on him, what would that say about the level of trust between us? I believed he loved me and wouldn’t lie to me. If he said he had work to do, I believed him.
Snow had started falling, adding to the several inches already on the ground. My little house was frigid, despite the coal fire in the potbellied stove. I had on my coat and gloves, but I still shivered as I stood by the window, watching and waiting for him to return.
I stood there for an hour, waiting. When I saw headlights approaching, my heartbeat quickened. The car turned into the yard of Chad’s house, a hundred feet away. I smiled and tugged my scarf tight around my neck, preparing to run over and join him.
Then I saw her. Chad parked, and when he opened his door the dome light went on and I saw he wasn’t alone. Donna opened the passenger door and got out. By then Chad had walked around to her side. In the dim glow through the open passenger door, I saw him slide his arms around her. They were locked together for what seemed a lifetime, while I stood rooted at my window, unable to tear my eyes away.
***
The narrative went on to describe her vigil, the shadowy movements she saw behind the curtains of Chad’s one-room shack, the long evening that ended when he drove his visitor away and returned alone. Meredith didn’t confront him. Instead, she asked herself what the other girl was giving him that he wasn’t getting from her.
Reading that, Tom felt a clutch of guilt because he realized Lindsay had been asking herself the same question about him and Rachel. But he had no reason to feel guilty. He hadn’t lied to Lindsay. He’d broken off with her months before he and Rachel became seriously involved.
He shook off thoughts of his own screwed-up life and concentrated on the story unspooling on his computer screen.
***
When she and Holly left for work, Rachel was still seething about the photo album’s disappearance, but she tried to hide her anger from Holly.
She was sure Lindsay had taken the album. Who else would want it?
She felt as if Lindsay had stolen her memories when she took the only remaining link to Rachel’s childhood. What did Lindsay plan to do with the pictures? Rachel didn’t even want to imagine.
If she forced a confrontation, Lindsay would deny everything, claim Rachel was persecuting her while she was going through a personal crisis. Rachel couldn’t tell Tom that Lindsay had stolen something from her, not without proof. And Rachel’s accusation might spur Lindsay on to even more devious and destructive actions.
That lying little bitch,
Rachel thought, her hands tightening on the steering wheel. She was furious at Tom for being so gullible, for buying into Lindsay’s act. His seven-year-old nephew could see behind Lindsay’s mask. Why couldn’t Tom?
Driving past the barn and stables, Rachel murmured noncommittal answers to Holly’s chatter about the clear, cool morning ushered in by last night’s rain. She hadn’t told Holly what happened at the meeting, and she wouldn’t tell her if she could avoid it.
They were approaching Joanna’s house when Joanna ran to the edge of the farm road and waved her arms, signaling Rachel to stop. Noting Lindsay’s car in the driveway, Rachel braked in the middle of the road instead of pulling over, and as soon as the window on the passenger side was down she leaned around Holly and called out, “We don’t have time to come in.”
Joanna waved that aside and hustled around to Rachel’s window. “A friend of mine just called and told me what happened at that awful meeting last night. Honey, I am so sorry. I’m going to give Lindsay a piece of my mind.”
“What do you mean?” Holly asked. “What happened at the meeting?”
Oh, great.
Now she’d have to give Holly every revolting detail, and the girl’s sensitive nature would have her fretting for days over it. “I’ll explain later,” Rachel told Holly. To Joanna, she said, “Don’t worry about me.”
“Well, I think it’s unforgivable, and I’m sure Lindsay’s to blame. I sympathize with her for losing both her parents, but that doesn’t give her the right—”
“Let it go, Joanna. Please.”
Joanna shook her head. “No. She has to answer for this. In fact, I’m not going to wait for her to get up. I’m going to wake her up and tell her what I think.”
Rachel sighed. If Lindsay got a tongue-lashing from Joanna, she would take out her resentment on Rachel.
Joanna went on, “I’ll bet she didn’t come back last night because she was afraid I’d already heard and she didn’t want to face me. So she snuck back in the house during the wee hours of the morning, probably thinking I wouldn’t hear her.”
The wee hours of the morning? Where had Lindsay been all that time? With Tom? An image of the two of them together popped up in Rachel’s mind, and she felt breathless, lightheaded and sick.
“I hope she’ll go back to Roanoke after the funeral,” Joanna was saying.
Rachel pulled herself back to the here and now. “When is the funeral?”
“She told me yesterday the bodies are being released today, so it shouldn’t be long now. She has an appointment at one o’clock to make arrangements with the funeral home. Unfortunately, that leaves
me
to deal with those damn goats. I’ve found somebody to take them, but he wants me to deliver them, so I have to spend my afternoon wrestling them onto a truck.”
“Oh? What time will you be taking them?” Rachel asked.
“Well, right after lunch is what I’m planning on. Twelve-thirty, one. Why? You want to come and help?”
“Sorry, I’ll be too busy in the middle of the day,” Rachel said, her mind already skipping ahead. If she rearranged her afternoon schedule, she could clear an hour, get back here while both Lindsay and Joanna were away from the farm, and search Lindsay’s room for the photo album.
Tom glanced at his watch. Ragsdale’s bail hearing was set for 1 p.m. A dozen minor things had interrupted his reading, but he could get through the rest of Meredith’s book by then if he skimmed.
He doubted this was a finished manuscript, because some of the latest pages he’d read seemed hurried and sketchy, as if she meant to go back and fill them out in another draft. Those pages were also boring as hell, because they concentrated on the V
ISTA
campaign to force the county to send snow plows up every narrow road, paved or unpaved, in every hollow in Rocky Branch District.
Tapping the mouse button with one finger, Tom moved through all that material without reading it closely. He slowed when the story became personal again. On the night of a heavy snowfall, Meredith and Celia/Karen met with Chad at his house to discuss new developments in their plans for the Melungeon play. But V
ISTA
s weren’t the only people present. Chad had brought Donna, the local girl, home with him again, and Meredith wasn’t happy about it.
The story continued:
How much more was I expected to endure? Why didn’t Chad see that he was tearing me apart? Donna touched him, leaned against him, and when he sat on the bed she sat next to him and glued her hip and leg to his. I waited for him to push her away, but he didn’t. She complained about being cold, and snuggled closer to him.
I was standing by the stove with Celia, watching Chad and Donna. I couldn’t help saying to Donna, “If you’re cold, you should come over here by the stove. Or put your coat back on.”
She gave me a self-satisfied little smile. “I’m nice and cozy now, thanks.”
Chad laughed.
Then he delivered the final blow to my dignity. Donna had to go home early so she could finish a paper for school the next day. She expected Chad to drive her. But he said he had to stay and iron out a few details about the play with Celia.
Donna pouted. She acted like a little girl who’s been told she can’t have a treat. “Cha-a-a-d,” she whined, clutching his arm and leaning against him, “can’t you spare just a few little minutes for me? How am I going to get home?”
Chad looked at me. “You can drive her.”
A terrible sense of betrayal overwhelmed me when I realized he knew exactly how much he was hurting me. He was trying to prove that he could make me do anything he told me to do, and that included providing taxi service for the girl he’d been sleeping with behind my back.
I don’t know where I found the nerve, and the truth is I was shaking inside, but I looked him in the eyes and said the one word he’d never heard from me before. “No.”
Chad stared at me for what seemed an eternity. Then he got up and stood so close that I could feel his breath on my face. “Take her home,” he said, very quietly.
Celia and Donna were watching us. I felt tears filling my eyes and I hated myself for being so weak. “Take her yourself,” I said, even though the last thing I wanted was for him to be alone with Donna. Once I’d spoken my brave words, I didn’t have the confidence to let my refusal stand. I had to justify it. “It’s snowing too hard and my car doesn’t have good tires.”
He narrowed his eyes and I could tell he was furious with me. “You’re from upstate New York,” he said. “Don’t tell me you don’t know how to drive in the snow.”
“Why can’t Celia take her?” I couldn’t just say I didn’t want to and leave it at that. I had to go on seeking his approval.
“I told you, Celia and I have things to work out together.”
I looked at Celia, who looked back with a tiny, self-satisfied smile on her face.
I had a choice between leaving Chad alone here with Celia or insisting that he and Donna go off alone.
Chad pulled my coat out of the pile on the bed and held it up. I thought of all the things I should say, but I didn’t say any of them. I wanted to snatch my coat away from him and stomp out and go back to my house, but I didn’t. I slipped my arms into my coat and buttoned it up. Donna, still pouting, put on hers.
Donna kissed Chad—a quick little peck, but it was enough to make my heart constrict.
Donna wouldn’t shut up in the car. She recovered from her pique over Chad refusing to drive her home and talked nonstop about him. “He’s not like these boys around here. He’s so smart, and so educated, and he’s got so many great ideas. He makes all the boys around here look stupid and lazy.”
The car was pitch black and I couldn’t see her. I held tightly to the steering wheel and tried to concentrate on driving. The snow was falling so heavily that I couldn’t see the road anymore. The windshield wipers couldn’t keep up with the snow, and they made an ominous groaning sound as they scraped the glass.
“Chad’s goin’ places,” Donna said. “He’ll be an important man someday.”
“And you think you’re going to be part of his life?” I asked.
“Yes,” Donna answered proudly. “I will be.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“I love him, and he loves me.”
I couldn’t take it anymore.
“Shut up!
”
I screamed. “You’re out of your mind if you think he cares about you. You’re nothing but a stupid little hick.”“Ha!” Donna said. “I guess you think he loves
you.
Well, I happen to know the only reason he paid any attention to you was because he feels
sorry
for you.”“You don’t know anything,” I said. “He’s just using you. You’re nothing but a slut.”
“Don’t you dare talk to me that way!” Donna cried. “I’m gonna tell Chad what you said. He loves me. He told me so. He’s
mine.”I braked so hard that Donna screamed.
I couldn’t control myself. I was out of my mind with anger and resentment and pain. I put the car in park.
“What’s the matter with you?” Donna yelled.
I jumped out and left the door open so the dome light would stay on. I went around the car and felt for the handle of the passenger door. I opened it and reached inside and grabbed Donna’s arm.
“Have you gone crazy?” she cried.
I had both my hands around Donna’s arm and I was pulling her out of the car. I’d never felt such strength before.
I yanked her out and she fell onto her knees on the snow-covered road.
I pulled her to her feet and pushed her away from the car. She screamed and started beating her arms at me. I pushed her again, and she stumbled into a big pile of snow by the side of the road and fell again.
I got back in the car and made a U-turn. I drove away and left Donna on the dark road in the snow.
I told myself I had left her close enough to her family’s house that she could walk home. I was sure she knew her way around, even in the dark.
I returned to my own house. I added coal to the stove, for all the good it would do with winter blasting through a million cracks in the thin walls. I crawled into bed in all my clothes, including my coat and boots, and I pulled the blankets over me and cried for hours.
I didn’t care if Chad and Celia called me a coward and a quitter. I was going home as soon as I could get out of this place.
Eventually I cried myself to sleep, and I didn’t wake up until the next morning when someone banged on my door. It was Celia. She barged in as soon as I unlocked the door, and Chad was right behind her. The storm had passed and the sun was shining, sparkling on the fresh snow in the yard.
“What’s going on?” I asked, groggy from too little sleep. I combed my fingers through my hair, concerned even then about how I looked to Chad and hating myself for caring.
“Donna’s family’s looking for her,” Celia said. “She didn’t make it home last night.”
“What?” I said, confused. “But I—”
Chad gripped my arm tightly, his eyes boring into mine, and pulled me farther away from Celia. He spoke in an intense whisper. “Where did you let her out?”
I whispered too. “Near her house, just up the road—”
“You left her right in front of her house, do you understand? You saw her walking toward the house.”
“I—I—” I couldn’t string together words. I could feel Celia watching us.
“Nobody can blame you,” Chad said, his voice now strong and certain. “You were right in front of the house, and she was walking toward the house, so you thought she was home safely and you headed back.”
I couldn’t tear my eyes from his. I was mesmerized, as if every bit of inner strength I had was draining away and he was filling me with his will, his determination.
I heard a car door slam outside, then footsteps on the porch and a knock on the door. Celia went to open the door.
Chad leaned close and whispered to me, “The local politicians are just itching for an excuse to scrap the poverty program. If anything happened to that girl because of a V
ISTA
—”Celia opened the door and Donna’s sixteen-year-old brother, Larry, was standing there. Tears ran down his face.
Celia stood back and motioned for him to come in. For a moment nobody spoke. Larry wiped his face with his sleeve. Finally he said, “They found her. The deputies found her in a ditch by the road, curled up like a baby and all covered with snow. She froze to death.”
He burst into sobs.
I couldn’t breathe. I felt as if cold fingers were strangling me. What had I done? I never meant to hurt her.
Celia watched Larry silently, but Chad was watching me. I knew what I had to do. The only thing I could do.
I went to Larry and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered. “If I’d known there was any danger, I would have driven all the way up the driveway to the house before I let her out. But she said it was okay, we were right in front of the house and she didn’t want me to go up the driveway because the car would probably get stuck. Maybe somebody else came along after I drove away, and she…I can’t imagine what happened. Oh, Larry, I feel awful. I’m so sorry. If I could go back and—”
“It’s not your fault,” he said. He laid his head on my shoulder, and I patted his back while he cried like a heartbroken child.
In that moment I surrendered my dreams for the future and began a lifetime of atonement.
***
The manuscript ended there.
At 1 p.m., the side door of the courtroom banged open and Scotty Ragsdale shuffled in, handcuffed and flanked by the Blackwood twins. The deputies steered him to a chair at the defense table. Ragsdale shot a belligerent look at Tom and Brandon in the front row behind the prosecutor, but he ignored his parents sitting directly behind him.
In a courtroom that could hold 100, the Ragsdales were the only spectators other than Tom and Brandon. Irma Ragsdale blotted her tears with a crumpled tissue. Beside her, Carl sat with his jaw clamped tight, staring at the back of Scotty’s head. Tom imagined Carl asking himself for the millionth time how they’d ended up with a son like this.
Following Tom’s advance orders, Kevin Blackwood unlocked the plastic cuffs when Ragsdale was seated, and Keith grabbed the prisoner’s right arm and clicked his wrist into the metal cuff dangling from a bolt on the table.
Irma Ragsdale whimpered and reached across the railing that separated her from her son. The Blackwoods stepped between them, and her husband pulled Irma back onto the bench. “They don’t have to chain him up like a dog!” she wailed.
Jeff Fuller, the young lawyer at Scotty’s side, swiveled in his chair to lodge a protest with the prosecutor. “Is it really necessary to handcuff my client in the courtroom?”
Raymond Morton, the longtime Commonwealth’s Attorney for Mason County, swung his head around in a long, slow glide and gave Fuller a raised-eyebrow
Are you talking to ME?
look. After a moment he said, “Yes.” Then he returned his attention to the papers on the table before him.
Fuller’s cheeks flushed deep red and he faced forward again without another word.
Brandon sniggered, but Tom had too much sympathy for the older Ragsdales to laugh at this situation. In the past, they’d hired the best attorneys they could afford for Scotty, but they’d apparently run out of local lawyers who were willing to get involved in a lost cause. This time, with Scotty facing charges of assaulting two police officers and possible murder charges looming in the near future, the Ragsdales had scraped the bottom of the barrel and come up with Fuller. He was borderline competent at best and had spoken with his client for a total of three minutes before the hearing.
The Ragsdales had always bailed out their son, but today Tom hoped the judge would set the amount so high they wouldn’t be able to swing it. He wanted Scotty to stay in jail. Meredith’s manuscript—if it recounted actual events—provided a credible motive for Ragsdale to kill both Meredith and Cam Taylor. The man had obviously loved his sister, and if he’d somehow discovered after all these years that Meredith caused her death and Cam helped her cover it up, Ragsdale would have lashed out. Armed with a new knowledge of past events, Tom believed he could wring the truth out of him if he had Ragsdale in custody.
“All rise,” the elderly bailiff intoned, sounding as if he were stifling a yawn.
Judge Angus Buckley took his place and frowned over his bifocals at the defendant. “My lord, Scotty, I thought you’d cleaned up your act and started behaving like a man.”
Fuller leapt to his feet. “Your honor! Is it really necessary to—”
“Oh, sit down,” Judge Buckley said. “Let’s get on with it.”
After Ragsdale entered his not guilty plea and the judge advised him of his rights in the court system, they moved on to the bail hearing.
“Your honor,” the prosecutor said, rising, “the defendant is a suspect in three murders. When Captain Bridger and Deputy Connelly visited his home to question him, he attacked both of them. As you can see, they’re still recovering from their injuries. At the time of the attack, the defendant was under the influence of drugs and was brandishing an ax. Only the deputies’ quick action in subduing the defendant prevented far more serious, and possibly fatal, injuries.”
Tom heard a whimper of protest from Irma Ragsdale. Her husband hushed her. Scotty slumped over the defense table, his head down.
“As you know, your honor,” the prosecutor continued, “Mr. Ragsdale has a long history of drug abuse. And the recent assault was the second time he has tried to harm Captain Bridger.”
When Fuller’s turn came, he reminded the judge that Ragsdale had stayed clean for several years, ran a one-man woodworking and restoration business that supported him, and had lifelong ties in the community. “He realizes how disappointing it is to his family that he allowed his grief over the death of a close friend to pull him back into bad habits,” the lawyer concluded, “but it was a temporary setback, and he is determined to resume living a productive life. He poses no risk of flight and is not a threat to anyone in the community. I’m asking that you release him on his own recognizance into his parents’ custody.”
Tom barely listened. He was busy plotting his strategy for drawing a confession from Ragsdale. The man was so volatile right now, with so much preying on his mind, that one poorly chosen word could ruin any chance of getting him to talk.
When the arguments concluded, Judge Buckley studied Ragsdale long enough to make him squirm under the scrutiny. At last the judge said, “Scotty, I don’t want to believe this slip-up means you’re falling back into your old patterns, but common sense tells me it’s highly likely. And on top of those misgivings, I take a dim view of anybody attacking an officer of the law.”
Tom nodded, relieved that things were going the way he wanted. Then Irma Ragsdale stood and spoke directly to the judge. “Please, Angus, just let us take him home. We’ll make him stay with us, we’ll get him some help, I promise we will. It’s just killing me to see him in jail.”
The judge sighed, and he looked so sympathetic that Tom felt compelled to interrupt. Getting to his feet, he said, “Your honor, if you’ll allow me to speak—”
“Hold on, Tom,” the judge said, raising a hand. After another long look at Scotty Ragsdale, he said, “I’m setting bail at $200,000.”
Carl Ragsdale gasped, and a cry of distress escaped his wife.
“The usual restrictions apply. Court is adjourned.” Ignoring Fuller’s cries of protest against the high bail, the judge swept out of the courtroom.
Tom stood to leave, satisfied with the outcome. While the Ragsdales tried to find the money to free their son, Tom would get a confession out of him and charge him with three counts of felony murder.
By the time Rachel got away from the animal hospital, it was past one o’clock, and she was afraid she’d blown her chance to search Lindsay’s room. Lindsay’s car sat in the funeral home parking lot when Rachel drove by, but how long had she been there and how soon would she leave?
Rachel sped out of town and made it to the horse farm in less than twenty minutes. As she turned into the farm road, she debated whether to park in plain view outside Joanna’s house, so any employee who passed would wonder why she was there in the middle of the day when Joanna and Lindsay were absent. If she hid her vehicle, on the other hand, and someone saw her stealthily entering or leaving the house, she might arouse even greater suspicion. Both possibilities fed her guilt about doing this behind Joanna’s back. She was sure, though, that Joanna wouldn’t approve a search of Lindsay’s room and belongings, and she didn’t want to lose this opportunity to find the photo album.
Rachel bypassed the paved driveway in favor of a dirt track on the far side of Joanna’s house that led to a big tool shed in the back yard. She parked behind the shed and hustled toward the house, feeling as if a million eyes were watching.
Her hands shook as she inserted a key in the lock. Joanna had entrusted her with keys to the front and rear doors in case she ever needed to get into the house in an emergency, but Rachel doubted the current circumstances were what Joanna had in mind.
Inside the kitchen, Rachel closed the door and leaned against it, letting her racing heart slow down. So far, so good, but she couldn’t even guess how much time she had before either Lindsay or Joanna returned. She hurried along the hallway and up the stairs. When she reached the second floor, she paused, watching dust motes float in sunlight at the far end of the hall, listening for sounds from behind the closed bedroom doors. She heard nothing. The silent emptiness of the house spooked her a little, and she scolded herself.
Stop wasting time. Get moving!
She entered Lindsay’s room, closed the door, and walked straight to the dresser. Yanking out the drawers one by one, she ran a hand beneath a jumble of panties and bras. God, what a mess Lindsay left her belongings in. Rachel hated the feel of the slick fabric against her own skin because it had touched Lindsay’s most intimate places.
Nothing there.
Moving fast, she searched the bureau, which was empty, and the closet, where she found only a few tee shirts, a pair of jeans, and a pair of black gabardine slacks.
Damn it, where did she put it?
Unless Lindsay had hidden the photo album in her car, it had to be in this room. Wiping her sweaty palms on her slacks, Rachel turned in a circle, looking for more hiding places. Her gaze came round to the bed.
Rachel dropped to her hands and knees, lifted the bedskirt, peered under. Nothing there either. She sat up, drew the bed’s coverlet and top sheet out of the way, and shoved her hand and half her arm between the mattress and box springs. She felt all the way up, then back down again on that side of the bed. She moved to the other side and repeated her blind search.
Halfway down, her fingers collided with something solid. She grabbed it and pulled it out. The photo album’s green leather cover had
A Book of Memories
embossed on the front in gold.
“Yes,” Rachel whispered, hugging the album to her breast. She felt as if she’d snatched something precious from a fire.
But was the album intact? Had Lindsay removed pictures, perhaps to use in tracking down information about Rachel’s family?
She flipped through the pages, watching her sister and herself age from small children to teenagers to young adults. The pages were still full, the photos where they should be. She allowed herself a sigh of relief, then scrambled to her feet. She had to get out of here. She didn’t know how much longer—
The door opened.
“What the hell?” Lindsay exclaimed.
Rachel froze.
“What are you doing in my room?”
Lindsay started forward, and Rachel instinctively tried to step back, but she bumped against the bed, lost her balance, and sat down hard. Infuriated by her own awkwardness as much as Lindsay’s self-righteous outrage, she jumped to her feet and held up the album. “I was looking for this. It happens to belong to me.”
Lindsay halted, staring at the album, and a flush rose to her pale cheeks. “I don’t even know what that is.”
“Your fingerprints are probably on every page. Did you think I wouldn’t realize who took it? I don’t know what sick and twisted reason you had for stealing a photo album, but I never doubted for a minute that you had it.”
Lindsay tilted her head up to meet Rachel’s eyes with her own hard glare. “You’re crazy. You brought that here to plant it, didn’t you? You’re so determined to turn Tom against me, you’re so afraid he’s going to come back to me—”
“I think you’re dangerous, but I’m not afraid of you,” Rachel said, trying to believe the lie.
A sour little smile formed on Lindsay’s lips. “Well,” she said, “you should be. I haven’t figured out exactly what you’re hiding, but I know it’s something big, and I’ll uncover it sooner or later.”
An involuntary shudder moved through Rachel and her throat closed up as if a hand gripped it.
Leave. Just take the album and go.
She was moving past Lindsay when Lindsay’s cell phone rang.
“Get out of my room,” Lindsay said, at the same time pulling her phone from her pants pocket. Keeping her eyes on Rachel, not checking the display, she pressed a button to answer the call.
Rachel was almost through the doorway when she heard Lindsay’s gasp. Pausing, she looked back.
Lindsay, pale-faced and open-mouthed, seemed to have forgotten Rachel was there. “But—but how—” she stuttered. “I don’t—I can’t believe—”
What on earth had happened? Another murder? Rachel went cold inside, waiting for Lindsay to say something that would tell her what was going on.
Lindsay’s gaze jumped around the room but didn’t seem to focus on anything. Her breath sounded harsh and fast and she swayed on her feet as if she were about to faint. For a second Rachel’s instinct to help overcame her loathing for the woman, and she moved forward to steady Lindsay.
Lindsay’s eyes widened as they locked on Rachel. “Get out! Get out of here!”
She shoved Rachel toward the door. Rachel shook Lindsay off and stepped into the hall. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”
“
Get out!”
Lindsay pointed down the hall. “Now!”
Clutching the photo album, conscious of Lindsay watching, Rachel strode toward the stairs. She rounded the corner and, knowing she was out of sight, paused on the top stair. Lindsay’s door slammed shut.
Rachel peeked around to make sure Lindsay was in her room, then she crept back into the hallway and tiptoed to the door. She had to find out what had shocked Lindsay so profoundly.
Oh, God,
she prayed silently,
don’t let it be Tom. Please don’t let anything happen to Tom.
On the other side of the door, Lindsay sounded agitated, frantic, her voice higher and louder than normal. “Where are you? I need to know where you are.”
A pause.
“No, I won’t,” Lindsay said. “I promise I won’t. Tell me where you are! I’ll come right away, I’ll bring everything you need.”
Another brief silence.
“Which McClure house? What are you talking—” Lindsay broke off, apparently interrupted by the caller. A moment later, she said, “Where Pauline McClure lived? But it’s all boarded up. How did—Never mind. I’m coming. I’ll get some things together and come right away.”
Rachel jerked back from the door and hurried down the hall, going as fast as she could without making any noise. She shot down the stairs and out through the kitchen door. In the yard, she broke into a run. She didn’t feel safe from detection until she was behind the tool shed where she’d parked. Waiting beside her vehicle, she listened for the sounds of Lindsay’s departure.
Five minutes went by. In her mind Rachel went over Lindsay’s half of the mysterious conversation again, searching for clues to its meaning. Something important had happened. Something that had knocked Lindsay for a loop, shattered her cool, disdainful self-assurance. Rachel still thought it was most likely that someone else had been murdered. But who? And who was Lindsay going to meet at the empty, closed-up house that Holly had inherited from her dead aunt?
Rachel heard a car door slam, an engine revving, a squeal of tires. She waited a couple more minutes to give Lindsay a head start. As she climbed into her SUV to follow, one clear thought formed in her head:
This is crazy.
But she intended to find out what Lindsay was up to. Nobody else would do it. If she reported this situation to Tom, he would think, at worst, that Rachel had lost her mind. At best, he would think she was inventing things out of a jealous desire to make trouble for Lindsay.
She set off toward Pauline McClure’s house, forcing herself to drive slowly so there would be no chance of Lindsay spotting her.
“We’re stealing your dog,” Darla Duncan called out when she saw Tom coming down the hall toward his office.
“Uncle Tom!” Simon cried, and he launched himself at Tom. Billy Bob, liberated from Tom’s office, hustled after the boy, panting and drooling.
Tom stooped to hug his nephew. “Don’t give Billy Bob any candy, okay?”
“I won’t, I promise.” With a mischievous grin, Simon added, “But he might steal some from me.”
Coming up behind him, Darla tousled her grandson’s black hair. “Well, I guess that means
you
can’t have any either.”
Simon groaned and made a face.
Suddenly remembering something Rachel had said the night before, Tom asked Darla, “Do you mind if I talk to Simon for a second?”
A few months ago, she would have bristled at being excluded, but her easy agreement was a sign of how far they’d come in building a better relationship. “I’ll take Billy Bob out for a visit with the nearest tree before we get in the car.”
Taking his nephew’s hand, Tom led him into the office. He lifted Simon to the desk and sat beside him. “Listen, champ, I want to ask you something. Promise you’ll tell me the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?”
Laughing, Simon nodded.
Might as well be blunt about it, Tom thought. He’d get a more telling reaction that way. “Did Lindsay do something that upset you? I don’t mean just the last few days, but back when she was my girlfriend.”
Simon’s cheerful expression had dropped away the second he heard Lindsay’s name, and it was replaced by fearful uncertainty. Rachel’s words had been in the back of Tom’s mind since the night before.
Haven’t you ever wondered exactly why your nephew can’t stand being around Lindsay?
Tom wasn’t blind—he knew Simon didn’t like her, and that was yet another reason why he’d broken off the relationship. But Rachel seemed to be implying that Lindsay had done something specific to turn Simon against her. He doubted Rachel knew anything about his nephew that he didn’t. But the look on Simon’s face now told Tom that he had, in fact, let something get past him.
A hell of a detective you are,
he thought.
Simon squirmed, hunching his shoulders and staring at the floor.
“Hey, now.” Tom squeezed the boy’s shoulder. “You know you can tell me anything, don’t you?”
Simon swung a leg forward and back, banging his heel against the desk, and mumbled something Tom didn’t catch.
“What’s that?”
With obvious reluctance, Simon raised his eyes to meet Tom’s. “She said you’d be mad at me,” he whispered. “You’d say I was making it up, and you wouldn’t want to be my uncle anymore.”
Jesus Christ.
What would make Lindsay say such a thing to a little boy? “Hey, I’ll always be your uncle,” he told Simon. “You’re stuck with me. I love you, champ, and there’s nothing you could tell me that would make me mad at you. Nothing. Understand?”
Simon hesitated, his gaze searching Tom’s face. “You sure?”
“Never more sure of anything in my whole life,” Tom said. He pulled Simon into a hug. “Come on now. Whatever this is, I think it’s been bothering you a lot, and I want to help.”
Simon buried his face against Tom’s shirt. “She told me I was in the way,” he said, his voice muffled. “She said you just wanted to spend time with
her
on the weekends, and I was always in the way and you didn’t really want me around. And I told her that wasn’t true, and she—she
hit
me. She slapped me.”
For a minute Tom couldn’t speak. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it was nothing this outrageous. He hugged Simon closer and kissed the top of his head, forgetting for the moment that the boy thought he was too big to be kissed by anybody but his grandmother. Right now he was a very young child, baffled by the behavior of adults. “I wish—” Tom had to stop to clear his throat. “I sure wish you’d told me about that right after it happened, champ.”
“I couldn’t!” Simon cried. He pulled back so he could look up at Tom. “She said she was real sorry, she didn’t mean to do it, but if I ever told you,
ever
, she’d say I was lying, and you’d believe her ’cause grownups always believe each other and not little kids.”
“Listen to me,” Tom said. “I’m glad you told me. I believe you, because I know you’re honest and you don’t tell lies. You’re a real big, important part of my life, understand?”
Tears glistened in Simon’s eyes, but he nodded.
Tom smoothed the boy’s unruly hair. “You’re my best bud, right? Huh?”
Simon gave Tom a tiny smile, the beginning of confidence returning to his face.
“Hey, come on,” Tom said. “If you’re gonna grin, make it a real one. Do I have to tickle it out of you?”
He tickled the boy’s ribs and at last Simon broke into a broad grin.
***
A few minutes later, with Simon and Billy Bob in the car with Darla and headed for a nearby lake to feed and terrorize the ducks, Tom began printing out the last chapter of Meredith’s unfinished book. He had to act fast. If Ragsdale’s parents raised the money to get him out of jail, Tom would lose a big psychological advantage.
He expected Ragsdale to refuse at first to read the manuscript pages. After he did, he probably wouldn’t admit they contained the truth about his sister’s death. Tom could hear him already:
You wrote this yourself. You’re trying to trick me. I’m on to you.
But Tom believed that if he kept up the pressure, Ragsdale would break sooner or later.
While the pages printed, he took a closer look at the autopsy report on Meredith, another weapon he could use to break down Ragsdale’s defenses. Tom skipped to the medical examiner’s conclusion and read that first. Meredith had suffered both a gunshot wound and blunt trauma to the head, either of which could have killed her. The damage done by the fire made determination of the exact cause and time of death impossible, but her lungs were clear, which meant she had stopped breathing before the fire started. “Thank heaven for small mercies,” Tom muttered.
He turned back to the first page of the report, which contained details about the general condition of the body as well as the degree of damage to skin, hair, skull. Her internal organs were intact and healthy. The joints of her fingers and knees showed early signs of degenerative arthritis. Her lumbar spine had been fused at L4-L5 with a bone transplant, indicative of a herniated disc.
Tom frowned. A spinal fusion? That was major surgery with a long, painful recovery and rehab period. When did she have it done? No doctor in Mason County could have performed the surgery, which meant Meredith had gone elsewhere—for weeks, maybe months. Had this happened when he was working for the Richmond Police Department? That was a reasonable explanation. But Tom’s mother had delivered a stream of in-depth reports on the lives of Mason Countians, including the Taylors, during those years, and he didn’t recall her mentioning that Meredith had serious surgery. Maybe she’d told him and he’d tuned it out. It wouldn’t have seemed important to him at the time.
Lindsay could fill him in. But he didn’t trust himself to be civil with Lindsay right now. Who else would know? Joanna McKendrick. She was the only person in Mason County who had remained close to Meredith through all the Taylors’ ups and downs over the decades.
At this hour, Joanna would be out working on the farm. Tom pulled his personal notebook of phone numbers from a desk drawer and found Joanna’s cell number. When she answered she sounded winded and harried.
“Hey, it’s Tom,” he said. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“Oh, no. It’s a wonderful time. I’m out at Hank Russell’s place. He’s taking these damn goats off my hands, but I had to deliver them. I’ll tell you, getting a bunch of stubborn goats onto a truck is not my idea of fun. But it’s gonna be a
lot
of fun to drive away and leave them behind.”
“I’m sorry to interrupt, but look, I just had a quick question for you. Do you know whether Meredith ever had spine surgery?”
Joanna was silent a moment before answering. “Spine surgery? What on earth makes you ask that?”
“I can’t tell you right now, but I need to know. Did she ever have a spinal fusion?”
“Good lord, no.”
“You’re positive?” Tom’s mouth had gone dry.
“Yeah, I’m positive. Do you have any idea what’s involved in the recovery from that kind of surgery?” Joanna said. “I mean, it just takes over your whole life. My brother had a herniated disc removed and his lower spine fused, and it was three months before—
“So if Meredith had it done,” Tom broke in, “you would have known about it?”
“Well, of course I would’ve. Tom, what’s this about?”
“I’ll tell you later. I’ll let you get back to the goats.”
Tom dropped the receiver back into its cradle, then pulled his case notebook from the top desk drawer, his mind swirling with speculation and half-formed thoughts. Was it possible he’d been staring at the truth all along without seeing it? He needed answers, he had to finish this, set things right.
He thumbed through the notebook for Ben Hern’s home number.
Angie Hogencamp answered.
“It’s Tom Bridger,” he said. “Let me talk to Hern.”
“Do you have news about his mother?”
“I need to ask him a question. Put him on, please.”
“No. I won’t.”
“What? Angie—”
“I’m not going to let you badger him anymore.”
“Put him on the line, Angie. I don’t have any time to waste.”
“No!”
But in the next second Tom heard the scuffling sound of the phone being removed from her hand. Then Hern said, “Hello? Who is this?”
“Tom Bridger. I’ve got a question for you.”
“What is it now?”
“Has your mother ever had spine surgery? A spinal fusion?”
The silence stretched out. Tom imagined realization washing over Hern in a hot wave, the same way it was hitting him. When Hern spoke again, his voice had gone flat. “Yes, she did. My mother had a spinal fusion. You’ve found her, haven’t you?”
Rachel pulled onto a dirt track through the woods a few hundred feet from the McClure property entrance. If passing motorists looked up the narrow path, they might see her vehicle, but she counted on most drivers keeping their eyes straight ahead.
She grabbed her birdwatching binoculars from the glove compartment and climbed out. Like Ben’s property, the McClure place was secluded, the house set far back and screened from the road by trees and shrubs. She would have to get close enough to see what was going on around the house without exposing her presence to anyone who glanced toward the woods.
She still believed the shocking news Lindsay received by phone might have been a report of another murder, and she wouldn’t be surprised to see deputies’ cars parked outside the house, uniformed men standing around while Dr. Gretchen Lauter, the medical examiner, bent over the body of—who? She would know soon enough.
Stashing her sunglasses in her shirt pocket with her cell phone, she wondered why Lindsay had been called to the scene of a murder. She had seemed stunned by the phone call, as if it concerned someone she cared about, but Tom wouldn’t want her on the scene if somebody she was close to had been killed. If it hadn’t been a report of another murder, what had shocked Lindsay so profoundly?
Stop speculating and find out,
Rachel told herself, irritated by her own circular thoughts. She waded into the undergrowth in the dense woods.
After a refreshingly cool morning, the day had heated up, and a couple of minutes of fighting off clingy vines and sticky brambles left Rachel dripping with perspiration. The sweat attracted the inevitable gnats. She batted them away with one hand while shoving aside vegetation with the other.
She could hardly believe she was doing this, and she wouldn’t want anyone to know she’d gone to such lengths to snoop on Lindsay. She cringed at the thought of Tom’s and Lindsay’s reactions if they discovered her lurking in the woods. But she was here now, so she might as well take a look and satisfy her curiosity. Then she had to get back to work. Her late afternoon schedule at the vet clinic was booked solid, and she’d already been gone longer than she’d planned.
She glimpsed the house through the trees up ahead. Abandoning her battle with the gnats, she raised the binoculars. Vegetation blocked her view of the yard and the first floor of the house, and all she saw were the roof and the second story. She had to get closer.
Letting the binoculars dangle from their strap around her neck, she used both hands to brush aside evergreen branches. When she was about a hundred feet from the edge of the woods, she raised the binoculars again.
The driveway and the overgrown yard were empty. No cars, no people. The big brick house—the McClure mansion, most people called it—looked closed up tight, its windows covered with boards that had long ago weathered to a silver-gray.
Odd. Rachel was positive she’d heard Lindsay correctly.
Which McClure house? Where Pauline McClure lived? But it’s all boarded up. Never mind. I’m coming.
Had Lindsay been here and gone already? Or had she parked her car behind the house?
Careful to stay well back where she couldn’t be seen, Rachel circled the yard, pushing through the tangled carpet of weeds and vines in the woods. The birds, she noticed, had fallen silent, and several squirrels chittered furiously from branches above her, probably reacting to Rachel’s intrusion. Nothing strange about that, but the longer she slogged through the woods, the creepier this situation felt. Unspeakable things had happened on this property. In these woods.
Rachel had driven out here the previous January, soon after Holly learned she would inherit her aunt’s fortune and house. They had planned to take a look inside the house, but when they arrived Holly refused to get out of the car. They’d left after a couple of minutes, with Holly declaring she would never live in that awful old place and wouldn’t care if it crumbled to the ground.
Why would anyone choose this as a meeting place? Because it was isolated, seldom visited, and couldn’t be seen from the road. That meant a clandestine meeting. Rachel was glad she hadn’t come upon another murder scene, but she was more curious than ever about Lindsay’s mysterious rendezvous.
The squirrels were going crazy, ratcheting up the volume of their raspy, scolding calls. Rachel stopped and peered into the tree branches above her, wondering if the squirrels were following her from tree to tree.
Something slammed into the back of her legs and knocked her to her knees.
Oh god, what, who—
A brown mutt appeared, panting in her face. Startled, relieved, bewildered, Rachel whispered, “Where did you come from?”
The dog jumped her again, planted its feet on her shoulders and licked her face. Pushing the animal away, Rachel realized this was one of her patients. She hadn’t seen the dog often, but it was too unusual to forget, with floppy beagle ears and long setter legs. Grabbing its collar, she checked the name tag. She was right. This was Cam and Meredith Taylor’s dog.
“Cricket?”
A mistake. At the sound of her name, the dog began barking, a joyful, celebratory sound, loud enough to send the squirrels into a frenzy again. Loud enough to be heard at the house, if anyone was there to hear.
“Hush, hush. Be quiet.”
Cricket let out a string of happy yips and bounced around Rachel, inviting her to play.
“Shhh, hush,” Rachel whispered again, with no effect. Had someone found Cricket and asked Lindsay to come and pick her up? But why the McClure property? And why had Lindsay reacted to the call with such obvious shock?
“Cricket! Come back here!” A woman’s voice, calling from the yard around the house.
The dog barked in answer.
Rachel got to her feet and steered the dog toward the house. “Go! Go back.”
“Cricket!” the woman yelled.
Cricket moved a few feet toward the voice, then turned and, wagging her tail, barked at Rachel to invite her along.
The woman appeared at the edge of the woods, her face in shadow.
Get out of here, now.
Lindsay was either around somewhere or soon would be, and Rachel wouldn’t be able to explain her own presence. “Stay!” Rachel ordered the dog. Then she took off, back the way she’d come.
The dog stayed right behind her, barking, enjoying the game of chase. And the woman was on their trail, shouting the dog’s name, gaining ground.
Rachel’s right foot caught in the tangled undergrowth and in the next instant she pitched forward. Her binoculars, strap and all, sailed free into the brush, along with her sunglasses. She landed hard, face-down. Thorns stabbed her cheek. Cricket stood over her, barking.
Rachel pushed herself up, tried to yank her foot loose, but a thorny vine bit into her ankle. Something tickled her skin and she spotted a daddy longlegs crawling up her arm. Shaking it off, she leaned down, desperate to rip the vine from her foot. Thorns pricked her fingertips.
It was too late. The woman had moved closer and stood thirty feet away among the trees. “What are you doing here?” she demanded.
Rachel straightened, staring at the woman, seeing her clearly now.
Meredith Taylor.
She looked ill, her skin pasty and her eyes bloodshot, her blond hair tangled and her loose shirt and pants soiled, but this was Meredith Taylor, beyond doubt.
“You’re alive,” Rachel blurted.
Meredith’s face was blank, her body perfectly still, yet the air between them hummed with tension. “What are you doing here?” Meredith asked again.
“What happened to you?” Rachel asked. “Why are you—What’s going on?”
Meredith stepped closer, her eyes cold and flat. Rachel felt the first tremor of fear. She wanted to back away, but with her foot entangled she had no choice but to stand her ground. Sweat rolled down her spine, her cheek stung where thorns had pierced it. The dog sat at Rachel’s feet and watched with interest.
“Mom?” Lindsay called from the edge of the woods. “Did you find Cricket?”
The dog barked when she heard her name, and Rachel and Meredith both swung their heads around.
“Mom? Where are you?”
With a happy yelp, the dog loped off in Lindsay’s direction.
“Over here,” Meredith answered her daughter.
Rachel didn’t understand what was happening, but she wasn’t going to stand there and hope for answers. For a second Meredith took her eyes off Rachel to glance at Lindsay, and Rachel grabbed the chance to dig her cell phone from her shirt pocket. She pressed speed dial for 911.
“Stop that!” Meredith snatched the phone from Rachel’s hand. She pressed the button to turn it off, drew back her arm and flung the phone into the woods.
Rachel watched helplessly as it disappeared in the undergrowth.
“Mom!” Lindsay exclaimed, coming up beside her mother. “Why did you do that?”
Flicking her gaze between mother and daughter, still trying to wrap her mind around the reality of Meredith standing alive before her, Rachel fumbled for words. “Lindsay, what’s going on here? Everybody thinks—Your mother—”
“She was kidnapped,” Lindsay said. “Scotty Ragsdale’s been holding her prisoner here.”
“Was she the one who called you a while ago?” But if Meredith had a phone, how could she have been a prisoner?
“What the hell are you doing here anyway?” Lindsay said. “Did you follow me?”
“I thought there was another murder. I wanted to find out—”
“Let’s take her to the house,” Meredith said. She caught Rachel’s arm and shoved. “Go on.”
Rachel lurched and almost fell before she regained her balance. “I can’t. My foot’s caught.”
“Oh, shit.” Lindsay knelt and began tearing at the prickly vine.
Rachel stooped to help. “Lindsay,” she whispered, “what—”
“Be quiet.” Lindsay’s voice was barely audible. “She’s diabetic, her blood sugar’s screwed up, she’s not thinking straight. Just play along, and it’ll be okay.”
“What are you telling her?” Meredith yelled. “Stop talking to her. Let’s go!”
Rachel looked up and her breath strangled in her throat. Meredith held a pistol, pointed at Rachel.
Lindsay leapt to her feet. “Mom, you don’t need that. Everything’s going to be all right. We’ll tell Tom what Scotty did and everything will be fine. Give me the gun, okay?”
Lindsay held out a hand to her mother. Rachel rose slowly.
“No.” Meredith shook her head.
“Mom, come on now,” Lindsay coaxed. She stepped in front of Rachel as if to shield her.
She had a telephone and a gun?
Rachel thought.
How could she be a prisoner?
Meredith spoke to Lindsay in a tone of mild rebuke, as if she were explaining an obvious point to a stubborn child. “I can’t let her go. Not after she’s seen me.”
Fear squeezed
Rachel’s chest and made each breath a painful struggle.
“It doesn’t matter,” Lindsay said. “It’s all over. Scotty can’t hurt you anymore. Give me the gun, Mom.”
“I can’t let her go!” Meredith raised the pistol, aiming beyond Lindsay at Rachel’s head. “She’ll tell everybody.”
Lindsay grabbed her mother’s arm just as Meredith squeezed the trigger. Rachel ducked. She heard the sharp crack of the shot, and the bullet slammed into a tree inches from her head.
Dizzy with relief, rigid with fear of what might happen next, Rachel kept her eyes on the pistol while Lindsay and Meredith scuffled and grunted. The dog jumped around, barking in her excitement.
Meredith stomped on Lindsay’s foot.
“Damn it!” Lindsay yelled and let go of her mother’s arms. Grimacing, she hopped on one foot.
Meredith still held the gun. “All right now, you’re going to mind me and do what I say. We’re all going in the house.”
Without another word, Lindsay crouched again and tore the vine away from Rachel’s foot. Rachel tried to catch Lindsay’s eye, to get some idea of what she was thinking and planning, but Lindsay didn’t look at her.
When Rachel tugged her foot free, Lindsay rose and walked away toward the house with the dog beside her.
“Don’t even think about running, Dr. Goddard,” Meredith said, sounding calm now. “Don’t test me.”
Knowing that anything she did might make Meredith pull the trigger, Rachel had no choice but to walk out of the woods with a gun at her back. Her thoughts fractured, images of herself lying dead mixing with a flood of questions. How could Lindsay’s mother still be alive? Who had died in the fire? Ben’s mother?
At the thought of Ben’s grief, tears welled up in Rachel’s eyes. She caught herself, realized how insane it was to let her mind wander. Her life was in danger, right here, right now.
Focus.
Lindsay’s car was parked in the back yard next to a garden where daisies and daylilies bloomed in a forest of weeds. Rachel walked past the car and stopped at the back steps. Glancing up, she saw an open door and an empty, shadowy space beyond.
If she went into that house, Rachel knew, she would never come out alive.
“Go on, Rachel.” Lindsay’s voice was quiet, pleading.
Say something. Stall.
Fear held Rachel’s throat in a vise and she had to force the words out. “Did you know your mother was alive all along?”