Fatal Impulse: A Widow's Web Novel (2 page)

A
vehicle approached, slowed and stopped. A power window whirred down. A man shouted, “Need any help?”

Andi stood frozen, raindrops tracing trails down her cheeks, as she faced the guardrail. Unable to move. Unable to talk. The Grand Cherokee's red hazard lights strobed through the darkness.

“Oh, dear!” A woman exclaimed. Shoes slapped against the wet pavement, until she stopped beside Andi. She peered over the guard rail then looked at Andi with wide eyes, “Did someone go over?”

After a moment, the woman put her arm around Andi and gently turned her away from the cliff. No words would come. Andi couldn’t stop shivering. The gray haired man pulled a blanket from their trunk and gently wrapped it around her shoulders. The woman held her hand out, palm up, and said, “At least it finally stopped raining.”

She patted Andi’s arm. The man stood on the other side of the car, talking on his cell phone. He glanced over the top of their white coupe at his wife and the young woman, but turned away when Andi looked up.

He still gripped the phone as he came around the car. He said, “The police are on the way. You’re going to be okay.”

Andi shook her head. She’d never be okay again. Her legs felt like spaghetti, and the edges of her vision darkened. She felt like she'd been punched in the stomach. She focused all her energy in an effort to keep from passing out. This couldn't be real.

The Maine State Police officers arrived in what seemed like moments, clad in their yellow slickers, quickly joined by a couple of cruisers from the Sheriff’s Department. The lights sent beams swirling through the night, the whole scene surreal.  They whisked Andi away from the elderly couple and the older officer who appeared to be in charge looked her over. His brown eyes were cold, his tone businesslike.

“I’m Sergeant Watkins with the MSP. Tell me what happened.”

Andi sucked in a deep breath, then began, “My-my husband and I were coming back from dinner up at the Clifftop. We had a flat. He changed the tire and then . . . ” A chill ran down her body as the memory flashed through her mind.

“And then what?” he prompted, pencil poised over a small spiral notebook.

“He went over the guardrail.” Her voice cracked on the last word. She tugged the scratchy wool blanket tighter around her.

He didn’t look up from his notepad. Just asked, “How?”

She shook her head and swallowed the lump that threatened to close her throat. “I don’t know. I’m not sure what happened. One minute he was standing there and the next he was falling. Screaming. And then there wasn’t any sound at all.”

His bushy eyebrows pushed together and his eyes bored into hers like lasers. “And where were you when he fell?”

“Right beside him. I held the flashlight for him while he changed the tire.” Oh, dear God. Could this be real? She looked down at her mud-splattered high heels and pleaded, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened.”

A younger officer stepped forward and whispered to the Sergeant. The older man’s lips pressed into a thin line, then he nodded once and said, “Tell the EMTs they can go, then.”

The ambulance had arrived with bright lights flashing, but drove down Highway 3 with only red taillights marking its exit. 

That was wrong. Andi could feel it. Panic bubbled up. Eyes wide, she turned towards the Sergeant and grabbed his arm. “Why is the ambulance leaving? Why isn’t someone going down to get him?”

“This storm was bad, and the surf's rough. Can't get down from here.” He met her gaze, then his tone softened, “I can’t risk my men, ma'am. We'll get the Coast Guard to help search in the morning. Buccaneer Bay PD'll coordinate in town. You understand?”

She sucked in a shaky breath, then looked at him, her arched eyebrows asking the question she couldn’t bring herself to ask.

He motioned towards the inky darkness to the East, “We may not be able to find him. The currents may pull the body out to sea.”

A police detective stepped forward, a thick, sturdy man with a stern face. He swept his hat off, exposing a ring of sparse gray hair fighting to keep baldness at bay, and nodded to her. "Bet the body floats in tomorrow morning. Next day at the latest."

The Sergeant frowned at the older man, "We'll just have to wait and see what tomorrow brings."

The detective harrumphed, then turned to face Andi. "Detective Gerald Johnson with the Buccaneer Bay Police Dept, ma'am."

Andi nodded, but it felt like a dream as she let the younger man lead her to his patrol car. She climbed into the back seat, alone, and watched the full moon peek out from behind the storm clouds as they rolled out across the Atlantic. Numbness began to set in, then there were bits and pieces, sleep and wakefulness, dreams and nightmares, but mostly numbness.

She woke up in their king-sized bed, alone. A half-empty glass of water sat next to an amber bottle of prescription pills on the nightstand. Sunlight filtered in around the edges of the drawn shades. The clock said 10:52. She pushed herself up from the bed, then remembered.

Lightning.

Thunder.

Chad’s steel gray eyes, wide with surprise.

Shivering in the rain as she stared down into the darkness.

Her legs turned to rubber and she sat back down with a thump. The edges of the room tilted. She closed her eyes and focused on breathing.

In, out.

In, out.

Blood rushed in her ears. She remembered. Against the blackness of her eyelids, she saw the two of them on the shoulder of that blacktop road, like a movie stuck in an endless loop. He threw his head back, laughing, and she swung. Did he slip on the wet gravel? Did the flashlight hit him? She didn’t know. She couldn’t remember. Was it murder? Or a horrible accident? Would anyone
believe
it was an accident?

She opened her eyes and pressed her hand to her chest as her heart thudded. It hurt, an actual physical hurt, deep inside. After a few minutes, her heartbeat slowed. Her thick terry cloth robe hugged her as she stumbled across the room. The door swung open with a creak, the doorknob held her weight and blood throbbed in her ears. For a moment, nausea threatened. She hurried into the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face, then waited for the feeling to pass. She ran a brush through her thick, dark hair, then smoothed it back into a loose pony tail. Her movements felt mechanical. Dark circles under her red-rimmed eyes made her look older than her 27 years.

Voices floated up from the kitchen, so she made her way along the hallway and down the stairs. Every step was like slogging through quicksand. The
familiar
voices beckoned her. Then it occurred to her – how long had it been? Had they drugged her?

Her legs trembled and she sagged against the wall. She wasn't sure she could go on. It took her several minutes to pull herself together before she could face whoever was in the kitchen. She'd had lots of practice putting on a happy face for others over the past few years.

When she appeared in the doorway, conversation stopped for a beat and all eyes turned to her, then a plump, gray haired woman rushed towards her.

“Mama?” Andi cried out and blinked in surprise. The breath rushed out of her lungs, and she reached out for the older woman, fingers clutching at her mother’s blouse.

“Oh, baby! You poor thing! I’m so sorry!” The older woman gathered her daughter in ample arms, and rocked her gently. As Andi's sobs dissolved into hiccups, her mother guided her to the table, where she sank onto a wooden chair as everyone bustled around her. The feel of her mother’s arm around her shoulders comforted her, and Andi leaned in to her, so glad, so relieved that she was there. Her mother’s hand rested on hers, protective.

The whole thing felt like an awful, horrible dream . . . except for the fact that this – this experience brought her mama to her. Live and in person, not a staticky voice on the telephone. She gazed at her mother as if she were a mirage that might evaporate if she looked away. Confusion bubbled to the surface. "But how did you--"

Her mother motioned across the kitchen table. "Your neighbor, Mrs. Harrison, called me as soon as she heard, and I drove to St. Louis and took the first flight they had. I just got here about ten minutes ago."

Gradually, Andi's view of the room expanded.

Mrs. Harrison, the retired librarian from next door sat across the table, perched on the edge of her seat like a bird ready to snatch a crumb. "Luckily, I remembered your mother's name. Didn't take me long to find the right Martha Denton in Missouri." Her small hazel eyes were bright and intense. “I brought a casserole.”

Jennie Crawford, Chad’s receptionist, looked stricken. A sprig of blonde hair poked out of her usually perfectly coiffed curls. Her naked lips trembled slightly. She half-stood and pushed a plate of goodies towards Andi, "I made some of my wicked good cinnamon rolls."

Andi's mother smiled at the younger woman and said, "They are delicious. I have to get the recipe from you."

"The secret is scalded milk." The blonde's cheeks turned pink as she looked around the table. Her gaze settled on Andi. Her lower lip trembled, then she said, “I can’t believe he’s gone. I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you,” Andi whispered. The room swam, and she focused on breathing again, one breath at a time. It was the only thing she was confident she could do at that moment in time. Someone slid a cup of coffee in front of her, and she gripped it with both hands to absorb the warmth.

Carol Graves, one of the local society types who served with Andi on the Friends of the Library Board, cleared her throat and smiled when Andi looked up. Her mouth opened, but then closed without a word when Mrs. Harrison began talking about storm damage from the night before. No one mentioned Chad. What could they say? Martha sat next to Andi and clutched her arm with both hands as if she were an apparition that might disappear into thin air. 

God, it felt good to be held. Andi missed her mother even more than she'd realized. Gray streaked the older woman’s hair, more than last Christmas. No, Christmas before last. With a start, she realized she hadn't been home in over a year.   Why had she let Chad keep her from going?

An assortment of pies and casseroles and plates of cookies covered every available flat surface. The aroma of homemade chicken noodle soup mingled with the sweet cinnamon smell of apple dumplings. Comfort food. Her hand dropped to her hip, where all the calories would land.

She jumped when her cell phone chirped. Everyone's heads swiveled from her to the phone on the counter and back again. No one ever called her, besides Chad. Her mother started to stand, but Andi put her hand out as she pushed away from the table. "I've got it." Her voice sounded small in the big kitchen.

She glanced at the screen. Anonymous. She hesitated, but swiped the screen.

The gruff voice on the other end of the line got straight to the point. "Detective Gerald Johnson with the Buccaneer Bay Police Department. Coast Guard is out already. No sign of remains yet."

She sucked in air and held it for a beat, then shivered as a chill ran down her spine. "You'll let me know?" Until that moment, she hadn't considered that the fall might not have killed him. But the cliff . . . the rocks. Even if he survived the fall, the icy Atlantic would've claimed him quickly. "And what if they don't find him?"

He took a drink of something, swallowed loudly, then answered, "We'll find him, all right. Don't you worry about that."

Silence echoed in her ear. Unease curled up in the pit of her stomach as she stared at the screen. Finally, she sat the phone on the counter. She took a deep breath, then turned back to her guests. Everyone stared at her expectantly.

She struggled for words, then finally murmured, “Thank you all for coming. It means a lot to me.” She couldn't do this anymore. Her vision narrowed. Darkness closed in on her, and she fought to maintain focus. No one met her eyes.

The linen tablecloth needed to be ironed.

Sunlight reflected in a chip in the red glass vase centered on the table.

A deli tray sat on the breakfast bar, the plastic wrap pulled back.

The sun shone brightly through the vertical blinds on the sliding glass door, but wet spots still glistened on the deck.

A dog barked in the distance.

And the tunnel began to close.

Her mother grasped her arms and guided her onto a chair, then herded everyone else out of the room. “Thank you all for coming. We do appreciate it so much, but my daughter needs her rest now.” The hushed tones of conversation drifted out with the small group like a cloud, and finally the two women were alone.

"I take it that was the police?" The older woman stepped close and rested her hands on her daughter's shoulders, then massaged them gently. “Honey, I don’t know how much you remember . . .”

Her voice trailed off and she waited. Andi blinked, not sure how much was real and what was the product of her overactive imagination. A chill ran up her spine at the hazy memory of the accident.

A little voice whispered,
it wasn't an accident
.