In the Shadow of Evil (19 page)

"What did they talk about?"

Watkins scowled at Houston. "Like I know? Dude, I was the grunt. Nobody talked to me about anything important."

"What did they talk to you about?"

"Just telling me what to do." He gave a condescending glare. "And Bob telling me how to do it."

"What do you think of Bob Johnson?"

"He was my boss."

"But not anymore?" Relentless, Houston never missed a beat. His questions came rapid fire.

"No."

"Why not?"

"We finished the job."

"But that's been some time ago. Surely Mr. Johnson has had other jobs since then."

"I guess."

"But you haven't been invited back to work with him?"

Watkins narrowed his eyes. "Apparently not."

"I see." Houston staged another long pause and cut a glance at Maddox.

Game time. He was up.

Maddox stood and paced until he was right behind Houston. He narrowed his eyes and stared at Watkins. "Where were you Friday night between eleven thirty and midnight?"

"Dude, Ms. Alana locks the main doors at ten sharp. No one leaves or comes in without her knowing."

"That doesn't tell me where you were between eleven thirty and midnight on Friday."

"I was here."

"Where, here?"

"At the retreat, man."

Retreat? That's what they called this place? "Where in particular?"

"My room."

"Doing what?" Maddox could be just as relentless as Houston.

"Sleeping." But Watkins shifted and his gaze dropped and went to the left.

Lying.

Maddox gave a deep snort and cocked his head. He'd been told the combination was quite intimidating. "On a Friday night?" He leaned forward, resting his palms on the table. "Let's try that question again, why don't we?"

"Dude, I was in my room. Sleeping." Again his gaze went down and to the left.

Maddox pushed off the table and rounded it, hovering over Watkins. "Now, why don't I believe you, Darren?"

Watkins's foot bounced, causing his knee to hop like a Mexican jumping bean. "I don't know, dude."

"Why are you so nervous?" Maddox stood straight, letting his height intimidate.

"I'm not nervous."

"Really? Then why are you biting your nails and being so jittery?"

"I want a cigarette, dude. Having a nic-fit."

Maddox backed off. "Smoking's a nasty habit."

"Yeah, but it's better than snorting. It's legal."

"It is that." Maddox returned to his chair and met Houston's glance. Switch off, take two.

Houston tapped his pen against the notebook. "Is there anyone who can verify you were in your room Friday night?"

"No. Like I said, I was sleeping." Again the markers of deception.

Maddox locked looks with Houston. They weren't going to get any more from the kid. He was lying but wasn't going to come clean. At least not yet.

Closing his notebook, Houston stood. "Well, we thank you for your time, Mr. Watkins."

His bouncing stopped. "I can go now?"

"Sure." Maddox stood and waved at the open door.

Watkins wasted no time scrambling out of the chair and from the room.

"Let's ask Alana for any documentation she has for entering and exiting on Friday night." Houston pocketed his notebook.

Maddox could just imagine how willing she'd be to give them those details. She was hiding something. Or covering for someone. She'd probably make them get a warrant for the records.

Oh man, happy day. Let the fun begin.

"SORRY I'M LATE." ED Young walked into Taylor Construction. "Had a last-minute glitch with an order."

Layla smiled at her friend. "No worries. I just finished prepping the window."

The late afternoon sun spilled into the area from the open door. A cold breeze pushed through the office.

He glanced around the office. "Doesn't look too bad."

"I've been cleaning for hours."

"Sorry." He shook his head. "Do the police have any idea why someone would do this? Any clue
who?
"

"Not that they've told me." She reached for her gloves. "I'm still going to try to figure things out."

"Layla, you need to be careful. Apparently someone doesn't like you looking into things."

"I know." She tugged the gloves over her hands. "Let's get the glass unloaded so I can get it installed."

"You need me to help you install?" Ed led the way to his truck.

"Nope. I can do this in my sleep."

Together they unloaded the glass and moved it inside the office. Layla walked him back out to his truck. "Thanks again for delivering this for me on such short notice."

"When's the alarm company going to come out and wire the window?"

She glanced at her watch. "In about forty-five minutes. Guess I'd better get busy installing, huh?"

He patted her shoulder. "I'll see you later. Take care, Layla."

Nodding, she grabbed her tool belt. As always, touching the smooth, worn leather sent memories skittering over her. It'd been her father's tool belt. Every memory she had of him included him wearing the belt. It was the one specific thing she valued most.

It took her less than thirty minutes to install the glass. She'd just finished cleaning it with mineral spirits when a car sounded out front. Must be the alarm company. Early for once.

Layla put away her tools and went to the door to meet them.

Alana stepped over the threshold first. "What is that awful smell?" Her upturned nose scrunched.

Laughing, Layla shook her head. "Mineral spirits. Or it could be the caulk. Both reek."

"It's disgusting. Doesn't it make you light-headed?"

"No. That's why the door's open." Layla perched on the edge of the reception desk. "What're you doing here?"

Alana tossed her purse on the desk. "I'm just so mad. Frustrated. Ugh. I could just scream."

"What's wrong?" If she'd gotten into a fight with Cameron, Layla would be no help. As the big sister, she should be able to dispense advice, but in the love department . . .

"That Detective Bishop. The man's infuriating."

"Maddox?"

Alana's eyebrows shot up. "Since when do you call him by his first name?"

"I-I . . . what's he done to get you all riled up?"

"He and his partner came by the retreat this afternoon to talk with Darren Watkins. While I understand they're trying to be thorough, they don't have to be obnoxious."

Layla sighed as her sister paced. "What did he do?"

"He actually asked me where I was on Friday night. From eleven thirty to midnight. Like I'm a suspect or something."

"He's just doing his job. They have to get everyone's alibis."

"Mine? Like I'm involved in that murder or burning down the house?"

"It's nothing personal. They asked me the same thing." And she remembered how angry it had made her. But at least they were following up. Investigating.

"He's a jerk."

Layla rubbed her palms on her jeans. "Cut him a little slack. His dad's in the hospital. Heart attack."

"How do you know that?" Alana narrowed her eyes.

"He was in the waiting room when I was there with Ms. Betty." Layla pushed off the desk. "He's worried about his father. You know how that feels."

"Doesn't excuse him for being a jerk."

"Well, I wasn't the nicest person when we were worried about Dad." Her throat tightened at the words, at the memory.

Alana dropped her scrutiny. "Yeah. I remember."

Layla pushed down the emotions that threatened to explode. "I'm just saying to give him a little extra allowance."

"I will."

And Layla vowed she would as well. Even if he did keep her off balance just by being in the same room with her.

EIGHTEEN

"Old friends pass away, new friends appear. It is just like the days. An old day passes, a new day arrives. The important thing is to make it meaningful: a meaningful friend—or a meaningful day."

—DALAI LAMA

THE SUN'S RAYS STOLE around the faded curtains and danced into Tyson Bishop's hospital room.

Maddox stood and stretched. The padded chair had become uncomfortable around three this morning. Now his neck felt like a jackhammer had plowed at it all night. Thursday morning. Would this week never end?

He checked the clock. George would be here soon. Maddox would run home, take a shower, then meet Houston at the station.

"You still here?" Pop yawned.

"Of course." He moved to the bed beside his father. "Are you in any pain? Can I get you anything?"

"A little peace and quiet. You snore."

Maddox chuckled. "Hi, pot, meet kettle."

"I don't snore."

"Sure, Pop. How're you feeling?"

"Tired of being poked and prodded."

If his surly disposition was any indication, Pop must be feeling better. "George said the doctor would make rounds about ten or so."

"Yeah." Pop leaned forward, twisting his arm behind him and grabbing the top pillow with the tips of his fingers.

"Let me help." Maddox took hold of the pillow and fluffed it before easing it behind the small of his father's back.

"I can fix my own pillows."

There was the winning attitude of his father's. Made Maddox feel all warm and fuzzy inside. "I was just trying to help."

"Don't need help."

Maddox swallowed hard. Same old Pop. Same old argument.

He crossed the room and opened the curtains.

Pop snarled. "Did I ask you to blind me?"

"I thought maybe you'd—"

"You thought? That's your problem. You always think too late." Pop turned his head toward the door.

Maddox's muscles tensed and his gut balled. He would not get into the same argument yet again. Not here. Not while his father had suffered a heart attack. He'd ignore the jabs. The low blows. He'd be the bigger man.

He snapped the curtains shut and returned to the uncomfortable chair. Maybe if he just sat silently, his father would change the subject.

Pop stared at him. Brows lowered, chin set. He sighed. "Maddox, we need to talk. About the night your mom was killed."

Nope, he wasn't going to let it drop. Maddox's mouth went dry. "No, let's not. We know how it will all end." With him being blamed.

"I know you think I blame you."

Where was George? Maddox stood and went to the bedside. He lifted the insulated cup on his father's tray. "Why don't I go get you some ice?"

"I don't want any ice! You need to listen to me, Maddox. The night your mother was murdered—"

Maddox set the cup down on the tray with a thud. "I know. I know. I was late for curfew and it's my fault she was killed. If I'd been on time, she'd still be alive. I know all that."

Pop held up his hand. "Listen—"

Maddox shook his head. "No, I've heard it from you so much over the years that it's a scar against my soul." He backed to the foot of the bed, guilt curling his hands into fists.

"That's just it. You need to understand something—"

The emotion erupted in Maddox—burning from his gut, into his chest, searing his throat and coating his tongue. "I've understood you've blamed me for her death from the beginning. But here's something you need to consider,
Pop.
"

He bent over his father's feet, glowering. "Where were
you
when she was murdered? You were out defending our country when you should've been home, defending your wife. She died in my arms while you were more worried about your precious military career." Maddox strode to the door. He glanced over his shoulder at his father's pale face. "Live with that."

He pushed from the room, gulping in air as he leaned against the wall in the hallway. His heartbeat thudded in his head. His entire body shook. He fisted, then relaxed his hands. He inhaled . . . held the breath until his lungs burned, then exhaled slowly. And again.

The overpowering smell of disinfectant nearly made him gag.

"Hey, son. How's Tyson?" George appeared out of nowhere.

"Same as always—meaner than a snake." He ground out the words from between clenched teeth.

George gripped his shoulder. "What's wrong?"

Maddox shook his head. "He'll never let it go, Uncle George."

"What're you talking about?"

"Mom's murder. He'll always blame me. And let me know what a failure I am. How I'm basically responsible for her death."

"Oh, son, that's not so."

Maddox snorted. "Really? That's what Pop thinks. What he's always thought. Never lets an opportunity to remind me slip by him either."

"He said something?"

"Are you not hearing me?" Maddox stared at George. "He wanted to talk about the night she was killed. Again. I tried not to let him bait me. Tried to change the subject. But he'd have none of it. He's itching for a fight."

"He's just distraught. Upset over being in the hospital and letting off steam. I know for a fact that it's not your fault about Abigail. And Tyson knows it too."

"Whatever, man." Maddox pushed off the wall. "I've got to get home and get showered. I have a job to do."

George grabbed his arm. "Maddox, don't go off half-cocked. It's probably the pain medication he's on that's making him so ornery."

"I don't know how you've managed to stay his friend all these years. You're a good man, Uncle George." He jutted his chin toward his father's door. "Better than him."