Love Inspired Suspense January 2014 (27 page)

“David Greene.” He stepped forward, hand extended toward the brunette.

She took the hand in a firm grip. “Janice Swenson.”

Her steady look betrayed no recognition. That was almost a first. She released his hand and looked past him toward the Lexus idling at the curb. Something indefinable sparked in the emerald gaze.

“There's got to be a whopping story behind this.” She turned toward Laurel. “But first, you need to get on home and tell the police what's missing.”

“Missing?” Laurel's face went blank.

“From your house. I stopped over about an hour ago to check that everything was locked up tight and...” Janice wrung manicured fingers together.

David suppressed a groan. This couldn't be good.

“Tell me.” Laurel stiffened, chin high.

The posture was impossibly courageous despite the baggy getup, and David's breath caught. He was a sucker for bravery.

“Someone broke in, honey.” Lips quivering, Janice touched her friend's shoulder. “They jimmied open your deck door and made such a mess inside it's hard to tell if anything was taken or just all smashed up.”

Caroline burst into tears and buried her face in her palms. David's hands fisted. Laurel wrapped her arms around her daughter, but stared over the child's shoulder into space as if she had no clue where she was anymore. Or even
who
she was.

Why did Caroline's meltdown and the devastation in Laurel's eyes make him want to deck someone? Maybe he hadn't changed as much as he'd hoped. Or maybe these two were getting under his skin.

David gritted his teeth. He couldn't let that happen. Caroline might be cute and feisty and fun and Laurel lovely, courageous and as graceful as his mother, but they were off-limits. They were on the suspect list in a case he was determined to investigate fully and fairly, and everything about them had to be examined objectively.

How he was going to pull off such mental and emotional gymnastics escaped him, especially since it was equally important that he stick as close to them as they would allow. Poking his head into the jaws of an alligator might be less risky, but how else could he keep his fingers on the pulse of this case while he dug for the truth?

FIVE

L
aurel stood inside her front door and surveyed the wreckage of what had been a tidy foyer and tastefully appointed living room. Janice hadn't exaggerated the mess. Furniture was overturned—even the large pieces. Wall art was strewn across the floor, many of the frames broken, and the television looked as if someone had taken a baseball bat to it.

Why did Laurel feel nothing but tired? No outrage. No hurt. No sense of loss. Just...numb.

“Oh, Mo-o-m!”

Correction. Irritation was edging out numbness. Her daughter used those sing-song syllables for everything from excitement to teenage mockery. The drama was getting old, and the teen years had only begun. Then again, maybe her reaction was a surface symptom of emotional lava boiling beneath the surface.

Should she hang a sign around her neck to warn people? Danger! Blow imminent!

“It'll be okay, sugar.” Janice put an arm around Caroline's shoulders, but her voice quivered. The devastation in Janice's eyes from absorbing the news of the murder had yet to fade, though the corners of her lips tilted staunchly upward.

“We'll get busy and set things right.” She planted a kiss on the top of Caroline's head.

At least Laurel had her best friend to step in when her parental role began to fray around the edges. She'd tried to protect her daughter by directing her to go next door to Janice's house while she assessed the situation and dealt with the police. But no, the teenager had insisted on tagging along into the house.

“I'll help.”

The quiet words in a masculine voice sent a shock through Laurel. They had another tagalong. Why was David Greene still here? Once he dropped them off, he'd been free to go. This was not his problem. She turned with words of thanks-but-no-thanks on her tongue but froze at the sight of a stranger coming through the door behind David.

She didn't recognize the newcomer, a tall rail of a man with graying hair and a salt-and-pepper mustache, but she didn't need to see the badge he flipped open to know that he was a cop. The seen-it-all-and-nothing-shocks-me calm in the slate blue of his eyes betrayed his profession. Plain clothes detective. Not the uniformed types that were leaving the house as she climbed the front stairs onto her porch. That pair hadn't said anything beyond a nod and a terse Ma'am as they returned to their cruiser. Maybe this guy would be more communicative.

“Detective Roland Berg,” he said. “You would be Laurel Adams?” His gaze fixed on her, and she nodded. “And this would be your daughter, Caroline—” he nodded toward the teenager “—and this must be Greene.” Cold contempt ricocheted off David's frozen stare.

If an ice collision could generate sparks, Laurel wouldn't be surprised to see a few flying.

The detective returned his gaze to Laurel. “We heard you folks were on your way.”

“Have you discovered any leads?” she asked. “Who might have done this? Why?”

Berg lowered his head and scratched behind his ear. “Seems we have quite a situation here. Mind if I ask you a question?”

“How about you answer her questions first.” David's words were phrased as a suggestion, but rang with the same uncanny authority he'd used on Sheriff O'Dell in the mountain cabin.

The detective's shoulders lifted, as if deflecting an unexpected impact, and his lips turned downward, but he didn't shift his focus toward David. His gaze remained on Laurel.

“I'm a homicide detective, ma'am. I don't investigate burglaries, unless the two are connected.”

“Don't you think they might be?” Laurel said. “Isn't it odd that two crimes involving us would occur so close on the heels of one another?”

“Odd is a good word choice. That was going to be my question. I'm sure you realize this
break-in—
” the two words were sharp edged “—taints any evidence regarding the murder that we might have found while executing this search warrant.” He held up a piece of paper.

“I don't understand.” The statement emerged on a pale thread of breath. Was the detective implying that she'd staged the vandalism to cover up murder?

“You sure about that, ma'am?” The detective's gaze ravaged her.

Laurel clamped her jaw closed. That's exactly what the man was hinting.

Did the detective think she'd walked around her home destroying her property before she drove off with a dead body in her trunk? And that Caroline helped her?

“Who is
we?
” David asked. “I only see
you
now that the uniforms called out on the burglary have left.”

Berg smiled thinly. “My partner is having a walk around the yard, seeing what he can see. In the meantime, I thought I'd drop in and ask a few questions. Ms. Adams, do you always go away for a week and leave your security system unarmed?”

“What?” Laurel shook her head, not as a negative response but in denial of the question.

“When the uniformed officers arrived,” he continued, “they discovered the security system was green light, as if someone was home. There was no evidence that the system had been tampered with. When the techs arrive we'll dust the buttons for fingerprints, but—”

Laurel spread her hands in front of her. “I never leave without arming the system. I distinctly remember setting it last thing before we pulled out of the garage.”

The detective's blank stare delivered no assurance that her words were believed. Did this guy think she'd left the house unprotected from intruders on purpose? From his perspective, the suspicion made awful sense. What if the police never considered other options than her guilt—or her daughter's? A blow to the solar plexus couldn't have robbed her of oxygen more completely.

“Oh, sugar, I'm so sorry!” Janice pressed fingers to her lips, wide gaze on Laurel. “It may have been me who forgot to rearm the system. I came in here shortly after you left in order to grab the milk you told me to use up while you were gone.”

Berg transferred his granite stare to Janice. “You have a key to this house and know the code for the security system?”

Did Laurel detect a hint of annoyance in the question? His pet theory was being shot in the foot. If this weren't poor timing for it, she'd wrap her friend in a bear hug.

“I surely do,” Janice said. “Laurel and I have complete access to each other's places. We look after one another.”

“Yeah.” Caroline lifted her chin and linked her arm with Janice's. “And she takes care of me a lot when Mom's away on speaking engagements.”

“Yet you went with your mother on this occasion? Why?”

Laurel shot her daughter a sharp look, and the girl had the grace to lower her head and remain silent. With the level of suspicion they were under, no one needed to start talking about bad grades and sour attitudes and troubled student/teacher relations.

“Detective Berg,” Laurel said, “is it a crime to spend Thanksgiving with your daughter? Bringing her along was the only way that was going to happen.” The statement was completely true, and she felt no compunction in making it.

The detective lifted a brow toward Janice. “Everything was in order in the house when you came inside following the Adams's departure?”

“Neat as the proverbial pin. My best friend keeps a beautiful home. She would never treat her things like this—” she waved a hand around the trashed living room “—any more than she would take another person's life. You should be out trying to catch whoever did both of these things.” Janice's expression folded. “Provided the crimes are connected, of course.”

“Let's assume so for the moment.” Berg leveled his stare on Laurel. “Do you have any enemies, Ms. Adams?”

“N-no!”

Why that question should continue to take her by surprise, she didn't know. The deputies in the mountains had asked her the same thing, but she couldn't wrap her head around the possibility that someone might kill the teacher for the sole reason of framing her and/or Caroline for the murder.

“No,” she proclaimed again. “I wish I could point you to the culprit, but I have no idea.”

“People love my mom,” Caroline said. “She helps them.”

“Yes. The nonprofit organization. Single Parents Coalition?” The corners of the detective's lips tilted upward.

Sneer or smile? Laurel wasn't sure. “That's correct.” Berg had done his homework prior to showing up here.

“You direct women and children to shelters, help them gain assistance to relocate and frequently provide legal aide. Could this be the work of a vindictive ex perhaps?”

Laurel's mouth went dry as a shiver rippled up her spine.
Steven!
Then she mentally grabbed herself by the nape. Yes, her ex-husband would easily have been capable of both the murder and the vandalism—of hiring it done anyway. He would have taken pleasure in masterminding anything to make her suffer, regardless of how his actions affected other people. But he couldn't be responsible for this. He'd been dead for years.

She squared her shoulders. “Yes, I suppose it's possible that my work with the Coalition might have made someone angry, but I don't know of anyone in particular.”

“We'll be interviewing your coworkers.”

The weight in her chest lifted marginally. At least the authorities were going to check out other possibilities. Then her heart twisted. What if the media caught wind that one of the founders of SPC was involved in a murder case—was a suspect even? The organization didn't need any negative publicity affecting donations. Finances were tight as it was.

“How soon do you think the news services will pick up this story?” she asked the detective.

He cocked a grizzled eyebrow. “We're keeping the lid on it for the time being. At least until the victim's family can be notified.”

“Where is Ms. Eldon's family? Where is she from?” David's questions fired sharp and staccato.

Laurel's gaze switched to his expectant face. Why was he so eager to hear about the teacher's roots?

“We don't—” the detective began and then halted as the front door opened, and a second man, younger but with that same cop look, stepped inside. “Anything?” Berg asked the newcomer.

The other detective rolled thick shoulders, full-moon face betraying no emotion. “Part of a hedge broken along the sidewalk between the garage and the house. Like someone ran through it. We could get the techs to check for fibers or other trace evidence.”

“The hedge break happened two nights before we left town,” Laurel said. She exchanged a look with her daughter, whose cheeks reddened, though the girl said nothing.

“I was returning from an evening speaking engagement,” Laurel continued, “when someone charged out of the dark and bowled me over into the bushes. I couldn't see his face, but he was wiry and not much taller than me, and his breath smelled like nacho chips. He got up and ran off without a word.”

“Did you report the incident?” Berg's expression betrayed a spark of interest at her nod.

“A pair of uniformed officers came out the next morning and took pictures and looked around. I think they were the same two who were just here. You'll find a police report on file at the precinct.”

Good thing Laurel had omitted from that report her suspicion that the nacho-snacking teenager fleeing the scene on her arrival home had been her daughter's guest. That matter needed to stay between Caroline and herself until she got a straight answer from the girl. She'd intended to bring the incident up as part of a long string of issues they needed to discuss while they were on retreat in the mountains.

“We have to ask you to leave the premises while our techs comb the property,” said the second detective. “The van's en route.” The last statement was spoken toward his partner, who nodded.

“Can't we at least go upstairs to our rooms and change out of these clothes?” Laurel gestured toward her baggy sweatpants.

“We can't have you disturbing anything.” The man's fierce scowl contrasted unpleasantly with Berg's frigid calm. “If you've got no place to go, we can get you a ride down to the station to wait. We'll probably want to talk to you some more anyway.” A slight grin appeared.

Whatever happened to the good cop part of the routine? Apparently, she and Caroline had drawn bad cop/bad cop. Where was David with his quiet authority? Not that he'd be able to alter the rules of investigation, but he had a way of setting bully tactics in their place. Laurel looked around, but he'd disappeared. Did he sneak out the back door? She'd wanted him to go, but not that way.

“Never mind, hon,” Janice said. “You all can hang out at my place and raid my closets. My clothes won't fit you much better than these, but at least you won't look like you belong in a homeless shelter.”

Her familiar grin and wink injected a tang of normalcy into a tragic situation, and Laurel responded with a smile. “Throw in some lunch, and you've got a deal.”

“My famous chicken and dumplings coming up.”

Laurel patted her tummy. Hunger pangs had begun to gnaw. Or was the ache due more to anxiety? Either way, a little comfort food was in order for both herself and Caroline. Herding her daughter in front of her, Laurel headed for the door on Janice's heels.

“Don't go far,” Berg said as they passed him.

Laurel turned on her heel. “If next door is too far, then arrest us and be done with it. If not, then don't bother us with any more of your insinuations.” The big blow boiled on the edge of her self-control. Any more pressure might send her sky high. An explosion wasn't a wise way to handle the authorities, but she was nearly beyond caring. “Anything you want to know comes to us through our lawyer from now on.”

She grabbed her daughter's hand and stepped onto the porch, where Janice waited. Laurel's skin pebbled as chilly air invaded the empty space between her legs and the fabric of her sweatpants. She pulled the door closed and exhaled long and hard.