Shattered by Death (A Jo Oliver Thriller Book 2) (2 page)

“Josephine, I’m sorry, but you married a bad man. A very bad man.” Andy’s voice whined over the phone. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say.”

I dragged my hand through my hair and gritted my teeth. Andy had been recommended as a divorce attorney with both brains and heart. It was important to me to be able to look back one day and not be ashamed of myself for falling into any crazy behavior. Over the years as a small town police chief, I’d seen enough of what people could turn into during the final throes of a bitter divorce. I’d wanted a divorce attorney with a conscience, one that could protect my interests—both financially and ethically. Now all I was getting was soaked. Daily.
Be careful what you wish for
.

“Now what’s the creep want?”

“You won’t want to hear this.” He lowered his pitch to a more or less tolerable level.

“Yeah, so? What else is new? Hit me.” I clicked the envelope icon on my computer. My email snapped open.

“That’s an unfortunate choice of words. He
is
hitting you. He’s hitting you up for another forty thousand dollars.” He rattled the last phrase off as if he’d planned to drop it and run.

My stomach clenched, and I curled my palm around a ceramic mug on my desktop, soaking in the warmth of the coffee within. Squeaks and groans slipped out from my grinding teeth. “I don’t have another forty grand. I don’t have another forty bucks. You know that. I’m sick of getting pushed around. Tell the he-vamp
no.
”

“Josephine…” Exasperation whiffled through Andy’s voice. He disapproved of the way I referred to my soon-to-be-ex-husband, Del, and his also-married-to-someone-else girlfriend. What did he want from me, a cutesy little Hollywood couple mash-up? ‘Delamra’? Too civilized. ‘The he-vamp’ was genteel enough. I shuddered. I’d broken my own rule of never thinking of both of their names at the same time.
Good riddance. Tamra can have him. I guess
.

“He’s already taken everything. My marriage, our lake house, half of the equity in the house I’m sitting in, the remainder of which won’t be enough to pay for this phone call, and every last cent I have. And now he wants me to play dead and fork over another forty grand? He can go scratch.”

I clicked an email at random. It was the verse of the day. John 12:25 popped up, the King James Version no less. I opened a browser and looked it up in a different translation. “Whoever loves his life loses it, and whoever hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life.”
Good grief. At this rate, I won’t make it to life eternal. I can’t afford it.
It was a good reminder of my recently acquired relationship with the One Most High, though.
I’m sorry God. I know I’m being a putz. I know I should tone it down a bit
.
I’m trying to be a better woman, trying to take the high road.
Whatever that was.
Amen?

Reality burst through my awkward prayers. But forty grand? Where would I even begin to come up with that kind of money?
My gaze settled on a wooden frame showcasing the three people I cared most about. My eighty-year-old mother sitting on a bench at the edge of the dock, next to Samantha, the two of them looking frail but happy. A sun-kissed Italian man stood behind them, one arm draped around each of their shoulders, leaning down as if he were about to share the secret of the century with the women he loved.

“Listen to me. We’re almost through this. You’re moving on to bigger and better things, remember? Keep your eyes on the prize.” Andy was on a roll. An expensive roll.

“What does that even mean anymore?”

“Samantha. It means we’ve got to keep doing everything we can to keep you squeaky clean in front of the judge and, God forbid, in front of the court if we have to go down that road. Which I’m still hoping we won’t.”

Samantha. Balm of Gilead to my soul.
I pictured her flying down the little hill on her pink skis, framed in last night’s moon. “Alright. What do you suggest?”

“I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to give up this last little bit of money—and you do have it. It’s the exact amount of equity left untouched if you were to refinance your house.”

“Gah! He
knew
that! He’s just doing this ‘cause he can. Can’t you stop this freight train? What do I pay you for?” I stopped and took a deep breath.
Dear God, forgive me for being a self-centered jerk.
“I’m not going down without a fight. Can’t you spend a little more time on case law or something? Get me outta this mess with a little bit of my dignity left intact?”

“We’re not interested in his motivation. We’re interested in one thing: closure. Being done. So you can move on with your wonderful new life.”

“
Okay, fine. Do it. If this is really what it’s gonna take, I’ll call my bank today. Just get through this as quickly as possible so we can move forward with the adoption process.
I surrender.”

“You forgot the best part.”

“So
Samantha
can start a new life with a new family
. With me.
”

I ended the call before I started either swearing or crying.
What if I can’t handle being a mom?
My shoulders tightened and pain snapped across my temples.
I don’t know what I don’t know.
I squeezed my eyes shut, breathing rapidly.
What if I’m horrible at this?
My heart beat wildly, and I started to tremble.

Warmth descended upon me, feathery blankets of golden mist seemed to settle around me, lifting my spirit. In my mind’s eye, a brilliant light emanated from the center of the golden mist, surrounding me with overpowering sense of love and peace. I smiled, opened my eyes, and leaned into the Presence I could not see. My Magnificent Being stood with me, like a golden warrior, enveloping me in His love. His voice called out a truth I’d read in a recent devotional.
Faithful is He who calls you, and He also will bring it to pass.
I opened my eyes and watched as the mist evaporated, burning away my fear, and leaving me with an ocean of peace.

Even after basking in the presence of my Magnificent Being, the conversation with Andy had still left me jangly and raw. My feet pounded the jogging path as I rounded the corner toward home, tree branches drooping low overhead and remnants of the morning’s mist shrouding a dark shape on the ground ahead of me. A smarter woman would have slowed down, maybe stopped. I poured on the speed. I hadn’t had a run this smooth for days.

The closer I came, the bigger the form appeared, until I realized, too late, it was a log.
Stop? Speed up?
I hustled and leapt over the log like I was born for it, resuming my steady pace with a triumphant smile.

I made my way over the winding gravel path leading to my back porch from the miles of trails that wove between my subdivision and the nearby forest preserve. Ten pounds wasn’t all I’d lost in the past few months. Four months ago, a huge log like that would’ve caused me to turn back—head down, dejected. I liked the new me.

A tree wasn’t the only obstacle in my way lately. Maybe it was time to leap over them all. There was one last confrontation looming as the final date of the divorce decree drew near like a thunderstorm on the horizon. I owed it to myself to go and give my soon-to-be-ex-husband and his younger, sportier model, the piece of my mind I’d been holding back for months out of courtesy and self-respect, and okay, maybe a little fear.
Courtesy
? I leapt over courtesy long ago, along with that big ol’ log. I left it all behind me in the dirt.

I rooted through my jacket pocket and pulled out my key. A pink sticky note floated to the ground. A verse from Malachi written in Gino’s block print
. But for you who fear My name, the sun of righteousness shall rise with healing in its wings. You will shall go out leaping like calves from the stall.
Oh, brother. While I had already forgotten my vow to work harder on becoming a better woman, Someone else had not.

Fine.
Between God and Gino, my dear friend and guide to all things spiritually-related, I was bound to become that better woman soon. Time to redirect my thinking.

Today is the first day of the rest of your life. Start it right… with no regrets
. No righter way to start the day than an impromptu visit with Samantha. There were only a few days of Spring Break left. Maybe I’d pick her up, and together we’d surprise my mom with dark chocolates and brunch. Three generations of Oliver women in one spot. It doesn’t get much better than that. I hummed as I walked through my house and headed for the shower. Ten minutes later, I was dressed and moisturizing.

I’d call Sam’s social worker and foster mom to get the okay to pick her up in a few hours. First, I had another stop to make. I was going to take my final ride down that beautiful lane to my old lake house, knock on the door, skip the drama, and get my holiday china. We were speeding into Easter, and I wanted my alabaster rabbit and my lamb cake mold, so I could have my Easter back, on the way to getting my life back.

And I’d have them by sundown. Just one more log to leap over today.

I headed out to the highway, scenes from the marriage that had left me behind floating all around me, until a drain opened in my mind, sucking them all down the big black hole of loss that had become my personal life. I flipped the blinker on and pulled into the lake house’s subdivision for the very last time.

Today, I’d say goodbye and truly stop looking back. But not without my holiday china.

Fueled by visions of my famous Easter almond vanilla lamb cake, complete with rich white buttercream frosting and the requisite coconut fleece, I picked my way through the streets leading to
my
lake house. My mind clung to the symbol of the resurrection. An Easter morning cross, adorned with an artfully hung purple robe, stuck in a mound of Easter grass—bright greens and pinks, littered with jellybeans, chocolate bunnies, and peanut butter eggs.

Five minutes later, I nosed my car up the asphalt driveway curving gracefully to the McMansion I’d bought for my husband to enjoy with my replacement. Viburnum, heavy with buds, lined the entrance. I wouldn’t get to see them in full bloom. I glided to a stop next to the back porch steps, noting
my
expensive electric car standing at attention in the driveway. I moved to the driver’s side window, and peered in. Another woman’s jacket hung carelessly on the back of the passenger-side headrest. A fistful of rocks lurched through my stomach.

The car sat squarely in front of the first garage door. It was open, so they were probably inside.
What to do? Ring the doorbell? Front door? Back door?
I wasn’t company, but I sure wasn’t family. I steeled myself and sashayed right through the garage to the back door like I owned the place. Because heck, I still
did
own the place.

I rapped on the door. Silence
.
I knocked again—louder—three times in a row, bracing myself for the clack of mincing, four-inch-stiletto-clad footsteps on my hardwood floors. The pitter-patter of my marriage walking out the door of no return.

Nothing.

I retreated down the steps and walked out of the garage in slow, measured steps.
I know they’re here. They must be…
Fresh air breezed across my face as I looked down the hill at the boat house on the edge of the lake. Mist steamed off the water. In some alternate universe, Del and I might have been sitting at the end of that dock, drinking coffee, greeting the new day together. But that world had only existed in my fantasies.

I should offer a quick prayer.
But what if God doesn’t really want me here? Better to keep Him out of this right now. I’ll pray later. God might not be as invested in getting back my holiday china as I am.
I took a few deep breaths and headed to the boathouse.
Sorry God. We’ll talk later.

At the bottom of the hill, a shudder ran through me, forging iron posts where my feet had been. Shivers jiggled up and down my spine, and the hair on my arms spiked up. I headed toward the water. A few months ago, I had walked out onto the dock with Del. He, laden with a fragrant bag of pastries, walked with one arm too firmly wrapped around me. I, for one mad moment, was stiff with the certainty that he wanted to shove me into the icy waters. How had I not seen the end of my marriage coming?
And where was God when I needed Him? Why hadn’t He stepped in and stopped the destruction?

Reaching the bench, I thumped down on it. How stupidly proud of this bench he’d once been, and of how he’d “requisitioned” it from the city. “
What’s the difference between ‘requisition’ and stealing, Del?
”

“
Can’t you just shut it, Jo? Or are you going to ruin another day in paradise for me?
”

We see what we want to see. I sat a moment longer. If this bench could have taken me back to the way things were, would I have stayed seated? Or would I have been strong enough to get up, move, and find my own path forward?

I jumped up and walked to the boathouse. Over-sized porthole windows flanked the doors facing the lake. Someone had moved a large storage cabinet in front of one of the windows. A piece of dark cloth hung crookedly inside the other.
Odd.

The heavy plank doors hung open several inches. Were Del and Tamra inside? Gentle splashing against the dock, the breeze flowing through the river birch, and morning birds all sounded in the early spring air. No noise came from within the shed. What were they doing, if they were in there?
Do I really want to know?

I conjured up the image of my porcelain soup tureen, with its hand-painted tulips and violets adorning the edges and smooth, white, rabbit-shaped handle. Andy’d made it clear I had to ask for the few remaining things I really wanted back, and that’s exactly what I was going to do.

Ask permission.
A streak of fire raged through me. I shook my head to extinguish it.

I closed to a few feet from the boathouse door. Something was very wrong. Dizziness rolled over me as an assault of thick smells wafted out between the heavy doors. I braced my feet, willing myself to stop moving forward. Even though the scents were repulsive, I leaned in.

I could reach out and touch the doors. Every fiber of my being screamed ‘
don’t
.’ I leaned in a little further. Until it hit. An odiferous attack—a tangy metallic mixed up with mildew, turpentine, rust, and earthworms.

There was the telltale buzzing. I put my hand on the door handle, creaking it open several more inches. The buzzing gave way for a moment. Positioned within five feet of the door, as if it were pointing, was a bloody deck shoe.

I followed the line of the shoe to the edge of a dark red pool of blood—the way to my husband and his lover, holding each other closer in death than he and I had ever been in life. Then, I ran out of breath. I was screaming at the top of my lungs.

I clenched my hand over my mouth, backed away from the boathouse, turned, and threw up.

Automatically, I pulled out my work cell and hit 9-1-1. “This is Haversport Chief of Police Jo Oliver, calling from my home at 1020 Loon Drive in Wauconda. Reporting a double homicide. Of my husband and his mistress. I found them on the floor of my boathouse on Bangs Lake.”

Dispatch asked rapid-fire questions, words floating around me, dreamlike.

“…double homicide …your husband, ma’am?”

“Yes, my husband and his mistress.”

“Ma’am?”

“Officer Del Reed. And his girlfriend. Send out teams
stat
.”

I hung up while she was asking me to stay on the line, scrolling through pictures to find Nick’s chiseled features, his flawless olive skin. I pressed my thumb against his cheek and waited for the solid comfort of his voice in my ear.
Please be here for me again, Nick.

He answered on the first ring. “Hello, beautiful.”

“Nick…”

“What’s wrong?”

This man who knew me so well would sense the tremble in my voice that no one else could hear. “Nick! I need you. Come. Please, just come. Now.

“Where are you? I’m on my way.”

“I’m at the boathouse.”

“The boathouse? Why?”

“They’re dead. Both of them.”

“Dead? Del?”

“Yes.”

“Both of them?”

“Yes.”

“The girlfriend?”

“Yes!”

“Just stay put. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Have you called it in?”

“Yes, just before I called you.”

“Don’t touch anything. Don’t move. I’ll be right there.”

I clung to Nick’s voice like a lifeline. The best of the best the FBI had to offer—a man I might have married in another time and place. I needed all the power that Nick Vitarello could rain down on any crime scene in the United States with just one phone call.

If I ever needed you, I need you now.