The Drake House (22 page)

Lafferty nodded as the team emerged.

Nick gestured for the team to follow him, leading them around back and through the gardens in late bloom with chrysanthemums, helianthus, goldenrods, and chelones. He pointed to the house on the right and verbally directed them to the proper bedroom.

After Lafferty gave instructions for them to call his cell when finished, he and Nick walked back to the main house.

“Do the Harrisons know yet?” Nick asked once they were back on the porch.

Lafferty nodded. “After we questioned Steve Harvey, we sent him over there. They didn’t take it so well.”

Who would?
“How do you want to handle the questioning?”

“You know them, I don’t. My suggestion? I’d keep them together. They may feed off one another.”

Nick glanced out over the front yard and crossed his arms, thinking it over. The maple trees lining the driveway were beginning to change for fall—the yellow, orange, and red of their leaves contrasting a bright cobalt sky. He could smell burning leaves from one of the nearby farms. He’d first noticed that when he came outside. Peaches and burning leaves. It was a start. Though the temperature remained mild, he’d been unable to escape the chills since last night.

It was only going to get worse once they stepped inside. Trisha wouldn’t forgive him for this. Probably not ever. To him, it was no longer about finding answers and stopping a killer, it was about keeping her safe and probing for the truth she so rightfully deserved. Because he cared now, cared about her, her men, her life. She had a right to live her life, not be held back. If he had to be the bad guy, so be it.

“Let’s go get this over with,” Nick said, sensing he’d never be warm again.

Trisha’s clan was gathered around her dining room table when he and Lafferty got inside. They all looked up in unison except Trisha. With her knees curled up to her chest, she sat in the chair furthest from him staring at the coffee in front of her.

“Where’s Brad?” Nick asked.

Nancy swiped a tear from her cheek. “He went down to the ranch house. Should I go get him?”

Nick shook his head. “I’ll talk to him later.” Trisha still hadn’t moved a muscle. “You all right, Trish?” he asked, unable to stop himself from asking.

Finally, she looked up, her face a blank mask. Instead of answering, she asked, “How are the Harrisons?” She would worry about someone else and ignore her own pain.

Lafferty answered for him. “They’re doing as well as expected, considering.” With an intent expression, he glanced at each of them. “I’m Detective Lafferty from Madison, for those of you who don’t know. I've been working on the McArthur murder, and now the Harrison.”

Pulling out a chair, Lafferty sat down, assuming a non-confrontational approach. Nick couldn’t bring himself to sit. His nerves shot, he remained standing at the head of the table.

“Here’s what we know so far,” Lafferty continued. “Chuck Harrison’s body was found at approximately four a.m. in his car parked on an off-ramp. Time of death is approximately three-thirty a.m. As in McArthur’s case, strangulation appears to be the cause of death. Another warning was left in blood.”

Trisha groaned and fisted her hands in her hair. Nick’s gut churned. Lafferty nodded for him to pick up the conversation.

Now or never. Do it for Trisha.

“Shortly after Trisha was adopted, Hank and Mabel Eaton started receiving threatening calls to, quote,
stay away from her
.” Nick waited for a reaction.

Wayne’s face reddened as he looked at the Eatons. “What? You never said anything.”

Mabel’s round face paled, the wrinkles etched around her eyes and mouth standing out in stark clarity. She fisted her hands in her lap, tearing her hazel eyes from those around her so all Nick could see was the top of her salt and pepper hair.

Hank scratched his scalp, causing disorder of white waves of hair. “What does this have to do with—”

“It has everything to do with these cases,” Nick boomed, causing Trish to jump in her seat. “Sometime later, she went missing. She was found in the fountain on Alexandra Drake’s property.”

Eduardo’s gaze shot heavenward as Nancy gasped.
She is going to be the weak link,
Nick thought. Her guilt was as transparent as Trisha’s. “How?” Her voice quivered, her gaze whipping to everyone in the room. “How does he…?”

“Alexandra Drake,”—he continued as if she never spoke—“killed herself, leaving Trisha the house in her will.”

Hank buried his face in his hands. Mabel wasn’t so wounded. “You said you buried this,” she said to Wayne, her voice like steel. “You assured us no one would ever find out.”

Trisha snapped. “Two of my good friends are dead,” she screamed, near hysterics. “I want the truth. Now!”

Nick resisted the urge to go to her and take her away from this. Briefly, he closed his eyes, but the image of her sleepwalking, the color draining from her face, and later the ravaging tears, was all he could see.

The fact Wayne failed to respond didn’t escape Nick, but he’d deal with him soon. Now, he needed the rest to talk. “You heard the lady. Talk.”

Hank crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “There were three calls total. They started after Trisha first noticed the trail to the Drake property, so Mabel and I figured as long as we kept Trisha away, the calls would stop.”

“You need to understand something,” Eduardo said. “That woman put the fear of God in everyone. One day, we hear the house was bought, but no one knew by whom. Ten years pass, and no one had seen her for more than a fleeting glance. She never went into town. Cheryl’s father owned the grocery then. They delivered groceries to the house once a week. That’s it.”

Mabel shook her head. “When I first heard the house sold, I went over there with a pie to welcome her. It was ninety degrees outside, and she had on this black turtleneck sweater and wool knit pants. Instead of accepting the pie or inviting me in, she said ‘no thanks,’ and closed the door.”

“I was working at the bakery then,” Nancy said hollowly. “Every year on October third, we delivered a cake to the house. She’d mail the order to us—a nine-inch, round yellow cake with blue frosting. It was so weird.” She shook her head, dispelling a strand of black hair from her bun. “The kids called her a witch. The rest of us had more chilling things in mind.”

Trisha dropped her feet to the floor and straightened. “Did any of you even try to know her, or did you just spread ridiculous rumors about her? Damn it! Do you know her son died as a baby, or how devastating that experience must’ve been? That her husband divorced her? She’s really Lexie Lynn, the famous children’s book author. She wrote under a pseudonym.” Her fevered glare whipped to her parents and held. “The books you bought me as a kid and read to me every night.” She turned her glare on Nancy. “The cake was probably for her son. She was mourning her son!”

The faces around the room resembled genuine shock, so Nick trusted this was new information for them, though he was unsure how relevant it was.

Wayne finally spoke up, only to put Trisha in her place. “None of that means a damn thing, apple. How do you know she didn’t kill her son? Fact is…she was a nut. She kidnapped you right from the orchard.”

Lafferty and Nick exchanged a look. Neither corrected him to see where he was going with the statement. Maybe they didn’t know the whole truth either. Nick sat down in a chair and rested his hands on the table, the room now deathly quiet. Trisha didn’t correct him. Because of Chuck’s murder, they never had the chance to discuss what, if anything, she remembered.

Hank sighed heavily. “We were starting the summer chores. You loved climbing the trees,” he said, a reflective smile on his face. “All the guys were working hard to finish before a storm blew in. I don’t know how much time passed, but I called you to come inside. You weren’t there. We searched for maybe ten minutes before Eduardo ran in the house to have your mom call the police.” Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers. “By the time Madison came down, the storm was raging. No one could find you. Then you screamed, and someone swore it came from the woods. We’d looked there earlier to no avail, but went out again, this time going all the way to Drake’s house.”

Trisha had yet to correct them, making Nick think she understood the importance of gathering what they knew. She must be regaining her strength, because when she looked over at him, her color had returned and her eyebrows rose. Looking away before he got sucked in by emotion, he looked at Hank.

“What happened?” Nick asked.

Hank shook his head and closed his eyes briefly before continuing. “Trisha was found face-down in a fountain next to the house. One of the officers got to her first and did CPR. She couldn’t have been there long, because she came back quickly and started breathing. They took her by ambulance to the hospital in Madison, on Doc Wilson’s request, and released her the next day.”

“She had a scrape on her knee,” Wayne said, directing his answers to Nick instead of her. “But there wasn’t another mark on her. So the woman took her from the orchard, only to drown her in the fountain. It couldn’t have been an accident, as there was no bruising on her head like she accidently fell in. Plus, the bitch…” Wayne paused, mouth twisting like a bitter taste penetrated his mouth.

Here’s where the real answers lie,
Nick thought.
What happened after
? With no police reports, and unable to ask questions, they were relying on Trisha’s dreams to guide them, along with the few key facts the lawyer had.

“Only a few officers remained once they took Trisha away,” Wayne continued. “Myself and those men crashed through Drake’s front door, only to find her hanging by a rope in the foyer. She’d saved us the trouble of arresting her by committing suicide.”

Trisha’s hands flew over her mouth, just as Nick’s sixth sense spiked. He looked over at Lafferty, and the grim set of his mouth determined they shared the same thought.
Later.

Nancy sobbed. “We tried to protect you. We didn’t want you thinking her suicide was your fault, and you never would’ve lived down the town gossip. We all decided to keep it from you and bury what happened.”

“Where are the missing police reports?” Nick asked them before Trisha could condone their lies. “And don’t lie to me.”

Wayne cleared his throat. “At my house in a lockbox. I thought about burning them, but through the years I couldn’t bring myself to do it.”

Lafferty rose. “Wayne Radcliff, I’m stripping you of duties until further notice. Nick Mackey will act as sheriff until this case is closed.” The faces around the room fell, except Wayne’s. Instead, Wayne stood, the anger prominent. Lafferty continued anyway. “I’ll need your gun and badge.”

“What the hell for?”

“For interfering in an investigation and stealing police reports. Cooperate for now, and I won’t arrest you.”

Wayne sucked in a breath before removing his weapon from the holster and the badge from his pocket, slamming both down on the table.

Lafferty’s phone beeped with a text, diverting everyone’s attention from Wayne to him. Looking down while texting back, he told Nick, “The team is done at the ranch. I’ll send them up here for DNA samples.”

Nick nodded and stood. “The forensics team is going to take a DNA sample from each of you. If you choose not to give one, we’ll get a court order. I suggest you cooperate. Aside from Trisha, none of you are to leave Small Rapids until cleared.” When they started to protest and complain, he whipped them each a glare, carefully avoiding Trisha’s. “This is not up for discussion. Two men are dead in connection to what you covered up. I think one of you killed them.”

Slowly, Trisha stood, placing her palms flat on the table. Beneath the fatigue, sorrow, and pain lay anger he didn’t think she had the energy for. Shaking, she glared at him and ground out, “Get out of my house.”

He was expecting the blow, knew it was coming, but it still felt like a shot to the chest. Despite gearing himself up, nothing really prepared him for the hurt in that second her feelings shifted to hate.

He left Lafferty to handle the details and walked out.

Chapter Sixteen

Nick headed over to the ranch houses before departing the grounds entirely. He needed to check on Brad and update him. It was easy to forget Brad was a victim in this too.

Receiving no answer when he knocked, he entered anyway and made his way through the living room and down the hallway toward the bedrooms. Instead of finding Brad in his room, Nick found him in Chuck’s bedroom sitting in a chair in the corner.

“Hey,” Nick said to get his attention.

Brad glanced up, looking like he hadn’t a clue which way was up. “The cops just left. I came in to pack up his stuff so Trisha wouldn’t have to.” He shook his head. “I can’t do it.”

“I’ll do it. Go lie down for a while. I’ll come find you when I’m done.”

Once Brad left the room, Nick unzipped the suitcase on the bed and filled it with the clothing from the closet and dresser drawers. With no room left in the suitcase for Chuck’s two pairs of tennis shoes or work boots, Nick retrieved a garbage bag from under the sink and returned to the room to put them inside, laying the bag on the bed also. Finding two boxes in the closet, Nick collected Chuck’s toiletries and a small collection of DVDs from a shelf.

The motions gave him a semblance of calm and usefulness, until he glanced above the chair and saw the pictures on the wall. A family Christmas photo from more than twenty years ago showed what appeared to be a ten-year-old Chuck nestled between his parents with a toothless grin and a baby girl swaddled in his mother’s arms. A picture of Trisha and Chuck in Raggedy Ann and Andy costumes at Halloween hung next to it. Another with Brad, Eduardo, and Chuck standing in front of an apple tree holding Trisha sideways across their chest like a prized fish. Whoever took the picture caught Trisha mid-laugh, her thick waves of chestnut hair cascading down. Jaw clenched, he removed the photos from the wall and placed them in the box.