The Drake House (31 page)

She picked up her coffee and headed toward the front door. “Oh, by the way, Alexandra Drake’s body is coming back tomorrow. I’ve made arrangements for a proper burial by her fountain and ordered a headstone. I hope you will attend.”

Closing the door behind her, she blew out a harsh breath and walked to the ranch houses. Brad had gathered the men for her, all but Eduardo, per her request. She wanted her mom and dad to lay the news on Nancy and Eduardo. They were probably huddled together in the kitchen doing so right now. She’d wait and see what came of that.

In the meantime, it was long past time to right a wrong.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Nick crossed his arms over his chest and waited for Doc Wilson’s face to regain color. The Doc may have one helluva poker face, but now it wasn’t present. The old fart plunked down on a kitchen chair and looked around as if seeing nothing.

“How…” Doc cleared his throat. “How long has he been gone?”

“Steve last spoke to him the day before yesterday to arrange a fishing trip.”

Doc nodded, not filling in his thoughts. Nick was getting pissed the longer Doc sat there.

Trying to stir a response, Nick decided to push him a bit. “His cat is dead and we found rope in the basement. Looks like the murder weapon. I want answers now, and you’ve got ’em.”

Doc’s gaze whipped to his, eyes bulging right out of their sockets. “I don’t know where he is. I don’t know who killed those boys either.”

“You know more about this Drake thing, though, don’t ya, Doc?”

Doc’s gaze dropped to the table at the same moment his shoulders sank. He rubbed his eyes after another long silence. “Hank came to me that night after Trish was released from the hospital. She was so small.” Doc’s voice cracked before he shook his head again, as if expelling demons were that simple. “He told me not to find anything in the autopsy. For Trisha’s sake. Wayne was here too. He’d just brought the witch’s body in. So, I did as asked. I found nothing. We buried her where no one would be bothered by her again and moved on.”

Nick unclenched his jaw with a crack. “Hank? Not Wayne?”

“That’s what I said.”

“You covered up a murder, Doc. You could get time for that.”

“A man has a right to protect his little girl.” Doc stood. “Besides, no one missed that bitch anyway.”

Nick agreed with the first part and wanted to deck Doc for the second.

Hank told him not to find anything in the autopsy, but Hank was with Trish at the hospital during the period they thought Drake was murdered. Wayne brought Drake’s body in but didn’t say a word when Hank gave Doc the order. Neither DNA matched the current crime scenes. Wayne had no alibi for Chuck and Andrew’s murder. But Hank did.

A throbbing headache began pulsing behind his eyes. “You say a word to anyone about this conversation, Doc, and I’ll haul you into a cell myself. Clear?”

Doc looked him square in the eye, but all his fight was gone. “Whatever you say, son. Now, you can leave. I’m going to bed.”

****

Nick was about to call Lafferty with the info from Doc when the man got him first.

“I have the police report from the detective in Minnesota about the domestic dispute. Drake didn’t file charges the night her husband came back, but there was a report. He beat her up pretty bad. The first officer on the scene thought she’d been raped.”

Nick pulled the SUV over to the shoulder. “Why?”

“She was found huddled on the couch in the fetal position with no clothes on.”

“Jesus, this guy’s a real winner.”

Lafferty grunted. “The husband, Paul, said they’d had consensual sex, then fought after. Just got outta hand. She didn’t say anything except that she didn’t want to press charges. Everything was fine.”

“We have to look into this, see if the death certificate on the son is real.”

“I already have,” Lafferty said. “There is no death certificate. Nothing is in computer records for that far back. They’re via a paper trail. That’s why it took so long to get the death certificate. Plus it was a different state.”

Nick filled Lafferty in on what he learned from Doc. “Doc has a grandson who grew up here. Doc claims he’s in Appleton finishing his residency. He could fit the age bracket to do the murders. Can you verify his whereabouts? Perhaps this was done to protect Doc.”

They disconnected after agreeing to talk tomorrow, and Nick texted Brad to find out how things were. He pulled back out onto the road, heading to the orchard. Brad texted back telling him they were in a meeting at the ranch house and to come right over.

Wondering what this was about, Nick parked in the driveway and rounded the main house. Brad was waiting for him outside one of the ranches.

“They’re still in the meeting,” Brad said, shoving his hands in his coat pockets. “Thought I’d give you a heads up. She’s turning the Drake house into a B&B.”

His headache grew to monumental proportions. He cast a glance at the overcast sky before returning Brad’s gaze. “How does she plan on doing that when she can’t be on the property without becoming possessed?”

“She thinks Alexandra’s spirit will rest when you find out who killed her.”

He wished she’d discussed this with him first. He could’ve controlled the rumor mill long enough to gauge reaction. Find out who would be most adverse to the idea. But in typical Trish fashion, she left him in the dark and forged on. He had no doubt the idea to open Drake’s house had nothing to do with murder and everything to do with restitution. With the added benefit of having another chance to draw out some answers by stirring the town.

Nick frowned. “I’m not letting her so much as piss without an escort until this is over.”

****

As was the case with Alexandra Drake’s life, there were few there to mourn her death. Trisha looked down at the mound of dirt now covering the beautiful mahogany casket she picked out days before. Her parents had come through the path with her for this little ceremony, along with Nick and Brad. They were the only ones who bothered to show their respect. And her parents had done it under duress.

She ordered an angel statue to rest above Alexandra’s grave. The men had a hard time getting it back here. Trisha was hoping by this time next year to have all the brush cleared away and the driveway repaved, among the other things.

She decided to bury her by the fountain. Trisha wasn’t sure what it was, but something about the fountain tied together a lot of what happened that day thirty years ago. If for no other reason, Alexandra should have a beautiful place to eternally rest. It was Trisha’s way of leaving a memorial. A headstone rested by the angel’s feet which said:
Alexandra Jane Drake, Born to eternal rest on June 7, 1982. Beloved mother, friend, and children’s author, Lexie Lynn.

Nick had taken her through the house before the ceremony. Seeing the interior didn’t bring back any memories, but it did give her ideas for the B&B. She was having a large print of Alexandra’s publicity photo framed to go above the fireplace. On the built-in shelves flanking the fireplace she was going to showcase Lexie Lynn’s books. She’d put a plaque with her biography on the mantel below her picture. Most of Alexandra’s furniture matched the period style of when the house was built in the late 1800s. Trisha wanted to keep it that way.

First, she had to meet with the county inspector to find out what was legally required for licensing. Her men had a large task ahead of them in helping her restore the place, but they were on board—each and every one of them. They were going to make this place beautiful again. Rumors around town were beginning to spread. When she would leave the orchard to go into town, she’d tell anyone who asked to come to the orchard after the Packers game on Thanksgiving for an explanation. She was expecting the entire town at her place, if for no other reason than curiosity. Nick was freaking out. He’d ordered all the deputies to come that day, too, to watch for anything strange.

Turning around, they walked in silence through the brush, across the path, and when her parents were out of ear shot, Brad let out a loud exhale.

“No offense, Trish, but I’m glad that’s done. I kept waiting for you to go all exorcist on us.”

Trisha smiled. “Maybe she’s at rest now. Who knows?”

Nick grunted his doubt. Trisha gestured for Brad to head out. When he was gone, Trisha stopped in the orchard halfway back to the house. Nick turned to look at her, the dried leaves beneath his feet crunching, and crossed his arms. She couldn’t read him when he was like this. When he just…stared at her.

“You need to start talking to me,” he said. Before she could open her mouth to respond, he cut her off. “I get that you’re independent. I get you want this over. I even get why you are trying to draw this guy out.”

And just like that he turned and walked away. His parents were the nicest, most sociable people she’d ever met. How the hell did he end up with a language barrier ten miles long?

“But?” She shouted at his retreating back.

He whirled and paced back to her. “But I care, Trish. Do you even understand what that means? It means you need to talk to me before doing things like this. It’s not just about your safety.”

“You’ve been with me nearly every second—”

“It’s not just about your safety!” he roared. “You pulled Brad out of a frozen pond when you were twelve. You confronted a man twice your size in a prison cell so he would realize he needed AA. You baited a murderer to come after you instead of your men. But you’re too afraid to love me back.” He straightened, pocketing his hands. The movement made it seem like doing so would prevent him from throttling her. “You need to start talking to me. Because…”

She waited, searching the hard lines of his face for a chink in the armor, but there wasn’t one. He spoke volumes without even opening his mouth. He didn’t say much. He didn’t do idle chitchat. He didn’t have deep discussions on literature or history. But he said what he meant. When he told her something, anything, every syllable broke her heart.

“Because you think you love me,” she finished for him.

“There is no
think
, Trish. There is only
do
. I
do
love you. And you’re killing me.”

Her throat closed. She pressed her hand over her mouth to stop what she was about to say as hot, wet tears coursed down her cheeks. With her chest burning, she finally dropped her hand.

“You think you love me because I made you feel again, Nick. But you can’t love someone, really love someone, until you love yourself. And you don’t. So, until you forgive yourself, Nick, you can’t love me.” She sniffed and walked around him, pausing before heading toward the house. “The truth is I do love you. Admitting that means opening myself up to all that pain when you leave. After you realize this wasn’t love, but gratitude.”

****

“She invited my parents to Thanksgiving dinner,” Nick said, not wanting to look Brad in the eye. “Who does that? Who invites the boyfriend’s parents over after insisting he doesn’t love her?”

Brad smiled as he looked out over the orchard at half the town. “But you do love her.”

“Shut up, Brad.”

He laughed. “Hey, you asked me, remember.”

“It’s weird, that’s all.” Nick used his two-way to tell the deputies to watch the crowd. Again. The guys were getting sick of him, but he didn’t give a damn. “Did she tell you what she planned to say?”

“Nope.”

“Great. She tells you everything. Now I’m really not liking this.” Nick scanned the crowd waiting to hear Trisha’s announcement. The temp had dropped to thirty degrees, yet they came out. It spoke volumes.

Nick hated it. Something was going down.
Soon
. He could feel it.

“It’s not so weird,” Brad said. “You couldn’t go home with all this…drama, and she didn’t want them to be alone. She was right, by the way. About your sister, I mean.”

Nick forced his hands out of a fist and into his pockets. “She told you about Bethany?”

Brad looked at him. “Just that she died recently and you think it’s your fault. Trish is usually right, I’m sorry to say. Don’t tell her I said that.”

“Some things can’t be forgiven.”

Brad looked right at him, seemingly analyzing what he just said with a fine tooth comb in his mind. “Now, there you’re wrong. You’re starting to forgive yourself. You wouldn’t be here otherwise. You think it’s her, and maybe it is partly, but you want to let it go. You’re just too stubborn to do it.”

Nick looked away. Swallowed. “Shut up, Brad.”

“Attention, guys,” Trish shouted over the noise. The crowd chatter hummed to whispers. “I’m going to make this as short as possible.”

Nick glanced toward the back of the crowd and locked eyes with Steve. Steve nodded his head, understanding the silent order to keep his eyes peeled, and walked forward into the group.

“Thirty years ago,” Trish began, “my neighbor, Alexandra Drake, died.”

The voices rose again. Trisha raised her hands to calm them. Nick’s pulse jack-hammered.

“Alexandra was a very misunderstood woman. She had a rare condition called Xeroderma Pigmentosum. Essentially, she was allergic to light, which is why she didn't leave the house. Most of you would know her by her pen name, Lexie Lynn.” The crowd collectively gasped. “And she didn’t die of natural causes, nor did she commit suicide. She was murdered.”

Hank Eaton shook his head, rubbed a hand down his face, and walked away from the crowd’s roar. Nick wanted to follow him, but Trisha’s safety was more important. He lifted the two-way to radio Steve. “Follow Hank Eaton into the main house.”

Trisha quieted the crowd with an impatient wave of her hand. “The Madison Police Department, along with Nick Mackey here in Small Rapids, have reopened the investigation. They will find out answers. In the meantime, most of you are now aware I own the Drake property.”

Nick’s eyes scanned the crowd as Trisha discussed her plans for turning the house into a B&B. There was shock, anger, and if he dared think it, hope. She laid out ideas for jobs, business, and marketing strategies, all while the crowd listened. No one seemed mad enough to kill. No one left in a huff threatening hell rising.