Woof at the Door (24 page)

Jennifer gave me a dubious look.

Okay, so maybe it wasn’t so well crafted. I tried embellishing a bit. “I could have
waited, but my phone is how I run my business. I was afraid it might rain. I can’t
afford to lose all my contacts.”

“Then what were you doing inside?”

“I couldn’t see in the backyard. It was too dark. I started looking around for a way
inside to turn on some lights. One of the back doors was open.”

“The lights weren’t on.”

Clever little thing. “I got inside and decided it would be easier if I just called
my phone. I went into the office and you came in the door.”

“Why didn’t you tell the cops that and let me fend for myself?”

Now we were getting into unrehearsed territory. “I kind of panicked. After having
a gun aimed at me and seeing Kai . . . well, my brain wasn’t working right.”

“Kai, that’s the guy who’s into you?”

“I don’t know about that.”

She looked at me as if I was beyond dense. “He is. I met him the other day. He didn’t
seem nearly as”—she paused, looking for the right word—“passionate.”

That was a surprise to me. Kai always seemed animated by an inner fire when I’d seen
him. “You met him at the sheriff’s office?”

She nodded. “He was there when they questioned me. He’s pretty cute. Like that hot
carpenter guy who models for Nautica.”

I had no idea who she was talking about, but I agreed that Kai was cute and he probably
could model for Nautica. Or maybe Rip Curl. “He’s a surfer.”

“Really? Then he’s double-hot.” She grinned, and I found myself returning it. There
was something in the way she tilted her head, in the curve of her lips, that felt
familiar. She shifted toward me in the seat and asked, “So, what happened?”

“I made a bad choice, for a good reason.” Telling Kai the truth about my ability had
been a rash attempt to help LaBryce. “And it didn’t matter in the end.”

“That sucks.”

I shrugged. “That’s life.”

“Yeah. You’re right about that.”

“So—your turn. What were you doing going through Mark’s things?”

Jennifer nibbled at her bottom lip and looked away. “I know who killed Mark . . .”

There was a moment of suspense where I thought she might whip out a gun and finish
her sentence with “me.” But instead she let out a deep sigh. I could see the tension
leaving her shoulders, as if knowing that she was about to tell her secret was lifting
a physical weight.

“His name is Alexander. Alexander Burke.”

To say I was shocked would be an understatement. “How do you know that?”

“He was stalking Mark.”

I wondered if Jennifer knew Burke was dead. Had it been on the news? It seemed like
a week had passed, but I had found his body only the day before. Maybe the police
hadn’t released his name.

“How do you know Burke was the person stalking Mark?” So far, all anyone knew was
that Mark had gotten hang-up calls.

I could see she was considering how far to go with our conversation. I waited.

“If I tell you, you have to promise not to let it get out. I mean, you can’t talk
to the press or anything.”

“Okay. I promise.”

“He would listen to you, right? Kai? If you told him something?”

“Right,” I lied. Mostly because she’d made me so curious I didn’t think I could take
much more suspense.

“Mark and I weren’t really together.”

“Okay.” The confession was not exactly newsworthy.

“Mark was gay.”

That, however, was.

“Gay?” I stared at her, disbelieving.

“Mark and Alexander Burke had been seeing each other for a few months. I think Alexander
killed Mark. No, I’m sure of it.”

I blinked at her in the dim moonlight, trying to get a grip on what she’d just told
me. “Why didn’t you tell the police this?”

“I haven’t had the chance. I needed to talk to someone privately, and Mr. Stein has
always been with me when the police have wanted to speak to me.”

Stein, the Richardsons’ lawyer.

“Besides,” Jennifer continued, “I grew up in Emerson. I know cops. If I’d told them
the whole story, they wouldn’t have believed me. Mark Richardson, the football player,
gay?” She huffed out a short, derisive breath.

I understood her point. “It would have been a hard sell.” I agreed. “But there has
to be evidence. Macho guy crap or not, that should have spoken for itself.”

She shook her head. “Mark was always really careful. No guys were allowed to come
to the house. Mark would always meet them out someplace. Or I would drop him off.”

“So you went along with it? Mark said, ‘Hey Jennifer, want to pretend to be my girlfriend?’
and you didn’t have anything better to do?”

To my surprise, she didn’t seem offended by my sarcasm. “Close. We met at a male revue.
I was still in high school. But I had a fake ID. Mark and his frat brothers had decided
it was the best place to pick up girls.”

“You met Mark at a male strip show?”

“Some of the dancers are gay. One of the hottest guys kept looking at Mark. But Mark
kept hitting on me. Overdoing it. The tension was so high between him and the dancer
I was surprised no one else noticed. Finally, Mark dragged me out of there. We got
in his car and I said, ‘Must suck being in the closet.’”

“And he confided in you?”

“We’d been drinking. Maybe that’s why. We talked for a while. I told him about living
with my junkie mom; he told me about his life. How hard it was to go out with girls.
Pretend he was someone else.

“We sat in the parking lot ’til long after the show was over. When I saw the dancer
who was so into Mark walking to his car, I dared Mark to drive over and talk to him.
I told him if anyone saw us, he could tell them I wanted the guy’s autograph. The
guy ended up giving Mark his number. And that was that.”

“So you became his girlfriend publicly.”

“I know what you’re thinking—a girl from the projects saw an opportunity and took
advantage. But that’s not what happened. It was a fair trade. I got out of the ghetto
and got an education. He got to be himself with me and sometimes find a guy he liked.
I’d go with him, drop him off, or pick him up after a date.”

She was right, the cops wouldn’t believe her. “So what changed? Why the big breakup?”

“We’d always agreed that we would break up during my final semester of school. But
I think the bigger reason was Alexander. He was jealous to the extreme. Even though
Mark told him we were never physical aside from the expected hugs and hand-holding
in public, Alexander couldn’t stand it.”

She was quiet for a while. “I should have known. When you live in a place like Emerson,
you have to learn to read people. If you can tell who is mean, strung out, or crazy,
you can stay out of trouble. Some people try to hide who they are, some don’t bother,
but if you know, it’s better. Safer.” In the last few moments her face had changed—aged.
The skin around her eyes tightened, her lips thinning as they pressed into a frown.
Yes, Jennifer Weston was younger than me, but her life experience had shown her things
I never wanted to learn.

She looked at me, and her face held a shocking amount of anger. “I met Alexander and
I knew what he was like. He had that way about him. Open and friendly, except for
his eyes. His eyes said he could do terrible things if you crossed him.” A single,
fat tear slid down her cheek. “I should have seen it coming.”

“You can’t blame yourself.” It was useless to say things like that. But it was all
I could think of.

She brushed the tear away. “You wanted to know how I got the bruises? Alexander gave
them to me.”

“What happened?”

“A few days before the murder, Mark called me. He was really upset. He asked me to
come over. He told me that things had gone too far with Alexander. They had talked
about living together and planned ways for Mark to be honest about his life, maybe
even leave the team if necessary. But to Mark, it had all just been talk. He had gone
to Alexander’s place that day and saw that he was packing.”

“So Mark realized he wasn’t ready.”

“He realized a lot of things. He wanted to be himself. He wanted to be happy. But
football was a part of him. He didn’t want to give that up, and he didn’t want to
hurt his family.”

“You mean Buck Richardson? Why, because he’s a Republican?”

“Having an openly gay son would’ve complicated things. But I think Mark wanted to
come out in his own time. When he was ready and not for someone else. Especially someone
he didn’t love. I told him he didn’t have to do anything he didn’t want to. He could
break up with Alexander and move on. Neither of us realized that Alexander had let
himself in and was listening to the conversation. He was furious. He grabbed me and
tried to throw me out.”

“And Mark didn’t stop him?” It was hard to imagine Mark, a man built of well over
six feet of lean muscle, would allow Jennifer to be roughed up. I also wondered where
Jax was during this altercation.

“He did.” She smiled. “Mark ended up telling Alexander to leave. That it was over.
But Alexander lost it. He started begging Mark to reconsider. He said he’d do anything.
That he couldn’t live without him.”

“Did Mark take him back?”

“No. But he didn’t make him leave. Mark promised Alexander they would talk about it.
I left, but when I called Mark the next day, he said he was trying to let Alexander
down easy. He shouldn’t have. It only made things worse.”

“Because it gave Burke hope?”

She nodded. “Alexander had written Mark a bunch of letters after the fight. At least
one a day. That’s why I was there tonight. Mark’s desk has a hidden drawer, I thought
I might find a letter, but the drawer was empty.”

“You wanted proof that Mark was gay?”

“I wanted to be able to show the police that Alexander was obsessed. Erotomanic delusion.”
Pride had her straightening, lifting her chin slightly. “That’s the clinical name
for a stalker who believes a stranger or acquaintance is in love with them. I’m getting
my degree in psychology. Ironic, right? A girl with my background wanting to be a
shrink?”

“I think you’d be better at it than some spoiled, sheltered brat whose most difficult
life lesson has been remembering which fork to use first.”

She laughed, and I realized why I felt so comfortable with her. Jennifer Weston reminded
me of my sister. It wasn’t their looks, but their mannerisms. And maybe more important,
Emma and Jennifer shared that
je ne sais quoi
. They both possessed the same magnetic charm.

The realization made me wary instantly. People with that kind of charisma can use
it to get what they want. Sometimes without even realizing it. I was somewhat immune
to Emma. But I’d have to make sure I was on guard with Jennifer. So far, I didn’t
think she was trying to manipulate me, but the best puppet masters never let you feel
the strings.

“So what do you want me to do? Tell Kai I think Alexander Burke killed Mark?” I decided
to hold off informing her of Burke’s death until I knew what she wanted.

She seemed to think about it for a while. “Tell him you talked to me and I mentioned
the name. Maybe suggest the police go look at his house? Get a search warrant or something?
I’m sure if they did, they’d find some proof of his obsession. Even if he tells them
the truth, that he and Mark were lovers, they’ll just think he’s crazy.” She shrugged
and looked at me, waiting for my thoughts.

“Jennifer, I don’t think you have to worry about Burke. He’s dead.”

Her eyes went wide. “How do you know that?”

“Kai told me it was a suicide.” No need to add the drama of my big discovery.

“Suicide.” She whispered the word slowly, as if it was a new concept. “Of course.
It makes sense. Mark rejected him and that was the catalyst.”

I could see the budding therapist in her as she reasoned it out.

“Obsessive love follows a pattern. I know Alexander was controlling. When he realized
Mark was never going to take him back, he jumped from the obsessive phase to the destructive
phase. Denial, rage, revenge, self-loathing, depression.”

“If I can’t have you, no one can, and if you’re gone, I don’t want to live?” I summarized.

She nodded. “Alex killed Mark and then experienced self-hatred so strong, he took
his own life.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “Thank God.”

I thought that was a bit cold. Jennifer must have read my mind because she said, “I
was afraid he’d get away with it.”

Something else motivated her relief. Feeling that justice had been served? Revenge
meted out? I was going to ask when Jennifer flipped on the dashboard lights.

“God! It’s almost one in the morning!” Turning on the headlights, she put the car
in gear. “They’re gone by now, don’t you think?”

“Not the rent-a-cop. He’s on ’til after three.”

“It’s a big subdivision. If he’s patrolling, we probably won’t run into him. Do you
want to try and find your phone?”

“Too risky. Parsons seemed a little trigger happy. I’ll make arrangements to come
back in the morning.”

Jennifer nodded and we drove back into Mark’s neighborhood. I pointed to the hulking
form that was my SUV and she pulled in behind Bluebell and stopped. I thanked her
and was about to get out when I heard her suck in a breath.

“Is that Jax?”

I looked up. Spotlighted by the Beemer’s headlights, Jax stared at us through one
of my back windows. For some reason, he’d decided to climb all the way into the back.
I remembered the bag of dog food.

“Yes, that’s him. He better not have torn into that bag of food.”

“Can I see him?” The request sounded so full of hope, I knew I couldn’t deny her.
She’d known Jax for years. I’m sure she missed him. He probably missed her, too.

Unless . . .

I sat staring at her for what seemed like an hour as I got a grip on my sudden idea.

“Grace? Would that be okay?”

“Yeah. It’s fine. Let me just . . . grab his leash.” I took my time getting out. It
wouldn’t do to freak if things took a turn. I had to be ready. I yanked up my mental
shield and moved slowly. When I felt centered, I opened the driver’s door, put the
file she’d given me on the seat, and grabbed Jax’s leash. I could hear him stumbling
over the objects I kept in the very back. Then he started scrambling over the seats.
I shut the door and took one last look at Jennifer; she was waiting near the bumper.