Читать книгу Deep Secrets - Beverly Long - Страница 8

Chapter Two

Tell Rafe they know.

Trish sat on the edge of a booth, her feet flat on the floor, her eyes closed. Hoping that the world would stop spinning. Somebody had draped a blanket over her.

Maybe it had been Summer. Or Bray. Or maybe even Chase Hollister, who hadn’t even been on the job for six months. He was about to investigate his first murder.

Milo was dead. Knifed to death. Gutted like a fish. That was what she’d heard one of the volunteers from the fire and rescue squad say before Bray had grabbed his shirt collar and jerked him out of the room. The man had come back, said a quiet apology in her direction and been more respectful until Chase finally let them take Milo’s body from the scene. Of course, it had seemed like hours before they’d moved him off the cold ground. At some point, more police had arrived. They were still here. Portable lighting had been set up behind the café, making it look even more surreal.

The images in her head were disjointed. Opening the door, practically stumbling over the body. Blood. So much blood. Bray whipping the door open, pulling her back.

Thank goodness for Bray. He’d taken charge. She and Summer had been hustled back inside the café, where Keagan and Adie waited, scared to death that their aunt had been screaming. He must have called the police, too, because within minutes Chase Hollister had arrived, looking very serious.

At some point, Cal Hollister and his pretty wife, Nalana, had arrived and taken Summer and the kids away from all the ugliness. Her twin hadn’t wanted to leave, but she’d already thrown up three times and Bray had had enough. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” Summer said, as Nalana was guiding her out of the door. “We need to talk about a funeral.”

Milo didn’t have family. It would be up to them. He wouldn’t want a funeral. And if he’d known about her trip, then he’d have been mad as hell at her if she canceled so that they could have one.

But funerals weren’t for the dead. They were for the living, to make it easier to say goodbye. They would definitely have a funeral.

* * *

THEN SHE HAD watched Summer and the kids leave. She wasn’t worried about them. Bray’s youngest brother, Cal, had been a Navy SEAL. Nalana, his new bride, was still an FBI agent.

She’d stared at the floor after that. Until she’d finally got so tired that she needed to close her eyes.

“Trish,” she heard someone say.

She wanted to ignore it, to pretend that the past several hours hadn’t happened. But that wasn’t an option.

She lifted her head. Chase was squatting down in front of her, his eyes full of concern.

“How are you doing?” he asked.

She licked her dry lips. “He was a good man,” she said, choosing to ignore the question. She wasn’t up to pretending that she was fine. She was so damn tired of always pretending that she was fine.

“Yes, he was,” Chase said. “And we will find the person who did this. I promise you.”

If anyone could, it was probably Chase. He’d been a cop in St. Louis before coming back to Ravesville, ostensibly to get his deceased parents’ house ready for sale but really to guard a key witness in a murder case. He’d done more than just guard the witness. He’d married her. And now Raney Hollister was one of Trish’s favorite people.

“Was there anyone unusual in the café tonight or maybe even within the last couple of days?”

The question wasn’t unexpected. She’d been trying to think of the same thing for the past hour. “I don’t think so,” she said. “We had a few strangers, of course.” That wasn’t unusual. Travelers. Usually vacationers. People in need of a hot meal and a cup of coffee. “But nobody that I considered unusual or suspicious.”

“Did Milo have any visitors or receive any unusual telephone calls that you’re aware of?”

“No. I don’t think he had any plans for after work because he’d asked me if I wanted to see a movie.”

She saw Chase exchange a quick glance with Bray. “Did you often watch movies together?” Chase asked, probably wondering if he’d missed a romantic connection between her and Milo.

“Never,” she said. “But he knew that today was a tough day for me.”

Another glance between Chase and Bray. Oh, for goodness’ sake, Bray didn’t have to explain this. She was a big girl. “My husband, Rafe Roper, died four years ago today,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” Chase said.

She believed him. Chase Hollister was a good man. She’d known him since he was a kid. Which was why she was going to tell him everything, even though her mind hadn’t made sense of it yet.

“Milo said something before he died.”

Bray’s head whipped up. This was news to him.

“What was that?” Chase said gently.

“‘Tell Rafe they know.’”

Chase didn’t look at Bray this time. He was staring intently at her. “You’re sure that’s what he said?”

“Yes.”

Chase stood up, walked over to the window, looked out at the street. Finally, he turned. “Did Milo know your husband?”

“No. Rafe was already dead before he came to work here.”

“Did the two of you frequently talk about Rafe?”

“No. I don’t discuss Rafe with many people. But Milo and I had been talking earlier in the evening and his name came up.”

“Is it possible that Milo was confused? That your conversation earlier in the evening was on his mind, and that’s why he mentioned him before he died?”

“I guess,” she said, her tone flat. It made as much sense as anything. But she’d never seen Milo confused or discombobulated about anything. He was always calm, always controlled. But then again, she’d never seen him bleeding to death on the dirty pavement, either.

“I don’t know,” she said, her voice breaking. “I just don’t know and it’s driving me crazy.”

Chase reached out for her hand. It probably wasn’t police protocol, but given that his brother was married to her twin sister, she and Chase were family. “It’s going to be okay,” he said. “I know hearing something like that would be very upsetting. But he was dying. Losing lots of blood quickly. He wouldn’t have been thinking clearly.”

She’d been telling herself the same thing. But for some strange reason, it really irritated her to hear someone else say it. “They were his last words. I think they were important to him,” she snapped.

“Of course,” Chase said.

Bray stood up. “I think I should take Trish back to my house,” he said.

When Summer and Bray had got married, Bray had moved into the small house that Summer had rented with her two children. They were building a new home but the walls had just gone up. “You don’t have extra space,” she said. “I’ll go to my own house.”

“You can stay with Raney and me,” Chase said immediately.

She did not want to stay with anyone. She was strung so tight that she was about to lose it. “Is there any reason to think that I’m in danger, that the attack on Milo had something to do with me or Summer or the café?”

“We have no way of knowing that,” Chase said. “Milo was attacked from behind. As best as I can tell, he was in the process of putting the garbage into the Dumpster when he was stabbed. Based on what Bray has told me, I understand you opened the door to check on him and he was already on the ground. Whoever had done this was gone.”

She nodded. “He’d been in prison. Do you think it could be someone from his past, someone who maybe held a grudge?” She was grasping at straws but she so desperately wanted to make sense of it.

“I don’t know,” Chase said. “I’ve asked for help from the state. They have more sophisticated resources than we have to process the scene. We’re going to be done here in just a little while, but I’d prefer it if you could keep the café closed tomorrow, just in case.”

Saturdays were usually busy days. “I’ll put a sign on the door,” she said, getting up to find paper and a pen. The sign probably wasn’t necessary. It was a sure bet that at least one of the volunteer fire and rescue squad would tell his or her spouse what had happened here tonight and it would spread like wildfire. By morning, everyone in the small town would know why the café wasn’t open.

It was one of the reasons she hadn’t said anything before this about Milo’s last words. She hadn’t wanted it to be overheard.

Because if one well-meaning person asked her what she thought about it, she might explode. She didn’t know what she thought. Tell Rafe implied something that she couldn’t even fathom. They know. Know what, for God’s sake? “I want to go home,” she said. “To my house. I have Duke. He won’t let anyone get near me.” It was true. The German shepherd was fiercely protective, had been since the day he’d wandered up to her doorstep without any tags. She’d searched for an owner for a week, even putting an ad in the paper, but no one had come forward. Duke had become her dog.

“A dog isn’t much protection against a bullet,” Chase said gently.

“This was a knife, not a bullet.”

“You don’t know that’s the only available weapon,” he said.

“The café emptied out at least a half hour before we closed. I was alone in the dining room, clearly visible if someone outside had bothered to look in the window. If they wanted to harm me, they had a chance. But they waited until Milo took the trash out. I think this was about Milo, not about me.”

“Even with that final comment?” Bray asked.

“Like Chase said, Milo was dying. He might have been confused.” She picked up her purse and kissed her brother-in-law on the cheek. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you for bringing Summer home early, thank you for being here and for having the wherewithal to respond.”

Then she turned to Chase. “I trust you, Chase. With every bone in my body. I know that you’ll do everything you can to find Milo’s killer. He was a wonderful friend and he didn’t deserve to die like this.” Then she leaned in and gave him a quick hug.

Bray picked up his keys from the counter. “At least let me follow you home and make sure you get inside safely.”

The Hollister men were very protective of the women they loved, and by virtue of being Summer’s sister, she was automatically included in their circle. “Fine. Let’s go.”

* * *

HER FOUR-BEDROOM RANCH house was too big for one person, and tonight, more than ever, she felt as if she was drifting from room to room, looking for ghosts. She was grateful, though, for the silence.

Bray had been true to his word. He’d left, a worried look on his face, after he’d checked every room and the garage. She’d assured him that she’d set the alarm immediately and she had.

Now she stood in her kitchen and Duke crowded in next to her, almost as if he knew that something wasn’t quite right. He was poking his nose at her knees, and when she reached down to pet him, she realized that there was blood on her dark blue pants.

Milo’s blood. She hadn’t seen it before, but when she’d knelt next to the body, the blood had got on her.

“Oh, Milo,” she sobbed, catching hold of the kitchen counter to keep herself upright. Tell Rafe they know. “What did you mean?”

With jerky movements, she peeled off every stitch of her clothes. Then naked, she stuffed them into the kitchen garbage can. She roughly yanked out the plastic bag insert and tied it up tight. With heavy arms, she tossed the bag by the door that led to her garage.

Then, feeling very old and weary, she walked back to her bedroom and straight into the adjoining bath. She turned on the shower, as hot as she could stand it. And when she stepped under the spray, she let the tears that she’d held back all night run down her face.

Her chest heaved with her sobs and she braced herself against the wall.

She wasn’t stupid. Tell Rafe. That implied that Rafe was alive. Was that even possible? His body had never been found. But what would keep him away? What would keep a husband away from his wife?

Four years. Four long years.

Over fourteen hundred days of heartache.

It just wasn’t possible. Rafe would never hurt her like that.

* * *

RAFE HOPED THERE were no snakes in the damn grass. It was damp and scratchy and smelled like a herd of cattle had passed through. He’d arrived before dawn and had been on his stomach for the past several hours. He badly wanted a cup of hot coffee. But he didn’t move.

Windows were open in the villa and music drifted up the hill. When the song changed, his gut tightened up. They played that one at his wedding. And in the morning, his beautiful bride had been humming it.

She’d been so happy. And he’d thought it would last until balls started dropping out of the air. Accidents, some said. He knew better.

His trusted coworkers had been murdered. He didn’t care what anybody said.

And he suspected the man inside, who was probably about to sit down to breakfast with his family, was responsible. Luciano Maladucci. Richer than several European countries put together and more evil than most could even imagine, he delighted in playing chess with people’s lives.

Unfortunately, Rafe hadn’t been able to prove Maladucci was behind the deaths. It had been his sole focus his first six months back, but every lead turned into a dead end. He had to stop when his boss told him in no uncertain terms to let it go.

He let it go. At least as far as most people knew. But he’d found another way to tighten the noose around this man’s neck. One way or the other, he was going to see him behind prison bars.

With his binoculars picking up every detail, he watched a Ferrari Spider turn into the circle drive. What was the youngest Maladucci son doing here? The older son and his family lived in the east wing of the villa. It was rare for the two brothers to be together, probably because the younger brother had slept with the older brother’s wife three years ago.

Real friendly, the Maladuccis.

Real deadly, too.

He felt the buzz from his cell phone. His private cell phone. What the hell? Milo wasn’t supposed to check in until Sunday. It was Saturday.

He shifted, pulled his phone out and realized it wasn’t Milo, but someone else he trusted explicitly. He stared at the text message.

Milo is dead.

There were a hundred possibilities. Like a heart attack or a stroke?

But none of those would have warranted a special message. No. This message meant that there was danger. And it was headed toward Trish.