Читать книгу Deep Secrets - Beverly Long - Страница 9

Chapter Three

She stayed in the shower until the hot water ran out. When she got out, she considered not drying her waist-length hair but knew that it would be a tangled mess in the morning if she went to bed with it wet.

She should have cut it years ago. But when she’d been married to Rafe, he’d convinced her to keep it long. I love your hair, he used to say. Your beautiful red hair. The night of the storm, I saw it through the window of the café. It looked like liquid fire. I thought I’d never seen anything quite so wonderful.

After he’d died, she couldn’t bear to do any more than trim the ends. Wore it pulled back most of the time in a low ponytail.

Tell Rafe they know.

She sat down hard on the edge of the bathtub. It was crazy but she was so angry at Milo. The poor man was dead and she was furious that he’d said something like that and then died.

She was a bad person. Horrible. A man was dead and all she could think about was herself.

She jabbed the on button and held the dryer for too long in one spot, burning her scalp. Ten minutes later, she gave up. Her hair was still damp but she was so damn tired. She picked up her toothbrush, spread some toothpaste and halfheartedly brushed. When she tossed her toothbrush back onto the counter, a memory hit her so hard that she almost doubled over.

Rafe putting his toothbrush back just so, in exactly the same spot every time. His shaving cream and razor, too. Everything in its place, he used to say, lightheartedly poking fun at himself. Before she’d married him, she’d considered herself pretty neat and organized. But Rafe had been the king of patterns and order. She’d noticed it slowly, over time. He kept very little paper around, usually just a small pile of unpaid bills. If you asked, he could tell you, in the order it appeared, what was on his desk at any one time.

He never made a big deal out of it. And she had never taken it too seriously until one night they’d come home from a movie in Hamerton, entered the house, and he’d sensed that something was different. He’d grabbed her, pulled her behind him, and the gun that he always carried on him had been in his hand. The hallway light wasn’t on when we left, he had whispered in her ear.

He’d inspected the whole house but had come up empty. But she could tell that he was bothered by the incident. It wasn’t until she finally checked her cell phone, which she’d turned off at the movies, that she heard the message from Summer. She’d stopped over to borrow a dress.

When she’d told Rafe, he’d waved it off. She could tell he didn’t want to discuss it. But she hadn’t forgotten it. She had seen a side of her husband that night that was fascinating. It was not as if he’d morphed into someone new. No, it was more subtle than that.

He was still Rafe, the handsome construction worker who had stolen her heart and made her laugh every day. But he was someone else, too. Someone very capable. Someone fearless.

Someone, she suspected, who would do whatever it took to protect her and their home. He’d handled the gun expertly. She’d been in awe, really.

And she’d started paying more attention to the things around her. Noticing when things changed. It was like playing a game where there was no score and she was competing only against herself. She got better at it every day. Nobody got new glasses, highlighted their hair or had their teeth fixed that she didn’t pick up on it. It was just crazy small stuff but she had fun with it.

It was only one of the many ways that loving Rafe had changed her.

She left the bathroom. She didn’t bother to dress. Simply crawled into bed naked. She could hear Duke pacing in front of her door, his nails scratching against the wood floor. “Good night, Duke,” she said, knowing that he wouldn’t settle down if that nighttime ritual wasn’t observed.

The pacing quieted and she knew the big dog had taken his spot outside her door. He’d knock his hind end on the door at five the next morning, ready to go out. Until then, she could sleep.

Except that every time she closed her eyes, she could see poor Milo. After a half hour, she gave up and turned on her light. Duke immediately whined, letting her know that he knew that something wasn’t right. She opened the bedroom door. “We’re leaving early,” she said.

She had to. She absolutely had to leave this house that she had bought with Rafe, where she had made plans, dreamed big. The memories of Rafe were still too strong here. She could see him at the stove, wearing his jeans low on his hips and no shirt, waving a spatula in her direction. Could see him snoozing on the couch, a book open on his chest. Could see him walk across the kitchen naked for that first cup of coffee in the morning.

Could practically smell his earthy masculine scent.

Was it because it was the anniversary of his death? Was it because she and Milo had been talking about him? Was it because of what Milo said?

Probably some of all three. It didn’t matter. It felt as if she was losing her mind.

No better place to do it than a little cottage in the middle of nowhere. If she started to scream and crawl the walls, nobody would be there to witness the meltdown of the century.

Summer would understand and would proceed to plan the funeral. They could have it at the end of the week, when she was back.

With her head on straight.

Maybe with a fish story—in Milo’s honor.

Duke cocked his head and watched her closely as she dragged her suitcase out of the closet and started throwing clothes in it. Swimsuit. Shorts. Water shoes. A couple of summer dresses. Sandals. Some things to sleep in. Then she added toiletries and a lightweight jacket in case the evenings got cool. By this time, Duke was pacing, well aware that his routine was upset.

She dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved green T-shirt and slipped her feet into her favorite cowboy boots. Then she went to the kitchen, where she pulled out a half-full bag of dog food. Plenty for five days. She’d originally planned to leave on Sunday since the café was closed. But now she was free to leave a day early.

She pulled a sack out of the cupboard and haphazardly picked items from her counters and cupboards. The half loaf of bread. A jar of peanut butter. Cereal. There had to be a small town nearby where she could buy milk. Two bottles of wine. She thought about adding another one but figured that was overkill. Boxes of macaroni and cheese. A jar of honey-roasted peanuts. And for the heck of it, she threw in the three bananas that she’d been ignoring for days.

She looked at her watch and debated whether she should call Summer now. Quickly discarded the idea. Summer had been so sick after seeing poor Milo’s body. She needed her rest. Trish would call her in the morning to let her know her plans.

She made one more pass through her house, pausing outside her bedroom door to gaze at her pale gray bed skirt. Shaking her head, she walked into the room, got down on her knees, reached underneath the bed and pulled out her gun case.

Rafe had bought a gun for her several months after the last time she’d gone to the range with him. It had been a surprise. Initially she’d been inclined to tell him to take it back. But he’d been insistent. You should have your own, he’d said.

* * *

SHE HADN’T SHOT it for more than four years. Had kept it locked up, under her bed. Was it crazy to pull it out now? M.A., who was single, had been traveling with her ten-year-old niece and she’d said that she’d felt perfectly safe.

But Trish wasn’t a fool. She was a woman, traveling alone. A little extra protection made sense. Especially after what she’d seen earlier tonight.

She took it out of its case and slipped it into her shoulder bag. “Let’s go,” she said to Duke.

He followed her to the kitchen, and when she opened the door to her attached garage, he hurried ahead of her, like he always did. When she opened the passenger side door of her two-door Jeep, Duke jumped in and promptly scrambled over the middle console into the backseat. She went around back and shoved her suitcase and sack into the rear space. In the corner of her garage was her fishing gear. She grabbed it and put it in the Jeep. Then she got in.

Took a breath. Then another. Wiped her damp palms on her blue jeans.

She didn’t normally steal away in the middle of the night.

But then, there had been nothing normal about this night. The heavy weight of her gun in her shoulder bag was even more proof of that.

It was just after one when she pulled out of the garage and shut the door behind her. Determined to think about something else, she turned on the radio and hunted for a station that had music. She finally found one that was playing oldies from the ’50s and ’60s.

Great. She felt about a hundred. It would be perfect.

She would be in the right area in just over an hour. It might take her a while to wind around the country roads and find the cottage. Hopefully her GPS would behave nicely.

“Are you excited?” she asked Duke.

He barked just once.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she said, settling back. She wasn’t worried about falling asleep while driving. Her body was practically humming with energy. She would not have been able to sleep.

She’d lost a good friend tonight.

Had Milo simply been a convenient target? Was it possible that a vagrant had been hiding in the alley, and when Milo had opened the door, the attack had been a spur-of-the-moment decision? Or was it something much more sinister? Had someone been waiting for Milo, someone from his past?

She prayed that Chase Hollister would find the answer. She wanted Milo’s attacker to pay for what he’d done. It wouldn’t bring Milo back but it would help to know that a killer had not gone free.

She pressed down on the accelerator, fully aware that she couldn’t outrun the image of Milo’s dead body on the dirty cement. She could not forget about what had happened. No. That was asking too much.

But she could drive, and then tomorrow, when she woke up in her little cottage, she would make coffee and take it down to the lake and dangle her feet in the cool water.

And she would come to terms with another senseless death.

She would have to.

Sometimes the only thing one could do was keep going.

* * *

RAFE GOT OFF the damn hill as fast as he could and ran the mile to where he’d hidden his car. Once inside, he sent a quick text to others on his team, letting them know about the arrival of the youngest Maladucci.

He looked at his watch, mindful of the seven-hour time difference between Italy and home. It was almost nine, which meant it was almost two in the morning at home. Time for most people to be sacked out.

But Daniel, who had sent this message, would be awake. He would anticipate that a return message was on its way. He picked up his private cell phone. Trish? he typed and pushed Send.

Within minutes he had his response. Left café around midnight, arrived home safely.

He took a deep breath. Then another. That was good news. But he was edgy. Had been for the past twenty-four hours. Nothing unusual about that. Always the same, year after year.

Maybe someone was walking over his grave.

Hell, he’d walked over his own grave. Less than a month after Trish had the service, he’d been back in Ravesville, with Duke in tow. Just weeks before he’d died, he’d purchased the dog and arranged for it to be specially trained. From the beginning had called it Duke because Trish had always said that if she ever got a dog, Duke would be his name. His plan had been to surprise Trish on their one-year anniversary. When he’d had to leave, he’d expedited the training and delivered the dog to Trish’s backyard two months earlier than expected.

But Duke had been a champ and Rafe had rested better knowing that the dog would protect Trish. Not that Trish should have been in danger still. That should have ended when Rafe left. But he couldn’t stop being extra careful. Trish was too special.

So she’d been home for more than an hour. She would be sleeping. There was no need to request an updated report. No need at all.

Screw it. He typed. Reverify. And waited.

Thirteen minutes later, he knew something was terribly wrong when his phone rang. “Yeah,” he answered.

“She’s gone,” Daniel said.

He gripped his phone and swallowed hard. “Signs of violence?”

“None. Dog is gone, too.”

Milo was dead and Trish and Duke were missing. He stared up at the sun that was bright in the blue sky. It was going to be a nice day.

Not that it mattered. He had things to do.

* * *

IT WAS ALMOST two thirty before Trish pulled up in front of the cottage. There was a narrow half-gravel, half-grass road leading to the small wood structure. She knew the details from M.A. One bedroom, one bath, a kitchen and a big screened-in porch that had a great view of the water. It had sounded perfect, and now that she was here, even though it was too dark to see much of anything, she realized that she’d been right.

Unless, of course, there were mice inside. Even with her gun, she was no match for rodents. “Duke, you’re going to need to protect me.”

He nudged her shoulder with his wet nose. I’ve got your back, it seemed to say.

There was a small light burning next to the cottage door, but even as she walked the short distance from the car, she became aware of how dark the Missouri wilderness could be. Based on what M.A. had told her, the nearest cottage was a half mile away. It didn’t help when Duke decided that he needed a potty break and he took his time sniffing for just the right area.

Her heart started to beat a little faster in her chest and she was glad when the dog finally finished. When it came time to enter the combination on the lock that hung over the door handle, she had to enter it twice before she got it right. The door swung open. Duke pushed in front of her and she made no effort to hold him back. She reached inside, hoping to feel for a light switch.

It was six inches farther away from the door than she’d expected. But once she found it and flipped the light on, she felt much better. It really was just perfect. The main part of the cottage had a small living area with just a couch and a bookshelf. There was no television. It led into the kitchen, where there was a big braided rug under the table. There was a stove, refrigerator and sink.

There was no door on what she suspected was the bedroom. She walked over and found the light. It had a double bed, a small table with a lamp and a dresser. The only other room in the main portion of the cottage was a small bathroom that was off the kitchen. It was old but clean with a bath/shower combination, a toilet and a vanity.

It was the porch that really interested her. It ran the entire length of the cottage, with windows and a back door making up one whole side. It was the size of all three of the other rooms put together. The shades on the windows and door were down, which made sense. She knew that she wouldn’t be able to see anything right now anyway, but she was confident that in the morning, it was going to be dazzlingly beautiful. M.A. had told her the back door opened to steps that led to a long dock where the owner kept a boat for the renters to use. Then there was water for as far as you could see.

On the porch was a small, round slate table, the size where four could squeeze in to have breakfast, with four wrought-iron chairs with padded seats. Also a forest green sofa, a couple of overstuffed chairs, and a big wooden coffee table, the kind with drawers underneath. It had rained a couple of days when M.A. had been here and she’d said the board games and cards that she’d found in the coffee table had been a lifesaver.

Trish unpacked her sack, putting the few groceries away in the cupboard. She pulled out Duke’s water and food dishes and filled both. He immediately started eating.

It probably wasn’t a bad idea. She’d had nothing since lunch, more than twelve hours earlier. She made herself a peanut butter and banana sandwich and poured a glass of water from the faucet. There was a roll of paper towels in a holder next to the sink. She pulled one off and wrapped it around her sandwich. Then she went onto the porch, sat on the sofa and ate.

It had been the right decision to come. She could feel it. Both her body and mind needed rest. Then she could face what had happened tonight.

She’d always figured that Rafe would have liked Milo. Would have appreciated the man’s cooking ability, liked his dry sense of humor and been satisfied that he’d kept a watchful eye on Trish and Summer. Not that Ravesville was dangerous.

But it had been earlier tonight. She’d thought it couldn’t get worse than when Summer’s little girl had been kidnapped, along with her ex-husband. But she’d been wrong.

Murder.

She wadded up the paper towel around the quarter of the sandwich she hadn’t eaten. Then got up, found the garbage container under the sink and tossed it away. Then she took her suitcase into the bedroom and opened it. Pajama pants and a tank were near the top and she quickly undressed and pulled them on.

Duke plopped down in the doorway, and she realized that without a door she’d probably be awakened the next morning, not by a hind-end knock, but rather by a lick in the face. “Maybe you should go outside again. You drank a lot of water.”

His ears perked up.

“Let me get your leash,” she said. She hadn’t taken more than three steps when she heard a noise.

She listened. It had sounded like a car door. Not right outside but not far away, either.

Just one door.

At almost three in the morning.

“Could you hold it until morning?” she asked, absently rubbing the fur on Duke’s back. She knew the dog was confused. He was starting to push up against her leg.

Maybe it was somebody else who was simply arriving at their cottage very late.

There was probably a very reasonable explanation for the noise.

She moved away from the door and Duke came with her. But instead of returning to her bedroom, she went back to the porch, detouring through the kitchen to get her shoulder bag. She pulled out her gun and sat on the sofa with her legs curled up underneath her.

This was crazy. Not counting the nine months that she’d lived with Rafe, she’d lived by herself since she was eighteen. Almost twenty years. She was independent. Certainly not someone who got spooked easily.

She’d also never had someone’s blood on her knees before.

She listened carefully, didn’t hear anything else. Minutes went by. She was almost ready to relax when she heard a noise outside the back door. Footsteps on what had to be the back steps that M.A. had described. The hair on Duke’s back stood up and she could see his teeth.

And then the knob on the back door started to turn.

She raised her gun.