Читать книгу Buried Memories - Carol J. Post - Страница 12

TWO

Nicki picked up the porcelain bowl in the corner and crossed the kitchen. The painted paw prints lining the bottom shone clean and clear, licked to a glossy shine. As she placed the empty dish in the sink, Callie watched her every move, tail wagging, eyes filled with doggy eagerness. She never gave up hope that maybe, just this once, there would be seconds.

Nicki strolled toward the side door and cast a glance back at the golden retriever staying right on her heels. “You behave yourself.”

She would be out all evening for the midweek church service. But she hoped the admonition wouldn’t be necessary. A year ago, yeah. When she’d first brought Callie home from the Humane Society, she’d been well past the energetic puppy stage, but past abuse had made her terrified of everything that moved and a whirlwind of destruction when left alone.

Now she didn’t even need crating. Finding a forever home where she was showered with love had made a world of difference. Nicki bent to scratch the dog’s neck. She could relate.

After stepping into the carport and closing the door, she fished for the key. Two nights ago Tyler had installed a new lock, complete with a deadbolt, and made repairs to the jamb. And he’d done a great job. So much so she might see if she could hire him to do some other projects. She would love to have the pedestal sink in the hall bath replaced with a vanity, and some shelves added to the two closets in her hobby room.

She hadn’t seen him since he’d made the repairs. Their times for taking the dogs out hadn’t coincided, and they’d both been busy. She was almost disappointed. It had been fun having someone to talk to on her morning walk.

She inserted the key into the deadbolt and turned it. The lock slid home with a satisfying click. She’d regained a little of her sense of control, thanks to Tyler. He’d even checked the locks on all her windows to make sure they were secure.

Fifteen years ago, they’d been the best of friends, spending hours hanging out at the park or high on a branch of the huge oak overshadowing most of her backyard. As he’d opened up about his anger with his father, she’d let down some of her own walls. Back then, he’d just been Tyler, her friend and confidante, the one person in the world she’d been able to connect with, because he was as lost as she was.

He was still Tyler. But now he was Tyler all grown up. It was hard not to notice how well he filled out those T-shirts he wore, or how his golden-brown eyes filled with warmth every time he smiled. But with her track record, she didn’t have any business contemplating anything that smacked of romance. She was still trying to ward off the repercussions of the last disaster.

She pressed a button on her key fob, and the Ram’s locks popped up. Tonight she would be occupied, with or without Tyler. She was going to church, something her friend Darci had talked her into. She’d been surprised to find she enjoyed attending. It was almost like belonging to a family again—a loving heavenly Father and lots of brothers and sisters.

That wasn’t all she’d been talked into. After the crash that killed Nicki’s parents, Darci was the one who’d suggested she sell out and come to Cedar Key. When her ex had dropped the second bombshell on her, she’d finally agreed. One month had passed since the move. She still missed her parents terribly, but she hoped the call from Peter a week ago was the final one. He claimed that everything he’d done was for her. So what? It was over.

She swung open the driver’s door of her truck, but before she could get in, a dark sedan pulled into her driveway. As she watched a man and woman exit, tension crept across her shoulders. Both visitors were strangers.

“Can I help you?”

The man showed her his badge. “I’m Detective Granger, and this is Detective Mulling. We’re with the Jacksonville Sheriff’s Office.”

As he spoke, her mind whirled. Maybe they’d learned something about her break-in. But Jacksonville? That was where she’d spent her early years. In a run-down shack with peeling plaster, grime-encrusted windows and puke-green shag carpet.

“Can we have a few minutes of your time? We need to talk to you about your mother’s murder.”

She nodded, a weight pressing in on her chest. She’d worked hard to leave those memories behind. The steady stream of creepy men who’d paraded in and out of the house. The way some of them had leered at her, making her hair stand on end. The nights she’d spent curled into a ball with her pillow over her head, trying to shut out the thud of angry fists and her mother’s muffled pleas.

She swallowed hard and led them toward the house. “It’s been twenty-two years. Why now?” If they hadn’t solved it then, with fresh evidence, how would they uncover anything leading them to the killer over two decades later?

“We’re investigating an incident that happened two weeks ago, also in Jacksonville. There are some similarities, and we think they might be connected.”

“I don’t know how much help I’ll be. I wasn’t there.” She unlocked the door and ushered them inside. After a few quick sniffs, Callie apparently decided the visitors were okay and plopped down in front of the entertainment center, dark eyes alert.

Nicki motioned toward the sectional sofa. “Have a seat.”

Once they’d settled onto the couch, Mulling turned back the cover on a notebook.

Granger clasped his hands loosely in his lap. “Thank you for talking to us.” Although the female detective was sitting closer to Nicki, it looked as if Granger would be the one asking the questions. “I’m sure it’s going to be difficult, but I need you to tell me everything you can remember about that night.”

She drew in a deep breath. Yeah, it would be difficult. Not because she still grieved for her mother. She’d come to terms with her death years ago. In fact, if events hadn’t gone the way they had, Nicki’s life would have turned out quite differently. Ending up in the Jackson home was the best thing that had ever happened to her. No, this was going to be difficult because she didn’t want to remember.

She leaned back against the padded leather. “I was spending the night with a friend, Lizzie. She lived next door.”

“Do you remember Lizzie’s last name?”

“McDonald. Elizabeth McDonald.”

“What about her parents’ names?”

She shook her head. “I never met her dad, and I just called her mom Mrs. McDonald.”

Granger continued while his partner filled up the first small page. “Was anyone there when you left to go to your friend’s house?”

“My mom and my sister. I don’t remember anyone else.”

“When was the first time you learned about your mother’s murder?”

“The next morning. Mrs. McDonald said something awful had happened. She was crying. And she wouldn’t let me go home.” In fact, Nicki never set foot inside her house again. By lunchtime, the authorities had gathered up her belongings and whisked her away to the first of many foster families.

“Did you know of anyone who’d have wanted to hurt your mother?”

Hurt or kill? “A lot of them hurt her.”

“How?”

“Slapping her, punching her, throwing her against the wall, pushing her to the floor.” Fights were a regular occurrence, especially after a night of heavy drinking and shooting up.

Granger leaned forward, sympathy filling his eyes. Or was it pity?

She drew in a deep breath and lifted her chin. She didn’t need sympathy. She’d put her past behind her a long time ago. And she didn’t want pity.

“These men who used to hit your mother, did you ever see any of them with a knife?”

She shook her head.

With a signal from Granger, Mulling removed a picture from the back of the notebook and handed it to her.

“Does this man look familiar?”

She looked down at what she held. Cords of steel wrapped around her chest and throat, squeezing the air from her lungs. It was a booking photo. Wicked tattoos reached out from beneath the wife beater shirt, and eyes as black as sin glared back at the camera with a lethal hatred. To a seven-year-old child, the man had seemed huge. Judging by the thick neck and monster pecs, her perception hadn’t been far off.

All the men had scared her. But this one had frightened her the most.

She shook off the fear. He had no reason to hurt her. And her mother was beyond his reach.

“Uncle Louie.” She handed the photo back to Mulling.

“No blood relation, I take it.”

“No, same as all the others. I had more uncles than any girl alive.”

Granger gave her a soft smile. It held the same hint of sympathy she’d noticed earlier. “What can you tell us about Louie?”

“He was there a lot the last few weeks before my mom was killed. I think he was mostly living there.” A shudder passed through her. “I didn’t like him.”

“Why not?”

“I was afraid of him. He had an awful temper. Whenever I was home, I’d stay in my room and sneak to the kitchen to get something to eat once he and my mom were passed out.”

She closed her eyes, events she’d tried hard to forget bombarding her. “Once I made the mistake of taking the peanut butter to my room. He grabbed me by the hair and slammed me into the wall. When my mom tried to stick up for me, he turned on her and beat her to a bloody pulp.”

She suppressed another shudder. At the time, she’d thought it was her fault. Now she knew better.

“You haven’t heard from him since that night, right?”

“No.”

“He was picked up near Ocala the morning after your mother was found and jailed on drug charges. Ended up doing fifteen years. But he was never charged with the murder. He had an alibi, albeit a shaky one, and although he was a suspect, we were never able to find enough evidence to convict him. Two weeks ago, another woman was stabbed to death. She’d recently ended a rocky relationship...with Louis Harmel.”

Nicki nodded, a cold numbness spreading inside her. Maybe her mother’s killer would finally pay for his crime. But how long would it take? And what would she go through in the meantime? How many memories would have to be dredged up before it was all over?

“Do you have any contact with your sister?” Granger’s words cut across her thoughts.

“No. We were separated after our mother was killed.” And even before that, they hadn’t been close. They’d shared a room—a dinky space hardly big enough for the two twin beds and single chest of drawers. But Nicki hadn’t taken much comfort in her sister’s presence. No matter how terrifying the sounds coming from the next room, Jenny had never let her share her bed.

“Six months ago, I hired a private investigator to find her,” Nicki said. Although the dysfunctional home and five-year age difference had kept them from being close, she’d thought of Jenny often over the years. Now Jenny was the only family Nicki had left.

“Are they making any progress locating her?”

“Yes and no. Three different times, the investigator has gotten leads, but every time he gets close, she disappears. It’s as if she doesn’t want to be found.”

There was probably a good reason. A criminal background check had turned up a hefty list of arrests. Nothing too serious. Just a bunch of petty stuff—forged checks, shoplifting, possession of marijuana, disorderly conduct. And likely plenty of other stuff waiting to catch up with her. No wonder she kept running.

“We’ve had the same experience. We haven’t been able to get close enough to explain what we want with her.”

“My guy is going to keep trying.” As long as she had the money. Her inheritance had allowed her to start the search and would enable her to keep it going for some time. “He’s making it clear to everyone he talks to that it’s her half sister looking for her, not law enforcement.”

Nicki hoped the message would eventually reach her. At least she was pretty sure that was what she wanted. Twice the investigator had asked her if she wished to continue, his tone heavy with doubt both times. Jenny’s life was a mess. She’d stayed in the foster care system until she aged out and had never known the love of a real family. Nicki didn’t even try to deny what she might be getting herself into seeking a relationship with her long-lost sister.

But she couldn’t turn her back on her. Yes, Jenny was messed up. But Nicki had been pretty messed up herself when Chuck and Doris Jackson chose to look past her faults and love her anyway. She could do no less for Jenny.

Granger stood, and his partner closed the notebook and followed suit. He extended a hand to shake Nicki’s, then handed her his business card. “We’ll be back in touch. Meanwhile, if there’s anything you remember that you haven’t told us, please give us a call. It doesn’t matter how insignificant it seems.”

She walked them to the door. “I will. And if you happen to find her, you’ll let me know?”

“We will.”

She watched them walk toward the sedan, then closed and locked the door. It was too late to go to church. Wednesday night services started at seven, and it was already seven-twenty. She crossed the room to sit on the couch, the same spot she’d vacated earlier. Callie approached and rested her head in Nicki’s lap.

Was Louie the one who’d killed her mother? Any number of men could have done it. But from everything she remembered, he seemed the most likely. He had the worst temper. And it wasn’t just that. He seemed to radiate evil.

She shuddered again and reached for the remote. An evening of brainless television held a lot of appeal, the opportunity to lose herself in someone else’s life for a short time. She let her head fall against the padded back of the couch and closed her eyes.

She’d spent the last two decades trying to forget.

Now they needed her to remember.

* * *

Tyler emerged from the bathroom, hair still damp but free of drywall dust. He’d hoped the days would be a little longer. It was Friday, and all week, Andy had been ready to call it quits by seven o’clock. Tonight it had been even earlier. Nine years Tyler’s senior, maybe Andy was slowing down. Or maybe he’d been thinking about Joan’s cooking and couldn’t hold out any longer.

Tyler drew in a slow, fragrant breath. The scent of baking roast beef that had plagued him since he stepped onto the front porch wrapped around him again, and his stomach growled. When he entered the kitchen, Andy was already there, helping Joan cut up salad ingredients.

She smiled over one shoulder. “Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes. You guys messed me up coming home early.”

The doorbell rang, cutting off his response. Leaving them to their meal preparation, he made his way to the front door. When he swung it open, Nicki stood on the porch, Callie next to her. A smile spread across her face and lit her eyes, sending an odd warmth straight to his core.

“I was walking Callie and saw you guys were home.” She shifted her weight and cocked her head to the side. “You said you like to stay busy. How would you like to do a few projects for me?”

“Sure. What do you have in mind?”

“Several things. When you get a chance, stop by and I’ll show you what I’m looking for.”

He stepped onto the porch and closed the door behind him. “I’ve got almost twenty minutes till dinner. And if I’m a few minutes late, I’m sure Joan and Andy will save me some.”

Nicki walked several feet down the driveway, then cut across the yard and into the woods. She glanced back at him, grinning. “Shortcut.”

“Yeah, I found this one myself.” It was the same route he’d taken Monday morning after seeing her to her door.

When they reached her yard, she pulled a set of keys from her pocket. “I used to not worry about locking up if I was just stepping outside for a few minutes. Now if the house is out of sight at all, you can be sure it’s locked.”

“That’s a good idea.”

He followed her into the house. Before Monday night, he’d made an assumption based on the simple block exterior. But on the inside, the place looked like something out of one of Joan’s home decor magazines. A leather sectional sofa wrapped around an oak-and-glass table set on a wrought iron base. A marble-type floor tile in varying shades of brown and beige met three walls the color of Dijon mustard, the fourth a deep burnt orange. Two curio cabinets held a variety of figurines, and a floor lamp with amber globes bathed everything in a warm glow.

“This looks great.” Whatever projects she had in mind, they probably didn’t include this room.

“Thanks. The prior owners made some updates but never finished. I like the floor tile, but they’d painted all the walls a boring off-white.” She grinned over at him. “I had to jazz it up a bit.”

“That picture is perfect.” He tilted his head toward the seascape hanging over the sofa. It was a sunset scene, depicted in colors that complemented her decor.

“Thanks. I had Meagan Kingston, a local artist, do it for me. It was my birthday present to myself.”

“Happy belated birthday. And what about the stained glass wall hangings?”

“Those are mine.”

“I thought so. I saw your supplies when I was checking the window locks.”

“That’s my hobby. Or maybe it’s more than that, since I sell them. I’ve got them downtown at the Cedar Keyhole Artist Co-op and Darci’s Collectibles and Gifts.”

She led him into the kitchen. “The prior owners stripped and refinished the cabinets and replaced the appliances. I had the granite countertops put in. But I’ve got to get rid of that light fixture.”

“Yeah, it looks sort of industrial. Do you have something picked out?”

“Not yet.” She walked from the room and headed down the hall. “I plan to make one trip and do it all at once.” She stopped at the open door to the bathroom. “Pedestal sinks look great, but they’re not very practical. I’d like to replace it with a vanity and a cultured marble top. Are you up to it?”

“Sure.” He was more than up to it. The broken arm had mended, and the burns were as good as they were going to get. All that was left of the smoke inhalation was some shortness of breath if he overexerted. Most of the damage to his body had healed. The effects on his mind, not so much. Splints and bandages couldn’t blot out the images.

Or justify his returning home when his men hadn’t.

He shook off the thoughts and followed her into the bedroom across the hall.

“This is technically the guest room, but it’s where I sleep. So I’d like to get some more space in the closet.”

“Closet organizers?”

“Yep.” She opened the louvered doors. “On this side, I’d like the top shelf raised to make room for double rods. I’ll keep a single rod on this side. In the center, I’d like a small set of drawers with a shoe cubby above. Twenty or thirty slots, if possible.”

He eyed her with raised brows. “You got enough shoes?”

“You don’t know the half of it.” She grinned up at him.

Warmth filled his chest, and he grew serious. “It’s good to see you again, Nicki.”

“Yeah, same here. I’ve missed you.”

He held her gaze for several moments. The years melted away, and they were once again connected by that invisible bond that tied his heart to hers. Distance hadn’t severed it and neither had time. Did she feel it?

She turned, and he followed her into the hall. When she reached the large room at the end, she made a wide sweep of her arm. “As you can see, this is my work area.”

He walked to a table where a partially completed stained glass scene lay. Peaks and valleys rose and fell, outlined in what looked like copper. Some kind of flowering trees occupied the foreground.

“The room has a his and a hers closet.” Her words drew his attention, and she swung open one of the doors. “I’ll leave the smaller one as it is, with the rods and all, because if I ever have company, this is where they’ll sleep.” She motioned toward the daybed against the far wall, then turned back to the closet.

“I want to have several shelves installed on all three sides here. Right now, I’m storing a lot of stuff in bins, and it’ll make my life a lot easier to have everything more accessible.”

“Let me know what you want, and I’ll build it.”

“Awesome.” She pulled a pushpin from the corner of the bulletin board and handed him a sheet of paper. “Here’s my wish list. Do you think you’re up to it?”

“And then some.” The work she’d laid out would keep him occupied for quite a few evenings. And it would give him somewhere pleasant to focus his mind, far away from the horrors of war.

“Are you out for good now?” She walked from the room and headed down the hall.

He followed her into the living room, shaking his head at her uncanny way of reading his thoughts. “I’m out for good.”

“They can’t call you back?”

“Nope.” They’d retired him. And he was still trying to find his purpose.

She leaned back against the entertainment center. “I thought your first months or years out, they can always recall you.”

“Not always.”

His clipped answers weren’t what she was looking for, and he knew it. But he didn’t want to talk about it.

The progression from enlisted to retired didn’t happen overnight. Those things never did. They reassigned him to a warrior transition unit for a year. The cast eventually came off his arm, but the skin graft procedures seemed to go on and on. Finally the doctors decided he was as good as he was going to get, and the medical board made their determination. He could no longer do the job. And that was that.

He shifted his gaze to the window overlooking her front yard. Drapes in earth tone patterns hung on each side, connected by a matching valance. Lacy sheers occupied the space between, partially obscuring whatever lay in the lengthening afternoon shadows. Another task he would add to his to-do list—installing some blinds behind the sheers. The bedrooms had them, but the living, dining and kitchen areas didn’t.

“How should I go about getting the materials you need?”

Her words pulled his attention from the window, but movement in his peripheral vision snapped it back. For a brief moment, a vague shape hovered at the left portion of the sheers, then disappeared. He tensed and raised a hand. What had he seen?

“Stay here.”

He made a dash for the door, jerked it open and pulled it shut behind him. As he rounded the corner of the house, a figure melted into the woods lining the back of Nicki’s property. Tyler pounded through the grass and ran into the tree line a few moments later. Seeing no one, he stopped to listen.

A rain-scented gust whipped the trees around, the steady shhh drowning out the rustle of the intruder’s movements. He turned slowly, all senses on alert. Some distance to his right, the snap of twigs underlay the steadier sounds of nature. He moved in that direction, his own footsteps little more than a whisper. His pulse picked up as he closed in on his prey.

Soon a voice drifted to him, soft and distinctly feminine. Then another, this one male. Both young. And a flash of clothing. Moments later, two figures came into view, and he shook his head. He’d followed a couple of teenagers on an early evening hike. And the intruder had gotten away.

As he approached, the guy took her hand, pulled her to a stop and drew her into his arms. Fifteen years ago, that had been him and Nicki. The hanging-out, walking-through-the-woods part, anyway. The other had been only in his dreams.

He cleared his throat, and they both started.

“Did you see anyone pass by in the last few minutes?”

They shook their heads. There was no sense continuing his search. Nicki’s Peeping Tom was long gone. And she was probably inside wondering if he’d lost his mind. He hadn’t taken the time to explain.

When he got back, though, Nicki wasn’t in her house. She was standing at the edge of the sidewalk, face angled downward. She looked up as he approached.

“You were supposed to stay inside.” His tone was stern.

“I did, for a minute, anyway. What’s going on?”

Judging from the furrows in her brow and the concern in her eyes, he could have asked her the same thing. He cast a glance down. A wicked-looking knife lay in the flower bed, partially obscured by the daylilies planted there.

“Where did that come from?”

“It’s my chef’s knife. It’s been missing since my house was broken into. I thought I’d misplaced it.”

He frowned. “Someone was at your window. By the time I got around the side of the house, he was disappearing into the woods. I took off after him, but I didn’t get a good look at him.”

“Find anything?”

“’Fraid not. I ended up following a rabbit trail.” At the question in her eyes, he continued. “I heard something, which led me to a couple of teenagers.” He glanced back down at the knife. “We need to call the police and have that fingerprinted.”

Another gust swept through, the rain even closer, and Nicki moved toward the front door. “The intruder must have taken the knife, then dropped it the night he broke in. I’ve been in and out this way with Callie, but I wasn’t paying any attention to the flower bed at the time. So I didn’t notice it.”

He nodded. That was one explanation. Except he didn’t buy it. His own interpretation was much more sinister. He stepped onto the porch and opened the door for her, then followed her inside. “Maybe you’re right and he dropped it the night he broke in, or...”

“Or what?”

He turned her to face him and took her hands. He would do everything he could to protect her. But she needed to be armed with the facts.

“Maybe he took it with him the night he broke in, then brought it back tonight, fully intending to use it.”