Читать книгу Betrayed Birthright - Liz Shoaf - Страница 13

FOUR

Abby was irritated with Sheriff Galloway for camping out in her home, but deep down, she was also relieved. This whole mess had shaken her more than she cared to admit.

She closed the front door behind her last piano student of the day, turned the dead bolt and grinned as she hurried upstairs to clean up before choir practice. The sheriff had settled himself in the kitchen to work on his laptop, and sound carried well through her historic house. He was probably pulling his hair out by now.

She freshened up in the bathroom and made her way to the kitchen. The sheriff, with Bates lying by his side, glanced up as she sailed through the doorway. “We have just enough time to grab a bite to eat before heading to church.” She raised a brow. “I assume you’re accompanying me to choir practice?”

Earlier, they’d had a heated discussion about why he needed to hang around, even though secretly she was relieved that he was there while her students were coming and going throughout the afternoon.

He pushed his computer aside and half rose. “What can I do to help?”

Abby opened the refrigerator door. She had to get dinner on the table. They could talk while they were eating. “Not a thing. We’re having leftover lasagna. I’ll just stick it in the microwave. It won’t take but a few minutes to heat.”

The doorbell rang as she put the casserole dish into the microwave and stuck several slices of garlic bread in the oven.

The sheriff scrambled out of his chair and moved in front of her as she headed toward the foyer. “I’ll answer the door.”

She thought he was being a little overprotective, but bit back a retort and allowed him to answer the door. Standing close behind him, with Bates on her heels, a surprise greeted her as Noah opened the front door. An older gentleman with slightly stooped shoulders gave them a wide grin with a perceptive look in his eyes as he glanced back and forth between Abby and Noah. But most astonishing was the child standing next to him. The boy had to be Noah’s son. The youngster was a duplicate of his father, and his interested, electric-blue eyes seemed to be taking her measure.

“My name’s Dylan, and you’re the choir director at church,” he blurted out.

Smiling, Abby made her way around Noah and squatted in front of the boy. “Yes, I surely am, but I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting you.”

The child shot his father a disgruntled look before turning to her. “Gampy said I had to stay with him because you were having some trouble and needed my dad. Gampy said we came here to offer help in your time of need, and we won’t turn down a good meal if it’s in the offering.” The precocious child lifted his chin. “Dad and Gampy can’t cook, and we don’t go to church, but a lot of my friends take piano lessons from you and I’ve seen you around school.”

Abby grinned and stood. Dylan was certainly a font of information. “That’s right. I come and play the piano when the school is having a special event such as the yearly Christmas play.” She grinned. “Which will be coming up soon. As soon as my recitals are finished, we’ll start working on the play. You’d make a great Joseph. Why don’t you try out for the part?”

His grin revealed a missing front tooth. “Maybe I’ll do that.”

The older man stuck out his hand. “Name’s Houston Galloway.” He nodded at Noah. “That’s my grandson—” he pointed at Dylan “—and this here’s my great-grandson.”

Abby shook his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Galloway.”

“I’d be happy for you to call me Houston.”

Noah’s grandfather and son were a delight. “I’d be happy to call you Houston.”

Realizing time was running short, Abby motioned them inside. “Come on in. I have to get to choir practice soon, but we were just about to eat. There’s enough lasagna for four if you’re hungry.”

Two sets of eyes lit up, one young and one old.

Houston spoke for the both of them. “We knew Noah was over here and were hoping you would say that. As Dylan said, us guys don’t know our way around the kitchen too much.”

Abby ignored Noah’s soft snort and led everyone in. Evidently his grandfather was taking care of Dylan while Noah was protecting her.

They moved into the house but came to a standstill in the foyer. Bates stood ready and alert, but his eyes were filled with longing as he gazed at the child. Dylan reflected the same expression.

“A dog,” he breathed, awe filling his young voice. “What’s his name?”

Abby grinned. A dog and a boy. A match made in heaven. “His name is Bates.” She glanced at Sheriff Galloway. “It’s fine if they play, but you’ll have to give permission.”

With wide, excited eyes, Dylan begged his father. “Can I, Dad?”

Sheriff Galloway squatted in front of his son and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. “Bates is a trained attack dog. He’s a working animal and you’ll have to be careful. You can play with him as long as you’re in the same room with us. Now, approach him from the side and squat down beside him so he can sniff you. From a dog’s perspective, that’s the proper way to greet him.”

Abby’s heart pinged at the tender way Sheriff Galloway—a hardened former FBI agent—treated his son. A pang of loss gripped her. Her own son, had he lived, would now be over three years old. She stowed away the painful memories and watched as Dylan followed his father’s advice. Bates sniffed all around the child and licked his face.

They all laughed and the group moved into the kitchen. “Everyone take a seat. I’ll have dinner on the table in a jiff.” She laid the table with plates, silverware and napkins, then nuked the whole dish of leftover lasagna and pulled the bread out of the oven. Dylan’s eyes rounded when she filled his plate.

“We don’t eat like this at home. Dad buys those frozen dinners and sticks them in the microwave.”

Abby laughed. “Well, you’re having a homemade dinner tonight. When I cook, I always make a lot because I love leftovers.” She said grace and everybody dug in. If not for the dangerous incidents that kept happening, Abby would almost feel at peace, but one look into Sheriff Galloway’s eyes reminded her that her life would be unsettled until they had some answers.

When they finished eating, Abby stood. “Leave the dishes. I’ll clean up after choir practice. I’ll be late if I don’t hurry.”

The sheriff stood. “I’ll drive you there.”

Houston gave her a peck on the cheek and winked at her, his faded blue eyes twinkling. “That was a mighty fine dinner, Ms. Mayfield. Dylan and I are much obliged. We’ll head on and get out of your hair.”

Abby gave both of them a hug. “It was my pleasure. Y’all come back soon.”

She stood at the door and watched as they walked down the sidewalk and climbed into an old truck.

A throat cleared behind her. “I’m sorry they showed up unannounced. My grandfather tends to live by his own rules.”

Abby grinned. “They’re quite a pair. I enjoyed both of them.”

* * *

While waiting for Ms. Mayfield to gather her things, Noah processed the information he’d gathered. Both choir members, Joanne Ferguson and Walter Fleming, had checked out on a surface search. If they didn’t find some answers soon, he’d give them a second, deeper look.

Pulling his cell phone out of his pocket, Noah decided to give Sheriff Brady in the Mocksville, North Carolina, police department a quick call to follow up on the previous incidents involving Ms. Mayfield. Maybe Brady had discovered something new.

The phone rang twice before it was answered.

“Mocksville Police Department.”

“This is Sheriff Noah Galloway. I’d like to speak with your sheriff.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll connect you to Sheriff Brady.”

“Thank you.”

A few seconds passed. “Sheriff Brady speaking.”

“I’m Sheriff Galloway, calling from Blessing, Texas. There’s been an incident here that involves a former Mocksville resident and I’m gathering information.”

A long sigh filled his ear. “I assume you’re calling about Abigail Mayfield. I’m aware she moved to Texas about eight months ago. Her grandmother calls me frequently.”

After hearing Abby talk to her grandmother on the phone, Noah could imagine the older woman demanding answers.

“What happened this time?” Brady interrupted Noah’s musings.

Noah filled him in on the B and E. “She has a trained attack dog and we responded quickly. The intruder fled the premises. No one was hurt, but there is an interesting twist. At some point, someone left a photograph of Ms. Mayfield’s parents standing in front of the ocean holding a child. She claims the child isn’t her. The picture was placed inside a glass-fronted cabinet in her kitchen. I don’t know if the intruder left the picture during the break-in, or if it was left at another time. Ms. Mayfield filled me in on the incidents that happened in your jurisdiction and I called to see if anything new has surfaced.”

“Nothing solid.”

Noah sensed the man holding something back and he was determined to dig it out of him. “I’d appreciate anything you can give me, including your opinion.”

“Fine, but be aware this is pure conjecture. I don’t have a shred of evidence to back it up.”

“Understood.”

“It’s just interesting that these incidents began after her husband was killed in a car crash several years ago. There were no other cars involved. It happened in the Blue Ridge Mountains and he went over a cliff for no apparent reason. The car was checked thoroughly and Mr. Mayfield was tested for drugs and alcohol. Everything came out clean as a whistle.”

“What led you to check on the husband’s death?”

“I interviewed everyone connected to Abigail Mayfield and came up empty, so I dug deeper. Turns out Mr. Mayfield had a big life insurance policy and that’s why I checked on his death.”

Goose bumps pricked Noah’s arms. “How much?”

“I’ll put it this way. Ms. Mayfield is a wealthy woman by most people’s standards. Her husband was insured for half a million tax-free dollars. There was nothing to indicate foul play regarding her husband’s death, and I couldn’t find one person who had anything bad to say about Ms. Mayfield. The whole thing doesn’t make any sense.”

“I appreciate the information.”

“Let me know what you find out and call if I can help in any way.”

Noah slowly tucked his cell phone back in his pocket.

Was Abigail Mayfield the innocent choir director and piano teacher she appeared to be, or did she have a sinister side? One capable of murdering her husband for monetary gain?

With these unsettling thoughts in mind, Noah watched Ms. Mayfield descend the stairs. He followed her out the front door and waited while she locked the house behind them. They climbed into his patrol car and he headed toward Blessing’s one and only church. His mind ran a gauntlet of different scenarios. He’d witnessed the underbelly of society during his tenure at the FBI, and nothing would surprise him, but deep down he didn’t believe—or want to believe—that Abby was capable of such violence. Her voice brought him out of his musings.

“Okay, I’m a straightforward woman, Sheriff Galloway, and I want you to lay your cards on the table so we can get past whatever’s bothering you.”

She surprised him with her frankness. “How did you know something was bothering me?”

“Sheriff—”

“Call me Noah.”

“Fine. Noah, and if we’re going to be spending time together, you can call me Abby. Now, spill.”

He grinned. He couldn’t help it. Abby might look like a beautiful rose, but the woman had grit and he did want answers. “I just spoke to Sheriff Brady.”

Eagerness filled her voice. “Has he found any more information on the occurrences in North Carolina?”

“Not exactly.”

“What, exactly, did he say?” Exasperation replaced her enthusiasm.

“He hasn’t found any new information on your case, but he did bring your husband’s death into question.”

“What?” Genuine bewilderment came off her in waves.

Noah didn’t think she could fake that. “During the investigation, Sheriff Brady didn’t come across one person in your life who came under suspicion. Because of that, he expanded his investigation and discovered your husband had a rather large insurance policy.”

Silence filled the car. Noah took his eyes off the road for an instant and glanced at Abby. Her face had turned an alarming shade of red and she looked ready to explode. Easing the car to the side of the road, he brought the vehicle to a stop.

“Are you alright?”

“Am I alright? No, I’m not alright. Are you telling me Sheriff Brady thinks I would murder my husband for such a piddly amount of money? I’ll tell you this right now, my husband was a good man, and he was worth a whole lot more than half a million dollars.”

Big fat tears rolled down her cheeks and Noah felt like a heel. Abby was either playing on his sympathy or she was telling the truth. He wanted to believe the latter. Her emotions were too raw.

“And I’ll tell you another thing that only my grandmother knows. I was pregnant when my husband died.” She pulled a Kleenex out of her purse and blew her nose. Her voice wobbled when she spoke again. “I lost the baby not long after he died. I was devastated. I-it was a baby boy. And just so you know, I used part of the money to move to Texas, put some aside to take care of my grandmother as she grows older and gave a substantial amount to a local orphanage in memory of my son.”

Noah felt bad for even bringing it up. “Ms. Mayfield—Abby—I believe you. I’m sorry I brought up such painful memories.”

She blew her nose again. “Thank you.”

“Truce?”

She gave him a tremulous smile. “Truce. Now, get me to choir practice before I’m late.” Her tone was filled with false bravado, but he let it go.

He guided the car back onto the road. “Yes, ma’am.”

The church was only five minutes away and Noah canvassed the outer perimeter of the church grounds as Abby hurried up the front steps of the building. A few minutes later he slipped inside, slid into a pew at the back of the church and settled in. He counted twenty people and wondered if Joanne Ferguson and Walter Fleming were in attendance. He really didn’t think they were involved, but he’d ask Abby to introduce them before everyone left.

His attention was drawn to Abby’s elegant hands as they flowed over the keys of the antique baby grand piano. He wondered how a church this small had raised enough money for such a nice piano, and then it hit him. Abby’s piano at home was a Steinway and he suspected she had purchased the church’s piano with part of the insurance money. He would check out the orphanage donation, but he believed her. His internal antenna had convinced him she was innocent.

He subtly checked out each choir member. They were all smiling and seemed to appreciate the work Abby was doing as their director. His attention zoomed in on a guy seated in the back row. He had a strong, male voice that rose above the others.

The man had to be Walter Fleming. He was tall and distinguished looking. The guy would be right at home working as a banker.

Noah closed his eyes as the old hymns he remembered from childhood washed over him. A peace he hadn’t felt in a long time settled in his soul and he breathed deeply.

He really wished—

The music stopped and he opened his eyes as Abby said a closing prayer before the group started to disperse. Several people spoke to him as they left, and he stood when Abby scurried down the aisle—the woman did everything so energetically—with the tall, distinguished man at her side.

“Noah—Sheriff Galloway—I don’t believe you’ve met Walter Fleming.” Her words came out in a rush. Subterfuge was not one of Ms. Mayfield’s—Abby’s—finer points.

“Walter, the sheriff gave me a ride to church, and since you’re new in town, I thought you’d like to meet him.”

The man had a firm handshake. “Nice to meet you, Walter.”

Walter nodded briskly. “You, too, Sheriff.” Fleming patted Abby on the shoulder and Noah stiffened as a jolt of jealousy shot through him. It was unwarranted. He’d only known the woman for two days. He contributed the feeling to being her protector. “I’ll see you early Sunday morning if you don’t mind running my part for me again before the service.”

“I’ll be happy to. See you then.”

Fleming left and Noah raised a brow at Abby.

She huffed out a breath. “I thought you’d want to meet him.”

Noah grinned. “I did. Good work. I take it Joanne Ferguson wasn’t here?”

“No. And she didn’t call or email, either. I hope nothing’s wrong.”

“Well, let’s get you home.”

As they were leaving, something struck the old wooden door behind them, mere inches from Abby’s head.

Noah knew exactly what the sound meant. He grabbed Abby, twisted her around, threw open the church doors and shoved her back inside the building.

A multitude of emotions crashed through him as he held Abby, wrapped in the safety of his arms, against the back of the closed door. He had a burning desire to protect her. Fear for her well-being roiled through him. She trembled and his emotions intensified.

“It’s okay.”

She pulled out of his arms, took a deep breath and lifted her chin. He admired a woman who could pull herself together so soon after being shot at.

“Did someone just—”

“Yes. Someone shot at you and they used a silencer. It suggests a professional hit.”

Her eyes rounded, but it didn’t take long for her to take in the information. Tight fists landed on her hips and her eyes narrowed. “I want to catch the person doing this.” Noah moved back when she took a step forward. “I’m tired of being afraid to look over my shoulder. I can use myself as bait and lure whoever is after me out into the open. It’s time to set up a sting operation.”

It took a moment for her words to penetrate his brain. “Absolutely not. It’s too dangerous. There’s a good chance we’re dealing with a professional killer.”

Her shoulders slumped, her face crumbled and his heart melted. Those adorable, soft brown eyes found his. “What am I supposed to do? I can’t live like this the rest of my life.”

“Let’s deal with tonight first. I’ll call Cooper. He’ll check the grounds of the church and we’ll get you home.” Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears and it was his undoing. “Trust me to help you, Abby. This is what I do.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “I’m very good at my job.”

She nodded and he reached for his cell phone. Before he had a chance to call his deputy, he heard the familiar sound of a timer going off. He grabbed Abby, shoved her back out the church doors and down the front steps, and shielded her body with his as they hit the ground.

The explosion in the church covered Abby’s scream. The shooter wasn’t trying to kill her with a bullet, he’d wanted them back inside the church where all evidence would be destroyed in the fire. A second, fiercer explosion lit the night sky. Someone wanted Abby Mayfield dead and they were willing to blow up a church to make it happen.