Читать книгу How Secrets Die - Marta Perry - Страница 13
ОглавлениеKATE STOOD FROWNING at the computer for another moment. Then, realizing she was standing right in front of the window, she looked out, half expecting to see Mac Whiting staring in at her.
No one was there. She moved away from the window, and then went back and pulled the curtains closed. It made the small room dark, but it eliminated the sense that someone was watching her.
Rubbing her arms, she stalked into the kitchen. Mac had been right, of course. He seemed to make a habit of that. The neatly wrapped loaf on the counter bore a label. Nut bread, it proclaimed, in Mrs. Anderson’s already familiar writing.
Drat the man. She’d already been shaken at finding the cottage door unlocked, and the immediate confrontation with him had really knocked her off her balance. That was probably why she’d had that intense awareness of him as a man. That, and the brief glimpse he’d given her of an intense protectiveness lurking under his professionalism.
He’d rocked her, and she didn’t want that. Didn’t have time for it, and really didn’t welcome it. There was no space in her thoughts right now for anything but her mission.
Why, Jason? Why? She had nothing but the last journal entry to go on. If only he’d been clearer, just that one time.
He’d been upset, that much was evident. He’d talked about something wrong, something that had rocked him to his very soul.
Something so serious that he had taken his own life. She’d come reluctantly to that conclusion over a number of sleepless nights. It would be so much easier if she could believe he’d died of an accidental overdose. But she couldn’t.
Someone had hurt Jason beyond bearing. She had to know who. Why.
Shaking her head, she forced herself to concentrate on more immediate problems. Like who had been in the cottage while she was out.
Kate rested her hand on the smooth, rounded surface of the loaf. Granted that Mrs. Anderson had been in the cottage, she still came back to the conviction that the woman would not have turned on Kate’s computer. Naturally Mac would assume she’d been mistaken about turning it off, but she distinctly remembered doing so.
There was no point in going over and over the same ground. Kate grabbed her bag and went quickly toward the door. She’d thank Mrs. Anderson for the nut bread and add, very politely, that she’d rather the woman didn’t come in when she wasn’t there. Even a temporary tenant had a reasonable expectation of privacy, didn’t she?
Crossing the yard, Kate tapped on the back door. Mrs. Anderson, busy with something at the stove, turned and waved her in.
The door was unlocked, and the first thing Kate noticed in the back hallway was a wooden rack attached to the wall, containing a row of keys, all neatly labeled. She hadn’t noticed it when they’d come out this door the first time, probably because she was too intent on persuading Mrs. Anderson to let her have the cottage.
Obviously she didn’t have to look far for a means by which someone could get into the cottage. That person had only to wait until Mrs. Anderson was in the front of the building, open the back door, reach in and lift the key from its hook. Apparently people here didn’t have much concern for security.
Mrs. Anderson, wiping her hands on a towel, hurried to meet her. “Sorry. I thought I’d get a few coffee cakes baked to put in the freezer. Weekends get busy during the fall foliage season, you know.”
“I didn’t realize,” Kate said. And she had no idea what Mrs. Anderson considered busy. “I just wanted to thank you for the nut bread you left for me today. That was so thoughtful.” And I wish you hadn’t. “The thing is...”
She ran out of words. Maybe Mac had been right about this. How could a person lock the door against kindness?
“It’s nothing at all.” The woman waved her to a seat in the breakfast area. “Goodness, I’m baking all the time, it seems. And I worry about you, alone back there, just like Jason was. Now, you’ll stay and have a cup of coffee or tea, won’t you? Or iced tea or cider?”
Kate started to shake her head but changed her mind. In the interest of keeping good relations with Mrs. Anderson, she should accept. If they started chatting casually, she might find a way of suggesting that the cottage key be kept in a more secure location.
“Iced tea, thanks.” She settled into a chair and looked out on a flower bed filled with a colorful array of mums and asters.
Mrs. Anderson hurried to the refrigerator, returning to the table in moments with a tray holding a pitcher of tea, ice-filled glasses and fresh sprigs of mint. The woman must have been born to be a hostess.
“It’s nice of you to stop and visit.” Mrs. Anderson poured tea into the glasses. “How are you getting on, dear? It’s not upsetting you too much, living where Jason did?” Her round face crinkled with what seemed genuine concern.
“Not at all.” To Kate’s surprise, she realized that was true. She didn’t have a sense of Jason in the cottage, not the way she’d had when she’d cleared the house where they’d grown up. That place had been filled with memories, too many of them unhappy ones.
“That’s good.” The woman’s worried look didn’t vanish completely, but she seemed satisfied at the moment. “I noticed that Lina Oberlin stopped by to see you.” There was a bit of curiosity in the words.
“She knew I wanted to hear about how Jason got on there.” Kate paused. Apparently Mrs. Anderson kept tabs on who went to the cottage. Annoying, but it meant she might be able to provide information Kate needed. “I had hoped Ms. Oberlin might know about any friends Jason made at Blackburn House, but she didn’t seem to.”
“At Blackburn House? Well, let me think. He must have met Nick Whiting and his father, who run the cabinetry business, and Sarah at the quilt shop, but I don’t think any of them ever got close. And of course the bookshop owner was much older.” She seemed to brighten a little. “There’s Nikki, the receptionist. She’d have been more his age, and I think she stopped by a few times. And Rich Willis, the young attorney whose office is upstairs. He might have known Jason.”
“I hadn’t thought of him. I might stop by and introduce myself.” She couldn’t remember that Jason had ever mentioned the man, but it was a possibility. And she’d have to cultivate Nikki’s acquaintance.
Mac’s warning about staying away from Bart Gordon slithered into her mind. Too bad she’d managed to make an enemy of Gordon at their first meeting. But that hadn’t entirely been her fault. Gordon had overreacted to her presence, badly overreacted. That had to mean something.
While Kate had been busy with her speculations, Mrs. Anderson had been burbling on, seemingly an inexhaustible source of local information. “...previous bookshop owner was killed, right there in Blackburn House.” She leaned forward, emphasizing her words with a tap on the table. “Right next door, can you imagine it? Such a scandal, it caused.”
Wheels turned. “Was that when Jason was here?”
“Oh, no, dear. That happened just this past spring. It turned out he’d been blackmailing someone.”
Impressive, but it didn’t seem to have any possible relationship to her brother. “Who runs the bookshop now?”
“That would be Emily Waterston. She’d clerked there for years, and he left everything to her. Poor Emily.” She shook her head. “I’m afraid it’s all been overwhelming for her. And now the high school girl who helped her part-time has gone off to college, leaving her in the lurch. Well, I mean, of course the young woman had to go on to college, but Emily hasn’t been able to find anyone reliable to fill in.”
A bell rang in Kate’s mind. A part-time job at the bookshop—what could be better? It wouldn’t tie her down, and it would give her a legitimate reason for being in Blackburn House whenever she wanted.
“If she hasn’t filled the position, do you think she might be interested in taking me on, just for the month? I...I could stand to have a little extra money coming in until I start a new job.” Actually she was fine financially since Tom had so unexpectedly left everything to her.
But as a reason, it seemed to satisfy Mrs. Anderson. “Why, I’m sure she would. That would give her time to look for someone more permanent. She’d be so relieved.” The woman rose as she spoke and headed for the telephone. “I’ll call her right now and tell her.”
“You don’t need...” she began, but Mrs. Anderson was already punching in the number.
Kate made an effort not to listen to Mrs. Anderson’s side of the phone call, but it was hard not to hear. She got the impression the unknown Emily was jumping at the chance of immediate help.
In a few minutes Mrs. Anderson hung up, turning to Kate with the satisfied smile of one who has done a good deed. “She’s so pleased. You can go over and talk with her right away and set something up.”
“That’s great.” Really great, that it had fallen into her lap so easily. Too easily? She had an almost superstitious mistrust of anything easy. Still, she couldn’t ignore the opportunity. Draining the rest of her iced tea, Kate stood. “Thanks so much.”
Mrs. Anderson flapped away her thanks. “No trouble at all.”
Kate couldn’t stop the triumphant smile that curved her lips as she headed out the door. So much for Mac Whiting’s warning. Not even he could turn a job at the bookshop into a matter of harassment. She’d like to see his face when he heard.
Not that she cared, of course.
* * *
MAC TOLD HIMSELF he’d done everything he could about Kate Beaumont’s troubling presence in his town. Unfortunately, his efforts hadn’t amounted to much. As for Kate herself, she made him think of nothing so much as a barricaded fortification—impenetrable walls bristling with weapons, ready to fire at the slightest provocation, or even at nothing at all.
Kate had every right to be here in Laurel Ridge. He just wished he could get rid of the feeling that she was nothing short of a roadside bomb, ready to explode at the slightest vibration.
Kate lingered at the back of his mind throughout the routine on his plate for the afternoon. Plans for the usual fall safety talk at the elementary school reminded him of Kate, saying that her stepfather had drilled self-defense into her. A meeting with the downtown merchants’ association over a rash of shoplifting made him think of her insistence that someone had tampered with her computer.
By the time he went back to his office, Mac had made up his mind. He had to find out more about Kate Beaumont, even if it meant letting her know he’d been inquiring about her. His lips twisted wryly. The words “police harassment” would undoubtedly be heard.
Marge lifted her eyebrows at him as he walked in. “Something funny?”
“Not really. Be sure all the usual stuff is collected for the elementary school safety talk, will you? We’re supposed to do it Friday afternoon.”
Marge nodded. “Will do. Johnny is down at the bank. A fender bender in the parking lot.”
Johnny was young John Foster, a raw patrolman who showed little signs of ripening. He sighed. “Maybe I’d better get down there.”
“You told me to remind you that he has to learn to do a few things on his own, remember?”
Marge was right. She usually was.
“Okay. I guess he can’t mess up a minor accident report too badly.” Doubt assailed him even as he said the words, but the kid had to do something to earn his salary.
Besides, Mac had something else to do. “Tell him to check in with me when he’s finished.” He headed into his own office. “I need to make a couple of calls.”
Actually there was one call on his mind. Phil Durban had served with him briefly in Afghanistan before returning to the Philadelphia PD, and he’d been Mac’s contact point over the whole disturbing business of Jason Reilley’s death. Phil knew the family, and if there were any rumors floating around about Kate Beaumont, he’d be aware of them.
Luckily Phil was in the station. Mac leaned back in his chair, which creaked in protest, propped his feet on the pulled-out bottom drawer and prepared to exchange the usual backchat with an old comrade.
The genial exchange of friendly insults over with, Mac got down to business. “Listen, Phil, I need some information.”
“Don’t tell me one of our local boys has ventured as far as the middle of nowhere to cause you trouble.” There was the ordinary gibe in the words, but he could sense Phil’s attention sharpen.
“Nothing like that, but someone has shown up here unexpectedly. Kate Beaumont.” He waited for a reaction. Phil might look as bright as a trout, but he had a brain that never forgot a thing.
“Tom Reilley’s kid.” Phil’s voice had slowed. “I wondered.”
“Wondered what?” Mac prompted. “Don’t be too forthcoming now, old buddy.”
“It’s not like I really know a lot, but I did stop by and see Tom once in a while. Poor guy.” Mac could almost see him shaking his head. “He took the boy’s death hard, and then when the cancer showed up, it was like he didn’t have the will to fight it.”
“Rough.” There wasn’t really anything else to say.
“Yeah. Not easy to be a cop’s kid, I guess. My wife not only carries the load, she knocks sense into me when I start bringing job issues home. Tom wasn’t so lucky.”
He’d had a vague notion Kate’s mother was out of the picture, but nothing more. “What happened to Tom’s wife?”
“Alcohol. She tried to drive on the expressway in the wrong direction. Left Tom to raise the kids the best he could.” Phil made a complicated sound in his throat that might have expressed either sympathy or regret. “Suppose he made some mistakes. Who wouldn’t?”
“Right.” He let the word hang for a moment, and when Phil didn’t speak, he prompted him. “What do you know about why Kate decided to come to Laurel Ridge?”
Another silence. When Phil finally spoke, he sounded reluctant. “Understand, I’m only saying this because you’re the one who’s asking.”
“Got it.” A man owed things to the people he’d served with—trust, for one.
“I stopped by to see if I could help when Kate was clearing the house. She’d found a lot of her brother’s stuff, including his computer, that Tom had put away. She didn’t confide in me. Well, she wouldn’t. But I got the idea she’d found something in her brother’s things that raised questions about the boy’s death.”
There was a sour taste in the back of Mac’s mouth. “Found what?” He ground out the words.
“Don’t know. She didn’t say. Maybe I’m wrong about the whole thing.”
“No. I don’t think you’re wrong.”
Phil had good instincts when it came to people. So did Mac. And he’d thought from the first moment he’d set eyes on Kate Beaumont that she was hiding something.
“Listen, about Kate...” Phil hesitated. “Whatever she’s up to, she’s a cop’s kid.”
“Yeah, I get it.” Professional courtesy again, he supposed. Kate, like it or not—and he suspected she didn’t—was part of the fraternity. Protect and serve. He owed that to every person in his community, yes. But he also owed it, and more, to someone like Kate.
So whatever it was she thought she’d found out about her brother’s death, he had to take it seriously. To help, if he could. And to do that, he had to convince her to open up to him.
“Thanks, Phil. I’ll do what I can.”
* * *
BY EVENING, KATE was feeling less than satisfied with her progress. She’d been hired by Emily Waterston with no problem, but the woman hadn’t been as forthcoming as Kate had hoped.
Emily, as she’d insisted Kate call her, looked like the stereotypical chatty elderly lady, with her halo of curly white hair and bright, inquisitive eyes. However, when Kate brought up the subject of her brother, Emily had shied away like a skittish cat that didn’t trust a stranger’s hand.
Kate would have to take time to earn the woman’s trust. Patience. Unfortunately, patience wasn’t her strong suit.
Tomorrow, she decided, she’d find a way to make contact with Nikki, the receptionist. Nikki might not be entirely reliable, but she’d clearly been ready to gossip. In the meantime—
Kate rubbed the back of her neck, where tension seemed to be setting up permanent residence. The only useful course at the moment was to go back to the video diary once more. Painful as it was to watch Jason alive again, she might begin to understand some of his esoteric references now that she’d met a few of the people he’d known.
Pushing past her reluctance, she settled in front of the computer, a notepad ready at hand. A few clicks brought up Jason’s image. She’d start with the one posted on his arrival in Laurel Ridge and work through them.
Jason’s hope and enthusiasm for his new start came through so clearly in the first entry that it brought hot tears to her eyes. This was how he’d looked when he’d discovered a new fantasy game or a wonderful author. He’d seen a new world opening up in front of him. What had gone wrong?
Listening intently, she began jotting down every reference to the people he’d met in Laurel Ridge. She’d get them down, then try to figure out what they meant.
When a sound impinged on her concentration, Kate glanced up, startled to see that darkness crowded against the window. She’d been so intent she hadn’t noticed the passing of light. The noise had come from outside, she thought, and her heart thudded uncomfortably.
A second later someone knocked at the door. Cautious, she advanced to within a couple of feet of it. “Who’s there?”
“Mac Whiting. I’d like to speak to you.”
I don’t want to speak to you. But she opened the door.
“Sorry to bother you so late.” He was coming in even as he spoke. His movement was casual, but beyond that Kate had the sense that he held himself under tight control.
Whatever this was, she didn’t want to deal with it now. “I don’t want to sound unwelcoming, but it’s late.” She managed a smile. “And I have it on good authority that the neighbors will talk.”
Mac’s face tightened, all planes and angles. “They’d talk more if I asked you to come to the station to meet with me.”
“You can’t be serious.” She was instantly poised to fight. “You can’t have any possible reason—”
She stopped, realizing he wasn’t paying attention to her words. He was focused on something beyond her. Kate spun to see Jason’s face looking out at them from the computer screen.
She sped toward the computer, but even as she reached for it, Mac caught her hand.
Her breath caught. “Let go of me. That’s private.”
“Not just yet. What is it?”
“Nothing. Just a video clip of my brother.” She tried to twist away, to no avail.
“Something you found among your brother’s belongings when you cleared the house?”
Her gaze met his, her temper flaring. “How do you know about that? Who told you?”
His eyes shifted. She felt his reluctance and knew the answer.
“Don’t bother.” Bitterness laced her words. “I should be able to guess. Phil Durban, I suppose. You cops stick together, don’t you?”
“We have to.” Answering anger flashed in his face, and she saw him fight to control it. She suspected he didn’t often let impulse get the better of him. Unlike Tom, who would have exploded by this point in the conversation. He’d had a short fuse, and it wasn’t until she’d grown and gone that she’d appreciated the stress that went into his temper.
“Whatever your buddy guessed, he doesn’t know anything. I wasn’t foolish enough to confide in him.” She threw the words at him, clinging to the enmity between them.
But Mac didn’t flare back. Instead he studied her face, and his expression softened. “Phil’s a good guy. If you needed help, he’d have been the first to offer it.”
That sudden gentleness got under her guard. She turned away, and this time he didn’t try to stop her. “I don’t need help. Not from him. Not from you.”
“Well, now, that’s too bad.” The country-boy casualness was back in his voice again. “Because Phil thinks you found out something that made you suspicious about how your brother died, and I can’t leave it alone. If I made a mistake, I have to fix it.”
Kate hadn’t expected that, and the admission jolted her. “You mean that?”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Do you have any reason to think I don’t?”
“No, I suppose not,” she admitted. Even Tom, as much as they’d fought, had always meant exactly what he’d said.
“Okay.” He made it sound as if they’d taken a giant step forward. “Let’s start over. What makes you think there’s something I didn’t find out about how Jason died?”
She tried to arrange her thoughts. Her instinct was to tell him nothing, but that had become impossible. But she didn’t have to say she suspected suicide. “It’s not a question of how he died. But why he died.”
Mac seemed to process the difference instantly. “An overdose...” he began, his voice gentle.
“An overdose, yes.” Her throat tightened. “I don’t imagine any coroner could miss that. But why? He’d been clean for nearly three years. He’d graduated with honors. He had a bright future. Why would he throw all that away?”
“Addiction is a day-by-day battle.” Mac rubbed the back of his neck, and frustration threaded his words. “Twenty years ago the worst thing Laurel Ridge cops had to deal with was a Saturday night drunk. Now we fight drugs like every other place in the country.”
“Do you think I don’t know that? I helped him through a couple of relapses. But he was doing so well. Something happened to him while he was here in Laurel Ridge that summer. Something that ended with him lying dead in that cemetery.” What? A breakup? A fresh battle with his father? Trouble at his job? There had to be something. Each time he’d relapsed, something had triggered it.
And if she never found that trigger? Either way, the responsibility came back to her. Her throat closed entirely, and she fought to hold back tears, shaking her head as she turned away from him.
He touched her arm in mute sympathy and guided her to the sofa. He drew the armchair closer and sat like a man prepared to wait as long as it took.
Kate sucked in a breath and swallowed hard. “All right,” she muttered.
“The coroner did confirm that there hadn’t been drugs in his system for some time before the overdose.” Mac’s tone was carefully neutral, as if he understood she needed that to hang on to her precarious control. “But what makes you think it was something that happened here that pushed him into it? Did he say anything to you about dealing?”
His attention seemed to sharpen on the question. Naturally that would be his first thought—that someone was bringing drugs into his town.
“If you’re thinking it was Jason, you’re wrong,” she said flatly. “He wouldn’t. And he hadn’t left here all summer, anyway.”
That had been part of Jason’s determination to make it on his own this time, without leaning on his big sister. He’d stay here for the duration of his internship. Phone calls only—no visits. And Jason never had expressed himself well on the phone. She needed to see his face to know what was happening with him.
“I know that. Obviously we looked into it—the drugs had to come from somewhere. Since he didn’t go anywhere to get them, someone brought them in. We never found out who.”
That had frustrated him. She could see it in his suddenly taut face.
“You don’t know who. But you must have some idea.” She leaned toward him, suddenly urgent. “There can’t be that many potential dealers in a place like this.”
“You’d be surprised.” His lips twisted wryly. “I had some ideas, yeah, but they all came up empty.” He jerked a nod toward the computer. “That file—what does that have to do with it?”
Kate rubbed her forehead as if she could scour away some of the confusion. “Jason kept a sort of video diary. Not every day, but most of the summer.”
“You didn’t find it until your stepfather died.”
She nodded. He was putting the pieces together. “Tom had kept everything that was returned to him, but I doubt he ever looked at it. When I started watching the diary...” She paused, not wanting to say more than she had to. Still, the time for that might have already passed. “I could see how excited and enthusiastic he was at the beginning of the summer. But something changed. He was worried, maybe even scared, about some situation. I think at his work, but I can’t be sure.”
“What precisely did he say? You must know that much.” Mac glanced at the computer again, probably longing to wrest the truth from it.
“It’s not as easy as that. Jason wasn’t exactly direct. He had a way of talking about places and people in a kind of code. I doubt you’d understand any of it.” Just in case he was thinking he’d walk away with her file.
Mac stood, as if he couldn’t pretend to relax for another moment. “Let me see it.”
“No.” She rose as well, facing him. “It’s personal, and you have no right...”
“It could be evidence in a drug case.” He left implied the threat that he could get a subpoena if she didn’t cooperate. “Whatever this code is, it can be broken.”
She’d laugh if this were anything but deadly serious. “It’s not that kind of code.” It was no good—she’d have to tell him more, or she’d never get rid of him. “Jason always loved fantasy—books, games, movies, whatever. I tried to keep up, just so I could share something with him. He’d refer to people and situations with references from fantasy that even I didn’t always understand.” She nodded toward the image of his face, frozen on the screen. “That’s what he did in the diary. He would have known what he meant, but the chances that anyone else could figure it out are slim to none.”
“But that’s what you’re trying to do. That’s why you came here. To see the layout for yourself, to meet the people, to figure out what or who led your brother to his death.”
There was no point in denying it. “It’s my own business,” she repeated stubbornly. “If I find anything that looks like a police matter, you’ll be the first to know.”
“Not good enough.” Mac could apparently be equally stubborn. “You’re not going to be conducting any sort of crusade in my town. Not unless I’m involved every step of the way.”
“You can’t force me...”
He raised an eyebrow. “Force? Who said anything about force? But either you let me in on it, or I’ll make it impossible for you to find out anything about anyone here. It wouldn’t even be hard. A few words to a few people, and you won’t find a soul in Laurel Ridge willing to talk to you.”
She didn’t doubt he could do it. “That’s blackmail.”
“That’s me, doing my job, whether you want me to or not.” His lips quirked, but his eyes were intent. “Take it or leave it.”
Kate wanted to kick him out. To say she’d manage this herself. Trouble was, he held all the cards.
“All right,” she said finally. “You win. I’ll take it.”
