A Cobweb on the Soul
a novel
Nadene R. Carter
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A Cobweb on the Soul
Nadene R. Carter
Published by NorLightsPress at Smashwords
Copyright (C) 2009 by Nadene R. Carter
Discover other titles by Nadene Carter at Smashwords.com
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
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NOTE: See Reader’s Guide at the end of this book.
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Dedication
To my friends and fellow writers.
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With Gratitude
I gratefully acknowledge the contributions of the following Individuals:
Les Whitaker, my friend and mentor, who guided me around writing potholes of my own making.
Many individuals in several writing groups who offered valuable critiques during the revisions of this novel.
Mark Beckstead, who patiently and with great kindness answered my law enforcement questions.
Shawn Winder, who provided me with detailed information about Park City, Utah.
Tony Wegener, who created the voice of Oz.
Norma Bennett, LaRee Larson, and Amy Beckstead, who read the manuscript during the various stages of development and offered valuable suggestions that gave me fresh insight during the rewrites.
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Chapter One
Near midnight – the first Friday in April
Johnny pulled the heavy door shut. The rusty hinges groaned into the chill night air. He shivered. This was the part that still unnerved him, the getting away after he'd done it. He started down the porch stairs but froze in mid-step, chills prickling the back of his neck.
He felt someone watching him.
Peering into the darkness, he steadied himself against the square porch post and quieted his breathing, the better to hear. Despite the near-freezing temperature, sweat beaded his forehead. Minutes ticked by, the stillness interrupted only by the mournful howl of some wild animal. Finally, disgusted that he'd allowed nerves to get the best of him, he stripped off yellow vinyl gloves, hitched the duffel bag strap over his shoulder, and hurried down the steps.
Seeing eyes in every shadow was one more reason for this to be the last one.
At the car, he shed the oversized wet suit that had protected him from coming in contact with anything inside the old Bradford Mansion and stuffed everything into the trunk. All these years he'd played it smart and never come close to getting caught, but part of being smart was knowing when to quit.
He started the ancient Corvette and took one last look at the hulking, old building silhouetted against the distant glow of lights from Park City, Utah.
Johnny sped down the winding drive. He smiled, thinking of Heather: tiny, blond, and beautiful. He had arrived in town last fall just before Thanksgiving but hadn't found her until the second week in January. The minute he saw her he knew she was the one. She had that timid look in the eyes, like she'd bolt if somebody said 'boo'.
He thought of the others. Finding a blond with that special quality sometimes took months. Often, he wondered if he was too picky, but it was important to get just the right one. The harder he had to work at it the better he liked it, and the rush when he chose each girl was the best high in the world. Time was never a factor; patience and planning were, but now it was over and the ever-lurking unease again began to gnaw. He'd come to expect it, but that still didn't make it any easier to deal with. His big hands trembled on the steering wheel. If only the planning could last forever.
Preoccupied, he nearly missed the sharp bend in the road. He struggled for control, and as the car skidded around the corner, two reflected points of yellow light wavered in the headlights. He screeched to a stop and watched a big black Labrador disappear into the underbrush.
Buddy? Looked a lot like Buddy, but all black Labs look the same.
Guilt ate at his gut. After work he should've gone home and walked Buddy, but there wasn't time. He had to be at the high school when Heather got out. Besides, Buddy was a good dog. Johnny had trained him to hold it until he took him outside. When Buddy was a pup, sometimes Johnny had to take a stick to him to make the dog behave, but now Buddy never messed inside. Not anymore.
Slowly, he drove along the dark road. Tomorrow, he and Buddy would head east. A new job waited for him in Sydney, Nebraska. Now that he'd decided this was the last one, maybe he'd settle down, find somebody special, get married, and have a couple of kids. An ordinary life sounded good. On mental autopilot, Johnny tracked along those happy thoughts as he drove, turning off at Ridgewood Lane and parking in his slot.
A distant siren jerked him back to the present. His headlights loomed bright against a wall. He tromped the brakes hard and in that instant realized he was already parked. He punched off the lights. Panic seized him. How long had he been sitting there? Had anyone noticed?
He stepped out, quietly clicking the car door shut as he glanced about for curious onlookers. All was silent, the windows in nearby apartments, dark. His thoughts turned to his dog. Buddy would be waiting. He always made Johnny feel better. His spirits lifted a little as he strode to the apartment, turned the key in the lock, and braced himself for Buddy's slobbery welcome.
Nothing?
He strode about the tiny, immaculate apartment calling, "Hey, Buddy. Here, Buddy."
The only place he hadn't looked was the bedroom. Johnny found the dog in the cubbyhole between the dresser and the wall. He patted Buddy. "What's the matter, fella? You can't get sick now, we've got a long trip ahead of us."
Buddy struggled to get up but fell back, whimpering.
Stroking the smooth, black coat, Johnny grew more alarmed as he felt the dog tremble beneath his hand. He examined Buddy's nose. It was dry and hot to the touch.
"Damn! I gotta find a vet."
He hurried to the kitchen, grabbed the phone book from the drawer, and flipped through the yellow pages until he found 'Veterinarians'. He called number after number, but all he got were answering machines with messages to call after eight in the morning. Chucking the book against the wall, he tromped about the tiny kitchen. Surely there was a vet on call somewhere. Maybe Heber City had a twenty-four-hour clinic.
He grabbed the phone book off the floor and searched the Heber City listings. Wasatch Veterinary Clinic, Sheldon Meyer DVM. He dialed the number. A sleepy voice answered, and Johnny explained the problem. Dr. Meyer sounded reluctant, but he agreed to see Buddy.
Johnny hurried to the bathroom, ran water over a comb, and pulled it through his unruly hair.
He grabbed an old blanket off the closet shelf and wrapped the dog in it. Buddy yelped with pain when Johnny tried to pick him up. It took several attempts before Johnny found a position the dog could tolerate. Gingerly, he carried him to the car. As he drove along the nearly deserted streets toward the freeway, the small voice inside his head nagged: This isn't part of the plan, Johnny. It's bad luck to change the plan.
He willed the voice to be silent. The vet would make Buddy well. They could still leave in the morning.
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Chapter Two
Early Saturday morning
Abby Carlson drove across town toward the west hills. The windshield wipers methodically cleared away light rain that sifted from high, pewter-gray clouds. She caught up with Mike and Judith Hall, followed them up the winding drive to the Bradford Mansion, and parked next to their truck with the Hall Construction logo on the side.
With the practiced eye of an architect, Abby studied the structure, a two-story Victorian mansion. The exterior siding was in bad shape, and the building had that long-deserted look. Patches of shingles were missing, while others grew green moss. The porch roof sagged, and one corner of the tall brick chimney had crumbled away. The drizzling rain distorted the image, making the place seem even older and more dilapidated. Her gaze took in the overgrown and unkempt ten-acre estate. It would take lots of work just to get the grounds in shape.
She thought of her father's words: 'One acre or a hundred takes 'bout the same machinery to run. Remember that, Ab, when you get rich enough to buy a place of your own'. Her eyes refocused from mental images of the Colorado ranch where she grew up back to the Bradford Estate. A big yard wasn't her idea of fun, but Mike and Jude loved a challenge.
Abby grabbed her camera and notepad off the seat and, dodging a mud puddle, she followed her friend Jude to the house. Mike carried three-year-old Megan tucked under an arm and in his free hand, he held an oversized flashlight. He put her down on the porch, and her little feet thumped gaily against the weather-checked wood.
Abby tried to insert the skeleton key into the lock. The door creaked open. She looked at Mike. "Someone forgot to lock this door."
She entered a foyer with two access routes into the house. Abby stepped across the threshold to the larger room and ducked under cobwebs. "Eww . . . spiders. I hate 'em!" She swatted at sticky strands that had caught in her shoulder-length auburn hair. Long ago, she had reluctantly accepted the crawly critters that inhabited such places as the downside of her occupation.
Jagged cracks in the plaster and peeling wallpaper confirmed Abby's fears that the interior would need to be gutted back to the lath, a horrid job, but the whole place needed rewiring, so no great loss. Across the room, shards of glass hung like icicles in the broken windowpane. Abby pulled up her collar and buttoned her coat against the cold.
Jude pried loose a strip of molding and swept down the webs, while Mike gave the room a cursory inspection. The clomp of his heavy boots against bare wood echoed as he strode through the place.
"This is perfect for the teaching studio." Jude's voice rose with excitement. "Plenty of room to teach classes. Those angled bay windows on the south let in lots of natural light. We can put the spinning wheels there and floor looms and tapestry looms in the remaining space. How many can we get in here?"
The sound of Megan's happy giggles rose to a crescendo as she explored the rooms.
"Hey, Megan," Mike hollered. "Quiet down, we can't hear over your racket."
The giggling continued but the volume subsided a bit.
Mike rubbed his chin. "Let's take a look through first to see which area would work best for the studio and which for the retail shop, then we can start measuring rooms and make some decisions." He turned to Abby. "Once we know what we want, how long will it take you to draw up the plans and get me some construction documents?"
"Oh three, maybe four weeks, if I spend some overtime hours."
"That'll work out about right. I'm nearly finished with the Evans' home. As soon as we close on this place, I can start gutting the interior and be ready to start the renovation as soon as you have the plans finished. We should be able to complete the rebuild by fall."
They walked from room to room on the main floor. Abby took photos from several angles in each room and jotted notes on her yellow pad as Mike and Jude discussed their options. Then, they climbed the wide bank of stairs to the second floor, which would be the Hall family's living quarters. Ahead of them, Megan tugged her way up the stairs singing, "Jack / and Jill / went up / a hill / to get / a pail / of waaater.
It was darker up there. Mike clicked on his flashlight. Abby had wondered if one level would be enough living space for them, but the mansion was huge, much bigger inside than it appeared from the outside. Jude brought the stick with her and swept down more spider webs.
One room had been a library with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Abby wiped dust off a shelf. Beautiful, fine-grained hardwood, definitely worth the effort to restore. She took extra shots in that room.
A loud thump-bump and Megan began to wail. They hurried toward the sound. To the side of one room, a narrow stairway led to the attic. Megan lay at the bottom of the steps, her honey blond hair a jumbled mass across her face. Jude scooped up the child and kissed the red bump on her forehead. Megan's cries quieted to a whimper.
"An attic." Jude's eyes twinkled. "Maybe they left antiques."
Mike brought the flashlight and led the way. "Be careful, these stairs are steep."
"It's old houses like this where you find antique spinning wheels and chests full of old clothes," Jude effused.
"More likely we'll find dead rats and lots of dust," Mike cautioned.
He turned the cut glass doorknob at the top of the stairs. The others followed him into a large, windowless room.
"What's that smell?" Abby shrank from the thick air.
"Smells like gas of some kind," Mike said. "Diesel maybe, but why up here? I didn't catch anything like that downstairs."
He aimed the light about the room, illuminating bare studs all around with rafters that sloped to a peak. Not a piece of furniture in the place.
Abby took six photos from various angles in the attic. "At least there aren't as many spider webs," she said, making no effort to hide her relief.
Mike aimed the light up and down the walls. "That's odd. Of all places you'd expect to see lots of cobwebs, it'd be in an attic."
Meg started to fuss. Jude put her down, and Meg immediately made a game of running backwards, giggling when she fell.
Mike made another sweep with the light then brought it back to shine on an object tucked into the far corner of the room. He crouched low to avoid bumping his head on the rafters. "It's just an old wooden box. The top's secured with screws. Probably nothing in it."
"But there might be," Jude coaxed. "It'd only take a minute to remove the lid."
Mike grinned at her, pulled a screwdriver from his tool belt, and backed out the rusty screws. He looked for a place to put them. Abby held out her hand. Mike placed the lid on the floor and picked up the flashlight. Abby and Jude pushed forward to see.
For Abby, the world tilted; her heart pounded in her ears. A dead girl, the body wrapped in a blanket, her head exposed, lay in the pool of light. The screws slipped from Abby's fingers and fell, unnoticed, to the floor.
Megan ran toward them. Jude grabbed her. "I have to get Meg out of here!" Shielding the child, she hurried toward the stairs.
Surreal horror held Abby in its grip. She struggled to breathe, unable to wrench her gaze from the face that looked so much like her sister Lianne. Memories that Abby had long ago pigeon-holed into the far recesses of her mind now rose to the surface. The long blond hair and delicate, finely detailed features were so familiar . . . but no, this wasn't Lianne. . .
Abby's stomach lurched. She bolted from the room, down the stairs, and barely made it to the front porch railing. Searching her pockets for a tissue, she struggled to quiet the dry heaves. Abby wiped her mouth and sucked in huge gulps of air. She looked to the horizon for a calming view of the mountains, but a solid canopy of clouds now obscured the view.
"Abby, are you okay?" Wide-eyed, Jude stood clutching her child.
Abby nodded.
Megan tugged at her mother's coat collar. "I wanna go climb the stairs," she pouted.
"No!" Jude pulled the front door shut. "Be a good girl and play here on the porch." She put the child down and turned back to Abby. "I barely got a look, but she seemed really young."
Abby nodded. The girl's image had burned itself into her brain. She hadn't thought about Lianne in a long time, had trained herself not to dwell on the sister, two years younger, who one day simply disappeared.
"Abby?" Jude touched her shoulder, concern in her eyes.
"She looks like Lianne." The words escaped as barely a whisper.
"What are you talking about? You mean the dead girl . . . your sister, Lianne?"
"No, of course not. Lianne would be twenty-five now. That girl is a lot younger, but she has blond hair and something about her reminds me of Lianne."
"This is too weird." Jude shuddered and hurried to retrieve Megan, who had wandered out into the wet grass.
Abby watched Megan playfully try to outrun her mother.
As a child, Abby never tired of hearing her mother tell the story about the day they brought ten-day-old Abby home. Frank and Birdie had waited such a long time to adopt, and they accepted the likelihood that Abby would be their only child. Then Lianne had come along.
Lianne. Abby still remembered the day they brought her home to live with them. At first, five-year-old Abby had been so excited to have a little sister, but her enthusiasm quickly cooled. Lianne was tiny for being almost three years old and so pretty, long blond curls and a smile that melted everyone's heart, and they all made such a fuss over her. Abby recalled feeling ugly by comparison. With a stab of guilt, she also remembered wishing Lianne hadn't come to live with them, a regret buried deep in her soul, one that she had never shared with anyone.
Megan screeched in protest as Jude lugged her back to the porch. The child flailed her arms about, wanting to get down. She wiggled free and began tossing a pile of last year's leaves over the porch railing.
Reattaching a cell phone to his belt, Mike emerged from the house. "I just put in a call to the cops. Said they'd be here in a few minutes." Mike took Jude's hand. "There's something you should know before they get here. I think that girl up there is Heather."
"No, it can't be," Jude protested. "It doesn't even look like her."
"I know." Mike nodded. "I almost didn't make the connection. Her face is badly swollen, but I think it's Heather."
Jude, her face pasty white, sank to the porch steps. "Her mother is in our Weaving Guild. She isn't very strong, this will kill her."
Megan tugged at her mother's coat; a gust of wind tousled the child's hair. "Where's Heather? I want to play with her."
Her eyes welling with tears, Jude hugged the child close. "We can't play with Heather today, okay?"
A jagged bolt of lightning slashed the sky followed by a clap of thunder that shook the building. Megan squealed with fright.
Jude jumped to her feet and grabbed the startled child. She turned to Mike. "I should take Megan home."
Mike nodded. "I'll have Abby bring me home as soon as we talk to the police."
Clutching Megan in her arms, Jude ran to the truck.
At that moment, more than anything Abby wished Jared were there to wrap his strong arms around her. With any luck, he'd be with the police when they arrived.
Abby watched Jude drive away and absently kicked at the uneven boards under her feet. So much effort had gone into saving this place, literally snatching it away from developers set on demolishing it for a new luxury spa and hotel, and now to have it marred by a murder.
Another flash of lightning triggered the heavy clouds, and they released their load in a thunderous downpour, nearly drowning out the wail of police sirens in the distance.
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Chapter Three
Late Saturday morning
Detective Jared Norton squelched the siren as he turned up the winding drive to the Bradford Mansion. He pulled in beside Abby's blue Toyota. Two police SUVs followed him and parked along the edge of the driveway. The van carrying the paramedic team pulled ahead of them and parked near the entrance.
From the 911 call, Jared doubted they would be needed. He instructed the medical team to wait until he checked the victim, then he assigned two officers to secure the area with barricade tape and photograph the grounds as they did a careful search. At his signal, the other four officers, with their evidence kits in hand, followed him to the house.
He shook Mike's hand and hugged Abby. She managed a weak smile. He allowed his gaze to linger a moment on her face, noting her unusually pale skin. Her mouth looked as if any moment she might be sick. "You okay?"
She nodded.
"I'll be back in a few minutes to take your statements," Jared said. "Where's the body?"
"She's in a box in the attic." Mike made a move toward the door. "I can show you."
"No, we'll find it."
The officers pulled on latex gloves. Jared left two of his men to process the rooms on the main floor, and he, along with officers Curtis and Lundahl, climbed the wide stairs to the second story. "We'll work this level after we finish in the attic," Jared said.
They searched through several rooms before finding the narrow stairs that led to the attic.
"What's that petroleum smell?" Lundahl asked, as they started up the steps.
"You got me." At the doorway, Jared flicked the light about the large, windowless room. "Careful of the shoe prints. We'll need to lift them."
Curtis bent down for a closer look. "Whoa! Except for the prints, the floor is clean. Dusty shoe prints on a clean floor? What's that about?"
"Odd," Lundahl muttered.
Jared sat on the stairs and pulled paper booties over his shoes. "I'll take a look so we can get the paramedics in here if we need them."
Jared took the camera and, keeping to the perimeter of the room, made his way to the box in the far corner. Crouching to avoid the rafters, he aimed the light inside. A body was wrapped in a blanket, the head exposed. "Curtis, go tell the paramedics we won't need them."
"Will do."
Jared prepared to photograph the body, but the image in the box blurred. The blond hair became black. His beloved wife's crumpled body lay inside the front door of their apartment, the victim of a robbery gone bad. He felt unable to move. His heart thudded in his ears, the scene instantly compressing eight years as if it were yesterday.
He forced himself to focus on the dead girl until reality returned, a young face framed with blond hair. Hands unsteady, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at sweat along his upper lip.
After taking the obligatory photos, Jared hurried back to the stairs. He frowned at Curtis, who obviously hadn't obeyed his orders. "Thought I told you to go talk to the paramedics?"
"I did." Curtis and Lundahl glanced at each other.
Nervously, Jared cleared his throat. "Get your shoes covered so we don't contaminate the scene. You two, lift shoe prints from the outer edges of the room to the center. I'll work here from the doorway in."
They worked in silence as they applied sticky film to the shoe prints, securing each in its own self-container. When finished, they compared the prints.
"Looks like four sets of adult shoe prints and one child's," Jared said.
Curtis pointed to the floor. "Yeah, and look here at the scuff marks where someone slid the box to the corner." He aimed his light into the box, illuminating the body.
Jared, now all business, bent to touch the blanket with a gloved finger and raised it to his nose. "That's the smell. Diesel. The blanket's soaked in it."
"Look here, the box is lined with black plastic. There must be at least an inch of diesel standing in the bottom," Lundahl said.
"The crime lab people should handle it from here." Jared took photos from various angles in the room before handing Lundahl the camera. "I'll take statements from Mike and Abby while you guys start processing the second floor."
Jared left the evidence they'd collected with his officers.
Abby met him with outstretched arms.
Eyes shut, Jared held her as he struggled to control the images and the memories. "Pretty bad scene up there," he whispered.
Abby stepped back and studied his face. "Are you okay?"
Jared nodded. "When I arrived, you didn't look so good yourself. Are you feeling any better?"
"I suppose. One minute we were doing a walk-through of the place, making plans, the next we were looking at a dead person. It was just such a shock."
"I think the girl up there is Heather Sloane," Mike interjected. "She baby-sits Megan a couple of days a week after school."
Jared wrote the name in his notebook. "I'll check into it. When was the last time she was at your house?"
"Thursday, I think. She usually came Tuesdays and Thursdays."
"Give me a rundown of everyone who was here."
"Besides myself . . . Abby, Jude, and Megan."
"Only three adults?" Jared glanced up from his writing.
"That's right," Mike said.
"How come Jude left?"
"Megan overheard us talking about Heather and started asking about her. Kind of rattled Jude."
Jared nodded. "What time did you arrive?"
"Probably nine," Mike said. "Maybe a few minutes before."
"And what was your route through the place?"
"We worked our way through all the downstairs rooms then started on the second floor. We didn't even think about there being an attic until Megan took a tumble down those stairs. We decided to check it out to see if anything had been left behind."
"Did you notice anything unusual as you walked through the building?"
"The front door was unlocked," Abby said.
Jared stood, thinking. "Both of you, I'll need to photograph the bottoms of your shoes. Jude's too. Will she be home?"
Mike nodded.
"I'll get an officer out here with a camera. So how did you discover the body?"
"I brought my flashlight and led the way up those stairs. When I opened the door, we got this awful whiff of something." Mike made a face. "I shined the light around. Thought it was just a big empty room until I found that box in the corner. I removed the screws, took off the lid, and there she was."
Mike's face had paled to an ashen shade as he retold the story.
"Did you touch anything inside the box?"
"I touched the blanket to see what it was soaked in," Mike said. "Probably shouldn't have done that."
"No harm done," Jared said.
"It had the feel and smell of diesel. What did your guys think?"
Jared flipped to the next page of his notebook. "Probably diesel. Tell me about when you were in the attic. Did you do any cleaning up there?" Jared looked from Mike to Abby.
"No." Mike gave him a startled look. "Why would you think that?"
"The room just appears less dirty than the rest of the house."
"There weren't as many spider webs up there. Remember?" Abby said.
"That's right." Mike nodded.
"Those developers really wanted this property and were more than a little upset when the mansion was accepted as a Historic Home," Abby said. "What if covering up a murder was the reason they had the fire department scheduled to burn the place down?"
Jared shook his head. "That scenario doesn't feel right, but it's something we'll look at."
Abby shivered. "I can't quit thinking about that girl. It doesn't make any sense."
"It always makes perfect sense to the perpetrator." Jared tugged at his moustache as he read through his notes. "Anything else either of you want to add?"
Mike frowned. "This might sound strange, but until I saw that girl lying there, I never realized how much Heather and Jude look alike, even down to the blond hair."
"Probably shouldn't think about stuff like that." Jared slid the notebook into his jacket pocket and turned to Abby. "By the way, I hate missing out on a home-cooked meal, but I'll have to take a rain check on dinner tonight."
"Yeah." She smiled. "I already figured that out."
"How long will you guys have this place barricaded?" Mike asked.
"Hard to say. A day or two at least."
"This murder could change Jude's mind about wanting the place."
"At least now that it has historic protection, even if you decide not to take it, someone will," Abby said.
"I should go see how my guys are doing." Jared hugged Abby. "I'll get someone out here with a camera." He squeezed her arm and headed for the door.
"Give me a call if you get a minute," Abby said.
Jared smiled over his shoulder. "Will do."
~~~~
Abby maneuvered her car around the police SUVs and followed the winding drive onto Sage Road. She felt emotionally fractured and weary to the bone. Somehow, years ago she'd been able to file thoughts of Lianne away in a safe place where they didn't hurt so much. Seeing that young girl with the long blond hair had brought it all back. She ached deep in her chest. The wondering . . . never knowing.
"I'm not sure it's safe riding with you." Mike's voice broke into her thoughts.
Abby glanced at him, then at the speedometer and eased off the accelerator.
"You didn't hear a word I said, did you?"
"Sorry." Abby shook her head. "That dead girl looks so much like my sister, Lianne. I'm having a hard time getting the picture out of my head."
"I remember Jude telling me something about your sister, but I've never heard the whole story."
All the usual tease and playfulness was absent from his voice. Abby glanced at him and saw genuine concern in his eyes.
"I'd be happy to listen, unless you don't want to talk about it," he added.
Abby sighed and pushed hair away from her face. "For years I couldn't talk about it, and we really d-don't know what h-happened." She took a deep breath and waited for the surge of emotion to pass. "It was in February, nine years ago when Jude and I were seniors in high school. Lianne was a sophomore, barely sixteen years old. One day she was there; the next she was gone. The police labeled her a runaway, but Lianne didn't run away." Abby felt the old anger build. "She was a happy kid, a good student. Popular, but no serious boyfriend. She didn't fit the runaway profile, but the police, they had better things to do with their time!" Resentment rose like bitter gall in her throat, especially toward Officer Johnston. 'You need to go home and leave the police work to us,' he'd sneered. Coldest, uncaring human she'd ever met. To Abby's way of thinking, he was what being a bad cop was all about.
"I take it you weren't pleased with the investigation."
Abby hesitated, unsure if she could talk about it without crying. "Not at all pleased. One of the officers was downright cruel to my mother. Mom got a little obsessive, started pushing them to step up the investigation. They got nasty and told us to quit interfering."
She pulled into the driveway and parked the car.
"Abby, I don't know what to say other than I'm sorry. It's such a long time to carry around that kind of pain. What can I do?"
"There's nothing anyone can do. What hurts the most is not knowing what happened. I just have to find a way to bury the memories again so they don't hurt so much. I'll get myself together." She made an effort at a smile. "You'll see, tomorrow I'll be my old self."
They got out of the car and went into the house.
Jude walked toward them from the bedroom wing of the house. "I put Megan down for a nap. She kept babbling about playing with Heather." Jude dabbed a wad of tissues at her red eyes. "I don't know how we'll ever tell her what happened."
"She loved Heather." Mike put an arm around his wife and pulled her close. "When things settle down in a few days, we'll have to find a way to explain why Heather can't baby-sit her anymore."
"I suppose, but it'll be tough. What happened when the police got there?"
"Jared's in charge of the investigation," Mike said. "He's got a big job on his hands."
The phone rang. Mike picked it up and listened for a moment. "It's a second marriage thing, but I don't recall the name. Just a minute."
Mike turned to Jude. "It's Jared. What is Heather's mother's name? Sharon something."
"Talbot. Sharon's husband is Red Talbot. He's an accountant."
Abby's heart reached out to Heather's mother. Sharon Talbot's world was about to be ripped to shreds. It would never again be the same.
"Abby." Jude touched her shoulder. "Are you all right?"
"No." Abby wiped at tears that were immediately replaced by more. "This brings back all that mess with Lianne. There's no way to put it to rest when we don't know what happened."
Jude put her arms around her.
Abby felt a crying jag coming on. Not a pretty sight and certainly not something she wanted an audience around to witness. She pulled away. "I need to go home."
"Are you sure? It might not be such a good time to be alone."
"I'm sure." Abby headed for the door. "We'll talk soon."
Abby shut the door. The wooded hillside beyond Jude's house wavered through tears she could no longer hold back.
In the car, sobs shook her body. Anger burned in her chest for the botched investigation, despair from having Lianne disappear with no idea how or why she had gone, the pain as fresh as the day it happened. How did one find forgiveness for foolish, evil thoughts?
Aimlessly, she drove out of town and followed a graveled set of tracks up into the hills. At a fork in the road, she made a turn around and parked off to the side. Two gnarled junipers framed a panoramic view of Park City below. The rain had quit and sunlight shone through breaks in the clouds. Fog hung above McLeod Creek as it snaked through the town.
She needed to get her mind off the dead girl in the attic and stop thinking about Lianne. Maybe if she focused on restoring the mansion it would make the memories go away.
Abby stepped from the car and filled her lungs with brisk mountain air, a hint of pine and sage on the breeze. Grateful for the warm coat, she strolled along the wet road.
Jude and Mike had been so excited when they learned of the effort to save the mansion. They immediately put in a bid to buy and restore the building if it was granted historic status.
Then early that morning the phone had jangled Abby out of a sound sleep. It was her boss with news that the mansion had been accepted into the National Registry of Historic Homes. That halted the sale to the developers, who were so sure of their position they had contacted the city fire department to provide assistance with a controlled burn of the building. Less debris to haul away, they said.
It would've been a shame to see such an elegant old home destroyed, and so odd that someone knew enough about what was happening with the building to attempt to hide a murder there just before it was scheduled to be burned down. Very odd.
~~~~
Chapter Four
During the night, Johnny had catnapped on the couch in Dr. Meyer's waiting room. He woke to someone calling his name and squinted against the bright light streaming through the window.
Dr. Meyer loomed above him. "You can take your dog home now."
Johnny sat up. "Is he better?"
"He's stabilized, but a long way from better." Dr. Meyer stood with his arms crossed, a scowl on his face. "A dog doesn't develop such severe urinary tract infection without repeated episodes of being forced to retain his urine. I'd guess he's an indoor dog, probably would split his bladder before he'd pee in the house. Do I have it about right?"
Johnny frowned. "I walk him every morning and when I get home from work."
"But sometimes it's as much as ten, maybe twelve hours in between?"
"Not often, but sometimes."
Dr. Meyer raised an eyebrow. "If you value your pet, that must stop. Another episode like this could kill him. I've given him an injection to fight the infection. The i.v. brought down the toxin levels in his blood, but he'll need another injection on Monday and close attention for several days. Offer him water every few hours and walk him often once he can stand."
Reluctantly, Johnny made an appointment for Monday, paid the bill, and carried Buddy to the car. Dr. Meyer's words rankled him. Johnny hated to think that he'd caused harm to his dog. He hadn't meant it to happen.
"Damn!" He bashed his big fist against the steering wheel. "We can't leave until at least Monday. It screws everything up."
The words singsonged in his head again: This isn't part of the plan, Johnny. It's bad luck to change the plan. Nevertheless, he ignored the voice. He had to, Buddy was sick.
At Main Street, he eased into the traffic. The sun glared off the wet pavement, nearly blinding him. He grabbed at the visor to shield his eyes. Traffic thinned at the edge of town, the freeway on-ramp straight ahead. Fifteen minutes and he'd be back at the apartment.
A bend in the road brought Jordanelle Reservoir into view, and memories of last night's kill flooded into mental replay. Heather had agreed to meet him at the church parking lot across the fence from the high school football field. While he waited for her, he had released the chain link fencing from the post. After Heather ducked through the hole, he reattached the fence with no one the wiser.
Johnny had mentally patted himself on the back. Always thinking. Always smart.
They drove to Heber City, and Heather stayed out of sight while he ordered cheeseburgers and cokes from a drive-through. Then he drove up a dirt road where they ate and walked farther up into the hills.
She had chattered nonstop. 'You wouldn't believe how easy it was. Usually, I have to beg or make some big promise to get to do anything', she said sarcastically. 'This time they just said yes. Can you believe that? Probably, it was because they really like Kathy. She's about the only girl from school Red allows in the house.' She had stopped and looked Johnny squarely in the eye. 'Tonight, we'll make sure Red never bothers anybody ever again. I couldn't do it alone, and I'll never be able to repay you.'
That last bit had made Johnny feel like a jerk, but he shook it off. He couldn't afford to cave in to sympathy.
After dark, he drove to the reservoir. From there, everything played out like the script. She drank the bottle of cola he had laced with roofies. He'd kept it on ice in the trunk until he needed it. When she passed out, he leaned the seat back and gave her the overdose shot of heroin, just like he'd done with the other girls. Several years ago, he discovered insulin syringes and no longer worried about leaving a visible puncture wound. The tiny needle also made it easy to hit a vein. All these things, he knew, were overcautious, but he prided himself on being smart and careful. He always hedged against the outside chance that things wouldn't go as planned, and he manipulated the evidence so the trail never led back to him.
Ahead of him, a badger lumbered across the road. Johnny jerked out of his reverie, braked hard, and swerved to avoid hitting it. Memories of the previous night's events vanished.
He stepped on the accelerator and sped down the freeway. The thought nagged that he shouldn't have allowed himself to get close to Heather. In a strange way, he missed her. He found these new feelings unsettling. Usually, he chose the girl and shadowed her for as long as it took to find the vulnerable spot in her routine so he could snatch her, but he'd allowed himself to get to know Heather. He was getting sloppy. One more reason for this to be the last one.
A few minutes later, Park City lay before him. He took the SR 248 exit and drove past the sign that read, Population 4,468.
Strange. I should be able to see the smoke from here. They must've decided to burn down the mansion early. Or . . . since it rained, maybe they rescheduled. I'll bet that's it. They're waiting till things dry out.
Johnny frowned. Any change in plans caused him to worry.
Several weeks ago when he learned the fire department had scheduled a controlled burn of the Bradford Mansion, he decided it was the perfect place to dispose of Heather's body and had set his plan in motion.
With the other girls, he'd located a decrepit old building in the country and disposed of the body there. That way, he controlled how and when the building burned. Had he made a mistake in choosing that old house?
He maneuvered through near-empty streets. The snow enthusiasts had left during the past week. Rain and warmer weather ended the ski season for everyone except the dedicated few, mostly locals. From what he'd heard, it would be the first part of June before summer tourists showed up. The streets would again be clogged with traffic.
Johnny smiled. He and Buddy would be long gone by then.
He cleared the last hill.
Johnny jerked the car back from the edge of the road. The mansion stood stark and bold against the brown hillside. Two police SUVs and the medical examiner's van were parked along the drive at the back of the house. He stopped the car and struggled to calm his stomach that now threatened to hurl. His heart k-thump, k-thumped in his ears. Every nerve screamed for him to get out of town and drive until he was too tired to go any farther, but that wouldn't be smart. He needed to stay, to guide suspicion away from himself. But how? He'd never had to do it before.
Fighting panic that threatened to numb his brain, Johnny drove along Sage Road to the bottom of the hill and angled onto the road that took him to the Historic District and home.
He parked in his space and forced himself to sit quietly. Every other time things had gone so well. He ticked through every detail to find the flaw, but he'd covered everything. Knowing the error hadn't been in his planning quieted the panic and gave him room to think more clearly.
Why hadn't the fire department torched the mansion and how did someone find the body so soon? That old house had been deserted for years. Then the question he hated to think about. Who found the body?
When he learned who it was, he'd make them pay big time. Anger settled like an undigested lump in the pit of his stomach, and self-doubt triggered the lurking depression. Aunt Maeve's words echoed inside his head. You're too stupid to get away with anything, Johnny. I always know when you do something bad. You can't fool me.
She had called him Johnny to humiliate him, because she caught him playing with himself. Johnny was her label for what she called 'the male appendage', but he turned it to his advantage. He took Johnny as his nickname. Aunty had come to loathe that name.
Johnny groaned aloud. How he dreaded the days after a kill. The dark mood threatened to swamp him.
Buddy whimpered.
Johnny sucked in a shaky breath. "I know, Buddy. You don't feel good."
He wrapped the dog in the blanket and carried him inside, but where to put him? Buddy was still too weak to stand. The bed. That would be a good place since he never used it.
In every place he'd lived since he left Aunt Maeve, he'd taken all the inside doors off their hinges. Shut doors haunted him. He always slept on the couch. It was safer to sleep on the couch.
He offered Buddy food and water, but the dog refused both. Johnny shed the clothes he'd slept in all night, changed into sweats, and went to the kitchen to fix breakfast. He took a carton of eggs from the refrigerator and set them on the counter near the phone. The light on the answering machine blinked steadily. He hit the button and reached into the cupboard for a bowl.
"Hullo." A male voice came from the speaker. "You don't know me, but we're gonna get to be real good friends. I have a yellow glove you prob'ly want back. We'll talk price later."
Johnny froze. A glove? Someone had been watching him last night! But how could he know about the gloves?
Johnny grabbed the keys off the hook and raced to the car. He pawed through the contents of the trunk and then searched the duffel bag. One glove! Where's the other one? He made another, more careful search. Nothing. He slammed the trunk shut and bolted down the street.
To the casual observer, he was an early-thirties man out for his daily constitutional. Only Johnny knew he was running for his life, running to gain control of the fear and panic that gripped him. He ran for a long time. When exhaustion forced him to stop, he was in a new residential part of town, unfamiliar to him. He walked until he found a landmark he recognized. It was a long way home but by the time he arrived, he was deadly calm.
Johnny stood at the window staring at nothing, his mind clear. Aloud he muttered, "Looks like it's not time to leave quite yet."
He shuddered to think how close he'd come yesterday to telling his boss the story he'd hatched, that he had to leave town because his sister was in the hospital. At the last minute, he decided to wait until morning. Good thing. It looked like he'd be around for awhile.
~~~~
Late Saturday afternoon
Jared flexed his shoulders to relieve the ache that had settled high in the middle of his back. Paperwork. He'd forgotten how much a murder investigation could generate. The Chief would expect a report Monday morning. Jared had spent the last hour trying to organize the facts so they made sense. He chucked a wad of papers at the wastebasket, brushed erasure squiggles off his pants, and walked to the window. The western sky glowed neon orange. After a break in the weather, clouds had rolled back in promising more bad weather. Jared sighed. It had been a long day. He massaged the dull ache above his brow and stared across the parking area.