All The Stars In Heaven (4 page)

“Go get cleaned up. We can talk about this later.”

But we never do,
she thought. He would shut her out again. How she wished she understood her father. It was like he was two people, and she never knew if Dr. Jekyll or Mr. Hyde was going to come home from work. She’d never quite figured out what it was that would set him off and when it would happen.

Instead of following his order, she hesitated, sorrowful as she looked at him, seeing only a broken, lonely man. A man who’d never recovered from his loss and had dedicated his life to fighting the evil that had claimed his wife.

At last Sarah turned away and walked slowly down the hall. Going into the bathroom, she closed and locked the door and made sure the light was off. Grabbing an extra towel from the vanity, she reached up to the window and worked the towel into the corners until no light came through. Satisfied it was dark enough, she stepped in the shower and pulled the heavy curtain. Only then, in almost complete darkness, did she begin removing the distasteful clothes.

Her father had said they were
always
watching, and she wasn’t taking any chances.

Chapter Five

“Do you have a death wish? Or do you want to go back to jail?” Grant asked, blocking the way to the kitchen, getting in Carl’s face.

Carl moved around him, dropping his keys on the counter. “I’m sorry I forgot to pick up the princess,” he muttered, unapologetic. “I met this woman at the park, and we got busy.”

“I’m not talking about Sarah walking a couple of miles alone, in the dark—
unprotected.
” Grant grabbed Carl’s jacket and shoved him against the wall. “Though that’d be bad enough. But you
sat
with her at the park.”

His nephew pushed back, but Grant was ready and caught him in the gut with a solid punch. “So you left her after that, while you were ‘getting busy’ with some woman?”

“The guy—wasn’t—coming.” Doubled over, Carl clutched his stomach. “I waited forever, and then this
woman
. . .” He tried to stand, then staggered across the linoleum, rolling his eyes and head at the same time.

“You’re drunk,” Grant said. He grabbed Carl’s arm and hauled him into the kitchen, shoving him into a chair. He made a cup of instant coffee while he watched Carl—slumped across the table—from the corner of his eye.

A few minutes later Grant set the steaming cup in front of him. “Drink this.” When Carl didn’t raise his head, Grant lifted it for him, pulling back on his hair.

“Ouch!” Carl rubbed his head.

Grant nodded toward the coffee. “Drink it.”

Carl picked up the mug, took a sip and spit it out, making a face as he stuck the tip of his tongue between his lips.

“Hot?” Grant asked.

Carl glared at him.

“Get drunk again while you’re supposed to be watching my daughter, and you’ll wake up in jail—or worse.”

“Don’t threaten me, old man.”

“I’m not the one threatening.” Grant leaned over the table, his face close to Carl’s. “One of Rossi’s men happened to be watching tonight—checking up on me. Then Preece never showed up. Guess where he is now?”

Carl closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall. “I dunno.”

“Fished out of the river about an hour ago. He never met with Sarah.” Grant watched Carl’s face as he digested this information. “One of Rossi’s men did. I know because she described him to me—that was about half an hour before he called me personally. I don’t
like
personal phone calls.”

“What do you want me to do about it?” Carl asked, sitting up straight in his chair.

Grant knew his nephew was wide awake now. He could see the criminal glint lighting his eyes. “You’re no match for them. Not in a million years.”

Carl scoffed. “That’s what you think. You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

“Tonight you proved you’re
in
capable of protecting my daughter.”

“She’s all right, ain’t she?” Carl asked.

“No thanks to you,” Grant snapped. “You’re supposed to protect her, not put her in more danger. Now Rossi suspects she wasn’t alone. He thinks I haven’t kept my end of the deal.”

Carl picked up the mug and took a careful sip. “So what? Pay him off or something.”

“As if any amount of money I could ever give him would matter.” Grant drummed his fingers on the table. “But
something
is exactly what he wants.”

“What’s that?” Carl asked, suddenly wary.

“Not you,” Grant said, a malicious smile forming on his lips. “Not yet, anyway. I might have convinced him that you’re some druggie who’s been harassing Sarah in the park. But if he sees you there again . . .” He left the statement and its implications hanging in the air. “And, of course, he requires further proof of my loyalty. He wants Martin off the street—
now.
”

Carl leaned back in his chair, relief evident on his face. “What do you want me to do?”

* * *

Sarah put a CD in her player and turned up the volume. A few seconds later the soothing strains of Bach’s
Orchestral Suite No. 2
drowned out the sounds of her father and Carl fighting.

Pulling her desk chair over to the window, she sat down, hugging her knees to her chest to ward off the cold draft seeping through the poorly sealed panes. So many things in their house needed repairing, but her father didn’t seem to care about fixing them—even when she’d offered to help. A few years ago she’d stopped offering and instead spent her energy dreaming of and planning for the day when she could leave.

Tilting her head back, she peered through the barred glass out to the night sky. A handful of stars sprinkled across it, adding their light to the lone star she’d seen earlier. Sarah thought of the endless constellations hidden from view by the city lights. An entire universe was out there, but she could only glimpse the tiniest portion of it. Her life was much the same. Though she’d finally been allowed out of the house, had stepped on the hallowed grounds of Harvard, she was only allowed to peek at all that was offered there. Just as the lights blocked the stars she loved from her view, her father and Carl were keeping her from the opportunities she craved. The cultural world she longed for lay at her fingertips, but she wasn’t allowed to touch.

A particularly bright star seemed to wink at her, and Sarah thought about crossing her room to the shelf where her astronomy book lay. With a bit of research, she could probably figure out which star it was or which constellation it belonged to. But she was too cold to move, and her thoughts drifted back to campus, this time to the library instead of the concert hall. A wistful smile touched her lips as she thought of Jay and the conversation they’d had. Was it possible he
really
wanted to hear her play again?

The telltale floorboards in the hall squeaked loudly, and Sarah stiffened, knowing her father was coming to check on her. It wouldn’t matter if Jay did want to see her again. A friend was yet another thing she could not have.

Easing herself from the chair, she tiptoed across the room and climbed into bed. She rolled to her side, eyes closed in pretend sleep, as she’d been doing since she was a little girl.

She heard the door open and sensed her father’s presence. His footsteps were heavy across her carpet, and he stood over her.

“Thank goodness you’re safe.” He bent and brushed her skin with a light kiss.

Sarah forced herself to lay still, though part of her longed to sit up and hug him.

When she heard the click of her door shutting, she opened her eyes, blinking back unexpected tears. Her father had both hugged and kissed her
and
spoken of her mother all in the same night. Yearning swept through her, and Sarah struggled to cope with a tide of emotion.

Somehow, in the past few hours, the barrier holding all of her hurt and emptiness in place had cracked. And though she tried her best to patch it up, a lifetime of sorrowful memories began to leak through.

In the wee hours of the morning, she finally gave up and gave into exhaustion, knowing in her heart that, sooner or later, a flood was inevitable.

Chapter Six

Detective Brandt of the Summerfield, Massachusetts, Police Department stopped in front of his colleague’s desk. “Ned’s bringing in a DUI.”

“Good for him.” Kirk Anderson glanced at the clock on the far side of the room. It was nearly seven a.m. One hour left until he could go home and crawl into bed—with his wife maybe, if she could be persuaded to leave her projects until later and climb under the covers with him for a little while, since the boys would be at school.

He looked up at Mitchell Brandt, still lingering in front of his desk. “One more nut off the road before the school buses start rolling.”

Brandt nodded slowly as a corner of his mouth lifted. “Yeah. And fortunately this guy had just finished his grocery shopping.”

“What? Did he bring donuts?” Kirk’s voice was laced with sarcasm as he looked pointedly at the paunch hanging over Brandt’s belt. “Listen, I’ve got a report to finish.” He returned his attention to the paperwork in front of him. “So unless it’s something important—”

Brandt leaned forward, placing his palms on the desk. “Not donuts. He had a carton of
milk.
”

Kirk’s head snapped up. “Not
Eddie,”
he breathed.

“Yep. And he’d been shopping at the meth lab. He’s moved from quarts to half gallons. Had fifteen bags jammed in one carton. We’ve finally caught the Milk Man.”

“Meth Martin,” Kirk said, excitement in his voice, though he still couldn’t quite believe the news. They’d been after this guy a long time. Kirk rose from his desk. “Where is he?”

“Having his photo taken and nails done as we speak,” Brandt said. “I already told Ned you’d want to be in on the questioning.”

“Absolutely.” Kirk pulled a ring of keys from his pocket and unlocked his bottom file drawer. “We’ll have to get him sober first, or whatever he says won’t hold up in court.”

“A strong pot’s already brewing.” Brandt watched as Kirk flipped through his files. “What’s all that? I’ve already pulled Eddie’s folder.”

Kirk took a manila envelope from his drawer. “My own copies,” he explained. “A few too many things have gone missing around here since I started, and I’m not taking chances with something as important as this. I’ve got enlargements of the photos and transcript from the tape that kid turned in last June.”

Brandt pushed off the desk. “This guy’s going down.”

“And if we do it right, so is his supplier.” Envelope held tight, Kirk walked toward the hall, thoughts of going home on time having fled with the possibility that one of Massachusetts’s most well-known meth traffickers would soon be behind bars.

* * *

Christa Anderson looked at her watch as she heard her husband walk through the front door. It was 9:10, an hour later than expected. “I was getting worried about you. Rough night?” she called from the kitchen as she poured him a glass of juice.

“Not too bad.” Kirk came into the room. He removed his holster and gun, checked that the safety was on, then reached to put them on top of the kitchen cupboard. He sat down and picked up the juice Christa had set out. He took a drink and leaned forward, elbows on the table, a faraway look on his face.

Christa slid into the seat beside him. “Want to talk about it?” She moved his glass aside. Taking one of his hands in her two, she shivered and began rubbing his fingers. “You’re freezing. Is it that cold out already?”

Kirk turned to her. “Getting there. You’re still my Southern California girl, I see.” He smiled, then leaned forward to give her a kiss. “How was your night?”

“Fine. I let the boys watch a half hour of
Winnie the Pooh,
and they both went to bed without complaint.”

Kirk’s eyebrows rose. “How come we don’t have those kind of nights when I’m home?”

“Because you’re the one who gets them all wild.” Christa gave him a knowing smile. “What about your night?”

The faraway look returned. “Nothing much—a minor traffic accident on main, an eighty-five-year-old woman locked herself out of her house when she took out the trash, and Ned brought in Eddie Martin this morning.”

It took a moment for the name to register.

“Eddie Martin?” Excitement lit Christa’s face. “Isn’t that the guy—”

“Yep.” Kirk nodded. “He’s the big one. If we shut him down, there’ll be a lot less meth finding its way to the streets. Better yet, if he leads us to his supplier . . . that may well impact the other operations in this area.”

“That’s fantastic.” Christa squeezed Kirk’s hand. “You’ve been after him for months.”

“Yeah. Ned got him on a DUI inside a school zone—automatic two years. And besides being high, Eddie had a milk carton stuffed with meth in his car.
Fifteen
bags of it—all neatly packaged and ready to sell. We called Chief Morgan, and he came right down. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so excited.”

“And you haven’t even been here a full year.” Christa beamed. “
This
is the difference you knew you could make.”

“Well, I wasn’t the one who caught him,” Kirk reminded her.

“But you’re the one who has testimony from the kid he sold to. You’ve compiled all the evidence.”

“Me and half the department. But you’re right. This is big. It gives me hope that we’ll be able to keep Summerfield the nice, peaceful community it is.”

“Of course you will.” Christa squeezed his hand once more, then pushed back her chair and stood. “How about some breakfast to celebrate?”

“I’m not really hungry, so . . .” Kirk reached out, wrapping his arm around Christa’s waist, pulling her onto his lap. “How about we go back to bed?”

Christa shook her head. “Sorry. My visiting teachers are coming in twenty minutes, I have to cut Sister Nelson’s hair at ten-thirty, and it’s my turn for preschool carpool.”

Kirk scowled. “So you’re telling me that visiting teaching, Sister Nelson’s hair, and a bunch of screaming three-year-olds are more important than me?”

“Hmm.” Christa pretended to consider. “Yep. Pretty much.” She gave Kirk a quick kiss on the forehead and jumped off his lap. “Kind of how interrogating Eddie Martin was more important than coming home on time this morning? Because if you’d asked me to come back to bed oh, say, an hour ago . . .”

“I was at work,” Kirk protested. “You’re not playing fair.”

“I’m not playing at all.” Christa giggled and moved out of his reach before he could grab her again. “Sorry.”

Kirk gave her a pitiful look. “I didn’t even get to talk to Eddie.”

“How come?” She pulled the dish drainer from beneath the sink and set it on the counter.

“Chief wanted to make sure Eddie was good and sober and understood all his rights before we started. There have been too many problems—too many mistakes—so this time Chief Morgan is being extra careful. When we do get Eddie in that courtroom, there isn’t going to be any loophole his attorney can find to get him off.”

Christa put the plug in the sink and started the water. She turned around to face Kirk. “Well then, I’m sorry you didn’t get to grill the suspect.”

“Sorry? You ought to feel guilty,” Kirk said. “I could’ve stayed, you know. Instead, I came home to spend time with my lovely wife.”

“
And
so you could get some sleep and go in early this afternoon when Eddie
will
be talking.” Christa folded her arms as she gave her husband a knowing look. “Now who’s guilty?”

“Man.” Kirk raised his hands in the air and rose from the table. “What is it with you hairdressers? You’ve got the scoop on everyone. I ought to bring Eddie over to sit in your chair this afternoon. He’d probably confess everything.”

Christa laughed. “I doubt it. Now go shower so you can get some rest before the boys come home. Today the tall tale characters—including Paul Bunyan—are visiting kindergarten. Jeffrey was beside himself with excitement. He’ll want to tell you all about it.”

Kirk left the kitchen, and Christa turned back to the sink and squirted some dish soap under the stream of water. Looking at the oatmeal-crusted bowls, she grimaced, missing the dishwasher they’d had in their condo in California. Though, she reminded herself as she pulled on her gloves, there was plenty to be said for the quaint home they’d found in Cambridge.

Instead of the fifty-minute commute Kirk had before, it was now a short twelve-minute drive to the police station in Summerfield. And here the boys had a yard to run and play in. Lack of a dishwasher aside, everything else about the home was perfect. Everything about Cambridge was too, as far as Christa was concerned, and she could honestly say she was glad they had moved across the country.

Here the pace seemed slower, more peaceful—still a bit of small-town America. Part of that, she knew, depended on keeping the drug problem at bay. She hated to think that Cambridge or Summerfield could someday be as bad as Pasadena had become.

Christa turned off the faucet, plunged her hands into the soapy water, and began scrubbing the bowls. Aside from needing the sink clean so she could wash hair, she simply hated having the kitchen dirty when her clients came. Someday she hoped to have a little salon in the basement. Kirk had been working on it, but between his schedule and a tight budget, things were going slowly.
Maybe Kirk will get a raise or promotion when Eddie Martin is behind bars for good.
The thought cheered her.

Christa knew how seriously Kirk took his job and how hard he was working trying to get a handle on the meth problem. She also knew that Chief Morgan was aware of that too—at least in part. The chief’s obsession with getting drugs off the street was the reason Kirk had been hired last spring. His experience on the narcotics team in a big precinct in LA had made him an immediate favorite with the chief, who, rumor had it, had never gotten over his own wife’s overdose years earlier.

The phone rang, jarring Christa from her thoughts. Tugging off her gloves, she grabbed it from the counter.

“Hello?”

“Is Detective Anderson in?”

He just got home,
she wanted to say. Instead she replied politely, “He’s in the shower. May I take a message?”

“This is Chief Morgan. It’s important.”

“Just a minute. I’ll get him.” Scowling at the phone and the chief’s typical gruffness, Christa went to the bedroom and banged on the bathroom door.

She heard the water shut off, and she called to Kirk. He opened the door, a towel wrapped around his waist.

“It’s Chief Morgan,” Christa whispered, holding out the phone.

Kirk took it. “Maybe Eddie’s talking.” He held the phone up to his ear. “Hey, Chief.”

A few seconds later, Kirk’s head bent slightly and an incredulous look crossed his face. “He’s
what?
” He continued to listen. Christa stepped back and sat on the bed while she waited.

“Thanks for calling,” Kirk said finally. “I’ll be down later. Bye.”

“What?” Christa asked, trying to read the expression on Kirk’s face as he ended the call.

“It’s Eddie—he had a heart attack. He’s dead.”