Fatal Impulse: A Widow's Web Novel (21 page)

A
s she feared, the envelope contained another grainy black and white picture. This one showed her face. This time she held the heavy flashlight like a baseball bat. Chad's profile showed his head back and his mouth open in that horrible mocking laugh that she still heard in her nightmares. Goosebumps pebbled her arms and she shivered uncontrollably. Bile rose in her throat and she ran for the trashcan. She barely got the lid up before she threw up.

Her legs shook so badly, she couldn’t stand up. It felt as if she were melting, as the numbness moved up her body inch by inch and she sank bit by bit to the floor. She had blocked out so much of that night, tried to forget, but the pictures brought back images that flashed through her mind like a slideshow. The memory of his scream echoed in her head and her stomach churned harder. She pushed the lid off the trashcan and threw up until there was nothing left, and her sides heaved to no avail.

After she lost the beer and everything else she’d eaten that day, she cleaned up. A long, hot shower was in order. As she let the water wash over her, her thoughts turned to Chad and Paul and Caren. Her life was spiraling out of control, but she felt as if she were floating above, watching things happen. She had to take control, or she wouldn't survive.

If Caren was out of the way, she was sure Paul would be with her. He’d as much as said so earlier. Then she and Paul could disappear. They could move someplace where nobody knew them, and where the blackmailer couldn’t find her. She'd never be alone again. 

After she dried off, she snatched Chad’s agenda from the bar and took it into the den. Her leg struck the desk drawer when she sat down. It was opened slightly, so she pushed it closed, then rubbed her bruised knee absently. The blotter sat slightly askew so, out of habit, she straightened it.

As she tapped the paper against the desk, she considered what to do first. She jumped up and headed to the bedroom. She flipped open her jewelry box and dumped the contents, digging through them until she found the pink business card. Portia.

She grabbed the handset from the nightstand and punched in the number on the card. The phone rang twice, then a man with an British accent answered. He spoke too quickly, so she asked him to repeat it.

“You’ve reached the Woodson residence, ma’am," he answered patiently.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I have the wrong number.”

She ran back downstairs and pulled out the photocopies she'd found in the desk. She ran her index finger down the paper until she reached Portia Woodson's name. A stack of newspapers sat in the rack to the right of the desk. Though she'd passed over them earlier, thinking them unimportant, her eyes settled on the article on the front page of the Sentinel. August Woodson, the real estate entrepreneur who owned three exclusive ski resorts in Maine, recently purchased a piece of land bordering Acadia National Park on Mount Desert Island. Near Black Bear Cove.

A light bulb went on. The vague entries in his agenda.

P.

Portia Woodson had gone with him to Atlantic City.

Huh. Interesting. But did it matter? She didn’t know. Possibly. A woman like that could certainly have funded him with the money to hire a private investigator. Maybe
she
had been the one to hire the private investigator to follow
him
. That seemed more likely actually, because someone like that would've checked Chad out thoroughly. So, that gave Andi some idea of who her blackmailer was – either Portia Woodson herself, or the PI she hired.

Andi closed her eyes and pressed her fingers against them. Too much to think about, too many details clogging things up. Thousands of voices screamed in her brain, their voices echoing. Her head hurt. All the Portia Woodson element added was the need to get out of town. The heiress wouldn’t be after money – she had plenty of money already. All she wanted was revenge.

Andi needed to be able to protect herself in case the blackmailer came back.

She jogged down to the basement. The wooden gun cabinet she'd gotten Chad for their first Christmas together stood against the far wall. She ran her fingers along the top of the case and felt the cold metal of the key. She unlocked the bottom drawer and opened it. Two handguns shone dully in the dim light from the bare bulb that hung from a beam.

Her mother gave her the Walther P22 when she moved down east to be with Chad, and Chad bought himself the Ruger 9 mm so they could go to the range together for target practice. Andi grew up with guns, since her daddy was a hunter, but Chad didn’t have much experience and only went to the shooting range with her once. Though he wouldn’t admit it, she was a better shot than he and that stung his ego. Dana was a shooter, too, and she was the one who usually went with Andi. Actually, that’s how Dana and her fiancé met, at the gun club.

She touched the smooth, cold steel of the Walther, then ran her fingers over the molded grip. She grabbed the gun, then pulled a box of ammo out of the bottom drawer.

S
omething white caught her eye at the top step. She leaned down, picked it up and turned it over. It was a torn napkin, with seven numbers scrawled across it, 2175560 but the number didn’t mean anything to her. Maybe a phone number or an account number? She tucked it in her pocket so she could check into it later. 

She laid the gun on her nightstand, then went through the house and checked all the doors and windows to make sure they were locked. When she went into the den and flipped the light on, she stopped cold. A brown envelope sat in the center of the desktop, with familiar block print in marker shouting her name. A chill ran up her spine. The blackmailer had been
inside
her house. And might still be.

Why hadn't she kept the gun with her?

She crept upstairs to retrieve the handgun, then thumbed several bullets in the magazine. Just as she shoved the mag into the gun, a muffled crash sounded downstairs.

She hurried to the bedroom door then slipped down the steps. Blood pounded in her ears. Every nerve in her body was on alert. Something creaked, and it sounded like it came from the front part of the house. With her thumb she flipped the safety off and continued down, staying close to the wall. The front door creaked open and she dashed down the last few steps. The door clicked shut just as she reached the foyer. She slipped on the wooden floor, quickly regained her balance and ran for the door. She flung it open and stepped out onto the cold concrete. No sign of anyone. She looked in every direction, listened for some indication of which way the intruder went.

The neighborhood was quiet, nothing out of place, not a soul in sight.

Her chest heaved with the effort expended and her hand found the doorknob. She backed in and shut the door, then flipped the deadbolt. It was time to have all the locks changed. Maybe time for a security system. The .22 was a welcome weight in her hands.

It took a good five minutes for her heart rate to return to normal and for the adrenaline to subside. The envelope would have to wait.

A quick pass through the house revealed no other signs of the intruder. In his rush to leave, the intruder knocked the basket of keys and change off the hall table, but nothing else was missing or out of place. Though she'd already checked the doors and windows before she heard the intruder, she went room by room and checked again. All closed. All locked. All blinds drawn. It made no sense. How did he get in?

After flicking the safety on, she laid the loaded gun on her nightstand so it would be there when she went to bed and returned to the den. She tore the envelope open. It was the picture she'd been dreading. The same black and white, grainy picture, but this time Chad rocked slightly back on his feet as the flashlight connected with his chest. The rain plastered her long dark hair to her head and back. Chad’s face turned slightly away from the camera and stared at the black and white Andi in disbelief.

She closed her eyes and felt the cold rain on her face. She heard thunder roll. She heard the muffled thud of the flashlight as it hit his body. She felt the impact jar her arms.

Her eyes popped open with a start.

Oh, dear God, what had she done?

She took a deep breath and shuddered. She'd killed her husband. Goose bumps pimpled her skin as the reality of that night sank in. The photo caught on its way back into the envelope and wouldn’t slide in. She blew into the envelope to open it wider, and saw a piece of paper inside. She pulled it out. The same neat block print as found on the envelope slanted across a piece of ordinary copy paper.

“Bring the deed, the coordinates and the stock certificates. Be at the cemetery at 11 tonight.”

It felt like her chest was collapsing in on itself. She glanced at her watch. Four hours to go. Great. She reread the note. Her stomach rumbled and she realized that she hadn’t eaten anything since she'd lost her breakfast. She slipped the photo and note back into the envelope and dropped them on the desk. There was nothing to do right now. Besides, she'd  handle things better on a full stomach. Or at least one not rumbling in protest.

She went to the kitchen, dumped some cereal in a bowl and splashed milk over it. Not exactly meat and potatoes, but faster than nuking a meal. She smiled as she put the milk back in the 'fridge. It had been so nice of Paul to bring her over milk, eggs and bread earlier in the week. He was so much more thoughtful than Chad.

She took her bowl into the family room, curled up at one end of the sofa and flipped on the television. She spent the next two hours watching the minute hand creep forward on the mantle clock. The ten o’clock news had the only item of interest. Woodson Enterprises reported spectacular gains so far for the year. Hundreds of employees received bonuses, and there was talk of expanding the ski resort at Sugar Mountain.

A man shown in silhouette with an altered voice said the company would go public, but a clip of August Woodson showed a frail looking old man who declared no such thing would happen as long as he was alive. The reporter noted rumors of August Woodson’s failing health seemed to be confirmed by the rapid weight loss the man had experienced.

Time was running out. She had to find out who was behind the photos before the old man died.

When the clock chimed once to mark the bottom of the hour, she hurried upstairs to change into head to toe black, then tucked her dark hair into a ball cap. She couldn’t wait any longer. It was time to meet the mysterious photographer and find out what the hell was going on.

O
ne of the life tips Andi's grandma taught her was that information was power. Though she'd been talking about the need for higher education, it applied to life, too. Andi needed power. She suspected her dead husband’s lover was on her trail, and was very wealthy, and therefore, very powerful. Portia had to have been the one that hired someone to follow him, so it stood to reason that she had the photos and she knew that Andi killed her husband. Either she chose to blackmail Andi to get back what she gave Chad or the PI she hired took advantage of the situation in an attempt to improve his own financial standing.

The documents in Chad's desk were the blackmailer's target, but turning those documents over didn't guarantee an end to the harassment. Whoever held those photos could make her life miserable, or worse, send her to prison for killing the man who made her life a living hell.

Andi decided not to turn anything over yet, but intended to find out who she was up against. She drove into town where she parked on the street. After looking around to make sure no one was around, she got out, tugged a dark sweatshirt over her head, and walked around the building to the cemetery. 

The cool breeze ruffled her short hair. Several decent sized trees provided cover, and clouds rolled past the half moon. The clock in the Jeep had said 10:46, so she had a few minutes before the arranged meeting time. Whoever wanted to meet her probably had the same idea. She veered left, aiming for the southeast corner of the cemetery. A clump of trees on a slight rise looked like the perfect spot to sit and watch.

A shiver ran up her spine, as much from fear as the chill in the air. It smelled like rain, and she glanced at the black velvet sky. Not a star in sight. Tombstones poked up here and there like crooked teeth, some taller than others. She leaned against the rough bark of an oak tree and waited, listening and watching. Though she knew the chances of spotting anyone in the darkness were slim, she hoped to at least get a look at the vehicle.

Boy, if the ladies from the Friends of the Library could see her now . . . she'd come a long way from being Chad's meek wife, afraid to speak her mind, blending into the background.

The clouds shifted slightly, and a sliver of moonlight peeked through. She scanned constantly from right to left and left to right, her eyes playing tricks on her as shadows moved and shifted in the pale light. Chad’s tombstone of polished white marble stood out in stark contrast to the older stones. That would be where the blackmailer would be waiting.

A twig snapped to her left, and she froze, moving only her eyes. An orange glow bobbed between the monuments, glowing brightly, then softening and occasionally disappearing. Her eyes ached with the strain, but the clouds parted a bit more and she spotted a black figure moving towards her. She swallowed hard, shivering. She clenched her teeth together to keep them from chattering. The shadow turned slightly, the orange glow making the figure easy to track in the darkness. Once the figure reached Chad’s stone, the glow burned brightly for a moment, then dropped to the ground and disappeared. Andi stared, afraid to blink. If he would only light another cigarette, she might be able to get a look at his face.

Finally, a match flared up, revealing a dark moustache. He took a deep drag before shaking the match out. She waited and watched long enough for him to smoke the entire cigarette, but stood rooted in place. The desire to talk to him tugged at her, yet she couldn't overcome the paralyzing fear. Being the wife of a dentist, working with charity groups, planning luncheons - hadn't prepared her for this. What if he shot her? The cold seeped into her bones, the stiffness crept up her legs.

She waffled. Confront him? Hide? If she confronted him, what would she say? Should she have brought something with her to show good faith?

She stuffed her hands in her pockets and crouched, careful not to move her feet. The wind picked up, and an owl hooted in the distance. Belatedly, she realized the orange glow was gone.

She'd waited too long.

She squinted and scanned the cemetery until she spotted a shadow darker than the night moving away from her and to the left. She'd waited too long! As she pushed quickly to her feet, her legs screamed with the sudden movement. She bit her lip and fought the urge to cry out as the blood rushed back into them, sending pins and needles shooting into her muscles. The black shadow slipped between St. Joseph's church and the parsonage. She crept forward, careful to stay behind the tombstones. The wind whispered through the trees, and branches clacked together. It gave her enough cover to allow her to move forward quickly. The shadow never slowed. He reached the street and turned to his right. She peeked around the corner of the parsonage and watched.

Moments later, an engine turned over and purred to life. Tires crunched in gravel and she stepped out to get a better look. The dark shadow of the car drew closer, and she ducked back when the headlights came on. She waited until the car was even with her before daring to sneak another peek. A dark car, a late model sedan, with a dent in the front driver's door cruised past. It looked a lot like her mother's car, an Accord. Nondescript. Something that would blend in. A private investigator would drive a car like that.

She waited until the car cleared the cemetery, then jogged across the street. She reached her Jeep and let it idle for a moment before she put it in gear. Thoughts tumbled through her mind like pebbles in a swift mountain stream.

Portia was behind everything. Andi felt sure of that, but had no proof. With no plan, she had no idea where to start and no one to turn to. She turned ideas over in her head, but didn't like any of them. The Jeep cruised through the darkened town. At that late hour, the Bay was like a ghost town with empty streets and no movement. The chances of spotting the car were slim, but she couldn't go home without trying. Like most small coastal towns, the old houses had been turned into shops with apartments on the second floor, so cars dotted the streets.

As she drove past Caddy's Quick Shop, she remembered the Seaside B&B and turned. She coasted past the mansions and pulled to a stop in front of the Seaside. A black Mercedes with a plate that said WDSN 3 sat in the front circle drive. That had to belong to one of the Woodsons. Portia, perhaps? She pulled into the graveled lot at Jolly Jack's and killed her lights, then cracked her window. A door slammed and she glanced back at the front of the B & B and saw a woman swing her long legs out of the sedan. She grabbed a Burberry plaid duffel bag from the trunk and went inside. Moments later, a maroon Honda Civic pulled up and parked behind the Mercedes. A man dressed in dark clothes and wearing a ball cap got out and went inside. A red Mustang convertible wheeled into the drive and parked by the front door. The white roof buzzed up slowly and the young couple got out, laughing. They walked arm in arm, then he backed her against the white column and kissed her. He raised her arms above her head and she raised one leg and wrapped it around his. His hand disappeared under her shirt, exposing a triangle of tan midriff. They put on quite a show before they finally pushed through the front door and disappeared.

Belatedly, Andi realized the maroon Civic was gone. She left the Jeep in the parking lot, then hurried across the street and up the drive. After a moment's hesitation, she pushed through the front door. The young woman at the desk spoke with a French accent, and was friendly and helpful in spite of the late hour.

Andi smiled and stepped forward. "I'm sorry to bother you, but I'm meeting a friend in Buccaneer Bay, but think we must've gotten our wires crossed. I wondered if maybe she checked in here instead of the B&B I thought we were going to?"

"I'm sorry, but we can't give out information about our guests." She tilted her head and raised her thinly drawn eyebrows. "Have you tried calling her?"

Andi tried to look as earnest as possible. "Yes, but her phone's going directly to voice mail, so I think her battery must be dead." Andi pointed to the door. "It's getting late and I'm getting worried. I'm certain that's her sister's car out there, so she must be here."

The dark haired girl shook her head and spread her hands, palm up, "I wish I could help."

"She would've just arrived." Andi swallowed hard. "Ms. Woodson?"

The girl looked at the iPad on her desk and tapped her fingers for a moment. "Portia?"

Bingo! "Yes! Can you direct me to her room?"

Her smile faded as she shook her head, then her dark eyes brightened as she pointed to the sitting room. “She said she would come down for a glass of wine after she settled in. You're welcome to wait for her.”

Andi smiled and thanked the desk clerk, then walked into the beautifully decorated parlor. The roaring fireplace felt good after the chill she'd gotten in the cemetery. This might be just the advantage she needed. Portia would be caught off guard, relaxed and alone. Alone in the room, Andi sank into an elegant wing chair facing the fireplace.

A well worn Lea Waite paperback sat on the table, so she picked it up and pretended to read. Perhaps Portia wouldn’t give a second glance to a fellow guest with her head in a book.

The door creaked and Andi glanced over the top of the book. Portia Woodson walked in. She was tall, maybe 5’9 or 5’10, and slender as a reed. Her dark brown hair pooled around her shoulders, contrasting sharply with her silver pashmina.

She glided past Andi without so much as a glance and looked out the big bay window at the darkness of the ocean. Andi shook her head, hating the heiress for every perfect movement. Chad slept with this woman, planned a new life with her, with no thought whatsoever to his wife of six years. She peered over the paperback as she considered her words, now that her husband's lover was so close.

The tall woman seemed oblivious to Andi's presence. After taking a deep breath and gathering her courage, Andi sat the book down and strode across the room. Fists clenched at her side, she stood less than a yard from the other woman.