Authors: Ranae Rose
“If there’s someone out there – a murderer – who took Trevor’s life and is still at large, don’t you want to know who it is and why they did it?”
“This is ridiculous. You’re crazy over Donovan Kemp – you always have been. You’re just trying to… To get him out of trouble.”
“Of course I am – he’s innocent.” She paused, willing her face not to flush with irritation. “And if he was guilty, my asking you a few questions wouldn’t change anything. If there’s nothing to discover, there’s nothing to discover.”
“I don’t even know what you’d want to ask – what happened to Trevor was senseless. There’s no reason why he should’ve been killed.”
“Obviously, someone had something against him. Brutal, random murders just don’t happen in Willow Heights. Did he ever mention anyone having something against him? It doesn’t have to be someone local – anyone, any time at all.”
“No. I don’t remember anything like that, but it’s not like he confided in me. His recent visit – his last visit – was the first time I’d seen him since he visited to celebrate Robert’s birthday a couple months ago. When he was here, he spent most of his time with his father. We had dinner together most nights, but conversation never got heavy.”
With his father
. Donovan’s suspicions rose to the surface of Clementine’s mind.
“Anyway,” Pamela continued, “I can’t imagine why anybody would’ve had anything against him.”
Clementine bit back a sharp response. When it came to Trevor, her mother was willfully blind.
“And God, to
kill
him…” She shook her head. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Clementine. You can’t even imagine what it’s like – Robert’s so upset.”
Clementine’s stomach soured a little more at the mention of her step-father, and her senses sharpened as she listened for information, ready to read between the lines. “What about you?”
“I’m upset too, of course. But Robert… Trevor was his only child.” She shook her head again, and a strand of artificially blonde hair popped free from her chignon. “I knew something terrible had happened as soon as he called – I could hear it in his voice.”
Called? “You were alone when you found out?”
“Yes. Alone in this house, expecting Trevor back at any minute. He’d gone … to the store, I think he said. He was gone for longer than I’d expected, and then – then I found out why. Robert had gone fishing in Cold Springs that evening with a friend from the lodge … he found out what had happened when he got back to town. He was sitting in Ann’s when a police officer approached him. He called me right away.”
Clementine focused all her willpower on maintaining a neutral facial expression as a sense of victory – of exultation – reared to life inside her. Out late fishing? How convenient. Yes, Robert loved to fish, but that was what made it such a perfect alibi. Cold Springs was easily an hour and a half away – an evening fishing trip there would’ve meant returning to Willow Heights well after dark. He’d obviously been out past Trevor’s estimated time of death – ten-thirty PM.
“Why didn’t Trevor go fishing with Robert?”
Pamela shrugged. “He was invited, but he didn’t want to go. I guess he’s never really been the outdoorsy type.”
“He used to fish with Robert all the time when he was a kid.” She bit her tongue. She was saying too much – better and safer to save her suspicions for Detective Wagner, especially now that Robert was looking guiltier than ever.
“I don’t know, Clementine.” Now she sounded exasperated. “The night of his death was supposed to be his last night in Willow Heights, and he had a long drive back to Connecticut in the morning. Maybe he didn’t want to be out late. Do you think I don’t wish he’d gone fishing with his father? None of this would’ve ever happened if he had.”
Clementine nodded, even tried for a sober expression that would hopefully look marginally sympathetic. Now that she had the information she’d come for, she needed to leave. No point in ruffling any more feathers.
“So you’re sure Trevor didn’t mention anything about anyone mistreating him, maybe holding a grudge against him?” she asked again for appearances’ sake.
Pamela shook her head.
“Okay, well… I guess I hoped you’d know something along those lines. Let me know if anything comes to mind.”
“Isn’t investigating this case Detective Wagner’s job?” A weary note entered her mother’s voice.
“I get the feeling I’m more invested in this case than he is, unfortunately.”
Her mother looked like she was going to reply, but Clementine stood. “Obviously I’m upsetting you with my questions about Trevor. I’ll go.”
Pamela didn’t argue, but she did hesitate after rising from her own chair. “Look… I don’t want Robert to know about our conversation. I think he’d be upset if he knew you were here, defending Donovan Kemp. Just… Let’s keep this meeting between us.”
A strange feeling struck Clementine in the center of her chest. Funny – twisted, really – that this was the first mother-daughter secret she and her mother had shared in more than seven years. Convenient, too. “That’s fine with me.”
Finally letting go of the table, her mother straightened, breathing what might’ve been a sigh of relief.
“Goodbye.” Clementine let herself out, crossing her arms over her chest as she walked across the driveway and climbed into her car. Once she was behind the wheel, she drove straight for the house. When she reached it, she’d call Detective Wagner and arrange a time to meet with him – soon.
She had several questions for him, namely whether Robert had been considered as a suspect. His fishing alibi sounded dangerously flimsy, even if he claimed to have gone with another man from the lodge. The lodge he belonged to was little more than a glorified fraternity, and she had no doubt that he could easily recruit a fellow member to lie for him.
And if her step-father had been excused from suspicion because of one person’s testimony, why hadn’t Donovan? The police hadn’t cared that she’d spent the entire night with him, that she knew he’d never left the house. Life was unfair; she’d been well aware of that for more than seven years. But she wasn’t going to make it easy for a man like Robert to tighten the noose that was rightfully his around Donovan’s neck.
* * * * *
Seven o’clock. That was the earliest she’d been able to get Detective Wagner to agree to meet her. The hours between her visit with her mother and her appointment at the police station were an agonizing sort of limbo; on one hand, she was eager to confront the detective with her theory, her suspicions. In her mind’s eye she could see Donovan shedding the yellow jumpsuit, leaving the Willow County Jail behind. They’d have dinner at Ann’s and set a date for their wedding over pie and coffee, just like he’d said.
On the other hand, she was so nervous it felt like something was eating a hole through her stomach. What if Detective Wagner wouldn’t take her seriously? It was his job to investigate, his job to consider all possibilities, including the one that Robert Grier had killed his own son. She knew that, and fully expected him to remind her of that. But the question remained … had Robert even been questioned as a potential suspect? Was anyone else willing to consider the possibility that he might’ve committed the crime?
And if Robert did have a man from the lodge lying about where he’d been on the night of Trevor’s death, who else might be lying – or deliberately overlooking things – on his behalf?
Small quantities of adrenaline had been leaking into her veins for the past two hours; she was on edge, too jittery to even have a cup of coffee. Instead, she chose to take a bath. It might help calm her down, and besides, it wouldn’t hurt to take extra care to look presentable for her meeting with Detective Wagner. Given the subject she was about to broach, she needed all the credibility she could get.
Peeling off her jeans and sweater as she filled the tub, she resolved to choose a new outfit for the evening – something nicer than jeans and a sweater.
She’d made the bath water a little too hot on purpose, and as she sank into it, she got exactly what she’d wanted: a few seconds of searing bliss as the heat closed in on her, driving all other thoughts from her mind. Then she was submerged to her shoulders, gripping the sides of the tub as everything came back into focus.
Mentally ticking off the list of reasons why Robert was an obvious suspect in the murder, she prayed the logic would be enough to sway Detective Wagner into doing his job: investigating.
Robert could’ve easily approached Trevor, even with a weapon – Trevor wouldn’t have expected harm, not from his father. And Robert might’ve been anywhere on the night of the murder. He also was one of very few people who knew that Donovan had assaulted Trevor years ago, that he might make a believable scapegoat. And there was no question that he held a grudge against Donovan…
Sighing, she soaked her hair, lathering it with her own shampoo, then used Donovan’s body wash. “Cool” – the simple scent reminded her of him and sent a frisson creeping down her spine. When she raised her left hand from the water, the diamond there sparkled beneath a thin layer of foam.
A sound from downstairs jerked her out of her thoughts and sent her heart racing for reasons that had nothing to do with her engagement. Freezing, she listened – hard.
After a few moments, it came again, even easier to hear than before – a knock at the door.
Hastily, she rinsed her hair, climbed out of the tub and lifted the drain. The jeans and sweater she’d worn earlier would just have to do for now; she put them back on, towel-drying her hair just enough that it wouldn’t soak the shoulders of her top.
Dressed but still damp, she hurried downstairs. Her heart rate was still elevated, as were her senses. Grabbing her purse off the tabletop with thoughts of the pepper spray she’d stored there, she approached the door.
When she reached it, she paused. The door was solid wood; there was no window to look through, no peephole like she’d had at her apartment back in New York. In a town like Willow Heights, that wouldn’t have concerned most people. But Donovan’s words were still ringing in her ears, and the heavy suspicion that had filled her during her talk with her mother hadn’t ebbed. Chances were slim that Robert stood on the other side of the door, but just in case…
She retreated to the kitchen window, pulled back the lace-trimmed ivory curtain and pressed her cheek to the glass, straining to see who was at the door.
Whoever it was stood too close to the house for her to tell, but she had a clear view of a strange car parked in the driveway – a black mustang, clearly an older model, but clean and well-maintained.
Definitely not a car Robert Grier would drive. Breathing a sigh of relief, she approached the door, still wary. Hugh Jeffries hadn’t driven a black mustang when he’d visited before, and it obviously wasn’t a police vehicle – who was there?
She slipped her feet into her shoes so it looked like she was heading out – wet hair and all – and kept her purse slung over her shoulder, unzipped, just in case.
“Mike?” she said when she opened the door, revealing the unexpected visitor.
“Hey, Clementine.” His expression was unusually sober, his green eyes half-hidden beneath downcast lids.
Now that she thought about it, she’d seen the black mustang parked by Donovan’s garage.
“Is something wrong?” Donovan instantly came to mind, though Mike had no reason to know more about his present situation than she did.
“I’ve gotta talk to you. Can I come in?”
A weight shifted inside her, settling into her heart, and she moved aside, holding the door open for him.
“Can I get you a drink?” she asked when he’d settled in a seat at the kitchen table. “There’s Dr. Pepper, water, orange juice and milk.”
“No thanks.” He sat with a rigid spine and bowed shoulders, a complete contradiction.
“What is it?” she asked, taking the chair across from him. The clock above the stove was digital, but she could practically hear it ticking – that was how on edge he had her. Did he know something about the tire iron – who had taken it, maybe?
“That tire iron,” he said, echoing her thoughts. “I know who took it.”
Her heart leapt so hard and high it hurt. “Who?”
“I did.” His mouth twisted in a grimace, and he wiped at his face like he meant to smooth the frown lines away with his palm.
“You?”
He nodded.
Oh, God… Did he have something to do with the murder? Had he taken the tire iron for Robert, maybe in exchange for pay? Sickening possibilities whirled through her mind, dizzying.
“I’ve been trying to work up the guts to tell you for days. I never meant to let it get this far. Never thought they’d lock up Donovan, let alone keep him there. I…”
“Why did you take it?” She was leaning over the tabletop, practically drilling a hole through him with her gaze.
He looked up, green eyes hollow, haunted. “It was just … there. First thing I grabbed when I saw him.”
A new dread filled her, deeper and darker. “Saw who?”
“That son of a bitch Trevor Grier.”
Suddenly, her mouth was dry. She spoke anyway. “You killed Trevor?” It felt strange to even say it.
He nodded. “I came into the shop late Saturday. Had a migraine in the morning, didn’t go into the garage until about four, but I figured it didn’t matter, since I was the only one working. Stayed late to make up for it. I took a break to grab a drink out of the fridge and he came walking down the sidewalk while I was still there, passed right in front of the shop. Got so mad I walked out there and gave him what he deserved.
“I – I didn’t mean to kill him. Not really, I guess. I just saw him and I…”
Mike shrugged, the gesture doing little to illuminate the painful silence. “Knew he was dead when he fell down on the sidewalk and his eyes were open, even though he wasn’t moving. Wasn’t breathing.
“Nobody saw. No one. You know how Willow Heights is after dark, but still, I could hardly believe it. Threw him in the trunk of my mustang, dumped him in that ditch outside of town. I’d been wearing gloves, like I always do when I paint, so there were no prints. There was a little blood on the sidewalk, but I hosed it off.”
“
Why
?” She’d spent so many years of her life seething because of Trevor, hating him. But why would Mike of all people hate him more, enough to take his life in a fit of rage?
Mike’s eyes flashed, displaying the first real sign of anger she’d ever seen on his face. For a split second, she could see the man who’d raised a tire iron against another person. “My little sister, Becca. She’s only fifteen and she’s…” He made a face like he was choking, head turned to the side, then met her eyes again. “Pregnant. He did it to her.”
A wave of nausea washed over Clementine, thrusting her into the past with memories of unwanted hands on her body, beer breath in her face. “Was it rape?”
Anger darkened Mike’s face again, and he threw up a hand. “It’s always rape when a girl’s fifteen and a man’s pushing thirty. But… I don’t know exactly how it happened. She was scared to talk about it, scared just to tell me. It was hell getting the information out of her in the first place. She cried and cried…”
Either way, Mike was right – a fifteen year old didn’t have any consent to give to a grown man, in the eyes of the law. And that was how it should be. Whether Trevor had forced Becca or manipulated her non-physically, just thinking about it was sickening.
“So what now?” Clementine asked, suddenly aware of a gaping hole in her chest, hollow and dark, swirling with feelings she couldn’t quite identify. “You’re going to confess to the police?”
“I feel bad. Real bad. Couldn’t believe it when they arrested Donovan. I just grabbed the iron, didn’t think… It’s been eating away at me ever since I found out, especially since I talked to you. I kept telling myself they’d let him go, but…” He shrugged and shook his head.
“There’s blood in the trunk of my car. Figure once the police see that, they’ll let Donovan go.”
Clementine was looking at a killer, but pity softened her heart, exposing the frayed edges of her overworked emotions. “I’m sorry about what Trevor did to your sister, Mike.”
Another twinge of memory and she was sure – Trevor had violated other girls, not just her. What he’d done to her hadn’t been a one-time thing. It had been something he’d done again and was probably something he’d done before he’d targeted her. Maybe he’d preyed specifically on teens – there was no knowing now. However he’d operated, he’d been a predator. “And I’m so glad you’re coming forward. This means…”
She swallowed a knot that had formed in her throat, thinking of Donovan in his yellow jumpsuit. When she’d imagined discovering the identity of the true killer, she’d imagined hating him, imagined being furious at the man who’d gotten Donovan into trouble he didn’t deserve. “There are plenty of people who would’ve let Donovan take the fall.”
Mike shook his head. “Maybe I’ve done something terrible … but I couldn’t do that. Donovan was always good to me. A friend.” He pushed back his chair and rose, already looking toward the door.
Another one of those strange pangs of sympathy hit her, causing her to rise, too. For a second, she thought of offering him a drink again. After all, his life as he’d known it was over, his remaining freedom measured in miserable, guilt-ridden minutes. But that would mean delaying him, would mean Donovan spending more time in jail. And she couldn’t willfully do anything to cause that.
“Thanks again,” she said, “for coming forward with the truth.”
Mike nodded, exited through the front door and climbed into his blood-stained car.
* * * * *
“You’re telling me Mike Nicholls showed up at your doorstep two hours ago and confessed to the murder?” Detective Wagner raised a brow at Clementine, perhaps the clearest display of emotion she’d ever seen him give.
“Yes.” She’d counted every minute since then, had sat at the kitchen table sipping a glass of water, a nervous wreck as she’d waited for a phone call – from the police, Donovan … anyone. But no one had called, and so she’d left the house behind for her original seven o’clock appointment with Detective Wagner. “He hasn’t been in contact with you – with anyone in the police department?”
Detective Wagner didn’t reply, but his expression of disbelief made the answer painfully clear. “If this happened two hours ago, why did you call me before then wanting to meet?”
“I wanted to talk to you about the case. I had a theory… Never mind what I thought then; I was wrong. Mike killed Trevor out of anger, in retaliation for Trevor impregnating his fifteen year old sister.”
Detective Wagner swore under his breath and stood, exiting his office.
Clementine followed, her footsteps echoing against the tile. “You’re going to talk to Mike, right?”
He stopped. “That’s right. Unless this is some kind of joke?”
Affronted, she did her best not to let her offense show. “Of course it’s not. He said – he said there were blood stains in the trunk of his car.”
* * * * *
“How does it feel to be home?” Clementine asked, unable to repress a smile. Donovan stood in front of her, in the kitchen. No jumpsuit, no dividing glass – this was for real.
“Like taking my first breath in days,” he said, turning to face her, to lay a hand on her shoulder, half-caressing and half-squeezing. “Almost forgot what it felt like to breathe.”
Her smile widened as heat stole through her body, a consequence of his touch.
“Damn, I want to—” He came closer, his hip bumping hers, then took a step backward. “I’ve gotta take a shower before I let myself get my hands on you. Don’t want any trace of that place on your skin.”
“Don’t you mean hand?” she teased, her body temperature skyrocketing at the idea of his bare body against hers.
He still had one arm in a sling and wore bandages on his hand. “Fine, I’ll keep one hand off of you, but that’s it. Everything else—” he traced the contour of her shoulder before pulling his hand away “—is fair game.”
“They took care of your hand while you were in there, didn’t they?” she asked, suddenly sober as her gaze was drawn back to the white of his bandages. “Changed your bandages and let you wear your sling?”
He nodded. “They’ve got nurses at the jail. They took care of me, but I’ve gotta admit – after a few days in there, I missed you squirting alcohol on my foot.”
“Anytime. Now why don’t you get in the shower? I’ve waited about as long as I can stand, and don’t forget, we have a wedding date to set tonight.”
It was already late, but it didn’t matter – Ann’s was open 24/7. Dinner was low on the list of her priorities right now, but after she and Donovan had a chance to really reunite, she had her heart set on the pie, if only because of what they’d be discussing while they ate it.
With a last long look at her, he turned and climbed the stairs.
Moments later, she followed, retreating to the bedroom while the sound of rushing water came from beyond the bathroom door. Rummaging through her suitcase, she chose the sexiest thing she could find – a black lace bra and matching panties. By the time the white noise coming from the bathroom stopped, she’d stripped off her clothing and donned the fresh lingerie.
He showed up in the doorway with a towel slung around his shoulders and nothing else. Not even his sling or bandages. Body glistening from his shower, he was everything she’d imagined her first day back in Willow Heights, when the sight of him wet with rainwater had jolted her libido back to the sort of life it hadn’t known in seven years. Now, there was no teasing t-shirt, no clothing at all – nothing to hide him from her. Just water drops shining against his naked skin, highlighting the lines and hard planes of his body.
She’d seen it all before, but she couldn’t get enough; she devoured him with her gaze, letting it wander from his broad shoulders to his lean hips, lingering on his half-hard cock. She’d barely opened her mouth to speak when he crossed the room, dropping the towel and leaning over where she sat on the edge of the bed. Before she could say a word, he pressed his mouth to hers.
It was a hard kiss – hard enough to hurt in a way that felt good, to convince her body of what her mind already knew: he was back. He was hers.
When he finally straightened, she was breathless and he was fully hard.