I Think I Love You (26 page)

She picked up a handful of what, in her estimation, were the saddest of all antiques—vintage photographs, most of them portraits of one type or another. Sepia-toned shots of stiff, unsmiling people who were undoubtedly related to one another. She laughed wryly—they looked so unhappy, they
had
to be related to one another. It was sad, this mishmash of pictures, because the families had apparently died out, the photographs sold in estate sales for—she looked on the back of a portrait of three somber-faced girls, circa 1900—twenty-five cents. Destined to become souvenirs for conversation pieces, or craft supplies for decoupaging end tables.

She looked into the bright eyes of the three chubby-cheeked girls. Matching dresses and mountains of banana curls. More than likely, they were all deceased now. "What did you do with your lives?" she murmured. "Did you grow up to do terrible things to each other?"

"Talking to yourself is not a good sign," Mitchell said.

She turned to see him spanning the doorway and blushed. "I wasn't talking to myself—I was talking to them." She held up the picture.

"Oh, well, in that case, pardon the interruption."

Sam scampered over and registered his hello. Mitchell followed, looking tentative. "I wasn't sure you'd want to work today."

She gave a little laugh. "What else am I supposed to do? Spend the day with my loving sisters?"

"Maybe you should."

"Maybe I should, since no blood has been spilled yet."

He pursed his mouth. "How was it after I left?"

"Not good. Justine now thinks that I, too, was having an affair with Dean behind her back."

One of his dark brows rose. "And you weren't?"

"No."
She rubbed the back of her neck, and her shoulders fell. "But he did make a pass at me, and I should've told her."

He whistled low. "That Dean guy seems like a real piece of work."

"That's an understatement. I could kill him for what he's done to my family."

"From what I saw last night, you'd have to take a number."

She sighed. "I hope we've seen the
last
of Dean Haviland." She started to return the photo of the little girls to the shoe box, then turned to Mitchell and held it up. "First sale of the day."

"I'll take care of you right over here, ma'am." He walked behind the counter and she reached into her purse for change.

He squinted at the photo. "Cute. Anyone you know?"

"Not personally, but they're sisters, so we have something in common."

He handed back her change. "Every family has its story."

She pretended to rummage in her purse. "And what's yours?"

"Nothing too dramatic." He lifted his shoulders in a slow shrug. "I studied law, and so did my younger brother. We wound up opposing each other on a case and let it affect our relationship. Stupid, really. I got out."

"You could have moved."

"Yes, I could have, but then, that wasn't the point, was it?"

"And what
was
the point?"

He looked uncomfortable philosophizing about his own situation. "I didn't want to be part of something that I would choose over my own family."

She frowned. "That's being a little hard on yourself, don't you think?"

Another shrug, averted gaze.

"Who won?"

He looked up. "What?"

"The case between you and your brother—who won?"

"He did."

"Oh."

"Oh, what?"

"Just 'oh.' I'm doubly sorry now to have dragged you into this Bracken hearing. I'd hate to be the cause of more trouble between you and your brother."

He walked out from behind the glass counter and picked up her hand. "You have enough on your mind without worrying about me."

She swallowed against the desire pulling at her, then pulled back her hand. "Yes, you're right." She needed to keep a level head, which seemed more difficult when he was in her proximity.

"Regina, I'd like to help you through this."

She frowned. "Why?"

"Does there have to be an ulterior motive?"

"In my experience, yes."

"Well, you haven't
experienced
me."

She crossed her arms.
"Funny,
but I think I have. Twice."

He straightened.
"Funny,
I don't remember you complaining at the time."

A loud horn sounded outside.

"That'll be the truck from the dump," he said.

She set down her purse and moved toward the back door. "I'll take care of it."

"You'll need my help."

"I
don't
need your help," she said over her shoulder, but he followed her anyway, muttering under his breath. She got it now—he was like some kind of TV superhero who moved around the country under the guise of appraising junk to patch up people's pathetic lives. Hadn't he realized that her family was like an old dike? When one hole was filled, another leak developed elsewhere. She was running out of fingers and toes to plug the holes, but she didn't need his help. She couldn't, because he would be moving on in a few days.

Outside, the big ugly truck was already backed up to the heap of rubbish. Two men, one hefty guy and the other a runt, were surveying the goods.

"All this go?" the big guy said.

"Yes," she and Mitchell said at the same time.

"Gonna cost extra 'cause it's such a big load. Cash on the barrelhead."

"That's fine," they said in unison.

She glared at Mitchell, then signaled the men to begin loading.

Sam ran into the trash and started barking. He'd undoubtedly found that squirrel to torment.

"Big pieces first," the hefty guy said, lowering the enormous tailgate.

While the men loaded the relic of a refrigerator, she tried to distract Sam from his make-believe hunt, but he wouldn't let up. A couple of broken beds went in next. By the time they approached the hacked-up wardrobe, Mitchell had lost his patience with the dog. "That's enough, Sam!"

The dog quieted but whined miserably and got underfoot as they leveraged the big piece between the three of them.

"Christ," the little guy said on the initial lift. "What's in this thing?"

"It's supposed to be empty," Mitchell said.

The little guy stumbled, and the wardrobe rocked forward, toward Regina. She backed up, and Mitchell and the hefty guy saved it from falling, but the doors swung open, snapping the rubber strap meant to hold it closed.

And out rolled Dean Haviland. Shot through his cheating heart.

Chapter 21

DON'T ever relax.

"Relax," Mitchell said from where he sat on a bench with the stenciled message property of burl county sheriff's department.

Regina stopped pacing and looked down at the end of the hallway where Mica and Justine sat opposite each other, rigid and not speaking. Cissy'd had to be sedated and left at home. John was missing in action. She looked back to Mitchell. "Relax? A dead man rolled out onto my shoes, my entire family is implicated, and you tell me to relax."

"I'm just saying it's not going to help matters if you have a stroke."

She covered her mouth to choke back a sob. "What's going to happen now?"

"I don't know. They must want to ask more questions, or they would have let us go."

She chewed on a nail. "What did you tell them about last night?"

He frowned. "The truth."

She winced. "I was afraid you'd say that."

A door opened and a dour-faced Sheriff Hank Shadowen emerged. "Y'all come on in here now."

Mica and Justine, both red-eyed and stoic, made their way down the hall in slow motion. They all filed into a meeting room with a rectangular table and comfortable-looking chairs. Out of habit, Mica and Justine situated themselves across from each other. Regina sat next to Mica, across from Mitchell. She wasn't sure what she expected, but there wasn't a spotlight or two-way mirror in sight. Just a television, magazine rack, and vending machines.

Sheriff Shadowen, a big man whose thick head of hair had turned white since she'd last seen him, gestured toward one of the machines. "Can I get y'all something to drink?"

They declined. He retrieved a can of Dr Pepper for himself and cracked it open as he sat at the end of the table in front of an open file folder. He reviewed the forms with much sighing and grunting, then looked up. "Got a real mess on my hands." His expression was mournful, as if culling their sympathy. "Got a man shot through the chest with a thirty-eight slug. Got another man who threatened the dead man, missing. Got a thirty-eight automatic, given to the deceased by the missing man, in the possession of the missing man's daughter, who's been living with the deceased. Got a report of the missing man's other daughter firing at the deceased last night with a thirty-eight revolver. And I got a missing thirty-eight revolver." He sighed and took another drink from the can. "Hell of a mess."

No one spoke. Mica looked drawn and vacant, her glorious hair pulled back into a long braid. Justine was equally pale and toyed frantically with a cigarette. They'd taken the news of Dean's death badly.

The sheriff leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table. "According to your statements, you girls were at your parents' house from last night until this morning."

They all nodded.

"Do any of you girls know where your daddy is?"

"No," they chorused.

"When was the last time anyone saw him?"

Mitchell cleared his throat. "I walked with Mr. Metcalf from the house back to the antiques shop last night after the incident at the house. When I drove off, he was going in the back door."

The sheriff looked at him. "Cooke, isn't it?"

Mitchell nodded.

"What were you doing at the Metcalf house?"

"I was at the antiques store with Regina when Haviland stopped by. He said he was on his way to the Metcalf home. Regina was afraid of a confrontation, so she asked me to go with her. John arrived when we were on our way out, so he went with us."

The sheriff glanced at her. "Why were you expecting a confrontation?"

Her heart rate picked up, and she stole a glance at her sisters before answering. "Because Justine hadn't seen Dean since... he broke their engagement. I thought they might have words."

"Sounds to me as if you were gathering reinforcements; you were expecting more than just a shouting match."

"I was afraid Dean might become violent." Or her sisters.

"Did you have reason to believe he was a violent man?"

She flicked her gaze to Mica, then back. "No proof, just suspicions."

He followed her movement. "Mica, was Dean a violent man?"

She hesitated. "Not normally, but he did hit me once."

"When?"

"Last week, before I left LA. He was drunk and we argued."

"Is that why you left, because he hit you?"

She shook her head. "I discovered that Dean had been unfaithful."

"Is that when you took his gun?"

"No, I had already removed it from the bureau. I had to break some bad news to Dean, and I was afraid... that is, my agent encouraged me to protect myself. I didn't intend to use the gun, but I wanted to keep it out of Dean's hands."

"What was the bad news?"

"My biggest client threatened to cancel my contract unless Dean stayed off the set."

"And you didn't think he would take the news well?"

"No." From the tremor in Mica's voice, it was apparent she suspected Dean would do her bodily harm.

"What did he say when you told him?"

"I didn't tell him; I just left town."

"So when you left, you took the gun with you?"

She nodded. "I checked it in my luggage and left it in my suitcase after I arrived. It was still there when I gave it to your deputy."

He verified her statement against a report, then nodded. "So Haviland followed you here?"

"Yes."

"How did he know you were in Monroeville?"

"He said he called me on my cell phone and I told him where I was, but I don't remember doing that."

"Could someone else have answered your phone?"

She started to shake her head, then looked across the table at Justine.
"You.
You answered my phone and pretended to be me, didn't you?"

Justine broke the cigarette in two. "So?"

Regina set her jaw—she thought that Justine had insisted on staying close to the house because she was afraid of the Crane woman stalking her.

Mica leaned forward. "You
witch.
And to think I was worried about you last night when I realized Dean was in your room."

Justine scoffed. "You burst in because you were jealous."

"Girls," Regina said. "Let the sheriff finish."

The sheriff took another drink from the can of soda. "Justine, you were at home alone when Haviland arrived at about three in the afternoon."

She nodded. "But everyone else arrived within a few minutes."

"What happened?"

"Mica and Dean had words. Apparently, he'd talked to her agent and found out that he'd been banned from the set. He was trying to talk Mica into siding with him. She told him that she was cutting him out of the business and leaving him."