Authors: Sandra Parshall
Jake ignored the question. “Why did you come to see me? What does it matter now if Linc liked to spy on me? It hasn’t got a damn thing to do with the murders.”
“Was he blackmailing you?”
Jake’s burst of laughter startled Tom. “Is that your theory? You think Linc was blackmailing me with pictures he took thirty-some years ago, and I killed him over it? Killed him
and
Marie?”
“I’m trying to find out what was going on between the two of you the last few weeks before the murders. What were you talking about when you said Marie wouldn’t want her son and daughter to see the pictures? Did Lincoln have photos of you and Marie together?”
His amusement fading, Jake said, “Linc was sick at the end, his memory was scrambled. I didn’t hold him responsible for anything he did. Forget it. You’re on the wrong track.”
“I don’t think so. I want to know what happened. What made you and Marie suddenly decide you had to find the pictures and burn them, after so much time had passed?”
“It was personal, Tom. It didn’t matter to me, but it mattered to Marie. For the last time, this hasn’t got anything to do with the murders. You must have better things to do than badger me about old pictures. So why don’t you go do your job and leave me in peace? I’m not answering any more questions.”
But there was a connection between the old photos and the murders—suddenly Tom was as sure of that as Ronan Kelly was. How were they connected? What the hell am I missing here?
Tom had the feeling something important was just out of reach, lurking at the edge of his awareness. He’d had that feeling before, in other investigations, and he’d learned to trust it. “All right. But I doubt this will be our last conversation about the pictures.”
“I didn’t think I could get that lucky,” Jake muttered.
Tom leaned to scoop up the pink scarf, pulling it free of the chair leg. He held it out to Jake. “You dropped something. Was this Tavia’s?”
“God damn it.” Jake snatched the scarf from Tom’s hand and flung it onto the table, where it landed in a soft heap of pink fluff. “She did that deliberately.”
“Who? Did what?”
“Summer. She left that here on purpose, so she’d have an excuse to come back.”
Tom frowned. “Summer Jones?”
“What other Summer do you know? She’s been over here four times since Tavia died, fussing over me, bringing me food. Like I’d eat anything she cooked, after what happened with Sue Ellen.”
Rachel’s voice echoed in Tom’s mind:
The Jones sisters tried to poison me.
Joking, she’d claimed. “What happened with Sue Ellen?”
“The chemo made her so damn sick she couldn’t raise her head off her pillow without throwing up. If it wasn’t for Marie supplying her with marijuana, she wouldn’t have been able to cope. So what does Summer do? She brings over some of her special custard, says it’s full of natural ingredients, herbs and stuff, to give Sue Ellen more energy. That slop damn near killed her.”
“Do you think it was deliberate? Was she trying to hurt Sue Ellen?”
Jake was already backing away from his anger. “Aw, I didn’t mean it to sound like that. They’re harmless enough, all three of them. They just don’t seem to know when they’re interfering. Summer was a nurse, she’d never hurt anybody deliberately. She wants to take care of people, but she’s a damned nuisance.” He grabbed the pink scarf off the table and thrust it at Tom. “If you’re going over there, give that to her. Then she won’t have any reason to come back here.”
“It was Mark Hollinger.” Joanna spoke with absolute conviction, but kept her voice low, as if she thought the men working across the road in the stable might overhear her talking to Tom and Brandon in the barn. “If you weren’t so convinced I killed Tavia, you’d see I’m making perfect sense.”
“I’m not convinced that you—” Tom broke off, deciding it was better to bypass that point for the moment. “What makes you think Mark is guilty? I’m listening. I’ll take anything you say seriously.”
The stiff wind streaming through the open double-wide door chilled the back of his neck but didn’t dilute the odor of horse manure in the shadowy interior. Joanna’s farm hands, busy getting the stable ready to house the horses again, hadn’t yet cleaned up what the animals had left behind during their half a night in the barn.
“Mark despised Tavia,” Joanna said. “He’ll tell you that himself, he never made a secret of it. He knew Jake was involved with her while his mother was dying. He hated her and he hates his father for taking up with her. I believe he killed the Kellys too. If you’re thinking there are two killers, I’d bet anything I own that you’re wrong. It was Mark, nobody else.”
“Why would he kill the Kellys?” Tom asked.
“To get them out of the way, of course, so their land could be sold. Everybody knows he wants to modernize the lumber mill. He’s obsessed with it, it’s all he talks about. He’s thinking about his own kids, giving them a reason to stay here instead of moving away to find work when they’re grown. But he needs money. He wanted to get a bank loan, but Jake still owns the mill and he wouldn’t take on the debt. That offer from Packard must look like money falling from heaven to Mark.”
Joanna’s thinking was in line with Tom’s own. He still considered Mark a solid suspect. He’d realized that morning that although he’d broken Jake’s alibi, persuaded Mark to admit his father hadn’t been at the lumber mill when the Kellys were gunned down, he hadn’t verified where Mark himself was at the time. Mark had no provable alibi for the time when Tavia Richardson was shot, and it was possible he didn’t have one for the Kelly murders.
Brandon asked, “Did he have any reason to think Sheila and Ronan would sell the land to Packard?”
“Well, it makes sense, doesn’t it? Neither one of them wants to move back here. What use do they have for a little farm in the mountains? Mark figured they’d inherit, and they’d turn around and sell it to Packard.”
“But he knew he’d been cut out of his own father’s will,” Tom said.
“Exactly. So he killed Tavia, Jake’s only heir. Mark’s capable of it, Tom, I know he is.”
“Believe it or not, all this has occurred to me.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear that. I don’t like being accused of a murder I didn’t commit.”
“I said it’s occurred to me. A lot of possibilities have occurred to me. I’ve got suspects. What I need is evidence.”
“You have to trap Mark into saying something incriminating. Get him to confess.”
“Thanks for the advice,” Tom said with a wry smile.
“I’m not trying to tell you how to do your job.”
“Yes, you are. Look, if you come across anything that could pass for evidence, bring it to me. But I’m already looking at everybody involved, and hoping we’ll find some physical evidence.”
“If you don’t stop him, he’ll kill his father, and he’ll come after me next. Then only the Jones sisters will be left. I told Winter they need to get a gun. I offered to lend them one.”
“Did she take you up on that offer?”
Joanna shook her head. “She said she won’t allow any guns in the house. But they all know how to shoot, and they ought to have some protection.”
“I wouldn’t encourage them to arm themselves, especially when they haven’t fired a gun in years. That’s asking for trouble.”
“We all have to protect ourselves, Tom. You can’t be out here looking after us every minute. I’m a woman living alone. The Jones sisters are three women without any kind of protection. We might as well have targets painted on our backs.”
Tom couldn’t argue against her fears. But he doubted that having a gun would protect them from a killer who might shoot from cover or take them by surprise. “I wish I could do something to make you feel safer, but all I can tell you is to be careful.”
With her fingers interlocked and pressed to her lips, Joanna paced in a tight circle. Her boots landed in manure, releasing a strong odor. “There’s another reason Mark hated the Kellys.” She faced Tom. “Lincoln had pictures of Jake with Marie. They had a fling a long time ago, and Lincoln followed them around and took pictures.”
Exactly what Tom had suspected. “How do you know? Have you seen the pictures?”
“I didn’t know until recently, and I’m pretty sure Mark didn’t either. Is that what Ronan found last night? I thought it might be.”
“How do the pictures connect Mark to the murders?” Tom asked.
She told them about Lincoln’s mental confusion and memory loss, and his belief that events long ago were happening currently. “Linc brought the pictures over here to show me. He wanted me to help him talk Marie out of leaving him, and he said he was going to confront Jake. Well, I couldn’t stop him physically, so after he left here—he was on foot—I called Marie. We both went over to Jake’s place to head Linc off.”
“But you were too late,” Brandon guessed.
“Yes.” The word came out on a sigh. “It was awful. Mark was there. Linc was yelling and throwing the pictures in Jake’s face, and Mark was picking them up and looking at them. He turned on his father, they were shoving each other around and I thought they were going to have a real knock-down, drag-out fight. Marie and I were trying to get Linc to go home, and when we finally got him walking in the right direction, Mark started shouting insults at Marie. Calling her a whore, among other things.”
“Where are those pictures now?” Tom asked.
Joanna gave him a quizzical look. “Isn’t that what Ronan found at the house?”
“He found
some
pictures.”
“But not the ones with Marie?”
“Right. Do you know what happened to those? I’m guessing there were more copies, not just the ones Linc took to Hollinger’s place.”
“Oh, yes, Linc claimed there were multiple copies, and they were hidden where Marie wouldn’t find them. But maybe she did. I hope she burned them. But my point is, Mark saw the proof that his father and Marie had a relationship. He must have known what kind of man Jake was, he must have heard the gossip the whole time he was growing up, but he’d never seen the proof before. And he was enraged—that’s not too strong a word. I don’t have a doubt in my mind that he killed the Kellys and Tavia.”
Holly, surrounded by dogs, waved to Rachel from the big fenced play yard. “Hey, what are you doin’ here?”
The dogs, large and small, yipped and jumped with excitement when they saw Rachel coming. She leaned over the four-foot chain link fence and patted as many bobbing heads as she could reach. “I couldn’t stand it anymore. I had to get away from the paperwork.” The niggling worry about Simon wasn’t so easy to escape.
Adopting a mock stern expression, Holly shook her head. “I knew I shouldn’t have took time off. I ought to have been there to stand over you and make you keep at it till you got done.” She was dressed for a day at the animal sanctuary, in a sweatshirt and fleece jacket over baggy jeans. Her straight black hair hung in a long ponytail.
“It just proves that I can’t get along without you.”
Holly knew her all too well. Already she was studying Rachel’s face with the keen perception that mixed so disconcertingly with her gentle innocence. “What’s wrong? Is Joanna okay? I heard about the fire at the stable.”
Rachel was always amazed at how rapidly news spread in this sparsely populated rural county. In this case, the fire provided a convenient explanation for her glum mood. Holly adored Simon, and Rachel didn’t want to tell her about the threat to him and upset her unnecessarily. “I don’t know how Joanna is, to be honest. I don’t think this controversy over the resort development is going to end well for anybody. I hate what’s happening. It makes me sick that people have been killed over something like that.”
“I worry a lot about Joanna, about her standin’ up for herself. I sure do admire her, but there’s people that’ll knock her down just to put her in her place.”
Rachel continued patting any canine head that pushed against her hands. Simon loved coming out here and playing with the dogs. She would have to bring him again soon. When they were all safe again. “It’s hard to see ahead. I can’t even imagine where things will stand six months or a year from now.”
“You’ll still be here,” Holly said. “And Tom. And Brandon and Grandma and me.”
“Yeah. That’s about all I’m sure of.” Rachel straightened, withdrawing her attention from the eager dogs. She hadn’t driven out here for a gripe session with Holly. “Your grandmother’s here, isn’t she? Her car’s on the driveway. I need to talk to her.”
“She’s in the house. We’re about to sit down to lunch. Come on in and eat with us.”
Rachel had planned to speak with Mrs. Turner privately, but she saw no harm in letting Holly hear their conversation.
The three dogs that lived in the house sprang up from the kitchen floor and surrounded Rachel as soon as she walked in. She dropped to her knees to pet them.
Mrs. Turner, wearing an apron and working at the range, looked around with the moderately pleased expression that Rachel recognized as wholehearted approval. “I’m makin’ grilled cheese sandwiches, to go with my homemade tomato soup. That suit you?”
“Oh, yes, thank you. I love your soup.” Rachel got to her feet and brushed dog hair off her jacket and pants. “I’ll get the recipe out of you one of these days.”
“Tell you what, maybe I’ll think about leavin’ it to you in my will.”
“You’re a hard woman, Mrs. Turner.”
“Oh, hush. Go wash your hands, both of you. Get the dog spit off before you eat.”
Only when they were all seated with food before them did Mrs. Turner ask, “So what brings you out here? Always glad to see you, but I’ve got a feelin’ there’s somethin’ you mean to talk about.”
Rachel swallowed a bite of her sandwich and took a sip of iced tea. “Do you mind if I ask you some questions about the Kellys? I know Marie was your friend, and I don’t want to offend you.”
Mrs. Turner drew back and regarded her with wary eyes. She’s going to tell me to get lost, Rachel thought. What right did she have, after all, to pry into the Kellys’ personal lives?
After a moment, though, the older woman’s expression softened. “You can ask. If I get offended, I’ll let you know.”
Rachel had no doubt about that. “I’ve heard stories about them, and I don’t know what to believe.”
The wariness was back in Mrs. Turner’s eyes. “What stories?”
How could she say this without making Mrs. Turner shut down? “I heard that in the last few weeks before they died, Lincoln Kelly was so confused he thought things that happened a long time ago were happening now, in the present.”
“Oh my gosh,” Holly said. After a sharp glance from her grandmother, she grinned and ducked her head. “Sorry. I’ll be real quiet while you two grownups talk.”
“Don’t you sass me,” Mrs. Turner said. She shifted her attention back to Rachel. “That’s the way it happens, you know. Alzheimer’s, they call it now. Poor Marie. It broke her heart. He was just gone, the man she married. His body was still there, but
he
wasn’t.”
“It’s devastating,” Rachel said. “I don’t know how anybody copes with it. It seems even worse than losing someone you love to cancer or heart disease.”
Mrs. Turner nodded. “Marie told me she’d a whole lot rather see him drop dead of a heart attack, it would be easier on both of them.”
“Was he worse in the last few weeks?”
“Oh, lord, ever since Robert McClure started comin’ around, tryin’ to get them to sell their land, Lincoln was worked up all the time. He thought somebody was gonna throw them out of their house, off their land. He was scared to death, and he got a lot worse real fast. Marie couldn’t get through to him. Then he started bringin’ up stuff that happened all those years ago. It was like he reached way deep down in his mind and pulled all that rotten garbage up into the daylight. Things Marie thought they’d buried and put behind them.”
Holly glanced from her grandmother to Rachel with wide eyes, looking as if she might burst with curiosity. Instead of continuing her tale, Mrs. Turner bit into her sandwich, chewed and swallowed, then spooned up tomato soup. Rachel did the same, deciding to wait until Mrs. Turner was ready to say more.
“
Grandma
,” Holly exclaimed. “What
kind
of things?”
Mrs. Turner threw an admonishing look her way. Holly blew out a long sigh of frustration.
Wiping butter from her sandwich off her fingers, Rachel got to the point. “I heard that Lincoln had some old pictures, and he seemed to think they meant Marie was going to leave him for another man.”
“Oh, lord.” Mrs. Turner patted her lips and tucked her napkin under the edge of her plate. “He took those pictures more than thirty years ago and they’re still stirrin’ up trouble. Marie let that Jake Hollinger turn her head when she was havin’ a rough time, and she regretted it every day for the rest of her life.”
“Do you know who Lincoln showed the pictures to?” Rachel asked. “Recently, I mean. Not back then.”
“People that didn’t have no business seein’ them. Joanna McKendrick, and Hollinger’s son, and that Richardson woman, the one Hollinger wanted to run off with. But Marie finally got hold of them, and the negatives too, and she burned them.” Mrs. Turner paused and sighed. “But he had some more hid somewhere, and he showed some of them to those crazy Jones women.”
“Who was in those pictures?” Rachel wanted to see if Mrs. Turner would give her the same story she’d heard from Joanna.
“Hollinger with their baby sister. Autumn was her name. Pretty little thing, and so young. Lincoln plumb forgot she was dead, he thought she was still alive and carryin’ on with Hollinger, and he thought her sisters ought to put a stop to it. You know about Autumn and Hollinger, I guess.”
“I’ve heard that people gossiped about them having a relationship.”
“It was way more than gossip. She was all by herself, stuck in that house takin’ care of her poor dyin’ mother every day and not getting’ any help from her daddy or her sisters. Jake Hollinger was like some animal that hunts, he was always on the prowl for a woman with a weak spot. It was just a game to him, but Autumn Jones was crazy enough to think he was gonna leave his wife for her.”
Holly was agog, her mouth hanging open as she listened.
“Why did she commit suicide?” Again, Rachel wanted verification of Joanna’s story. “Was it grief for her parents? Or because she finally realized Jake wasn’t going to get a divorce?”
“I don’t know all of what happened. Just what little I heard from Marie, and I know she didn’t tell me everything. Besides, you know how secondhand tales can get things twisted around. I don’t want to speak ill of the dead.”
“You can’t hurt the dead. Is there some big secret about Autumn Jones that nobody knows?”
“Oh, I expect a few people know every little detail. I bet Hollinger does, for one, no matter what he claims. And the other Jones sisters. But I don’t know it all, and I’m not gonna say somethin’ that might not be true. I already feel embarrassed because I was so sure Tavia Richardson and Jake Hollinger killed Lincoln and Marie. I even told Sheriff Bridger that. But I was wrong. I learned my lesson.”
“If you heard it from Marie, it was probably accurate,” Rachel said. “She lived close to them. Didn’t she know what was going on with Autumn?”
“Well…” Mrs. Turner drew her spoon back and forth in the remaining inch of blood-red soup. “I always did trust Marie to tell the truth. And it’s not the kind of thing she’d make up. She wouldn’t have any reason to.”
Holly almost vibrated with impatience, leaning toward her grandmother as if afraid she would miss something, but she bit her lip and stayed silent.
Rachel felt equally curious and impatient, and she was going to be sorely disappointed if Mrs. Turner didn’t produce something worth waiting for. “What did Marie tell you about Autumn Jones?”
Mrs. Turner took a deep breath and released it. “Marie thought it was all Lincoln’s fault, because he followed Jake Hollinger around and took pictures of him. He’d been doin’ it for a while, since Marie got involved with Jake. So Lincoln had some pictures of Hollinger and Autumn Jones, and he went and showed them to Autumn’s daddy. Everybody knowed what he was like when it come to his girls, never wanted any man gettin’ near them, and there was Lincoln, showin’ him a bunch of pictures of his baby carryin’ on with a married man.”
Mrs. Turner reached for her tea and took a sip.
“What did he do?” Holly asked. “Old man Jones?”
“All I know is, Isaac Jones ended up dead on the ground in front of Hollinger’s barn. Hollinger put out a story about him buyin’ a bushel of oats from Hollinger for the horse he kept, and losin’ his balance when he was tryin’ to get it down out of the loft. Broke his neck, died on the spot. And there wasn’t a soul that saw it, nobody that could say it didn’t happen the way Hollinger claimed.”
“Do you think Mr. Hollinger killed him?” Rachel asked.
“Now don’t put words in my mouth. I told you, I don’t know the whole story. And that’s all I’ve got to say about it.” She fell silent and concentrated on finishing her tea.
Rachel found the story Mrs. Turner told tragic and terrible. But did it really have anything to do with the murders of Lincoln and Marie Kelly and Tavia Richardson?