The newspapers and most news channels were carrying constant updates on the case. The kids didn’t need any of this. Melinda didn’t need it, either.
In the beginning Lacy had felt certain she, Kira and Cassidy would get over all of this pretty quickly, but that wasn’t the case. Someone wanted to make them regret what they’d done that night and they had succeeded.
Lacy had wished a million times over that she’d stood up to the others that night, that she’d been stronger. But she hadn’t been, and now they were paying for what they’d done.
Charles Ashland, Junior, would have the last laugh after all.
Rick tried to find a comfortable way to sit in his truck as midnight approached, but nothing he did made a difference. He wasn’t ever going to be comfortable as long as his thoughts were on Lacy Oliver. He’d learned that fifteen long years ago. Too bad he hadn’t learned his lesson well enough.
If he had, maybe he wouldn’t be sitting here wishing he was in there in bed with her instead of in this damned truck doing surveillance. Brewer was watching Kira’s house.
They had all the bases covered, but would it be enough?
Someone clearly suspected that these women had killed Charles ten years ago, and apparently this same person had decided to have his or her vengeance.
Rick hoped Cassidy Collins hadn’t died for nothing. If her death could save the others by prompting one or all to come forward, maybe all would not be for naught.
But how did he get that across to Lacy?
She’d been too emotionally wrecked to pressure this morning. But tomorrow, after the service, he intended to interrogate her. If his observations were correct so far, it would be Kira’s turn to stay with Melinda. That meant Lacy would be alone. He would make his move then.
He felt like a dirtbag even plotting such a thing with her friend lying on a slab in the morgue. But it was the only way he knew to protect her. She could be the next person on the killer’s list.
Or, hell, maybe the whole thing was a ploy to throw off his investigation. He couldn’t be sure, wouldn’t overlook any variables until he had some solid evidence.
Whether or not finding Pamela Carter’s remains would prove beneficial to the case or only open up another can of worms was yet to be seen.
They had determined, based on dental records, that the remains did indeed belong to Pamela. Rick had given the news to her father, who took it as if he’d expected as much.
Preliminary finding on cause of death was a gunshot since a slug had been discovered in the grave site. The slug was at ballistics right now. Rick had pulled a few strings to get a report back ASAP. He needed to know if the .38 slug matched either of the ones discovered with Ashland’s body.
That would put a whole different spin on who may have killed Ashland.
Rick didn’t want to believe it, but it was looking more and more like Melinda had the most reason to do the deed. And there was that slight discrepancy as to whether or not she had been in her hospital room the entire time in question that day.
There was always her brother. Rick had considered him before, but Taylor’s reports had indicated that his alibi was rock solid. But how could he be sure when time of death couldn’t be pinpointed? He couldn’t.
No one could.
Except the killer himself—or herself.
Rick’s cell phone vibrated against the dash where he’d tossed it.
“Summers.”
“Chief, this is Kilgore.”
Anticipation lit in Rick’s veins. Kilgore was standing by in Birmingham with the lab tech for the preliminary ballistics results.
“What’ve you got for me, Kilgore?”
“It’s a match, Chief. No question. One of the thirty-eights used on Charles Ashland, Junior, is the same weapon used to kill Pamela Carter.”
And there it was, his first piece of solid evidence.
Chapter 13
I
t rained the entire morning before Cassidy’s memorial service.
At two o’clock the Episcopal Church of Jackson County filled quickly with mourners and perhaps a few who were simply curious onlookers. The idea of confining the service to the family and close friends had apparently been overridden by the community’s need to come out and show its support in one way or another.
Rick and his deputies were keeping the media at bay. Lacy felt intensely grateful for that measure.
She’d lain in bed alone last night, thinking that she was actually more alone at that moment than ever before in her life. There wasn’t a significant other; her relationship with her lifelong best friends was falling apart right before her eyes. In addition, she felt like a stranger in her parents’ home. Their flight from Bermuda had been delayed for at least two more days due to a rare yet imminent category-three hurricane. They almost never happened in June. Just Lacy’s luck one had to occur now when she needed all the support she could get.
Ten years ago she had made the biggest mistake of her life. She’d allowed a Pandora’s box to be opened and she couldn’t close it. That step had driven a wedge between her and all she’d ever known and all she’d ever hoped to be.
Every single person gathered in this church had watched her, Kira and Melinda take their seats. Lacy hadn’t missed the suspicious looks…the whispers behind hands. The whole town suspected that the four of them had murdered Charles Ashland, Junior, dumped his body in the lake and now that long-buried secret had come back to haunt them in the worst way.
She imagined they also wondered which of them would be the next to die at the hands of Charles’s unknown avenger.
Lacy shivered when she recalled the way Nigel Canton and Bent Thompson had looked at them as they’d passed down the long aisle to sit close to Cassidy’s family.
Had one of them killed Cassidy? Was Nigel or Bent attempting to cover his own part in the events of ten years ago by diverting suspicions toward them using this elaborate revenge scheme? Honestly, outside of Charles’s parents she couldn’t imagine anyone wanting revenge for his murder. And, God knows, with the security at the senator’s house, there was no way he or his wife went anywhere without someone knowing it.
Stop it. She didn’t want to think about any of it anymore. She just wanted to get through this.
The Ashlands had even shown up for the service. Lacy wasn’t sure why she was surprised by that since the Ashlands had been friends with the Collinses for as long as she could remember, the same as her own parents had. Her parents were deeply saddened that they couldn’t be there.
Lacy stared up at the priest, who spoke of salvation and hope. It felt like a nightmare come true. How could this be real?
How could Cassidy be dead?
Another wave of emotion welled inside Lacy, making her want to wither into a mass of tears. Cassidy hadn’t deserved this kind of end. She’d had so much to give. Her life had scarcely gotten started.
Lacy couldn’t help thinking that maybe it wouldn’t have happened if…circumstances had been different.
They had sentenced Charles to that watery grave for an entire decade and now he was back, wreaking the same old havoc in all their lives.
Only this time, there was no turning back.
Dead was dead.
And Cassidy was dead.
Melinda reached over and took Lacy’s hand in hers and held on tightly. Lacy tried to be consoled by the gesture, but she couldn’t muster the necessary strength. Things would never be the same for any of them.
Cassidy was gone.
The service droned on for another half hour before people rose and started to file out of the church. Melinda held on tightly to Lacy and Kira as they exited the service together. United, just the way Cassidy would have wanted them. Only this time it was more show than anything. Everything had changed.
Lacy noticed Rick immediately. He stood very close to the steps, ready to move in if he was needed. She recognized several other deputies, like Brad Brewer, stationed about the parking area to control the crowd of media vultures restricted from the event.
For the umpteenth time since coming back home she wished she could run into his arms and hide there. It had been ages since she’d felt the need to seek shelter in the strength only a man could offer, but this afternoon she felt the urge stronger than ever before.
She wanted desperately to feel safe and secure again.
From the church the three of them rode in silence with Kira’s parents to the Collinses’ home for a more private gathering to honor Cassidy.
Lacy wished she could just go home and go to sleep. She didn’t want to face this for one second longer, but she had to do it for Cassidy and her family. They would be hurt if she left too early.
She wandered around the luxuriously appointed great room and took her time admiring framed photograph after photograph of Cassidy. An only child, like Lacy, she would be sorely missed. Lacy couldn’t imagine how her parents would survive this kind of terrible tragedy. How did anyone recover from the loss of a child, even if that child was all grown up?
She’d hugged and been hugged by so many people that she felt numb with the condolences. Not that she regretted having taken in those caring words and reminders of moments from the past. She was just tired, that was all.
The beautiful framed photograph of Cassidy standing proudly in the center of a table with a flickering candle on either side of it made Lacy feel incredibly sorry for how off-kilter their time together had been since returning to Ashland. She wished she could take back some of the tension she and Cassidy had experienced during the past few days.
But you couldn’t take back some things and that stressful time was one of them. The opportunity was gone.
Cassidy was dead…murdered.
The four of them were no more. Now only three remained.
Lacy couldn’t be in this house a second longer. She had to go.
It took her a couple of minutes to locate Melinda. “I have to go,” she said, without bothering to tack on an excuse. She couldn’t help it. She couldn’t breathe…couldn’t think.
“But we came with Kira’s parents,” Melinda reminded softly. “We should—”
Lacy held up her hands to stop whatever else she intended to say. “It’s okay. I’ll walk.”
With Melinda still attempting to persuade her to stay, Lacy hurried out of the house. She couldn’t bear it a moment longer.
Her parents’ house wasn’t that far from here. Maybe seven or eight blocks. She would just walk. No need to disturb anyone else. It was still daylight outside.
Halfway down the driveway, she realized her mistake.
A reporter, the same one from the other day, rushed past the line Ashland’s finest had laid down as the boundary the media couldn’t cross.
“Which one of your friends do you think will be next, Lacy?”
Why her? Why did everyone have to assume it was her who’d done the deed? Clearly that was what this reporter assumed; otherwise, why would he suggest that her friends would die rather than her?
She kept walking, while the reporter’s photographer cohort snapped photo after photo. She held up one hand to block his view, but he was too fast. He danced around her as if he’d done this very hateful and callous routine a dozen times before and enjoyed every minute of it.
“It would make life so much more pleasant if you told the truth, Lacy!” the reporter called after her. For some reason he chose not to follow, just yelled out to her back. “Why don’t you let me help you bring the truth to all those who care. They have a right to know!”
Lacy walked faster, made the ninety-degree turn from the driveway to the sidewalk so quickly she almost stumbled.
Big hands steadied her. “Whoa.”
Rick.
She shook free of his hold. “I have to go home.” At least now she knew why the reporter and his photographer hadn’t raced after her.
“Why don’t I drive you?”
She wanted to tell him no, that she wouldn’t be caught dead riding around with him after what he’d pulled yesterday. But she didn’t have the strength to say the words.
She nodded her agreement to the ride.
That he left it at that was better. Silently, he led the way to his truck, which was parked a good distance down the block because of the number of folks who had crowded into the Collinses’ home.
He opened the passenger-side door and waited for her to climb in, then closed it behind her. She should have thanked him, but she didn’t bother. Instead, she closed her eyes and relaxed against the seat. She wanted to put the horror out of her mind for just a little while.
He’d pulled out onto the street and driven a block or two before he spoke. “About yesterday,” he said quietly. “I shouldn’t have put you through that.”
The urge to rail at him about how terribly he’d treated her nudged at her but she lacked the enthusiasm to follow through with the inclination.
“I know how close you were. I shouldn’t have been so heartless.”
If he was looking for forgiveness, he could just forget it. She wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction.
So she gave him the silent treatment all the way to the block where her folks lived.
“Oh, God.”
A whole horde of reporters waited on the sidewalk in front of her house.
Rick swore.
“Don’t stop,” she implored. “Just keep driving.” She couldn’t endure any more.
He drove away without even slowing. She slid as low as possible in the seat. Not one of the vultures circling her childhood home appeared to notice her in his vehicle. Now she felt thankful her parents weren’t here having to witness this ruthless invasion of privacy.
The idea that Melinda would likely go home to the same scene gave her pause, but she felt confident Kira would take care of Melinda.
“I’ll send one my deputies over to Melinda’s house to make sure she doesn’t find the same thing at her place.”
That he’d read her mind so clearly startled Lacy. But then, that was the logical step, right? The chief of police would think in those terms.
It had nothing to do with him caring how she felt. He’d proved that yesterday morning.
As promised, he made the necessary call. Lacy felt better knowing Melinda wouldn’t have to face the same unpleasantness.
God, she wanted this to be over.
She closed her eyes for a while. She couldn’t think anymore. The sound of the tires gliding over the damp streets lulled her into a light sleep. But sleep only brought the voice of the caller echoing behind her as she ran from some dark figure.
Lacy sat up, blinked a few times and tried to get her bearings. She recognized the street but hadn’t been in this neighborhood in a really long time.
“Where are we going?”
“My place.”
It took a couple of seconds for his words to penetrate the haze of fatigue. “Wait.” Going to his home would be a mistake. She didn’t have to analyze it. She knew it would be. “I should…” What? Go home? Go to Melinda’s? There was no place for her to go and feel safe.
“No one will bother you at my place,” he assured. “You’ll be safe there.”
And that was exactly what she needed to feel. How could he know her so well? They’d only been together that one time. How could he sense her needs so precisely?
Rick’s house was a small, neat rancher at the end of a street where the city met the thick forest of the greenbelt Goose Pond Colony had formed ages ago. Ashland wouldn’t be allowed to expand into that natural setting for at least another couple hundred years.
Lacy scooted out of the truck seat when he opened her door, but she was too busy taking in the place to consider the man. The lawn was freshly mowed, the shrubs neatly pruned. No flowers, but then she wouldn’t have expected any. Traditional red brick with black louvered shutters dressed the outside of his home. Steps led up to a small porch that provided shelter for the front entrance. A typical six-panel door with lock and dead bolt led into the home.
He flipped a switch and two table lamps in the living room glowed to life. There was no entry hall. Just a generous-sized living room with well-worn, comfy-looking furnishings. The walls were a deep sand color, the floors red oak polished to a high sheen. A big-screen television sat in one corner of the room.
“Would you like something to drink? I’ve got soda and beer. Coffee.”
The uncharacteristic tension in his voice drew her attention back to the man. It wasn’t her imagination. He looked nervous or otherwise uncomfortable. How was that possible? He always appeared calm and rational, never flustered or uneasy.
“Nothing, thank you.”
“There’s…” He cleared his throat. “There’s water too.”
She shook her head. If she’d been thirsty she would have denied it. Her entire interest was focused on the place. It smelled like him. Something fresh and yet classic like the softest leather after a brisk rub to release the natural essence.
A massive oak bookcase across the room drew her there to study the framed photographs of Rick and his family. A few were of his deputies gathered for cookouts or holiday celebrations.
He looked happy, secure in his own skin.
What she would give to feel that way again.
“Should I leave a message at your house for your folks, in case they get in this evening?”
Lacy set aside the photo of Rick and his fellow officers she’d been contemplating and turned to him. Did he think that wooing her with kindness would get her to talk, since intimidation hadn’t?
Those silvery eyes, the ones she had never been able to forget, rested easily on hers, as if he enjoyed admiring her and was in no hurry to look away.
He really had turned into an amazing guy, every bit as handsome as she would have expected and even more in ways that went beyond the superficial.
Rick Summers was what folks around here would call a good man. Honor, loyalty and all those traits that were growing more and more extinct with each generation.
The kind of man any woman would want to capture. A good catch.
Except she’d walked away. Used him and gone on as if he hadn’t counted in the grander scheme of things.