Chained Guilt (Hidden Guilt (Detective Series) Book 1) (29 page)

I turned to Stacy.  “If you knew about Rodney and Hilary, why didn’t you tell me? I’m her father. You can’t keep things like that from me. I can’t deal with it if I don’t know about it.”

Stacy plopped on the couch and pulled on her shoes. She offered not a word of explanation.

“I don’t like secrets in any relationship,” I said. “I don’t have skeletons in my closet, and I don’t like surprises, especially of this nature.”

“I’m sorry, David,” she said, looking up at me. “I was trying to ignore it. I mean, it was just weed, and I’m sure you had sex before you got married. After all, you were a jock in college. I’m sure you fooled around with lots of girls, probably just for fun. I bet you got any girl you wanted. Am I right?”

I shook my head. “We aren’t talking about me. Maybe I didn’t make myself clear. If one of my girls does something, I need to know about it immediately. Do you understand?”

I couldn’t believe I was talking to Stacy in such a harsh tone, but I was extremely frustrated and confused. For the first time, I really felt her moving in was a huge mistake. It was never going to work. Not like this.

“Got it, captain,” she replied, miffed. “Well, now that you know, you can go upstairs and talk to your teenage daughter about premarital sex and drug use.”

She rose from the couch and marched into the kitchen, somehow managing to get the final word. Again.

I stood there in her wake, wondering once again what the hell I’d been thinking when I asked Stacy to move in with us.  I had no answer. I headed upstairs, knocked on Hilary’s door, and entered without waiting for an invitation.

“Hilary, I’m not mad about the sex. Concerned, yes, but not mad.”

She sat on the edge of the bed, staring at me. She looked miserable.

“We need to talk about it,” I said. “We should have talked long before now.”

“Mom and I already talked about it,” she mumbled. “That’s when she decided I needed to start taking the pills. I told her I could see myself doing something soon.”

I schooled my expression. No sense in going off half-cocked. “Okay, well, you and I can still talk about it. But I am very angry and concerned about the drugs.”

“Dad, it was just weed. I only tried a few puffs. I didn’t like it, anyhow.”

“Hilary, I’m a cop. I’ve seen weed turn into much more over time. I’m more concerned that Rodney might be able to talk you into more.”

“Yeah, yeah, the whole gateway thing,” she mumbled. “How do you know he talked me into it in the first place?”

“However it came about, Hilary, I’m still upset about it. I’m not sure what your punishment is going to be, but it will be severe. You really haven’t left me much choice here. I would also like to set up a time to meet with Rodney. Maybe the three of us can sit down and have dinner one night. It’s my fault we hadn’t met before, I know that, but I’d like to meet him now.”

She stared at me, a doubtful expression on her face.

“The three of us, right? Meaning you, me, and Rodney? I don’t want your psycho girlfriend to join us—”

“Hilary!”

She shook her head. “I’m telling you, she hates me! And I don’t believe she thought I was coming home early next week. I just gave her the note two days ago. Speaking of being talked into something, I’m willing to bet she talked you into that . . . that little display downstairs on the couch. Am I right? So, no Stacy?”

I didn’t answer right away, but Hilary was right. Stacy had talked me into it, but there was no way I could believe the episode had been intentional. I couldn’t put Stacy down on that level of manipulation no matter how mad I was at her. Still, her behavior left me wondering if parenthood would work for her, regardless of whose child it was. But she had been so good coaching those girls in softball.

“Okay,” I said. “No Stacy this time. But if she’s going to be part of this family, she’ll have to be involved at some point. The three of us need to sit down one day, too. Soon . . . very soon. You two are going to have to figure out how to make this work.”

I sat down beside her and gave her a hug. To my relief, she offered one in return. I sat with her for a few moments longer. Finally, I kissed her on the forehead and left her room with a parting sentiment.

“I love you, Hil.”

“Love you too, Dad,” she replied, already reaching for her headphones.

I knew my next move was to talk to Stacy. I went into our room and found her lying facedown on the bed. My anger dissipated, and I sat down next to her.

“I don’t know if this is going to work, David,” she mumbled. “It seems like I’m getting this wrong. Hilary hates me. You probably even hate me now.”

“No one hates you,” I assured her. She turned over to look at me. Her face was flushed, her eyes wet, but she had not shed tears.  “I’ll tell you a little secret my mother told me before we had Hilary. ‘Parenting doesn’t come with an instruction book,’ she said. ‘You’re going to make mistakes, but own them quickly, ask for forgiveness, learn from it, and start over. Lastly, realize you’re going to learn far more from them than they will from you.’”

When Stacy didn’t respond, I kept going.

“Maybe I should have passed on that little pearl of wisdom before you got here, right?”

She reached out for me, and, once again, I found myself unable to resist her.

56

“Miranda?”

Stacy slapped her face.

“Miranda, wake up, you stupid bitch. Your little slut daughter is ruining my plans. You did a fine job raising her, by the way.”

Miranda finally opened her eyes and stared at her captor, her gaze listless.

“What are you talking about?”

“Shut up and eat your dog food. I have something for you to watch.”

Stacy had already set up the playback recording of Hilary in her room smoking weed and having sex with her boyfriend. She opened the laptop in front of Miranda and shoved it closer to her face. She pressed the Play button.

“You see that?” she sneered at her hostage. “That’s your offspring. I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it? You and David into drugs, too? Y’all do ’em together?”

Miranda shrugged as if she didn’t care. “Hilary has always been her own person. She’s a tough little girl. I’m sure she’s giving a stupid inbred bitch like yourself hell. She too smart for you?”

“Whatever.” Stacy chuckled. “We get along just fine, thank you very much. And I was smart enough to get you here. Oh, and here are some pictures of your little princess. She looks like shit, doesn’t she? That’s because I’m giving her a teensy-weensy dose of something to make her . . . Hmmm. Let’s just say she’s dying. Slowly. Don’t worry, it will take a long time before she’s gone.”

“You’re a sadistic whore!” Miranda yelled, struggling against her restraints.

Stacy let Miranda yell her little heart out as she crossed the room with the laptop under her arm, laughing in glee as she headed upstairs. 

**

“Porter, are you coming in today or what?” De Luca snapped. She’d gotten his voicemail again.

De Luca had news. Her hunch had paid off. The handwriting analyst had matched the taunting letters left for David to the note left on his windshield by none other than Stacy. A ninety-eight percent match! What was the bitch up to? She had to let David know, but where was he? She stared down at her phone for several seconds and then decided to head over to Stacy’s house. She’d already gotten the address of the estate. Perhaps David was over there. She was so intent on her task, she failed to notice the car that passed her and then pulled a U-turn behind her, gradually allowing several cars to separate them.

De Luca parked her red SVT Mustang in the driveway. She knocked on the door several times but got no answer. She looked around and peeked into the garage window. Stacy wasn’t home.

She rang the doorbell twice for good measure. Nothing. She had just stepped off the front porch when she thought she heard someone yelling. She paused and listened some more. Definite yelling, but it sounded muffled and far away. She knew the sound was coming from inside.

She took the porch steps two at a time and, without waiting, kicked open the front door.

“Police!” she called out.

The muffled yelling continued. De Luca pulled her gun and moved slowly into the house.

“Police!” she yelled again. “Show yourself!”

“Help!”

The sound came from somewhere below her. She hurried into the kitchen, and the cries got louder. She spied a padlocked door near the pantry and put her ear to it. Bingo! De Luca used the butt of her gun to smash the padlock. Her heart pounded.

“I should call for backup,” she muttered, but the cries for help from below grew more frantic.

“Who’s down there!” she shouted.

“Miranda!”

De Luca swore, reaching for her phone.

“I’m Miranda Porter! Please help me!”

“I’m coming!” De Luca rushed down the stairs, dismayed when she saw the skeletal frame of a woman lying on a dingy, stained mattress, one bony wrist manacled to a metal ring cemented into the wall. Miranda Porter. The woman stared at her in wide-eyed dismay, tears streaming down her face.

“It’s okay.” De Luca attempted to reassure her as she stepped closer, holstering her gun. “It’s okay. I’m going to get you out of here.”

The woman whimpered.

“I’m Detective De Luca. I work with your husband, David. Don’t you worry; I’m going to get you out of here.”

Miranda’s eyes filled with tears as she sobbed softly. “You found me. You found me.”

She repeated the words over and over.

“Where’s—”

“She’s gone,” Miranda said, her voice trembling. “She left a little while ago. She comes down here to feed me, and usually doesn’t come back for a day or two.” She jerked on the chain with what little strength she had left. “Please take this off me!”

De Luca hurried over to Miranda, her heart aching. The woman had apparently been held here for months. She looked at the handcuff attaching her wrist to the chain. Perhaps her cuff key would open it.

“Behind you!” Miranda yelled.

Too late. The words had just registered in De Luca’s brain when she felt the blow hit the back of her head. She fell facedown beside Miranda, her head throbbing and her vision blurred.

“Almost busted me, didn’t you?” a voice above her said mockingly. “You little nagging bitch; I knew I didn’t like you. Now you get a new home here with Miranda. I should just put a bullet in you and be done with it.”

De Luca felt her gun being removed from the holster at her waist but was in no condition to stop it. With ears buzzing and her vision dancing crazily, De Luca rolled over to find Stacy standing above her, a shovel in her hand. She swore and attempted to rise, but Stacy lunged forward and kicked her in the head. Darkness threatened as Miranda’s cries echoed around her.

By the time De Luca regained her senses a bit, she’d been restrained next to Miranda, both wrists manacled to the metal ring in the wall. Then Stacy began tearing the detective’s clothing from her body piece by piece. When De Luca thrashed about and tried to kick off her attacker, Stacy smacked her hard in the head. The darkness returned. As De Luca hung limply from her restraints, Stacy used a knife to hack away at the detective’s hair. Miranda watched, deathly still and silent.

“Well now,” Stacy finally said, sitting back on her heels. “This wasn’t how I intended on spending my morning. Kidnapping a detective?” She laughed and shot Miranda an evil look. “Well, at least now you’ll have some company.”

57

Stacy had taken care of De Luca, but now she had to ditch the detective’s car. All at once, a brilliant idea came to her. She would ditch De Luca’s car in the same manner and in the exact same spot she’d ditched Miranda’s. She had to hurry. She knew David and Hilary had gone for a bike ride. He’d told her of their plans earlier and said he wanted no distractions, which meant no cell phones. She’d have to hurry back to the house to make sure De Luca hadn’t left him a message about where she was going or what she’d found.