Echoes of Murder (Till Death do us Part Book 2) (5 page)

“How long have you been sitting there?”

Reagan glanced up from her phone. Nathan was awake. He struggled to open his eyes, which wasn’t an easy task considering he looked like whatever drug was coursing through every orifice of his body (courtesy of the IV drip attached to his arm) was probably powerful enough to calm a drug addict on speed. He blinked a few times, willing himself awake.

“I got here a few hours ago,” Reagan replied.

“What time is it?”

“Almost eight.”

“At night?”

“In the morning.”  

Nathan glanced around the room. “Where’s mom?”

“Cafeteria. She wanted to be here when you woke up, but … you know Mom.”

“I’m surprised she’d eat hospital food.”

“A lot of wailing and gnashing went on before she succumbed to whatever they serve here. It was hospital food or starvation. I wasn’t willing to trek across town just to get her one cheese bagel from Foley’s, and heaven forbid she drive over there and get it herself.”

Nathan pressed a hand into the firm, uncomfortable cushion of what the hospital was passing off as a bed. He tried to angle his body into a sitting position. It didn’t comply. Reagan partially stood. Nathan grunted in discomfort but waved her off with his hand.

“Try the buttons,” she said.

“The what?”

She pointed to the light blue symbols on the inside of his bed. “Press the up arrow on that one if you want to sit up.”

He did as she suggested. “Thanks.”

“Are you in a lot of pain?”

“Some. I guess you heard?”

“Doctor talked to me this morning. Said you have a broken leg and a few broken ribs. Guess you’ll be keeping that cast on for a while.”

“Guess so. Looks like I’ll live.”

He said it as though death was a more preferable option. “When I dream, she’s still here. Still with me. And then I wake up to this … this life I don’t want to live anymore. Not without her. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be, you know? We were meant to go through life together.”

Tears seeped from the corners of his eyes. He let them flow.

Reagan had rehearsed what she was going to say when she saw him. Now she wasn’t sure. Her thoughts seemed prosaic, lacking the sentimentality and support she desired to express. “I know it’s hard, but with time I’m sure it will get easier.”

He pressed a hand to his throat like he was struggling for breath.  

Great job.

Sallie shuffled all two hundred seventy-five pounds of herself into the room. She looked at Nathan then Reagan, and the finger-wagging began. “I’ve only been gone for ten minutes, Reagan. What have you done to him?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Reagan replied. 

“You must have for him to be like this.” Sallie clapped her hands together a couple times in rapid succession as if conjuring up some kind of magical form of relief. “Come on, son. It’s going to be all right. Get ahold of yourself now. Those nasty police officers will be here in a minute, and you don’t want them seeing you like this.”

That did the trick. 

“The police are coming here?” he asked. “Why?”

“They’ve interviewed everyone else several times. Suppose now it’s your turn. Doc said they couldn’t see you until you woke up and he had the chance to check on you first.” Sallie patted the blanket, the firmness of her hand pressing down onto his cast.

“Mom!” Reagan said.

Sallie smoothed a couple fingers over her lips. “Oh, right. I forgot about your cast.”

“What do they want?” Nathan asked.

“It’s just a formality. I’m sure they’ll ask you the same thing they asked us, and then they’ll be on their way.” Sallie looked at Reagan. “Shame about Evan. I fussed all night thinking about how barbaric it was, him murdering that girl.”

“Isla wasn’t just a girl, Mom,” Nathan said. “She was my wife.” He paused, processed his mother’s entire statement. “Wait—what do you mean Evan murdered her?”

“Oh, no dear. I’m not talking about Isla. I’m talking about the other one.” Sallie looked at Reagan. “You know … Whatshername.”

In the heightened moment of frustration, Reagan allowed a single impure thought.
The wrong woman was strangled
. Sometimes she could scarcely believe her mother had made it this long without suffering a similar fate.  

Nathan looked past his mother. “Reagan, what’s going on?”

There was no sparing him now. Not that she could have.

“After you were taken to the hospital yesterday, Evan was arrested. He’s being detained while the police decide whether or not they’re going to file formal charges.”

“I don’t understand.”

“A girl was found in his closet. She’d been strangled to death.”

Nathan’s eyes widened. “What girl?”

“Her name was Dakota Jaynes.”

“Who is she—a relative of his or something?”

“Neither side claims to know anything about her. All we know is, for whatever reason, she showed up uninvited to the wedding, and at some point either during the reception or shortly after, she was killed.”

“And the cops think Evan did it?”

“The girl was found in his room, and aside from him swearing he didn’t do it, it sure looks that way.”

“Reagan, you have to help him,” Nathan said. “There’s no way he did this. You can look at the body, can’t you? Clear his name?”

“She’ll do nothing of the kind,” Sallie chimed in. “That boy is getting exactly what he deserves.”

“It doesn’t work that way. Dakota’s parents would have to order a private examination, and then they’d have to ask me to do it, and that’s not going to happen. Based on the fact the main suspect was your wife’s brother, I doubt I’d ever be allowed near her.”

“But I know he didn’t do it. At least, I think I know.”

“What do you mean?”

“How far was Evan’s room from mine?”

“Four doors down, I think.”

“Right. I saw someone go into his room that night around the time you’re saying that girl was probably murdered.”

“What did he look like?” Reagan asked.

“I didn’t see him from the front, only the back. He was tall, muscular, like he worked out. He had scraggly brown hair that was tied into a ponytail in back.”

“What about his clothes? What was he wearing?”

“I don’t know. I can’t remember. Honestly, I didn’t put this all together until just now. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Reagan said. “I’m glad you told me.”

“What about Isla?”

“I’m working on getting her released to me. I’ll try, Nathan. I promise. I’ll do everything I can.” Reagan lifted a dollar bill from the pocket of her pants, turned toward her mother. “Can you get me an orange soda from the machine?”

Her mother raised a brow. “Since when do you drink soda?”

“Since now. I’m parched. Please, Mom.”

“You’re trying to have a conversation without me, aren’t you?”

“Of course not.”

“There are no secrets in this family, Reagan. I won’t tolerate it.”

“I’m aware.”

Reagan waved the money in front of her mother. Sallie slapped the dollar bill away. “Keep it.”

When Sallie was several feet away, Reagan leaned over her brother, whispered, “Do you know a man named Alex McMasters?”

“I’m aware of what happened a few years ago. Why?”

“Evan told me the guy is in prison?”

“
Was
in prison.”

“What do you mean
was
?”

“He got out.”

“How long ago?”

“Three months maybe.”

“Did he have any contact with Isla?”

“Not since he’s been out. I mean, I’m sure she would have told me if he tried to see her again after sending her that letter.”

“What letter?”

“The one Alex sent her from jail, asking for her forgiveness, asking to see her when he got out.”  

When the door to Nathan’s room opened again, Reagan expected to see her mother step inside, a can of soda clutched in her hand. Instead Dustin entered, the grin on his face dissipating when he saw Reagan. He looked past her like she wasn’t there, spoke to Nathan. “How you holding up?”

“I’m not,” Nathan replied. “Good to see you, though. Long time.”

The two shook hands.

“Too long.”

“They didn’t have orange, so I got you some root beer,” Sallie said, her eyes still focused on the can when she walked in. When she looked up, she took one look at Dustin and scowled. “What are
you
doing here?”

“Is that any way to talk to me after I rescued you from the back of a squad car yesterday?”

“You did nothing of the kind. That Chief Hall wasn’t planning on arresting me. He just thought he’d make a spectacle in front of everyone else so they’d fall in line, answer his questions.”

Dustin shook his head. “Whatever you say.”

Sallie looked at Reagan, thumbed in Dustin’s direction. “I never liked him.”

“I can hear you,” Dustin said.

“That’s the idea, isn’t it?” Sallie spat.

“I’m gonna head out for a bit,” Reagan said. “Nathan, do you need anything?”

He shook his head. She leaned down, pressed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I’ll stop by a little later then.”

Nathan caught her hand in his, whispered, “Reagan, please—don’t go and do anything stupid.”

“Like what?”

“You didn’t ask me about Isla’s ex for nothing. He’s not the kind of person any girl should mess with. Leave it alone for now. Okay? At least until I get out of here, and we can sort it out together.”

“Okay.”

Reagan despised lying, but in a moment like this, she didn’t want him to worry. Besides, he didn’t have to know what she was planning. Not yet. 

Reagan easily found info on Alex McMasters using an online version of the White Pages. After shelling out a few bucks, she had access to his address, phone number, age, and criminal record, proving nothing was sacred in the digital age. A few taps of a finger was all it took. Effortless.

It was easy, almost
too
easy.   

Eleven months earlier, Alex had been charged with a Class A misdemeanor, a crime that got him locked in the clink for almost a year. The booking information came complete with a chilling mug shot that didn’t just say “violent criminal,” the image
screamed
it with just one look into Alex’s ruthless, unapologetic eyes. The same eyes Reagan found herself staring into now—live.

“Alex McMasters?” she asked.

“Who wants to know?”

“I want to know.”

He leaned on the side of the door jamb, kept his arm out to the side, blocking her from moving forward. “What’s your name?”

“Reagan.”

“Reagan
what
?”

She hesitated, unsure of whether she wanted to tell the truth, or lie. “Davenport.”  

He shrugged. “Don’t know you.”

“I never said you did.”

“Why are you here then? What do you want?”

“Do you know a girl named Dakota Jaynes?”

His face was blank, offering nothing to indicate whether he did or didn’t. “Should I?”

“Do you or don’t you?”

“I don’t.”

Reagan breathed in, remaining calm considering the man standing in front of her bore a startling resemblance to the guy her brother had described from his hospital bed. “Let’s try an easier one. Do you know Isla Everley?”

He stood for a time, not slamming the door in her face, but not speaking either. Reagan waited, tried not to focus on the infinite number of exposed tattoos, or the fact that each one of his biceps looked bigger than her head. He could easily snap her in half if he wanted to, and she assumed he probably did.

“Isla’s my past, and I don’t talk about my past.”

“So you haven’t seen her lately?” she asked.

“Why would I?”

“She’s dead.”

Reagan blurted the truth intentionally. She wanted to see what kind of response it would elicit, whether or not his expression would change.

It didn’t.  

He simply said, “So?”

“You don’t want to know what happened?” she asked. “How she died?”

“Like I said, she’s my past.”

“What’s your past, baby?” A girl wearing caked-on layers of cheap foundation and a dress that looked like it doubled as a shirt stood next to Alex. A baby was slung over one of her hips. She looked at Reagan then Alex. “Who’s this?”

“Reagan … something.”

“How do you know her?”

“I don’t.”

“Then what’s she doing here, babe?”

Alex clenched his hands, but they remained by his side. “Stop asking questions and mind your business.”

“You pretend you don’t want to know what happened to Isla,” Reagan said. “And yet you sent her a letter while you were incarcerated asking to see her when you got out. Care to explain?”

The girl standing next to Alex cursed at him in Spanish, and in Reagan’s mind, everything clicked. Alex had been charged with assault, and not just any assault. For a Class B misdemeanor, he would have most likely served a sentence of six months or less. He served ten and was slapped with a Class A, a harsher crime. There were two instances in which this usually happened. Either the assault included substantial bodily injury or the victim, the person he abused, had been pregnant.

Reagan stared at the baby. A little girl. She looked about six months old. She addressed the woman. “
You
. It was you he assaulted when you were pregnant. You were the one who pressed charges.”

She didn’t deny it. “It was a mistake. Alex has changed. I’ve changed. My baby needs a father.”

And the baby’s mother needed a brain. 

“How do you know about the letter?” Alex pressed. “You her friend or somethin’?”

Reagan ignored the questions, pushed harder. “Where were you two nights ago between the hours of seven and eleven p.m.?

“He was at work,” the girl said. “A-1 Auto.”

“The car rental place?”

The girl nodded.

Alex’s temper flared. “Shut up and get inside the house.”

The baby flinched. A fit of tears began. The girl disappeared down the hallway, did what she was told.  

“Is that how you talked to Isla too?” Reagan asked.

“You best get out of here. Now.”

“A man matching your description was seen entering a room where a young woman was later found dead. She’d been strangled. If I find out you’re lying to me, I’ll be back, and next time, I won’t come alone.”

Reagan turned on her heel, walked away, her hand tucked inside the pocket of her sweater. Footsteps advanced toward her, just as she thought they would. Fast. Heavy. Determined. She yanked her hand out of her pocket, turned, and aimed. “Unless you want to be doused in pepper spray, you’ll stop right there.”

Alex roared with laughter. “You really think that scrawny keychain concerns me?”

“Not one more step. I’m not afraid to use it.”

“Maybe someone needs to teach you a lesson about making threats.”

Maybe they did.

But today, it would be Alex who learned a lasting one.