Authors: Erica Spindler
Tags: #Contemporary Women, #General, #Romance, #Suspense, #Thrillers, #Fiction
Justice for Sara (22 page)
She almost swooned.
He had noticed her. If Kat hadn’t gotten in the way, maybe she and Ryan would have been together already.
“You say you know how Sara McCall was killed?”
She nodded, glanced furtively around, then lowered her voice. “With a baseball bat.”
Ryan flinched. His friends seemed to freeze.
“How do you know that?” Dab asked.
“My folks.” She lowered her voice. “They talked to her cousin Jeremy. We know the family real well.”
Ryan cleared his throat. “You want to sit with us?”
“Really? Sure.”
Bitsy came around the booth and scooted in beside him. There was barely enough room and she ended up pressed snugly against him. Her heart beat so heavily, she feared he would hear it. That they all would.
“I’m Ryan,” he said, smiling brilliantly. “This is Sheila, Joe and Sam. You know Dab.”
“Sure. Hi.”
“What else did you hear?” Dab asked.
Bitsy looked around her once more, then leaned in. “This is all supposed to be top secret. You can’t tell
anyone
. You’ve got to promise.”
“We do,” Ryan said. “Right, y’all?”
They agreed. She nodded. “Okay. Kat found the body.”
Sheila squealed. “Oh, my God! Gross.”
“Wow,” Ryan muttered, “that’s really fucked-up.”
“Her cousin Jeremy’s finding her a lawyer.”
“A lawyer? Why—”
“She was there. Right? And they always suspect the person closest to the victim.”
They all fell silent. Dab broke the silence first. “Kat hated her sister. You know how she always said—”
“No way,” Sheila said. “She couldn’t do
that
. Could she?”
“Of course not. No way.”
“Can we talk about something else?” Ryan said. “This just isn’t cool.”
Ryan’s sausage biscuits arrived. He dug in, as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
The waitress looked strangely at Bitsy, as if seeing her for the first time. Bitsy had always imagined it would be this way if she was with Ryan. No longer invisible.
“Can I get you something?” she asked.
“I’m good, thanks.”
Ryan ate and the others chatted. Bitsy sat quietly, just letting it all swirl around her. Eventually, they all stood to leave. Bitsy collected her laptop, papers and check to pay for her meal.
“I’ll get that,” Ryan said, plucking the bill from her fingers.
“Really?”
“Yeah, sure.” He looked at the amount and left it and a tip on the table. “Can I walk you to your car?”
“Sure,” she said, smiling shyly. “I’d like that.”
They exited the Sunny Side. The rest of the group was already in their cars.
“Where’re you parked?”
“Over there.” She pointed. “The BMW.”
“Sweet wheels.”
“Thanks. Sixteenth-birthday present.”
“Sweet,” he said again. “How old are you, Bitsy?”
“Seventeen.”
He walked her to her car and opened the door for her. She slid inside, looked up at him. If he kissed her, it would be perfect.
He smiled instead. “Maybe I’ll call you sometime, Bitsy Cavenaugh. Would that be okay?”
She looked up at him, cheeks hot. She nodded. “You want my number?”
“I tell you what. I’ll give you mine, instead. You got a pen?”
She did. She handed it to him.
He took it and her hand. He turned it palm up, wrote his number across it. His smile widened. “Better not tell your mama whose number that is, she won’t like it.”
Mama wouldn’t notice. Nobody noticed.
He leaned down. “I promise I won’t tell anyone what you said.”
“Thanks.”
“Call me if you hear anything else. Okay?”
She said she would, then watched him walk away. She looked at her palm, the numbers scrawled across it. Her and Ryan Benton. It was really happening.
And all it had taken was Sara McCall dying.
Thursday, June 13
1:55
P.M.
Kat drove there as fast as she dared. Still it took all of forty-five minutes to reach the Mandeville hospital. She parked and ran in. “I’m looking for Stephen Tanner.”
The volunteer checked her directory, then looked up, expression sympathetic. “Intensive care. Second floor.”
Kat thanked her and hurried for the elevators. They dumped her at the ICU waiting room. The last bastion of hope. Exhausted, hollow-eyed families. Hushed conversations. Tears. Then the occasional fresh recruit. Someone like her, just rushing in. Wild-eyed and worried.
She’d been here before, had done this vigil for a loved one. After the accident, for her mother. Her dad had been killed instantly, but her mom had hung on for two days.
Luke saw her at the same moment her gaze found him. He stood and she crossed to him, feeling suddenly awkward. Would he find it odd that she was here? As odd as she now did? She’d all but flown here, as if it were her loved one in need. Her emergency.
How could she have grown to feel so strongly about Luke in such a short period of time?
“Jeremy called me,” she said. “What happened?”
“The doctors aren’t sure. He collapsed. He’s conscious but groggy.”
He shifted his gaze to a point behind her. She looked over her shoulder. A woman. His mother, she realized. They had the same eyes.
She was obviously distraught. And judging by her expression not happy to see Kat. “Katherine, have you met my mother, Margaret?”
“If I have, it’s been years. Hello, Mrs. Tanner.”
The woman greeted her, then turned to Luke. “The nurse said we could go in for a short visit, one at a time.”
“You go,” he said.
She nodded and headed that way. Kat watched her go, then turned back to him. “I should go. I just wanted to let you know—”
She stopped. Everything she wanted to say sounded lame. As close as she suddenly felt toward Luke, she wasn’t family. The fact was, they hardly knew each other.
“If I can help in any way, just let me know.”
“I will.” His eyes crinkled at the corners in that way she found both attractive and infuriating. “C’mon, I’ll walk you to the elevator.”
They reached the bank of elevators. The center car’s doors slid open. He stuck a hand in, to hold them open. “I have so much to tell you,” he said. “But now’s impossible.”
“I have things to tell you as well.”
“If it looks like I can sneak away for an hour, I’ll call you. Is that okay?”
“Perfect.”
He stepped away and the doors swooshed closed. As the car descended, Kat wondered what the hell she was doing. She didn’t date cops.
And she certainly didn’t fall in love with them.
Thursday, June 13
2:30
P.M.
Kat swung by the cottage to pick up some things, then headed back over to Jeremy’s. When she got there, she found him loading an overnight bag into the trunk of Lilith’s Jaguar.
“What’s up?” she asked.
“Jackson. A deposition. I’ll be gone a day or two.” He slammed the trunk. “You’ll have the run of the place. Lilith’s in Houston. Girls’ trip. Martinis and the Galleria. It’s going to cost me a fortune.”
Saved by shopping, Kat thought, relieved to be spared the awkwardness of facing Lilith without the buffer of Jeremy.
“Taking the Jag, I see.”
He grinned. “Lots more fun to drive.”
He gave her a quick hug. “I’ll only be a phone call away.”
“I’ll be fine.”
He searched her gaze, obviously unconvinced. “The timing sucks, I know, but—”
“Really, Cousin Jeremy. I’m okay.”
He nodded, turned and opened the car door. “How’s Luke’s dad?”
“In ICU. He collapsed and they’re not sure why. Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of the place.”
“I know you will.” He slid behind the wheel; she caught a whiff of Lilith’s perfume. “If you need anything, help yourself. And if you need to move some things over from the cottage, the keys to the Tahoe are in the console.”
“I might do that, thank you.”
She watched him drive off, then headed inside. The house was quiet. Museum-like, she thought as she crossed the grand foyer, her sandals slapping softly on the marble floor. She flipped on lights as she went, more for the comfort than the light.
Her cell phone rang as she reached the kitchen, and she answered, grateful for the distraction.
“Kat, it’s Tish.”
She hadn’t heard from her Realtor in several days. And truthfully, the purchase of the Riverview property had been the last thing on her mind.
“Hi, Tish.” Kat laid her car keys on the kitchen counter, then set her purse beside them. “What’s up?”
“I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news. You lost the property.”
Kat’s heart sank. “How can that be? My financing’s in place, what could be—”
“The owner pulled out. Took it off the market. Not only do they not want to sell, they’re not even offering the property for lease. I’m really sorry, Kat.”
Kat pulled a chair away from the table and sank onto it. “But they accepted my offer. They signed the agreement—”
“In the end, they own the property and can decide not to sell. They’re returning your good-faith deposit. In addition, they’ve offered to reimburse you for all your out-of-pocket expenses.”
Kat wanted to cry. To bawl like a baby. Not over losing the property. After the past couple days, she had begun to wonder if opening a Good Earth here was even a good idea.
It was another slap in the face. Another door slammed.
“They found out who I was, didn’t they?”
“They didn’t say that.”
“Of course not,” she said. “I could sue them if they admitted it.”
“I’m sorry,” she said again. “I think the property on the square is still available, if you’d like to take a second look at it?”
“Who owns it?”
“The property on the square?”
“No, the one on Riverview.”
“An L.L.C.” Kat heard shuffling papers. “R and B Properties, L.L.C.”
Ryan and Bitsy.
“Thanks for letting me know, Tish.”
“Should I check the availability of the property on the square?”
“No. I’ll let you know if I change my mind.”
Kat ended the call. She dropped her head to her hands. Not the end of the world, she told herself. Why open a store in a place she was despised? What had she been thinking? It seemed so ridiculously naive now. Waltz into Liberty, expose Sara’s killer and instantly earn the love and respect of everyone.
She lifted her head. Maybe she didn’t want their love and respect anymore. This wasn’t about her. It was about justice for Sara, and she’d achieved that, right? Danny was in jail. Luke would pull together the evidence needed for an arrest and—
What if Danny didn’t do it?
Ryan. He’d been at the cottage the night of the murder. He’d admitted it, then all but dared her to prove it.
“Iris Bell is a confused old lady. She can’t recall the fact of what happened the day before, let alone ten years ago.”
The bastard thought he’d gotten away with murder.
And now he and Bitsy had sabotaged her planting roots here.
A sudden thought occurred to her and she redialed Tish. “Hey,” she said when the woman answered, “it’s Kat. When did this thing with the sale happen? Was it today?”
“Not more than thirty minutes before I called you. Why?”
“Just curious. Thanks.”
That had only been half true: yes, she was curious, but there’d been nothing purposeless about the question. Ryan and Bitsy had quashed her deal after she’d confronted them about the murder. They figured if they could scare her off, they could keep their deep, dark secret hidden.
Kat stood. She would bet one or both of them were behind the graffiti that had greeted her arrival in Liberty, the baseball bat that had followed, the vandalism to her car, the arson.
She just needed proof.
Thursday, June 13
4:30
P.M.
Kat decided to take Jeremy up on his offer of the Tahoe. She meant to follow Bitsy; she figured being in a vehicle other than her own would keep her from being recognized.
This might be the craziest thing she’d ever done, launching her own superstealth P.I. thing. But Bitsy and Ryan were guilty as sin, and she meant to prove it.
She tugged the baseball cap a bit lower on her face and slid on her sunglasses. The late-afternoon sun was blinding. The timing was perfect. She hoped to catch Bitsy leaving her shop for the day; if that didn’t pan out, she would head out to R&B Imports in an attempt to tail Ryan.
What would Ryan do if he caught her? She remembered his temper, the way fury could ignite in him at nothing more than a wrong word or look, and tightened her fingers around the steering wheel. She didn’t want to be on the receiving end of that anger ever again.
Kat pulled into a parking spot in front of a snowball stand called the Sugar Shack. It afforded her a clear view of Bitsy’s design shop. The lights were on inside; she saw movement.
Luck, she saw several minutes later, was with her. Bitsy emerged from the shop with another woman. They carried what looked like sample books. As Kat watched, Bitsy helped the woman load them into her car, then went back to the shop. The lights inside snapped off and a moment later Bitsy reemerged, locking the door behind her.
And started across the street, heading right for her.
Had she been found out already?
Kat slid lower in her seat. Bitsy was on the phone; she appeared deep in discussion. She held out her keys and the vehicle directly to Kat’s right beeped.
Not Merlin. An Infiniti. Very sleek.
She’d parked right next to Bitsy’s vehicle.
Kat grabbed her purse and turned to her left, started digging through it, as if searching for something. She heard Bitsy’s voice, the sedan’s door open, then slam shut, the engine roar to life. From the corner of her eye, saw the black vehicle pull away.
Kat counted to sixty before following. So she wouldn’t be completely obvious—and to give her runaway heart a chance to slow down. She pulled into traffic, two cars behind Bitsy, and managed to maintain that distance despite the dinnertime traffic.
Bitsy swung into the Northlake Shopping Center lot, turning toward the far end and Cafe Toile.
Kat followed her into the center’s lot, but turned in the opposite direction. She parked, and saw Bitsy climb out of the Infiniti and cross to the cafe’s entrance, where Ryan was waiting. They embraced and headed inside.
For dinner. Perfect. That should tie them up for an hour, at least.
Enough time for her to do her thing. Kat wheeled out of the parking lot, pointing north, toward Covington. She’d made a list of incriminating evidence: black spray paint, spool of red ribbon, gas cans, fleur-de-lis earring. And anything else. She figured she’d know it when she saw it.
She reached Millionaires’ Row and the entrance to the Cavenaugh place. She rolled past the main drive and turned onto the gravel lane that led to the stables. Here her vehicle would be out of view of the main house. She would enter the house through the kitchen. If Bitsy had any household staff, they would have left for the day. She knew Bitsy didn’t have dogs, because she was allergic to them.
Which left an alarm system. They hadn’t had one, back in the day. Not for the main house, anyway. The car barn had been a different story. It’d been wired to the hilt. If Bitsy had one now, she was screwed.
Cross that bridge if you come to it, Katherine.
Ignoring the butterflies in her stomach, Kat climbed out of the SUV and made her way to the house. The Cavenaughs used to hide a spare key under a flowerpot on the back steps. Old habits died hard, but if she couldn’t find a key, she would break a window.
Breaking and entering. What she was about to do was so illegal. And so reckless. She wondered if anyone would bail her out of jail if she was caught.
The sun hadn’t set, but the light had begun to change, to soften, bleed out. Kat reached the steps, darted up them. She peered in the door, looking for an alarm panel, relieved when she didn’t see one.
You’re on the clock. Get moving.
The key wasn’t there. She tried above the door, window ledges, under the steps. Nothing.
Her heart sank. She’d been certain it would be there. She eyed the panes of glass in the French door. She’d never purposely broken a window before and wasn’t sure how to do it. A rock? Her elbow. She realized she should have brought along a flashlight or some other tool to do it with.
Try the knob, Kat.
It turned. The door eased open.
Her heart seemed to lurch to her throat. Taking a deep breath, she stepped inside. No alarm panel, red light flashing. No bone-chilling growl. Just … silence.
Kat thought of Lilith, with her three gates and state-of-the-art alarm system. What would she say about this?
The enormity of what she was doing, the impossibility of her mission hit her. Where did she start? A spool of red ribbon? A can of spray paint? Really?
The stupidity of it came crashing down on her. But it was too late. A light came on at the front of the house. The slam of a car door from the back.
How could they be home already? She glanced at her watch, panicked. They wouldn’t have had time to eat. Order, maybe but not—
They had gotten food to go.
She was trapped.
Kat looked frantically around her. She had three options: the powder room off the back porch, the pantry to her right …
Or exposure.
She chose the pantry. One of those big, old-fashioned ones. But with nowhere to hide. If either one opened the door, she would be caught.
She eased the door closed just as the light came on in the kitchen. Kat heard the crackle of paper bags. A moment later the snap of the back door shutting.
And … silence. Moments passed. The sound of plates and utensils being set up.
“Red? Or white?”
Ryan’s voice.
“I don’t care.”
Sulky, Kat thought.
“What do you want me to say, Bitsy?”
Exasperated. Pissed off.
“There’s nothing you can say.”
“I can’t erase my past. Sorry, babe.”
He didn’t sound sorry at all.
“You weren’t in love with her?”
“I’ve told you before. No.”
“You were with her for her money?”
“Yeah, I thought she’d be my ticket out. I was a kid. I’m not anymore.”
“How do I know you aren’t with me for my money?”
Sulky had become whiny.
“I’m tired of having this discussion, Bitsy. Either you trust me or you don’t. Stay with me or not.”
The sound of a wine bottle being uncorked, liquid being poured.
“
Don’t you think we have bigger problems right now, Bits? Like the fact that psycho bitch is trying to pin Sara’s death on me?”
Normally Kat would have taken offense at the label, but considering she was hiding in a pantry, eavesdropping, she supposed it fit.
“I won’t let her,” Bitsy said.
“Yeah? And how do you stop her? That damn old busybody. She just—”
Iris Bell.
“—needs to die. How old is she, anyway?”
“Like ninety.”
“She’s an addled old lady. Even if Tanner questions us, how far could it go?”
“Nowhere.” Her tone became coaxing. “I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. I love you too much.”
Kat rolled her eyes.
Please.
“I love you, too, Bitsy Cavenaugh.”
It went silent. Kat imagined they were embracing. Moments later, the sound of eating, then after a while dishes being set into the sink.
Ryan broke the silence, tone nonchalant. “You never told me you saw me there. At the cottage. Why?”
“It didn’t matter.”
“Maybe it does to me.”
“I didn’t care why you were there.”
“So, if I tell you I killed her, you won’t care?”
Kat held her breath. The silence seemed to stretch on forever.
“Of course I’d care. But you didn’t do it.”
Kat wondered if he did confess, right now, whether Bitsy would even accept it. She suspected she would choose instead to stay completely in denial.
“How do you know, Bitsy?”
Something in his tone made her frown. As if Ryan was testing Bitsy. Giving her an opportunity to confess.
Kat brought a hand to her mouth.
What if Bitsy had done it?
“What did Sara say to you that night?”
“That I was a loser. That she’d see me dead before she’d allow me to ruin her sister.
Bitch
.”
The way he said the word sent a chill up Kat’s spine. Ten years after the fact, and he was still angry over it.
He went on. “I laughed at her. Reminded her that Kat would be eighteen soon, then we could be together whether she liked it or not.”
“What happened then?”
Silence. Long. Pregnant.
“She told me she was sending her away. To boarding school. She laughed at
me
. And I knew then why Kat hated her so much. And I told her so.”
Kat had the sense Bitsy was hanging on every word.
“I saw the bat. I looked at it.” He lowered his voice. “I thought about doing it. Pictured it in my head.”
Kat realized she was holding her breath. She could see twenty-year-old Ryan grabbing that bat and swinging it. She could picture him in that kind of rage.
“We could run away,” Bitsy said. “Just go. You and me.”
Kat was reminded of herself, all those years ago, begging Ryan Benton to leave it all behind. Run away with her.
And as he had all those years ago, he refused.
“And leave what we have here? No fucking way. I’ve worked too hard for what I have. And so have you.”
“We’d have each other?”
Hurt. Hope.
But that wouldn’t be enough for Ryan Benton. Not now, not ever. She almost felt sorry for Bitsy. She understood. She had been there.
For a long time after the pair left the kitchen, Kat sat in the corner of the pantry, knees to her chest. Afraid to move. Imagining the fury she had heard in Ryan’s voice directed at her.
Eventually, the kitchen light went out. She heard the two moving around upstairs. The low hum of a television.
She checked the time on her phone. After ten. Fully dark outside. She stood; her legs and back protested. She opened the door, peeked out. All clear, she saw.
She activated her phone; the screen illuminated. As she turned to close the pantry door, a spot of red caught her gaze.
A spool of shimmery red ribbon.