Authors: Erica Spindler
Tags: #Contemporary Women, #General, #Romance, #Suspense, #Thrillers, #Fiction
Justice for Sara (24 page)
Friday, June 14
8:30
A.M.
Kat awakened on top of the world. She and Luke were lovers. It felt completely and utterly right, in a way nothing had before. How could something so good have grown out of something so horrible?
The day was overcast and gray, but at the same time the world had never looked so beautiful.
She showered at his place, changing into a shirt and shorts she had in her car. She left him a note, then headed for the cottage. She’d noticed the gardenia bushes in the garden there were spilling over with blossoms.
Nothing smelled quite as heavenly as gardenias; Kat had decided Miss Iris would enjoy having some.
When she reached the cottage, Kat went inside for scissors and a bowl. Gardenias had short stems; the trick was to float the blossoms in a bowl of water. And to not touch the petals. Once touched, the snowy white blossoms browned.
Kat carefully clipped a bunch of the blossoms, setting them in the bowl. When she got to her neighbor’s, she would fill it with water. They would last for days, filling the room with fragrance. With the amount of blooms on the bushes, she would be able to keep the old woman in gardenias for weeks.
She laid the shears on the porch step and headed for her neighbor’s. The woman’s living room light was on; Kat could hear the TV. She knocked on the door. She got no answer and knocked again, loudly. “Mrs. Bell,” she called, “It’s Katherine, from across the street.”
She still got no response and Kat realized the woman couldn’t hear her over the television. Kat smiled to herself.
Yet she could hear a pin drop across the street.
Kat shifted the bowl of flowers and tried the door. It was unlocked, and she opened it and poked her head inside.
Fox News. Another scandal in Washington.
“Miss Iris, it’s Katherine.” Still no answer. “I’ve brought you some gardenias.”
Kat stepped inside. She saw the woman, in the recliner in front of the news. She had the remote in her hand. She might be asleep, though over the years, Kat had wondered if the woman ever slept.
“Can I help you?”
Kat spun around, nearly dropping the bowl in surprise. The woman on the porch behind her wore nursing whites. “I’m Katherine McCall, from across the street. I’ve brought Miss Iris some flowers.”
“She’ll be so pleased.” The woman smiled. “I’m Viola. I help Mrs. Bell out a few days a week.”
“I think she’s asleep. I called out, but she didn’t answer.”
“Asleep?” The woman chuckled. “Not likely. She gets pretty wrapped up in her Fox News.” She waved Kat in. “Let’s get some water on those blossoms.”
“I can just leave them with you? If she’s busy—”
“She’d be very disappointed if she didn’t get the chance to thank you and visit a bit.”
And visit a bit.
Kat smiled. “I would hate for her to be disappointed.”
“Go say hello. I’ll get those.”
Kat nodded, handed her the bowl and headed into the living room. “Good morning, Miss Iris,” she said brightly. “How are you today?”
She came around the recliner and not wanting to startle her, touched the woman’s shoulder lightly. The woman’s arm flopped over, the remote slipped from her hand.
Kat sucked in a sharp breath. Miss Iris wasn’t sleeping. She was dead.
*
While Kat called 911, Viola checked Miss Iris’s pulse. Kat had known she would find none. Just as she knew the EMTs, the coroner and the police were all a formality. There would be no reviving her neighbor.
Neither she nor Viola cried. They sat together on the porch step, waiting for the ambulance and police.
“She’s at peace now,” Viola said. “With her Ned.”
“I’m sorry to say, I didn’t know her that well.”
Viola smiled. “Some folks found her too crusty. An opinionated busybody. And she might have been. But she also had a heart of pure gold.”
Kat heard the sirens. “Did she have kids?”
“And grandkids. They all live out of state. They come see her every once in a while, but not that often. They’re busy, I don’t blame them. Her daughter offered to buy her a place near them, but she refused to leave Liberty. Even to go see them. She was planted here. In Liberty and this house.”
The ambulance arrived and Viola directed the EMTs inside; they reappeared moments later. The pair, a man and a woman, tromped back out to the porch.
Viola looked at them. “She’s gone to her reward,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am,” the man agreed. “Coroner’s on the way. Police, too.”
“And here they are now. Y’all have a nice day.”
Kat followed her gaze. A hearse rolled up the block, followed by a Liberty cruiser.
She and Viola stood. The Liberty coroner, who was also the local mortician, climbed out the passenger side of the vehicle. His driver also served as his photographer and body mover.
The cruiser pulled up behind the hearse and Luke climbed out. At the same moment, the sun peeked out from behind a cloud.
Oh yeah, she thought, she had it bad. Real bad.
Friday, June 14
9:25
A.M.
When Luke learned from Reni that Iris Bell had died and that Kat had called it in, he figured he’d better make the scene himself.
Some circumstances were just too odd to ignore.
He joined the coroner and they walked together to the porch. Kat stood waiting, and Luke found it difficult not to stare at her like a horny teenager. The night before had been pretty damn spectacular.
“I didn’t expect you today,” she said when he reached her. “How’s your dad?”
“Better. Having an MRI this afternoon. Kat, this is Charlie Pride, Liberty’s coroner. Charlie, Katherine McCall.”
“Yes, that’s my real name,” he said, smiling. “Good to meet you, Ms. McCall.”
He turned to at Luke. “I’ll go in and see Miz Iris.”
“I’ll go with him,” Viola said.
Luke nodded and turned back to Kat. “I can’t stop thinking about last night.”
“I can’t either.”
She actually blushed. He wanted to trail his finger over her rosy cheek but slipped his hands into his pockets instead.
He smiled. “So, how did you come to be over here this morning?”
“I thought she’d enjoy having some of my gardenias. I’d noticed them yesterday. I came over, knocked, heard the TV and tried calling out, but—”
“She didn’t answer.”
“Yes. I was in the process of going in when Viola arrived.”
“The door was unlocked?”
She nodded.
“And Miss Iris was dead?”
“In her recliner.” Kat’s eyes welled with tears. She blinked at them, making a sound of embarrassment. “I feel so stupid, I hardly knew the woman.”
He squeezed her hand. “She’d had a long, full life, Kat. She was ready to go.”
“Luke?”
Charlie stood at the door. “Could you come here a minute?”
“Sure.” He told Kat he’d be right back. He passed Viola on the porch. He frowned at her expression.
“What’s up, Charlie?”
“I think Miz Iris had a little help passing on.”
“Excuse me?”
“I think she was murdered.”
The man could have knocked him over with a feather. “No way.”
“You take a look. I’m a coroner, not a pathologist or detective.”
Luke did, squatting in front of her. Purple and red splotches. On her lips. Her face and eyes. Petechial hemorrhages. An indication of suffocation.
Luke sat back on his heels, stunned. Somebody had murdered harmless old Mrs. Bell.
Maybe not so harmless. Not to everyone.
It couldn’t be a coincidence. Yesterday Kat had pried information from Mrs. Bell about the night Sara died. And now she was dead. Someone had felt it necessary to silence her for good.
He lifted his gaze. “You were right, Charlie. Looks like we’ve got ourselves a crime scene.”
Kat took it hard when she heard the news. She sank to the porch step. Dropped her head into her hands. “My fault,” she said.
“It’s not.”
“I got her killed. Asking questions. Confronting people.”
“Listen to me.” He sat on the step beside her, took her hands in his. They were as cold as ice. “You did nothing wrong.”
She searched his gaze. “I just talked to her yesterday. When did … do you know when it happened?”
“Sometime last night or early this morning. Rigor and lividity suggest ten or twelve hours ago. Pathologist will get an internal temp.”
“Who did you talk to about this, besides me, Ryan and Bitsy?”
“No one else.”
“You’re certain?”
“Yes.” She pressed her lips together. “They killed her to keep her quiet. She knew their secrets.”
Her eyes widened as if she’d just thought of something. “Danny’s still in jail.”
“Yeah, he is.”
“So he couldn’t have killed her.”
“That’s right.”
“I forgot to tell you something. It … last night, it didn’t seem important. But now—” She curved her arms around her waist. “Oh, God. It was Ryan. Or Bitsy.”
“Okay,” he said softly, “calm down. Just tell me.”
“I parked by the stables. There’s a gravel road, just beyond the main drive to the house. I figured I’d be less likely to be seen.”
She dragged in a broken-sounding breath. “I didn’t leave the house until it’d been quiet a pretty long time. I heard the TV upstairs but it was totally quiet on the main floor. I didn’t even turn my headlights on until I reached the main road. But when I passed the main drive, I glanced that way and saw one of them leaving the house.”
“Which one?”
“I don’t know. One of the cars, backing out of the garage. I thought they were coming after me and I panicked.”
And hauled ass out of there.
“But they didn’t follow you?”
“No.” She brought a trembling hand to her mouth. “And last night, when they were arguing, Ryan said that she, Mrs. Bell, just needed to die.”
Luke stood. “Reni and I are going to finish up here, then I’m bringing in Ryan and Bitsy. They have explaining to do.”
“What should I do?”
“Go to Jeremy’s and wait.” She made a sound of frustration and he glared at her. “I need to be certain you’re safe.”
“I’m fine.”
“Kat, someone out there was willing to kill a confused old woman to keep their secret safe. You’re the one who’s stirring it all up. So how much do you think they’d like to get rid of you?”
He was glad to see the fear that shot into her eyes. “C’mon, I’ll walk you to your car.”
She climbed in, rolled down the window. He bent. “Straight to Jeremy’s. Nowhere else.”
She agreed. He watched her drive off. As he walked back across the street, his cell went off. It was Frank Pierre. Danny Sullivan wanted to talk.
Friday, June 14
Noon
“Mr. Pierre. Danny.” After greeting both men, Luke sat. He and Reni had processed the Bell scene, canvassed the neighbors; Luke had contacted Miss Iris’s next of kin. That had been the hardest part. Explaining that their mother was dead. And that it looked like she had been murdered.
But she lived in Liberty, her daughter had said. That doesn’t happen there.
It had given Luke a glimpse into how his father had felt all those years ago.
“We heard about your dad,” Pierre said. “How is he?”
“Out of ICU. Having tests today.”
“We wish him well.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that.” He set the recorder up. “Ready?” Sullivan nodded and Luke hit
RECORD.
“When we last met, you admitted you were there the night Sara McCall was murdered. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“And today you’re here to set the record straight?”
“That’s right.”
“To confess to the murder of Sara McCall.”
“No! I didn’t kill her!”
“Why do you want to talk now?”
“I should have come forward with this years ago.”
“Why didn’t you?”
He lowered his eyes. “Because I was afraid. I’d already lost Sara, I couldn’t lose my job, too.”
“My heart bleeds, dude.” Luke met his gaze. “Here’s what I think. You know you’re in a shitload of trouble. In the heat of the moment, you admitted on tape that you were there the night Sara was killed, but my dad’s health crisis gave you the opportunity to come up with a story. And time to get it good and memorized.”
“No! What I’m going to tell you is the absolute truth.”
And nothing but the truth.
Luke had heard that one before. But in this case, considering the turn of events, this time it could be true.
“Okay, Danny, let’s hear it.”
Danny Sullivan
2003
The night of the murder
Danny parked in front of Sara’s cottage. He’d spent the last two days reeling from her rejection. Raging over Jeremy Webber’s interference. Plotting how to win her back—and crush Webber.
Danny didn’t get it. He’d thought the ring would sway her. He thought he’d pop the question, dazzle her with the rock and all her worries about his gambling would melt away. It’d had the opposite effect. They’d fought. She’d sobbed that he didn’t know her at all.
He’d given her a couple of days, then called, begged her to see him. Finally, she’d agreed he could stop by. He’d heard the tiniest quiver in her voice. The hint of longing.
She loved him. He knew she did. He could convince her they were meant to be together. That he would give up the casinos. He would promise her. For her, he would do anything.
He climbed out of his truck. Took a deep breath. He had considered that instead of giving him another chance, she meant to give him the final heave-ho. Had considered it, but not dwelled on it. He couldn’t go there. He didn’t have a Plan B.
He smoothed a hand over his freshly cut hair. He’d dressed carefully, wearing the khakis and the white Oxford cloth shirt she liked best. Hat in hand, he thought. He hated the feeling. That he was begging. Wrong-side-of-the-tracks Sullivan crawling back to the Uptown have-it-alls.
He shook his head. Sara wasn’t like that. She wasn’t like Webber or her crazy sister. Whatever she wanted, he told himself. Anything. She was worth it.
He climbed the porch steps, crossed to the door. He stopped, patted his pocket to make certain the ring was there. He knocked. The door wasn’t closed tightly and eased open. Probably Kat’s doing, he thought. Everything was these days.
“Sara,” he called. “It’s me. Danny.”
She didn’t answer and he pushed the door wider. Something on the floor caught his eye. He stared at it, frowning. What the hell was that? A piece of a sandwich? And drops of something dark. He called out again, pushed the door the rest of the way open and stepped inside.
Then he saw. He realized.
Blood. A lot of it
.
His stomach raced to his throat. He brought a hand to his mouth, holding the sickness back.
Sara. In a broken heap. Nearly unrecognizable.
He turned and ran. Across the porch, down the walk. He yanked the driver’s door of the pickup open and hauled ass inside. Only then did the howl of pain rip from his chest. Not Sara. His sweet Sara … She didn’t deserve this. Who could have— He dropped his head into his hands, rocking back and forth, moaning. What to do … who to—
The police. He had to call the police.
Danny snatched his phone from the center console and flipped it open. They would find who did this. They—
Would think he had done it. Maybe. Because she had turned him down. The marriage proposal. The loan. They’d interview Jeremy, folks from the casino, Dale Graham. It’d all come out.
And if the cops named him a person of interest? The school system would want to distance themselves, as quickly as possible. Parents would demand he be removed from his post.
He’d be ruined.
Danny dragged a shaking hand through his hair. He was sweating, he realized. His heart racing, thundering against the wall of his chest.
No one had to know he’d been here. The street was dark. No one had been by. He could just go now. Drive off.
Coward. Weasel.
He knew it was true. But he told himself he couldn’t help Sara. That nothing would help her. Now he had to protect himself.
Danny started the truck and eased away from the curb, not even putting on his headlights. He had to put as much distance between him and this as possible.