Random Acts (8 page)

Gram looked up at Danielle, her watery eyes glistening under the harsh kitchen light bulb. “Do you think she fell asleep at the wheel?”

That would seem plausible, if not for Jenny’s other injuries. “I don’t think so, Gram. But the police will figure it out.” Alarm bells sounded in Danielle’s head. Had Danielle been taking some sort of stimulant to stay awake? To keep up her busy schedule? She dismissed the thought. What would that have to do with her accident anyway?

Danielle slipped into the kitchen seat across from her grandmother and grabbed her hand. “Can you think of anyone Jenny might have gone out to see the night of her accident?”

Gram shook her head. “She’s always home by nine to help me upstairs to my bedroom. That night was no different.”

“You never heard her go out?”

“No.” Gram pulled her hand free and fidgeted with the collar of her white blouse. “She tells me if she’s going somewhere. She leaves me her cell phone number on my night stand. I’ve never had to use it. But I suppose I could have fallen asleep and she didn’t want to wake me up to tell me she was leaving.”

Gram flattened her hands on the table and pushed to stand up. “Once Jimmy gets home, he can tell us. He certainly kept track of Jenny’s friends.”

“Does she hang out with anyone besides Jimmy?”

“The poor child barely has time.” Gram twisted her mouth. “I know she has a few new college friends. A study group or something. That’s how she met Henry. He’s such a nice boy. We probably scared him half to death tonight. Don’t know what the boy was thinking coming here after dark.” Gram patted Danielle’s hand.

Patrick stepped into the kitchen and wiped his feet on the rug “Henry is who he says he is. Lives on the outskirts of town with his mom and dad. No priors. Father is a piece of work. The chief told me he’s been out to the house once or twice for domestic issues.”

Gram shook her head. “I told you the boy was harmless.”

Henry’s story had panned out. But something about the kid showing up at the house at night still bothered Patrick. Had Henry been trying to get into the basement? It wouldn’t be outrageous to learn Billy, the neighborhood drug dealer, had recruited Henry, a kid desperate for a few bucks to pay for college. But the police had nothing to support that theory. Yet.

Patrick decided to do a little more digging before he called it a night. Billy wasn’t at his bar, so Patrick had no choice but to drive to the farmhouse Billy rented in the sticks. Chief Parker would have nixed the idea of confronting Billy, but Patrick figured the only way to get any answers from this guy was directly.

Patrick parked his vehicle halfway down the long drive and walked the rest of the distance. The weak planks on the rotting porch groaned under Patrick’s weight, jeopardizing his sneak approach. Staying close to the wall, he peeked into the house. A television flickered, illuminating the profile of Billy’s girlfriend, Debbie Jones. He recognized her from the grocery store where she was a cashier. A playpen was shoved into the corner. Toys littered the floor. But there was no sign of Billy.

Since the young woman seemed completely absorbed in her television program, Patrick strolled the perimeter of the property, his boots sinking in the mud. The light from the house bled into the dark night, giving his sight limited distance. A boat on a trailer sat in the yard. How could Billy afford toys, yet live in a run-down house? He supposed drug dealers didn’t always make the best life choices.

The deep rumble of an engine grew closer. He strode to the front walkway and waited, his hand hovering over his gun.

The bright headlights cut across his face, blinding him. Blinking, he made out the license plate of the early model Camaro.
Billy’s.
The engine idled, perhaps as Billy decided his next move. Patrick knew Billy had seen the police cruiser parked in the driveway. Patrick’s heart rate spiked, much as it had when he’d made his rounds over in Iraq. His mouth grew dry as his instincts kicked in.

Billy cut the engine and emerged from the vehicle. When he got close to the house, the artificial light caught his pinched features. Billy pulled his baseball cap down to shield his eyes. “What’s up?” He ran two fingers across his scraggly goatee.

“How’s business, Billy?”

One side of Billy’s mouth cocked into a grin. “You came all the way out here to ask me about business?”

Patrick scanned Billy’s hands and face. From what he saw, there were no signs he had been in a struggle or a fight. But that didn’t mean anything. He could have had one of his thugs beat up Jenny if he’d gotten wind she was a drug informant.

Billy stepped onto the porch and turned around. “This is my home. You want to talk business, come to the bar.” He jerked his chin toward Patrick. “I’ll even buy you a drink.”

“Don’t drink.” Patrick shifted his stance but stayed on high alert. “You still moonlighting?”

Billy adjusted his hat farther down on his forehead. “The only work I do is at the bar.”

“That’s what I’m worried about.”

The leather on Billy’s jacket creaked as he crossed his arms over his chest. “No worries, man. No worries.”

“I’ll be watching you.”

Billy leaned a hip against the rail of the porch. “Your visit have anything to do with that nasty accident out on Route 78 the other night?”

“What do you know about it?” A throbbing started in Patrick’s temple. He should have done more to protect Jenny.

Billy levered off the rail and stabbed a finger in Patrick’s direction. “I’ll tell you the same thing I told Chief Parker when he came nosing around the bar. I don’t know nothing about that girl.”

“What girl?”

“Don’t play stupid. You’re out here asking me if I saw Jenny Carson before her car accident.” He shot a quick glance toward the house and lowered his voice. “Sure, she was at the bar. I always notice the pretty ones. But I got my own woman. I don’t need to be messing with trouble. And that one’s trouble.”

“Why do you say Jenny’s trouble?”

Billy opened his mouth then snapped it closed. He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “She is trouble.” He jabbed a finger in Patrick’s direction. “And if you’re suggesting my bar overserved her that night…that maybe she ran off the road because she was drunk…well, that’s garbage. You can ask anyone at the bar. Jenny’s not a drinker.”

Something niggled at the back of his brain. “You seem to know a lot about Jenny. You pay this much attention to everyone who comes into the bar?”

Billy shook his head, seemingly too smart to take the bait. The lock scraping in the door drew their attention. Debbie appeared in the open doorway. Her uncertain gaze shifted between Billy and Patrick.

“Hello, Officer Kingsley,” Debbie said, a frown tugging at her lips. A toddler with wet cheeks rested on Debbie’s hip while fingering the woman’s oversized gold hoop earring. “Is something wrong?”

Billy leaned over and kissed the woman. He ran a hand down the child’s thick curls. “Nothing’s wrong, babe. Take the baby back inside. Give me a minute.”

Patrick waited until they were alone again. “Billy, you have a family now. People who count on you.” Ava’s sweet face floated into his mind. “It’s time to be a man for your daughter. Stop gambling with their future.”

“What are you talking about?” Billy’s brows snapped together, a muscle worked in his jaw. “My family is the most important thing to me. I’d do anything to protect them.”

“If you don’t keep your nose clean, you won’t be around to see that beautiful girl grow up.” Patrick pointed toward the house.

“Nothing will keep me from my family. Nothing, you hear?” Billy ground out the words, his hands clenching into tight fists. “And if you’re threatening me—” he gnashed his teeth as if trying to rein in his fury, “—let’s just say I’m not the only one with a family.”

Patrick climbed the porch steps and approached Billy. Leaning in, he smelled the cigarette smoke wafting off Billy’s clothes. His breath. It was Patrick’s turn to check his anger. He narrowed his gaze. “Are you making a threat?”

Billy hiked up his chin to meet Patrick’s glare. “No threat, man. Just a reminder. We both have families we better look after.”

Chapter Seven

Sunday morning dawned with a glorious sunrise. Sitting at her grandmother’s kitchen table, Danielle stared out the window. The pewter clouds tinged with pinks and purples set a beautiful backdrop high above the trees, mostly bare save for clusters of burnt orange and yellow leaves too stubborn to succumb to the season. Danielle always loved this time of year. Yet, despite the beautiful display of nature, she felt groggy. Tired. Anxious. The myriad events that had occurred over the past few days swirled in her head. The initial shock of her sister’s condition had begun to sink in. Now her methodical mind was starting to work the puzzle of it. Who would have hurt her sister?

A thought struck her.
Jenny’s cell phone.
Danielle had considered looking for it the other night, but had promptly forgotten when she had to summon Patrick to investigate the late-night noises at Gram’s house. Danielle jumped up from the table and ran upstairs. Standing in the doorway of Jenny’s bedroom, she scanned the floor. A discarded pair of jeans, a sweatshirt, sneakers and some undergarments littered the floor.

Danielle’s pulse quickened when she noticed a purse on the floor partially obscured by a corner of the floral comforter draped haphazardly over the twin bed.
Strange. Why hadn’t Jenny taken her purse?
Maybe she had more than one purse, Danielle reasoned. She crossed the room and picked it up, surprised by its weight. Blood rushed through her veins, pulsing in her ears. Releasing a quick breath, she lowered herself onto the unmade bed and loosened the drawstring cinching the purse closed. In it she found Jenny’s wallet and cell phone. Her heart skittered. Why would Jenny leave without her wallet and phone? Especially her phone. At night.

She opened the phone only to discover it was password protected. She punched in a few obvious combinations with no luck. Apprehension clawed at her. Something didn’t feel right. Clutching the cell phone, an idea struck. Patrick could have someone at the police department access the phone records to see who Jenny may have talked to or texted the night of her accident.

Danielle turned the pink cell phone over in her hand.
What happened to you, Jenny?

The doorbell sounded, snapping Danielle out of her deep thoughts. She ran downstairs and peered out the window, surprised to see Henry. She pulled the door open only a foot or so, indicating she wasn’t about to let him in.

Henry hiked up his toolbox. “Thought I’d come to do a few odd jobs.”

Danielle narrowed her gaze. “On a Sunday?”

He lifted a shoulder. “I do it when I can. And I really could use the money.”

“Everything okay?” Patrick approached with a rake in one hand. A fondness sparked in her chest at the concern in his green eyes. She hadn’t had anyone looking out for her well-being in a very long time.

“Henry stopped by to do some odd jobs.” She didn’t bother to hide the disbelief from her voice. Only last night he was trying to get into the basement.

Henry gave a thin-lipped smile. “Morning, Officer Kingsley. Mrs. Carson gave me a list of odd jobs. Told me to get to them when I had time.”

Patrick gave a quick nod. “You need to do them right now? Today?”

Henry shoved his hand in his pocket. “She knows how much I need the money. After paying for tuition and books, I’m happy to have a few extra bucks for food.” He let out an uncomfortable laugh. His gaze shifted from Danielle to Patrick and back. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to get this done. I had to borrow a truck today to bring my tools and pick up the door. And I have a term paper due tomorrow.”

“I’m sorry, Henry, but today’s not a good day.” Danielle leaned on the edge of the door.

Henry’s face grew solemn. “How is Jenny?” His brown eyes glistened with concern.

“She’s hanging in there.” Danielle didn’t really know what to say.

“I’d like to see her. Do you think that would be okay?” Henry toed the rusted metal of the doorframe.

“I don’t think she’s up for visitors right now. But when she’s feeling better, I’ll let her know you were asking about her.” Something about this guy seemed off. Or maybe she was being overly suspicious.

Henry nodded slowly, a hesitant look in his eyes. “Tell Mrs. Carson to call me when it’s a good time. I’ll pick up the door then.”

Danielle watched Henry toss his toolbox into the back of the beat-up truck. After he backed down the driveway, she tipped her head toward the rake in Patrick’s hand. “Planning to do some yard work?”

Patrick glanced down at the rake in his hand as if he had forgotten it was there. “Raking leaves around here is like brushing your teeth while you’re eating.” A genuine smile lit his eyes. “But sometimes I like to do some manual labor and let my brain relax. I equate it to thinking in the shower.”

Danielle’s eyes flared wide before she quickly schooled her expression. “My sister’s case is wearing on you.”

Patrick reached out and cupped her face, sweeping his thumb across her jaw and taking her by surprise. Briefly closing her eyes, she drew comfort from his warm touch. “I’ll find out what happened to your sister. Trust me.”