The Right Call (23 page)

Stedman’s pulse raced so fast he felt light-headed. He clicked on to Windows Mail and saw six opened messages in the in-box. There was one new message. He clicked on to it: a personal note from Brett Wolski about a family barbecue.

Stedman went to the bottom and clicked on to the oldest message and started reading. He moved up and read another and then another. Most of the emails appeared to be exchanges between Grant and their poker buddies, but Stedman’s name wasn’t mentioned in any of them.

He went to the sent box and read a few emails and didn’t see anything interesting there either. Maybe Grant did all his scheming in person—the way he had done with Stedman—so there wouldn’t be any correspondence to link him to anyone.

Stedman clicked on to deleted mail and put it in alphabetical order, looking for familiar names. Grant had sent more emails to William Roseland than anyone else—a guy he worked with and who also played poker with them. Stedman started with the most recent and skimmed each of the emails to William, and none alluded to anything shady—and not a hint of conspiracy.

Stedman sighed. He pulled up Grant’s documents and read down the list. Most of what he saw appeared to be personal letters to credit card companies regarding his late pays. This guy’s life was less interesting than his. His eyes stopped on a folder titled SPECIAL PROJECT.

He clicked on. The folder contained only two documents. One was an email, dated May 1 of this year, addressed to Grant and a guy named Roy Dupontes from Win Davison.
Win Davison?
Grant was just a supervisor at Davison Technologies. What special project would he be working on for the CEO? Stedman clicked on the email and read it:
Meet me in my office at 6:00 p.m. Delete this after reading. WD.

So why didn’t Grant delete it? Stedman opened the other document, a lengthy memo Grant sent to himself, and read every word, line by line. And then read it again.

He was suddenly hot all over and felt as if he were nailed to the chair, a wave of nausea threatening to deposit the contents of his stomach onto Grant’s keyboard. He had to get out of there. He had no business knowing any of this! But at least now he had some leverage.

He held the flashlight above the printer, then fumbled with the buttons and turned it on. He set it to print one copy and pushed the button.

The sound of a car door slamming sent a chill crawling up his spine. He turned off the flashlight and stepped over to the window, peering out between the blinds.

A police car was parked out front, and two officers were walking toward the house! The dog next door was yapping again, and he wondered if its owner had called the cops.

Stedman’s pulse raced. He reached for the copy and cringed when he saw an orange button flashing on the printer. A paper jam! That’s all he needed.

He tugged at the trapped paper and it tore. He stuffed the torn piece in his pocket, swearing under his breath, then grabbed his bag and groped his way through the inky blackness faster than he thought possible, slipping out the back door and through the gate. He crossed the alley and ran down the side yard toward his truck, hoping the cops hadn’t spotted him.

He shot out of the darkness into the warm glow of the streetlight and climbed in the front seat of his truck. He fumbled to get the keys in the ignition, sweat dripping down his temples, the pounding of his heart filling the silence. He was relieved when the truck started the first time.

Stedman pulled away from the curb, careful not to leave any tread marks on the pavement, keenly aware that if those involved in the cover-up figured out he knew, he was a dead man.

Chapter 26

Brill
stumbled out to the kitchen, her silk pajamas feeling cool against her skin. She poured a cup of milk and put it in the microwave, then sat at the table in front of the bay window. She looked out into the moonlit night, surprised to see Ethan’s car parked out front.

She got up and walked into the dining room and peered out through the sheers on the French door. Vanessa and Ethan sat on the glider, her head on his shoulder, and appeared to be sound asleep. Poor things had an emotionally exhausting day. Should she wake them? Surely Ethan’s aunt and uncle would be worried.

Brill cracked the back door and spoke softly, “Vanessa, honey, wake up … Ethan …?”

Ethan stirred first and looked disoriented.

Vanessa stretched and then looked over at Brill, her eyes at half-mast.

“You two fell asleep.” Brill opened the door wider. “It’s almost midnight. I thought Ethan’s aunt and uncle might be worried.”

“I’m sorry. I meant to be out of here long before now.” Ethan yawned. “I’d better go. Aunt Gwen is probably walking the floor.” He kissed Vanessa’s cheek. “Don’t walk me to the car. I’ll call you tomorrow. Just get some sleep.”

“Okay.” Vanessa held his hand as he stood, and then he pulled her to her feet. “You can walk me to the stairs,” she said.

“All right. Good night, Brill. Thanks for waking me up.”

Brill gently grasped his forearm and gave it a squeeze. “Be good to yourself. You’ve been through the mill.”

“I will. I’m going to sleep in and go to late church.”

“Good.”

Brill went inside behind Vanessa and Ethan and then turned into the kitchen to let them say their good-byes in private.

She took her milk out of the microwave and sat again at the table, wide awake and wishing she had the case files at home so she could study them—not that she didn’t have every detail filed in her head.

She took a sip of warm milk just as the front door opened and closed. She looked out the window and watched Ethan walk to his car, his grief fueling her commitment to finding the shooter. But how many restless nights would pass between now and then?

Stedman locked the front door to his duplex and left the light off. He went into the kitchen and looked in the refrigerator before remembering he was out of beer. He grabbed the Coke bottle he had filled with water and went over to the table and sat. He unscrewed the cap and took a drink. Was he shaking? He ought to be shaking. Grant was right. He’d had no idea what he was getting himself into.

Stedman took the small piece he tore off the memo out of his shirt pocket. Grant’s name was on it but nothing on front or back that made sense. Nothing incriminating.

He spat out a swear word and kicked the chair across from him with his foot. It fell backward and hit the floor. Grant would have found the paper jam by now and deleted the entire folder from the computer. What good was knowledge without proof?
Stedman’s
fingerprints were on the gun. If he went to the police, Grant Wolski, Roy Dupontes, and Win Davison would deny everything. He couldn’t prove otherwise. And until he could, there was no point involving the authorities in something that could blow up in his face.

He wadded up the paper and threw it across the room. Once Grant told the others that someone broke in and tried to print that memo, they would be sure to destroy any other evidence that might link them to this. And what price would Grant pay for not destroying the memo as instructed?

Stedman sat back in the chair, his shirt soaked with sweat, and took a gulp of water. Not only did he have to worry about being framed, but now he had to play dumb when Grant accused him of breaking into his house.

Ethan pushed open the front door at his uncle Ralph’s, his suit coat slung over his shoulder, not surprised to see his uncle sitting in his easy chair, eyes wide open.

“Come in, Ethan.”

“Sorry, I would’ve called,” Ethan said, “but I fell asleep, sitting on the back porch with Vanessa. Her mother just woke us up a few minutes ago.”

“Hey, it’s none of my business what you and Vanessa do.”

Ethan sat on the ottoman and looked Uncle Ralph in the eye. “As long as I’m living with you it is. But I wasn’t
doing
anything. That’s not how it is between us.”

“I’m not your conscience,” Ralph said. “I’m just your uncle. I love you, and I was worried. That’s all.”

“Did Mom and Dad call before they went back to Maryville?”

Ralph nodded. “Your dad said everything went as well as it could, under the circumstances.”

“The funeral was nice. I couldn’t believe how many people came.”

“If that was supposed to be a dig, don’t start.” Ralph cracked his knuckles. “I’ve already been down this road with Tom, and I refuse to feel guilty for not going. There’s no way Richard wanted me there.”

“Would it have killed you to send flowers?”

“He didn’t want my flowers either.” Ralph bit his lip and laced his fingers together. “Don’t judge me. This is harder for me than you think.”

I sure hope so
. “Did Dad tell you they buried Drew next to baby Abigail?”

“Yeah, I thought they might.”

“It’s hard to believe Uncle Richard and Aunt Becca have buried both their children.”

Ethan remembered standing at that cemetery, a six-year-old clutching his mother’s hand tightly, wondering why crib deaths happened and wishing everyone wasn’t so sad. He’d never seen his father or either of his uncles cry before that day, and he never forgot it.

“You were there when they buried the baby,” Ethan said. “I remember.”

Ralph seemed to stare at nothing. “How’re Richard and Becca holding up?”

“Their faith is strong. I’m sure they’ll be okay. But I’ve never seen them this broken.” Ethan stood. “I’m exhausted. I’d really like to go to bed.”

“Yeah, sure. I’m glad you’re all right. I was starting to worry. I know you’re disappointed in me, but it didn’t seem like your style to punish me.”

“You’re right.” Ethan draped his suit coat over his arm. “I really did fall asleep, or I would’ve been home at eleven like I told you.”

Ralph half smiled. “I’m sorry things started off badly. But I’m really glad you’re here for the summer. I’ve looked forward to this for a long time.”

“Me, too. Good night.”

“Good night.”

Ethan walked down the hall and into his bedroom and closed the door. He slipped out of his clothes and into his pajama bottoms, then stood at the window and looked up at the moon that had been slipping in and out of the clouds all evening. The entire night sky was softly lit, and so was the landscape.

He wondered what it was like to be in the presence of God. Were those who had died in the faith asleep until the resurrection of the saints—or were they already rejoicing? The separation was torturous. Drew had never been more than a phone call away before.

Drew’s contagious laughter echoed in his mind. Why would anybody want him dead? The desire to know was becoming an obsession. But tonight, all he wanted was to fall asleep and forget about it.

Chapter 27

Tessa
Masino pushed open the glass door at Nick’s Grill, Antonio right behind her, and was hit with the delicious aroma of freshly brewed coffee, warm bread, and something distinctly spicy.

The waiting area was packed out with families still dressed in church clothes and tourists wearing the smart green and white Sophie Trace T-shirts the chamber of commerce sold for five dollars each.

Nick Phillips waved from the counter and motioned for them to head that way.

Tessa smiled at a tiny boy with blond curls who was holding a yellow balloon and walked over to the counter where Gus and Maggie were already seated. She wondered if Gus was pouting after Antonio put him in his place.

Nick gave her a one-armed hug and shook hands with Antonio. “Today’s special is a veggie meatball sandwich, served on homemade Parmesan bread. Comes with a side dish of tomato and feta cheese pasta. I promise you, it’ll knock your socks off.”

“
Veggie
meatballs? Pleeease.” Antonio rolled his eyes. “My Italian grandmother just turned over in her grave.”

“My veggie meatballs taste like meat.” Nick winked at Tessa. “If you try it and don’t like it, choose something else—on the house.”

“Risk-free eating. I like that.” Antonio slid onto the stool next to Gus and acted completely natural. “So how’s it going, friend?”

“Really can’t complain. But I always do.”

“So what do you know?”

“I heard Drew Langley’s funeral was nice.” Gus tipped his glass and crunched the ice.

“It was,” Antonio said. “The church was packed. The pastor had nice things to say.”

“That’s good. Never have figured out how pastors get through services like that one without showin’ emotion.”

Tessa looked down the counter at Gus. What had gotten into him? No sarcasm? No pointing a finger at Brill? She caught Maggie’s eye and looked away.

“Maggie and I are drivin’ over to Gatlinburg this evening. Thought we’d have dinner at the Whistlin’ Dixie. Brill Jessup’s boy works there, doesn’t he?”

“He will when he gets back from Costa Rica,” Tessa said. “He’s the night manager during the summer.”

“I hear he’s a fine young man.”

“He is. Starts law school in the fall.” Antonio turned to Gus and snapped his suspenders. “Okay, bud. Who are you and what’d you do with Gus Williams?”

“What?”

“I’ve known Gus for thirty years, and you’re an impostor.”

“Aw, can’t a fella be nice without gettin’ all this flack?”

Jo Beth set two mugs on the counter and filled them with coffee, then put several tiny tubs of creamer in Antonio’s palm and walked away.

Antonio smiled sheepishly. “I liked the
old
Gus—just didn’t want him turning every conversation into a debate about the legend. I apologize if I came on a little strong.”

“Apology accepted. So has the police chief gotten any new leads on the shooter?”

“Brill doesn’t confide that kind of thing in us,” Antonio said. “But not according to the news.”

“Well”—Gus looked down the counter—“Tessa usually has the inside scoop on the Jessups.”

Tessa felt her cheeks get hot. “I really don’t know anything more. I took a casserole over there last night. Brill and Kurt seemed somber. Vanessa and Ethan were upstairs getting the baby ready for bed. Emily was a little clingy with me. She probably doesn’t know how to verbalize what she’s feeling.”

Gus poked the ice in his glass with his straw. “Hard to believe that four people died in this town and the shooter got away with it.”

“The victims have been buried,” Tessa said. “But the case certainly hasn’t. Brill’s not going to rest until justice is served.”

Stedman paced in front of the refrigerator, wondering why he hadn’t heard from Grant. Had he not discovered the paper jam? Did he not suspect it was Stedman who had broken in? He heard a car door slam and stepped over to the window to pull back the curtain. A white Ford Explorer was parked out front. The doorbell rang.

Stedman breathed in slowly and exhaled. He might as well get this over with. He went in the living room and looked through the peephole. The man at the door wore sunglasses, but he could tell it was Grant Wolski. He opened the door, and in the next instant, Grant grabbed him by the collar and shoved him.

“Who do you think you are, breaking into my house and hacking into my computer?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh, drop the innocent act.” Grant kicked the door shut with his heel. “I just found the memo you tried to print out stuck in my printer. I ought to call the cops and tell them whose fingerprints are on the gun!”

“You won’t. And there’s no need to raise your voice. I heard you.”

“Well, you sure didn’t
listen
. Do you have any idea what you’ve stuck your nose into?”

“I do now. Did you really expect me to just sit back and let you frame me?”

Grant sighed. “We weren’t
going to
frame you unless it backfired and we needed a fall guy. But we didn’t. It was working. Why couldn’t you leave it alone? Why’d you have to hack into my computer and stick your nose into things that are none of your business?”

“I had a right to know what was going on since my neck was on the chopping block. Don’t worry. I’m not going to say anything.”

“It doesn’t matter. They won’t be willing to take that chance!”

“How will they even know that
I
know—unless you tell them?”

There was a long stretch of steely silence, and Stedman wished Grant would take off his glasses so he could see his eyes.

“Listen, man, let’s just keep this between us,” Stedman said. “I’m not going to tell anyone.”

“Then why did you want a copy of it?” Grant threw his hands in the air. “What were you going to do with it—take it to the cops?”

“Why would I do that? My fingerprints are on the gun. I just wanted it to protect myself, in case
you
went to the cops. For crying out loud, Grant. I know you get that. Isn’t that the reason you wrote that memo to yourself? And didn’t delete the one from Win Davison?”

“I tried to keep you out of this. You should’ve listened. These people killed Drew Langley
just in case
he knew something. Does that tell you anything?”

“Can’t you tell them I’m not a threat?”

“Of course you’re a threat, moron!” Grant lowered his voice. “You’re the only outsider who can name the people involved. I swore on my mother’s grave I wouldn’t tell anyone.”

“You didn’t tell me. I found out on my own.”

“Only because I got careless. In their minds, that’s the same thing. There
will
be consequences.” Grant hit Stedman in the gut with his fist and then shoved him with both hands.

Stedman fell backward and landed on the couch. “Are you worried for yourself—or are you threatening me?”

“I already told you: It’s out of my hands. I was trying to protect you when I told you to stay out of it. Now you’re on your own.”

“Meaning what?”

Grant turned and opened the front door. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

Ethan sat on the back steps at the Jessups’ and watched the hummingbirds fighting for a place at the feeder, aware of Emily giggling and squealing as she pulled Carter through the sprinkler in his wagon. For a moment, he almost forgot the grief that seemed to have put his life on hold.

“Dad’s about ready to put the burgers on the grill.” Vanessa came outside and sat next to him. “Wait until you taste my mother’s potato salad. Actually it’s my great-grandmother’s recipe, but it’s so delicious.”

The corners of Ethan’s mouth twitched. “There’re only two kinds of potato salad: good and better.”

“Well, Mom’s is the
best.”

“I guess we’d better get those two munchkins into dry clothes,” he said.

“They can wrap up in a towel. We’re going to eat on the porch, and I’m sure they’re not done playing in the water.”

“They’re going to be shriveled.”

Vanessa laughed. “Emily won’t call it quits until her lips turn blue.”

“Yoo-hoo.” The singsongy female voice came from across the yard.

Ethan turned and saw Tessa and Antonio Masino coming in the gate, each carrying a plastic container.

“Hello, you two.” Tessa waddled toward them, dressed in a pink shift and sandals. “We brought baked beans to go with dinner. And cherry cobbler squares for dessert.”

“Here, I’ll be glad to take those in for you.” Ethan stood, gave Tessa a one-armed hug, and shook Antonio’s hand.

“That’s all right, dear,” Tessa said. “I’ll carry this in. I want Brill to taste the beans and see if we need to add a little more brown sugar before we serve them.”

Antonio smiled and handed his container to Ethan. “You’d better take these. I can’t be trusted not to snitch one. Tessa outdid herself.”

Ethan followed Tessa up the back steps and out to the kitchen.

Brill opened her arms and gave Tessa a big hug. “Welcome.”

“It was nice of you to ask us. We don’t usually make a fuss over three-day weekends, what with our Sabrina and her family in England now.”

“We’ll, we’ve adopted you. You’re family.”

Ethan set the plastic container on the countertop and went back out on the screened-in porch, glad for a nice breeze. Vanessa had set the table for six adults and Emily and Carter. It was a little tight, but it would be nice eating outside. He thought of his uncle Richard and aunt Becca and how hard it must be for them to have an empty place at their table.

Emily came in the porch door, carrying Carter, who was wrapped in a white fluffy towel.

“Here”—she handed Carter to Ethan—“take Baby Moses for a minute so I can use the bathroom.”

“Baby Moses?”

“It’s just an expression.” Emily laughed and disappeared through the door and into the house.

Ethan looked into Carter’s deep blue eyes that were just like Vanessa’s and instantly evoked a smile from the baby.

“I guess it’s just us guys.”

Ethan loosened the towel so Carter’s arms were free, and the baby had Ethan’s glasses in his grip before he could be stopped.

“Man, you’re fast.”

Ethan gently pried the tiny fingers from his glasses, then reached in his pocket, took out his key ring, and offered it to Carter as a peace offering. The squeal of delight told him he’d made a hit.

What was it about holding Carter that made him feel strong? He had never forgotten the wonder of having felt Carter kick when Vanessa was pregnant or the thrill of having held him right after delivery.

“Da da da da.” Carter seemed proud of his new sound.

“I heard that.” Emily laughed. “He called you da da.”

“I’ve got news for you, Shortcake. He’d call
you
da da at this stage of his development. He’s probably just getting even for you referring to him as Baby Moses.”

“I only do that when he’s wrapped in a towel.” She held out her arms. “Okay, I’ll take him now.”

“Who says I want to give him back?”

“Hold him, then. He likes you. I can tell.”

“Think so, eh?”

“Yep. So are you and Vanessa courting?”

Ethan smiled and looked down at Emily. “Interesting choice of words.”

“Tessa calls it courting. Is that the same as dating?”

“I’ve never looked up the exact definition in the dictionary,” Ethan said. “Your sister and I are
building a relationship.”

“Well, whatever you call it, I’m glad. Vanessa needs something happy. And that’ll make Carter stay happy.”

Ethan sensed there was more to it than that.

“Emily … are you worried that Drew’s death is going to spoil things between Vanessa and me?”

Her face turned pink. “Kind of. I mean, I’m
really
sorry what happened to him. But Vanessa is sad all the time. And you are too.”

Ethan tilted her chin and looked into her eyes. “Listen to me … nothing is going to change what Vanessa and I have started. We just need a little time to grieve. It’s important that we let ourselves
feel
the sadness so we can let it go. It won’t go away if we pretend it’s not there and try to move on too quickly. Does that make sense?”

Emily nodded. “It was that way when Poppy and Grammy died in the car wreck.”