Bleeding Through: A Rachel Goddard Mystery (Rachel Goddard Mysteries) (11 page)

As usual after they said hurtful things to one another, Rachel and Michelle hadn’t had a chance to clear the air. Hadn’t made the effort, and probably wouldn’t. After so many years, Rachel thought with grim amusement, it was amazing they could see each other through the smog of uncleared air between them. Hearing Michelle refer to Judith Goddard as Mother, hearing her say in that sorrowful voice that she still missed the woman, was almost more than Rachel could take. Yet she wasn’t sure what she wanted Michelle to say instead. Rachel remembered a time before Judith. Michelle didn’t. Despite seeing the proof of what Judith had done—the truth Rachel had shoved in her sister’s face—Michelle had loved Judith as a mother and been loved in return. That was the only reality she wanted to acknowledge.

The knife slid into the tomato a hair’s breadth from Michelle’s fingertips. Rachel couldn’t stand it anymore. “I think one’s enough for the salad,” she said. “Just add those slices to the bowl.”

She turned away to spoon rice with raisins and almonds from a pot into a serving dish. Where was Tom? He’d promised to be home in time for dinner, promised to listen to Michelle’s story and try to help. Rachel couldn’t be angry if he got tied up with work, but—She noticed Michelle reaching for a second tomato, her movements mechanical, her eyes barely focused on the task. Rachel grabbed Michelle’s wrist and took the knife from her. “One’s enough. Why don’t you help Kevin set the table?”

“For heaven’s sake,” Michelle said, pulling free from Rachel’s grip. “That hurt.”

Rachel sighed.
You’re treating her like a child again. Stop it.
“I’m sorry. I was afraid you were going to cut yourself.”

“I have used a knife before, you know.” Michelle turned on the faucet to wash her hands. “And Kevin loves tomatoes. He always wants more.”

Frank dropped to the floor and trotted from the room a second before Rachel heard the front door open and close.
Thank god, he’s home.
She hurried out of the kitchen and up the hall.

Tom leaned down to pet Billy Bob and Frank, then greeted Rachel with a kiss.

“I’m so glad you’re in time for dinner,” she whispered.

A crease of concern appeared between his brows. “Are you okay?”

“Sure, I’m fine.” But his expression told her that he sensed how frazzled she felt.

Kevin stepped into the hallway from the dining room, smiling and extending a hand. “Tom, hi,” he said. “I’m Kevin Watters.”

Returning the smile, Tom shook his hand. “Hey, Kevin, good to meet you.”

“I’m sorry we descended on you like this, without much notice,” Kevin said, “but I think some time with Rachel is exactly what Michelle needs right now.”

Rachel noted with relief that Kevin made a favorable first impression on Tom. Sincere, obviously aware that their arrival could be seen as an imposition, but concerned about his wife. She cared much more about Tom’s reaction to Kevin and Michelle than about their opinion of him. Even if they hated him, her feelings for Tom wouldn’t change. But she was afraid he might see her relatives as additional unwelcome baggage in a relationship already shadowed by her past.

“Rachel’s family is always welcome,” Tom told Kevin.

Bless you.
Rachel wanted to hug him.

“Excuse me while I stash my gear.” With practiced movements, Tom pulled his large Sig Sauer pistol from its holster, pointed it at the floor while he popped out the cartridge, then stowed weapon and ammunition on the top shelf of the hall closet. Kevin, Rachel noticed, zoned in on the gun, his eyes following it until it was out of sight. He seemed equally fascinated by the duty belt, with its attached handcuffs, radio, and extra ammunition, when Tom unbuckled it and put it away on the same shelf.

“That stuff must weigh a ton,” Kevin said.

Tom laughed. “You ought to see what I keep in the car. I’m always glad to ditch everything at the end of the day.” Tom’s gaze shifted beyond Rachel and Kevin to the kitchen doorway at the end of the hall. “You must be Michelle.”

“Tom, this is my sister,” Rachel said as Michelle walked up the hall to join them. “Michelle, this is Tom.”

“So I finally get to meet you,” Michelle said, offering a hand. “Needless to say, I’ve heard a lot about you.” She smiled up at Tom with an expression that was almost flirtatious but could be defended as simple friendliness. That perfectly calibrated look always made Rachel want to roll her eyes, but she’d rather see her sister behaving this way than scared and withdrawn.

To Rachel’s relief, Tom didn’t tell Michelle he’d also heard a lot about her. “It’s nice to meet you,” he said, with a smile that couldn’t be construed as anything other than polite and welcoming. He told Rachel, “I’m going to change out of my uniform. I’ll be down in a couple of minutes. Dinner smells great.”

When he headed up the stairs, Michelle leaned close to Rachel and whispered, “Wow.”

“Glad you approve.” Rachel smiled, relieved that Tom’s arrival had coaxed the real Michelle out from behind that lifeless mask. “I need to go upstairs for a second. I’ll be right back.”

Following Tom to the second floor, she felt a moment of longing for a quiet, private evening, just the two of them. She was sure Tom felt the same way. Working seven days a week was exhausting enough without having to cope with the company of strangers when he came home.

She closed the bedroom door behind her and leaned against it, watching Tom strip off his uniform shirt.

“Hey,” he said, giving her that penetrating look that made her feel exposed, every thought and emotion laid bare. “How’s it going?”

“I’m not sure.”
Michelle and I weren’t alone three minutes before we went at each other.
Thank god Kevin had changed his mind about taking a long walk around the farm and returned to interrupt them when he did. “I really want your professional opinion of what’s happening with her.”

“We can talk about it after we eat.” He pulled a clean shirt and jeans from the closet. “Dinner first. I’m starving. Are jeans okay, or do you want me to put on something else?”

“Wear whatever’s comfortable.” Rachel smiled, touched by his sweetness. She wished she could calm the fluttery feeling in her chest, make her heart stop taking off at a gallop every few minutes. “Did the great Detective Fagan arrive on schedule?”

“Yeah, he got in this morning. I spent most of the day with him.” Tom’s eyes met hers. “He asked about you right before I started home. I got the feeling he was angling for an invitation to a home-cooked dinner.”

Rachel gave a humorless laugh. “As if.”

Grinning, Tom sat on the bed to tug off his boots. “I gave him directions to the Mountaineer. Have a little pity on the man.”

“Oh, the poor thing, forced to eat restaurant food. Is that enough pity? Where’s he staying? So I can avoid going anywhere near the place.”

Tom hesitated about answering. He stood and unzipped his uniform pants.

“What?” Rachel asked. “Please don’t tell me your aunt and uncle are putting him up, or he’s on the farm next door.”

“No, I asked Joanna to let him stay at her place.” He stepped out of the pants and laid them across the bed. “In your old house.”

Rachel groaned. For more than a year after moving to Mason County, she had lived in a tiny four-room house on Joanna McKendrick’s horse farm. “Since when do you have something against Joanna?”

“It’ll be fine.” Tom pulled on his jeans. “If I know her, she’ll be feeding him breakfast and dinner every day.”

“And pumping him for details about what happened to me back in McLean. I love Joanna, you know I do, but she enjoys finding out everything she can about people.”

“Does that matter?” Tom tucked his shirttail into the jeans, zipped up and buckled his belt. He sat down to pull his boots back on. “You’ve already told her about being shot, and Fagan doesn’t know about any of the other stuff, does he?”

The other stuff. My life.
Even Tom didn’t know all of it. Rachel said, “No, not that I’m aware of.” Unless he’d been digging around in her past for some reason. But Fagan had no reason. Besides, she doubted he was a sharp enough detective to put all the pieces together even if they were laid out in front of him. She had to stop being so paranoid. “You’re right. There’s nothing to worry about. As long as I can avoid him while he’s here, everything will be fine.”

“Come on.” Tom put an arm around her shoulders, opened the door, and sniffed the aromas rising from the kitchen below. “I’m ready to do serious bodily harm to that chicken.”

Downstairs, they found that Michelle and Kevin had set the food on the table and filled the water glasses. Rachel was relieved to see that the change in Michelle’s mood was holding, and she was her normal vivacious, chatty self. She would probably knock herself out to charm Tom, and that was fine with Rachel as long as Michelle didn’t overdo it in front of her husband.

After they’d all taken servings of chicken and vegetables and reached the point where they had to find something to talk about, Michelle turned to Tom with a smile. “I hear you’re running for sheriff. Are you busy making speeches and debating with your opponent?”

“He doesn’t have an opponent,” Rachel said.

Tom gave her wry look.

“Not a serious one, anyway,” Rachel amended. “Just some idiot with no law enforcement experience and a lot of ridiculous opinions. Tom’s already running the department with the sheriff on sick leave. He deserves to have the title and the pay.”

“Get Rachel to make speeches for you and you’ll be a shoo-in,” Michelle said. “She can be very persuasive.”

Tom laughed. “Oh, don’t I know it.”

So far, so good, Rachel thought.

Then, to her dismay, Michelle said in a suddenly sober voice, “That George Mason law student who disappeared last month was found here, wasn’t she? It was on the TV news in Washington last night.”

Her question struck everybody dumb for a moment. Tom glanced at Rachel as if hoping for a signal to guide his response. She frowned and shook her head slightly. The last thing Michelle needed now was a lot of talk about a girl who might have been murdered by a stalker.

“Yeah,” Tom said. “That’s taking up all my time right now, but I can’t really discuss the investigation. Kevin, what kind of law practice do you have? Corporate law, I think Rachel said. Is that right?”

Rachel trusted Kevin to catch the ball Tom tossed his way and run with it, but before Kevin could answer, Michelle spoke again. “It’s awful. That beautiful young woman—There are so many crazy people in the world, and you never know when one of them will—”

“Honey,” Kevin said, reaching for Michelle’s hand. “Let’s not talk about that now.”

She let him take her hand, but it lay limp in his. When she lifted her eyes toward Rachel, they shimmered with tears. “I shouldn’t have come here. I’m such a mess. I’m sorry.”

Was she going to burst into tears?
Oh, god, don’t cry.
“I’m glad you came,” Rachel said. “We’ll talk about…all that after dinner. Please eat something. You haven’t touched your meal.”

Michelle nodded and picked up her fork, but she looked as if the last thing she wanted was the food that went into her mouth.

Kevin seemed determined to keep the conversation afloat at a friendly, superficial level. “So, Tom,” he said, in a jovial tone that sounded painfully forced to Rachel, “is this a working sheep farm you have here?”

“No, not really.” Tom sounded relaxed, but Rachel caught his quick assessing glance at Michelle. “I don’t have the time for it. I keep the sheep because they were like pets to my mother. She worked as a nurse, but she liked to dye and spin the wool, and she always had knitters wanting to buy it. There’s a retired deputy down the road who looks after them for me, and his wife uses the wool.”

Rachel watched Michelle push food around on her plate. After a couple of bites, she ate no more.

Kevin kept up a stream of questions about Mason County, about winters in the mountains, about Rachel’s veterinary practice. Michelle didn’t utter another word for the rest of the meal.

***

After dinner, Kevin and Tom carried the dishes into the kitchen, then went to sit in the living room while the two women loaded the dishwasher. Tom wished he could hear what, if anything, Rachel and Michelle were saying to each other.

“Listen, Tom,” Kevin said, leaning forward from the sofa and speaking quietly. “I’d really like to get a professional’s honest opinion. You must have handled stalking cases, harassment, that kind of thing.”

“Yeah, a few times. But it’s not the easiest kind of case to deal with.” Tom hoped Kevin and Michelle hadn’t come out here thinking he could magically fix this problem for them just because he was a cop. Even if he had the time to devote to it, he wasn’t sure how much help he could be.

Kevin glanced toward the door and lowered his voice to little more than a whisper. “But can you tell whether it’s actually happening, or if it’s, you know, imaginary?”

So Rachel hadn’t misjudged Kevin’s attitude. He believed his wife might be making it all up. But why would Kevin suspect Michelle of inventing the story? This was murky territory, and Tom didn’t want to venture into it. He chose his words carefully. “You have to take a lot of things into consideration. And if there’s no physical evidence, like fingerprints, and you don’t know the stalker’s identity, there’s not much the police can do.”