Hell Without You (27 page)

She didn’t want to. God, she didn’t want to. But her will was set in stone. “I’ve been thinking about it, and I figure if I’m going to have any real chance of figuring out who killed Trevor, I need to figure out who might’ve had anything against him. I know next to nothing about his life, but my mom and Robert… I’m willing to bet they know something. Trevor was their golden child, after all.”

The crease between Donovan’s eyes deepened. “You’re going to their house?”

She nodded. Though she hadn’t informed anyone besides Donovan, she planned to show up there that evening, when her mother and step-father would probably both be home. She had no doubts they wouldn’t want to share a word of information with her – probably wouldn’t even want to see her – but that wasn’t going to stop her from trying.

“I wish you wouldn’t go. But if you’re going to … be careful. Get some pepper spray to carry in your purse or something. Or take that knife you hid from me.”

“What – to their house?”

“Yeah. And everywhere until I’m out of here and can protect you.”

“You really think I’ll be in danger at their house?”

For a few moments he said nothing, his expression as dark and brooding as a storm cloud. “I haven’t had much of a chance to do anything besides think these past few days, and I’ve pretty much come to the same conclusion you have – someone’s gotta figure out who had something against Trevor.”

“And you think it could be Robert?” At first the possibility bounced right off the surface of her mind, like a drop of rain against tin. Her step-father had adored Trevor as much as such a selfish, materialistic person could adore anyone – he’d spoiled him, treated him like a prince. The shallow, boundless affection was what had made Trevor into such a rotten person.

But as she continued to meet Donovan’s gaze, doubt crept in, diluting her certainty. The look in his eyes said that he’d given this serious thought, that it had been eating away at him. “Whoever killed him was probably someone he knew. And they probably didn’t come all the way from Connecticut to murder him in Willow Heights.”

“What could Robert have had against him, though? I mean, to—”

Donovan shook his head. “I don’t know. But I sure as hell know that appearances mean everything to your step-father. Maybe Trevor messed up big time – maybe he did something that would’ve been more agonizing to his father than having a dead son.”

The possibility Donovan had voiced chilled her, as did the hardness of his words. “I hadn’t considered that. I…” Some detective she was – she hadn’t even considered family. Didn’t investigators usually question family first, even on TV shows?

Maybe she hadn’t thought of it because she hadn’t wanted to – because she didn’t want to face her mother and step-father again. The thought filled her with shame and deepened her resolve to make the visit that evening.

“Besides,” Donovan added, “who else would’ve had any reason to kill him with a tool that belonged to me? A regular person would’ve used a tire iron of their own, or a gun or a knife. Hell, a piece of pipe. But your step-father is one of just a few people who know what I did to Trevor years ago. And probably the only person in this town who has anything serious against me, besides your mother.”

Donovan’s latest revelation was like the icing on a particularly bitter cake. A chill cooled Clementine’s skin, making it pebble beneath her sweater sleeves. “It makes sense when you put it that way – scary sense.”

“Like I said, I wish you wouldn’t go. Hell, I don’t want you anywhere near him – I don’t even like knowing that you’re in the same town as he is, that he’s out there and knows you’re home alone while I’m in here…” His voice weakened under the strain, and his face twisted in an expression of pain. “Damn it, just stay home, Clementine. If he knows anything, he’s not going to tell you. And I’m afraid of what he’ll do if he thinks you suspect him.”

“I…”

“Better yet, don’t stay home – go visit your friend Jackie in DC. Stay with her a while. It’ll be easier for you to get back and forth to work, anyway.”

“Oh.” Realization arrowed through her as she continued to hold Donovan’s gaze. She’d barely thought of Kellogg-Hart during the past few days – it wasn’t important compared to what was going on with Donovan. “I don’t have to worry about work right now. When I didn’t go in on Tuesday they let me go, and I’m fine with that.”

His eyes widened. “You lost your new job?”

She nodded. “I expected it – it’s not like you can decide to be absent indefinitely after your first day. They moved on to their second-choice candidate; that’s all.”

“You could’ve gone in.”

She arched a brow. “If I’d been arrested and incarcerated for a murder I
didn’t commit, would you have risen bright and early to be at work the next day?”

“No. But my work’s different. You wanted that job so bad.”

“Not half as much as I want you out of here. God, with things the way they are I couldn’t work in an office if someone held a gun to my head.”

“So you’ve been playing full-time PI since Tuesday?”

“Exactly.”

“Jesus, I love you… And I wish I could stop you.”

She smiled despite the glass between them, despite the yellow jumpsuit – despite everything. “I love you too, and that’s exactly why I have to keep at this, even if I do suck at detective work.”

“Stay away from Robert, at least.”

“How about I only go to see him if my mother is there too? I could call first. Make sure I won’t be alone with him. And I won’t say anything to imply that I think he could be involved. I’ll ask about other acquaintances of Trevor’s, possible enemies. After all, it’s not like we know he did it. I need to explore every option I can think of.”

Donovan grimaced.

Clementine’s resolve didn’t waver, but a new idea did occur to her. “You know what? Forget about me going to question the two of them. I’m going to get in touch with my mother – have her meet me somewhere, just the two of us. If my step-father did have anything to do with it, she probably doesn’t have a clue. And if I ask the right questions, she might give away something important without realizing it. Then I could take the information to Detective Wagner – tell him what I suspect, have him look into it.”

The line between Donovan’s eyes didn’t disappear, but it wasn’t as deep as before when he shook his head. “You’re really getting into this detective role, huh? Just as long as you stay away from your step-father, and lock up at night. Remember what I said about the pepper spray. It’s cheap and it’s effective – there’s no reason for you not to have it. Promise me.”

“Sure. I’ll buy some after I leave here.” If it would comfort him to know she’d be carrying it, there was no reason not to. Besides … his concerns had chilled her, had left her with a new edge of concern and wariness.

“I’ll buy some envelopes and stamps too – since I can’t visit you here every day, I’m going to write to you.” The memory of his ammo box loomed in her mind, filling her with regret. She couldn’t go back in time and fix things, but she could write to him in this lonely place.

She
would
write to him. Without fail.

“Yeah?”

She nodded. “Every day. Though I don’t think I’ll be writing for long – you’re innocent and that’s going to come to the surface, one way or another.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“I’ll keep the fridge stocked with Dr. Pepper,” she said, forcing her voice to remain light. “And when you get out of here, we can head to Ann’s for some pie.”

His gaze was intense, even through the glass. He looked down, coal-black lashes shielding the grey of his irises from view as he stared at her left hand. “Deal. We’ll take our usual booth and set a date for the wedding over pie and coffee.”

* * * * *

It was colder than the previous days had been; a chilling wind blew through the tree line and swept toward the house, carrying the scents of damp earth and decaying leaves. Clementine fastened the top button of her jacket, locking the front door behind herself and double-checking it, just in case. Donovan’s words from earlier that day stuck with her, and she’d meant it when she’d promised to be careful.

God willing, soon she wouldn’t have to watch her back anymore – soon the police would be exploring other possibilities, maybe even locking up an actual killer. And Donovan would be free, at her side. Every time she thought about it, longing gripped her, making her heart beat a little faster, as if that could speed up time.

The afternoon sky was a grey band above fading treetops; in a few hours, it would be dark. It was early enough now that Robert was still at work. Hopefully that meant her mother hadn’t spoken to him, hadn’t mentioned their meeting.

She didn’t dare count on that, though it seemed like a possibility, if only because Robert probably would’ve tried to stop her mother from meeting with her if he’d known. He was controlling like that, and like Donovan had said, appearances were everything to him. His wife meeting with the fiancée of his son’s alleged killer would surely get him all bent out of shape as soon as he found out.

What her mother’s motivation for agreeing to the meeting was, Clementine didn’t know, but when she’d called her mother an hour ago and requested that they speak, she’d said yes. So Clementine climbed into her car and drove for the other side of town, to where her mother was home alone.

It only took fifteen minutes to reach the place, and then she was climbing out of her car, heart beating too fast as she strode across the driveway toward the enormous house armored with white siding and bay windows. It was a dark enough day that the glow of the kitchen light showed through one window, alerting her that her mother probably waited there.

Would they sit down at the table and discuss Trevor’s murder over coffee and a package of her mother’s favorite cookies – pecan sandies? The idea seemed ridiculous. The fact that she was even here at all was ridiculous in its own way; she felt like an intruder only days after Trevor’s memorial service. But then, Trevor hadn’t been her mother’s child. She was. Maybe, in some small way, that still meant something.

“Donovan,” she muttered under her breath as she approached the front door. “Doing this for Donovan.” Her speeding heart softened a little as she knocked.

The door swung inward within moments, revealing her mother. Dressed in her standard attire of khaki slacks and a nice sweater – cashmere, probably – she looked much like she had the last time Clementine had seen her. A little more subdued, maybe, but still polished – still Robert’s wife.

“Clementine.”

“Hi.” She stood, at a loss for what to say.

“Come in.” Pamela stepped aside, revealing a foyer done in various shades of off white.

They did, in fact, end up in the kitchen. There were no cookies, but there was coffee, if Clementine wanted any. She declined – there was already enough acid churning in her stomach. “I have some questions about Trevor,” she said, plunging right in.

Her mother nodded, as if that was what she’d been expecting. On the phone, Clementine had simply told her that she had questions.

“There’s absolutely no way Donovan could’ve laid a hand on him that night. I’m trying to figure out who really killed him and what they could’ve had against him that would’ve driven them to do it.”

Pamela looked at Clementine like she’d sprouted a second head. “
That’s
what you came here for?”

“Yes.”

“God, Clementine – I figured you came to apologize.”

Anger flared red-hot inside Clementine, inciting an ache behind her skull. She willed herself to rein it in. She’d known this wouldn’t be easy, that gaining cooperation would be like pulling teeth. She couldn’t let this degenerate into a fight – this was the best chance she’d had so far to gain information that might help Donovan. Blowing it wasn’t an option. “I don’t have anything to apologize for.”

“You’ve been living under the same roof as Trevor’s murderer!”

Another bolt of anger, a silent prayer for self-control.

“I was with Donovan all night, and he never left the house. I know that for a fact, which means I also know something else you and the police don’t want to consider – whoever killed Trevor is still out there. Maybe you’re content to let Donovan take the blame, but I’m not.”

“Of course you’re not.” Pamela all but rolled her eyes.

“I’d think it would bother you that someone is lurking in Willow Heights killing members of this family.” She played the danger card – if Robert was guilty, her mother probably had no clue. Which meant that if she believed even the tiniest bit that Clementine was telling the truth when she said that Donovan had never left the house, the fact that the killer was out there might scare her. “We don’t know what the killer’s motive was – what if it wasn’t just Trevor? What if he’s going to hurt someone else?”

Pamela frowned. “Donovan Kemp’s fingerprints were on the weapon.”

“Because the weapon was stolen from his garage. The evidence is circumstantial and isn’t going to hold up in court. Eventually the police will be forced to explore other options. Since there’s a killer on the loose who may have something against this family, I’m choosing not to wait until then to try to figure out what’s going on.”

Pamela’s frown deepened. “How do I know Donovan Kemp didn’t leave the house while you were asleep? Surely you weren’t awake and watching him all night.”

At least she hadn’t called Clementine a liar – not directly, anyway.

“I’m a light sleeper. Always have been – you know that. And the police say Trevor was killed around ten-thirty – we were barely in bed by then.” Tired from travel, they’d turned in around a quarter ‘till ten that night.

Her mother didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t look comfortable, either. The seed of uncertainty had been planted – the first step toward success. A hint of satisfaction eased Clementine’s anger just a little. She’d have to be like a real detective – use what she knew and suspected to her advantage, play games designed to unearth the truths she sought without letting her mother know that they were what she’d been looking for in the first place.