If It Walks Like A Killer (The Carolina Killer Files #1) (21 page)

“If you tell me, doesn’t that ruin the surprise?”

“Not for you, silly goose, it’s for Brinley.”

“I thought we’d agreed we were done shopping for Brinley?”

“This isn’t a present. It’s for her to wear on Christmas Day. Wait ’til you see it.”

Rachael has dragged him into the kitchen. She grabbed the bag—Caide couldn’t recall now what store it had even been from. She opened it and pulled out the red pants and matching shirt.

“Isn’t it cute? She’s just going to love it.”

“Seems kind of pointless to buy her a Christmas outfit, don’t you think?”

“Why would it be pointless?” she asked, her smile fading.

“It’s an outfit for one day, Rach. She’ll outgrow it before she can wear it again.”

“You don’t know that she’ll outgrow it. Besides, maybe I want to get a good Christmas picture for her to see when she’s older. It’s her first real Christmas. Last year she was too young to understand.”

“Fine. Whatever.” Caide held his hands up in surrender. “I’m not arguing.”

“Thank you.”

Caide nodded, turning to walk away.

“Can you go hang this in her closet for me? I don’t want it to wrinkle.”

Caide took the outfit from her, knowing that whether or not it was wrinkled Rachael would be sure to iron it incessantly the night before and probably the next morning as well. Somehow, as he’d spun around with the outfit, the price tag had managed to come loose, allowing him to see. One hundred and sixty-six dollars.

He turned back to face her. “Please. Rachael, please tell me you did not spend two hundred dollars on this.” He held the outfit in the air.

“Oh, practically one hundred and fifty. Don’t exaggerate.”

“Are you kidding me? I mean, you realize we aren’t made of money, right?”

“Caide, can you just not?”

“Not what?”

“Not make this a bigger deal than it is. It’s one outfit.”

“It is a big deal, Rachael. You can’t just go blow that much money on an outfit she’ll wear for an hour and then hang in the closet for months before you eventually decide to throw it away.”

“I just wanted her to have a nice outfit like you did growing up.”

“She isn’t me, Rachael. We aren’t my parents. You know you aren’t going to take pictures and even if you do, they’ll never end up developed. No one will see her but us.”

“That’s not true. Someone could stop in.”

“No one will stop in, Rachael. No one ever stops in. We aren’t the freaking Brady Bunch. I know you try to do up Christmas because you’re insecure about our life—”

“I’m what?” Rachael’s voice grew livid. “You think I’m insecure about our life?”

“You always do this. You buy presents for people who don’t get you anything in return. You make us dress up just to change two hours later, you spend a month decorating every inch of this house and no one even sees it but us and you cook a meal large enough to feed us for a year and half of it goes bad before we even get to it. I know you love holidays, Rachael. I get it. I know your dad went all out for you as a child and I get that you want that for Brinley. That’s fine, but sweetie, it’s just not realistic. Our family is gone. You can pretend that we’re something else all you want, but your fooling yourself. It’s like you play some little game with yourself and I’m tired of it. I’m sorry, this is too much. You have to take it back.”

“How dare you? How dare you make this about the money? It’s about the feeling that our daughter gets when she wakes up to a house full of presents, a pie baking in the oven, and our family, no matter how small, dressed up and ready to celebrate. I don’t know what Christmas was like for you, Caide. I’m sure, like most of your childhood, it probably sucked. But our daughter won’t grow up that way.”

“Our daughter is two years old. She barely understands any of it. She doesn’t need a dress to make her feel special. She won’t even remember it. What she will remember is living in the streets because her mother spent us out of house and home.”

“We have the money. I get that you’re used to a huge bank account, but ours has plenty in it. Caide, we have more now, after buying Christmas, than I ever had growing up.”

“We do not have the money, Rachael. We’re managing, yes. We’re better off than this time last year, but we aren’t this comfortable yet.”

“Then take back whatever you got me, if you’re so worried about money.”

“Of course I am. You spend it as quickly as I can bring it in.”

Rachael slapped him. “Don’t you do that. Don’t you act like you’re the only one bringing in money here. I work hard.”

“When you work. When you aren’t cancelling class because Audrey is fighting with John again, or when you aren’t taking in charity cases, doing lessons for free, or buying your students expensive gifts. At least six of your twenty students are coming for free and you’re buying their little outfits and shoes and whatever the hell else they need.”

“Lucy’s mom has leukemia, Caide. She can’t afford lessons anymore, and Amber’s mom does pay whenever she can, she has two other kids she’s supporting all on her own. Chloe’s mom, I’ve told you about her, there’s always some new boyfriend picking her up from practice. I like knowing she has something stable in her life. Jasmine—”

He held his hand up. “I get it. They all deserve your help. I’m not saying you don’t work. I don’t even want to be on this subject.”

“No, you’d much rather talk about how we don’t have a family, right? How we’re alone so we should just give up? That’ll be a great lesson to teach our daughter, huh?”

“Just drop it, Rachael. Keep the damn outfit. Forget I said anything.”

Tears were in her eyes then, Caide had known it couldn’t be over. “You want me to forget that you called our life a joke? That you said we were fooling ourselves?”

“Don’t use my words against me. I only meant that it’d be different if we were going somewhere to visit family, if we were leaving the house at all. But I said it’s fine. Just don’t worry about it.”

“No, Caide, you know what? You’re absolutely right. It’s pointless to try to do anything special for holidays. They should be reserved for families. See, I was under the impression that we were a family. Since you’ve made it so abundantly clear that we have no family don’t even bother coming to Christmas at all. I’m sure it’ll be nothing special.”

She’d stormed out of the room, he’d heard her sobs only minutes later from behind their bedroom door. Of course, he did come to Christmas and the outfit was only worn for less than an hour, no pictures were ever developed, and over half of the dinner was tossed out a week later.

He hadn’t seen the outfit since, until now of course. He’d assumed she’d thrown it out years ago. Caide rubbed his hands over the rough corduroy, remembering that day. His fingers felt a lump in the left pocket.

He dug into the pocket until his fingers connected with something cool and smooth. He pulled it out and scrunched his brow.
A key?
A small golden key. There was no key chain, no label, nothing at all to tell Caide what the key belonged to or to warn him of the secrets it would uncover. He ran his hands through the drawer again and then through all the others, checking to be sure there wasn’t a hidden lock somewhere. He hurriedly searched Brinley’s closet, overturning totes and checking every pocket in sight, but found nothing to end his search. Caide let out a disappointed sigh, he folded the pants back neatly and returned them to their hiding place before sliding the key into his pocket. He left the closet, carrying an outfit for Brinley back to the bathroom. He told himself he’d come back and search every inch of the house and Rachael’s studio too if he had to. He had to find out exactly what it was Rachael had to hide.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Avery

Jeanna Avery sat in her office. It had been a slow day, slow enough that she’d opened up a bottle of wine and was starting on her third glass when a knock sounded on her door. She hurriedly shut the file that lay open on her desk, corked the bottle of wine, and cursed herself for sending her secretary home early.

“Come in.”

Her door crept open slowly and a short woman with short, graying blonde curls walked in. She wore a black pant suit with a flowery pink blouse underneath it. Her neck boasted a set of pearls to match her large earrings. Avery stood, offering her hand.

“I’m Jeanna Avery. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Good afternoon, Ms. Avery. My name is Martha Abbott.”

“Martha Abbott? As in Abbott Jewelers? As in Caide Abbott’s mother?”

“The very one.” Martha smiled warmly.

Avery gestured toward the chair in front of her desk, letting her guest sit before she did.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Abbott. What can I do for you?”

Martha sat her purse on her lap, pressing her hands gently on top of it. “I’m here because I have some information for you. Information that may help you win your case.”

“I see. And what were you hoping to get in return?”

Martha laughed out loud. “I think you misunderstand. I don’t want anything other than for you to win this case.”

“Let me get this straight, you actually want me to win? You do realize that would mean your daughter-in-law going to prison, right?”

“Of course.”

“Okay. So I’m assuming you have some evidence for me?”

“My son called me the other day and we discussed this dreadful case. The things he had to say about his wife were dreadful. Something has to be done.” She frowned.

“Mrs. Abbott, Caide has already been on the stand. If he had something to say, that was his chance. I won’t have another opportunity to call a witness. I’m sorry you wasted a trip down here.”

“That’s no problem, you see, my son won’t agree to say what he’s told me to anyone else. He’s always been very loyal.”

Yeah, obviously.
Avery thought sarcastically back to the security tapes.

“He’s just afraid of what it’ll do to his wife,” Martha continued.

“So what was your plan then? I can’t just take your word for it. That won’t stand in court and even if it did, I’ve told you I have no more witnesses.”

“Actually, I was thinking of making this known to a larger audience. Much larger.”

“You were going to go to the press? Mrs. Abbott, with all due respect, you said your son doesn’t want to talk about it. How do you plan to get him to open up to the press?”

Martha smiled wickedly. “Two years ago, we had a bomb threat on one of our warehouses. Police evacuated the warehouse, investigated, and found it to be a prank. Six months later, it happened again. Once again, it was nothing, probably some insolent kid. Nevertheless, the police advised that we put in an automatic recorder to assist with investigations should we receive any other calls. That recorder has proved itself incredibly useful over the past year, including now.”

“You’re telling me you recorded your son and now you’re going to use that against him?”

Martha’s smile fell from her face. “Can I be frank, Ms. Avery?”

“Sure.”

“You can’t repeat anything I tell you—it’s illegal. Of course, you know that.” She paused, looking around the room. “I don’t care one little bit about my son or his dreadful little wife. They’re no family of mine. What I do care about, however, is my company. It’s all I have and my husband and I have worked too hard to let it get destroyed now. This is our best season. From October to February our sales skyrocket. This year, however, after news of the trial our sales have been dismal. Our mere association with my son and his wife, however unfortunate, is ruining our company. It is not acceptable. My company will not suffer due to a mistake we did not make. However, if our son is made out to be a worried father, scared of what his own wife is capable of, then he’d be called a hero. People will love him, pity him even, which will turn our sales back around. As a much added bonus, it will also turn the public opinion on Rachael from bad to worse. No one will listen to the defense, you’ll be a shoo-in to win.” She clapped her hands together, pure excitement filling her face.

Avery felt sick to her stomach. “I’d like to win this case, Mrs. Abbott. I want to see Ms. Underwood’s killer behind bars just the same as everyone else but I’d like to win fairly. Winning is only winning if you truly win.”

“Oh, go knit that on a pillow. We’re talking national success, Ms. Avery. We could make you famous, the one who locked the ruthless killer away and eased a family’s fears.”

“Fame doesn’t interest me, Mrs. Abbott. Justice does. Why would you come to me?”

“I assumed you’d want to help me. I’m going to the press today.”

“I’m afraid you thought wrong. I’m sorry, Mrs. Abbott, I can’t help you.” Avery stood, walking toward the door.

“Very well then. I took you for a very different type of lawyer. I assumed you’d, like any good lawyer, want to win at any cost.”

Avery pressed her lips together in frustration. “You do realize that the jury most likely won’t be swayed by gossip and rumors? It’s against the rules for them to watch the news or read the papers, or even discuss the case at all. There’s a good chance the only person your betrayal will hurt is your son. There are rules in place to prevent this sort of thing.”

Mrs. Abbott stood up, adjusting her jacket and walking out the door. Before she was completely past Avery she stopped, turning to look her in the eye, and smiled. “I understand the rules quite well, Ms. Avery, but then again husbands aren’t supposed to cheat and wives aren’t supposed to kill. If everyone followed the rules, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Good day.” Her gray eyes bore into Avery like knives, the cruel grin on her face looked so comfortable it must have been worn often.

“Good day,” Avery said firmly, shutting the door behind her and reaching for her bottle of wine.