Living Lies (11 page)

“But you stayed.”

“I stayed.” She nodded. “My grandmother had a stroke and died about two months before I graduated high school, so I had to be around more to help my mom. A couple of years later Joan was diagnosed with ALS. She and Nate moved back to Ottawa so she could be close to her parents and sister. There was no one left to run the store. My father hadn’t actively done anything with it, probably since he fired you. So I ran the place, hoping that eventually my parents would pull themselves together.”

“And when they didn’t, you stayed behind and took care of them.”

“To make a long story short.”

Annoyed, he tapped his finger absently against the car door just below window. But who annoyed him more, Haley or her parents, he couldn’t say. “You shouldn’t have stayed if you didn’t want to.”

She shot him a scathing look before turning back to the road. “And what should I have done? Left them to go bankrupt?”

“Yeah, but I doubt it would have come to that.”

“Wow, thanks for your expert opinion on my family situation. Quite impressive how you managed work all that out in only a matter of days, but I guess coming from such a tight family unit yourself, you’d have some real insight.” Her words were hard and jagged, but before he could respond she apologized. “I’m sorry, really, that was low.”

He shrugged, unperturbed. “Maybe, but true.”

“I shouldn’t have said it, I’m sorry.”

Memories of that shitty house in the south end of town and his mother, barely there, were faded now, as if those days belonged to someone else. Maybe they did. He felt so far removed from that lonely, bored teenager.

From time to time, he saw traces of that surly, smart-mouthed boy in the reflection staring out at him. Small reminders of who he’d once been.

Funny, looking back at all the things he would have done differently, of all the things he’d change, he never once regretted stealing the Carling’s delivery van with his friends. Or taking it off-roading in a field outside town. Or having the police find him passed out in the back, deserted by his friends, the following morning.

When Carling had offered him the chance to work for him and pay off the damages rather than pressing charges, he’d changed Dean’s life.

Darren had been a tough taskmaster, but a patient teacher. He’d been fair. Or at least Dean had thought so at the time. He never would have guessed that Carling could murder his own daughter, and then let Dean take the blame.

“So, is Nate a silent partner now?” Dean asked, doing his best to shove the memories away. No point in dwelling on a past he couldn’t change.

She shook her head. “No. Shortly after my Dad died, Nate needed to sell. I had some money put away, and he let me pay off the rest.”

“Why’d you bother? I mean if it’s not what you wanted to do?”

“My father worked hard to build that store.”

“That he couldn’t be bothered to run.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t talk about this anymore.”

“Maybe,” he agreed, still annoyed. He turned back to the window.

They drove a ways in silence. The dreary gray sky outside darkened to blue twilight. Christ, it had been a long day.

“What do you think Rhonda meant when she told us to ask Sandra?” Haley asked. “Who’s Sandra?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. The name doesn’t ring a bell.”

“It did for me.” She frowned. “I feel like the name’s familiar.”

“It’s a first name and not uncommon. No doubt you’ve heard it before.”

“Still, it’s the only lead we have.”

“We? When did we become we?” he teased.

Even in the pale light from the dash he could see her roll her eyes. “With Lara backing out, you’ve lost your chance to clear your name and I’m still trying to find away to clear my father’s. Sandra is the only clue we have.”

The town’s lights brightened the dark sky as they drew closer.

He sighed. “I think you’re grasping at straws, but what the hell, that’s all we’ve got. Drop me off at my car and I’ll grab us something to eat, then meet you back at your place.”

Haley left Dean at his car across the street from her store then started home. The name Sandra still played through her brain. Why did it sound so familiar? Where had she heard it before?

Absently, she nibbled at the corner of her lip. The only thing more perplexing than the name tickling her memory was her uneasy alliance with Dean. Who would have guessed he would become a strange sort of ally in all this? Ally or not, Sandra wasn’t a whole lot to go on, for either of them.

She pulled into her driveway and got out of the car. Her muscles had stiffened from the long drive and an air of defeat seemed to have settled over her. Maybe after she ate something she’d feel better.

She followed the narrow cement walk to her doorstep, digging for her keys in her purse. They jingled maddeningly just out of reach as she searched blindly, through the receipts, gum wrappers and ATM statements. She needed to clean this crap out.

At last her fingers closed over the cold metal, but as she reached out to push the key into the lock she realized she didn’t need it. The door stood open. Barely a quarter of an inch, but open just the same.

Her heart rate tripled as she pushed the door the rest of the way, fisting her keys in her other hand so that each one stuck out between her knuckles. A vague recollection from a self-defense class in high school phys-ed.

Maybe she should call the police. She shook her head as if answering herself. What if she just hadn’t closed the door properly when she left that morning? She’d look like an idiot.

From the small front hall, the pale kitchen light spilled into the living room. Had she left that light on this morning? She struggled to remember, but came up empty as she ran her hand over the switches for the light overhead and the lamp next to the couch.

Nothing moved, or seemed out of place in the sudden brightness. The house was silent except for the familiar tick of the furnace and the ever-present hum of the refrigerator. She stepped farther into the house, half expecting someone to jump out at her from the dining room, but no one did.

With her heart pounding in her ears, she went into the kitchen. Everything was as she left it. From the dregs of coffee still in the pot, to the mug, plate and knife on the counter, to the crumbs next to the toaster. But then, what had she expected? That an intruder would break in and tidy her kitchen?

She considered grabbing one of the serrated knives from the wooden block on the counter, but rolled her eyes at her own foolishness. She’d probably forgotten to turn off the light in the kitchen this morning. God knew she’d been a touch preoccupied lately. The door probably hadn’t closed properly behind her when she’d left for work. And the only reason she was climbing the stairs to make sure everything was how she left it was simply for her own peace of mind. Just so she could say “I told you so” to her overactive imagination.

Her breath locked in her throat as she reached the small hallway at the top of the stairs. Soft, pale light flickered through the narrow gap between the wall and her partially closed bedroom door. With feet that felt as if they were made of stone, she dragged herself forward and pushed open the door with one trembling hand.

Her stomach dropped and a strange sound escaped her lips, something between a whimper and a gasp. The room glowed as if on fire. Candles of every shape and color flickered on her dresser, vanity, and on the floor surrounding the bed. Someone had pulled back the bedspread as if in invitation and scattered dark red rose petals across the sheets.

She covered her gaping mouth with her hand and took a step back. Who could have done this? And more importantly why?

A dull thump from below made her freeze where she stood. Someone was in the house. She should have brought the knife.

Chapter Twelve

Another thump, then footsteps crossing the floor below. Haley remained still as if her every muscle had seized. More movement in the kitchen, then footsteps coming toward the stairs. She could hide, but where?

“Haley?”

Dean. Relief swamped her like a tidal wave, making her knees weak. Just Dean, thank God. She opened her mouth to call out, but only an odd sounding squeak escaped. She cleared her throat and tried again. “I’m here. I’m up here.”

He frowned as he came to stand beside her. His gaze swept the room, the flickering candlelight dancing over the planes of his face.

“What is this?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. Someone must have broken in. The front door was open when I got home.”

He edged past her into the room and bent to study one of the thick pillar candles on her dresser. “These haven’t been burning long. The wax is only just starting to run down and pool.” He blew out the flame. “Are you certain whoever did this is gone?”

“No.” The terror that had gripped her when she heard Dean downstairs still fresh in her mind.

“Call the police then go wait in the car while I search the house.”

His words pricked her temper. “I don’t think so. I’ll call the police and then we’ll look together.”

“Don’t be stubborn.”

“Don’t be stupid,” she shot back. “And don’t order me around in my own house. Do you expect me to hide in the car like a simpering female, while the big strong man searches my house for scary bad guys?”

His lips quirked. “You think I’m big and strong?”

She rolled her eyes. “Your ego maybe.”

As he blew out the tiny flames on her dresser, she turned and did the same to candles on her vanity, then moved on to the ones circling her bed. He knelt on the opposite side, extinguishing the tiny flames. They followed the wide semi circle until they met in the middle.

Without the candles, the room was dark except for the faint glow from the hall light. She glanced up at the bed and shuddered. The idea that someone had touched her covers left a cold, sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. What else had her intruder touched? Had he rifled through her clothes? Her personal things? Everything in her room seemed contaminated.

“Don’t touch anything else,” Dean said. “Not until you talk to the police.”

She nodded and followed him downstairs to the kitchen. As she lifted the phone from the cradle on the wall next to the fridge, she hesitated then hung it up.

“Kind of a strange coincidence don’t you think?”

He frowned. “How so?”

“Lara backs out on the advice of a friend, we speak to Rhonda Kearney and now this. Maybe someone’s trying to scare me off. Keep me from helping you.”

“Up until four o’clock this afternoon you were still trying to find a way to pin the murder on me. How is that helping? Besides, who else knew where we were going?”

“Maybe it’s not where we were going, but that we were together. Maybe someone saw Paige and I last night.”

“So? No one knows for sure why you were there. You could have broken in to say good-bye. Closure.”

“Why would we do that? Her body is in some morgue somewhere.”

“You’re missing my point.”

“No, you’re missing mine. We’ve both been so fixed on our own agendas we’re not seeing the big picture. While you’re trying to prove my father did it and I’m trying to prove he didn’t, maybe we’re close to figuring out who really did kill Michelle. And that person isn’t too happy about it.”

His eyes held hers, but his expression remained impassive. “You think that what happened in your bedroom was a kind of warning? An attempt to scare you?”

She shrugged. “Until I started looking for answers about Michelle, no one had ever turned my bedroom into a bizarre kind of altar.”

He seemed to consider what she said. “Call the police, and then let’s check to make sure we’re actually alone.”

Dean helped himself to another cup of coffee as Haley walked the two policemen to the door. All the while he tried to tamp down his slow, bubbling anger. The two bonehead cops had taken their statements and done little else once they made the connection between his name and Michelle’s.

At first, they’d implied that perhaps it had been Dean who had set up Haley’s room that way. When Haley pointed out that he would have needed superhero powers to be in two places at once, they changed theories. Maybe someone who knew they’d been spending time together had taken exception. Either way, the overall impression had been she’d gotten what she deserved.

“Young lady,” the older one, Beckette, who, unfortunately, remembered Dean from his less than law-abiding youth, had said, “When you keep the company you do, you have to expect this sort of thing to happen.”

It had taken everything Dean had not to pop the condescending bastard. But even his anger couldn’t thaw the tight ball of fear lodged in his gut like a chunk of ice.

Was Haley right? Was Michelle’s killer trying to send them a message? The cold inside him spread, stippling his skin with goose bumps. What if she’d come home earlier? What if the intruder came back? What if she vanished like Michelle? And all because of him. If he had just moved on with his life, Haley wouldn’t be searching for answers to questions she hadn’t had before he returned.

“Well,” Haley said, sinking onto vinyl seat of the chrome kitchen chair. “There’s three hours of my life I’m never getting back.”

“Come back to the motel with me,” he blurted out.

She quirked a single brow.

“That’s not what I meant. We don’t know who did that to your room or why. You shouldn’t be here alone.”

“Does the I’m-afraid-for-your-life line usually work?” she asked, her lips curving into a smile.

“I’m serious.”

“I know.” She got off the chair and opened the pizza box he’d left on the counter after he arrived. “The thing is, I don’t think I’m in any real danger. I’m nearly certain that what happened up there was a warning.”

Frustration throbbed inside his skull. “Let’s say you’re right. Michelle’s murderer is trying to warn you off. That means someone who has killed and managed to get away with it for over a decade was wandering around your house. He got in once, he could definitely do it again.”

“So what am I supposed to do? Move out?” She bit the tip off her slice.

“Isn’t that cold?” His stomach turned at the sight of the thick congealed cheese, housing tiny pools of grease.

“I like cold pizza.”

He shuddered. “Just for one night. Until you’ve changed the locks.”

She shook her head. “I’m not sleeping there, and actually, I don’t know how you can. Besides, I think you’re overreacting. I’ll check the windows and doors before I go to bed, make sure everything is locked up tight.”

“You’re being stubborn again.”

“I’m not being stubborn,” she snapped. “This may come as a shock to you, but I’m not fifteen anymore. I’m twenty-seven. I run a business, pay taxes, vote, all the things grown ups do because I’ve grown up, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“I noticed.” He’d have to be blind not to.

“Then try to understand. I don’t need you to protect me or rescue me.”

“I’m spending the night.”

“Did anything I say sink in?”

“Yes, but unfortunately I don’t think anything I’ve said has had the same effect on you.”

“Where did you plan to sleep?” she asked taking another bite of pizza, then added around the mouthful, “I’ll be in the guest room. I won’t be sleeping in my bed until I’ve had a chance to burn the sheets.”

“I’ll sleep on the couch.”

She turned to the living room. He followed her gaze, to the ugly, lumpy corduroy. When he turned back, she was smiling at him.

“If you wake up tomorrow miserable with a sore back, I want you to remember this was your idea.”

He’d remember all right. How could he forget?

Paige cracked the car window a half inch and lit another cigarette. The thin line of bluish smoke streamed steadily through the narrow space into the dark night. She glanced in her rearview mirror by habit more than anything else. She hadn’t seen another car for at least an hour.

What had she been thinking, driving back to her mother’s after midnight when she could have been asleep in her own bed in her own apartment like a sane person?

She knew why. The thin web of apprehension that had clung to her most of the day, leaving her edgy and anxious had led her here. Alone on an empty highway, jittery from what was undoubtedly too much caffeine.

She rolled the window down enough so she could fit her hand through. The frigid wind whipped at her bare skin as she flicked the cigarette away. She lifted her gaze to the rearview mirror in time to see tiny orange sparks spiraling, then vanishing into the black.

A row of thick pine trees rose up on the far side of the highway as she passed the Williams’ place. Another twenty minutes and she’d be home. A shudder passed through her. Not home, her mother’s house. That red brick shell hadn’t been home in years.

God, when would she be free? Maybe she could demand that the detective deal with her. She had a life to go back to, after all. And a career. But if she wasted much more time here at the ends-of-the-earth, she may not even have that. Especially, with Lucy taking credit for her work. If she did make it back in time to salvage her career, she’d toss that little bimbo and her collection of ridiculously short skirts out on her ear.

The image made her smile and gave her at least some sense of control over her life no matter how fleeting. She turned up the volume of the radio and tapped her fingernail on the steering wheel to Cher’s rendition of “Walking in Memphis”.

What if Michelle’s murder did end up getting pinned on her father? A dull ache throbbed in her chest. The mere possibility left her cold. At least she wouldn’t be there to deal with the whole mess on a day-to-day basis.

Paige did her best to ignore the guilt wiggling into her brain. Despite what Garret and Haley both thought of her, she did have a conscience. At the same time, she’d chosen to build a life away from Hareton, her family and Michelle, and she wasn’t about to be dragged back in. That Haley and Garret stayed was their decision.

Tough talk for a woman driving back in the middle of the night because she had a bad feeling.

She reached for the half-empty pack of cigarettes on the dash. She had bought them just before leaving the city. How to give yourself lung cancer in a month. A wry smile touched her lips, but fell away as her eyes lit on a slight figure trudging up the shoulder of the road.

A chill swept through her body and she dropped the forgotten pack onto her lap. What kind of person wandered highways in the middle of the night? And where had they come from? She hadn’t seen a car, parked or moving, since forever.

She pressed a little harder on the gas. Whoever would be walking along a highway in the middle of nowhere past midnight in December was clearly crazy. And Paige had a strict policy of not picking up insane people from the side of the road.

Still, she let her gaze drift back to the rear mirror until the weirdo was out of sight. Relief seeped into her stiff muscles. Almost there.

Movement ahead evaporated the small relief, and her heart started to pound as she came across another highway walker, remarkably similar to the one she’d only just passed. Long blonde hair whipped out from under the figures hood and Paige’s mouth went dry.

She slowed the car, pulled onto the shoulder and stopped. Crazy. What was she doing? She needed to pull back onto the road and drive like mad until she reached her mother’s. But she didn’t move. Instead, she kept her gaze fixed on the mirror and the woman jogging up to the car with painfully familiar movements.

Paige’s fingers trembled as she plucked a cigarette from the pack still in her lap, then slipped the filter between her lips. She needed both hands to light the stupid thing, one to hold the lighter, the other to keep the first from shaking.

At the light tap on the passenger window, she lifted her gaze. Her sister peered through the glass. Michelle. But not the way Paige remembered her. With pale skin and sunken eyes, Michelle’s light blonde hair flailed crazily around her head.

The cigarette fell from Paige’s gaping mouth, landing on her nylon-clad thigh, burning through the sheer fabric and into her flesh.

“Son of a bitch,” she cursed, brushing it off her leg. The ember sparked and landed on the floor at her feet. She crushed the smoke into the mat with the heel of her boot and when she looked up, Michelle was gone.

Her insides quivered as Paige climbed out of the car into the frigid air. Clutching herself around the middle, she circled the vehicle, but there was no sign of Michelle. Or that she’d ever been there. Not even footprints in the snow.

“Michelle,” Paige said softly. Her voice sounded creepy in the quiet. “Michelle.” This time she yelled and cringed at the noise.

No one answered. She was completely alone.