Midnight Secrets (15 page)

She stopped at the door and took in the memories. Pale green walls with pink rosebuds—she’d picked out the wallpaper three days before her mother was killed. Her bed was a copy of a nineteenth-century cherry sleigh bed she’d seen in a magazine. Her grandfather had surprised her with it on her fifteenth birthday. Sammie and Bri had gotten new beds too, but she’d always thought hers was the prettiest. To the left of the bed was a cherry and marble vanity where she’d sat for hours, most often trying to tame her hair. And hanging from the mirror were Mardi Gras beads she’d collected on her last celebration in Mobile.

So many wonderful memories, but so much heartache, too. Ten years of happy childhood had been destroyed in one brief, inexplicable act of violence. The betrayal she and her sisters had felt had overwhelmed them. Now, after eighteen years, her hurt had been replaced with sad acceptance and an intense bitterness toward her father. All the warm, wonderful memories she had of him had evaporated as if they’d never existed. Rarely did she even let herself think about him.

Savannah dropped her bag on the floor and headed out of the bedroom. The night after she lost her parents and every night until she left home, she had gone to her mother’s sitting room and said good night. A silly tradition, but one she couldn’t break. This house would soon belong to someone else and she’d no longer have the opportunity.

As she made her way to the other side of the house where her parents’ rooms had been, she took a few seconds to glance at the photographs on the walls. If one took the time to view them all, the entire history of the Wildes was portrayed. Weddings, graduations, parties, holidays, and new babies covered the walls in a vast array of tradition and family unity.

Approaching the area where the most current photographs were displayed, Savannah let her eyes briefly whisk over the ones that included Beckett Wilde. Knowing the pain his granddaughters were going through, her grandfather had removed the ones of her father the day after her parents’ funeral. He had replaced them after she and her sisters left home. A few of the pictures were of Beckett when he was much younger—a child, then a teen.

Her eyes swept over a family portrait they’d had taken the winter before their happy family had been destroyed. Anyone not knowing the events would assume they were looking at a loving, close-knit family, including a husband and father who adored his wife and children.

Unable to stop herself, her gaze moved to her father’s high school senior portrait. Even with her prejudice, she couldn’t deny that he had been an extremely handsome man. At just over six feet, with broad shoulders and strong arms, he had seemed larger than life to her; she’d thought he was the most beautiful man on the planet. His medium-brown slightly curly hair was longer in the picture than the way she remembered him. With a dazzling smile, twinkling blue eyes, and a deep, infectious laugh, he’d been able to charm almost everyone. Savannah stared deep into those eyes, looking for the killer that lurked behind them. If the eyes were a mirror to the soul, somehow he had been able to hide that spark of evil. All she saw was a seemingly uncomplicated, charming man with a hint of mischievousness. Nothing more.

Her eyes shifted to the portrait beside Beckett Wilde’s. It was of Maggie, his beautiful wife, Savannah’s mother. The photo showed a lovely woman with honey-blond hair and eyes the color of ripe clover; a gentle, teasing smile played around her full lips as if she were on the verge of laughter. And the first ten years of Savannah’s life, that’s what she remembered most—the laughter.

Turning away from the photographs and painful memories, she went to her mother’s sitting room. Her grandfather had never changed anything about it. The room looked the same as it did the night Maggie Wilde was killed. Peaceful, serene, and filled with all the things she had loved and enjoyed. The sweater she’d been knitting as a Christmas gift for her husband lay on the arm of a chair. The book she’d been reading lay facedown on a side table. All the rooms in the mansion reflected Maggie Wilde in some way, but this room held the essence of who her mother had been: beauty, poise, laughter, and love—a beautiful, bright star that had been taken from her loved ones much too soon and in the most gruesome manner possible.

Savannah leaned against the doorjamb and whispered softly, “Good night, Mama. I miss you so much.”

And, as she’d done when she was a kid and had been needing and wanting her mother with a deep abiding ache, she waited for a response. As before, silence was her only answer.

Turning away with a sigh, Savannah headed back to her bedroom. Today had taken its toll and exhaustion enveloped her like a thick, soggy blanket. A good night’s sleep would bring perspective and a better outlook. Maybe she’d even figure out how she was going to avoid Zach while she was here. Because if tonight had proven anything at all, it was that the feelings he evoked in her were still as strong and volatile as ever. Which seemed ridiculous. What exactly did it take to destroy love?

Chapter

Eleven

Depending upon the hour of the day, the clientele at Faye’s Diner was a varying mix of what made up the town of Midnight. The majority of early morning breakfast diners were retirees and farmers. Professionals and shopkeepers came at lunchtime; teenagers and families at night.

Zach knew exactly what to expect when he walked into the diner at six o’clock the next morning. The fragrances of frying bacon and homemade biscuits were almost overwhelmed by the scent of the collard greens Faye was preparing for the midday meal. He made a mental note not to come back for lunch. He’d eaten his fill of greens when he was a kid. They’d been abundant and easy to stuff into his backpack when no one was looking.

Dishes clattering, the hum of low key conversation, and the latest country hit playing on the old jukebox in the corner came together to create a homey if somewhat stereotypical small-town Southern restaurant. But this place was special. He’d been all over the world and he’d never eaten better or cheaper food than what he could get at Faye’s.

Aware that the conversation had lulled seconds after he stepped foot in the door, Zach nodded at those who met his gaze but stayed focused on his goal—the counter where Faye stood, waiting to serve him the hottest, blackest coffee in all of Alabama. After the sleepless night he’d had, nothing else would do it for him.

No doubt everyone in the restaurant already knew that Savannah had returned home. The gossips could work faster than a chicken hawk in a henhouse. Zach didn’t question how news traveled so quickly. He’d seen it happen hundreds of times before. Though the town had embraced technology as lovingly as any modern city, email, Facebook, and Twitter had yet to replace the telephone. Nor had they replaced Faye’s Diner, Gertie’s Wash and Wait, or Tillie’s Hair Today. The juiciest tidbits could still be picked up while sipping coffee, waiting for your clothes to dry, or taking advantage of the newest special in Tillie’s vast array of daily coiffure deals.

“Morning, Chief.” Faye, middle-aged and as stern looking as any four-star army general, wasn’t much of a conversationalist, which was another reason he liked her.

He nodded as he sat down. “Let’s do the special this morning.”

In admirable synchronicity, she poured coffee with one hand, wiped the counter with the other, and yelled, “Special! Over easy!” over her shoulder.

He took a swallow of the blistering-hot liquid and finally began to feel close to halfway human. Should’ve known seeing Savannah would bring back the nightmares and all the ghosts of past regrets. For a man who’d always been one to make a decision and stick to his guns, his regret over his actions ten years ago ate at him daily. Last night, they had almost consumed him.

She had looked so much like the beautiful Savannah he had known, but he’d noticed some marked differences. At eighteen, Savannah had been slim with soft curves. The Savannah of today was slender almost to the point of thinness. Even more disturbing, there was a cool brittleness to her. He tried to tell himself that her job as a prosecutor had most likely impacted her personality. Dealing with criminals was bound to have a negative influence. His demons whispered something else. They told him his alienation and selfishness were the cause.

What he had done was unforgiveable. So why the hell had he expected a different reception from her? All the tender emotions she’d once had for him had been devoured by hurt, disappointment, and anger, leaving bitterness in their wake. A voice inside him whispered that bitterness wasn’t what he’d glimpsed in her eyes. Instead, he had seen hurt and anger. Could they be healed? Could he make up for the sins of his past?

Before he could dwell on that tempting but improbable idea, Faye’s special—fried eggs, bacon, grits, biscuits, sausage gravy, and a side of sliced tomatoes—slid in front of him. Hunkering down over his meal, Zach made sure his body language discouraged even the most thick-skinned person from trying to make conversation. Problem was, there was always one person who believed they were the exception. Today that person was Sarah Jane Riley.

Sliding onto the stool beside him, she spoke in a high, shrill voice, making sure everyone in the restaurant could hear. “Chief, heard you had dinner with Savannah Wilde last night.”

Zach didn’t even bother to lift his head; the massive amount of food in front of him held his total focus.

“Bet it was good to see her after all this time.”

Again, Zach didn’t acknowledge Sarah’s attempt at conversation. Unfortunately the woman had a reputation of causing controversy in the hopes of creating something out of nothing.

“I even heard some folks say that your car was still there this morning.”

Zach raised his eyes then. He’d stared down more than one prick in his lifetime. The fact that this one was a woman made no difference to him. His reputation of being slow to anger often made people believe they could say just about anything to him without consequences. And though he’d been known to take more than his share of abuse, having someone he cared about besmirched or hurt in any way was one thing he refused to tolerate.

The cold, hard stare, unblinking and unforgiving, pierced through Sarah’s thick skin. Her eyes wide with surprise and not a little alarm, she jumped off the stool and backed away. “I … uh, I was only repeating what I heard.”

“Then I suggest you call them the liars that they are.” Zach kept his voice low and soft but there was no mistaking its lethal edge.

“Sure thing, Chief.”

Sarah returned to her table, where several other women were seated; all had the same wide-eyed surprise on their faces.

Though no longer hungry, Zach made a point to return to his meal with the nonchalant air of one who doesn’t give a damn. When his cellphone rang, he didn’t bother to check the identity of the caller, relieved that he didn’t have to continue the pretense of enjoying the meal.

“Chief, those vandals have struck again.”

Recognizing the voice of one of his deputies, Bart Odom, Zach said, “Hold on.”

Standing, he threw down enough money for his meal, plus a liberal tip for Faye. As he turned away from the counter, Sarah and her friends all seemed amazingly interested in their meals; not one of them lifted her head as he walked out the door. He knew better than to think this would stop their gossiping. They’d recover and return to their ways as soon as some other juicy tidbit caught their attention.

Out on the sidewalk, he walked to his car and said, “Okay. Where?”

“The high school.”

Now, that was different. Was his theory wrong or was this an unrelated incident? “Don’t guess there’s any need of asking about witnesses.”

“Nope. Nobody saw nothing.”

“Okay. Get photos of the crime scene and canvas the neighborhood again. I—”

“I think you’re gonna want to see this one for yourself.”

He planned to when he had time, but something in Bart’s tone seemed off. “Why?”

“You’ll know when you see it.”

About to suggest to his deputy that he stop being so dramatic and tell him the damn news, Zach held on to his patience and said, “Okay, write up the report and I’ll check it out after—”

“I think you might want to come now, Chief.”

Now even more curious, Zach jumped into his car. “Be there in five minutes.”

Three minutes later, Zach grimly took in the new act of vandalism. The other graffiti had been random drawings and a few vulgarities. This had a distinct message. One he most definitely did not appreciate. In large, blood-red letters splashed on one side of the beige brick building was a warning:
Go Away Wilde Bitch.

Barring the probability that the X-Kings gang had come all the way to Midnight to leave a written message for Savannah, he considered the other possibilities. Some jerk’s idea of a joke? Savannah
was
the talk of the town right now. It could be meant for him—it was damn close to the area where he and Savannah had first met. And the man at the top of his suspect list had been present at that meeting. Or he could be reading too much into it and it was just a random act of stupidity.

Whatever the reason, Zach wasn’t amused.

He shot Bart a hard look. “Take photos of the scene and rope off the area. I’ll be back later.”

Once in the car, he headed toward Wildefire Lane. His gut told him she wasn’t in any danger, but until he saw or heard for sure, he wouldn’t be able to concentrate. She wouldn’t appreciate hearing from him again, but she’d have to get over it. Making sure she was safe was his priority.