Sweeter Than Sin (32 page)

“Of course.” He bent down and kissed her cheek, caught her hand as she continued to fuss about the bedroom. He’d painted it lemon yellow a few years ago, hoping the bright color would help cheer her up. It hadn’t. The change seemed to confuse her even more, but now he worried that changing it back would only make things worse.

How much worse could things get?

Two days ago she’d woken up before he had and somehow she’d managed to undo all the locks he’d put on the front door.

He’d caught up with her on the porch.

His heart hurt with the knowledge.

He was going to have to consider having her put in a home.

If she’d gotten much farther … or if she’d gone out the back door, to the river …

Swallowing around the knot in his throat, he put the thought aside for now. He’d go with her. That was all there was to it. She wouldn’t be alone there. He’d already been researching, and there were a few places where they could even share a room. Be together, as they’d always been.

A knock at the door had both of them looking up.

“If it’s that Benningfield boy looking for some work to do around the yard, I don’t want him near my flower gardens,” Mary said, her voice cross. “He uprooted my daffodils, thinking they were weeds! How do you mistake daffodils for weeds?”

“I’ll make sure he stays away from them, Miss Mary,” Max said. Patting her shoulder, he rose. His knees popped and creaked as he headed down the hall. Caine was earlier than Max would have expected. Caine didn’t usually show his face in town until noon or so. And Miss Mary would have been tired enough for a nap.…

But Max couldn’t dictate the time for this confrontation and he knew it.

It was going to happen.

It had to happen.

Rubbing his face, he paused a minute, said a prayer for strength.

Yes.

This had to happen.

It was past time.

Then he leaned in, checked the Judas hole. Madison was a small town, but Max had spent too many years outside this small town and he’d spent too many years sitting on a bench, serving this small town—he knew for a fact that bad things did happen in his small, supposedly safe little town.

The sight of the person on the porch had Max frowning.

Not Caine.

Not whom Max had expected to see at all.

He opened the door, aware of the crossness in his voice as he demanded, “Why are you here?”

“I’d like to speak with you, please.” No smile, no sign of emotion, crossed that dour face.

“It’s early and I need to get breakfast for my wife.”

“I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important.”

Max blew out a breath. “Very well.” He stepped aside, listened as shoes clodded on the floor. Down the hall, Miss Mary appeared in the hallway, a thin little wraith, her flowered sundress flapping around her thin calves, a smile on her face.

“Is it Noah? He is working so hard to save up money for that car he wants,” Mary said, smiling.

“No, Miss Mary—”

The words froze in his throat when he saw the gun. He lunged, but he was old. He was strong for a man who’d seen eight decades come to pass. Strong, yes. But strength alone wasn’t enough to stop a bullet.

The bullet caught him in the chest and he staggered, crashed into the wall.

And the last thing he saw was the blood blossoming on Mary’s chest.

She didn’t even scream.

Together,
he thought dully.
We’ll be together.…

CHAPTER TWENTY

“I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

Jensen strode up to the door, Thorpe at her side.

“It’s better to do it now than tomorrow,” he said, his voice steady.

“Tomorrow?” She slid him look, then stopped, shook her head. “Son of a bitch. His wedding. I want to bitch-slap Layla.”

Thorpe gave her a hangdog look. “We have to do it. She gave us his name, and if we don’t take him in, ask the questions, it’s just going to look worse.”

Jensen wanted to find the nearest hard surface and just pound her head against it. It wouldn’t be hard to clear him. All she needed was to alibi him for the murders and everything would be cool. And besides … this was Noah Benningfield. Preach, for crying out loud.

But her gut was still a nasty knot when she lifted her fist to knock on the door.

And it was an ugly tangle when he answered the door. His eyes met hers, moved to Thorpe’s.

“We need to ask you a few questions, Noah.” She smiled. It was her cop’s smile.

And Noah’s eyes went icy, because he recognized it. “Do you now?”

“Yes. Why don’t you grab yourself some shoes? Ben can come in with you if you don’t mind. We’ll go down to the station, get this squared away.” Her gut twisted so tight, it hurt. “It won’t take long.”

His face was shuttered.

That twisting in her gut went even tighter, because as sure as he recognized the cop’s smile on
her
face, she recognized the look on his. He had things he really didn’t want to talk to them about.

*   *   *

Noah hadn’t had a cop at his door in ages.

The nerves never really went away, though, he realized. He hadn’t done anything wrong, and it didn’t matter.

Even as he met Jensen’s cool eyes, Thorpe at her shoulder, Noah stared at them and realized he was about two steps beyond nervous and he hadn’t done anything. Oh, he hadn’t given them the information they wanted about Caleb or Kevin, but that wouldn’t amount to anything. Confidentiality covered a lot of things, and while the cops could make his life annoying for a while they couldn’t do much more. And Caleb didn’t really know anything.

But …

A sick feeling spread through Noah as he realized there was another reason entirely for their presence here.

Lana.

Sliding his eyes to Benjamin Thorpe, Noah lifted his chin in silent invitation and then turned on a bare heel. As he headed into the house, they walked by the suit he’d bought to wear to his wedding.

His wedding.

Tomorrow.

He had to go to the police department.

He passed a hand over the back of his mouth.

“Mind if I make a call?” he asked.

“You can do that at the station,” Ben said, his voice apologetic.

Noah stopped and turned, stared at Ben in the middle of his hallway. “I’d just as soon do it now.” Looking from Ben to Jensen to the suit, Noah crossed his arms over his chest. “You see, you all know just as well as I do that I’ve got an important day tomorrow. When I’m seen in the police car, word is going to travel, and I’d like to let Trinity know before she gets word through the gossip vine. You can give me that courtesy.”

“Sir—”

“Shove it,” Noah said, biting the words off and turning away, pulling the phone from his pocket. From the corner of his eye, he saw Thorpe advancing.

“Ben.” Jensen’s voice was low, firm. “Let him make the damn phone call. Preach, be fast, okay?”

He curled his lip at her as some of the temper he struggled so hard to keep in check came spilling out. “Yeah, well, I’m not exactly looking to drag this out, Detective Bell.”

*   *   *

“No alibi.”

Sorenson stood at the window and dragged his hands down his face as he peered through the tinted glass at Noah Benningfield. He’d give the man credit—if he was a cold-blooded killer, he had every fucking person in town fooled.

He looked pissed, he looked frustrated and he looked worried.

Beyond all of that, Noah also looked tired.

“Not for two of the murders … he was picking up his suit the day Quimby was killed, but he doesn’t know where the receipt is. He did give me the name of the store in Louisville. I’m calling—they might remember him,” Jensen said, shoving a hand through her hair. “He didn’t pay cash, but you know, I’m going to bet on somebody remembering him. He said the lady who helped out was named Pearl, she was a grandmother with two grandsons and both of them were getting married. People remember Noah. We can track this lady Pearl down, check his credit card statement.”

“And he was alone the night Troyer was killed? He’s engaged—why the hell is he…” Sorenson stopped and shook his head. “This is Preach we’re talking about.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“What’s your gut say?” Sorenson’s gut said there was no way that man in there killed those men. He knew for a fact that Benningfield could be violent. He’d seen it. Many people in town had.

But that was years ago.

“My gut says Layla Chalmers is playing us like a damn fiddle,” Jensen said flatly. “She’s been chasing after Noah for years and he does nothing but say no. She sees a chance to get him back and she takes it.”

“You think she send him to jail because he won’t sleep with her?”

Jensen snorted. “This would never hold up in court, Chief.” She turned her head, met his gaze. “I’m telling you now, if we get a warrant, we won’t find any evidence. If we question her again, her story will change. Maybe a little, maybe a lot. She’d never hold up for long. But he will, because he didn’t do it. But … we have her statement and if we don’t follow through?”

He blew out a breath.

“I want the time of death on Willie T. I want Noah to tell us just what in the hell he was doing yesterday,” Sorenson said softly. “And I’m going to put that to the test. I’ll talk to Layla, see how her statement holds up when I question her, and once it’s mentioned that lying to an officer of the law isn’t exactly considered kosher, we’ll see how she holds up. If she’s jerking us around, she’s going to pay for it.”

He turned on his heel and headed for the door.

He paused only long enough to gather up the information for Layla Chalmers and to look once more at the information that had come in overnight.

He’d hoped this would simplify things—give them a focus, at least.

Instead, things were just getting worse all the time.

Reaching out a hand, he touched the folder that held the preliminary reports for the Jane Doe found down in the cellar of the old Frampton place.

Sorenson’s predecessor had been one lousy-ass cop—although Sorenson had his suspicions about just
why
—because the evidence for that night was all but gone.

But Sorenson already knew who was in that cellar.

The tests had pegged her to be in her mid-forties. She’d been healthy enough when she died. Her death hadn’t been accidental or related to natural causes. No, there had been a rather aggressive strike to the back of her head, as evidenced by the X-rays provided. There were other X-rays, of the ribs, showing scrapes along the bones, possibly from a knife. Somebody had hit her in the back of the head and then stabbed her.

There was somebody out there who wanted to make sure Diane Sutter stayed dead.

No, there was no definitive ID yet … they were working on getting some mitochondrial DNA, although without a blood relative that would be difficult. But the Jane Doe had been wearing a wedding set. It hadn’t been immediately obvious, thanks to the decay, the swelling. But their girl had a set of rings. Once the crime lab had gotten them off, Sorenson had been able to see the pictures.

And he’d spent a great deal of time going through old microfiches.

The rings matched Diane’s.

To a T.

Tossing the file down, he turned to leave his office. His gaze sought out Sally, the part-time receptionist, sitting behind her desk. “Get Layla on the phone. I want her in here now.”

“That won’t be hard.” Sally rolled her eyes and gestured to the small waiting area. “She walked in while you were in the office. All sad eyed and serious, Chief. She asked to speak with Jensen.”

“Well. She won’t be speaking with Jensen.”

*   *   *

Answers … no more waiting around. We’re finding answers today.

That was the one thing on her mind as Lana woke up.

Finding answers.

She showered, her mind on the task ahead.

She’d been in a dull state of near shock when Max had told her what he had to tell her, and she hadn’t asked the questions she needed to ask.

“Shock,” she snorted. “No, you were stupid.”

She’d been operating on a level just above stupid for a little too long now and it was time to stop it.

The first thing she had to do was talk to Max again.

She needed names and she needed to know where to find the family who’d taken care of her. She hadn’t been there long, and when she left she hadn’t exactly been in good shape.

She shouldn’t have been on the road, a fact she could easily acknowledge now. It made sense, too.
Max
wouldn’t have put her out on the road when she was recovering from the injuries she had back then. He was too … anal. Too much in control. Too cautious.

So she needed to figure out just who had sent her away.

The blurred and hazed memories hadn’t really cleared up until sometime after she’d left Madison. Whether it was shock or trauma—or both—she didn’t know. But three days after she’d been declared missing, she’d found herself in a hotel, in a room paid for with cash, and she’d flirted up a storm with the clerk to even get that room. That had been in Gary, Indiana.

The Internet had been in its infancy then and news about her disappearance, about David and his parents, hadn’t even made a ripple.

What little she learned had come from watching news channels, and there had been very, very little information and all the focus had been on the Sutter family.

Next to nothing was mentioned about her.

It had made it easier for her to disappear.

Over the years, more and more information made it online and she was able to research the case as it was archived, but none of that would help her, because only a handful of people really knew what happened.

Max was one.

And if she wanted to rebuild her life, it started with
finding answers
.

Adam was still asleep when she slipped out of the house. She left a note, told him where she went. He’d come with her, if she just asked, but he wasn’t responsible for this mess she’d created and some part of her felt she needed to find these first answers on her own.