She did appear to enjoy herself, browsing among the souvenirs, but she was careful to keep at least ten feet between herself and any male customer. The young man at the cash register didn’t bother her, though, and she chatted calmly with him. “Eric?” she called out. “Have you seen my credit card?” She was trying to search her shoulder bag with one hand.

  He took it and checked in all the logical places. “Did you leave it at home?”

  “I don’t know. I was sure it was in my purse.” She thought back. “I know I had it last week.”

  “When did you use it last?”

  “I don’t know. Paying bills online, maybe. I guess it must be at home.” She turned to the young man. “I might have enough cash.” She had found a T-shirt she liked—a mermaid under a beach umbrella on a lovely shade of blue—and an oversize coffee mug for Cathleen.

  “I’ll get them,” Eric said, offering his own credit card. Being able to come to her rescue, even in such a small way, felt good. He started to say so but stopped himself. She wasn’t the only one who could keep secrets.

  ****

  Desi’s credit card was not in the apartment. She and Eric searched high and low. She dumped the contents of her purse on the kitchen table and probed all the pockets and zippered compartments. She found receipts from months back, an old lipstick, and an earring she had lost. But no credit card. She mused for a minute. “I left my purse in the cabin, and the door was unlocked… Shit! I thought we could get through one nice day, one day without talking about them.”

  “They didn’t take it,” Eric protested. “Unless McHenry took it and left it in the pickup. In that case, the police will find it when they find the pickup. It wasn’t found on them—the police would have returned it if it was anywhere in the cabin.”

  “Shit,” she said, as if she hadn’t heard him. “This is all I need. I’ll have to report it.” She called the bank and waded her way through the telephone menu before she was connected to a human being who kept telling her to speak up. Eric tried to take over, but she was getting her stubborn expression. She paced back and forth while she waited for answers.

  The credit card had been used three times in the last week—once in Nickels and twice in Las Vegas.

  “You must have lost it in Nickels,” Eric told her.

  “We just stopped for gas on Friday night,” she reminded him. “I didn’t get out of the car, did I? And then… Maybe it was the police who took it.”

  “Oh, Desi, they wouldn’t.”

  Her puzzled expression gave way to a scowl. “I wouldn’t put it past Deputy Devane. More likely some lowly clerk in the evidence room, if they even have such a thing.”

  “They couldn’t possibly expect to get away with it. But you know what? They would have catalogued the contents of your purse—that would tell us for sure if it was in there when they gave it back.”

  “Which it wasn’t.” She sat at the kitchen table and pulled her purse toward her. “I’m not going to call and ask if they nicked it, but I bet they did. This is so annoying. I’ll have to wait for the new one and change the number on all those websites. It had to be the cops. This whole thing makes me feel like I’m fifteen again and being screwed by the very people who are supposed to help me.” She began tossing items back in her purse, taking her feelings out on the keys, wallet, and sunglasses.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, and, without thinking, he bent to kiss the top of her head. She sat perfectly still while he did it. “I forgot,” he murmured, quickly pulling back. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s all right,” she said with a small smile. “It’s not your fault I’m irresistible.”

  “Yes, you are.” He chuckled and then sobered. “Desi, have you thought about seeing someone?” he asked softly.

  “Who? A shrink? There was one in the hospital.”

  “And?” He sat across from her and waited for her answer.

  She shrugged. “Mr. Barnes said he might ask the court to order an evaluation. I don’t want to… I don’t want to go to prison, either. I guess I have to do what he says.” She spoke in a monotone, but he could hear the dread underneath.

  “You might have stuff to work through,” he suggested, and then spread his hands in a gesture of conciliation. “It’s your call. I can’t even imagine…”

  “Do you think I’m a terrible person?” she asked in a softer tone.

  “You know I don’t.”

  “I killed two people.”

  “Two filthy animals. Do you feel bad about it?”

  “No—sometimes it feels like I didn’t do it at all, and sometimes it feels like I couldn’t go on living if I hadn’t. If they were still walking around somewhere…”

  They sat together in grim silence.

  Chapter Seven

  Two weeks after what Barnes liked to call “the incident,” a green 1957 Dodge pickup was found by teenage hikers in a ravine about twenty miles from Nickels. All signs pointed to an accident, rather than a deliberate abandonment of the vehicle. Investigators found drops of blood in the cab as well as among the footprints that lead away from the scene. A packet of marijuana was found under the seat. The registration was in the glove compartment and listed the owner as Fraser William McHenry. Most of the fingerprints lifted from inside the pickup belonged to the late unlamented owner, but different prints were found on the steering wheel and the marijuana packet. They were not in the system.

  Eric didn’t hear about the discovery until Monday. He was at work when the lawyer left a voicemail message on his cell phone. He waited until he got home and made sure Desi was all right before he called him back. “I assume it’s important,” he said to her, “but I don’t like that man.”

  “I do,” she said. She was sitting at the kitchen table, trying to eat her lunch. She could chew a little now but had lost a few pounds. Her face was a little thinner, although he might just be used to the swelling that was now going down.

  “I guess that’s good,” he said, “since he’s your lawyer. He doesn’t seem to know it, though.”

  “He’s been very helpful,” she said. She put down her sandwich and tried a potato chip.

  “You like him? After he made you talk about it?”

  “He didn’t make me, Eric. I went to his office to confess. I think it’s because he’s used to guilty clients. He doesn’t make me feel bad about what I did.” She pointed at the uneaten half of her sandwich, eyebrows raised, offering it to him.

  He shook his head. “I see. So, you have a little crush on him?”

  She smiled, knowing he was teasing.

  “Okay, I guess I’d better call your boyfriend back.”

  He called the lawyer on the landline, listened intently to what he had to say, and put his hand over the receiver to ask Desi, “How long to do you think McHenry could have been gone—out of the room?”

  She shrugged. “Not very long, ten or twenty minutes maybe?”

  “Not long enough,” Eric told Barnes. “Yes, it does. Thank you. You’ll keep us posted?”

  “What did he say?” she asked when he hung up.

  He told her exactly what Barnes had reported. “There’s no way McHenry could have driven the pickup that far away, much less walked or hitchhiked back, even if it would make any sense for him to do it.”

  “Then…somebody else drove it away,” she said. “Which means somebody else was on the property.”

  “Yes.” He nodded. “A possible witness.”

  “Or an accomplice.” She pushed her plate away. “Somebody who stayed outside and tied you up. Maybe sharpened the axe. Maybe stole my credit card.”

  “But you didn’t see anybody else?”

  She shook her head.

  “Neither did I.” After a brief pause, Eric continued, wondering aloud, “So, where was he? I don’t remember looking in the cab of the truck. We didn’t have time to look around. He could have been anywhere.” He faced Desi. “Whoever it is, the police are looking for him. If he was supposed to drive the getaway car and left early, maybe it was because he witnessed what happened to his friends.”

  “Which could be good for me or very bad—depending on how much he saw. One of them was looking out the window—for him to come? Maybe it was his turn.” She shuddered. Eric reached for her hand but restrained himself in time. “I think,” she said tentatively, “you can touch me if you tell me first.”

  “Can I hold your hand?”

  “Yes. You may.” Her hand slipped confidently into his.

  ****

  Eric woke up in the middle of the night, startled by a sound. He hadn’t told Desi how often he awakened from nightmares about what had happened to her. Tonight, he didn’t remember dreaming. The sound came again—from the bathroom. He got up and tapped on the door. “Desi? Are you okay?”

  “Yes,” she said. She sounded fine.

  “Need any help?”

  “No. Go back to sleep.” He didn’t. He stayed outside as he had the first day while she washed away the evidence of rape. In a few minutes she opened the door and almost ran into him in the dark. She jumped and screamed and then stood still with her hand over her heart.

  “I’m sorry, sweetie,” he said. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  She caught her breath. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”

  “Are you okay? Can I touch you? I’d love to put my arms around you right now.”

  She didn’t hesitate. “Yes, but gently. My collarbone.” He hugged her gingerly. It felt so good—her hair smooth and warm under his chin, her curves soft against his body. The craving for connection overwhelmed him.

  “I love you,” he whispered. He breathed in her scent, savoring the moment, and then risked asking, “Would it be okay if I lie next to you? I’d be very careful, and it would be nice to have you close.”

  “Not tonight,” she said, her body stiffening in his hold.

  He nodded and released her carefully. He followed her into the bedroom and waited while she slipped into bed. Satisfied she was okay for now, he returned to the couch. What he dreamed after that bore no relation to what had happened two weeks ago.

  ****

  In the morning, Desi was cooking breakfast when Eric got out of the shower. She wasn’t wearing the sling and made limited use of her right hand. She was a little pale, and he wondered if she hadn’t slept. “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “Fine.” Her tone was guarded. “A little headache. I got my period, if you were worried about that.” She spooned scrambled eggs onto two plates without lifting the pan.

  He hadn’t been, though he should have. “Were you?” he asked.

  “A little. I didn’t want to be part of a soap opera plot—who’s the daddy?” She put the plates on the table one at a time and gestured for him to sit.

  “You could have done the morning-after pill and saved yourself two weeks of worry,” he reminded her.

  “It has side effects,” she said. “Besides, it could have been yours.” She busied herself with cups and silverware and avoided his eyes.

  “Not likely,” he said.

  “Only abstinence is one hundred percent effective.”

  “I guess we’re safe now,” he said lightly and immediately wished he hadn’t.

  “We could be safer,” she said. She tugged off her engagement ring.

  “Oh, Desi. I didn’t mean anything. It was a joke.”

  “If I go to prison, we’ll really be safe,” she said. She sat down and picked up her fork before she added, “I won’t blame you if give up on me.”

  “When I asked you to marry me, it was with the understanding that we would go through everything together. Everything. For better or worse.” He ignored the food. This conversation was too important.

  “Yeah? That’s so romantic. But this is real life. I used an axe on two human beings. I’m still sore—I can’t even use a tampon. It could be months before I’m ready even physically…and I don’t know if I’ll ever want to again.”

  “Okay. I’m not the enemy.” He showed her his empty palms. “I’m on your side. Don’t buy into his garbage—Sex is not all you were made for.” Eric exhaled carefully and asked, “Does it bother you when I hold your hand?”

  “No. I like it.” She held out the ring. “I think you should take it back until we know what’s going to happen.”

  He started to shake his head, but he changed his mind and accepted it. “I’m going to touch your left hand,” he warned her. He took it gently and slipped the ring back on her finger. “Will you marry me?”

  Her lips curved slightly. “Maybe, someday. I was always a sucker for diamonds.”

  “If we get married, you can’t keep trying to dump me when things get tough.”

  “I didn’t,” she protested but he just gave her a look. “Yeah, okay, I did…a couple of times. Sorry.” She sipped her coffee and took a few bites of egg.

  Eric sat still, making no move toward his breakfast. “I need to ask you something else,” he said.

  “What?” She looked up at him, frowning at his serious tone.

  “At first you denied you were raped, and then you let me go on thinking you couldn’t have killed them. You didn’t tell me you were worried about being pregnant. I didn’t know you were raped when you were fifteen. I’m used to you telling me everything, so it all felt wrong. You’re entitled to whatever privacy you need, but…are you keeping any other secrets I should know about?”

  He was a little afraid she would take offense, but instead she said, “Only one. I’d like you to kiss me.”

  The kiss was a little bit like a middle school attempt—tentative, chaste, fleeting.

  And very sweet.

  Chapter Eight

  In investigating the accident, Deputy Devane questioned McHenry’s widowed mother. He had spoken to her before, to give her the next-of-kin notification before the information was released to the press, and she’d asked for a few hours to notify other family members. She didn’t want them to hear the news as she did, from a strange police officer on the doorstep. On this second visit to her house, she mentioned Fraser sometimes let her other son, Harald, drive the pickup. He had previously been completely under the detectives’ radar. He didn’t have a criminal record. And they hadn’t even known Fraser had a brother.

  Harald McHenry was questioned, and his answers didn’t add up. At first, he insisted his brother had told him the pickup was stolen. Yes, he had driven it in the past, but not for six months or so. He was a little too nervous for the situation, and a dirty bandage was wrapped around his hand. Deputy Devane politely requested he be fingerprinted to rule him out as the driver.

  Yeah, okay, McHenry said, his prints might match, but it didn’t mean anything. Fraser usually wore driving gloves, so even though Harald hadn’t driven it recently, his prints could be on the steering wheel. When Devane told him about the marijuana, he started to sweat. He didn’t do drugs anymore. The marijuana must have been in the pickup for a long time, maybe years. He had done a lot of drugs in the past, but he was clean now. His mother had persuaded him to join a twelve-step program.

  He was arrested for possession anyway.

  And his story unraveled.

  Fraser could not have reported the pickup stolen. He was seen within yards of it only hours before his death. Harald’s tox screen revealed both marijuana and LSD. Yes, okay, he’d had a little relapse after he heard about his brother. He had been high for two weeks, but he sobered up in jail, and things started to come back to him. When he did LSD, he got a little fuzzy about events. He did, after all, remember driving the pickup into the ravine. He had fled the scene because he didn’t want to face a DUI charge, but he’d intended to go back and report the accident when the drugs were out of his system. Which meant he had been doing drugs before his mother told him his brother was dead? Well, yes. Maybe the twelve-step program wasn’t working. He never did go back for the pickup. After all, it wasn’t in anyone’s way, and his brother wouldn’t need it again.

  When it was pointed out to him that in order to take the pickup and drive it into the ravine, he would have had to be near the cabin and presumably seen Andrews and his brother, he “remembered” he had been with them. They had gone into the cabin first, when nobody was home, and a purse was sitting on the table in plain sight. People shouldn’t be so careless. They were asking to be robbed. He didn’t even take what little cash was in it, only the credit card. He had used it in Nickels for gas before he sold it for drug money. He was not a violent man. He would never have hurt anyone. He didn’t like it when Blackie hurt people—after he saw him hit that guy with the axe, he had gone to sit in the pickup and get high.

  Yes, he did see Blackie take the little gal into the cabin, and he knew Fraser was still inside, but he didn’t know anything about what they did to her. He didn’t want to know. Maybe he did help them out by tying her boyfriend up and putting him in the trunk, but nothing else. He waited, but they were gone too long, so he took off.

  This news was delivered to Eric and Desi along with a mug shot of Harald McHenry. He and Fraser weren’t twins, but the couple could see a definite family resemblance. Harald had red hair.

  “He was the one I saw,” Eric said. “Fraser, the blond guy, was inside—which explains why he was right there when Blackie brought you in.”

  ****

  Two days later, one more little fact came to light.

  John Barnes didn’t call. He dropped by the apartment, sat with Eric and Desi at the kitchen table, and accepted a cup of black coffee. “What do you remember now about the axe?” he asked Desi. “Is your memory any clearer?”

  She shook her head. “I think I told you everything I remember.”

  “Are you sure you hit both of them with the axe?”

  “I…yes, I remember both of them.”

  “How did you do it? Demonstrate.”

  She stood and mimed reaching down to pick something up from the floor with her left hand. She raised it above her head, cocked her wrist back, and swung the imaginary axe forward and down.

  “Is that what you remember doing? Are you sure you actually swung the axe at their heads?”

 

1 2 3 4 5 6