Paranoid(18)

“Don’t know for certain. But someone with enough strength to hoist her over the rail.”

“Wouldn’t take much . . . just a push and gravity would take over.” Cade studied the smooth wood of the railing, the two spindles that had broken, then peered over the top, to the floor below, where Violet’s body was still sprawled.

“So, she was a friend of Rachel’s?” Kayleigh asked.

“At one time.”

He started down the stairs. “They hung out in high school some, I think, graduated from high school in the same class. Violet gave testimony at the trial.”

“Where Rachel was charged with Luke Hollander’s death.”

“Yeah.”

“And you?”

“I met her once. Ran into her and her husband at an antique car show at Musial Park, oh, maybe seven or eight years ago. We’d taken the kids.”

“She and Rachel weren’t tight, not friends any longer?” Kayleigh asked, a bit of an edge to her voice as they reached the first floor.

“No. Not really friends anymore.” The truth was that Rachel wasn’t close to anyone since high school, but he saw no reason to bring it up as it had nothing to do with the case.

The ME was finished and EMTs were getting ready to bag the body. His guts twisted as he took a final look at Violet, her face almost unrecognizable, her body bloodied, her broken limbs at impossible angles, her eyes covered with that thick mask.

Who the hell had done this?

Who wanted her dead?

And why?

“Let’s go talk with the husband.” With Kayleigh following, he walked out to the front yard, where the ground smelled damp and earthy, but the rain had stopped. For the moment, the storm had abated.

*

It was weird not to have to go into work. Rachel had held some kind of a job since she’d been in high school, first working as a waitress, then later as a clerk at the bank, and then, even though pregnant with Harper, she’d discovered she had a proclivity for technology and had ridden the tech wave, learning through classes at the community college and online study. Her most recent employment had been as the bookkeeper/computer specialist for a local hardware store that had been bought out by a national chain with their own computer system and accounting department and she was let go.

So she should be able to find another job quickly, she hoped, or find a way to make her side business more lucrative. She’d also flirted with the idea of moving away, maybe to Portland or Seattle, but wouldn’t consider it until the kids were out of high school. Three more years. Harper would be a senior next year, Dylan a sophomore. And she did consult as a technical advisor, a fledgling operation with half a dozen clients that she might have to bolster. She had some savings, but that would go quickly once Harper started college.

Don’t even go there; she’s got to get through high school first.

She poured herself another cup of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table, opening up her iPad and sweeping through her e-mail. No job offers. Then, she saw the tab for news and opened to the local paper.

She was raising her cup to her lips when she read the headline:



TWENTY-YEAR-OLD-MYSTERY STILL HAUNTS TOWN



WHO KILLED LUKE HOLLANDER?



By Mercedes Pope





“What?” Rachel’s heart nearly stopped; she set the cup down with trembling hands and coffee sloshed onto the mail scattered over the tabletop. She didn’t care, barely noticed. She focused on the two photographs accompanying the text. The head shot was one of Luke’s senior pictures, many of which still graced her mother’s mantel. The second was a damning image snapped by a photographer that night that showed Ned helping Rachel into the back of a cruiser. Her face was turned, in profile, horror evident on her features, while her father was solemn beside her, holding the door open, both of them oddly illuminated by the lights from the police vehicles.

“Oh, God. No.” She shook her head as she scanned the article and her thoughts raced. Why would Mercedes do this? Why hadn’t she called, given Rachel a heads-up?

But she did call. And text. Remember? You assumed it was about the reunion and elected not to reply.

Her stomach did a nosedive. She read the story three times even though she knew all the salient facts; she’d lived them: Stupid kids playing a dangerous game at the old warehouse. Someone noticing and calling the police to report trespassers. The cops arriving and finding one of the boys near death, struck by the bullet of a real gun supposedly fired by his half sister. That girl being arrested. That girl being her.

Rachel couldn’t stop tears from filling her eyes, couldn’t stop the guilt that burrowed deep in her heart. Nor could she tamp down the anger that she felt creeping in, a dark fury that someone she’d thought of as a friend would do this. To her. To her parents. To her children. But then Mercedes, who’d gone by Mercy then, had never been one to pull punches, had she? And she’d never liked Luke. She’d been one of the few of Rachel’s friends who had seen through Luke’s smile and bravado.

She looked away and cleared her throat.

Even if Mercedes had called to warn her, the article felt like a betrayal. For God’s sake, Mercedes had been at the cannery that night, a willing participant, like so many classmates and recent graduates.

Twenty years had passed and it seemed like yesterday.