You Don't Want To Know

Chapter 21


“Dear God, you scared the hell out of me!” Ava cried, one hand flying to her throat. The man in the doorway wasn’t some sinister figure hell-bent to scare the wits out of her but the ranch hand her husband had hired.

“Didn’t mean to,” Dern said, his gaze drifting from her face to the tiny pair of shoes dangling from her fingers and dripping salt water onto the carpet.

“They’re Noah’s,” she said. “I found them here, on the floor near his closet.”

“But they’re wet.”

“Salt water,” she said, her throat tight. What had Tanya said? What if someone really wants you to believe you’re going off the rails . . . way off the rails?

Well, that someone was doing a damned fine job of it. But who would do something so cruel, so pointedly painful? And why? If someone was definitely trying to freak her out, they were doing a damned good job of it. She thought of the people who lived here, all of whom had access to this room. Her stomach knotted as she remembered her argument with Jewel-Anne and her fight with Jacob, though they weren’t the only suspects, just the two who shot to the top of the list.

“Are you all right?”

“Do I look all right?”

One side of his mouth lifted. “I think you’re a whole lot tougher than you give yourself credit for.”

She only wished it were so.

Dern took one little sneaker from her hand and sniffed it. “You’re right. Salt water.”

“Someone put them here. Wanted me to find them.”

“Why?” He seemed genuinely confused.

“So I’d seem crazy. Or crazier.”

“Who?”

“Damned good question.” She snorted a little and wrapped her arms around herself. “I’m not the most popular person on the island.”

“But you’re the boss. Everyone here has to report to you.”

“Except for my relatives.”

Dern placed the wet shoe on a side table, walked to the closet, and opened the door. All of Noah’s clothes were hanging on tiny hangers or folded into the shelves built into the closet. His shoes were placed in a neat row, none out of place, no space left for the wet red Nikes.

“Is everything else where it’s supposed to be?”

After placing the second shoe down beside the first, noting the pair made a wet smudge on the table’s glossy, recently dusted top, she walked to the closet and resisted touching the little outfits her baby had worn. “I think so. I haven’t looked in here in a long, long while . . . not since I went to—” She caught herself just as the name of St. Brendan’s was about to roll off her tongue. “Before I left for a while.”

She wasn’t kidding anyone. No doubt Dern had heard the rumors that she’d spent time in a psychiatric ward, but she wasn’t going to confirm them. At least not yet.

“Why would anyone do this?” He was shaking his head, his dark eyebrows drawing together, one hand rubbing at the stubble along his jawline as he thought. “Maybe it was an accident.”

“An accident? Someone accidentally had my son’s shoes and dropped them in the ocean and then brought them up here and left them neatly by the closet?” she asked, unable to hide the sarcasm in her tone. “No, someone deliberately did this. Left them where I would find them.”

“Why?” he asked again.

“I don’t know. It’s some kind of sick prank!” Anger crawled up her back as she picked up the shoes and started for the door. “Don’t you see? Someone’s getting their kicks by tormenting me.”

He caught her elbow with his hand. “Don’t.”

“Why the hell not?” she snapped, fury and frustration burning through her.

“Because there’s bad news.”

“You mean more bad news,” she threw out, but her sarcasm died on her lips when she saw how serious he’d become. His eyes were somber and dark. “What?”

“I got a call from Ian. That’s why I came to the house, to find you.”

She waited, a new anxiety building.

“He said that you know a woman named Cheryl Reynolds.”

“I do.”

His grip on her arm tightened slightly and his jaw tightened a bit. “She’s dead, Ava,” he said softly.

“What?” The small shoes fell to the floor, thumping and bumping along the gallery.

“It looks like she may have been killed.”

“Murdered?” Cold despair slid through her guts. “No . . . this . . . is wrong.” She wouldn’t believe it. “Another sick, twisted idea of a joke!”

“I don’t think so,” he said, and her anger slid away. “I called a friend I know at the marina. He said rumors are flying, and he saw cop cars and an ambulance race up the hill earlier.”

This had to be wrong. Had to! “But I just saw her,” she protested even as she remembered hearing the distant wail of sirens earlier.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“No . . . I don’t want to hear this . . .” She couldn’t, wouldn’t believe that Cheryl was dead. No, not just dead, but murdered? Heart drumming, denial pounding through her brain, she dug her cell phone from her pocket and started to call Ian when the phone rang in her hand.

Tanya’s name and number came up on the screen.

“Hello?”

“Oh, God, Ava, did you hear?” Tanya jumped in. “About Cheryl? That someone killed her? Right in her own home?” She was frantic, and the pit in Ava’s stomach turned sour. “I can’t believe it, just can’t. Nothing like this ever happens in Anchorville!”

“Slow down,” Ava suggested, though Tanya was only voicing her own thoughts. “You’re serious?”

“As a heart attack!”

“Okay . . . okay, so what happened?”

“No one knows. The cops are being pretty closemouthed, but I hear things, y’know, at the salon, and it sounds like some intruder just walked in and killed her. God. My client, well, Ida Sterns, tends to exaggerate, but she said they found Cheryl in her basement with her cats all around. One of them was even lapping up her blood!”

“Ugh!”

“But it’s true that Cheryl’s dead, Ava, and someone freakin’ killed her!” Tanya seemed near to hyperventilating. “The whole town’s on edge, just like they were when Lester Reece escaped from Sea Cliff. It’s nuts! Oh, Lord, I’ve got to run and pick up the kids, but . . . I know you see Cheryl. I just thought you should know. Oh, I’m getting another call. Shit! It’s Russell! Just what I need! God, what does he want? Oh, crap. He probably heard about Trent.”

“What about Trent?” Ava headed downstairs and into the foyer, toward the tall windows flanking the door. Dern was right behind her and stopped when she did. She looked through the glass to the gray day beyond. Across the water, the town of Anchorville was spread upon the shore, and there were strobing red lights on the hill near Cheryl’s house.

Dear God.

Tanya was still talking about Trent. “We just had a couple of drinks. NBD. Look I’ve got to go!” And with that she clicked off.

Numb, Ava turned to Dern. Something must have shown in her face because he grabbed her arm again, steadying her. “I’m sorry,” he said, and as he stared down at her, his fingers warm through her sleeve, she flashed on her dream. She remembered the stranger in her bed, the imagined lover sliding over her naked body with his own, the strength of him pressed against her abdomen, the fire of intense, hard-edged sexual desire shining in his eyes. The hands that had splayed over her spine, fingertips touching the cleft in her buttocks, had been strong, determined, and now, standing in this room, she felt that same wanton desire that he’d evoked, a curiosity about his prowess in the bedroom, a need to experience all that he’d promised.

If only in her mind.

She drew her arm from his clasp and put some space between them. “It’s just so hard to believe,” she said, clearing her throat and knowing her embarrassment was evident in the heat of her cheeks. She thought of Cheryl again and realized how little she really knew about her. She’d been married twice, but Cheryl had never mentioned that she’d had children, nor had Ava ever seen any pictures of children mounted on the walls or placed upon the small tables of Cheryl’s studio. “I just don’t understand why anyone would want to harm her.”

“That’s always the question,” he said as they heard the elevator hum to life, and soon Jewel-Anne and Demetria met them in the foyer.

“Did you hear?” Jewel-Anne asked. She was ashen, her eyes round behind her thick glasses.

“About Cheryl?” Ava asked. “Yes.”

“It’s so unbelievable . . . But it’s all over the news.” Jewel-Anne was fingering her iPhone.

“You knew Cheryl?” Ava asked, and was rewarded with a perturbed look.

“Anchorville’s a small town, Ava. Of course I knew her. Everyone did.” She bit her lip. “Does anyone know where Jacob is? Is he on the island? He’d want to know.” Before anyone answered, her fingers were flying over the tiny keyboard as she, presumably, texted her brother.

“It’s awful,” Demetria whispered, shaking her head as if to deny the tragedy. “There hasn’t been a murder around here in years. Since Lester Reece was convicted. You don’t . . . think he’s come back, do you?”

“No!” Khloe cut in quickly, coming from the kitchen.

Jewel-Anne stiffened in her chair. “I doubt it,” she said. “He . . . he just seemed to disappear.”

“Probably with help from his daddy,” Khloe cut in.

Was it Ava’s imagination or did Dern’s mouth tighten, almost imperceptibly? In a heartbeat, the expression had vanished, just like Reece had years before. Despite the rumored sightings of Anchorville’s most infamous criminal, Lester Reece had either died or somehow managed to elude the police. If it was the latter, then Khloe was right. If Reece had escaped justice, no doubt he’d turned to his tight-knit family. Reece was the son of a local judge who had finally stepped down amid rumors of adultery and graft, but he’d denied his son nothing. Privileged and handsome, Lester had also had a cruel streak that had eventually escalated to murder. Though Reece had been convicted, his clever, high-priced attorney had found psychiatrists who declared him to be mentally unstable and he’d ended up at Sea Cliff rather than behind prison bars. He’d escaped from the hospital and his disappearance had cost the hospital administrator, Ava’s uncle Crispin, his job.

“He was seen recently,” Demetria insisted. “By Corvin Hobbs. Just a few months ago.”

“Who would believe Corvin?” Jewel-Anne said curtly. It was true. A local fisherman, Hobbs was known for his tall tales and affinity for Johnnie Walker.

“Looks like we’ve got company,” Demetria said as she peered through the window.

Ava followed her gaze and saw a boat cutting through the water, its wake a white, churning tail. She recognized the family craft with several people inside. Not far behind was a second boat boldly marked as belonging to the sheriff’s department.

As the first boat slowed before pulling into the boathouse, Ava recognized Ian at the helm. With him were his twin, Wyatt, and, of course, Evelyn McPherson.

They had just disembarked when the boat from the sheriff’s department pulled up to the dock. A woman helmed the craft. With her was Detective Wesley Snyder. The only person missing was the sheriff.

“Perfect,” Ava said, glancing up at Dern. “Looks like we’re going to host a party.”

“Wonder why?” His scowl was deep.

“Because they all figured out that I saw Cheryl yesterday. They probably hope that I saw something that will help with the investigation.” Deciding to get out of the line of fire, Ava headed for the stairs to the second floor.

Dern followed. “It may be more than that,” he said as he joined her in the upper hallway.

“Meaning?”

“Maybe you were the last person to see her alive.”

“You think they might consider me a suspect?” Ava asked in disbelief. “I hardly knew her.”

“I don’t know. But someone’s messing with you. Big-time.”

She heard a step on the landing and saw Graciela, dust rag in her hand, wiping down the stair railings. She, too, was staring out the windows as the entourage from the boat landing walked up the hill to the house. “What’s going on?” she asked.

“Looks like we have company,” Ava said.

“And the shoes?” Graciela swept Noah’s sneakers from the floor. “What’re they doing here?”

“I found them. In his room.”

“Wet?” Graciela asked, eyeing Ava as if she were untrustworthy.

“Yes.”

“But they weren’t in the closet?” She seemed confused as she lifted the tiny Nikes by their heels.

“No! Not in the closet.” Ava snagged the shoes dangling from the maid’s fingers.

“But why?”

“Oh my God!” Khloe’s voice preceded her footsteps, and when she rounded the corner below them, she was stuffing her phone into the pocket of her sweater. “Why didn’t you tell me about the murder?” she demanded of Ava.

“I just found out myself.”

“Ian called me a few minutes ago,” Dern explained as he and Ava retraced their footsteps downstairs.

Ava brushed past Khloe and opened the door. Wyatt was just climbing the front steps. “I’ve got bad news,” he said, his face grim as he walked inside and brushed a kiss across her cheek. He smelled of the ocean and something else . . . the slight tinge of cigarette smoke.

“We heard,” she said as the twins arrived behind him. Trent gave her a bear hug. Of all of her cousins, he was the closest to her.

“What a mess,” he said as Ian and McPherson stepped through the door. “Ian says you knew the victim.”

“Everyone did.” Ava shut the door behind them. “Cheryl lived in Anchorville for years.”

Unzipping his jacket, Trent said, “But I thought Ian mentioned that you saw her professionally?”

So much for keeping things to herself, Ava thought, and caught Dern staring at her. “I thought hypnosis might make me remember and . . . and that maybe I would recall something that might help me find Noah.” So now the secret was out.

Wyatt zeroed in on the shoes dangling from Ava’s fingers. “What’re these?” Lines of concern and frustration etched his forehead. “Noah’s?”

“I found them in his room. They’re wet. Salt water.”

“What?” he whispered.

“Someone put them there. For me to trip over.”

“Why would anyone . . . ?” At the sound of footsteps on the porch, he said, “We’ll talk about this later.” The doorbell chimed hollowly. “Right now, we’ve got to deal with the police.”