Candy Apple Dead (14 page)

“It was about seven, I guess. We thought it would be safe since everyone would be at the meeting.” The lights flickered again, and Elizabeth pulled two candles from the junk drawer. “It wasn’t what you’re thinking, Abby. He said he needed help with something. Something important.”

I wanted to slap a little common sense into her, but I was probably too late. “So was it all that important?”

“I don’t know. He was waiting outside in the parking lot when I got there and said he had to meet somebody else instead.”

I could have told her not to feel bad. That was more than he’d done for me. “So you didn’t actually talk to him?”

She shook her head. “I wouldn’t even have met him if he hadn’t sounded so strange when he called. I really believed he needed my help.”

If Brandon was in trouble, why would he turn to
her
for help? A selfish little voice inside wondered
Why not me?
But I ignored it. The point was that Brandon had called Elizabeth, a married woman whose husband wasn’t exactly Father Peace. He must have known that meeting her would mean trouble, so why her? “You have no idea what he wanted help with?”

“None. He said he’d tell me later, and then he left. I came home. The next thing I knew, that idiot Nate Svboda was on the phone telling Wyatt about the fire.”

I guess I had my answer about that middle-of-the-night phone call. Nate must have known about Elizabeth’s relationship with Brandon, but it rankled that Wyatt would tell Nate and not say a word to me.

“Why did Nate think Wyatt should know about the fire?”

“How should I know? Maybe so he could celebrate.” Bitterness filled her voice and pinched her expression, but I still couldn’t work up a lot of sympathy for her.

I had to force out my next question. “Do
you
think Wyatt killed Brandon?”

Elizabeth lifted her chin and looked me square in the eye. “Honestly? I don’t know. I don’t want to think so, but there are times when I wonder. He didn’t come home until late that night, and he refused to tell me where he’d been. He’s always had a temper. You know that. But lately . . .” She let her voice trail away.

I could have said a thousand different things, but I didn’t want to make it easy on her, so we sat there listening to the wind blow. Part of me wished that I’d left well enough alone. That I’d stayed back at Divinity stocking the shelves, ordering supplies, trying new recipes, or trying to perfect the old. Maybe that’s why Aunt Grace thought spending time in the candy kitchen was so therapeutic.

“Look,” Elizabeth said after a while. “I know I made a mistake getting so involved with Brandon. I just kept telling myself that we were friends. It didn’t seem right for Wyatt to dictate who I could and couldn’t be friends with. But I guess you’re right. I lied to him. That has to mean something, doesn’t it?”

I certainly thought so. Her involvement with Brandon and her lack of faith in Wyatt suddenly made me itchy to get away. At least now I understood all the sly glances and thinly veiled hints I’d been tripping over in town. I could even understand, in a twisted sort of way, why Jawarski considered my brother a suspect.

Standing abruptly, I turned toward the door. “What time is Wyatt bringing the boys back?”

“By eight. They have school tomorrow. Do you want me to tell him to call you?”

I shook my head. “He won’t do it, and if he knows I’ve been talking to you, he’ll work even harder to avoid me when I call him. I’d rather catch him off-guard.”

I told myself that Elizabeth couldn’t really doubt Wyatt’s innocence. If she had, she wouldn’t have let him take the boys. Whatever her faults, she’s always been a good mother. But my visit with her had left me melancholy.

As I started to step outside again, one more question occurred to me. “Did Brandon ever tell you anything about his past? Where he came from? His family?”

Elizabeth looked startled, but she shook her head. “He never talked about the past with me. Only the future.”

After she shut the door between us, I wondered if she and Wyatt would get past this. Part of me hoped they would, but if he couldn’t forgive her and move on with their lives, I’d understand completely. I’d been there and done that, and I had the emotional scars to prove it. The truth was, I didn’t know if
I’d
be able to look at her the same way after this, and I didn’t know what any of this would do to the kids.

Hunching my shoulders against the driving rain, I tried not to slip in the mud as I ran for the Jetta. For the first time ever, I felt a flash of relief that Roger and I hadn’t had children. I’d wanted children of my own so desperately for a while, the relief I felt now seemed wrong. But I was relieved. Maybe we’d made a mess of our marriage, but at least the only people we’d damaged had been ourselves.

I wished I could say the same thing for Wyatt and Elizabeth.

Rain-drenched and aching inside, I leaned my
forehead against the Jetta’s steering wheel and tried to ignore the guilt I felt over not saying hello to Dana and Danielle while I was inside. I probably should have gone upstairs and spent a few minutes, but they weren’t even speaking to their own parents, and they hardly knew me. I wasn’t sure I could give them what they needed right now, but I was pretty sure caramel apples weren’t going to be enough.

Sheets of water ran down the windshield and the rain-heavy air landed hard in my lungs. Anger made it even more difficult to breathe. After a while, I realized that Elizabeth was probably watching me, and the overwhelming need to get away before Wyatt came back washed away everything else.

I needed to talk to him, but not here.

Battling a headache, I started the car, shifted into reverse, and stomped on the gas. My tires spun in the mud for a few seconds, then caught and shot me backwards toward the road. I had half a second to enjoy the satisfaction before my neck snapped forward, and the horrifying sounds of metal and shattering glass filled the car. A sharp pain ping-ponged around inside my head, and my neck felt as if someone had tried to wring it.

I shoved the gear shift into park and glanced at the dashboard clock, thinking that Wyatt must have come back a few minutes early. Great. If I thought he’d been in a foul mood before, just wait. On the plus side, maybe I wouldn’t have to explain why I was here—at least at first. He’d be too busy yelling at me.

I fumbled for the door handle just as a pair of denim-clad legs appeared in my window and a deep voice demanded, “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?”

I’m sure it occurred to me on some level that the voice was too deep to be Wyatt’s, but I shrugged it off. I opened the door, misjudged the distance, and bashed it straight into the legs in front of me. With a groan, I shut it again and rolled down the window. “Look, I’m sorry, but don’t wig out on me, okay? I didn’t see you back there.”

“How could you see me, Ms. Shaw? You didn’t even look.”

Recognition froze me solid. I swore under my breath and felt the half-bottle of beer I’d swallowed in Elizabeth’s kitchen churning in my stomach. I craned to see out my rear window and realized that I’d bashed in the front of an obviously new Blazer belonging to one very unhappy cop.

Those aren’t ideal circumstances, no matter who you are. They’re even worse when the cop thinks you’re an accessory to murder. I’d have crawled into a hole gladly if one had opened up for me. The thought crossed my mind to put the Jetta into gear and make a run for it, but that might be a little difficult with Jawarski’s Chevy attached to my bumper.

Upstairs, the blind in the twins’ bedroom twitched. That meant that at least one of my young, impressionable nieces was watching, so I gathered as much dignity as I could and hauled myself back out into the rain. “There’s no need to get nasty, Jawarski. I didn’t hit you on purpose.”

“For your sake, I hope not. You want to tell me where you were going in such a hurry?”

“Home,” I said, doing my best not to breathe on him. “It’s been a long day, and I’m cold, wet, and tired. You want to tell me what you’re doing here?”

“Not especially.” He strolled to the back of my car and looked at the damage. “Have you ever thought of looking over your shoulder before you step on the gas?”

Deep down inside, a voice whispered not to antagonize him, but that cautious voice has never had a lot of influence over me. “Novel concept,” I said around a pseudo-sweet smile. “I’ll have to try it one of these days.”

The look he shot me could have carved stone. “All I can say is you’d better have insurance.”

Rain plastered my hair to my head and water snaked down my neck, soaking my clothes. “Well, of course I do,” I snapped. “I’m not completely irresponsible.” I jerked my head toward the house where Elizabeth had appeared in the open doorway, watching us. “Do you mind if I get in out of the rain, or is keeping me out here part of my punishment?”

He rolled his eyes and waved me off.

I started away, but that stupid inner voice of mine reminded me that I had caused the accident. Impatient with myself for feeling guilty, I turned back toward him. My feet slipped on the mud, and only a miracle kept me from landing on my butt. “You might as well come with me. There’s nothing you can do out here except get yourself worked up.”

He didn’t even look at me. “I’ll be fine.”

“Suit yourself. Do you want me to call somebody?”

“Sure. How about your insurance agent?”

“First thing in the morning. Don’t worry so much, Jawarski. Your Blazer will be like new in no time.”

I sloshed toward the house, toed off my muddy shoes, and slipped past Elizabeth into the kitchen for the second time in less than an hour. She shooed me down the hall into the bathroom, disappeared for a minute, and returned with one of Wyatt’s clean T-shirts. Grudgingly grateful, I toweled my hair dry, stripped off my wet blouse, and slipped the T-shirt over my head. My jeans were soaked through, but I wasn’t about to lose those with Jawarski lurking about.

The homey scents of detergent and bleach filled the air around me, and sadness crept into my heart. Why would a woman who had all of this let herself be taken in by a man like Brandon? Hadn’t Wyatt loved her enough? Or had he loved her too much? Maybe this wasn’t the life she really wanted, although twenty years seemed like a long time to pretend.

Tired and confused, I tossed the towel over the side of the bathtub, and skimmed a glance at my reflection in the mirror. My hair stuck out at all angles, and my face looked as pale as powdered sugar. Good thing I wasn’t trying to impress anybody.

Back in the kitchen, Elizabeth had made fresh coffee, and a waterlogged Jawarski sat at the table, his face tight, his expression pinched. Neither spoke when I entered the room, and I wondered if they’d fallen silent when they heard me coming or if they were both trying to pretend he wasn’t here to dig at her secrets.

I didn’t want to sit with Jawarski, but I wasn’t going to stand up all night, either. Pretending a nonchalance I didn’t feel, I dragged a chair from the table and plopped myself into it.

He grunted and slid a glance in my direction. “Don’t get any big ideas about leaving. The sheriff’s department is sending someone to investigate.”

“It’s a fender bender.”

“It’s an accident, and I’m a member of the police department. We’ll go by the book, Ms. Shaw.”

“Fine.” I accepted a cup of coffee from Elizabeth. The heat on my hands made me realize just how cold I really was. When I saw that the beer bottles had mysteriously disappeared, I flashed a silent thank-you at my sister-in-law. Realizing that I might still have alcohol on my breath, I lunged forward and pulled a bag of tortilla chips from the counter. Half a beer might not register on a Breathalyzer, but why take chances?

Besides, it was already after eight o’clock, and I was starving. I tend to eat under stress, which may explain the extra baggage I’m carrying on my hips, and I was definitely under stress now. “How long do you think we’ll have to stay here?”

Jawarski scowled at the mug he cradled between both hands. “I have no idea.”

He fell silent again, and I decided not to push him into conversation. But the dark looks he lasered at me from under that thick swag of eyebrows said more than enough. Elizabeth excused herself to check on the girls. I chewed a few chips and watched the second hand on the kitchen clock go around in circles. I lasted ten solid minutes before I just couldn’t stand the silence any longer.

“Look,” I said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hit you.”

Jawarski dragged his gaze away from the window and settled it on me with all the enthusiasm of a kid who’s just been given a plate of Brussels sprouts.

“It was an accident,” I said. “By definition, that’s something that doesn’t happen on purpose.”

“Ms. Shaw—”

“Would you please call me Abby? Ms. Shaw is way too formal.”

He didn’t make any promises.