Dying to Tell (32 page)

“No,” Sadie said. “I thought she’d come back here.”

Sadie tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear, hoping she didn’t look as shaken as she felt.

“How are you doing?” Ms. Lettie asked.

“Better. The drugs are finally wearing off.”

“Ms. Lettie, do you have any idea where Amelia would go?” Jake asked.

The older woman tugged her shawl around her shoulders. “The only place I could think of was here.”

Jake shifted, back in work mode. “What about Viola? Did she have a lover that she might turn to?”

Ms. Lettie pursed her lips. “Viola didn’t bring men back to the house.”

“Not even to the studio?” Sadie asked.

Ms. Lettie shook her head no. “Not that I knew of.”

Jake’s phone jangled, and he jerked it from his belt and checked the number. “I need to take this. Ms. Lettie, can you take care of Sadie? I have to go back to work.”

“Of course,” Ms. Lettie said.

Jake paused at the door, his gaze meeting Sadie’s. “Call me if you hear from your sister.”

Sadie didn’t want him to go. But she couldn’t stop him.

Without another word, he rushed from the room. Sadie’s heart sank as he left.

For a moment when she’d been in his arms, the two of them loving each other, she’d thought that he still loved her.

But that had just been a fantasy.

She had to find Amelia and settle things with her, make sure she was safe. Then she had to leave before she confessed her true feelings to Jake.

Because even if he did love her, once he found out the truth, she would lose him.

Jake tensed as he stepped onto Sadie’s porch to take the call.

His deputy’s voice boomed over the line. “Sheriff, we just got a nine-one-one call from a couple of kids out at Wells Valley. Said they think a man’s dead. They sound pretty shaken up.”

Wells Valley—why did that sound familiar?

He snapped his fingers as it hit him. That was where Emanuel Giogardi lived.

“You want me to check it out?” Mike asked.

“No, I’ll go. Did you find anything on that tat?”

“Nothing specific, but it’s similar to some Marine Corps ones that popped up. I’ll keep looking.”

“Thanks. I have another assignment for you.”

“What?”

“Amelia Nettleton escaped the mental hospital,” Jake said. “I want you to go to that bar in case she shows up there.”

Mike cursed under his breath. “You’ve got to be shittin’ me.”

“No, I’m not,” Jake said. “She’s on the loose, and she might be dangerous.”

“Hell, yes, she’s dangerous,” Mike muttered.

“Then do your job and protect the citizens in town,” Jake said. “And Mike?”

“What?”

“Don’t sleep with her this time.”

Mike hissed. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

“Don’t hurt her either,” Jake added as he climbed into his car.

He didn’t give Mike time to comment. He hung up, hurried to his car, and left Sadie’s, desperate to forget what had just happened between them.

Because he wanted to go back and finish what they’d started. Forget the pain between them, forget her sister, forget this case, and make love to her all night.

The rain had stopped, but the wind had intensified, the temperature dropping, making the mountain roads hazardous with black ice.

Weather advisories urged people to stay off the road, but a few people were still out, crawling along the highway. He flipped on his siren, weaving around them and passing over Slaughter Creek Bridge. A deer ran in front of his car as he neared Wells Valley, and he braked, then swerved and skimmed the guardrail to avoid hitting the animal.

Needing to ground himself, he phoned home, but Gigi said Ayla had already gone to bed. He grimaced, hating that he’d missed dinner and bedtime with her. “I’ll be there for breakfast with her in the morning,” he said.

Gigi assured him it was no problem, but guilt still nagged at him as he hung up. Ayla’s mother had deserted her. He didn’t want her to ever think that he had.

He turned down a dirt road, noting how desolate and dark the area was. A couple of run-down shanties sat on the side of the mountain, and another one was visible in the valley, exactly where he needed to be. A rusty Jeep on three wheels was parked in the yard, a black pickup beside it.

Tension knotted his shoulders as he wove down the mountain toward it, then slowed to a stop and climbed out. He felt for his gun, hoping he wouldn’t need it, then eased up the stoop. A porch swing creaked in the wind, and he glanced over and saw two teenage boys on the porch.

“I’m Sheriff Blackwood,” he said. “You boys made that nine-one-one call?”

The boys nodded.

“What’s your name?”

“Billy Marvin,” the tall, lanky one said. “This here’s my brother, Dewey.”

“What were you doing out here?” Jake asked.

The boys looked sheepish and exchanged a look, as if they knew they were in trouble.

“Look, you’d best be honest,” Jake said. “Did you know the man who lived here?”

The boys shook their heads, then Billy piped up. “No, but we heard he was a hunter, that he had a bunch of guns, and we wanted to look at them.”

“And did you?” Jake asked.

“No, sir,” Billy said.

Dewey was shaking all over and looked pale, and Jake realized that the younger boy had thrown up over the railing.

“We heard he kept the guns in his garage,” Billy said. “So we snuck around to the side. That’s when I saw the blood through the window.”

“But you didn’t go inside?” Jake asked.

Billy shook his head. “No. Dewey got scared and started to run, but I was afraid someone would see us, so I made him wait in the bushes.”

“Did you see anyone around the house when you got here?”

“No,” they both said.

“What happened next?” Jake asked.

Billy pointed to the house. “I saw the body—a man’s, slumped over.”

Jake gave them a stern look. “Wait here, guys. I’ll check out the inside.”

Jake entered cautiously, the scent of blood and excrement filling the air as he inched inside.

Billy was right. Blood was everywhere. On the floor, the walls, the kitchen table. The man’s brain matter had been splattered along with it.

The stench was almost unbearable.

The body was stiff too, in full rigor, already starting to decay.

Jake spotted a notepad on the table, speckled with blood as well. Careful not to touch it, he leaned closer to take a look.

It was handwritten. A suicide note.

Jake heaved a sigh. What the hell was going on?

He noticed something on Giogardi’s arm, then pushed up his shirtsleeve. He had the same tattoo as Herbert Foley.

Dammit. Slaughter Creek had once been a safe little town, but in the past week, it had seen more deaths than there had been in years.

Deaths that were all connected to the clinic and sanitarium. To Dr. Coker and Dr. Sanderson.

Deaths that all led back to Amelia and Sadie.

Sadie missed Jake already. But she had to be strong. Had to find Amelia before something bad happened to her.

“Honey, are you sure you’re all right?” Ms. Lettie asked.

Sadie sipped the tea Ms. Lettie had brought her. “Yes, I’m feeling much better now.” Except she couldn’t stop thinking about how wonderful it had felt to be with Jake.

And how much she wanted to kiss him again. To make love to him.

“Ms. Lettie, you’ve been with Amelia and Papaw for the past few years. How did Amelia seem lately?”

Ms. Lettie tugged at her shawl. “As long as she was on her meds, she was okay. A little depressed, but not violent.” She gestured toward Sadie’s teacup and the plate of toast she’d made her. “Can I get you anything else, hon? How about something more to eat?”

“No, thanks, my stomach couldn’t handle anything but toast.” Sadie stretched, feeling marginally better. “I just want to rest tonight. Why don’t you go on home?”

“But what about Amelia?”

Sadie tried to swallow her fear, but images of Amelia in trouble, desperate, hurt, taunted her. “Jake is looking for her. And if she comes back here, I’ll be waiting.”

“But I should be here to take care of her if she shows up,” Ms. Lettie argued.

Sadie squeezed the woman’s hands. “Thanks, Ms. Lettie—if I need you, I’ll call.”

Ms. Lettie studied her for a long minute, then conceded and tottered toward the door. Sadie climbed from bed and peeked through the window, watching as Ms. Lettie drove away. For once, she was glad the woman had kept her own small house in town and wasn’t here hovering over her.

She went to the bathroom and washed her face, then yanked on her shoes and jacket and tiptoed down the stairs. She grabbed a flashlight to light her way along the stone path to the guesthouse.

The moment she entered, she knew that Amelia had been there. The scent of her lavender bath gel filled the air, mingling with the strong odor of her oil paints.

Was she still here, hiding and waiting for Sadie?

“Amelia?” she whispered.

She flipped on a lamp on the side table, bathing the dark room in a soft golden glow. But her gaze latched onto the painting in the studio, one that hadn’t been there before.

It was a morose rendition of the river and the old mill where Jake’s father was buried. Only this was much more disturbing. Not only were the colors dark, drab grays and blacks, but the grave had been dug up, and bones were scattered along the riverbank.

Was this her sister’s way of working out her guilt?

The threat Sadie had received earlier taunted her.

Or had someone witnessed them burying Blackwood’s body ten years ago?

They were all getting too damn close to the truth.

Now Amelia had escaped, and that fucking Sadie was poking around.

Jake was crawling in bed with the bitch, getting suckered in by her again. He wouldn’t give up until he uncovered the truth.

He couldn’t let that happen.

Amelia and Sadie had to die.

J
ake studied the suicide note, debating on whether or not to believe it. Emanuel could have been forced to write it.

And to blow out his own brains.

But how?

He lifted the man’s hands. Examining them for powder burns, he saw residue. The gun had definitely been in Giogardi’s hands when he’d fired it.