Hidden in the Shadows (7 page)

He sighed. “Fine. It’s your decision. Just know this… if you do decide to fight this person, I’ll help you any way I can.”

“I appreciate that; I really do.” Walking him to the door, she said her goodbyes.

Almost before he knew it, he found himself on the sidewalk, staring at his SUV. With a resigned shake of his head, he decided he was more than ready to call it a day. Between Vestra’s revelations and the suicide, he needed to be alone to think. Radioing in to dispatch to let them know he was going home, he pulled onto the street and pointed his vehicle in that direction.

Twenty minutes later, he turned onto the road that led to his house. A couple of years before Julie had gotten sick, they had decided to build their dream home in the hopes that constructing it would repair what was wrong in their marriage. It hadn’t worked. They’d only been in the house a year when Julie had learned she had ALS, commonly known as Lou Gehrig’s disease. That diagnosis had changed their lives forever.

Stopping at the road to get the mail, Wyatt tossed it into the seat beside him and drove down the long driveway. He pulled into the garage and shut off the engine, then grabbed the mail and his travel mug. As he approached the house, he heard a whimper from inside. The sound made him smile, and he opened the door to be greeted by eighty pounds of excited dog. Aptly named Mix, the dog was part German shepherd, part something else. Wyatt bent down to scratch the dog’s belly.

“Hey, buddy. How was your day? Did you and your sister hunt down bad guys and keep the house safe?”

Mix jumped up and dashed ahead of him into the kitchen. Tossing the mail and his mug on the counter, he followed the dog into the kitchen and went to the refrigerator to get a bottle of cold water. Before he could close the door, he heard a soft mewl.

“I wondered when you were going to show up, Match,” he told the orange and white tabby who circled his ankles. Her tail was solid white, except for a dark orange patch at the tip, making the appendage resemble an unlit match. “Did you keep the old guy in line today?” When he moved to the island, the cat leapt up on one of the barstools on the opposite side and then up onto the counter. With a weary sigh, he scooped her up in his arms, where she cuddled and purred.

Carrying the cat, followed by the dog, Wyatt headed upstairs to change out of his work clothes. Once he’d showered and thrown on a t-shirt and worn pair of jeans, he went back to the kitchen to start some supper.

“What sounds good, Mix? Match? How about some broiled salmon with potato and leek soup?”

Mix gave a soft woof which he took for a yes, and he set about making the meal. Cooking had always been one of Wyatt’s outlets for relieving stress. As he chopped the ingredients for the soup, he sipped on a glass of chilled white wine. With Verdi blasting away on the surround system, he felt some of the day’s tension start to fade.

Once the soup was going in the pressure cooker, he sat down at the counter to go through the mail. The small stack of correspondence was mostly bills or solicitations from stores, but one envelope stood out. The paper was a heavier weight than the others, and it didn’t have a return address. A shiver of dread chased across his shoulders as he eyed the missive, and he chided himself for overreacting. Mix, picking up on his unease, came over to lean against his leg with a soft whine.

“It’s okay, boy. Probably an invitation to some social function where they serve dry chicken and drier conversation.”

Finishing the glass of wine, he opened the envelope. As he read the contents, he slowly came up off the barstool. When their meaning sank in, he started cursing.

Chapter Eleven

Sitting at his kitchen bar, Wyatt was in absolute shock. The contents of the letter he’d just opened were very similar to the letter he’d seen at Vestra’s. Only the topic of the blackmail attempt was different. He couldn’t for the life of him figure out how the extortionist had discovered the secret. It certainly wasn’t something he had ever shared with another soul. That someone had managed to ferret out something so private shook him to the core.

Once his initial adrenaline rush had passed and he calmed down enough to think, his common sense quickly reasserted itself. Dinner plans discarded, the salmon left in the fridge, he ran through all his options and finally gave in and called the one person he could rely on for discretion—Ethan. The detective was at home, but assured Wyatt he could be there in less than thirty minutes.

While he waited for Ethan to arrive, Wyatt pulled the ingredients for chocolate chip cookies together and started mixing. The methodical process of following certain steps to create an end product others enjoyed helped him stay calm and center his emotions. By the time Ethan arrived, the first batch was cooling.

Mix alerted him before Ethan ever got out of his truck, and Wyatt met him at the door as he came up the steps. “Come on in.”

Ethan bent to give Mix a good amount of belly scratching, then straightened and followed Wyatt into the kitchen. “You’ve been baking.”

“I have. Take a seat. Do you want some milk and cookies?” Without waiting for a response, Wyatt plunked a plate loaded with warm cookies down in front of him, followed by a tall glass of milk.

“Uh, sure. Sounds good.”

When the timer beeped, Wyatt turned back to the oven and pulled out another tray of cookies. “Have you had dinner?”

“No. What’s going on?”

Wyatt took his time answering, trying to figure out how to tell Ethan what he needed to say. Deciding to cook the salmon, he turned on the broiler, then pulled the ingredients he needed out of the fridge and started prepping the fish. He told Ethan about Vestra’s letter as he worked.

Ethan's surprise showed on his face. “Now, that’s interesting. What do you think the chances are that she’ll just pay it?”

“Unfortunately, I’d say the chances are pretty high.” He put the salmon under the broiler and turned to the pressure cooker.

Draining the glass of milk, Ethan blew out a tense breath. “Well, whoever this person is, they’ve chosen their victims well. Vestra isn’t the only one who got a letter. So did Raven Lynch.”

Wyatt paused in the middle of ladling out bowls of potato soup. “You mean there’s another one?”

“Yeah. Raven came to Beth on Monday.” He filled Wyatt in on the contents of that letter, as well as the forum and the backlash from his family. “Thanks,” he said, accepting a bowl of soup when Wyatt handed it to him. “So I’ve got Maria working on researching the forum.”

“Maria. Damn it.” With careful movements, Wyatt took the salmon out of the oven and plated it. He handed Ethan his, and then took the half-empty bottle of wine out of the cooler. “Do you mind?”

“No, but shouldn’t you eat something? This is excellent, by the way.”

Coming around the island, Wyatt sat down beside the dark-haired detective. He took a couple of bites of the salmon and soup, then pushed them away. “I had a letter waiting for me when I got home this evening.”

For a long moment, Ethan just looked at him. Then, he carefully laid down his fork. “You mean a blackmail letter?”

Wyatt nodded. “That’s exactly what I mean.” He went into the dining room and grabbed the letter. Returning to the kitchen, he handed the letter and envelope to Ethan. He’d placed them in a clear evidence bag, but the body of the letter was still visible. While Ethan read it, Wyatt went to the sink and stood looking out the window into the darkness beyond, hands braced on the edge of the counter. When the detective finished reading, Wyatt could feel the weight of his shocked gaze.

“I don’t …” Ethan paused, then tried again. “I… could I have some water, please?”

“Sure.” Wyatt got him a glass and the pitcher of cold water out of the fridge.

Ethan drank deeply, then asked, “Is it true?” There was no censure in the younger man’s gaze, only concern.

“I don’t know.”

Ethan picked up the letter and read it aloud.

“
With power comes responsibility. A county sheriff is very powerful in his realm. How would it look at election time if your constituents found out you helped cover up your wife’s assisted suicide? What do you think they’ll see as your motivation? $250,000 would go a long way toward keeping the evidence buried. Further instructions will follow soon.
”

Ethan laid down the letter. “Why don’t you tell me the whole story?”

Moving to the French doors that opened onto the deck off the kitchen, Wyatt shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. Mix came over and leaned up against his leg with a soft whine. “You need to go out, buddy?” He opened the door and watched as the dog dashed into the fenced-in side yard.

“You know Julie had ALS. Most everyone believes it killed her. I don’t know if it did, or if she took her own life, but I’ve always suspected the latter.”

“Why’s that?”

He shrugged, and let Mix back in, drying the dog’s damp paws with a towel he kept by the door for that purpose. “I’d gone out of town to a conference up in Indianapolis. Her sister, Marsha, was staying with her while I was gone.”

“That was the weekend she died?”

“Yes.”

“And you think Marsha helped her kill herself?”

He sat down beside Ethan, crossing his arms over his chest with a sigh. “Yeah, I do. I’ve always believed that. Julie was in the care of Hospice by that point. Her arms and hands were pretty near useless. Her speech, her swallowing, they were also starting to really be affected by then. She’d had a feeding tube placed about three weeks before she died, and it really wore on her emotionally. She was down, and I didn’t want to leave her, but she became so agitated when I told her I was staying home, her nurse thought it would be best if I went. I gave in to keep her calm.”

“Okay. And you don’t think she could have managed it herself?”

“No, Ethan. She hadn’t been able to use her hands for at least two months prior to her death.”

“You don’t think it was just the disease running its course?”

Wyatt rubbed a hand over his face. “It could have been, but my gut tells me no.”

“How was it that no one ever questioned her death, then? What about her Hospice nurse?”

Match wandered in just then, and Wyatt got up to feed both animals. “ALS is an unpredictable demon. Julie had sudden onset of her symptoms throughout the illness, most of the time having clusters of them appear, and everyone assumed that’s what happened. Just that the new symptoms were fatal ones. If anyone had suspicions, they never mentioned them to me. Maybe it would have looked odd if her nurse hadn’t been here when Julie had her meltdown about me leaving town, but she was. I always wondered if that—tantrum, I guess—wasn’t one last gift, to protect me in case there were questions. After all, the nurse knew I had wanted to stay.”

Ethan let Match jump into his lap, and he stroked her soft fur for a few minutes before speaking. “Tell me it’s none of my business, but why wouldn’t Julie ask you to help her? If suicide was her goal, I mean. Had she ever mentioned it?”

“No. Not to me.” Wyatt pinched the bridge of his nose. “But then again, our marriage was a shell by that point. I’d never planned on having to talk to anyone about this, and it’s a little tough. It’s embarrassing to have to admit, and I’m ashamed that I’m bothered by it after all these years.”

Ethan frowned. “Why would you be embarrassed? You didn’t play any part in her death, did you?”

Wyatt shook his head. “That’s not the humiliating part. Julie had been having an affair. Up until about nine months before she died, she’d been seriously involved with a doctor in town.” Standing, he moved to the refrigerator and got out a beer. After twisting off the lid, he took a deep pull.

“Damn, I’m sorry.” Ethan shook his head, clearly not sure what else to say.

“It is what it is, son. I wasn’t the world’s best husband.”

The detective was taken aback. “If you tell me you cheated on her, I’m not going to believe it.”

Wyatt’s smile was bitter. “No, I never cheated on her with another woman, but I was neglectful. It takes a lot of energy to be sheriff, especially when I was first elected, and my focus shifted off us and onto the department.”

Ethan snorted. “And she couldn’t whack you over the head and get you to see reason? Bull hockey. If I’ve learned nothing else the last few months, it’s that marriage is a compromise. There is no ‘you’ or ‘me,’ it’s ‘us.’”

“I appreciate the support, more than I can say, but I do carry some responsibility.”

“When did you find out about the affair?” Ethan asked.

He shrugged. “About three months before she died. God, she was bitter. They’d been seeing each other for about three years at that point, and when her illness started progressing, he lost interest.”

“Who was it?”

Wyatt told him, then added, “He left not long after she died, moved to California or Arizona, somewhere out west. In any event, the more pressing problem we have to deal with is what to do about this.” He thumped the letter. “It appears that our populace is in the crosshairs of a well-informed extortionist.”