Love Me If You Must (18 page)

 
30

I ran a hot shower, hoping to calm my nerves and get some sleep. But later, as I lay on my cot, I couldn’t banish the day’s events.

The whole town knew about my grandmother. And they all thought I killed Martin Dietz.

My self-preservation instinct told me to never leave the house again. Order my groceries in, finish the renovations, and get out of town fast.

But the rebel in me said, Hold your head up. Don’t let anybody run you out of Rawlings.

Tonight I sided with the rebel. But who knew? Maybe tomorrow I’d go along with the preservationist.

A train whistle blew in the distance. The faint rumble grew louder and louder until the whole house shook from the vibration of fully loaded boxcars flying past on narrow steel rails.

I imagined I lay in a hole in the cistern, damp sand and lumpy pebbles beneath me. A layer of wet, slimy cement mix covered me, getting thicker and thicker as it hardened. Yet with each lurch of the train, the cement settled around my body, filling in every tiny crack and crevice, until my face, hands, and foot protruded from the grave like a plaster cast. Whoever had poured the concrete mix on top of me hadn’t counted on tremors from the tracks doing such a great leveling job. I needed another layer of cement to cover my features, so anyone looking down at me couldn’t see me screaming and clawing and fighting for my life. I wasn’t finished.

I sat up on my cot. Beads of sweat dampened my forehead. That’s what Jack kept saying. The job wasn’t finished.

I swung my feet to the floor.

Did Jack have something to do with the murders? Or was I being paranoid? Even Brad seemed to know a little more about neighborhood events than he let on. He shouldn’t even be on the Dietz case. He was too embroiled in the whole affair to be impartial.

Who was Brad protecting in this mess? Just Jack? Or was Rebecca a part of it?

I rubbed my temples. With my mind moving as fast as the train outside, I’d never get any sleep. I stood. The warning bells outside quit dinging, and the rumble of boxcars faded into the distance.

I was wide awake. I might as well get something accomplished. I grabbed my paint supplies from a corner of the parlor.

The front stairs creaked and groaned as I made my way to the second story.

I flicked on the light to the bedroom directly at the top of the steps. The room had an odd shape where it angled in for the staircase. It looked like a square with one corner cut off. One window looked out to the side yard, right into the branches of the maple tree. The other looked out onto the balcony. The walls were in decent condition—nothing a little spackle couldn’t cure. The Hershels had been kind enough to strip the thick bands of woodwork down to a light pine color. I spent the next half hour taping the trim so I could edge around it with a fresh coat of paint.

But taping was a mindless job. Thoughts of murder, bodies, and motives had plenty of room to roam. I’d already narrowed down the identity of the body in my basement to three possibilities. Unfortunately, by midnight, the list of suspects topped ten and continued to grow. Even the biddies from the clothing store weren’t immune from my late-night scrutiny.

Motives ran the gamut from love scorned to money owed to rumors spread. And still nothing made sense.

I had to get this thing figured out. Then maybe the authorities would take my body-in-the-basement theory seriously. And I could be cleared of Dietz’s murder.

I poured paint into an old cottage cheese container and started cutting in. I wondered what David must think of me now that the story of my grandmother was out. Would he avoid me like the plague? Would he plague me with accusations? I couldn’t blame him if he reacted just as everyone else had over the years. Like I was worthless because of what I’d done. Who wanted to hang out with someone capable of murder?

I wished I could go back ten years and redo Grandma’s last days. I’d been too eager to please. I should have said no. I should have had standards, morals, ethics, something that would have prompted me to do the right thing instead of the easy thing. I should have had compassion. I should have had a backbone. I should have known better. I should have been more patient. I should have had more faith.

I dipped the brush in the paint and tackled another section of wall. But why stop with Grandma? I carried an equal load of guilt for Martin Dietz’s murder. I should have seen it coming. I should have tried to stop it. I should have known arguing with Dietz was a waste of time. I should have gone along with him and not made him mad. I should have installed a security system so people couldn’t sneak around in my basement when I wasn’t home.

I could bury myself in should-haves. Or I could figure out what made this small town tick like a bomb about to explode, and try to stop it.

I yawned. It had to be almost 1:00 a.m. My body ached, my brain ached, my heart ached. I wrapped my brush in cellophane. I’d come back up tomorrow to finish the job.

The baseboard pipes clunked as the furnace kicked on. I glanced out at the hallway. Blackness. I stretched plastic wrap over the paint, half-expecting to see Jacob Marley standing in the doorway of the room. With my favorite tappy hammer, I sealed the lid on the paint can. I wiped a glob of ivory on my pass-me-around pants.

The neighborhood seemed eerily quiet tonight. No midnight train, no cars bouncing over the tracks. Even the wind had died. It was as if the hot water pipes and I were the only two noisy elements in the universe.

I cupped hands around my eyes and peeked outside. A foggy halo circled the streetlight in front of my house. Without the snow, the town had gone back to looking like Halloween. Spooky, and silent as the grave. And I was the main caretaker of the graveyard.

The skin on the back of neck my prickled. Beneath me, two flights of steps down, lay a body. I was almost sure of it.

I jolted down the steps, shaking the walls around me as I beelined to my bedroom and slammed the door.

My sleeping bag became a sanctuary. In its warm safety, I finally drifted to sleep, ghosts and guilts and guys flitting through my mind.

A week went by as I hunkered down in the house, my brushes and rollers my only friends. Dorothy had come by a couple of times and brought soup. I wouldn’t answer the door. She left the pot on the porch, and I snuck out to get it after she’d left. I never heard from my buddies at the cop shop. Officer Brad may have dropped by once or twice, I don’t know. I ignored any knocking I heard when his cruiser was parked out front. He never barged in to arrest me, so apparently, the local loon squad had some other culprit in mind for the Dietz murder. Even so, that didn’t erase the fact that I’d been fingered for the crime. And you couldn’t brainwash a whole town into forgetting the details that had surfaced throughout the ordeal.

Becoming a hermit for the week definitely lowered my stress level about the Dietz/Grandma accusations. I pretended that nobody really paid attention to gossip and rumors anyway. I gave everyone in the Village of Rawlings the benefit of the doubt when it came to holding a grudge against a truly harmless, albeit too-daffy-for-her-own-good Renovator Chick.

But today, the cans of nuts, the dried fruit, the cereal, and the slightly moldy bread had run out. I was Old Mother Hubbard. And I was hungry.

Deucey gulped twice, then fired up after the long vacation. I backed her out of the garage and turned on to Main Street.

The second block past the tracks, a sign caught my eye: Parker Floral Designs. I hit the brakes, earning a blast of the horn from the driver behind me. Traffic cleared and I maneuvered Deucey into a parking spot made for the compact cars of a new generation. There was barely room to squeeze my knees past the bumpers as I made my way to the sidewalk and into the quaint flower shop.

Eucalyptus seemed to be the mainstay of every arrangement in the shop. Its mellow odor greeted me at the door and stuck with me to the back counter.

“May I help you?” a middle-aged woman asked. Short brown curls bounced with her animated walk. She rounded the end of the counter and nearly tackled me with her perkiness.

I stepped back. “I got a flower arrangement a couple weeks ago from a secret admirer. I was hoping you could help me figure out who it is.”

The woman gave a look of disapproval. “We value the privacy of our clients. If the individual wanted you to know his identity, he would certainly have revealed himself to you on the card.”

I had no idea floral arrangements were protected by the Privacy Act. Take two. “Actually, it’s more complicated than that. I’m dating a guy who got me some flowers. But I think they were really flowers that he got from somebody else. I just wanted to make sure he really got the flowers for me.” I took a big breath. “I absolutely hate hand-me-down roses.”

Her eyelids peeled back in a look of horror. “That would be understandable. How do you know they came from Parker’s?”

I fished in my jeans pocket, relieved the woman couldn’t know they hadn’t been washed since the night I’d snuck over to David’s. I pulled out the card and envelope and handed it to her.

She studied the chunky black lettering.

twenty-five years. remember that.

“Not very romantic. From the letter formation, I’d say a woman wrote this. Did this come with your bouquet?”

“Not exactly. I found it later. I’m sure it wasn’t meant for me. I guess that’s why I’m a little upset. Can you find out who originally purchased them?”

“I’ll see what I can do. You said you got the arrangement a couple weeks ago?”

“Yes. There were twenty-five red roses. I counted.”

“Hmm. Twenty-five. Just like on the note. Sounds like somebody was sending a definite message. That’s what flowers are for, you know. Let’s take a look.”

She tapped at the computer on the counter, entering data faster than I could think.

“Were they delivered to you?”

“No. Picked up by David Ramsey.”

The woman’s fingers came to a dead stop. She looked at me through curly bangs, never lifting her head.

“I see. You must be Patricia Amble, just down the street.”

I held my head up. “Yep.” The word may have come out a little snotty, but I had my pride.

Her chest rose and fell in quick little gasps. She was nervous. Scared to death, even. Here she was, stuck alone with a woman on a possible killing spree.

“Here it is,” she stammered. “Twenty-five red roses. Tea roses, to be exact, which appropriately stand for remembrance. Wired through central ordering. No information on the sender. To be picked up by David Ramsey, 306 South Main.”

She pushed away from the counter, putting distance between us. “There you go. Hope that helped.”

“Thanks.” I watched her squirm a minute. Then I left and climbed in my car.

I pulled into traffic and drove to the supermarket. The flower lady’s attitude was no big deal. Reputation wise, I’d gone from being the twin of Dietz’s reject to being a slayer of old people and maybe even the zoning lord. Definitely a lateral move.

I shopped at full speed, dumping items into my cart without checking prices or expiration dates. Never once did I look into a pair of eyes. Even the checkout girl got the brush-off.

I bolted out the door, positive I could sense haughty looks and vicious whispers on my tail.

I wanted to climb up the nearest lamppost and scream down at those arrogant people, “Don’t you know how hard it was? You would have done the same thing if you had been me!”

But what was the point in defending myself? Everyone sat in judgment over me. I could scream ’til I was blue in the face, and nobody would ever understand why I’d done what I had. If only they’d been there. If only they’d been me. Then they would know how hard a decision it was. Then they’d quit condemning me for what I’d done. Because they would have done the same thing.

 
31

I parked in the garage and pulled the door down. I never wanted to go out again. Starting right now, I would be a hermit for the rest of my life. I didn’t want to deal with people, look at people, get mad at people, or fall in love with people. I just wanted them all to go away. Leave me alone. Disappear.

I rounded the back of the house and jerked to a stop.

Brad. Standing on my back porch.

He stared. I stared. Apparently, neither wanted to be first to break the silence.

My foot tapped.

I caved. “Are you here to arrest me?”

I knew from his winter coat and blue jeans that he wasn’t on duty, but the brat in me wouldn’t be polite.

From where I stood, Brad’s eyes looked all shiny or watery or something.

“I stopped by a couple of times this week. Why don’t you answer the door?” His breath made white puffs in the frosty mid-morning air. One hand rested on his hip, one leg stretched in front of the other.

I clenched my jaw. I wasn’t obligated to answer. I could simply brush past him and lock the door behind me.

I started for the porch, intent on doing just that. The sidewalk had a crackly white design from the frost. The porch steps felt slick under my tennies from the same sparkling layer.

Brad’s brown leather boots entered my circle of vision and I steered to the left. The boots cut me off. I stopped.

Against my better judgment, I ratcheted my neck up a few notches and met his eyes. “Move.”

He stood his ground.

“Move, please.”

He reached for my arm. “Are you okay? I just want to know.”

I pulled away. “Of course I’m okay. I’m always okay. Now let me in.”

“Here, I’ll hold that for you.”

I handed him my groceries.

He stepped aside and I unlocked the door.

“I can take that now,” I said, reaching for the sack of food.

He swooped it out of my reach. “Let someone help you once in a while.”

My hands landed on my hips. “You’ve gone over and above the call of duty in that department. Thank you for all the unasked-for assistance. I think I can handle my own groceries.”

He made no move to relinquish them.

“I’m sure you can. Listen, Tish. You’re a beautiful young woman. I hate to see you shut up in this house day after day. You should be out having fun. Living life.”

My nose squeaked as I drew in several seething breaths. “My life is none of your business. I happen to renovate houses for a living. That means I’m shut up at home day after day. Occupational hazard.”

“I think you take it to the extreme. Especially after the whole Dietz thing.”

I cocked a loaded finger at him. “You have no idea what the ‘Dietz thing’ has done to my life. I can’t go grocery shopping without people staring and whispering about my past mistakes. Why would I give them more opportunities to point fingers?”

I looked at my weapon and tucked it in my pocket.

“People might talk about you for a while, but pretty soon you’ll be old news. Don’t let them get to you. You’re entitled to a life, you know.”

“Am I? I think most people would disagree. Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth. A life for a life.”

“You did your time. You paid the price. Now grab hold of your second chance and make it count.”

“You make it sound as if I’m some kind of loser, like I’m not doing anything worthwhile with my life. I disagree. Entire neighborhoods benefit from my efforts. Historic homes are saved from utter ruin. What I do is important to communities.”

“Don’t you ever want to get married? Have a couple of kids? I have a hard time seeing how that’s going to happen with you hiding out in there.”

My head felt like it would explode. My heart skipped a couple beats. I forgot to breathe. Then everything rushed out at once. Loud.

“Give me my groceries and get out of here. There is nothing wrong with my life. How dare you come over here and imply that there is! You better focus on fixing your own flaws before you start nitpicking mine.”

I may have come off a bit demon-possessed. I didn’t care. I was right and he was dead wrong.

I wrenched the bag of groceries out of his grip, ran inside, and slammed the door. Tears started to flow. By the time I unloaded the perishables, my sleeve was a gooey mess.

Brad had no business butting into my life. Maybe I did want to get married one day. Maybe I did want to have a kid or two. But all that was on hold now. The one man I cared about lived two houses down and hadn’t even tried to see me this past week. Then I find out the stupid roses he had given me were hand-me-downs from some vindictive female.

I looked at the drooping arrangement that still graced my countertop. Twenty-five dead red tea roses. David didn’t have to worry. I’d remember.

With all my whimpering and sniffling, I barely heard the knock on the door. I peeked through the glass.

Brad just couldn’t figure it out. I didn’t need him. I didn’t want him. I was fine. He could just go away and leave me alone.

I opened the door and stood there without saying anything.

“Can I come in?” His voice was all raspy.

“What do you want?”

“I just want to know you’re okay.”

“I already told you I’m fine.”

“Lie to yourself all you want. Don’t waste your breath lying to me.”

I probably turned three shades of purple before I pushed the door closed. Brad’s hand got in the way. One rock-solid arm kept the latch from catching.

“Talk to me, Tish.”

“I have nothing to say.”

“Come on. Let’s go somewhere, get a cup of coffee, and talk.”

“I can’t. I’m taking a quick lunch break and getting back to work.”

“Let me buy you lunch.”

“I just bought fresh turkey. I don’t want it to go to waste.”

“Eat it tomorrow. Come on. There’s a restaurant uptown you’d really like.”

Uptown? I didn’t know Rawlings had such a place. “I don’t know. I’m already behind schedule.”

“Great. Then I’ll have you back here in an hour.”

The second I relaxed pressure on the door, Brad pushed it open. He took my hand and led me onto the porch, closing the door behind us.

“I’ll drive,” he said. I pulled my hand from his grasp and followed obediently on the outside, grudgingly on the inside.

We cut through my side yard to the walk that led past Brad’s house. The crisp air cleared my stuffy head. I sniffed, and realized I hadn’t even looked in the mirror or freshened up before going back out in public. With all the crying I’d been doing, I must look like a two-by-four had connected with my face. Brad hadn’t seemed to notice, so maybe my eyes weren’t as puffy as they felt.

We angled down his driveway. Just past the back door was his one-car detached garage. Too small to add any value to the property. If he were smart, he’d build a two-car attached in its place. That would give the home half a chance of ever selling.

He lifted the overhead door by hand, reminding me that I, too, lacked an automatic opener. I’d have to shop around Flint for a bargain brand one of these days.

The clouds parted and the winter sun glinted off the hood of the most hunky metallic gray SUV I’d ever seen. With barely an inch to spare, the vehicle filled the door with its silver grill and monochrome bumper. Dual headlamps were protected by clear glass, giving the front end a clean, hi-tech look.

“Wow. Is that yours?” I couldn’t keep the awe from my voice.

“Yep. Hop in.”

I squeezed past the bumper and opened the passenger-side door. The smell of leather greeted me. I sank down in cool luxury. The door closed with a pleasant thunk. Next to me, Brad turned the key. The engine turned over, then faded to a bare purr. He pulled out and turned right onto Railroad Street.

“You left your garage open,” I said, knowing I’d never enjoy lunch if I had to worry about his tools the whole time we were gone.

“No one will bother it. I’m a cop, remember?”

How could I forget that fact? I couldn’t believe Brad talked me into lunch. We came to a stop at the intersection. I glanced over at my Victorian. My head jerked. David stood on my back porch, watching the SUV as Brad turned onto Main Street.

“Oh.” My hands pressed against the glass as David disappeared from view. He must have come to see me. I felt an urge to jump out the door and race to him. Yeah, and I could kiss his feet too, and thank him for finally noticing I was alive.

Brad must have sensed my inner struggle. “Do you want me to go back?” he asked. His voice sounded strained.

“No. Thanks.” I hadn’t thought about David when I’d agreed to Brad’s invitation. If David really had watched Rebecca slip away into Brad’s clutches, how did he feel watching me ride off next to Brad now?

I tried to relax. I looked into the shop windows as we drove, glad I could enjoy the view for once. I couldn’t worry about David’s reaction. Besides, I was probably giving myself too much credit. I turned to Brad. “So how long have you lived in this godforsaken town?”

He chuckled. “There’s nothing forsaken about this place. Believe me. God pays close attention to Rawlings.” Brad stopped for a traffic light. “Maybe you can’t tell at first glance, but if you look closely, you’ll see all kinds of miracles happening.”

Up ahead, a youth in baggy clothes strode across with the signal. He shook his fist at the car in front of us for encroaching on the crosswalk. “I must need a magnifying glass, then. All I’ve seen so far is murder and mayhem.”

Brad cracked a smile. “It’s all in your perspective.”

I put on a look of surprise. “You mean Martin Dietz didn’t really die? I didn’t get booked for the crime? I didn’t spend three days in the slammer?” I humphed. “You’re living in some kind of fairy-tale world.”

The light changed and Brad drove ahead. “You’re not seeing the good that’s coming out of all the crud.”

“What good?” The car closed in around me, like a tent collapsing.

“Well, you got your furnace fixed, didn’t you?”

My hand tightened its grip on the door handle. “That’s pretty minor when you look at what I had to live through.”

“Not at all. You had a warm place to sleep and your pipes didn’t burst while you were gone. It could have been pretty ugly this time of year, you know.”

I wondered how bad it would hurt to jump out of a moving vehicle. “Like I said, thanks.” I crossed my arms and glared at the dashboard.

“I bet you had a lot of good happen in your life, and you just never realized it.”

“Yeah, right. My mom died when I was seven. Where’s the good in that?”

“You went to live with your grandmother and got to know her.”

Brad just couldn’t take a hint. I swung to face him. “Yeah, and I got to go to prison when she died. Where’s the good in that?”

“You decided to fix up houses for a living when you got out.”

“And what’s so good about that?”

“You came to Rawlings.”

“Please. I’m beginning to think that’s the biggest mistake I ever made.”

“No it’s not. You met me.”

I drew a sharp breath and looked out the window. Brad couldn’t mean what I thought he meant. He was merely being cute with a pompous comment.

He couldn’t possibly be serious. Brad and me? No way.