SUICIDAL SUSPICIONS: A Kate Huntington Mystery (The Kate Huntington Mystery Series Book 8) (26 page)

Kate gave the boy a small smile.

“She dragged us to the principal’s office, just like Daddy said she probably would. And I told Mrs. Grant what Daddy said to say.”

“Which was?” Kate said, again narrowing her eyes at her husband.

“That I told them to stop pickin’ on me and that I was gonna tell the teacher, but when Freddie hit me, my Daddy said I had the right to offend myself.”

Rose fought to keep a straight face. “Defend, Billy.”

“Right, so I defended myself.”

“What did the principal say?” Kate asked.

“Nothin’. She just sent me to the nurse. But I heard later that Freddie’s parents had to come to school to get him and that maybe he’d been suspended.”

Kate’s eyes widened. “Do they suspend kids in elementary school?”

“Apparently they can,” Mac said, “for fightin’.”

“I called the principal when I got home,” Skip said, “to make sure Billy wasn’t in any trouble. Everything’s cool.”

“Daddy says they prob’ly won’t pick on me anymore, but if they do, I should do exactly the same thing.”

“And what are you
not
going to do?” Skip said, his voice firm.

“Throw the first punch,” Billy answered.

Maria, sitting beside Kate, had been silent throughout this whole exchange. Now she smiled at Billy. “Chocolate cupcakes for dessert. I bake dem special.”

Kate turned to her and frowned.

“Yippee!” the kids shouted in unison.

Rose exchanged a look with Mac across the table. His baby-blues sparked with amusement. He grinned at her.

No, Mac! Don’t do it!

Mac raised his beer can in the air. “To Billy.”

Kate swiveled around and scowled at him.

Rose shook her head.

~~~~~~~~

After Rose and Mac had left, it took longer than usual to get the kids settled down. Sugar and chocolate were not the best combination close to bedtime.

But the delay gave Kate time to get over her irritation at Skip and Mac.

When the children were finally tucked in for the night, their parents went out back to finish cleaning up from the cookout. As they carried the last of the dirty paper plates and empty serving bowls inside, Kate said, “I’m not comfortable with rewarding Billy for fighting, even in self-defense. It’s like we’re advocating fisticuffs to deal with conflicts.”

“Not conflicts, darlin’, bullies,” Skip said. “With them, it’s often necessary.”

She frowned but didn’t say anything. She wasn’t sure how she felt about the whole situation. She headed back outside to check that they’d gotten all the trash.

Skip trailed behind her. “Kate, we can hardly advocate total non-violence when their father carries a gun. I’ve told the kids repeatedly that I only use it, or my fists, when I absolutely have to, in defense of myself or others.”

She shook her head. Butterflies of worry fluttered in her chest. “It’s hard to know how to deal with bullies. These kids may beat up on Billy worse the next time they get him alone.”

“Maybe.” Skip took her hand and led her to the picnic table. They sat across from each other. He kept her hand. “Bullies only understand one thing, power. They want it, which is why they lord it over others. But when somebody fights back, it tends to have one of two effects. Either it scares the bully off, or it wins their respect.”

Tends to…
Kate’s throat tightened. “Most of the time,” she said out loud, “but not always.”

“Yeah, but it’s a good bet.”

She struggled to tamp down her maternal angst. “I guess I’ll bow to your judgement on this. You’ve had more experience with bullies than I have.”

“Yeah, but you’ve got all them fancy degrees,” Skip said in a teasing tone.

She snorted softly. “They haven’t been doing me much good lately.”

“What do you mean?” She couldn’t see his face well in the moonlight, but his tone was now serious.

She blew out air, debating if she wanted to admit to her insecurities out loud, even to Skip. She took a deep breath. “I’ve been second guessing myself a lot at work, ever since Josie’s death.”

“Even after you knew it was murder, not suicide.”

“Yeah, well, reading her journal, I’ve realized there was a lot of stuff I missed.”

“You missed, or she didn’t tell you?”

“Mostly she didn’t tell me.”

“So how can you know something somebody doesn’t tell you?”

“But why couldn’t she tell me? I’m supposed to gain the client’s trust so they can open up to me.”

Skip reached across the table and captured her other hand. He gave both hands a gentle squeeze. “Kate, the client has an hour a week. They’re gonna pick and choose what they talk about, depending on what’s most important to them right then. Am I right?”

Kate sighed again. “Yeah, you’re right. But clients tend to be resistant to digging down to the deeper stuff. I’m supposed to catch that and gently push them to go there.”

“But you can’t read minds, if they choose to keep something from you.”

“That’s just the thing though, they shouldn’t feel the need to keep something from me.”

He shook his head. “Look, I’ve never seen you in action in your office, but you’ve been my psychological consultant on enough of my cases.
I
know that
you
know your stuff.”

Warmth filled her chest. She smiled up at him. “It’s been better this week. Thanks for the pep talk.”

Her throat tightened as it struck her how little she’d been truly present with Skip lately, except in occasional fits and spurts. Too many of their evening talks, that were the mainstay of their emotional intimacy, had been dominated by her preoccupation with this case.

She wished Josie Hartin had never come to see her. Then she wouldn’t be dealing with this all-consuming quest to find–

“You need to learn to separate work from home better.” Skip had read her thoughts, as he had an irritating habit of doing.

“I used to be really good at that. I have this mental routine. When I switch on my car in the evening to drive home, I switch off all thoughts of clients.”

Skip rose from his side of the table. “So why’d that stop working?”

She pondered that as she stood and they walked toward the house. “Probably because I haven’t been doing it very consistently lately. When I finish with clients for the day, I switch to detective mode instead of home mode.”

He dropped an arm around her shoulders. “Which is fine, until you actually get home.”

“Yeah, I guess I need a new mental routine for this situation.”

He stopped just inside the living room and grinned down at her. “I’ve got an idea. When you get home, I’ll kiss you like this.” He gave her a tender but chaste kiss on the lips. “That’s the signal to stop thinking about anything but home.”

She leaned against him. “Hmm, that sounds good.”

He gestured toward their spot on the sofa. She noted the permanent indentation in the sofa cushions and smiled to herself. They moved in that direction.

“Then after the kids are in bed,” he said, “we can talk about the case, compare notes.”

They settled on the sofa. She snuggled close to his solid body.

He smiled down at her. “And when it’s time to put all that aside again, I’ll kiss you like this.” He wrapped his arms around her and claimed her mouth again. Nudging her lips apart, his tongue went exploring.

Heat stirred in her core and spread rapidly through her body.

But we haven’t compared notes yet
, a little voice said in her head. She told it to shut up. Warm, tingling sensations enveloped her.

They finally broke apart, gasping a little. Kate expected Skip to rise and take her off to the bedroom. Maybe even sweep her into his arms, although he did that less and less these days. At forty-eight, his back was starting to complain about such activities.

She realized she had loved this man for the better part of a decade. It actually felt much longer. She couldn’t imagine life without him–without this sense of closeness, as if they truly were two halves of a whole. Independent beings, but not quite complete without each other. She had loved Eddie Huntington dearly, but her life with him now felt as distant as her childhood did.

It registered finally that Skip had made no move toward the bedroom after all. He had relaxed back against the sofa. His arm tightened around her shoulders, pulling her up against his side.

She rested her hand on his broad chest, over his heart. Its solid thud, thud under her palm reassured her, grounded her even further in her own world. She silently vowed not to let Josie’s case overwhelm her again. She’d keep trying to find out who murdered her, but she would not
obsess
about it.

“Guess I was a little premature with that second signal there tonight,” Skip said with a chuckle in his voice.

So we’re going to compare notes after all.
She raised her head and grinned up at him. “That’s okay. You can give it to me again in a little while.”

The gold flecks danced in eyes.

How did she get so lucky? The warmth in her core expanded again. She tamped it down for now.

“I’ve got a follow-up interview scheduled with your nun on Saturday afternoon,” Skip said.

“That’s good. I figured something out today.” She told him about the missing pages from the journal.

“Hmm,” he said, “pretty clever way to get a suicide note in the victim’s own handwriting.”

“Yeah, and it almost worked. Both the police and Josie’s parents bought it as a suicide note.” Her eyelids were starting to droop. She looked up at him. “I’m thinking it’s time for that signal again.”

“Let’s move this to the bedroom first.” He gently disentangled himself and stood up, then reached down a hand and pulled her to a stand.

She leaned against him. “Suddenly, I’m so sleepy.” Then she added in a teasing tone, “I’m not sure I can stay awake to do anything.”

“We’ll see about that.” He brushed a thumb across one of her breasts.

Even through cotton shirt and bra, the gesture puckered her nipple. The warmth in her core expanded yet again. This time she gave it free rein.

He brushed the thumb back the other way. A current of electricity jolted through her, leaving a lingering tingle in its wake. Her knees turned to jelly.

She sucked in air. “Yeah, but now I’m not so sure I can walk to the bedroom.”

“Is that a hint?” He reached down and circled her wobbly knees with one arm. Sweeping her up, he started across the living room. Then he groaned and began to stumble along in an exaggerated stagger.

She laughed and smacked his shoulder. “Stop that. You’re breaking the mood.”

He grinned down at her and wiggled his eyebrows. “Don’t worry, darlin’. I
know
how to recapture it.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

When Kate awoke the next morning, she was alone in the king-sized bed. Glancing at the clock, she realized she had overslept.

She hurried through her morning routine of shower and makeup. As she ran a comb through her unruly curls, she smiled at herself in the mirror.

Life is good.

She braced herself for the guilt, but it didn’t come this time.

Also good. I’m getting damned tired of feeling guilty!

She donned her office attire and headed for the kitchen to grab a quick breakfast.

Halfway to the office, her cell phone rang. She didn’t recognize the number on her dashboard screen, but she answered the call anyway.

“This is Dr. Blake’s office,” a young female voice said. “I’m calling to remind you of your appointment this evening at six.”

“Huh?”

“For Toby, for his shots.”

“Oh yeah.”

Dang!
She’d forgotten to put the vet appointment in her book, and it had completely slipped her mind. Indeed, she wasn’t even sure she’d put Dr. Blake on that clues list she’d made for Skip.

“So we’ll see you at six?” the voice said.

Kate hesitated. Keeping the appointment meant missing dinner with Skip and the kids. And on Friday night to boot. It was one of her favorite times of the week. They could relax, not worry about homework or having to deal with work again the next day. They usually let the kids stay up an extra hour.

“Ma’am, are you there?”

“Yes, uh…” She’d miss dinner but she’d be home early enough for family time. “I’ll be there.”

“Good. See you then.” The young woman disconnected.

Kate instructed her Bluetooth to call Skip. It went straight to voicemail. He must be on the phone. “Uh, sweetheart, I need to go out for a little while this evening. It’s kinda complicated so I’ll explain when I get home. But I just wanted to give you a heads-up. I should be home by seven or seven-fifteen at the latest. In plenty of time to snuggle up with you and the kids and watch a video.”

She disconnected, praying that her husband wouldn’t be mad at her.

And the knot of guilt in her stomach was back. She sighed.

Is it possible to get used to feeling guilty?

.

At lunchtime, she barely had a chance to eat, much less look at Josie’s journal again. Two clients had left rather frantic messages, and another had requested to have her Monday appointment rescheduled to later next week. With the weekend looming, Kate couldn’t ignore any of the calls.

By the time she’d returned them, snatching bites of her sandwich in between, she only had time for one more phone call. She really wanted to track down this Father Bill and set something up to meet with him. He had been at St. Bart’s during the relevant time and might know what happened to Josie there.

Could he have been the abuser?

Possibly. But her impression from Josie’s journals was that she had trusted the priest. Maybe she had confided in him, either as a child or when she crossed paths with him later when she was in high school.

Kate punched in the work number Liz had dug up for him.

As she waited for the call to go through it occurred to her that the abuse didn’t necessarily happen at St. Bart’s. It could have happened anywhere, and little Josie was just thinking about it on the way to school that day when she asked about going with the man who made her take her clothes off.