Deadly Christmas Inheritance
highlight_author
Jessica R. Patch
highlight_reads
15,6K
highlight_chapters
15
ONE
The Landoon mansion loomed over the grassy knoll, boasting its grandeur and alluding to hidden secrets.
Teegan Albright, Lorna Landoon’s next-to-newest employee and her full-time caregiver for the past six months, approached her fairly new home. As she rounded the curving drive, she bypassed the side road that branched toward the stables. A sleek black SUV whizzed by, the driver glaring in her direction.
Charlie Landoon.
Lorna’s spoiled-rotten great-grandson. Privileged, wealthy and attractive. He exuded total letchy vibes. Teegan wasn’t sorry she’d missed him. Though he rarely visited the main house. That might mean speaking with his great-grandmother, and all Charlie cared about was the winning racehorses he bred on her estate.
After leaving Hollywood in the late ’70s, Lorna had returned to her home state of Texas, where she’d established a well-known stable that bred thoroughbreds. Over the years, fifteen of her champion lines had won the Kentucky Derby, earning her a second fortune that could rival Katharine Hepburn’s acting career. They had been good friends. And Teegan would know. Her love for the classics filled her with all sorts of trivia about the golden age of Hollywood and it’s why she enjoyed and appreciated all of Lorna’s stories about film, filmmaking and acting. Teegan had even done some theater—her passion. She adored local theaters, but these past two years she hadn’t had much spare time.
Now, Teegan parked behind a beat-up red Jeep. Who did that belong to? No one in Lorna’s family.
She glanced at the grand double doors decorated with large holly wreaths and classy red bows. Bloated clouds signaled storms rolling into the Texas Hill Country. Christmas was only one week away, and it might take her that long to wrap all the presents. She jumped out of the car and headed for the trunk. The eight-tiered fountain with a lion head bubbled, and silk poinsettia blooms floated along the largest pool on the bottom.
They decked the house out—even the white horse fencing had wreaths with red bows, and that was a lot of horse fencing. Teegan was thankful she wasn’t in charge of the holiday decor. Lorna’s newish estate manager, Olivia Wheaton, had made that happen. Teegan had helped Olivia get the job since they’d been close friends in high school.
The only thing Lorna wanted to be kept for family was trimming the tree—a tradition done on Christmas Eve after a festive dinner, though often they bailed, according to Lorna, but she kept it going regardless. Teegan had put her private tree up the day after Thanksgiving. That was her new tradition—one she’d established after her fraternal twins had been born.
She popped the car’s trunk and winced. She might have gone overboard on gifts. River and Brook would turn two in January. Probably wouldn’t even remember the holiday this far back, but...
Growing up, she and her identical twin, Misty, had had little. When Dad couldn’t handle Mom’s drinking anymore, he’d left them. They’d been seven. Their mother had surprised them that year by simply remembering it was Christmas. Most years, Teegan and Misty had been on their own for the holidays. Once they’d turned fourteen, they’d walked to the Goodwill and purchased a banged-up tree, missing several lights, and brought it home to decorate using popcorn and coloring pages. On Christmas Day, they’d given each other gifts they could afford from babysitting.
Misty had given Teegan a megaphone for when she directed local plays someday—which she’d done a few times. Little Women. Our Town. A Christmas Carol. She’d loved every single second of it, especially helping teenagers who needed a place to belong. Theater provided community for children who had no one—like herself when she’d been that age. She’d thrust herself into movies, Lorna’s movies at the top, and joined a local theater where she’d been loved and valued. The costume director, Mrs. Salvatore, had taken her to church on Sundays, and she’d found a place to belong there, too, in God’s family.
But at home...it wasn’t warm and welcoming. Some Christmases, Mom had never even left the bedroom unless it was to find another bottle of wine. Teegan’s children would never know that kind of life. They would know stability, consistency and, while she may not ever make it rich, they’d know unconditional love and that their mom was sober.
God had truly blessed Teegan—which never went without feelings of awe and reverence. She didn’t deserve the kind of love God had lavished upon her. Lorna had not only given her a good-paying job, but had offered her the entire east wing of the main house as her and the twins’ living quarters, without docking her check for rent. God’s grace was often unexpected—though maybe it shouldn’t be. Maybe she should expect it since it’s who He was—gracious.
But her past wasn’t clean.
She didn’t deserve such grace and mercy. Yet it had absolutely been God’s mercy carrying her through the hardest and darkest of times. Looking back, Teegan had almost bypassed filling out the application to be Lorna’s caregiver. Nursing school hadn’t been required, and it was one of her favorite actresses. She hadn’t expected to be hired, especially having two rowdy twin babies. What ninety-two-year old woman wanted to be saddled with that every day? Granted, Lorna was spry for her age and her mind was sharp.
As it happened, Lorna was the mom, grandmother and friend Teegan had desperately needed. A true godsend.
Taking her bags out of the trunk, she looped the handles on her arm until she had no room left. Her phone dinged with a text from Yolanda and she asked Siri to read it.
“‘Take your time and pick them up later. They’re sleeping like the sweet babies they are. No trouble at all. I love having them.’”
Lies. They were curious little tornadoes that left a disaster in their wake wherever they went, and now that they were walking, that was everywhere. River had figured out how to scale baby gates and Brook liked anything sparkly, which meant pretty much everything in Lorna’s mansion.
“Siri, text Yolanda.”
“What do you want to say?”
“‘Thank you, you big liar. I’ll bring you a cookie and a hug.’ Send.”
Yolanda, a friend from church, had also been a godsend. She had offered to watch the babies so Teegan could shop a few hours and enjoy a peppermint latte without it growing cold. Now she had time to bake a few holiday treats and maybe even enjoy an hour of a good mystery novel or just stare at a wall in silence. She loved her children but she was flat-out exhausted and forgot what a free minute was.
She opened the right front door, bags teetering and clanking on her arms. Lorna really did need to keep her home locked up, but she’d never been one for safety precautions. No guards and no security. Lorna was well aware people had sneaked onto the property hunting for the decades-old rumor of a hidden treasure buried by Lorna herself. What on earth would she have buried and why?
Teegan wasn’t buying it. Nothing was hidden on Lorna’s property, but that hadn’t stopped scads of teenagers—and some adults—from searching; a few times those teenagers had gotten lost in the labyrinth. With shoddy cell service out there, they’d relied on screaming and crying, which had reached Teegan’s ears and she’d had to fetch them.
Lorna never prosecuted a single one. It was some kind of fun game. Leave it to the old sadistic lady she loved so much. For all Teegan knew, it was likely Lorna who had begun the rumors simply to be mischievous.
Using her leg, Teegan kicked the door closed behind her, juggling the toys and rolls of gift wrap piled so high she couldn’t even see the floor in front of her.
“Lorna, I’m back. You hungry? I’m going to make oatmeal cookies and gingersnaps. You want a cup of tea?” She’d adopted the proper English teatime, and Teegan loved joining Lorna for tea and biscuits—which were really shortbread cookies, but if one had tea with Lorna, they must be called biscuits. They sipped tea, nibbled biscuits, and Teegan hung on all Lorna’s stories. Maybe she’d have a few more today. “Lorna?”
She might not have her hearing aids in and, even with them, Lorna’s hearing wasn’t that great. Teegan was often hoarse from all the hollering, but Lorna didn’t go far these days. Kept to the sitting room and her bedroom on the main floor.
Stairs were difficult now and she refused a walker or cane. That kind of pride was going to result in a broken hip, but Lorna never listened. Probably why caregivers cycled through employment like a revolving door.
Dropping the bags on the massive dining room table, an antique piece that sat twenty people, she headed for the sitting room where Lorna often spent her days reading with her huge magnifier or working her arthritic fingers crocheting, though she never finished a project and admitted she was right terrible at it. Still, she said old ladies were supposed to crochet, knit and quilt, and she was going to finish something someday even it was a potholder.
Teegan knew what to expect for Christmas—a half-done potholder.
“Lorna, I’m back and the kids have more toys than any child should. I might have gone into debt.” She was kidding, but she also liked to rile Lorna just to hear her mid-Atlantic accent go into a spiel about being a good steward of what God supplied. The accent of course was a fake one—an upper crust dialect old actors and actresses had made up. She sounded like Hepburn, and Teegan liked to mimic it because it was rather beautiful and refined-sounding. Teegan’s dialect was what she’d call Texan bumpkin. Nothing cultured about her or her life.
“You hear me, Lorna? Debt. I’m going into debt.” She waited for something. Anything.
That’s when she noticed the house was quiet.
Too quiet.
Only the pops and creaks in the old settling wood and the crackle of the real fireplace could be heard. Icy fingers walked up her spine, prickling her scalp.
“Lorna,” she called weakly, swallowing hard as she inched toward the sitting room, the chill growing colder with each shaky step.
The Jeep. The red one outside. Someone was here at the main house.
A separate drive led to the stables, bypassing the main house. If the driver of that vehicle had business with Harry Doyle, the manager, they’d park out there. Like Charlie. There was even a sign to let drivers know to go around.
As she approached the winding staircase, she halted. Her feet froze to the marble flooring as her heart thudded in her chest.
Blood oozed along the white-and-black-checkered squares like thick cherry juice. Her mouth flew open at the sight of Lorna lying broken at the bottom of the stairs. Her stomach roiled and she pressed a hand to it, as if pressure might keep her from vomiting.
But Lorna wasn’t the one producing so much blood.
Lying near her, slashed multiple times, was Misty.
Her twin.
The red Jeep.
A sob erupted from her throat and she knelt, feeling her sister’s pulse, but it was clear she was dead. If the multiple slashes through her skin hadn’t revealed that, her vacant eyes staring up at her did. Teegan scrambled to Lorna’s side, slipping in the blood and shrieking. She felt for a pulse, praying she would find one.
Nothing.
Lorna had gone to be with Jesus.
Teegan stared in a stupor, gazing on her own bloody hands and back at two people she dearly loved. Finally, her senses kicked in and she scrambled to the dining room table where she’d left her cell phone. The bloody soles of her Converse left a trail of prints. As she grabbed her phone, a sudden awareness struck her and she froze again, hand trembling on the phone.
She was not alone.
She forced herself to turn.
A looming figure dressed in jeans, a black hoodie, and wearing some kind of mask—a jester’s mask?—stalked toward her, predatory-like, a very large, very bloody butcher knife gripped in his black-gloved hand.
Teegan darted around the dining room table and her shoes slipped against the marble from the red, wet soles. She crashed to the floor, pulling a dining room chair down with her. Unable to regain her footing, she began crawling toward the kitchen.
To the back door.
To freedom.
The jester continued to come for her. Not rushing or running. But slow and methodical, as if he knew he had plenty of time and no one would hear her cries or screams.
TV background noise reached her ears; the newscaster calling for a vicious storm that would bring lashing winds.
Using the kitchen island as an anchor, she pulled herself up to her feet and darted for the door, but the jester gripped her head, ripping hair from her scalp as he yanked her to him.
The sharp tip of the blade cut into her side with a searing burn and she cried out. A copper pot caught her eye and she snatched it from the counter then slung it toward the jester. The pot caught the side of his shoulder and he released his grip, giving her the chance to dart for the door again. She swung it open.
Freedom!
Just as she crossed the threshold, he wrenched her inside the kitchen.
River and Brook’s little faces entered her mind.
She had to fight. For them.
Teegan spotted a rolling pin on the bottom of the open stainless-steel island and dropped to her knees. She grabbed it and sprang up. As he brought the knife down, she counterattacked, whacking him upside the head and shifting his mask, which revealed a white male with a dark stubbly chin.
He stumbled and she swung again, and the jester crashed to the floor. Teegan bolted outside as thunder cracked and lightning split the sky, the wind blowing the trees low to the ground in forceful submission.
Harry. She had to get to him. Harry always carried a gun and kept more than one shotgun in his office. The wind fought against her but, hunching forward, she kept running, her legs threatening to buckle underneath her.
Chest heaving and lungs begging for oxygen, she made it to the stable and hollered for Harry.
He was nowhere to be found. He was always out here!
“Somebody help me!” She closed the stable doors, her side burning like wildfire and blood coloring her sweater with a dark stain. She locked the doors from the inside and ran for Harry’s office and to the phone. Horses protested her shrieks with neighs, pawing at their stall doors. Blood whooshed in her ears like cotton rubbing against skin.
She grabbed the receiver and dialed 9-1-1. “Help me! Someone is trying to kill me. He’s killed Lorna and Misty. Help me!”
“Ma’am, I need you to calm down and tell me—”
“Calm down? I’m about to be butchered!” Tears streamed down her face. “I have babies!”
“Are your babies in the house?” she asked.
Teegan wiped her running nose. “No.” She forced herself to settle enough to give the dispatcher information to send the police and an ambulance.
“Stay on the line with me. Cedar Springs PD is on the way.”
“Thank you. Thank you.” She remained on the line, shaking uncontrollably and wondering who would have wanted to kill Lorna Landoon. And why had Misty been at the house? She hadn’t planned a visit. But Misty was known to find trouble. Had trouble followed her here, leaving Lorna a casualty and Teegan an almost-casualty?
Sirens pealed.
Crouching in the office, she continued to listen to the dispatcher and answer her questions, but her mind reeled and she missed what the dispatcher said.
“I hear them,” Teegan said. “They’re here.”
“Stay where you are. They know which stable you’re in. You’re going to be okay.”
That’s when she heard the gunshot.
Rhode Spencer pulled up behind his older brothers, Stone and Bridge, at the Landoon mansion. Rain battered his vehicle as thunder rumbled. Rhode wasn’t exactly excited to step out into the downpour; instead he gazed up at the old mansion with its Gothic turrets and towers. He and his brothers and friends had sneaked onto the property dozens of times as teenagers hunting for the rumored fortune buried on the estate.
Rhode had always envied the grand home and property with its many amenities such as the Olympic-size swimming pool, hot tub, tennis courts and the labyrinth and English garden. He’d been raised on a modest ranch twenty-five minutes away, and now, in hindsight, he’d have had it no other way. But back then, he’d wanted to live the luxurious life and keep up with his friends like Beau Brighton—Texas royalty. He’d attempted to compete and it had struck him like a venomous snake, saddling him with the poison of debt up to his eyeballs.
So. Much. Debt.
So much stress.
That’s when the real drinkin’ had begun, holding him hostage. His career as a Cedar Springs’ homicide detective had disintegrated, after which he’d spiraled hard. Went on a weekender with tequila and been hauled from the hotel room in Dallas the next day by his brothers. That’s the only reason he even remembered that weekend. They’d hauled his sorry sack to a Christian rehab center where he’d sobered up and returned to his faith. Now, his life was much different and he’d been on the straight and narrow almost three years.
Some days went smoothly. Others, his throat ached for the sauce, especially after his twin sister, Sissy, had almost died at the hands of a vicious serial killer eight months ago. But she’d survived and received her happy ending. Now his best friend and business partner, Beau Brighton, was also his brother-in-law.
Two out of four of his siblings were hitched, which left him and his middle brother, Bridge, riding the bachelor train. Tossing the hood of his poncho over his head, he grabbed his gear and jumped out into the downpour. The crime scene had been cleared an hour ago and their card had been given to Miss Landoon’s caregiver, who had called Stone at the advice of their cousin, Detective Dom DeMarco, who was working the case.
Rhode raced to the stoop next to his brothers. Bridge removed his hood and raked a hand through his light brown hair. “You think there’s treasure here? Because I haven’t found it.”
“Well, if you, a former FBI agent, didn’t find it,” Rhode quipped with brotherly sarcasm, “I reckon no one can.” He slipped into his white hazmat gear, hating the cold rain.
“Shut up,” Bridge muttered. “I’m just saying, I’ve even scuba-dived in that lake. Nothing. I think it’s a farce.”
Rhode wasn’t thinking about the treasure anymore. Not now that he wore the gear necessary to clean up a crime scene. A young woman had been stabbed over seventeen times, and Lorna Landoon had fallen down the stairs to her death.
The caregiver had narrowly escaped and the stable manager had spied the killer, given a warning shot and chased him, but lost him in the woods behind the house. Said he’d worn a creepy white mask. If it hadn’t been for Doyle’s showing up at the stables, they’d have more than one location to clean.
“What do you think of this crime? Don’t you find it odd that the very day the caregiver’s identical twin shows up, she dies?” Rhode asked.
His eldest brother, Stone, set the biohazard containers—their red boxes as glaring as the bloodstains inside would be—beside him. “She here?” Stone asked, ignoring Rhode’s question.
“I don’t know. Depends on if she parks in the garage or out front. Dom thinks that someone followed the sister from California and killed her, but that doesn’t explain the Texas bluebonnets left beside her in a pool of blood.”
“I don’t know,” Stone said. “That’s not our job anymore. Our job is to deal with the aftermath.”
“I know.” But that hadn’t stopped Stone from inquiring about the murder that had led them to discover their other sister, Paisley, had been murdered, not died by suicide. He didn’t bring that up.
“What’s the caregiver’s name again? In case she is here.”
Rhode scratched his stubbly chin. Needed a good shave. “Teegan Albright.”
Bridge raked a hand through his damp hair again, and Stone nodded as he zipped up his hazmat suit. Crime scene cleaning was never easy and often tragic and depressing. That was why Stone had started Spencer Aftermath Recovery and Grief Counseling Services after their eldest sister had died. They’d had no idea who was going to clean up the mess. Stone, seeing a need, had left the Texas Rangers, which was about the time Bridge had resigned from the FBI and Rhode had been deep in his drink.
Rhode had left rehab and begun working for the business, but a few months later had also opened up his own business—Second Chances Investigations. The need to solve mysteries and help people find justice wouldn’t leave him. Being a private investigator fulfilled that need. He and Beau had been working hard to build a reputable business, though Rhode couldn’t afford to leave the aftermath recovery biz. He owed too much money and needed both sources of income to skate by.
Rhode lived in the apartment above his family’s garage for free and was as broke as a beggar in downtown Austin. Not exactly the life he envisioned at thirty-five. No wife. No kids. No American dream for him. No one to blame but himself, even though for a time he’d tried blaming anyone and everyone else, including God. But at the end of the day, he’d had to come to terms with the fact that the mess he was in was due to his own sinful choices.
Sissy’s blue SUV whipped into the drive. Beau had bought her a new vehicle with hopes of children coming into the picture. Her two Cavalier King Charles spaniels, Lady and Louie, bounded out and raced like greyhounds to the stoop, jumping on his pant legs for ear scratching. Sissy shrieked at the torrential rain and hurried onto the stoop with them.
“I hate the rain!” she said.
“Why are you even here? There’s blood inside,” Rhode said. Sissy didn’t work assignments with blood. She was squeamish. His twin was a licensed counselor and often helped families with grief counseling, her little Cavs being emotional therapy dogs.
“I’m not here for the blood. I’m here to offer grief counseling services to Teegan and any other employees, as well as family members that might want it. Free of charge to Teegan. She’s my friend.”
“Who knew near fatalities would bring together besties,” Rhode teased. Sissy had almost died on this very property a few months ago when a killer had chased her down inside the labyrinth. Beau had rescued her.
“Oh hush. Teegan is great. She’s smart and snarky and... I can’t imagine losing my twin.” Her voice cracked as she held his gaze.
Rhode couldn’t imagine life without her either. It had been hard enough losing Pai all those years ago and then their dad. But he and Sissy shared a special twin bond that was hard to explain to others. Sissy was literally half of him.
He rustled her hair. “Me neither.”
The front double doors opened and Teegan Albright emerged. Rhode remembered seeing her when he’d arrived after Sissy had been attacked on the property. Calling Teegan hot would be disrespectful and not even accurate. She was...like sunshine bursting through the clouds. Not so bright you couldn’t look on her, but so beautiful you couldn’t look away.
Her shiny blond hair was piled on her head and a few strands fell around her heart-shaped face. She smelled like she’d recently showered—probably washing away the blood. He internally winced.
Her blue eyes were watery and rimmed in red, which matched her pert nose. When she looked at him, his insides shifted and that fuzzy feeling returned.
Did he know her other than seeing her at the estate before?
She hadn’t grown up in Cedar Springs or gone to school with him. He wouldn’t have forgotten her.
“Teegan!” Sissy said and embraced her, the dogs jumping on Teegan’s jeans. Teegan cried on Sissy’s shoulder.
It shifted Rhode’s heart and sent an ache through him as he remembered the agonizing grief when they’d lost Paisley and their father.
Stone stepped up and broke the embrace. He shook Teegan’s hand. “I’m sorry for your loss, Miss Albright.”
Rhode hung back, unsure why he didn’t want to face her, because she definitely drew him. But he wasn’t there for anything other than making it look as if a violent death hadn’t occurred. And besides, he had nothing to offer a woman presently. He was the poster boy for Loser. Still, something odd niggled at him. Something like...shame.
“Thank you for coming. It’s... I can’t...” Teegan sniffed again and shook Bridge’s hand. Bridge looked back, his amber eyes boring into Rhode’s. Yes, he was being rude, but he couldn’t make himself approach. Finally, Bridge said, “This is our other brother, Rhode.” He shot Rhode a scowl and Rhode stepped up and shook her hand.
“I am very sorry for your loss, ma’am,” he said through cotton.
She studied him and, for a moment, he saw a spark flash in her eyes before they narrowed as if she were trying to place him too. “Thank you. I know I should have left. My friend Yolanda said I could stay with her, but the family will be here any time, I suspect, and I want to be here.”
“Understood,” Stone said and followed her inside, then Bridge, Sissy and, finally, Rhode entered.
They made their way to the grand staircase. “So, it happened here,” Teegan said without looking at the smeared blood. “I was attacked at the dining room table and from there ran to the kitchen where he stabbed me.” She pressed her hand to her side. “From there I ran to the stables.”
The place was a frenzy of bloody foot-and handprints. Rhode’s insides pulsed with fury from his bones to his brain as he envisioned what had transpired. The feelings were intense and fierce...and weird.
“Are you okay?” he blurted. Teegan Albright was absolutely courageous and a fighter. Good for her.
She touched her side again. “I am. The cut was shallow. I’ve been treated and given antibiotics for possible infection.”
“You get a look at him?” he asked.
Stone shot him a glare.
Rhode wasn’t a homicide detective anymore and questioning a victim was no longer his job. Unless, of course, she’d hired him as a private detective—which she hadn’t. No, his job was to clean up the aftermath. But he couldn’t help himself. A protective instinct had kicked in hard and he couldn’t fight it. Nor did he want to.
Teegan shuddered. “He wore a jester’s mask. Plastic. The kind that has a string around it. It shifted when I hit him with the rolling pin.” Her eyes shifted toward the window, but Rhode was sure she wasn’t seeing anything other than the frightening moments she’d endured. “He was a white male with a dark, scruffy chin. I saw that. I think his eyes were dark but I’m not sure if it was dark blue or light brown.”
“You were so brave,” Sissy said as she squeezed her hand.
Rhode agreed. “He say anything?”
This time Bridge passed him a warning eye.
“No.”
If Rhode were the detective on the case, he’d call the PD where Misty Albright had lived in California and inquire about other possible attacks by a man in a cheap jester mask. Then he’d run the MO through the Violent Crime Apprehension Program, or VICAP. See if any matches popped.
A jester’s mask was particular.
What did it mean? Why that mask?
Why not an easy-to-find, hard-to-trace black ski mask? The disguise clearly held significance. His investigative instincts kicked into high gear, but this wasn’t his job or his case. He stepped out the kitchen door Teegan had used to flee the attacker. Blood crusted the doorknob. Outside, on the patio, the rain beat down and Rhode scanned the area. The water had washed away trace evidence. No blood. No footprints.
Back inside, he reentered the foyer area where his brothers conversed in hushed whispers. Teegan and Sissy had disappeared. “What’s going on?”
Stone pointed to the gruesome aftermath. “Stabbing is often personal and the number of stabs reveal Misty Albright was murdered in a rage. But Miss Landoon fell down the stairs. Before or after Misty was stabbed to death? And what was she doing upstairs?”
“Thought that wasn’t our job?” Rhode asked. “I saw both y’all’s glares.”
“In front of the victim’s family and close friend? No. Between us, speculation is fair game,” Stone said.
He was right. Rhode had no business interviewing a survivor.
Stone continued. “Sissy said Lorna lives on the main floor. How did she get up all those stairs?”
“Elevator?” Bridge asked. “I saw it near the kitchen.”
Rhode shook his head. “Dom told me the elevator has been broken for a couple of months. He also mentioned that Miss Albright saw Lorna’s great-grandson, Charlie Landoon, on her way up the street. He’d passed her, leaving the estate. She assumed he’d been at the stables. Said he rarely visited Lorna, and used the road running alongside the estate, bypassing the home. Dom’s going to question him. Might be right now.”
Stone grunted. “Well, we’ll leave it to Dom.”
Nodding, Rhode said, “I just want to get this done and go.” His chest continued to squeeze and it felt like the house was closing in on him. Not so much the house...but Teegan’s presence.
“What’s up with you?” Bridge asked.
“I don’t know.” He sighed and combed his hair with his fingers, unsure if he would continue to grow it out or chop it. Currently, his bangs hung to his cheekbones and drove him a little batty. “I...think I know the caregiver.”
“Know her how?” Stone asked warily.
Heat flamed in Rhode’s cheeks. “Like...in the biblical sense.”
Bridge huffed and rolled his eyes. “Really? Is there anyone in fifty miles of Cedar Springs you haven’t known?”
“That’s a low blow,” Rhode muttered.
“Fitting, don’tcha think?” Bridge asked, sarcasm dripping like acid.
Bridge might be exaggerating, some, but in Rhode’s drunken days, he’d done a lot of shameful things he’d have never considered if not under the influence. He’d made things right with God but the burning shame and guilt continued to dog his heels on the daily.
“I’ll take the kitchen and work my way into the dining area.” Work would help keep his mind from fixating on what might have happened with Teegan and his past. Collecting his supplies, he marched to the kitchen and began the aftermath recovery. The irony smell of blood wafted on the air, but Rhode ignored it and worked, ensuring that traces of blood didn’t contaminate the other areas of the kitchen. Once he’d disinfected and deodorized the large room, he tested the area to confirm it’d been freed from pathogens.
The process wasn’t difficult, but it was time-consuming and meticulous. An art he and his brothers had perfected. No one would ever know that a violent crime had been committed in the kitchen. “Clear,” he called to inform his brothers that he’d finished the kitchen. As he collected his gear bag and material to work on the dining room, Teegan Albright stepped inside. Her eyes weren’t as red as earlier.
She startled. “Oh!” Bringing her hand to her chest, she said, “I didn’t realize anyone was in here.”
“Sorry,” he said, feeling a digging in his chest again. “I, uh, just finished. It’s all clear for you.”
She stared at him and he shifted uncomfortably.
“Do we...do we know each other?” he asked.
Teegan shook her head. Too fast. Too hard. “I don’t think so.”
Lie.
Rhode had been trained to detect those as well. His suspicions had now been confirmed. He had a past with her. But from when? How long ago? Maybe she was also feeling the shame. Or she might be unsure and afraid to admit it for fear of facing embarrassment too. He’d let it pass. “If you’re sure.” He hung on to the last word, allowing her the chance to backtrack.
“I am. I’m sure.”
“Okay,” he said. What else was he supposed to do? Push and say, Are you sure we didn’t sleep together at some point in time? Who said that other than some arrogant tool? “Again, I’m sorry about what happened to you.”
“Thank you.”
He pivoted to leave as the door from outside opened into the kitchen, the covered porch keeping him from getting wet. A man stalked inside, his murderous eyes focused on Teegan.
“I’ll kill you!”
