“Not a soul on earth will convict me when I murder your sister, Lane!” After a long day taking blood pressure, administering medicine, and monitoring patients, I had barely made it through the front door before Candace’s verbal assault began. “Because the jury will feel so bad for me—a pregnant, newlywed wife who simply wants a little space—that they’ll applaud me for doing right by my husband.”
Not this again. It was the sixth time—yes, I’d counted—in two days that Candace had asked me when Harper and the kids were moving out. I didn’t have an answer because my sister didn’t have answers. We were in the middle of a double-murder investigation and Candace was more concerned about painting the nursery than catching a killer.
I couldn’t blame my wife for feeling this way. Every day her patience was tried in new and creative ways. Yesterday, she found the pool skimmer clogged with Barbie doll heads, which led to a $500 filter repair. The day before that, Jackson had dropped a gallon of milk on the floor and left it for Candace to clean up. And don’t even ask me how or why Jackson’s underwear ended up clogged in the toilet.
All the spills, the toys everywhere, the noise . . . it was a normal life with kids, but not a life we were ready for. And the moment Candace reprimanded them, Harper got defensive. The last straw happened this morning on Candace’s way down the stairs when she stepped on a toy that sent her tumbling onto her stomach. She had finally calmed after an emergency visit to urgent care to ensure the baby was okay. It was a lot for her to deal with, and I knew I was asking too much of a new marriage, letting my sister and her kids live with us for this long.
“I know I promised you they’d be gone by now, and I’m working on it,” I said as I set my keys on the entryway table and headed upstairs to change clothes.
Candace followed me up the stairs to our bedroom, where I changed out of my scrubs into joggers and a tank top that Harper would make fun of. My whole hipster wardrobe had been customized to Candace’s taste, and my sister had something to say about all of it. Between the two of them, I couldn’t win. Where one was approving, the other was critical.
“You keep saying that, but they’re still here. It’s a simple conversation. Why are you making this so difficult? All you have to say is, Harper, it’s time for you to get your own place. See? Easy,” Candace ranted on.
“Honey, this is my sister. I can’t just kick her out like that. It takes a little . . . finesse.” It was the same answer I had given to her yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that. “Besides, I don’t want her alone right now. She’s still mourning her husband, and no one has hired her yet, so she has no money to pay for a place to live.”
“Yeah, about that job search, what the hell is taking her so long? And why hasn’t she already found something? Her kids are both in school—she should have already been working during the day.”
“She’s only been here two weeks, babe. Besides, you don’t understand all the stress she’s under.” She didn’t. She couldn’t. She wasn’t in Harper’s shoes.
Candace would never understand just how much Harper had suffered after Kira died. How she had gotten a job to distract herself, but the medicine she’d been prescribed numbed her to the point where she couldn’t focus, which led to her getting fired from the plant nursery. The monthly anniversary of Kira’s death had led to breakdowns in front of clients, which led to her being fired from her secretarial job. Firings number three and four were inevitable because some mornings she couldn’t get out of bed. She wasn’t ready for the workforce, and I wasn’t going to push her.
“So help me understand, Lane.” Candace sounded sincere.
“Harper has had . . . a rough year, to say the least. Last year she lost a child, her two-year-old daughter. She drowned. And it wasn’t Harper’s fault, if that’s what you’re thinking. Her husband blamed her, and she took it upon herself, but the reality was that it just happened.”
Candace’s face softened. “Oh, I didn’t know all the details about what happened with Kira. I’m so sorry.”
“And even if she did make a deadly mistake, does she deserve to suffer for the rest of her life over that? You can’t judge it unless you’ve been through it. Anyway, after that happened, Harper changed. She was never quite the same. I don’t know if she can even hold a job with how messed up she is right now. Grief does that to you. It changes everything, and until she’s had time to heal, I don’t think shoving her into a hostile, lonely work world will help.”
Candace touched my arm, sorrow in her gentleness. Sympathy.
“Add in losing her husband and, well, would you be able to function after all that?”
She shook her head sadly, then wrapped her arms around my waist. “I feel terrible that she’s gone through so much. I’ll stop bugging you about it. I know it’s hard for everyone.”
With her head tilted up to me, I kissed her forehead, her nose, her lips. Then trailed down her neck as she pulled me against her.
“I’ll show you hard,” I murmured into her collarbone.
Sliding her fingers through my hair, she pulled my face to hers, her kisses eager and bossy. I picked her up, she straddled me, and I carried her to the bed. Dropping her on her back, I stood above her, ripping off her clothes, pulling her panties down to her knees, then paused to admire her perfect body. The swell of her belly, teeming with life. Love welled up inside me, in the eagerness of my hands as I unclasped her bra, and the force of her legs around my waist pulled me closer. I climbed on top of her, gazing down at the woman I adored, and pressed my fingertip to her lips when she tried to speak. I didn’t want words to intrude on this moment.
“The door,” she said as my finger muffled her speech.
“What?” I asked.
“Someone’s knocking on the front door.”
And now I understood how passion deflated when kids entered the picture. Kids—or strangers knocking on your door—were the needle to the balloon. Pop!
“You have got to be kidding me.” I climbed off Candace, slid off the bed, and pulled my pants back up, wondering how I was going to hide my bulge.
Candace patted my groin and chuckled. “Better luck next time, babe.” Then she threw on her clothes and trotted to the stairwell. She paused at the top of the stairs, then backtracked to the bathroom. “Actually, I’m going to grab a quick shower. I’ll be down when I’m done.”
I kissed her on the cheek in passing, and she squeezed my ass. By the time I headed downstairs, still pulling my hipster tank top on, I found Detective Meltzer in my entryway, Harper welcoming him inside.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“I’m here to speak with both of you,” the detective answered. “Mind if we sit down?”
“Not at all.” Harper led the way to the living room, then, compelled by etiquette, offered, “Would you like some coffee or tea?”
“No, thanks. I hope we can make this quick.”
Detective Meltzer sat and unzipped a black duffel that he had set at his feet. Pulling out a clear plastic bag, he handed it to Harper. It looked like a piece of jewelry inside.
“Do you recognize this necklace?”
Harper examined the necklace through the plastic, then huffed as she passed it back to him. “Where did you get this? It’s my mother’s necklace, an heirloom.”
“We found it at the crime scene of Michelle Hudson’s murder. We pulled prints off it, and we lucked out and found a match. Your mother’s prints were in the system from when we took them after we questioned her about Ben’s murder. She’s currently down at the station, but I wanted to have a chat with both of you as well.”
“Are you saying my mother had something to do with Michelle’s murder? I thought she was already cleared when you brought her in before,” I interjected. My face heated with an urge to protect. “Because I know my mother. She could never kill anyone.”
“That was before we found this.” He lifted the bag with her necklace. “Money is a pretty big motivator for murder. Especially the person who stole her entire retirement fund and left her penniless, and the one witness who could identify her,” the detective added.
Harper shook her head, waved her hands, her entire body a denial. “There is no possible way my mother could have overpowered Michelle Hudson, let alone Ben. My mother is frail. As for the necklace, I don’t know how it got in Michelle’s house.”
“Let’s say your mother didn’t do it.” The detective folded his hands, cocking his head. “Follow some logic with me. Michelle said she saw two people at your house the night of Ben’s murder. You claimed you were with your mother and kids at her house, and Lane was at work until around midnight, which, based on the time of death, was after Ben died. We confirmed Lane’s alibi, but your alibi, Harper, is awfully convenient now that we found your mother’s necklace at a murder scene. You do realize how that looks?”
He was right. Even I was beginning to question things.
“What about Medea Kent? Have you looked into her as a suspect?” Harper blurted out.
“Yes, and she checks out. But you and your mother . . . I still have a lot of questions.”
“Detective, please understand I would never kill Ben. Never. Think about it—he was far more valuable to me alive. He had a great-paying job. Why would I want to ruin that?”
“You tell me. Did you know his business was failing?”
“No, I had no idea until you told me. I’m telling you, Detective, as far as I knew, everything was fine with his job, and with us.”
“So you’re saying your daughter’s drowning didn’t cause any problems at home? Because usually something so traumatic can break a family up. And I know you had some . . . anger issues that you were taken to court over.”
“I was grieving. I was angry about losing a child, not angry with Ben. We still had two kids to stay together for. In fact, we were finally starting to heal as a family when . . . it happened.”
Detective Meltzer watched my sister crumble, his posture stiff and eyes calculating. Harper looked at me, her eyes wide and pleading. I could almost read her mind: Do we confess what we did? What do we do now? I subtly shook my head. Not yet. We needed to talk this through first.
“Harper”—Detective Meltzer shifted his body—“can you tell me what you were doing the afternoon of Ms. Hudson’s death? Because Mr. Radcliffe, your neighbor, claims he saw you in the neighborhood that day.”
Oh crap. I didn’t like where this was heading; it was somewhere I couldn’t navigate, because I didn’t have a clue what my sister had been doing there beside “talking.” I heard the fear in her answers. Could the detective tell that he’d rattled her nerves by the way her leg twitched?
“Detective, I have been nothing but cooperative with you,” Harper bristled, “but I did not kill anyone. I stopped by to grab my mail, that’s it. Then I picked up the kids from school and took them to the dollar store. Then, that night, Lane and I watched a movie with the kids. Feel free to ask them. We had stayed in because of the storm that came through.”
It was a relief that Harper remembered the details of the day, almost too many details, because I sure didn’t. But from the sound of it, we were safe. We weren’t murderers after all.
“What about your mother? Do you know where she was that day?” he pressed.
“Working two jobs, I assume,” Harper answered. “I’m sure her bosses could vouch for her—”
“Mom’s working two jobs?” I interrupted. “Since when?”
Harper shook her head to shush me. It clearly wasn’t the time, but we had some catching up to do.
“Look, as you know, we’ve been working Ben’s case for two months now without a solid lead.” The detective dropped the necklace in the black bag at his feet. “This is the first link we’ve gotten that connects both murders—and they lead back to you and your mother. I’d be remiss if I didn’t look into it. Benjamin Paris was responsible for losing a lot of people’s money, but the only ones without a solid alibi are your mother, who was taken for her life savings, and you. And now we find her necklace at the scene where the only witness we had was killed. I know it’s hard to imagine an elderly lady killer, but you’d be surprised what people can do when they’re put in a corner.” Hefting the bag strap over his shoulder, Detective Meltzer rose from the sofa and moved toward the door. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but the evidence is enough to make an arrest.”
This was getting out of hand. My mother couldn’t go to jail for something she hadn’t done. I wanted to tell the detective everything, that Ben hadn’t been murdered, that he had committed suicide. My mother didn’t know that Harper and I were there that night, so she had nothing to gain in killing Michelle Hudson. But then why was her necklace at Michelle’s house?
No, it was better not to say anything until I talked to Harper in private.
“I’ll be in touch,” the detective said as Harper led him out the door.
“Should I call Mom to warn her?” Harper asked me.
“No, we can’t do anything that will piss off the cops. We need to cooperate for now.”
I considered all the knowns and unknowns. Ben had screwed over a lot more people than I had realized, including my mother, who vocally hated him. Could she have hated him enough to kill him? Then Michelle Hudson turns up dead, the only person who had seen anything, with my mother’s necklace at the scene. Add Ben’s mistress beneficiary to the mix, and it led me in circles. Medea Kent could have been connected, but apparently she checked out, whatever that meant.
The steps creaked as Candace came downstairs. “Everything okay?”
“No, not really. That was Detective Meltzer. My mom’s been arrested for Michelle Hudson’s murder. I’m going to have to hire an attorney and figure out how to get my mom out of this mess.”
“Oh my God, Lane. I’m so sorry. Anything I can do to help?”
“Do you know how to get out of murder charges?”
“No, but I know how to give a good hug.” Candace pulled me into her arms, tucking her head under my chin. I kissed the top of her head, noticing that her hair was dry.
“What happened to your shower?” I asked.
“I got sidetracked with checking my email.” Leaning back, Candace gazed up at me. “Hey, everything will be fine. Okay?”
I nodded, while all kinds of thoughts swirled together as I mentally grabbed at scenarios and facts and conversations, until one thought in particular struck me from behind. I had never told Candace Kira’s name, and Harper was tight-lipped about it with anyone she didn’t trust. I couldn’t imagine Harper sharing something so painful and personal with a woman she loathed. If neither of us had told her Kira’s name, who did?