Chapter Fourteen
at a table in a small room of the equally small jail. While they waited for his dad, David bounced his leg. He tapped his fingers on the table. Then blew out a long breath. “Why did I decide this was a good idea?” The words slipped out before he realized he spoke aloud.
Adaleigh leaned close. “Deep breaths.”
“Do you wish you hadn’t come with me?” Why had he asked that? He didn’t actually want to know the truth.
She hesitated for a moment, then slipped her hand into his clammy one. “I’m glad I’m here.”
His heart skipped a beat.
Several clanks came from down the hall. Voices. Footsteps.
“Just remember, no matter what he did, he’s still your dad,” Adaleigh said. “And you always respond to him as a son.”
David gave a quick squeeze, then put distance between them as the door clanked open and an officer brought his father into the room. He shuffled as he walked, eyes downcast. His hair was wetted down, and at least a day’s beard growth shadowed his jaw.
The officer secured Dad to the bench and left. Dad raised his eyes, then perked when he met David’s gaze. “You came.”
“I had to, Dad.” David spoke softly, barely able to give voice to his words.
“Same gal from the other day?” Dad nodded his chin at Adaleigh. David felt her stiffen as his father’s eyes wandered over her. It wasn’t the leering of a drunken man, but a look of curiosity and challenge. Was Adaleigh good enough for his son? David didn’t want his father’s opinion on the matter.
“Dad.” David brought the man’s focus back to him. “How are you?”
His dad raised his eyebrows. “I’m in jail. What do you expect?”
“Tell me you’re innocent.” David leaned forward, needing to hear the words from his father’s mouth.
“What good will it do?”
“You’ve got to fight this, Dad.” David felt his control slipping. “Think of Patrick and Samantha.”
“They already have me convicted.” Dad flopped his hands, rattling his cuffs. “Even my lawyer thinks I’m guilty.”
“Then tell me what happened that night.” Desperation bled through David’s words.
“What does it matter what happened?” Dad traced a scratch on the table’s surface. “I’m not getting off. The sooner you realize there is nothing you can do, the sooner you can move on. It’s better if your brother and sister forget about their old man.”
“That’s not good enough, Dad.” David stood, leaning over the table. “You can’t walk out on us again.”
“I’ve got nothing to live for, David. Since your mom died …” Dad lowered his head, eyes closed.
“What about us?” David’s exclamation brought the guard.
“Just go home,” Dad whispered, but the words felt like a dagger.
“I can’t listen to this.” David pushed himself off the bench. “You’re so …”
With a growl, he strode toward the exit. Tears burned his eyes. How could his father do this to them again?
The guard let David out of the dreary room, then looked back at Adaleigh. She held up a hand for the officer to wait. David needed to cool off, and Mr. Martins sat in a dejected heap, shoulders heavy, face filled with countless lines of sorrow. Her skills were best used here for the moment. The officer nodded, retreated, and closed the door.
Adaleigh took a deep breath. What could she say to get through to a man broken beyond hope? “Let me tell you a story.”
Mr. Martins raised his head.
“It’s about a little girl.” She tightly clasped her hands together in her lap to control their shaking. “One day, she came home from school with bruises all over her body. Her parents, wealthy, upstanding citizens, immediately took her to the doctor and then instructed their lawyer to find the culprit so they could press charges. But he could not find out who had beaten the child, and no witnesses came forward.”
“Why not ask the child?” Mr. Martins furrowed his brows. “She knew.”
“No one could convince the girl to tell the truth about what happened.”
“The child should have spoken up.” Mr. Martins’s voice rose. “It makes no sense.”
“Doesn’t it?” Adaleigh cocked her head, willing him to see her point. “She didn’t think her life was worth as much as the persons who hurt her. The little girl already felt like an imposter, and since her tormentor was only reminding her of that truth, why rat on her?”
“What do ya mean by that?”
“Even if you know who the actual murderer is, why would you hand them in? Your life is over. People believe you are capable of murder. Why fight what everyone already thinks is true?”
Mr. Martins worked his jaw.
Adaleigh leaned forward. “Only, you didn’t kill Amy, did you? But you were too drunk to save her, so you feel as guilty as if you’d actually murdered her.”
He ground his teeth.
“You need to tell people what really happened.”
His eyes turned hard. “If you didn’t, why should I?”
Adaleigh froze.
“You’re the girl in the story.” His anger poured out of him. “You can’t tell me my life has worth if you ain’t thinking you’ve got any either.”
“Then why act like a child?” Adaleigh shot back, her own anger getting the best of her. “Why not fight back? Tell someone the truth.” A storm brewed in Mr. Martins’s eyes. Heedless, she went for the jugular. “You’re not scared, are you?”
“Shut up!” Mr. Martins leapt to his feet, slamming his hands on the metal table.
“Is everything okay in there?” The guard appeared at the door.
“Fine,” Adaleigh called out loudly but didn’t take her glare off Mr. Martins. Rage had replaced his despondency. Raw, sober, all-encompassing rage. Like a wild animal backed into a corner. She stared him in the eye and gave one last poke with her verbal cattle prod. “Don’t let what you lost make you suffer for someone else’s crime.”
“Then don’t be me.” Mr. Martins loomed closer, his breath stale and hot. “My son deserves better than that.”
Yes, he did. What was she going to do about that?
David was pacing the front steps of the jailhouse when Adaleigh finally emerged. She used her hand to shield her eyes from the sun and sucked in a mouthful of soggy air. It did nothing to stop the shivers that cascaded through her body. Though her plan succeeded, it zapped what little emotional energy she had left.
David bounded up the steps. “Where have you been? Are you okay? What happened?”
“Easy there.” Adaleigh held out her hands to stop from colliding with him. Her hands still shook. She crossed her arms so he wouldn’t notice. “I had a friendly chat with your dad.”
David stared.
“I convinced him to fight the charges.”
“And you? You look as white as a sail.”
“Yeah.” Adaleigh turned away. With Mr. Martins’s words echoing in her head, Adaleigh needed time to think. David absolutely deserved better than his father. He deserved someone who would stay, who wouldn’t break his heart. Adaleigh couldn’t promise that. Not right now.
“Is it something he said?” David stayed in front of her, blocking her way down the steps. “Don’t listen to him. He’s a selfish—”
“But he is right, David. You deserve better than he gave you.”
“Okay, so is it something I said? Is it because I left? I should have waited, I know, I—”
“Stop.” Adaleigh grabbed his arm.
“If it’s not me, then what?”
“You know you don’t have to save me, right?”
“Oh, I know that. You can stand up for yourself just fine. But you don’t have to struggle alone. You don’t have to be strong on your own.”
Adaleigh shook her head, thinking of the way he’d looked at her just an hour ago. “I’m a stranger here, a passing visitor. You deserve better.”
He clutched her shoulders, stared directly into her eyes. “Adaleigh Sirland, you are no longer a stranger to me.”
Adaleigh pressed her lips together to keep them from quivering, but nothing stopped the tears from dripping down her cheeks.
“Aw, Adaleigh, don’t cry, please.” He gathered her into his arms, right there on the jailhouse steps.
“It’s not you.” She rested her head on his chest, and security wrapped around her. “Well, it is, but it’s because you’re so good to me.”
David raised her chin to wipe the tears from her cheeks, his eyes sad. “Come, sit with me. We need to talk.”
He directed her to a shaded corner of the steps. From there they could see over rooftops until there was nothing beyond but sky. She hadn’t realized they’d climbed what amounted to a hill from the Martins’s home. They were not high enough to see the water, but it was there, a chasm beyond the houses. It yawned wide, threatening to swallow anything that dared get close enough. Adaleigh teetered on the edge. Emotions raw. All she wanted was to lean into David’s strength.
“I’ve been selfish.” David sighed, resting his elbows on his knees and staring out over the houses that sloped toward the lake. The memory of her in his arms made him want to hold her all the more. How could he when he was just like his father? Thinking only of himself. “You’ve been nothing but caring, and all I’ve done was get you into this mess.”
“That’s not true, David.” Adaleigh spoke softly. “You were kind to a stranger.”
“And walked you right into a murder scene.” Nor have I told you about Alistar’s article.
“Is that why you thought I should stay home today?”
“No.” He puffed out another breath. He only wished to spare her more turmoil—and failed—but he could come clean now. “I should have shown you Alistar’s article.”
She startled beside him. A small motion that rocked against his heart like a rogue wave.
David rubbed his forehead. “I couldn’t bring myself to ruin your morning before you even had breakfast.”
“Is it bad?” She swallowed.
“It’s why I was so mad when we ran into him.” Another point he could chalk up against himself.
Adaleigh shifted. “I was afraid I’d scared you last night.”
What? “Oh no, no, not at all. Adaleigh, after everything you’ve been through, you deserve a day of quiet or at least some semblance of normalcy. That’s what I wished for you.”
She gave a humorless laugh. “I don’t even know what that is anymore.”
He rubbed his hands over his knuckles. “Promise me that tomorrow you’ll help my grandma with her jam.”
“Why is it so important to you?”
Because he cared about her more than he’d ever cared about anyone. He wanted the best for her, this woman who so readily helped others while asking nothing for herself. A life of joy and peace and hope. Could there be any chance she returned the feelings building in him?
For a moment, she seemed lost in his eyes, then blinked. “What about Mr. Alistar’s article?”
He held her gaze a moment longer, unwilling to break the connection, then pulled the article he’d clipped from the newspaper from his pocket. Adaleigh read it aloud.
Crow’s Nest, WI—On Friday afternoon, eight-year-old Matthew Hitchens nearly drowned when he fell into the harbor while under the eye of his babysitter, Amy Littleburg. Miss Littleburg was recently found murdered, but it is assumed to be an unrelated case.
Fortunately for young Hitchens, a visitor to Crow’s Nest happened to be on hand to save the boy. We have been unable to ascertain much about this woman who jumped into the water after young Hitchens, but reports say she lives not far from here and is temporarily staying at the home of Marie Martins. Mrs. Martins was unavailable for comment. Other reports say that the woman arrived in Crow’s Nest Friday and is going by the name Lee.
Adaleigh’s respiration increased, and David clasped his hands together to keep from reaching out to her.
Young Hitchens is the son of Mark and Elizabeth Hitchens. Both parents expressed their gratitude to their son’s rescuer by taking her to coffee. Later, Mrs. Hitchens explained that she will forever be indebted to her son’s rescuer, even if she will never learn the woman’s real name.
Adaleigh turned the clipping to read past the fold. There it was, her nightmare—a photo of her in front of a line of fishing boats, small and grainy, but with the focus on her alone. David had studied the picture and knew exactly when it was taken—that night on the dock when Adaleigh had been surrounded by a mob of drunken men. Alistar had snapped a photograph of her before David could break up the crowd.
Adaleigh let out a long, slow breath.
“You have to leave now, don’t you?” David voiced the thought that had kept him from showing her the article all morning, the one he hadn’t admitted to himself until now.
Adaleigh shifted to squarely face him. “You’d prefer I stay?”
Did he ever. But he could never ask that of her, and that was the crux of the whole problem.
“You deserve better,” Adaleigh whispered.
“Than you?” He met her eyes. She stared back, reading him like his grandmother and uncle did so well. He wanted to shut off the vulnerability she could, no doubt, easily see. Couldn’t. He cared about this woman far more than he should after so few days.
Adaleigh swallowed, her throat constricting with the action. Her brown hair, damp from humidity, stuck to her temple. Her cheeks were redder than a number on the thermometer would make them. A warm breeze skated by, and she touched his arm. “It’s been a month since I ran away, nearly a week since I arrived in Crow’s Nest. Maybe she stopped looking.”
His heart broke at her sacrifice. Just to give him a kernel of hope. He laid his hand on hers. “Please don’t put yourself in harm’s way because of me.”
Her eyes widened as she gauged how much the words cost him.
The Hitchens family lived in a large brick home on a quiet street on the south side of Crow’s Nest. Sculpted bushes and bright little plants enhanced an immaculate green lawn. On the long walk from the jailhouse, Adaleigh and David spoke of little other than the weather, which had been slowly growing warmer and more humid.
“Are you sure you want to do this today?” David asked when they reached the Hitchens’ driveway. He wiped his forehead with his hand.
“Not really, but how can I reschedule? The woman almost lost her son.”
David acquiesced. “Would you prefer I join you?”
“I should do this alone, and I hate to have you wait for me.” Adaleigh patted his arm. “I’ll be okay. I’m sure I’ll find my way back to your grandma’s house.”
David scanned her face, as if assuring himself Adaleigh spoke the truth. That she wouldn’t skip town without warning. Her heart twisted. Why did she have to meet a man who could read nonverbal signals as well as she could? She liked that about him, but it sure made it hard to hide her feelings.
Maybe that’s not a bad thing.
“I told you, you’re one of the strongest women I know.” David caught her hand. “Tomorrow is Friday again. Will you go out on the boat with me? Maybe this outing will go better.”
Adaleigh nodded, not trusting her voice, but wanting to go along with him more than anything.
“I’ll see you back home, all right?” David brushed her cheek.
Home. She liked that an awful lot.
With a last wave at him, Adaleigh walked up the drive. She needed to get this conversation out of the way, then she could figure out what came next. She took a calming breath and knocked at the door. No answer. She swayed from foot to foot, flapping the hem of her skirt in an attempt to dry off the perspiration that dampened it before meeting Mrs. Hichens. She should have freshened up, but there would be no way to do so without getting damp on the way here again.
Random, indiscernible noise came from within, but no one came. Should she knock again? Adaleigh had her hand raised when the door flew open. Mark Hitchens glared at her, dressed in tan slacks and rolled-up shirtsleeves, with bare feet.
“I—” Adaleigh couldn’t get her words out.
“Kinda busy here.” He glanced back into the house with a significant look. A woman giggled.
“Mrs. Hitchens?”
“She’s not here.”
“Oh.” So who was … oooh, dear! Adaleigh took a step back, her heel slipping off the stoop.
He smoothed out the wrinkles of his shirt, tucking it better into his pants. “Are you here for some kind of reward or something?”
“Huh?”
“For saving Matt?”
“No. No, I’m meeting your wife here in …” She patted the pocket where she usually kept her watch only to remember she sold it for gas two weeks ago. Now she had no idea of the exact time.
“She won’t be home until late.”
Adaleigh firmed her voice. “We’re meeting at lunchtime.”
Mark Hitchens gaped at her. Then shook his head. “That has to be wrong. She didn’t tell me anything about it.”
Considering she’d whispered it, she must not have wanted Mr. Hitchens to know. Adaleigh attempted to cover for the woman. “Perhaps she forgot. I can wait out here. If she doesn’t arrive soon, I’ll go home.”
“I can’t have you waiting on my doorstep like a lost puppy. Come inside.” He held the door open wider.
Uncomfortable was not a strong enough adjective to describe how Adaleigh felt walking into that house. She glanced around. To the left was a study, all dark wood with a large desk and piles of paper. To the right was a formal parlor, complete with austere curtains and two wingback chairs. Stairs leading to the second level rose directly in front of her. Were the children home?
From the left side of the study doors, a young woman about Amy’s age peered out. For a minute, Adaleigh thought Amy had returned from the dead, but that didn’t make sense. Adaleigh shook her head to clear her mind. The woman slipped past her and out the front door without meeting her eye.
Mr. Hitchens sighed heavily. “As you can see, I’m still conducting interviews for Amy’s replacement. Give me one moment. Wait here.” He waved her toward the parlor, then disappeared into his study.
Adaleigh’s feet were frozen to the doormat. No way could she move if she wanted to. Interviews, indeed! What had Samantha said? That Amy and Mr. Hitchens were having an affair? Amy wasn’t the only extra woman in his life, or Mr. Hitchens sure made a quick replacement. And in the house with the children home? Disgusting.
She rubbed her face as if that action could scrub the thoughts away. Motive. It screamed motive.
As if the thought conjured him, Mr. Hitchens reappeared in the hall, now dressed in a similar suit coat to the one he’d worn to Sunday’s meeting, shoes on his feet. Adaleigh tried to keep the disgust out of her expression, but she couldn’t look at him. He called her into his study office, but she hesitated. The closed door at her back, the silent house around her … it weighed her down like cement bricks.
Mr. Hitchens crossed his arms, his eyes paralyzing her like a lion as it stalked its prey. “I called Mrs. Hitchens—she was at a Ladies’ Aid meeting. She said to wait.”
Like a car engine turning over, Adaleigh couldn’t get her brain to function. She couldn’t even summon her inner Sirland. She simply stared back at him.
“What you saw today …” His voice was the low growl of a hunter.
That familiar squeezing started in her chest. She took in a few mouthfuls of air, but it didn’t help. Finally, her inner voice—or maybe it was God’s protective prompting—broke through the fog, telling her to run. The message traveled down her right leg, and Adaleigh stepped back. Before the directive could reach her left leg, Mr. Hitchens grabbed her arm.
With the touch, her instincts kicked in, and Adaleigh yanked away. But in one swift movement, Mr. Hitchens swung her into the study and slammed her against the wall. Breath flew from her lungs as her back hit the solid surface. Adaleigh inhaled, but no air seemed to enter.
She was an athlete, strong and capable. What could help her? Something, anything, that could get her out of his clutches. He gripped both of her wrists in one hand, raising them above her head. Adaleigh dropped her weight, but his other hand gripped her throat. The tightness in her lungs intensified. She opened her mouth for air, but it only made his grip tighter.
Her legs! They had always been her best weapon as a swimmer. Adaleigh shifted to her left foot to maneuver a well-placed kick with her right. She landed it on his shin.
He squeezed her neck. “If you breathe a word of this …”
Blackness crept into the corners of her eyes. Adaleigh blinked, forcing them to clear. Mark Hitchens’s flushed face hovered inches from her own. His eyes held no mercy. He would snuff the life out of her if it meant saving his own skin.
“Do you understand me?” His words slithered like a venomous snake. “I won’t have my plans ruined by some nosy stranger.”
No nosy stranger here. Just a girl at the wrong place at the right time. Or the right place at the wrong time. Or whatever place when Adaleigh didn’t want to be there!
“Just because you saved my son doesn’t make you welcome here.” His grip loosened, and Adaleigh grabbed as much air as she could. “My affairs are my own. If you even whisper a word of this to my wife, I’ll snap your little neck.”
Adaleigh’s eyes felt as if they would pop out of her head as his renewed vise-grip crushed her throat. The blackness she’d warded off flooded back. Adaleigh tried to inhale, but nothing happened. Her head swam. Her sight faded to mere pinpricks. God, help me find a way out.