Shots in the Dark

After Clay left, I came out of the office and saw Mal sitting at the bar.

“Well enough. I bought, wrapped, and shipped all my gifts back home. They’ll be late, but then my family expects that of me.” He winked. “What were you and Clay talking about in there?”

“I was updating him on my call to Melanie Smithson,” I said. And I left it at that.

There was a lot of cleanup to do, so I busied myself helping Missy and Billy get things tidied up and chatted with Mal as I worked. Everyone was tired but in a good mood. I knew my staff would be eager to head home for the Christmas holiday, so I let them all go when I closed up at two. Mal hung for a few minutes and offered to help me finish the cleanup, but I told him to go home. I wanted some time to think through things without any other distractions.

I still hadn’t heard from Duncan and figured that meant his work stuff had kept him longer than expected and I wouldn’t be seeing him tonight. I took my time with the rest of the cleanup and closing duties, toddling along as best I could with my crutches, my mind thinking about Tiffany, Ben, and the Gallagher family. At around two thirty in the morning my phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Mack. It’s Duncan. Wasn’t sure if you’d still be up.”

“I am and will be for a bit. We had a very busy day, and Pete had to go home sick. One of my other waitresses called in, too, so I’ve got a bit of cleanup to do yet.”

“Want some help?”

I smiled at the unexpected surprise. “I’d love some.”

“I can be there in fifteen minutes. The usual knock.”

“Got it.”

I disconnected the call and headed for my office to disable the door alarm. But I’d gone only a few steps when I heard someone knocking at the front door. I switched directions, and when I got to the front door and looked out, I saw Clay Sanders standing outside. Beside him was Aidan Gallagher. I hesitated, wondering why Clay was here with Aidan. Sensing my reluctance, Clay hollered through the door.

“Mack, can you let us in? We need to talk. I tried to call you, but I forgot about your phone problem.”

I cursed, remembering that I hadn’t given Clay the new number. I unlocked and opened the door.

Clay rushed in, Aidan on his heels. “I got the evidence we need,” Clay said.

I shut the door and turned to look at him. “What do you mean?”

“I couldn’t get anyone to tap into medical records for me, so I thought about it and decided to give Aidan a call. We’ve been talking, and while it took some convincing, I’ve managed to sway him to our line of thinking. He just came back from his house, where he went through Rory’s wallet. Rory donates blood, and he carries a card in his wallet with his blood type on it. The blood type of the semen found in Tiffany was A-positive, and Ben is O-negative. That’s how they knew he couldn’t have been the donor. Want to guess what type Rory is?”

“A-positive?”

“You got it. What’s more, Aidan said Rory had some kind of surgical procedure done after his first summer home from college. It was all very hush-hush. Aidan doesn’t know what was done, and he said his mother doesn’t know, either. But after I shared our theory with him, he had a guess.”

“A vasectomy,” I said, feeling my excitement grow.

Aidan shook his head sadly, looking abashed. “I knew my brother had issues, but I never would have guessed he was this messed up.”

Clay, looking excited, said, “Aidan is willing to go with us to the DA’s office to see if we can compel them to look into the case again.”

I looked at Aidan, surprised. “Are you sure?” I asked him. “This is bound to destroy your family.”

“My family is already destroyed,” he said, looking morose. “It’s the right thing to do.”

“Okay. How—” My bar phone rang then, and my first impulse was to ignore it. But then I thought it might be Duncan. “Excuse me,” I said. “I need to get that.” I crutched around behind the bar and grabbed the handset. “Hello?”

“Is this Mackenzie Dalton?” a female voice asked.

I recognized who it was right away: Melanie Smithson. “It is.”

“I tried to call you earlier on your cell phone, but no one answered.”

“I’m sorry about that,” I said. “I dropped it in . . . in some water, and it’s not working at the moment. I tried to call you to let you know, but it said the number was no longer in service.”

There was a pause, and when I looked over at Clay and Aidan, Clay mimed the pouring of a drink and gave me a questioning look. I nodded, waved a hand at the bottles behind me, and then moved from behind the bar. Aidan walked up and settled on a stool, while Clay came around behind the bar and started mixing drinks for the two of them.

“I thought long and hard about whether or not I should call you,” Melanie said. “You have to promise me that you won’t tell anyone. He’s threatened me several times. He said he would kill me if I ever said anything.”

I looked over at Clay as he set a drink down in front of Aidan and gave him a thumbs-up, getting a curious look in return. I mouthed the name Melanie Smithson to him and pointed at the phone. I started to tell Melanie that it was okay, that we already knew Rory was the culprit, but she went on in a rapid-fire, panicked voice before I could get a word out.

“He is . . . was,” Melanie went on, correcting herself in a sad tone, “infatuated with her, you know. And he’s not right in the head. He raped her when we were in high school, and he kept after her all those years, showing up at unexpected times, strong-arming her into having sex with him, threatening to kill her if she didn’t, and later threatening to kill Ben. He tried his damnedest to break those two up, and when he couldn’t, it made him furious. Tiffany told me she was afraid he would go through with it and kill Ben.” She paused, sucked in a quivering breath, and then said, “I think he finally did, or at least he tried.” She sucked in a quick, ragged breath and rambled on. “You can’t tell anyone. And you have to find a way to get him put away. If he finds out I told you about him, he’ll kill me. I know he will.” The fear was evident in her voice, and I could tell she was one heartbeat away from having a full-blown panic attack.

“It’s okay,” I said. “We already figured it out on our own. In fact, we’re putting together a plan right now to go to the DA and ask them to look into the murder again.”

“That won’t happen,” she said. “That family has too much money, too much influence. They’ll buy their way out of it somehow.” She hiccuped back a sob. “Oh, God, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Maybe you need to say more,” I said. “Would you be willing to talk to the DA if I go with you?”

“Are you crazy?” she screeched. “The minute I set foot back in Milwaukee, that family will have some hired killer do away with me.”

Aidan and Clay were both watching me closely, hanging on my every word. I felt bad for Aidan, and a little awkward, given that I was trying to convince someone to help me crucify his brother. His sad, hangdog expression tore at me. I hobbled around on my crutches, angling myself away from the men’s stares.

“I know a lot of cops,” I told Melanie in a low voice. “I can see to it that you’re safe if you come back.”

“Sorry, but I can’t do it,” she sobbed.

“The only way we’ll ever be able to put Rory away is if we gather enough evidence so that the DA can’t ignore it. With your help—”

“Rory?” she said, her voice shrill. “Not Rory, lady. It’s Aidan.”

“What?” I shot back. My voice reverberated in the phone like a gunshot. I felt my blood run cold. Literally. The hair on the back of my neck rose, and my body began to tremble. My ears suddenly became hypersensitive, and I heard noises, sounds coming from behind me. And another noise, more distant. And then I felt the cold, hard steel at my neck.

“Hang up the phone, Ms. Dalton,” Aidan said in a cold, dead voice. I knew he was right behind me, not only because of how close his voice was, but because I could feel the warmth of his breath on the back of my neck mingling with the coldness of what I knew from the smell was a gun.

“Aidan, what the hell?” Clay said.

“Hang up the phone now,” Aidan said, jabbing the gun into my neck.

“I have to go,” I said to Melanie. “Thanks for calling.” As I took the phone from my ear and went to press the disconnect button, I heard her gasp.

“Turn around,” Aidan said. “Slowly.”

I didn’t have much choice other than to do it slowly, thanks to my crutches. Carefully, I twisted around until I was facing him. I glanced over at Clay, who was standing behind the bar, looking confused and bewildered.

“It was you,” I said to Aidan. “You were the one who raped Tiffany. You were the one who tried to kill Ben.” I looked over at Clay. “It makes sense,” I said to him. “Aidan and Rory look alike, have the same eyes, nose, and hair. If we had put Aidan’s lower facial features on that drawing instead of Rory’s . . .” I left the rest for him to glean, knowing he’d figure it out.

He did, and when he shifted his gaze to Aidan, there was no doubt he understood, based on the expression of betrayal I saw on his face. Despite that, he said, “She’s wrong about you, Aidan, isn’t she?”

“Shut up, Clay,” Aidan snapped. His voice was loud enough that it made me jump, but not so loud that I couldn’t hear something else. “Go sit down,” Aidan said to me, gesturing toward one of the barstools. “I need to think.”

I started for the stool he’d indicated, my mind racing, trying to think of a way to keep him talking. But Clay beat me to it.

“Damn it, Aidan,” he said, running a hand over his head. “You did this, didn’t you?”

Aidan didn’t answer. He was watching me sidle up onto the barstool.

“This has to end now,” Clay said. He set his drink glass on the bar and started walking toward us.

Aidan moved so fast, I barely had time to register what was happening. A deafening sound exploded near my head, and my ears started to ring. The smell of gunpowder filled my nostrils. A second later the faint smell of blood followed. A host of synesthetic reactions came, too, triggered not only by all the sensory input, but also by the hopelessness and fear I felt. I heard Clay groan behind me and then slump heavily to the floor. I wanted to look, to go to him and try to help him, but I stayed frozen, afraid to move so much as a hair, lest I be the next victim. Even so, part of me knew that my bullet was likely only seconds away, anyway. Now that Aidan had shot Clay, he was committed to seeing it through. There would be no turning back.

I hung onto the phone, hoping that the sounds I’d heard meant what I thought they did. I hadn’t disconnected the call when Aidan told me to. Instead of hitting the hang-up button, I’d hit one of the number buttons. I was pretty sure Melanie had heard Aidan’s voice in the background—that was why she had gasped—and I prayed she was still on the line, listening. At least that way my death wouldn’t go unsolved and, hopefully, unpunished.

In the periphery of my vision I saw Aidan swing his gun arm back my way, and I closed my eyes, bracing for the bullet. I heard a faint click, and my heart skipped a beat. I prayed it would be swift and painless, a head shot, so I wouldn’t have to hear it, wouldn’t feel the pain. Instantaneous death.

But I did hear the shot, loud and clear. It was painfully loud, and immediately afterward I felt a warmth spreading over my face. The smell of blood was powerful and overwhelming, and I felt the heat of it marking a path as it trickled down my cheeks. I waited for the pain—the real pain—to register. But it never came.

“Jesus, Mack, are you okay?”

It sounded like Duncan’s voice, but it seemed to be coming from far away. I opened my eyes, convinced that I’d see nothing but darkness or maybe an approaching light, but instead I saw a red haze. And then I felt a hand grasp my arm.

I heard other sounds then: sirens, someone yelling for an ambulance, feet scuffling, a moan. Something soft swiped at my face, over my eyes, and when it was gone, so was the red haze. Instead, I saw Duncan, his face in front of mine, his expression one of panic and worry.

“Are you okay?” he asked again.

I took a quick self-inventory. Nothing hurt. Over Duncan’s shoulder I could see the front door of my bar and the cops who were streaming through it. I lifted up my hand, saw the phone still in it, and put it to my ear.

“Melanie? Are you still there?”

“Oh, thank God you’re okay!” I heard her say through the phone.

And with that, I set the phone on the bar and began to sob.