DETECTIVE SHAW

 

After Patel declined my request to add Rachael Martin to the growing list of suspects to follow, I decided to take matters into my own hands. If he couldn’t afford the manpower to tail her, I’d do it myself. Though I’d never tell him, I don’t think his decision had anything to do with the number of officers at the station.

He’s already made up his mind about this case. He doesn’t want to consider another option.

Nevertheless, I was at the station before dawn. I scooped up the keys to an unmarked cruiser, grabbed a quick cup of coffee, and made the short drive to Cypress Street. I parked a few houses down from the Martins’, and waited for the excitement of the day to begin.

Despite the news vans still parked along the side streets, Point Reina felt abnormally quiet. Shortly before eight, a Mustang rounded the corner and skidded to a stop in front of Ravenwood. Dean exited the car and removed a few reusable grocery bags from the trunk before making his way inside. I thought the staff had Saturdays off….

Usually, when the sun shows its face between storms, Point Reina is alive with activity. Especially on weekends. Most residents take advantage of the break in the weather and hit the beach. Dog walkers hike through the grove. Housekeepers whisk in and out of front doors, brooms and mops under their arms. Private chefs carry heaping bags of groceries into immaculate homes. Women in leggings strut down the sidewalk, pushing babies in strollers with one hand and chugging Starbucks with the other. But the parade seems to have been called off today, and somehow everyone but me received the memo.

When the clock on the dash clicks over to noon, I tip back my coffee cup and drink the last cold drops of breakfast. I should’ve brought some food to tide me over. I suppose my eagerness—or frustration, perhaps—overruled my logic. Trying to ignore the growling in my stomach, I scan the street.

Rachael’s Porsche Carrera, red as a cherry with the sun beating on it, is parked in her driveway. Travis’s car is either in the garage where I can’t see it, or he’s not home. Dean’s Mustang is still parked in front of Ravenwood. Strange…

Exiting the cruiser, I head down the sidewalk toward the Martins’ glass home. Why they’d want a house where everyone could see what was happening at all hours of the day, even in their most relaxed moments, is beyond me.

Today, though, their transparency suits my needs.

I keep my pace slow as I walk by and peek inside. Rachael is curled up on one of the big couches, blond hair spilling over the edge of a pillow, a white blanket pulled up to her chin. A wine glass rests on the table in front of her, and even from here I can detect the blood-red remnants of her drink pooling at the bottom. A little early to be hitting the bottle, I muse. She must’ve had a rough Friday night.

Movement near the grove catches my eye. It’s Colleen, striding down the steps that lead to the beach. I almost call out to her, but something warns me not to. Another glance into the Martins’ home tells me Rachael is still crashed on the couch. I’m here to keep tabs on her, not Colleen, but what are the chances she’ll wake up in the next few minutes?

I follow Colleen, and run through all the case’s contradictions. Gold necklace with a religious symbol around her neck. Atheist. Struck in the back of the head. No murder weapon. Everyone loved her. But someone wanted her dead.

Perhaps Patel is right. Perhaps I’m looking at the facts too closely to see any of them clearly. Studying the trees instead of the forest.

I let my attention drift into the enormous canopy of the Monterey cypress grove. Killing time while I waited this morning, I did a quick Google search on my cell and learned that there are only two natural Monterey cypress groves in the world. The trees need moist weather and near-constant fog, which makes Point Reina a perfect fit. On days like today, when the sun shines through the tangled green canopy, it’s peaceful. Other days, like the day Joanna Harris’s body was discovered, dense fog wraps around the spindly branches, and the forest becomes eerie. As if something evil is lurking in it, beyond the line of sight.

Moving toward the edge of the cliff, I peer down onto the narrow stretch of beach below. The sand is empty except for Colleen bending near the water’s edge. Her back is to me. She picks up something small and chucks it into the waves. Her blue dress whips around her, catching around her beautiful legs as she repeats the motion again and again. She’s barefoot. Her dark hair flies about her face. Her belly is really starting to swell now; it won’t be long until she’s holding a baby in her arms.

Zigzagging down the wooden stairs, I call her name into the wind.

She turns, her face glowing. Then her shoulders slump as if she’s disappointed that I’ve ruined her alone time. “Detective Shaw! I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

“I could say the same for you.” I stand firm on the bottom stair, mere inches from the sand. “Are you headed back up?”

Cradling a hand beneath her belly, she picks up a rock, analyzes its curves, then throws it into the sea. “I don’t think so. Michael called Dean in today, and he’s not finished yet. He’s roasting lamb for a late lunch. Joanna’s favorite, of course.”

There’s an unmistakable chill to her tone.

“Can we talk?”

“Sure,” she agrees easily. But she strides in the other direction, down the beach toward the tide pools.

“Damn it,” I mumble, staring at the sand.

With a groan, I heel off my shoes at the bottom of the stairs, roll off my socks, and shove them into the toes of the shoes. I fold up the bottom of my slacks until they’re bunched at the knees. And then I head down, letting my feet sink into the plush mounds of sand. It’s warm on my feet, and although the heat feels good, the damn sand has already worked its way between my toes.

I catch up with Colleen minutes later. She doesn’t seem bothered by the sand at all. It’s covering her feet and ankles, inching up her calves. Hand protectively cupping her stomach, she crouches at the water’s edge and picks up another rock. I stay quiet, watching her roll it in her palm. It’s white and smooth, with a faint purple marking around its edge.

“Purple is a strange color to find out here,” she says, looking up at me. I keep forgetting how very pretty she is. “What do you think caused it?”

“The algae. That rock was most likely chipped off a boulder, and it banged against another rock covered in the stuff. It’s smooth because of the beating it’s taken.” I’d learned that fact from Karen—she loved the beach. She found the ocean calming and peaceful. I’ve always found the sand a pain and the water too cold, too turbulent.

Colleen makes a small, satisfied sound. “Its beauty comes from its struggle.”

“I suppose you could look at it like that.”

Karen used to say the flattest, smoothest rocks skipped the best. I find a rock of my own to throw into the water.

“I can relate to this little guy.” She holds the purple-stained rock in her hand, stroking her fingers over its curves. She doesn’t look at me. “You’ve looked into my background, haven’t you? You know what I’m talking about.”

“I know you grew up in a series of foster homes. That’s about all.”

Even though I know a little bit more, I don’t divulge it now. I’d rather hear what she has to say about her past. People reveal the skeletons in their closets when they feel trusting and unguarded.

“It was hard without my parents,” she says. “It’s hard to explain to someone how important it is to feel wanted, to feel loved unconditionally, unless that person has felt the same void.”

“I’m sorry,” I offer, because I know too well the void she’s talking about.

I pick up another rock. This time, I hand it to her. A peace offering of sorts.

She smiles sweetly as the wind sweeps tendrils of hair back from her face. She’s definitely a beauty—I can see what Michael sees in her. There’s lightness to her. A spark gleaming in her eyes.

“Adversity must’ve taught you to be strong,” I say.

“You would think so, wouldn’t you?” She pauses, and then, “But I was never strong enough to tell the difference between a good guy and one who wanted to hurt me.” She flings the rock I’d given her into the water. “I walked an awful, broken road to get to Ravenwood.”

“Does Mr. Harris know about your past?”

“Michael knows the basics, and that’s enough. From the start, we made a conscious decision to keep the past behind us and only focus on the present.”

If Michael beat his wife to death and buried her across the street, he happened upon the perfect woman to replace her—one who didn’t want anyone digging into her past, either.

“Are you happy?” I ask without thinking. The personal nature of the question surprises me. I’m equally surprised by my desire to know the answer.

“I am.” She eyes me carefully before stooping down to pluck another rock from the sand. “I’ve known from the moment I met Michael that his heart rules him. Morally, he’s solid, right to his core. He treats me like I’m special, and I’ve never felt that, not once in my life. And I can offer him things he’s always wanted, things no one has been able to give him before.”

“Like what?”

“Our child.” She smiles when my eyes go to her growing belly. “Listen, Detective, I heard something yesterday—something you should know that might help you with your investigation.” She turns, stepping through wet sand as her dress billows behind her. “I’m not sure how to say it, exactly.”

For the first time since we’ve been talking, Colleen seems fidgety. She drops the rock into the waves and clasps her hands in front of her. Her eyes shift from the surf to me and back again. What could possibly have her more on edge than talking about the demons from her childhood?

“Take all the time you need,” I say.

She blows out a shaky breath and starts to walk. I keep pace beside her. “Samara told me that Joanna miscarried her child in May, and then went to a women’s clinic in June or July, though she didn’t know the reason for the visits. Joanna didn’t want to tell anyone—not even Michael, if you can believe it. To keep the secret, Samara told her to choose a different name, so she could be treated under complete anonymity. I just thought—I knew you’d figure it out eventually, and I—well, I thought you should know as soon as I did.”

My skin prickles. “It was her.”

Mandy McKnight. Joanna.

“Samara said she was the one who took Joanna to her appointments. Michael doesn’t know about the clinic visits at all,” Colleen continues. “If you think about it, he’s the true victim in all this.”

I hear the pleading in her voice, but I can’t agree with her.

Not yet.

MICHAEL

 

“You almost ready, Coll?” I check my watch. “I don’t mind being fashionably late, but this is pushing it. I need to make sure the staff is handling everything properly.”

Tonight’s the five-year anniversary of Harris Financial. We’ve come a long way, hustled until our feet hurt, worked until our eyes burned, and we’ve created a successful company. At least on the outside. If any of my employees knew the truth about our declining accounts and bad investments, it’d be a different story.

If it weren’t for the insurance money I’m about to receive from Joanna’s death, I’d probably be giving layoff notices rather than hosting a party at the Point Reina Distillery.

I’m equally relieved and disgusted by the thought.

I hear Colleen fussing with something in the bathroom and call out to her a second time.

“One more minute,” she says. “I promise I’ll be worth the wait.”

“You always are.”

Things have turned around between us since yesterday’s ultrasound. Overall, the mood in Ravenwood has shifted. Colleen seems happier, and from the way she snored last night, I’d say she’s sleeping better too.

I understand why she’s worried about my reluctance to attach to her or the baby—she’s afraid I’ll pull away in the end—but I simply needed time. When Joanna left me, I was devastated. But what made my world crumble to the ground was the fact that I’d invested so much time, energy, and hope in our baby. And it wasn’t even mine. I simply couldn’t let myself get wrapped up so easily this time. I had to protect myself.

The investigation and media circus have been the greatest tests of all. All this week, I expected Colleen to doubt me, or just walk out. But she’s stuck by my side. Through thick and thin.

“I’m ready,” she calls, and emerges from the master bathroom, hands raised from her sides. “What do you think?”

The breath catches in my throat. She’s wearing a black, old-fashioned dress, like something from the twenties, covered in beading and tassels. Some kind of sheer material barely conceals her shoulders. Her hair is sleek in front, parted on the side, and pinned into a feminine roll near the bottom of her hairline. Her lips are glossy red, her eyes smoky, her eyelashes thick and black. As she spins, I get a clear look at her growing belly stretching the dress’s slinky material.

“Well?” she demands, beaming at me. She’s as delighted as a child.

I can’t formulate a single word. Does she know? She couldn’t….How could she? There are no pictures of Joanna at last year’s anniversary party. Who would put her up to this? Samara? Travis? Dean?

The dress could be the exact same one Joanna wore that night.

Black and beaded, yes. Knee-length, I’m sure of it. Joanna had decided on a twenties vibe, her hair drawn up, her lips blood-red. She’d insisted I wear a pinstripe tux, with a red rose on the lapel, to match her.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Colleen’s smile falters.

“Did you get that from—never mind.” I must be mistaken.

“What?” Her face scrunches in confusion. “Is it bad? Should I change?”

“No,” I force out, my voice suddenly hoarse. “You’re stunning. You took my breath away, that’s all.”

It’s not a lie. My chest is tight, my heart is pounding. Should I ask her to change? We don’t have time—we’re already late—and I fear telling her to pick another outfit would dampen her spirits and ruin the whole night.

Shaking my head to clear away images of Joanna, I step forward and wrap Colleen in my arms. “You were right. Absolutely worth the wait.”

But then I breathe in, and—Joanna. Joy again. Is she doing this on purpose? The perfume makes Colleen smell powdery, fresh, and sweet as a rose. But the scent is disturbingly familiar. Did she raid Joanna’s bedroom, taking the dress from her closet, just the way she took the perfume from her vanity?

“You look handsome.” Pulling away, she gives a short tug on my lapels. She’s smiling again, pleased. “Are you ready?”

For a second, I think she’s going to suggest I pin a flower there, right where Joanna had insisted I wear one. And suddenly I’m feeling like I’ve slipped into an episode of The Twilight Zone.

I need a drink.

“Let’s go,” I say, a little too harshly, and Colleen glances up at me, surprised.

The reporters are there, as always, snapping pictures as we step out front. Microphones are shoved at us as we face a barrage of questions about Joanna, about the investigation. Tonight, we elbow through without a word, and by the time we turn the corner onto Beach Street, miraculously, we’re alone again.

It’s quiet tonight, I notice as we walk to the Point Reina Distillery. All I can hear is the soft rush of waves hitting sand and Colleen’s heels striking the sidewalk. It’s nearly eight and pitch-dark, with only the glare of the crescent moon and the dim glow of the streetlamps to light our way. The air is crisp and cool on my skin.

“I wanted to talk to you before we went in,” I say as we move together through the parking lot. “Travis and Rachael were formally disinvited from the party tonight.”

“I think that was a good call.”

“But that doesn’t mean they aren’t going to show up.”

She glances up at me. “Do you really think they would?”

“They might. I’ve hired security so no reporters or unwanted guests can get in, but I wanted you to be aware, just in case.”

“Thanks for the heads-up,” she says after a beat, and then, “Michael, this is the first time most of your employees will see us together. Are you worried about that at all?”

I hadn’t thought about it, but she’s right. We’d kept our relationship secret for the few months Colleen still worked for me—up until she could no longer hide her baby bump—and then she quit, before anyone could ask questions.

“No,” I say finally. “Unless they’ve been in a cave, they’ve seen the news reports. They know we’re together, and I really don’t care what they have to say about it at this point. If that’s what you’re worried about.”

She shivers, squeezing her eyes closed. “I’m not worried. Just nervous, I guess.”

“There’s no reason to be, sweetheart.”

Right before we go inside, she stops me and tugs me down to her. As her lips press against mine, a draft of cool sea air sweeps up the cliff, carrying Joanna’s scent straight to my nose. I could be kissing her. I’ve been in this exact place, on this exact night, kissing my wife, who happened to look exactly the way my pregnant girlfriend does now.

I pull away with a curse. “Come on, we’re late.”

Because if I don’t get whiskey flowing through my system within the next few seconds, I’m going to combust.

COLLEEN

 

Dinner goes so smoothly, I’m almost shocked.

No one mentions Joanna or her murder. There’s not one awkward silence or uncomfortable situation. Conversation is flowing. Music is playing. And Don is working overtime, keeping the distillery open late for us. As the hours roll by, I’m thankful for security at the door. Three reporters posing as employees tried to sneak inside, and it wasn’t until they were asked to show proper identification that they gave up and left.

There’s been no sign of Rachael or Travis, which is a blessing considering that I wouldn’t know what to say to either of them.

After dinner, I break away from my conversation with the head of Harris Financial’s marketing department and search for Michael. Instinctively, I head toward the bar. He’s been hovering there most of the night, talking with Don rather than his employees.

“Hey,” I say, kissing him on the cheek before taking the stool next to him. “Hope I’m not interrupting.”

“No, not at all.” He flinches as if he’s suddenly disgusted by something, then turns toward the bar. “Have you ever had déjà vu, Don?”

He shakes a martini. “I have.”

“Me too.” Michael buries his chuckle in a long drink. “Seems like every time I turn around—wham! I’ve been here before, in this exact moment.” Slamming his palm on the bar, he whirls toward me, eyes wide, as if he just now realized I’m sitting next to him. “Colleen, sweetheart, have you met Don?”

“I don’t think so.” I take his hand. “I’m Colleen Roper, Michael’s girlfriend.”

“Mother of my son,” Michael slurs, lifting his drink to toast himself. “She’s a special one.”

“I’m sure she is.” Don smiles shyly and goes back to mixing a fruity drink. “Nice to meet you, Colleen.”

As I order another virgin daiquiri, a security guard approaches Michael and rests a hand on his shoulder. They talk briefly, though the music is so loud I can’t hear what’s being said. Michael slides off the barstool.

“I’ll be back in a flash,” he says, patting my thigh. “Need to step outside for a moment. Order me another?”

And then he follows the security guard to the main room where the rest of his employees are enjoying dessert.

“He’s had a lot to drink tonight,” Don remarks, sliding to my side of the bar. “More than usual. Make sure he gets home safely?”

“Of course.”

“I’ve seen you, out and about.” He starts washing a line of dirty glasses one of the waitresses has set on the bar. “You go for a walk through the grove and down to the beach every morning.”

“Yeah, I do.” I’ve been going down to the trails first thing every day to think, and try to relax. “Have you been following me?” I tease.

“Nah.” He punches buttons on the register to clear a tab. “You know the bench near the cliff? The one overlooking the tide pools?”

I nod. It’s black wrought iron and sits off the beaten path, a few feet from the groomed part of the trail.

“I like to go there to clear my head before work. It’s peaceful. Stay there long enough, right in the thick of the grove, and you become a part of nature.” He mixes vodka and tomato juice. “You wouldn’t believe the things I see and hear. It’s like people don’t even know I’m there.”

I swivel on my stool and scan the room. I hardly know anyone here. After all, I only worked for Michael’s company a few months. I mostly kept to myself. Even now, I prefer Don’s company to anyone in the main party room, especially now that Michael has stepped outside.

I think about the bench Don likes. It’s not far from where Joanna’s body was found.

I wonder…

“Did you know Joanna?” I ask, keeping my voice as casual as I can.

He slides the Bloody Mary down the bar to the waitress waiting to fulfill an order. “Oh yeah. Everyone knew Joanna. Came in all the time.”

“With Michael?”

“Michael. Rachael. Travis. That woman might’ve been friends with everyone in town.”

“Well, not everyone,” I blurt, and instantly regret saying it. “It’s a terrible thing that happened to her.”

Don bends beneath the counter and comes up with another shaker. “Seems to have worked out for you in the end, though.”

I frown. “What do you mean by that?’

“Just that you seemed to benefit from her loss, that’s all.” He puts his hands up in surrender. “Hey, that came out wrong. I don’t mean to imply—all I mean is, I see the way you and Michael look at each other. You’re happy, and now you’re starting a family. If Joanna hadn’t been killed, you two would’ve never gotten together. You wouldn’t have had any of this, including your baby.”

I suddenly feel very uncomfortable. I shouldn’t have brought up Joanna.

“It is a strange thing, though,” Don says, after he takes another order.

“What?” I ask.

“You look just like her.” He meets my gaze head on. “Especially tonight.”

I force a tight smile as my skin shrinks over my bones. “It was great meeting you, Don. Please excuse me.”

I find Michael outside, talking to the security guards.

“I want the police here. Now,” Michael rasps. His finger comes so close to the guard’s nose, he nearly flicks it. “Pick up your little walkie-talkie and call Detective Patel. He’ll come by, ask them all kinds of questions, and then they’ll be the ones on the news. Travis is the one they should be investigating anyway. That bastard could’ve been the one who killed Joanna. Do you hear me? He could’ve killed my wife! They should be looking into him!”

My wife.

A part of me dies inside.

He stumbles, and the guard next to him steadies him. Michael jerks away. He doesn’t even realize how drunk he is.

“Hey, honey,” I say, brushing my hand up and down his back. “Everything okay out here?”

Spinning around, he struggles to focus on my face. “No, Coll, everything is not okay. Travis and Rachael came by, but these idiots didn’t call the police like I instructed them to, so now I have to do it myself.”

“Did something happen? Did they cause a scene?”

“No, but Travis could be a cold-blooded killer, Colleen! Can’t have someone like that roaming around. We need to make it clear they’re not welcome anywhere around us. All eyes need to be on them.”

He’s out of control. As he removes his phone from his jacket pocket, punching random buttons, he starts to sway again.

“You’re right,” I say, sliding the phone from his fingers. “Here, let me call for you, honey.” While I pretend to dial, I turn to the guard. “Did they damage anything? Cause trouble of any kind?”

He shakes his head.

I put the phone to my ear and make a fake call to the station. Looking rather pleased, a tight-lipped smile stretched across his face, Michael folds his arms across his chest and waits for me to explain the results of the call.

“There,” I say. “The detectives got the message. What do you say we head home? That way, if the police show up, we’re out of their way.”

“But the party.” He tries to point toward the door, but loses his balance and points to the parking lot instead. “I should tell everyone I’m leaving. They’ll want to know. I should say goodbye—”

“They’ll be fine. As long as you’re picking up the bar tab, no one really cares if you’re there.”

As he scoffs, the guards laugh, and one of them says, “True story.”

“So come on.” I link my arm through his and nuzzle into his shoulder. “Take me to bed.”

At that, Michael salutes the guards military-style and marches home, leaning heavily on my arm to steady himself. The second the front door shuts behind us, Michael pins me against the wall. He’s all sloppy lips and fumbling hands, but my heart leaps when he kisses me. He hasn’t made a move like this since I came to Ravenwood. We stumble up the stairs and down the hall, kicking the bedroom door open and laughing like teenagers as he pushes me onto the bed. I land with a squeal, undressing fast, flinging the beaded dress to the floor. But when he tries to take off his pants, he falls face-first, right on top of me, and laughs into a snort.

He’s a wreck.

It’s not going to happen tonight. As he fumbles with his shoes and pants, my heart sinks. He’s going to pass out the second his head hits the pillow.

With a groan, he crawls onto his side of the bed and collapses. “I’mso—sorry,” he slurs, his face mashed against the pillow. “Ihadtoomany.”

“Shh.” I run my fingers through his hair and earn a deep, satisfied sigh in response. “It’s all right, darling. Sleep now.”

A pleasant realization hits me. We don’t pretend to be perfect like Travis and Rachael, but that’s okay. We don’t have to. I can be paranoid, self-conscious, and stick my foot in my mouth more often than I’d like to admit. Michael can work too hard, drink too much, and be a little possessive. In the end, we’re perfect for each other.

“You looked beautiful tonight,” he whispers, his breath slow. “So beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

“This time was better than last time. No Travis, that’s why.” He yawns, loud and obnoxious, like a big bear. “You smelled good too. And your dress.” He makes a pleasant moaning sound. “Nice.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, nestling into the crook between his shoulder and his chest. “Now get some sleep.”

He’s quiet for a few minutes, his chest rising and falling. I listen to the soft thumping of his heart beneath my cheek.

“Good night, Joanna,” he murmurs. “I love you.”