Chapter Five

“He's dead,” I repeated. “As in...” I flapped my hand, uncertain of what motion to make. Did I draw a finger across my neck? Did I roll my eyes into the back of my head?

“As in dead,” said Detective Logan slowly, like I were stupid.

“Definitely dead?” I asked, feeling even denser. “No pulse, not breathing, that kind of dead?”

“No matter what you say, he remains dead,” he said. “Then you don't remember?”

“I remember opening the door and his weight falling on me in the doorway, and I saw his face and then the knife, and I screamed. Or maybe I saw the knife first, then his face. It's a little muddled.” I had a pretty good memory but panic, weariness, and a throbbing headache were all conspiring to take their toll. I hoped Detective Logan understood rather than suspected I would try to conceal something.

“The paramedics said you were screaming when they got there. And your neighbor said you were holding the knife.”

My head shot up. “What?”

“Your neighbor heard your screams and called the police. A Mrs. DeWitt,” he said after flipping a page in his notebook. He looked up, watching me closely as he continued, “She and her husband said they raced over and found you under a man in your doorway. They thought you'd been attacked so they pulled him off you. Mrs. DeWitt said you curled up into a ball and they couldn't decide if you were injured too. She said she observed you holding the knife when the paramedics arrived. They started to examine you, and then you fainted. I arrived a few minutes later and helped you into the kitchen once we were sure you weren't seriously injured. Do you remember any of this?”

I shook my head. “Some. I remember Kate and the paramedics but I was so scared. It's all a blur until we were sitting in the garden. I passed out again.”

“Yes. And that's how we got here.”

I touched my head. A tender lump was already growing at my hairline. How hard did I fall?

“The gaps in your recall are probably due to shock,” said Detective Logan. “Sometimes shock can affect a person's memory.”

I opened my mouth to reply when I remembered what he said. Kate witnessed me holding the knife. “I did not do that,” I told him. “I wanted to vanish from Brad’s life, not kill him.”

“He is still dead.”

“I won't believe that until I see him,” I said, “and I don't look forward to that at all.”

“Meredith?”

“No.” I held up a hand, stopping him from whatever he planned to say. I learned to stand up for myself over the past two years and I refused to stop now. “I’m not talking to you any further. You want a statement, Detective? Here it is: I did not kill Brad Van den Berg. Now get out!”

For a long moment, he sat there just staring at me. I thought he was preparing to tell me I was under arrest, but he got up, stuck the notepad and pen in his jacket pocket, and walked out.

I was left sitting there with my bare legs dangling over the side of the bed. No clothes, no shoes, no money, and no way home. I did the only thing I could. I put my head in my hands and began to cry.

The curtain drew back and I heard footsteps coming towards me. “Hey,” said the voice before a hand landed on my shoulder, causing me to scuttle backwards away from it. “It's me.” The hand disappeared.

“Detective? I thought I told you to get out.” I wiped the tears from my eyes, feeling pathetic and helpless.

“You did. But first, I'm taking you to a hotel.”

“I can arrange for that myself,” I sniffled although I had no idea how.

“What about having no phone and no money?” he asked before placing a pile of pale blue cloth next to me and a pair of rubber-soled socks on top. It was the very thing I would never be caught dead wearing. But now that I was Detective Logan's number one perp, I had to accept whatever I got. “I'll take you there. You don't have to talk to me. You don't have to say anything. Just get dressed and we'll go now.”

I looked around, hoping someone I knew would suddenly appear to rescue me but Detective Logan was right. I had no alternative. Plus, he didn't have to offer me anything. “Fine,” I said, “but I'm not talking to you.”

“Understood.”

“And you have to stand outside,” I said, pointing to the curtains surrounding the cubicle.

Detective Logan's cheeks reddened. “Of course,” he said. “Call when you're ready so you can commence ignoring me.”

I pursed my lips and nodded, determined to begin my silence when I chose to, not when he said I could. I had plenty of experience in obeying orders from men. But after almost two years of making all my own decisions, and proving I was competent at making them, I rebuffed the idea of starting the whole process over again with another man. Besides, I needed a few minutes to digest what Detective Logan told me. Brad was dead.

I couldn't believe that, however, until I'd actually seen him and confirmed his demise for myself. I secretly feared it was a terrible trick; another one of Brad's awful mind games. Yet Detective Logan was so sincere when he told me, he couldn't possibly be a participant of Brad's trick. They didn't even know each other. Or did they? I shook that thought out of my head. That was the kind of confusion Brad liked to stir up in me. I met Detective Logan almost a year ago and harbored a crush on him for nearly as long. Although he wasn’t a friend or even an acquaintance, his kind face was often visible around town. I respected his reputation for being a solid detective; patient, thoughtful and determined. He assisted several people I knew who were victims of crimes and they agreed he was meticulous in solving them. No one said anything but good things about him, which had to count for something. But could I trust him?

If Detective Logan said Brad was dead, I should believe him.

I just wished I knew more about what was going on.

I washed my hands in the sink, grimacing when the pink water sluiced from my hands and wrists, but also relieved to rinse away the dried blood. When I patted them dry, I undid the ties on the hospital gown and pulled on the scrubs, finding them a little too short and too roomy. The rubber-soled socks weren’t meant for wearing outside so I prepared myself. I checked my watch, then remembered I wasn't wearing it. It was probably right where I left it when I changed for bed. I tidied my hair, using my hands to smooth it, and hoped I didn't look too dreadful. Then I frowned. I should look dreadful! My estranged husband drenched me in his blood when he fell on me. I collapsed. I should look a total wreck. And I probably did so it was a good thing I had no mirror. I held back a laugh at the stream of thoughts going through my head as I frowned harder. Laughter wasn't the right reaction either. Could I still be in shock?

Pushing my thoughts to one side, I smoothed the over-sized scrubs self-consciously, took a deep breath, and pulled back the curtain.

“You have to sign some paperwork at the desk,” said Detective Logan, looking down at me. Pity seemed to glisten in his eyes. Or was it suspicion? “This way,” he said, apparently not expecting a reply. I followed him to the nurses' station where I was handed a sheaf of paperwork. I scanned it, hoping my deductible wouldn't be insanely expensive, and signed it before I thanked the nurse.

Detective Logan and I walked side-by-side and exited the hospital, emerging onto a paved plaza. A Calendar police vehicle was parked in front and we walked toward it. I shivered and was grateful when I heard, “Here,” from Detective Logan before he shrugged off his leather jacket and slipped it over my shoulders. I savored the warmth around my small frame. He wore a black, short-sleeved t-shirt, that revealed sizable, powerful biceps. I nodded, zipping my lip with my fingers, and he held back a small smile. “You're welcome,” he said without a trace of sarcasm.

I expected him to tell me to sit in the back, like a prisoner, but he opened the passenger door and gestured for me to get in. He waited until I was settled then closed the door and jogged around to his side. “I made a reservation at an inn for you tonight and you can extend it however long you want,” he said as we left the parking lot, heading for the highway. “Our crime scene techs will continue processing your house throughout the night. I’d return your keys but the door lock is busted so you'll have to replace it anyway. Maybe even the whole door. If you need a handyman, I can give you the number of a reliable guy.” He glanced at me, checking to see if I were paying attention, and I nodded. “If there's anything you want me to pick up from your home, clothes or the like, please send me a list and I'll arrange for them to be collected. My number is on the back.” He handed me a card. “Don't put it in my pocket,” he added, “I'll need that jacket later and I actually do know my own number.”

I toyed with the card between my hands and didn't thank him. He probably thought I was being a jerk, but that was okay. Let him think whatever he wanted. And if he started to sound like he seriously suspected me, I would hire a lawyer and get someone on my team. As nice as Detective Logan was being, I had to remember his status. He was no more on my team than the police officers I encountered during my marriage. He upheld the law, even if the law didn't always mean justice.

The rest of the drive passed quietly and I watched the countryside from the window as we headed along the highway that bridged Hallowell and Calendar. Every so often, I glanced at Detective Logan, and found his eyes glued to the road, his face calm and relaxed. On my third small glance, I was slightly relieved that he didn't seem to expect me to lurch over and stab him. Did he believe me? Even so, I couldn't relax. I had no idea what he really thought. Once, I sensed him watching me but I fixed my gaze on the road ahead.

The one useful thought I had was if my lock were busted like Detective Logan suggested, that meant Brad was crashing through the door before I barely even had a chance to open it. Surely that would indicate I didn't exactly welcome Brad in... and then kill him.

By the time we turned off the highway, taking the last few turns into town, my exhaustion crept up on me and I clasped a hand over my mouth as I yawned.

“Nearly there,” said Detective Logan as he slowed down for a stop sign, then turned and accelerated on a road of charming Victorian houses that I recognized. I'd walked along here several times during the evenings after I started to feel more comfortable and settled in. I was curious about my new neighborhood, and wondered about the people who lived inside the former mansions. “You're not going to ask where we're going?” he said, glancing at me.

I raised my eyebrows.

“Silent treatment. Got it,” he said as we pulled over. “This is The Blackberry Inn. I know the owner, Vanessa, and she has some rooms available. Her handyman is the best in town and if you ask her, she'll give you his number to fix your door.”

I looked up at the pretty house with its manicured lawn, white picket fence, and charming gingerbread trim. I was sure that only a few months ago this house had been a wreck but now a heavily pruned wisteria sprouted an abundance of purple flowers over the porch, and a sign swinging from a white painted frame at the edge of the lawn announced Bed and Breakfast. It was just the sort of house I knew I would enjoy staying in if I booked it for a vacation. I could already imagine the rooms being just as pretty as the outside. Stepping out of the car, the front door opened and a short woman with pale brown hair about my age stepped onto the porch. She waited patiently as we walked up the driveway. Well, the detective walked. I shuffled in the extra-large rubber-soled socks, rather embarrassed by my appearance. The only thing worse I could imagine was being dressed in an orange jumpsuit with my wrists and ankles bound and shackled. Hopefully, the detective wasn’t considering that in my near future!

“You must be Meredith,” said the woman, reaching out to shake my hand. “I'm Vanessa Wright. My sister, Tammy, is the manager but she isn't here right now. I've set you up in a room and I put everything inside that I think you'll need for the night. Sam said you had a horrible shock so I'm sure you’re eager to rest.”

“I am, and thank you,” I said, exhaustion seeping into every vein. I wanted nothing more than to lie down and sleep away this nightmare.

“Send me a list of whatever you need from your house,” said Detective Logan to me, stopping on the porch. “I'm taking off now. You have my number.” I nodded, and he waited but when I didn't say anymore, he stepped backwards, turning on his heel. When he was halfway down the driveway, my manners got the better of me.

“Detective?” I called out.

He stopped and turned, and the moonlight lit his face in a way that made him look almost ethereal. “Yes?”

“Thank you,” I said.

“You're welcome,” he replied as he walked away.

“Come inside,” said Vanessa, gesturing to the door without waiting for Detective Logan to reach his cruiser. A small tortoiseshell cat tried to edge past her and she scooped it up. “I’ll get you some ice for your head. Wait here just a moment then I’ll take you to your room.” Closing the door behind us, I remembered the jacket snugly wrapped around my shoulders.

“I still have Detective Logan's jacket,” I said, stepping toward the door.

“Leave it with me and I'll make sure he gets it,” she said, depositing the cat on the floor before taking the jacket from my shoulders and hanging it on the rack. “I'm sure he didn't forget it.”

“I should have given it back. I'm sorry, I'm still a little dizzy.” I pressed the ice pack to my tender temple.

“I'm sure Sam knew you were still wearing it since he has eyes in his head. Come upstairs. I hope you like your room. I wasn't sure if you'd eaten tonight so there're some snacks and drinks on a tray, but I can make you something more substantial, if you like. Oh, scoot, you,” she added, nudging the cat with her foot as it tried to wind its way through her legs. “I just got this kitten. My brother-in-law, Grant, is a vet and someone abandoned a whole litter at his surgery so I just had to adopt this one,” she explained. “I hope you don't mind cats.”

“I love them and I already ate dinner,” I said, thinking about my own cat, Mabel. “I appreciate all the effort you've gone to at such short notice.”

“It's nothing, really. Besides, you probably don't remember but you helped me pick out a gift for my mom just a couple of weeks ago. She loved it. So, you see, I already know who you are, even if you don't know me,” said Vanessa as she indicated I should follow her through the grand lobby. “Although you might know my sister, Tammy?”

“Maybe I do... I'm glad I could help you.” I followed her up the stairs, past a series of charming prints. “Is Detective Logan a friend of yours?”

“Friendly, more than friends. He keeps to himself a lot. He knows my boyfriend, Nate, better than me. Sam told me why you needed the room so please don't think you have to explain anything to me.”

“Okay.”

“I only moved back here a couple of months ago and we're still in the process of renovating,” remarked Vanessa as we stepped past a pile of tarps and paint cans at the top of the stairs. “So we're not really advertising for business yet. We're doing what I call a soft launch. A couple of rooms are ready so we’re easing into accommodating our guests. Tammy, Nate, and I are doing the renovation together like a family business. You'll have to let me know what you think. I already know from being in your shop that you have excellent taste.”

“Then you also know this isn't my usual attire,” I said, gesturing to the scrubs.

“I’ve never seen you look anything less than elegant so this,” she said, pointing to the scrubs, “will be our secret. I hope you don't mind, but Sam told me a brief account of what happened. How awful to find someone with a knife in his chest on your doorstep! It must have been a terrible fright.”

“I collapsed,” I said.

“You poor thing! I'm sure anyone would.” Vanessa laid a friendly hand on my arm as we stopped outside a room near the front of the house. “This is your room for the night,” she said as she opened the door and gestured for me to step in. The room was whimsical and pretty with soft pink and white wallpaper on the wall. An antique bed with scrolled head and footboard dominated the space. The covers were white and a pair of pajamas were laid out along with slippers. “The bathroom is through that door and I've left you a basket of toiletries. Breakfast is available in the dining room from seven AM and it's serve yourself. If you need anything, just call and I won't be far away. I'm currently renovating the garage apartment so I'm in the house and my bedroom is just across the hall. Can I get you anything else?”

I looked at the pajamas and a tear filled my eye. “No, thank you. This is so generous of you,” I blurted since I wasn't sure I could trust myself to speak without bursting into tears toward the kind woman.

“Then I'll leave you for the night. You'll be safe here, Meredith, I promise.” With a warm smile, she left and closed the door behind her.

I stepped over to the bed and sank onto it, placing a hand on the pajamas. They were soft cotton and my size. Just that tiny, little, thoughtful detail set off a fresh flood of tears. They flowed as I relived the horror of the evening, and became hot, angry, tears when I remembered Detective Logan's questions. Finally, when my eyes felt too sore to weep, the tears stopped and I let out a long, exhausted yawn.

It was then, while sitting on the edge of the bed in the unfamiliar house that I realized if everything Detective Logan said was true, I was finally free! If my estranged husband were truly dead, I didn't need to worry about filing for a divorce. I was a widow! Instead of being devastated by his murder, I never felt more relieved in my life. Brad could never hurt me again. But who killed him?