Forty-Four
A warm trickle of blood ran over Charley’s fingers as the rock, knife-edge sharp, cut into her skin. She had to keep Jeffrey talking. “This will destroy Matt.”
That threw him, she could see, almost had him. But he shook his head. “He’d understand. But he won’t have to. Because he’ll never know.”
In her mind’s eye, she saw the rough sketch. The shotgun in the hands of a desperate character. The raging wind and white-capped waves. The villain with an all-too-familiar face.
Her shoulders ached as she strained to work the tape against the rock, while staying as still as possible. “Why did you replicate his recipe to commit murder?”
Jeffrey tensed. “I didn’t mean to kill Andrew. I had no idea he’d already used his EpiPens.”
“You put the chocolates in his desk,” she said, “when you came to change the lightbulb. Planted the nougat paste in the kitchen.”
“A fail-safe. It all should have gone off without a hitch.” He looked at Kayla, sitting in the chair. “You were used to leaving me alone in your house. Going off to paint while I worked to fix whatever Andrew was too busy to get to.”
Kayla took a swig of the Scotch, grimaced at the burn of alcohol. Pills still untouched. “I trusted you.”
“We all put our faith in the wrong people.” His tone was careful and controlled. “Do you know how your husband made his money? By cutting corners and cutting losses.”
Kayla’s face stood out, pale against the red chair behind her. “You worked with him.”
Wind surged off the lake, spraying mist. It seemed to blow straight through Charley.
Jeffrey dragged his arm over his cheek, wiping away the dampness. “Andrew needed a partner, someone to help him beat out the competition. He was young, had charisma, could bait clients like no one else. Reeling them in though, that was another matter. The lowest bid wins the contract, but he couldn’t offer it, not every time.” He spoke to Kayla, his attention on her. “He lured clients by pointing out risks, then promising security, solutions. A fast fix.”
The bottle knocked against the armrest, glass against wood. Not quite steady, Kayla said, “He’d offer the moon and convince you he could build it.”
“But to do it at cost” — flash of that wry one-sided grin that spread lines around his eyes — “he needed help from a contractor. I agreed to give him a discount, on the condition that I would be the general contractor on all of his projects. So, we came up with ways to make his bid lower, then lower again. But he wasn’t content, wanted to find ways to make a profit on that, too.”
The blueprint Matt found. The change to the material turned a profit but came at a risk. “You helped him,” she said.
“The structures we built were always safe — safe enough to meet standards.”
“Until Lizzie died on site.” The rock missed the tape, nicked her wrist again. Her skin stung.
But Jeffrey was the one who flinched as though cut. “I wasn’t comfortable with that one, even before she —” He broke off. Started again, “The joists were too small for the weight load. Andrew knew it would affect the structural integrity of the building, and lead to repairs later on. But, by the time anyone noticed, it would be out of our hands.”
If Matt could see Jeffrey now, would he even recognize him? It was hard to believe the same blood might run in their veins.
Cautious, aware of the shotgun in his hand, she said, “Lizzie noticed.”
“And it got her killed.” The wind shredded his words, scattering them over the water. “Construction continued. The weakened joists were hidden behind the drywall. Then, after all that, he forgot our agreement and dropped me.” Hatred, old and hidden and buried, reared its head. And snarled. “I couldn’t get the same kind of business on my own. I’m a builder, not a slick-talking salesman. I went from commercial jobs to residential, fix-it jobs. Honest, yes, but downgraded to the local fucking handyman. That everyone used, but no one wanted to pay.” Fury twisted his features.
Kayla sucked in a breath as Jeffrey stepped closer. Charley froze, held still, heart hammering.
He carried the weapon as casually as any other tool. “I took out a mortgage on the house to pay the bills. Alone and heading toward ruin, I had to watch Andrew hit the fast track to success. From right next door, because I couldn’t afford to move away. When Matt found those photographs, I thought it was finally my turn to make him pay.”
Anger, betrayal had led from one bad decision to another, until it was too late. “Blackmail.” Charley felt the tape fray, just threads left. Almost there.
“Andrew laughed in my face. Said he’d accuse me of fraud. He threatened to produce new drawings in hindsight and fake the specifications, to lay the blame on me.” His voice rose, rough now and bitter. “He’d gotten away with worse before, he said, so why not this time? So damned sure he was invincible.” Thunder rumbled, louder than before. “I just wanted to give him a taste of fear.”
The temptation too much to resist. “But the chocolate killed him.” The rock cut through the last of the tape.
“A mistake,” he said, “and one I’ll have to live with.”
“What about us?” She gave it one last try. Maybe she’d get through to him. “There’s a difference between manslaughter and murder.”
A blue fork of lightning split the sky. In the blaze, his eyes glittered. Before she could search his face, darkness closed in. More impenetrable than before.
“The storm’s about to break.” He stretched his back, looking up at the dense clouds. “It’s time. What’s it going to be, Kayla?”
Gathering her energy, Charley took a breath and exchanged a glance with her.
Let’s turn to thunder and lightning, so people will never catch us. Sparks flew through the sky as another bolt streaked toward the lake.
Kayla levelled her gaze at him. “I won’t die.”
“I’m afraid that’s not an option.” He was no longer acting on reason. He was far beyond that.
Charley stiffened, ready to leap. Hoping the element of surprise would be enough.
Up at the house, something dark exploded out of the doors and onto the deck. With a flash of white teeth and a ferocious snarl, the shadow shot toward them.
With a vicious oath, Jeffrey pivoted toward the dog.
Stomach churning, Matt stepped out of the car as Alex slammed the driver’s side door. The workshop was deserted. They were trying Jeffrey’s house next. But something inside told him to run the hell the other way. And that voice was getting louder by the second.
Something wasn’t right. Only one window glowed on the main floor.
Kayla’s house, on the other hand, was bright with lights.
In the distance, lightning forked toward the water. Soon the storm would break. But, instead of thunder, a loud crack split the silence.
A gunshot.
The lake bounced the sound, so it echoed. From the shore? No, from the direction of Kayla’s house.
He hit the ground running. With a muffled curse, Alex followed, slowing only to yank out his phone and dial.
“Shot fired,” Alex said, his voice curt, efficient.
Over the sound of his own breath, the beat of his footsteps, Matt heard him report the location, request backup.
Shadows shifted. Lightning flared again and he blinked away spots. A booming roll of thunder shook the ground. He ducked beneath branches, felt the sting as a twig lashed his cheek. A raindrop splashed on his arm. With a crash of leaves, Alex came up behind him, keeping pace, fighting for the lead.
The next flash of lightning lit the world like an x-ray and what he saw had his heart stopping.
Three people and a dog, down by the water. One standing, one sitting. One aiming a shotgun.
Matt forced himself to go forward. After all, he’d gone looking for the truth. And now he’d found it.
He always knew Jeffrey had the answers. Dread closed a fist around his heart, squeezing tighter with every step.
Charley held the shotgun. It took him a split-second to realize that the low, threatening growl came from Cocoa’s throat. Kayla pushed herself out of the chair but kept a hand on the back of it, for support. She looked unsteady on her feet.
Alex scanned them. “Everyone okay?”
“We’re fine,” Charley said, though Matt figured they were anything but fine. “The gun went off in the struggle.”
Cocoa snarled and Jeffrey fell back a step. “That dog was supposed to be locked up.”
“She can open doors. And, this time, I’m glad she did.” She kept her gaze on Jeffrey. “Matt —” Sorrow, sympathy filled her voice. Or was it pity?
He met Jeffrey’s eyes. The man who had taught him to cook, who he’d looked to for guidance, support. Had looked up to. The faith he’d had in him, unshakable in its strength, began to crumble.
Jeffrey spoke first. “Someone had to do something, and I did.”
The truth, raw and blood-red. And easy to recognize, in the end. “This is your idea of justice?” With a sweep of his arm, Matt took in all that had happened there.
“As close to it as it’ll ever get.” He spoke to him like the others didn’t exist. Like it was just the two of them.
“You killed Andrew and used my recipe to do it.” It took time to make chocolate. To temper it, pour it into molds. To cool and set, and still he’d gone through with it.
“He wasn’t supposed to die,” Jeffrey said. “I just wanted to scare him.”
Bring him back from the brink of death, a changed man? “Tell me one thing. Did he kill my mother?” The words scraped his throat raw. “Or did you?”
Jeffrey’s head snapped back, like he’d been punched. “You have to ask? Of course it was Andrew. When I showed him the photographs you found of those joists, he confessed. Said Lizzie confronted him, accused him. They argued. You know what he was like. He’d crowd in, get right in your face. Force you to back away.”
Matt noticed Charley stiffen with a sharp intake of breath.
Jeffrey said, “Lizzie stepped back, and fell. He called it, ‘an unfortunate accident’.”
Sick at heart, Matt said, “An accident.” Not murder. “That sounds familiar.” Full circle. One death led to another.
“You should have heard him. Confident, smug, and untouchable. He was always good at covering his tracks.”
“So are you, it seems.”
A shadow of the old grin crooked his mouth. “Could have been better.” The ironic tone, the same one he’d heard so many times before, caught at Matt.
Anger flared, white-hot. Almost seared away the pain. “What the hell were you thinking?”
“He killed Lizzie,” Jeffrey said. “I saw your face when I told you what Andrew did. You would have strangled him with your bare hands. The only reason you didn’t is because I got there ahead of you.”
And hadn’t he thought the same thing? “I would never have done this.” There was water on his face. Rain, he realized. Steady drops now, that brought out the smell of the earth.
“Andrew planned to blame his actions on me,” he argued. “He was going to accuse me of fraud. And take away any last chance I still had.”
Matt laughed. The sound scraped in his throat like sandpaper. “Fraud is an intentional deception. What do you call this?”
“Self-defense.”
He figured he should feel something. But everything inside him had been singed away. “That day I left you in Dad’s office. You took the book.” The pieces fell into place. Charley had made a promise and lied to protect someone. Turned out, it was Jeffrey.
“I needed the money.”
It was that simple. And he wished again for the power to change the past. “You could have asked. I would have given you everything I had.” And prevented this.
“And risk my pride?” Twist of that familiar grin for a second, before it slipped. Normally tall and straight-backed, Jeffrey’s shoulders seemed hunched beneath the weight of an invisible burden. “I was going to buy the book back, return it to you, soon as I could.”
“A man of honour.” Sarcasm left a sour taste in his mouth.
“Don’t give me that.” Jeffrey took a step forward. Cocoa’s growled dropped a register lower and Charley raised the shotgun, stopping him in his tracks. He held up his hands.
“I don’t care if it was unintentional or not. You committed murder.” Matt made no attempt to soften the words. “And it looks like you were prepared to do it again tonight.”
“In my position, you’d have done the same thing, picked the same method. Because we’re alike.” There was a raw desperation in his voice. A plea for understanding Matt couldn’t give.
“For the first time ever, I hope that isn’t true.”
“You see right and wrong the way I do. I did what I felt was right.” It sounded like he was trying to convince himself. “What I had to do.”
“I doubt that.” Jeffrey had made good on his promise and sliced through the Gordian knot of loose ends. Solved the cypher. And driven the dagger straight into Matt’s heart. “If you’re looking for redemption, you won’t get it from me.”
Alex stepped forward. “Jeffrey Haste, you’re under arrest for the murder of Andrew Clarkston.”
Chocolate. It all came back to that.
Sirens sounded in the distance, coming closer.
“Guess it’s time to pay my debts, after all,” Jeffrey said.
Everything came at a cost.
“For what it’s worth Matt,” he said, his voice gruff, “I’m sorry. You’re a better man than I am.”
“And I’m sorry to say, that’s true.”
The rain came pouring down as he turned his back on Jeffrey.
“I hope you realize” — Meghan paced the living room floor — “you are never leaving me behind again. Next time you decide to confront a murderer, you can bet your ass, I’m going to be there, too.”
“Noted.” It was late — or was it early? The shallow cut on Charley’s wrist throbbed under the bandage, along with the dull ache in her heart.
The storm had blown over, leaving the cottage windows beaded with rain. The darkness trapped on the other side of the glass. The lake obscured.
She dropped onto the sofa. Cocoa hopped up beside her, ears pinned back at Meghan’s tone. One paw knocked the paperback lying on the sofa cushion to the floor, pages riffling as it fell.
Charley picked up the book — The Demise of Lady Red — and set it on the coffee table. The femme fatale on the cover smirked, although the title didn’t bode well for her. Her silvery nails matched the lettering.
A memory teased at the back of Charley’s mind, just out of reach.
Alex took the armchair and stretched his arms over his head, easing stiff muscles. “How about next time, you both leave the detective work to me?”
She caught Meghan’s eye and knew they were both thinking the same thing. Yeah, right.
Meghan sighed. “Do you think Jeffrey was really going to kill Kayla?”
“I don’t know.” The comforting weight of Cocoa’s chin settled on her knee. “In every scenario, he left the end result up to fate. If Kayla had used the EpiPen, Andrew would have survived. To murder her, Jeffrey needed her to take the pills. Tampering with the Jeep to get rid of me would have depended on chance, too. Any number of factors could have prevented death.”
“That doesn’t absolve him,” Alex said.
Meghan wrapped her arms around herself. “I still can’t believe he killed Andrew.”
He nodded. “It just goes to show how easy it is for reason to be overpowered by hatred.”
“And envy.” Charley thought back to what Jeffrey told them. “Until it corroded everything else. And broke the bond he shared with Matt.” The biggest sacrifice of all.
“There’s no way Matt will stay in Oakcrest now,” Meghan murmured. “Not after this.”
She was right. Why would he? Her chest tightened. “Jeffrey thought he was taking justice into his own hands. Fighting for a second chance. But all he ended up doing was betraying Matt.”
“And how.”
All it took was one batch of chocolate.
Slouched in the chair, Alex drummed his fingers on the armrest. “What’s still bothering me is, if he didn’t leave the postcard in the gallery, who did?”
By the window, Meghan paused. “Seems someone else wanted Charley to mind her own business.”
But she and Meg had never been good at that. “Turns out, Oakcrest is full of secrets.”
Alex aimed a frown her way. “And too many people afraid of discovery.”
Secrets. Afraid of discovery. That sense of déja vu nagging at her. The connection she’d missed.
Charley leaned around Cocoa and grabbed the paperback from the coffee table. The one Meghan had been reading. That cover. All those similarities. How had she not noticed it earlier?
“What is it?” Meghan asked.
“Just a hunch.”
“Another one?” Alex groaned. “I give up. You’re both hopeless.”
Hopeful, actually. Fingers tingling, she flipped to the copyright page. Could it be? The writing style of Hamadryads seemed so familiar, like she’d read the author’s work before. Maybe she had.
She ran her gaze down the page, to the cover artist’s name. Her breath caught.
Same designer. Different publisher. Only a year or two later. Different author. But the name could be a pseudonym.
The acknowledgements might tell her more. Or the dedication, if there was one. Please let it not just be blank space. Not again.
She turned the page, blood roaring in her ears.
For Matthew and Elizabeth, with love. Always.