CLAIRE WAS too fidgety the next morning to work. It was the perfect time to keep her promise to Nick and talk to the police about Janice’s death.
At least she wouldn’t have to deal with Fred Denton, she told herself grimly as she got into her car. The glad-handing old windbag had looked the other way at anything that would inconvenience the powerful in Monroe. Apparently, his willingness to do so had gotten him elected mayor.
Maybe they’d hired a police chief from outside the department. It would be easier to talk to someone she’d never met before, someone with no history in Monroe.
It didn’t matter who was chief, she reminded herself as she slid out of the car at the tiny police station on the edge of the downtown area. She’d promised Nick she’d talk to him. And she was determined to keep her promises to Nick.
She suspected that he’d had too many broken ones in his young life.
A middle-aged woman looked up from a desk as Claire walked in the door, a start of recognition in her eyes. “Claire Kendall, isn’t it?” the woman said, her eyes warming. “I heard you were back in Monroe.”
“Yes.” Claire pasted a smile on her face and looked at the woman’s name tag. Josie Williams. She vaguely remembered her family. “Hello, Josie. How are you?”
“I’m just fine. How about you?” Josie settled back in her seat, preparing for a long chat.
“I’m good. Is the chief of police available?” Claire asked, her voice polite.
“Yes, he’s here.” Disappointment flickered in Josie’s eyes. “I’ll see if he has time to talk to you.”
“Thank you,” Claire murmured.
Josie pushed away from her desk and disappeared into an office. A few moments later, she reappeared, followed by a tall, broad-shouldered man Claire didn’t recognize.
“Ms. Kendall?” the man said. “I’m Seth Broderick, the chief of police. You wanted to talk to me?”
“Yes.” She walked over to the man and shook his hand. Broderick had a face that looked lived-in, with lines around his eyes and a cleft in his chin. But his brown eyes were shrewd. She’d guess he, unlike Fred Denton, didn’t miss much. “Can we go into your office?”
“Sure.” He led the way, then closed the door after her. “Have a seat,” he offered.
“I’m here about my sister, Janice Kendall.”
Broderick nodded. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.” Claire knotted her fingers together. “Can you tell me the details of the investigation?”
Broderick’s eyebrows rose. “There aren’t a lot of details to tell. It was a rainy night, the roads were slick and she skidded off the road into the lake. There’s a fifty-foot drop-off where she went in, and it looked as if her car bounced a couple of times on the way down.” He paused. “If it’s any comfort to you, or her boy, she was probably dead before she hit the lake. Her neck was broken.”
“Thank you,” Claire said in a low voice. It was painful to hear the details of her sister’s death recited so dispassionately. “But I wondered if you investigated the possibility that her death wasn’t an accident.”
The chief’s eyebrows went up again. “Do you think it was a suicide?”
“Not at all,” she said. Her hands were cold, and she pressed her palms together. “My nephew said she got a phone call just before she went out that night. He said she didn’t want to go, but apparently she was supposed to meet someone.” She swallowed, suddenly fighting back tears. “I want to make sure she didn’t have help going into that lake.”
“There was no evidence that it was more than a tragic accident,” the chief said.
“Did anyone search for evidence?”
He studied her for a moment, then wheeled his chair around. “I’ll get the report.”
He opened a file cabinet and pulled out a manila folder. She could see, even from the other side of the desk, that it was painfully thin. After reading it, he looked up. His eyes were cool. “There’s no mention here of evidence that would indicate foul play. But there’s also no mention of anyone looking for evidence.”
“I’m not trying to embarrass you or the department,” Claire said. “My nephew and I just need answers.”
The chief’s eyes softened a bit. “It’s hard for a child to lose his mother.”
“Yes, it is. Especially when his concerns are brushed over by the authorities,” she said, her voice even.
The softness disappeared from his eyes. “No one brushed aside his concerns,” he said.
“Nick told the officer who came to the house that he was afraid his mother had been lured away that night. As far as he could tell, the officer never followed up.”
The chief glanced back down at his notes. After a moment, he looked back at her, his jaw clenched. “There’s no mention of your nephew saying anything to my officer.”
“My nephew didn’t lie.” Her voice was firm. “If he says he talked to the officer, he did. I suggest you ask the officer.”
“You can be sure that I will.” There was no sympathy in his eyes now. He looked like a typical police officer, his eyes cold and flat, giving nothing away.
“What happened to Janice’s car?” she asked.
“It was totaled.” He glanced down at the report. “The responding officers had it towed to C&J Wrecking. That’s in Bakersville,” he said, naming the large city closest to Monroe.
“Thank you, Chief,” Claire said, reaching to shake his hand. “Will you get back to me after you talk to the officer who spoke to my nephew?”
He gave her a curt nod. “Count on it.”
“I appreciate it.”
She walked out of his office and continued out of the building. She was shaking with reaction.
Fred Denton was no longer the police chief, but it seemed as if nothing had changed in the Monroe Police Department. They still saw only what they wanted to see.
Maybe that wasn’t fair, she conceded. She assumed the new police chief was just like Fred Denton, but maybe she’d been mistaken about Seth Broderick. The new chief of police hadn’t ignored her concerns. And he hadn’t patronized her.
Had Janice been murdered? Had her “accident” actually been carefully arranged?
Nerves jumped beneath her skin and dark whispers of foreboding stirred as she drove back through town. Apprehensive, full of edgy energy, her eyes narrowed when she saw a familiar figure walking into the Dixie Diner. Andrea Vernon, Roger’s current wife.
And she was alone.
Before Claire could stop and think, she pulled into a parking spot. Hurrying down the street, her attention focused on Andrea and the diner, she jumped when someone reached out and touched her arm.
“Hey there, Claire,” Tucker said, his eyes warming. “You look like you’re in a hurry.”
Yanked out of her thoughts, she stared at Tucker, disoriented. Finally she managed a smile. “I was thinking about something.”
“I could see that. I’ve been thinking about a lot of things lately, too,” he answered, shoving his hands into his pockets and smiling down at her. “And then you appeared in front of me. Like magic.”
Her heart thumped against her ribs at the barely hidden heat in his eyes. “That’s pretty smooth. And so early in the morning. I’m impressed,” she said. Her voice sounded breathy and weak.
“I’m a morning person,” he answered, a gleam in his eye. “Always have been. Mornings are the best time for so many things.”
She raised her eyebrows, trying to ignore the sharp stab of hunger. “They’re also the time for school. Are you playing hooky?”
“I wasn’t, but it sounds like a good idea. Want to sneak off with me?”
She was shocked by her urge to say yes. And relieved to see the teasing light in his eye. He wasn’t serious.
She hoped.
“Afraid not,” she said, clearing her throat. “In fact, I’d better steer clear of you. You’re a bad influence, trying to tempt me away from work.”
The corner of his eyes crinkled as he gave a wicked grin. “A bad influence? Honey, you have no idea how bad I can be.”
She was afraid she had a very good idea—and appalled to realize she wanted to find out. “Why aren’t you in school?” she asked, trying to change the subject.
The twinkle in his eyes told her that he recognized her ploy, that he’d let her get away with it. For now.
“This is one of my free periods,” he said. “I needed to pick something up at the sports store.”
“I’ll let you go, then.”
When she tried to move past him, he laid a hand on her arm. “What are you doing after the game tonight?”
“I don’t know,” she said. Her skin warmed beneath his touch. When she found herself leaning toward him, she moved away. “I hadn’t thought about it.”
“A lot of the kids go to Sparky’s for pizza,” he said. “So do some of the parents.”
“I’ll ask Nick if he’s interested.” She smiled up at him. “Thanks for letting me know. Is that another one of the football team’s traditions?”
“You got it.” He smiled easily at her. “We’ve got a million of them.”
“Good luck tonight,” she said.
“Thanks.”
Neither of them moved for a moment, then they both moved at the same time. He reached out to steady her, then stepped back.
“Take care, Claire,” he said, his voice soft. “Maybe I’ll see you tonight.”
His voice was husky with promise, a promise she acknowledged she wanted to explore. She swallowed, nodded and slipped past him. She could feel his eyes on her back as she stepped into the Dixie Diner.
She stood by the door for a moment, letting her eyes adjust to the dim light, letting her thundering heart slow down. Putting Tucker firmly out of her mind and taking a deep breath, she stepped up to the hostesses’ station and scanned the restaurant.
Andrea was sitting at a booth in the corner with a cup of coffee. Claire smiled at the hostess and nodded toward Andrea. “I’ll just join Mrs. Vernon,” she said.
“Okay.” The hostess gave her a puzzled smile, as if no one ever met Andrea Vernon at the restaurant. As she walked toward Andrea, Claire resolved to make sure the young woman knew she wasn’t alone.
She was involving herself in Monroe by talking to Andrea. That was a good thing, she realized with a spurt of understanding. She’d been a child when she left. Now she was an adult, and it was time to act like it.
“Hi, Andrea,” Claire said in a low voice.
Andrea looked up and eyed Claire warily. “Hello.”
“Do you mind if I join you for a moment?”
Andrea’s eyes flickered anxiously to the front of the diner. “Um, I’m not sure. I’m, um, meeting someone.”
Claire knew that expression far too well. It meant that Andrea didn’t want to be caught talking to her. Her resolve hardened. “Are you expecting Roger?” she asked.
“No,” she said. “He’s in court today.”
“Great. Then you won’t mind if I sit down until your friend joins you, will you?”
“Ah, no.” Andrea bit her lip and looked out the front window of the diner again. “I guess not.”
She was checking for Roger, Claire realized with a burst of anger. Andrea was afraid Roger would see his wife talking to Claire.
As soon as she was seated, the waitress came over, bright curiosity in her eyes. “Can I get you something?”
“A cup of coffee, please,” Claire said.
Andrea’s eyes followed the waitress away from the table, and Claire recognized the expression in them. Andrea was sick with fear that the waitress would tell Roger that she’d talked to Claire.
“Did you grow up in Monroe, Andrea?” Claire asked.
“No.” Her gaze returned to Claire. “I grew up in Clinton.” It was the county seat, twenty miles away.
“Is that where you met Roger?” Claire pasted what she hoped was a pleasant, nonthreatening smile on her face.
“Yes.” The younger woman relaxed a little. “I was working in the county clerk’s office. He came in to get some records, and we started talking.” Her gaze slid to her cup, and she lifted it to her mouth with a shaking hand. “One thing led to another, we got married and here I am.”
There was a small bruise on the inside of Andrea’s wrist. A bruise the size of a man’s finger.
“It sounds like he swept you off your feet,” Claire said. She smiled through clenched teeth.
Andrea nodded. “We got married after three months.”
“It sounds very romantic,” Claire said.
A shadow passed over Andrea’s face, then disappeared. “It was,” she said, lifting her chin defiantly.
Good, Claire thought. At least she has a little spirit left. “Were your parents happy you got married?” she asked.
Andrea’s mouth trembled. “My mom and dad died in a car accident a few months before I met Roger.”
“I’m sorry,” Claire said gently. “That must have been hard for you.”
Andrea stared out the window of the diner and didn’t answer.
Claire slid her coffee cup to the side. “Did Roger tell you who I am?” she asked.
Andrea glanced at her, pink tinting her skin. “He said you were a former client,” she mumbled. “He said you’d had a disagreement, that you’d tried to get him in trouble with the police and the bar association.”
Claire gave a rueful laugh. “I guess that’s one way of putting it.” She leaned forward and touched the other woman’s hand. “I’m sorry you have to hear this way, but I was a lot more than a disgruntled client. I was married to Roger for two years.”
“What?” Andrea’s face paled. “That’s impossible.”
“Why do you think so?”
“Roger never told me he’d been married before.”
“I’m not surprised. Roger doesn’t take losing well. And believe me, he didn’t give me a divorce voluntarily.”
“I don’t believe you.” Andrea stared at her, shaking her head. “I don’t know why you’re making this up, but you’re lying. You were never married to Roger.”
“I’m not lying, Andrea.” Claire ached for the young woman who looked so confused. And so frightened. “If you used to work in the County Clerk’s office, you know you can look up our marriage license. And our divorce decree.”
“Why would he lie to me?”
Claire held her gaze, then reached across the table and touched the bruise on Andrea’s wrist. “You know why.”
Andrea followed her gaze to the bruise, then slid her hand into her lap again and lifted her head. “I think you should leave now.”
“I will. I don’t want Roger to find out about this meeting any more than you do. Because I know what will happen if he does.”
Andrea shot her a frightened look but didn’t answer.
“What he’s doing is wrong, Andrea. He has no right to hit you.” She reached across the table to touch Andrea’s arm, and the other woman flinched. Anger swelled inside Claire. “I can help you,” she said quietly.
Claire scribbled her home and cell phone numbers on the napkin, then pressed it into Andrea’s hand. “I got away from him,” she said. “I can help you get away, too.”
“But I love him,” Andrea whispered. “And Roger loves me.”
Claire knew better than to argue. “That doesn’t give him the right to hurt you. I want to help you, Andrea. Call me anytime.”
She laid some money on the table for her coffee, then slid out of the booth and tried to smile at Andrea. She knew too well how the young woman felt—she’d been cowed and terrified herself during her marriage to Roger.
But Claire wasn’t a child anymore. She was an adult, and she wouldn’t allow Roger to intimidate her. Shaking with anger, she vowed to help Andrea.
As she slid back into her car, she saw Roger turning into the parking spot in front of his office. Her anger flared again. How many times had he told her he’d be gone all day, only to show up unexpectedly, hoping to catch her doing something he’d forbidden?
Thank goodness she’d left the Dixie Diner when she had, Claire thought as she watched the lawyer hurry over to the restaurant. She didn’t want Andrea to suffer because of their conversation. And if Roger knew Claire and his wife had been talking, Andrea would definitely suffer.
Call me, Andrea, Claire prayed as she drove away. Call me soon.