Don't Say a Word (Strangers Series) (9 page)

CHAPTER 14

SADNESS HUNG LIKE a thick fog in the truck on their way home from the Parishes’ funeral. The sun quickly disappeared behind the dark clouds, and the sky opened up. Rain now pelted the windshield and spilled down the side windows in crooked lines.

Allie navigated the rolling East Texas hills in silence, whizzing past sprawling pastures of lush green grass and countless herds of cattle. No one seemed to have the energy to talk. And Sammy was fast asleep in his car seat, sucking his thumb—something he hadn’t done in two years. Allie felt a pang of guilt, worrying that taking him to the funeral had been damaging in some way. Today she’d exposed him to death, something she wasn’t sure she was comfortable with him knowing quite yet.

There’d been a small turnout for the service at the funeral home, and an even smaller one at the graveside. Allie remembered the girls’ grief-stricken faces as they stared at the polished oak caskets. How Carrie had vomited at the cemetery. A weathered old woman had watched the girls from afar the entire time, but she never bothered to even say hello. Bitty said that she thought it was the girls’ maternal grandmother.

At home, Allie tucked Sammy into bed for his nap, then sat at the kitchen table to make sense of her checking account. But she couldn’t get the seven hundred thousand dollars that the girls’ mother had given Gary Willis off her mind.

Had he killed Zoe and Carrie’s parents for the money?

But why kill them after he already had the check in hand?

It didn’t make sense. She stared out the window, barely aware of the wind screaming on the other side. A moment later, she heard little feet padding her way. Sammy walked into the kitchen in his white T-shirt and boxer briefs and reached his arms out to be held.

She set her pen down and picked him up.

“Hey, buddy.” Allie smiled. “Why are you out of bed?”

“I sad.”

“What’s wrong?”

Thunder rumbled outside. “I no want to tell you now. I want to watch ants,” he said, asking to watch a documentary on ants that they had on DVD. Out of all the movies he owned, it was his favorite, and the one he always wanted to watch when he felt emotional.

The funeral was still affecting him.

It was affecting her, too.

“Okay, baby,” she said, smiling at her son. “We can do that.”

She carried him into the living room and set him down on the couch, then slid the DVD in the tray. She covered him with a quilt and kissed his forehead.

“Mommy, watch it with me.”

All the things she needed to do flashed through her mind. In the last few days she’d gotten behind on so much—updating her checkbook, client scheduling and marketing, figuring out what bills she could afford to pay next—and now she was starting to feel as though the walls were closing in. But Sammy was her priority. She didn’t want him to remember her as being too busy. She wanted her son to remember her as an involved mom, a mother who always made time for him.

“Okay, but just for a little while, okay?”

“Okay.”

She heard more footsteps. A few seconds later, Zoe appeared in the entrance of the hallway. Her face was washed out from all of the crying, and she’d put her nightgown back on.

“Hey there,” Allie said. “We’re about to watch a program. Want to watch with us?”

Zoe nodded, then silently took a seat in the recliner.

“How about I make some hot chocolate for our show?”

Sammy’s eyes brightened. “Yes! Hot chocolate!”

“Do you like hot chocolate, Zoe?”

Zoe nodded.

“Then three cups it is.” Allie smiled.

After serving the drinks, Allie sat on the couch with Sammy and began watching the documentary for about the two hundredth time. The storm had intensified and rain was now pouring from the sky.

She studied the safe, clean, comfortable house she lived in—the high ceilings; polished cherry floors; the big flat-screen television; comfortable, sturdy furniture; the soft, overstuffed pillows; and charming wicker baskets that graced most of the rooms—and was still surprised it was hers. That she lived here now, and not the rundown house of her childhood, or the string of filthy motel rooms she’d spent time in after her brother’s suicide. Everything was tidy. Clean. Safe. And it wasn’t merely a house . . . it was a home.

She’d gotten lucky. So very lucky.

Lightning slashed the sky outside. “Mommy! Mommy!” Sammy suddenly whined.

Allie turned to her son and saw that blood was gushing from his nose. She grabbed a napkin from the coffee table, pressed it against his nostrils, and applied pressure. “Tilt your head up a little,” she said, gently coaxing his chin up with her fingers.

“Can I help?” she heard Zoe say.

“Yes, please get some paper towels from the kitchen.”

Zoe took off toward the kitchen. Less than a minute later, she was back with a roll of paper towels. Allie took them from her and switched out the napkin that was now sopping wet with blood.

Thunder boomed in the distance. “Oh my God,” Zoe said.

Allie glanced at Zoe. She was staring at the blood-soaked napkin. The color had drained from her face.

“Zoe, it’s just a nosebleed. It’s okay,” Allie said.

Zoe staggered backward. “No, no, no!” she whispered, her eyes brimming with tears. She bumped into the coffee table and nearly fell over it.

Carrie opened her eyes and turned her head toward the bedroom door. Zoe had just rushed in and was sobbing.

“No!” Zoe said. She paced from one end of the room to the other. “No, no, NO!”

“Zoe?” Allie called from the other side of the bedroom door.

But Zoe didn’t answer her. Her hands were pressed against her ears and she was humming.

Allie pushed the door open. “Zoe? Are you okay?”

Zoe remembers now,
Carrie thought. Now she’ll know how it feels to not be able to unsee the terrible things that we’ve seen. To have to live every day with the memories. But Carrie didn’t say anything. She remained silent as Allie walked into the room and tried to calm Zoe down. She was silent when Bitty came in and tried to do the same. She just turned on her side so her back was facing everyone, including her sister. She just focused on the wind rattling the window next to her. Not on Zoe’s pain.

Because she could barely live with her own.

The storm had subsided and the afternoon light had just begun to slant down across the room when Allie heard a knock on the front door. She, Bitty, and Sammy were on the couch. She and Bitty had just been discussing Zoe’s outburst, and Bitty had called the Child Advocacy Center to schedule an extra counseling session for the girl.

Bitty rose from the couch and went to the front door. A moment later, Allie heard her saying, “Detective. Sergeant. What a nice surprise. Come on in.”

Allie’s pulse spiked, suddenly self-conscious. She wished she’d known the detective would be coming by. She glanced down at herself: old sweats, a Marvel Lego T-shirt she’d bought for herself because she knew Sammy would like it.

Oh, God.

She sat up straight and ran her fingers beneath her eyes to catch any bits of fallen mascara, then retied her hair into a topknot.

How I made such an ugly child is beyond me.

“Shut up,” she whispered, shoving her mother’s words away.

Sammy looked up at her. “What you say, Mommy?”

“Sorry, baby. Nothing.”

Hopefully Bitty would bring the police officers to her office and not to the kitchen, otherwise they’d pass through the living room.

“Anyone care for some coffee?” Bitty asked, heading to the kitchen.

Allie groaned.

“Always,” she heard Detective Lambert say.

She closed her eyes and willed them to pass by without them noticing her.

Sammy’s head swiveled as Bitty and the police officers walked through the room. “Hi, policemans!”

Great! Just great!

“Hi. Sammy, right?” Detective Lambert asked.

Sammy nodded, one of his nostrils crusted with dried blood, a big smile on his face.

“Can I get a high five?” the detective asked.

Piglet jumped down from the couch and sniffed the detective’s legs, while Sammy gave him a high five.

“And how are you today, Miss Allie?” he asked. He rested a large hand on her shoulder—and her stomach did a somersault.

“I’m fine.” Against her will, her eyes flitted to him, and his blue eyes held hers.

“Great. That’s really good to hear.”

“And you?” she asked, holding his gaze, again determined not to be the one to break eye contact.

“Just fantastic,” he answered.

He was wearing plain clothes again. A black V-neck sweater with a black button-down beneath it, dark jeans, black cowboy boots. Identification hung from around his neck. He was beautiful, and she was most uncomfortable around beautiful people. She didn’t trust them. Especially ones as handsome as this guy. People like him made her feel uglier than she sometimes already felt. But there was something aside from his looks that made her feel . . . actually, she wasn’t certain what she was feeling. All she knew was the room suddenly felt too hot.

“Good afternoon.” Sergeant Davis smiled. He was holding his black leather notebook between his palms.

“Good afternoon, Sergeant,” Allie said, grateful to have a reason to break eye contact with the detective.

Sergeant Davis winked at her, then his eyes skimmed the living room. He cracked his notebook open and scribbled something in it.

“Allie, would you mind showing Detective Lambert and Sergeant Davis to the dining room table and put on a fresh pot of coffee while I go check on the girls real quick?” Bitty called.

“Yes, ma’am,” Allie answered.

As instructed, Allie showed the policemen to the table and brewed a fresh pot of coffee, suspicious as to why Bitty hadn’t just asked her to look in on the girls.

When the coffee was ready, Bitty was already sitting at the table, talking with the officers. As Allie served the coffee, she was careful not to look directly at Detective Lambert’s face—especially into his eyes, because her body was still buzzing from the last time they’d made eye contact.

Back in the kitchen, she heated up leftovers and prepared a large salad for dinner. She dipped her arms, elbow-deep, in warm, soapy water as she quietly cleaned pots and pans and listened in on the three as they talked at the table. From where she stood, she had a perfect vantage point. She could see Bitty full-on, and Detective Lambert’s profile.

After a few minutes of small talk, Bitty took a sip of her coffee, then held the mug between her hands. “Okay, so I have a question for you that I was hoping you could answer.”

“What’s that, ma’am?” Detective Lambert asked.

“Why on earth would Julie Parish want to give Gary Willis seven hundred thousand dollars of her husband’s lottery winnings?”

Detective Lambert choked a little on his coffee. Allie saw his eyes swing briefly to his sergeant’s. “I’m sorry,” he said. “What?”

Allie could tell he was surprised and maybe even a little impressed that Bitty had unearthed the information.

“Now how did you find out about that when we just found out ourselves not an hour ago?” he asked.

Bitty smiled. She sat a little straighter in her chair. “I know people.”

“People, huh?” He narrowed his eyes, but his lips turned up in a smile.

Sergeant Davis was scribbling in his notebook again.

“I hear the manager at Southside Bank in Riverside was pretty shocked when Gary Willis wanted to open a new account with that kind of money,” Bitty continued. “And that branch is, what, about fifty miles from town. Doesn’t seem like the most convenient place to bank, now does it?”

“Pretty impressive,” Sergeant Davis said with a smile, leaning back in his chair.

Bitty shrugged. “It’s a small town. Murder is exciting. People are just about busting at the seams, wanting to share what they know about the Parishes. About Gary Willis. To share their theories about these murders,” she said. “And I’m not the law, so I don’t pose a threat. I’m just a nosy little old lady.”

Detective Lambert nodded. “Makes sense.”

“Not saying you’re not good at what you do, because I know you are. But an extra pair of ears couldn’t hurt, could it?”