Authors: Erica Spindler
Tags: #Contemporary Women, #General, #Romance, #Suspense, #Thrillers, #Fiction
Justice for Sara (21 page)
“But I have enough money, right?”
“Of course. Sara, c’mon.”
“I mean, that I can get to quickly? I forget what that’s called.”
“Liquid assets,” he said. “Of course you do.”
He walked her out, then frowned as her car disappeared from view. Did she? he wondered. Have enough liquid cash? He hadn’t been paying attention. Not enough attention, anyway.
He turned back toward the house. Lilith stood in the open doorway, expression concerned. “Is everything all right?”
“Fine, baby.” He forced a smile. “Never a dull minute with those two. I’ll tell you about it over lunch. How about the club?”
Thursday, June 13
10:50
A.M.
Kat stood on the sidewalk in front of her cottage. The pretty yellow on the side to her right was charred, marred by ugly fingers of black. Someone had deliberately done this. To frighten or punish her. To destroy evidence. Whatever. She flexed her fingers, fighting her warring emotions. Anger, despair at the loss. Determination. Interestingly, not fear.
Not fear.
Kat smiled grimly. A step in the right direction. She wouldn’t run. If Sullivan, or someone else, thought that by destroying her house, he would destroy her, he had seriously miscalculated.
Kat pushed open the gate and started up the walk. She reached the stairs and climbed them to the porch. Careful to avoid the most burnt areas, she made her way inside.
The smell hit her first. Horrendous. She brought a hand to her nose. A dirty fireplace on a humid day. Times a thousand. And visually, it was strange. Dark and light. To her left, untouched by the fire. To her right, consumed by it. Her gaze went to the foyer floor, to the bloodstain. The flames had eaten it. But gone no farther.
As if Sara herself had stood in their way.
Maybe she had.
The worst damage had been to the living room. Kat went farther inside, picking her way carefully toward the living room. She stopped in the opening, surveyed the damage.
The boxes sat, charred tombs, their contents destroyed. All the photos. Sara’s personal items, hers. Mementos of her childhood.
Their past. Her past. Dead now. Gone.
She felt suddenly ill. Light-headed and queasy.
Kat turned and hurried from the house. Across the porch, down the steps. She sank onto the bottom step and gulped in the fresh air. It was just stuff, she told herself. She didn’t need it. She had her memories; no one could take those from her.
The queasiness passed. The blood returned to her head. It could have been worse. If Iris Bell hadn’t seen the flames and called 911, how much longer would it have burned before the fire department arrived?
Iris Bell
. Kat glanced up. A car was rolling slowly past, both driver and passenger gawking. Kat’s gaze slid from the car to Mrs. Bell’s porch. The old neighbor stood on it, staring her way.
Kat jumped to her feet and started toward her. “Mrs. Bell,” she called when she was close enough to be heard, “it’s Kat McCall.”
The woman squinted at her. “Katherine,” she said, “have you come to visit me?”
“I have. Is now a good time?”
“Lovely,” she said. “I have tea. And cookies.”
The woman’s big, round glasses magnified her eyes, making them huge. Holdovers from an era before her time, Kat thought.
“Thank you,” she said and climbed the steps. “I’m sorry I haven’t been over to say hello sooner.”
“That’s fine, child. How’s Sara this morning?”
“Pardon?”
“Such a shame. About the fire. Why do these things happen?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out, Mrs. Bell. Did you see anything?”
“See anything?” she repeated.
“Last night. Over at the house.”
“Cars coming and going. Lots of visitors. I didn’t feel so well.”
Kat was confused. “Visitors? Last night.”
“So many.” She motioned to the screen door. “Let’s visit inside. The air smells this morning.” She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t like it.”
“It’s from the fire.”
“The fire?”
“My house caught fire last night, Mrs. Bell. You called 911. I was hoping you saw something that might be of help.”
“Of course. Come in.”
Mrs. Bell insisted Kat sit in the front room while she got the tea and cookies. She could hardly sit still and jumped up to help the woman as she returned with a tray, which shook slightly as she carried it.
Kat took it from her and set it on the coffee table.
“Thank you, child.” She handed Kat a glass of tea, then passed a plate of cookies. Animal crackers, Kat saw. She selected a bear, and thinking of what Luke had said about her being a tiger, bit off its head.
“Did you happen to see anything, Mrs. Bell? Last night?”
“I saw your house on fire. I called the fire department.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Bell. You probably saved it.”
She blinked those huge fish eyes, as if seeing her for the first time. “Oh my, it’s Miss Katherine.”
“Yes. It’s Kat McCall.”
“You’ve been giving your sister fits, you know.”
“My sister? But—” Then she realized that Iris Bell’s mind was jumping back and forth in time. Instead of correcting her, Kat decided to go with that. “I know I have, and I’m sorry about it. I’ve changed.”
“That’s good.” She nodded. “I told your sister what you were up to.”
“What I was up to?”
“Sneaking out at night.” She wagged a finger at her. “That boy’s too old for you.”
Was that how Sara had found out about Ryan? Why Sara had locked her bedroom door that night?
Kat frowned. But the bathroom window she had crawled in and out of was on the side of the house out of view of this one.
So how had the woman known about Ryan?
She decided to ask her. “How did you know about my boyfriend?”
“My sweet girl told me.”
Her sweet girl?
“She brings me flowers. And figs. I love figs. Do you enjoy them, dear?”
“No, ma’am, they’re not my favorite.” Kat leaned forward. “Your sweet girl, when did she bring you figs?”
The woman thought a moment. “Before I got sick. Not after. I didn’t see her after. I don’t know why.”
When she got sick. Her stroke? Maybe. And what figs? When did they ripen?
“When you got sick, are you talking about your stroke, Mrs. Bell?”
“My stroke.” She nodded. “Yes. My sweet girl found me—” Her eyes widened; she looked at Kat in horror. “That was the night your sister … awful. Horrible.”
“I didn’t do it, Mrs. Bell. I didn’t kill my sister.”
“Of course not. How could you? You were locked in your room.”
Surprise rippled over her. “How did you know that?”
“I suggested it to your sister. I’m sorry, dear, but I had to. That was a bad boy you were seeing.”
“You told Sara about him?”
She nodded. “I don’t like to be a busybody, but I was worried about you. We both were.”
“You and who else?”
“My sweet girl. She told me everything. She was very worried about you.” The woman wagged a finger at her. “He’s too old for you. And fast. Boys like that can ruin a girl.”
Kat leaned forward. “Who is your sweet girl, Mrs. Bell? What’s her name?”
“I’ve been asking myself that same question. It’s on the tip of my tongue, but—”
“Please, Mrs. Bell, try to remember. I’d love to go thank her for worrying about me.”
“My memory … Oh, dear…” She nervously smoothed her housedress over her knees. “I used to remember with that children’s rhyme. You know the one.”
“No, Mrs. Bell, I don’t. How does it go?”
“You know…” She lifted her fingers and wiggled them. “The itsy-bitsy spider—”
“Bitsy Cavenaugh? My friend Bitsy?”
“Yes!” The woman beamed. “Such a sweet, sweet girl. Whatever happened to her?”
Kat didn’t answer. She reached between them and caught the woman’s hand. “Was Bitsy over the night Sara died?”
She frowned. “Yes. So was he.”
“He? My boyfriend Ryan? He was here?”
She laughed. “Silly. He visited Ms. Sara.”
Kat’s heart began to thump uncomfortably. Bitsy had been in love with Ryan. She’d been spying. That’s how Sara had discovered what she’d been up to. It’s why her bedroom door had been locked.
Ryan had been at the house the night of the murder; Bitsy had been right across the street.
“You said you saw a lot of visitors that night. Who?”
“I don’t know. A lot of cars. Wally drove by more than once.”
“Wally?”
“Officer Wally. I haven’t seen him lately. Have you?”
Wally Clark had been killed the same night as Sara. He had been by their place.
“He used to stop here every once in a while, check on me if he saw a light on. He hasn’t in a while.”
“I’ve got to go, Mrs. Bell. Thank you for the tea and cookies.”
But when she went to stand, Mrs. Bell refused to release her hand. “I saw you sneaking out again. That night. I called the police.”
“But I didn’t, Mrs. Bell. I was locked in my room, remember?”
“Out the back,” she insisted.
“Was Bitsy still here?”
“Heavens, no! It was the middle of the night.”
“But you said she found you.”
“I did?” She shook her head. “That couldn’t be right.”
“Could it have been a man you saw?”
“A man? Maybe. That fellow your sister was seeing. He took out the trash sometimes.”
From the back of the house.
“Danny Sullivan,” Kat said. “That was his name.”
“Yes. He seemed like a nice-enough young man.”
“Was he there that night?”
“He might have been. I didn’t feel so well.”
“He drove a big truck back then? Used to toot the horn when he arrived? Think back, Mrs. Bell. Was he there that night?”
The pressure flustered the old woman. She suddenly seemed anxious. Visibly more confused. She brought her hand to her pearls, nervously working them. “A terrible thing. Terrible.”
“What, Mrs. Bell?”
“The fire … the cars, so many visitors. Poor, dear Sara. I can’t imagine.”
“I have to go, Mrs. Bell. But I’d love to come by and chat again. Would that be okay?”
“That’d be lovely.” The woman blinked up at her. “Bring Sara along. I haven’t seen her in ages!”
Thursday, June 13
11:55
A.M.
Kat made her way across the street to her car. She slipped inside. She started it up, turned the air on high. Her hands shook; her thoughts raced.
Bitsy was the one behind Sara finding out about her and Ryan. Iris Bell had done the actual deed, but it had been Bitsy’s machinations that had made it happen. She had befriended the old woman so she could spy on her. Monitor her and Ryan’s comings and goings.
Ryan had been at the cottage the night Sara died.
And Bitsy knew it. She had seen him there. That’s why she’d been so nervous at lunch. Why she’d threatened Kat. Ryan had been at the cottage. And Bitsy was afraid he’d done it, that he’d killed Sara.
Betrayal welled up in her. What had Bitsy seen? Ryan going into the house. Maybe leaving as well, covered in blood.
No. Surely if that had been the case, she would have turned him in. She couldn’t have been that blinded by love. Could she?
No, she thought again. But even if Bitsy had known nothing more than that Ryan had been at the house but had reported it to the police, Kat might not have been arrested. It might’ve been enough to keep the trial from happening.
What else might Bitsy have seen? Danny? A stranger? Information that maybe, just maybe, could have led to the real perpetrator?
Kat flexed her fingers on the steering wheel, betrayal replaced by anger. She could have gone to prison. Could have been convicted of first-degree murder.
How could Bitsy have said nothing?
Kat grabbed her phone and dialed Jeremy. He answered immediately. “Is everything all right?”
“I’m fine. I need to talk to Bitsy. Face-to-face. Do you know where her office is?”
“I haven’t a clue. But Lilith would.”
She heard the concern in his voice. She didn’t address it. “Thanks, Jeremy. Talk to you later—”
“Wait! What’s going on?”
“I need some clarification on something Iris Bell told me. No worries.”
Kat didn’t give him the opportunity to ask more and hung up. She immediately tried Lilith. The woman sounded more apprehensive about giving her information than her husband had.
“Her shop’s in Mandeville, at the Trailhead,” Lilith answered. “Is there something I can help you with?”
“You just did, Lilith. Thank you. In case the shop’s closed, any idea where she lives?”
“I don’t like the way you sound, Katherine. I don’t know if I feel comfortable—”
“For heaven’s sake! Bitsy knows something important about the night Sara died. She was with Iris Bell, she—”
“First Danny Sullivan, now Bitsy? Are you trying to implicate everyone?”
“Mrs. Bell said she saw a number of vehicles at the cottage that night. Ryan Benton’s among them! Bitsy knew but said nothing! She’s protecting him!”
“Why can’t you just let all this go and live your life? You were acquitted, be glad and move on.”
Lilith’s words affected her like a slap to the face. “You really think I did it, don’t you? You think I got away with murder.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to. Never mind, I’ll use the phone book.”
“Danny Sullivan contacted an attorney from our firm. He claims you’re trying to pin the murder on him, to clear your name.”
“What? The man attacked me! He said he saw Sara dead … Iris Bell said—” Kat realized what she was doing and stopped dead. “I don’t have to explain myself to you. And by the way, I’m not a thief!”
Kat hung up and tossed her phone on the passenger seat, furious. Hurt. She shifted the Fusion into drive and pulled away from the curb. Did Jeremy think she’d done it as well?
She shook off the thought. No, no way. He
knew
her. That she wasn’t capable of such an act.
It would break her heart to believe otherwise.
The Mandeville Trailhead was located in the heart of Old Mandeville and just six blocks from the lake. Charming, with pavilions, an amphitheater and kids’ splash fountains, and circled by shops, restaurants and even a place to rent bicycles to pedal the Trace.
Kat found Bitsy’s shop. And as she feared, it was closed. “By Appointment,” the sign read. She peered through the window. Elegant with a hip edge. Shelves of design books. A few select pieces of furniture, lamps, mirrors, decorative pieces.
She lifted her gaze, taking in the building’s facade. Picture of the past, constructed to be a live-and-work concept, storefront at street level, condo above. One of her Good Earth locations occupied just such a storefront.
What were the chances Bitsy lived above?
The proprietor of the chic dress shop next door came out for a smoke. As she lit up, she looked at Kat. “You looking for Bitsy? Or Ryan?”
“Bitsy. Does she live upstairs?”
“She did. Moved about a month ago.”
“Do you know where?”
“Her parents’ old place, I think. She’s been remodeling for more than a year.” She lifted a shoulder. “I don’t have any idea where it is, though.”
Kat did. She’d spent a lot of time there as a kid.
The woman blew out a stream of smoke. “The apartment’s for rent, you should see it. Gorgeous. She knows her stuff.”
“Yes, she does. Thank you.”
“She’s in the shop a lot. You want me to give her a message?”
Kat glanced back. “No, thanks. I’ll catch her later.”
*
The Cavenaughs’ “old place” was a sprawling estate on Millionaires’ Row in North Covington. It encompassed ten acres and backed up to the Bogue Falaya River, had a horse barn and a garage specially built to house Peter Cavenaugh’s car collection.
The estate had gates, but they stood open. Kat drove through and up the winding drive. It had changed little since the last time she’d been here, and memories came flooding back. Happy times. Carefree. Before her parents’ accident. Before everything had changed.
Merlin was parked in the circular drive in front of the house. She didn’t know what kind of vehicle Ryan drove, but there wasn’t another in sight.
Perfect. Just her and Bitsy.
Kat stopped behind the Mercedes and climbed out. The flower-scented breeze stirred her hair. It was way too pretty a day for the confrontation she knew was coming. For the ugly emotions simmering inside her.
She crossed the drive, then the veranda. She rang the bell.
Bitsy opened the door, her smile fading. “What are you doing here?”
“I think that should be obvious, Bits. Looking for you.”
“Now’s not a good time.”
“Sorry about that.” She ducked past her into the house. “Wow,” she said. “It doesn’t even look like the same place.”
“What do you want, Kat?”
She faced her old friend. “Where were you last night? I didn’t see you at Jeremy’s party.”
“Ryan and I stayed in.” She folded her arms across her chest. “And no, we didn’t set your cottage on fire. If that’s what you’re wondering?”
“Where were you the night Sara was murdered?”
She paled. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“Am I? I just had a lovely chat with my neighbor. You remember Mrs. Bell. You were so kind to her, Bits. What a humanitarian. Bringing her flowers and figs.”
“I want you to leave.”
“Did you know, I was so stupidly in love with him, I was ready to run away with nothing to be with him. Lose my inheritance. But he made no bones about it, he wasn’t going anywhere without my money. I was his ticket out.”
“He doesn’t need my money. He’s very successful.”
“R and B Imports. What does the B stand for? Benton? Or Bitsy?” Kat could tell by her expression that she had lent him the money to open his business. She could almost feel sorry for her. Almost.
“All that’s not why I’m here. I don’t really care if you want to throw your life away on someone like him—have a ball. He was there at the cottage, the night of Sara’s murder.”
“You’re crazy.”
“We both know I’m not.” She took a step toward her old friend. “I could have gone to prison. And you said nothing.”
“What about you? You never whispered a peep about your precious boyfriend. Why not?”
“If I’d thought, even for a minute, that he’d done it, I would have shouted it from the rooftops.”
“Really? You’re so certain of that? Then why’re you back here now? Accusing him. Now conveniently remembering conversations where you ‘claim’ he talked about killing her.”
“Because I was young and really stupid. I thought he was joking around. I loved him. And I thought he loved me. We were going to head off into the sunset together.”
“Get over it.”
“Was Ryan the last person to see Sara alive?”
“He didn’t kill her.”
“How do you know? Did you see anyone else there?”
“It’s time for you to go.”
“If he didn’t kill her, why was he there, Bits?”
“I went to convince your sister I was a good guy.”
They both turned. Ryan stood in the doorway. Bitsy ran to him; he caught her in his arms.
“I find that hard to believe.”
“It’s true. And she was alive when I left.”
“Can you prove it?”
He laughed. “I don’t have to. And you can’t prove I was there.”
“Yes, I can. Iris Bell told me. She knows. About both of you.”
“Iris Bell is a confused old lady. She can’t recall the fact of what happened the day before, let alone ten years ago.”
He was right.
Even if the woman told Luke just what she’d told her, it’d never stand up in a court of law.
“Good-bye, Kat.”
His lips lifted in the smile she used to find so attractive. It just seemed smug to her now. He and Bitsy deserved each other.
Her cell phone went off as she walked to her car. She saw it was Jeremy.
“I thought you’d want to know,” he said. “Luke’s dad’s in the hospital. Lakeview Regional.”
Bitsy Cavenaugh
2003
Two days after the murder
Bitsy heard the rumble of the Mustang. The slam of the car door. In a minute the bell above the Sunny Side’s entrance would jingle.
And in he would walk.
She held her breath, waiting for her first glimpse of him. She had known he would be here. Most Saturdays he was. The ones he missed bitterly disappointed her. She would sit, laptop open, papers spread around her, looking to all the world like she was studying.
But in reality she waited. Hoping and praying. That maybe this time he would
see
her.
When he didn’t show, she would feel stood-up. Hurt. Then angry. But today, of all days, she had known Ryan Benton would come.
The bell jingled. She lifted her gaze. He started toward her and her heart lurched to her throat. He had this strut, this way of moving that shouted:
I own the world, it’s mine
.
He mesmerized her.
She stared at him as he approached, mouth going dry. She imagined his eyes meeting hers, his lips lifting in that cocky smile that made her nipples tighten.
But this time, like every time before, his gaze slid right past her, to his friends in the booth directly behind hers. Sheila and Dab. Joe and Sam. His core group.
“What’s happening, dudes? Make room.”
“Where’ve you been?” Sheila’s voice. Hushed.
“Around.”
But Bitsy knew. All his secrets. She smiled to herself.
“What’s everyone’s problem?” he said. “Cheer the fuck up. It’s Saturday.”
“Have you heard?” Sheila again.
“What?” He sounded annoyed.
“Kat’s sister is dead,” Sheila whispered. “Somebody murdered her.”
Bitsy held her breath. She needed to hear his response for herself.
“Get the fuck outta here.”
“It’s true,” Joe said. “I heard it was a real mess.”
“Somebody said old man Tanner puked when he saw the body.”
“When?” Ryan asked. Was that a tremor she heard in his voice? What did that mean?
“The other night.”
“Thursday,” Dab offered. Why does it matter?
They didn’t know about him and Kat. But they suspected. Bitsy had heard them talking. They figured he had screwed her. A couple times even. But Ryan Benton didn’t get any more involved than that, they said.
Joe snapped his fingers. “Ryan? Shit, man. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m cool. Hungry. Where’s our waitress?”
“Maxie!” Dab called. “Got an order over here.”
Dab’s mom ran the Sunny Side. Lots of times Dab waited their table. Bitsy knew for a fact she didn’t charge them for a bunch of the stuff they ordered.
The girl hurried over. She, like everyone else, didn’t notice Bitsy.
The funny-looking girl sitting alone with her laptop.
“Sorry,” Maxie said. “It’s been a little hard to focus today. What can I get you, Ryan?”
“A couple sausage biscuits. And an orange juice. Large.”
Bitsy opened the database and typed in what he ordered. Most times he got them with egg and cheese, too. Sometimes with a side of cheese grits.
She wondered why the change today.
“I tried to call Kat,” Dab whispered. “Didn’t get an answer.”
Bitsy smiled.
Of course not. Katherine was grounded. She’d lost her phone and computer.
Ryan knew that. But he wasn’t talking.
“Do you think she’s okay?” Sheila asked.
“I’d be so scared. He could have killed
her
.”
“Just think,” Joe said, “a murderer. Right here in Liberty.”
“Doesn’t seem real,” Ryan said. “A total freaking nightmare.”
“I had Ms. McCall for English a couple years ago. She was pretty cool.”
“I wonder how he did it?”
Bitsy realized that she was listening so intently she had forgotten to breathe. She did now, horrified when it came out as a gasp. No one seemed to notice.
“If Tanner puked, it must have been bad.”
“I wish I knew.”
This was her chance.
Do it, Bits.
She turned around in the booth and peeked over the top. “I know.”
All their eyes went to her. Ryan swiveled. His face was so close she saw the gold flecks in his brown eyes.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Bitsy. Cavenaugh.”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “I’ve seen you around.”