18
What had she just agreed to? Lucy cursed as she walked over to the Smoot cottage. She had no business spending so much time
with Ford—especially going so far as to stay with him. Just having him take her hand had caused her to feel such longing!
But how could she shove him away and continue on her own?
She couldn’t, not when he was here in North Hampton Beach, so close to where she was currently living. Besides, they’d had
only four weeks together when they were teenagers. If he was the love of her life, why not allow herself to simply enjoy being
with him this summer? That way, she could put her energy to better use—like working with him to accomplish what she’d come
for.
With a sigh for the constant push-pull in her head and her heart, she entered the backyard via the path leading to and from
the beach. She’d tried— for years —to obliterate her feelings for Ford, to forget him and relegate him to the past. But having him here, in the present, made that impossible. Apparently, she was going to risk getting hurt again, was afraid it was almost inevitable—unless she could somehow maintain some emotional distance.
Her phone buzzed with a text. Ford was telling her to let him know if she needed help hauling her luggage over. But she didn’t
plan on packing her entire suitcase. She was going to bring her makeup, toiletries and a few clothes and see how the next
few days went. If she was lucky, she’d find something she didn’t like about him now that he was an adult—something that would
give her a way to climb out of the quicksand of old feelings that threatened to pull her under.
Fortunately, because the Smoot cottage was so close, she could go back and forth at will and no one had to know she was staying
with Ford. Before she’d left Coastal Comfort a few minutes ago, she’d told him she didn’t want anyone to know, and he’d agreed
they’d keep it on the down-low. That was why she’d approached the Smoot Cottage from the beach. Walking down the street would’ve
created more opportunity for people to see her coming and going.
Because she entered the house through the closed-in porch, however, she didn’t at first realize that something was amiss.
She was halfway to the bedroom before she saw that the front door was standing open and some of her panties, bras, socks and
other clothes were strewn down the hall.
Coming to an abrupt halt, she covered her mouth and listened—above the pounding of her heart—to make sure whoever had done
this was no longer in the house.
She couldn’t hear anything, was fairly certain she was alone. Chances were, she was. Otherwise, whoever had broken in would
likely have run out of the house as soon as they heard her coming—or confronted her, if that was what they’d planned.
Moving as quietly as possibly, she crept forward, just in case she was wrong, and craned her neck to peer into the bedroom.
The window of the master had been broken. Glass glittered on the floor, and all the drawers had been tossed.
Had she been robbed?
She hadn’t brought anything of particular value to North Hampton Beach, except her purse, and she’d had that with her—thank
God. It was safe at Ford’s. It didn’t look as though any of the household furnishings had been taken, either. So what was
the point of this intrusion?
Lucy thought she could easily guess. Someone wasn’t happy she was back in town, and they were letting her know it. But she
couldn’t rule out all other possibilities until she reached the bathroom, where she found some of her makeup dumped in the
toilet and six words, written in lipstick, on the mirror.
Your the reason he did it.
Whoever had left that message hadn’t bothered with the appropriate contraction and had created a hard emphasis on your by going over it several times, making it much thicker than the rest.
Ford propped his hands on his hips as he stared at the mirror in Lucy’s bathroom. When she’d texted to tell him someone had
broken into the cottage, he’d called the police while rushing out of his house, but no one had arrived. He suspected Claxton
was behind the delay, that the chief of police was trying to teach them both that it was smarter to cooperate with him than
to cross him.
Just the possibility that he could be holding up help made Ford furious. Someone had been killed fifteen years ago! This could
be serious.
Or did Claxton have reason to believe it was merely a scare tactic? Because that was what it felt like. If someone truly wanted
to hurt Lucy, they wouldn’t have come in, messed up a few things, written an ominous message on the mirror and left. The whole
mirror thing was almost a cliché.
“What do you think?” she asked, standing beside him. “Was it really someone who doesn’t know the difference between ‘your’ and ‘you are’? Or was it someone pretending to be uneducated?”
He thought of how belligerent Reggie had been at the duplex earlier. Surely, he wouldn’t be stupid enough to break into the
house where Lucy was staying. He had to know he’d be the first person they’d suspect...
“Ford?” she prompted when he didn’t answer.
He met her gaze in the mirror. “Reggie probably isn’t the smartest guy in the world, but I can’t imagine he’d do this. It’s
too obvious.” He tilted his head slightly to one side as another thought occurred to him. “Unless...”
“Unless...” she echoed.
“Maybe he’s not worried about getting caught. Maybe Chief Claxton ‘suggested’ something like this. Reggie would certainly
do it if he thought the police would turn a blind eye.”
Her mouth fell open. “You think Claxton might be behind it? That he’s... corrupt?”
“He may not view it as ‘corrupt.’ If he knows you’re not really in danger he might not think too much about it, especially
if it gets you to back off and return to Vegas. Then the past stays in the past, and the problem is solved.” He gestured for
her to follow him as he walked back through the house. “I mean... look at this. Other than the shattered window and a little
ruined makeup, whoever broke in didn’t even do much damage.”
“He or she didn’t take anything, either,” she commented.
“Exactly my point.” The rest of the house had been untouched, even though whoever it was had obviously left through the living
room. The front door was standing open, yet Lucy claimed she hadn’t so much as touched it since she arrived.
“Would Claxton trust Reggie enough to suggest such a thing, though?” she asked. “If he was going to allow it, why not just
do it himself? Then he wouldn’t run the risk of Reggie ever blabbing.”
“I could see him having Reggie do the dirty work, just in case you came home and interrupted what was going on. But it could’ve been Claxton. He was incensed when he left. He carries the type of tools that would make it easy to break a window without getting cut. We both know he was in the area around the time this must’ve happened—he could’ve come here right after.”
“And no one would ever suspect him. Not only that but his police scanner would allow him to keep track of the calls that came
in, so he’d know if someone reported any suspicious activity at the Smoot cottage.”
“He might even want us to wonder if it was him,” Ford mused. “That would be frightening in a different way, but it could easily achieve the same
goal.”
She shook her head. “That’s messed up.”
He tested the lock on the front door. It still worked, didn’t look as if it’d been tampered with, which went along with his
first assumption that after coming in the window the intruder had gone out the front. The fact that he hadn’t even taken the
time to close the door suggested—to Ford, at least—that he’d wanted Lucy to see something wasn’t right from the outset.
“I agree.” He left the door open again because he felt the police had to arrive sooner or later and he wanted to know when
they did. “But my guess is he feels justified—that he thinks you deserve this since we won’t listen to him.”
“Because, of course, he can’t conceive of being wrong, which makes him right,” she said facetiously. She went into the kitchen
and stood at the window, looking out at the front yard. “But my car’s there. You’d think seeing my vehicle in the drive would’ve
given him or whoever it was pause.”
“Not necessarily.” He circled the room just to make sure there really hadn’t been any other damage. “All anyone would’ve had
to do to determine that you weren’t home was ring the doorbell a few times. And if it was Chief Claxton and he got caught breaking in, he could always say he did it because he thought you might be hurt or in distress.”
“It would be easy for a man in his position to get away with something like this,” she agreed.
“ Too easy. I’m glad you’ll be staying at my place from now on.” His phone went off. Assuming the police were finally responding,
at least in some way, he pulled his cell out of his pocket. But it wasn’t the police; it was the investigator. “It’s Friedman,”
he told Lucy and put the call on Speaker.
“Hey, Les,” he said. “I’ve got Lucy here with me. She can hear you, too.”
“Good,” Friedman responded. “Because I have some questions for both of you.”
“We were hoping you’d have some answers,” Ford said wryly.
“With any luck my questions will lead to answers.”
“What’s up?” Lucy asked.
“I’ve been reading the case files on the Matteo murders, and there’s something wrong.”
Ford gave Lucy a startled look, which she gave right back to him. “We didn’t hire you to get involved in the Matteo murders.”
“But that’s where it all starts, so that’s where I had to start. Part of the reason Lucy’s father was convicted was that he’d supposedly killed two innocent people only weeks
before Aurora died.”
“Supposedly?” Ford said, picking up on that word above all the rest. “Lucy’s father’s DNA was found under the fingernails
of Tony Matteo.”
“I understand, but I’ve found something that can’t also be true, not unless Mick could be in two places at one time.”
The blood drained from Lucy’s face. She opened her mouth to respond, but a voice in the entryway caused her to whirl around
instead. Ford turned, too, and saw Chief Claxton. He’d drawn his firearm as if he was approaching a dangerous situation, but
the muzzle was pointed at the floor. “According to the call that came in, you need my help,” he said.
The smug expression on his face caused Ford to clench his jaw. “Nice of you to finally show up.”
He grinned as he slid his gun back into his belt. “Everyone loves to find fault with the police—until they need help.”
Lucy shoved her hands into the pockets of her cutoffs and followed as Ford led Chief Claxton down the hall. The two men were
talking about the break-in. She was, of course, keenly interested in the conversation and yet she was barely listening. Ford
had ended the call with Friedman abruptly, so they could deal with what was going on right now. But she couldn’t wait to hear
the investigator explain what he’d found. How could there be any question that her father had murdered the Matteos? Was it even remotely possible that he was innocent of all the murders?
The mere thought caused her heart to pound. In the beginning, she’d believed in him so much. But the police had insisted it
was an open-and-shut case. She’d heard the evidence herself; it’d certainly seemed incontrovertible. Even her father had stopped
professing his innocence once all the evidence had been laid out. As an alcoholic, he’d often drink until he blacked out or
couldn’t remember where he’d been or what he’d done. The CA had pointed to his history with alcohol every time Mick so much
as tried to say he hadn’t killed anyone. They said the evidence proved he’d broken into the Matteos’ home, most likely intent on stealing whatever cash and valuables he could, only to find them
asleep in their beds, at which point a savage beating had ensued. Because he managed the trailer park, he’d known they were
supposed to be visiting a dying aunt in Florida. That was what gave him the opportunity—or so it was thought. And if he’d
been drinking, the rest seemed plausible, too.
But it was the DNA evidence that cemented the case. Finding her father’s genetic material under Tony Matteo’s finger nails not only placed him at the scene of the crime, it proved he’d had personal contact with Tony.
Eventually, after his protestations continued to fall on deaf ears, her father had gone silent. Refused to even talk about
it. Then he was charged with murdering Aurora, too, and because he’d killed the Matteos, everyone believed he must be guilty,
especially when Reggie came forward with that jail cell “confession.”
Surely, even if her father hadn’t killed Aurora, he was guilty of murdering the sweet old couple who’d been so good to her
whenever they saw her. Losing them had been like losing her grandparents. They were the closest thing she’d ever had to extended
family, which had only added more fuel to her hurt and anger when she learned what her father had done.
But what if he hadn’t harmed them?
It would change his life. It would change hers, too—remove the giant weight crushing her heart and soul.
She quickly reined in the wild thoughts racing through her mind, along with the memories of her father as a basically kind
man, a regular dad. Stop. Do not let hope get the best of you. DNA doesn’t lie.
“You want to tell me what happened here?” Chief Claxton asked.
She’d planned to explain, but as she studied his expression, she didn’t like what she saw. The glitter in his eyes told her
he didn’t care about the broken window and ruined makeup; he seemed to feel she deserved whatever she got. “No.”
He’d already pulled out a pen and notebook. “You don’t want to file a report?” he said, looking up.
“Would there be any point?” she asked.
“Lucy,” Ford said gently. “We might as well document this. See what the police can do. Don’t you think?”
“They won’t do anything,” she replied.
Claxton lowered his pad and pen. “What are you talking about?”
“I read faces for a living, Chief Claxton. And you know what yours is telling me right now? It’s shouting that you won’t bother to investigate this. You want me gone as badly as whoever did it. Or maybe that person is actually... you.”
Claxton’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “Are you accusing me of committing a crime?”
“No, she’s not. We know you would never commit a crime,” Ford said, obviously trying to keep this encounter from getting too
out of hand.
But Lucy couldn’t stop herself from doubling down, not after being the defenseless girl who’d had no say—and wouldn’t have
been heard even if she did try to speak up—fifteen years ago. “You were in the area.”
Red splotches appeared on his bulldog-like cheeks. “You’d better watch yourself...”
“You already threatened me at the grocery store, remember?”
“I didn’t threaten you,” he said through gritted teeth. “I warned you.”
“That my stay this summer might get ‘unpleasant’ if I questioned the past—and I’d say this is pretty damn unpleasant.”
He glanced at Ford as if he was tempted to say something he wouldn’t allow himself to say in Ford’s presence. “I take my responsibilities
as chief of police seriously, always do what’s best for this community!” he nearly shouted.
She folded her arms. “Even if it’s illegal? Because I believe you know Reggie lied on the stand. You know he lied, but you don’t care because you think the end justifies the means.”
His voice dropped an octave at least. “I know your father was a very dangerous man. That’s what I know. We’re lucky his trial
went the way it did. Maybe if you’d seen Aurora’s bloated and decomposing body or had to tell her poor parents that she’d
been found dead, you’d be as happy about his conviction as I am.”
“You can’t assume my father killed Aurora because he killed the Matteos. You need more proof than Reggie’s testimony!”
“There was more than Reggie’s testimony. Your father had a strong motive, the means and opportunity.”
“There could be a lot of other people who had a strong motive, the means and opportunity,” she said.
“No one who’d killed before.” He stepped closer to her, prompting Ford to do the same—and lift a hand to keep the police chief
from coming too close.
“You hated Aurora,” he continued. “Admit it! She was all over Ford that summer, and you were terrified of losing him.”
“That isn’t true! I loved Ford—was completely head over heels—but I also thought he loved me!”
Claxton gave her an “as if” look. “You knew he was way out of your league, that you couldn’t compete with someone like Aurora.”
“I think it’s time for you to leave,” Ford interrupted, but Claxton wasn’t done.
“You were willing to do anything to make sure you didn’t lose him,” he continued with a laser-like focus on Lucy. “So you bitched about her to dear old Daddy,
and he took care of the problem for you. Isn’t that right? You’re the reason she was killed!”
Lucy was beginning to feel sick to her stomach but couldn’t bite back the retort that rose to her lips. “Just because you
wrote it on my mirror doesn’t make it true.”
“Lucy, let it go,” Ford warned, his voice bordering on remonstrative. “The investigator I hired will get to the bottom of
it. And if the prosecution relied on a witness the police knew was lying, we’ll do all we can to see that those responsible
are held accountable.”
Ford had finally managed to draw Claxton’s attention. “You hired an investigator?” he asked.
“Lester Friedman,” Ford replied. “Have you heard of him? He’s one of the best private investigators in the country.”
The veins stood out in Claxton’s neck. “Goddammit, Ford! You have no idea what you’re doing,” he yelled and stomped out.
The slamming of the door reverberated through the house. Then they heard an engine rev outside.
“That went well,” Ford said sarcastically.
Lucy sank into the closest chair and buried her face in her hands.
“You okay?” He came to stand beside her.
“I’m fine. I’m sorry. I should’ve kept my mouth shut. But I couldn’t let him make fools out of both of us by pretending he
was going to do something about this.” She gestured toward the hallway to indicate the break-in.
Ford shoved a hand through his hair. “I get that. But now he’s so pissed off there’s no telling what he’ll do.”
“He’ll turn the whole town against us. That’s what he’ll do. But this town has never been on my side, which is why I warned
you not to get involved.”
“I don’t regret getting involved, Lucy. I just think some approaches might get us further than others.”
“And I think that maybe it was time I rattled his cage. Maybe the police need to understand that they might be the ones looking down the barrel of the—” she made air quotes “—truth before this is over.”
“If they know Reggie was lying, it’s about time,” he conceded and started gathering the clothes strewn down the hall.
She got up. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like?” he said. “I’m helping you pack so we can get you moved over to my place.”
“I was only going to take a few things until...”
“Until when?” he asked as she searched for the right words.
“Until I saw if it would even work!”
“We’ll have to make it work,” he said. “Because you can’t stay here—not after this.”