Chapter Eight Judson
Chapter Eight
Judson
The small ranch-style house sat tucked in the northeast corner of the Hale property. When I pulled up, a police vehicle was parked out front. And a forensic truck idled in the driveway. A late-model white minivan that belonged to Maria was there as well.
The doctors still couldn’t explain Maria’s heart attack.
Sure, genetics might have been a factor.
And strange medical emergencies did happen.
But my gut said otherwise—this didn’t feel natural.
The Durant house—the caretaker’s cottage—was now a crime scene, and it needed to be sealed. I also wanted to search Gabe’s truck.
Getting a warrant for the house and vehicles had been easy. The judge was 90 percent certain this was a tragic medical emergency. He’d been tight with Raine’s father and uncle back in the day—he remembered their deaths.
But the other 10 percent bothered me. If a Hale had been poisoned, the judge wouldn’t want blowback if he’d missed an opportunity to close the case.
I stepped out of the car. As I passed the minivan, I checked the door handle. Locked. A car seat, covered in crumbs, was secured to the back seat.
When I first moved back to town, Gabe and Maria had invited me over for a welcome-back dinner. The plans got postponed over and over because of Gabe’s work. Finally, we’d met four weeks ago.
When I’d finally shown up, something was off. The air between the couple crackled with tension. I’d heard whispers about their marriage, but I’d brushed them off. That changed when Gabe handed me a beer by the grill.
“Sorry about the cancellations. Work’s been insane,” he said.
“Sounds like a good problem,” I said.
“When it rains, it pours.”
“What companies are you working for?”
“Small ones. You wouldn’t know them. Ken gave me the leads.”
“Ken Watson?”
“Yeah.”
Ken. Raine’s husband. Soon-to-be ex-husband.
I’d known Gabe and Ken since high school. We’d played on the offensive line. Gabe was a natural athlete, easygoing, but he’d missed a lot of practice. Always offered a good explanation. I knew the real one: Maria.
Ken was a wide receiver. He’d partied more than he’d trained. I played guard, kept my mouth shut, and dumped all my rage, grief, and frustration into the brutal practices.
Ken and Gabe were happy to be small-town heroes. I wasn’t. I had my eye on college ball. Maybe even the pros.
Football and living in Crozet had been the glue that held us together. Once that was gone, so were we.
With Raine, I’d told myself the glue was sex—a cheap fix for belonging.
Truth was, my feelings had veered too close to obsession—tight, suffocating, impossible to shake.
Made me question my goals. But ties that had felt solid crumbled for her under pressure.
I’d figured whatever we had was long dead.
But this morning, the old pull had clawed its way back.
I’d met Raine when I was working for a delivery company. I’d been on a run to Hale House.
She was on a riding lawn mower cutting a massive tract of grass stretching from the gates to the manor’s front door. Sweat darkened her cropped, soaked tee. Her skin glowed.
She waved, but she kept driving her mower. I dropped the package on the front porch and paused. She cut the engine.
“Thanks for the delivery.”
“Sure.” I held her gaze. “Can you tell the people who own the house?”
“I am those people.”
I smiled. “Seriously.”
She grabbed a holstered water bottle and drank. “I’ll take it inside when I’m finished.”
Something in her gaze told me not to argue. “You’re a Hale?”
“Yep.”
“You don’t look like a princess.”
She replaced the water bottle in its holder. “What gave it away? The sweat or the grass stains?”
A glance at the shirt, and all I saw were nipples pressing against the damp fabric. My concentration shattered. “What’s your name?”
“Raine. Hale.”
I went on offense. “You’re really sticking with that?”
She pushed back a lock of blond hair. “I sure am. Who are you?”
“Judson Blackwood.”
“Ah, the new football star.”
I raised a brow. “Raine Hale doesn’t go to public high school.”
“She does now. And she cuts the grass when her land manager doesn’t show.” Blue eyes held my gaze. “I hear the coach is expecting big things of you.”
That’s what everyone was saying. “I’ll bring the heat.”
She nodded. “Time to finish the yard before the heat of the day hits.”
“Right. Nice to meet you. Raine.”
A smile flickered on her lips. “Back at you, Judson.”
Weeks later, I saw Raine in town. She was cleaned up. White shorts, tank top, and sandals. I joked I didn’t recognize her. Threw a Hail Mary and asked her out on a date. She said yes. I was shocked.
She was nothing like I’d expected. Funny, smart, quick to joke about private school attitudes. Her self-deprecating way made me laugh.
The hormones were raging, and we weren’t shy about taking full advantage. The first time we had sex? On a blanket in her family’s barn. We were excited, nervous, and into each other.
Half naked, our limbs intertwined, I’d asked her why she’d left boarding school. She’d blamed it on family finances. It didn’t ring true, but I didn’t press. I was just glad she was here.
Sighing, I pushed aside the memory. I shoved my hands into PPE gloves and slipped on shoe covers.
The front hallway was narrow, the walls beige, the furniture worn.
A big collection of family photos lined the walls.
Lots of smiles. Most of the pictures were of Molly.
One included Maria and Gabe. They looked like a happy family.
Agent Meg Pollard was working the scene. She’d been with the state police’s western division since she’d graduated college. Short brown hair framed a lean face. “Where would you like me to start?”
“The warrant is limited—for now. Just the kitchen, the medicine cabinets, anything you see in the open. The judge will grant more access if we find any evidence.”
“And the vehicles?”
“Search them both. Hers is in the driveway—spare keys should be here somewhere. And when we find Gabe’s truck, search all compartments.”
“Got it.” Meg checked her digital camera’s settings.
In the kitchen, she raised the lens. The shutter clicked.
Dinner was still set out: rumpled place mats and napkins, half-eaten Italian bread, wilting salad, shattered plate shards, and noodles all over the floor. The plates were stacked beside the sink.
Blood speckled the counter and the floor. Maria had collapsed here, hitting her head on the way down.
Meg placed yellow, tented numbers beside each droplet and snapped more pictures.
On the counter, two drinking glasses—one nearly full and the other empty, its rim smudged with lipstick.
“Log in the glasses,” I said.
“On it.” She slipped them into individual paper bags.
The kitchen window overlooked fields of tall uncut grass. Just over the hill was Hale House and more outbuildings. Raine had let the Durants live rent-free in the cottage until Gabe got back on his feet. That was four years ago.
As Meg worked, I moved toward the first bedroom. Painted pink. A big M hung on the wall over a small bed tangled with sheets. Stuffed animals were scattered on the floor. I pictured Gabe knocking toys aside last night as he scooped up Molly.
The primary bedroom told a different story. The bed had smooth, neat covers on the right and rumpled sheets on the left.
In the corner, dirty work jeans, socks, and nursing scrubs piled beside an overflowing laundry basket. Pink slippers rested side by side on the floor.
On the right side was a nightstand with two medicine bottles. The scripts were made out to Gabe. One for an anxiety medication, the other a tranquilizer.
The bathroom was in disarray. Wet towels lay on the floor, the bathtub ringed with dirt, and the trash can overflowing. More dirty laundry on the hallway floor and a bound trash bag ready for the bin.
The medicine cabinet held nothing unusual—over-the-counter painkillers, vitamins, and basic first aid supplies. Nothing indicating heart issues.
The house I remembered from our dinner had worn the mask of a perfect family home. Molly slurping pasta. Gabe tossing a salad. Maria pouring wine.
But I saw the warning signs of that moment now. The laughter was too sharp. The smiles held a beat too long.