Chapter Forty-Four Judson
Chapter Forty-Four
Judson
Yellow crime scene tape sagged across the front steps of Amy Stocker’s gray town house. She hadn’t died here. But her home still told a story. A piece of her puzzle.
I tugged on gloves and booties before stepping inside. At the threshold, my gaze caught Meg Pollard’s. The state forensic tech was crouched with her camera, snapping shots of dusted doorknobs, kitchen counters, and tables. Flashes lit the cream walls in quick bursts.
“Agent Blackwood,” she said without lowering the camera. “Mind if I keep working? Albemarle County is waiting on a consult on a torched car.”
“Go ahead.” Crimes happened simultaneously. Stretched local resources thin.
The living room was beige on beige—carpet, walls, blinds.
A blue thrift-store sofa with a quilt draped over the back did its best to add color.
Two blue wicker chairs still smelled of fresh paint.
On a coffee table sat a fake green plant, a Jamaica travel brochure, a bride magazine, and beaded bracelets carelessly tossed aside.
She’d done her best to make a flavorless room her own.
Upstairs, the primary bedroom was neat. Bed was perfectly made, pillows fluffed, a blue quilt smoothed tight.
A silver frame on the nightstand drew my attention. People told their truth in the bedroom.
This photo showed Amy, Gabe, and Molly—springtime, dogwoods blooming, barnyard goats and chickens in the background.
Meg appeared at the doorway and approached. “Takes guts to take a five-year-old on a secret date with the girlfriend,” she said. “Five-year-olds don’t keep many secrets.”
“You think Molly told her mother?” I asked.
Meg glanced at her viewfinder. “If I had to put money on it, the kid let something slip.”
“Maria was pulling twelve-hour shifts. Would’ve been easy for Gabe and Amy to take Molly for a day trip.”
“You’ve seen Amy Stocker’s body. Any theories on the cause of death?” Meg asked.
“No outward trauma other than the bottom of her feet. She ran some distance in her bare feet,” I said.
“Where do you think she was coming from?” Meg asked.
“If I had to guess—Hale House.”
“What was she doing there?”
“She used to work there,” I said. “She knows the house, the grounds. She had a fondness for anything Hale.”
“Her car wasn’t left on-site, was it?”
“No.”
“Kind of far to walk in,” Meg said. “Someone gave her a ride?”
“Or whoever killed her moved it.” I sighed.
“Gabe would’ve been her ticket to Hale House. He’s not an heir, but his daughter is.”
“That’s long-term planning, Meg.”
“It’s all theory at this point.”
“The medical examiner will tell us more about her, Gabe, and Maria.”
“A messed-up love triangle. And all the main suspects are dead.”
I’d already alerted the medical examiner’s office about the cyanide in Maria’s body. “If the motivation wasn’t jealousy, then what?”
“Money is the next big one,” Meg said. “How’s the kid?”
“Still in the hospital. Raine Hale’s taking custody of her.”
“It’ll be a one-two punch when the girl finds out.”
“I know.” I wasn’t sure how Raine would handle a troubled child.
“Raine and Molly are the last of the Hales, right?”
“Yeah.”
For a moment, memory crowded in—whispers Raine and I had once shared about having a child of our own. A fantasy quickly buried under obligations, her mother’s decline, and my ambition. Stolen moments had been all we’d allowed ourselves.
And then Raine’s mother died. Freedom dangled, brief and dazzling, before Raine retreated.
Her nonreaction to her mother’s death had been troubling. After the police interviews, I’d taken a step back. And she hadn’t moved toward me. The distance between us grew wider. And then we were on separate journeys.
When Raine had married Ken three years ago, I’d sat on my front porch, my only company the dark sky and the stars. I’d finished off a bottle of whiskey. Holding my phone for hours, I’d been tempted to call her and ask, Why him?
The booze had diluted my pride. But I’d never made the call.
The next day I downed aspirin to dull a throbbing headache, drank some water, and got on with my life. I was sure I was over her. And then I saw her at the hospital.
The honey hair I remembered was longer. Her body was leaner, and her blue eyes still burned with worry. The fading bruises on her pale neck had triggered something primal in me. I’d wanted to track down her attacker—make him pay.
“Agent, come look at this,” Meg said.
Meg’s voice cut through. I found her in a walk-in closet. The clothes were light florals, along with high heels and plenty of sparkly purses. A small section was dedicated to shirts and pants that belonged to a man.
In the back, Meg had pulled out a box and opened the top. The container was filled with photographs. More of Amy and Gabe. A few dated back to high school. Amy and Maria. Amy and Raine.
“They really looked alike,” Meg said.
“I’d known Amy was changing her look. The difference is notable.”
Some other images were just Raine. Not here, but in Alexandria. Outside a courthouse, near a sleek town house, in a tony city restaurant.
Had Amy been following Raine before she died? Or maybe Maria had. Her lawsuit would have given her cause to keep up with her cousin.
An undercurrent of tension radiated.
“We’re running a full background check on Amy,” I said. “Maybe I’ll see a pattern of behavior.”
“What do you remember about high school?” Meg asked.
“As little as possible,” I quipped.
“Did you know Amy?”
“I saw her around. Raine met her during her lunch hour at school. Raine needed help with her mother, so she hired Amy. Amy needed a home after she aged out of foster care.”
“How long did Amy work for the Hales?”
“I think about a year. Mrs. Hale died in October.”
“Interesting.”
“Meaning?”
“What was Raine’s attitude toward her mother?”
“She saw to her mother’s needs, but she kept her distance as much as possible.”
“Resented her a little?”
“Maybe. She was deferring college because of her mother’s illness. It was hard.”
“I bet.”
“Raine talked about being close to her father, but never her mother.”
Meg shrugged. “Raine hires Amy, a girl she knows lives on the margins. Amy looks like Raine and then really starts to mimic her. Can’t tell one from the other in the dark.”
“Amy was infatuated.”
“And Raine tolerated it in high school. Why? Was she just overwhelmed, or was it more?”
“What are you thinking?”
“Easy to confuse the two in dim light.” Meg shrugged.
“Continue.”
Her gaze sharpened. “Someone didn’t lock Mrs. Hale’s door. She escaped without shoes or a jacket into the chilly night. Mrs. Hale wasn’t found until the next day, am I right?”
“Correct. The medical examiner listed her cause of death as natural,” I said.
“It wouldn’t have taken much to push someone like Amy to leave a door open. Mrs. Hale was dead. And Raine was free to live her life.”
“Raine fired Amy after her mother’s death. She left Hale House and didn’t move back for seventeen years.”
“But Amy never forgot Hale House or Raine. She still wanted this house.”
“All the players that threatened Hale House are gone.”
I’d worried about Raine’s coldness after her mother’s death. I’d never seen her cry or crumble.
But letting her mother out of her room? Or manipulating Amy to let her escape?
A fragile woman like Mrs. Hale wouldn’t have lasted long in the woods.
Did Maria figure it out? Did she blackmail Raine for money?
Was Raine willing to kill anyone else who might have known her secret? Maria, Gabe, and Amy.
All the threats had been eliminated.
And each road led to one person—Raine.