Chapter 13 #2
She lifted her gaze to Cillian’s. “Perhaps when someone used it to hit Thomas.”
“Good point.” He glanced toward the closest open door.
“Maybe the killer hid in here when he heard Thomas come down the stairs. If it was a thief not meaning to kill anyone, he could’ve panicked, grabbed the glass bookend, and just stepped out and—” He stopped at the sight of Victoria’s wince, her eyes sliding shut.
She’d really cared about the old guy. Good to know that hadn’t changed—her caring about people. It was one of the things he loved about her. Probably one of the reasons she’d cared about Cillian so much.
He’d known even then, when they were just kids, that she saw he needed someone.
That she was trying to fill the void he had from a messed-up home life and a mother who’d rejected him from day one.
But it hadn’t been pity. It had been real love.
Love for someone who needed her. But he was pretty sure it had blossomed into something more before her dad forced her to end things.
Victoria cleared her throat. “This is good. A missing bookend is more evidence that something happened here.”
He mustered a teasing smile. “See? Aren’t you glad we came?”
Her mouth angled in a reluctant, adorable smile.
“Let’s check the other rooms on the ground floor.
” She exited the library and turned left.
“If our theory is correct, that either a thief or another killer woke Thomas and then surprised him downstairs, that likely means he didn’t make it upstairs before then. ”
“Or she.” Cillian caught up to Victoria and walked by her side.
She shot him a surprised glance.
“If an object like a bookend or fire poker was used, a woman could’ve done it, too. Wouldn’t take a lot of strength.”
“But what about moving the body out to the end of the long driveway?” She had a point.
“How big was Thomas? I didn’t get to see him when...” Best not mention the day Victoria had found him.
“Not very. Only an inch or two taller than me and slim.”
“I’m guessing a woman could move him, too, if she used a tarp or something.”
“Perhaps.” Victoria slowed, angling toward a closed door on the right. She reached for the handle and opened it. “But I don’t—” Her gasp cut off the words.
“Victoria?” Cillian stepped between her and the room she stared at as if it contained some kind of threat.
Papers scattered the floor and a desk. Books were tossed all over the room. Chairs were flipped upside down, toppled.
The room had been ransacked.
Cillian stepped inside, scanning the space. “Was this his office?”
Victoria didn’t answer.
He turned to face her.
Shock paled her cheeks and widened her eyes. “This wasn’t the work of a thief looking for valuables. What if Thomas was right? What if one of the people he said he couldn’t trust turned on him, and—”
Something dark appeared at the corner of Cillian’s eye.
It moved quickly. Slammed into Victoria, knocking her down.
A person.
“Hey!” Cillian’s shout launched at the same time as his body, but the dude in dark clothes and a mask dodged the lunge and took off up the hallway. Cillian crouched by Victoria as she sat up. “Are you okay?”
“Yes.” She gestured toward the hall. “Go after him.”
Cillian sprinted in the direction the attacker had gone.
No one was in the hallway. The attacker had a good lead.
Cillian pushed his speed faster, reached the foyer.
Front door stood open.
He didn’t slow. Kept running through the doorway, into the dark night. He pumped his arms as he dashed down the driveway, cold air filling his lungs.
Movement. By the gate.
The dark figure was climbing over it.
Cillian ran for him, but he dropped on the other side. Cillian jumped, grasping the top of the wrought iron bars. With one pull, he hefted himself up and over the top, landing on the blacktop on the other side. Paid to be taller than the bad guy.
He’d gained but still had his work cut out for him. He sprinted after the fleeing coward. His blood seethed as he remembered the way the thug had knocked down Victoria. Right there in front of Cillian.
Anger pushed him faster, following the guy’s scramble up the sidewalk, then across the empty road.
The attacker must have a getaway car somewhere in the quiet, ritzy neighborhood.
But Cillian was closing in. He would catch him in a few more seconds if—
No.
The attacker reached a silver Mercedes parked along the curb by the entry into the neighborhood. He darted to the driver’s door and disappeared inside.
“Hold it!” Cillian kicked into his highest gear.
The engine rumbled to life. The car took off, Cillian only feet away.
He stopped, straining to see the license plate in the darkness.
Shadows covered the numbers in the second before the car turned onto the main street.
But Cillian had seen the attacker’s vehicle. Knew the make. Knew from the build and speed he was a man. And that, despite the ignorant claims of the detective and lieutenant, someone apparently had motive enough to break into the house of the dead man and search for something.
Which meant that same person also must have had a motive to murder Thomas Briscoe.
“Thanks for making time to see me tonight.” Robert lifted the mug of coffee Victoria had given him and took a sip, his brown eyes watching her over the rim.
“Don’t be silly. We both know why you wanted to come.” And she was thankful he had texted her first to make sure she’d be home at nine thirty. She nearly hadn’t been. Or rather, Robert might have seen Cillian following her home on his motorcycle to ensure she made it safely.
But Cillian had thankfully left immediately, allowing Victoria enough time to get her house in order and appear as if she’d been home for hours before Robert arrived, rather than only ten minutes.
Robert was going to have enough questions for her as it was.
She picked up her own mug of coffee from the kitchen counter and met his gaze. “Treese told you about my patient, didn’t she?”
His eyes twinkled, and a closed-lip smile shaped his mouth between the dark mustache and wide chin strip of his carefully styled beard. “You’ve always known what we’re thinking before we do.”
She lifted her eyebrows. “I believe that’s your forte, Dr. Weston.”
He chuckled as he lowered the mug and leaned back against the counter opposite her in the small kitchen. “I still look around for Dad every time someone calls me that.”
“That may be why I insist my patients call me Victoria.” She gave him a smile.
He laughed again. “Here I was thinking I’d be your shoulder to cry on, but you seem like you’re processing your patient’s death perfectly fine without me.”
Victoria added her other hand to her mug, letting the warmth seep into her cold fingers. “I never mind being thought of. I appreciate that you care.”
“Always.” His mouth settled into a more serious line. “Treese says you found his body. Thomas Briscoe?”
“How did you know that?” Victoria had intentionally not told Treese his name.
“Saw it on the news. I put two and two together. I think you mentioned once you had to go to an appointment with a patient in that neighborhood.” Robert and his steel trap memory.
“You’re correct, as usual. And, yes, I was the one who found him.” Her mind returned to the scene. To Thomas. Lifeless.
She blinked and turned away from Robert to set her coffee on the counter. “I was supposed to see him that morning. He asked me to come since he had to cut our appointment short the day before.”
Movement by the doorway caught her gaze.
Max’s huge, dark head appeared.
“Hi, sweetie. You can come in.”
The Leonberger stood frozen and erect, staring at Robert.
“I won’t bite, buddy. I promise.” Robert used a soft tone, but Max didn’t budge. “I don’t think he believes me.” Robert switched his gaze to Victoria. “Don’t know how Hank won him over.”
She gave her brother a smile. “He’ll get used to you someday. He warms to certain people more quickly than others.”
“I’m not sure what that says about me.” Robert gave her a rueful smile.
Max turned from the doorway and walked away, his toenails clipping with the thud of his giant paws as he went up the hallway and, judging from the sounds, lay on his dog bed in the living room.
“So you were there for an appointment?”
She took in a breath. Of course, Robert wouldn’t let her change the subject so easily. He’d come all that way to get her to talk it through, after all.
“Yes.” She pinched her lips together. “And no.” She folded her arms across her sweater. “He said he wanted to talk to me. It was very strange.”
“What was?” Robert’s tone was so calm and gentle, she didn’t even think before continuing.
“The day before, he acted so peculiar. He kept saying he couldn’t trust anyone, that he only trusted me. And he said he would explain when I returned the next morning.” She brought her gaze to Robert.
She knew that look. The wheels were clicking in his intelligent mind, reflected in his eyes. She had probably said too much, which often seemed to be the case around Robert. He’d definitely chosen the right profession in psychiatry.
“You think it wasn’t an accident like they reported on the news.” His eyebrows lowered as he watched her. “You think it was murder.”
Astute, as usual. She’d always had her work cut out for her keeping ahead of Robert’s deductions and cleverness when he was a child. Praise the Lord, Robert had been too focused on academic pursuits and feeding his thirst for knowledge to get into any significant trouble. “Yes.”
“Have you told the police?”
“I have, and they disagree. Quite emphatically.”
“Really?” His eyebrows reversed direction.
“Yes. Despite the evidence w—” she stopped herself just in time and quickly continued, “…I found. I told them all the details, but they are determined Thomas’s death was accidental.
” She forced herself to hold Robert’s gaze so as not to make another obvious blunder.
She was still recovering from being knocked down by the intruder at Thomas’s home.
She was in no mood to explain Cillian to her younger brother at the moment.
Something flickered in Robert’s eyes. He’d noticed the slip. “Well, I’m glad you told them. It’s strange they wouldn’t be open to considering other theories.” Was he going to let it go without question? It appeared so.
She nodded, tension still pinching her chest. She shouldn’t have tried to hide the we once she’d started to say it.
Now he would make something even more significant out of her avoidance.
“I think so, too. But they did say an autopsy is standard in deaths like these, so my hope is those results will prove that he was killed.”
Her words bounced back at her. “Not that I want something so tragic to be true, of course. But I do want justice for Thomas if he was indeed the victim of a crime.”
“I know, Vicki. You cared for him.” Something about Robert’s understanding tone and the reflection of sadness in his own eyes formed a lump in her throat.
“Yes.” She managed to speak around the swelling.
“I did.” She blinked back the oncoming tears that pricked her eyes.
She’d made it a point never to cry in front of the children.
Not since their mother’s funeral. They needed to be able to depend on her strength and fortitude, not the other way around.
“I don’t mean to pry, Vicki.” He paused. His tone signaled he was about to say something she wouldn’t like.
She tensed. Was he going to ask who the we was that she had referred to and why she’d tried to hide the slip?
“But I saw this while you were making the coffee.” He went toward the doorway of the kitchen and reached for something on the counter there.
Oh, no. The—
He held up the threatening note.
How had she forgotten she’d left it there?
“Is someone threatening you?”
She swallowed, staring at the paper in his raised hand. “The police believe it’s a harmless prank.”
“The same police who don’t think Thomas Briscoe was murdered?”
She met Robert’s gaze. “The same.”
“Then we both know they’re probably wrong.” His eyes darkened. “Do you know who this is, threatening you?” A rare edge lined his tone.
“No. But you don’t need to be concerned. You have your own life to focus on. Didn’t you say you were having issues with Dr. Jackson?” The contentious psychiatrist who shared office space with Robert seemed a perfect way out of this conversation.
“Vicki, you don’t need to always be a mom anymore. We’re grown now. Grown enough that we can help you, too.”
Leave it to Robert to shoot an arrow right into the heart of a matter.
But a mother’s job was never done. Even if she wasn’t the actual mother of her siblings, her mom would’ve wanted them to still have a mother’s love and help into adulthood. For all of their lives, if possible.
“I appreciate that, Robert. I really do.” She straightened her spine and lowered her arms. “But I’m fine and will handle this situation with the Lord’s help as I always do. I don’t believe I’m in any real danger, so please don’t worry.”
The words hitched in her mind as she said them. The sore spots on her body that would no doubt turn into bruises tomorrow suggested she might be wrong.
A man had crashed into her with a shocking force she’d never experienced before.
Lord, please protect me as You always do. And help my faith in You to be a witness of Your power and mercy to Robert and Treese.
And thank You for Cillian being there tonight.
If Cillian hadn’t been with her…She didn’t want to consider what else the attacker might have done.