Lilacs for Laura Page 19

  He trusted her. That’s why he came to her. She hadn’t told about the rape, and he figured she wouldn’t this time either. She’d really blown it.

  “A week without a drink, and you bring me fake wine.” He advanced on her, pointing to the bag. “Gimme the whiskey.”

  Clutching the bag, Laura placed it on the ground. She retreated backward, raising the gun. Moonlight glinted on the barrel as she squinted down the long shaft.

  Jake snatched up the bag and ripped it open. With a scowl, he threw down the food and seized the bottle of cheap liquor. “Tequila!” he snarled. But he fumbled with the cap and slammed the open bottle against his lips.

  Grimacing in pain, he chugged a hefty gulp as Laura stared in stupefied shock. She trained the gun on him and backed away.

  After wiping his mouth on a paint-stained sleeve, he sneered at her. “This ain’t liquor,” he accused. “It’s Mexican pond water. And I ain’t Mexican.”

  “Ah,” she gasped. “Of course, you’re Puerto—”

  “No!” The whites of his eyes narrowed to slits in the darkness. “I drink Jack Daniels like every self-respecting American,” he slurred. “No fancy wine, no stinkin’ tequila, and no Puerto Rican rum!”

  “Sorry,” she mumbled with more fear than apology.

  “Same time tomorrow with a bottle of Jack, you hear me? Get it right this time. And bring a couple sandwiches. No more cold chicken,” he balked. “Don’t think about leaving, neither,” he warned. “I’ll break into your house and call the cops myself if I have to. Evidence to put Rachel away coming from her own family. Wouldn’t the media love that?” With a threatening look, he took another swig.

  Would he really do that? A second passed, feeling like eternity, before he gave her a wave of dismissal.

  Tears stinging her eyes, she turned and ran. Pasture grass swiped her ankles as she ran past the barn, through the gate, into the yard, and finally staggered into the house.

  Head pounding, she fastened the deadbolt. She dropped into a kitchen chair with the shotgun beside her. Wrapping her arms around herself, she tried to ignore the nausea.

  Jack Daniels! She couldn’t face the liquor store again. Not with the squirrelly man behind the counter and that infernal buzzer. How long would this go on?

  Jake’s limping footsteps drummed in her ears. Was he outside the door or was she imagining things? She climbed under the table and brought her knees to her chest, rocking back and forth. For a long time, she sat and rocked. She twirled her hair around her fingers until they turned blue.

  She had to handle this. She’d delivered the goods quietly, without anyone knowing. If Mr. Calvin told her father about the liquor store, she’d say she bought cooking wine or something.

  Maybe one more day would be all Jake needed. He hadn’t limped as badly tonight and seemed a lot stronger since he’d eaten. Maybe she should give him money. Anything to get him away from here.

  Something banged against the kitchen door.

  She leapt from the floor. Grabbing the gun, she scrambled around the corner and hid plastered to the wall. Her heart jolted as a series of crashes vibrated the door.

  Peering around the corner, she expected Jake to kick the door open. Adrenalin pumped through her, but she poised stock-still with the gun trained on the door.

  Screeching pierced the air. She jumped out of her skin. “What the—?”

  Then she recognized the sound. Raccoons! She slunk to the window and looked out. Two coons rolled around in the moonlight, clawing and snarling in a vicious death grip on each other. Afraid to open the door, she opened the window and poked the shotgun against the screen.

  Aiming high to scare them away, she squeezed the trigger. The blast threw her backward and tore a gaping hole in the screen. Startled, the coons fought with renewed ferocity as they tumbled around the yard.

  Nerves hyped, she fired a second shot.

  “Boom!” It rang out, echoing through the trees. The bawling coons scampered toward the barn and disappeared in the darkness.

  Laura rubbed the dull ache in her shoulder. The gun’s kickback would leave a bruise. She searched the moonlit lawn. Nothing but grass lay beyond an overturned flowerpot and chicken bones scattered on the doorstep. The horses brayed, startled by the gunshots and squalling coons.

  She closed and locked the window, checked all the locks and put the gun away in the mudroom before realizing it. Chicken bones? Jake put them there!

  With a shiver, she ran upstairs. Would he keep his end of the bargain? Or gain his strength and come after her?

  She vomited in the toilet. Then she ran a hot shower and tried again to ignore the Psycho images in her head.

  ****

  Two gunshots rang through the night, shattering the backyard quiet. Brett’s ears perked up, listening over the race on Chad’s television.

  “That sounded close. Kinda late for hunting, don’t ya think?” he asked nervously.

  “How long have you lived here?” Chad leaned back in his recliner and laughed. “Old Calvin’s probably shooting at coons. If he’d keep his garbage in the shed, they wouldn’t be getting into it all the time. But I think he actually enjoys the target practice,” he said with a hint of sarcasm.

  “Oh. I never noticed gunshots before.”

  “I bet.” Chad winked. “You’re too busy with my sister.”

  “Yeah.” Brett’s stomach soured as he frowned at the floor.

  “Hey, what’s wrong? Trouble in paradise?”

  “You could say that.” He drew a long breath, working up the courage to explain. “I didn’t just come over to watch the race,” he admitted. “I wanted to tell you I landed a job.”

  “Ah,” Chad said with understanding. “Far away, is it?”

  “Charlotte.” Brett couldn’t help getting excited, despite Laura’s rejection. “I’ll be setting up suspensions for Bo Hatley’s race team.”

  “Whoa, dude!” Chad’s face lit up. He eagerly asked questions about the job. But the longer they talked, the more depressed Brett felt.

  “Wow. I’m impressed.” Chad nodded with approval.

  “Chance of a lifetime,” Brett said with waning cheer.

  His friend’s eyebrows rose. “So I take it Laura’s not thrilled with your new job?”

  “You could say that.” He took a sip of Coke.

  Chad leaned forward, waiting for him to talk.

  “I asked her to come with me, but she refused.” He drained the can of Coke and played with the tab.

  Waiting for details, Chad eventually realized they weren’t coming. “Well, good luck with the job,” he said sadly.

  “Thanks.” Brett broke the tab off his can. “I’ll need it. The last suspension guy quit mid-season because Grant Neal gave him such a rough time.”

  “Hmm. You gotta please the driver.”

  “Yeah. Even more than the boss, I’ve heard.”

  “You’ll do fine, Brett. You’re a hard worker, and easy to get along with. I sure hate to see you go.”

  Frantic whinnying and violent bangs reverberated from the barn. Brett set his bottle on the cluttered coffee table. “What’s wrong with the horses?”

  “Probably those darn coyotes again,” Chad answered with agitation. He muted the TV and charged to the back windows. “I’d better go check it out.”

  Brett stood. “I’ll help.”

  “No, Dad’s probably already out there. He musta been the one shooting.” Chad tossed him the remote. “Watch the race and let me know how Neal makes the pass. Just gotta calm the horses so they don’t injure themselves or kick the walls down.”

  “Yeah. I don’t know anything about horses anyway.” Brett remembered the fiasco with Sage, and didn’t care to repeat it. “I’d probably upset them even more.”

  With a laugh, Chad said, “Yeah, but you didn’t know much about carpentry and turned out to be a darn good laborer.” Pointing to the television, he teased, “Now pay attention! I’ll be back in a bit.” He grabbed a shotgun fro
m the closet and hurried out the back door.

  Clicking the remote, Brett turned up the volume just in time for a commercial. He peered out the window. Under the barn light, John slid open the big door with a shotgun over his shoulder. Chad’s silhouette sprinted across the field.

  Brett sank back into the sofa as the neighing eventually calmed and the banging stopped. Neal finally went for the pass, high on the outside.

  “Boom!” A shot rang out. It sounded farther away than the earlier shots. Somewhat alarmed, he returned to the window. In the lighted barn windows, horse heads reared up, whinnying and bucking, with no sign of human intervention. Not one soul appeared on the lawn—no scattering coyotes, nothing.

  “What the—?” He eventually gave up, turning back to the race.

  On the television, Neal’s car sat smoking in the infield. “What happened?” he sat down to watch the replay and a commercial began. “Ah, come on!”

  He grabbed his empty can and went to the kitchen for a fresh one. Might as well take a leak while he was up. When he returned, Neal waved to the crowd, standing next to his smoking car. The NASCAR logo flashed across the screen.

  “And now, back to the race,” the announcer reported. He missed the whole thing. Twice. Neal was out, and the remaining cars played follow the leader around the oval. It was as boring as the commercials. What on earth was Chad doing out there?

  On cue, Chad burst in the door. “Did he make the pass?”

  “No. He crashed and burned.”

  Chad threw up his arms. “What happened?”

  “Danged if I know! What’s going on out there?”

  “Just trying to calm the horses.” Chad put his gun away. “Hopefully that moron next door is done shooting for the night.”

  “I thought you were shooting at coyotes.”

  “No. It musta been Calvin after all.” Chad furrowed his brows. “But someone was in the barn. The back door was open.”

  “Coyotes?”

  “We didn’t see any. They couldn’t open that heavy door. Even if we left it open, coyotes don’t eat carrots. They were dumped all over the floor.”

  “Maybe mice got into the carrots.”

  Chad shook his head. “The bags were sliced open. We keep a knife hanging on the wall for that purpose. It’s gone.” He shrugged but seemed disturbed. “Dad’s upset, yelling about us leaving a mess and misplacing things. I guess the carrots were left open before, and a few days ago someone left the water running. But I didn’t do it, and Laura knows better.”

  “I know. She’s as neat as my Italian grandmother. Laura would never leave such a mess.”

  ****

  Jake’s giant head hovered over Laura. He shook with fury as his eyes dripped blood. “I’ll get you and I’ll have you!” he shrieked. His arms thrust at her.

  A slimy green snake slithered from his torn sleeve. With glowing yellow eyes, the snake spit fire from its flicking tongue. It struck her, tangling around her arms and legs. Kicking and screaming, she flailed to get the snake off her.

  A long, black gun emerged from her arm. The snake retreated, yellow eyes bulging. It shriveled up and Jake stood alone, shrinking smaller and smaller. He cowered beneath her, curled into a ball and hiding his face.

  She pulled the trigger, over and over...

  Then she jolted awake, trembling furiously. Daisy meowed at the end of the bed. Laura cuddled the cat against her, hoping her parents didn’t hear her scream.

  “Laura, are you okay?” John called from the hallway.

  “No,” she cried, muffled beneath the blankets.

  “Bad dream?”

  She nodded and peeked at his worried face in the doorway. In his pressed suit and shined shoes, he winced at his stiff knee as he moved toward her bedside.

  “Laura, what happened last night?” His tone was gentle. “When we got home, you were in the shower. The horses were going crazy and there was a mess by the back door. I went to the barn and your mother cleaned up. When we came in, you were in bed.”

  “Oh. Sorry.” Her stomach knotted. She must have spooked the horses more than she thought. Or Jake did.

  “Honey, there were chicken bones all over the doorstep. You know coons scrounge around out there at night. They broke the planter and ruined your mother’s chrysanthemums.”

  “I’m sorry,” she answered lamely.

  “And by the way,” he said with a somber expression, “what on earth happened to the screen?”

  She sucked in a breath. “I shot at the coons through the window. I was afraid if I opened the door they’d get in.”

  “Oh,” he huffed. “Don’t ever do that again.”

  “I’ll get it fixed, Daddy.”

  “Okay.” He paused before posing the next question. “By the way, did you leave the barn door open yesterday?”

  “I don’t think so.” Her stomach clenched with apprehension.

  “I really didn’t think you would. Of course, I didn’t think you’d rip the screen out of the window, either.” His attempt at humor fell flat. “Did you see anyone around the barn yesterday?”

  “No.” Her conscience pricked. Another lie.

  “Well—” He paused. “Oh, just forget it.” Obviously sparing her bad news, he stroked her hair.

  She didn’t have the courage to ask.

  “We’re going to the early service. You coming to church?”

  Thank goodness it was Sunday. “Not today,” she answered despondently. She couldn’t force herself out of bed, let alone face anyone in church.

  “I know you’re upset about Brett. Please don’t let him leave without knowing how you feel.” He kissed her cheek.

  She nodded. Her father left with a look of deep concern. He knew something weird was going on. She couldn’t remember the last time she outright lied to her daddy.

  ****

  Pink streaks painted the purple sky, illuminated by yellow beams of light. To the west, a red tinge cast a surreal glow over the landscape. Out his bedroom window, Brett watched the sun rise over the horizon, remembering an old adage. Red sky at night, sailor's delight. Red sky in the morning, sailor's warning.

  As if he needed another bad omen. The first hint of light had wakened him—too early for a Sunday morning. Troubled by Laura’s refusal to join him in Charlotte, he’d been unable to sleep all weekend. She didn’t even give him a chance to propose. Anger filled his thoughts but concern gripped his heart.

  She hadn’t been herself at all. With the grief of her grandmother’s death, the trauma of Jake’s accident, and then a second family funeral, she seemed to be suffering an emotional breakdown. Now he wanted her to move away.

  No wonder she’d reacted like she did.

  With a tinge of guilt, he thought aloud, “Rachel is better off without that bum. And so is the rest of the family.” Even the horses were on edge lately.

  He needed to talk to Laura. But first, he needed caffeine. He made tea and sipped it at the kitchen window, watching mist rise through the trees. Sunlight sparkled on the dewy grass and something metal glinted at the fringe of the woods—metal with a touch of red. Curious, he slipped on his shoes.

  Walking across the wet grass, he realized it was Laura’s old watering can. Surprised she’d left it there, he scanned the woods for her. Maybe she couldn’t sleep either.

  But was he ready to face her again? No doubt he loved her but rejection hurt. Bad.

  Enticed by the beauty of the woods, he decided to take a chance. She might not be here anyway. He’d just take a walk to clear his head.

  Orange, red, and yellow tinged the green woods around him, filtering colorful sunbeams. It was early September, but some leaves had already fallen to turn crispy brown on the woodland floor. They crunched underfoot as he stepped onto the path. Summer had been dry, but rain would come. Followed by snow.

  Picking his way along the path, he saw a sharp stone smeared with dried blood. Long blond hairs stuck to the rock and the pebbles around it scattered to the edges of th
e path. A mark in the mud looked like a heavy footprint.

  Fierce protectiveness welled in him. Hysteric, he scanned the woods. She was hurt! He had to find her.

  “Laura!” he called out. Her name echoed back to him. He called again as he stumbled down the incline toward the creek. His echoing voice bounced off muddy banks, trees, rocks, water.

  Frantically searching the woods, he spotted something gold and shiny in the fallen leaves. He shoved the leaves aside to reveal an empty bottle. The gold label identified the sparkling cider he’d brought to their infamous picnic.

  Panicked, he ran toward the creek calling her name. Where was she? And whose footprint was that?

  The woods parted, giving way to the rocky shore of Crystal Creek. Mist rose from the gurgling water. As he stepped out of the trees, something dark caught the corner of his eye.

  Someone lay sprawled on the muddy rocks. But it wasn’t Laura. It was a man, lying in a puddle of blood.

  Defenses on alert, Brett approached. The black hair and muscular build resembled Jake. But this guy hadn’t drowned. It looked like he bled to death.

  Curled in the fetal position, the body oozed blood from shotgun spray that peppered his back. Brett walked a wide circle around him. The bruised, bleeding face grimaced.

  Lilacs For Laura

  Lilacs For Laura

  Chapter 18—Two Shots or Three?

  It was Jake.

  Brett stared in disbelief at dirty red script emblazoned across his shirt: B-R-E-T-T. With streaks of gray paint, the proof seared his heart like a hot poker.

  Fixating on the pain frozen in Jake’s expression, Brett staggered back from the corpse. Dead eyes gaped open as black and cold as a shark’s.

  Did Laura do this? Why? How? Jake was supposed to be dead last week. But his body hadn’t been found.

  On auto-pilot, Brett ran for the house. He burst into the kitchen and dialed 911.

  Five minutes dragged as he paced the floor. He checked and double-checked his closet, scrounging for the paint shirt. But the shirt was on Jake’s dead body. Brett’s name proved it.