Into the Night Page 11

  Her mind drifted to the new images imprinted in her memory of her neighbor lingering in her kitchen, staring out the window over the sink, a steaming cup of coffee in his hand. She had stared at him a good long while before making her presence known this morning. The way the jeans he wore molded to his body. The way his shirt stretched over his shoulders. His shaggy brown hair curled around his collar.

  Some part of her wondered why this stranger would go so far out of his way to help her. Did he have nothing better to do? Was he simply bored? She wanted him to be exactly what he appeared to be—the stranger next door who liked playing the role of Good Samaritan.

  But another part of her worried that she was making a mistake. She didn’t really know him. Did not know his true motive.

  Yet she wanted to know him...wanted to do things with him. She felt heat rush up her cheeks. She covertly glanced at the people around her as if she had said the words out loud rather than thought them.

  It was true, though. She wanted to kiss him, to be kissed by him. She wanted him to touch her, to show her all the ways a man could pleasure a woman. Her one and only sexual experience had been awkward and bumbling with that jerk Ricky Olson. Just kissing Deacon on the cheek had made her pulse race.

  That he genuinely seemed interested in helping her with her search for the truth just made the idea of—

  “That’s you.”

  Cece jumped. The man to her right gestured to the number she held and then to the display. She forced her lips into a polite smile. “Oh, thank you.”

  She hurried to the counter and presented the required documentation. The clerk informed her that since her license had been expired for so long she would need to retake the driver’s test. This was not something she had come prepared to do, but there it was. She could either do it now or come back.

  Now was as good a time as any.

  Once the written part was over, the administering officer climbed into her truck and advised her of the route for the road test. Cece drove. She made the turns he requested and parallel parked as best she could in front of the federal courthouse. The officer said little else to her, only giving her the directions. By the time they returned to the office, her nerves were shot and she had no idea if she had passed his test.

  He led the way back to the counter and gave a paper to the clerk who had waited on her when she first arrived. The woman smiled. “Congratulations, Miss Winters. You passed. Stand right over there on that red X and I’ll take your picture for the license.”

  The photo and remaining paperwork took only a couple of minutes. Cece left with a paper version of her new license. The final version would arrive in the mail in ten to fourteen days.

  Cece stopped by the insurance office and updated the information in her file with her new driver’s license number. Next was the visit to her parole officer. That part was surprisingly easy. The man, Mr. Berringer, was nice. He was older, sixtyish, and very kind. He made Cece feel as if she was a real person who mattered, not a recently released murderer. She was grateful. Funny how she found that sort of kindness in the least-expected places. The sheriff, the chief of police, they had all been exceedingly nice to her. Like the man next door.

  Afterward, rather than going straight home, she decided to stop by the cemetery to visit her grandmother’s grave. She made a quick stop at the florist and bought her grandmother’s favorite roses.

  At the cemetery she walked through the aisles of headstones until she found the right one. Though she had not been here for her grandmother’s funeral, she had been present for her grandfather’s. Emily Broward was interred next to the man she had loved her whole life.

  Cece knelt down and placed the flowers against the headstone. “Hey, Gran.”

  Emily Broward had preferred Gran to Grandmother. Cece smiled as she thought of how her grandmother had never failed to look less than perfectly put together. Her hair was always just so, the makeup, the outfit. Even when she was gardening she looked ready to drop everything and run to the country club. The one person in the world she had loved as much as her husband was her only child, Cece’s mother. She had always said her grandkids came in a close second, especially after Cece’s mother died.

  For as long as Cece could remember, everyone believed that Emily Broward was partial to Cece because she looked so much like her mother, but that wasn’t the real reason. Cece was the one who spent the most time with her. She took every possible opportunity to be with her grandmother. Helped her in any way she needed. Then Cece had moved in after her father kicked her out. Of course they were close. Her grandmother had not chosen Cece over anyone else; Cece had chosen her.

  Movement a few yards away drew her attention. The blonde woman walking the cemetery with her German shepherd looked vaguely familiar. Cece watched her until she was close enough to get a good look at her face.

  Rowan DuPont. The undertaker’s daughter.

  Cece didn’t really know her—not personally. But she had seen her on the news. First because she’d published a book that gained her national attention. Seemed funny to know someone from her small hometown who was so famous. Then she had seen the news about Rowan’s father being murdered by a serial killer who was a close friend. Cece vividly remembered Mr. DuPont. He had taken care of her grandfather. He’d also taken care of her mother, but she didn’t remember as much about that funeral. She’d only been six at the time.

  Rowan’s mother had died when she was young, too. She had hung herself right there in the funeral home only a few months after Rowan’s twin sister drowned.

  Their gazes collided and the other woman smiled. Cece smiled back. They both had plenty of tragedy in their histories. If Rowan DuPont could pick up the pieces and move on, maybe there was hope for Cece.

  Rowan and her dog walked out of the cemetery and disappeared down the block. She, too, had come back to Winchester after a great tragedy. Somehow she had found a way to survive the rumors and the gossip.

  Cece wasn’t sure she wanted to try. She just wanted the truth. Then she wanted to be anywhere but here.

  “You always could fool her.”

  Cece’s gaze shot up to meet her sister’s. Sierra stood six or seven feet away, her face full of accusation.

  Pushing to her feet, Cece held her contemptuous glare. “Fooling people is your specialty, Sierra, not mine. I guess you never outgrew that childish habit.”

  Sierra glared at her, her raven-black hair and equally black eyes so unlike Cece’s own pale coloring. “You should move on, Cece. You can’t change the past. You did what you did and no one is ever going to believe your lies claiming otherwise. You took him away from all of us.”

  Cece took a step toward Sierra. She refused to allow her little sister to use her intimidation tactics anymore. “I did not kill him, Sierra. Maybe it was you. You were the one still stuck under his thumb. The princess he doted on all the time. The one who did everything he said. Maybe you got tired of his rules.”

  Hatred filled Sierra’s black eyes. “You couldn’t possibly understand how much I loved him. He was everything to me.”

  Now that was about as far from the truth as could be gotten. “Liar. You hated him as much as I did.”

  Sierra laughed. “Whatever my true feelings, I was so much smarter than you, sister. I did not go around telling people how much I hated him the way you did. Even if you hadn’t been found with blood all over you, everyone would still have believed you killed him.”

  “Maybe it was Marcus. He was the one who had the most to gain. He took over the house, the church. It’s all about him now.”

  “I’ll be sure to tell him you said so.” Sierra stepped toward her now. “You know he hates you for killing our father. He loved him so. Worshipped him, really. He never wanted you to get out of jail. He still hasn’t forgiven you. We both know how Marcus always took care of the sick and dying of Father’s flock. Maybe he’ll ta
ke care of you when your time comes, Cece. I would watch my back if I were you.”

  “Well...” Cece wasn’t surprised in the least about her brother’s feelings. Marcus had always been obsessed with their father. “You give him my best. And don’t worry. I will be watching. I’m watching you both.”

  “Maybe it’s Levi you should be worried about. He would have done anything for you. Maybe he killed Daddy and you took the fall for him.” Sierra smiled. “I wonder if Marcus has ever considered that possibility. It is rather strange that Levi finally wanted back in the fold when it came time for you to be released. Maybe he’s afraid the truth will finally come out.”

  Cece moved in toe to toe with her. “You leave Levi out of this. He had nothing to do with what happened to that old bastard. I’m just glad he’s dead. I wish it had been me who shoved that knife into his loathsome chest over and over.”

  Fury whipped across Sierra’s face. “I guess prison didn’t rehabilitate you at all. You’re still the same heartless bitch you were when we were kids.”

  “I’m not heartless, Sierra, I’m just not a fool. Mason Winters was a con artist and a pathetic excuse for a father. I’m glad he’s dead.”

  “Maybe you’ll join him soon, sister. I know a lot of people want to see the end of you.”

  “Maybe,” Cece allowed. “But I will know the truth first. You can’t stop me from finding it.” She held her thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “I’m this close.”

  Sierra turned to go but then hesitated. “Just so you know, no one is going to bring you flowers when you’re in the ground next to her.” She glanced at their grandmother’s headstone and then walked away.

  Cece hugged her arms around herself and pressed her lips together. Nothing she could say or do would change how her sister felt. Didn’t matter. All those years ago Cece had been so worried about her sister and her brothers and what was going to become of them.

  She wasn’t worried anymore. They could go to hell. Every damned one of them. All she wanted was the truth.

  She said her goodbyes to her grandmother and headed back to the truck. When she rounded the cemetery gate and started up the sidewalk, she stalled. Her truck sat right where she had left it, at the curb next to the sidewalk. But the tires were flat. She hurried the last few yards and walked all the way around the vehicle. All four tires had been slashed. If she had not been so damned mad she might have cried.

  Fortunately, the local co-op was able to take care of her tires. They were slashed—probably with a knife—in such a way that they couldn’t be repaired. Cece used a portion of the money she had found in the books to have a new set installed and aligned. She had the oil changed while she was at it.

  After she left the co-op, she stopped by a local staffing firm and filled out an application. Mr. Berringer had warned that having and keeping a job was not optional. It was required. However long she would be here, she had to try and proceed with a normal life.

  She laughed as she drove home, the sound flowing out the open window as she drove. There was nothing normal about her life. Never had been, probably never would be.

  By the time she arrived it was well past lunch, and she was hungry and emotionally drained. She grabbed the mail from the box and rolled the rest of the way down the drive. When she had parked she sifted through the mail. An envelope from the tax assessor’s office snagged her attention. She opened it first.

  Delinquent taxes. Lien.

  A lien had been taken out against the house because of overdue taxes. This was the third notice.

  She wanted to lay her head against the steering wheel and sob. She really did. This had been a really horrendous day. Instead, she twisted the key in the ignition to start the engine. She might as well go back to town and take care of this now.

  The engine failed to turn over. A frown furrowed her brow. She tried again. Nothing but a click, click, click.

  She dropped her head back against the seat. What now?

  The only choice she had was to call Deacon and see if he was interested in coming to her rescue yet again.

  Funny how the stranger next door had turned out to be the best neighbor she could possibly hope for.

  A real hero.

  * * *

  CECE WAS SITTING on the top porch step when Deacon pulled into her driveway. She looked as if she had lost her best friend, except he knew she didn’t have any friends. For all intents and purposes, she was completely alone in the world. An outcast.

  One he had been certain was guilty of far more than she had gone to prison for. He worried now that he had made a mistake, but he wasn’t ready to give her quite that much grace just yet. There were still questions. Questions for which he intended to have answers. At this point he was relatively certain she wasn’t guilty of murdering her father or having anything to do with his partner’s disappearance. But she had information. Information he needed to solve that mystery once and for all.

  “Nice tires,” he said as he walked around her truck.

  She pushed to her feet and descended the steps as if she were walking to the gallows. “Now if only the engine would work to roll those nice tires down the road.”

  “Sounds like the battery. Let’s have a look.” He raised the hood; she joined him as he surveyed the engine compartment.

  “Let’s clean these connections up a little and see if that helps.” He went back to his truck and grabbed his toolbox.

  “You think that might do it?”

  “It can’t hurt.” He scraped the buildup from the connectors, one by one, and tapped them back into place. “Try starting it now.”

  She climbed in and did as he asked. The engine turned over but too slowly to start. She made a face and groaned.

  “Let’s go get a new battery. That’ll most likely take care of the problem.”

  “What if it’s not just the battery?”

  He removed the connectors again, removed the battery. “Could be the alternator, but judging by the looks of this battery, this is likely the source of the trouble. They can test it to be certain.”

  After putting the battery in the back of his truck, he opened the passenger-side door and waited for her to get in.

  “Can we stop at the tax assessor’s office first?” She held up a letter. “I guess no one remembered to pay the taxes.”

  “Should be an easy fix, as well.”

  “That might just salvage this really crappy day. Stopping by the cemetery turned out to be an unpleasant decision.”

  She looked so hopeful, he couldn’t help the smile. “Hop in.”

  They were a mile or so down the road when she asked, “How has your day been?”

  “A lot more boring than yours, apparently.” He shot her a grin. “So tell me what happened at the cemetery.”

  She told him about her sister’s visit. “You think she slashed your tires?”

  “It was either her or a friend of hers.”

  “Do you really believe she or Marcus killed your father?”

  “It wasn’t Levi,” she answered without answering his question. “He couldn’t have done it. Based on what Sierra and Marcus said about me at trial and what I’ve seen since I got back, I wouldn’t put anything past either of them.”

  “But it could have been another member of his following,” Deacon countered. He had been thinking about that today. More than a few of his followers had fallen out with Mason Winters around the time of his murder. The man’s popularity had been on the decline. The trouble was that many of his followers wanted to cling to him because he had started the church.

  Those were the ones who would have gravitated to his son over anyone else. The son had, from all accounts, turned things around. Membership was on the rise and his congregation appeared to be loyal to a fault.

  “Probably. I had been out of the church for a while at that point so I wasn’t pri
vy to the ongoing politics. The police investigated the possibility but not really well. I think they were satisfied that I killed him and didn’t want to waste time.”

  She was likely right. “I was thinking about the man, the K.C. that you mentioned. I think you should talk to Levi about him. There may be a connection to who killed your father. Maybe his murder had something to do with that Resurrection group you were telling me about.”

  “It’s worth a shot. Some of those extreme preppers are very territorial.”

  The quiet that followed warned him that she had something else on her mind.

  “Have you ever been married, Deacon?” She made a face. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

  “Never been married.”

  She looked surprised.

  Before she could ask, he went on, “I guess I’m like your older brother. I never took the time to nurture a relationship.”

  “No kids?”

  He shook his head. “My parents live in Nashville. I have a sister. No brothers. Several cousins and a half dozen or so aunts and uncles.”

  She smiled and he liked the way it made her green eyes sparkle. “Do you have big family get-togethers for the holidays?”

  He slowed for a turn. “Sometimes.”

  “We never had those. My mother was an only child and my father had no association with any member of his family. One of his brothers came to his funeral. I think they’re all in Memphis.”

  “Your father didn’t approve of the holiday dinners and celebrations?”

  “Not the way the average person does. His idea of a family get-together was him preaching some hellfire and brimstone sermon while we sat and listened avidly. If we blinked or looked away we were punished.”

  “Sounds like a great guy.” Some people shouldn’t have children.

  More of that quiet.

  “You can ask me whatever you like.” Might as well let her off the hook.