A Reason to Believe (37 page)

stopped to study it. It was fashioned of metal, one

long pipe upon which dozens of frames had been

attached, all shapes and sizes. It looked like a

high-end version of something doting grandparents

would display photos of their grandchildren on.

Matt took a step closer.

The dozens of photographs showed only one

subject.

Karen Reynolds.

Karen’s high school graduation photo was

centrally placed. She looked young and fresh-

faced, smiling into the camera. Another showed

Karen standing in front of a stately building,

dressed in a heavy overcoat and wearing a hat and

gloves,
The University of Colorado
etched into

snow-covered brick behind her. And another, of

her sitting next to a handsome older woman on a

chintz sofa, both of them smiling and holding

glasses of wine.

“That’s

Samantha

Mitchell,”

Matt

said,

remembering her face from the dozens of

photographs in the society pages.

Kiernan made a sound and stepped closer to the

pictures. “Look. Isn’t that…?”

Pictured was a lovely young Karen Reynolds,

held tenderly in the arms of a tall, dark-haired boy

with a winning smile. Garrett Preston.

“Holy shit,” Kiernan said. “They must have had

a thing.”

“Yeah.” The skin between Matt’s shoulder

blades began to crawl. There were dozens of

photos of the two young people together, holding

hands, arm in arm, kissing. “Looks like college. I

don’t see any more recent…”

“Those are.” Kiernan pointed.

Beneath the collage was a table with more

pictures in elegant wooden frames, all of Karen.

And clearly, other people had been meticulously

cut out of every image. Her husband was missing

in one that showed her in her wedding dress,

another adult in one of her appearing very

pregnant, and in the one on the end…

The small white shape sitting close to Karen’s

side on a settee could only have been Abby.

“The son of a bitch,” Kiernan muttered. “He’s

trying to cut them out of her life.”

“He has cut them out of her life.”

White candles were grouped around the

pictures. All had been lighted and burned, wax

pooling to dry on coasters beneath. It was the first

thing they’d seen in the entire place that didn’t look

new and somehow staged. Lying across the top of

the table were also four scarves. All silk, all

elegant. Matt remembered seeing the one on the

end around Karen’s throat when she’d come to the

police station with Mitchell. It was black with a

subtle gray stripe, and she’d still been wearing it

at Abby’s funeral.

Kiernan touched it, fingering the fabric. “This is

Karen’s. Doesn’t this look like an altar to you?”

Matt felt unease slink through his stomach. “It

does. This is the kind of guy who collects trophies.

He stole her scarves. I’ll bet we’ll find other

things he’s stolen as well.” He searched the walls

and saw a large section of paneling that was

hinged. “Closet, there.”

Matt carefully examined the wall for a way to

open it, but couldn’t see anything. There was no

handle. He growled in frustration.

Kiernan stepped in front of him, carefully

studied the seams and then pressed the paneling

near an upper corner. It swung open silently.

“How the hell did you know that?” Matt asked.

“Clue.”

“What?”

“You know, Colonel Mustard in the study with a

hammer. Homicide and vanishing corpses and

doors secreted in paneling.”

“I have no idea what the hell you’re talking

about.”

Kiernan grinned. “Boy, did you have a sheltered

childhood.”

Floor and ceiling lights illuminated as Matt

opened the door wider, and both men stepped

inside.

“Christ, this is the size of my entire living

room,” Matt said.

The rows of suits, shirts and ties were all

arranged according to color, all perfectly pressed

and hung with military precision. Open shelves on

the wall contained dozens of pairs of shoes, from

sneakers to shiny patent leather dress shoes.

Shelves above held sweaters, at least a hundred of

them, folded and stacked, also according to color.

“I feel like I’m in a Barney’s,” Kiernan said.

“This is just wrong. No one needs this many

clothes.”

“Says the man with more T-shirts than a

Walmart.”

“But I guarantee they aren’t arranged according

to color and knit content.”

“Good to know.” Matt leaned down to study the

wall under the boxes.

“What am I looking for?” Kiernan asked.

“Anything

that

doesn’t

look

right,

any

irregularity or anything that might be loose…”

Matt felt along the wall and found a row of

drawers, nearly invisible under the shelves.

“Kiernan. Drawers.” He opened the top one.

“Okay, socks, rolled and stacked according to

color.”

Kiernan came to his elbow. “Even I’m not that

gay.”

Matt pushed the drawer closed and opened the

one beneath it and made a sound of discovery. A

row of LCD lights inside the drawer flickered on.

It was lined with navy blue velvet, and placed

in niches were at least two dozen watches, all of

them Rolexes.

“Bingo,” Matt murmured. “He could retire off of

the contents of this drawer alone. And what do you

suppose goes right there?”

There was an empty space near the bottom. “The

Daytona Oyster,” Kiernan said. “It isn’t there.”

“Nope. But this is…” Matt picked up a teardrop

earring from which tiny diamonds dangled on

delicate strands of platinum, glittering in the soft

light. “Care to bet who this belongs to?” He

handed it to Kiernan.

“I wonder if she’s missed it?”

“And what’s this…?” Matt lifted out a tray of

cuff links and discovered a lumpy manila envelope

beneath. He picked it up and dropped the tray back

into place.

He had just begun to open the metal brads when

from another part of the large house came the

distinct sound of a door closing.

They froze, staring at one another. Another door

slammed and, dimly, they heard the sound of

pounding and the garage door slowly closing.

“Son of a bitch,” Matt muttered under his breath.

“Come on, we have to get out of here.”

Chapter Sixteen

They paused inside the massive media room, backs

pressed against the wall leading to the hallway

and, by extension, the kitchen.

There were voices. A man and a woman, and

Matt turned his head, one hand clenched into a fist

and the other holding his gun. This had been stupid.

If Kiernan was injured because of him…

The voices were clearer now, and it sounded

like they’d come in from the garage and were

standing in the kitchen. But they weren’t speaking

English. He was pretty sure it was Spanish. He

leaned toward Kiernan.

“Wha…” he started, but Kiernan grabbed his

elbow and squeezed hard, lifting his index finger

in front of his lips. He had a look of intense

concentration on his face, clearly listening to what

was being said.

The sound of cupboards slamming came from

the kitchen, accompanied by the staccato sound of

the rapid-fire conversation. Gradually, the voices

faded into the distance. They heard another door

open and close.

“She works for him,” Kiernan said, his voice

hushed and hurried. “She’s his housekeeper. The

man is her boyfriend. She has no idea where

Preston is, other than he said he’d be out for the

evening.” He grinned. “She hates him. Says he’s a

cheap bastard, and he should die in a fire.”

“Where did they go?”

“Her room,” Kiernan answered, his expression

amused. “I could tell you what they plan to do, but

that would require an entire Spanish vocabulary

lesson, and we don’t have the time.”

“I think I can figure that part out on my own.

Let’s just get out of here.”

Matt started to move, but Kiernan caught his

arm. “They reactivated the alarm in the garage. She

thought he’d left the door open, and she was

cursing up a storm about it, but then her boyfriend

saw the molding hanging and fixed it. That was the

pounding. The doors are all hot now, including the

garage.”

“Son of a bitch.” Matt clenched his teeth, his

mind racing. “I have an idea. But we’ll have to be

quick.”

“What is it?”

“Just…come on.”

They moved stealthily down the long hallway

toward the kitchen, but their caution wasn’t likely

to be necessary. A stereo had come on, at a volume

that made the floor vibrate.

“Excellent. Come on!” Matt moved swiftly to

the door that led to the garage, Kiernan on his

heels. When they arrived, he holstered his gun and

put his hand on the knob. “Okay, when I open this

door, I’ll hit the button to open the garage door,

and you roll under as it goes up. Jump to the left

behind those big bushes. I’ll be right behind you.”

“Won’t the alarm go off?” Kiernan asked.

“Yeah, it will.”

“And you’ll be behind me? What if the

housekeeper is armed?”

Matt snorted. “I doubt she has a derringer in her

bra.” He reached for the knob, but Kiernan caught

his arm.

“Matthew…”

Matt stared at him, jaw set. “We had a deal,

Kiernan.”

Kiernan grimaced, but he finally nodded.

“Okay, then. When I open this door, you run as

fast as you can and slide under.”

“I will. Just…” Kiernan grabbed the front of

Matt’s jacket and went up on his toes, pressing a

kiss to Matt’s mouth, shocking him. “For luck,” he

said.

“You’re out of your goddamned mind,” Matt

muttered.

Kiernan gave him a cheeky grin. “Stating facts

already in evidence.”

Matt took a deep breath, and threw open the

door to the garage.

It sounded like every banshee in hell was

screaming.

They burst through the door, and Matt punched

the button inside the garage. The heavy door began

to rise and Kiernan slid under when it was about a

foot from the ground. Matt ran to where the

molding had been detached before and yanked it,

hard. It came loose in his hand and he left it

hanging, then rolled beneath the door.

He scrabbled across the driveway and leaped

behind the bushes just as the door inside the garage

slammed against the interior wall and a male voice

shouted rapidly in Spanish.

He landed on top of Kiernan and heard him

grunt.

“Did he see…?” Kiernan gasped.

“Shh!” Matt hissed, and went completely still,

lying on Kiernan’s back.

The alarm abruptly cut off. Matt heard both the

man and his female companion coming closer to

where they lay, just outside the rectangle of light

thrown by the open door. He could feel thorns

brushing his face, and Kiernan’s rapid breathing

beneath his chest. Snow slipped from the roof and

landed on him with a wet splat and slid under his

collar, but he lay perfectly still as the accented

voices moved nearer.

After what felt like an agonizingly long time,

Matt heard more pounding, and then the garage

door slowly rumbled closed.

“Christ,” he finally exhaled, pressing his

forehead into Kiernan’s dark hair. “That was

close.”

He pushed to his knees, offering his hand.

Kiernan sat up and brushed dried holly leaves

from the front of his jacket.

“Well done, Officer,” he whispered with a wry

grin. “They thought the molding had come loose

again and that was why the door opened.”

“That was the plan.”

“Lucky for us they don’t know how garage doors

work.”

Matt allowed himself a small, answering smile.

“Very. Come on. We need to get out of here.”

Sticking to the shadows as much as possible,

they followed the fence line until they reached the

Bronco. The garage door remained down, the

house dark and silent, and the silver Mercedes did

not reappear, but Matt wasn’t willing to take any