Cold feet (5 page)

He wondered if Madison knew those dark secrets, and if he'd ever be able to get them out of her.

"Brianna, what are you doing with my sketches?" Madison asked, coming up from behind.

"I think she's proud of you," Caleb said. "And it looks as though she has reason to be. You're very talented."

Madison quickly gathered up her drawings. "Thanks, but it's just a hobby." After setting them aside, she clasped her hands in a businesslike manner. "So, do you like it? Do you want the place?"

He was about to explain that he hadn't really come to rent the carriage house when there was a knock on the door.

Brianna grabbed her stuffed rabbit and ran to open it. A tall, white-haired gentleman who looked to be in his late fifties stood on the stoop. "Is your mommy here?"

Brianna turned expectantly, and Madison approached the door. "Can I help you?"

"I'm Dwight Sanderson."

"Who?"
she said.

Caleb watched the man's face cloud with confusion at Madison's startled reaction. "I spoke with you a few days ago and then again this morning, remember? I'm here to see the house."

"But--"

"I'm afraid you're too late," Caleb interrupted, joining them at the door. "It's already taken."

Madison blinked at him in surprise, and Caleb felt a good measure of surprise himself. What the hell did he think he was doing?

"I thought you were...Who
are
you?" Madison asked, turning to him.

"Caleb Trovato." He stuck out his hand, fairly confident she'd never recognize his name. He wrote under the pseudonym Thomas L. Wagner, his mother's grandfather's name, and had signed the letters he'd sent her and Danny the same way, since they'd been written in a professional capacity.

"Caleb Trovato," she repeated, hesitantly accepting his handshake. "If you called, my baby-sitter forgot to write it down."

Her fingers felt slim and dainty, and she was close enough that he could smell a hint of her perfume. "I didn't call. I just happened to see the sign as I was driving by. I actually live in San Francisco, but business has brought me here."

"For how long?"

"That remains to be seen."

"Oh." She glanced from him to Sanderson. "So is either of you willing to sign a lease?"

"I told you on the phone that I can't commit long-term," Sanderson said. "My situation is too tentative right now."

"I'll sign a lease," Caleb said, even though he knew he was crazy to offer. He'd recently furnished his new condo in San Francisco and planned to return there. But he couldn't miss this opportunity. Maybe now he'd finally be able to crack the Sandpoint Strangler case and achieve some closure--for himself, the public, the force and, most importantly, the families of the victims. Maybe he could even ease the foreboding that had settled over him since he'd learned of Susan's disappearance. If the deceased Purcell was really the Sandpoint Strangler, she certainly stood a better chance of being found alive. Random murders were rare. Most homicides of women were the result of a love relationship gone bad and, according to Holly, Susan hadn't been involved with anyone for over three years. She'd only been seeing Lance, the guy she was dating before she disappeared, for a couple of months.

In any case, Caleb could look for Susan from here just as easily as his parents' place on Fidalgo, and simply buy out the lease when he was ready to head home.

"Do you have any pets?" she asked.

"Would that be a problem?"

"Not necessarily. One dog or cat would be fine. I'm not sure I'd be happy with a whole houseful of Doberman pinschers."

"No animals."

"Not even a hamster?"

"Not even a hamster."

"What about kids?" she asked.

He cocked an eyebrow. "You don't want a houseful of those, either?" He could understand it if they were all as sour as her daughter.

"I'd expect you to make sure they don't trample the flowerbeds."

"The flowerbeds are safe," he said. "I don't have any kids."

"Fine." She looked as though she wanted to smile but wouldn't allow it. "What kind of business brings you to Seattle, Mr. Trovato?"

He searched his mind, trying to come up with something that wouldn't give him away. "I'm a small-business consultant," he said, because it was the first thing he could think of.

"So you're regularly employed?"

"Definitely."

"And how long a lease are you willing to sign? A year?"

"Six months," he replied, letting her know by his tone that she wasn't getting any more out of him.

"And when would you like to move in?"

"Tomorrow morning, if that's okay with you."

"That's fine." Now she did smile, right before she turned back to Sanderson. "I've got your phone number, Mr. Sanderson," she said. "If Mr. Trovato's references don't check out, I'll give you a call."

Sanderson didn't appear too pleased with the situation, but there wasn't much he could do. Madison followed him out, probably to apologize for the wasted trip. Brianna stayed behind, still eyeing Caleb warily.

"You don't want me to live here?" he asked.

Her bottom lip came out. "No."

"Why not?"

"Because this is
our
house. My mommy draws here, and me and Elizabeth dance."

"I won't be staying long," he admitted. Then he remembered that Madison had started to tell him something out in the drive. "What did your dad have to say about the idea last night?"

Brianna tucked her stuffed bunny protectively under one slender arm. "He said you should never rent out part of your house."

"Why not?"

"Because you never know who might be moving in with you."

CHAPTER FOUR

P
OUNDING ON THE FRONT
door dragged Madison from the depths of sleep.

She glanced, bleary-eyed, at the alarm clock on her nightstand. It was only eleven o'clock. Generally she wasn't in bed so early on a Friday night. She stayed up on weekends, handling paperwork, e-mail, or working on the computer. But this hadn't been a regular week. Ever since she'd found that box under her mother's house, she'd been so tired it felt as though someone had tied ten-pound weights to each limb. She'd climbed into bed a mere thirty minutes ago but was already sleeping like the dead.

Like the dead? Considering the recent disturbance of her father's grave, that seemed rather chilling. She rubbed her arms as she shivered and groped for her robe. The knocking continued.

"Mommy?" Brianna's confused voice came to her from the other room.

"Yes, honey?"

"Is it morning-time?"

"Not yet."

"Who's here?"

"I'm sure it's just our new renter. He probably can't find the remote for his television or doesn't know how to run the dishwasher or something." Madison tied the belt to her robe. "And he didn't bother to notice that our lights are out," she added under her breath.

"We shouldn't have let him move in," Brianna said, as if this incident proved the point she'd been trying to make from the start.

Brianna sounded like an echo of Danny. Sometimes Brianna also behaved a great deal like her father. Today she'd pouted and glowered at Mr. Trovato all afternoon while he was carrying in his belongings, which were rather sparse, along with a few groceries. "Try to go back to sleep, honey," she said.

Bang, bang, bang.
The knocking was impatient. Demanding.

How could Brianna sleep with all that noise? "Give me a minute," Madison called out. As she stuffed her feet into the frumpy "housewife" slippers Danny had given her a year ago last Christmas, she pictured the diamond tennis bracelet he'd presented to his new wife the day she'd announced her pregnancy. After dropping out of college to finish putting him through school, Madison had come away from their seven-year marriage with probably a fifth of Danny's net worth, a real estate license and a pair of ugly house shoes, while Leslie was living in Madison's old mansion and dripping in diamonds. Somehow it didn't seem fair. But Madison didn't want Danny if he couldn't stand by her "for better or worse"--although she hated the fact that her daughter had lost the firm foundation of having both parents in the home.

"I'm coming," she said when she neared the door. "Who is it?"

There was no answer, but the banging didn't subside. It came in loud, staccato bursts that grated on Madison's nerves.

"Who is it?" she repeated more insistently, and snapped on the porch light so she could peer through the peephole.

It definitely wasn't Caleb Trovato. She could see that right away. Mr. Trovato was probably six foot four, two hundred ten pounds of well-defined muscle. He was the kind of man who could turn a woman's head from forty feet away. This person was skinny to the point of looking emaciated. His hair was almost as dark as Mr. Trovato's, though not nearly as thick. And--

Her visitor moved and she caught a glimpse of his face.

Oh, God! It was Johnny.

Unlatching the safety chain, Madison opened the door for her half brother. "Johnny! What are you doing here?"

He sniffed as though he had allergies and shifted on the balls of his feet, regarding her with red-rimmed eyes. Behind him, headlights from some kind of car bore down on her, but the engine was off.

"I need a few bucks," he said, point-blank. "Can you help me out?"

Johnny and Tye had come to live with Madison and her parents for the first time when Johnny was fifteen and Tye was sixteen. From the beginning, they'd been in and out of trouble with her parents, the school, even the authorities, and didn't bother much with a little sister who was only eight. But for the eighteen months Johnny was living at the house, Madison had liked him a lot better than Tye, who was far more remote. She'd sort of idealized Johnny, because he did sometimes do her a kind deed. He'd let her play with the stray cats he brought home occasionally--before her mother made him turn them loose again. He'd share whatever candy filled his pockets. Tye ignored her completely.

"Are you alone?" she hedged, caught completely off guard. Last she'd heard, Johnny was supposed to be in prison for another three years.

"Yeah."

"It doesn't look like you're alone." She shaded her eyes against the headlights and squinted, making out a shadowy figure sitting in the driver's seat of what was probably an old Buick Skylark.

"So I'm with a friend. Does it matter?" More nervous energy. More restless movements. From the way he was acting, he had to be on something.

Evidently there wasn't much about Johnny's lifestyle that had changed over the years. "When did you get out?"

He sniffled again. "Couple weeks ago, I guess."

He was so strung out, Madison wasn't sure he could tell one day from the next. Maybe he
hadn't
been released at all; maybe he'd escaped, and whoever was waiting in the car was his accomplice.

She tightened her robe, wondering what to do. If she gave Johnny money, he'd only use it to buy more drugs. But she had to help him. Except for Tye, she was his only family. And she felt guilty for having had the love and support of their father and for having a good mother when theirs was so neglectful and abusive.

"I've got twenty bucks," she said.

"Is that all?"

"That's all."

"Then how 'bout a drink? You got a beer for your brother?"

Madison hesitated. Johnny had his better moments, but he could also be unpredictable and moody. And, for all she knew, the person waiting in the car was another ex-convict. But Johnny
was
her half brother and he'd never done anything truly threatening to her in the past.

"Come in and I'll get you a Coke." She opened the door wider, to admit him, then locked it against whoever was waiting in the car.

"When was the last time you ate?" she asked as she led him to the kitchen.

He didn't answer. He was too busy staring at something in the hall.

Madison turned to see what that something was, and felt her stomach drop when she realized Brianna was standing there. "Go back to bed, sweetheart," she said. She didn't want her daughter around Johnny. The fact that he had a drug habit didn't necessarily make him dangerous. But they hadn't spent any time together in years, and Madison didn't feel she knew him all that well anymore.

"Who's
he?
" Brianna asked, peering at Johnny with the disdain she'd practiced on Caleb Trovato.

Johnny hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his filthy, tattered jeans and smiled. "Don't you remember me, pipsqueak? I saw you once, just before your grandpa blew his brains out."

"Johnny, don't," Madison said.

"Mommy, how do you blow your brains out?" Brianna asked.

Madison sent Johnny a look that was meant to silence him. "Never mind, honey. Grandpa went to heaven. You know that."

Johnny gave a disbelieving snort when she said "heaven," but Madison ignored him. Brianna was too little to understand everything that had happened, and she saw no reason to explain the gritty details, at least, not while Brianna was so young.

"You never could stand the truth," he said, shaking his head.

"There's no need to upset her. She's only six," Madison replied. But she didn't blame Johnny for being bitter. He'd been the one to find Ellis, and everyone knew Ellis had meant it to be that way. Just before Madison and her mother went on an all-day shopping trip, he'd called Johnny and said he needed to talk to him.

A few hours later, Johnny had found what was left of their father in Ellis's workshop.

"She doesn't look upset to me," he said.

Brianna was clinging to Elizabeth while giving him a challenging glare. "My name isn't pipsqueak," she told him. "And I don't think my father would like you very much."

Horrified, Madison gaped at her. "Brianna!"

"It's
true.
"

"I don't care if it is," she said. "Johnny's your uncle. You're not to be rude to him or anyone else. Now please go back to bed."

Brianna didn't budge, so Madison gave her a frown designed to let her know there'd be serious consequences if she didn't obey. Finally, she turned and walked resolutely down the hall.

"I'll be there shortly to tuck you in," Madison called after her.

Johnny's twitching seemed to grow more extreme. "You're gonna have your hands full with that kid."

"Brianna's usually very sweet. It's just been lately, after I get her back from her father's, that I've run into these attitude problems." Anxious for Johnny to leave, she handed him a can of Coke. "Sorry I don't have any beer. I don't drink it."

He accepted what she offered him. "You wrote me about your divorce," he said.

"I wasn't sure you got that letter. You never answered it." He'd never answered any of her letters.

"I wanted to believe you were still living the good life." He said the words accusingly, as though she'd had some choice in the matter.

"No one lives a fairy tale." She leaned against the counter. "Does Tye know you're out?"

The can hissed as Johnny popped the top and took a long pull. "I went by his place a couple days ago. No one was home."

"His wife's been visiting her mother. Maybe he drove to Spokane to get her and the kids."

"Visiting her mom?" Johnny chuckled, scratching his shoulder, then his elbow, moving, always moving. "You mean she left him. Again."

Again?
This was the first Madison had ever heard of any serious marital strife between Tye and Sharon. "Why would she leave?"

"They haven't been getting along."

"Are you sure?" she said, disappointed that Tye hadn't trusted her enough to share this information with her.

"You know Tye has a temper. They've been on and off for years." Johnny downed the rest of the soda, wiped his mouth on his sleeve and tossed the empty can toward the garbage. When he missed, it hit the floor with a rattle, and Madison quickly bent to pick it up.

"About that money..." he said.

She glanced down the hall to see Brianna poking her head out of her bedroom, and knew she needed to get her half brother on his way. "Here you go," she said, handing him a twenty.

He frowned at the bill. "You sure that's all you've got?"

She told herself to remain firm. But when she took in the state of his clothing and the old tennis shoes on his feet, she immediately began to second-guess her decision not to give him more. He looked so needy, so desperate. She hated watching him ruin his life. "Are you okay, Johnny?"

He blinked at her as though surprised by the question. "Does it matter?"

"Of course." She searched through the bottom of her purse. "Maybe I can scrounge together another few dollars."

"Thanks."

"No problem." She gave him an additional fistful of change, and he started for the door.

She should have breathed a sigh of relief and let him go, but something made her call him back. "Johnny?"

He peered over his shoulder at her. "Yeah?"

Except in general terms, Madison had never spoken to her brothers about the crimes their father had been accused of committing. Neither Johnny nor Tye had good feelings toward Ellis, so Madison had never expected them to be supportive. Her brothers were too busy trying to recover from their unhappy childhoods to worry about what was happening to their father--a father who'd let them down so badly. But she suddenly felt the need to talk to Johnny now, before he disappeared for another five years.

"Do you think he really did it?" she asked softly.

For a moment, Johnny looked more lucid than she'd seen him in years. "You mean Dad?"

She nodded. She longed to tell him what she'd found beneath the house. She had to tell
someone.
The burden of keeping the secret was too heavy. And there was no one else....

He stared at the floor for several seconds. "He did it."

"How do you know?"

"I don't want to talk about it," he said.

"You never heard or saw anything...out of the ordinary, did you?"

He was moving toward the door again. "I wasn't around."

"You showed up every once in a while, for short periods of time," she said, following him.

"I never saw anything."

Madison wished she could erase from her mind the image of opening that locket in the dank atmosphere of the crawl space. "Did you hear what happened to Dad's grave?" she asked as he opened the door and stepped outside.

He turned, scowling at her. "I don't want to know."

"But--"

"Look at me, Maddy," he said, calling her by the nickname the kids in the neighborhood had given her when she was young.

She met his gaze.

"You see what I am," he said. "I can't help you. I can't even help myself. You want a shoulder to cry on, call Tye. He's the one who never flinched, no matter how bad it got."

Then he hurried to the car, the motor revved and he was gone.

C
ALEB LEANED CLOSER
to the house to avoid being seen by the men in the Buick Skylark. Who were they? And what did they want? Judging by the late hour, the rattletrap condition of their car and the "drifter" appearance of the guy who'd gone inside Madison's house, they weren't insurance salesmen.

He muttered the license plate number to himself a few more times, planning to have Detective Gibbons run a check on it in the morning, and started back to the cottage. When he'd heard the car pull up, he'd been in bed watching television, and hadn't bothered to put on anything but a pair of jeans. It was chilly to be walking around without a shirt and shoes. But he hesitated when he passed Madison's window and glanced in to find her sitting at the kitchen table, her head in her hands. If he wasn't mistaken, she was crying. Even if she wasn't, there was something so weary, so hopeless about her posture....