Dying to Tell (3 page)

Notify the family.

No, Ms. Lettie was doing that now.

His gut tightened. He actually understood why Sadie had jumped at the scholarship offer she’d gotten for art school, a chance to leave this insanity. That was one reason he hadn’t chased after her years ago. That and the fact that he’d been trying to find out what had happened to his father.

He hated to drag Sadie back into her family mess now.

Although there was no other choice.

But first he had to get the gun out of Amelia’s bloody hands.

He narrowed his eyes and inched closer, watching for a reaction. “Amelia,” he said quietly. “Can you hear me?”

No response. Just a flicker of her eyelashes and a trembling of her hands around the weapon. Her face was ashen, splattered with blood, her pupils wide, fixed on her grandfather’s shattered skull and the insides of his brain splattered on the covers of the bed.

Good grief. He wished she didn’t look so much like Sadie.

Another step forward and he became hyperaware of every sound in the house. The floor creaked. The wind screamed through the eaves of the old house. The furnace rumbled. Something—a cat or a tree branch?—scratched a windowpane downstairs.

Amelia suddenly startled. Her head jerked sideways as if she heard the sound.

Was he wrong about Amelia being the only one here? Could someone else have been in the house and fired the shotgun?

A siren wailed in the distance. His deputy on the way. Another sound—maybe the screen slapping in the wind? Or someone running out the back door?

Dammit, what should he do? He couldn’t leave Amelia here with a weapon.

A mewling sound rent the air, and he saw Amelia’s chest heaving for air. A swipe of her fingers across her cheek was meant to push the mop of hair from her face. Instead it plastered the strands down like glue, leaving a trail of bloody fingerprints across her cheek.

“Amelia, please put down the gun,” he said in a soothing tone. “It’s over now.”

She didn’t acknowledge that he’d spoken, simply heaved another breath as if it exhausted her just to live. He inched closer and slowly reached toward her. “Just give it to me, and Ms. Lettie can come back in here with you. She’s calling Sadie now.”

Her fingers were wrapped around the butt of the gun, but slowly she lowered it to her lap. He reached in his pocket, yanked out his handkerchief, and removed the shotgun.

She remained motionless as if someone had literally drained her of life. She looked so pitiful he wanted to wrap his arms around her and assure her everything would be all right.

But the stench of death in the air made him hold his tongue.

Nothing was going to be all right. Amelia was going to jail—or back to the mental hospital. Sadie would be tormented by the publicity, the funeral, and dealing with her sister.

And he would have to do his job.

Find the truth. Get justice for Sadie’s grandfather. Lock Amelia up.

Outside, the siren squealed louder. Tires screeched as his deputy’s car ground to a stop, tires slinging gravel.

Amelia’s keening continued, low and rhythmic, and she stared listlessly into space, as if she were looking at some unknown monster in the room.

As if she had no idea she was the monster who’d killed her grandfather.

As the rental car ate the miles between the airport and the mountains where she’d grown up, Sadie’s head reeled with the tasks she faced. Planning a funeral, burying Papaw, digging through his house and clothes.

Seeing her sister again...

For the past two years, Ms. Lettie and Papaw said Amelia had been stable. That the new medication coupled with therapy had kept her alters at bay. But something must have upset her enough to make her violent.

Would she be the hollow shell she’d been the last time Sadie had seen her? The night Sadie knew she had to run away?

The night she’d been sworn to silence.

She passed Whistler’s Mountain, her grandmother’s adage about the winds of change echoing in her mind. A weather vane
stood at the top of the ridge, and Gran had sworn that when the wind changed directions, it was a sign of bad things to come.

The wind was shouting now, the weather vane fighting as it swiveled and bobbed back and forth violently, as if it couldn’t decide which way to go.

Hulking pines and hardwood trees flanked the curvy road, throwing shadows across the black asphalt. Wet red, yellow, orange, and brown leaves lay in clumps on the road like a sodden blanket, adding to the dismal milieu, a reminder that winter would soon bring more death. Shades of gray streaked the sky, giving it the ominous look of another thunderstorm on the way.

A coyote howled in the distance, another sign that danger lurked in these rolling hills.

Dangers that she had met before. Some animal. Some human.

A shiver rippled through her, memories threatening. But she was well trained in denial and pushed them to the back of her mind.

A pickup truck pulled out in front of her, and she averted her face, hoping she wouldn’t be recognized. At least not yet.

She wasn’t ready for the gossip, the stares, the rumors.

Damn, the woods were suffocating. She missed the tranquility of the ocean, the bustling excitement of living in a big city.

The anonymity of walking among a sea of strangers, where no one knew her name.

Here in Slaughter Creek most everyone knew Sadie Nettleton and her crazy sister. Everyone pitied her, even as they whispered behind her back. Their words echoed in her head. They were identical twins, shared the same DNA. Would she turn out like Amelia?

She too wondered, though in her research she’d learned that DID often resulted from severe childhood trauma. Maybe the accident was the cause.

Still, just keeping her family’s sordid secrets shamed her. If they spilled out, she’d lose any hope of keeping her sanity.

And her freedom.

The sign welcoming her to Slaughter Creek mocked her. “Slaughter Creek—where the great battle between the Cherokees and the Creeks was fought. Where people now live in peace and harmony.”

Laughter bubbled in her throat at the irony.

Her instinct was to turn the car around and head back to the West Coast, far away from the lies she’d guarded for so long.

Far away from family. And from Jake Blackwood, the only boy she’d ever loved.

The boy she’d left behind without any answers.

The boy who had grown into a man and arrested her sister.

Reining in her emotions, she studied the scenery. The town square and antiques store that used to belong to her grandmother loomed ahead, stirring a wave of nostalgia. Even though Gran had been dead for years, Sadie still missed her warm smile and loving hands. She could smell Gran’s lilac soap, the pine-scented candles in the shop, the dust and Lemon Pledge she used to make the antique wood shine.

She saw Gran tottering to the door with a plate of homemade gingerbread cookies and tea to welcome her customers. Heard her cry of anguish when Amelia came home as one of the
others.

Was Papaw with Gran now? Were they looking down from heaven, wondering how Amelia could have taken her own granddaddy’s life?

She slowed the Honda and crawled toward the sheriff’s office and the jail. She’d tie up the funeral arrangements, question her sister, and get the hell out again.

Then the past could stay buried where it belonged.

Jake mentally rehashed the last twenty-four hours in his head as he entered the sheriff’s office and dropped his notes on his desk.
This was his first homicide investigation, and he wanted to make sure he had the right person locked up.

Not that it appeared there was any question, but still...he had to be thorough for his own sake. For Sadie’s. For Amelia’s. For Walter Nettleton’s.

His gaze fell to his father’s file, and he pushed it aside. He’d get back to it later, once this mess was taken care of.

The notes and pictures scattered in front of him called to him now.

First he’d wrangled the gun from Amelia’s bloody hands. She hadn’t fought him at all. Hadn’t screamed her innocence or even acknowledged his presence.

Neither had she cried for her grandfather, or exhibited any signs of grief.

She appeared to be in shock.

When he realized that Amelia posed no immediate threat, he’d called his deputy, then the coroner, Barry Bullock. His deputy had rushed over, and Jake had put him to work examining the perimeter of the house in case someone else had been present before or during the shooting.

Ms. Lettie had pulled herself together and phoned Amelia’s doctor, Roy Tynsdale.

Tynsdale had been at a charity fund-raiser for the psychiatric hospital that had treated Amelia for years. The older man had been not only Amelia’s doctor but a friend of Walt’s, and the minute he received the call, he’d made his excuses and had raced to the crime scene like a bat out of hell.

One look at the bloodbath in the room, and he’d jumped into action, taking Amelia’s vitals and making sure she hadn’t injured herself.

Jake had searched the rest of the house; then his deputy came in, saying the drizzly rain had made finding any footprints around the house impossible, although he had noticed animal tracks—looked like a coyote’s.

He’d have to mention it to Sadie if she decided to stay there.

His mind took a dangerous leap, and he found himself wondering what she looked like now. If she’d changed.

Dammit, of course she had. Ten years had passed since he’d seen or heard from her. She’d earned a degree, was some kind of children’s advocate now, and she’d put thousands of miles between them, as if they’d never been friends.

Or lovers.

Meanwhile he’d worked Special Forces and served in Afghanistan, then been shot on a recon mission his fourth year. During his recovery, he had a one-night stand with one of the nurses at the rehab center, then married her six months later when he discovered she was pregnant with his baby. Two months after Ayla was born, Judy had announced that she wasn’t cut out for motherhood and signed all rights over to him.

He hadn’t known what to do then, so he’d stayed near her for a while, hoping she’d change her mind and at least have some contact with Ayla. But eventually he’d given up. Six months ago, he’d picked up his little girl and moved back to Slaughter Creek to raise her in his hometown.

Sheriff Bayler needed a deputy, so he took the training and signed on. When the man retired, Jake jumped at the chance to run for sheriff.

The job was flexible enough for him to spend time with Ayla, especially since until today, the town had been safe and virtually crime-free.

Jesus. He’d move heaven and hell to keep that little girl safe. And he’d kill anyone who ever tried to hurt her.

He forced his mind back to the investigation, making sure he’d covered all the bases.

He’d bagged the shotgun he’d taken from Amelia to send to the lab, and processed Amelia’s hands while Mike photographed the house. At the jail, Ms. Lettie helped Amelia change into clean
clothes, and he sent everything she’d been wearing to the lab as well.

So why did he feel as if he’d missed something important? That there was a clue right under his nose that had gone undetected?

The front door to the office swung open, and he glanced up from his desk as Mike loped in. He looked freshly showered and shaven, his short hair still damp and combed back from his forehead.

Rested, when Jake felt like shit.

“Awful quiet in here,” Mike mumbled. “I figured Amelia would be pitching fits.”

His deputy propped his butt on the edge of his desk, but didn’t bother to take a seat. From the look of his dress shirt and his hair slicked back, he obviously had a date later on. Jake fleetingly wondered which one of the ladies in town he was seeing tonight. Not that he gave a damn. Mike could have a corner on the market. Jake’s dating days were long gone.

“Doc Tynsdale sedated her,” Jake finally said. “He’s making arrangements to move her to the psychiatric hospital for observation.”

Mike nodded. “Worried she’ll off herself?”

Even though his comment hit the mark, Mike’s callous tone irritated Jake. “Yeah. She’s in a fragile state.”