Justice for Sara (28 page)
Authors: Erica Spindler
Tags: #Contemporary Women, #General, #Romance, #Suspense, #Thrillers, #Fiction
Wednesday, June 26
2:15
P.M.
Luke cruised down Riverview Street on his way back to the station. He passed the Sunny Side, then moments later, the property Kat had tried to buy.
What Kat had told him about Jeremy nagged at him. Like an itch he couldn’t scratch. It was a piece of the puzzle that didn’t seem to fit. Not the circumstances. Not Jeremy’s story or his apparent shock and grief.
Luke figured he’d nose around a bit, see what he could find out.
He turned onto First Street, heading toward the square. His thoughts turned to Kat. Why the receipt? What did she hope to uncover? Or did she hope to prove something?
Was she, like him, trying to scratch an itch? Nosing around a bit?
Luke frowned. When she started nosing around, bad things happened to her. He glanced at his phone. He’d touched base with her a couple hours ago. She’d been distant, vague about what she was doing. Normally, he wouldn’t have given it a second thought. If it had been anyone other than Kat.
What was she up to?
He reached the station, parked in one of the dedicated spots out front and climbed out of the cruiser. He entered the building. “Hey, Trix. Any messages?”
“Just Mrs. Burns complaining about her neighbor’s cats pooping in her garden again.”
“What did you tell her?”
“That cats have to poop somewhere and there’s no law specifically aimed at roaming cats, but that we’d speak to Mrs. Martin anyway.”
“Again.”
She laughed and he stepped into his office. The FedEx envelope lay on his desk. He’d forgotten all about it.
It was from a law office. Thomas, Mouton, Price, Dunne and Webber.
Lilith’s firm.
He frowned. What could they have sent him?
He pulled the tab, slid out the manila envelope, the correspondence attached. It was from Lilith Webber’s personal assistant. Other than a greeting, closing and signature, the note consisted of one sentence:
Mrs. Webber instructed me, in the event of her death, to forward this to you.
This was it. What had been nagging at him. The itch he was finally going to be able to scratch. He ripped open the envelope. It contained a letter from Lilith.
And journal pages.
He forced himself to read the letter first. To take it slow. In the proper order.
If you’re reading this, Sergeant Tanner, Jeremy will have won. But not the final battle. Oh, no. He will be exposed for a liar and a thief. And as an accessory to murder.
I killed Sara McCall, it’s true. But Jeremy knew. He went back that night. To make certain she was dead. To make certain I’d covered my tracks. And to retrieve Sara’s journal.
Now he wants to move on. To another love. To pretend he didn’t do these things. To pretend he’s lily white.
Take him down, Sergeant Tanner. And when you do, tell him I look forward to seeing him in hell.
Luke read the message twice, then the journal pages. Sara McCall had discovered Jeremy stealing money from her and Kat’s trust. When he’d begun trumping up reasons that it was a bad time for her to lend Danny money or to plunk down a fat check for a fancy boarding school, she became suspicious. She’d demanded an accounting. Cornered, he’d admitted to “borrowing” from the trust. For Lilith’s ring. Their new house. The wedding and honeymoon. He’d insisted he meant to pay it back. It’d been a loan.
Sara’s writings painted the picture of a devastated young woman, stretched to the breaking point. The man she loved was a compulsive gambler. Her sister was a rebellious brat. And now her most trusted adviser was a thief.
But Sara, the pages revealed, had a very big heart. She told Jeremy she wouldn’t press charges, that she forgave him, but also that she intended to have him removed as manager of their trust. She had been heartbroken over it.
Luke dialed Kat’s cell, got her message. “Call me, now,” he demanded, even as his phone chimed the arrival of a text. “Now, Kat. It’s urgent.”
He read the text, heart sinking. It was from Kat.
Meeting Jeremy at his place. Talk to you after.
He jumped to his feet, responding as he ran.
Jeremy was involved. Do NOT corner him. On my way.
Wednesday, June 26
2:58
P.M.
It wasn’t until Jeremy climbed out of the Jaguar and started toward her that Kat asked herself what the hell she was doing. Her plan was more of a vague idea than an actual course of action.
Get Jeremy to confess. Record the confession with her phone. Get the hell out.
Mostly a single refrain had been running through her head, drowning out everything else:
Justice for Sara.
At the last moment she had sent Luke a text. That way, if she disappeared or ended up dead, he would know she had been with Jeremy.
Her cell phone pinged the arrival of a text. His response, no doubt. But too late to check it.
“What’s up, Cousin?” Jeremy called, bounding up the steps. He had his briefcase.
Like a man renewed.
He hugged her. She had to force herself to hug him back. “How did it go this morning?”
“What can I say? I’ve dealt with it, and I’m moving on.”
“I know you are.” Kat couldn’t help herself, and his frown told her he had picked up on the sarcasm.
“Is something wrong?”
“Not at all. Let’s go inside, There’s something I want to show you.” They entered the house. “It’s in my purse, in the kitchen.”
He followed her in, shutting the door behind them. Her cell phone pinged again. “You need to get that?” he asked.
“It’s just Luke. Responding to my text.”
He frowned, looking confused. “You were a bit off this morning. Even Tish noticed. And you still seem…”
Understanding crossed his features. “You saw me and Tish, didn’t you?”
“Saw you and Tish what? Making out?”
“We kissed, that’s all.”
“You were cheating on Lilith. Just like she thought.”
“Do you blame me? She was a psycho. We hadn’t had a real marriage in years.”
“Did she know that?”
They’d reached the kitchen. He stopped and looked at her in disbelief. “Really, Kat? You’re defending the woman who killed your sister? Who stood by and let you nearly go to jail for it?” He shook his head. “You’re disappointed in me. I’m sorry.”
Disappointment didn’t begin to cover it. “Tish wasn’t at your announcement party. But Lilith was.”
“Excuse me?”
“I keep wondering, who set the cottage on fire? And who sent me those last couple of letters?”
He laid his hands on her shoulders and looked in her eyes. “It’s over. You’ve got to move on.”
She jerked away from him. “The receipt for the baseball bat, how’d you come to find it?”
“It was in the Jag’s console. Just like I said.”
“And you realized what it was and raced home, worried I might be in danger.”
“You
were
in danger, Kat.” He laid the briefcase on the counter. “I’d started putting the pieces together. And thank God I did. I saved your life.”
“Funny thing about that receipt. I went out to that sporting goods store, they didn’t recognize you or Lilith. But that high school boy remembered Tish. He remembered her very well.”
“What are you saying?” He could have been a choirboy, judging by his innocent expression. “That Tish and Lilith were in some sort of cahoots? That’s ridiculous.”
“Not Tish and Lilith.”
“Stop this right now! You’re exhausted. You had a surprise today—”
“I found Sara’s journal.”
His expression went blank. “You couldn’t have.”
“Why not, Jeremy?”
“You just … couldn’t. The police looked. They couldn’t find it.”
“You knew about it all, didn’t you? You might not have killed Sara, but you helped Lilith cover her tracks.”
“You’ve lost your mind.”
“The journal says it all. It was about the money,” she said, taking a stab. “It was always all about the money.”
“Why are you making this up?”
“Making it up?” She dug the blank diary she’d purchased out of her purse and waved it at him.
“That’s not her journal.”
The words landed between them.
“How would you know that, Cousin Jeremy?” she asked.
“I’m not a killer.” He flipped open his briefcase. “A man does what he has to do. To protect his family. Everything he’s built.”
He closed the case. He had a gun in his hand. He pointed it at her. “Like now, Kat.”
Jeremy Webber
2003
The night of the murder
Jeremy gazed at his new bride in horror. He’d been pacing, waiting for her to get home. She’d gone to see Sara. To convince her they had only borrowed the money. That they meant to pay it back.
“Sweetheart, what … My God…” He swept his gaze over her. Her clothes were different. Her dark hair was matted …
Blood. A trickle of it down her forehead.
“What’s happened? Are you hurt?”
“I killed her.”
He couldn’t have heard her correctly, Jeremy thought.
“She wouldn’t listen,” Lilith went on. “She refused to understand.”
He felt sick. “Oh, baby, tell me this didn’t happen.”
“The bat was there,” she went on. “Just there, and I took it and I hit her with it.”
Deadpan. No emotion. Jeremy grabbed her hands. She’d washed them, she must have, but he saw blood under her nails.
“She was going to tell everyone, Jeremy. About the money. She was going to take it away from us.”
He dropped her hands, stepped away from her.
Dear God … what to do?
“I told her we’d pay it back. We’d just borrowed it. She had so much, we didn’t think she would miss it. I explained it was only a short-term loan.”
“Did anyone see you?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“What about Kat?”
“She was locked in her room. Sara told me.” Lilith rolled her eyes. “They fought again.”
“This is bad.”
“What are we going to do?”
“I don’t know. I have to think.”
“I didn’t mean to kill her. I didn’t, Jeremy. You have to believe me.”
He started to pace.
Think … he had to think …
“I didn’t mean to hurt her.” She started to cry. “It just happened.”
What to do … think …
“All our plans, Jeremy. Slipping away.”
“Where are your clothes?”
“In a trash bag. In the car.”
It’s going to be okay. Somehow.
And then he remembered. Sara journaled. Every day. When she’d confronted him about the money, she’d promised she hadn’t spoken to anyone else yet.
But she would’ve written in her journal.
Dammit … this was bad … think, Jeremy …
“What?” Lilith asked.
“Her journal. I’ve got to go back to get it.” He took a deep, calming breath, smoothed a hand over his hair. “And to make sure there’s nothing … you might have left something … she might still be—”
“She’s not. She’s dead.”
“Where’s the bat?”
“I left it. But I cleaned it off. The grip.”
“Give me the keys to your Tahoe. No one will recognize it. You haven’t driven it around here, have you?”
“No.” She shook her head. “No.”
“We need to get a grip, Lilith. Calm down, deep breath.
“Good,” he said as she followed his directions. “Where are the keys to the Tahoe?”
“In the kitchen. The drawer by the phone.”
“Get them.”
While she did, he changed clothes. Black pants, black long-sleeved tee. Dark ball cap, pulled down low.
“What now?” she asked.
“Bring me some hand wipes. I’ll meet you in the garage.”
He went there. From his tool chest he retrieved a screwdriver and went to work on removing the SUV’s license plate.
Sara was dead, he told himself. There was nothing he could do for her, so why ruin his and Lilith’s lives over this?
“Here are the— What are you doing?”
“Taking off the plate. If someone does see me, they won’t be able to track us with the plate number.”
“But the police. If one sees there’s no plate, he’ll stop you. It’s too risky.”
“I’ll take my chances. Where’s your gun?”
“Where it always is, in my nightstand drawer.”
“Get it.”
“Why? You don’t think—”
“No, of course not. But I want to have it, just in case.”
Lilith got him the gun and he put it under the seat. He made his way to Sara’s, parked just beyond the cottage. The scene that greeted him was like something in a slasher flick.
Sara was dead; no need to check her pulse. Conscious of the danger of leaving a footprint, he carefully skirted the body, the blood. Doing his best not to look at her.
He felt bad about this. Really bad. Lilith hadn’t meant to kill Sara; it’d been an accident. And he would make it right. Watch over Kat. Her money. Send her to boarding school, just like Sara had wanted.
The journal would be by her bed.
He made his way to Sara’s bedroom. The old floorboards creaked and each time he froze, his heart lurching to his throat. But each time his fear proved unfounded. Kat was either asleep or had her earbuds in. Or both.
The journal was in her nightstand drawer, just where he had expected it to be. Careful not to leave prints, he collected it, stuffed it into the waistband of his pants.
Back in the hall, he tiptoed to Kat’s door, listened. Silence. No light coming from beneath. Good. He started to inch away and his gaze landed on the key, sticking out of the lock. An old-fashioned skeleton key.
He stared at it a moment, then as stealthily as he could, he reached out and turned the key. The lock clicked back. He held his breath a moment, then drew the key out and slipped it into his pocket.
Now he needed to get the hell out of there.
Jeremy made his way out, going through the back door, around the side of the house. He hurried to the Tahoe, started it up.
Headlights came from behind him, around the curve by the cemetery. Heart in his throat, he pulled away from the curb. Liberty police, he saw. God, no. And here he was, no plates. He wanted to hit the gas, speed away, but he knew that would be the worst thing he could do.
Instead, he played it cool. Luckily, the cruiser slowed in front of Sara’s place, giving Jeremy the chance to reach the end of the block and take a left.
Moments later, Jeremy saw the cruiser turn the corner behind him. He began to sweat. What to do? Where to go?
Highway 22. Get out of Liberty. Cross into Mandeville
. The Liberty cop would turn around.
But he didn’t. Jeremy felt the sweat of panic roll down his spine. His heart thundered so heavily, he worried he might have a heart attack. He couldn’t breathe. His mind went blank with terror.
He flipped on his emergency flashers. Pulled over. With shaking hands, he drew the gun out from under the seat, lowered the window, stuck his free hand out and waved.
The wave had the desired effect. In the side mirror, he saw the cop amble his way. Wally Clark, he saw. Good guy. Real friendly.
Jeremy squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn’t allow Wally to place him at the scene. And even if he gave up Lilith, he’d be charged as an accomplice. Everything would come to light. He’d be ruined. And for what?
Besides, Kat needed him. Who would take care of their little Kit-Kat, if not him?
He tipped his face out the window. He firmed his grip on the gun, tucked under his left arm. “Hey, Wally. Sorry to be causing you trouble this time of night.”
“No trouble at all, Mr. Webber.” Wally leaned down, grinning. “What brings you out this time of night?”
“The little woman,” Jeremy said, sliding out the gun and tightening his finger on the trigger. “Who would have thought a wife could be—”
The gun went off. Wally’s head jerked up and then back as the bullet penetrated. For a moment, Wally simply stood, staring blankly at him. Jeremy pulled the trigger a second time. Again, the crazy jerk of Wally’s head. Only this time he went down.
“—so much trouble,” Jeremy finished. Turning off his flashers, he pulled back onto the two-lane highway.
