Love Inspired Suspense June 2015 #1 (50 page)

“So you don't think this has something to do with his getting old and maybe suffering from dementia?”

“It's just another possibility, but if Len is involved then that means he tried to kill you at least three times, and all three attempts were skilled and calculated. Not the work of a man going senile.” Colm studied her pale face, her eyes sad. It wasn't the look he was hoping for. “You're not going to fight against him, are you?”

“It's Len Smith. I could never fight him.”

“Smith. If that's even his real name. What was it before he went into hiding?”

Gretchen bit her lower lip. After a moment of hesitancy, she said, “I don't know. I never questioned it. Why would I?”

“Well, after three attempts on your life, you need to start.”

“I'm sure you're wrong about Len. I really don't think he's behind the attacks.”

“You'd be surprised what people will do if pushed far enough.” He swung the door wide. “After you.”

“Oh, great, make me go first into the fox den.”

“You're just as cunning as any of them, love. Chin up.” Colm smiled when her dainty chin raised a notch. “Atta girl.”

Once he entered behind her, though, he saw she would need a little more pluck to handle this crowd. The place was filled with muted faces staring at her. Had coming here been a bad idea?

“Greetings,” Colm said into the silence. “I'm Colm McCrae, host of
Rescue to Restoration.
Gretchen and I are here to see—”

“Oh, Gretchen, your face.” A woman with long golden-red hair rushed from a table to Gretchen's side. She used her hands to say something in sign language, and Colm realized she was deaf. “Owen told me about your injury, but seeing you like this hurts so much more.”

“Colm, this is Miriam, Sheriff Matthews's wife.”

Colm nodded, but Miriam didn't pay him a lick of attention. No one in the room did, for that matter. Each person who now approached them only pushed him out of the picture.

Well, that was a first. Colm cracked a smile. No one cared that they had a television personality in their midst. And he couldn't lie. He liked it.

He especially liked seeing how they all doted on Gretchen. These were the people she'd told him loved her, and by the affection he was witnessing, she had been correct. He found it hard to believe any of these people would hurt her. Some of them looked as if they wanted to hurt Billy Baker, though.

A bristly fisherman walked up to Colm and even though he came to his chin, the short man managed to look him in the eyes. “I thought you were Irish. You don't sound very Irish. Are you a phony?”

Colm took in the crowd, who suddenly quieted to hear the answer. “I'm not a phony, I can tell you that. Let's just say we all have things we'd like to forget. Where I come from is one of mine. My director thinks otherwise and requires me to use my native tongue on camera. End of story.”

A few shrugs told him some were content with his explanation. Gretchen's tilted head showed she was unsure. She still didn't trust him completely, and there really was no time for her to learn to. Perhaps when she was safe, they could... They could what? Build a different kind of house, one that would give them a future together?

Colm nearly scoffed out loud. He felt the blood rush to his head and knew his fair Irish complexion had to be beet red. What was this young colleen doing to him? She had him running circles around her, trying to keep her safe, all while trying to make her smile. For what? So he could turn into a flustered young buck? Perhaps he was the one going mad around here, not Len.

Gretchen said to the people around her, “We came to see Len. Is he here?”

The crowd looked around until someone spoke up. “Nope. In fact, come to think of it, I haven't seen him all day. Anyone else?”

No one chimed in. Just a bunch of shaking heads and widening eyes as it dawned on all of them that the town's elder hadn't shown his face to anyone all day. A few men rushed to the back swinging doors, but Gretchen beat them there.

Colm raced after her, and over the heads of the men in front of him, he saw her lead the way up a back stairwell that looked to be a lit cavern. She took the steps two at a time, and Colm had all he could do not to climb over the old men to get to her.

“Gretchen!” he called to her, but her steps didn't slow. She reached the top stair and froze. Colm couldn't see what she saw, but her whimper had him elbowing past the men. “Goldie, what is it?”

The men allowed him to pass, and he stepped up to a landing. Another staircase led up to a door that must lead into Len's house, but the crumpled man lying at the foot of the stairs halted any more assumptions.

“Len.” Gretchen ran to his side.

“Goldie, don't touch him. His neck could be broken.”

“I know,” she replied. Her fingers gently felt for a pulse. “He's alive.” Her shoulders slumped in a sigh. “Someone call 911. Tell them Len fell down the stairs.”

Two of the men ran back downstairs as Colm knelt on the other side of Len. He took in the bruised face with distinct markings that had nothing to do with a fall. “I hate to tell you this, Goldie, but Len didn't fall.”

She raised her face to him. “How do you know?”

“I'd know a five-finger face-pummel any day of the week. Len Smith has been through a belting and left here to make it look like he fell.”

“Who would do such a thing to a man in his nineties?”

“Someone who wanted to make sure his secrets stayed a secret,” he said, and Gretchen shot him a quick glance. “Or someone who found out his secrets.”

She leaned over the man. “Len, it's me, Gretchen. I'm right beside you. We're going to get you to a hospital.”

“Gret...mmmm...Gret,” Len mumbled from a faraway place of consciousness.

Gretchen inhaled in a rush of surprise. “Yes, it's me. I'm here, Len. We're all here. We're getting you help, but we need you to fight. Do you hear me?”

His eyes flashed wide on a sharp inhale. “Gretch...Gretchen.”

She leaned closer to the man as his hand reached for her. “Can you tell us what happened?”

“Forgive me,” Len rasped out.

“Forgive you for what?”

“Attic. Attic. So sorry. They're coming for—” Len made an awful breathing sound.

“Who's coming? Wait!” she said when Doctor Schaffer appeared at her side. Colm came up behind her to pull her away so the doctor could do his work. “I need to know what he's talking about.”

“He's probably not making a wee bit of sense,” Colm said, trying to comfort her. “Don't pay any mind to it.”

“How can I not? He mentioned the attic! What is he saying? He's apologizing. What did he...do?”

Gretchen took a step back into Colm's arms. He felt her body start to tremble.

“He did it, didn't he?” she said, turning her face into Colm's neck. “That's what he wants my forgiveness for. He doused the attic with turpentine. Len's the one who nearly killed me.”

Colm tightened his hold on her just as her knees gave out.

TEN

“W
e're home,” Colm said as he pulled Gretchen's car into the long driveway. The words sounded grand on his lips as it had been so long since he had referenced any place as home.

He expected Gretchen to set him straight, but a glance to his right showed she hadn't heard him at all. It was just as well, but he would have rather his words zapped her out of this listless state that left her like a piece of driftwood.

“You know you can't take what Len said to heart. You know his mind on a good day was confused.”

“Do you think we can get into my house yet?” Her lack of response told him she wasn't ready to talk about it. “I have to start making phone calls.”

“For what?”

“Cancellations. I can't have people showing up here in three weeks.”

Colm put the car into Park. “I'll agree with you about the three weeks, but don't cancel permanently.”

“Lydia's coming out of the house,” Gretchen announced and jumped from the car.

Colm followed her to the front door and heard Lydia say, “Gretchen, I need to talk with you.” She eyed Colm. “Privately.”

Colm didn't move. He wanted to be kept abreast of the situation, and he definitely wasn't up for leaving Gretchen's side anytime soon, even if she believed Len was behind it all. “I don't think Gretchen should be alone until we know for certain the person doing this is behind bars. But I understand, Gretchen, if you'd rather I wait on the porch—”

“No,” she cut him off.

Colm started to debate but sighed and gave in. “All right, if that's what you want. I'll be at my trailer.”

“No, I mean I don't want you to leave. And I don't want you on the porch.” She gazed at the place beside her and barely raised her eyes when she said, “I want you right here.”

Air whooshed from his lungs. “Are you certain, love?” Colm stepped up next to her. He turned her face so she would look him straight in the eye. All he saw was fear staring back at him. “You're not certain.”

He saw that her inner strength warred with her inner struggle: to depend on another person when she'd promised herself to stand on her own.

“You're not breaking any pact you made with yourself,” he assured her. “Consider me support while you face some pretty scary, very abnormal, I might add, challenges. Nothing more.”

A slight smile crossed her pretty lips. As her battle dissipated, her dainty shoulders relaxed and welcomed his hand as he grasped hers, reassuring her of his presence while she faced these nightmares. He rubbed gently. Deep down he knew his fingers memorized the feel of her for the day she shrugged him off for good. He would have to be a complete fool if he thought the day wouldn't come.

“Okay, Lydia, what did you find?” Gretchen asked the forensic scientist, her voice not sounding too eager for the news that could confirm her worst nightmare: that Len Smith did try to kill her.

Lydia looked around to scan the foyer to make sure they were alone. She faced them again. “Out of curiosity, how well do you know the painter Ethan?”

Gretchen said, “He's very kind.”

At the same time, Colm said, “Not too well.”

At Lydia's arched eyebrows, he continued, “Not at all really. He's new to our crew. Came highly recommended, though. Why?”

“Wesley did a background check on every one of the crew.” She paused and looked at Colm.

“And his past is as colorful as mine? Is that what you're trying to say?”

“No, actually, his is perfect. Not even a speeding ticket.”

“And that worries you? Maybe he's just a real good guy who's never been in any trouble.”

She bounced her head side to side as though she weighed his response. “Possibly, but it's so clean that it almost seems faked.” She turned and picked up a black hard-shell case. “And I also found this.” She opened the case and removed a plastic bag with something inside. “I believe it's the paintbrush used to leave the message. Tests will need to be run to match the paint, and the prints I lifted from it will need to be processed.”

“Where did you find it?” Gretchen asked.

“In Ethan's bucket upstairs in one of the bedrooms. Which reminds me, his equipment is not well maintained. You say he comes with high recommendations, but what kind of painter doesn't clean his brushes?” She held up the bag. Red paint was hardened to the bristles. “This wasn't the only ruined brush.”

“So he doesn't clean his brushes.” Gretchen frowned. “There's no crime in that. And even if you find his prints on the brush, which I'm sure you will because it's his, that doesn't mean Ethan is guilty of anything. Len pretty much confessed to being the one to hurt me. You can keep searching for evidence, but nothing trumps a confession.”

“He confessed? Does Sheriff Matthews know?”

“Not yet. He wasn't there when Len spoke to me.”

Lydia placed the brush back into her case. “All right, if you think Ethan is clean, even if his brushes aren't, I'll back off. He's in the attic with Wesley now. Wesley had a few questions for him, and being pregnant I stayed out of there.”

Colm bypassed them and headed for the stairs. “You stay out, too, Gretchen. We don't need a repeat asthma attack.”

One flight up, then to the attic stairs, Colm found Ethan and Detective Grant in a silent standoff.

“Why do I smell something rotten up here that isn't the turpentine?” Colm asked.

Detective Grant barely moved. “My wife is concerned your painter isn't really a painter. I was just asking him how he planned to clean up the turpentine, and he doesn't seem to have a clue. My deductive skills say he's been lying to you. Perhaps it was just to obtain a job. Or perhaps it was something a little more premeditated. Either way, he's coming with me to speak with Sheriff Matthews. He's sure to have his own questions for Mr. Hunt, if that's even your name. Let's go find out.”

Ethan's eyes sent sharp daggers at Detective Grant when the man grabbed his arm and pushed him to move. “You're making a big mistake.” He passed Colm, sharing some of those daggers with him.

The two men stepped downstairs, and Colm could hear Gretchen questioning Detective Grant as they passed to the front door.

“Where are you taking Ethan?” she asked. “It was Len who hurt me. Ethan's been a comfort to me.”

Colm stood at the top of the staircase, listening to her high esteem for Ethan, and all he could wonder was if her feelings for the man ran deeper than friendship.

He wondered what he would do if Gretchen had romantic feelings for Ethan. What would he say? But then, what could he say? If Ethan's background check was accurate, then he was exactly the type of man Gretchen deserved. An all-around nice fella. He'd never even had a speeding ticket.