Marta Perry (18 page)

When they finally reached the top, Meredith was shaking.

“Sit down.” The lights were blazing throughout the downstairs now. He lowered her to one of the kitchen chairs. “I want to make sure he’s gone.”

“He went out the back. I heard the door slam.”

He was halfway to the door already. “Maybe he left some trace.”

“What’s that?” Meredith murmured the words, almost to herself.

He turned to see her bend, reaching for something under her chair.

“Don’t touch it!” His exclamation came too late. Meredith had already picked up the object.

She held it, staring at it with a frown. “What’s a hammer... Oh. I heard something hit the floor before I heard the door slam. He must have dropped it.”

“Or left it behind deliberately.” He snatched a dish towel from the rack and used it to grasp the hammer. Small, with a smooth wooden handle that looked as if hands had gripped it for generations. He held it to the light, his stomach churning. Those might very well be bloodstains on the head.

“This must be what he swung at me. It’s a good thing he didn’t get my head—” She stopped, her eyes widening, and he saw her thoughts land on the truth. “My mother.”

“Probably.” He wrapped the towel around the hammer, hiding it from her sight. “And unfortunately now it has your fingerprints on it.” First him, now her. Anyone would think they’d set out to incriminate themselves.

The wail of a siren galvanized him. His fingers clenched around the hammer. “If Burkhalter gets his hands on this, he’s going to use it to tie you to your mother’s death.”

He’d have thought she couldn’t get any paler. It seemed she could.

“I don’t know what to do.” Her voice shook. “We need time to think.”

The siren’s wail moaned to a stop in front of the house. There was no time, and she realized it as well as he did.

“Hide it. Please.” Meredith’s eyes widened with panic.

“I can’t hide evidence. I’m a police officer.” Everything in him rebelled at the thought. But if Burkhalter walked in and saw it, he’d arrest Meredith on the spot.

“Then I will.” She took it from him, staggered a little when she rose, and then took two steps to the counter. She yanked out a drawer and shoved it inside.

“Merry—”

“Not for long, just until we have a moment to think. Please.”

The cops were coming in the front door.

He nodded, taking her arm and helping her back to her chair. He’d just have to pray the hammer wasn’t found until he had time to decide what to do about it.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

M
EREDITH
’
S
HEART
STUTTERED
when Chief Burkhalter and Ted Singer barreled into the kitchen. She tried not to look as guilty as she felt.

“What are you doing here, Randal?” Ted Singer eyed him with obvious suspicion.

“Ms. King called me.” Zach clamped his mouth shut on the words, a silent indication to say as little as possible.

“What happened here?” The chief looked annoyed, as if things were not proceeding as he expected.

“Someone was in the house when Ms. King returned.” Zach moved to stand close to her. Not touching, but near enough that she seemed able to feel his warmth. “He or she pushed Ms. King down the cellar steps.”

Burkhalter scowled. “Let Ms. King tell it. Please,” he added, as if he hadn’t decided on the proper protocol for addressing people he’d known for years and now suspected of murder.

“Just trying to spare her,” Zach said, his tone mild. “She’s had a shock.”

“These stairs?” Singer grabbed the cellar door and yanked it open, thereby adding his fingerprints to whatever else was there.

Meredith nodded and then regretted doing it. The right side of her neck was stiffening by the minute. She massaged her neck and saw Zach’s fingers move, as if he wanted to do it for her.

“When I came back, the power was off.” She tried to organize her thoughts into what to say and what not to say. “I thought the storm had tripped the circuits. That happens fairly regularly.”

Burkhalter nodded. “Ought to have this whole place rewired with a bigger service entrance, that’s what you ought to do.”

For a moment Meredith thought he was going to mention his brother, the electrician, but he seemed to recall himself to the work at hand. “So you went down the cellar. Then what?”

“I didn’t get that far. I came in here to get a flashlight. It was dark, and I groped my way over to the drawer. And then I realized it wasn’t there.” She paused. By this time, Burkhalter must realize what flashlight she was talking about. “I thought maybe my cell phone would give enough light to get down to the basement, but when I opened the door, I realized how black it was down there.” Her voice trembled at the image of that darkness below her, like the dark pool that had claimed her mother. “I heard someone behind me, started to turn and something hit me on the shoulder. It knocked me down the steps.”

Burkhalter looked from her to the cellar door. “You sure you didn’t just trip? Or maybe knock something off a hook in the cellar-way?”

“It was a person,” she said, making her tone low and firm because she wanted to scream at him. “I saw the figure, but it was dark enough that I couldn’t be sure whether it was a man or woman. It—he—came down a couple steps. That’s when I hit 911 on the cell phone. He ran.” She nearly stumbled over the thing she mustn’t say. “The back door slammed.”

Burkhalter looked at her for a long moment, as if deciding how much to believe. Then he jerked his head toward the cellar door. “Go down and have a look around, Singer. The lights are on now,” he observed.

“I turned the power on at the circuit box,” Zach said. “There was no way of knowing if it tripped because of the storm or because somebody threw the switch.”

“So you’ve messed up any prints that were on it. You’re a cop. You should know better than to touch it.”

She could practically hear Zach grit his teeth. “I had to see if Meredith was all right. Did you send for paramedics?”

“I don’t need—” she began, but he cut her off.

“You should be checked out.”

“Josie sent for them. They should be here soon. Or Bennett Campbell is right down the street,” Burkhalter pointed out.

“No.” That came out more sharply than she intended. “Don’t bother him. I’ll wait for the paramedics, but I’m fine.” She wasn’t going to have Bennett checking out her bruises while thinking she was responsible for her mother’s death.

Singer thumped back up the stairs. “Nothing to see down there, Chief. Just the mat rumpled up a bit.”

“Then go out back and see if you can find any trace of an intruder,” Burkhalter snapped.

Something about the way he phrased that made Meredith feel as if he didn’t believe her account of what had happened. Was he picking up on the fact that she hadn’t told him everything? Or did he imagine she’d staged the whole incident to gain sympathy and divert suspicion?

“So you figure this intruder was already in the house when you came back from the station.” Burkhalter pulled out a much-thumbed notebook. “Anything missing?”

She managed not to shake her head, fearing the effect on her neck and shoulder. “I haven’t had a chance to look.”

“You surely don’t think this was a burglar,” Zach said. “It’s obvious he came to attack Meredith.”

Burkhalter shrugged. “Maybe so, but it’s not that obvious to me. Supposing you let us have a good thorough look around the house for anything missing.”

“No.” Zach spoke before she could, and he put a warning hand on her shoulder. “Ms. King will have a look when she feels able, and she’ll call you if anything’s missing.”

Burkhalter glared at him. “I might have to listen to that from Jake, on account of him being her attorney, but not from you.”

By that time Meredith had caught up, and she wasn’t sure where her wits had gone. There was little point in Burkhalter searching the house for missing items, since he wouldn’t know if they were missing. Zach obviously thought he was using this to give himself another chance to search for evidence against them. And that evidence was five feet away from him in the kitchen drawer.

“I’m the only one who would know if something’s missing,” she said firmly. “Zach is right.”

Burkhalter gave Zach a fulminating look and then returned to his notebook. “So why do you suppose someone would want to push you down the stairs?”

“Surely that’s obvious, even to you.” Zach’s temper had apparently frayed to the breaking point. “Someone killed her mother, mistaking her for Meredith. Now he’s trying to finish the job.”

Surprisingly enough, Burkhalter didn’t seem riled by Zach answering for her. Instead he turned to Meredith. “That how you have it figured, too?”

“I don’t see what else it could be.” She wrapped her arms protectively around herself. “Someone is afraid of what I might find out about Aaron Mast’s death.”

“Well, I suppose that’s one way of looking at it.” Burkhalter snapped his notebook closed. “Thing is, as far as I can tell, you’ve been nosing around Aaron’s accident for months now. And nothing happened to anybody until Zach Randal came back to town.”

* * *

Z
ACH
WAS
STILL
fuming over Burkhalter’s attitude the next morning, but that was a minor annoyance in comparison with his worry over Meredith. At least, once the paramedics had checked her out, Burkhalter seemed convinced that her injuries were real. Whether he believed the rest of what they’d told him—well, that was doubtful.

He hadn’t wanted to leave Meredith last night, but Rachel had insisted she’d stay, and he had to admit that it was probably better for Meredith that way. He’d spent the night feeling queasy every time he thought of that hammer stuffed in a kitchen drawer. A dozen times he’d gotten up, wanting to slip over under cover of darkness and retrieve it. But a glance out the window deterred him.

Like he’d thought, news of the attack on Meredith had spread quickly. Deer Run was on alert all night. Outside lights were on at every house on the street, and an unwary prowling dog knocking over a trash can had brought lights flashing in windows and one man, armed with a shotgun, out into the street.

No, it would be far safer to go out during the day, when kids were in school and the neighbors had relaxed their vigilance. Daylight eased everyone’s fear.

But first he’d check on Meredith. He tapped on the door, and Rachel answered so quickly she must have been watching for him.

“How is she?” he said, stepping inside. Judging by Rachel’s face, she hadn’t slept much.

“Hurting, but she won’t let me take her to the doctor. I finally persuaded her to take a pain pill, and she got a little sleep, at least.”

“Will you two please stop talking about me as if I’m not here?” Meredith’s voice came from the living room.

He exchanged glances with Rachel and reached the living room in time to see Meredith grimacing as she tried to get up from the sofa.

“Stay put.” He reached her in a few steps, his heart twisting, and eased her back against the cushion.

“You don’t have to treat me as if I’m a china doll.” Her voice was tart, but she clasped his hand. “I’ve got a spectacular collection of bruises, but they’ll heal.”

He held her hand in both of his, longing to embrace her but afraid to try. The dark shadows under her eyes looked like bruises themselves. “There’s nothing wrong with taking it easy while that happens.”

“We don’t have time for that.” Meredith squeezed his hands and then pulled hers free, as if needing to assert herself. “We have to decide what to do about the hammer.”

He couldn’t help an involuntary look at Rachel, but Meredith shook her head impatiently. “She knows. I told her.”

Rachel came to sit on the other side of Meredith. “We’re in this together.” Her voice was firm.

He couldn’t hold out against the two of them. “Okay. We have to do something about the hammer.” He’d struggled with this all night long, and he still wasn’t comfortable with his decision. “The police have to have it, but not with Meredith’s fingerprints on it.”

“That’s why he left it behind, isn’t it?” Meredith said.

He should have known she’d realize it. “Most likely.”

“And I played right into his plan by picking it up. Or her plan.” Meredith rubbed her forehead, as if that might help her think. “I still couldn’t tell you for sure if it was a man or woman. Just a figure, that’s all.”

Rachel patted her hand. “The important thing now is to get rid of that hammer before the police find it. What should we do?” This last was addressed to him.

“If we get rid of it entirely, we’re destroying the one piece of physical evidence.” He was dizzy with going over and over it during the long hours of the night. “But we can’t let it point to Meredith. The best bet might be to wipe it clean and then leave it somewhere in the woods or the stream, where the police can find it. I’ll take it—”

“No.” Meredith clutched his sleeve as he started to get up. “The police could be watching both of us. If you go wandering toward the woods, they’re sure to stop you. That’s true, isn’t it?”

“Possible,” he admitted. “But we can’t just wait for Burkhalter to find it.”

“I’ll take it,” Rachel said. “No one is watching me.”

“It’s too dangerous. I can’t let you do that.” Meredith’s sense of responsibility obviously extended to Rachel.

“Don’t be silly. I’ll put it in my bag when I go over to the farm to pick up Mandy. I can drop it in the weeds by the creek. Now, don’t argue. You know I’m right.”

Meredith looked from his face to Rachel’s. Finally she nodded. “Okay. We’d better do it quickly, then.”

“I’ll get it.” But he paused, knowing he had to tell her something, no matter how much it hurt. “I had a look at the hammer when I picked it up.”

“And?” Wariness showed in her deep brown eyes.

“It’s old, and it’s not mass-produced.” He hesitated, but it had to be said. “There are two initials scratched into the base of the handle. SK.”

It took a moment to sink in, and he saw realization dawn in her face. “Samuel King. You think it’s Samuel’s.”

“I think it could be,” he said, trying to soften the words. “Meredith, you can’t ignore the evidence.”

“There’s more than one person around with the initials SK,” she protested. “You might as well suspect Onkel Simon. Those are his initials, too.”

“Your uncle didn’t fight with Aaron on the night he died.” Her refusal to accept the truth about Samuel was wearing on his patience.

“Tools get passed around,” Rachel said. “Even sold at flea markets. The hammer could have been kicking around for years.”

He’d rather not have to argue with Rachel as well as Meredith. “Okay, but even so, we can’t ignore the initials.”

“My grandfather’s name was Simon, as well.” Meredith’s eyes seemed to widen. “His tools had his initials scratched on the bottom. I remember my dad showing it to me. He was a carpenter, and when he passed, his tools were shared among his sons.”

He processed that. “So you’re saying your father had some?”

She nodded.

“Where were they kept?” He had a suspicion he knew the answer.

“In the shed.”

“Where anyone could get at them. Including you.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Okay. Well, that widens the field.”

“Does it really change anything?” Rachel’s practical common sense was a relief. “Get the hammer, and I’ll dispose of it.”

He nodded, not seeing any other option. He rose, but Meredith caught his arm.

“Wait. I moved it.”

He stared at her. “Moved it? Why? Where?”

She stood, a little shaky but determined. “I couldn’t stand the thought of it there in the kitchen. When Rachel went home to get her things, I put it under the back porch steps, behind the pot of mums.” She grimaced. “Maybe that was stupid, but I just couldn’t handle having it in the house, thinking of my mother—”

She broke off, and he clasped her hand. He didn’t approve, but he understood.

“Okay. Stay inside. I’ll get it.”

The two women followed him to the kitchen. He went onto the back porch and took a leisurely look around. No one was in view. It was as safe as it was going to be.

He went down the steps and bent, moving the pot of flowers, reaching under the step. Nothing. His palm touched damp earth. The hammer was gone.

* * *

M
EREDITH
SAW
Z
ACH
’
S
FACE
when he turned, empty-handed. Grim, stark, frozen. In a few steps he was back inside, closing the door.

“It’s not there.”

Meredith discovered that she felt as frozen as Zach had looked. “How could it be gone?”