Poisoned Ground (25 page)

Chapter Forty-three

Tom pulled off the road and parked in a spot where several evergreens would hide them from anyone looking out of the Jones house. He and Brandon didn’t speak as they pulled Kevlar vests from the trunk and fitted them over their jackets.

Ten or fifteen minutes at a minimum would pass before backup arrived. Tom didn’t think they could afford to wait. They had to go in now.

He met Brandon’s eyes, knowing he didn’t have to speak the question aloud. The young deputy nodded. He was ready.

His pistol drawn, Tom crossed the drainage ditch and moved into the small patch of evergreens to take a good look at the house. The afternoon sun sat low in the sky, its glare reflecting off the house’s front windows and making any glimpse of the interior impossible.

Tom signaled for Brandon to move to the left. At the same moment, they both broke cover and ran for the nearest trees. Tom didn’t breathe again until he pressed his back against an ancient, gnarled maple. Brandon, shielded by another maple, looked to Tom for direction.

Tom listened, heard nothing. He took a quick glance around the tree trunk. From this angle, the windows looked blank, all the curtains drawn, no one in sight. Wind shook the tree branches overhead.

He gave Brandon a hand signal and they peeled away from their tree cover, Brandon to the left, Tom to the right, and bolted for the house. When they reached opposite corners, too close for anyone inside to see them or get off a good shot, Tom indicated that Brandon should stay put and watch the front door.

Tom moved around the house, staying close, ducking under windows. When he rounded the corner to the rear, he saw Winter Jones sprawled face down at the bottom of the back steps, a bloody wound between her shoulders.

“Aw, Christ,” Tom said under his breath. He’d expected Winter to be the one with the gun, not a victim.

The shooter could still be in the house, or concealed somewhere nearby. Tom’s gaze darted from the tool shed to the hen house, both a good fifty yards from the house. He saw no one, no movement.

Did he dare go to Winter? Could he do anything for her if he risked his own life to reach her?

Hugging the wall of the house, he edged toward the porch. He stopped next to a basement window and glanced in sideways without exposing himself. He saw only dark space. The window into the main floor of the house was elevated, and the best he could do was peer in over the sill. A light fixture glowed in the kitchen ceiling, but he couldn’t see much of the room.

Abandoning the safety of the wall, Tom rounded the side of the porch and took the steps as quietly as he could. The main door stood open, but the storm door, with glass in the top half, was closed. With his back to the wall next to the door, he angled his head to look in.

Spring Jones lay on her side on the kitchen floor, a pool of blood spreading below her ribcage.

***

With her back pressed against the door frame, Rachel remained perfectly still and let Summer talk.

“Someone was knocking on the front door—I didn’t know it was you—and I was afraid he would call out and you’d hear him, but he just backed away from me, and then down he went, without making a sound.” Summer’s eyes appeared unfocused, almost dreamy, but her steady grip on the rifle never faltered. “Father didn’t either. It’s so strange, that they both died without crying out. Just fell, down and down and down.”

Rachel stayed silent, her eyes fixed on the rifle barrel. Where was Tom now? She had sent him to the Jones house. He had no idea she was in Jake Hollinger’s house. Would he see her Range Rover when he passed the driveway? Was it parked too far up, obscured by trees between the house and the road? Would Tom even glance this way as he drove by?

“It was Lincoln Kelly’s fault,” Summer was saying, “with those dreadful pictures he took. And Jake, seducing our poor little sister. Those two men played with her life, they made her do things she would never have done otherwise. It was their fault that our father died, you know. Not ours. We may have pushed him, but Lincoln Kelly and Jake Hollinger were to blame.” Now Summer focused on Rachel. “You see that, don’t you?”

Summer stared at her, expecting an answer. What was she supposed to say? “Yes, I think so—but I don’t really understand what happened.”

Summer blew out an impatient sigh. “I just told you what happened. Lincoln showed Father those pictures and told him Autumn was in the barn with Jake at that very moment. Father went over there with a gun. If I hadn’t gone after him, if Autumn and I hadn’t stopped him, he would have killed Jake, and then what would have happened to all of us? We were trying to prevent anyone from getting hurt. We were doing the right thing.”

“Yes, you were doing the right thing.” Rachel focused on keeping Summer calm. “So you…you pushed your father, to keep him away from Jake? I don’t see how you could have done anything else. You had no choice.”

“Yes, yes, that’s right, there was nothing else we could have done.” Summer’s head bobbed up and down several times. “But he fell, and—well, he died. And Jake took charge and made us leave and take the gun with us, and he told us never to let anyone know we’d been there.”

“But your sister—” Rachel bit off her words. She couldn’t ask about Autumn’s suicide. That would only provoke Summer.

Summer’s eyes had filled with tears. “It didn’t bother me that we pushed Father and made him fall. I was glad he was dead. He was always so mean to us, and he was even worse after Mother died. But Autumn was too sensitive. She felt guilty, and she couldn’t live with it. She thought she’d done something wrong. But those men, Lincoln and Jake, they were the cause of it all. And they never gave her another thought after she was dead and buried. They simply went on with their lives, as if she’d never lived. How could they do that?”

Again Summer seemed to demand an answer. Rachel shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“She was so very dear to me. We were very close, you know. When we were little, she always wanted to pretend we were twins.” Summer’s brief smile faded into sorrow. “Spring and Winter were jealous of us. None of us had any friends—Father wouldn’t allow it—but Autumn and I had each other. When she died, I lost the only friend I’ve ever had. And I’ve felt like a prisoner all these years, with Winter and Spring constantly telling me what to do. They’re as bad as Father was. Worse.”

“I’m sorry.” How long, Rachel wondered, had she been standing here, frozen, listening to the ramblings of a crazy woman? Half an hour? Longer? No one was coming to rescue her. She had to find a way to get out of this alive. “It must have been terrible for you when Lincoln dug out those old pictures and started showing them to people.”

“Oh, you can’t imagine. You can’t imagine the pain it caused me. Winter told me I had to put it out of my mind, I had to be strong, I couldn’t let it hurt me. But how could I simply brush it aside?” The rifle barrel bobbed in her hands, moving downward, away from Rachel. “Jake didn’t care either. He was going to move away with that awful Tavia Richardson and start a new life. He was going to be
happy.
”

“Is that why—”

“Yes,” Summer broke in. “Now he knows how it feels to lose someone dear to him. He didn’t care when his wife died. He had Tavia waiting for him. But now he knows what grief feels like. And I shot her with one of my father’s guns that I took from her house. You know, she never locked her back door. I simply walked in while she was out and helped myself to as many guns as I wanted. I knew it would confuse the police if I used different guns.”

Rachel’s cell phone rang, a loud buzz from her shirt pocket. Hope flared inside her as she grabbed for it.

“No!” Instantly Summer’s sad, dreamy mood vanished and she was alert to Rachel’s movements. “Don’t do that, Dr. Goddard. I like you, and I’m sorry that you’ve involved yourself in this, but I can’t let you talk to anyone.”

The ringtone stopped, and the flame of hope died.

***

Tom stood on the Jones sisters’ back porch, cell phone to his ear, and listened to Rachel’s recorded voice asking him to leave a message. “Where the hell are you?” he said. “I hope you’re not headed over here. Call me back.”

In the yard, the medics moved Winter Jones onto a gurney. She was alive, drifting in and out of consciousness. Spring was dead. Tom and Brandon had searched the house, and now other deputies were searching the property. They had found a stash of rifles and ammunition in the tool shed, but they hadn’t found Summer.

Tom called the animal hospital and spoke to Shannon, the receptionist. “Where’s Rachel? Is she there? She’s not answering her cell phone.”

“Oh, no, she’s not here,” Shannon said. “She picked up her bag and some antibiotics and went out to Jake Hollinger’s house to take care of a sick cat.”

***

Tater had left his bed and waddled over to rub against Rachel’s legs. “Mr. Hollinger thought the cat was sick,” Rachel told Summer. “But he seems to feel better. He’s probably hungry. Maybe I should put down something for—”

“He cared more about that woman’s cat than he cared about my sister. He was an evil man. You know that, don’t you?”

“I know that he hurt your family.”

“I wanted to make him suffer. I wanted him to die slowly and painfully. But he wouldn’t eat anything I brought him. I think he threw all of it in the trash.” Summer seemed outraged that Hollinger hadn’t cooperated in her effort to poison him. Her gaze connected with Rachel’s again. “I didn’t mean to make you sick. I hope you don’t think that was deliberate. That was Winter’s fault. She knew I was angry with her, and she thought she was being so clever, switching the pastries around when I wasn’t looking. I was furious. She had no right to make you sick that way.”

I have got to get out of here
,
Rachel thought.
Summer was coming apart in front of her, and the longer she stood here doing nothing, the more likely the woman was to turn on her. She was casting about desperately for something to say or do when she saw a movement down the hall, ten feet behind Summer.

Jake Hollinger had appeared in a doorway, one side of his face covered in blood from a gash on his forehead. Pressing his back to the wall, he inched forward.

Rachel caught his eye but quickly shifted her gaze before Summer could notice and wonder what she was looking at.
Talk
, Rachel told herself.
Say something.

“You wanted me to take care of the cats. And the rabbits. I promise I will. But your sisters—”

Summer gave a sharp laugh that veered toward hysteria. “They won’t mind. They won’t be here, you see.”

“Oh.” Dear God. What had Summer done to them?

Tater moved away from Rachel, meowing, and hustled past Summer, headed for Jake.

Distracted by the cat’s cries, Summer looked down. “Where is he going?” She turned and saw Jake. “
No!
” she screamed. “You’re supposed to be dead!” She swung the rifle up and aimed it at him.

Rachel sprang forward, threw both arms around Summer from behind and yanked her backward, forcing the gun toward the ceiling. Summer lost her balance a split-second before her finger pressed the trigger. The blast of the shot rang in Rachel’s ears. A light fixture shattered and shards of glass rained down on them.

“Let me go!” Summer bucked and twisted in Rachel’s grasp. Rachel held on, and they tumbled to the floor together. The rifle flew out of Summer’s hands, hit the floor and slid down the hall. Jake scooped it up.

“Get that damned thing out of here,” Rachel yelled at him. She was on top of Summer, fighting to hold the struggling woman down. “Do it! Throw it outside!”

***

Tom heard the shot as he scrambled out of his car in Jake Hollinger’s driveway. The gunfire came from inside the house. He sprinted for the front door, halted when he thought he heard a voice, someone shouting. Rachel? Where? He swung around and ran for the back of the house.

Jake stumbled out the back door, his face bloodied, a rifle in one hand.

Tom drew his pistol and aimed it. “Put it down. Put down the gun.”

“It’s okay.” Jake’s voice wavered, fading to a whisper. “It’s all right.”

He leaned down, laid the rifle on the porch, and kept on going, falling unconscious beside the weapon.

Chapter Forty-four

Two days later, Tom and Rachel stood in Grady and Darla Duncan’s front yard at dusk, Simon between them, to welcome the boy’s grandparents home.

Darla threw her door open before Grady brought the car to a complete stop.

“Grandma!” Simon cried, barreling toward her.

She held her arms wide and Simon flung himself into her embrace.

Rachel blinked back tears, looked at Tom, and saw he was doing the same. Grady slammed his door and smiled across the roof of the car at the boy and his grandmother. “I guess you didn’t miss your old grandpa at all, huh?”

Simon broke away from Darla, charged around the car and hurled himself at Grady.

When Rachel hugged Darla, she felt an answering warmth rather than the awkwardness she expected.

“Listen,” Darla said as they stepped apart. “I want you to hear this too, Tom. I think I’ve got some good news.”

“Oh?” Tom said. “You mean—”

“I had some more tests.” Darla dashed tears from her eyes with an impatient swipe with the back of her hand. “Got that second opinion. That’s why we stayed over. I didn’t want to say anything on the phone the other night because I didn’t want to get anybody’s hopes up. I guess I didn’t want to get
my
hopes up. I figured the news could just as easily be bad as good. But it’s starting to look like I might beat this thing.”

“Oh, Darla.” Rachel hugged her again. “That’s fantastic. That’s incredible.”

“Hey, now.” Darla extricated herself. “You’re going to have to help me with our little shared responsibility there.” She nodded toward Simon. “I’ve still got some chemo ahead, and you know how that wears me out.”

“She thinks I can’t manage this little guy on my own,” Grady said. He kept his arm around Simon’s shoulders and the boy leaned into his grandfather as they joined the rest of the family.

“You spoil him rotten,” Darla said. “Anyway, when I need some peace and quiet, this won’t be any place for a whirling dervish like him. I want him to be where he can run around and make all the noise he wants to.”

“He can stay with us anytime, you know that,” Tom said.

“Of course he can,” Rachel said. “We love having him.”

“Well, all right then.” Darla looked around at all of them. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m hungry.”

“I thought you’d probably want an early dinner,” Rachel said. “It’ll be ready soon. I’m not as good a cook as you are, but it’s edible.”

“Anything I didn’t have to cook is fine with me.”

After the meal, after the apple pie dessert provided by Brandon Connolly’s parents, Simon took Billy Bob into the backyard and the adults moved to the living room with their coffee. Tom lit a fire in the grate, and as the aroma of hickory wood filled the room, the conversation turned at last to the recent events they didn’t want to discuss in front of Simon.

“I can’t believe Packard’s just pulling the plug and getting out,” Grady said.

“They’ve done it before,” Tom said. “They don’t like to admit it, but they’ve given up in a couple of places, where the opposition was so strong they decided it wasn’t worth the fight. And they didn’t want any association with a string of murders.”

“Besides, they could see they’d never get the land they wanted,” Rachel said. “Joanna won’t sell, and now Jake Hollinger’s inheriting Tavia Richardson’s land, and he’s decided not to sell either parcel. I don’t know what Sheila and Ronan Kelly will do, or Winter Jones. All I care about is that Packard decided to look elsewhere.”

“I heard they had a backup plan all along,” Tom said. “Somewhere nearby, I’m not sure where. Maybe some of the Mason County people who want those minimum wage jobs with no benefits will be able to commute.”

They were all silent a moment, then Grady heaved a sigh. “It’s hard to say what the right thing is when people are hurting and can’t find work. But taking Joanna’s land away from her, that wouldn’t be right, not by my measure.”

Rachel couldn’t extinguish the twinge of guilt she felt when she considered all the potential jobs that local people had lost. But neither could she believe that a predatory company like Packard taking over the county’s work force and government would help anyone in the long run.

“Well, that Packard man certainly stirred up a hornet’s nest in the time he was here,” Darla said. “What I can’t get over is Summer Jones. My lord. I always thought she was the sane one in that family. You should’ve seen us in our motel room, listening to the news on the Charlottesville station. Our mouths dropped all the way to the floor when we heard your name, Rachel.”

Oh, good grief.
Rachel hadn’t realized she’d been in the news. “It’s a sad situation. I feel terrible about all of it.”

Grady reached over to pat Rachel’s hand. “We’re just grateful you’re all right. You’re the one that matters to us.”

“Didn’t her sisters know what she was up to?” Darla asked. “She was running around shooting people, and they didn’t do a thing to stop her?”

“I honestly don’t believe they knew until the last day,” Tom told her. “I’ve talked to Winter at the hospital, and she’s still having a hard time believing what happened. She keeps making excuses for Summer. If she ever suspected anything, she must have blocked it out, refused to let herself face it.”

“I think she’s done that with a lot of things in her family’s history,” Rachel said. She knew from her own experience that the need to believe a lie, to preserve the calm surface of a false world, was sometimes strong enough to overwhelm reason and reality. She also knew that self-deception couldn’t last forever. Eventually the truth would shatter the most lovingly constructed fantasy. “I feel sorry for her. I feel sorry for everybody involved.”

***

Rachel thought she was prepared to leave Simon behind with his grandparents, and she was annoyed with herself when his good-bye hug at the door brought hot tears to her eyes. She blinked the tears away before she straightened and allowed the boy to see her face. “We’ll pick you up Saturday morning to go riding, okay?”

“Yeah.” Simon smiled up at Rachel, but he was reaching out for his grandmother, slipping a hand into hers. “It’s been like forever. The horses probably forgot who I am already.”

Tom ruffled Simon’s thick black hair. “Nobody could forget you, pal. You go easy on your grandmother and let her get some rest. We’ll see you in a couple of days. And don’t forget about Thanksgiving next week.”

As they left the house and walked down the driveway with Billy Bob trotting ahead, Tom slipped an arm around Rachel’s waist and pulled her close. She leaned into him, glad of his warmth against the cold night air.

“He still needs us, you know,” Tom said. “He always will.”

“I know.”

“Maybe it’s time we started thinking seriously about…” His voice trailed off as he aimed the electronic key and the SUV’s locks popped open. He hefted the short-legged Billy Bob into the back, then held the passenger door open for Rachel.

When they were both seated with their seat belts in place and the engine running, Tom finally spoke again, without facing her. “I don’t want to pressure you, but maybe it’s time.”

Rachel didn’t answer. She sat and waited for him to look at her. When he did, she knew that in the glow from the dashboard he could see her smiling.

“What?” His own smile spread but still seemed tentative. “You’re okay with it? You’re saying you’re ready?”

Rachel laughed. “I’m saying that you are way behind the curve. I’ve known since yesterday, and I’ve just been waiting for the right time to tell you.” She leaned over and kissed him. “Congratulations, Dad.”