The keeping place, p.25
The Keeping Place, page 25
“Twelve.” It suddenly felt very young. Her mom would be furious if she found out. And Nic. Why had she ever left the dumb party? She should have just gone back and slugged Marshall a good one. “My name’s Janie Seabrooke.”
“Glory Larkin’s daughter?”
Everyone knew her mom. She nodded with a sniffle, dragging grubby fingers under her nose. She wanted a hot bath, then nothing more but to crawl into bed, tucked safe and secure at home.
“I’m Trace Dalton,” the man said.
Now she knew why he seemed familiar. She’d seen him around town. He even came to her mom’s restaurant sometimes. He was going to college to be a doctor, and his dad was the news anchor at Channel 72. She couldn’t recall ever talking to him, but for some reason she recognized his voice.
“I can’t just leave you out here.” Trace stood, looking down on her. “I’m glad you’re okay. Let me give you a lift home.”
Home sounded wonderful. “Thanks.”
He helped her up, waited while she dusted herself off, then stayed glued to her side until she climbed into the car. She buckled herself in, watching as he darted around the hood to slide into place behind the steering wheel.
With the interior lights on, she could see him better. The quick flash of his smile, the animated warmth of his eyes. Gratitude swept through her. A few more minutes and she’d be home, able to put the horrible night behind her.
“What kind of party were you at?” Trace closed the door, plunging the car into charcoal.
“The senior party.”
He barked a laugh, looking at her askance. “Aren’t you a little young?”
“My sister took me. She was supposed to stay home with me, but the party was more important. I didn’t want to go.”
“Why didn’t you ask her to take you home?”
Because she’d reacted stupidly. And because Nic wouldn’t want to leave Vin and her friends.
She shrugged.
“Do you have a cellphone? Does your sister know where you are?”
“I left my phone at the party.” A dumb mistake. She could have called her mom. Would probably have to now, except she didn’t want to get Nic in trouble.
“You can use mine if you want.”
She shook her head, needing time to think about what she’d say. “I’ll call Nicole when I get home.”
Trace didn’t ask where she lived. Everyone in Hornwood knew the Larkin house, even as they respected her mom’s privacy. Hollywood B royalty in the backyard her mom would say when making fun of herself.
Janie was beginning to calm down, her muscles loosening under the smooth ride of the car. With a little effort, she could sink into the buttery leather of the seat. Adrenalin spent, it would be so easy to close her eyes and drift. Instead, she forced herself to remain alert and glanced around. When the road widened with streetlights appearing at semi-regular intervals, she was able to pick out familiar landmarks. They weren’t far from the cemetery.
She hid a yawn behind her hand.
“Tired?”
She nodded. “I’m really glad you found me.”
What would she have done without his help? She’d been foolish to think she could walk home. The distance was too far, the night too dark now that the sun had set. She crossed her ankles, tucking her legs under the seat. Her sneaker connected with something on the floor. Without thought, she bent forward, feeling around with her hand.
“What are you doing?” Trace asked.
“I felt something under the seat.” Her fingers closed over a small item, cool to the touch. “I’ve got it. You must have dropped—” The glow from a passing streetlamp illuminated the object in her hand, forcing the air from her lungs in a hard burst. “This was Lila’s.”
“What?” Trace shot her a startled glance. His eyes rounded in alarm. “What are you talking about?”
“This bracelet.” Janie shook it for emphasis. There was no mistaking the distinctive script—A foot in the past. Cold rooted in her gut and leeched upward into her chest. Her breath bloomed harder, faster. “Why do you have it?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The denial came quickly, but there was panic in his eyes, the friendly smile replaced by a tight-lipped grimace.
She suddenly understood why his voice sounded familiar, a voice she’d heard before. “You’re Tad!” He was the darkness, the thing she lived in fear of. “You’re the father of her baby. I heard the two of you at the Boone Rail shack. Did you kill her?”
He hit the brakes. “Kill her? That was you hiding?”
Fear ballooned in her stomach. Blindly, she groped for the doorhandle.
“Janie, wait!”
She popped the door a second before he threw the main lock in an attempt to seal her inside. Sweat-slick momentum sent her sprawling to her knees on the asphalt. The instant her hands touched the ground, she propelled herself forward, bolting toward the cemetery. The tombstones offered a place to hide if she couldn’t outrun him. Already, his footsteps pounded behind her, the grate of his voice carried on the night air as he called her name. Pleas for her to stop, that he could explain everything if she’d only give him the chance, grew angrier as she broadened the distance between them.
Deep in the cemetery, she spun, desperate to get her bearings. He’d stopped calling.
She couldn’t hear his footfalls any longer. But the rasp of her breath was so loud, it drowned the summer whisper of night noises and insect chatter. Even the tree leaves stood motionless, the lack of breeze leaving drops of perspiration sticky on her face. Hugging her arms to her chest, she glanced from side to side, the tombstones bulky obstructions in the darkness.
It wasn’t the dead she feared.
Tentatively, she threaded her way through the graves, instinct leading her to the Larkin plot. It represented safety, a tie to her family, even if no one was there in the corporeal sense. The angel would watch over her. She’d be safe, curled under its wings.
“Janie.” A hand clamped onto her shoulder.
She screamed, tried to jerk away. Rough fingers closed over her mouth and nose. Her eyes bulged as she stared up into Tad’s face.
Not Trace.
Not the friendly college student, but the man who’d argued with Lila at the rail shack. The man who’d probably killed her.
She kicked, wriggling in his arms.
“Stop fighting. Let me explain.”
She stomped on his foot, bit down on his hand.
“Ow! Damn it!”
He struck her across the cheek, the blow powerful enough to send her reeling backward. Her shoes tangled together, and she tripped. Off balance, she windmilled her arms, the horror on his face speaking volumes.
“No!” He tried to catch her, his fingers grasping claws.
Her feet slipped from under her, and her back struck the ground with enough force to make her gasp. But it was the crack of her skull against the marble angel that robbed her of breath and plunged her into permanent darkness.
Chapter 23
“You see?” Trace was in Nicole’s face, lips drawn back in a snarl. “If your sister hadn’t run, she’d still be alive. She fell and hit her head.”
Nicole tried to twist free. “After you struck her. You killed her then dumped her in the Boone Rail shack.”
“I told you it was an accident.” He shoved her into the booth, again blocking her escape. Somewhere outside, a horn blared. If she screamed, would anyone hear? She bit her lip, desperate for a way free. If only Vin would call her cell. If he texted and she didn’t answer, would he think something was wrong? She had to bide time, keep Trace talking until she could flee.
“Why did you leave my sister in that awful place?”
“I had to get rid of her body.” He raked a hand through his hair. Paced a short distance but returned immediately, crowding her before she could move an inch. “It all happened so close together. Lila, then Janie. I didn’t know what to do. You have to understand, I’m not a killer. I never wanted to be a killer, but Lila…” He webbed a hand over his face and blew out a breath.
“I was already in too deep. I could have left Janie in the cemetery and driven away, but I knew there’d be an investigation. Glory Larkin’s daughter? Hell, Drem County would have been all over that, the publicity horrendous. I couldn’t risk anything tracing back to me, so I put your sister in the trunk. I drove home and dumped the whole mess on my mom. My dad was the hard ass in the family. Do what’s right, make something of yourself, be responsible—all that garbage. But my mom was the fixer. She’d do anything to protect me and the Dalton name, so I told her about Lila and what I’d done. About Janie.”
“Your mother?” Shock robbed Nicole of breath. Stole what little warmth remained and left her shivering in disbelief. She’d always considered Cora Dalton a woman of principles. Had felt nothing but sympathy for her at the loss of her husband. Now, the only emotion she could muster was revulsion.
“My mother was the one who came up with the idea of burying Janie in the Boone Rail shack.” Trace sounded proud. “All that junk and garbage people dumped there over the years. No one would ever find her.”
Nicole gritted her teeth. “My sister was not junk, you bastard.”
“Mom helped me.” He ignored her comment. “We buried Janie together. My dad never knew a thing. Never would have if he hadn’t found that damn bracelet.”
A foot in the past.
“Lila’s bracelet.”
“It must have slipped from her wrist when we struggled in the car. I didn’t know until Janie found it. Afterward, I kept it.”
Nicole fought the urge to vomit. “A souvenir.”
“A memory.” He scratched the back of his neck. “When Janie’s body turned up with a matching bracelet, I was curious and dug it out. Dad caught me with it, and everything snowballed. He wouldn’t leave it alone—why did I have a bracelet with an inscription like Janie’s… where did I get it… who did it belong to? He kept pushing. Damn arrogant, like always.
“But I wasn’t a kid anymore. I was a respected doctor while Lila Walsh was a forgotten footnote. A wannabe actress whose only claim to fame was hanging herself from the Hornwood Oak. And Janie?” He shrugged. “I told him everything. Why not? He couldn’t do a damn thing. Not without incriminating my mom and disgracing himself. It felt good to gloat, but he took that stupid bracelet and clung to it like it could absolve him of sin.”
Nicole’s head was spinning. How could anyone behave so heinously? Take pleasure in the misery and deaths he’d caused? Hayden Dalton had been a good man. She’d never think otherwise, but clearly Trace hated him.
“You told Hayden your mom helped get rid of my sister’s body?”
“I did.” Said with no remorse. “Things got ugly between them, but Mom and I both knew he’d never do anything to tarnish his reputation.” He frowned, visibly puzzling for a moment. “I never thought he’d spiral into depression and kill himself on live TV.”
If she was going to run, she needed to do it while he was mired in thought. Tension wired her body for flight. “Ironic, isn’t it?”
“What?”
“How many deaths resulted from your decision to abandon Lila. You even killed your father. Probably does you proud since you must have hated him.”
His hand flashed like a striking serpent, the sudden sting of his palm jerking her head back. Nicole crumpled with a cry, thrown against the seat. Through a haze, she heard her cellphone erupt in a police siren ringtone. One she’d reserved especially for—
Vin!
Cursing, Trace wrenched the device from his pocket and flung it across the room. Nicole snatched the wine bottle, shoving the table aside with her hip as he pivoted toward her. He lurched to grab her, but she twisted clear, swinging wildly. The bottle clipped his head, splitting skin on his forehead, dropping him to his knees.
“Bitch!” He pawed the cut, fingers coming away stained with blood. “You’ll pay for that.”
She scrambled for the door, slipping on spilled wine. One step behind, Trace clawed upright.
Nicole scooped up the phone, blindly jabbing buttons for redial. Before she could draw a breath, Trace tackled her, sending them both crashing to the ground. Fear exploded from her lungs in a terrified scream—a single ear-splitting wail cut abruptly short when his fist connected with her head. Pain ricocheted down her neck, igniting a clatter in her ears.
Get up!
Janie’s voice, pleading with her. Begging her.
The room reeled like a merry-go-round. She climbed to her hands and knees, pain rimming her vision with fuzz.
“You’re going to have an accident.” Trace fisted a hand in her hair, hauled her to her feet. Before she could scream again, he gripped her in a chokehold. “In the kitchen. Something with a knife.”
He threw her across the room. She slid like a ragdoll, smashing bodily into the bar. Pain exploded in her shoulder, robbing her of breath save for a whimper. Ears ringing, she heaved upright. “You… can’t… kill me. Vin… Jude… will find you.”
It was hard to talk, each word igniting a stab below her ribs.
“I don’t think so. See, I found you.” Trace walked closer, predator and practiced killer. He wiped blood from his brow, unfazed by the damage she’d done. “We agreed to meet for a sandwich. You even had dinner ready for us.” He waved to their abandoned food. “But someone got here before me. Tried to rob the place. Probably some tourist. There are so many, anyone could have done it. I was shocked to find you, bloodied and dead.”
With every word, he herded her toward the kitchen where he intended to finish the job. In no time she’d clear the bar, eliminating the barrier between them.
“You won’t be able to explain that cut on your head.”
“I surprised the robber. He blindsided me on the way out.”
Growing frantic, Nicole cast about for a weapon. Several rows of wine glasses hung in slotted racks above the bar. “It’s not that easy. Willard—”
“Willard’s a drunk. When it comes to that garbage about Tad, it’s my word against his. Who do you think people are going to believe?” A few more steps then he’d have her. “Don’t fight me and I’ll make it quick. You won’t have to suffer. Janie didn’t suffer.”
The mention of her sister—the thought of Janie dying so needlessly because of his selfishness—ripped a wail from Nicole. Time abandoned her. All that remained was raw pain, bound up with punishing regret. If she died, she would fail to bring her sister’s killer to justice.
“You’re not getting away with this.” She ripped a glass free of its cradle. Trace was still putting two and two together when she hurled it at his face. He ducked to the side, those precious few seconds allowing her to launch another. But he was too fast. Even injured, he dodged both missiles.
“Give up, Nicole. There’s nowhere to go.” He bolted toward her. Desperate, she heaved a table between them. Spun then tried to throw a chair.
But she was wobbly, and he was fueled by anger.
His fingers latched onto her shirt, an almost-hold before she ripped free. Off balance, she careened into the rear wall, back and shoulders slamming into the black and white stills from Fifth Street Sundown.
“Enough of this shit!” Spittle flew from Trace’s mouth.
Nicole jerked the closest photo from the wall. Swung it like a bat with every ounce of strength she could muster, praying her aim was true. Glass shattered in a hail of deadly projectiles over Trace’s head and face.
He snarled something unintelligible, fingers curled into claws. “My eyes! You fucking bitch!” He clutched his face. “My God, my eyes!”
Nicole bolted past, striking a beeline for the door. Fresh air hit her as she stumbled onto the sidewalk, into a summer-scented evening, and the blessed noise of traffic. A group of pedestrians turned to gape with shocked expressions. Somewhere off to the side, a woman screamed. Head spinning, vision fading, Nicole felt her legs start to buckle.
“Miss. Miss! Are you all right?” A man caught her before she could crumple to the sidewalk. He led her to a bench where she sagged like dead weight.
She tried to force words that had clotted in her throat. Warn him a killer lingered inside. Beg him to call the police. But before she could form the first syllable, the wail of a siren announced the arrival of Vin and Jude in a Hornwood patrol car.
Nicole watched as her mother drifted from table to table. Glory’s laughter carried now and again as she paused to chat with friends and fans. Filled to capacity for Movie Night, the restaurant had been transformed to resemble the casino in Fifth Street Sundown. Glory looked stunning in her Nina Maxwell attire, platinum hair tumbling around her shoulders, her shapely legs and small waist the envy of many women there.
The movie flickered in a continual loop, projected on a large screen, while waitstaff bustled about delivering drink orders and the first course of the night—shrimp cocktail served in a shot glass, along with crackers and a flavorful cheese spread shaped into dice. Servers wore black pants and vests with crisp white shirts and black bow ties, the men sporting slicked-back hair with a top quaff. Many of the paying guests dressed in 1940s attire, some of the women having taken the time to style their hair in tight curls or victory rolls.
Nicole had done what she could, borrowing one of her mother’s dresses then sweeping her long hair back with a ribbon and curling the ends. If she weren’t sore, she might have managed more, but after being thrown around by Trace, her muscles were stiff. A trip to the Hornwood clinic last evening assured she hadn’t received a concussion or broken ribs. Her mother had wanted her to stay home and rest, but Nicole had no intention of missing Movie Night.
She occupied a corner barstool, sipping a pink lady, alternately chatting with Chelsea and Kevin. From the corner of her eye, she spied Vin.
In uniform and on duty, he spent most of his time in or about Glory’s Place, assuring nothing got out of hand. She’d chatted with him earlier, all too conscious of his concern for her last night. He’d done his best to keep a leash on his anger when he hauled Trace from the restaurant. But there was no question his temper boiled, and he would have liked nothing more than to drive his fist into the doctor’s face. Later, Vin explained she’d somehow managed to hit redial during her struggle with Trace. He’d heard her scream, a sound that launched him and Jude into a mad dash for Glory’s Place.
