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“Yes,” Rachel agreed and noted, once again, her mother never spoke of Ned Gaston by his name. That would probably never change. They tolerated each other . . . barely—standing together at Rachel’s wedding not speaking, avoiding each other at the reception, and, over the years, when they were forced to be in the same room, avoiding conversation, pretending the other didn’t exist.
They acted like polite strangers.
Ridiculous.
“Are you . . . are you going to the cemetery?” Rachel asked.
A pause. “Yes.”
Stupid question. “Want company?”
“You’re going?”
No, I hadn’t thought I was, but . . . “Yeah.” She glanced at the clock and mentally calculated her day, what she needed to get done before she picked up the kids from school. “I’d guess before noon.”
“Maybe I’ll see you then. I’m not sure. I . . . I just don’t know how my day is going to go.”
Rebuffed. Quietly. “Oh. Okay.” Rachel wasn’t going to push it.
The conversation waned, and after promising to visit with the kids “soon,” Melinda ended the call.
Rachel thought about her mother. Tall and slim, with even features, once-vibrant hair she kept shoulder length, and brown eyes that seemed to know too much, Melinda had been a loving mother all those years ago. Back then she always had a quick smile and a wink whenever Rachel had caught her sneaking a cigarette. “Don’t tell Dad,” she’d warned, but had laughed because at that point in time Ned Gaston had been hopelessly in love with her . . . but that had been long ago, before the marriage had cracked and long before her only son had been taken from her, shot dead by—
“Oh, stop it!” Rachel yelled aloud, and Reno, who had settled onto his bed near the back door, gave out a sharp bark. God, what was wrong with her? “Yeah. Sorry.” So now she was apologizing to the dog? God, Rach, you are really losing it. Try to treat today just like so many others, will you?
But as she stared at the coffee stains all over the bills and junk mail, she knew she was kidding herself.
CHAPTER 6
Rachel wasn’t home.
Her car wasn’t parked in the garage and she didn’t answer the door.
Cade didn’t think twice, just pulled his key ring from his pocket, inserted the house key he’d used for years, and stepped through the front door and into the house he’d once called home. “Rachel?” he called, passing through the living area with the attached dining room to the kitchen, where her tablet and cell phone were charging on the table.
No wonder she hadn’t answered.
He tried again. “Rach? It’s me.”
She’d be pissed as hell to find him inside what she considered her turf, the house he’d given her in the divorce. No strings attached. No clause in the decree declaring that she had to sell when the kids were in college, no lien against any equity. Nope. He’d figured she deserved it.
“Rachel? Are you here?”
Obviously not. And yet he felt as if he weren’t alone. He stopped and listened. Nothing. Other than the soft hum of the refrigerator and the whisper of a breeze slipping through a partially open window near the table.
Huh.
The kids were in school and even the dog was missing, along with the car. He started to leave, but paused, glancing at the familiar objects. Her favorite cracked coffee cup now in the sink, the faded message “World’s Best Mom” barely visible. The kids’ artwork from years before, still on display on a bulletin board, the cracked linoleum flooring that she hated and he’d promised to replace in the small kitchen, the dog bed near the door.
He felt a stupid wave of nostalgia. He’d wanted to tell her about Violet himself, and when he’d gotten no response to his calls and text messages he’d stopped by on his way to the station.
Hopefully, she’d return his call when she got home.
But, by then, it would probably be too late.
Reporters had already started gathering at the Sperry house by the time he’d left. The image of Violet’s broken body still hung with him, and his quick interview with Vi’s husband, Leonard, brought him to the same conclusion Kayleigh had come to: innocent. Or up for a damned Academy Award. Leonard Sperry had been a broken man, unable to stop the unending flow of tears and barely able to communicate as he’d sat in the police car. He’d been murmuring, “No, no, no . . . oh, Vi . . . no, no,” and working his hands, alternately glancing out the window and then at the floor of the cruiser.
His story hadn’t altered. He’d been in Bend with friends. Come home early. Found her on the floor, the dogs locked upstairs in the bedroom. He couldn’t think of anyone who would want to harm her or him and, no, he knew she wouldn’t have done something like take her own life by throwing herself over the railing. Leonard seemed to think she must’ve stumbled down the stairway, though, from first glance at the scratched railing, Cade suspected otherwise.
