Little does she know, p.9
Little Does She Know, page 9
part #1 of If Only She Knew Series
Darting out the door, I rushed across the lawn to my car, where in the passenger seat of the Gremlin my son was practicing tying his shoes, bottom lip tucked between his teeth. I wiped away a tear, then another, as I realized I had almost become a kidnapper. I was no different than the devil I was fighting against.
“Waiting for a Girl Like You” played on the radio while I hit the accelerator and fled away from this house, running as fast as I could from the monster clawing its way out of me.
Then I prayed that my villainous shadow would finally let me go.
Part 3
The Smoking Gun
Bloodson Bay Police Department
Police Report
Location: Bloodson Bay Park
Date: October 3, 1986
Lead Officer Name: Officer Martina Carillo
Case Status: Closed
Incident Type: Home Break-in
Narrative:
At 5:16 p.m. on Friday, October 3, 1986, Louis Bloodson arrived at the police station regarding a home break-in witnessed by his 7-year-old daughter. The suspect was described as a woman, possibly mid-30s, with red hair. No adults witnessed any evidence of the break-in. No items were stolen from the home.
According to the child, the suspect was holding a gun with a pearl handle. After the suspect fled, the girl screamed for her mother. I cautioned the family to take extra security measures to ensure their safety. Witness description matches Ginger Mallowan, who had a prior altercation with Louis Bloodson, but without identification confirmed and no items stolen, no charges can be filed.
Chapter 14
Tara
My brain felt empty with a dull nothingness as I woke. Though I hadn’t any memory of actually sleeping, so maybe I didn’t so much wake as become cognizant. My arms and legs felt like wet cement, heavy and sticky. And suddenly I remembered everything from last night, and I hated everything.
I hated the sunshine slipping through the blinds. I hated the cool, empty sheets beside me. I hated the teardrops staining my pillowcase. I hated the silence.
I would have done anything to be bothered by Chris’s snoring. Or to smell the pungent sweat on his sheets. I didn’t know why Chris wouldn’t tell me what he was doing outside last night, creeping around. Or why he confessed to the crime. I knew he disliked Benson—anyone who knew the guy loathed him—but enough to kill him? I never would have thought so…until now. Until my husband was acting guilty and refused to say something that would clear his name.
Who did I marry?
The voices of my mother and sister-in-law and Nora carried up the stairs. We were all worried, but right now I didn’t want more drama, and my mother was a drama queen.
I forced myself out of bed, pulled my hair up into a messy mouse-brown bun, and headed downstairs while a headache throbbed in my temple and my foot ached with infection. I winced at the brightness of the living room, shading my eyes from the blinding sun. Nora had learned what had actually happened—with words like murder and killer being tossed around—and she wasn’t coping well. Enveloped in one of her father’s sweatshirts, her head rested on her Grandma Eloise’s lap, my mom’s fingers stroking her blonde hair, while Nora’s feet lay sprawled out across the sofa cushions. Chris’s sister, Peace, sat in a cream armchair catty-corner the sofa.
“Nora, honey, are you okay?” I asked, brushing my lips against her cheek.
She grunted a reply.
“Maybe you could have Keanu come pick you up and get you out of the house for a bit?” I quietly suggested, thinking some time with her boyfriend might do Nora some good.
Although his family was a little too loose with the rules for my taste, Keanu Cutler treated Nora well and seemed like a sweet kid. For a first boyfriend he set the bar high, showing up at all of Nora’s wrestling matches and practices, and spoiling her with gifts and attention. His mom had been watching a lot of Speed and Point Break when she was pregnant with him.
“I broke up with him,” Nora replied.
“Aw, honey, I’m sorry.”
I didn’t know when this new development had happened, or why, but I didn’t want to press. Not now, with her grandmother and aunt listening. I worried about Nora, seeing her like this. Broken, despondent, much like my brother had been before he…snapped and landed in prison followed by rehab. As a teen, it was awful watching him mentally unravel as depression sucked him deeper and deeper into an abyss where no one could reach him. I couldn’t let that happen to my daughter too, a girl who was so much like my brother that it scared me.
“I made coffee, Tara,” my mom screamed when she saw me. Only she didn’t actually scream. Everything sounded like screams during a headache that was escalating into a full-bodied migraine.
“Thanks,” I whispered back, rubbing my temples.
Peace, my nice and quiet sister-in-law, stood up and gently ushered me to sit on the sofa. “Sit, sis. I’ll get you a cup of coffee. Along with some pain pills. Where do you keep your medicine?”
I pointed to the kitchen, in too much pain to speak.
“I’ll show you,” Mom offered, gently lifting Nora’s head up as she slid out from under her to guide Peace to the medicine cabinet.
A couple minutes later Peace returned, tilting toward me offering sympathy and a mug of freshly brewed caffeine—with a splash of caramel creamer; she knew me so well—along with two painkillers.
“How are you holding up?” my mom asked, sitting down next to me.
I shrugged. I wasn’t holding up. Period. I wanted to erase yesterday and press reset. I wanted my husband back, my life back to before yesterday.
“It’s a shame what happened,” she continued.
“Not really, Eloise,” Peace replied.
“Why would you say that?” Mom raised a pencil-thin gray eyebrow.
“Because Benson Mallowan was a piece of garbage.”
“How would you know? Do you know the family?”
Peace sipped her coffee before replying. “I’m close with his ex-wife, Sloane. He was horrible to her. He piled up a ton of debt under her name and destroyed her credit. Then he refused to give her a divorce so that he could continue to leech off of her. He cared only about money, and it showed. Did you know he was trying to sell Ginger’s house out from under her—conveniently after having the deed transferred in his name? To be honest, he got what he deserved.”
Some of this was old news. I remember warning Ginger against assigning him power of attorney last year when he first moved in. According to Benson, Ginger had been slowly forgetting things, acting negligent, mentally deteriorating. I hadn’t seen this forgetful side of her—nothing that we all didn’t do, like losing her car keys or searching for the sunglasses that were on top of her head. Though, I had to admit her recent behaviors were becoming erratic…and borderline dangerous. Venturing out into a severe storm in order to trespass in a condemned beach house wasn’t the most responsible thing to do.
“Just because he’s greedy doesn’t mean he deserved to die,” Nora interjected.
I hadn’t realized she’d been awake…or listening. This wasn’t exactly a teen-appropriate topic of conversation, but then again, neither was murder.
Peace humphed. “I bet Sloane would disagree.”
“Do you think she had something to do with his death? Is she the vengeful type?” Mom loved digging up dirt, even if it got other people’s fingers dirty.
“No way! She’s a scorned wife, maybe, but not a murderer.”
“How did you say you and Sloane knew each other?” Mom probed.
Peace thought for a moment. “Oh, we’ve been friends since high school. We really only became aware of each other in ninth grade when we both liked the same boy—Josh something-or-other. Ironically enough, we started out as archenemies, competing over a stupid guy. Until he ended up not picking either of us, at which point I guess we cried on each other’s shoulders a little. We discovered how much we had in common and ended up best friends.”
“Isn’t Sloane Deaf?” I asked, vaguely remembering meeting her a time or two through Ginger.
“Yeah. She taught me all the swear words in American Sign Language, and I taught her how to ride a horse.”
Peace also taught me how to ride. She and Chris had grown up on a horse rescue farm called the Rockin’ C Ranch, which Peace ended up taking over after their parents died. Once Chris and I married, I joined her at the rescue while Chris took a completely opposite career path. He’d had enough farm work as a kid to last a lifetime. No one actually knew what he did as a data engineer, other than sitting at a computer banging on the keyboard for eight hours a day. Whenever someone would ask, his reply was always, “Different things.”
No matter how much Chris tried to avoid the farm lifestyle, the Rockin’ C Ranch saved our family. The acres of tranquility carried me through my losses. The horses gave Nora a spiritual connection to the natural world, and in caring for the noble beasts, a larger sense of purpose. I’d never forget the day I took her to the kill pen auction for the first time, and the moment she saw Havoc, she pointed to him and declared him hers. She saved him that day and named the Shetland pony (or as Chris called him, the shitland pony) Havoc—befitting a tiny horse with big attitude. Just as Nora saved Havoc, he saved her when she’d been on the receiving end of bullying at school, knowing she’d come home to his total lack of judgement and his unqualified love. If she had her way, we would buy every horse that came through those kill pens…but there were always more, and it broke our hearts.
“Have you talked to Sloane since…” I glanced at Nora, picking my words carefully, “Benson died?”
“I stopped by to check on her this morning before coming here. She was being interviewed by the cops, so I helped interpret until they were done. We didn’t chat long, but she seemed okay. She didn’t have much to say.”
I wondered if Sloane had heard the gruesome details of what happened. Even though Benson was her ex-husband, I imagined she still cared about him on some level and would want to know what befell him. “Do you think I should go visit her to offer my condolences?”
“The way Peace is talking, Sloane might be throwing a party to celebrate…” Mom murmured under her breath. “Honestly, you really should just stay away from that whole Mallowan family.”
“Mom, Ginger’s my best friend.”
“And the only witness to her son’s murder,” Mom retorted. “And the reason your husband is in jail. Honestly, Tara, that woman is toxic. Stay away. Please. If anything, for Chris and Nora’s sake.”
For Chris and Nora’s sake I needed answers, and Ginger was as close as I could get to knowing the truth. What if Ginger told Chris something that made him want to shield her with his silence? There was no way I was willing to discard the closest friend I had, and the only key that could free my husband.
I got up, carrying my half-empty coffee mug, to look for my purse where I had a spare key to Ginger’s house. My head only felt moderately better, but it seemed everything hurt. Biting a flap of skin on my chapped lips ripped open a tiny cracked wound. I rooted through my purse for my ChapStick and swiped some on, noticing my wallet was open. And the pocket that usually held a small stack of bills was empty. When had I last used cash? I hadn’t remembered spending it, but then again, my head was in a bad space where all I wanted to do was forget everything.
Still in my pajamas, I grabbed a fresh kimono from the laundry room to cover up with. The washer lid was up, and I glanced inside, wondering if I had forgotten to dry a wet load of clothes. At the bottom of the tub was one of Chris’s hooded sweatshirts that I didn’t remember throwing in. I picked it up to check the kangaroo pocket, finding the light gray fabric covered with rusty, reddish-brown splotches. Like dried blood. My heart froze in my chest.
Could it have been from when he sliced open his hand last week cutting fence boards for a new section of pasture? Or maybe it wasn’t blood at all. It could have been reddish-brown barn stain from when he installed the new stall doors. I needed it to be barn stain; God, please let it be barn stain.
Closing my eyes, I allowed the memory from last night to surface. Chris had been wearing black when I had bumped into him, and there would have been a huge rip in the front if this was the same shirt. But if he had changed clothes before I found him…
I couldn’t think about this. I couldn’t let my brain take me where it wanted to go—down the rabbit hole of my husband being a killer.
I slammed the washer lid closed and headed to the living room. Telling my mom and Peace I’d be back in a minute, I trudged through the yard to Ginger’s house, kimono flapping, head aching, thoughts racing. Crime scene tape blocked off the front porch, which I ducked under as I pushed open the door. Inside Detective Hughes was milling around taking notes while another officer was taking pictures.
An officer stood inside the entry, blocking me out. I tried to skirt around him like I belonged here, but he shifted and thwarted me again.
“You can let her in, Joe,” Detective Hughes said. “She’s the neighbor. I’m almost done here anyway, and CSI finished earlier this morning.” The detective met me at the door and led me inside. “Mrs. Christie, how are you this morning?”
“Well, my husband’s in jail for a crime he didn’t commit, so I’m not doing too well, if I’m honest.”
“If you’re able to prove he’s innocent, we’re happy to let him go.”
As if it were that easy. “I’m not exactly sure how to do that.”
“Are you saying he didn’t take the knife from the scene of a crime?”
Only too late did I realize I should not be talking to her. At least not without a lawyer present.
“I’m not saying anything,” I recovered. “I’m only here to check on Ginger.”
“She’s not here. This is an active crime scene, so she wasn’t allowed to sleep here last night. But the scene is being released this afternoon, so she’ll be able to come home today.”
“Do you know where she went?”
The detective shrugged. “She told me she has a place to stay.”
I briefly wondered why Ginger hadn’t come to me, her best friend. And if it had anything to do with her parting words to me: I know where the gun is.
“What do you need to talk to her about?” Hughes asked. She didn’t beat around the bush.
“Her son was murdered yesterday. I just want to make sure she’s okay.”
“So you’re close friends then?” Her eyebrow lifted slightly.
“You could say that.”
“Would you come down to the station with me and give a statement? Any details you offer could help your husband, you know.”
But all I could hear in my head was my mother’s warning to stay away. I silenced her voice, following the detective outside as she closed up the house.
I couldn’t sit back and do nothing. If talking to Detective Hughes was my only option to help Chris, I had to take it.
“Fine, I’ll meet you down there,” I finally agreed.
“I’d be happy to drive you there and bring you back.”
“No thanks. I’ll meet you down there,” I repeated firmly. No way was I getting into the back of a police cruiser. I could only imagine the field day the neighbors would have with that sight.
“Very well, Mrs. Christie. See you there.”
“Where are you going?” Mom asked, when I ran inside to grab my car keys.
“Down to the police station. I’ve got to try to get Chris out of there, Mom.”
She grabbed my arm, begging me to stop, but I pulled free and kept marching to my car, determined to save my husband. To prove his innocence.
As I pulled out of the driveway, my mom’s frantic voice rang out shrilly across the yard: “Do not say anything! I’m hiring you a lawyer!”
Chapter 15
Tara
There was one interrogation room at the Bloodson Bay Police Station. Based on the wood paneling and wall-to-wall carpet that was supposed to be green, the aesthetic was stuck somewhere in the 1970s. And the coffee they supposedly offered? I guess that only happens in movies because I wasn’t even given a cup of water.
The wooden chairs desperately needed padding if they were going to force someone to sit here for almost two hours answering questions. I didn’t have enough junk in the trunk to cushion my tush. I shifted to my side, relieving my tailbone…but only slightly. I was beginning to lose focus as Detective Hughes continued grilling me about the knife she’d found in my kitchen, freshly washed and wet, smelling of bleach, with a blade the same size as Benson’s wound.
And of course my mother was a liar—no lawyer was coming to save me.
“We recovered the bullet from the gunshot you heard last night,” the detective was saying. “We found it lodged in the trunk of a magnolia tree on your property line.”
“I guess the killer was a bad shot?”
Detective Hughes’s eyes lifted slowly until they rested on me. It was the dispassionate gaze of a woman used to rooting out the killers from the smartasses.
“Possibly. Or the events didn’t quite happen as your neighbor said they did. It makes me question the positions of the killer and the victim. Based on the trajectory of the bullet and where Benson was standing when he got stabbed, it almost looked like Benson fired the gun in self-defense. But if that were the case, we should have found the gun at the crime scene…”
Her voice trailed off, as if she was expecting me to fill in the blanks for her. When I remained silent, she continued.
“But that’s not the most interesting part of it,” she added.
“Was that supposed to be interesting?” I was trying my best not to be snarky, I really was, but after two hours with no breakfast and only half a cup of coffee sustaining me, and my headache still throbbing, my self-restraint was wearing thin. I just wanted to go home and change out of my kimono, which I was sure had drawn some attention.
