Buch lesen: «Lethal Legacy»

ONE

Trees lined both sides of the gravel drive. Their half-bare limbs framed the old house at its end and lent a spooky edge to the air of abandonment that hung over the property. A branch dangled from an oak, curled leaves barely visible against the moonlit sky.

Andrea Wheaton slowed her Escalade to a crawl. It didn’t help. The long screech against the roof set her teeth on edge and sent a shiver down her spine.

At the end of the drive, she released a sigh as childhood memories bombarded her. The old Wheaton place projected a rustic hominess that had always called to her. It didn’t hold a candle to their place in Atlanta, with its soaring columns and manicured grounds, but she’d always loved it. It had represented freedom, the one place she could let down her guard and simply be Andi.

Now it was hers. Six days later, and she was still reeling from the news.

She retrieved her small suitcase from the back seat and carried it to a porch covered with a three-inch-deep blanket of dead leaves. A swing hung from one end, and two Adirondack rockers sat side by side in the center. Judging from the layer of debris on each, neither the swing nor the rockers had been used for some time.

She laid the bag down and then pulled a wooden key chain from her purse. It was cut into the shape of North Carolina, the word Murphy burned onto its face. For twelve years, the key had lain in the bottom of her jewelry box, untouched. Partly because she’d been busy, first with college, and then with marriage and job responsibilities. Partly because she’d wanted to avoid the neighbors on both sides.

One she’d never cared for. The other she’d cared for too much.

When she slid the key into the lock, it turned without resistance. She frowned. Had her father forgotten to lock the dead bolt? A quick check of the doorknob told her it was unlocked, too.

A wave of uneasiness swept over her, and she shook it off. This wasn’t the city. This was Murphy, North Carolina, where neighbors helped one another out and it wasn’t uncommon to see a car parked in front of the Daily Grind downtown, keys still in the ignition.

She opened the door and swiped the double switch inside. Light flooded the porch and living room. When she stepped over the threshold, a sense of grief cut a wide swath through her heart. This had been her and her father’s retreat, the opportunity for them to escape the incessant demands of her mother.

Less than a week ago, she’d been sitting at the huge table in her aunt and uncle’s lodge near Asheville, enjoying turkey dinner, her parents across from her. Now they were gone. After leaving the lodge, they’d apparently taken a curve too fast and plunged down an embankment to their deaths. Driving fast wasn’t in her dad’s nature. Neither was carelessness.

But neither was moodiness. Or brooding. Or several other behaviors she’d seen over the past months. Lately, her fun-loving father had become someone else entirely.

Something had been bothering him. Now she’d never know what.

After locking the door, she lowered her carry-on and extended the handle. The wheels rumbled against the hardwood floor as she made her way to the first bedroom. It had always been hers. When her grandparents were alive, the second one had been her dad’s. He’d long since taken the master bedroom and reallocated the middle one as an office.

She laid the bag on her bed and transferred the contents to the chest of drawers. She hadn’t brought much. The purpose of the trip was to scout out the place, see how much it had deteriorated over the past twelve years and decide what to do with it.

The decision about the Atlanta place was a no-brainer. As marketing director for a large sporting goods manufacturer, she spent more hours at work than at home. Her two-bedroom condo was plenty of house for her. She’d already contacted a Realtor, and her parents’ seven-thousand-square-foot spread was going on the market next week.

This one was harder to let go. It had been in her dad’s family for three generations. Four, if she counted her own.

After shutting the last drawer, she picked up her toiletry case and headed for the bathroom. As she stepped into the hall, something moved in her peripheral vision. She snapped her gaze in that direction.

A huge man barreled toward her. Except for two eyeholes, a knit mask hid his face. He slammed into her, knocking her hard against the wall. Her head hit the doorjamb. Pain shot through her temple and stars exploded across her vision.

Another figure ran past, this one much smaller. As retreating footsteps grew softer, blackness encroached. She gripped the jamb, willing herself to remain conscious, but strength drained from her limbs. She slid to the floor, landing on her hands and knees.

The front door creaked open but didn’t slam shut. They’d left it ajar. She needed to secure the house. And she needed to call the police. The front door seemed miles away. The bedroom was just across the hall, and her purse was on the bed. If she could crawl there...

She moved her right knee forward, followed by her right hand. The darkness spread, seeping in from all sides. The walls tipped ninety degrees, and the cold floor met her right side.

She lifted one lead-filled arm, trying to grasp the last threads of consciousness.

Her hand fell.

And even that small circle of light faded and disappeared.

* * *

Bryce Caldwell flipped on the cruiser’s right signal and made his turn onto Ranger Road. As he accelerated up the steep incline, his headlights spilled over the tombstones dotting the landscape. The street cut right through Ranger United Methodist’s cemetery.

He rounded a series of curves, following Ranger as it snaked its way upward. His gaze shifted left, the same as it always did. Since night had fallen some time ago, there was nothing to see. But that didn’t stop him from looking. He’d been doing it as long as he could remember.

Many years ago, his reasons had been romantic. Now they were entirely practical. His neighbor spent most of his time in Atlanta and had asked him to keep an eye on the place.

Bryce tapped the brakes. Lights were on at the old house, and a vehicle was parked out front. There wasn’t enough light to identify the make, but it was too large to be Dennis Wheaton’s Mercedes.

He pulled into his own driveway a couple hundred yards down. As he approached his house, a black face nudged aside the vertical blinds hanging at the living room window. Cooper greeted him with a single bark. The dog would have to wait a few minutes longer. Since lights were on next door, the visitor was likely there with Wheaton’s knowledge and permission. But it would take only a few minutes to check.

He turned around and retraced his route. As he crept up the drive next door, his jaw tightened. The front door was wide-open, and no one was outside. He stopped behind the vehicle, a newer Cadillac Escalade, and stepped from the cruiser.

“Hello?”

Silence met his call. He moved past the SUV, and a chilly gust swept through, sending the leaves at his feet into a frantic dance. When he stepped onto the porch, he called again. Still silence. Who would leave the front door open and not be somewhere nearby?

“Hello?” Now he was at the doorway, half in and half out. “Anybody home?”

A moan came from the hallway. His senses shot to full alert, and he drew his weapon. When he stepped into the hall, a woman was working her way onto her hands and knees. Strawberry blond hair had fallen forward to hide her face.

He rushed toward her, still scanning the area. He wasn’t about to let down his guard.

“Are you alone?”

She lifted her head. Blue eyes met his, sending a jolt all the way to his toes. Andi. Years fell away, each one a punch to his gut. She’d left just before he started college, after he’d made the biggest mistake of his life. And she’d managed to stay away for twelve long years.

Her gaze slid from his face, down his uniform and back up again. Instead of recognition, her eyes held confusion. “Did I call? I didn’t think I...” She sat back, one leg curled beneath her, the other in front. “I tried, but...” She fell silent, shaking her head.

He knelt in front of her. “Tell me what happened.”

“Someone was inside, knocked me into the doorjamb.” She pressed a palm to her left temple. “I hit my head.”

Her assailant must have run out the front, leaving the door wide-open. Bryce slid his pistol back into its holster. “He’s probably gone, but we need to call it in.”

The furrows between her brows deepened. “Who are you?”

Bryce Caldwell. It was right on the tip of his tongue. But considering how they’d parted, he’d better save specifics for later. “I’m with Cherokee County, but I’m not on duty. I just happened to be driving by. We’ll get this reported officially. Then you need to go to the hospital and get checked out.”

“I’m fine.” She gripped the bedroom doorjamb and pulled herself to her feet. Even holding on, she swayed. If she thought standing would convince him she didn’t need medical attention, she was sadly mistaken.

“You probably have a concussion. You need to be seen.”

She shook her head. “I’ve got too much to do to spend several hours in a hospital emergency room.”

He frowned. If she let go of that wall, she’d be flat on her face. But it was no use arguing. She’d developed a stubborn streak that hadn’t been there before.

“Let me at least get you to the couch. You need to sit before you fall down.”

When she took the hand he offered, he led her into the living room, where the sofa, love seat and recliner formed a U-shape around a stone fireplace. He and Andi had spent countless winter weekends sitting on that hearth, roasting s’mores.

After he’d seated her on the love seat, he pulled out his phone. One bar. He wasn’t surprised. He always lost service at the bridge shortly before turning onto Ranger, and then didn’t pick it up again until somewhere between the Wheaton property and his own.

Without touching the open door, he stepped onto the porch for a clearer signal. When he introduced himself to the dispatcher, he smiled at the sharp intake of air behind him.

He wasn’t surprised she didn’t recognize him. Even if she hadn’t conked her head, it wouldn’t have been easy. Through his teen years, he’d been tall and lanky and had worn his hair on the long side. Now it could almost be classified as a buzz cut. Though he was still six-two, he’d packed on fifty pounds of muscle since his teenage years.

Once finished with dispatch, he sat on the couch opposite her. “Do you know who accosted you?”

“No. They were both wearing ski masks.”

“Both?”

“After the larger guy hit me, another one ran out behind him.”

He nodded. The confusion she’d displayed earlier had left, and stiffness had settled in, leaving the air thick with tension. Maybe she’d stay long enough for him to try to rebuild some bridges. Probably not. He didn’t even know why she’d come. But it wasn’t important. There were more pressing matters.

Bryce glanced around the room. “Any idea what they were after?”

Nothing appeared disturbed. Of course, the house had never held the usual items that attracted thieves. Other than a telescope that had been top-of-the-line twenty years ago, there wasn’t any equipment, electronic or otherwise. As far as he knew, the Wheatons had never had TVs or computers.

That wasn’t why they came to Murphy. Weekends here were for family time, outdoor activities, hanging with friends. Usually it was just Andi and her dad. Bryce had met Andi’s mother twice and hadn’t been impressed either time. She’d seemed cold and hard. And quite haughty.

Fortunately, Andi took after her father.

She shrugged. “Probably the usual things. Cash, jewelry, anything that can be pawned quickly. Empty houses make easy targets.”

She pushed herself to her feet. When he hurried to help her, she waved away his hand. She seemed steadier than when she’d let him lead her into the room. She also knew who he was.

She moved away from him, arms extended for balance. “I think I walked in on them before they got very far. Nothing’s disturbed here or in my room. I haven’t checked the others.”

He followed her down the hall. “Your dad didn’t come with you?”

The glance she cast over her shoulder was brief, but the pain on her face shot straight to his heart.

“My dad—”

Her words ended in a gasp. She’d stopped at an open doorway and stood staring into the room, mouth agape.

“What is it?” He rushed up next to her and stifled his own gasp.

It was Dennis Wheaton’s office. Someone had trashed it.

Every book had been pulled from the shelves. The empty bookcase lay on top. Desk drawers added to the mess, their contents strewn about, the drawers themselves upside down on the mound. The telescope that had occupied the corner of the room lay on its side. The closet had been ransacked, too. Years’ worth of Christmas decorations lay in a heap, the empty boxes tossed aside.

Andi slumped against the doorjamb, and he resisted the urge to pull her into his arms. Twelve years ago, she’d have appreciated it. Not now.

“This was uncalled for.” She swept one arm toward the mess. “They obviously weren’t happy to find nothing more valuable than an old telescope.”

Bryce frowned. She was probably right. What house in the twenty-first century didn’t have an array of televisions, laptops, iPads and game consoles?

He looked around the office and shook his head. Hobby room would have been a more appropriate name. The space had never held Dennis’s accounting, financial-planning or business books. Instead, the items that littered the floor bore titles such as Astronomy 101, The Elegant Universe and Earth, Space and Beyond, along with numerous art-related books.

Art had been Andi’s passion, astronomy all of theirs. Many nights, her dad had set up the telescope on the back deck, and the three of them had studied the sky. Stargazing had been one of many activities he’d shared with Dennis Wheaton. Andi’s dad was the father he’d never had.

Well, he had a father. Bryce just hadn’t seen him often enough for it to count. On those rare occasions when the old man did pop in, the visits had done more harm than good. If it weren’t for Dennis Wheaton’s influence, Bryce’s life would have taken a different turn.

“I need to call your dad.”

She looked at him, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “You can’t. He was killed in a car accident on Thanksgiving Day.”

His breath whooshed out and he slumped against the wall. A sense of emptiness swept through him, as cold and dark as space itself. “How?”

“I don’t know. He missed a curve and drove off a cliff.”

Bryce slid down the wall until he came to a seated position against it. Dennis Wheaton was gone. He couldn’t be. This had to be a bad dream.

But it was real, just like the woman standing in front of him, looking as broken as he felt.

He shook his head. “That’s why he didn’t come.”

“What?”

Sirens sounded in the distance. The police would be there shortly. He crossed his arms, trying to stave off a sudden chill.

“Your dad was here the Tuesday night before Thanksgiving. The next day, he called and said he wanted to meet with me that weekend. When he didn’t show up, I figured he’d gotten busy.”

Andi righted the desk chair and lowered herself into it. “Did he say why he wanted to meet?”

“Just that he wanted to talk with me. He sounded like a man ready to unload a heavy burden. I asked him if everything was okay. He said, ‘It will be soon.’”

Her eyebrows lifted and her jaw dropped as the color drained from her face.

“Andi?” He rose to put a hand on her shoulder.

“Living with my mother wasn’t easy, but he always seemed to not let her criticism bother him. For the past few months, though, things were different.”

“Different how?”

“Something had been weighing him down. He seemed preoccupied, even depressed. I tried to talk to him, but he kept denying anything was wrong.” She crossed her arms over her stomach. “The signs were there, and I didn’t recognize them.”

“What signs? What are you talking about?”

“Depression, withdrawal. Losing interest in activities he’d always enjoyed, like coming up here.” She lifted her head, and her gaze locked with his. “The comment he made to you—that everything was going to be okay soon. It’s all clear now. I should have seen it.”

Now he knew where her thoughts had gone. And how much sense they made. Maybe Dennis had called him to talk about his struggles, guy-to-guy, not wanting to unload on Andi, then hadn’t been able to hold out any longer. Or maybe he’d gotten involved in something he regretted and wanted to clear his conscience but hadn’t had what it took to face the consequences.

No, not Dennis. He had too much integrity. And he loved life too much.

Andi’s brows drew together, and her eyes filled with pain. “When I add it all together, I’m afraid my dad drove off that mountain intentionally. And he took my mother with him.”