Doing It Over
Page 88

They both turned to look at the tarp where underneath, Nathan lay.
“And when there is no more to take, and Nathan starts running scared . . . who will be the person ratted out?”
“Lewis.”
Jo pointed two fingers in Burton’s direction. “With Nathan dead, that leaves only one person who can positively identify the man and his actions.”
“Hope.”
Jo twisted around in the middle of the street before sprinting toward her car.
Burton jumped into the passenger seat and tossed the umbrella on the side of the road.
“This is a patient man, chances of him doing anything tonight are slim.”
Jo turned on her lights, filled the night air with sirens. “I’m not taking any chances.”
Melanie shot out of bed with the first pounding on the door.
She slammed her hand against the side of the bed to find the light switch, and clicked it several times before remembering that the power had gone out hours before. From the sound of the rain outside, it wasn’t back on.
Footsteps in the hall accompanied Wyatt’s voice. “I think it’s Jo. Her squad car is in the drive with the lights on.” He kept his voice low to avoid waking Hope. Or more importantly, the tiny, four-legged barking machine that had finally stopped yipping a couple of hours before. Between the events of the day, the rain, the power outage, and the new addition to the family, Melanie wasn’t going far from Hope’s room.
Sure enough, Jo pounded on the front door one too many times and Sir Knight started to bark from inside Hope’s closed door.
Melanie tossed on a bathrobe and checked Hope’s room.
On the bed, Sir Knight took up residence. Already the room started to smell like wet puppy.
“What is it, Mommy?”
“I don’t know, honey. Auntie Jo is here. Just go back to sleep.”
Sir Knight barked.
“You, too.”
Hope placed her unbroken arm on the dog and quieted him down.
Miss Gina met Melanie in the hall with a flashlight. “What’s all the fuss?”
They both walked down the front stairway to find Jo and Agent Burton saturated and talking with Wyatt.
When Melanie and Miss Gina joined them, they went silent. “What is it?”
Jo glanced up the stairs. “Is Hope okay?”
“Attempting to sleep with a puppy pouncing on her.”
There was relief in Jo’s stance.
“Let’s go sit down.”
That was never good. “Jo? Cut the crap, what’s going on?”
“It’s Nathan, Mel . . . we, ah, we found his car off the side of the road.”
Melanie knew she was half-asleep, but it was the next words from Jo’s mouth that woke Mel up.
“He’s dead, Mel.”
She placed a hand over her mouth. “Oh, God.” Her stomach lurched and her head started to spin. “I need to sit down.”
Wyatt was there, his arm around her waist as they all moved into the sitting room.
Miss Gina moved around and twisted on a couple of vintage oil lights.
Dead? She felt herself start to rock. Guilt for wishing he’d just jump off a cliff started to wiggle inside with the thought of him gone. Her eyes started to swell with emotion. Much as she disliked the man, hated him even, death wasn’t really an option. “You’re sure it was him?”
Jo cringed. “I saw him.”
A numbness rolled over her, the reality that her daughter would now grow up without her father sank in.
“There will be a lengthy investigation,” Agent Burton told her. “We need to rule out suicide.”
Melanie shook her pounding head. “He wouldn’t have had the stomach for that.”
“Told you,” Jo said to the agent.
“So it was an accident?” Miss Gina asked.
When Jo and Agent Burton didn’t respond quickly, the three of them stared.
“If not an accident, then . . .”
Rain started to pour outside, giving the silent room a level of background noise that hummed.
“We need to rule out homicide, too.”
It took a few minutes for Jo and Agent Burton to explain their theory, and their haste to return to the inn that night to make sure everything was all right.
“If what you say is true, you think Lewis is still close by.”
“We have to assume he is.”
The room lit with a splash of light, and a few seconds later shook with the sound of thunder.
Sir Knight protested from Hope’s room upstairs.
Ruther watched as the sheriff and the Fed walked into the house.
Picking the lock on the back door was elementary level breaking and entering. Old houses like this littered the countryside where he grew up, making his ease of entry absolute. It helped that as a guest at the inn, posing as Patrick Lewis, he’d practiced picking the lock to ensure his entry at a later time.
The back route to the upper floors invited him. Voices from the parlor indicated the players he expected. When he heard his alias, he stopped and listened. He heard Lewis, and homicide. His palms itched. Getting rid of Stone had the blood in his veins pounding. The image of a tiny blonde with perfect skin and innocent eyes blurred his vision and had him standing on the back stairs of the inn.
He took the stairs slowly, even though the rain drowned out the squeaky steps.
The closer he moved toward the room, the more he felt alive.
Outside her bedroom door, Ruther took a deep breath.
When lightning hit, he opened it quickly as thunder shook the house.
The sight and sound of a dog stripped the smile from his face.
When the barking didn’t stop, Wyatt stood to check on the puppy. “I’ll be right back.”