Calculated Revenge Read online

Something deflated in the woman before him, and the sight cut deep. She sank into a chair. “Why not?”

  “I’m not too proud to admit that I’m washed up as an investigator.” He frowned and studied his desktop, pain surging through him. “Something happened half a dozen years back.”

  “When the news articles about you ceased.”

  “That’d be the time. Look,” he squared his gaze with hers, “I won’t go into detail, but the wheels came off on an investigation and an innocent person died.”

  “Was it your fault?’

  “I ask myself that every day.”

  A wounded laugh bubbled from her throat. “Join the club. I ask myself the same thing about Gracie.”

  Noah leaned his elbows on his desk and studied the woman before him. “Why would her death be your fault?”

  Her gaze fell away. “I was the big sister, the protector. I was supposed to walk Gracie all the way home from school that day. Instead, I went as far as our home block, then I ran off with my friends to play. I figured she could make it the rest of the way by herself. I was wrong.” She lifted her head, cheeks whitewashed. “It was my birthday. I wanted to have some fun, and my fun cost my sister her life. What a selfish little fool!”

  “Aw, Laney.” Noah reached a hand across the desk, though it couldn’t reach far enough to touch her. “You have no idea how many times I’ve heard stories like that from family members looking for someone to blame. Quite often themselves. One moment of common carelessness ends in tragedy, and people can’t forgive themselves for being human. You were just a kid being a kid.”

  Laney’s hard expression shattered, and she sobbed. “I hope…” she hiccupped “…one day…I can believe that.” Tears made twin tracks down her cheeks.

  Blinking away the sting behind his eyes, Noah grabbed a tissue from the box on his credenza. He came around his desk and handed it to her. She took the tissue and scrubbed as if she would wipe away memories.

  “I hope you take those words to heart. They’re true.” Noah laid a hand on her shoulder. “Hard-won truths like that are the best I can offer. Please keep your knowledge about my former business name and occupation to yourself. Investigating is not in me anymore.”

  She stared up at him. “You’re wrong. A gift like that doesn’t just go away. If you can lie to yourself so completely, how can I be sure you’re not telling me a pretty story, too?” She shrugged off his hand, then rose like a grand diva and stalked from the room.

  Noah watched her leave, every thought frozen in his brain. A few moments later, he shook himself. Her statement was ridiculous. He wasn’t lying about being washed up. She didn’t know what she was talking about. How could she? She wasn’t there when it all went down.

  The sound of drawers opening and closing in the outer office signaled that Miss Aggie had arrived. Had she encountered the irate Laney Thompson? Noah stepped into the reception area. One look at his secretary’s face told him what he needed to know.

  “You are going to help that poor girl?” Miss Aggie pronounced.

  “But—”

  “No excuses, young man.” She shook a finger at him and turned away.

  Noah retreated into his sanctuary. What did Miss Aggie know about him? How did she find out? The same way Laney did?

  He plopped down behind his desk and put his head in his hands. Lord, how can I take the chance again? But how could he live with himself if something bad happened to either Laney or Briana because he didn’t get involved? He slumped against his chair and tilted his head back, scrubbing his cheeks with his palms. Then again, how could he survive if he did take the case, and the worst happened anyway?

  The miserable morning passed like an ant crawling across hot coals. Most of those coals were hidden behind Miss Aggie’s silent stares. Near noon, he escaped to help supervise the early recess. Some of the adult workers seemed subdued after yesterday, but if anything, the children were more boisterous and active. Noah kept busy making sure they used the equipment safely and respected each other’s boundaries, but he didn’t forget to push the swings and give rides on the merry-go-round.

  Laughing, Noah drifted toward the fence to take a break and observe the whole playground. A figure in his peripheral vision caught his attention. He turned his head and froze.

  A short, burly man in a business suit stood in a shadowed spot near the fence. Hands fisting and flexing, his gaze devoured one specific cluster of giggling little girls.

  FOUR

  Noah spoke a few words to one of the aides on the playground. She hurried toward the building to call the police. A fast walk took Noah to one of the openings in the fence about fifty feet from the man in the suit. He kept the corner of his eye on the intruder, but was careful not to stare in a way that might draw attention. If this louse was up to no good, the smallest hint that he’d been spotted would send him scuttling away. The man’s focus never wavered from the children. Noah’s lips thinned. Maybe his caution was wasted on the pervert.

  Reaching the street, he circled behind the guy. He needed to catch him by surprise. His pulse thundered in his ears, and the burn on his face didn’t come from the sun. The muscles in his arms and legs tensed like piano wires. Patience. Remember? That’s how it’s done. His fists would rather make pulp out of a sicko like this than hold him for the police, but that’s what he’d do, law-abiding civilian that he was.

  Just a little bit closer. Almost there. His breathing sounded way too loud in his own ears.

  The guy ran a hand across a bald spot on the back of his head and then turned from the fence. His eyes widened to find Noah almost upon him.

  “Hold it! We need to talk,” Noah said.

  The man yelped and whirled away. Noah charged and his fingers closed on the back of the man’s suit jacket. The intruder jerked the smooth fabric out of Noah’s grasp as he took off up the sidewalk at a sprint. Surprisingly quick for his squat stature, he gained a few strides. Then Noah ducked his head and put his own sprint into gear.

  The man darted onto the street, heading for a blue Impala parked and running at the curb a short way up the street. Oh, no, you don’t! Their feet thundered in near unison across the pavement. Noah lunged forward and rammed into the stalker as they reached the rear of the car. The stocky guy was more flab than muscle, and Noah’s shoulder buried itself in the man’s back. Breath exploded from the guy’s gut, and they fell across the rear end of the Chevy. The acrid stench of car exhaust bit Noah’s nostrils as he struggled to control the flailing man.

  “I…didn’t do…anything!” The stalker’s voice came out in hoarse pants.

  “Strangers…staring at…little kids…don’t sit well with me.” Noah finally wrestled the guy to the pavement and clamped his wrists together while he pressed his knee into the small of the man’s back.

  The sudden bleep of a siren announced the arrival of a city black and white that pulled up beside the Impala. Deputy David Carlson climbed out.

  “What have you got here?” The officer hustled toward them, then stopped short. “Eddie Foreman!”

  The man beneath Noah quit wiggling. “You know this guy?” Noah stared up at the deputy.

  “Me and Ed went to school together. He moved to Watertown, South Dakota, about an hour from here, but he’s okay.”

  Noah glared down at his captive. Just because a local police officer was acquainted with the suspect didn’t mean he wasn’t guilty. But the man wasn’t likely to run again with both a cop and a principal breathing down his neck. Noah released Eddie’s arms, stood up and backed away a marginal step.

  The stalker struggled to his feet, huffing, face apple-red. He adjusted his suit jacket. “I told you I wasn’t doing anything.”

  “Now, Ed,” Carlson crossed his arms, “lurking around school yards is frowned upon, even in Cottonwood Grove.”

  Ed’s gaze fell to loafers that had seen better days. “You knew Bonnie and I split?”

  “You don’t say!” The officer’s arms fell to his sides.
/>   Noah stared from one man to the other. What was this? Old home week?

  “Yeah.” Ed lifted his eyes. Sad, all right, just like Briana described. “She got custody of Becca and moved back to the old hometown. I was just—” A soft sob left the man’s barrel chest, and he rubbed a pudgy hand across his face. “I deliver office supplies around here, and then I stop at noon to catch a glimpse of my girl. That’s all.” He sent a glare toward Noah.

  Carlson’s face pinched. “Sure am sorry, but you’d best not be hanging around the school grounds without permission.”

  “I understand.” The other man nodded. “I’ll go now.” He shuffled toward his car door.

  “Hey, wait. You can’t—” Noah started, but the officer lifted a palm. He clamped his lips shut against angry words. This guy was not cleared of anything in his books.

  “Ed, you follow me to the station and give a statement first.” Barnes jerked his head in the direction of the courthouse. “Some folks down there are going to have questions for you.”

  “You mean in case I want to press charges for assault?” Ed sneered toward Noah.

  “You might have a case if I’d done half what I wanted,” Noah said.

  The lurker paled.

  Carlson wagged his head. “Nobody’s going to press charges, unless you can’t give satisfactory answers, Ed. Then it’s you who could be in a world of trouble.”

  Deflated, the man got in his car, and both vehicles drove away. Noah watched them with his hands on his hips. Hank would make sure Ed could account for every minute of his time yesterday. He’d know that there was a reason Becca’s mother got full custody of the little girl.

  Would he turn out to be the slimy rodent who left that backpack on the playground for Laney to find?

  “Every member on the staff is primed to keep an eye on Briana,” Ellen Kline told Laney on Monday outside Briana’s classroom after she dropped her daughter off.

  Gnawing her lower lip, Laney watched through the doorway as Briana took her seat and started laughing and chatting with her neighbor. How could the little girl stay so carefree? But then, did she really want her child to be full of fear?

  Laney let out a breath. “Thanks, Ellen. I know she’s in good hands.”

  “You go and let yourself focus on your students.” Ellen patted Laney’s arm.

  “I’ll give it my best shot.” With a wave toward her friend, she headed for her room.

  En route, she passed Richard Hodge striding in the other direction with a wrench in his hand. His dark gaze brooded on her, and she shivered. No one complained about the man’s work, and he never caused trouble—other than creeping her out with his dark looks.

  She halted and stared at his retreating back. If attitude and opportunity meant anything, he’d be a candidate for the one who left that backpack on the playground. Was she looking at Gracie’s killer? Her stomach twisted. He would have been a teenager at the time, but teens could do awful things. Did an angry adolescent commit a horrible act and grow up into this moody, depressed man? Maybe she should mention the possibility to Noah.

  Where had that thought come from? She marched toward her classroom. Principal Ryder had made it clear he wasn’t taking the case.

  In her room, she began organizing the day’s material, but her thoughts weren’t on her lesson plans. All weekend, she’d worked on forgiving Noah for his refusal to help. Good thing he hadn’t tried to contact her on Saturday or Sunday—the chicken!—or she might have given him a piece of her mind.

  A happy hum of giggles and childish shouts and clattering locker doors carried to Laney’s ears. Town kids trickling in. It was too early for the buses to have arrived. One of her students wandered through her door to collect his morning hug. The child then left for his regular classroom. As much as possible, the special needs children were mainstreamed, and she saw them in groups or singly on a specific schedule each day.

  About fifteen minutes before school was due to start, the noise outside her door increased exponentially. The buses had dumped their loads. She could expect a few more visitors before class went into session. Soon first grader Mathilda Stier, a high-functioning Down’s child, stepped through her door. She barely crept toward Laney’s desk, cradling a shoebox tied with string as if it contained eggs.

  What had she thought to bring her? Her students were always dropping off little gifts. Last week it had been a sparkly rock from Gordon, and the week before that Sheree thought she’d love a goose feather from her family’s farm. Maybe the box really did contain a bird’s nest of eggs.

  “What have you got there, Mattie?” Laney asked.

  The little girl beamed her pleasant, vague smile and held out the box. “For you, Miss Thompson. It’s a pweasant.”

  “Thank you, sweetheart.” She took the offering. It wasn’t light enough to be feathers or heavy enough to be rocks. “I wonder what it could be.”

  Mathilda shrugged her small shoulders. Still smiling, she left.

  Grinning, Laney studied the string. It ran around the short side of the box, then looped on the bottom to come up again the long way and tie in a knot on top. Mathilda hadn’t done this. Velcro was her thing. Her mother must have helped. Laney took her scissors from her desk drawer and snipped the string. She flipped the cover off the box, and her smile iced over.

  She fought for breath, but her lungs thought all the oxygen had been sucked from the room. The glassy gaze of a china doll stared back at her in a mockery of what had once been beauty. A lightning-bolt crack ran from skull to chin, and the delicate features were smeared with something bright red. A lock of blond hair at the temple was clasped in a blue plastic barette. Laney recognized the item.

  Grace had been wearing it the day she disappeared.

  FIVE

  “No, Mattie. You’re not in trouble.” From a seat beside the little girl at a student table in her classroom, Laney patted the child’s pudgy hand. “You did the right thing bringing the box to me.”

  Across the table from them, Noah nodded and smiled for Mathilda’s benefit. His head still reeled from the horrifying object Laney had brought to him minutes ago. They’d left the box and its grisly contents locked in his office while they interviewed the child. The little girl wriggled under their scrutiny. The tension that filled both adults must have transmitted to her.

  He sat forward. “We’d like to know who gave it to you, what the person said, and when and where they gave it to you.”

  The child reddened and her mouth worked like a fish, but nothing came out.

  Laney scrunched her cute nose at him. “Four questions in one.” She returned her attention to her student. “Let’s start with who gave you the box, Mattie. Can you tell us that?”

  The little girl bobbed her head, and shadows dispelled from the full moon face. Noah settled back to watch the master at work. She knew how to handle kids, especially the more challenged ones.

  “Who was it?” Laney prompted.

  “The mailman,” the little girl announced as if sharing the day of the week with simple folks.

  “The mail—” Noah burst out, then stifled himself at Laney’s upraised palm. Don’t get ahead of things here, buddy.

  “What made you think it was the mail carrier?” She leaned closer to the child.

  “The stripey pants. And the shirt was blue, too. That’s what the mailman wears.”

  “Good observation.” Laney smiled at the girl, who grinned back. “Where were you when this mailman gave you the package?”

  “By our mailbox at the end of our driveway.”

  “While you were waiting for the bus?”

  The little head bobbed again.

  “Have you ever seen this particular mailman before?”

  Mathilda nodded, and electric tension coursed through Noah. Maybe they’d get a name, or at least a lead on a specific person.

  “I see the man in the stripey pants every day I’m not in school,” the child said. “’Cept a course on Sunday.”

 
; Noah suppressed a groan. Like most witnesses, Mathilda made an assumption based on a visual association—that all men in blue uniforms with stripes down the legs of the pants are mailmen—and didn’t bother to notice the face above the clothing. Or maybe in Mathilda’s situation, she wasn’t capable of more differentiation. Noah’s palms fisted. This creep sure knew how to play his camouflage. And taking advantage of a mentally handicapped child was scraping the bottom of the barrel. Correction, this guy was scraping the fungus below the barrel—and worse, considering what he’d done to Laney’s sister.

  And might do again.

  If someone didn’t stop him.

  He frowned and crossed his arms. Not going there. Plenty of capable lawmen were on the case. Even Burns had a rep for making good collars. Noah would admit that much. And Hank was top-notch, small town or not. That’s what he’d kept telling himself over the weekend when his hand hovered over the telephone, itching to make a call to Laney. She’d never know how much anguish such self-control cost him when he wanted to wrap her and Briana in a cocoon and carry them away to a safe place. But where was that in this world?

  Laney sent him a long look, as if wondering where his head had gone. He sat up straighter and nodded.

  She turned toward her student. “The postman doesn’t usually come to your place before school, does he?”

  Mathilda gazed down at the table, where her hands rested, stubby fingers flexing. “He said it was a special delivery for my pretty teacher, and he was going to let me give it to you ’cuz I’m special, too.” She lifted her head, and devotion glowed toward Laney from small brown eyes.

  “You are special, Mattie,” Laney affirmed. “Did the man say anything else?”

  The child scratched an ear beneath dark hair. “Only my teacher could open it. And I was real, real careful. Didn’t let nobody else touch the box. Uh-uh!” Mathilda swung her head back and forth.

  “Excellent,” Noah said. At least, if no one handled the container except Mathilda and Laney forensic evidence might be less tainted. “Is there anything else you remember about this man?”