Dying to Tell (20 page)

But the hair on the back of her neck prickled as she stepped outside. She pivoted, searching the property, the porch, the hills behind the house.

A second later, her cell phone rang. She checked the number, but didn’t recognize it. Still, it could be someone local—maybe someone who’d known her grandfather and could answer some questions.

“I’m watching you, Sadie,” a low, gruff voice mumbled. “I know what you did. And if you keep asking questions and poking into the past, everyone else will know, too.”

S
adie clutched the phone with a white-knuckled grip. “Who is this?”

The line went dead. She peered around, shivering.

Someone was watching her. She hadn’t just imagined it this time.

And he knew what had happened years ago.

But how?

Her mind swirled as she raced inside the house. She flipped on the light as she entered, shutting the door and leaning against it, as if she could block out the harsh reality of the man’s threat.

The old house moaned as the wind shook the thin walls, the wind chimes outside clanging wildly with the force of the gale. The urge to tear down those chimes and dispose of them hit her.

The events of that night ten years ago bombarded her. She and Papaw and Amelia—no, it was Skid who’d shot Blackwood and helped them drag his body into the back of Papaw’s old pickup truck. Papaw had thrown a tarp on the bed of the truck first to soak up the blood, then another over the body, while Skid had grabbed a shovel and covered up the bloody trail on the ground.

The sound of the truck bouncing over the ruts in the road as Papaw drove to the river churned in her head. She felt sick, in shock, as she watched Skid.

Her sister had retreated into her mind for days after that. Not just a “nowhere” night but a month of them, the alters ping-ponging in and out of her daily life like a carnival freak show. Skid disappeared after they buried Blackwood, but Bessie came in his place—timid, terrified, vulnerable little Bessie, who had cried for her mother.

A mother who was already dead.

Then Viola, with her desperate need for attention from men.

Sadie jerked herself from the memories, her resolve strengthening. If someone had hurt Amelia and killed her parents, she had to know.

And she wouldn’t allow this man’s threats to stop her from looking for the answers.

But what about Jake?

If she kept searching, Jake might learn the truth. Then he would be devastated, and he would hate her.

Amelia would spend the rest of her life in the sanitarium. Which she might anyway.

And Sadie would go to jail.

A sudden sound made Sadie jump. She searched the room, then sighed in relief as she noticed a tree branch scraping the window. Remembering the horses, she raced to Papaw’s closet for his rifle, but it was gone. He must have gotten rid of it after she’d left; probably he didn’t want reminders that Amelia had killed a man with that gun. Or maybe he’d wanted to hide it in case someone looked for evidence some day.

She shuddered, grabbed Papaw’s pistol from the nightstand, tugged on her jacket, then stuffed the gun into a pocket. The storm clouds had robbed the day of any remaining sunlight; night was setting in under a starless sky. The house lights suddenly flickered off, then on, then off again.

She fumbled her way to the laundry room, found a flashlight and carried it with her, then rushed outside. Her nerves on edge. She searched the yard, the woods, and the pasture. It was so dark she could barely see, but she used the flashlight to light a path.

Chance was acting up, racing around the pen, and the other horse, Amos, was pawing the dirt by the edge of the gate as if he were trying to claw his way out. “Shh, fellows,” Sadie said as she inched toward the animal. “Let’s go in the barn where it’ll be warm and dry.”

Amos rose on his back legs with a whinny. She rushed inside the barn, grabbed a rope, and returned. She held up a hand, speaking in a low voice to soothe Amos as she approached, then tossed the rope around his neck. He balked at first, pawing the dirt again and neighing, but she calmed him with soft words and led him into the barn. She put him in the first stall, then returned for Chance.

“Come on, buddy,” she said, cautious as he backed up against the railing. Thunder clapped, lightning zigzagging across the tops of the trees, and Chance reared back again.

“It’s okay, bud, come on.” Using a calming voice, she inched toward him. “Remember me? It’s Sadie. We used to ride together when I lived here.”

Suddenly he dropped his head forward and studied her as if he finally recognized her, then leaned his head into her palm. Tears blurred Sadie’s eyes. Chance had been her best friend when she was younger, her escape from the chaotic, ugly world in her house. When she was upset, she’d ride the trails, the wind blowing her hair off her shoulders, and feel free, at least for a little while.

Chance nudged his nose into her palm and followed her into the barn. She gathered food for the horses, then filled their water buckets.

She patted Chance’s back, remembering all the times she used to hide out here to escape Amelia’s moods and rantings. She’d needed the peace and quiet.

But even then, she’d heard Amelia crying out for her as if she were in the same room. Amelia pleading with Sadie to save her...

Only she’d let her down.

She wouldn’t let her down now.

More determined than ever, she headed back to the house. That box of letters was waiting for her.

Maybe she’d find some answers in Amelia’s pleas for help.

After leaving Sadie, Jake stopped by his office. His deputy was on the phone when he arrived. Jake settled at his own desk and called Judge Horner.

“I need a warrant for some medical records,” Jake said without preamble.

“On what basis?” Judge Horner asked.

Jake explained about the investigation into Walt Nettleton’s and Grace Granger’s deaths, that he was investigating a report of abuse at the sanitarium.

“Accusing a hospital of mistreatment is a serious claim,” the judge said. “Are you sure you want to go down this road?”

“Both Grace’s family and Joe Swoony’s said their children were referred for tests, but their conditions worsened after treatment instead of improving. And all three—Grace, Joe, and Amelia—were treated at the free clinic in town when they were children.”

“So were dozens of other people, but not all of them ended up with mental problems,” Judge Horner said.

Jake crumbled an old message slip in his hand and tossed it into the trash. “True. But Grace Granger was murdered in that hospital. And I want to know who killed her and why.”

“You think it has something to do with the sanitarium?”

“I have reason to look at that possibility. I’d like a look at the clinic’s records, too.”

“It burned down years ago,” Judge Horner said. “Without computers, the files are lost.”

Just as Tynsdale had said. “Then I’ll dig around. Maybe someone in town worked there or knows something.”

“All right, I’ll sign the warrant. But be careful, Jake. These families have suffered enough. Don’t go making more problems for them.”

“I’m not. I just think they deserve to know the truth.” And so did Sadie.

Jake hung up, then strode back to Waterstone’s desk. He was leaning back in his chair with his feet propped up, still on the phone. “Yeah, seven sounds good, baby.”

Jake crossed his arms, and Mike dropped his feet to the floor with a thud. “I’ll see you then.”

Mike’s face was smug, a sure sign Jake’s deputy was going to get lucky tonight.

Sadie’s luscious body floated in Jake’s mind, but he banished it. She was a case, nothing more.

She couldn’t be more. She’d leave as soon as the investigation ended, and he would not pine over her as he had years ago.

Jake snatched the fax as it came in. The phone records he’d requested from the Nettleton house, to verify who had called Sadie about the shooting. Sweet-talking Lula Bell into sending them to him without a warrant had sped the process along. “Did you do rounds today?” Jake asked.

Mike nodded. “Yeah. Going to do another ride through town before dinner.”

“Anything I need to know about?”

Mike shook his head, then Jake filled him in on his request for a warrant. “You and that chick had a thing back in the day, didn’t you?” Mike asked.

Jake’s jaw tightened. “What makes you say that?”

“People in town talk. They say you and her were an item in high school, but then she had enough of her crazy sister and left town.”

Jake didn’t like the fact that the town was talking about his personal life—or to be reminded of that part of his past. “Just stick to business,” he said curtly. “And let me know when those warrants get here.”

His deputy looked curious, but Jake refused to say more. Then he glanced down at the fax, skimming over the numbers. Ms. Lettie’d said that Amelia, or one of the alters, had called Sadie in San Francisco to tell her Amelia was going to shoot her grandfather.

He studied the date and time to verify the call. The call to Sadie had come from the home phone.

The 911 call showed up as well. But as he skimmed the printout, he recognized another number on the list. His deputy’s.

He slammed the printout down onto the desk in front of Mike. “What the hell is this? I wasn’t aware that you knew Amelia Nettleton.”

Mike’s eyes flared with worry. “It’s not what it looks like, Sheriff.”

“Then you know what it looks like,” Jake said tightly. “That you knew her and hid that information.”

Mike vaulted up, his chair banging the wall. “I didn’t mention it because it was a while back.”

Jake didn’t believe him. “There are several recent phone calls between you two.”

Mike paced across the floor. “Look, I’m not proud of it, but this is what happened. One night about a year ago, I met this woman at a bar. She was sexy, hot. She came on to me.”

“Shy Amelia came on to you?” Jake asked, a bad feeling in his gut.

“Trust me, this woman wasn’t shy.” Mike raked a hand through his hair. “She told me her name was Viola. I...we hooked up that night.”

“Viola?”

“That’s what she said,” Mike insisted. “I had no reason not to believe her.”

It was a small town, but Mike was new. It was possible he hadn’t heard about Amelia’s illness.

Jake chewed the inside of his cheek, a memory tickling his consciousness. In high school, Amelia had come on to a couple of the teachers. Sadie said that was her Viola alter.

Amelia was attractive. Hell, she looked just like Sadie.

Except they were nothing alike. He couldn’t imagine Sadie hooking up in a bar.

Then again, what did he know about her now? It had been ten years...

“Go on.”

“I saw her two, maybe three, times after that.” Mike paused in his pacing to face him. “Honest to God, I had no idea who she really was. Then I ran into her in town one day. And this time she looked different.”

“How so?”

“She wasn’t dressed provocatively, not in a miniskirt and tube top like she wore to the bar. She had on a plain dress. No makeup. Hell, her hair was barely combed.”

“What happened then?”

“I spoke to her, but she acted like she didn’t know me, like she’d never even met me. She said her name was Amelia and ran off.” Mike heaved a sigh. “Then someone at the diner gave me an earful, and I realized I had to stay clear of her.”

“When did you last see her?”

“About six months ago. She called me a few times though. As Viola, I mean.” A frown marred his face. “I told her to leave me alone, but she even sent me flowers a time or two. Another time, one of those lacy teddies. It was spooky as shit.”

“She was stalking you?”

“I wouldn’t exactly call it stalking.” Mike shrugged. “But after a while, I threatened to get a restraining order against her. I haven’t heard from her since.”

Jake stewed over Mike’s declaration. Mike was such a ladies’ man, he probably didn’t want anyone knowing that he’d been dating a mentally ill woman.

What if Walt had found out? “Did you know Amelia’s grandfather?”

A muscle ticked in Mike’s jaw. “No. I mean, I’d seen him in town, but we never really met.” He smirked. “Although this is the reason I didn’t mention it. I figured you’d jump to conclusions.” Mike snatched his coat. “And before you ask, no, I didn’t have a run-in with him about Viola.
And
I have an alibi the night the old man was killed.”