If She Saw. Блейк Пирс
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Pat Sajak was right there in the living room.
“Hey, guys,” Olivia said, looking around the darkened living room. “Thanks so much for helping me with my stuff. Leaving the door cracked open was a—”
It was meant as a joke but when the words hung in her throat, there was nothing funny about it.
Her mother was on the couch. She could have very well been asleep and nothing more than that if it weren’t for all the blood. It was all over her chest and soaked into the couch. There was so much of it that Olivia’s mind couldn’t quite comprehend it at first. Seeing it to the sounds of the clacking of the Wheel of Fortune wheel made it somehow even harder to comprehend.
“Mom…”
Olivia felt as if her heart had stopped. She backed slowly away as the reality of what she was seeing sank in. She felt like a small part of her mind had come unhinged and was floating off into space somewhere.
Another word formed on her tongue—Dad—as she backed slowly away.
But that’s when she saw him. He was right there, on the floor. He was lying just in front of the coffee table and he had just as much blood on him as her mother had. He was lying face down, motionless. But it looked like he was in a crawling position of sorts, as if he had tried to get away. As she took it all in, Olivia saw what looked to be at least six very visible stab wounds in his back.
She suddenly understood why her mother had not answered her text. Her mother was dead. Her father, too.
She felt a scream rising into her throat as she did her best to unlock her legs. She knew that whoever did this might still be here. That thought did it—it brought the scream out, it brought the tears on, and it unlocked her legs.
Olivia dashed out of the house and ran—and ran—and didn’t stop running until her screams finally caught in her throat.
CHAPTER ONE
It was funny how quickly Kate Wise’s attitude had changed. When she had spent a year in retirement, she’d done everything she could to avoid gardening. Gardening, knitting, bridge clubs—and even book clubs—she had avoided like the plague. They had all seemed like cliché things that retired women did.
But a few months back in the FBI saddle had done something to her. She was not so naïve to think that it had reinvented her. No, it had simply reinvigorated her. She had purpose again, a reason to look forward to the next day.
So maybe that’s why she found it okay that she had now resorted to gardening as a pastime. It wasn’t relaxing, as she had thought it would be. If anything, it made her anxious; why put the time and energy into planting something if you were working against the weather to make sure it stayed alive? Still, there was a joy in it—putting something into the ground and seeing the fruits of it over time.
She’d started with flowers—daisies and bougainvilleas at first—and then went on to planting a little veggie garden in the back right corner of her yard. That’s where she was currently mounding dirt over a tomato plant and slowly coming to the realization that she had not had any interest in gardening until she had become a grandmother.
She wondered if it had something to do with the evolution of her nurturing nature. She’d had friends and books tell her that there was something different about being a grandmother—something that a woman never truly tapped into while serving as a mother.
Her daughter, Melissa, had assured her that she had been a good mother. It was an assurance that Kate needed from time to time, given the way she had spent her career. She had admittedly put career over family for far too long and she counted herself lucky that Melissa had not ever resented her for it—except for a period after she had lost her father.
Ah, the one downside to gardening, Kate thought as she got to her feet and dusted off her hands and knees. Thoughts tend to wander. And when that happens, the past starts creeping in, uninvited.
She left the garden, walking across the backyard of her Richmond, Virginia, home and to the back porch. She was careful to kick off her dirt-smeared Keds at the back door. She also dropped her gloves beside them, not wanting to get any dirt in the house. She’d spent the last two days getting the house clean. She was babysitting Michelle, her granddaughter, tonight and even though Melissa wasn’t a neat freak, Kate wanted to have the place sparkling clean. It had been almost thirty years since she’d been in the company of a baby and she didn’t want to take any chances.
She glanced at the clock and frowned. She was expecting company in fifteen minutes. That was yet another negative aspect of gardening: time easily slipped away from you.
She freshened up in the bathroom and then went to the kitchen to put a fresh pot of coffee on. It was about halfway through percolating when the doorbell rang. She answered right away, happy as always to see the two women she had been spending a few hours with at least twice a week over the last year and a half or so.
Jane Patterson stepped through the doorway first, carrying a plate of pastries. They were homemade Danishes and had won the Carytown Cooks contest for two years straight. Clarissa James came in behind her with a large bowl of freshly sliced fruit. They were both dressed in cute outfits that would work either at a brunch at a friend’s house or casual shopping—which was something they both did quite a bit of.
“You’ve been gardening again, haven’t you?” Clarissa asked as they set their food down in the kitchen island.
“How can you tell?” Kate asked.
Clarissa pointed to Kate’s hair, just below the shoulders where it came to a tapered end. Kate reached back and found that she had missed a bit of stray dirt that had somehow ended up in her hair. Clarissa and Jane chuckled at this as Jane took the plastic wrap off of her Danishes.
“Laugh all you want,” Kate said. “You won’t be when those tomato vines are loaded down.”
It was a Friday morning, which automatically made it a good one. The three women situated themselves around Kate’s kitchen island, sitting on barstools and eating their brunch and drinking coffee. And while the company, the food, and the coffee were all good, it was still hard to overlook the missing piece.
Debbie Meade was no longer a part of the group. After her daughter had died, one of three victims of a killer Kate had taken down in the end, Debbie and her husband, Jim, had moved. They were living somewhere out near the beach in North Carolina. Debbie would send pictures of the coast from time to time, just to jokingly rub it in. They had been living there for two months now and seemed to be happy—to be moving on from the tragedy.
The conversation was mostly light and pleasant. Jane talked about how her husband was eyeing retirement next year and had already started planning to write a book. Clarissa shared news about both of her kids, now in their mid-twenties, and how they’d both recently received promotions.
“Speaking of kids,” Clarissa said, “how is Melissa doing? She loving motherhood?”
“Oh yes,” Kate said. “She’s absolutely insane about her little baby girl. A little baby girl that I will be babysitting tonight, in fact.”
“First time?” Jane asked.
“Yes. It’s the first time Melissa and Terry are going somewhere without the baby. Like an actual overnight thing.”
“Has Grandma Mode kicked in yet?” Clarissa asked.
“I don’t know,” Kate said with a smile. “I guess we’ll find out tonight.”
“You know,” Jane said, “you could go back in time and babysit like I used to in high school. I’d bring my boyfriend over with me and as soon as the kids went to bed…”
“That’s pretty disturbing,” Kate said.
“Do you think Allen would be up for it, though?” Clarissa asked.
“I don’t know,” Kate answered, trying to imagine Allen with a baby. They had been dating seriously ever since Kate and her new partner, DeMarco, had wrapped the serial case right here in Richmond—the same case that had taken Debbie Meade’s