Memory of Murder. Ramona Richards
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Lindsey’s expressions smoothed out as she talked, and she became almost motionless.
In truth, this was the first time in the six months of their friendship that Jeff had been able to study Lindsey so closely. During their nightly rides, he mostly focused on the road as they headed from the diner to the bank, then to the small cottage Lindsey had rented. She had chosen a sweet but unadorned rental within walking distance of the restaurant. She told him the morning walk to work invigorated her, got her mind charged up for the day, but she was more than willing to let him drop her off at night.
They only spent about thirty minutes each day together, but with her schedule, it seemed to be the only time she spent with anyone outside the restaurant. At first, she’d been exhausted and silent. Getting a word out of her had been like pulling teeth. But slowly, she’d shared more of each day’s drama. He got to hear about her employees, their lives, their problems. Customer issues. Supply holdups and new recipes. His responses often made her laugh, and she’d finally softened to him. He knew she was a believer and tried to get her to come to church with him, but she insisted that since Sunday was the only day the restaurant closed, she wanted to be alone, to rest, and read. She referred to it as “keeping the Sabbath,” and it was her time of silence and solitude after six days of being “onstage.”
Lindsey’s rejection of his offer to take her to church had left a distinct but undefined pang in Jeff’s chest—which was when he realized that he was falling for her. For someone who probably wouldn’t return the emotion.
Maybe she couldn’t. That thought stuck in his mind now as he watched her blue eyes focus on some far distance, beyond the recorder, beyond the walls. Her face barely moved, as if she’d been caught up in some long-ago event. He sat straighter, realizing why her behavior seemed familiar. He’d seen it, all too often, in other women....
Clarity of detail, but almost no emotion. Jeff frowned. At the hospital, Lindsey had been animated, as if still pumped on adrenaline. Now she hugged herself and revealed no emotion, almost as if she’d done this dozens of times. Combined with her lack of response to her own injuries, as if getting tossed around and beaten up happened to her frequently, Lindsey suddenly seemed less like an accident victim and more like a battered wife.
Or the battered child she’d been.
Jeff had heard about the abusive childhood the three Presley girls—April, June and Lindsey—had endured and survived. Even though he didn’t know all the details, what he did know made him seethe with rage toward their father. He had abused them all, eventually killing both his wife and son in drunken rages. Is that what you’re remembering now? he silently asked her. Is that what makes you keep a distance from everyone?
An odd image flashed in Jeff’s mind, and he blinked hard. An image of the GTO as it had pulled into the restaurant’s parking lot and ground in a circle to face the exit again. Distance. He blinked again, tying to recall a mere glance at an image his police-trained mind had momentarily locked on.
The tag.
“Distance.”
Ray and Lindsey faced him again. “What?” Ray asked.
Jeff tapped the desk, the image in full bloom in his mind now. “He said he’d driven down from Chicago, but Illinois requires a front license plate. The GTO had a University of Tennessee plate on the front...which would certainly explain the bright orange of the car.”
Lindsey’s eyes widened, and she grabbed his forearm. “And his accent. More Tennessee than Chicago.”
Ray made a note. “So we need to check records for GTOs in Tennessee only.”
“And juvenile records, where we can. This kid’s been in trouble before. No one that age starts by kidnapping a stranger.”
Lindsey tightened her grip on his arm. “And the drugs. He was definitely hyped up on something. Drugs to make him brave and stupid enough to try something like this.”
Ray glanced up at his deputy. “And you don’t think he stole the car.”
Jeff shook his head. “I think the older guy planned this and provided the car.”
“And he’s not happy about the wreck,” Lindsey added.
Jeff stared at her. “Why do you say that?”
Lindsey shivered a bit and pulled back into herself again, crossing her arms over her stomach. “That GTO had been completely restored. You don’t just maintain a car like that. It’s been babied.” She closed her eyes. “He said the kid deserved to die for wrecking it.”
Jeff glanced once at Ray, then reached out and stroked her upper arm with the back of his hand. “You need to go home.”
After a moment, she nodded. “And to the restaurant.”
* * *
Lindsey breathed a sigh of relief to find that the Sheriff’s Department had secured the restaurant. Ray had grabbed the deposit bag at the GTO and tossed it into evidence. He’d return it after they had fingerprinted it. Once again, Lindsey said a prayer of thanks that God had led her to answer her sister’s wedding invitation, bringing her to the amazing small town of Bell’s Springs, Tennessee.
Definitely a God thing. Exhaustion consumed every muscle, and with a sigh Lindsey leaned heavily against the back door of Ray’s cruiser, looking out at the stars. She almost hadn’t answered that invitation, thinking at first it had to be a joke. Their abusive father had kicked April and June out of the house after their mother and brother had died. When he went to prison, neither April nor June were anywhere to be found. Lindsey, just ten and still carrying her detested birth name of July, had felt betrayed and abandoned. She hadn’t spoken to either of her sisters in the fifteen years that followed.
She couldn’t believe that June would contact her after all that time. But a quick search on the internet brought up more information on both sisters than she’d thought possible, including a few details about the horrors they’d survived, and how they had thrived afterwards. April had survived an abusive spouse, and the people in her new hometown had helped her start a home-based business making jams and jellies. June, who had spent years on the street, had lost her first husband and been wrongly accused of murder. Now she ran a grant-writing business and authored a popular blog, June’s Bell County Wanderings, which was an online diary of life in this small town. Curiosity had dissolved into an unexpected longing for family. Lindsey’s anger at her sisters had vanished as she’d learned how difficult their own lives had been, how they’d fought to succeed. That they were both happily married now and living in a great community emboldened her with a hope she hadn’t felt in a long time.
So Lindsey had come to Bell’s Springs to reunite with her sisters, finding, in addition, a home for her own dreams.
“Penny for your thoughts.” Beside her in the backseat, Jeff still watched her closely, his attention warming Lindsey’s spirit.
“It’s a God thing.”
Jeff’s eyebrows arched. “Say again?”
She smiled, suddenly aware of how odd her words must have sounded. “Sorry. Not—” she waved a hand between them, pointing to the bandages they both sported “—this. Tonight.” She circled her hand in the air, then rested it on his arm. “All of it. Me being in Bell County. Finding a place for the restaurant so quickly.”
Jeff looked down at her hand, his words soft as he repeated, “A God thing.”
Puzzled, Lindsey watched him a few moments, then glanced in the rearview mirror at Ray. The sheriff studied his deputy, as well, his brows forming a single line over concerned eyes.
Why would this bother him? Lindsey turned again to Jeff, who clenched one fist, even as he placed the other hand tenderly over hers. Lindsey’s breath caught a second at the gentleness of his touch in contrast to the troubled expression on his face. But no one spoke again until Ray turned into the drive of the cottage she called home. Jeff seemed to shake off whatever troubling thought had seized him as he looked up at Lindsey, a forced smile