Bleeding Through: A Rachel Goddard Mystery (Rachel Goddard Mysteries) Read online

  He grinned. “Another Dr. Goddard, huh? You a vet too?”

  “Good heavens, no.” Michelle’s little laugh sounded both forced and condescending.

  Rachel stifled her irritation. She knew her sister very well. She had no right to be surprised by Michelle’s haughtiness toward a mere locksmith or by the implied disdain of Rachel’s own profession. “She’s a psychologist.”

  “Oh. Hey, that’s interesting. So you—”

  “Thank you for coming over,” Rachel broke in. “Should I pay you now or wait for your parents to come back and bill me?”

  “Aw, forget about it. I didn’t do anything but look around. But you know, if you want more security, I can install an alarm system for you.” Jordan’s face was alert with the hope of more business.

  “Thank you, but I don’t think we need that.” Who would be around to hear it anyway? Downtown Mountainview went dead after nine o’clock at night. Rachel would not surrender to paranoia, and she didn’t want to communicate her anxiety to Michelle. Maybe there really was a simple explanation for what had happened to the frames on her office wall. Maybe it was just a coincidence.

  As Jordan Gale Jr. walked off toward his truck, Michelle said, “You’re afraid the stalker’s going to come after me, aren’t you? Just by being here, I’m putting you at risk, and your business—”

  “Don’t talk that way. Don’t think that way. I’m just being cautious.” Was she wrong to try to lull her sister into feeling safe here? Was Michelle as vulnerable here as she’d been at home? Whatever the situation might be, Rachel couldn’t deal with it now. “I have a patient waiting. Please try to stop worrying, okay?”

  ***

  Rachel was in an exam room finishing up an appointment with a tiny Maltese-and-who-knew-what-else named Max, but she was aware of Ben’s arrival as soon as he showed up at the clinic. Through the window in the door, she saw white-coated staff and clients with dogs and cat carriers hustling along the hallway to the front lobby.

  Holly popped her head in and exclaimed, “Ben Hern’s here!” as if announcing the sudden appearance of Prince William and Kate. Then she was off with the others.

  “The artist who draws the comic strip?” asked Mrs. Rose, Max’s owner. She scooped up the little dog. “I’m dying to meet him. I still can’t believe he actually lives here. Would you introduce me to him?”

  “Sure. We’re finished anyway.” Ben had come to Mason County to live a quiet, anonymous life, but as the only celebrity in a rural mountain community, he attracted attention everywhere he went. “Come with me.”

  Ben held court by the front desk, having effectively brought the whole place to a standstill. Shannon, the receptionist, regarded him with dreamy eyes. Holly flushed with pleasure at having Ben’s arm around her shoulders, marking her as a friend. The other vets, along with their clients, peppered Ben with questions about Hamilton and Sebastian, his Maine coon cat and dachshund, whose fantasy lives he chronicled in the wildly popular syndicated comic strip Furballs. Michelle looked on with a smile. Ben’s arrival, Rachel was happy to see, had done wonders for Michelle’s mood.

  Rachel introduced Mrs. Rose as promised, but Ben focused on the dog rather than the owner. Although he was friendly and polite with people, almost any animal interested him more than humans did. In that way he was a lot like Rachel.

  “This is Maximilian,” Mrs. Rose said.

  “Hey, little guy, that name’s longer than you are,” Ben told the dog, scratching its head. “You’re more like a maximillionth.”

  Everybody laughed. Rachel rolled her eyes.

  “Sorry to break this up, folks,” she said, “but my sister and I have a lunch date with this gentleman, so we’re going to take him away from you now.”

  With parting words and smiles, the crowd around Ben started drifting away. Only Holly remained, standing awkwardly at the edge of their little group.

  “Holly,” Michelle said, lightly touching her arm, “would you join us? You and I should get to know each other better.”

  Holly beamed. “Oh, I’d love to! Thanks for asking me.”

  That’s my sister, Rachel thought. You never knew whether you were going to get a prima donna or sweetness itself. Then she realized Michelle probably had another motive for inviting Holly. With her along, they could get through the meal without talking about the stalker.

  Rachel took a minute to give Mrs. Rose’s bill to Shannon, then stashed her white coat in her office and grabbed her shoulderbag. As she rejoined the others at the front desk, the main door opened and Detective Nate Fagan walked in.

  He spotted Rachel a few feet away and headed toward her. She took a step back. What the hell was he doing here? How could he dare to come to her place of business, to sail right in as if he had a right?

  A smile that looked more like a grimace appeared on Fagan’s face. He held out a hand to Rachel. “Dr. Goddard. It’s good to see you. I was hoping you’d have some time to talk to me.”

  “I don’t have any information to give you about the Shelley Beecher case, if that’s why you’re here.” She ignored his outstretched hand, and after it hung in the air between them for an awkward moment he withdrew it.

  “No, it’s not that. It’s, uh, something else.”

  What would that something else be? Did he want to discuss all the ways he had failed her after Perry Nelson tried to kill her? “I’m sorry, but I’m on my way out to lunch,” Rachel said.

  By now Fagan had recognized Michelle. He didn’t bother offering his hand to her, probably because she was glaring at him as if he’d sprouted horns and cloven hooves. “I didn’t realize you were in Mason County,” he said. “I’m glad to see you. How are you?”

  Michelle stepped closer to Rachel and laid a hand on her back, a gesture of solidarity Rachel found a little surprising but comforting. “We’d like to go now, if you don’t mind.” Michelle’s tone said what she would never say aloud, Get the hell out of our faces, jerk.

  Holly threw a questioning glance at Rachel, but Rachel wasn’t about to explain anything or introduce her to Fagan.

  He stuck the rejected hand in a pocket and started jingling his keys. He still had that damned annoying habit. “One minute?” he said to Rachel. He darted a glance at Michelle. “Actually, I’d like to talk to both of you.”

  Both of them? What the heck was he up to? For a second Rachel wondered if he wanted to discuss the stalker, but Fagan worked in Fairfax County, Virginia, not in Mason County and not in Bethesda, Maryland, where Michelle lived. He probably didn’t know Michelle was being stalked, and if he did it wouldn’t concern him professionally.

  “Why do you want to talk to me?” Michelle asked.

  “Because I have some—”

  “I’ll give you one minute,” Rachel told Fagan. She might as well surrender. If she didn’t, he would keep coming back. “There’s no reason to involve my sister. Step into my office, please.”

  She strode toward her office with Fagan close behind. Once there, with the door closed, she faced him and said, “Well?”

  “How have you been? You have a nice business here.” Fagan scanned the office as if he could assess the entire veterinary practice from this small space.

  Was she imagining his nervousness? No. Fagan had a tight, jittery look about him, from his slightly flushed face to his stiff posture. “I’m doing very well, thank you,” Rachel said. “Could we get to the point, so I won’t keep my sister and our friends waiting?”

  He drew a breath, let it out, met her eyes for the first time. “Look, Dr. Goddard—Rachel. I know you blame me for Perry Nelson getting off, and maybe it was partly my fault—”

  “You did a great job of defending him. His lawyer hardly had to say a word.”

  “Maybe my testimony wasn’t what—”

  “The damage is done, it can’t be changed. What’s the point of discussing it now?”

  Fagan sighed. “I’m glad things worked out for you.”

  “Is that what you came to
say? If it is, I’d like to join my sister and our friends now.”

  He held up a hand. “No, Rachel, listen to me. Please. I need time to talk to you properly, we need to sit down together, someplace where we won’t be interrupted.”

  A prick of apprehension kept Rachel silent, frowning at him.

  “If you don’t have time now, could we arrange to talk later? You and your sister both. She really needs to hear this too.”

  “No,” Rachel said. “I don’t know what you’re getting at, but I’m sure there’s no reason to drag my sister into it. Whatever you have to say, you’d better say it right now, because you won’t get another chance.”

  “It’s important,” Fagan said, pleading. “It’s probably the most important information anybody will ever give you. And it’s just as important to your sister. It’s about…” His voice fell and softened. “…your mother.”

  Rachel shivered as if she’d plunged into freezing water. She wanted to turn and run, but she felt rooted to the spot, unable to move. When she spoke, some detached part of her mind noted with surprise that her voice sounded firm and calm. “You don’t know anything about our mother. You have nothing to tell us.”

  “Rachel, just listen to me, please.” Fagan stepped closer, but she moved back, refusing to let him within three feet. He gave up, stood still. “I do have something to tell you. Something you deserve to know. I’ve thought about you off and on, I knew Nelson was harassing you even after he went to the hospital, and I felt bad about that. Anyway, I learned a little about your family when I was working that case, and I’ll admit I was curious enough to want to know more. Being curious is what I do for a living, I guess you could say. I’m a born snoop.”

  Fagan tried a self-deprecating little smile, but Rachel’s face felt as if it were carved from stone. She gripped the shoulderbag’s strap with both hands, her fingernails biting into her palms.

  Fagan’s short pause passed in silence. Rubbing a hand over his stubbly dark hair, he said, “God, this is hard. I knew it wouldn’t be easy, but—I have to get it out, though. I’ve kept it to myself too long already. What happened was, I remembered how your mother—how Judith Goddard died, and I wondered what might have led her to do that. I started looking into her life, her marriage, the family’s background—”

  “Stop.” Rachel’s mouth had gone dry. She backed up against her desk, sought the edge with her hands, grasped it to steady herself. “I don’t want to hear any more.”

  Fagan stared at her. “Good god. You already know, don’t you?”

  “You started digging around in our family history because you were curious?” Rachel heard her voice rising and fought to stay calm.

  Holding up both hands defensively, Fagan said, “I put the pieces together. They’re all there for anybody who wants to look.”

  The same way I did it, Rachel thought. Piece by piece. But she’d had a reason. It was her life, hers and Michelle’s. “What right did you have? It’s none of your business.”

  “Are you serious? Rachel, a crime was committed. A crime against you and your sister and your family.”

  “And the person who did it is dead. You can’t arrest her. What do you want from me? Why are you here?”

  “I assumed you didn’t know. I mean, your sister was just three, but you were six when Judith Goddard abducted you, so I thought you might have some memories of your real family, but I didn’t see any indication that either of you knew the truth.”

  “And you wanted to be the one to tell us.” The cold shock she’d felt at first was melting into fury. “You thought you’d walk in here and drop this bomb on us, and then—what? We’d fall on our knees in gratitude?”

  “I guess I expected—” Fagan broke off, frowning, looking baffled. “Well, I sure didn’t expect this reaction.”

  “Who else have you told?” Rachel demanded. “Have you informed the police in Minnesota that you’ve solved their cold case? Have you told—” She couldn’t make herself say our mother. “Have you told the family?”

  “No, I haven’t told anybody. I thought you and your sister deserved to hear it first.”

  Thank god, thank god for that, at least. But what would Fagan do now? “I want you to keep this to yourself,” Rachel said. “You won’t be doing anybody any favors if you bring it out in the open.”

  He shook his head. “Why, Rachel? You were raised by a woman who stole you from your real family. I know she treated you well, and you probably loved her—Is that it? You want to protect Judith Goddard’s memory? You don’t want her exposed? But don’t you want to know your real family?”

  “My sister is my family, and I’m hers,” Rachel said. “Can’t you leave us alone and forget about us? You seem to think you’re helping us, but you’re not. Believe me, you’re doing a lot more damage than good right now.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “No, you don’t.” Rachel felt herself veering out of control, and she paused, squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. She tried to breathe deeply, but she couldn’t force enough air past the tightness in her chest.

  “Then explain it to me,” Fagan said.

  He sounded like Tom. How many times had Tom said those words? If I don’t understand, then explain it to me. With Tom she knew she would find understanding if she could get the words out. But how could she make Fagan see that he couldn’t trample all over other people’s lives and expect gratitude in return?

  When she didn’t speak immediately, Fagan started filling the silence. “Regardless of how well she treated you, what Judith Goddard did to you was…monstrous, that’s the only word I can come up with. I’ve got kids of my own, and I can’t even imagine what it would be like to—How did you figure it out? Did you remember your real family and start looking for answers? How long ago did you—”

  “I’m not going to confide in you.” Rachel stood straighter, squared her shoulders. “I’m not going to spill out my whole story for you, no matter how many questions you ask. But I will tell you that I know who my birth mother is and where she lives. I know my birth father is dead, that he killed himself after we disappeared because the police hounded him, trying to prove he was responsible. I know all that. I’ve chosen, and my sister has chosen, to continue living the only lives we know. As Rachel and Michelle Goddard. That’s who we are. We won’t take on new identities at this stage.”

  “But they’re your real identities. You have a family—”

  “No.” Rachel held up a hand to stop him. “Those people are strangers to us. We don’t have any emotional ties to them, and we don’t want to be forced into pretending we do while the whole world looks on. We don’t want to open up the past. We don’t want to be on television and in magazines and newspapers as the long-lost children who came back home.”

  Fagan stuck a hand in his pants pocket and began jingling his keys. “Man, I really called this one wrong.”

  “What are you going to do with the information? Are you going to use it, or will you forget it and leave us in peace?”

  Fagan took an agonizingly long moment to answer. While he stared at the floor and ran a thumbnail back and forth over his lower lip, Rachel had to stifle an urge to grab him and shake him until he said what she wanted to hear.

  His eyes met hers. “I don’t know how you can be so cold.”

  Cold? She almost laughed. “You have no idea what my life has been like, and you have no right to judge me. You haven’t answered my question. Are you going to—”

  “Tell me something, Rachel. Does Bridger know any of this?”

  What Tom knew was none of his concern, but maybe Fagan would back off if he realized she had Tom’s support. “Yes,” she said. “Tom knows.”

  Fagan looked expectant, as if he wanted her to expand on that, but Rachel said nothing more. Let him wonder what she and Tom had said to one another. He didn’t have to know.

  Fagan shrugged and turned to leave. At the door, his hand on the knob, he paused to look back at her. “Like I sai
d, all the pieces are there, for anybody who wants to look and put them together. Someday somebody else might have a reason to look, and when you least expect it, everything could come out. Including the fact that you knew and you made the choice to keep it hidden. I think that’s going to cause a world of pain. Well, you have a good day, Rachel.”

  Have a good day? If they’d been anywhere else, Rachel would have thrown something at him.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Raymond Morton, Commonwealth’s Attorney for Mason County, swallowed a mouthful of roast beef sandwich and dabbed his lips with a napkin while Tom waited for an answer. Tom had found him eating at his desk during the lunch break in an assault and battery trial. A thin, balding man approaching old age, he sat in front of a hanging photo of himself being sworn in when he first took office decades before. Morton had been the county’s prosecutor longer than Tom had been alive.

  “Yes,” Morton said, “Shelley Beecher came to see me about the Lankford case. I thought she was wasting her time, but I figured the experience of making a stupid mistake would be good for her in the long run, if she was going to be a defense attorney. You want a bite to eat? The Connollys have started making takeout sandwiches at the bakery, and I’ll tell you, they’re something special.”

  Morton pushed a wrapped sandwich across the desk. Giving into hunger, Tom took it and peeled away the paper. The stack of beef, lettuce, and tomato between fat slices of bread made his mouth water. “Thanks. Looks good.”

  “I never knew whole wheat bread could taste like this.” The prosecutor took another bite as Tom started on his sandwich. He chewed, swallowed, and added, “My wife makes bread sometimes. It’s heavy as a brick and it’s got about as much flavor.”

  “So,” Tom said, “you didn’t discourage Shelley? Did she tell you why she was so sure Vance Lankford didn’t kill Brian Hadley?”

  “She was sure because she wanted to be sure. She was a kid, Tom. Idealistic. Thought she was going to right a terrible wrong. She liked Lankford and thought he was telling the truth. Frankly, I believe that was all it amounted to.”