Chapter 14

Fourteen

DARA WAS A MESS.

As Lindsey circulated among the students during the final minutes of her Tuesday Cooking on a Budget class, she kept tabs on the younger woman.

Losing your grip on a container of pasta and sending the tiny shells flying every direction could happen to anyone. That was a one-off. But dropping the whole batch of take-home menu sheets while handing them out to the class? And the worry etched in Dara's features?

She was seriously stressed.

"Let me help you." Lindsey crossed to her and bent down, gathering up the wayward papers.

"I'm sorry." Dara kept her chin down as she issued the tear-laced apology. "I shouldn't have come tonight."

"Of course you should. Can you stay for a few minutes afterward? I have tea in my satchel. There's nothing more soothing than a cup of peppermint tea after a rough day."

"I don't know." She bit her bottom lip. "Chad will be worried if I'm late."

"Why don't you call him? I'll be happy to walk you to your car if he's concerned about your safety."

"I guess I could do that." She motioned toward the papers Lindsey had collected. "I'll finish passing those out."

Ten minutes later, after the rest of the class had departed, Lindsey dug out two bags of tea from her satchel and held them up. "The perfect antidote to stress. I could use a cup myself."

"Are you sure you don't mind staying late?"

"Not at all." She pulled mugs from the cabinet, filled them with water, and motioned to a pair of stools against the wall. "Why don't you move those over to the prep island and I'll join you as soon as the tea is ready?"

Dara complied, but she remained standing as she angled away and spoke in a low voice on her cell, the staccato tap of her foot another indication of her anxiety.

At the bing from the microwave, Lindsey removed the mugs, circled the island, and claimed a stool. She smiled as Dara ended the call. "Chad okay with the delay?"

"Yes." The other woman perched on the edge of the adjacent seat and gripped her mug with both hands.

Taking a sip of tea, Lindsey appraised her over the rim of her mug.

Had law enforcement—in the person of Jack Tucker—paid the newlyweds another call? Was that why Dara was upset? Or was this residual anxiety from his Sunday visit?

Whatever the cause, would a sympathetic ear help her decompress?

Only one way to find out.

"I've been wondering how you and Chad are doing." Lindsey chose her words with care, maintaining a conversational tone. "For me, it's been tough ever since the Robertson murder. I've been super frazzled. It doesn't help that the police haven't solved the crime yet, either."

"I know." Dara tucked her hair behind her ear and stared into the reddish-brown brew. "Have the cops been bothering you much?"

"On and off. I remembered one detail about the killer, and they're hoping I'll remember more." No reason to mention the bizarre lake incident that had prompted her latest interaction with law enforcement.

"They've been bugging us too. The main detective came by on Sunday."

Lindsey kept her manner nonchalant. "Why?"

Fingers trembling, Dara lifted the cup. "I think they still suspect Chad."

"Without evidence, suspicions won't amount to anything."

Dara swallowed. "They have some evidence. But it's all circumstantial."

That was news.

"I don't think circumstantial evidence would give them sufficient grounds to press charges, if that's worrying you."

"I hope not. But all the attention is making our life pretty miserable." Her voice caught, and she dipped her head.

Pressure built in Lindsey's throat, and she touched Dara's shoulder. "What does Chad say about all this?"

"Not much. That's part of the problem." She let out a shuddering breath and peeked over. "I really need to talk to someone, but I don't have any close friends here yet."

"I think of you as a friend. And I'd be happy to lend an ear if that would help."

Dara chewed on her lower lip again. "Will you keep everything I tell you in confidence?"

"Yes. I promise."

While Dara took a tiny sip of her tea, indecision tightening her features, Lindsey waited. Pushing would be a mistake.

At last the other woman spoke. "You know Chad's background, right?"

"The basics."

"It sort of sets him up for suspicion, you know?"

"Does he have a record?"

"No, but a former street person is always going to raise red flags if they get connected to a murder."

"You mentioned circumstantial evidence. Do you feel comfortable sharing anything about that with me?"

"Yes. As long as you keep it to yourself."

Lindsey listened as Dara filled her in on the earring the police had found on the running board of Chad's truck and the stolen bracelet—supposedly from Chad—that his homeless friend had tried to pawn, prompting the most recent visit from Jack.

Hard as she tried to maintain a neutral expression, Lindsey struggled to hide her dismay. While none of what Dara had relayed was incriminating, it would definitely bump Chad higher on the suspect list even if he denied any knowledge of the circumstances in both cases.

"Chad explained it all to the detective, but I don't know if he believed him." A tear trickled down Dara's cheek.

"Suspicions don't count. Under the law, you're innocent until proven guilty." All true, but that sort of evidence would result in intense and upsetting scrutiny. "You don't think Chad's homeless friend may have been trying to set him up, do you?"

"No." She launched into an account of their relationship. "But I didn't know any of that until Sunday. I didn't even know Chad was staying in touch with this man. He said he kept it a secret because he didn't want me to worry about him going down there."

A man under suspicion, a wife in the dark, a detective on the hunt.

What a mess.

No wonder Dara was jittery.

Lindsey inhaled the soothing mint aroma rising from her mug before she spoke. "How do you feel about Chad not telling you he was visiting his friend?" Best to phrase it like that than flat-out ask if she believed her husband's story.

Dara exhaled. "Kind of ... betrayed, I guess. And blindsided. I mean, I get that he was trying to protect me, but a man and wife shouldn't keep secrets from each other, should they?"

"Probably not in most cases, but it does sound as if his intentions were good."

"Yeah." Dara scrubbed a finger against a blemish on the stainless-steel prep counter. "But I keep wondering ... if Chad didn't tell me about his friend, what else hasn't he told me?"

"About the case?"

"Or anything." Moisture pooled on her lower eyelids, clumping her lashes. "I love him, Lindsey, and I've always trusted him. But I ... I don't know what to believe anymore. I think he's being honest with me, but there's this little twinge of doubt I can't get rid of. And that's wrong, isn't it? I mean, I shouldn't have any doubts, should I?"

Lindsey took a sip of tea. If only Dr. Oliver were here. He'd know how to advise a troubled young bride.

But maybe Dara wasn't seeking advice. She might just want to vent, to speak the fears she'd been bottling up inside. Verbalizing concerns often helped relieve stress, as she knew firsthand. And a few words of reassurance wouldn't hurt, either.

"I don't think you should beat yourself up about this, Dara. You and Chad have had a lot thrown at you these past couple of weeks. When your world is turned upside down, it's normal to begin questioning everything. Has Chad ever done anything until now that made you doubt him?"

"No."

"Do you feel safe with him?"

"Yes." Zero hesitation. "And I know he loves me."

"Then it may be best to give him the benefit of the doubt. Everyone makes mistakes. Not telling you about his trips downtown, no matter how well-intentioned, could have been one of Chad's. Maybe the best thing you can do is put that aside and move forward from here. Letting an error in judgment forever shape your image of someone might be as big of a mistake as misguidedly keeping secrets. One that could change your relationship permanently."

Some of the tension in Dara's features dissipated, and the corners of her mouth rose a smidgen. "You know what? That's exactly what I needed to hear. My brain kept getting more and more muddled as I tried to think this through. You were able to be impartial about it and cut past all the doubts that were cluttering up my head."

"Sometimes it helps to get a third-party opinion."

Dara picked up her tea and drained the mug. "Thank you for the tea and the chat."

"My pleasure. Shall I walk you to your car?"

"Why don't we walk out together?"

"I'm going to stay and do a final touch-up here. I don't want the Horizons cooking classes to lose their happy home."

"I could stay and help you."

"Thanks, but you should go home to that new husband of yours. I'll bet he's counting the minutes until you arrive."

"He did say he'd be waiting for me." A tiny dimple dented her cheek.

"Good man."

"Are you sure you'll be okay here by yourself?"

"No worries. I do this every week."

After Dara gathered up her coat and notebook, Lindsey walked out with her and gave her a hug.

Dara squeezed back. "Thank you again for tonight—and for caring."

"Like I said, I consider us friends. I'll call in a few days to see how everything is going."

Lindsey stepped back as Dara got in her car, waving as the other woman drove toward the exit. Then she returned to the kitchen and did a fast, final cleanup.

Once the space was pristine, she put on her coat and picked up her satchel. Thank goodness the past two days had been normal. Her early morning runs had been invigorating, every item on her grocery lists had been available during her shopping trips, and she'd picked up a new client. Not a bad way to begin the week.

The only dark cloud on the horizon was a return trip to the Robertson house on Thursday. But it was either that or lose a steady, well-paying client, and her business was too new to justify dropping someone because the thought of returning to the traumatic scene turned her stomach.

She'd get through it, though.

Satchel in hand, she trekked to the door, locked it, and pulled it shut behind her as she stepped outside.

From within the small pool of illumination cast by the security light, she scanned the dim, deserted parking lot as Jack Tucker's description of the area from the day he'd driven her here to retrieve her car echoed in her mind.

No, it wasn't the best part of town. But she'd never worried much about that before. And she wouldn't start tonight. Alertness usually prevented trouble, and she was always mindful of her surroundings.

Walking toward her car at a fast clip, she kept a sharp eye on the lot, the hypervigilance Dr. Oliver had mentioned kicking in.

But no one was about on this chilly night.

As she approached her Focus, however, a car swung into the lot, its headlights arcing across her. Pulse accelerating, she shaded her eyes from the blinding glare and picked up her pace.

Thankfully, it seemed the driver had no nefarious purpose in mind and was using the lot to execute a U-turn. The car did a three-sixty and rolled back out to the street.

Left once again in semidarkness, Lindsey leaned against her car and blinked to clear the spots from her vision. Just as she'd done the day of the murder, when a shaft of sunlight from the roof window above the island where she'd cowered had pierced her eyes.

She took a steadying breath as those moments replayed in her mind.

Her vision had been compromised for a few seconds as she'd eyed the vase she'd hoped wouldn't have to double as a defensive weapon. But it had started to clear as the killer bent down to pick up the piece of dropped jewelry—and the sleeve of their jacket had pulled up briefly to reveal part of the forearm.

She closed her eyes. Tried to call up that image.

There had been color on the patch of exposed skin. A bruise, perhaps? Except it had had a more defined shape, hadn't it? Like a ... tattoo?

Or had she imagined that? After all, she'd had no more than a quick glimpse, and the lingering sunspots in her vision could have played tricks on her eyes.

But what if they hadn't?

What if what she'd seen had been real?

Should she tell Jack about this?

Mind racing, Lindsey slid behind the wheel of her car. Locked her doors. Started the engine.

Telling him could be risky. He already had doubts about her reliability. In this case, even she wasn't certain about what she'd seen—if it had been anything at all.

Maybe she ought to think it through, wait until morning to settle on a course of action. If she passed on any more dubious information, her credibility as a witness would be shot.

As would her credibility, period. Jack would write her off as a delusional woman who'd succumbed to too much stress.

For whatever reason, the loss of personal credibility with him bothered her more than the idea of him dismissing her value as a witness.

She pulled out of the parking lot and aimed her car toward home.

It was too late in the evening to analyze that odd reaction, especially after listening to Dara's dilemma and doing her best to offer counsel and support.

Besides, in light of the younger woman's predicament, her own quandary paled in comparison. She wasn't dealing with a new husband who could end up being accused of murder.

So she'd sleep on the situation and decide tomorrow how much, if anything, to tell Jack.

Assuming she didn't wake up as uncertain about the accuracy of the new memory that had surfaced as she was about what had really happened at the lake.