Chapter 6

Six

WHERE WAS HER CAR?

Keys in hand, satchel of cooking supplies slung over her shoulder, Lindsey slowed her gait and scanned the parking lot outside the church hall where she'd conducted the fourth Creative Cooking on a Budget class in the current session.

None of the few remaining vehicles in the dimly lit lot were her blue Focus.

How could that be?

She peered again toward the basketball hoop farther down where she'd parked, the closest spot she could find to the hall door thanks to the large turnout for the church's Tuesday evening Bible study program.

But her Focus wasn't there now.

Fist on hip, she did a step-by-step replay of her arrival three hours ago.

She'd pulled into the lot. Circled it, hoping to find a spot closer to the door so she wouldn't have to lug her heavy bag as far. Parked under the basketball hoop. Not ideal, but tucking her car into the narrow spot had been preferable to hoofing it from the far end of the lot. She'd set the brake, eased the door open in the tight space, and squeezed through with her supplies.

Yet the car was nowhere to be—

Wait.

She frowned as a bizarre possibility flashed through her mind.

Could someone have stolen it?

But that made no sense. Who would want a ten-year-old Focus?

Yet what other explanation could there be?

Lindsey massaged her temple, where a headache was beginning to throb.

After everything that had happened last week, adding a stolen car to the mix was too much.

Moving back toward the well-lit doorway, she dug through her satchel until her fingers closed over her phone. Pulled it out and dialed 911 for the second time in four days.

The conversation with the dispatcher didn't take long, and the response was swift. A police cruiser swung into the lot within five minutes and drew up beside her.

An officer emerged. "Good evening, ma'am. You reported a missing vehicle?"

"Yes. Thanks for getting here so fast."

The man pulled out a notebook. Once she provided the contact information he requested, he moved on to the events of the evening. "Tell me what happened."

"I don't know. I parked over there about six thirty." She waved toward the basketball hoop. "When I came out ten minutes ago, my car was gone."

"Give me the make, model, and license plate number."

She provided the first two. "I don't know the plate number off the top of my head, but I may be able to find it on a document at home."

"Do you have your insurance card with you?"

"Yes." She pulled out her wallet and extracted it.

"I can find the plate number using the VIN." He took the card, wrote down more information, and handed it back. "I'll get a BOLO alert issued on this and notify our auto theft unit. Did you notice anything suspicious when you parked?"

"No. The lot was pretty full then. There's a Bible study here on Tuesday nights. But as you can see, most of the cars are gone now."

"One of our detectives from Crimes Against Property will be in touch. Is there someone you can call for a ride home?"

Not really. Who had time to make friends while settling into a new city and establishing a business? Madeleine came closest, but it was too late in the evening to impose on anyone.

"I'm kind of new in town. I'll call a cab."

The officer's brow pinched as he gave the deserted lot a sweep. "That could take a while. Can you wait inside?"

"Yes. I have a key."

"That works. Be sure to notify your insurance company about this as soon as you can."

"I will. Thanks." She strode back to the church hall door, her mind processing next steps at warp speed. Beyond calling her insurance agent, renting a car was a high priority. With a career like hers, mobility was essential, however much it dented her budget. And if her car wasn't found, she'd be hunting for a replacement. A much bigger dent.

Sighing, she inserted the key into the lock, waved at the patrol officer who'd waited until she opened the door, and slipped inside.

What else could possibly go—

Her cell began to chime, and she jumped. Slammed a hand against her chest.

Good grief.

Given the state of her nerves, she'd need an appointment with Dr. Oliver sooner than Thursday.

She pulled out her phone. Skimmed the caller ID.

Madeleine.

Strange timing.

Lowering her satchel of supplies to the floor, she greeted the Horizons director. "I was just thinking about you."

"Pleasant thoughts, I hope."

"Always."

"How did tonight's session go?"

Lindsey pulled out a stool from the stainless steel prep counter and lowered herself onto it. May as well tell Madeleine what had happened. "The session went fine. Afterward, not so much. My car is missing."

A beat ticked by. "What do you mean, missing?"

She repeated the story she'd relayed to the officer. "I seem to have fallen into the rut of being in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Are you still at the church?"

"Yes. I was getting ready to call a cab."

"Not necessary. Watch for me in twenty minutes." The line went dead.

Lindsey lowered the cell from her ear, weighing it in her hand. She ought to call Madeleine back and tell her not to bother. That would be the considerate thing to do.

But at this point, the thought of riding home in a cab with a stranger behind the wheel held no appeal. For once, why not go with the flow and try not to feel guilty about giving in to selfish impulses?

Eighteen minutes later, headlights swung across the parking lot through the window. After gathering up her belongings, Lindsey stepped outside and locked the door behind her.

Madeleine pushed the passenger door open as she approached.

"Thank you for doing this." Lindsey slid in, set her satchel at her feet, and buckled up.

"It's the least I could do after I strong-armed you into teach ing this class." She put the car in gear and circled toward the exit.

"I was happy to do it."

"And this is how you get repaid." Madeleine shook her head. "I'm sorry, Lindsey. You've had a rough stretch. How can I help you?"

Her throat tightened at the woman's kindness. "Thanks for offering, but I'll be fine. My client tomorrow cancelled because the family's down with the flu. That will give me a chance to line up a rental car."

"Don't hesitate to let me know if there's anything I can do. Beyond me, the Martha's Guild at church is always available to assist."

"I'll keep that in mind. And I'll remind Dara about the guild too. It may be reassuring for her to know there's a support system in case any issues come up for her and Chad after last week."

"Did she attend class tonight?"

"Yes, but she was distracted. Not that I blame her. I asked a few questions, but it was obvious she didn't want to talk about what happened."

"Do you think the police are hassling Chad?"

"I hope not. He seems like a nice guy, and he's had more than enough trouble in his life."

"Has anyone from law enforcement been back in touch with you?"

An image of Jack Tucker appeared in her mind, but she erased it at once. "No, and I hope no one ever contacts me again. I want to put the whole horrible episode behind me."

"I hear you. Tell me about your class tonight."

For the remainder of the drive, Madeleine kept the conversation focused on more pleasant topics, and by the time she pulled up in front of the condo, the tension in Lindsey's shoulders had loosened.

"Thanks again for the lift, Madeleine."

"Happy to do it. I'll wait until you're inside."

Lindsey didn't dawdle on her trek to the door through the darkness. Once in the condo, she made a beeline for the kitchen and deactivated the security system she'd installed the week she'd moved in. After setting her satchel of supplies beside the counter, she filled a mug with milk, added the other ingredients for hot chocolate, and slid it in the microwave for a fast version of her favorite comfort drink.

While she waited for it to heat, she wandered over to the photo that had graced her fridge door for six years, taken on the trip she'd made to Antigua with Clair.

What an amazing vacation that had been, as their two smiling faces confirmed.

Vision misting, Lindsey adjusted the BFF magnet that held the snapshot in place.

How would she ever have gotten through the rough patches with her parents during her high school years if she hadn't had her best friend's support and friendship?

The kind of support and friendship that would also have helped her weather the stress that had been her lot for almost two years.

At a summons from the microwave, Lindsey retraced her steps and retrieved her hot chocolate.

The truth was, the hole left in her life by the loss of Clair's gentle spirit, fierce loyalty, kind heart, and deep well of compassion would never be filled.

What a tragedy that countless young people in desperate need of her special empathy had been deprived of the wonderful advice she would have offered in her role as a high school counselor.

Thanks to Jack Tucker.

Lindsey took a sip of the sweet, warm drink, trying without success to dispel the bitter taste on her tongue.

At least she shouldn't have to see him again. Her role in the murder investigation ought to be finished. She'd already told him everything she knew, except for whatever vague memory had tried to surface in Dr. Oliver's office. No doubt a minor detail that wasn't pertinent anyway. If she did remember it, she could always send an email to the address on the card he'd given her.

For now, though, she had other priorities.

Like finding transportation until her Focus turned up—or biting the bullet and buying a new used car if it didn't.

And praying no more adversity was lurking in her immediate future.

SLEEPING ALONE WHILE YOU were still technically a bride was the pits. And Chad's excuse for moving to the couch was losing its credibility. The cold he'd claimed was coming on since the day of the murder had never materialized beyond a few minor sniffles that didn't seem genuine.

Dara pulled the covers up to her chin and stared at the dark ceiling in the post-midnight hour, as she had for the past five nights.

Based on the half-moon shadows beneath Chad's lower lashes, and the thrashing sounds that often wafted down the hall from the living room to the bedroom, he wasn't sleeping any better than she was.

Instead of waiting for him to tell her what was going on, should she confront him about the excuse he was using to keep his distance?

But what if that backfired? What if he shut down more than he already had?

Pressure building behind her eyes, Dara threw back the covers, swung her feet to the floor, and began to pace.

How could a marriage that had started out with such love and trust and devotion take such a sudden, negative turn?

In the living room, Chad began to toss again—and all at once he cried out. As if he was in pain.

Heart pounding, Dara dashed out of the bedroom and down the hall.

At the door to the living room, she halted, taking in the scene in the glow from the lamp Chad must have forgotten to turn off.

The covers were in disarray, and the sleeve of Chad's T-shirt had ridden up to his shoulder as he grunted and writhed on the couch, arms flailing.

He was having a nightmare. Like the ones he'd had in the early days of their marriage that had slowly abated.

Now, they were back with a vengeance.

But it wasn't his bad dream that twisted her nerves into a knot.

It was the large black-and-blue bruise on his upper arm.

A bruise that hadn't been there when they'd last slept together on Thursday night.

She gripped the edge of the doorframe and held on tight as the floor shifted beneath her feet.

Had he gotten that the day of the Robertson murder? In a struggle of some kind?

Like with someone who was defending himself?

A wave of nausea swept over her, and she covered her mouth with her hand. Stumbled back down the hall. Climbed into bed and burrowed under the covers.

But the warmth of the blanket didn't stop the shudders rippling through her as she tried to corral the insidious suspicion snaking up her spine.

Chad couldn't have had anything to do with Friday's killing. It was impossible. The man she'd fallen in love with may have gone through a black period thanks to the PTSD he'd brought home from the Middle East, and he may have killed people in combat, but he wasn't a killer. That's why his experiences in the army had eaten at his gut and affected his mind. Why he'd needed counseling to help him deal with his demons and put them to rest.

If taken by surprise, though—as he had been the day the other homeless guy had tried to rob him of his coat—was he still capable of inflicting major damage? Of killing?

She wadded the blanket in her fingers.

No.

She refused to believe that.

Besides, from everything he'd told her, the police thought the killing had been prompted by a robbery. And why would Chad steal? The days when he'd taken blankets and food to stay warm and keep from starving were long gone.

The pieces didn't fit.

Yet the bruises were real.

Chad cried out again from the living room, and she curled into a ball on the bed.

What should she do?

Asking Chad about the bruises—and why he'd hidden them from her—could be a mistake. He might think she had doubts about his innocence. That she suspected him in the Robertson crime, as the police did.

If only she had someone to confide in who could offer her confidential and reasoned counsel.

Unfortunately, her dad back in Caruthersville wasn't a candidate for that role. He was still angry about her decision to move from the rural bootheel of the state to the big city. Aggravated by her unwillingness to marry a local farmer and spend her life worrying about whether the whims of the weather would determine if they ate macaroni and cheese or steak in any given year. Opposed to what he considered a too-hasty marriage to Chad.

Mom would have understood her desire for a different life if cancer hadn't taken her too young. Maybe a sister or brother would have too, if she'd had either. Or a close friend.

An image of Lindsey popped into her mind, but she snuffed it out. Despite the woman's empathy, and despite her efforts tonight at class to reach out, telling her about this could be a mistake. What if the police contacted her again and she let it slip? No matter Chad's explanation for the bruise, in light of his background the police could assume it was related to what had happened at the Robertson house.

The wind rattled the window, and she tunneled deeper under the covers. An acceptable refuge for tonight, but hiding wasn't going to solve anything. She had to come up with a plan about how to broach this to Chad without shutting him down.

Until she did, she'd continue to do everything she could to support him.

And ask the Almighty for guidance.