check would arrive, that mysterious check that showed up in time to save her, or so it seemed, every month.
“John, you don’t, I mean, you don’t, um, send me anything in the mail, do you?” She watched him closely for any flicker of emotion that would give him away.
“The mail? No. Why?”
“No reason.” Part of her breathed a sigh of relief. John could be lying—maybe he really was her mysterious benefactor—but she was happy that he did not appear to be guilty of that generosity. LeeAnn had left a hole in John’s heart, even though she’d never done the smallest thing to encourage his affections, and he tried to assuage the ache by caring for Keeley. It won’t work, she wanted to tell him. Nothing will take that pain away. It was uncomfortable to watch him try. And she certainly had no intention of being anything other than a friend to John, a fact that she’d made crystal clear, or so she hoped.
She succeeded in escorting him out the door.
“Please call me if there’s anything at all that you need,” he said.
“I will. Thank you.”
She bolted the door behind him. For a moment, she leaned against the wood and let the quiet wash over, whispering a prayer of thanks that she had survived her face-to-face encounter with Tucker Rivendale. It was not so much for her physical safety she was grateful, but for the fact that her soul was still intact. So much rage coursed through her when she thought of him. For so long she’d worried that her desire for vengeance might just lead her to losing herself if she ever confronted him.
But she’d faced him; she’d stood inches from Tucker Rivendale, the man who killed her sister, and she was still standing.
And still filled with a black and roiling anger that she knew would never dissipate. Where had the old Keeley gone? The fun-loving, curious athlete who found paths to hike where there were none? Who traveled the country to photograph birds, those unfettered kings of the sky? She remembered her sister’s laughter, the way she would throw back her chin and let loose her joy in big belly chuckles at Keeley’s antics. “I miss you, LeeAnn. I was a better person when you were here with me,” she said to the empty room.
* * *
The next morning, when memories of the previous day ignited her anxiety, she applied the antidote and went for the duffel bag that had become her constant companion. Cameras, tripod, batteries, change of clothes, toiletries, a nearly empty wallet and a book. This time it was What’s New Boo Boo Bear? At the secondhand store in town, she’d scored it for a dime.
Money couldn’t buy happiness, but a well-spent ten cents could still get you some fun.
When everything was carefully stowed, she considered the time, nearly ten o’clock. She wasn’t expected at Aunt Viv’s until the afternoon.
“There are plenty of things I can do here,” she said aloud to beat back the heavy silence. Shelves could be dusted. Another endless round of magazine queries could and should be sent out. At the very least, she should go to the hardware store and install an extra lock on the front and back doors.
But the flat emptiness in Tucker’s eyes stirred a deep longing inside her that could only be counteracted by a certain bright cobalt gaze. Locking the door behind her, Keeley headed for the Jeep.
She drove out of Silver Creek, the small town of no more than five hundred people, past John’s vet clinic. His lights were on. No surprise. He was probably the hardest-working man she’d ever met. Each stoplight and every mile covered lifted her spirits a little. Everything was okay, she told her unsettled nerves.
Tucker wouldn’t dare return with the police out looking for him. Likely he would actually be caught this time, and she would have the pleasure of watching him sent to prison permanently like he should have been before.
Again her mind tried to fill in the details of LeeAnn’s final day. LeeAnn had gone to check on a wounded bird on the top of an abandoned warehouse and somewhere along the way she’d met up with Tucker. A couple of hours after her departure, she was dead in the trunk of Tucker’s car, submerged in a pond. Not dead from drowning, but from a massive blow to the back of the head.
And Tucker? The man LeeAnn had believed in despite his criminal past? The man she’d taken up with again after he’d proved himself a louse? He’d been running when he’d crashed his car into a pond, and nearly arrested by an off duty Reggie Donaldson.
And where had Mick been in all this? Vacationing on his family’s property in the mountains. Oblivious to the fact that he’d vouched for a would-be killer and had Tucker’s tracking bracelet removed, a device that might have saved LeeAnn’s life that day. She wanted to hate Mick Hudson, but something about the way he’d stared at her inexplicably twisted her feelings. The big brute of a man was intimately familiar with grief. It was carved into the lines of his face.
The road out of town smoothed out, straight and empty. Big Pines was larger and more populated, with easy access to doctors, therapists and a very special preschool. A glimmer of movement caught her eye in the rearview mirror. Her heart dropped for a moment as she imagined Tucker’s motorcycle behind her.
“No, you ninny,” she told herself. “Just the regular ebb and flow of lunchtime traffic heading to and from Big Pines.” A black SUV with tinted windows pulled up closer and passed. Fingers tight on the wheel, her gut began the “what if” game.
If Tucker had eluded the police and stolen a car...
If he was determined to snatch the one thing, the only thing left of LeeAnn...
If he found out about Aunt Viv and where she lived...
She fought down the stampeding thoughts and pressed the gas pedal a little harder.
Arriving some forty minutes later, Keeley parked a block from the house and sat, watching the cars drive by. Nothing unusual, no sign of anything out of the ordinary for a sleepy suburb.
Walking faster with each step, she made it to Aunt Viv’s, knocked once and let herself inside, calling out a greeting.
Four toddlers looked up from their snack of apple slices and milk, which Aunt Viv was busily dispensing.
One little face with round cheeks and heavy-lidded eyes made her heart skip.
“Where’s my June?” she called.
The little girl wriggled her short legs and flung an apple slice into the air in her excitement. She did not speak, but Keeley saw it all in her eyes.
“Hello, Mama,” those luminous blue eyes seemed to say. The copper Brushfield spots in her irises, a hallmark of Down syndrome, twinkled like stars in a sapphire sky.
With a heart full of both joy and sorrow, Keeley went to embrace her.
Mick did his afternoon chores at the sanctuary in spite of the pain. His body was tired, arms throbbing, ribs creaking, when he found himself at the kitchen table, sitting in front of a roast-beef sandwich for which he had no appetite. His father, Perry, joined him, wearing an old pair of sweats. Mick was glad his jacket hid the cut on his biceps. His father had endured a boatload of worry that started some twenty
