Web of Lies Read online

  I nodded. “Did you tell them who we are?” Any dispatcher in Redding would know my name.

  “Yes.”

  “Okay.” I glanced at the young clerk’s leg. “Jenna, can you find me something to place against that wound?” I moved over to kneel beside him, gently touching his shoulder. “Hey. What’s your name?”

  “T – Toby Brown.” He groaned. “It hurts!”

  His pain squeezed my throat. “I know. Help is going to be here real soon. You’ll be okay.”

  “I’m Ken.” The man on the other side of Toby patted his hand. “She’s right, you’ll be fine. And we’ll get that guy who shot you, don’t you worry.”

  “Did you get a look at him?” I asked.

  Ken shook his head. “It happened so fast, and I was in the back of the store.”

  “Annie, here.” Jenna held a roll of paper towels over the counter. “I don’t see any kind of packaged cloths.”

  “These’ll do.” I took the roll, tore off a long strip, and folded the paper towels over on themselves. Carefully I pressed them against Toby’s oozing wound. He winced and I bit my lip. “Sorry. Just don’t want the bleeding to get too bad.”

  He managed a nod.

  “Toby, did you see the man who shot you?”

  “Y – yes.”

  One for our side. I hadn’t seen the shooter at all. I’d been too busy focusing on the gun in his hand. How stupid. Of all people, I should have noticed his features.

  Toby whimpered, started to shake.

  “I think he’s going into shock.” I looked to Ken, who wore only a short-sleeved shirt. Then to the girl. Even in the hot weather, she had on a light jacket. “Can you give me your coat? We need to keep him warm.”

  Words and actions flowed in those suspended minutes while we waited for the police. I covered Toby with the jacket, Jenna reporting everything to the 911 dispatcher. The teenage girl told us her name was Christine, and the woman identified herself as Mary. Neither of them had seen the shooter’s face either. We all avoided looking at the dead body mere feet away. In its silent stillness, it screamed at me. Somewhere out there a mother and father, brother, sister, friends, would soon mourn him. Who was he? Why had he been chased like that — in broad daylight — and killed? Anger at the senselessness of his death coagulated in my chest. The man who’d done this would be found. And I’d do everything I could to help.

  Toby’s face cinched with pain. Ken and I soothed him, my heart clutching. I tried to distract him, asking his age. “Eighteen,” he managed, every breath careful, his chest shuddering. I pressed my eyes shut. My own son was seventeen.

  “Are you in high school?” I rubbed his arm.

  “Yeah.” He shivered. “A senior at Central Valley High.”

  Oh, God, help him. Stephen’s a senior too. What if this had happened to my son?

  Ken surveyed me, a look of recognition smoothing his face. “Now I know who you are. Annie Kingston, right? The forensic artist.”

  I kept my focus on Toby, feeling the familiar self-consciousness. “Yeah, that’s me.”

  Christine gasped. “Oh, wow. You’re the one the Poison Killer — ”

  “Listen.” I held up a hand, glad for a reason to cut her off. Sirens sounded in the distance.

  Jenna trotted to the entrance. The sirens wailed louder, suddenly upon us. “They’re here.”

  Police burst through the door, two paramedics not far behind. In moments the store turned into a scene of bustling uniforms, voices over radio, revolving red and blue lights. Jenna handed me my purse, and with the other witnesses we were herded out of the store. From the parking lot we all watched as officers strung up yellow crime-scene tape. Before long the paramedics emerged from the store with Toby on a stretcher, loaded him into their vehicle, and bore him to the hospital. The man who’d been pursued by the shooter was pronounced dead.

  Dead.

  Even though I’d known, the official word pierced me. I grieved for the man and his family. And for the entire town. Only three months had passed since the Poison Killer was caught. Three months of calm in Redding, of newness in my own life. I was not ready to have that peace disturbed, and neither was our town. We had barely enjoyed enough time to heal from the evil of a serial murderer and all the national media that descended upon us when that case finally broke.

  God, once again the people in Redding are going to need You.

  My cell phone rang. I pulled it from my purse and saw Kelly’s number displayed on the ID. Oh great. She and Erin would be wondering where we were. I didn’t relish telling them what happened. The girls and Stephen were protective enough of me, after all I’d been through. With a meaningful glance at Jenna, I flipped open the phone.

  “Mom, where are you?” my daughter demanded.

  “Oh, we’ll be there soon.” Lightness forced itself into my tone. “I was just picking up Jenna after she flew the plane over to the Redding airport. Remember, she has to keep it there while they lengthen the runway at home?”

  A sigh. “Okay, but will you hurry? Erin and I have lots of homework and we need to get started on it.”

  “Be there as soon as we can. Has Stephen already left for work?”

  “Yeah. He had to be at the video store fifteen minutes after school let out.”

  Should I call and tell him what happened? I didn’t want the news to filter to him from someone else.

  “All right, Kelly. Just hang around with your friends, and we’ll be there as soon as we can.”

  I hung up and slid the phone back into my purse. Jenna gave me an empathetic look. “You’re going to have to tell them, you know.”

  I shook my head at the thought. Here we go again. More disaster. “Yeah. I think I’d better call Stephen at work while we’re on the way to pick up the girls.”

  With the ambulance gone, officers Fred Sparks and Raymond Bradet, joined by homicide detective Tim Blanche, began questioning the witnesses. On the sidewalk behind us, a curious crowd had begun to swarm like stirred-up bees. Someone said my name, and it buzzed from one mouth to another.

  “That’s Annie Kingston.”

  “You know who she is.”

  Even though the town hailed me a hero, the whispers stung. My mere presence spelled extra sensationalism. I couldn’t blame them; history was on their side. But I hated it.

  My eyes grazed the crowd — and landed on Adam Bendershil, reporter from the Record Searchlight. He darted among people, jotting in his notepad. At that moment he looked up, and our eyes met. I turned my back on him.

  Detective Blanche beckoned me and Jenna into the taped-off area, his face stern. “You see the guy, Annie?” His penetrating blue eyes bore into me. I suppressed a wince. Blanche was not one of my favorites at the Redding Police Department, to say the least. He was far too arrogant, with those raised eyebrows and a frequent curl to one side of his mouth. I didn’t think he cared for me, either. I’d heard rumors of his cynical remarks about my belief in prayer and in God. Blanche was in his midforties, with three kids, the oldest of which had recently graduated from Foothill High. He had thick salt-and-pepper hair and a large mole on his left cheek.

  I felt slack-limbed, shaky. “Afraid not. Everything happened way too fast.”

  He narrowed his eyes, almost in accusation, then glanced toward the store. “Well, let’s hope the security cameras did their job. Should have caught it, as long as the tape’s in good condition.”

  “I hope so.”

  Jenna mumbled agreement. The press of her lips bespoke her righteous anger over the entire affair. No doubt she was ruing her own failure to grab her gun and go after the killer. If I hadn’t been on top of her, that’s exactly what she would have done. Might have gotten herself killed too.

  My sister and I gave our statements. It seemed to take forever. By the time we finished, I could barely breathe. Anxiety snapped at me like some salivating beast. Get a grip, Annie; think of the poor victim. At least you and Jenna are alive. But I had a bad feeling this wouldn
’t be the end of it. One man was already dead, another wounded. And we were witnesses.

  We climbed into the SUV to head for Foothill High School, my heart skidding. Jenna insisted on driving. As we rolled through the parking lot, a television news van showed up at the curb. A man spilled out and raised his camera, the red light on. I ducked. Our car jostled as we entered the street. I could hear Adam Bendershil calling through my closed window. “Ms. Kingston, can you tell us what happened?”

  After a few turns, Jenna touched my arm. “Okay, you can come up now.”

  I uncurled my spine and leaned back against the headrest, wishing I could feel as strong as my sister. God, I’m the Christian here. Help me rest in Your power.

  The scenes started rolling then. They always do.

  In my head resides something akin to a film projector. During times of stress it tends to spit vivid images onto my brain’s movie screen. Now it spewed sequences of

  the shooter running straight toward our car, gun jerking up and down in his hand . . .

  Toby’s pinched white face. “It hurts!” . . .

  A bloodied, shattered head. A cheek and eye — blown away . . .

  I squeezed my eyes shut. Forced the memories away.

  From my purse, my cell phone sounded. I withdrew it to see Kelly’s number. Pulling in a breath, I answered the call.

  “Mom!” My daughter poured the impatience of a beleaguered fifteen-year-old into her voice. “What’s taking you so long?”

  Chapter 2

  On our way to the high school, I called Stephen and told him what happened. I tried to keep my tone factual, but my son knew me too well.

  “Mom, that’s awful. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  Not really. “Yes. A little shaken by the whole thing, but fine.”

  “That guy with the gun — did he see you?”

  “No. We were ducked down — ”

  “But still, it’ll be on the news. They’ll say you were there.” His voice edged. “Now you’re personally involved again. In another murder case.”

  I wanted to tell him to stop, that his fears were too close to my own. Instead I floundered for some soothing response that would calm neither of us. “Jenna and I gave statements, and when the guy’s brought to trial, we’ll probably have to testify. But that’s all. It’s not like last time.”

  Last time — when a serial murderer played chess with me, nearly killed me . . .

  “Right.” Stephen made a cynical sound in his throat. “Should I come home from work?”

  Home? “No, of course not. There’s no reason for you — ”

  “’Cause now I’m all worried. You sound upset, and I don’t want you there by yourself.”

  Good grief, do I sound that bad? “I’m not by myself; Jenna’s with me.”

  “Mom, I don’t like this.” He breathed frustration and angst into the phone. I could practically see his knit eyebrows, the set jaw. “Look, at least this time you can rely on me. Nothing better happen to you. I swear I’ll kill anybody who — ”

  “Stephen, whoa! Nobody’s going to do anything to me. This is not like the other times. Just please, calm down.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m calm.” The words dropped like pebbles on cement. “I’m just telling you the way it is.”

  I hung up the phone and gave Jenna a nonplussed look. She raised her eyebrows. “I heard him. Feeling rather protective, isn’t he?”

  “No kidding.” I crossed my arms. “Kid’s scaring me.”

  “I think it’s healthy. I mean, really, Annie, look at all the grief he’s caused you. Thank heaven he’s been scared straight for the last three months. I think it’s only right that he’d turn some of his vehemence on anybody who’d try to hurt you. It’s part self-defense and part . . . I don’t know. Atonement.”

  Interesting choice of word, coming from Jenna. But Stephen’s real atonement would come when he stopped saying no to God. So far he’d managed to keep away from his old friends and drugs, and he’d gotten a good start on his grades this school year. But he needed God’s help to stay straight.

  We reached the high school, Stephen’s diatribe still ringing in my ears. I dreaded telling the girls why we were late. Kelly was sensitive and more easily frightened than her brother. For the first month after the serial killer was caught, she was plagued by nightmares about what happened to me. And Erin witnessed her own mother’s murder in their home a little over two years ago. These poor girls had been through enough.

  My heart panged as I watched them cross the parking lot, chattering as usual — no doubt about important teenage social issues. The sight of them together always made me smile. They’re both strikingly pretty — in very different ways. Kelly stands a little taller than Erin, but they’re equally slim. Erin’s white-blonde hair and fair complexion make her appear all the more ethereal next to my daughter’s tanned skin and long brown hair.

  The girls threw their backpacks in the SUV and slid into the rear seat. I turned around to say hello. Kelly took one look at my face and stilled. “What’s wrong?”

  How did my family do that?

  God, here goes. Please help them be calm.

  With a deep breath, I told them everything. Kelly listened, lips parted, brown eyes never leaving my face. Erin leaned forward, blue eyes round, a strand of bang caught on her lashes.

  “That’s terrible,” Kelly breathed. “Those poor people who were shot.” She shook her head. “Just think, Mom. If it had been a minute later, you or Aunt Jenna could have been in that store.”

  “Yeah.” Erin’s words swelled with awe. “God protected you.”

  My throat tightened. How quickly their faith rose to the surface. Both of them put me to shame. “Yes, He did.”

  Jenna stopped at a red light. I turned forward in my seat, thanking God they were taking it so well.

  “Does Dad know?” Erin asked.

  Dave. I hadn’t even thought about telling him. Oh boy. Talk about someone who’d worry. “Not yet.”

  “Well, you better talk to him as soon as we get home. I’m sure not going to be the one to tell him.”

  Jenna tossed me an amused smile.

  After we pulled into the garage, I headed across the street with Erin.

  “Dad!” she yelled as she slammed her front door behind us. “Annie needs to talk to you!”

  We passed the kitchen, walked down the hall toward his office. I stepped through his door as he came around his desk to meet me. I took in his square jaw, the green eyes and blond hair, and my heart performed its little Dave dance. “Hi, Annie.” His face creased into a smile.

  The air between us fibrillated. I felt the ancient quiver of high school years, when I was Erin’s age and endured my first crush.

  I halted a few feet away from him, sensing Erin behind me. Dave and I hadn’t displayed much affection in front of our children. Although the girls wouldn’t have minded. In fact, if they had their way, we’d be walking down the aisle tomorrow. Dave waited, gazing at me with an adoration he didn’t even try to hide. Then he looked over my shoulder toward his daughter. I turned to see Erin standing in the threshold.

  “I’ll leave you two alone.” She raised her eyebrows at her father with the wisdom of fifteen years. “Now listen. Annie needs to tell you something. But everything’s okay, so don’t freak out.”

  She pulled away and disappeared. I heard the rustle of her clothes, her cushioned footsteps as she headed toward her bedroom.

  Surprised once more at this child’s fortitude, I turned back to Dave. He gave me a questioning look, then held out his arms. I stepped into his embrace and hung there, just feeling the strength of him. Wishing I could float in this soothing sea without the detritus of my past. Music kicked on in Erin’s bedroom, filtering through the wall. I pulled back, looked into Dave’s face, seeing the concern in his eyes.

  He ran a knuckle down my cheek. “What happened?”

  His question dredged up the old insecurities. I shrugged out of his embrace.
Why was I always the first one to do that?

  “It’s nothing bad for me, really. I mean, I’m okay. But Jenna and I witnessed a shooting. Some poor young man is dead; we don’t know who he is yet. And a clerk at the 7Eleven was shot. He’s only eighteen.”

  Dave sucked in a breath. The oh-no-not-again worry crimped his face. He led me to his large leather armchair and eased me down. Sitting on the matching ottoman, he faced me. “Tell me everything.”

  I did.

  When I finished, he leaned forward, taking my hands in his. “Are you sure you’re all right? That would be an upsetting experience for anyone, but after all you’ve been through . . .”

  “I’m fine. Really.”

  Why shouldn’t I be fine? I’d had three months to recover. My family, along with Dave and Erin, had even gone to Hawaii and lolled on the beach for two weeks.

  Dave regarded me, clearly unconvinced. Sudden longing surged in me, and for a crazy moment I wanted to throw myself into his arms and cry. Wanted to tell him how weak I felt some days, and how much I’d begun to need him. And I wanted to hear that he accepted me, even if sometimes I still wondered if I accepted myself . . .

  Annie, stop it. I swallowed hard and forced a tiny smile.

  Dave inhaled slowly. He held my gaze, his eyes clouding with . . . what? Frustration? Disappointment? “You know I’m here for you. Please believe that. Don’t keep anything bottled up. It’s not healthy.”

  “Okay. Thank you.” How formal I sounded.

  When I left, he walked me to his front door and kissed me, long and gently.

  Heart flip-flopping, I descended his porch steps and headed across our double-wide street. The large log home Jenna and I had inherited from our father spread before me with gracious elegance. One of twenty-four homes in Grove Landing sky park, our house nestles at the end of Barrister Court and is edged in the back and one side by forest. Grove Landing is a dignified and quiet neighborhood — except for the noise of airplanes on the private runway, or taxiing into hangars built into the houses. Now, in the peaceful afternoon, a crow cawed from the woods on my right. The faint scent of newly cut grass wafted from a neighbor’s home. I slowed my steps, drinking in the sensations, inviting them to flow through me, quiet my spirit.