Faceless Page 5

  “If she was alone,” Noah interrupted.

  Wynter whirled around, scowling at Noah who was standing across the cabin. “Of course she was alone. I was staying with my grandma and Dad was in Larkin.”

  Noah nodded toward the doorway to the bedroom. “Take a look.”

  Wynter walked the short distance to step into the room that was dark from the heavy shutters still across the window. She could make out a double bed in the middle of the floor that was piled with tangled sheets and a quilt. On the far wall was a built-in bookshelf and a dresser. Closer to the door was a trash can filled with old takeout boxes from a local restaurant.

  “It’s a mess,” she murmured. “But I have a vague memory of our house being littered with stacks of painting supplies and toys scattered across the floor. After my mom died, my dad hired a maid to keep it spotless. It always felt empty.” She grimaced. “Even more empty.”

  Noah pressed past her to walk to the center of the room. He pointed toward the tray at the foot of the bed.

  “No matter how messy your mom might be there’s no need for two wineglasses if she was here alone.” He used the tip of his boot to point to an object on the floor. “Or that.”

  It took a second for Wynter’s eyes to adjust enough to make out the empty condom wrapper. A strange queasiness swirled through her. Just like the time Stevie Ellington dared her to ride the Tilt-A-Whirl ten times in a row.

  Why would there be wine and a condom wrapper if her mother was here painting?

  “Someone must have broken in,” she burst out. Her voice sounded too loud as it echoed eerily through the room. “It’s a perfect place if you’re trying to avoid prying eyes.”

  “True,” he agreed, but there was something that might have been sympathy in his eyes.

  Wynter cleared her throat. “Let’s look around.”

  Noah moved to the dresser, pulling open the drawers. Wynter stiffened her spine and headed to the bed. Ignoring the tangled bedclothes, she lowered herself to her knees to peer beneath the mattress.

  It was dark, but she could tell there was nothing stuffed under there. Not unless twenty-five years of dust bunnies counted. She coughed, starting to straighten. Then the dull gleam of metal caught her eye. Reaching out, she grasped the slender golden chain that was nearly hidden in a layer of grime.

  With a small sound of distress, she wrapped her fingers around the jewelry and sat back.

  “What’s wrong?” Noah was quickly kneeling beside her, a steadying arm wrapping around her shoulders.

  She held up her hand, opening her fingers to reveal the bracelet that was studded with small but perfect emeralds. “This belonged to my mom.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes.” She stroked her thumb over one of the emeralds. “I’ve seen her wearing it in old pictures. It was a wedding gift from my father.”

  Noah’s arm tightened around her shoulders. “We should go, Wynter.”

  He was right. There was nothing to discover here but hollow memories.

  She’d reached to grab the edge of the bed to help pull herself to her feet when she caught sight of an envelope sticking out from between the mattress and the box springs. Without thought, she grabbed it and pulled it out to discover her mother’s name scrawled on the front.

  “Wait, Wynter.”

  Wynter ignored the warning, opening the envelope to pull out a sheet of paper. Quickly scanning the letter, she dropped it on the floor then reached beneath the mattress to pull out a dozen more envelopes. She read two more before she dropped them in revulsion.

  “Ugh.”

  “Wynter?”

  “I need a minute,” she muttered, trying to absorb what she’d discovered. There was an old saying about having the rug pulled out from beneath your feet. That’s what it felt like. Or maybe it was closer to having the blinders torn away from her eyes.

  In either case, Wynter knew she would never be quite the same.

  “Are you okay?” Noah finally intruded into her dark thoughts.

  With slow, methodical movements, Wynter forced herself to fold the letters and return them to the envelopes.

  “The letters are to my mother.” She stopped, clearing her throat. “They’re . . . I don’t know, I suppose they’re love letters.”

  “What do you mean, you ‘suppose’?”

  “They’re a description of my mother’s various body parts and what he intends to do to each one of them.”

  Noah stiffened. “Are they threats?”

  She shook her head. She almost wished they were, but the letters had obviously been from a lover who not only had an intimate knowledge of her mother, but an ongoing relationship. There’d been graphic details of their previous sexual encounters along with promises for future escapades. And worse, there was a mention of her mother’s visit to the Art Institute in Chicago. She’d spoken at a seminar for young artists. Just two weeks before she died.

  Which meant the affair wasn’t ancient history. It’d been going on for months. Her gaze shifted to the tray with wine and two glasses. And probably until the night she died.

  “They’re signed ‘Drake,’” she managed to mutter.

  “Does the name mean anything to you?” Noah asked.

  “No.” She clenched the letters tight in her hands, climbing to her feet. Then a misty memory teased at the edge of her mind. “Oh wait.”

  “You remember something?”

  “I think my grandma’s neighbor was called Drake.” She furrowed her brow, struggling to pin down the name. It’d been ten years since she’d visited her grandma’s old house. “Yes. Drake Shelton.”

  “Is he a friend of the family?” Noah rose to his feet, his warm body pressed against her. As if he wanted to be close in case she collapsed.

  She might have been annoyed if her knees didn’t feel precariously weak.

  “Not that I remember.” She dredged up an image of a large man who had pulled into his driveway when Wynter had been helping her grandmother unload groceries from the back of her car. He’d politely inquired if he could assist, only to be sent away with a firm no. “In fact, I don’t think my grandma liked him very much.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Just her attitude when their paths crossed. My grandma was the sweetest woman, but her voice was . . .” Wynter didn’t have the right word. It hadn’t been angry. Or afraid. It’d been oddly disdainful. “Sharp when she spoke to Drake,” she finally finished.

  “Did you ever ask her why?”

  “No.” Wynter shrugged. She’d been a child and then a self-absorbed teenager when she’d been visiting Pike. She spent her time in the kitchen with her grandma or on the phone with her friends. “I wasn’t really interested.”

  “Do you know anything about him?”

  “I remember seeing him driving a truck that had some sort of advertising on the side. I think it was a construction company.” She could recall that the decal had the name of a company and a hammer. Or was it a wrench? “Maybe a plumber.”

  “We should see if he still lives in the same house.”

  She jerked, horrified at the mere thought of confronting her mother’s lover. “Why?”

  “It’s possible that he was one of the last people to have spoken with your mother before she died,” he pointed out in gentle tones. “If she was being followed or being harassed, she might have said something.”

  She glanced down at the letters. “What if it’s not the same Drake?”

  “Then he’ll tell us he doesn’t know what we’re talking about.”

  The queasiness returned. She didn’t really doubt that it was the same man. The name Drake wasn’t that common. Especially not in this area. Which only made the thought of confronting him more difficult. “I’m not sure I can.”

  Noah moved to stand directly in front of her, his hands lightly grasping her shoulders. “Wynter, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. Not ever.”

  She released a shaky sigh. “I w
ant to. But the thought of confronting my mother’s lover makes me feel sick to my stomach.”

  “I’ll do it,” he assured her without hesitation. “Unless you would prefer to go home and put this out of your mind.”

  She genuinely considered his offer. A part of her was fully prepared to walk out of the cabin and drive away. She could return to Larkin and pretend the past two days had been nothing more than a bad dream. God knew she was used to nightmares. They’d haunted her for years.

  But a larger part refused to stick her head in the sand. If something happened twenty-five years ago, she wanted to know the truth.

  She owed it to her mother.

  “No.” She met his searching gaze. “We need to find out what he has to say about the night Mom died. She might have told him if she was being harassed. Or shared a description of a vehicle following her. If I was afraid, I would want to tell someone.”

  Noah brushed his lips over her forehead before he stepped back. “Are you ready?”

  Wynter absently lifted a hand to touch the spot that was still warm from his lips as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and steered her into the main room.

  The sight of the canvas near the window sent a fresh wave of pain crashing over her.

  “I thought she came here to paint. I used to lie in bed and think of how she spent the last hours of her life in this world. It made me happy to think she was doing what she loved.” Wynter shook her head in disgust. “Instead she was here, cheating on my father. No wonder she never wanted me around.”

  Noah tugged her tightly against his side, firmly urging her toward the door. “We don’t know what happened. Not for certain. Let’s go talk to Drake.”

  She turned her gaze away from the painting layered in a coat of dust. “Okay.”

  Chapter 6

  Noah didn’t protest when Wynter climbed into the driver’s seat. She was in shock, but she obviously needed the distraction of negotiating the truck down the narrow path that led back to the main highway and then through the city streets of Pike. Still, he breathed a small sigh of relief when she pulled to a halt in front of a ranch-style house with white siding and black shutters.

  Switching off the engine, Wynter pointed toward the house next door. It looked exactly the same as her grandmother’s old home, only with green shutters instead of black.

  Actually, the whole block looked the same, Noah realized. As if there was a decision in the late sixties to create a subdivision of matching houses.

  “That’s where Drake used to live,” Wynter said, her voice steady although her face was pale and tight with strain.

  Noah’s instinct was to reach out and gather her into his arms. She was hurt and confused and more than a little frightened. He urgently wanted to do whatever necessary to protect her from further harm. But he resisted the urge.

  Not only would it be better for Wynter to get this encounter over with as quickly as possible, but he was beginning to suspect that his impulse to pull Wynter close wasn’t entirely out of a selfless need to shield her from pain.

  He’d always enjoyed Wynter’s company. And any man alive would think she was a beautiful, desirable woman. But the past few hours had revealed that he was more invested in Wynter Moore and her happiness than he’d ever suspected.

  Or maybe he had suspected and just ignored the danger.

  “There’s a truck in the driveway,” he said, eager to distract himself from his disturbing thoughts. “Does it look familiar?”

  She leaned forward, her hands clutching the steering wheel in a death grip. “The truck is different, but the decal on the side is the same.” She wrinkled her nose. “I think.”

  “I’m going to see if he’s home.” Noah shoved open his door, letting in a blast of icy air. He shivered. After sixteen years living in the north, he should be accustomed to the cold weather, but his blood still longed for heat of his childhood home in Miami. “If you want to stay here—”

  “No.” She shoved open her own door. “I want to hear what he has to say.”

  Rounding the hood of the truck, Noah reached to grab Wynter’s hand as they crossed the yard and stepped onto the small cement porch. She squeezed his fingers, standing close to his side as he rapped his knuckles against the aluminum screen door. A warmth raced through him at the knowledge that she was willing to accept his strength when she was feeling vulnerable.

  There was a long, tense minute before the front door was pulled open and a man peered through the screen.

  “Yeah?”

  Noah studied the stranger. He was at least an inch taller than Noah’s six feet, but wider, with the beginnings of a paunch that pressed against his white T-shirt and threatened to roll over the waistband of his brown work pants. His dark hair was cut short and thinning in the middle. His face was what his grandmother would call “beefy” and was chapped from spending long hours outside. Perhaps at one time he might have been handsome, but the years hadn’t been kind, ravaging his features until he looked like a worn tire.

  “Drake Shelton?” he asked.

  The man pushed open the screen door to reveal his bleary gray eyes and the faint hint of stale alcohol that clung to his breath. This man had recently been on a bender.

  “Who’s asking?”

  “I’m Noah Heller and this is Wynter Moore.”

  The man jerked at the name, his hands clenching into white-knuckled fists as he intently studied Wynter from head to toe.

  “Laurel’s daughter?”

  Wynter nodded, her lips flattening. She’d obviously realized this had to be the man who wrote the letters to her mom. His reaction to Wynter’s sudden appearance was blatant shock, not the vague curiosity of an old acquaintance.

  Drake cleared his throat. “I haven’t seen you since your grandmother died. How are you?”

  Wynter managed a strained smile. “I’m fine. Thanks.”

  “What brings you to Pike?”

  “I come every year to visit my mother’s grave.”

  Drake grunted, as if he’d taken a blow to the gut. “Yeah. I noticed the fresh flowers.”

  Noah exchanged a quick glance with Wynter. Had the man been to the graveyard yesterday? Had he remembered it was the anniversary of Laurel’s death?

  After twenty-five years, surely only a family member or a lover would recall the exact date.

  Or a killer . . .

  “That’s why we’re here,” Noah said, taking command of the conversation.

  Drake frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  “Wynter has a few questions about the night her mother died,” Noah clarified.

  “Oh.” Drake sent Wynter a baffled frown. “Your grandmother never discussed the shooting with me, if that’s what you’re hoping. To be honest, we didn’t talk about anything. She could be a difficult woman.”

  Wynter’s brows snapped together at the insult to her beloved grandmother. Noah quickly directed the attention back to himself.

  “We were interested in events that happened a few hours before she died.”

  The man managed to look even more baffled. “What events?”

  “Her weekend spent in the cabin.”

  Drake froze, his eyes still bloodshot but no longer bleary. In fact, there was tension humming around him that assured Noah his words had hit a raw nerve.

  “A cabin?” The man darted a glance over his shoulder before returning his attention to Noah. “What cabin?”

  Noah folded his arms over his chest. As a conservation officer, he’d been trained to interview witnesses as well as potential suspects, but he didn’t need to be an expert to detect that Drake Shelton was lying. He hoped the man never played poker. “The one you visited the night she died,” he said.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You were there with my mother,” Wynter said, her voice hard with accusation.

  Drake muttered a curse. “Whoever told you that is a liar.”

  “We have proof.” Wynter reached into the
pocket of her coat to pull out the letters she’d found in the cabin.

  Drake stared at the folded envelopes, almost as if he didn’t recognize them. Then the color drained from his face and he stepped out of the house to glare down at Wynter. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he snapped. “My wife is inside.”

  Wynter tilted her chin. It didn’t matter that the guy was towering over her. Or that he doubled her in weight. She faced him without flinching.

  “I’m not here to judge you. All we want to know is what you remember about my mother. Did she mention being angry with anyone? Or was someone harassing her? Was there anyone who frightened her?”

  The gray eyes were hard with a bitterness that went beyond being accused of an affair. It was a soul-deep resentment. “I barely knew Laurel. We went to school together, but that’s it. If there was some man with her at the cabin that night, it wasn’t me.”

  Wynter calmly pulled out one of the letters and began to read out loud. “‘To my heart and soul, Laurel. I’ve been dreaming of you again. Of your soft breasts, and the taste of your sweet, sweet—’”

  “Stop!” Drake flushed an ugly red, shoving out his hand that was large and callused from years of manual labor. “Give them to me.”

  Noah knocked Drake’s hand aside, angling his body to make sure the man couldn’t reach Wynter without going through him. “Tell us about the last night you shared with Laurel,” he commanded.

  Drake sent him a fierce scowl. “I’m not telling you shit. And if you come back here again, I’ll have you arrested for trespassing.”

  Without warning, the man turned around to stomp back into the house. A second later, the front door was slammed shut.

  Noah grimaced as he glanced toward Wynter. “That didn’t go as well as I’d hoped.”

  She shrugged. “We know one thing.”

  “What?”

  “He was with my mother the night she died.”

  Noah nodded. Drake’s denial had been too violent to be real. He’d been with Laurel that night. So why deny it? Because of his wife? Or did he have another reason for hiding the affair?