Deep Secrets. Beverly LongЧитать онлайн книгу.

       Chapter Two

      Tell Rafe they know.

      Trish sat on the edge of a booth, her feet flat on the floor, her eyes closed. Hoping that the world would stop spinning. Somebody had draped a blanket over her.

      Maybe it had been Summer. Or Bray. Or maybe even Chase Hollister, who hadn’t even been on the job for six months. He was about to investigate his first murder.

      Milo was dead. Knifed to death. Gutted like a fish. That was what she’d heard one of the volunteers from the fire and rescue squad say before Bray had grabbed his shirt collar and jerked him out of the room. The man had come back, said a quiet apology in her direction and been more respectful until Chase finally let them take Milo’s body from the scene. Of course, it had seemed like hours before they’d moved him off the cold ground. At some point, more police had arrived. They were still here. Portable lighting had been set up behind the café, making it look even more surreal.

      The images in her head were disjointed. Opening the door, practically stumbling over the body. Blood. So much blood. Bray whipping the door open, pulling her back.

      Thank goodness for Bray. He’d taken charge. She and Summer had been hustled back inside the café, where Keagan and Adie waited, scared to death that their aunt had been screaming. He must have called the police, too, because within minutes Chase Hollister had arrived, looking very serious.

      At some point, Cal Hollister and his pretty wife, Nalana, had arrived and taken Summer and the kids away from all the ugliness. Her twin hadn’t wanted to leave, but she’d already thrown up three times and Bray had had enough. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” Summer said, as Nalana was guiding her out of the door. “We need to talk about a funeral.”

      Milo didn’t have family. It would be up to them. He wouldn’t want a funeral. And if he’d known about her trip, then he’d have been mad as hell at her if she canceled so that they could have one.

      But funerals weren’t for the dead. They were for the living, to make it easier to say goodbye. They would definitely have a funeral.

      * * *

      THEN SHE HAD watched Summer and the kids leave. She wasn’t worried about them. Bray’s youngest brother, Cal, had been a Navy SEAL. Nalana, his new bride, was still an FBI agent.

      She’d stared at the floor after that. Until she’d finally got so tired that she needed to close her eyes.

      “Trish,” she heard someone say.

      She wanted to ignore it, to pretend that the past several hours hadn’t happened. But that wasn’t an option.

      She lifted her head. Chase was squatting down in front of her, his eyes full of concern.

      “How are you doing?” he asked.

      She licked her dry lips. “He was a good man,” she said, choosing to ignore the question. She wasn’t up to pretending that she was fine. She was so damn tired of always pretending that she was fine.

      “Yes, he was,” Chase said. “And we will find the person who did this. I promise you.”

      If anyone could, it was probably Chase. He’d been a cop in St. Louis before coming back to Ravesville, ostensibly to get his deceased parents’ house ready for sale but really to guard a key witness in a murder case. He’d done more than just guard the witness. He’d married her. And now Raney Hollister was one of Trish’s favorite people.

      “Was there anyone unusual in the café tonight or maybe even within the last couple of days?”

      The question wasn’t unexpected. She’d been trying to think of the same thing for the past hour. “I don’t think so,” she said. “We had a few strangers, of course.” That wasn’t unusual. Travelers. Usually vacationers. People in need of a hot meal and a cup of coffee. “But nobody that I considered unusual or suspicious.”

      “Did Milo have any visitors or receive any unusual telephone calls that you’re aware of?”

      “No. I don’t think he had any plans for after work because he’d asked me if I wanted to see a movie.”

      She saw Chase exchange a quick glance with Bray. “Did you often watch movies together?” Chase asked, probably wondering if he’d missed a romantic connection between her and Milo.

      “Never,” she said. “But he knew that today was a tough day for me.”

      Another glance between Chase and Bray. Oh, for goodness’ sake, Bray didn’t have to explain this. She was a big girl. “My husband, Rafe Roper, died four years ago today,” she said.

      “I’m sorry,” Chase said.

      She believed him. Chase Hollister was a good man. She’d known him since he was a kid. Which was why she was going to tell him everything, even though her mind hadn’t made sense of it yet.

      “Milo said something before he died.”

      Bray’s head whipped up. This was news to him.

      “What was that?” Chase said gently.

      “‘Tell Rafe they know.’”

      Chase didn’t look at Bray this time. He was staring intently at her. “You’re sure that’s what he said?”

      “Yes.”

      Chase stood up, walked over to the window, looked out at the street. Finally, he turned. “Did Milo know your husband?”

      “No. Rafe was already dead before he came to work here.”

      “Did the two of you frequently talk about Rafe?”

      “No. I don’t discuss Rafe with many people. But Milo and I had been talking earlier in the evening and his name came up.”

      “Is it possible that Milo was confused? That your conversation earlier in the evening was on his mind, and that’s why he mentioned him before he died?”

      “I guess,” she said, her tone flat. It made as much sense as anything. But she’d never seen Milo confused or discombobulated about anything. He was always calm, always controlled. But then again, she’d never seen him bleeding to death on the dirty pavement, either.

      “I don’t know,” she said, her voice breaking. “I just don’t know and it’s driving me crazy.”

      Chase reached out for her hand. It probably wasn’t police protocol, but given that his brother was married to her twin sister, she and Chase were family. “It’s going to be okay,” he said. “I know hearing something like that would be very upsetting. But he was dying. Losing lots of blood quickly. He wouldn’t have been thinking clearly.”

      She’d been telling herself the same thing. But for some strange reason, it really irritated her to hear someone else say it. “They were his last words. I think they were important to him,” she snapped.

      “Of course,” Chase said.

      Bray stood up. “I think I should take Trish back to my house,” he said.

      When Summer and Bray had got married, Bray had moved into the small house that Summer had rented with her two children. They were building a new home but the walls had just gone up. “You don’t have extra space,” she said. “I’ll go to my own house.”

      “You can stay with Raney and me,” Chase said immediately.

      She did not want to stay with anyone. She was strung so tight that she was about to lose it. “Is there any reason to think that I’m in danger, that the attack on Milo had something to do with me or Summer or the café?”

      “We have no way of knowing that,”