Past, Present and a Future (Going Back) Read online

  Gil had a sudden flashback to the wooden footbridge, where he’d turned to wave goodbye to Rina, who had been looking down the path. He could still see the unknown bike rider slowly heading toward Rina. Now he knew who that rider was.

  “Did Helen kill Rina Thomas?” he asked, fighting to keep his voice calm.

  Wolochuk nodded. “Yes,” he said, his deep sigh echoing in the quiet room.

  Gil wasn’t certain the man even heard him leave the house. He headed quickly for his car, his mind teeming. By the time he was driving toward the highway, he still hadn’t sorted out what to do next, but getting to Clare right away figured high on his list.

  Gil glanced at the clock once more and increased his speed. He hoped Clare had heeded his suggestion about waiting for him to return to Twin Falls before contacting the sheriff. He had a feeling Davis wasn’t going to be happy about their amateur detective work, even if it meant Rina’s murder was solved, and he didn’t want Clare to endure any interrogation by herself.

  Not that she couldn’t handle a bit of intimidation, but he felt a need to protect her. She hadn’t fallen apart at Wolochuk’s forcing his way into her room or ranting about Rina, although her tight, pale face had signaled her distress. The Clare he’d dated long ago had been spunky, too, beneath her shy exterior. She was a perfect example, he realized, of how appearances can deceive.

  That sparked another thought. He could understand how she had misinterpreted the scene on the playing field that day. And in the same way he, too, had misjudged her reaction that night in the park. It hadn’t been doubt about his innocence in Rina’s murder that he’d seen in Clare’s face. Instead, his failure to be frank about what Rina had told him as they embraced on the field had led Clare to assume he still cared for Rina. That was the disbelief he’d seen. Disbelief in his love for her.

  Gil sighed. What a bloody waste of years, not to mention the loss of exquisite happiness during those years. If only… Those two words had plagued him since that night he walked away from Clare. Part of him had sensed right then that she’d been on the verge of forgiving him. The tears in the corners of her eyes and the huskiness in her voice had been signs he chose to ignore because his hurt was too big, all encompassing. So his life had gone in a direction he never could have imagined those months when Clare Morgan was all he got up for every morning—before Rina was killed and before he and Clare broke up.

  Now, if luck was finally on his side, he and Clare might have a second chance. Not at reliving their adolescent dreams, of course. Those drifted away that night in the park. But this time Gil figured the experience gained by the intervening seventeen years was bound to make their union richer and much more valued. There was no way he would ever in his life be able to take Clare Morgan for granted again.

  When he caught sight of the Twin Falls Welcome sign, Gil slowed down and dug into his jacket pocket for his cell phone. It was a few minutes past six but already dark. The stormy weather that had been brewing all day looked ready to burst. At the first stop sign, Gil punched in Clare’s number. Five rings later the voice mail clicked on. Disappointed, he said he was on his way and to please wait, that he had something important to tell her.

  The storm hit two blocks from the hotel. Lightning bolts tore at the sky and rain tumbled from black clouds. Gil eyed the illegal parking slot at the hotel entrance and, after a nanosecond’s debate, angled his car into it. He hopped out and dashed into the lobby. The place was empty except for the night clerk on duty behind the counter and a woman who seemed to be waiting for someone, sitting on one of the lobby chairs.

  He considered going straight up to Clare’s room but hated to waste the time if she really was out somewhere. And he prayed, if the latter was true, that she had her car.

  “Can you tell me if Clare Morgan is in?” he asked the clerk.

  The twenty-something kid peered up from the music magazine he was skimming and frowned. “You’re the second person in the last ten minutes to—”

  “Is she or isn’t she?” Gil barked.

  The kid’s frown deepened. He gave Gil a wary look.

  Curbing his impatience, Gil softened his tone. “We arranged to meet more than an hour ago and she’s not answering her phone.”

  “Like I told that lady—” he tilted his head to a point behind Gil, “—Miss Morgan left here about twenty minutes ago, but said to tell anyone who called that she’d be right back.”

  “That was it? No other messages?”

  “Yeah, she left a note for a Gil Harper. Is that you?”

  “Yes, it is,” Gil said curtly, wishing the guy had got to the point right away. He drummed his fingers on the countertop while the youth turned around to retrieve a folded piece of paper from a cubbyhole.

  He snatched the note from the clerk’s hand and flipped it open.

  Dear Gil,

  I’ve just figured something out, something important that I’d forgotten. There were two bike riders that day. I’m off to the sheriff’s office. See you soon, I hope, with good news.

  C.

  Two bike riders? How did that fit in with what he’d learned from Stan Wolochuk? He forced himself to take a deep breath. There was no cause for worry, he told himself, just puzzlement. “Okay. So, uh, she hasn’t come back then?”

  “Like the I told the lady, I’ve been standing here the whole time.”

  “What lady is that?”

  “The one behind you. Over there in the chair.”

  Gil slowly pivoted around, half expecting to see Helen Wolochuk, but the only person behind him was the woman he’d spotted on entering the lobby. He walked slowly toward her. “Are you looking for Clare Morgan?” he asked.

  She smiled, rising to her feet. “I certainly am. And you would be—”

  “Gil Harper. I’m a friend of hers.”

  “Well, I know Clare wasn’t expecting me, but I found something I thought she might want to hear tonight, rather than wait till tomorrow.”

  “And you are—?”

  “Oh, sorry.” She extended her right hand. “Fran Dutton.”

  CLARE CALLED the sheriff’s office as soon as Helen left, asking to speak to Vince Carelli. He’d called in sick that day, Beth informed her. Would Clare like to speak to the sheriff?

  Clare thought quickly. An idea was forming in the back of her mind, one she wasn’t certain about just yet. She really needed to speak to Vince, because he was part of the memory trigger that occurred after Helen Wolochuk confessed to Rina’s murder.

  “I don’t suppose you could give me his phone number?”

  There was the slightest hesitation, followed by a long sigh. “Oh, I couldn’t do that, Clare. Sorry.”

  Knowing Beth had already done more than enough for her and Gil, Clare didn’t press the point. Besides, she had a telephone book at hand and how many Carellis could there be in Twin Falls anyway? Not many, as it turned out, and only one V. Carelli. She grabbed her jacket and purse and headed downstairs.

  When Clare saw the clerk at the reception desk, she remembered her dinner date with Gil and hastily scrawled a note to leave at the desk for him. Then she dashed toward the parking lot and, armed with Vince Carelli’s home address, got into her rental car. She peered up at the darkening sky through the windshield and hesitated, her fingers wrapped around the car keys in the ignition. What was she expecting to accomplish by this visit to Vince Carelli?

  Helen Wolochuk had vividly recreated the scene that day, admitting she’d been the bike rider in pursuit of Rina and Gil. Clare pictured it all in her mind as Helen rambled on, first seeing the unknown rider, then the empty bicycle rack in the parking lot as she’d run through it. She’d been crying and had almost collided with a boy on a bike entering the parking lot from the street. Vince Carelli.

  She couldn’t understand why she’d forgotten running into Vince that day, except that in light of everything else that happened, it hadn’t seemed important. She had a vague memory of Vince asking her about Rina and remembered pointing wo
rdlessly toward the field and the ravine beyond. Vince had thanked her and ridden on while Clare went home.

  A rumble of thunder rolled somewhere in the distance. Clare peered up at the sky, noticing for the first time the building storm. She started the car. If Vince had continued after Rina that day, he might have seen Helen Wolochuk, too. She didn’t recall seeing a statement from Vince in Rina’s case file, but perhaps he hadn’t gone all the way to the ravine. At any rate, it wouldn’t hurt to have some corroboration about seeing Helen, just in case the woman changed her story. No doubt she’d realize the blunder she’d made in confessing.

  Having made a decision, Clare shifted into Drive and headed for Vince Carelli’s house. The worst that could happen, she reasoned, would be that he’d send her on to the sheriff. The rain hit just as she pulled up at the curb in front of Carelli’s address and she ran to the front door, knocking sharply. Clare was thinking she ought to have given the matter more thought but as she was about to turn away, the door flew open.

  “Clare? What is it?” Vince asked. He was in jeans and a flannel shirt and didn’t look as though he’d risen from his sickbed.

  Clare’s gaze flicked from his stubbled face to the beer bottle he clutched in one hand. “I…uh, sorry to disturb you at home, Vince, but—”

  “You’d better come in out of the rain.” He motioned inside with the hand holding the beer bottle.

  She stepped into the dark entrance hall. When he closed the door behind him, the house fell into darkness.

  “You said to call if anything came up about the Wolochuks and—”

  “Don’t tell me someone in that family’s gone off the deep end again.”

  “I’ve just had a visit from Helen and she basically admitted killing Rina Thomas,” she blurted.

  He didn’t move for a long moment. When he did, he tilted his head to one side and seemed to squint at her. “Yeah? So, why aren’t you talking to the sheriff right now, instead of me?”

  “Because she said she’d ridden Stanley’s bike after Rina that day and I saw her following Rina and Gil toward the ravine, though at the time I didn’t know who the person was. Then after Helen left today, I remembered meeting you when I was coming out of the school parking lot so I thought that…well…you might have seen something, too. Between the two of us, we might be able to put together what really happened.” She stopped, breathless, her heart pounding against her ribs.

  “But you said Helen confessed.”

  “She did, but won’t witnesses be needed anyway? What if she denies saying anything to me? I mean, I can’t prove that she did. We can talk about it before heading off to see Sheriff Davis.”

  “Come on into the living room, “he said, turning to his left into a small room off the hall.

  Clare hesitated in the doorway. All the drapes were drawn in the room and she could barely see.

  “I woke up with a migraine this morning, that’s why I’m not at work.” He switched on a table lamp next to an easy chair. “Have a seat. Sorry about the mess,” he said, gesturing to newspapers scattered about the room along with an assortment of empty junk food bags.

  Clare sidestepped an empty beer bottle on the floor. Kind of an unorthodox treatment for a migraine, she thought, as she sat gingerly on the edge of the couch.

  He lowered his large frame into the easy chair across from her. “So Helen Wolochuk just showed up at your door and confessed to the Rina Thomas murder?”

  She shook her head. “Not quite like that. Maybe I should give you some background. You see—Gil Harper and I have been doing a little investigating into the Rina Thomas case.”

  “Oh? Why is that?”

  “It’s a long story and it’s kind of connected to the vandalism of my book posters. Apparently Helen Wolochuk started hearing all kinds of gossip about Rina’s murder after the word came out that I was coming back to town to promote my book.”

  “Heard some of it myself,” he said.

  “I think she was afraid that some people would read the book and believe there was more fact in it than fiction. Some of the details in the book are close enough to the real case that, well, people might put two and two together. And there was a bike rider in my book.”

  “So although the book is fiction, there might be some details that someone—say, in the know—could believe to be fact and therefore, be worried about.”

  “Yeah, I think that’s what I meant.” She laughed. “Maybe you should try writing, Vince. You seem to have a way with words.”

  He smiled. “Thanks for the compliment, but I doubt I’d have the discipline. Okay, so the Wolochuks were worried someone would point the finger at them and had a big fight. Jason overheard them and, without really having all the facts, pegged you as the bad person upsetting his parents and making his life miserable.”

  “Yes. Gil and I went to see them about Jason and in the course of our visit, some information came out about the murder.”

  “Such as?”

  “The thing about the bike rider.”

  “And how did you connect the bike rider to Helen Wolochuk?”

  Clare told him about Stanley’s visit the night before. “He denied being the person on the bike but I didn’t really believe him until Helen confessed.”

  Carelli’s thoughtful gaze locked on hers. The only sound was the muted fall of rain on the roof of the house. “Did she say how she killed her?” he finally asked.

  “I think she thought the fall to the ground had broken Rina’s neck but that was the one thing that jarred in her confession.”

  “How so?”

  She hesitated, knowing she was about to get Beth into trouble, but it would all have to come out anyway. “According to the autopsy report, Rina was killed by a blunt trauma to the head and police found a bloodied tree branch in the vicinity.”

  “And how do you know what the autopsy said, Clare?”

  “Because I…well, uh…I read it. But I can’t tell you how I got hold of the report. At least, not yet.”

  He shook his head, obviously unhappy with her. “I think maybe we should go down to the station and continue this talk with Davis.”

  Clare sighed. There was no way out, she thought. She checked her watch, noting that it was past six and Gil must already have arrived at the hotel. She considered asking to go to the station later, but one look at Carelli’s face ruled out pleading. He looked royally ticked off.

  There was a crash of thunder outside. “I should go,” she said, rising to her feet. “I’m supposed to meet Gil back at the hotel.”

  Carelli shook his head. “You’ll have to forget about that, Clare. We need to go to the station and talk to Davis, get the ball rolling on an arrest warrant for Helen Wolochuk.”

  “I hope it won’t take too long,” she said.

  “I can’t guarantee how long it’ll take. Depends if the sheriff is as bugged about this as I am. I’m not even going to ask how you got the file, ’cause I’ve got a hunch about that already.” He gripped the arms of the easy chair and stood up.

  Clare closed her eyes. God, she had really blown it. She wondered if he and the sheriff would believe her if she insisted that Beth had had no choice but to copy the file. That she and Gil had threatened her or something?

  When she opened her eyes again, Vince was staring at her, his face flushed.

  “Give me a second to…uh…get ready,” he mumbled. He weaved slightly as he moved toward her.

  Clare stepped back as he drew nearer. His foot came down on the empty beer bottle and he stumbled, his arms flailing as he lost his balance. Clare reached out for him, dropping her purse onto the floor where it tumbled open. Vince clutched onto her, righting himself. Catching a deadly whiff of stale beer and body odor, Clare pulled away from him.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled. He stood perfectly still, shaking his head back and forth as if to clear it of its alcoholic haze. “Guess I should’ve been eating as well as drinking today,” he muttered. “Let me get that for you.” He stooped to re
trieve Clare’s purse and the items that had fallen out.

  Too late, Clare’s gaze shifted from Vince to the carpet and the agenda book, with its gold-embossed R. Carelli on the cover.

  “What’s this?” he asked, picking the book off the floor and holding it up in front of Clare. “How the hell did you get hold of my Dad’s book?”

  She didn’t have a chance to respond. As if the gods were as accusing as Vince, an earsplitting clap of thunder sounded above and the house fell into complete darkness.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “WE’LL TAKE MY CAR,” Gil said, ushering Fran out the hotel door. He wasn’t certain what Clare was up to but figured it couldn’t be good. Especially when the desk clerk revealed that there’d been a visitor to Miss Morgan’s room shortly before she left. A strange-looking woman. Helen Wolochuk? Gil was more mystified than ever.

  On the way to the sheriff’s office Fran told Gil about the agenda book and its contents. He listened half-heartedly, imagining Clare sitting on the hot seat in Sheriff Davis’s office at that very moment. Even when he registered Fran’s assertion that the former bank president had been moving money around in the bank in a very curious fashion, Gil still was unable to figure out how that fit into the Rina Thomas puzzle.

  “I found a letter,” Fran explained. “I was going to wait and go through Mr. Carelli’s box of files tomorrow but I was too curious, especially after what I read in his agenda book.” She peered down at her watch. “Everyone at home will be wondering where I am.”

  “Hmm?” Preoccupied, Gil turned from the windshield. “Do you want to go home?”

  “Heavens, no. My kids are big enough to fend for themselves. Besides, I want to find out what’s going on. Clare told me about her mother, but I think there’s something bigger here than an embezzlement case.” Her pale blue eyes locked with Gil’s.

  Damn right about that, he thought. He managed a faint smile. “I think so, too, Fran. So, what was it you found in this box?”

  “A letter from the former Sheriff—George Watson—thanking Mr. Carelli for taking care of his car loan and advising him that the business concerning the Rina Thomas file had also been taken care of.”