Twice Burned E-Book

Jan Coffey

• Herausgeber: Book Duo Creative
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 566

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

   DAPHNE DU MAURIER AWARD of Excellence WINNER   NATIONAL READERS' CHOICE AWARD FINALIST   RWA RITA AWARD FINALIST     A man awaits execution for a murder he did not commit . . .   A woman returns to a place of scandal and death to save her brother . . .   A small town's simmering secrets are about to ignite in a blaze of suspicion and deadly retribution . . .   In a small town haunted by tragedy, Lea Hardy returns to save her brother Ted, wrongfully condemned for his family's murder. As dark secrets resurface, she discovers anonymous letters declaring his innocence—and a dangerous attraction to the enigmatic Mick Conklin.    With time running out and the town hungry for vengeance, Lea must unravel a web of deceit and trust her heart before the truth—and her brother—are lost forever. Secrets will ignite, and passion will blaze as justice hangs in the balance, but the bright fires of truth are about to blow Stonybrook wide open.   What others say about Twice Burned:       "Jan Coffey...skillfully balances small town scandal and sexual intrigue with lively plotting and vivid characterizations in this engaging romantic thriller." – Publisher's Weekly   "...fabulous!!! I loved every last word....I never let anyone read my copies...I want them to buy their own...but I do let my husband read the ones I know he will like, and this one is a must." – Dede Baker, A Novel Idea Bookshop  ★★★★★ 

Leseprobe

TWICE BURNED

JAN COFFEY

withMAY MCGOLDRICK

Book Duo Creative

Thank you for reading this novel. In the event that you appreciate Twice Burned, please consider sharing the good word(s) by leaving a review, or connect with the authors.

Twice Burned. Copyright © 2014 by Nikoo K. and James A. McGoldrick

First Published by Mira books, 2002

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher: Book Duo Creative.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used factiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

CONTENTS

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Edition Note

Author’s Note

Preview of TRIPLE THREAT

Also by May McGoldrick, Jan Coffey & Nik James

About the Author

To the Kepples, our extended family,

with love.

PROLOGUE

Bucks County, Pennsylvania

Friday, May 19, 2000

In waves as palpable as mist, the chill from the river radiated through the night air. Settling on the skin, on the scalp, it was a feeling, a sensation, a living presence…almost. In time, it would seep through to the bone.

It didn’t matter where it was. The black endless void of the sea. A silent mountain lake. Even in a place known since childhood—a river’s bank, the pond’s edge—one sometimes felt it. It was a brush of damp on the face, the arm.

In the light of day, one could think that moments like this gave birth to tales of Grendel and his kind, of monsters that rose out of swamps and lakes and oceans to destroy and to devour.

But now, standing by the water at night, the chill raised the hackles on the neck. The sounds of night birds became omens. The glow of fireflies became warnings. The shadows of rocks and trees became deathtraps.

The low gurgling hiss of the river hid any sound of footsteps. Protected by a moonless sky, the intruder left the path along the bank and moved quietly beneath the trees. Above, leaves made rasping sounds in a solitary night breeze, shivering slightly before tumbling through the darkness.

The air was cool, heavy, and stretched like the dark coil of some huge and motionless snake across the grounds. The trespasser, now one with the deep shade, stopped and stared up past the lawns at the unlit windows of the house, and waited.

A sports car sped down the road. The garage door opened automatically, and the driver pulled in sharply. In a moment, silence again reigned. Moving noiselessly, the shadow stepped out from beneath the trees and crossed the lawn to the house.

* * *

“Help with your sister, Emily.”

The sleepy-eyed five-year-old stared blankly at her mother’s profile in the dim light of the car and then nodded off again. Marilyn Hardy switched off the engine and punched the remote for the garage door to close. Twisting in the driver’s seat, she found both girls asleep again.

“Emily!” she snapped. “Come on, girl. Wake up.”

She touched her older daughter’s knee and gave it a firm shake. The child opened puffy, red-rimmed eyes and groggily tried to focus on her mother’s face.

“We’re home. Hear me? Home. Now, get moving.” Pushing open the driver’s door, Marilyn cursed as it hit a new tricycle, jamming it against the garage wall. “Christ, Emily! How many times do I have to tell you to put this damn thing where it belongs?”

Marilyn snatched the girls’ packed bags off the front seat, letting them drop onto the cement floor before reaching for her purse. The thin handle strap caught on the gearshift on the center console. Losing patience, she tugged hard to free it. The clasp snapped open, pouring the contents out onto the seat and floor.

“Shit!”

She threw the purse aside and, backing out, wrenched the seat forward. Marilyn glared at Emily’s nodding head.

“I told you I need your help.” The child snapped awake immediately and reached over to undo the seatbelt holding her younger sister.

Without opening her eyes, Hanna cried and kicked her foot crossly. As her mother reached in to take her out of the car-seat, the three-year-old twisted away and whined angrily.

“Save that crap for your father,” Marilyn hissed, grabbing the child roughly under the arms and pulling her out.

Hanna uttered a soft complaining cry and opened her eyes, looking over her mother’s shoulder at her older sister. Emily fetched the small stuffed tiger from the back seat and stretched on tiptoes to hand it to her. The younger child tucked the precious toy beneath her chin and nestled her face against Marilyn’s neck, closing her eyes again.

The door of the car slammed shut with a loud bang. The tricycle was kicked out of the way. Emily stayed right beside her mother as the timed lights went off in the garage and the space was pitched into blackness.

“No more tears. No more whining. I don’t want to hear one more goddamn word out of you two tonight. You hear me?”

“Yes, Mommy,” Emily whispered, clutching a corner of Marilyn’s jacket as they moved quickly toward the door leading from the garage into the house. The girl kept her eyes on the three orange dots of light from the buttons that opened the garage doors.

“And I’d better not ever have to deal with you making a scene like that again. You will never—hear me?—never question me in public like that again. Got it?”

“Yes, Mommy,” the little voice barely squeaked.

The door was unlocked, as always. The wide hallway leading to the stairs was dark, but Marilyn didn’t bother to turn on the lights. She only paused for a second to kick off her high-heels before going up the stairs.

In the hallway on the second floor, she walked directly to the girls’ bedroom. Without being told, Emily slipped in front of her mother and pulled back the quilt and sheets on Hanna’s bed. The younger sister was already asleep when Marilyn laid her down.

As Marilyn straightened up, the sound of the phone yanked her head around.

“Christ! What now?” She stormed out of the room, giving Emily a sharp glance as she went. “Take her shoes off. And get yourself ready for bed.”

Marilyn turned on the light in her own bedroom and snatched up the phone beside the bed an instant before the voice mail kicked in.

“What?”

The voice on the other end was barely more than a snarl. “Look, Marilyn, I don’t know what this shit is you’re trying to pull, but I made plans with the kids for this weekend and I am coming for them right now.”

“Over my dead body, Ted,” she snapped. She could hear the sound of traffic through his cell phone. “I told you before, and I’m telling you now, you aren’t taking my girls anywhere near that crazy woman.”

“My aunt has Alzheimer’s, damn it! She is not crazy. And if this is all part of some trick you’re trying to pull with that new lawyer of yours to keep the girls away from me…”

“Daddy?” The soft whisper of Emily’s voice on the phone line jerked Marilyn’s head toward the hallway. The light from the bedroom stretched across the carpeted floor. The little girl was holding the phone to her ear with both hands. “Daddy, are you coming after us? Please, Daddy…?”

Marilyn marched angrily toward her daughter.

“I am, sweetheart.” Ted Hardy’s voice gentled instantly. “Don’t cry, sweetie. I am calling from the car. I’ll be there before⁠—”

Marilyn snatched the phone out of the little girl’s hands and slammed it down. Emily looked up, terrified, pearl-like tears rolling down her round cheeks. “He…he’s coming. I can get Hanna ready. I promise not to be any⁠—”

“I told you to get to bed,” she barked. “Now!”

For a split second, a spark of defiance showed in the blue eyes looking up at her. Marilyn raised her hand to slap her, but Emily darted back down the hallway, closing the door tightly behind her.

Marilyn raised the phone to her ear as she glared at the closed bedroom door.

“If you ever…” he was saying. “Do you hear me, Marilyn? If you ever lay a hand on my children again⁠—”

“Go fuck yourself, Ted.”

She dumped the phone on the long table in the hall. Thinking she’d heard the far-off sound of a car’s engine, she turned her back on the girls’ door and started down the stairs.

The front hallway and the living room were dark. Marilyn padded across the thick plush carpet to one of the front windows and peered out at the quiet street. There was no car in sight. Crossing to the front door, she locked the deadbolt and hooked the chain. She moved silently through the house and, a moment later, bolted the door from the garage, too.

At the bottom of the stairs, she paused and listened. The only sound was the tick of the grandfather clock in the living room. Satisfied, she pushed her hair back over her shoulder and walked down the long hallway to the kitchen.

That room was dark, too, but just as Marilyn reached over to flip on the lights, she froze at a movement beyond the island separating the kitchen from the spacious den. Her heart nearly stopped as she stared at the gauze curtain gently fluttering by the patio door.

With prickles of panic washing over her, she glanced at the light above the stove. The light was always left on…but not now. She watched as a breeze lifted the curtains again. And then, for the first time, she sensed the presence of someone else in the room.

Marilyn flipped the switch and turned around.

“Oh, it’s you.”

* * *

“I don’t know how it happened, Léa. She was sitting right there watching TV.”

The heavyset woman pointed to the worn recliner in the corner of the small living room. The television, nestled into the bookcases and cabinets that lined the opposite wall, was still on, making somebody a millionaire. Léa switched it off.

“I was standing right in the kitchen,” Clara continued, flustered and upset. “I was talking to Dolores on the phone and fixing Janice’s dinner tray. When I brought it out, she was gone.”

Léa checked the two bedrooms again, the closets, the small bathroom. She even pulled back the shower curtain and checked the tub. In the coat closet, she saw the walking shoes and tan overcoat her aunt always wore when she went out.

“I am so sorry,” Clara blurted tearfully as soon as Léa came back to the kitchen. “I know you told me to watch that she doesn’t go out. But she seemed so good tonight. She was happy, chatting away about Ted and the girls coming over tomorrow for her birthday. She said Ted got tickets to the Phillies game you were all going down to.”

“Clara, can you please stay here until I get back?” Léa grabbed her car keys and purse off the pile of books she’d just dumped on the kitchen table. Her aunt’s dinner still sat on the table on a plastic tray. “In case Aunt Janice comes back on her own, you have my cell phone number.”

“Sure.” The middle-aged woman glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. “I can stay until it’s time to wake up my son. He’s on third shift now, you know.”

“Right,” Léa said, going out of the kitchen. Clara followed her through the small apartment toward the front door.

On impulse, Léa stopped at a small table and picked up one of the picture frames. It was a photograph of Janice, with Ted and the girls in front of the Liberty Bell. She slid the felt covered backing out and removed the picture, tucking it into her jacket pocket.

“Do you want me to call the police or something? I know it hasn’t been more than an hour since she’s been gone. But you never know…in the city and with all these punks on every corner these days…and poor Janice in her slippers and house dress…” The older woman stopped and dashed away a tear.

“Let me check the building and go around the block first.” Léa opened the door. “I’ll call them myself if I can’t find her.”

Léa didn’t tell Clara what a waste of time calling the police had been last week. The time she’d spent explaining everything on the phone and answering the dispatcher’s canned questions had been for nothing. In the end, Léa had called Ted, and he’d driven into the city. The two of them had scoured the streets until they’d found her, at about 2:00 a.m. in an alley nine blocks from the apartment. A tight knot forced its way into Léa’s throat as she recalled how terrified Janice had been, crouched beside a Dumpster and weeping softly like a lost child.

Léa stepped into the narrow street and decided against taking her car. She had already decided not to call Ted. She knew how excited he was to have Emily and Hanna for the weekend, and with everything he had on his plate next week, he didn’t need this, too.

The line of row homes stretched down the block. An old van turned onto the street and drove slowly past. A man’s angry bellow from the van, followed by a woman’s screechy laughter, startled Léa. Clutching her car keys, she strode to the end of the block and turned the corner. Peering into every shadow and doorway, she headed toward the place where they’d found Janice last time.

A church bell clanged ten o’clock a few streets over. Two blocks up, she passed a rowdy group of men just coming out of a corner bar. One made some crude remark in her direction that drew laughs from his buddies. She quickly walked by.

Léa thought of the talks she had been having with Ted about their aunt. Two and half years ago, after retiring from a lifetime of teaching, Janice had decided that she wanted to live closer to her only family—the niece and nephew that she’d raised since their teenage years.

The first year and half had gone very smoothly. With Léa working as a social worker at one of the city’s public schools, and Ted and his wife and children living an hour north of the city in Bucks County, life was going well.

But then everything had started falling apart.

First, it was Ted and Marilyn’s marital problems and their separation. Then, Janice had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. A couple of weeks after that, the school budget had been cut and Léa’s job with it.

Léa crossed Broad Street and dodged a speeding car that obviously had no interest in stopping for red lights. She prayed that her aunt was where they’d found her last week.

She had moved Janice in with her and started a graduate program at Temple at night, while trying to make ends meet with part-time day jobs. Ted had moved to a place just north of the city, too. Many nights, while Léa was taking classes, he’d come in and taken care of Janice. But Ted felt that living here in the lower end of South Philly was not the best situation for Janice.

Léa agreed. Janice’s illness was advancing more quickly. Soon, Léa couldn’t afford the ‘luxury’ of being a part-time student, part-time worker anymore. She needed a full-time job and a place where dangers didn’t threaten their aunt every time she walked out of the house. She needed to find a place where people would know the older woman.

Though it would put a bit of distance between them and Ted, Léa felt strongly that she needed to go back to the town in Maryland where Janice Hardy had lived and worked her whole life before coming to Philly. Léa had sent a few resumes out to people she still knew in the Baltimore suburb. From the couple of phone calls she’d already received, the response was positive, but she didn’t want to get her hopes up too high, yet.

As she stopped at the end of the alleyway where they’d found Janice before, a chill settled in the pit of her stomach. The narrow alley was dark, lit only by a single light over a door halfway down. These were mainly the back doors of lunch places and shops, closed up tight now. Léa realized it was overly optimistic to think that her aunt would be here again. But she couldn’t give up hope. She had to take a look.

Glancing across the street, she saw two women sitting on the steps of a row home about halfway to the corner. Nine or ten teenage boys and girls were listening to a rap song a little farther up the street. Léa put her hand into her jacket pocket and exchanged her keys for a small can of pepper spray and started down the dark alley.

The graffiti-decorated Dumpsters that lined the alley were overflowing with garbage. Broken bottles and empty cans and more garbage were scattered everywhere. A cat peered out at her from between two of the Dumpsters as she passed, its eyes gleaming at her without fear. Léa searched, covering every shadowy inch of the alley. Every doorway and trash pile. When she’d nearly reached the end, relief washed over her as she spotted a small shape huddled against a brick wall.

“Janice,” she called out in a low voice. “Aunt Janice.”

No response.

As Léa drew closer, her foot inadvertently kicked an empty bottle, sending it skittering loudly along the pavement past the sleeping form. As the bottle shattered against the wheel of a Dumpster, the figure sat up, glaring and hurling a string of violent obscenities at her in a graveled voice.

“Sorry,” Léa murmured, backing away from the homeless man. “I thought you were someone else.”

Quickly, she retreated down the alley. Feeling genuinely panicked now, Léa looked up and down the street when she reached it. The two women were gone. The beat of the music drew her gaze to the teenagers still hanging on the steps up the street. She started toward them. A couple of them turned their backs as she approached. The girls glared with open hostility.

Léa took the picture out of her jacket pocket. She folded Emily’s and Hanna’s faces under.

“Could any of you guys help me?”

Someone turned the volume of the music up. Two girls lit cigarettes and walked down to the corner.

“I was wondering if any of you might have seen this woman around here tonight.” She held out the picture and walked to the middle of the group.

One of the boys strutted over to her and put his arm around Léa’s shoulder, looking with exaggerated interest at the photo. “What’d she do, hon, steal your man?”

She gave him a sharp jab in his bony ribs and shrugged off his arm, drawing a laugh from the rest of the group as he complained loudly.

“Look, I’ve got ten bucks.” Léa pushed the picture toward the others. “Maybe you passed her on the street. She’s lost and…”

“You’re kidding, right?” Someone snickered behind her back. “Maybe if you try fifty, lady.”

A kid who had just joined the group stepped toward her and took the picture. “Let me see.”

“She’s wearing a flowery housedress,” Léa said. “Pink slippers. She’s short. This high. Very thin. She wears her white hair tied in the back, in a ponytail.”

The teenager held the picture to the street light.

“Have you seen her?” Her voice must had shown her desperation. He gave a cool shrug.

“What’s it worth to you?”

“I don’t have fifty bucks on me,” Léa whispered. “I only have ten. But help me find her, and I get you the rest tomorrow.”

“Yeah, right.” With only the slightest hesitation, he shrugged again and motioned for Léa to follow. She did, ignoring the laughter and comments behind them.

“Jamal got himself a white girl.”

“She is as old as your mama, Jamal.”

“Didn’t mean to ruin your reputation, Jamal.” Léa tried to make light of the situation despite the worry that was eating away at her insides.

“She your mother or something?” He handed the picture back to Léa.

“She might as well be. She’s my aunt. She raised me.”

“What’s wrong with her? She crazy or what?”

“No, she’s not crazy. She just…sometimes forgets her name…and where she lives…and gets lost.”

“Alzheimer’s?”

“Yes.”

“My grandmother’s got it.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Léa hesitated a second as Jamal turned down a very rough street. A fire had burned four or five houses on one side, and two or three others looked abandoned. She eyed the half-dozen derelict cars along the broken sidewalks. “You have seen her, haven’t you?”

“Yeah.” At the end of the street, he stopped and nodded his head toward a bus stop across the way. “Right there. She was sitting there when we went by before. Kind of just talking to herself.”

Léa’s heart leaped at the sight of her aunt rocking back and forth on a bench near the corner. Her slippers were dangling from her thin feet. Her face had a wild expression as she kept glancing up and down the street in search of something. Léa started crossing, but then whirled around.

“I’m sorry. I almost forgot.” She reached for her purse.

“Forget it.” The kid gave another shrug and waved her off. “Just take better care of her next time.”

Before Léa could insist or even try to explain, the teenager had walked away. As she crossed the street, there was a bitter taste in her mouth. She did her best, and Aunt Janice was not being neglected.

The older woman didn’t even see her approach. But when Léa slid onto the seat next to her, Janice’s gray eyes brightened with recognition.

“Good thing you got here. The bus is coming any minute.” She glanced up the street anxiously.

“Where are you taking me, Auntie?” Léa turned her head and saw a bus was indeed coming.

“We’re going to pick up Ted. He is waiting.” Janice grabbed Léa’s hand and stood up when the bus pulled to the curb. “Come on.”

“But he is already coming to the house. We don’t have to pick him up.” Léa shook her head at the bus driver when he opened the door. Gently, she put an arm around Janice’s shoulder and turned her down the street. “Ted and the girls are coming over tomorrow morning.”

“Who?”

“The girls. You remember…Hannah and Emily.”

The older woman glanced anxiously at the departing bus. “Ted won’t find the way.”

“He will, Auntie. Don’t worry. Ted never gets lost. He’ll be here tomorrow.” Léa linked Janice’s arm in hers and started for home at a slow pace. “In fact, let’s talk about tomorrow. Did you know I love birthdays?”

“Whose birthday?”

“Mine!”

Janice laughed heartily, and Léa felt her own emotions surge through her. She loved this woman.

“Whose birthday?” she repeated with a wide grin.

“Yours.” Léa patted her hand. “But no peeking at the presents until tomorrow.”

Despite the attempt at humor, it was obvious that birth dates were just one more thing that Janice no longer remembered.

They took their time walking back to the house. The more they talked, the less confused and suspicious Janice seemed to be. By the time they reached the front steps of the row home where their apartment was located, the older woman was calm and reasonably lucid.

Clara was still waiting for them when they came up the steps. The television was on again. “You gave this poor girl a heck of scare, Janice. You really shouldn’t.”

Léa shook her head at Clara. After taking her aunt to her favorite chair, she walked Clara out. “There is no point. She doesn’t really remember what she did or where she went, or even why.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t be saying this, dear, but you should be thinking of putting her in one of those homes or something. If she’s going to just disappear like that, she’ll be too much to handle for you, and for your brother. And you can’t expect somebody my age be watching her anymore, either.”

“Janice had a bad night. That’s all. She is not like this all the time. Thanks for staying, Clara.”

“That’s okay, Léa. But you should think about⁠—”

“I know. I will,” she said, biting back the sharp edge that was creeping into her voice. “Good night, Clara.” She closed the door on the older woman’s back.

Janice was standing by her chair, her eyes glued to the television set.

“Ted isn’t coming,” she said.

“Of course he is, Auntie.” Léa locked and latched the door and headed for the kitchen. The protectiveness she felt had every nerve in her body humming. She was not going to send Janice to some institution where she might be ignored and neglected. No matter how severe her illness got, Léa knew they could work through it, themselves, as a family. They would work though it the same way as her aunt had done when she and Ted had been dropped in her lap.

“Léa.”

“Why don’t you sit down? I’ll get us something to eat,” she called, throwing away the cold meal on the tray and reaching inside the fridge.

“Ted’s not coming,” the old woman called, louder this time. There was a note of panic in her voice.

“You’re right. He is not coming tonight. But he and the girls will be here for breakfast.” She took out a plastic container with soup and set it in the microwave.

“Not coming. Not coming.”

The mournful chant of the older woman brought Léa out of the kitchen and across the living room. Tears were rolling down Janice’s cheeks. She was shivering.

“Come on, Auntie.” Léa sat down with the older woman on the sofa and gathered her like a child into her embrace. She was already well accustomed to these sudden mood swings that were part of the illness. “You and I will have a nice meal together, and before you know it, tomorrow will be here and”

“Not coming.”

The television’s reflection in the glass front of a cabinet caught Léa’s attention. Something familiar passed across it. She turned to stare at the television screen. A news reporter was standing on a dark street with fire trucks and police cars behind her. What remained of a burned house was visible beyond. The woman was recapping the story.

…what we know. A triple murder here in the peaceful bedroom town of Stonybrook in Bucks County.

Léa felt every inch of her body go tense.

“Thirty-three-year-old Marilyn Foley Hardy’s body was discovered in the kitchen. We’ve just been told the partially burned bodies of the two little girls have been discovered upstairs.”

Aunt Janice’s face turned to the screen again. Léa couldn’t breathe.

The preliminary reports already indicate that the mother was stabbed to death before the fire was started.

Léa couldn’t move. Couldn’t say a word. A wrenching sound escaped her throat, but she still couldn’t breathe. Stunned, all she could do was to stare at the television.

The woman’s estranged husband, Ted Hardy, was arrested on the scene an hour ago. He is being held in custody.

Janice sobbed and looked into Léa’s face. “I told you. Ted’s not coming.”

CHAPTERONE

Two years later

Half bent over the toilet, Léa leaned against the cold metal wall of the bathroom stall and tried to will her stomach to stop heaving. Her nerves were shot. Her stomach was now, as always, the first thing to break down.

She flushed the toilet again and lurched out of the gray stall. Leaning over the old porcelain sink in the courthouse bathroom, she opened the cold-water faucet wide, washed out her mouth, and splashed handfuls of water onto her face. The frigid water on her skin did little to ease the fevered burn.

The door opened to her left, and Léa immediately pulled some paper towels out of a dispenser. She kept her face buried in the coarse brown sheets as the newcomer’s high heels clicked toward one of the bathroom stalls. When the lock on the stall snapped shut, Léa hazarded a look at her own reflection in the mirror. She looked like hell.

All that was left of the little makeup she’d applied that morning was a couple of smudged black rings under the swollen slits that once were eyes. Her nose was red and her lips colorless. Her skin was blotchy.

At the sound of the toilet flushing, Léa reached into her purse for her sunglasses. A younger woman, coming out of the bathroom stall, stared at her openly as she walked to the adjacent sink.

Léa pulled on the dark shades and cast a final glance at the beleaguered stranger that she had become. Forcing herself to be calm, she walked out of the bathroom to face the inevitable.

She felt her knees wobble as she entered the nearly packed courtroom. The clock on the wall showed a minute before four. She focused her attention on her own seat and tried not to be affected by the pronounced hush that came over the place with her arrival. Marilyn’s mother, Stephanie Slater, said something aloud, but Léa didn’t bother to spare the woman a glance. Weeks ago, she’d given up responding to her taunts and thinly veiled threats.

The district attorney and his three assistant D.A.s entered the courtroom a minute later. Ted’s lawyer, David Browning, walked in with his team at 4:06. Browning was, as usual, sporting a starched white button-down shirt that highlighted his impeccable tan. His suit today was charcoal gray, and Léa didn’t think she’d ever seen this one. He gave her a friendly nod that she ignored.

Last week, she’d received his latest bill. Browning was a junior partner in a decent law firm in Philadelphia, but she couldn’t help but wonder how many of his tan and manicure sessions had been folded into the mind-blowing sum she now owed. And then there was the young lawyer’s collection of Armani suits—each a different but oh-so-conservative shade to cover every day of the week.

Léa dropped her chin to her chest, knowing that she was looking for any excuse to explode. David Browning just happened to be an easy target.

As a door along the wall to her right opened, cold claws of fear ripped at her insides. She watched two court officers escort her brother into the courtroom. He had lost so much weight. She looked into his drawn face, at the coarse blond-and-gray beard that covered his once-vibrant and handsome face. He was only thirty-five, but he looked fifty-five. Maybe older. His eyes had once sparkled with life, but now there was no light, no hope.

He, too, looked like a stranger.

Ted Hardy was not waiting for any twelve jurors to decide on his sentence. He had given up hope long ago. She knew he’d already given up the first time she’d seen him after his arrest two years ago.

Tears burned Léa’s eyes, but she blinked them back. Ted sat down at the defendant’s table without looking at her. She understood what he was doing. He was severing this last bond—this last connecting lifeline—and she felt more lonely and lost than she’d ever felt in her life.

There had been no question of Ted attending their aunt’s funeral last week. Even if he’d been allowed to, he wouldn’t have gone. As Léa stood to deliver the eulogy before the small congregation, she looked out at the faces of her aunt’s lifelong friends. They had come out to lend their support to her, but her only thought had been that this had to be the lowest point a life could go and still be bearable. Until now.

As the court proceedings continued, Léa hardly noticed her surroundings, now so familiar that they were a part of her dreams. She only became alert when the court crier asked permission to receive the verdict.

The courtroom became deadly silent. Léa kept her gaze on the back of Ted’s head, her hands fisted in her lap.

“Will the foreman please rise?”

Léa’s gaze drifted to juryman number eight, an older businessman in a navy suit who was rising to his feet. She lifted the sunglasses off her face and looked intently into the face of the man. There was no hint of what he was about to say. Nothing.

“Jurors, have you agreed upon a verdict and penalty?”

“Yes, we have.” A chill washed through her at the calmness of the answer.

“Do all twelve agree?”

“Yes.”

Léa realized that she was tapping one shoe on the ground. She pressed a hand on her knee, trying to keep herself under control.

“Having found the defendant, Theodore John Hardy, guilty of murder in the first degree of Marilyn Foley Hardy, guilty of the murder in the first degree of Emily Hardy, and guilty of murder in the first degree of Hanna Hardy, what is your verdict as to penalty?”

Léa held her breath.

“Death.”

Someone gasped out loud in the courtroom behind her. She thought she heard Stephanie crying on the other side of the room. There was a loud buzz of people talking behind her. She heard the footsteps of a few who bolted out. Reporters. Léa felt the burn of tears in her eyes and pulled on the shades again. A lump the size of a fist formed in her throat.

“Thank you. Please be seated, sir,” the court crier said loudly over the noise as the judge hammered away with her gavel, demanding silence in the crowded courtroom.

“We request that the jury be polled, your honor.” David Browning’s request received a nod from the judge. Léa was watching for some reaction from her brother. Nothing.

At the judge’s order, the court crier turned to the dozen jurors again. “When your name and number is called, you will please rise and in a full, clear, audible voice announce your verdict.”

Léa felt the knot in her throat choking all life out of her. Repeating the crimes again and again, the crier polled each juror in turn. Eight women and four men stood one by one and repeated the same word to the roomful of people.

And to Ted, who appeared to hear nothing.

Death…Death…Death…

She didn’t want to remember the crimes. It crushed her when she thought of the fresh, pretty faces of Emily and Hanna. So young and alive. But Ted couldn’t have done it. He could never have set fire to the house knowing his own daughters were sleeping upstairs.

Death.

As difficult as Marilyn was, he had once loved her enough to marry her. They’d had children. Planned a life together. He could never have stabbed and killed her.

Death.

“Your honor, the jury has been polled.” The court clerk’s voice rang out in the court, but Léa was no longer a part of the proceedings.

He couldn’t have done it.

Her entire body was trembling. She felt as if a bullet had torn through her. From a gaping wound in her soul, she was bleeding emotions and memories she’d worked so hard to repress.

In her mind, time was repeating itself. The memory of another murder pushed forward, blocking out the present, scorching her insides with unbearable heat. Léa had been eleven, Ted fifteen, when they’d come home to find them. She could see it now as clearly as if they were at this very moment lying on that kitchen floor in front of her. The blood. Her own anguished cry. She also remembered Ted’s horrified face—his absolute silence as he’d stared at their parents’ dead bodies.

Stonybrook officials had called it a murder-suicide. John Hardy had stabbed his wife twenty-seven times before retrieving his revolver from the desk drawer in his study, sitting down at the kitchen table, and blowing his brains out.

Without hesitation, Janice Hardy, the only surviving relative of Léa and Ted, had assumed full responsibility for the two children. Taking them to the small town in Maryland where she lived and taught school, she was determined to erase the nightmares afflicting these two young people. They all knew, though—social workers and doctors alike—that Ted and Léa would carry painful psychological scars for their entire lives.

The judge’s voice cut momentarily into her thoughts. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the Code of Judicial Ethics prevents me from commenting one way or the other on your verdict. And that is the way it should be.”

Léa tried to focus on the black robe of the judge. On what was happening now. Despite the verdict, despite the link Browning himself had suggested between this murder and their parents’ violent deaths, she could not believe that it was possible for Ted to kill his own family.

Ted had been the one sure thing that had helped Léa survive the painful years following their parents’ deaths—and all the years since. Ted and his undying support. Ted and his sense of humor. Ted and his unwavering loyalty to his sister and his aunt. Ted and his love of his family.

Léa looked at her brother, sitting motionless at the defense table, staring at nothing.

Her attention was drawn back to the courtroom. The jury had been dismissed, their chairs sat empty. The judge was speaking directly to Ted.

“…and this Court wishes to advise you that you have an automatic appeal to the Supreme Court of Pennsylvania.”

In a monotone voice, the judge read the script explaining the automatic appeal. Léa had already read everything there was to read on this phase. This was not the end. She wouldn’t let it be.

“However, before that appeal can be heard, certain post-trial motions must be filed and disposed of within ten days of today.”

Léa stared at David Browning. Their lawyer. Their advocate. He looked slightly bored. She wondered if he was even listening. He was definitely not writing any of this down. His pair of twenty-something year old lawyers sitting with him looked only slightly more engaged. Then, as she stared at their backs, one of them closed his briefcase with a snap, looking suddenly ready to bolt for the door.

A flush of rage sent blood rushing to her face. Halfway through the trial, Léa had realized that Browning was nothing more than a talking head. But she’d had little choice and little time to make a change, considering Ted’s total lack of cooperation and the severity of Janice’s illness. The final straw was the totally ineffective appeal to the jury during the penalty phase.

Sitting beside the lawyers, Ted stared blankly at the table while the judge continued to spell out the specifics of what was needed, including the date, time, and place for the disposition of any post-trial motions. Still, Browning’s pen never even scratched at the legal pad before him.

She was getting a new lawyer. Their old family house in Stonybrook had to sell. Then, she’d use the money to hire the person who would make a difference.

“In the interim, the court will order a pre-sentence psychiatric examination to be performed on Mr. Hardy. Anything else, counselors?”

Everyone was so calm. So businesslike. Ho-hum. Just another day. Just another human being sent to death row. No questions. No comments. Nothing.

She clenched her fists, wanting to throw something at Browning. Say something!

“All right. This Court stands adjourned.”

Ted still wore that same lifeless mask as two court officers came around to escort him out.

“Ted!” Léa found herself leaning forward in the chair and calling his name. He froze for an instant but never acknowledged her. He rose to his feet and turned his back to her.

The lawyer said something quietly to Ted. The condemned man shook his head once. This was the only response that Léa had seen her brother make at all during these last days of the trial. Browning leaned forward, obviously insisting on whatever he had said before, and this time Ted turned to him sharply.

“You have my answer. Now leave it go.”

The bitterness of his tone caused Léa to shrink back in her chair. She still couldn’t tear her gaze from Ted’s face as he was finally led out of the courtroom. He was not helping with his own defense. David Browning had made a point of telling her repeatedly that her brother was not cooperating in any way. Léa knew that Ted had resisted the psychiatric examination that had been done right after his arrest.

“Miss Hardy?”

A touch on her shoulder turned Léa around. She looked questioningly at a woman dressed in a court officer’s uniform. Léa knew her. She had seen her standing by the door of this particular courtroom a number of times before.

“You must have dropped this on your way in.”

Léa looked at the white envelope that the woman held out to her. The courtroom was nearly empty. She didn’t remember dropping anything. She didn’t recall having any envelope in her possession. All the same, she reached out and took it.

“Thanks.” She glanced around and found Browning talking to one of the prosecutors, an attractive redhead who had presented the physical evidence for the state during the trial. His own assistants had already beaten the crowd to the door. Léa needed to speak to Browning before he left, but he didn’t seem to be in any hurry.

Léa looked down at the sealed envelope in her hand. Her name and the courtroom number were typed on the front. Curious, she tore open the flap and took out the single folded sheet of paper. The contents took only a moment to read, and she turned around and searched the empty seats behind her. With the exception of the court officer walking to the door, there was no one else left. She looked again at the piece of paper in her hand, reading the words again.

Ted is innocent. I know who did it.

* * *

“But it’s another of those letters!”

“I see that. Did it come to your hotel?”

“No. It was dropped outside the courtroom door. Today.”

“I’m sorry, Léa.” Browning darted a glance at her as they descended the stairs. “It’s a sick joke. I think you should hand this one over to the police, too.”

“I’m handing nothing over,” she said tersely. “In fact, I want everything back that I’ve given them.”

“That won’t look good.”

“Won’t look good for who, David?”

“Look, there are procedural issues that need to be considered. A progression of steps we need to follow.”

“And if we don’t?” she snapped. “Who are we concerned about now? Have you already punched the clock on Ted’s case?”

“An attitude won’t help anything.”

“Do you want to see an attitude?” Léa grabbed the sleeve of the lawyer’s jacket and tugged hard, forcing him to stop on the stairs. “I am sick and tired of you and those cops and your useless assistants and everybody else. You couldn’t care less about saving Ted’s life! Why the hell did you accept this case when you clearly don’t give a damn, David? Aren’t you afraid that your precious partnership will go right down the toilet when your bosses find out what a useless piece of shit you were in court?”

“Léa, I know you’re upset.” Browning let out an exasperated breath and looked up and down the wide marble stairs before turning his full attention back to her. “Listen, I know you’ve been under a lot of stress. I’m very sorry about your aunt. And I meant to come to the funeral last week, but⁠—”

“Damn it, this is not about some social obligation. My brother was sentenced to die in there. Do you understand? Death. A lethal injection. The end. For God’s sake, you’re his lawyer. You are supposed to be on his side.”

“I am.”

“Then why have you done nothing to help him? There was not a single goddamn day that you were prepared. You sat like a log and didn’t make a peep while the prosecutor presented his witnesses. And then you let him walk all over your case. Why didn’t you pursue anything I told you about Ted as a person? He’s not the monster these jerks made him out to be. He was a loving father, and a good husband. Marilyn was the one who got restless. She was the one who wanted a divorce. You, of all people—his own attorney—just sat there and acted like this case was a hopeless cause.”

“That’s not true.”

David shook his head in disagreement and, in his usual manner of avoiding confrontation with her, started down the stairs again. No emotions, no passion…and no integrity. It had taken two years, but she’d finally figured him out.

“You know what?” Léa said, going after him. “I don’t think you would do a thing even if someone stepped forward and admitted to stabbing Marilyn to death and setting the house on fire. I don’t believe you want the complication. You put in your time. You think you can just put it all behind you now and move on.”

“That’s completely unfair.” He glanced at her. “But what do you think are the chances of that happening? Of someone admitting to something like that, especially this late in the game?”

“Here’s a chance. Right here in my hand,” she said stubbornly as they reached the bottom of the stairs. “This letter is one chance. And there are at least a dozen more like this one that probably went right into the circular file of your friendly police detectives.”

A few heads turned in their direction. Léa recognized one of them as a newspaper reporter who had been hounding her for an interview for the past couple of months. As the man started toward them, David took her by the arm and led her toward a clerk’s office on the first floor.

Closing the pebbled glass door in the face of the approaching reporter, the lawyer looked at the empty desks behind a high counter. The clock on the wall showed it was nearly six.

“Now, listen to me carefully, Léa,” he started. “I know your emotions are running high.” As she opened her mouth to object, he raised a hand in defense. “And you have every right to be like this after all you’ve been through these past couple of months. Past couple of years, even. But before you race out of here, looking for this jerk—this letter writer that you think will save the day—you need to address something more pressing that might actually help your brother.”

The lawyer’s calm and monotone voice alone was enough to drive Léa over the edge again. All of her insults were not enough to get his blood flowing. She bit back the new wave of temper, though, knowing full well that, as it stood this minute, Browning was Ted’s only attorney.

“What do you mean ‘pressing’? What could be more pressing than a death sentence?”

The man brushed a speck of lint off his jacket sleeve. He glanced at his watch. “I really didn’t want to say anything to you until I’d exhausted every possibility. Until I had a chance to talk to Ted again.”

Léa moved to the side, forcing the lawyer to look into her eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“Ted refuses to allow any appeals to go forward. He’s told me that I cannot file anything on his behalf. He won’t take visits from either the ACLU or Amnesty International or anyone else active in capital punishment cases. He knew…he was certain what the sentence would be today. He wouldn’t change his plea to avoid the death penalty. He wouldn’t help me in any way. And now, he doesn’t want to drag this thing out for five or ten years. He won’t waive his right to appeal, but he says he won’t be part of any circus.” Browning put a hand on Léa’s shoulder. “Those were his exact words. He wants the governor’s signature on the warrant of execution. Your brother wants to die.”

Léa felt the walls tilt. “This is the depression talking. He has never recovered since the murder. That attempted suicide last year should be enough of a clue. He needs genuine psychiatric counseling. In his state of mind, he can’t make that decision for himself.”

“Yes, he can. In the eyes of the Court, he was fit to stand trial, and he’s fit to make a decision like that. And there is only so long I can put off letting him do it. In high profile cases like this, lawyers get disbarred for what they do or don’t do. But that’s not going to happen here.”

Léa leaned against the high counter, too upset to respond, while thousands of arguments boiled up inside of her.

He gentled his tone. “Listen, Léa. I’ve also learned that in this business you should never give up hope. I plan to talk to Ted again tomorrow about the appeal. I think you should talk to him, too. You are the only family he has left. Work on his conscience. On his guilt about abandoning you. Beg him if you have to. I think you are the only one who can make him change his mind. His life rests in your hands.”

She shrugged off his touch and straightened up.

“Don’t you worry. I will talk to Ted. We’re not giving up.”

* * *

“Eight hot dogs, two pretzels, three popcorn…”

“We need two more hot dogs, Hardy.”

Ted tossed a half-salute at his friend by the souvenir booth next to the food stand and turned apologetically to the cashier.

“Can you add two more hot dogs to that order?” He handed her the money.

“Ted? Ted Hardy?”

There was a feathery touch on his shoulder. Ted turned in the direction of the voice and stared for a second into the vaguely familiar and very beautiful face of the woman standing back a little in the next line. He and every man within fifty feet had noticed her when she’d approached the concession stand. She was dressed in a short, white, wrap-around dress, and it hadn’t taken much imagination to see she was wearing nothing underneath. Definitely overdressed…or perhaps underdressed…for a baseball game.

Now, looking for the first time into her face, Ted struggled to remember.

“Marilyn!” She had a beautiful laugh. “Marilyn Foley. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”

“Oh, yeah. You and I went to school together back in Stonybrook,” he said quickly, feeling his ears go red even after so many years. How could he have forgotten? The only daughter of the number-one family in town. As an adolescent, he’d drooled over her for two years before she’d agreed to go out with him on one date. And one date had been the extent of their romance, too. Fifteen-year-old Ted had made a total fool of himself that night. She’d been experienced, and he’d been clumsy and overeager. It had been a disaster.

“Your food, sir?”

Ted turned for the trays.

“You need a hand with those?” Without waiting for an answer, she forfeited her spot in line and came to help him.

“Thanks. Are you here alone?”

“No, I came with a friend and his kid. They’re somewhere out there.” She tilted her head toward the ballpark seats and smiled. “He’s into that father-daughter bonding stuff. It’s getting just a little boring. Do you have any kids?”

“Yes. Ten of them.” Her shocked expression was priceless. Ted couldn’t hold back his smile. “But only for today. A friend of mine and I have a group of inner-city kids out with us.”

“Oh, like a charity.”

“No, it’s more like mentoring.” He dropped the food by a condiment table and motioned to the loud group making their way slowly toward them. “They’re a great bunch. We are going out for pizza after the game. If you want to bring your friend and his daughter, you’re welcome to join us.”

“Too many people.” She shook her head and handed him the tray. “So, do you live around here?”

“Yeah. Center City.”

“Have a business card?”

He reached inside his pants pocket, and was surprised when Marilyn’s eyes followed the movement of his hand as he took a card out. She stared down at it.

“Pharmaceuticals. Impressive. Actually, there are few things about you that seem…pretty impressive.”

The comment and the body language that went with it were one hundred percent sexual.

She reached inside her purse and took out a pen. “What’s your home number?”

As Ted gave it to her, she turned the card over and pressed it against his chest, trying to write the number down. Their bodies brushed. Her scent filled his head.

“I’ll call you,” she whispered tantalizingly. “And you can take me out on a date.”

All Ted could do was nod. All he could think of when she walked away was what she would wear…or not wear… on their date.

He couldn’t wait to find out.

CHAPTERTWO

Léa went out ahead of Browning into the first-floor lobby. The reporter had disappeared, and nearly everyone else had cleared out, as well.

“Do you need a ride back to your hotel?”

“No, I’m all set,” Léa answered curtly. As they walked out side by side, it was impossible to remain civil to the lawyer. Of course Ted’s life depended on her. On her and not the ineffective legal dog-and-pony show Browning and his people had put on.

“I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“You do that.” She turned away as soon as they reached the sidewalk. Léa felt like a woman possessed. She was racing against time.

Angry at the world and at herself for not acting sooner, she turned her steps toward the small hotel where she had been keeping a room on a monthly basis during the trial.

There was a message waiting for her when she got up to her room. This morning, before leaving, she’d tried to get hold of the real estate agent who was selling their house in Stonybrook. The woman’s voice and message were crisp and businesslike, and gave no indication of whether she had good news to convey or not. The realtor just said that she would be working late in the office, if Léa could call her.

Their family house—the same one that her parents had died in so many years ago—was the only asset they had left. For years following the tragedy, the house had been rented out by a local agency, providing a small but steady income. Though Léa couldn’t see any point to hanging on to it, Ted had insisted they maintain and keep the property. Léa didn’t share her brother’s sentimentality about the place, but she had let him have his way.

As the years passed, Léa had thought less and less about the house. She hadn’t cared at all what happened to it, and she had never gone back there.

But now she did care, for all of her plans depended on the money she could get for that house. Whether it was finding a new attorney or paying David Browning’s outstanding bill, or even hiring a private investigator to see who was sending her these letters, she had to sell the house.

The house had been sitting empty for a year and a half. Though the last tenants had apparently trashed the place, Léa put it on the market as soon as it became evident they’d need the money for Ted’s defense. The real estate agents had told her on the phone that the property was a “perfect fixer-upper.” But “perfect” did not mean a quick sale. In fact, they hadn’t received even a single bid on it.

Léa dialed the real estate office. The woman was out on an appointment, another agent told her, but he’d have her call when she got back.

While she changed out of her suit, the local television news broadcast a ten-second clip on Ted’s sentencing with a promise to report more after the commercials. She shut it off, knowing that she couldn’t fall apart now.

Léa hung up her suit, trying to think what the real estate agent might have to say to her. The last time they’d talked was two months ago, and at that time Léa had again agreed to reduce the price.

Dropping the mail that had been forwarded from Maryland, she picked up her note pad and a thickly stuffed manila envelope the real estate agency had sent to the hotel address. With a sigh, Léa stretched out on the bed. She hadn’t had a chance to go through any of it yet.

Before opening the large envelope, she looked at the pad of paper with her own scribbles on the top sheet. Her budget…though it hardly deserved the name. The minuscule income from her job was based on a ten-month contract tied to the school calendar. She wouldn’t see another paycheck for two more months, when she went back to work.

Léa pulled a folder out of a case beside the bed and opened it. She already had the name of a possible lawyer to replace David Browning. This time, she had done her homework. She’d even sat in on one of the woman’s cases when it had gone to court, during the same week that one of Ted’s hearings had taken place.

In court, Attorney Sarah Rand looked sharp and powerful. The woman exuded confidence and credibility. Léa knew the lawyer also had an excellent record in homicide cases. But there was another interesting facet to Rand’s credentials that Léa couldn’t help but consider an asset.

Married to Owen Dean, a movie actor and television star, Sarah Rand was also a local and national celebrity. And to Léa’s thinking, forcing Ted’s trial into that kind of spotlight was a way of avoiding the neglect Ted had faced the first time in the courtroom.

From the folder Léa pulled out a paper with the estimates she’d been given by the attorney’s office. Of course, all of it was contingent on whether or not Sarah Rand decided to accept the case.

The phone rang, and she picked it up on the first ring. Betty Walters, the real estate agent, was on the other end. The woman was polite but formal. Léa was certain she must have already heard about Ted’s sentence.

“Ms. Hardy, early this week we sent a file on your property to the hotel address you gave us.”