Twisted Rock Page 8

  By the time she was done, she had almost two dozen questions. Seeing that the local news had moved on, she hit the chief’s number on her phone and waited for him to pick up. She told him she had questions, and he assured her that someone would be by her place later that day to discuss the case further with her.

  Then she called RJ to schedule him and his crew to repair the damage. When he didn’t answer, she shot him a text.

  She was shocked by his reply.

  -I’m sorry Mrs. Clayton, I can no longer work for you. I’ve been informed by the police that I’m under investigation for the murder of your husband. You’ll have to find a new foreman.

  She looked at his text, reading it over and over before it finally sunk in.

  Of course, the police would look at him and his crew. After all, they were the ones who’d poured the cement. How had they not seen Isaac? Had it been on purpose?

  She wrote a few more questions on her list.

  She thought about how much RJ had helped her for the last year and shook her head. No, RJ Gamet couldn’t have had anything to do with Isaac’s death.

  She punched out a message to him quickly.

  -I understand. I’m sorry for this mess. For what it’s worth, you’ve been a big help to me over the last year and I truly appreciate all the hard work you’ve done around the place.

  There was no reply.

  Twisted Rock was a small town, so she had to hire an out-of-town crew from Fredonia to the south. The crew couldn’t make it out there that day, but she was assured that they could have the cement trucks there the following day.

  Making herself some toast, she took a cup of coffee out onto her new back patio and sat in the shade as she tried to build up enough courage to go back into the basement and assess the damage.

  Instead, she replanted her herbs in temporary plastic containers and then carried them into the sunroom.

  By the time she was done arranging everything, there was a sheen of sweat over her skin. She grabbed an apple for lunch and ate it while she did her normal cleaning around the house. Laundry was something she actually enjoyed, since it was just her, the one load a week she normally did only took up about half an hour of her time.

  Dusty, however, was something she didn’t enjoy, and with the larger house, it took up almost a full hour each week.

  Grabbing a soda, she climbed the stairs, thinking she’d enjoy some time in her studio.

  She’d forgotten that Sawyer had pulled out the painting of himself she’d done shortly after that night he’d fixed her power. The painting had been her first after Isaac’s death. Somehow, looking at it now made her feel strange, so she tucked it back behind the other paintings.

  Just seeing her work table reminded her of the other day, what he’d done to her. A little over two hours later, she still couldn’t get him off of her mind and was too flustered to concentrate on work. Frustrated, she paced, looking back to her workbench and remembering that moment. Less than an hour later, she descended the stairs without having lifted a single brush.

  She needed to focus on something other than Sawyer. As she passed the basement door, she stopped and slowly reached her hand out towards the doorknob. She had just worked up enough courage to open the door when her doorbell rang, causing her to jump.

  She made her way to the front of the house and took a deep breath before opening the front door.

  Sawyer and Carson stood on the other side, much like they had the night they’d come to tell her that Isaac’s plane had gone down.

  “Rose.” Carson stepped forward. “Can we come in?”

  She nodded and stepped back, keeping her eyes from Sawyer’s. He hadn’t responded to her text and, by the look in his eyes, she got the hint that he was trying to distance himself from her for some reason. That hurt worse than if he’d just admitted that he’d made a mistake in getting involved with her.

  She motioned for them to sit on the sofa, but they remained standing by the fireplace as she sat. She kept her focus on Carson as she tucked her hands in her lap to keep from fidgeting.

  “The chief wanted us to stop by and fill you in on a few things we’ve discovered,” Carson said, pulling a little notepad from his pocket.

  “Go ahead.” She nodded.

  “First, it appears that your husband’s plane was removed from the airfield just outside of town on the seventh.”

  “Not the sixth, the day he left here? Or rather, the day… he was supposed to?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Do they know if it was Isaac who took it out of the hangar?” she asked.

  “No, it appears that it’s pretty much a self-serve type of situation. Anyone with a key to his hangar could have gotten in. There isn’t a check-in or check-out. His flight plans were filed and confirmed, but anyone could have called those in or signed in online if they had his passwords.”

  “What about his work? He had meetings scheduled,” she asked.

  “They confirmed that he didn’t have any meetings scheduled that week. The last they saw of him was the day before, when he left to come back here. He only had the evening off and wanted to spend it at home.”

  “Yes.” She remembered a little more detail of that time. “He came home on that Thursday evening because they were going to pour the cement the following day. He was scheduled to have Friday off, but he had gotten a call that evening. Isaac was needed in the office first thing the following morning to handle an emergency.”

  “What did he do that night, before the call?”

  “We had dinner, I made chicken.” She frowned trying to remember the meal.

  “Anyone else there?” Carson asked.

  “My father-in-law, Sean, had come up from the city. He only stayed until the following day. He has, or rather had, his own place on the water a few miles from here. He sold it shortly after…” She shook her head. “Hunter had stopped by earlier in the evening and stayed on for dinner as well. We were celebrating him passing the bar exam. He left shortly after Isaac’s father left, before Isaac went down to inspect the footings.”

  “Then?”

  She glanced quickly at Sawyer before revealing the next bit of information.

  “Isaac came upstairs and went to bed.”

  “Were you still awake? Did you see him?” Carson asked.

  “Yes.” She blushed, remembering the last time she’d made love to her husband. It had been one of the most passionate nights in their life together. She had expected that it was because he’d finally agreed to start working on having a baby the next time he came home.

  “About what time was that?” Carson asked.

  “Ten.” She shook her head. “Eleven?” She shrugged. “It was late.”

  “Did you see him in the morning?”

  She closed her eyes. “No, he left me a note on the pillow.”

  “Was that the last time you heard from him?” Carson asked.

  “No.” She pulled out her phone. “He sent me a text message the following day, just after the flowers arrived.” She showed him the message. Over the last year, she’d looked at it more times than she could count.

  “Did you go down to the basement with him?” It was the first time Sawyer had spoken since arriving. Her eyes turned to him.

  “No, I’d had two glasses of wine, and I was feeling tired, so I went up to bed when Hunter and Mr. Clayton left.”

  “And he went downstairs alone?” Carson asked.

  “Yes, Hunter and Sean had left shortly after dinner.”

  “How long was your husband down in the basement?” Sawyer asked.

  She shrugged, trying to remember. “Ten, fifteen minutes. Long enough for me to shower, dress for bed, my normal nightly rituals.”

  “How long were… you two together once he returned upstairs?” The tone of Sawyer’s voice was flat and when she searched his eyes, she stiffened at the lack of emotion behind them. She knew he had guessed what they had been doing upstairs and was asking how long they had made lov
e that evening.

  “Less than ten minutes.” She straightened her shoulders.

  “Did you fall asleep right away?” Carson asked.

  “Yes, it had been a long day. I’d stripped the rest of the paint off the stairs by hand. I was tired.”

  Carson nodded, then jotted in the notepad.

  “When is the time of death?” she asked when he was done.

  “They’re estimating before midnight on Thursday night, the fifth,” Carson answered.

  Her head felt light and she had to take several deep breaths before she could ask her next question.

  “Then, who sent me the flowers and the text messages? Who flew his plane from the airport? Then flew it into the Atlantic?”

  “We’re looking into it.” Carson wrote something down. “Was your husband’s cell phone gone when you woke that next morning?”

  “Yes, so were his bag and his briefcase. His keys, his car, which they found parked at the airport.” She closed her eyes. “Hunter had to drive it home for me,” she said softly, remembering the anguish she’d been in after the funeral.

  Then she opened her eyes. “Isaac was dressed. Why would he leave me in bed in the middle of the night, get dressed, and go down to the basement?”

  “We’re not sure, but that’s just one more question we’re looking into,” Sawyer answered.

  Eight

  Amour…

  It was hard watching Rose struggle with the details. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and hold on as realization struck her that her husband hadn’t flown to New York that fateful day, but had in fact been lying dead in her basement, waiting for the cement trucks to encase his body in what would be his tomb.

  “If there’s anything else you can think of…” Carson started to say but was interrupted by their radios going off.

  “Carson, Sawyer, Chief wants you to call in.”

  “I’ll get it.” Sawyer stepped out of the room as he pulled his phone from his pocket.

  “This is Sawyer,” he said when the chief answered.

  “Where are you two?”

  “We’re at the Stoneport Manor like you requested.”

  “Good, stay there, there’s been a new development. I’m on my way.” The chief hung up before he could ask any questions.

  Walking back into the room, he nodded to his partner. “Chief wants us to stay put.”

  Carson’s eyebrows shut up, but then he nodded. “Maybe, if it’s not too much to ask, could I get a glass of water?”

  “Oh.” Rose jumped up quickly. “I’m sorry, I should have asked if you wanted something.” She started to rush out, then turned to him. “Officer Sawyer, would you like anything?”

  Hearing her speak so formally to him tore him in two. “No, thank you, Rose.” He made a point to call her by her first name and a slight smile played on her lips before she left.

  “What’s up?” Carson whispered once they were alone in the room.

  “Not sure. Chief says there’s been a new development. We are to stay put until he gets here.”

  “Damn, I was hoping for a nice quiet dinner tonight.” Carson sighed.

  Sawyer glanced down at his watch and cringed. “I was supposed to pick up my truck half an hour ago.” He pulled out his phone and texted the mechanic to request they drop the truck off at his house and leave the keys in the mailbox. An instant reply came confirming they’d have someone do it. “Now if I only had a sitter for Ozzy.”

  “Why?” Rose asked, walking in with a glass of water for Carson.

  He turned towards her. “It looks like it’s going to be another late night.”

  “You should install a doggie door.”

  “I have one, I just haven’t had time to install it yet.” He motioned for her to sit down. “The chief is on his way over. We’ll wait around until he gets here.”

  Just then there was a knock on the door and Rose stood back up. He followed her into the foyer, and when she opened the door, he jumped into action as questions were thrown at her.

  “Rose, did you kill your husband?”

  “Rose, why bury Isaac in the basement?”

  Flashes blinded them both as a small group of paparazzi snapped pictures from her front porch. More than a dozen pictures were taken in the seconds it took him to slam the door shut. He didn’t get it closed before the last question rang out clear as a bell.

  “What are your thoughts about your husband’s mistress coming out with a statement? Is it true you killed Isaac because of the child…?”

  He turned and snapped the lock, then glanced over at Rose, whose face had turned an even paler shade of white.

  “Mistress?” she said, turning slightly towards him. “Child?”

  He held onto her shoulders, afraid that she was on the verge of sliding to the floor.

  “Isaac’s mistress. Someone asked what I thought about my husband’s mistress coming out and that Isaac had a…” Her hands went protectively over her belly as if she was holding her dead husband’s child deep within. Her eyes snapped to his and he watched them fade before his eyes as she pitched at an odd angle. He swooped her up quickly into his arms.

  “Well, hell,” Carson said behind him, “better bring her in here,”

  Sawyer gently laid her down on the sofa and Carson placed a blanket over her.

  “Seems like we were just here…” his partner mumbled. “I’ll get her some water.” Sawyer heard him disappear down the hallway.

  “Rose?” His worry for her grew when she didn’t move at first. Last time, she’d woken quickly. This time, he had to lightly slap her cheeks and sit her up before her eyes fluttered open.

  “Is it true?” She searched his eyes.

  “I don’t know,” he answered truthfully.

  Just then, the doorbell rang again.

  “I’ll get it this time.” Carson held up his hand to keep them in place.

  A minute later, the chief walked in, followed by Detective Anderson.

  “I think you’re too late. The paparazzi already spilled the beans,” Carson said softly. Sawyer heard him and nodded at the chief when he glanced in his direction.

  “Mrs. Clayton.” The detective sat across from Rose. She was sitting up again, the blanket wrapped around her legs and the glass of water gripped between her hands like it was a life vest. “We’ve been contacted by a woman in New York who claims that she had a five-year affair with Isaac.”

  Rose buried her face in her free hand as tears rolled down her face.

  Carson reached over and took the glass of water from her hands and set it down on the table.

  Sawyer had moved away from her when the chief had walked in, but now, he wished he could hold her, comfort her.

  “She says that Isaac Clayton is the father of her son,” he continued.

  Rose’s eyes snapped up to the detective’s and her lips opened and closed several times, as if she was trying to speak. Her hands were gripped together over her belly as she rocked slowly. “No,” she finally said, “it can’t be.”

  “Did you know about your husband’s affair?” the detective asked.

  Just then, the front door burst open and Hunter rushed in, slamming the heavy door behind him. At the same time, Rose whispered, “No.”

  “Don’t answer that.” He pointed to Rose, then stopped between Rose and the detective. “My client has nothing further to say to you at this time.”

  Rose closed her eyes and continued to rock back and forth slowly.

  “You’re the stepbrother… Hunter McDonald?”

  “Yes, and as of this moment, Mrs. Clayton’s lawyer. If you wish to question my client further”—Hunter produced a card and handed it over—“you have my number.”

  The chief nodded. “We’ll be in contact.” He tapped the detective’s shoulder. “We’ll clean up the mess out front. Our patrol car will stay put.” The chief’s eyes moved over to Rose. “For your client’s safety.”

  He followed everyone to the front door but turned as he
walked by Hunter. “Keep her safe.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed at him, but then he nodded, and Sawyer turned and walked out.

  Back at the station, he searched out the chief before heading home.

  “Is it true?” he asked. “How did we miss a mistress?” Sure, they had only had a few hours to find out everything they could on Isaac Clayton and his past, but all the same, a mistress shouldn’t have been too hard to miss. Especially, when the victim had been deceased for a full year. Why was the woman coming out of the woodwork now? Why not a year ago when the news spread about Isaac Clayton’s plane going down?

  “I’m asking the same damn question.” Deter’s eyes narrowed at him. “Shut the door.” He waved to his office door.

  Sawyer stepped in the small space and shut himself in with the chief.

  “Sit.” He motioned towards a chair. Sawyer had a quick flashback to the time he’d spent in the principal’s office.

  “Hell, we all missed it.” Deter took a deep breath.

  “And the kid?” Sawyer asked.

  “That too. The birth certificate is under…”—he glanced down at a stack of papers on his desk— “Owens. Kristy Owens.”

  The name sounded familiar. “Kristy…”

  “Owens, the actress.” Deter was reading off the fax that had come in. “B movies apparently. If my memory serves me right, Night of the Bees.” He glanced up from the sheet then back at it and nodded.

  Sawyer vaguely remembered hearing about the scandalous woman. She’d had affairs with some of the wealthiest men in New York. It had been rumored that she had tried to blackmail a senator after taping their liaison a few years back.

  “Now she’s claiming she had Isaac Clayton’s love child.” Deter sighed.

  “What does Isaac’s father have to say about it?” Sawyer asked.

  “The old man has lawyered up. I got about two seconds with him before five lawyers wearing fancier suits than I’ve ever seen followed him into the room. It seems that dear old father-in-law is covering his own ass but screw his daughter-in-law.” The chief shook his head. “When I asked about her, the man seemed very uninterested. Like he had someplace else to be or something he was trying to hide.”