Deadly Deceit Read online

  “Famous last words,” Wilson mumbled under his breath.

  Ignoring him, Ryan stepped into the office and cleared his throat. Vivian turned and looked up at him.

  “Did I do something wrong? Is that why the medicine didn’t work?”

  “It’s not your fault.” Ryan felt drawn to reassure her of this fact. He sat in the leather chair across from her. “The EMTs said you administered the EpiPen correctly, but it’s possible the medicine couldn’t react to the allergy fast enough. You did everything you could.”

  An empty stare met his.

  “How long have you been back in town?”

  “Long enough to know you haven’t been, Deputy Frost.”

  It took him a second to realize he hadn’t introduced himself and her using his name meant she recognized him. “Right. I was up in Virginia. Training.” He looked down at his notes, praying Wilson was not hearing this. “Deputy Wilson said you stopped by here because—” Ryan read the note again. “Marmalade dropper?”

  “Yes, it’s something Harold liked to say when he had a story idea. Means the headline will be so big it’ll make you drop the marmalade.”

  “What was the story?”

  “He never got a chance to tell me.”

  Ryan saw it. The way her eyes shifted quickly to the side. She was holding something back. “You’re sure about that?”

  A flicker of the obstinate reporter he remembered from a year ago lit her eyes. “Yes, I’m sure.”

  He studied her features, the set of her jaw daring him to press her further. He wouldn’t. Not because he was intimidated—no. She did unnerve him though. A year ago it was the scrappy way she went after each deputy in the station, hungry for information on Walton’s first murder. Tonight that reporter wasn’t sitting here. The woman in front of him now was . . . vulnerable.

  “Look, I think we have everything we need for the report.” Ryan stood. “I have your contact information if I need anything else.”

  “Yes.” Vivian rose slowly. She glanced over at the ME examining Harold’s body.

  “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  Her eyes met his, and for the first time all night he saw a shimmer of emotion, but it lasted only a second. She offered a sad smile. “Leave it to Harold to die with a story on his lips.”

  “Maybe some stories are best left untold.”

  There was a sad tilt to Vivian’s lips. “I don’t believe that.”

  An uneasy feeling settled in his gut as he led her to the front door and watched her get into her car and drive away. What story was so important that Harold would call Vivian to his home? Ryan turned on his heel and walked to the place where Harold had died. He began picking up the discarded trash left by the EMTs and noticed a piece of paper. He was about to add it to the trash when he saw a name on it.

  Lauren.

  Who was Lauren? Did this name have something to do with Harold’s big story? Something told him Vivian had the answers. And if she was still a tenacious reporter, anxious and willing to dig up dark secrets to fuel her need for a headline . . . then she was already a step ahead of him.

  two

  RYAN DRUMMED HIS THUMB against the steering wheel, trying to keep his mind occupied. Listening to Pastor Price’s sermon this morning on the Song of Solomon had left him uncomfortable and unable to stop thinking about Vivian DeMarco.

  It had been two days and the shock of seeing her back in Walton still hadn’t worn off. Why hadn’t Charlie mentioned anything? Because he was too busy getting married to Lane. While Ryan was eating dirt up in Quantico, his best friend had been consumed with wedding plans and his new bride.

  Vivian’s presence demanded attention, and it was hard not to give it to her. She was beautiful. Was still beautiful . . . maybe even more so with the darker hair. He also noticed she wore less makeup than before, and he liked that too. Ryan shook the errant thought from his mind. Yes, she was beautiful. And way out of his league.

  Why was she in Walton? He’d imagined she’d be up in New York City reporting for the Times. Vivian certainly seemed destined for bigger and better things. Ryan flexed his fingers. Those were the same words Agent Hannigan from the FBI had told him a few weeks ago in his bid to get Ryan to accept their offer.

  Ryan wheeled his Jeep into the driveway behind his mom’s Camry, forcing his thoughts back to the task at hand—mulching his mom’s flower beds. He climbed out of the car and caught sight of the bright pink blooms in a sea of dark, shredded wood bark lining the front porch. What? He glanced at the dogwoods . . . someone else had taken care of the yard.

  Surveying his mom’s yard, Ryan scratched the back of his neck, confusion rising. He’d hired a handyman named Ralph before he left for Virginia. Ralph had come highly recommended by Sheriff Huggins and promised to take care of anything his mom needed. So, when Ryan called yesterday evening to find out what he owed the man, he was shocked to hear that his mom hadn’t called Ralph in two months.

  The yard had been mowed, the flower beds cleared and ready for the mulch Ryan had brought over. He even noticed the rain gutters had been cleaned. Had she hired someone else? It bugged him. It was his job to make sure his mom was taken care of, and the last thing he needed was for her to hire some dude he hadn’t run a background check on.

  He went up the porch two steps at a time, then entered the house, annoyed she had left the front door unlocked. He’d talk to her about that after he found out who she had hired to take care of the yard.

  “Mom.” Ryan walked through the front living area and into the kitchen. Empty. “Mom!”

  “Ryan?” The back door opened and his mom stepped inside, carrying an empty coffee mug. “What’s wrong?”

  He appraised her. Face pink from the sun, blonde hair poking out beneath a straw hat, dirt smudged at the knees of her pants. Gardening. “You left the front door unlocked.”

  Linda Frost’s cheeks pinched into a warm smile. “You sound like a parent.”

  “Or a deputy who knows the first line in home defense is a locked door.”

  She set down her mug and walked toward him, putting both palms on the edge of his jaw. “The kindest, handsomest deputy who needs to find someone other than his mom to worry about. Besides, this is Walton.”

  Ryan’s mind skipped to Vivian DeMarco. Those fiery eyes claimed more of his thoughts than he cared to admit.

  “Ry-annnn!” A shrill voice echoed through the house. “Your stupid Jeep is taking up half the driveway.” Ryan’s sister stepped into the kitchen, dropping her backpack at the door and tossing her keys onto the counter. “Didn’t anyone teach you how to park?”

  “Good morning to you too, Frankie.” Ryan eyed his sister’s attire. Fringed jean shorts and a cropped T-shirt that revealed more skin than he was comfortable with. “Didn’t anyone teach you how to dress?”

  Frankie blew out an exasperated breath that lifted her strawberry-blonde bangs off her forehead for a second before they fell back over her blue eyes. The same eyes she rolled in an exaggerated way before turning them on their mom. “Can you tell Mister Law Enforcement that it’s Frannie now?”

  “What’s Frannie now?”

  “Her name.” His mom’s eyebrows lifted in amusement. “She doesn’t like being called Frankie. Prefers Frannie or Francis now.”

  Ryan grinned. “Oh, Frankie’s a big girl now that she’s about to graduate high school.”

  Frankie stuck out her tongue before her eyes grew wide. “Did you tell him?”

  Their mom shook her head. Frankie disappeared down the hall.

  “Bring your brother’s mail too,” their mom called after her. She turned to Ryan. “Want some sweet tea?”

  “Tell me what?”

  Without answering, his mom opened the fridge and pulled out a pitcher. When she let the door swing closed, his eyes caught on the magnetic notepad. Blank.

  Every Sunday that pad of paper held a list of tasks and chores his mom needed done: replace batteries in smoke detectors, fix torn screen, c
lean gutters, change oil in the car. Jobs the man of the house should’ve taken care of but became invisible to his father as he reached for his next beer. Pulling double shifts at the truck stop restaurant six days a week left his mom with little energy, and she didn’t have the money to hire a handyman.

  So Ryan became one. Using the school computer, he watched how-to videos and started crossing off items on the list. It didn’t take long for his mom to figure it out, and he never forgot the tear-stained expression on her face. He’d become the man of the house in his father’s inexcusable absence. But today something wasn’t right. His mother’s slanted script was missing.

  He reached for two glasses from the drying rack next to the sink. “I talked to Ralph yesterday. Said it’s been a couple of months since you’ve called him to do anything. I picked up mulch, but it seems that’s already been taken care of.”

  “Oh,” his mom said as she busied herself pouring the tea. “I forgot to tell you about that. It was expensive and—”

  “So, where are you moving?” Frankie interrupted, resuming her position on the counter as she thrust a handful of envelopes into Ryan’s hand before taking his glass of tea. “DC? New York? Ooh, LA.” Frankie rolled her eyes up in delight. “I would love to go to California. Hollywood. Famous actors.”

  Ryan frowned at his sister. “What are you talking about?”

  Frankie pinned him with a wide-eyed stare. “You’re moving, aren’t you?” She poked a finger at the stack of envelopes in his hand. “Taking a job with the FBI, CIA, or FDA, right?”

  “Food and Drug Administration?”

  She made a face. “You know what I mean.”

  He looked down and saw the familiar letterhead of the agencies that had approached him in Virginia. Ryan swallowed. The recruiters wanted him to commit, but he hadn’t made a decision yet and had been avoiding their attempts to contact him since returning home.

  “Besides, I need to know where you’ll be so I know where not to be.”

  Ryan lifted his eyes to meet his sister’s excited expression. “What?”

  “For college!” Frankie squealed, revealing two envelopes she’d been holding behind her back. “I made Mom wait so I could tell you when you got home, but I got accepted to Georgia State and the University of South Florida!”

  “Wow.” But the word didn’t match his tone, and Frankie picked up on it immediately.

  Her smile drooped. “That was real enthusiastic, Ryan.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m in shock, I guess.”

  Frankie’s smile returned. “Me too.” She waved the envelopes at him. “My guidance counselor suggested I apply to more colleges than just Anderson and—”

  “What’s wrong with Anderson College?”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “It’s here.”

  “Which makes it perfect for—”

  “Linda?”

  Ryan started, when a man’s face peeked through the back door. He crossed in front of his mom and sister, forgetting that he wasn’t in uniform, and reached for his weapon that wasn’t there. “Who are you?”

  “It’s okay, Ryan. This is my friend.” His mom moved around him and opened the back door, allowing the man to step inside. “And the main reason why my chore list is blank.”

  “He’s a handyman?”

  Frankie snorted.

  “He’s a dentist,” his mom said. “Dr. Evan Murphy.”

  Dr. Murphy held out his hand, but Ryan ignored it as he assessed the man: mid- to late fifties, soft around the middle, brown hair graying throughout, and a lined face that seemed to see a lot of sun. Nothing struck him about the stranger’s profile except the man’s ease in walking through his mom’s kitchen.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Ryan. Your mom and Frannie have told me so much about you.”

  Frannie? Ryan slid a glance to his sister, who tucked her chin to avoid eye contact.

  “I was hoping to introduce you two at dinner next week,” his mom said.

  “Why? My teeth are fine. Not looking for a new dentist.”

  His mom’s expression tightened. Over her shoulder she gave Dr. Murphy a smile. “Give me a minute. I’ll be right out.” As soon as the man stepped out of the house, her focus pinned on Ryan. “This wasn’t how I planned to do this, but . . . ” She smiled. “Evan is more than just a friend.”

  Oh, he could see that without a single word being uttered. They had stood too close, their gazes lingering. “How long has he been more than just a friend?”

  “A few months.”

  “Months.” The word came out in a low grumble. “You’ve been dating for months? Here I was worried about Frankie bringing home some guy—”

  “Hey,” Frankie whined.

  “I never even considered worrying about my mom bringing home a stranger.”

  “He’s not a stranger.” His mom pressed her lips together, giving him a look that said he was close to crossing a line. “I met him before you left, but it didn’t start getting serious until recently.” Her tone softened. “He’s a good man. Helps out around the house. Cares about me. And Frankie and I—”

  “I need to go.” Ryan pulled out his keys and started for the front door. “I’ve got some work to do.”

  “Ryan, please stay.”

  His mom called after him, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. Hurt seared his chest. How could his mom not tell him about this? Or Frankie? Single parenthood hadn’t given his mom the luxury to look after herself. It had become his job to look after her and his sister. To make sure they were alright. He had been gone for only nine months and they’d . . . replaced him.

  “Ryan, wait!”

  Opening his Jeep door, he paused. Frankie ran up to him.

  “You forgot your mail.”

  He took the envelopes from her and tossed them onto the passenger seat before climbing in.

  Frankie stepped to the driver’s-side window. “Mom’s happy. If I go to college in Florida, I’ll be happy.” She punched him playfully on the arm. “One of these days you’re going to see that we’re alright. You did your job looking after us.” She lifted her chin at the envelopes. “Maybe it’s time to find a new one.”

  Vivian’s eyes burned, and it wasn’t from the bright rays of light cutting through her curtains, telling her it was well past morning. Rolling over, she picked up her phone and checked the time.

  “Well done, Viv, you’ve officially slept through half of Sunday.”

  She dropped her head back to the pillow and let her wrist fall across her eyes. There had been no sleeping. Between the nightmares, Vivian had managed to doze off only to startle herself awake at the same point in her dream each time.

  The scene played out just as it had on Friday night. Harold called and asked her to come over. She drove there, but something always slowed her down. First, she couldn’t find her keys. Then it was her car not working properly or getting lost on her way to Harold’s house. The worst was seeing Harold through the window and not being able to get into the house. But the part that tortured her were those final moments at Harold’s side. The way his eyes looked into hers, desperate for her to help him. In the end she was always too late.

  Vivian groaned and shoved herself out of bed. Her feet smacked across the wood floor toward the kitchen of the small two-bedroom cottage she rented. She needed coffee. And something for the ache in her head. Deputy Frost’s words rolled around in her mind. “You did everything you could.”

  Once the deputy got over his initial shock of recognizing her, she could see the sincerity in his attempt to console her, but it didn’t lessen the pain pulsating in her heart. Or the guilt that maybe, just maybe, she could’ve gotten there earlier and given Harold the shot in time to save him. Vivian placed both hands on the counter and dropped her chin to her chest, her breathing constricted.

  Get a grip. He was my boss. I worked for him for a short while—not enough time to get attached. This is only a temporary gig to get me where I want to be.

&nbs
p; Man, she wanted to believe that.

  Regaining her composure, Vivian started a pot of coffee and searched the fridge for something to feed the gnawing in her stomach. She wasn’t really hungry, but at this point she was looking for anything that would keep her busy and her mind off Harold. And Deputy Frost. He’d invaded her bad dreams a few times, only it felt less like an invasion and more like . . . well, whatever it was, she wasn’t going to allow her mind to explore it—even if she’d been just as surprised at his Samson-like transformation as he’d been about finding her in Walton.

  A faint ringing echoed from the bedroom. She walked back in there and picked up her phone. “Well, you wanted something to keep you busy,” she muttered before answering. “Hi, Mom.”

  “Did you just wake up? You sound like you just woke up. What time is it there?”

  “It’s a little past two. And no, I’ve been up pretty much all night.” Vivian had no intention of revealing the reason behind her raw throat. “Might be a cold.”

  “Oh. Make sure you take some zinc. That’s what the girls and I do to stay healthy on the planes.”

  Genevieve DeMarco had worked as a flight attendant before Vivian was born and returned to the job she loved right after Vivian left for college.

  “Did you just get home?”

  “Yes. The red-eye from Paris.” A rustling noise. “Oh, I got you some perfume.”

  Vivian walked back to the kitchen and chose her largest mug and filled it to the brim with coffee. “Thanks.”

  “Anyway, I’m calling because a piece of mail came for you. I think it’s a card. Or maybe an invitation?”

  “An invitation?” Vivian frowned. It had been at least ten years since she’d lived at her mom’s address. Anyone wanting to invite her to something would know that. “It’s probably junk.”

  “It doesn’t look like junk.”

  “Mom, the whole point is not to make it look like junk so people will open it.”