Nearly Dead in Iowa Page 21

  "It's not fair," she growled. "He said he loved me, but he didn't or he wouldn't have told Stan what I was doing. I could have given him the world, but he couldn't let her go. We were supposed to run away to Indonesia and live happily ever after, but he wanted to meet you, like he could bring her back somehow. The trouble I went through. I got Vic to poison Stan while I waited outside. But the guy's incompetent. He couldn't scare you away. You nosy—"

  I slammed on the brake and tried to pry her fingers from around my neck, but her grip was tenacious. Spots appeared before my eyes. I felt around with my right hand, desperate for a weapon—a pen, a phone anything to break her hold—until I remembered the syringes inside my pocket.

  Coughing seized my chest as she squeezed my windpipe with fingers that felt like a vice. I struck blindly with the syringe, pumping the substance into her body. She screamed and finally let go. I didn't look back as I headed toward Inez.

  * * *

  "Tell me again how you figured it out." Nate sat across from me while Gabe hovered next to me, his hand intertwined with mine.

  "You're going to have to get the details from my father, but Claire was in love with him—in her own sick and twisted way. She had it all planned and had tickets to Indonesia for the two of them. But he must have broken it off. She alluded to something about Stan blackmailing her about the drugs she was pedaling with that guy, Vic Strong."

  "Wait a minute. How did all that come out?"

  "I spotted a medical bag in Dr. Hunter's Lexus and snooped. There were a lot of vials of opioid meds. And then there was the smell."

  "You've officially lost me."

  "Tom Ford's Special Blend cologne. I found a bottle in my father's closet, and Vic wore the same cologne. My father's was unopened, so I have to assume he never used it. And that same aroma was inside Dr. Hunter's car except he doesn't drive it in the summer or fall. She told me that herself."

  "You're saying you figured this out because of cologne?"

  "I remembered that when Dr. Hunter cornered me in the bathroom, he didn't wear Tom Ford's Special Blend." I was piecing things together as best as I could, based on conjecture. "It's a well-known fact that women have a better sense of smell than men."

  He closed his eyes and shook his head, but he had a smile. "Continue."

  "My father has a cabin that no one knows about. There are a lot of canvases there along with pictures of him and my mom. They were broken or destroyed, and I kept thinking Dr. Hunter, but Claire made much more sense."

  "Crap. You're right. Sometimes it's too simple."

  "Claire probably thought she could get his love by making him famous and driving up the price of his paintings."

  "Why did she kill Stan?"

  "She put the blame on Vic."

  "Do you have any idea why your father was driving Phil's truck?"

  "I have no clue. Maybe Sally contacted him to let him know that Phil was being framed."

  Between Gabe and Nate, they helped me to a standing position. "Your father's out of surgery and is in recovery. He's got a couple of bruised ribs, a concussion, and a fractured femur, but more importantly, he's asking for you." Nate smiled. "I'm sorry I gave you both such a hard time."

  "No worries. I didn't take it personally." Well I kind of did, but since we're having a kumbayah moment, I shouldn't break the spell.

  I felt stiff all over as we walked down the hall. A lot had happened over the last couple of hours, and I had bruises up and down my left arm as well as my neck and throat. Thankfully, I didn't kill Claire when I'd injected her. I'm not sure I could have made peace with killing even a scumbag like her.

  Despite everything I'd gone through, nerves rushed to the surface. "Would you two mind if I go in there alone for a few minutes first?"

  When they nodded, I drew in a breath and pushed open the door. My father was lying in the hospital bed, eyes closed, machines beeping. The awkwardness of the moment couldn't be disputed, but then he opened his eyes and looked my way. Tears tumbled down my cheeks. Instinct took over, and I went to the bedside and hugged him as best I could considering our combined multiple contusions and maladies.

  "I've waited so long," my father said as he fought back tears.

  "Why?" Although I'd wanted to start with softball questions, I instead went for the heavy hitter. After all this time and everything I'd gone through, I needed to know.

  "Your mother and I met when I modeled for her art class at the University of Iowa."

  I stopped his revelation with a touch to his arm. "My mother went to Columbia."

  He shook his head. "But she started as an art major in Iowa. We fell in love hard and fast, but her parents didn't approve. When she got pregnant with you, we both figured they'd give in. She purchased the cabin with some kind of trust fund she had. But your grandparents fought back." He shook his head. "They were rich. I was living hand to mouth on the art I sold. I couldn't let the two of you suffer when I knew neither of you would want for a thing if I let go. I made a pact with the devil and told them I'd stay away if they'd welcome the two of you into their lives and support you both, financially and emotionally."

  Everything clicked into place. The constant sadness in my mother's eyes. The fact that she'd never married. But I still had to ask the hard question. "Did they give you money?"

  Despite his injuries, he sat up straighter, causing him to wince. "Never. Why would you think that?"

  I shook my head. I couldn't tell him of my awful thoughts. "I had to ask."

  "Did they have you beat up?" I thought back to the pictures I'd seen that were hidden in his closet. "I saw some Polaroids."

  He nodded slowly. "After they did that, I took the pictures to force them to do right by you and your mother. I was worried. They were very angry people."

  The way he described them fitted with my rare contact with them.

  I gulped back the weirdness of the question that continued to pulse inside me. "Where did you get all that money from?"

  "It's yours. Well…part of it. Another eight hundred thousand or so is in a bank in New York under Exquisite Art Services."

  "What?"

  "When your mother got sick, she started to send me money for safekeeping. She said your husband was a world-class jerk and that if something happened to her he'd somehow try to get his hands on any money you inherited. She made me promise to contact you when he wasn't in the picture. Plus, in truth, I wanted to make sure I was worthy of you. That I could prove myself to be someone you could be proud of. I'd kind of fallen off the proverbial wagon once your mother got sick. She hid it from me for so long until she was near death, and she wanted you protected."

  The information he'd shared nearly had me reeling. "I…don't know what to say…."

  "It's okay. This is kind of new territory for both of us."

  "When did my mother start selling your art through Exquisite Art Services?" There were so many questions that popped into my head, I tried to get the important ones out of the way first.

  "After your grandparents died and I ran into her in Iowa City." He sniffed. "Neither of us had changed how we felt." He shook his head. "All those years I'd wasted. We made a plan to tell you, but then she got sick, and everything came crashing down around me once again."

  I grabbed his hand. "I wish we would have been a family."

  "So do I." I bent down and kissed his check.

  "You're so beautiful." He touched my hair in fatherly way, and I felt like I'd finally reached home. "You look just like your mother."

  My hair looked like it hadn't been brushed in over a week. I still had cornstalk bits stuck in my hair and on my clothes, and scratches bloomed across my face, which matched the bruises lining my arms and neck. "Only a father could think that. I looked in the mirror on the way out of my room and scared myself." We both chuckled as Nate and Gabe walked inside.

  "We heard some laughing so figured it was safe," Nate said as he sat down. "Glad to see you're okay, Tony."

  "I suppose you
want to know how this all started," my father stated before he began to tell the tale I'd pretty much put together myself. "I hid because I knew you'd suspect me, and if you arrested me, I couldn't protect Isabella. As long as they thought I had evidence of their illegal operation, I could shield Isabella."

  "Was Phil ever involved in this?" Nate asked.

  "Not that I know of."

  "Does Dr. Hunter play into this at all?" Nate asked.

  He shook his head. "The only thing I know about him is that he over prescribes and his wife used that to create her own personal opportunity."

  "How about Paul at the pawnshop? He was looking for Izzy the other day."

  Tony shook his head. "I gave him my necklace as a sign I was okay then asked him to let Isabella know that Claire might want to harm her to get to me."

  "What happened to your car?"

  "I dumped it in the river to try to get Claire off my trail." My dad shook his head.

  Gabe looked at Nate and nodded before he spoke. "Why don't we leave you two alone? You probably have a lot of catching up to do."

  I figured that might be the understatement of the century. I guess we'd negotiate this relationship thing together. For now I'll stay in Iowa until…I figure out something else to do with my life.

  And try really hard to avoid murder, madness, and above all, fried Twinkies.

  * * * * *

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  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  USA Today bestselling author Wendy has a Masters in Social Work and worked in the child welfare field for twelve years before she decided to pursue her dream of writing. Her first book was published in 2011, and she has published several other titles since then.

  Between teaching college classes, trying to get her morbidly obese cat to slim down, and tempering the will of her five-year-old granddaughter, who's determined to become a witch when she turns six so she can fly on her broom to see the Eiffel Tower and put hexes on people—not necessarily in that order—somehow Wendy still manages to fit in writing. She spends the remainder of her days inflicting mayhem on her hero and heroine until they beg for mercy.

  To learn more about Wendy Byrne, visit her online at: http://www.wendybyrne.net

  * * * * *

  BOOKS BY WENDY BYRNE

  Nearly Dead in Iowa

  Hard Targets novels:

  Hard to Kill

  Hard to Trust

  Hard to Stop

  Other works:

  Mama said…

  The Christmas Curse

  Fractured

  * * * * *

  SNEAK PEEK

  If you enjoyed this book, check out this sneak peek of another exciting novel from Gemma Halliday Publishing:

  BURNED TO A CRISP

  by

  CATHERINE BRUNS

  CHAPTER ONE

  I sat down on the front steps of my cookie shop, Sally's Samples, and took a rare moment to enjoy the warm June sunshine on my face. The sky was a perfect blue, with nary a cloud to be seen. A gentle breeze flapped around my apron and my curly, shoulder-length, black hair. I kicked off my sneakers and wiggled my toes, enjoying the feel of the overgrown blades of grass between them. Content, I closed my eyes and leaned back, thinking about my life.

  In a few weeks I would be Mrs. Michael Donovan. Heat flooded my cheeks, but not as a result of the shimmering sun above. I'd loved this man for so many years, even though we'd spent most of them apart—the result of misunderstandings and a lack of trust that stemmed from when we were teenage sweethearts.

  "See before you jump," my wise Grandma Rosa had instructed me. That was her distinct way of saying, "Look before you leap." How I wished I'd listened to her back then.

  It had taken ten years, but Mike and I had finally found our way back to each other. Now nothing and no one would stand in the way of our life together.

  "Why you daydream?" A sharp elderly voice pierced my eardrum. "You gotta get me more fortune cookies."

  As recognition set in, I winced and opened my eyes. I'd know that voice anywhere. Nicoletta Gavelli made her way up the steps of the porch and thrust a stubby finger in my face. She was dressed in her usual black housecoat and Birkenstock shoes, gray hair pulled back from her stern face in a severe bun.

  "Hi, Mrs. G. Josie's inside. Go on in, and tell her what you'd like."

  She frowned, the lines in her leathery-looking face deepening further, and shook her head. "You wait on me. Josie—she no have respect for her elders. And you ain't so hot either, missy."

  I managed to contain my smile as I followed her into the shop. Mrs. Gavelli had been my parent's next-door neighbor since I was a baby. She took immense pride and pleasure in insulting me whenever she could, but I had recently learned that it was her unique way of expressing affection. Since there was never any winning with Mrs. G, I'd learned to just shut up and take it.

  Josie Sullivan, my best friend and partner, was an entirely different matter, though. She had no qualms about telling anyone what she thought of them. Sometimes she was a little too outspoken. I tried to keep her calm, but that was often a full-time job in itself.

  She was in the back room, our kitchen and prep area, removing a tray of mocha cookies from the oven. My mouth watered from the smell. She peered out the doorway, having heard the bells jingle, and I watched as her expression changed from content to sour in a split second. She tossed the oven mitts aside and came toward us.

  "Well, look who's here." Josie's blue eyes regarded Mrs. Gavelli with irritation. "My favorite customer."

  Mrs. Gavelli pointed at me. "Sally wait on me. Not you. She lesser of two evils."

  Josie's face turned as red as her hair. "Stop bothering Sal. She shouldn't even be here." She placed her hands on her hips and stared at me. "Speaking of which, why are you still here? The engagement party starts in an hour. And where's Mike?"

  "He'll be here soon. He just started a new job today." My fiancé owned a one-man construction company, although at times he did hire people to assist him. "There really isn't anything for me to do, except show up. Mom's taken care of everything."

  Mrs. Gavelli sniffed as she spread her hands all over the front of the bakery case like an eager child. "Engagement party. Big wedding. Is not right. You already married once, and that not end good. Shameful. I hope you not gonna wear white."

  The old woman was the proverbial thorn amongst my roses. Defeated, I decided to change the subject. "Who are you bringing tonight? Is it Mr. Feathers?"

  Mrs. Gavelli gave me a saucy grin. "Is big surprise. You find out soon."

  Great. I hated surprises.

  Josie pointed out the window. "The grass is loaded with dandelions. Who gets the honor of mowing the lawn tomorrow? I had Rob fill the gas can earlier, so it's out in the shed, waiting for its next victim."

  "Mike did it last time. Think I can talk him into it again?"

  Josie grinned. "I believe you have that power of persuasion. The lock on the shed is broken too."

  "I know it is. I'll have Mike look at that as well." It wasn't the way I wanted to spend Sunday, our only day of the week off, but when you owned a business—or two, in our case—things frequently came up.

  Our employee, Sarah, appeared from the back room with a tray of fortune cookies for the display case. She caught sight of Mrs. Gavelli, instantly paled, and closed her mouth. Mrs. G had that effect on many people.

  "Aha!" Mrs. Gavelli's eyes resembled round jewels as she caught sight of the fortune cookies in Sarah's hands. Without even bothering to ask, she removed a cookie from the tray. Sarah made no effort to stop her, frozen in place with a deer-in-the-headlights look. "I choose my own. That way I no get bad fortune."

  Josie pressed her lips together angrily. "You don't grab food off the trays in a bakery without gloves, old lady
. Don't ever do that again."

  "Who you call 'old lady'?" Mrs. Gavelli started toward Josie in a fury.

  I was quick to jump between the two of them. "Okay, both of you knock it off. Mrs. G, was there anything else you wanted?"

  She stared at me in annoyance. "Where you go for honeymoon?"

  Man, she was nosy. "We haven't decided yet."

  Mrs. Gavelli let out a long harrumph. "Every day a honeymoon for you two. I see the way you carry on. You will be pregnant on wedding night. I know these things."

  I didn't say anything but hoped for once that her premonitions were right. More than anything, Mike and I both longed for a large family. My ex-husband, Colin, never wanted children and had been up-front about his feelings from the beginning. I had foolishly believed I could get him to change his mind over time.

  Josie had four boys, all age ten and under. The baby was a year old and had just begun to walk. Even though she had started her family much sooner than she'd planned—right out of high school—and they'd gone through some tough times financially, I envied her lifestyle. Had it not been for my father and his old country morals, I might have tried to tempt fate before the wedding. Heck, Mike was all for it.

  Mrs. Gavelli glanced at her message and gasped. "Stay home and order take-out tonight." She flung the paper onto my blue and white checkered, vinyl floor. "I tell you get new fortunes. Why you no listen?"

  Josie's mouth curved upward into a sly smile. "You're lucky I didn't poison the cookies. I was feeling extra nice today."

  Mrs. Gavelli started to say something, but we were interrupted by the bells jingling on the front door. A man slightly older than me walked in, and the old woman gave me an arrogant smile as she pointed at him. "Here your surprise. Is early wedding present."

  My mouth fell open in shock. "Holy cow. Johnny, when did you get into town? My grandmother never said a word."