Oh well. There’s still the wedding.
Sneaking into the wedding would be more difficult since it would take place during the day. I’d likely have to wait until the nighttime reception to sneak a glimpse. It didn’t make any sense, this need to see my Jess happy and well, but I’d long ago surrendered to the compulsion. Fighting it just made me miserable. And I—
Shit!
I dropped to the ground, my heart taking off at top speed as several shots were fired from somewhere to my left. I’d been nearly past the bakery on my way to the north woods when the sharp, ricocheting sound cut through the dark night. Holding my breath, I waited and listened. A single thought cut through the riot in my mind: Where is Diane?
Slowly, new sounds reached my ears over the rushing of blood between them. Screams. Panicked screams coming from the direction of the barn. I’d just decided to run back that way and look for her again when more shots rang out followed by the unmistakable sound of glass breaking nearby.
The shots weren’t coming from the barn. They were coming from the parking lot on the other side of the bakery. And Diane wasn’t at the party.
Cold dread slithered down my spine and I was up, running for the parking lot, my heart in my throat, my brain oscillating between desperate pleas to any deity that would listen and murderous intentions if I found her injured. If she’d been shot, if she’s hurt, I would—
I couldn’t swallow. I couldn’t think about it. Thinking about her being hurt, losing her, it sent black to the edges of my vision, momentarily crazed with fear. She couldn’t be shot, and that was that. I wouldn’t allow it.
Finally, I made it to the lot and tucked myself close to the bakery so as not to make a shadow or draw notice should the shooter still be present. I scanned the lot. My blood ran ice cold.
Diane.
There. Just a few feet away. There she was, kneeling next to the opened driver’s side door, holding something, quiet sobbing pleas spilling out of her.
Not taking a moment to think, I ran over, crouching low as I reached her. “Diane!”
“He’s dead. He’s dead.” She was looking at her hands and in the next moment she showed them to me. This close I could see they were covered in blood. Inside the car was her ex-husband, blood blossoming against his white shirt and on his face.
I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.
What am I seeing?
I grabbed her by the shoulders and gave her a little shake, wanting to force her eyes to mine. “Diane, look at me.”
She did. But I didn’t think she actually saw me. Even so, I asked, “What did you do?”
She shook her head, her chin wobbly. “I don’t know.”
Safe. Keep her safe.
“Come on.” I pulled her up by the arm.
“He’s dead,” she whisper-sobbed.
“I know,” I said grimly, determination sharpening my thoughts, giving me focus and purpose.
Her ex-husband was dead. But no matter what she’d done, she would not be the one to pay for it.
We made it to the safehouse just past nine and I carried her inside. Placing her gently on the couch, I tucked the blanket around her. She stared forward unseeingly, and she hadn’t said more than five words since the parking lot.
She was in shock.
She’d been in shock when she’d knelt next to her ex’s dead body in that parking lot. She’d been in shock when I dragged her to the bakery to wash the blood from her hands. She’d been in shock when Jackson James banged on the bakery door, demanding we open it. She’d been in shock as we ran out of the building and into the north woods, sliding down the slope to where I’d parked my bike. I hadn’t bothered with a helmet. I’d put her behind me, commanded her to hold on, and then we’d left.
And now here we were. Safe. For now.
I poured her a glass of brandy. She had to be cold, but she wasn’t shivering. The shivering would come later, I reckoned.
“Here.” Crossing back to her, I tenderly lifted her hand and pressed the glass into it. “Diane.” Waiting until her eyes drifted to me, I crouched down and guided the drink to her mouth. “Drink this.”
Her gaze on me still hazy, Diane did as she was told, drinking a gulp. She winced at the burn. I took it as a good sign.
Staying low next to the arm of the couch, I pulled in a deep breath and asked gently, “Can you tell me what happened?”
Her stare dropped to the glass and she swallowed convulsively. “I don’t even really know.”
I didn’t like her tone, so small and quiet. This wasn’t her. Fear clawed at my throat. I cleared it, forcing it down, pushing it away. “What do you remember?”
“I . . .” Diane’s attention came up again, but she didn’t look at me. I got the sense she was looking at her memories. Then she said, “Isaac.”
I held still. I didn’t even breathe.
“Isaac shot Kip,” she said, her eyes filling with tears. The drink in her hand shook and I took it from her before it spilled. The shivers had started; the adrenaline was leaving her system.
In one motion, I stood and sat close to her on the couch, gathering her body against mine. “Are you sure? Are you sure it was him?”
She gave a jerky nod, speaking in a rush, her throat tight. “I saw him. He walked up to the car and he shot inside. I heard him. I heard him speak. I heard him after he shot Kip. It was him. His voice. My son shot—oh God!”
Diane turned her face to my chest, the mournful, keening sound she made sent a tremble through me. I closed my eyes. She cried and cried. It wrecked me. I held her tighter. I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to let her go.
Minutes, maybe hours later, when her tears were spent and my arm was asleep, I was able to get a few more details out of her.
Apparently, her ex and his mistress had shown up at the engagement party and made a scene. The sheriff had stepped in and sent them both on their way. It had taken a while and some strongarming, but the sheriff had won in the end. Diane said she’d seen them leave and she didn’t know why Kip had come back later.
The reason I didn’t see Diane at the party was a simple case of bad timing. She’d been present for the early part of it, then went with the sheriff to send off Kip and Elena. She said she’d then stopped by her office to cool down for a moment before returning to the party. At the party, she couldn’t find Jennifer or Cletus anywhere.
She’d tried sending them text messages to determine their whereabouts—which she showed me—and received a text from her daughter in reply.
Jennifer: Meet me in the bakery parking lot.
Diane was in the parking lot because of the text from her daughter, and she arrived just in time to see her son walk up to Kip’s car, bang on the window, and then shoot inside. The timing of it—Diane arriving and Twilight shooting just at that moment—sent cold suspicion through me. Had he planned this? Was he trying to frame his own mother?
He just killed his father. Framing his mother isn’t a stretch.
Careful to keep my tone calm and even, I asked, “Then you ran up to the car? After Twi—uh, Isaac ran off?”
“Someone else was in the car. He told whoever it was to get out. And that person ran, he ran after her.”
“Her? Are you sure it was a her?”