Falsely Accused, page 5
“You’re not falling asleep, are you?” Wren’s voice speared into his conscious, and he realized he’d closed his eyes and was drifting off.
“I was thinking about it,” he admitted.
“Don’t,” she commanded, her gaze focused on the window and the world outside. She was doing her best to ignore him. He couldn’t blame her, but he didn’t like it.
“You’re getting bossy in your old age, Wren.”
That got her attention.
She whirled to face him, her dark eyes flashing. “Old? You’re a year older.”
“Ten months,” he corrected, as if she didn’t know or couldn’t remember.
She did.
Wren had an uncanny memory and a keen intellect that had made her stand out in middle and high school. Based on how far she’d come since her years at the university, he’d say she hadn’t changed.
“I know.” She sighed. “You need to stay awake for a while. Closed head wounds can be just as dangerous as open ones.”
“I know.”
“So...” She glanced toward the front of the vehicle and lowered her voice. “Why are you here instead of at the hospital?”
“I already told you, I want to see Abigail.”
“That’s not the only reason.” It was a statement rather than a comment.
“You’re right. It’s not,” he said with a shrug. “I don’t like what’s gone down. You seem to be at the center of it, and that worries me.”
“I see. You want to play knight in shining armor and rush to my rescue?”
“I want to be the friend I should have been nine years ago,” he replied.
Her eyes widened just enough to show that he’d hit a nerve.
“The past is the past, Titus. How about we not bring it up?”
“I owe you an apology.”
“And this is your way of giving it? Riding to the rehab facility with me?”
“Offering you support.”
“I have support.” She waved her hand at her coworkers.
“Now you have more,” he replied.
She frowned. “This isn’t the time or the place to discuss what I think about that.”
“Good.”
“But we will discuss it,” she continued, turning away again.
He studied her profile, tracking the angle of her chin and the smooth plane of her cheeks. She was an older, more stunning version of the teen he’d spent so much time with. More polished. More streamlined. Even with her hair falling in tangles and her clothes ripped and stained, she looked sophisticated and professional. Everything she’d once told him she wanted to be.
I’ll never be like her.
How many times had she said that? When they were teens and young adults, it had been a constant theme in her life. She worked hard to assure herself that she would never be like her mother.
“If there is a choice between you staring at me and you sleeping,” she murmured, “I’d prefer you to sleep.”
“Even with a head injury?” he asked, curious to hear her response.
She glanced his way, the frown still in place. “No,” she replied. “So how about we discuss what isn’t going to happen.”
“Between us?”
“There is no us. There is a volatile situation that I don’t want you involved in,” she replied.
“Unfortunately, you’re not going to get what you want, because I’m already involved.”
“No—”
“This got personal the second someone trespassed on my property and began shooting. I’m not going home and forgetting that happened.”
And he wasn’t going to forget that they had once been good friends who would never have turned their backs on the other’s troubles.
If Wren thought that he was going to turn his back on her now, she was wrong. Despite the past, despite the hurt that was between them, he still cared, and he was still willing to do whatever it took to make certain she stayed safe. If that meant accompanying her wherever she went until the perpetrators were behind bars, then that was exactly what he planned to do.
FOUR
Abigail had faded in the hours since Wren had last seen her. She lay in bed, her tight silver curls flat against her head, her glasses perched on the edge of her nose as she flipped through the photo album Wren had brought to her.
“He was such an imp,” she said, her eyes filling with tears. She touched the photo, her finger tracing across Ryan’s smiling face. “Always smiling. Always happy.”
“Always causing trouble,” Wren added, hoping it would make Abigail smile.
It did, but even that couldn’t hide the grief in Abigail’s eyes. “That, too. Unlike you, he never did seem to settle into the routine of home and family.”
“He did. It just took him a little longer.”
“He didn’t,” Abigail corrected, smiling down at a photo of Wren and Ryan sitting in front of a Christmas tree. “If he had, he wouldn’t be divorced.”
“People do get divorced, Abby. Even people who want to settle into the family-and-home routine.” She glanced at Titus. He’d taken a seat across the room, his back to the wall, his gaze on the window that looked out over the parking lot.
Radley was outside the room, guarding the door.
As if someone might barrel in and pull a gun.
After what had happened the past few hours, anything seemed possible. Anything was possible. Of course, she’d known that before she’d heard the gunshot that had killed Ryan.
“I know people get divorced. I am not a child in need of reminding,” Abby huffed, her finger still on the photo. “But the reasons Ryan’s marriage failed were ninety-nine percent his doing. He wanted to be out fishing and hunting and playing with the boys. Darla wanted to build a family. She wanted to save money for their future. He wanted to spend it.”
“She told you that?” Wren and Darla had never been close. She’d tried to like the woman Ryan had brought into their makeshift family but Darla’s slow-energy approach to her life goals had been frustrating. Seven years younger than Ryan, she’d been a flighty young adult when Wren had been introduced to her. Darla had talked about college dreams. She’d said she wanted to open a daycare center in town.
“No. Ryan told me that.” Abigail’s voice broke on his name. After she cleared her throat, she continued. “After she gave him the ultimatum.”
“Ultimatum?”
“She wanted him to settle down. Stop going out all the time with the guys. Commit to having children and being a family. She wanted him to stop spending money and start saving it. Put something aside for their future. He was blowing all their earnings. He’d taken out a second mortgage on their house to finance that fishing excursion he went on with his buddies last fall. Did you know that?”
“No. I didn’t.” She’d loved Ryan, but they hadn’t been close, either. They’d been complete opposites in every way. Except for their love for Abigail.
“He wouldn’t have told you, because he knew you didn’t approve of him.”
“I approved.”
“You approved of his job with the sheriff. You approved of the settled life he pretended to have. I did, too, so I’m not judging. I had no idea he was making such poor financial decisions while Darla worked two jobs and tried to put herself through college.”
“She was in college?”
“As far as I know she still is. Getting a degree in early childhood education. She really settled down the last few years, but you wouldn’t know that. You’ve been busy with your life.” Abigail smiled to take the sting out of the words.
They still stung.
Because they were true.
“Ryan never mentioned it,” she said by way of explanation, as if that somehow took the weight of her responsibility off her shoulders.
“Why would he? He was self-absorbed. We both know that. But he planned to make things right with Darla. He was going to save enough money to buy the house back from the bank. Now, I guess he won’t have the opportunity.”
“No. I guess he won’t.”
“I’ll have to call Darla.”
“Do you have her contact information?”
“Of course. We’ve grown close the last few years. She’s turned into a lovely young woman. My address book is right here.” Abigail set the photo album on the nightstand, opened the drawer and took out a small leather-bound book that she’d had in a drawer in the kitchen for as long as Wren had lived with her. She handed it to Wren. “It’s in there. You can take that with you, but you’d better return it.”
“That’s okay. I’ll just put the number in my...” She planned to say phone but remembered she didn’t have one. The police had collected it as evidence and still hadn’t returned it to her. “I’ll call her later.” She tucked the book into the back pocket of her jeans.
“You know,” Abby said quietly, “this doesn’t seem real, and it doesn’t seem right. I’m an old lady.”
“You’re not old.”
“I’m old,” she reiterated. “I’ve lived a long, full life. I’m ready to meet my Lord. Ryan had a lifetime ahead of him. He should have had decades to build the family he said he wanted with Darla.” A tear slipped down her cheek, and Wren wiped it away.
“I’m so sorry, Abby. I know how much you loved him.”
“As much as I love you. And you’re sitting there with your arm in a sling. What’s going on, Wren? What’s this about? It can’t just be a random crime. Not in a place like Hidden Cove.”
“I don’t know, but I plan to find out,” she promised.
“You’d better, because the way Sheriff Wilson was talking, I’d say you’re high on the list of suspects.”
“That’s the way it always is, Abby. They look at romantic relationships and family first. Then they expand their circle of suspicion. They’ll turn their attention away from me eventually.” At least, they should. She knew how investigations worked. She understood that the sheriff and his team had to carefully review the evidence they collected. Beyond that, she wasn’t sure there would be much effort to find another suspect. During her conversations with him, Wren had gotten the impression that the sheriff was eager to pin the shooting on her.
“You’d know that better than me, hon,” Abigail said, closing the photo album and setting it on the nightstand. “Thank you for bringing that to me. I know it’s silly, but I wanted to see pictures of Ryan at happier times.”
“You know I’d do anything for you,” Wren responded.
“Anything is a big word.” Abigail raised a brow, her dark green eyes gleaming with calculation.
“Anything that won’t get either of us into trouble,” Wren added hurriedly.
“I want out of here. I’m sick and tired of being treated like an invalid. I want to go home. I think you can make that happen.”
“You’re being released at the end of the next week, and you’re moving into the retirement home,” Wren reminded her. “That’s why I’m here, remember? To pack things up and help you move.”
“My hip might be broken, but my brain is still working fine.” Abigail sounded more like herself, the words a little sharp. “I know when I’m supposed to be released. I know I’m supposed to move into the retirement home. But, I want to go home first. I don’t see why that should be a problem.”
“Abby...” She hesitated, not wanting to explain what had happened at the farmhouse. She hadn’t heard from the sheriff or the fire marshal and had no idea how extensive the damage was. Keeping quiet until she had more information seemed prudent. It also seemed healthier for Abigail. She’d broken her hip and lost a foster son that morning. Hearing that the farmhouse had nearly burned to the ground might be more than she could handle.
“We have to plan Ryan’s funeral.” Abby’s voice broke, all the sharpness seeping out of it. She pushed the sheets and blankets aside. “Get me that walker, Titus,” she demanded, gesturing to the hot-pink rolling walker Wren had purchased.
“Sure thing,” he responded, his voice a warm, rich baritone. Wren had forgotten how soothing it could be. How calm he had always been. When they were teens, she had moved at lightning speed, rushing from activity to activity, checking things off her to-do list. He’d moved at a slower pace, reasoning things out and then springing into action when he had the full plan in place. He’d been the calm to her storm, and she’d loved that about him.
Loved?
Liked.
She had liked the way he’d approached life. She had liked the way he had approached people—with respect and compassion and a firm understanding of what he expected and what was expected of him. She had liked that he had cared about her in a way no one else ever had. At that age, she had doubted Abigail’s commitment. She had doubted the support and encouragement of her teachers and counselors. She had never doubted Titus.
“Abby, you can’t just get up and leave.” Wren wrapped her good hand around Abigail’s elbow as she got to her feet. She still had a limp from the fall and the surgery that had followed, but she was steady as she moved to the wardrobe to grab clothes.
“I am not leaving. I’m getting dressed and ready for the day. Sitting here mourning and crying and giving in to self-pity isn’t going to accomplish anything. Unless I miss my guess, everyone in Hidden Cove knows what happened to Ryan. I’ll have visitors all day. I need to get ready for the onslaught. You can work your magic with the doctor and nurses, and I’ll be ready to break out of this place tonight.”
“I don’t think that’s going to happen,” Wren began, but Titus had pushed the walker to Abby’s side.
“Here you go, Abby,” he said.
Abby smiled. “You always were the most helpful young man. Thank you, Titus.”
“No thanks necessary.”
“Thanks are always necessary. Good manners are good habits. Haven’t I always told you that?”
“Yes. You have.” He towered over Abby, his six-foot-two frame dwarfing her four-feet-eleven inches.
“And we would both agree that not visiting an old friend for years and years on end isn’t good manners, wouldn’t we?” she continued, her dark green eyes focused on him.
Good. That gave Wren time to decide whether or not to broach the subject of the fire-and water-damaged farmhouse.
“We would,” Titus replied, reaching into the wardrobe and pulling out the caftan Abby had been trying to remove from the hanger.
“Humph,” she said, taking it from him and laying it on the seat of the walker. “Then, what is your excuse for not visiting me? You’ve been back in Hidden Cove for years. You’ve made a good name for yourself in the restoration business. People are always talking about what great work you do, and yet you have never once been out to see me or asked if I needed help with the farmhouse.”
“I apologize, Abby. Life—”
“Is not so busy that we can’t take time for one another. The years pass quickly. One day, you’ll be my age, and I’ll be long gone and buried. Will you be happy with the time that you wasted not being there for people you care about?” she demanded.
Titus shot Wren a look of desperation. When they’d been younger, she had always taken the hint and distracted Abby. But that had been years ago. They’d been best of friends, each other’s biggest supporter.
When she didn’t step into the conversation, Titus ran a hand over his short-cropped curls and sighed. “No. I won’t be happy with it.”
“That’s what I thought.” Abby nodded. “Seeing as how you’ve agreed that you need to spend more time with me—”
“Abby, he never said that,” Wren broke in, unable to stay out of the conversation for a minute longer. She knew where this was heading, because she knew her foster mother.
“I implied it,” Titus responded.
“No you didn’t,” she argued.
“Are you two going to bicker like children?” Abigail asked as she rolled the walker to the bathroom door. “Because I personally don’t think we have time for it. The farmhouse needs repairing quickly. From what Daniel said—”
“Daniel?” Wren asked.
“He’s rehabbing from rotator cuff surgery. He had a minor stroke after, and his doctors wanted him to have more intensive therapy. So, he’s down the hall. He’s a retired firefighter. Called me this morning because he heard about the fire at the farmhouse on his scanner. He called the fire marshal at my request. Apparently, the old house is waterlogged but not terribly damaged.”
“You know? Why didn’t you say something?” Wren asked, hurrying to open the bathroom door.
“The question is, why didn’t you? Do you think I can’t handle more heartache? I haven’t lived to be eighty-two without seeing more than my fair share of it. We’ll get through this, but I want the best person available to do the restoration. Titus is it. That being the case, the two of you had better learn to get along.”
“We know how to get along,” Wren responded.
“Good. When can you start work on the house, Titus?”
“Immediately,” he said.
Of course. He had always been the kind of person who could be depended on. One who jumped in to help when it was needed. Apparently, that hadn’t changed in the years they’d been apart.
“Wonderful! We’ll work around your schedule, of course. I do know how busy you are. I’ve heard so many good things from so many of my friends, I have every expectation that the work you do will be stellar. I’ll pay half your fee up front. Half when you finish.”
“No charge, Abby.”
“Of course, you’ll be paid,” Wren said.
“We can discuss that later. I need to shower and dress. I know the pastor and some of the ladies from my Bible study will want to come visit and pray with me. I’ll admit I’m not in the mood for visitors.” Abigail’s face fell, all the fine lines and wrinkles from decades of life suddenly showing. “But friendship buoys us up when we feel like we’re drowning.” She blinked back tears. “Are you going back to the house, Wren?”
