Fair Warning Page 8

  The detective’s eyes filled with genuine sympathy. “It’s been almost two years since your husband’s death. Why did he wait so long?”

  Willow shrugged. “I never asked, but I think he felt I should have recovered from the loss. Some people like to put a time frame on these kinds of things, and when you don’t fit your life into their time frame, it upsets their world.”

  There was a long, waiting silence. Another tactic that Travis had once told Willow about. Most people are uncomfortable with extended silence, so they fill it with words. Often those words spoken during unguarded moments can reveal more than can be uncovered during hours of intense questioning.

  Willow wasn’t uncomfortable with silence.

  “I don’t suppose you know anyone who would want to frame you for this?” the detective asked at last.

  “As I said, until today I didn’t know anyone in town except my brother.” Yet hadn’t someone shown a marked desire to hurt her? Would that same person be so desperate to get to her again that he would go to all the trouble to track her down and follow her here to Branson?

  She glanced once more at Detective Rush. Detectives were paid to give the impression of solidity and trustworthiness, but Willow didn’t know this woman. Can I trust her?

  And yet, if the police couldn’t be trusted to get to the bottom of the matter without accusing the wrong person, then they didn’t deserve their jobs.

  “May I ask you a question, Detective?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “How far back are you willing to investigate my life, in case this arsonist was singling me out?”

  Detective Rush’s eyes narrowed. “Why? Is there something you feel warrants investigation?”

  “I’d like to know more about my husband’s death, and how thorough the investigation was for a killer. And if there was a killer, someone with whom Travis might have crossed paths in his job as an undercover narcotics agent, then I’d like to know if he might still hold enough of a grudge against Travis to try to take it out on me, Travis’s widow, this long after his death.”

  The detective sat in silence, holding Willow’s gaze intently. “You believe there might be a connection between your husband’s death and the fire?”

  Willow spread her hands. “I hope not. There have been incidents in the past, twice since Travis died that make me suspect someone was trying to kill me. I was hit by a car, an intentional hit, and lost my baby. I could never prove it was intentional. There were no witnesses. I can’t help wondering if someone from my husband’s past might have hated him so badly that they still want to kill me.”

  The overhead lights hummed in the long silence as the detective waited to hear more. Willow believed she’d said enough.

  “Okay, Willow,” Detective Rush said at last. “To be honest with you, reopening an investigation isn’t likely. As overworked as we have been lately, we wouldn’t be able to spend a lot of time researching an old case, but I can make a couple of calls.”

  “Thank you.” Those would be calls to the police station in Kansas City that had handled the case. Willow had received no answers from them, and she doubted this detective would, either.

  “Now, we have another detective in our force who works with voice analysis,” Detective Rush said. “If you’re willing to take a voice stress test—kind of like a lie detector test—we may be able to get you out of here sooner.”

  Willow sagged with relief again. “Why didn’t you bring that up earlier?”

  “It’s only used as an adjunct to questioning, so the results aren’t a deciding factor.”

  “Let’s go for it.”

  Thirty minutes later the voice stress test was over.

  “You’re free to go,” Detective Rush said at last.

  “I’m not going to be charged?” Willow asked.

  “No, but I trust you will remain in Branson for the time being.”

  “As long as my brother’s in the hospital, I’ll be nearby.”

  “And you’ll help me, if I decide to pursue research into your late husband’s case in Kansas City?”

  “Of course.”

  “I can’t make any guarantees. We hope to find our arsonist before that becomes necessary.”

  The detective escorted Willow from the police station into the atrium foyer of the city hall building.

  “May I ask you another question?” Willow asked as she climbed the steps behind the woman to the park entrance. “Why was I even under suspicion? If I had known those arson supplies were in my car, don’t you think I’d have refused permission for the search in the first place?”

  Detective Rush gave Willow a quirky half grin over her shoulder. “Hypothetically speaking? When the police are searching for a possible booby trap somewhere in your car, and you refuse permission, don’t you think that’s going to raise red flags?”

  “Then if someone produces a warrant for the search, I’d look doubly guilty.”

  “You got it.” The detective pointed toward the glass double doors, to the two shadowy figures who paced outside, within the circle of light from the building. “I think your friends are waiting for you,” she said. “If not, I can take you back to the hospital or to your motel room.”

  Willow shook her head. “I think I’d rather walk. It’s only a few blocks to the hospital from here.” She needed some time alone to deal with all this.

  And yet, in a way, she had never felt more alone in her life.

  Chapter Eight

  The moment the glass door opened and Willow stepped outside into the deepening April dusk, Graham could tell she had been through a difficult ordeal.

  Ginger rushed to Willow’s side. “Honey, I’ve been out here praying for you. How did it go? Was it awful?” She reached for Willow.

  Before her arms could encircle that slender form, Willow withdrew, shoulders stiffening, chin raised. “I’m fine. Thank you for waiting. You didn’t have to, though. I think I’ll just walk to the hospital to prove to Preston that they didn’t throw me in the slammer.”

  To Graham’s relief, Ginger had the wisdom to give the woman some space. He couldn’t always predict what she would do. “Why don’t we call him?” He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. “Then we can grab a bite to eat before you starve.”

  “Good idea,” Ginger agreed. “Unless they served you a meal in that place, I doubt you’ve had anything since our late breakfast.”

  Willow forced a smile that seemed to twitch across her lips as if powered by an inconsistent electric current. “It isn’t as if they resorted to starvation and torture. I had a candy bar.”

  “How about a nice healthy bowl of soup or chili to go with that?” Ginger asked, this time obviously taking great care not to throw an arm around Willow’s shoulders. Graham knew his sister. She was in a mothering mood. She did that with him often enough.

  “Really, I feel like some exercise.” Willow picked up speed as if she would leave them behind.

  Business Highway 65, which the city hall overlooked, was noisy with a rush of evening traffic, and Willow quickstepped south along the sidewalk.

  Graham might not be a touchy-feely person like Ginger, but he knew humiliation when he saw it written in body language.

  He caught up and fell into step beside Willow. “I’m sorry, but I can’t let you do that.”

  Her pace picked up. “I’ve already been held against my will for half the evening. It isn’t a fun feeling. Don’t try to tell me what I can and cannot do.”

  “I’m sorry, I’m not trying to be bossy,” Graham said. “Ginger’s the bossy one in the family.”

  “Excuse me?” Ginger protested from behind him.

  He knew the three of them must look a little silly racewalking along the narrow sidewalk. “Obviously the detective believed you or she wouldn’t have allowed you to leave.”

  “She had to believe me, because I passed her voice test.”

  “Of course you did.” Ginger already sounded out of breath. “You’re innocent. Wh
y didn’t she do that when you first arrived?”

  Willow shrugged. “She needed information. It’s what the police do—they gather information. I was perfectly willing to talk to them—I just wasn’t expecting to become a suspect.” She glanced at Graham and Ginger. “Really, you two don’t need to walk with me. I’m a totally competent person, capable of finding my way home.”

  Graham heard the defensiveness in her tone. “No one’s questioning your competency.”

  “You mean Preston hasn’t already convinced everyone I’m hopelessly unable to care for myself?”

  Graham thought about his discussion with Preston earlier this morning. “He hasn’t convinced me of anything except that he’s worried about you.”

  “Since you two are such good friends, I’m sure he’s told you why.”

  Again Graham heard the defensiveness in her voice. He also caught a trace of bewilderment. Wow. Ginger was rubbing off on him.

  Tentatively he touched Willow’s arm. “Please, come to dinner with us. I promise we won’t interrogate you. Everyone needs a friend now and then. You’ve got two right here.”

  “Absolutely,” Ginger agreed. “And we’re dying to know what happened in there.”

  Graham shot her a warning glance. “Didn’t you hear what I said? We are not going to interrogate her.”

  Ginger rolled her eyes at him. “Anyway we’ve all got to eat tonight. Why not do it together?”

  At last, at the busy bridge over Lake Taneycomo, Willow’s steps slowed. She glanced up hesitantly at Graham, and he could see in the headlights of an oncoming car that her face shone with tears he hadn’t realized were falling. So much for his skills of perception.

  “You know they impounded my car?”

  “Normal procedure,” Graham said. “They have to make sure they have any scrap of evidence they might need. Whoever placed those items in your wheel well could have left something behind that could eventually be a clue.”

  “Meanwhile we can rent you a car,” Ginger said. “Or you could use my car, and I could use Graham’s old farm truck.”

  “What I could really use right now is a cup of hot chocolate,” Willow said.

  “I know just the place for that,” Ginger said. “And it’s only a short distance from here.” She glanced over her shoulder at Graham. “They’ve got hot roast beef sandwiches made with freshly baked yeast bread and brown gravy that’ll make you think you’ve died and gone to heaven.”

  Only then did he realize how hungry he was. He looked down at Willow. “Is that okay with you?”

  She glanced down the road in the direction of the hospital, then back at him. She shrugged. “You’ll call Preston?”

  He held out his cell phone. “Right this minute.”

  She nodded. “Lead the way.”

  Willow sat across from Graham and Ginger in the downtown diner, cupping the warm mug of hot chocolate in her chilled fingers. She hadn’t realized until now that she’d been trembling for several minutes. Maybe even since leaving the police station.

  She couldn’t put a finger on what, exactly, was causing her to tremble so. Anger? She was certainly outraged by the insinuation by the police that she could be guilty of arson. She had never before been hauled to the police station for questioning. She felt like a criminal.

  She picked up a spoon and dipped it into the swirl of chocolate syrup that decorated the dollop of whipped cream on top of her drink. It was laced with peppermint, and it warmed her.

  She glanced up at Ginger, who sat across from her, indulging in her own cup. Then she looked at Graham.

  He was right—she needed a friend. She needed to talk.

  She raised another spoonful of the whipped cream to her lips. Twenty-five months ago, she would have savored the chocolate-mint flavor. How long had it been since she’d enjoyed her food?

  Lord, when will this nightmare end? Why are You allowing this to happen? What have I done to make You so angry with me?

  Rationally she knew this was an unfair accusation. But in her heart she felt punished. Though she knew God didn’t work that way, she also knew He had allowed all these tragedies to enter her life.

  But why?

  If Travis were still alive, he would have reminded her not to ask “Why me?” but instead to ask “Why not me?”

  Once more she glanced into Graham’s friendly amber-brown eyes, and then she looked at Ginger, whose attention had focused on a group of teenagers entering the restaurant in a lively throng.

  “This brings back a lot of memories,” Willow told them at last, bracing herself, weighing her words, wondering how much she could safely divulge.

  Both looked at her simultaneously, with interest.

  “My father always gave Preston and me hot chocolate when we’d had a bad day at school, or when…when things weren’t going well at home.”

  She paused and sipped her chocolate, wishing the warmth would stop her trembling.

  “Things sure aren’t going well for you right now,” Ginger said softly.

  Willow shook her head. “You’ll have to forgive my brother. As you’ve already noticed, he’s overprotective. But he’s also worried about me for other reasons.”

  Graham and Ginger both waited.

  How could she even dream of confiding in these people, who until this morning had been strangers to her?

  “My brother has too many childhood memories of my mother.” She stared at a dribble of cream that had slid down the side of her cup and pooled onto the table. They were generous with their portions at this restaurant. “My mother suffers from a mental illness that isn’t always controlled by medication. She has schizophrenia.”

  Ginger caught her breath audibly. “Oh, honey. That must be hard on your family. Was it very bad when you were growing up?”

  Willow shrugged. “Sometimes. That was when Dad whipped out the hot chocolate. He always believed the world’s problems could be solved with a good, rousing round of prayer followed up with hot chocolate.”

  “Your father’s a believer?” Ginger asked.

  “My parents are both believers. That didn’t magically take away Mom’s illness. And because it didn’t, my brother rejected God a long time ago.”

  “And now this,” Graham said, his voice and eyes betraying empathy. “So Preston’s watching you closely for any signs of trouble that would mimic your mother’s.”

  Willow nodded. “When we were kids we guarded the secret as if we were desperate criminals. It was as if we were convinced that if anyone found out about her, we would be rejected by friends and carted off to the asylum. A lot of people seem to believe that’s where all people like Mom belong.”

  “If I’m not mistaken,” Graham said, “studies show that the illness will usually reveal itself by forty if it’s going to manifest at all. You’re what, thirty-six?”

  Willow gave him a wry smile, empty of humor. “Preston told you?”

  “Only your age, when he seemed to be doing some…” Graham paused, and if Willow hadn’t known better, she would have sworn his face took on the slight flush of embarrassment.

  “Some matchmaking?” she guessed.

  “Exactly.”

  She watched him with interest. For a doctor, he embarrassed easily. “Preston has been concerned about himself, as well, but he’s been even more concerned about me, especially after Travis was killed. He’s been afraid the emotional trauma might trigger a psychotic response.”

  Graham leaned forward, elbows on the table, and Willow was suddenly aware of the solidness of his body, the broad shoulders. It would be nice to have someone…

  “I knew Preston was concerned about your emotional state,” he said, “but he didn’t say anything about your mother.”

  Willow sank back into the cushioned booth seat, listening to the crackly sound of the vinyl as it shifted beneath her, to the chatter and laughter of other diners, which occasionally reached deafening proportions. She smelled the scent of frying onions and burgers.

  “H
oney, you don’t have to talk about all this if you don’t want,” Ginger said. “You don’t have to talk about anything. I was just kidding you a while ago. You’ve got enough to deal with, anyway. We don’t want to pry, but we’ll be a sounding board if you need one.”

  Willow refused, this time, to allow tears to surface. None even stung her eyes. She gazed into the warm brown eyes of this friendly, kindhearted woman, and allowed herself a soft sigh. There were lines of comfort in that full-featured face. Ginger had obviously lived through a lot of struggle in her own life, and she’d allowed the struggle to deepen her well of compassion.

  “Thank you,” Willow said softly. She needed to talk, but before she could speak, a waiter arrived with two platters of hot roast beef sandwiches for Ginger and Graham, and a bowl of steaming country chili for Willow, with a side order of deep fried okra.

  Though Willow had no appetite, it was time to eat.

  “You’ll definitely need a car,” Graham said, picking up on the conversation they had discarded earlier.

  “I’ll wait,” Willow said. “I can walk anywhere I need to go.”

  He cut a bite of his open-faced sandwich and discovered it to be every bit as good as Ginger had promised.

  He took another sip of the hot chocolate. “Okay, sis, you want to fill us in on how you managed to discover this place in a month, when I’ve known this town intimately all these years, and didn’t have a clue about the food?”

  Ginger winked at Willow. “I’ve got good taste, and I know a bargain when I see it.” She reached out and tapped Willow on the arm. “I should warn you, Graham doesn’t take no for an answer. I’ll turn my keys over to you and let him drive me home tonight.”

  “I can’t let you do that,” Willow said.

  “We don’t want to leave the car parked on the street overnight, though, do we?” Ginger leaned back. “I’m not driving it home. End of discussion.”

  Graham ate his meal in silence as he listened, with some amusement, to Ginger and Willow spar verbally, with gentle gibes that revealed a friendship already in the making. Willow exhibited a dry sense of humor, and those slender hands waved gracefully in the air as she attempted to make a point with Ginger.