Would it be too late by the time she talked to John? How many people had he already told? He loved complaining about Cain, loved to paint Cain as the evil stepson, with himself as the long-suffering parent. Would he exploit her secret to serve his ego, even though it would ruin her in the process? She never would’ve expected such behavior, but she wasn’t sure she really knew him anymore.
As she waited in her car at the curb, she bit the cuticles on her left hand. It was an old habit, one she’d managed to break—until now. But she was so nervous she couldn’t stop herself. She had to reach him, needed some type of assurance that she wasn’t going to become a pariah in Whiterock.
Don Lyons, John’s next-door neighbor, drove down the street and waved at her before turning in to his drive. When he got out of the car, she could tell from his formal attire that he’d probably been at the funeral.
She averted her gaze, hoping he’d go into his house and leave her alone. But he didn’t. He walked over and rapped on the window.
Cursing silently to herself, Karen rolled it down and looked up at him. “Hi, Don.”
“Hi, there.” He was smiling but did a double take when he saw her cheek. “Oh, wow, what happened?”
“I walked into a door, can you believe it?” She knew it was a lame excuse, one battered women used all the time, but she also knew he’d never suspect the reality.
“Jeez, that must’ve hurt.”
“It did.”
His thin strands of gray hair, which he combed over a mostly bald dome, glistened in the sunlight. “We missed you at the funeral today.”
“I haven’t been feeling well. My, um, accident’s given me a pretty bad headache.”
“No surprise there. I’m sorry about that.” He bent closer, seemed to take particular note of her red, watery eyes. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” If she could just convince John to keep what he knew to himself. “How was the service?” she asked, changing the subject.
He shoved his hands into the pockets of suit pants that had to be as old as his divorce, which had happened around the time Cain’s mother had died, and rocked up onto the balls of his feet. “I think we gave her a good sendoff. Amy would’ve been proud to have such a showing.”
“Have you seen John?”
“Not since he spoke at the service. Boy, did he do a great job.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
He straightened his tie. “She was like a daughter to him.”
“He’s mentioned that.”
Another neighbor came down the street in a Prius and waved, and Karen decided to get out of her Mustang. She couldn’t sit in front of John’s house, chatting with his neighbors. She’d skipped the funeral because she didn’t want to be seen.
“I think I’d better wait inside. I’m feeling a little light-headed.” She was pretty sure Don had been in the middle of telling her about something Tiger had said when she piped up with that random comment. But she was too preoccupied to feign interest. She longed to go where it was quiet and dark and she could be alone with her worries.
“Can I get you an aspirin?” he asked. “A glass of water?”
“No, thanks. I’ll talk to you later,” she muttered and left him standing on the lawn, staring after her.
Letting herself into John’s house with the key he’d given her months ago, she breathed a sigh of relief once the door was closed. But only a moment later her throat grew tight and she began to cry again. This place was so familiar to her. Although they’d spent more time at her house, she’d expected to move in with John someday….
She stood at the piano and studied the array of pictures he had displayed there. Mostly, they were of the kids when they were young. Jason in his football uniform. Jason in his soccer uniform. Jason in the old car he’d bought with the proceeds of his after-school job. Jason grinning as a six-year-old boy, missing his two front teeth. There was one small photo of Owen when he’d graduated from med school, one of Robert at a science fair, and one of her and John at a restaurant. But there wasn’t a single photo of Cain or his mother—which was a bit ironic, considering the piano had belonged to Julia.
“I bet you hated having to leave your son,” she murmured and set the ring John had given her right beside Jason’s picture.
From there, she rambled through the house, looking for ways to distract herself from the gut-wrenching worry—until she saw Robert through the side windows. She suspected he was coming around the house to the front door, so she ducked into the garage. She didn’t want to face him, didn’t want to have to explain the large bruise on her cheek or admit that her relationship with John was over. Robert would be all too happy to think he’d achieved his goal; she couldn’t deal with that in addition to everything else.
“Karen?” He called her name from somewhere close to the garage door. Then he moved farther away. “Karen?”
Her car was out front. Had he spotted it as he came onto the porch? It didn’t matter. If he didn’t find her, he’d have to assume she’d merely parked it there and left with John or someone else, wouldn’t he?
It sounded plausible to her. But he seemed so darn determined to continue looking for her.
“Karen? I know you’re here.” He was just on the other side of the door again. “Where are you?”
She slipped into John’s little workroom as the door handle began to turn. Then the light went on. “Karen?”
She held her breath. She definitely didn’t want him to catch her now. He’d know she’d been hiding from him.
Closing her eyes, she said a quick prayer that he’d go away, and a few seconds later he went back inside.
Breathing a sigh of relief, she sat on John’s workbench and stared at the mess. John wasn’t the type to do any major cleaning. He kept the main rooms of his house devoid of clutter by tossing everything he didn’t want around into the garage, which was so full of junk he couldn’t fit a car inside. He also used the back bedroom as a storeroom. It was a miracle he could find anything when he needed it, she thought as she eyed the vast assortment of boxes and tools, extension cords, holiday decorations that probably hadn’t been used since Julia died, car-cleaning supplies and—
Her eyes returned to a shovel propped against the wall in the corner. Most of the gardening tools were piled next to the side door, where John tossed them when he finished the yard each week. But finding a shovel here wouldn’t have been odd in and of itself. What drew her attention was the handle. It appeared to be covered by a dark substance that looked an awful lot like…blood?