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“Really?”
Out of the corner of his eye he could see her watching him, scrutinizing his reaction.
“The physical evidence points to your father. The jury obviously agreed. The thing I can’t accept is the affair between your father and my mother.” She made a snapping noise with her tongue. “No way.”
He narrowed his gaze, hoping he hadn’t been wrong about Lindsey’s nose for the truth. “At least we agree on one thing. That’s a start.”
“So you don’t believe they were involved?”
Her voice had suddenly lost its edge, and Matt felt himself softening. “I never did.”
They drove the next few moments in uncomfortable silence. He broke the void first. “We need to have a goal for this visit. I’m a big believer in all parties being on the same page.”
“And what page are you on, Mr. Aless—Matt?”
“I’m on the page that thinks Mickle was a convenient witness—a convenient witness with a tidy little story your uncle never questioned.” He shot her a glance. Color fired in her cheeks. So, he’d hit a nerve. “What page are you on, Ms. Tarlington?”
The light ahead turned yellow and he slowed the truck to a stop, turning to focus fully on the woman beside him.
“Call me Lindsey.”
He nodded.
She frowned then spoke. “I’m on the page that agrees Mickle’s testimony seemed a bit convenient, and had no evidentiary proof of any kind.”
Matt widened his gaze and nodded. “Very good.” The light shifted to green, and he pressed the truck forward. “Maybe we’re not so far apart in our thinking after all.”
“What’s your goal for our visit?”
“My goal…” He mulled the question, taking his time before he answered. His goal was to have Lindsey realize reasonable doubt existed about his father’s guilt, but as far as she needed to know…? “My goal is to find the crack in Mickle’s story. Fair enough?”
Lindsey nodded. “Fair enough.”
NERVOUS ANTICIPATION FLUTTERED to life in Lindsey’s chest as Matt pulled the SUV to a stop at the entrance to a gated neighborhood. An elderly guard leaned forward through the casement window of the small guardhouse. “Name?”
“Matt Alessandro.”
“Here to see?”
“Lorraine Mickle. Forty-two Hemingway.”
“She expecting you?”
“Yes.”
Lindsey held her tongue as the gate lifted.
The guard tipped his cap. “Have a good visit.”
“Thank you.” Smile lines creased Matt’s cheeks as he grinned. “We plan to.”
“Very smooth,” Lindsey said softly as the SUV cleared the gate.
“Please.” Matt’s grin deepened. “I’m quite certain you didn’t earn your reputation without bending the rules a time or two.”
“Reputation?” Lindsey smiled, unable to resist the teasing tone of Matt’s voice.
“It never ceases to amaze me how people will welcome you simply because you act like you know what you’re doing.” Matt cast a quick glance in her direction and her stomach caught.
She nodded in agreement, saying nothing, not trusting her voice to be steady at that moment. After all, hadn’t she done that very thing when she’d opened her front door to this man just yesterday? She’d welcomed him into her home because he’d been so self-assured.
“Amazing,” Matt repeated, holding her gaze for another second before refocusing on the road.
Lindsey turned her own attention to Hemingway Lane as he eased the truck into the turn. Lorraine Mickle. The woman on whom the motive portion of the case against Matt’s father had hinged. The woman who had seen Tony Alessandro and Camille Tarlington in a lover’s argument.
Allegedly.
Matt pulled the truck into a driveway, and Lindsey fought the shiver that slithered its way up her spine. Her gaze landed on a gaudy mailbox painted to resemble a pink flamingo. Number forty-two.
“Ready?”
His voice broke her trance.
“Ready.” She gripped her briefcase and climbed from the truck, headed toward what she hoped would be answers to the questions that had come back to life after seventeen years of silence.
Composed was the only word Lindsey could think of to describe the look painted on Lorraine Mickle’s face as she opened the door. If she didn’t know better, Lindsey would swear Mickle had been expecting them. The woman showed not an ounce of surprise as they introduced themselves.
Mickle’s blond hair had been twisted artfully into a bun at the nape of her neck. Her ivory skin showed subtle lines of age, but she was a lovely woman. Lindsey’s best guess would put Mickle’s age somewhere around forty. A smattering of fine lines framed her pale green eyes, but her features remained sharp, her jaw and neck flawless, like those of a much younger woman.
“I’ve just put on a pot of coffee, can I get you both a cup?”
Matt and Lindsey exchanged a quick glance. “Thank you,” Lindsey answered. Matt nodded his agreement.
The small ranch, though cozy, could only be described as immaculate. Lindsey had the sense she’d stepped into a decorating magazine photo spread, surrounded by carefully selected furnishings and decorations.
Mickle disappeared through a doorway into the kitchen and returned a few moments later, a coffee cup in each hand. “I apologize for my appearance.” She nodded to the emerald-green velour robe she wore. “You caught me getting ready to take a shower.”
“We apologize for not calling first,” Matt said.
Lindsey couldn’t help but be impressed by the sincere expression he wore.
“No problem. I’m always happy to have company.” Mickle’s expression remained welcoming. “Would you like to take a seat?”
Matt shook his head. Lindsey mirrored the move. Both remained where they stood, each now holding a steaming cup. “We don’t plan to stay long, Ms. Mickle,” Matt said. “We appreciate you seeing us.”
“No problem.” The woman’s face broke into a gracious smile. “What can I do for you?”
“I wonder if I could ask you a few questions about the night Camille Tarlington disappeared? We understand you and she worked together at my father’s floral shop.”
Lorraine’s smile tightened as she nodded. “Yes. We did. Horrible tragedy.”
“Why were you so quick to suggest my father and Mrs. Tarlington’s alleged affair?”
The suddenness of Matt’s question shocked Lindsey. She could only imagine how Lorraine Mickle must feel.
Yet the woman didn’t bat an eye. “There was nothing alleged about it. Anyone who knew them knew they shared something intimate. When the police questioned me about anyone Camille had argued with, Tony…your father…immediately came to mind.”
Lindsey’s pulse quickened. According to the notes she’d read, Mickle had come forward. She hadn’t been asked about a possible motive because she’d offered the information first.
Matt closed the gap between him and Mickle. His features tensed. “I’m confused. You were questioned regarding the argument?”
Mickle frowned but stood her ground. “I thought you asked me about what I told them.”
“I did.” Matt nodded. He said nothing additional. Lindsey realized he was giving the woman just enough rope to hang herself.
Mickle glanced from Matt to Lindsey. Lindsey sipped her coffee and smiled, waiting patiently for the answer.
“I misspoke.” Mickle’s confident smile returned and she chuckled softly. “It’s been a long time, you need to remember I’m not as young as I used to be.” She nodded as if the memory had suddenly come into focus. “I did tell the police about the argument. I thought the information might help.”
She focused her attention on Matt. “Your father had a quick temper. I heard him arguing in the back room with Camille. He left the shop shortly after she went out on a late delivery.” She shook her head. “Camille never returned, and the police came to see me the next day after your father,” she said, nodding in Lindsey’s direction, “reported she’d never come home.”
The acid taste of coffee burned Lindsey’s throat. She’d never forget that night, or the way her father had paced from room to room, from window to window, after he’d returned from his weekly bowling league and found Camille not at home.
“So you offered the information about the argument, correct?” Matt asked, his tone intent and stern.
Mickle nodded. “Just as I said.”
Matt narrowed his eyes. “You may have heard some new evidence has come forward. Ms. Tarlington and I had questions and thought it best to seek you out. We apologize for any inconvenience.”
He shot a glance at Lindsey, his expression softening as their gazes met. She nodded then smiled at Mickle.
“I just can’t imagine why you’d want to dredge up the past.” Mickle clucked her tongue. “It was a horrible time for both of your families.”
“Yes, but I’ve always wondered what they argued about.” Matt’s features had grown serious.
Mickle glanced at the front door, probably wondering why she’d opened her home to them in the first place. “I remember exactly. Your father wanted to go public with the affair and Camille refused.”
Lindsey had enough experience with lying spouses, parents and children to read the nonverbal cues, yet Mickle’s cues were yielding nothing. The woman seemed to be unreadable. Was it because Lindsey was too close to the case? Or was Mickle actually telling the truth? Had her mother been involved with Alessandro?
“You had no doubt they were lovers?” Matt stepped closer to where Lorraine stood. The woman shook her head, backed up one step, then held her place.
Apparently Matt’s thoughts had followed the same progression as Lindsey’s.
“More coffee?” Mickle’s voice climbed perceptibly.
“No, thank you.” Matt smiled. He nodded in Lindsey’s direction. “Ms. Tarlington? More coffee?”
Lindsey shook her head. “None for me thanks.” She glanced down into her half-full cup. “Matter of fact, I’ll put these in the sink.” She held out a hand for Matt’s cup, wrapping her fingers tightly around the porcelain as he handed it to her. “We should probably get going.”
Matt nodded, holding out a hand toward Mickle. “Right. We should let you get back to what you were doing. You’ve been most helpful.”
As the woman shook hands with Matt, Lindsey stepped into the kitchen, but froze at the sight of an ornament hanging in the window over the sink. An angel. Handmade.
Her heart stuttered to a momentary stop before it began to race.
The last time she’d seen the angel it had been hanging from the rearview mirror of her mother’s station wagon.
An icy chill built inside Lindsey, spreading to her arms and hands. Mickle appeared at her side, reaching for the cups, her expression full of concern. “Let me get those for you.”
“You okay?” Lindsey sensed Matt’s nearness behind her. His hand brushed against her shoulder, the sudden warmth a steadying force in the small, spinning room.
She handed the cups to Lorraine without taking her eyes from the ornament. “That was my mother’s.”
Mickle pivoted, following the direction of Lindsey’s gaze. “I’m sure there must be a million like it. You must be mistaken.”
Lindsey crossed to the sink, stepping free of Matt’s touch. She fingered the object, the sequins faded after all these years. She could still remember meticulously applying every single one—for her mother.
“I made it.” The words escaped her in barely more than a whisper.
She lifted her focus to Mickle, who now stood next to her at the sink. The woman bobbled one coffee cup as she set it in the sink, the loud clatter filling the otherwise silent space. She nodded suddenly then tapped one finger to her chin. “You know that’s right. I remember now. She gave it to me one day at work.” Mickle shook her head, a sympathetic expression plastered across her face. “You take it, honey. She’d want you to have it.”
Lindsey didn’t hesitate. She plucked the ornament from its hanger, nodding her thanks to Mickle as she beelined for the front door.
“Thanks again for your time.” Matt’s words cut through the frenzied thoughts crowding Lindsey’s mind. He cupped her elbow as they hurried toward his truck, steering her as if she were a lost child.
“My mother loved this. She would have never given it away.” Her voice was unrecognizable with pent-up anger and frustration. “What’s going on?”
“I’m not sure.” Matt whirled Lindsey to face him, confidence flashing in his eyes. “But, we’re going to find out.”
“Her story was almost too smooth.”
“Practiced.” Matt nodded.
Or was it? Part of Lindsey believed Matt was right. If Mickle had been coached, there was a chance Tony Alessandro had been falsely accused. She’d clung to his guilt as gospel for the past seventeen years. Was she ready to consider another possibility?
The nagging questions at the base of her brain hammered relentlessly. Was Mickle lying? Or was she merely reciting the truth as she’d seen it seventeen years earlier? And who had left the photocopy—and the ring? And why?
Lindsey looked at Matt as his dark gaze bore into hers. Was his the determination of a killer’s son, intent on clearing the family name no matter what the evidence showed? Or was his the face of a good man, secure in the knowledge of his father’s innocence?
She swallowed down her growing turmoil. Only time would tell.
Chapter Four
Matt sat in front of what had once been his family’s floral shop and sipped on a cup of stale coffee. He’d dropped Lindsey back at her office, having agreed to meet her later that evening to pore through the case file together.
While he’d wanted some time to analyze their conversation with Lorraine Mickle, he’d also wanted some time apart from Lindsey. When she’d first spotted her mother’s ornament hanging from the kitchen window, his instinct had been to offer comfort. He’d had to hold himself back from pulling the woman into his arms—as if she’d let him.
Hell, the woman had spent the majority of her life certain his father had murdered her mother. Of all the women to inspire a sense of protectiveness, why her? Why now?
