Legacy of Lies. Jill Nelson Elizabeth
thought if a square chin and a pair of vivid hazel eyes could jump-start her pulse.
Had he always been single? Or was he divorced like too many cops? Maybe widowed? That would be a switch, the spouse going before the cop, but it happened. His voice had been strong, yet gentle when examining the remains. He’d been firm when questioning her grandmother, though, but not bullying, like some behaved with suspects.
Suspects! Her grandmother was a suspect in the death of a baby. Unbelievable! Her grandfather, too. He might be dead and gone, but this discovery promised to assassinate the memory of his character. Unless he was clearly exonerated. Unless they both were.
Nicole caught her breath. Please, God, let this mystery be solved. But what if the case remained unsolved and suspicion clouded the rest of her grandmother’s days? And let my grandparents be innocent. But what if they weren’t?
Sighing, Nicole sat up and switched on the small table lamp. She might as well go downstairs and warm a cup of milk. The old-fashioned remedy had helped many nights when Glen was out on night duty, and she knew he had a particularly dangerous case on his docket.
Nicole threw on her robe and padded barefoot down the carpeted stairs, relying on the nightlights her grandmother had strategically placed along the route for vision. She stepped off the hallway carpet onto the cool kitchen linoleum, and the sound of stealthy footfalls on the porch froze her in her tracks. She’d read in the local newspaper about a rash of nighttime thefts in the county. Her heart did a somersault.
Had they forgotten to lock the door?
The door latch clicked, and the panel creaked slowly ajar.
FOUR
“Grandma!” Nicole blurted the word on a gust of pent-up breath.
The nightlight over the sink outlined the full figure who stepped inside. Grandma Jan let out a squeak and pressed a hand to her chest.
Nicole stepped farther into the kitchen. “What in the world are you doing outside in the middle of the night?” Had she been poking around in the crime scene? But no dirt showed on the woman’s robe, nightgown or slippers.
“Aw, honey, you nearly scared me out of my skin.”
Nicole gurgled a laugh. “You did the same for me, sneaking around like that.”
Grandma Jan’s posture stiffened. “I wasn’t sneaking. Couldn’t sleep so I went outside for some fresh air. What are you doing up this time of night?”
“I couldn’t sleep, either, so I thought maybe a glass of warm milk would help.” Nicole went to the refrigerator. “Would you like one?”
Her grandmother patted her on the shoulder. “No, thanks, dear. I think I’ll try to catch forty winks now.”
Nicole turned and watched her pad away. Was that a note of relief she’d caught on the other woman’s voice? Like she’d successfully accomplished a secret mission? Nicole shrugged. She was always second-guessing people’s reactions and motives. Hazard of being a cop’s daughter and a cop’s wife. She needed to get out of that habit. She wasn’t going to get caught up in that way of life anymore. Another reason to kick herself for checking out that fine-looking police chief. Available or not, he was off-limits as far as her wounded heart was concerned.
She thunked a mug onto the counter more briskly than she’d intended and winced at the noise. Then the milk came out of the jug faster than she’d anticipated and slopped over the edge of the cup. Nicole made an exasperated sound, wiped the counter with a paper towel and threw it in the wastebasket under the sink.
That’s funny. An empty trash bag lined the container. Last night before she went to bed, she’d made a mental note that the full garbage bag needed to be taken out to the large trash bin in the alley bright and early in the morning before the city truck came by to pick it up. Her grandmother must have taken the trash out as part of her midnight wanderings.
On one hand, finding something productive to do if she wasn’t able to sleep would be just like Grandma Jan. On the other, what had her grandmother been looking for in her bedroom right after the gruesome discovery? Some sort of evidence that had to do with the bones that were found? Did she dispose of the article in the trash? If so, why wait until the middle of the night? Grandma could have taken out the trash while Nicole was gadding around town in her car. But maybe Grandma couldn’t decide what to do with whatever it was she wanted to hide? Maybe it had taken her until the middle of the night to make up her mind to destroy it?
Nerves quivered beneath Nicole’s skin. Digging through a garbage bag in the wee hours was not an appealing prospect, but she needed to assure herself that her suspicions were baseless. But what if they weren’t? Then she needed to get at the truth. A baby was dead. Someone had to be held accountable. Her ingrained sense of justice wouldn’t allow any alternative.
Abandoning her milk on the counter, Nicole grabbed a flashlight from on top of the refrigerator and went to the back door. She glanced down at her bare feet. No help for that now. She wasn’t going back upstairs for her slippers. And even the flashlight was pushing it for a light source since Grandma’s room faced toward the garage and alley. Nicole didn’t want her grandmother to suspect she was checking up on her.
The outside air was still muggy after the warm summer day, but a breeze ruffled Nicole’s pajama pants as she soft-footed down the deck stairs. Grit on the sidewalk stuck to the bottoms of her feet as she hustled toward the alley. A three-quarter moon lit her way, so she didn’t bother with the flashlight. The single-car garage that housed her grandmother’s late-model Chevy loomed to her right, and beyond the building at the end of the short driveway squatted the large, plastic trash bin.
Nicole stopped at the bin and glanced around. The house across the alley lay in darkness. To her right, she made out the arced form of her compact car sitting on a cement pad. To her left, the wind rustled the leaves on a hedge of bushes that lined the Keller property on the alley side. The neighborhood lay quiet. Not even a dog barked at this time of night.
She eased open the lid of the garbage can, and a rush of foul smell attacked her nostrils from years of trash passing through its confines. Using the lid as a shield, she pointed her flashlight down into the container. Her eyes widened. The can was empty. Nicole’s gaze quickly scanned the area again. Nothing out of place. Certainly nothing that resembled a stray trash bag. What had her grandmother done with the garbage from the kitchen?
Nicole shifted her stance, and a pebble nipped her heel. She let out a grunt of pain. Why was she standing out here in the pitch dark in her pajamas and bare feet, hunting for a sack of refuse? Because she couldn’t stand a mystery unsolved, that was why. The only other place she could think to look was the garage. A few steps took her to the side garage door. She twisted the knob, but it didn’t budge.
Grandma told her she’d started locking the garage at night since the rash of petty thefts had resulted in people losing lawn mowers, leaf blowers, snowmobiles and even motorcycles.
Nicole blew out a breath that ruffled her bangs. So much for plan A. She’d just have to move on to plan B. Squaring her shoulders, she headed back to the house.
A few hours later, her fitful slumber was blasted by the shrill of her alarm clock. Moaning, Nicole groped for the shut-off switch…or maybe she should just press the snooze button. She forced herself to sit up straight. Dawn light filtered around the blinds on the bedroom window. As much as she could use a little more shut-eye, she needed to hunt for that garbage bag while her grandmother was still in bed.
Nicole threw on a blouse, denim capris, ankle socks and tennis shoes. Halfway down the stairs, she halted and groaned. Plan B was shot, too. A distinctive smell wafted from the kitchen. Bacon. And her grandmother’s tuneless hum accompanied the sound of frying. Nicole continued down the stairs.
Grandma’s humming ceased. “Pancakes or waffles?” her voice called before Nicole showed her face in the kitchen.
Shaking her head, Nicole leaned her shoulder against the doorjamb. “Worms.”
Her