When the Dead Speak

Chapter 67

Chapter 67

"Yeh, baby. I'll be home shortly. Abby's packin' us a late snack." Frank winked at Abby as he spoke with Claudia on his cell phone. "Did you tell Justin I'll read him two stories tomorrow since I missed out tonight?...Okay, Sweetheart. See you soon." He hung up the phone and joined Jake at the counter.

Jake stirred his coffee with deliberation. He and Frank had deposited Lincoln Thomas and his luggage in Carl's suite. Lincoln's signed affidavit confirmed what Hap Wilson had written about Mushima Valley. Carl needed time to figure out his next step. Until then, he had instructed Jake to still not share any information with Sam.

"Did Sam say when she'd be home?" Frank asked Abby.

"She said she was going to see a friend of hers. Jackie."

They heard voices at the back door, laughing, school-girl giggling.

"You should keep the dress, Sam. You never know when you and Preston might have another date," Jackie said.

When they reached the doorway to the kitchen, the two women stopped. Frank, Jake, and Abby stared in amazement.

"Jackie," Abby said suddenly, her eyes taking in the short length of Sam's dress. "I don't believe you've met Jake Mitchell and Frank Travis."

"My, my." Jackie stretched her long talons toward them. "Hello, boys. Why didn't they have guys like you when the cops busted me in my youth?"

Frank smiled broadly, finding it hard to peel his eyes from Jackie's well-endowed figure, Donna Summer hair, and appealing smile.

"What's this about Preston?" Jake asked abruptly.

"Preston. I almost forgot." Jackie reached into her purse and pulled out the pictures.

"NO!" Sam said quickly, but she was too late. Jake grabbed the pictures.

"WOW! Frank yelled from over Jake's shoulder. Abby leaned over the counter to have a look, then turned away, a smile spreading over her face.

The necklace was in plain sight in all of the pictures. It was difficult for anyone to tell that Preston was not in control of his faculties.

Jake threw the pictures on the counter yelling, "SHIT!" He leaped to his feet. "You better tell me this is the only set."

"Uh, oh." Jackie took one step backward. "I think this is my cue." She pointed at Sam's feet. "My two-hundred-dollar shoes, girlfriend."

"Three hours ago they were worth one hundred and fifty," Sam argued, stepping out of the royal blue heels.

"Inflation, baby." Jackie gave a wave of her hand to the guys saying, "Nice meeting you." To Abby she said, "Nice seeing you again."

Frank raised a finger as if a light bulb switched on in his head. He looked at Jackie and asked, "Do you deal blackjack by any chance?"

"Uhhh." Jackie glanced sharply at Sam, then said, "Gotta go."

"She was at Preston's, wasn't she?" Frank asked Sam after Jackie left.

Jake's eyes narrowed. "Tell me you weren't dealing blackjack, that night, too." Sam didn't reply.

Feeling another argument brewing, Frank slapped Jake on the back saying, "Uh, later." He picked up the container of cake, thanked Abby, and left.

Sam had never been on the receiving end of Jake's interrogative scowl before. His face was such a mask of contradiction. One minute grinning, mischievous, ruggedly good looking; the next minute menacing, frightening, threatening.

She felt the air move as Abby slipped past her and disappeared down the hallway. The sound of an owl hooting drifted in through the patio screen. Sam folded her arms in front of her and waited.

"What were you trying to do? Blackmail Preston into admitting he killed Hap Wilson?"

"I don't need to." She noticed Jake was wearing her father's arrowhead necklace and leather wristband, but before she could say anything, he lifted up one of the pictures, his tight grip crimping one of the corners.

"Just look. You know he's going to see the pin."

"That's the plan."

He slapped the pictures on the counter again. "You are dealing with a dangerous man. If Preston is involved in Hap's and your father's deaths, he went through a lot of trouble to cover his tracks. He's not above making sure his secret stays dead. I think that intruder who tripped the perimeter alarm the other night was Preston's handyman."

"You're getting paranoid." Sam turned and headed toward the study.

"Don't walk away from me." Jake followed her.

"Who gave you the right to give me orders in my house?"

Jake glared at Sam's punked hair, her bright eye shadow, the thick lipstick. "Go wash that shit off your face."

Her mouth gaped. "Excuse me? I thought my father passed away."

"I thought his daughter grew up."

Sam bolted up the stairs to her bedroom, noticing that Abby's bedroom door was conveniently closed. Where was she when Jake was at his worst? She took a hot shower and washed her hair.

Dressed in sweat shorts and a sweat suit top, she ambled back downstairs. The lights were off in the dining room. She stretched out on the window seat and gazed up at the night sky. She felt bad about her argument with Jake. Part of her wanted to say it was none of his business where she was tonight. A larger part was flattered that he was concerned for her safety. She cursed herself for giving him such a hard time. Something was tugging at her heart. She found herself wanting to know all the secrets about his scars that Abby wouldn't tell her. At what point had she started caring what he thought? She wasn't sure. All she knew was that she did.

Her fingers played with the lightning bolt pendant. Memories of her father flooded back, like how he used to cuddle on the window seat with her. He had died needlessly. And she had been too young to properly mourn him. She thought of the little girl she had no memory of, waving at her father, and watching him destroyed trying to uphold what he truly believed in. The truth.

Tears fell freely. She didn't hear Jake enter the room. Nor did she feel his presence when he sat down next to her. But she felt his arms wrap around her and pull her against his chest.

"I don't need to be held," she sobbed.

He buried his face in her hair and whispered, "I do."