Second Time's the Charm

“He also doesn’t have an alibi for a single one of the break-ins.”

“Neither do I, or a lot of people who live alone.” They were all alone at night.

Greg Richards had moved to Jon’s closet. He emerged carrying a blue duffel, which he set on the bed. Unzipping it, the sheriff grew very still, his hands suspended over the opening, and then he reached inside, pulling out item after carefully packed item.

“He was planning to run,” the sheriff said softly, almost to himself. “There’s everything he could need here to care for himself and a child—including prepackaged food—for at least forty-eight hours.”

Lillie searched for an explanation. Jon was supercareful. He kept a bag packed with baby essentials in the truck, too. But not with clothes or food for himself. Not with a thermometer or syrup of ipecac.

Feeling around in the now-empty bag, the sheriff stopped. His hand was on something. Pulling out the lining, he found a pocket in the bottom left side with a cell phone inside. Pushing buttons, he got no response, and then, flipping the phone over, removed the cover of the battery enclosure.

There were no phone workings inside the case at all. A carefully folded stack of large bills filled the empty metal container. Greg Richards held up the fake phone. “He’s got cash stashed away. If he’s so hard up that he has to work extra hours just to make ends meet, where’d he get this cash? And why hide it away?”

She had no idea where the cash came from. “He’s a careful man. He plans for any emergency. It’s because of Abe,” she said, defending Jon even while the cash in the sheriff’s hand scared her to death. “He’s determined to be prepared for anything that could possibly crop up to prove, I think to himself, that he’s a good father. That his son is not getting gypped by having only one parent.”

“He’s got a criminal record, Lillie.”

Sick to her stomach, Lillie wanted to grab Abraham and run. Far, far away.

* * *

TRAPPED BETWEEN FOUR walls with no freedom to leave weakened a man. Jon knew he’d be fine. He hadn’t done anything. They had no concrete evidence to tie him to the thefts. Richards had counted on Jon’s confession to seal his deal.

Jon knew he’d be sleeping in his own bed that night.

And the feelings of powerlessness swamped him, anyway. He hated that part the most—the emotions that would not be denied.

It would only be a matter of time before the town pinned something else on him. He was labeled now.

It was going to cost him to leave Shelter Valley. He’d owe the university a full semester’s worth of scholarship monies.

He hoped to God that Richards didn’t find the cash he’d hidden in the bottom of the duffel. A dead cell phone shouldn’t be all that suspicious.

If Richards even found the duffel. As thorough as the guy was, Jon figured he probably would. There wasn’t much Jon could do about it if he did. It didn’t look good—him having a bag packed as if he was planning to skip town—but it wasn’t enough to book him, either.

As he sat there, playing the mental gymnastics that kept him sane, he heard a knock on the door.

Richards must be back.

A head peeked around the door.

Addy?

“Can I come in?”

Jon nodded. “Of course.”

Addy placed a thin black portfolio on the table and took the seat opposite Jon. The same seat Greg Richards had occupied for most of the late afternoon and evening.

“Mark’s out in the lobby. They wouldn’t let him come back here.”

“Who’s with Nonnie?”

“No one. She’s texting Mark every five minutes asking for updates. And we’ve only been away from the house for ten.” Addy smiled.

And surprisingly, so did Jon. He leaned forward. “I’m assuming they let you in because you’re an attorney.”

Mark had told him that Richards had called Addy the night before. It struck him as odd that she’d be there.