Jessica Patch - Final Verdict

“Tell me that’s not shady, Sheriff.”

Beckett pushed his pie away and rubbed the stubble on his chin. “I’ll admit it. That’s shady, Counselor.”

“And notice he didn’t admit or deny being a part of the poker games.”

“I noticed.” Richie may have killed Gus McGregor. But the detective was definitely hiding something, even if it was simply incompetence on the case. Would that give him motive to scare Aurora, to attack her?

The detective had a raspy voice.

Beckett wasn’t ruling out anyone.

* * *

Aurora stood on Darla McGregor’s doorstep, the garage where Gus had been murdered across the street. Beckett stood beside her. Maybe he was starting to believe her. He had admitted to Dwight’s shadiness. If she could come up with other regulars at those poker games, it would be a big help. But Richie had been her source and he was gone. Small towns had a way of locking their secrets in vaults and tossing away the keys.

Darla opened the door and invited them into her worn-out but tidy home. Aurora introduced Beckett as a colleague again, and for the second time he flinched. The last thing he wanted was to be portrayed as someone who defended those accused of crimes. They sat on Darla’s threadbare couch and Beckett kept silent as Aurora fired questions. No, Darla hadn’t been in town that night.

She hadn’t known about Gus’s poker games. He’d kept most of his life private.

Beckett’s eyes narrowed a fraction at that answer. Not buying it? Aurora wasn’t so sure. Gus could have concealed the games easily and, if he’d won, said the money came from work. But if he had held them in his garage, wouldn’t Darla have seen all the cars? Why lie?

Aurora pressed her hands together in a prayer-like gesture against her chest. “Can we browse the garage?”

Darla grabbed a set of keys lying on the nicked coffee table. “I had a feeling you’d want these. I don’t know what you think you’ll find after all these years.”

Aurora wasn’t sure, either. It had been over a decade since Richie went to prison. But she needed to do it. Should have done it a long time ago. “Probably nothing.”

“Little Gus tinkers out there. Does some side work. But he’s not here today. Those are his keys. I never go in that place anymore.”

“Tell Little Gus thanks for us then,” Aurora said. At thirty-two, Little Gus didn’t need to be called that anymore, but names stuck. “We won’t disturb anything, and thank you. For talking and for always believing in Richie’s innocence. If you think of anything else, please call me.”

Darla ran her hand through her hair, streaks of gray more prominent than the brunette, and handed Aurora the keys to the garage. “I’ll tell him.”

Beckett followed her across the street to the old mechanic shop. Dirty, run-down. Smelled like motor oil and years of neglect. “I wondered why the widow of the deceased would talk to you.”

“She never thought it was Richie, but it didn’t matter.”

Emotion lodged in her throat as they stood inside the garage. A man had died here. She’d been so focused on Richie and his innocence that she hadn’t allowed herself to think much about Gus. No one deserved what had been done to him.

“What do you hope to find?” Beckett asked.

“Something to grasp on to. We need to find out who played in those games. Even if we get town gossip, some of it will be true. Always is.”

“Can you ask your parents?”

“I don’t talk to them much.” Another reason to feel guilt and shame.

“Why?”

“Why do you want to know?” This conversation, if continued, wouldn’t be considered small talk. And Beckett was only here to fulfill his duty. No point in getting to know her personally. When this was over he’d go back to scowling and blaming her for allowing justice to misfire. Sadly, oddly, she wished things were different. She shoved the feelings aside.

“I guess I’m... I don’t know.” He shrugged and stared at the wall, then focused on her. “I haven’t talked to my dad since he left. He never called. Started a new life. Had a new family. He never responded the few times I did contact him. Not even when I went into the navy.”

Aurora gawked at his blurted admission. Her dad hadn’t walked out, but that didn’t mean he’d been present in her life. She sympathized with Beckett, and he’d made an effort to reach out. Why? Didn’t matter. He had and she wanted to reciprocate.

She hated to admit the truth about her less-than-ideal childhood, but fair was fair. “We lived in a trailer on the other end of town. Sometimes my dad worked. Sometimes he didn’t. Mostly he drank. My mom is bipolar. When she’s on meds she does well. But part of the time she thought she didn’t need them and the other part she said she couldn’t afford them, so she didn’t take them often.” She toed the dirty concrete floor. “Richie struggled with depression, too. Being convicted of Gus’s murder and enduring the hardships of prison sent him spiraling into a dark place. He’d written me a few desperate letters. I kept telling him to hang on. I was working hard. I was going to save him.”

She held back tears and shook her head. “I couldn’t do it in time. I contacted the medical personnel at the prison, begged them to put him in solitary to protect him but...I failed. You know how that feels?”

Beckett eased into her personal space, a new expression in his eyes. Compassion. “Yes,” he whispered. “I know.”

What had Beckett Marsh ever failed at? He seemed to have it all together. He was tough. Intelligent. Strong. But the way he said he knew what failure felt like... Something in his past had shattered him. The raw honesty in his voice connected with her in a profound way. “Beckett, I’m so sorry—”

A creak overhead sounded and the connection was lost. “Did you hear that?”

Beckett slid his gaze upward and scanned the loft area. “Probably just the old building settling in the cold.”

He was probably right. “I’m jumpy.”

“With good reason.” Beckett rubbed his hands together. “It’s freezing in here.”

“Tell me about it. And it gives me the creeps. I used to be at home in places like this, but now all I think about is how a mechanic shop ruined Richie’s life.”

Beckett shoved his hands in his pockets. “You were just a girl. You couldn’t get through school any faster than you did.”

“I know, but—”

A rattling echoed through the shop. She snapped up her head in time to see an engine attached to a chain plummeting toward her.

“Aurora!” Beckett hollered.

A rush of air smacked her face.

She couldn’t move.

Beckett dove on her and rolled her across the frosty concrete as the engine crashed with a deafening clang. Dirt and grime exploded into a cloud surrounding them.

Pieces of metal busted loose and flew across the shop; Beckett covered Aurora’s head with his strong arms, shielding her from debris and motor parts. A metallic and dirty taste coated her tongue and gagged her. She pinched her mouth closed.

Her entire body shook, but he continued to guard her, his arms like a mighty fortress, and nothing in this entire world could get past them to hurt her. With her belly to the floor, she coughed and shifted, peering up at Beckett. Amber eyes stared into her face, pupils dilated, his breath puffing against her nose and lips.

“You saved me.”

“Barely,” he rasped, and brushed a thumb across her cheek. He held it up. Grime had streaked her cheeks. “Did I hurt you?”

“No.” Her head swam. Fear. Adrenaline. And something she didn’t want to acknowledge.

He held her gaze a beat longer than what might be appropriate, then lifted his weight from her. “Stay here.” He drew his weapon and bounded up the stairs, disappearing.