Suspicions: a novel of suspense Read online

  Putting everything back where it had been, she locked the drawer and stood up, then looked around to make sure nothing was out of place.

  As her glance fell on the desk, she remembered seeing a small box in one of the drawers. She hadn't paid much attention to it when she was looking for the key, but she decided to take a peek now.

  Then she heard Mark's voice. It sounded like he was coming down the hall. Her heart pounded against her ribs as she frantically looked for a place to hide. The closet. She ran over to it, slid open the door and saw stacks of boxes.

  No time! He was drawing closer. She climbed on top of the sturdy boxes and crouched down, her head almost touching the ceiling.

  Just as she slid the closet door shut, the door to the office opened, then closed and she heard the sound of Mark's heavy footsteps. She held her breath, terrified he would need something out of the closet. She heard the jangle of keys and then the sound of him opening the file cabinet

  Thank goodness I was able to return those keys before he wanted them, she thought. Then she heard knocking on the office door and the file cabinet slammed closed.

  “Mark, would you come here a minute?” It was Amanda's voice.

  He sounded impatient. “Yeah, I'll be right there.”

  She could hear him leaving the room and she allowed herself to breathe again. The musty smell made her cough and she slapped her hand over her mouth.

  Counting off the seconds until a full minute had passed, she cautiously peeked out the closet door. No one was in the room and the door leading to the hallway had been shut.

  She climbed down from the boxes, hesitating before she left. She could picture that small box in the desk and just knew she had to see what it was.

  Remembering exactly where it had been, she opened the correct drawer and grabbed the box. She thought there might be a pair of earrings in it or some other type of jewelry, but instead she found a small silver key with a tag attached to it that read 29C. Putting it in her pocket, she closed the drawer.

  Cracking the office door open, she looked both ways. Then, seeing no one in sight, she tiptoed to the front door and pulled it open. She let out a heavy sigh as the reporters converged on her, her nerves feeling raw. She yelled, “No comment.” Then ran across the street to the safety of her own home.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Back at her desk, Stacey pulled out the paper and pen and wrote down what she had discovered. Then she wrote: another woman? Who is this woman? Where did he meet her? Does Amanda have any idea she exists?

  While Stacey was contemplating her next move she heard the front door slam. Quickly shoving her notes in a drawer under some papers, she pushed back from the desk. “Jason? Is that you?”

  With a scowl on his face and his fists clenched, he walked into the office. “Those stupid cops,” he murmured as he began rummaging through the desk.

  She could feel the blood drain from her face. “Oh Jason. What happened? Did they arrest you?”

  He stopped and looked at her, his eyebrows drawn together. “What?”

  “I tried to warn you, but you hung up on me.”

  He straightened and faced her. “How could you know?”

  “Well, the FBI asked where you worked and I told them.” She noted the look of surprise on his face as she went on. “I tried to call you and tell you they were coming, but you hung up on me.”

  He seemed to absorb this information. “Did they tell you why they wanted to talk to me?”

  “Well, no. But I could tell.” He stepped toward her with anger in his eyes and she felt fearful. What if he is involved? And now he thinks I know?

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  Uncertain now how much to tell him, she hesitated.

  “Stacey? What do you mean?” he persisted.

  “That car,” she began. “It’s all because of that car.”

  “What about the car? What did the FBI tell you exactly?”

  Biting her lip, Stacey drew a deep breath before speaking. “I . . . I told them you once had a car like the one Robby saw.” She cringed as she waited for his response.

  Several emotions flashed across his face before he spoke. “How could you?” he asked, throwing his arms into the air. “How could you implicate me in a kidnapping?”

  Stacey’s heart raced at the confrontation. “But the car Robby saw. It sounded just like that one you had.” She paused. “I thought they might be able to find the new owner if I told them about it.”

  “But Stacey, don’t you get it? They think I’m involved.” His eyes burned with rage. “I’m their number one suspect now. I think they’re following me. And my job could even be in jeopardy.”

  “Why is that car still registered to you?” Stacey asked, going on the offensive.

  Clearly irritated to be questioned by his wife, he turned his back and began digging through the desk again.

  “Jason, answer me.”

  He spun around. “I don’t know. Okay?”

  She hesitated before asking her next question. “You did sell it, didn’t you?”

  “What kind of a question is that? I told you I sold it.”

  “When exactly was that again?” she asked, now uncertain if he was telling her the truth.

  He turned his back before answering and Stacey couldn’t hear him.

  “What did you say?” she asked.

  “I said, I guess it was about two months ago.”

  “Two months ago,” Stacey said, startled at this new information. “I thought you sold it to the dealership years ago.”

  “They wouldn’t take it. They said it wasn’t worth it.” He seemed embarrassed by this information. “But they told me I could leave it on the lot until I found a buyer.”

  “They let you store it on their lot for four years?” She asked in astonishment.

  He quickly looked away. “Okay, okay. I only tried to sell it to them four months ago.”

  “What? Where did you keep it all that time?”

  He looked directly at her, as if challenging her to try arguing any further. “I put it in storage, okay? I was planning on fixing it up when we had the money. I finally figured out that would never happen.”

  “So they didn’t arrest you?”

  With a grim look on his face, he shook his head. “Not yet.”

  Alarmed, Stacey said, “Are they going to?”

  “You tell me,” he sneered. “You seem to know a lot more about what’s going on than I do.”

  “I’m so sorry, Jason. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

  He just shook his head, obviously blaming her for his problems.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll get you out of this,” she said.

  “Just exactly how do you plan on doing that?”

  She didn't want him to get into more trouble by being an accessory to her activities. “Just don't worry, okay?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Yeah right, I won't worry. Stacey's on the job.”

  She was stung by his remark. Her voice was a whisper. “You'll see.”

  He turned away and stalked out of the room.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Sitting in her car, preparing to back out of the driveway, Stacey couldn't help but replay the conversation she'd had with Jason. The guilt was immense. Because of her he was now a suspect. Even worse, he was furious at her, could hardly even look at her. That was why she was leaving: He told her he needed to be alone for a while and since he thought he was under surveillance he had told her it would be better if she left. He had promised to pick the children up from school, so she was leaving as he had asked.

  A peculiar sensation gnawed at Stacey's stomach when she looked across the street and saw dark sedans parked in front of the Stone’s house and thought about Jason being under surveillance. The guilt felt thick in Stacey's throat, like a piece of meat that hadn't been chewed properly before being swallowed.

  Then, as she backed out of the driveway, she saw her neighbor, Margie, talking to some reporters an
d the sensation in her stomach mutated into a definite feeling of nausea. When Margie looked her way, Stacey waved. Margie did not wave back.

  What is she up to now? Stacey wondered, as the feeling of queasiness intensified.

  Stacey tried not to worry about Margie’s antics and instead drove to the high school where Mark Stone was a teacher. Desperate to find something linking him to his son’s abduction, she tried to think of a way to gather information.

  The feeling of nausea faded as she pulled into the school driveway. And as she angled her car into a parking space marked for visitors, she allowed herself to hope she would find something valuable to take to the police.

  Since she didn't have a child in high school, Stacey had not been to this school before and felt awkward approaching the long counter, but the woman who walked over to her was friendly and when Stacey asked her where the math department was, she seemed more than happy to give directions.

  Assuming Mark wouldn't be at work, Stacey hoped his colleagues might know him better than she did and that they might be able to tell her something useful.

  The office of the math department was empty except for several desks placed against the walls. Wandering over to one of them, she looked at the framed pictures propped up in the corner. Curious if Mark had any family photos on his desk, she walked around the room, scrutinizing the photos on display until she came to a photo of Kyle. Obviously this was Mark's desk even though there were no pictures of either him or Amanda.

  His desk was nearly as neat as the one in his office at home. Two stacks of papers were waiting to be graded and one pile was peppered with red pen marks. Glancing around, she pulled open each drawer, but didn't find anything unusual. She closed them and hesitated, deciding what to do next.

  The sound of approaching voices interrupted her thoughts. A man and woman entered the office, their conversation stopping mid-sentence when they saw Stacey. The woman held a briefcase in one hand, a purse in the other. The man was short but built like a barrel. His thinning hair was light brown and he wore a pair of slacks and a short-sleeved shirt with the top button undone. He seemed to be in his early forties and had a jagged scar above his right eye.

  They looked at her expectantly and when she didn't say anything, the man asked her if he could help her.

  Smiling tentatively, she said, “I’m trying to find someone who knows Mark Stone.”

  The pair seemed surprised and gave each other sidelong glances. The woman said, “I'll let you deal with this, Gary. I've got to run.” She looked at Stacey once more before leaving the office.

  The man held out his hand. “I'm Gary Tomlison. Can I help you with something Mrs...?”

  “Hightower,” she said, thinking quickly.

  “Do you have a child in Mark's class?”

  She shook her head. “No, I'm just looking for someone who knows Mark Stone.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I suppose you've heard about his son being kidnapped?”

  “Yes. It's been all over the news.”

  She nodded. “Yes, the news. I'm doing some background work for a story on the kidnapping and I thought I might get some insight into the Stone family through his colleagues.”

  He stroked his chin as he nodded. “I see. What kind of background information were you looking for?”

  She paused for a moment. “How well do you know him?”

  “We've both been in the math department for a number of years.”

  “Great,” Stacey said. “Would you mind answering some questions for me?”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “What can you tell me about his work habits, for example?”

  “He never used to miss many days of work, if that's what you're looking for.”

  “Used to?”

  “In the last few months he's come in later than usual. He's never been late for his first class or anything. But he used to be here at seven-thirty every morning. Now he doesn't usually get here until eight-thirty.” He had an odd look on his face. “And on Monday he didn't come in at all.”

  Stacey couldn't keep her eyes from showing her astonishment at this piece of information. Monday was the day Kyle had been kidnapped.

  “Is something wrong?” he asked.

  She quickly recovered. “No. No.” She paused. “Does he have anyone in particular he likes to spend time with? Maybe I could talk to them.”

  “He keeps pretty much to himself.” Then he gave her a knowing wink. “But there is one person he eats lunch with regularly.” He paused dramatically. “Deanna. She works part-time in the attendance office.”

  Holding out her hand, Stacey said, “Thank you so much for your time, Mr. Tomlison.”

  He took her hand. “It's Gary. And it was no trouble at all. Glad I could be of help.” Suddenly concerned, he said, “I'd appreciate it if you didn't use my name in your story.”

  “Don't worry about that,” she assured him.

  He started to turn away, then rotated back to her. Holding up his thumb and forefinger like a gun, he pointed at her. “By the way, good luck with your story.”

  She thanked him and left the office, asking a group of girls where to find the attendance office.

  Following their directions, she found herself in front of a building that had four closed windows across its face. On the side of the building was a door through which students were coming and going. Stopping at the bottom of the steps, she hesitated before going in.

  What do I expect to find out from this Deanna? Do I really think she'll blurt out that she knows where Mark's keeping Kyle? She laughed out loud, which drew the stares of some of the students.

  Squaring her shoulders, she climbed the steps and opened the door and found herself immediately assaulted by the sound of several people talking at once. She could hear snippets of conversation.

  “My Mom said she'd call about the doctor's appointment.”

  “I did not sluff. I was babysitting my baby cousin.”

  And on and on. A frown crept across Stacey's face as she remembered the times in high school when she'd had to make excuses when she had been absent. She had wanted to be in court with her father when he had to go before a judge, which had happened several times while she was in high school, and she hadn't wanted anyone to know why she had been absent.

  Her mother hadn't been much help. Not wanting Stacey to be in the courtroom at all, her mother wouldn't assist her by giving her a legitimate excuse to miss school, so Stacey had been forced to make up her own alibis.

  Each time she had gone to the courthouse it had been the same thing: burglary. Her chest tightened as it occurred to her that maybe she was following in her father's footsteps. Shaking her head impatiently, she thought about her situation and knew it was different. She was trying to protect her husband, and besides, she hadn't taken anything.

  The slight bulge in her pocket reminded her that was a lie. Reaching in, she pulled out the key with the tag that read 29C, then placed it in her purse. She would have to figure that one out later, but right now she needed to talk to Deanna, whoever she was.

  Taking her place in line, she looked at the faces of the women who worked here. No one struck her as the type Mark would be interested in.

  When it was her turn, she asked if someone named Deanna worked there. The woman told her Deanna had stepped out for a moment, but if she would take a seat over there, she would be sure to let her know when Deanna arrived.

  Sitting on an empty chair, Stacey watched the door and a short time later a tall brunette strolled in. In her early twenties, she looked especially young with her hair pulled into a ponytail. She was slender and walked with her head held high.

  Stacey had a feeling this was the mysterious Deanna. Watching her walk over to a desk and gracefully sit down, she couldn't help but dislike her, especially on Amanda's behalf.

  “Ma'am,” the woman at the counter called to Stacey. “That's Deanna over there if you still want to talk to her.” She pointed to t
he brunette, as Stacey had known she would.

  Stacey stood. “Thank you.”

  Deanna didn't even look up as Stacey approached the desk with the nameplate that read “Deanna Everett.” Feeling slightly foolish, Stacey stood next to the desk and softly cleared her throat.

  Deanna looked up at her with cool surprise. “Oh. Can I help you?”

  Stacey felt slightly intimidated until she reminded herself that she, Stacey, had the upper hand. She knew about Mark and his possible affair. She knew about Mark's spending habits as of late. And she knew she could talk to this woman without revealing who she really was.

  Reaching out her hand, she asked, “Are you Deanna?”

  The woman nodded and pointed to the chair in front of her desk. “Please sit down.”

  “My name is Cathy Hightower and I’m doing some background work for an article I’m working on about Mark Stone. I was told you know him pretty well.”

  Surprised at how easily she was learning to lie, and how good at it she was becoming, Stacey felt a twinge of discomfort, but pushed it aside.

  “I know Mr. Stone, yes,” Deanna said.

  “That's wonderful, Deanna. Then you might be able to give me some insight into Mr. Stone's attitude toward his teaching.”

  “I don’t know what I can tell you. I only work in the office. You’d probably be better off talking to one of the teachers.”

  “What teachers I've talked to already told me you're the one Mr. Stone spends the most time with, that you eat lunch with him nearly every day.”

  “Well, I think he’s a great teacher,” she said, straightening a stack of forms on her desk.

  “How long have you known Mr. Stone?”

  “I guess I've known him about eight months.”

  “And you've worked here . . . ?” She let the question trail off.

  “Four months,” Deanna said quickly.

  It was then Stacey noticed the wedding set on Deanna's right ring finger. She made a mental note to look up some background information on Ms. Deanna Everett. “How did you meet Mr. Stone?”

  Deanna pushed back from her desk. “I don't think that's any of your business. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a job to do.”