Buried Memories. Carol J. Post

repairs to the jamb. And he’d done a great job. So much so she might see if she could hire him to do some other projects. She would love to have the pedestal sink in the hall bath replaced with a vanity, and some shelves added to the two closets in her hobby room.

      She hadn’t seen him since he’d made the repairs. Their times for taking the dogs out hadn’t coincided, and they’d both been busy. She was almost disappointed. It had been fun having someone to talk to on her morning walk.

      She inserted the key into the deadbolt and turned it. The lock slid home with a satisfying click. She’d regained a little of her sense of control, thanks to Tyler. He’d even checked the locks on all her windows to make sure they were secure.

      Fifteen years ago, they’d been the best of friends, spending hours hanging out at the park or high on a branch of the huge oak overshadowing most of her backyard. As he’d opened up about his anger with his father, she’d let down some of her own walls. Back then, he’d just been Tyler, her friend and confidante, the one person in the world she’d been able to connect with, because he was as lost as she was.

      He was still Tyler. But now he was Tyler all grown up. It was hard not to notice how well he filled out those T-shirts he wore, or how his golden-brown eyes filled with warmth every time he smiled. But with her track record, she didn’t have any business contemplating anything that smacked of romance. She was still trying to ward off the repercussions of the last disaster.

      She pressed a button on her key fob, and the Ram’s locks popped up. Tonight she would be occupied, with or without Tyler. She was going to church, something her friend Darci had talked her into. She’d been surprised to find she enjoyed attending. It was almost like belonging to a family again—a loving heavenly Father and lots of brothers and sisters.

      That wasn’t all she’d been talked into. After the crash that killed Nicki’s parents, Darci was the one who’d suggested she sell out and come to Cedar Key. When her ex had dropped the second bombshell on her, she’d finally agreed. One month had passed since the move. She still missed her parents terribly, but she hoped the call from Peter a week ago was the final one. He claimed that everything he’d done was for her. So what? It was over.

      She swung open the driver’s door of her truck, but before she could get in, a dark sedan pulled into her driveway. As she watched a man and woman exit, tension crept across her shoulders. Both visitors were strangers.

      “Can I help you?”

      The man showed her his badge. “I’m Detective Granger, and this is Detective Mulling. We’re with the Jacksonville Sheriff’s Office.”

      As he spoke, her mind whirled. Maybe they’d learned something about her break-in. But Jacksonville? That was where she’d spent her early years. In a run-down shack with peeling plaster, grime-encrusted windows and puke-green shag carpet.

      “Can we have a few minutes of your time? We need to talk to you about your mother’s murder.”

      She nodded, a weight pressing in on her chest. She’d worked hard to leave those memories behind. The steady stream of creepy men who’d paraded in and out of the house. The way some of them had leered at her, making her hair stand on end. The nights she’d spent curled into a ball with her pillow over her head, trying to shut out the thud of angry fists and her mother’s muffled pleas.

      She swallowed hard and led them toward the house. “It’s been twenty-two years. Why now?” If they hadn’t solved it then, with fresh evidence, how would they uncover anything leading them to the killer over two decades later?

      “We’re investigating an incident that happened two weeks ago, also in Jacksonville. There are some similarities, and we think they might be connected.”

      “I don’t know how much help I’ll be. I wasn’t there.” She unlocked the door and ushered them inside. After a few quick sniffs, Callie apparently decided the visitors were okay and plopped down in front of the entertainment center, dark eyes alert.

      Nicki motioned toward the sectional sofa. “Have a seat.”

      Once they’d settled onto the couch, Mulling turned back the cover on a notebook.

      Granger clasped his hands loosely in his lap. “Thank you for talking to us.” Although the female detective was sitting closer to Nicki, it looked as if Granger would be the one asking the questions. “I’m sure it’s going to be difficult, but I need you to tell me everything you can remember about that night.”

      She drew in a deep breath. Yeah, it would be difficult. Not because she still grieved for her mother. She’d come to terms with her death years ago. In fact, if events hadn’t gone the way they had, Nicki’s life would have turned out quite differently. Ending up in the Jackson home was the best thing that had ever happened to her. No, this was going to be difficult because she didn’t want to remember.

      She leaned back against the padded leather. “I was spending the night with a friend, Lizzie. She lived next door.”

      “Do you remember Lizzie’s last name?”

      “McDonald. Elizabeth McDonald.”

      “What about her parents’ names?”

      She shook her head. “I never met her dad, and I just called her mom Mrs. McDonald.”

      Granger continued while his partner filled up the first small page. “Was anyone there when you left to go to your friend’s house?”

      “My mom and my sister. I don’t remember anyone else.”

      “When was the first time you learned about your mother’s murder?”

      “The next morning. Mrs. McDonald said something awful had happened. She was crying. And she wouldn’t let me go home.” In fact, Nicki never set foot inside her house again. By lunchtime, the authorities had gathered up her belongings and whisked her away to the first of many foster families.

      “Did you know of anyone who’d have wanted to hurt your mother?”

      Hurt or kill? “A lot of them hurt her.”

      “How?”

      “Slapping her, punching her, throwing her against the wall, pushing her to the floor.” Fights were a regular occurrence, especially after a night of heavy drinking and shooting up.

      Granger leaned forward, sympathy filling his eyes. Or was it pity?

      She drew in a deep breath and lifted her chin. She didn’t need sympathy. She’d put her past behind her a long time ago. And she didn’t want pity.

      “These men who used to hit your mother, did you ever see any of them with a knife?”

      She shook her head.

      With a signal from Granger, Mulling removed a picture from the back of the notebook and handed it to her.

      “Does this man look familiar?”

      She looked down at what she held. Cords of steel wrapped around her chest and throat, squeezing the air from her lungs. It was a booking photo. Wicked tattoos reached out from beneath the wife beater shirt, and eyes as black as sin glared back at the camera with a lethal hatred. To a seven-year-old child, the man had seemed huge. Judging by the thick neck and monster pecs, her perception hadn’t been far off.

      All the men had scared her. But this one had frightened her the most.

      She shook off the fear. He had no reason to hurt her. And her mother was beyond his reach.

      “Uncle Louie.” She handed the photo back to Mulling.

      “No blood relation, I take it.”

      “No, same as all the others. I had more uncles than any girl alive.”

      Granger gave her a soft smile. It held the same hint of sympathy she’d noticed earlier. “What can you tell us about Louie?”

      “He was there a lot the last few weeks before my mom was killed.