The Stranger by Mark Ayre (books you need to read TXT) 📗

his eyes. She thought he might attack. Hoped he wouldn’t make a scene on his driveway. But he didn’t. He took the door and attempted to slam it in her face.

Abbie’s boot prevented him. The forceful swing crushed her foot between door and frame. It hurt—a lot. But far less than it would have, had she switched her blood specked boots for Travis’ mother’s sandals. Something to be thankful for.

Eddie pulled back the door to try again to slam it. If he broke her foot in the same move, all the better, so far as he was concerned.

Before he could, Abbie laid her palm flat on the door and pushed against his swing. The move was unexpected, and Eddie’s fingers slipped away. He stumbled. Abbie could have used this moment to knock him back and enter the house, but that wasn’t fair. Like a vampire, she would not enter this home without invitation.

Eddie came forward, retook the door. Abbie had lowered her hand.

“Don’t,” she said. “I just want to talk.”

She raised her palm in time to block the swinging door. Eddie continued to push, but Abbie refused to let go. Being stronger than she looked, it was not long before Eddie was straining, struggling. To make more difficult his challenge, Abbie leaned forward and put her shoulder in the way of the door. If her hand relented, the weight of her body would not.

“This is pointless,” she said.

“Murderer,” he replied. “Leave.”

“I can’t. Not until we’ve spoken.”

Abbie hated herself for renewing and intensifying Eddie’s sorrow, but what choice did she have? Had his life not been in danger, Abbie would happily have left him be. It was, so she couldn’t.

Eddie tried a vicious swing, and Abbie swung her shoulder into the door. This caused Eddie’s hand to rip off again, and this time he cried out in pain as the edge of the door scratched his skin.

There was no blood. The shock of failure hurt more than the door’s attack.

“Eddie,” Abbie said. Then there were footsteps on the stairs. Slow, laboured, heavy. Here came the cavalry.

“Eddie, you’re not thinking straight,” Abbie said. “Which is fine. Grief destroys rational thought. I know. I’ve been there. You’re—“ She stopped herself. Jess had arrived, and Abbie felt it would seem too convenient to tell Eddie she also had lost a sibling after bonding with Jess the previous day over a shared loss of a child.

It was true. Coincidences happened all the time. But perception is often reality, and right now, mentioning Violet would probably do more harm than good. Both to relations between her and the Deans and to Abbie’s own psyche.

She said, “Your suspicions make no sense.”

Eddie had retaken the door. Abbie’s palm was still on it. Her shoulder and foot were in the way. Before her husband could try and fail again to shut out the intruder, Jess lay one hand on his and another on his shoulder. She looked at Abbie with mistrust but no hatred or disdain.

“I think you should leave.”

Abbie shook her head. “Do you think I like standing here, upsetting the grief-stricken brother and his heavily pregnant wife? I don’t live here. I don’t belong here. It would make my life much easier if I could skip town. Never return.”

“Then, why don’t you?” said Jess. “Police haven’t arrested you—“

“Because I’ve done nothing wrong—“

“Why not just go home, wherever that is?.”

“Because I’m involved,” said Abbie. “In more ways than one. Danny isn’t the only person who pissed off Francis. To help a frightened teen, I just took out two of Francis’ goons. Now I’m in the frame, but I won’t leave until I’ve ensured no one else is going to die.”

“Why?” said Jess.

“Because it’s the right thing to do. Because I’ve seen people like Francis before, and I know it’s only going to get worse. You think now Danny’s gone, you’re safe? I don’t believe you are.”

“You know we’re not,” said Eddie. “You’re the one working with him.”

“No,” said Abbie. ”Like I said, that makes no sense. If you could put your grief to one side a moment and consider the situation, you would know I can’t be involved. You would get that.”

Eddie was unable to put his grief aside, and who could blame him? If he had been alone, he would have started slamming the door again. Would have broken his fingers before he gave up trying to get Abbie to leave. Eventually, she would have had no choice but to relent. Luckily, he was not alone.

“Help us then,” said Jess. “What’s the rational argument we’ve been missing?”

All day, the sky had been bleak, full of clouds. Those clouds had been whispy rather than bloated, light grey rather than black. Still, drops began to fall from the sky as Abbie stood on the doorstep. With her change of clothes AWOL, Abbie had no desire to take a drenching. The look on Jess’ face made it clear there would be no entry unless Abbie was able to do more to persuade the Dean couple she was innocent.

She would have to speak fast.

“Okay,” she said. “Francis is a crook with a network of criminals at his disposal. I don’t know what his connection to Danny is but for whatever reason, he wants him dead. For such a job, he would usually go to one of his trusted staff members, click his fingers, and the murder happens.”

Actually, Abbie knew, such hits were rarer than most people thought. Murder was always messy and was becoming harder and harder to get away with as the technology and science available to the police improved. These days, even the top crime bosses murdered as few people as possible, and only when they found it to be unavoidable.

Ditching this line of reasoning in the spirit of getting to the point, Abbie said, “Let’s assume, for the sake of argument, that Francis wants to distance himself from this murder. So, rather than using one of his people, he outsources. Someone no one in town has ever heard