Whirlwind - Janet Dailey Page 0,107

need had driven her.

Was it too late to keep her from leaving? He didn’t know what to do or what to say. He only knew that he loved and needed her—and that he couldn’t stand the thought of losing her.

* * *

Heart pounding, Lexie stepped onto the porch of Aaron’s house and raised a corner of the worn, dusty doormat. As expected, the key was there. When she lifted one end with a handy twig and picked it up with her fingertips, a shiver passed through her body. It wasn’t too late to do the smart thing and leave. But if she were to turn back now, she’d never forgive herself. She had to do this for Callie.

Remembering Val’s warning, she checked around the frame before opening the door. There it was—a small piece of cellophane tape that would pull loose when the door was opened—not a problem as long as she remembered to stick it back in place when she left.

Had Aaron expected someone to come into his house? But no, Lexie decided, it was just natural suspicion. After years of living alone, a man could develop some strange habits.

The key turned in the lock. She slipped it into her pocket, opened the door, and stepped inside.

In the dim light that fell through the closed venetian blinds, she could see that the place was a mess of junk and clutter. Why hadn’t she brought a flashlight? It might have even been a good idea to bring a gun. She could’ve borrowed the pistol that was locked in the glove box of Shane’s truck. But it was too late to think about that now.

As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she could see more. Beer cans and snack bags cluttered the floor around the beat-up recliner that faced the TV. Stale odors drifted from the kitchen. Lexie resisted the urge to turn around and leave in disgust. She’d known that Aaron was solitary and maybe a bit eccentric. But she’d never guessed that he might be mentally unwell.

The kitchen was even worse. Dirty dishes and spoiled food cluttered the table and countertop. A foul odor seemed to rise from the cabinet below the sink. Trying not to inhale too deeply, Lexie opened the cabinet door.

A dead mouse lay swollen belly-up in a spot of powdery white substance that appeared to have spilled on the bottom of the cabinet. Was it rat poison? Lexie gagged and closed the cabinet door. She could feel the fear welling inside her like an icy flood. But she’d come this far. She needed to finish what she’d started before she panicked and fled.

The bed was rumpled, the covers thrown back. There was a closet on the far wall, its door missing. Nothing appeared to be inside but some clothes on hangers and some muddy-looking boots thrown on the floor. Dirty clothes were tossed over the back of a chair. The rest of the furniture consisted of a bureau on one wall and, next to the bed, a nightstand with a single drawer. If there were personal secrets to be found, the nightstand would be the place to look first.

Before opening the drawer, she checked the edges for more tape or anything else that might leave evidence of tampering. Finding nothing, she slid the drawer open.

Her eyes did a quick survey of the contents—tissues, a pen and notepad, a pack of Marlboros and a lighter, a bottle of prescription pills, an open package of condoms . . .

A glance at the bottle was enough to confirm that the pills were Viagra. Lexie’s knees had gone weak. She would never have suspected Aaron of having an active sex life, yet the evidence was right here in front of her. But who was his partner? Assuming it was a woman, the choice was narrow. Either he was sneaking somebody in from the reservation or . . . it had been Callie.

The puzzle pieces were tumbling into place, almost too fast. If Callie had been sleeping with Aaron, and if she’d been here on the night of her death, then the missing bra—the bra that could be evidence of a murder—could be somewhere close.

If she’d lost it here, where would it go? Behind the bed, maybe? Or under it?

Forcing herself to stay calm, Lexie dropped to her knees and peered under the bed. Something pale was hanging from the box spring. She reached for it, caught it with her fingers, and tugged it free. It was a lacy