Walk Between the Raindrops Read online

  “It’s okay to tell her,” May said. “I wouldn’t hide it from her. That’d be far worse.”

  Chelbie finally dropped her hands. “We should be celebrating the little M&M’s birth by now,” she quietly said. “They keep the door closed on the nursery. Kel cries any time he goes in there, and Mal refuses to go in there because it destroys her every time.”

  “Once Mal gets through her treatment and they can spend time alone together,” May said, “I’m sure that they will start to find healing and get to a point where they can either think about trying again, or they can at least reach a healing plateau. Jim and I had just bought the crib and paint for the room when I lost the baby. That was on the heels of Mom and Dad’s deaths. We hadn’t been trying to get pregnant, either. I’d forgotten to start taking my new pack of pills, and we didn’t have any condoms, so I told him to just pull out.”

  May shrugged. “Sooo that didn’t work. Obviously. But once we found out I was pregnant, everything changed and we wanted to have a baby. We decided after I’d recovered that we’d just let nature take its course and see what happened instead of stressing over it and trying to make it happen. Six months later, I was pregnant again, and those cans of paint were still sitting in the spare bedroom, and we hadn’t assembled the crib yet.”

  “When did you finally do that?” Chelbie asked.

  “Once I hit the six-month mark. I wanted to get past the point we’d lost our first baby and give it some time. We didn’t even tell anyone I was pregnant, except June and Mark, until I was three months along and starting to show.”

  “I—” June was cut off in mid-sentence by the sound of the doorbell ringing. “I’ll be right back.”

  Assuming it was going to be a neighborhood kid selling something, or preachy people trying to convert her, she froze when she looked through the viewfinder and saw two men in dress shirts and slacks with sheriff’s badges clipped to their shirt pockets.

  They carried sidearms holstered on their hips.

  As if watching someone else’s hand, she put the safety chain in place before cracking the door open. “Can I help you?” she spoke through the screen door.

  The man in front held up an official photo ID listing him as a detective from the Manatee County Sheriff’s Office. “Hello, ma’am. I’m Det. Colin Sharpe, and this is Det. Drew Westing. We’re looking for June Corden and Mark Jarette.”

  “I’m June Corden. That’s my maiden name. Mark’s my husband, but he’s not home. What’s this about?”

  But she knew.

  Ooooh, did she knew.

  Handcuffs in front or back? A quiet rear entry into the building, or a full-on perp walk in front of the press?

  Would Mark divorce her before or after her trial?

  “We have some information that’s come to light about your sister’s murder that we’d like to discuss with you.”

  “Okay. Hold on, let me get the chain.” She closed the door so she could unlock the chain and then opened it and the screen door. “Come on in.”

  “June?” May said from where she and Chelbie now stood in the doorway between the kitchen and living room.

  “I think you need to hear this, too, May,” she said.

  “Did you want me to go?” Chelbie asked.

  “No, actually, I think I’d rather you stay, if you don’t mind. In case we need you to tell Mark and Jim what they said if we forget anything.”

  In case they arrested her and May was too traumatized to recount the events to Mark.

  She introduced the other two women to the detectives.

  “Oh,” Det. Sharpe said to May. “That’s convenient. We were going to try to contact you next if we couldn’t locate June and Mark.”

  They returned to the kitchen, all of them sitting around the table after she’d offered the men something to drink and they’d declined.

  Sharpe appeared to be the lead detective. As June and May held hands, the men laid out pictures and information, including a satellite image of their old neighborhood showing some marks on the river nearby in relation to where their old house was located.

  “I don’t suppose you heard about human remains being found in the Manatee River a few weeks back?” he asked.

  June and May both nodded.

  “Dental records lead us to believe these are the remains of Matt Gorsky, our only suspect in your sister’s murder.”

  June paused for a moment to let that sink in. “Are you sure?”

  “We’re waiting for a DNA test to be completed, but it appears conclusive.”

  “So…he’s really dead?” May asked. “You’re sure he’s dead?”

  “Yes, ma’am. We didn’t find a mandible, but nearly all the teeth were still intact in the upper jaw. The medical examiner said he’s 99.9 percent certain.”

  June forced herself to say the words, because it’s what anyone else would have asked. “How did he die? And how long has he been dead?”

  “It’s impossible to say exactly how long he’s been dead at this time. They’re going to do more testing, but that could take months and not even give us an accurate reading. Over a decade.”

  “And how?” May asked.

  “We aren’t sure, but there were some marks on a couple of the bones that are consistent with injuries received from being stabbed by a sharp implement. Whether that was the actual cause of death, or injuries sustained post-mortem, is impossible to say.”

  “But…you’re sure it’s him?” June asked.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  May squeezed June’s hand and started crying. “Figures,” May softly said. “Bastard doesn’t even get to face trial for what he’s done.”

  The DNA evidence they’d recovered from under July’s fingernails had clearly implicated Matt as being her attacker. Once those results had come back, and they’d proven that drops of blood on a pair of sneakers and some clothes they’d found buried in the back of his closet belonged to July, Matt had become the prime and only suspect in July’s murder.

  Except…no one could find him.

  “What happens now?” June asked.

  “We’ve already notified his next-of-kin,” Sharpe said. “We’re going to be putting out a press release about it. We wanted to notify you and your family first in case you wanted to be kept in the loop if we have a press conference.”

  June shook her head. “If he’s dead, then that’s it for me. Too much of my life has been lost to that asshole as it is. I can’t speak for May.”

  May also shook her head. “I don’t want to talk to the press. It won’t bring July back. Or our parents. There’s nothing we can do for them, and if he’s dead, we don’t need to implore the public to look for him.” She snorted. “I damn sure don’t want to know who killed him, except to give them a hug and tell them thank you.”

  The detective looked uncomfortable. “Well, that’s part of this, as well. We will be holding a coroner’s inquest to present our evidence and officially close your sister’s case, and will likely require testimony from you both, and from Mark, since he discovered her body with you. But now we have an open case regarding the circumstances surrounding Matt Gorsky’s death…”

  When they left thirty minutes later, June only felt marginally better about her situation. They still wanted to talk to Mark and Jim, and Mark’s father, who was still alive.

  Chelbie peeked through the front windows and watched them drive off. “Well, sounded to me like they’re just going through the motions and don’t really want to find the guy who killed him.”

  June stared at her. “It did?”

  “Phhp. Uh, yeah. I lost count of how many times they said, ‘This is just a formality,’ and, ‘It’s okay if you can’t remember.’ Those were not cops interested in resurrecting a dead and well-beaten horse. They know Matt killed her and now he’s dead. Case closed.” Her voice gentled. “Sorry. Guess that’s why you asked me to stay, huh?”

  “Exactly.”

  May looked as stunned as June felt. “I can
’t believe he’s dead. I mean, as many times over the years as I wished he was dead, and…he was. All this time.” She finally focused on June. “Do you think he killed himself?”

  One of the possible theories the deputies had mentioned was that they thought maybe he’d drowned himself out of guilt, since he couldn’t swim, and that some of the damage to his bones could have also been done by boat propellers, but they wouldn’t state that with any degree of certainty until the ME wrote up his official report.

  There was also the theory that Matt had someone with him, a friend or coworker he’d brought to June and July’s apartment, but who maybe stayed outside and didn’t realize he’d killed her. Maybe they’d even driven him there. And when news of the murder broke, that person killed Matt themselves and was the person who’d moved his truck.

  Except there wasn’t any proof of that, and it was simply one of many hypotheses. Like perhaps he’d owed someone money, and they killed him when they found out what he’d done to July.

  The detectives even asked June and May if Matt had any friends or coworkers who might have wanted him dead before the news of July’s death broke.

  At least their parents, and Mark’s and Jim’s, all had airtight alibis.

  Apparently, so did June, May, Mark, and Jim.

  Even after all these years, no leaks had seeped in.

  June sank to the couch and started crying.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Back then

  Mark walked over to the practice area to stand with June to wait for a beam to become free. They wouldn’t have to wait long, because the routines were no more than ninety seconds long, and everyone was only going through their routine once and then moving on.

  Normally it didn’t strike him so hard, but he stood taller by several heads than all the girls—and they were all basically girls, no fully grown women too old to reasonably have a shot—and taller than all but one of the coaches, a man who was about Mark’s height.

  In fact, June appeared to be one of the oldest there, except that he knew looks were deceiving. June looked several years younger than she really was, people frequently mistaking her—and July—as his little sister. Whereas people always assumed he was several years older because of his height and how his voice had deepened when he’d hit puberty.

  When the girl before June walked up to start her routine, June chalked her hands and feet but she looked nervous and unsettled in a way he wasn’t used to seeing.

  “Where do you want the springboard?”

  “Side.”

  That wasn’t where June usually mounted from. She preferred mounting from the end for her most challenging routines, saving the high-point elements for on the beam and wanting safety for the mount.

  Side mounts were July’s preference, usually attempting something with a high level of difficulty so she’d be able to gauge how well she’d have to do the rest of the program.

  “June—”

  “Side.” She stared up at him and he caught a glimpse of her storms.

  “Okay. Side.”

  The other girl finished and cleared out while Mark walked around to position the springboard the way he had for July so many times without even asking exactly where June wanted it. He would stand out of the way and then duck in to move it so in case she fell, she wouldn’t land on it.

  June nailed the mount, drawing a few head nods of appreciation and respect from the girls and coaches awaiting their turns. As she worked down the beam away from him, Mark moved the springboard and silently prayed in a way that he never did that she didn’t hurt herself.

  She hadn’t even walked through the routine, something both sisters did multiple times in warm-ups even before hitting the equipment.

  He realized he hadn’t brought the camera over, but he couldn’t have run it anyway, needing to grab the springboard, spot her, and step in if she fell. He also realized he’d been holding his breath when he had to gasp for air as she stuck her landing perfectly, feet together, back arched, arms up and out.

  A light spattering of applause sounded nearby from the spectator area, definitely for her.

  Of course it was. From what he could see, the other girls were technically good, but June had…something.

  Her inner storm.

  Still terrified she was going to hurt herself, he hurried to catch up with her on their walk back to their seats.

  “So, this marriage thing,” he said, hoping his tone came out light. “Once you’re done traveling for competition, you going to make it up to me by letting me be in charge for a while?”

  Because the running joke in his family and hers was that she led him around.

  He willingly followed, but that was because he loved her.

  Now more than ever, he felt scared for her, worried about her.

  Worried about what she’d done and what she might do if she let her grief and anger over July’s death take over.

  Worried that she might have overlooked some other detail that would implicate her in Matt’s “disappearance.”

  None of these were things he could say aloud, though. Not without revealing his own actions.

  Fortunately, she smiled up at him. “Yes, sir.” Her smile faded. “Long as you don’t turn into…him.”

  “Never, sweetheart. You have my word. I swear I’ll never be controlling like that. I…” He lowered his voice. “I’m scared for you. I want to take care of you. I want to be able to protect you. I also want your success, and that’s why I’m okay with you doing this. Because it’s what you love, and I love you. But whenever you finally finish this part of your life, please come home to me so I can do my job for you. Like Dad takes care of Mom.”

  “I love your parents.” She stroked his cheek. “I’m thinking about getting my coaching certification…after. I’ll still have to travel when I do.”

  “And I’ll travel with you as much as I can. The times I can’t, I’ll be worried to death until you’re safe with me again.”

  * * * *

  Mark’s mother had a doctorate in literature. She’d held off going to college until after Mark’s father graduated, then he put her through college with his job. She’d had to drop out of college while pregnant with Mark due to complications that forced her on to bed rest. Once Mark was old enough and in school, she’d completed her undergraduate degree so she could become a teacher.

  Then, after Mark had started high school, she’d gone back to graduate school for her advanced degree. She was a brilliant woman, and June loved how Mark’s parents seemed to dote on each other.

  In fact, that was where June got the “yes, sir” crack from, having heard Mark’s mom say that to his father plenty of times, usually accompanied by a playful, loving smile. He called her “baby” and she called him “Daddy,” and there was always something so tender about it, as if their worlds revolved around each other.

  They had a traditional family, and yet she could see how Mark’s father did everything in life with the end of taking care of his wife and making her happy while still sort of being…in charge. But not in a domineering way like…him. In return, she seemed to always defer to him for nearly everything, but she was literally the happiest woman June knew.

  Sure, her mom loved her dad, but they bickered like most other parents.

  If Mark’s parents ever bickered—and she’d never heard them bicker—then they hid it quite well.

  As Mark had pointed out, nearly thirty years together, and they were still going strong and obviously doing something right.

  Her own parents, yes, they loved each other, but there was just…something between Mark’s parents that June craved to have in her own future.

  Her future with Mark.

  The only thing that shed a ray of light into her dark and damaged soul.

  A ray of hope that, one day, maybe she wouldn’t hurt as much as she did right now.

  She palmed his cheeks. “If you marry me, I promise when I’m done with my professional gymnastic career as a competitor t
hat I’ll be happy to have you be in charge.”

  He laid his hands over hers. “Thank you for trusting me.”

  “You’ve never given me a reason not to.” She let him pull her in for a hug and closed her eyes, feeling safe.

  He always made her feel safe.

  * * * *

  Mark tried not to worry as the morning warm-ups progressed. To his less-than-trained eyes, June didn’t appear to make any major mistakes, even though she continued to perform July’s routines.

  By the time the breakfast break was announced, she looked drained but grimly determined. She’d done the beam routine three more times, as well as her floor routine, the uneven bars, and the vault.

  He drove them back to the hotel so they could eat breakfast and sit through the first meeting, an informal orientation by the coaching staff letting the athletes know what would be expected if they were selected, and the requirements they’d have to meet, in case anyone wouldn’t be able to fulfill them.

  He glanced at June during the meeting, the fire blazing within her, nearly scorching him with her intensity. How could anyone else not see it?

  Back in the room for a few minutes before they left for the training facility again, June took a couple of minutes to call home and check in with them, talking to her mom and dad and then May last, to get some training pointers.

  Then June handed him the phone. “May wants to talk to you.” She disappeared into the bathroom. With the exhaust fan on, and the door closed, it’d be difficult for June to overhear his end of the conversation.

  He sat on the bed. “Yeah?”

  “How is she really doing?”

  He dropped his voice. “I don’t know. She’s performing July’s routines. I tried to talk her into doing hers, but she won’t. She hasn’t even practiced those before this morning. I’m worried about her.”

  May sounded like she’d taken the cordless phone into a different room. “I was afraid of that. Just do the best you can with her. Remind her that July would want her to do her best. And June doing her own routines is June at her best.”