Page 24 of 4th Silence (Schock Sisters Mystery #4)

Charlie

J J strides toward Alex’s car with easy confidence. His breath forms small clouds in the frigid air, one hand raised in a lazy salute. A man walking into a poker game rather than a showdown with a killer.

I stand frozen at the gate, my fingers gripping the cold metal. They’ve gone numb, though I’m not sure if it’s from the cold or the tension coiling inside me.

My feet burn from the snow. My ankle sends white-hot pain up my leg.

“Seems like there’s been some misunderstanding,” JJ says, his voice unconcerned.

He glances at me as if confirming Meg’s story.

I give a nod. His gaze slides down my legs to my stocking feet, and a small crease forms between his brows.

“Why don’t we go inside, and everyone can give me their version? ”

Yes, please. I’m turning blue.

Meg’s hands go to her waist. She doesn’t seem dizzy, so that’s a good sign. Between her head injury and my frostbite, we’ll need a tour of the ER soon.

Mom hovers like a mother lion near JJ, my gun at her side. I see the anger in her expression, and I second it—I want to throttle Alex myself for leading us on this chase. For hurting Meg. I ease closer to Mom, intent on relieving her of my weapon.

God. My mother has my gun and is ready to shoot this man.

Alex’s hand tightens on his car door. “I was just leaving.”

“Won’t take long,” JJ says. His tall frame casually blocks Alex from running, just like his car blocks the end of the grand drive, a chess move so smooth Alex probably doesn’t even realize he’s been cornered. “Grab the purse, and let’s go inside.”

My heart beats hard against my ribs. A brutal chill racks my body. I watch Alex’s eyes dart to the Sherman bag sitting on his passenger seat. “It’s my mother’s,” he replies, as if this explains everything.

It does.

JJ nods. “Mind if I take a look?” I hold my breath, watching this masterful performance. JJ, the Emperor of Cold Cases, is playing the part of friend to perfection. Charming. Casual. Not Alex’s boss. Not the man who’s going to call the police and have him arrested.

Alex hesitates, and a flash of something dark crosses his face—calculation, fear, desperation—before he composes himself again. He’s spooked.

“Actually,” JJ continues, his tone light, “why don’t you take it out and show me?

The craftsmanship on those things is supposed to be exceptional.

At least, that’s what Charlie tells me. She’s into that designer stuff.

” His gaze flicks to me again, to my feet.

“I wouldn’t know a Sherman from a knockoff. ”

A standoff ensues, brief but sharp as static. Alex’s eyes flick around, mind racing for an escape that doesn’t exist. He knows—knows—that JJ is playing him, but he’s too polite, or too cornered, to admit it.

With a drawn-out reluctance, he reaches across the seat and retrieves the bag. “Fine.” He places it on the hood of his car. “It’s just a purse. I don’t know why Charlie and Meg are making such a big deal out of it.”

But it isn’t just a purse. It’s the linchpin.

It’s a loaded gun in a designer disguise.

As it sits there between them, Alex drums his fingers against his thigh. His eyes dart between JJ, the Sherman, and the street beyond.

“How much is a vintage purse like this worth?” JJ asks, not touching it yet, just admiring it from where he stands.

Mom shifts, tired of the game. Meg is coiled like a spring.

Alex hedges. Behind his eyes, I see a recalculation. His composure is melting like the snow under my feet.

“My mother is innocent,” he blurts, his voice rising with an edge of agitation that splits the air. “She didn’t kill Tiffany. I don’t care what you think that purse proves.”

JJ maintains that perfect poker face. “I never said anything about murder.”

Alex blusters. “That’s what this is about. That’s why the sisters came here.” His gaze sweeps past JJ to pin me. “Look, I took it because it belonged to my mother. That’s all. When your sister tried to stop me, I panicked.”

The lie is clumsy, but it gives him something to hold onto. I walk alongside JJ’s car. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a blanket on the backseat. “So, you hit her with it? An overreaction, don’t you think?”

“It was an accident,” he insists. “A misunderstanding.” He jabs a thumb toward Meg. “She’s a menace, just like your mother. I didn’t mean to hurt her, but I have limits, you know.”

JJ nods, his expression so neutral it could win medals. “Why run if it was just a misunderstanding?”

“Because I knew how it would look!” Alex’s desperation is palpable now. “Everyone’s been trying to pin this on my family for years. I have to protect them. Always have.”

“I need to get Charlie off this snow,” JJ says, doing a one-eighty. He motions at me and his car. “Why don’t you hop inside?”

Not that he doesn’t care about me and my feet, but this is a stall tactic. To keep Alex guessing. Keep him off guard. JJ walks back to his car and opens the door for me. Alex’s eyes dart around frantically, this gaze lingering on the Sherman, then shifting to the street.

I’ve seen the same look on cornered suspects just before they make a desperate move.

JJ bends down to dig into his glove box. He pulls out evidence gloves and a polyethylene bag that he folds and places inside his coat pocket. There’s a Beretta next to all of it. “Be ready,” he mutters.

I lower my voice as I slide onto the cold seat. “I don’t think he’s armed. If he were, he would’ve used it already.”

Alex goes for the purse, snatching it with clumsy desperation. He nearly drops it before clutching it to his chest and bolting down the driveway past us.

JJ starts to go after him but slips on the ice. I bail out and shout, “Come back here, you bastard!”

Meg is moving, too, a blur on my right. “I’ve got him!”

She veers left to avoid colliding with Mom, her chunky winter boots giving her traction that my wet, stocking feet can’t match. My sister, usually lost in her artistic world of reconstructing faces, moves with surprising athleticism.

I do a wobbly flail and slide. Mom catches me, and both of us almost go down. “Alex, stop!” I shout, more to distract him than anything else. “You’re only making it worse!”

He hits the road and glances back, fear twisting his face.

That split second of distraction costs him.

His slick loafers hit a patch of dirty snow, and he stumbles.

That’s all Meg needs. She hurls herself forward in a tackle so solid that it would make any NFL coach proud. They crash to the ground with a spectacular thud, snow exploding around them in a powdery cloud. One of Alex’s shoes flies off.

“You bastard!” Meg shouts, punching him repeatedly in the back and shoulders. “Now I get it. All this time, we were chasing the wrong Hartman. You killed Tiffany.”

JJ marches past me and Mom. I catch up, my feet numb.

Alex’s face is pressed into the snow, one arm pinned awkwardly beneath him, the other still desperately clutching the bag. Meg’s face is flushed with exertion and victory. Her years of hauling clay and plaster have given her upper body strength, easy to forget until now.

“Alexander Hartman!” My mother’s voice cuts through the air. “I wouldn’t move another muscle if I were you.”

My head snaps around to see Mom striding to us, handgun pointed directly at Alex.

“For God’s sake, Mom!” I hiss. “Meg is right there.”

JJ pushes me toward her. “Take care of that. Now.”

Alex freezes, terror and disbelief mixing in his expression as he stares at the barrel of the gun. The weapon looks absurdly steady in Mom’s hands, like she’s practiced this moment in front of a mirror for years.

Has she?

I position myself between her and Alex, my hand outstretched. “Give that to me before you end up back in jail, this time for murder.”

For a tense moment, she doesn’t move. I see that familiar gleam in her eyes—the one that appeared whenever she thought she was onto something big. Then, with a resigned sigh that fogs in front of her face, she flips the safety on and places the gun in my palm.

“You always were too sensible,” she says with disappointment.

Yep, that’s me.

Behind us, Meg is still punching Alex. “Meg,” JJ commands. Just her name.

I shove the gun into my waistband and grab my sister’s shoulders. She’s shaking with rage. “Meg, stop.” I pull her off him. In the distance, sirens pierce the air.

She struggles against my grip, her eyes wild. “He bashed her head in and left her there!”

“I know,” I say as JJ rips the Sherman from Alex’s grip and slams a foot down on his back to keep him pinned. “I know. But we’re not like him. We get justice the right way.”

Meg’s breathing is ragged. Her body vibrates, but she stops fighting me. Her shoulders drop a fraction, her jaw unclenches. “The right way,” she repeats, almost to herself. She looks down at Alex, who’s visibly shaking on the pavement. “Fine.”

“Let’s see what was worth all this trouble,” JJ suggests, opening the bag.

I hold my breath, feeling Meg do the same. Mom draws closer, eager.

JJ reaches in, and when his gloved hand emerges, he’s carefully holding the very end of a hammer. Not just any hammer—a claw hammer with a wooden handle, its metal head gleaming dully in the winter light. There’s something dark crusted along one edge.

Meg’s voice is a strangled whisper. “Oh my God.”

“Probably blood.” JJ slips it into the evidence bag so as not to destroy fingerprints. “And what appears to be hair.”

“Tiffany’s murder weapon.” The words feel surreal as they leave my mouth.

The sirens draw closer. I retrieve a second, larger bag for the purse. Mom smiles.

“You two,” JJ says, looking at Meg and me, “are either the most determined or the most reckless women I’ve ever met.” The corner of his mouth twitches upward. “Probably both.”

“Family trait,” Mom chimes in.

I laugh—a sharp, sudden sound that surprises even me.

JJ grabs Alex by his collar and hauls him back into the driveway, slamming him against the side of his SUV. Alex’s face crumples.

The cockiness is gone, replaced by something small. “That’s not—” he starts, then stops. His eyes dart between all of us, and I note a slight twitch at the corner of his left eye. The way his hands keep opening and closing. His shallow breathing. “You don’t understand.”

“We’re going to have this conversation at the station.” JJ’s tone brooks no argument.

Alex reaches for one last desperate attempt at control. “You won’t believe me anyway.”

Meg, still breathing hard from the chase and tackle, straightens her spine. “We don’t have to,” she says. “Evidence speaks louder than words.”

I climb into the back of the SUV to get my poor feet off the ground. “That’s the thing about forensics, Alex. Blood doesn’t lie.”

Mom hails the police units that pull up at the curb and then lights up when she spots a news van.

As uniformed officers approach, I grab the blanket and wrap myself in it.

Closure is rare. This moment—watching Alex being read his rights, the evidence bags containing the hammer and purse being carefully documented and secured—feels surreal.

Meg climbs in beside me and rubs my arms. “How bad are your feet?”

“I’ll live. How’s the head?”

“Hard as granite.” She knocks her fist against it. “I’ll live.”

We share a grin. JJ approaches as Alex is placed in the back of the cruiser. “Are you two out of your ever-lovin’ minds?”

“The Emperor of Cold Cases delivers again,” I say, attempting to divert his anger.

He shakes his head. “This was all you. Both of you.”

Mom is giving a speech to the reporter who waves a microphone in her face.

“And her,” I say, nodding in Mom’s direction. “She’s the one who insisted we take it on.”

“Tiffany can rest easy this Christmas,” Meg says.

JJ starts the vehicle and turns up the heat. I groan as it rolls over me. Meg agrees to walk him and one of the officers through the house, tunnel, and cottage to explain what happened. I lay down on the seat with my blanket and drift off.

Later, someone pulls on my toes to wake me. I shoot up to find JJ peering at me from the open door. He hands me my shoes, purse, and coat. “Time to give your statement.” An officer hovers behind him. “Then I’m taking you to the hospital.”

I yawn and wiggle my toes. They ache, but they all work. I cram my feet into my pumps, grimacing. “No hospital. Statement, and then I’m going home. I need a vacation.”

Meg has left with Mom. After I’ve given the officer my account of what happened, I head for my car.

JJ stops me. “One of the officers will drive it to your place.” He nudges me back into his SUV. “I’m driving you home. We need to talk.”