He had grandparents to take care of. And more recently, a drug habit to support. Neither came cheap.
The drug thing started innocently enough. He’d hurt his back moving some furniture and had innocently popped a few of his grandfather’s prescription painkillers to ease the misery. He found they not only dulled the physical pain but the emotional agony Hannah had inflicted. It didn’t take long until the medicine ran out, and his grandpa’s doctor started questioning where all the pills were going. By the time his grandpa confronted him, he couldn’t do without the stuff. His grandma started hiding the medicine and wouldn’t tell him where it was. It was when he’d torn the house apart looking for the pills that they realized he had a problem.
No longer able to get anything from his grandparents, and feeling incredibly guilty he had in the first place, he turned to the streets. Marijuana was legal in the state but wasn’t a big enough rush and didn’t satisfy the cravings or give the same feeling of exhilaration. He dipped into his savings and began buying prescription drugs from “friends,” but the price of those on the street was high, and his meager savings ran out in no time. Right about then was when someone introduced him to heroin, and the rest was history. Losing his job led to losing his apartment and finally his car. His grandparents reluctantly allowed him to move back home, but he knew he wasn’t proving to be as helpful as he’d promised.
After his parents died, his grandparents stepped up to raise him and were all he had for family. He loved them and would do anything for them. Except that lately, the drugs had consumed his life, and now there didn’t seem to be room for anything else.
He slumped on the floor of his childhood bedroom, leaning against his old twin-sized bed. In his drug-induced state, he noted with intense detail the posters, books, toys, and games he’d accumulated over the years. Lego creations too awesome to take apart, and model airplanes he’d built with his grandfather stood proudly on the bookcase. The shelf above was overburdened with participation trophies from when he’d played sports—soccer, basketball, baseball. He didn’t excel at any one in particular. He just liked to play and have fun. That felt like an eternity ago. How he longed for those carefree, worry-free days.
Now, he had more worries than he knew what to do with. It was a couple of weeks ago that he’d cooked up a plan to solve everything. He just needed to find a way to get to Hannah’s trust fund money. They’d been together almost six months, and he felt he deservedsomethingfrom the relationship. He thought that if he could prove they had a relationship, he would be entitled to some of her fortune. Granted, this whole scheme was hatched while he was higher than the sun, but even after the high wore off, it still seemed doable.
On the nightstand, next to the flowers he’d stolen for his grandma, were the documents he’d printed from the Internet and filled in with a pen. The writing was sloppy, but it was just a first draft. He’d finish them and make them look legit once he got all the information he needed.
Cracking the safe he’d stolen and lugged home from Hannah’s apartment wasn’t as easy as they made it seem in the movies. He’d been quietly asking around to his friends on the streets, but so far, no one knew anyone who could break into it. And the laptop was just as big a bust. He needed Hannah’s fingerprint or password to get into the stupid thing.
In what he considered a stroke of genius, he’d scheduled a free consultation with an attorney to find out what his rights were. Ironically, it was the attorney that gave Zach the idea to kill Hannah.
The lawyer asked if they’d been married, or if he had a power of attorney document, or a copy of Hannah’s will, or anything at all that would indicate she would want him to have the money. When Zach admitted he had nothing like that, the jackal did everything but throw him out on his ass. Had the nerve to tell him he needed to move on with his life, and that he had no right to her money.
Zach’s takeaway was that to inherit the money, he needed to be married to Hannah when she passed away. Or have a power of attorney form that enabled him to act on her behalf if something happened to her. Either way, unless Hannah was dead, he had no claim to anything.
Mind churning with ideas, he left the lawyer’s office, bought himself a baggie of heroin, and went home to strategize. Online he found a copy of a blank POA and a blank marriage license. Best to cover his bases and try both angles. He weighed the odds of her dying naturally in the next few weeks and decided there was a slim to none chance of that. He would have to do something. Something drastic. Something unthinkable.
After watching her for several days and learning her schedule and route home, he figured out a way to do it but put it off day after day. It wasn’t that hewantedto hurt Hannah, he just couldn’t think of another solution. He was out of options.
It was the day after his grandfather had taken a fall and been rushed to the emergency room that Zach was finally desperate enough to take action. The hospital bill would not be cheap. He had to make sure his grandparents were set before he could book himself into a rehab facility. The drugs had swiftly and completely taken over his life, and he wanted it back. Money was the answer to all his problems.
That day he’d seen Hannah talking to a cop in the coffee shop. She’d apparently moved on with no problem. While he floundered to stay alive, she was yukking it up with some new guy. Well, screw that. If he didn’t get a happy ending, neither should she. It made what he was about to do a little easier. The cocaine flowing through his veins also helped.
Pushing her into traffic reminded him of taking drugs for the first time. It started with an exhilarating adrenaline rush, but then left him sweating, nervous, and swimming in guilt. Watching the SUV strike her was like watching a movie. She kind of rolled up the car’s hood at first, but as soon as the driver hit the brakes, she’d floated backward in the air for a brief second before hitting the pavement. He’d hightailed it out of there but figured it would be on the news later so he could verify it was done.
After “the accident,” and after ditching that stupid red hat, he’d gone straight to her apartment to look for legal documents about the trust. And maybe, if he was lucky, a will of some sort that he could doctor. If nothing else, he’d get a copy of her signature so he could forge it later.
When he returned home and searched the news online, he’d nearly thrown up upon discovering shehadn’tdied. He’d done it all for nothing!
He found out what hospital they’d taken her to. If he went there, maybe he could get her thumbprint to open the laptop while she was unconscious—assuming she was unconscious. If she were alive and well, he would just finish the job. He had nothing left to lose, he’d already damned himself to hell. There was no redemption, no forgiveness, so he may as well finish the plan. Once she was gone, he’d use whatever documents he could find or make to get her money. Then everything would be all right.
His grandmother pushed open the door to his bedroom and frowned. Damn it. He’d forgotten to lock the door. He was still sitting on the floor slumped against the bed, the recently removed needle lying next to his thigh.
“I’m sorry, Grandma. I’m trying to fix everything. I have a plan. I’m going to take care of you, don’t worry. I got you some flowers. There, on the nightstand. Take ’em. Don’t worry, Grandma. I have a good plan. I’m sorry, Grandma.” His eyes wouldn’t stay open, so he closed them. Ah, sweet darkness.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Jake looked out the window to see Hannah wandering around by the barn, her auburn hair flowing out from under a knit cap. She was bent over trying to coax one of the cats into coming over to her, but the old stray, not used to much human interaction, was having none of it. Turning up his nose, he sauntered back into the barn. Hannah stood and frowned. Jake set his coffee cup in the sink and pulled on his jacket.
“Hey,” he said. “Don’t be offended by Rusty. He’s been alone a long time and doesn’t know what to do when someone wants to give him attention.”
“I’ll try not to take it personally. Jake, this place is so peaceful and wonderful,” she said, taking in a deep breath of clean, country air. “The fall leaves are so vibrant. A picture of the barn and the trees and the pasture would make a great puzzle. I love it here.”
Panic raced through his mind.Thatwas why he didn’t bring women to the farm! It was too inviting, too homey. Time to change the subject. “Hey, you wanna help me feed the chickens and collect some eggs?”
“Lead the way.”
He went to the barn, and filled a small bucket with grain. They walked to where the coop was situated, and he handed Hannah the bucket before opening the hatch. “We leave the gate open during the day so they can run around, but we have to bring them in at night, or the coyotes get ’em. Can you manage holding the bucket and tossing out the food?”
“Oh, yeah. It’s not very heavy.”
The hens, sensing breakfast, rushed out in a swarm and immediately flocked to Hannah. She held the handle of the bucket in the fingers sticking out of her cast and used her good hand to throw a handful of feed into the mass of chickens, laughing as they rushed to the food in a panic. “Don’t worry. There’s more. Here,” she said, throwing another handful in a different direction.
