by Blaire Edens
That was something. A big something.
He was going to pull himself together once and for all.
Onward and upward and all that jazz.
“Lucy,” he called to her. “I need a minute.”
She turned to face him, her brow knitted. Not even breathing hard. He was certain she could hike Kilimanjaro as a lark. “We haven’t even covered a quarter of a mile.”
“I know. I just got snagged on some briars. It’s about a mile to the place where I saw it. Let me lead.”
She stepped aside and handed him the knife. He took in in his right hand and immediately felt more powerful and more in control. The whoosh of the blade cutting through the underbrush was rhythmic and strangely soothing. Lucy stayed close behind him. He kept his ears tuned to anything out of the ordinary but heard nothing save the call of birds and the clatter of insects calling to each other.
“Holy Christ.” Lucy’s voice was low and even. “You might be telling me the truth.” She’d stopped several feet behind him and was bent at the waist looking at something on the ground.
Even though it was nearly a hundred degrees, his blood ran cold.
“Look at these tracks.” Lucy squatted down and pulled her cell phone from the back pocket of her jeans and a tape measure from her backpack. “They’re huge.” She snapped a couple of photos before she looked up at Spencer. “They fit your description perfectly.”
“Are they definitely reptile?”
She pulled a magnifying glass from her back pocket and examined the track more closely. “Yep. Bipedal, too. There’s only one thing. This.” She pointed to a small mark on the outside of the track. “This looks like some sort of drag mark. It shouldn’t be there.”
“What does that mean?”
She rose. “To be frank, it means that it could have been placed here by something other than the Lizard Man. Maybe someone used some sort of press to make it appear as if the creature was real.”
“He is real. I saw him.”
“Are you sure you didn’t see someone dressed up in a costume? Something created to deceive you.”
He shook his head. “No costume in the world could be that convincing.”
“On the other hand,” she said, her eyes brightening. “This may be the real thing.”
“So what if he comes back?”
“Wouldn’t that be amazing?”
“Could he have killed my father?”
“If these tracks are real, it’s possible that he did. A reptile half this size could easily eat a whole deer. There’s a report in Alabama of an alligator eating a 110-pound doe whole, without tearing it into pieces. Granted that was a big gator, but this creature is pretty large and would likely be capable of the same behavior.”
His stomach clenched. “The thought haunts me.”
She tucked the phone back into her pocket and moved closer to Spencer. Her eyes had softened and she was no longer Dr. Lucille Whittemore. She was just Lucy, and he appreciated that more than he could ever put into words. “It’s so hard to lose a parent. When my dad died, I didn’t think I wanted to go on living. But we knew what happened to him. We had his body. I can’t imagine what you’re going through. Not knowing.”
“What happened to your father?”
“Car accident on I-40. I was eleven.”
Spencer placed his hand on her arm. “I’m so sorry.”
She shrugged, but it was clear that she was still upset at the loss. “It was a long time ago.” She pulled her arm away and smiled brightly, too brightly. “He was a good man, and my mother and I did okay.”
“I can’t imagine any situation in which you wouldn’t do just fine.”
Lucy tilted her head to the side. “What do you mean by that?”
“It was a compliment. I’ve known you less than twenty-four hours, and already, I know you’re the most capable person I’ve ever met.”
“Thanks.” She looked down at the ground and moved her foot through the mud. “Capable is good, I guess.”
She’d heard that compliment before mostly to the exclusion of others like “cute. “And you’re not bad looking either,” he said. “Especially in those jeans.”
Her face flushed. “Thanks,” she stammered.
“The truth is the truth.”
* * *
By the time they reached the bald cypress tree, Lucy was running out of steam. She wasn’t acclimating well to the heat, and she felt a little light-headed. Resting on a stump, she downed a bottle of water and used a bandana to wipe the sweat off her forehead.
Spencer leaned against the tree. “This tree is where he marked his entrances and exits.”
“Anything new?” Lucy asked.
He shook his head. “I just wish we had something more to go on.”
He did. Bette. He just didn’t want to follow that lead because it tore down his image of his father.
Serious doubts were beginning to tickle the back of her scientific brain. Not only were the tracks perfect, they were obvious. She’d been on enough expeditions to know that it was unusual to find exactly what you were looking for on the first try. She couldn’t really assess the authenticity of them until she was back at her laptop, but her gut feeling was they were man-made. As soon as he’d grabbed the machete and starting leading, they’d seen the tracks.
That can’t be a coincidence.
“Show me the initials.” She rose and walked over to where Spencer was standing.
“See these? This tells me he entered the swamp on August 12 of last year. If he’d left, he would’ve placed a “X” after his name. Like he did here.” He pointed to a set of initials several inches above the others.
“Maybe he forgot.”
“He wouldn’t have. It was one of his biggest rules.”
“Maybe it’s part of the ruse. Maybe he wanted you and your mom to think he was dead. That way you’d stop looking for him, and he’d be free to live his new life.”
“But he didn’t take anything with him. The cash he kept in the safe at the office hadn’t been touched.”
“Maybe he’d stockpiled some money someplace else?”
“I don’t think so. My mother managed the household finances. She would’ve noticed. I think he died out here. That’s the only explanation.”
“No. It really isn’t.” Lucy was becoming more frustrated by the moment. She placed her hands on her hips. “I can’t work like this. I need to go where the evidence points. I feel like you have a very specific agenda. I can’t, I won’t, shade what I see to fit your theory.”
Spencer looked as if someone had knocked the wind out of him. “You’re right,” he admitted. “I do have an agenda.”
“Why in the world would you prefer to have a dead father to one who’s made a mistake? You can forgive him if he’s still alive.”
“I don’t know if I can.” Emotion quivered his voice, and she felt sorry for him. He’d never considered that the man was only human.
Lucy stepped closer to him and placed her hands on his shoulders. “You’d be surprised what you can forgive if you have to.”
He pulled her in for a quick hug, and her body reacted to his instantly. She loved the firm feel of him, the way he was tall enough to make her feel small and delicate.
Delicate was a stretch. But still.
She leaned back and looked up at him. “We’re going to get to the bottom of this mystery and no matter what the answer is, you’re going to be just fine.”
“I hope so.”
“Let’s get out of here and cool off,” Lucy said. “I don’t think we’re going to find the Lizard Man today.”
They drove back to Bloomsbury House with the A/C on full blast and the radio tuned to a classic rock station.
CHAPTER FOUR
Spencer didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved.
He’d heard the doubt in Lucy’s voice, seen the reservation in her eyes. She didn’t believe that he’d seen the Lizard Man, and she didn’t believe his fath
er had meet his demise in Scape Ore Swamp.
After today, he was starting to doubt himself.
Since his father’s disappearance, he’d been focused on taking care of his mother and the law firm. After the big argument they’d had, he always believed that his father would either come to his senses and return home or send a note or a text letting Spencer know where he was.
He’d done neither.
His mother was convinced that her husband had gone into the swamp and died. She was living her life as a widow. Around town, everyone took the story at face value. No one knew anything about Bette, past or present, and they had no reason to suspect he would disappear on purpose.
Now, twelve months had passed, and his mother was ready to move on with her life. She wanted to sell the big house on the golf course and move to the lake house where she could grow a garden, no longer worry about a golf ball flying through the breakfast nook window, and read to her heart’s content.
He wanted to help her do that. For thirty years, she’d done all the things her father and the town expected of her. She wanted a life of her own, and Spencer couldn’t blame her. As the only remaining lawyer in the family, it was his responsibility to make that happen.
He didn’t doubt he’d seen the Lizard Man. It was the most real experience of his life. What he was beginning to doubt was that the creature had anything to do with his father’s disappearance.
* * *
Back in the Sarah Chestnut, Lucy took a long, cool shower and scrubbed the sweat and mud off her body with some tea olive-scented soap provided by the hotel. After toweling off and dressing in a cotton nightgown, she climbed up on the bed.
When she’d first spotted the tracks, she’d been thrilled, more excited than a kid on Christmas morning, but her mood had fallen quickly. The more closely she examined them, the more convinced she became that they were fakes.
Who would create fake lizard tracks?
The person who had the most to gain.
Spencer. Shit.
Why would Spencer go to all this trouble to fake them?
He didn’t really need to create the Lizard Man. There were plenty of other things in the swamp that could be just as deadly. Heat exhaustion, alligators, snake bites were only a few of the ways his dad could have met his end.
Why build such an outrageous story?
The answer was pretty simple: he’d be able to tell himself, and his family, that his father hadn’t chosen to leave and he’d have an expert to back him up.
Damned if I’ll play that role.
She hopped of the bed and grabbed her laptop. Set up at the small desk in the corner of the room, she began researching Spencer and what she found only confirmed her suspicions. His law firm had been started by his grandfather. His mother was active in local society, participating in things like the Junior League. His father had coached Little League and volunteered with the church’s weekly soup kitchen.
If Walter turned out to be an adulterer, the Watson family had a lot to lose.
While Lucy was from a much different kind of South, she was very aware of how much weight Southern families placed on things like honor and reputation.
Spencer was taking the easy way out. Better dead than dishonorable.
She wanted to be wrong. Discovering a creature, especially one that would likely be an apex predator that no one had ever cataloged, would give her the confidence to show her face around her old colleagues. But, in this case, she was nearly certain that the tracks were man-made.
Grabbing her cell phone, she connected it to her laptop and downloaded the photographs she’d taken in the swamp. She opened the clearest one and zoomed in.
All three tracks, two right and one left, were perfect. Too perfect. Text book.
Most animals weren’t strictly symmetrical. The left foot might be a little larger or a little smaller than the right. One toe might be curved or one ear might stick out more than the other. These tracks looked manufactured. In addition, on the ones made by the right foot of the animal, there was a straight line running along the outside of the instep. She suspected it was part of the plank or wood block on which the “track” had been mounted.
Busted.
Maybe she should take one day’s pay, slip a note under his door, and chug back up the mountain to Cheldron tonight.
But it wouldn’t be honest or professional. It would be cowardly, and if Lucy was one thing, she was brave.
Shit.
She checked the alarm clock beside the bed. It wasn’t yet six. She was supposed to call him anyway so they could meet for dinner. Might as well face the music as soon as possible. She’d tell him tonight and get an early start in the morning.
After dressing in a red tank top and a white cotton skirt that hung to the tops of her knees, she called Spencer. They made arrangements to meet downstairs in half an hour.
Lucy used the time to apply a little makeup. She didn’t wear it every day but when she did, it made her feel more confident, more together. When she finished and looked into the mirror, she was pleased with the results. She looked like a legitimate grownup.
She crossed her fingers and headed downstairs.
Spencer was waiting. Dressed in pressed khakis and a pink oxford, he looked like an advertisement for gentility. As she got closer, his woodsy cologne tickled her nose and sent tiny sparks of attraction flickering through her entire body.
Tricky bastard. Trying to fake the goddam Lizard Man. I’ll be damned if I believe him.
“You look amazing,” he said. His eyes moved along her body and paused in all the right places. It made her skin tingle, and the temperature in the room ratcheted up at least ten degrees.
“Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself.” She flirted back before she remembered she was one dinner from calling him a liar.
“Let’s go,” he said. He bent his arm and offered it to her. The gesture was at once old-fashioned and natural.
At first she bristled, not used to the Old South treatment, but then she decided to go with it. She tucked her hand underneath his elbow and followed him to his car. It was just what she expected. An imported sedan of an indiscriminate beige-gold. He opened the door for her and waited for her to get settled before he closed the door. It was nice to be with a man with such impeccable manners even if he was trying to outfox her.
The restaurant, O’Malley’s, was housed in an historic building. The interior was charming with exposed brick, a pressed tin ceiling and heart of pine floors. If she hadn’t been so uptight about what she planned to tell him, she would have been able to really enjoy the place. Instead, she only glanced at the menu, ordered pasta and a glass of white wine.
Maybe that would relax her shoulders and make it easier to call Spencer a liar.
By the time they finished dinner, the need to tell Spencer she suspected he’d planted the tracks was burning hot in her throat. When the waiter cleared the table, she took the last sip of her second glass of wine and leaned toward the center of the small table. “I think you planted those tracks.”
Spencer’s face went red, and he narrowed his lips. “What?”
“I looked at them more closely this afternoon. In my room, I blew up the photos on my computer and after looking at some of the small details a second time, I’m nearly certain those tracks were man-made.”
“And you think I’m the person who made them?” His eyebrows moved down toward his nose. “Why would I spend the time and money to make something like this up?
“Because you can’t live with the idea that your father chose to leave you and your mother for his mistress. You’d rather him be dead than dishonorable.”
Spencer tossed his cloth napkin onto the table. “I may be having a hard time dealing with my father’s disappearance, but I’m not a liar.”
“I’m not judging you. I’m only doing what you asked me to do when you hired me.”
He tossed several bills on the table. “Let’s continue this someplace else,” he said, looking arou
nd the crowded dining room.
Back in the car, the tension was as thick as the humidity in Ore Swamp. Lucy looked out the window and kept her mouth shut. Judging by the grip Spencer had on the wheel, he was beyond pissed, and she had no idea what might happen when they continued their discussion.
He parked at the hotel and killed the ignition. “My room or yours?”
She wished he’d been asking the same question for different reasons. “Mine. I have all the photos on my computer.”
“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
Even though he was clearly pissed, he still opened her car door for her.
* * *
Spencer needed more than ten minutes to compose himself, but he wanted to get to the bottom of Lucy’s ridiculous accusation as soon as possible. As an attorney, he was used to being called a liar, but she’d hit too close to home. He was fuming on the inside, so angry his hands were shaking. From the flask in his suitcase, the one he always carried with him, he poured three fingers of bourbon into a glass and tossed it back. Amber fire burned the back of his throat, and he felt his face flush.
He changed into a T-shirt and a pair of Duck Head shorts and stomped down the hall to the Sarah Chestnut, determined to give Lucy a piece of his mind.
How dare she! I can’t believe she accused me of creating this whole scenario. What complete and utter bullshit.
When she opened the door, the breath caught in his throat. She’d changed into bright pink athletic shorts and a tank top with spaghetti straps. The color of her shorts showed off the bronze skin on her long legs. He had to remind himself he was here to settle the score, not to drool.
“Come on in,” she said, never meeting his eyes.
He watched her walk across the room, her hips swaying from side to side. The line between the top of her muscular leg and the underside of her ass was visible in the short shorts, and he longed to run his finger, or his tongue, along it.
