by Meryl Sawyer
EMPOWERMENT. A great concept. Fucking A! Power was everything. You either had it or you didn’t.
He was edgy, jazzed up. Things were changing. The stakes were higher now, much, much higher.
He’d been awake for over forty-eight hours. He should be exhausted, but the opposite was true. He was fully awake, energized. Most days he lived his life in shades of gray. Nothing interesting happened. But now that things were changing, his world was alive with vibrant color.
Power was intoxicating. He would be the first to admit it. He’d been a young boy when this fact first presented itself, and he’d capitalized on the knowledge ever since. He was becoming more powerful with each passing day.
Just one loose end gave him a ping of uncertainty. Where was Kat Wells? They hadn’t counted on her disappearance. They’d mulled the problem over many times already. Luck—as always—was with him. Having her run played into his hand. She looked guilty as hell.
Still, she was out there somewhere. A wild card. He hated wild cards unless he had one up his sleeve.
DAVID STOOD IN THE TOWN SQUARE with Max at his side in the shadow of a pecan tree. He had the small notebook he always carried in the pocket of his suit. Judge Kincaid was to announce his candidacy for senator. It was a bit premature, as Senator Foster hadn’t yet said he was retiring, but everyone knew this was his last term.
David figured the judge wanted to get a head start. After all, the man was well-known in the county and a familiar person in the Delta area, but the rest of the state had never heard of Turner Kincaid. The judge had been wise to hire Rob Everett. The scumball was as wily as they came but he’d successfully steered numerous campaigns. David expected the judge to sling enough political bullshit to bury Twin Oaks.
A catspaw of wind brought the sweet scent of honeysuckle through the hot, moist air. Somehow it reminded David of Kat. He bent down to give Max a pat and thought about her. This was the third day since she’d disappeared. He kept imagining her breezing through the Trib’s door the way she had in the short time he’d known her. He’d been convinced she was innocent—even though it defied logic.
“There’s no fool like an old fool,” he muttered under his breath. Kat was long gone. Whatever she’d done…well, was done.
He forced himself to concentrate on the crowd gathered in the square. The whole town had turned out. It wasn’t often a favorite son announced he was running for such an important office. Even Gary Don Willingham was here, a woman at his side. It wasn’t Lola Rae. He scanned the square but didn’t see either Lola Rae or Maria.
His gaze came back to Gary Don. The woman next to him leaned close and whispered in his ear. As she did, she slipped something into his pocket. They turned and slithered through the crowd until David lost sight of them.
The intangible vibes David had picked up on when he’d first met the man must be correct. Willingham was up to something. The man was taking or dealing drugs. Probably crystal meth. He reminded himself to mention what he’d seen to Justin.
David checked the gathering again and spotted Justin standing alone across the small square. He considered joining him, but it was too crowded to move. Justin had called late last night after David had gone to bed and switched off his answering machine. He saw Justin pull his cell phone out of his pocket and answer it.
Mayor Peebles mounted the platform. Behind him trooped Reverend Applegate, Filpo Johnson, and two other men David didn’t know. Interesting, but not unexpected. To carry this state Judge Kincaid would need the Christian right and the African-American vote. Who better to have at his side than a former NFL star and a minister?
Rob Everett tapped on the mike, testing the audio system, then he nodded to Mayor Peebles. Apparently the mayor would introduce the judge. Off to David’s left a man fanning himself with a magazine caught his attention. Buck Mason. Mason did nothing to hide his disgust. Obviously, Buck wasn’t enthusiastic about his friend’s campaign, or he resented the mayor introducing the judge. David couldn’t tell which, but the pharmacist was an odd man.
He’d given a fortune to Waycross Christian University. Several buildings there were dedicated to his daughter, Verity Anne Mason. Despite his generosity to the school, Buck Mason never gave a nickel to any local charities. He wore his isolation like a shield and refused to join Kiwanis or the other civic organizations, calling them a waste of time.
Buck had a body like a tombstone. The guy was less than ten years younger than David, but he was still in superior shape. Of course, Buck didn’t have to contend with four crushed—now fused—vertebrae.
Why hadn’t he remarried? David considered Buck to be the type of man who would attract women. He wasn’t movie star handsome, but he was tall and well-built-and he had money to go with a family name.
David leaned over and stroked Max’s silky ears, encouraging the pup to keep behaving. He half listened to the mayor’s introduction of Judge Kincaid. The PA system amplified his words with a slight ring. Rob Everett walked forward and adjusted the speaker.
The mayor resumed his introduction. Same old, same old. The judge stepped up to the mike with a smile worthy of a televangelist. After thanking everyone for coming and fawning over the men on the dais, the judge launched into what was obviously a very well-rehearsed speech delivered in his authoritative courtroom voice. No doubt he would go far in politics.
“Many of you have called upon me to run for office for some time.” A concerned, reflective smile followed this announcement. “I’ve considered it, but I’ve been reluctant to leave Twin Oaks.”
That was a crock. David knew the judge spent half his time in Jackson. The capital was far more interesting than a small town like this.
“A family tragedy, a community loss has forced me to reconsider.” He gazed fondly at Tori for a moment and she smiled shyly at him. David immediately saw Rob’s orchestration of this touching scene. “My son’s fiancée, Tori Wells, is the daughter I never had. She’s had the misfortune to have a sister—half sister, actually—who was convicted of a crime.”
Bastard! David saw the scheme clearly now. Kincaid was going to spin it so he seemed personally involved.
“Kaitlin Wells was released…prematurely on a work furlough. I don’t condone this practice. Convicts should receive the maximum sentence and be forced to serve every day.”
A low buzz rippled through the crowd. David couldn’t detect any words, but an excited hum filled the air. David realized crime was a hot button. With two recent murders in the normally peaceful town, people were on edge.
“After Kaitlin Wells arrived here, our good friend and neighbor Elmer Bitner was murdered. The Highway Patrol reported Kaitlin’s car near the scene shortly before Elmer’s body was discovered.”
So much for innocent until proven guilty, David thought as the judge droned on about criminals being kept in prison and how a crime like this hurt innocent family members like Tori. The judge cast a sympathetic glance at Tori. Kat’s sister deserved an Emmy. She appeared to be on the verge of tears like a soap queen.
“This murdering woman has yet to be apprehended. We’re all concerned that someone else may die before she’s sent back to jail where she belongs.”
Tori nodded, her expression profoundly troubled. His instinct told him that Tori Wells didn’t give a hoot about Kat. He thought about how this would play on the news. Like carrion-eaters, the media would devour Kat. She didn’t stand a chance.
“Situations like this devastate families. They unnecessarily put God-fearing communities at risk. That’s why I’ve—”
“Ask the sheriff why he hasn’t found Kat Wells,” shouted Buck Mason.
For a second the judge looked like a poleaxed grizzly, but he quickly recovered. “That’s a good question. A state trooper reported—”
“We know that,” Buck yelled. “Why hasn’t she been arrested?”
Judge Kincaid sent Rob Everett a furtive look. Clearly, this wasn’t part of the script. “I see Sheriff Radner over there,” the judg
e said, sarcasm in every syllable. “Maybe he would like to explain to the good folks of Twin Oaks why there hasn’t been an arrest in this case.”
The television cameras swung toward Justin. David clicked his pen, ready to write. He pitied Justin. This was going to be like dogpaddling in a riptide. Not bringing in the prime suspect by now could cost him the job as sheriff.
Justin strode up to the podium with an easy, confident gait. He might have been walking up to the checkout at the mini-mart. The men on the dais scuttled aside to make room for him. David noted that none of them looked the sheriff in the eye except Filpo, who nodded a greeting.
“Sheriff,” the judge demanded the second Justin was on the dais, “why haven’t you arrested Kaitlin Wells?”
Justin stared at the judge as if explaining this to Kincaid would be as futile as pitching tax exempt bonds to the homeless. “This is America. You’re innocent until proven guilty—”
“She’s guilty,” shouted Buck Mason. “Just bring her in and make her confess.”
A rumble of agreement passed through the crowd. An edgy pause, then total silence. David could hear Max panting but no one was saying a word. Then Justin glared at Buck in a way that made the crowd collectively gasp.
“Can’t do that, Buck,” Justin replied smoothly. “Kat Wells has an ironclad alibi. She was in a minor accident just after the trooper saw her. Dwayne and Billy Dean Hill pulled her car out of a ditch and took her home. Mavis Hill’s been taking care of her.”
“I knew she was innocent,” David heard himself shout.
The mayor had a startled expression as if he’d just been caught in bed with his best friend’s wife. Filpo Johnson was beaming.
“I don’t believe it,” snarled the judge.
“Suh.” Sir. The deep-fried Southern voice boomed from the back of the crowd. “You doubtin’ my word?”
Dwayne Hill stepped forward, his hands on his hips. A hulking man well over six feet, Dwayne had close-cropped brown hair. An odd smile creased his bronzed face. Beside him stood a smaller version of the big man. Billy Dean, guessed David.
“O-of course not,” the judge said with all the enthusiasm of a man receiving the last rites.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
TORI SAT in the living room at Oakhurst, listening to Rob Everett discuss what had gone wrong at the news conference. “Never give up the spotlight. Never. You should have—”
Tori tuned out. For once May Ellen had the best idea. She’d pleaded a migraine from all the beastly heat and had gone upstairs. No doubt she planned to pop a few pills and have a swig of gin.
Of all the damned luck! Kat was still around. Was there no getting rid of her? Bad enough that her presence was making Mother’s condition worse. Now she’d stolen the spotlight from Tori. She could have been on television. Imagine what that would have done for her real estate career.
But no. Kat was here to stay. Something had to be done about it, but Tori didn’t have a plan unless one of Clay’s contacts at the casino could help to scare her off.
She glanced over at the judge, who was still listening to Rob. Every time the man mentioned Justin, the judge turned the color of an eggplant, the way he had when Justin had announced Kat’s alibi. Tori thought Rob was exaggerating the scope of the catastrophe so he could make money. But who knew? Maybe the consultant was right. This fiasco could ruin the judge’s election hopes.
That would be okay with Tori. This had been her first real taste of politics, and it had been much worse than she’d anticipated. All that rehearsing for what? To be upstaged by backwoods hicks?
The Hills were hollow folk, worse than white trash, but they’d made a lot of money on stupid soybeans. And they could trace their ancestors back to some long-forgotten Civil War general. If that wasn’t enough, Mavis Hill was a respected healer. Her horehound soup was famous for curing colds. God only knew what she used but she had a reputation in the Delta for helping infertile couples. Kat couldn’t have come up with a better alibi had she tried.
“I WANT THE WHOLE STORY,” David demanded. “I know you left a message last night, but you should have called this thing in this morning.”
He was with Justin at his office in the Trib building, where they’d come after Justin astonished everyone at the press conference and made a fool of the judge. Max was snuggled up under the desk, seemingly bored by the monumental turn of events. Justin appeared calm, almost relaxed, but David knew better. There was a tension to his shoulders, a lethal glint in his eyes as he lounged in the chair across from David.
“I was real busy this morning. Do you know what it takes to cancel a seven-state APB and persuade the authorities not to revoke Kat’s furlough?”
David nodded, silently conceding that contacting him couldn’t have been a top priority.
“Want to know details—off the record?”
Under his breath, David muttered a curse. Off the record did not sell papers, but in this case, sales didn’t matter. Kat hadn’t killed Elmer Bitner. He’d known all along that she was innocent. He wanted to help her any way possible. “Okay. Off the record.”
“Mavis Hill believes Kat was poisoned. That’s why she had an accident. She became disoriented and drove into a bar ditch. Apparently Kat was hallucinating. She thought a group of men were after her, but Mavis swears it was only Dwayne and Billy Dean.”
Poisoned? The word ricocheted through David’s brain. When he’d heard Justin tell the crowd Kat had been in an accident, he’d assumed it had been a simple car crash. He’d been concerned, but nothing like this. He felt as if a hand had closed around his throat, choking the life out of him, and he was powerless to do anything about it.
He finally managed to croak out two words. “Who? How?”
“Good question. Kat doesn’t remember anything.”
“Pequita Romero was also poisoned. Could it be—”
“It’s not fluoroacetate. That works too quickly,” Justin replied. “Mavis suspects nightshade.”
David rifled his brain for a moment to come up with the type of plant Justin was talking about. “Belladonna? Does it grow around here?”
“Could you get on the computer and check?” Justin shifted in his seat. “Mavis thinks it comes from Asia but can be grown here. According to her, a little bit can cause hallucinations and amnesia.”
David tapped the keys on his computer to log onto Info-National, the special search engine newspapers paid to use. He typed in the word belladonna. In seconds the screen filled with lines and lines of information.
“It can be grown here, and it causes selective amnesia. She may remember bits and pieces of her experiences, but not everything. Hallucinations are common, apparently.”
“Does it say anything about how long after ingesting it the substance kicks in?”
David scrolled through the rest of the text. “Interesting. Belladonna was taken by women in the Renaissance to dilate their pupils and give them a wide-eyed and beautiful appearance.”
“How long after taking it does belladonna affect the person?” Justin repeated impatiently.
David quickly skimmed the material. “An hour to several days, depending on the part of the plant ingested. The berries and the roots are more potent than the leaves or stalks.”
“Great. So we have no idea of where or when Kat was given belladonna.” Justin gazed out the window for a moment. “Maybe where or when doesn’t matter. What we need to know is why.”
“And why was Bitner murdered?”
“This comes down to motive.” Justin gave him a slow nod with an expression that was wise beyond his years. “I think I have a motive for the bank robbery. Totally off the record.”
Waiting for his explanation was like holding a live grenade. “Off the record.”
“Bank examiners were coming to inspect Mercury’s records. A robbery was staged so the inspection would be put off for weeks. It would give them time to cook the books.”
Sometimes David felt like a brittle old man past his
prime. Why hadn’t he seen this? He hadn’t known about the inspection—it hadn’t been reported in the Trib—but he should have guessed.
“I understand,” David said slowly. “Kat was a foil for money laundering, bank fraud…who knows? But why try to frame Kat for Bitner’s death?”
“She would be a natural suspect, diverting suspicion from the real killer.” Justin’s lips edged into a bitter smile. “I think someone else slipped her poison and fouled up the plan.”
“That would mean she has more than one enemy.”
“Bull’s-eye.”
“Seems far-fetched.”
“Bitner knew something and was about to spill the beans.”
“The answer is at the bank.”
KAT GAZED OUT the window of Justin’s pickup. They were well down the road from the Hills’ compound. Trees skimmed past in a blur of green. A cold numbness permeated her and settled in her bones. She seemed detached from her body, as if she were observing all this from a distance.
It must be some type of psychic shock, a reaction to knowing someone had deliberately tried to kill her. She’d counted on being relatively safe, she’d counted on seeing her enemy charging at her. She’d been wrong and now she couldn’t handle it.
After being told someone had tried to poison her, Kat felt a column of light rise up from somewhere inside her, and she left her physical being behind. Now she watched from afar. The weight of the knowledge of her situation was too crushing to deal with right now. It was easier, more comforting to be absent from herself.
She saw Justin’s lips moving. He was talking but the words weren’t coming through. She didn’t want to hear them. He touched her arm, his fingers brushing over her skin, then gently clamping down. All she felt was a slight warmth.
“Kat? Kat, are you okay?”
His words echoed through the tunnel in her mind and vanished into blackness. Her brain stubbornly refused to process the facts and allow her to deal with reality. He frowned, pulled the pickup to the side of the road, and stopped.
