Texas Secrets, Lovers' Lies

by Karen Whiddon

  He grimaced. “As she should be. And now Mrs. Bell knows what her husband was up to?”

  “I think they were on the verge of splitting up permanently before Shayna’s...” Her voice broke. Collecting herself, she swallowed hard and continued. “Before Shayna’s body was discovered.”

  Before Shayna’s sudden disappearance, he’d thought life in Anniversary was pretty routine, almost boring. Now he wondered how he’d missed all the undercurrents.

  “That’s sad. I feel bad for everyone involved.”

  “I do, too. Shayna must have been devastated. I have to think she discussed this with Cristine. Yet Cristine never even mentioned it.”

  Straightening, Brock watched her closely. “In light of Shayna’s murder, I agree. We need to see what Cristine has to say about all this.”

  “Immediately.” The firm set of her mouth told him she’d made up her mind. “Before the funeral, if possible.”

  * * *

  Though, if Zoe had been in charge of the weather, she would have ordered up a solid gray cloud cover and a sharp, northern wind, the day of the funeral dawned bright and sunny. The cloudless blue sky seemed in direct opposition to the atmosphere inside the Bells’ house.

  In this time of grief, Mr. Bell had moved back in. Despite the unspoken agreement that this would only be temporary, just to get them through this, he’d returned to sleeping in the master bedroom with his wife. Zoe heard the sounds of them arguing late into the night.

  There was blame, recrimination and bitterness to go along with the unrelenting grief.

  Gazing out the window at the perfect early summer morning, she pushed the thought away as a product of insecurity. There was nothing she could do now to save Shayna. But she could still do something for the Bells and for herself. She could, and would, help find Shayna’s killer. If only she knew how.

  Zoe still found it difficult to believe her best friend and the woman she considered her sister was gone forever. Guilt filled her. She should have visited or had Shayna come see her. She should have done something, anything, and maybe her best friend would still be alive.

  Even though she knew she wasn’t responsible, guilt lodged like a rock inside her heart and wouldn’t go away.

  Cristine had been beside herself when she got the news. Sheriff Giles had paid a visit to the law office where she worked as a paralegal. According to the gossip that ran rampart around town, Cristine had nearly fainted at her desk when the sheriff told her Shayna was dead. Word was he’d also asked her to come in for questioning.

  Which meant he was doing his job. Maybe Brock was right about him. From what Zoe had heard when she went to Sue’s Catfish Hut, Sheriff Giles had asked nearly a dozen people to come in and talk to him about Shayna. Zoe couldn’t help but wonder who was going to interrogate the sheriff. He’d dated Shayna, after all. He should be just as much a person of interest as anyone else.

  Out of curiousity, Zoe had tried to call Cristine a few times, but Cristine let the calls go to voice mail and never returned them. No doubt, she knew Marshall Bell had come clean to his wife. Zoe tried to forgive her, aware the other woman was grieving deeply. Still, at some point, Cristine had to take responsibility for her actions.

  Mama Bell and Mr. Bell were locked into some sort of grief-stricken battle. Neither had time or energy to expend dealing with anyone’s sorrow but their own. In time, they’d emerge from whatever dark place they’d walled themselves into, but for now, she was on her own.

  Or would have been, if not for Brock. Through it all, he had been by her side. A rock. Asking no questions and making no demands aside from hinting about the ways they could comfort each other. She hadn’t taken him up on that. Zoe knew she had to set things straight with him, but at the moment she was so numbed by grief, she hadn’t been able to summon the willpower. She was just grateful that he was willing to help her get through this despite the fact that he must have been grieving as well.

  The funeral was held on a Sunday afternoon, so most of the town turned out to honor Shayna’s memory. The Bells had elected to have the memorial service in the funeral home’s chapel rather than the Baptist church they’d attended for most of their lives. Though Zoe didn’t know all the details, apparently Shayna had had a falling-out with the congregation a few years ago.

  Keenly aware of Brock’s supportive presence at her side, flanked on the other side by the Bells, Zoe barely made it through without breaking down. Only the burning desire to be here in town when they found out who had done this kept her going.

  Glancing at the broad-shouldered man who stood, steadfast and strong, close enough for her to touch, she figured he most likely felt the same way. His rugged profile somber, he surveyed the crowded chapel as though watching for something.

  After the funeral, the church threw a huge potluck supper. This was everyone in town’s chance to get together, talk about Shayna and try to begin the healing process. The Bells had argued about this. Mama Bell had insisted they go, while Mr. Bell had wanted to bow out, saying he needed to grieve alone. In the end, it appeared Mama had won, as Mr. Bell drove to the church. Zoe and Brock followed in his truck.

  Though Zoe had been part of the church family for most of her life, at least since the Bells had taken her in, she had no desire to go, either. While she understood and appreciated the tradition, it seemed like a waste of valuable hours, time she could spend searching for clues as to who had taken Shayna away from them. She needed to go back to the Hitching Post and start talking one by one to the people who might have been Shayna’s party friends.

  No doubt the sheriff’s office was already doing this. She hoped so. Though right now there seemed to be nothing evident, Zoe knew the killer had to have made a mistake. Everyone slipped up and, as far as she knew, there was no such thing as a perfect crime.

  With that in mind, she traveled to the church with the family and as they were walking toward the meeting room, she excused herself and headed to the bathroom. Brock followed, as she’d known he would.

  “I’d like to go talk to the sheriff,” she said, when they were alone in the hallway. “I didn’t see him at the funeral.”

  “He’s here.” Brock gestured back to the rapidly filling room. “He knew Shayna, too. Plus he never could pass up a chance for a free meal.”

  “That’s my point,” she said, trying to keep her voice down. “Not the free-food part, but the fact that he dated Shayna. I heard he’s finally questioning everyone who could even remotely be considered a suspect. I want to know who’s going to question him.”

  Brock stared, then nodded. “I don’t think Roger would have hurt Shayna, but I see the necessity of considering all possibilities.”

  “He had as much motive as anyone else. From what I’ve heard, Shayna liked to, er, love ’em and leave ’em.”

  Looking off into the distance, his chiseled features remote, Brock finally nodded. “I see your point. I’ll keep an eye on him, maybe talk to him myself.”

  “Good.”

  Brock nodded. “Now, how about we go back in there and have some of that great-smelling buffet they’re laying out. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

  Since he’d been more than kind to her, she agreed. Only a man could think about food in the middle of something like this. But then her own stomach growled, and she realized she hadn’t had anything to eat all day. For some reason, this realization helped lift the heavy mantle of grief and anger that had been dogging her all day.

  Cristine found them as they were digging into their plates. Carrying a cup of coffee, she took the empty chair next to Zoe. She wore huge dark sunglasses, even inside. “I don’t know how I’m going to make it,” she wailed. Zoe nearly recoiled at the wave of alcohol on her breath. Already? It was barely noon.

  “Cristine, have you been drinking?” Brock asked, the fumes apparently having reac
hed him, too.

  “Of course.” Giving them both a watery smile, Cristine pulled a silver flask from her purse and poured a liberal dose into her coffee. “How else do you expect me to get through this?”

  She sounded serious.

  Brock frowned. “You know that might mean you have a problem?” he asked, his voice compassionate but stern. “I speak from experience.”

  Cristine waved him away. “Hush, Brock McCauley. You haven’t been any fun ever since you became sober. Don’t you dare start preaching to me. Not now. We all gotta cope the best way we can. This is mine.”

  Jaw tight, Brock nodded. “My apologies,” he said, not sounding the least bit apologetic. “Please, excuse me.” Carrying his plate, he went back to the end of the buffet line, apparently to get seconds.

  “Oh, good.” Cristine leaned in close, treating Zoe to another dose of liquor-scented breath. “I’m glad he’s gone. I wanted to talk to you about him, anyway.”

  “Cristine,” Zoe said. “Maybe this should wait until you’re...you know...sober?”

  “No.” Cristine gave her a lopsided grin. “Now is the perfect time. I think Brock did it.”

  Chapter 12

  At first, Zoe didn’t understand. Then, when Cristine’s meaning sank in, she wasn’t sure how to respond.

  Cristine didn’t seem to notice. “If anyone can get him to confess, you can.” She turned to make sure Brock was still up at the buffet. Then she continued. “But if you ask him about it, be careful. I’d hate for you to become his next victim.”

  Reminding herself that the woman was drunk, Zoe considered her words carefully. “Cristine, I know you cared about Shayna, but—”

  “I did, I did,” Cristine interrupted, starting to cry.

  “But Brock would never—”

  Again Cristine cut in. “Shh. He’s almost here. You don’t want him to hear you.” Plastering a wobbly smile on her lip-glossed mouth, she took another giant swig of her doctored coffee.

  “What’s going on?” Carrying his second loaded plate, Brock looked from one to the other.

  “Oh, I was just telling Cristine here that you and I are helping the sheriff try to find out who killed Shayna.”

  “You are?” Cristine’s mouth fell open. “How’s that work?”

  “Well,” Brock said, looking from one to the other before he sat, “I wouldn’t exactly call it that.”

  “Oh, stop being so modest.” Zoe waved his comments away, wishing she could text him or something to let him know what Cristine had just accused him of. “Brock and I have been hanging around the Hitching Post, talking to a lot of the regulars. We’re close to learning who was the last person to see Shayna the night she was murdered.”

  “Close?” Cristine leaned close, one hand still clutching her coffee cup, sloshing it onto the table. “How close exactly? I think it might have been that Mike guy who went down to the lake with her.”

  Both Brock and Zoe stared. “How do you know about that?” Zoe asked.

  Cristine shrugged. “Everyone in the bar is talking about it. What about him? Do you think he did it?”

  “He’s got an alibi and has pretty much been ruled out as a suspect.”

  At this, Cristine frowned. “So do you have someone else in mind?”

  “Maybe.” Zoe made her smile deliberately mysterious. “But I’m not at liberty to discuss it yet. Not until we have stronger evidence.”

  Catching Zoe’s eye, Brock looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. When she only stared back, hoping he realized she wanted him to just go along with her, he finally shrugged and resumed eating.

  “Maybe I could help,” Cristine said, her words slightly slurred. “I’m a regular there, you know. People like me. They’ll talk to me before they’d talk to you.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” Noncommittal, Zoe stretched and made a show of eyeing the dessert table. “I hear a piece of cheesecake calling my name. Do either of you want anything?”

  “No, thanks.” Brock pointed to a large slice of chocolate cake. “I’m good.”

  “I’m not hungry.” Draining the last of her coffee, Cristine stood, none too steady. “I’ve got to get going.”

  In silence, they watched her walk away.

  “I’m trying not to judge her too harshly,” Brock said, his voice full of regret. “We all have our own ways of grieving.”

  Though she knew he wouldn’t speak so kindly if he knew what Cristine had just accused him of, she didn’t say anything. Not yet. Not here. If Cristine was saying things like that to Zoe, no doubt she’d been talking to the sheriff, too.

  This wasn’t good. Especially since Zoe didn’t for one second believe Brock had harmed even one hair on Shayna’s head. She wouldn’t let him be a scapegoat. More than anything, she wanted Shayna’s killer brought to justice. The real killer.

  She’d tell Brock later. Not at Shayna’s funeral. After, when they were alone in his truck.

  * * *

  After he’d cleaned his second plate and then polished off dessert, Brock sat back in his chair and surveyed the gathering. Mr. and Mrs. Bell occupied a round table near the front of the room. They were surrounded by so many well-wishers, poor Marshall could hardly eat. Mrs. Bell simply sat stoically, moving food around on her plate, her eyes unfocused and shiny with tears.

  “Brock?” Zoe tugged at his sleeve. “Can we go? I need to talk to you.”

  “Sure.” Though he managed to sound relaxed, inwardly he winced. What now?

  She waited until they were in his truck, seat belts fastened. “Cristine told me she thinks you killed Shayna,” she said, not mincing words.

  Though he should have been expecting something weird like this, the bald statement hit him like a slap in the face, temporarily knocking the wind from him.

  “Damn,” he muttered. “You know, she’s been hinting, but I really didn’t think she was serious. I can’t believe...”

  “I’m worried.” Zoe put her hand on his arm, the heat of her fingers searing him.

  Gently, he eased away from her, under the pretense of fitting the key in the ignition. “I’m not. I have no reason to be.”

  “But if she came to me with her crazy accusations, who else is she talking to?”

  Putting the truck into Drive, he pulled out of the parking lot. “It doesn’t matter. I grew up in this town. People know me. No one will take her seriously.”

  She shifted restlessly. It took every ounce of his willpower to keep his eyes on the road. What the hell was wrong with him? Five seconds alone with her and he ached to touch her. Touch her? Who was he kidding? He wanted to pull the truck over and rip her clothes off and bury himself deep inside her.

  Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he worked hard to get himself under control.

  “Where are we going?” she asked, as though they were spending the rest of the day together.

  “I’m going to drop you off,” he said, still careful not to look at her. “I’ve got some errands to run. But I’ll be back soon and we’ll talk about what else we can do to help the police find Shayna’s killer.”

  “Oh, okay.” She sounded disappointed. He told himself he didn’t care. Even though he really had nothing planned for the afternoon, he needed time to himself to think.

  As he pulled up in the Bells’ driveway, she turned to look at him before getting out. “Thank you,” she said softly, her brown eyes shining with sincerity.

  His heart lurched. “For what?” he managed.

  Then, to his horror, she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “For being my rock. I don’t think I could have made it through this day without you.”

  And then, while he was still reeling, she got out of his truck and walked away without a backward glance.

  Driving away, he rubbed at th
e spot where her lips had touched and resisted the urge to turn around and go back. This was torture. Gut-wrenching, pointless torture. And he had never been big on suffering. The longer Zoe stayed, the worse he wanted their lives to become intertwined. Not in a let’s-hang-out-at-the-bowling-alley kind of way, but more of a back-against-the wall-and-have-hot-sex way. And more. So much more. Hell, he even wanted to cuddle under the covers with her, hold her close and make plans for a new life together.

  Because he still wanted Zoe. Always and only Zoe.

  After what she’d done to him, he should have despised her. They grown up together, been a couple since middle school. He’d thought they were tight, friends of a different type than she and Shayna had been. Close. Especially once passion had struck them like lightning. Fire and heat, they hadn’t been able to get enough of each other. She was the other half of his whole and they completed each other.

  And then, without warning, she was gone. His world had been destroyed, not with a nuclear blast, but with a quiet rustle of air in the night.

  Life without Zoe. He’d been bereft, looking to drown his sorrows in the bottom of a bottle.

  After he’d climbed out of the deep hole of grief, he’d grown angry. So he and Zoe had managed to spark some passion. Fine. He’d have it again, with someone else. But no matter how many women he’d dated, it was never the same.

  No one compared to Zoe. He’d begun to realize no one ever would. And he wondered if it was the same for her.

  Probably not. She’d made no attempt to contact him in the five years since she’d broken their engagement, not even once to explain or apologize after leaving his ring with Shayna to give to him.

  He’d been broken, after that, a little crazed. He wanted to hate her, but couldn’t. Failing that, he tried like hell to school himself to indifference. But all she had to do was smile at him and every emotion, even the ones he’d thought long dead and buried, came rushing back.

  If she wasn’t going to stay, Zoe needed to leave. Since she said she didn’t plan to go until the police solved Shayna’s murder, he could only hope that was soon.