Texas Secrets, Lovers' Lies

by Karen Whiddon

  He was on his way to the sheriff’s office when his cell phone rang. Roger Giles. Wondering if the sheriff had ESP, he answered.

  “You got a minute to come in and talk to me?” The sheriff didn’t waste time on small talk. “We can do it here at the station or at TJ’s over a beer.”

  Obviously, Roger had forgotten that Brock didn’t drink.

  “I’m on my way to the station right now,” Brock said. “I can be there in five minutes.”

  Roger agreed to wait for him.

  On the way down in his truck, Brock’s phone rang again. This time, the caller was Zoe. His traitorous heart skipped a beat when he heard her voice. “Evidently, Cristine’s been spreading her poison. I just heard the most disturbing gossip,” she said. “It’s all over town. People are seriously talking as if you really might have killed Shayna.”

  He reeled. This was his town, his people, and the idea that they could even think this about him felt like a knife in the heart. “I wouldn’t pay any attention to idle gossip,” he said.

  “I’m not. Unless the rumors hamper law enforcement in doing their job and searching for the real killer.”

  He liked her response. “Speaking of whom, I’m on my way to the sheriff’s office to talk to Roger.”

  “An interrogation?” She sounded horrified, which was gratifying. “Do they honestly think you could have—?”

  “I don’t know. Truth be told, I doubt I’m even a viable suspect. Roger is either clutching at straws or just trying to put those crazy, rampant rumors to rest.”

  “I still don’t like this.” Horror had been replaced with indignation. “Do you want me to meet you there as a show of support?”

  Tempting. Pulling up to a stop sign, he briefly closed his eyes. “No need, thanks. This should only take a few minutes. But I appreciate the offer.”

  Her voice clearly unhappy, she made him promise to call her the instant he was finished. He refused to let her concern touch him. That was the last thing he needed, to let his emotions about Zoe get the better of him any more than they already had.

  He had enough on his plate as it was.

  The sheriff and one of his deputies waited in the empty reception area, along with Agnes, who stared at him with reproachful eyes. Everyone else had already gone home for the night.

  “Sorry about this, Brock,” Roger said, punching him lightly on the arm. “Come on back to my office.”

  Following, Brock noticed the deputy stayed right behind him, as if he thought Brock might flee.

  “Have a seat.” Pointing to a folding metal chair across from his gunmetal-gray desk, Roger sat. “I called you in here today to talk about Shayna Bell.”

  Brock nodded, waiting for the other man to continue.

  “Cristine Haywood was in here earlier. She told me some things I have to say I find mighty disturbing.”

  Brock could only imagine. Considering that Cristine had already tried to insinuate that he’d not only slept with Shayna, but been physically abusive as well, he had to wonder what she’d told the sheriff.

  “And?” he prodded, when Roger didn’t finish.

  As expected, Cristine had trotted out the same old lies, though this time she’d gone too far. Cristine was trying to implicate Brock in Shayna’s murder.

  The question was why? Did she really believe her own lies? And now, the sheriff had no choice but to question him.

  “First off, I’ve never hurt Shayna,” Brock said, his tone even. “And secondly, though we’d broken up and she was moving out, I was cool with that. When she went missing, we were roommates, nothing more. Friends, maybe. You dated her. You should know that.”

  Though the sheriff gave him an apologetic smile, the look in his eyes was still hard and considering. With a sinking feeling, Brock realized the other man truly did consider him a suspect.

  Damn and double damn. He felt like a bear caught in a trap. For the first time he realized he could actually be arrested for a crime he hadn’t committed.

  And whoever had really killed Shayna would go scot-free.

  * * *

  Though Brock had sounded certain he didn’t want her to go to the sheriff’s office, there was no way Zoe could let him be questioned without her support. She wanted Shayna’s killer found as much as anyone. Probably more. But trying to pin this on Brock was not only wrong, it also meant the real murderer would get away with murder. Shayna deserved justice, not a mockery of it.

  So she jumped in the car and headed into town, even though she had no idea what she would say when she arrived.

  As she pulled into the parking lot, she saw Brock’s truck was still there. Good.

  Hurrying inside, she ignored a sputtering Agnes, and rushed past the reception counter, continuing down the hall to the sheriff’s office, Agnes hot on her heels.

  The door was closed.

  “You can’t go in there,” Agnes sputtered.

  “Watch me.” Hesitating, Zoe took a deep breath, knocked sharply twice and then pushed the door open.

  Both Roger and Brock looked up, the sheriff’s face registering his surprise. Brock, however, appeared resigned.

  “Uh, Zoe.” Roger stood. “This is not a good time. I’m in the middle of something.”

  “I can see that.” She glanced from one man to the other. “I came to speak to Brock. Don’t let him railroad you. Calling an attorney would be the wisest choice.”

  Unsmiling, Brock spoke. “Not necessary, Zoe. I told you not to come.”

  Now the sheriff appeared confused. “I’m just asking Brock a few questions. There’s really no need for you to—”

  “You’re looking in the wrong direction,” Zoe interrupted. Again she looked at Brock, who sat stone-faced, his arms crossed. From the looks of things, he wasn’t at all happy to have her come barging in like this.

  Tough.

  Sitting down, the sheriff leaned back in his chair, one eyebrow cocked. “And now you’re going to tell me how to run my murder investigation?”

  “Why not?” she shot back. “You weren’t exactly trying too hard to find Shayna to begin with. If you’d searched more diligently, you might have been able to save her.”

  At her words, Roger’s expression hardened. “We did everything we could. We put her name into NaMus—the National Missing and Unidentified Persons System. We interviewed friends and relatives. Beyond that, we had no indication of foul play. Our hands were tied.”

  Zoe swallowed. He had a point. But still... “Okay, I get that. I really do. But how can you even consider Brock McCauley a suspect? If you know him at all, you’d be positive he could never do something like that.”

  “Zoe,” Brock warned. “I think you’ve said enough.”

  “That’s all right.” Roger waved Brock’s protest away, focusing his bright blue eyes on Zoe. “It’s my job to investigate all angles, you know that.” He gave her a half smile, making her realize he was only pretending to be angry. That struck her as so odd she froze, letting him continue.

  “As to my questioning Brock, I have to. Anyone with a motive, no matter how slight, has to be checked out. I’d think you’d want that, too.”

  “I do.” Feeling slightly abashed, she took a deep breath. “I’d like to help.”

  Brock made a sound of frustration. She ignored him, keeping her gaze locked on Roger Giles.

  Crossing his arms, Roger stared back at her. “Help how?”

  “I don’t know. But there must be something I can do.”

  As he considered her, a hint of a smile played around his mouth. “How about go out to dinner with me?”

  “What?” Stunned, she wasn’t sure she’d heard him right.

  “I’m serious. Cops have to eat, too.”

  “I...” Enraged, she wasn’t sure how to respond. No
way in hell did she want to go out with him, but if he was the killer, he might give something away.

  Instinctively, she looked at Brock. Anger had flared in his eyes, but he didn’t protest, though he watched her closely.

  Roger eyed her like a hawk contemplating prey.

  “I don’t know,” she began.

  “There’s no reason not to,” Roger said. “Unless of course, you and Brock are back together.”

  Now she understood. He was fishing, trying to see if there was more to the story than what Brock had told him. Did he seriously believe Brock would have abused Shayna and eventually killed her in the hope of getting back together with Zoe should she ever come home?

  “No, we are not,” she said, her voice cool. She had to battle the urge to find out who was his superior and call and make a complaint. “And I’d love to have dinner with you sometime, as long as you promise to keep me updated about whatever you find.”

  “Agreed.” His smile made her realize exactly how handsome he was. And how slimy. Again, she wondered about him and Shayna. How perfect for him if Brock were arrested for a crime Roger himself had committed.

  “How about tonight?” he asked.

  Careful not to reveal the flash of panic that went through her, she swallowed, careful not to look at Brock. “I wasn’t...um, sure. What time?”

  “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  When he held out his hand for her to shake, she took it, praying she could hide her revulsion.

  Brock stood, also. “Are we about finished here?” he asked the sheriff, sounding as if he spoke through clenched teeth.

  Looking thoughtful, Roger nodded. “I think so. I’ll give you a call if I think of anything else.”

  Brock escorted Zoe out, anger positively radiating from his body. The instant they cleared the door, she turned to him, sensing that he was upset and trying to head things off before they started.

  “Look, I didn’t know what else to do,” she began.

  Coldly, he contemplated her. “How you act and what you do is clearly none of my business.”

  With that, he strode away from her, got in his truck and drove off.

  * * *

  Though he knew Zoe stood staring after him, her beautiful expression shocked, Brock refused to look in his rearview mirror.

  She and Roger Giles were going out on a date. Why? She claimed not even to like the man.

  The jealousy that coiled in his gut infuriated him. Zoe didn’t belong to him. He shouldn’t care if she had dinner or drinks with any man in town. Beautiful women like her had no trouble attracting men and he didn’t doubt she’d known plenty during her five years away.

  After all, despite his certainty that their making love meant something, Zoe had made it clear she viewed it simply as a form of recreation. Her actions had hurt much more than he’d expected.

  Now this. She couldn’t have chosen a better action to drive her point home. He got it, he truly got it.

  Yet fool that he was, he felt like doubling over in pain.

  He knew what he’d be doing come seven. He’d be sitting in his apartment, fighting both the urge to go to TJ’s to have a beer and then to drive through town so he could see where Roger had taken Zoe for dinner. The hell with beer—he was craving shots of straight whiskey, the more rotgut, the better.

  The awful thing was, he wanted a drink so badly he felt dizzy. Even thinking about it made him break out in a cold sweat. Shocked and furious, he gripped his steering wheel as if it were a life preserver. He had to get himself under control. This sort of thing hadn’t happened to him very often, not since his early days of sobriety.

  He’d fought this battle before and won. Inhaling slowly, he forced his mind blank, picturing a single candle with a perfect flame.

  Only when he’d achieved the necessary calmness did he open his eyes. He no longer craved alcohol. The woman, however, was another story.

  Since he wasn’t a stalker, he knew he shouldn’t go to town, but a little after seven he found himself with truck keys in hand, heading into town to grab a bite to eat. This time, he didn’t dare go to TJ’s or any place that served alcohol. He saw no reason to tempt fate.

  He chose Sue’s Catfish Hut again. A good meal of fried catfish, along with perfectly seasoned fries and hush puppies would go a long way toward filling the yawning emptiness inside him.

  And he knew he wouldn’t run into Roger and Zoe on their date. The sheriff wouldn’t take her here, especially if he was hoping for a little romance. Just the thought had Brock clenching his teeth. He ordered iced tea and the Captain’s Platter, sitting back in his booth and surveying the early-evening crowd.

  Mostly families, a few older couples. He knew just about everyone, and watching the typical dinner outing in the town he’d always called home calmed him.

  After Tina brought his tea and took his order, she hustled off to the kitchen, promising it’d be out soon. Brock nodded, reassuring her he was in no hurry.

  Just then, Marshall Bell walked in. He was alone, which said something. Since Shayna’s funeral, Brock had gotten the impression that he and Mrs. Bell were reconciling. Though Brock looked for her, Marshall appeared to be alone.

  He spotted Brock sitting by himself and hurried over. “Mind if I join you?” he asked. Grief had made new lines in his weathered face.

  “Of course not.”

  Marshall had barely taken a seat when Tina appeared with a menu. “No need, honey. I already know what I want.” He ordered the same thing Brock had.

  After Tina hurried off, Marshall heaved a weary sigh and sat back in the booth.

  “How are you holding up?” Brock asked.

  “It’s been a long week.” Passing his hand across his eyes, Marshal grimaced, his eyes conspicuously shiny and red. “How are you doing?”

  Brock shrugged. “Okay.” If he didn’t count the number Zoe was doing on his equilibrium. He glanced out the window, again wondering why she had agreed to go out with Roger.

  When he looked back, he realized Marshall was studying him.

  “I’m not much on talking about feelings,” Marshall said, and took a sip of his tea. “So I won’t. Damned if I want to break down in the middle of Sue’s.”

  Brock nodded. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Then don’t.” Clearing his throat, Marshall hesitated, as if not sure what he wanted to say. “Zoe has a blog, you know. Shayna told her mother about it. Apparently the two of them read it frequently, though I don’t think Zoe knows.”

  A blog? Brock didn’t get on the internet much other than to order supplies or check his email. He frowned, wondering what exactly Marshall was trying to tell him.

  “From what my wife says, it’s pretty popular. I took a look at it myself the other day. Not only did Zoe write an obituary for Shayna, but she writes plenty of other interesting articles. I didn’t read too much of it—that kind of stuff isn’t my thing. But from what I can tell, it’s personal, pretty revealing, if you know what I mean.”

  Again, Brock had no idea what Marshall meant.

  “Here.” Pulling a pen from his shirt pocket, the older man scribbled on a napkin, then slid it across the table to Brock. He’d written an URL. “That’s the web address. You might check it out sometime. Funny how you think you know someone, and then you don’t.”

  Their meal arrived right after that, saving Brock from any further discussion.

  * * *

  Once she got home from her dinner with Roger Giles, Zoe felt dirty, like she needed a shower, and weary all the way to her soul.

  “What are you doing going out on a date with that man?” Mama Bell, alone for the first time since Shayna’s funeral.

  “It wasn’t really a date,” Zoe felt obliged to clarify. “Though I think the sheriff had high hopes. I let
him know romance wasn’t even a remote possibility. He seemed to take it well. I really wanted to pump him for information on where he is in the murder investigation.”

  “Hmm.” The older woman made a tsking sound. “Do you still plan to return to New York as soon as you can?”

  “I’m not sure,” she answered slowly. “I’m conflicted about both things. I love living up north, but I feel more at home here in Anniversary.”

  “And then there’s Brock,” Mama Bell pried none too gently.

  Zoe sighed. “Brock. I’m not even sure how to respond to that.”

  “You still love him, don’t you?” Rather than being judgmental, Mama Bell spoke in a soothing voice.

  Zoe almost crumpled. “I don’t know what I think.” Though she managed to lift her chin and try for nonchalance, the telltale quiver in her voice gave her away. Especially to someone who knew her so well. “I have my life and he has his.”

  “Has he forgiven you?”

  The question took Zoe by surprise. “I don’t know,” she answered. “But I don’t think so. We haven’t actually discussed it.” She took a deep breath. “It was so long ago I was hoping maybe he’d forget.”

  Even as she said the words, she knew the foolishness of them. There were some things one never forgot, especially those things that had been meant to be, like her and Brock. Hell, she hadn’t forgotten or even forgiven herself. If she couldn’t, then neither could he.

  “I’ve made such a mess of things,” she said sadly.

  “Everything doesn’t have to be so serious, you know.” Yet again Mama Bell surprised her. Zoe had been expecting something else—a solution maybe, or some of Mama’s famous advice.

  “Serious?” Drawing her knees up below her chin, Zoe sighed. “What do you mean?”

  “You’re acting like every kiss has to lead to something more. It doesn’t, you know. You can still have fun, share some memories, maybe even part friends, if you try hard enough.”

  Good advice. For anyone but Zoe and Brock. “We seem to have a love/hate relationship. I don’t see how we could ever be...just friends. And there really is no other alternative.”