by Robin Caroll
Hayden took another sip of coffee. Already cold. He grimaced. “Not yet. I really would rather not go down that road.”
“I understand, but she might’ve told him where she was going.”
“I know.” He stood and ambled to the counter. “Did you hear the latest rumor?”
“What?” Bella’s aqua eyes widened.
“MaryBeth is pregnant. At least, that’s what she told their Realtor. That’s why they’re looking to buy a house.”
Bella’s mouth twisted. “Could be Emily found out about the baby and she’s run off to nurse her wounds.”
“Maybe. It’s just not like her not to check in with Mom though.” He poured his coffee, then returned to sit across from Bella. “Mom sympathizes with her. Takes her side. I think she’d want Mom to know so she wouldn’t have to wallow alone.”
“Unless her pride’s hurt.” She held up a finger to stop him. “Think about it, Hayden. Everyone in town knows she’s been involved with Boyd. Now, MaryBeth and he are having a baby and buying a house. Everyone will soon know that the other woman has been dumped. That’s hard on a person’s pride.”
“She brought it on herself.” He let the coffee scald the sarcasm from his tongue.
“She did, but that doesn’t mean her heart hasn’t been trampled on and her ego smashed to smithereens.” Bella frowned, indentations forming between her eyebrows.
“You think she’s just off sulking?”
Bella shrugged. “Factor in her illness and who knows. I think you should at least ask Boyd. No, you don’t like him, and you don’t like having to ask him anything, but this is your little sister we’re talking about. They might’ve had a fight and he knows where she could be.”
Made sense. “I’ll run by in the morning before he leaves for work.”
Smiling, she lifted a single brow. “How’s Ardy taking it? I bet not talking to Emily is making her nuts.”
That was putting it mildly. “She calls me at least three or four times a day. Is all but demanding I eat supper with her every night, where she just mopes about.”
Bella grinned. “See, that’s another reason to find out where Emily is—the quicker she’s back in town, the sooner your mom will stop pestering you so much.”
“I hope.” He glanced out the window. A breeze swayed the branches of the trees lining the side of Bella’s property. Soon winter would be peeking her head around the corner. He liked winter.
“You know, Hayden, you should find a good lady and settle down. Grandchildren would really keep Ardy out of your hair.”
He choked on the coffee. “We’ve been over this already. Let it go.”
She grinned wider. “Nope. Not gonna let you off the hook so easily this time.”
The imp. Not for the first time he wondered why he had never felt a spark of romantic interest for Bella. She was beautiful in a subtle way, had the best personality ever, and she loved his mother. Yet, he’d never felt any attraction toward her. Just a deep affection. Why couldn’t he be attracted to her?
She snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Hello? Hayden? Anybody home?”
He met her stare dead-on. “Why did we never go out?”
Her face twisted and her gaze fell to the table.
What was with him? Had he just blurted his thoughts out loud? “I’m sorry, Bella. I was just thinking out loud.”
“About not being interested in me?”
“I mean, I love you dearly now. But I’m talking about when I first met you. I was just wondering why I never thought of you in a romantic sense. I mean—”
“Shut up. You’ve shattered my ego enough as it is. Don’t try to make up for it now, buddy.” Bella’s face reddened, but she flashed him a smile. “And you never were interested because then you couldn’t be my best friend.”
“But before you were my friend.
She shook her head. “We were destined to be friends, period. Anything else would’ve ruined our entire relationship.”
He would’ve hated that. “Very true.”
“Now that that’s settled, don’t think you can distract me from the subject at hand. Why aren’t you dating anyone?”
Because he didn’t find anyone who interested him that way but knew Bella wouldn’t buy that. “I’m waiting on the right woman.”
“You’ll probably never find her if you aren’t looking.”
“I’m always looking.” He grinned and lifted his cup. “What about you? Why aren’t you dating anyone?”
That telltale blush of hers marched across her face. “Because I’m waiting on a knight in shining armor to come sweep me off my feet.”
Hayden laughed, conjuring up the mental image. While amusing, he also felt a twinge of grief. Losing her friendship would hurt. Bad. “I don’t think there are any knights hiding in Hopewell.”
“You never know who might show up,” she teased with her easy smile.
There was that.
This was probably insane.
Rafe had reviewed the case until his brain hurt, not that it did any good. He still had nothing but questions.
After hours of driving in the bright October sun, there was no better time than now for answers.
He slipped out of his car and strode across the parking lot. The borrowed GPS had directed him right to the police department’s front door. Adrenaline pushed him inside.
Welcome to Hopewell, Louisiana.
Excitement thrummed through him as he made his way to the counter splitting the reception area from the rest of the building. The stench of coffee left on a burner too long greeted him.
He couldn’t stop himself from taking a mental inventory of the room. Leak-stained ceiling tiles . . . paint peeling off the cinder-block walls . . . cracked linoleum floor. The reek of stale cigarette smoke filtered through the recycled-air system, even though the sign over the counter clearly stated a no-smoking policy.
“Hayden Simpson, please.” Rafe made direct eye contact with the uniformed officer perched behind the counter, even though the heat in the building suffocated him, cinching his tie until it felt like a noose. Maybe he should’ve foregone the bureau’s acceptable dress code.
“May I ask what this is regarding?” The officer couldn’t be more than twenty-two or three, but already lines wrinkled the corners of his eyes. His gaze traveled up and down Rafe’s frame.
Reaching into his pocket, Rafe withdrew his badge and flashed it at the man.
His weighted eyes widened. “You’re FBI?”
Rafe nodded and pocketed his badge. “I need to speak to Mr. Simpson. If you’ll tell him I’m here . . .” Maybe this one lead would pan out.
It’d better—he had nothing else.
“He’s not here.”
He glanced at the clock on the wall—a few seconds away from four thirty. Was he out on a call? Rafe wasn’t up-to-date on the policies and procedures of small-town law enforcement. “Will he be back in the office today?”
“Nope.”
Rats! If only he’d been an hour or so earlier, he could’ve talked with Simpson. “Okay. I need to find a hotel. Can you make any suggestions?”
The officer laughed. “Agent, we only have one motel. It’s right on Main Street. Hang a left out of the parking lot and go about a mile or so.”
Rafe nodded. “Thanks. What time does Commissioner Simpson get here?”
The officer shrugged. “Depends. Oh, wait. Tomorrow’s Wednesday. He has breakfast over at the diner at eight every Wednesday morning.”
“And the diner would be where?”
“Pass the motel on your right, and the diner’s just a block down. Can’t miss it.”
Rafe hoofed it back to his automobile. At least the suppressive heat from the station didn’t dog him outside. He started th
e car and drove back to Main Street.
Large trees lined the road, their bare branches bowing. People walked their dogs along the sidewalk. He only saw two cars on the road.
He passed what he assumed was city hall. The stone front of the building looked as if it had weathered numerous storms over the years. Little grooves had formed in the stones as the years flew off the calendar, as well as chips and nicks, but dying kudzu covered most of the building’s eyesores.
And he’d thought his new city was a mess. This place made Little Rock look like a vacation resort.
How a police commissioner of nowhere had anything to do with a case in the capital city of Arkansas was beyond Rafe, but he’d learned long ago not to make assumptions. Follow the trail of evidence . . . that’s how cases were solved.
And never more important to solve one than now.
He followed the officer’s directions until he saw the motel—it didn’t look like it would even rate two stars, but what choice did he have?—and whipped into the parking lot. The vehicle bumped and rattled over a pothole large enough to hide a motorcycle. He rolled to a stop, praying he didn’t have a flat tire, and stared at the building before him.
Slamming his car door, he headed into the motel’s lobby, expecting to find roaches crawling up the wall.
It wasn’t as bad as he’d imagined.
Rafe stood at the registration counter, waiting for the attendant to return. While he waited, he took stock of the motel’s offerings. Carpet looked like it’d been replaced in the last couple of years. Counter didn’t have scratches or grooves.
He glanced over his shoulder. Nice décor in the lobby—two wingback chairs and a love seat on an Oriental rug with a set of end tables, and a beautiful, if dark, matted photograph of the bayou framed over the catty-cornered-set couch.
Could be much worse.
“Thank you for waiting, sir.” The young lady with bright blue eyes returned to her position, stuffed a can of disinfectant under the counter, wiped her hands on her jeans, and smiled. “Now, how can I help you?”
“I need a room, please.” He knew the drill and pulled out his driver’s license and credit card.
“Okay. For how long?” Her fingers flew over the computer’s keyboard, her smile never waning.
“I’m not sure.” He’d have to see what Hayden Simpson had to say before he could determine how much field investigation he’d have to conduct, could take several days or even weeks. “Can I book for three nights now and let you know if I need to extend?”
She chuckled. “Sure. It’s not like we’re going to have a rush on rooms.” She took his credit card and swiped it while running through her spiel of the motel’s fine amenities—a free continental breakfast, location of the ice machine, and pool hours.
“Thanks.” He slipped the license and card back into his wallet.
“Here you go.” She handed him an electronic key in a paper sleeve with his room number written inside. “My name’s Daisy . . . if you need anything.” She smiled wider, if that was even possible.
Heat marched up the back of his neck. “Uh, thanks.” The unspoken invitation was there, but Rafe wouldn’t take the offering. He’d crossed his moral turpitude line once and wasn’t willing to go there again. Maybe he should just forget ever trying to become a SAC and become a monk.
He grabbed his stuff and headed to the end of the hall Daisy had pointed out. Once inside his room, he quickly unpacked his duffel, then opened his briefcase.
The room was standard motel fare, even though the décor was a bit higher standard than most. King bed that boasted a pillow-top, quilted cover. Plenty of pillows. Adequate computer desk, with a faux antique reading lamp. Flat-panel television. Another local area photograph framed on the wall.
At least the room’s color scheme wasn’t orange. Soothing blue and brown instead.
After setting up his laptop, he checked his e-mail, then typed up a quick notification to Hartlock that he’d arrived and sent it.
He laid back on the bed, staring out the window.
Hayden Simpson, how are you connected to my case?
Smiling, he reread the report. Initial numbers showed him leading. This was good. Very good. His advisors and managers were earning their generous salaries.
He flipped the page and stared at the smiling photo of himself—the one that screamed for people to trust him. They’d airbrushed his picture, removing all but the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes. Those, his advisor said, made him look wise and distinguished. Perhaps the expensive snake had been right. Looking at the ad now, he could see that persona coming out.
This was what he was born to do. If only his mother were still alive to see him now. She’d worked three jobs to put food on the table for him and his two brothers. Then later, to support her daughter-in-law and three grandsons. And for what? To put herself into an early grave?
The mesothelioma had taken a young man from three boys and a wife who needed him. Had the plant his brother worked for cared that they exposed him to asbestos? Did they bother to do anything for his sons or widow, financially or physically? Not hardly. After he died, his mother took in the surviving wife and three young boys. The family had taken the plant to court out of desperation. The company executives lied in the court proceedings, rendering a nonguilty verdict from the jury. After his mother died, his sister-in-law remarried and moved away. He never saw his nephews again. It was all the fault of that defense attorney . . . the one who’d swayed the jury not to hold the company responsible.
All he got out of the experience was disdain for the American justice system. What an oxymoron that was—nothing just about the legal system.
But he’d learned it wasn’t about the truth. It was about playing the game.
He’d enjoyed playing through the vast majority of his career. Now he sat on the fringe of getting what he’d always secretly wanted.
He shook off his thoughts and glanced back at the ad waiting for his approval. It was just another step toward his dream. He was a chosen leader. Had been picked to lead people and cultivate ideals. No one could stand in his way now.
No one.
Chapter Seven
“Trickery and treachery are the practices of fools that have not wits enough to be honest.”
BENJAMIN FRANKLIN
His heart crashed to the porch.
MaryBeth stood in the doorway, her belted robe worn like a shield against him instead of the chilly fall morning. “Can I help you, Hayden?” From her tone, all in the Simpson household were personae non gratae with her.
“Is Boyd here? I need to speak to him for a moment.”
“What’s this about?” Suspicion knotted her brow.
“Official business.”
She hesitated a moment before turning her head over her shoulder. “Boyd, honey, Hayden’s here to see you.” She nudged against the doorjamb.
Hayden didn’t want to have this conversation in front of her. Boyd probably wouldn’t be as forthcoming about knowing the whereabouts of his mistress with his wife standing right there.
Mistress and Emily . . . two words that should have never been in the same sentence together. Images of his little sister running around, sans her front tooth, in pigtails and ripped jeans filled his mind. He fought the groan. Dad would turn over in his grave. How badly Hayden had failed.
Boyd appeared behind MaryBeth wearing nothing but jeans and bed hair. “What can I do for you?”
“I’d like to ask you just a few questions.” Hayden darted his gaze to MaryBeth, then back to Boyd. “Privately.”
“Okay.” Boyd planted a kiss on his wife’s head as he maneuvered around her and stepped onto the porch, tugging a tee over his head.
She gave a little huff before backing into the house and shutting the front door.
The hi
nt of burning leaves flitted on the breeze.
Hayden stepped off the porch and took a deep breath before speaking. “I hate to come here and ask, but do you have any idea where Emily could be? She’s been missing for days.”
Boyd gave a cough. “Why would I know?” He blew on his palms.
Hayden fought the urge to curl his hand into a fist. Was this idiot going to stand here and play dumb? “Boyd, I know about y’all’s relationship.” Everybody in Hopewell knew. Neither Boyd nor Emily had been discreet.
“That’s over, man.” He shot a glance to the front door. “Me and MaryBeth . . . we’re having a baby.”
“I heard. Congratulations.” And condolences to MaryBeth. “But I’m wondering if you’ve talked with Emily.”
“I just told you we were through.”
Struggling to keep his breathing even, Hayden tried again. “I understand that. I was wondering when you told Emily it was over.”
Boyd shrugged. “Dunno. Can’t remember.”
“As of four days ago, Emily was still under the impression you were leaving MaryBeth to marry her. She told me herself.” And he still thought her naive in her belief.
“I never said I was gonna marry her, man.”
If only he didn’t wear the badge . . . Hayden would smack the smirk right off Boyd’s acne-scarred face. “When did you tell her it was over? When you told her about the baby?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Which was when, exactly?”
“A couple of days ago.” Boyd cleared his throat. “Saturday evening, I guess.”
Three days ago. “What. Did. You. Say. To. Her?”
Boyd glanced back at the front door again. “I told her MaryBeth was pregnant, so I had to try to make my marriage work.”
“And what did she say?”
“She cried a little. Screamed a lot. Said no one was gonna make a fool outta her.” Boyd grinned and shook his head.
“So she was upset?”
“Not really. More mad.” He ran a hand over his hair standing up at odd angles. “I don’t get it. I mean, I heard Marshall’d been nosing around her the past few weeks, so it wasn’t like she cared about me anymore.”
