And if that were the case, Will wouldn’t be surprised if Sheriff Jones eventually turned up evidence that Alan had indeed played a role in Owen’s death.
That Alan took advantage of Brian Owen’s vendetta – as well as one of the credit cards the man had stolen – to create an opportunity to send Allie the flowers was no longer in doubt. An interview with Wesley turned up the fact that Wesley had revealed the cause of the scuffle that night at Stage Left when Alan questioned him about it.
Whether Alan was trying to prevent a potential reconciliation between Allie and Wesley, or simply wanted to add fuel to the fire so that Will would pass off the investigation of the grave robbery and Jimmy Owen’s death to him in order to concentrate on Allie’s situation, they wouldn’t know unless Alan decided to start talking.
For Will’s money, he was betting on fueling the fire. Not that Alan hadn’t genuinely been interested in Allie, but Will suspected he was interested in saving his own ass a whole lot more. He had firsthand knowledge that Will tended to be like a dog with a bone when he got his teeth into a puzzling case. And what better way to distract him than to offer another bone – this one involving his sister.
One of the house’s double garage doors started going up, jerking Will’s attention back to his present surroundings. As he watched, Camellia, golden brown hair rioting wildly from a knot on top of her head, came into view carrying a cardboard box.
He’d heard through the grapevine that she was selling the house, moving back in with her parents for a little while. Because there was still some question over whether or not her husband may have started the fire intentionally – not to mention whether or not he may have intentionally caused his own death – Will suspected the insurance companies were balking. The home might be comfortable, but it was also big, situated on a prime piece of real estate overlooking the marsh, and if Will had to guess, quite expensive.
He doubted she’d be able to keep up with it on her teacher’s salary.
Will sighed again. He felt like an asshole. Not to mention a voyeur.
The back hatch of a small silver SUV opened and she wrestled the box inside.
Forcing his leaden limbs to do his bidding, Will climbed out of the car.
“Camellia,” he said when he was within hearing range.
Cam swore with heartfelt creativity when she jumped and knocked her head on the hatch.
“I’m sorry,” Will said, feeling like an even bigger jerk. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Oh.” Color flashed into her wan cheeks before she gathered her composure. “No, that’s okay. I, um, don’t have my glasses on so I guess I didn’t see your car.”
She didn’t have any makeup on either, and – other than her very womanly curves – she looked about thirteen. Will thought that if he’d seen her like this the first time they’d talked he probably would have recognized her sooner.
Except for the swollen eyes. Red and puffy, they bore little resemblance to the clear hazel pair he remembered. He hated the fact that she’d been crying. He hated it even more that he felt partly to blame.
They stood there for a few more seconds, simply looking at each other. Will cleared his throat. “The reason I’m here –”
“I can guess.” The voice that had been so warm before turned waspish. “You probably want to know how much I knew, whether I was lying to you that day. The fact that I’m standing here in my garage and not sitting in a cell somewhere should tell you something. Although I’m surprised you haven’t already talked to your buddies on the SCPD about it.”
He had. Not because he suspected her, but because he’d been concerned for her welfare. But he certainly wasn’t going to say that now.
“Actually, I came to tell you how sorry I am.”
She didn’t seem to know what to do with that.
“The day I spoke to you,” he told her “I really was simply looking for information. I had no idea that I’d be kicking the proverbial hornet’s nest. And I hate the fact that you were stung.”
“Stung.” She squeezed her swollen eyes shut. “I guess you could call it that.”
“Look, I don’t want to cause you any further distress. I know this is a terrible time for you. I only thought…” Hell, he didn’t know what he’d been thinking. He hadn’t been. He’d been pulled here like one of those wheeled toys on a string. “I should go.”
“No.” Cam opened her eyes. “No,” she repeated more firmly. “I appreciate you taking the time. It’s been a… difficult couple of weeks.”
“I see you’ve mastered the power of understatement.”
A tiny smile tugged at her mouth.
“Would you like a cup of coffee?”
Will managed – barely – to contain his surprise. “I don’t want to trouble you.”
“I’ve been living on caffeine so there’s pretty much always a fresh pot brewing. And… maybe you wouldn’t mind offering me some information this time.”
His internal warning bells started ringing, but Will ignored them. “If it’s information that doesn’t compromise an ongoing investigation, I’ll be happy to tell you what I know.”
“I’m not going to ask you what you know about Tobias’s… alleged crimes. Not his professional ones, at any rate.”
Uh-oh. Will could see where this was going, but like that damn pull toy he found that he was unable to stop himself from being dragged into it. “Then coffee would be great,” his mouth said, while his brain declared him an idiot.
He followed Camellia through the garage door into a combination laundry/mud room. A hamper sat overflowing on top of the washer and a collection of small shoes tangled together inside a cubby that was neatly labeled Toby’s Shoes. There were similar cubbies with similar neat labels for other assorted items, including a particularly large one for sidewalk chalk, crayons and finger paints. A child’s framed drawing – reminiscent of the one he had taped to his fridge, though a far more elaborate composition that included what looked to be a unicorn – held pride of place on the wall.
If he hadn’t already known she was a preschool art teacher, Will decided he would have guessed.
“Excuse the mess,” Camellia said over her shoulder. “What with packing and… everything, housekeeping hasn’t exactly been my top priority.”
If she thought this was a mess, Will was glad she couldn’t see the floor of his room right at the moment.
“Do you… need any help?” he heard himself asking as they walked into the spacious kitchen. He knew she had parents, friends, but he didn’t like the idea of her being alone and burdened with the minutiae of daily life at a time like this.
She waved a dismissive hand, and then gestured for him to have a seat at the breakfast table while she went to the cabinet to take down a mug. “My mom and my aunt have been here around the clock and I finally sent them away last night with Toby so that I could start sorting through things. I love them, but I…” she swallowed audibly, and Will felt like a heel. “I needed to do this alone.”
And he’d interrupted her alone time. “We can do this another day.”
“No.” Her eyes were fierce as she turned around to look at him. “No. I need to know what happened so that I can begin to… deal with it. The blessed numbness of shock only lasts so long.”
And from the looks of things, the shock was beginning to wear off. He wasn’t sure she was as ready to hear his answers to her questions as she thought she was, and resigned himself to the unenviable role of messenger. He didn’t think she’d shoot him, but he figured the chances of her taking a real dislike to him were pretty high.
“I’ll tell you what I can.”
“Thank you.” Their gazes locked for a long moment, and then she turned back to the coffee pot. “How do you take it?”
“Black,” Will said.
“I guess I should have known,” she said. “The other cops I… spoke with all seemed to take theirs black, too.”
“It’s a cliché for a reason.”
&
nbsp; After dumping flavored creamer and a couple spoonfuls of sugar into her own mug – Will remembered that she had a sweet tooth – she carried them to the table.
A little coffee splashed out when she sat the mug in front of him, a drop of which landed on his shirt.
“Shit!” she said. “Stupid… I’m sorry. Let me get a paper towel.”
“No.” Will grabbed her wrist when she started to walk back toward the counter. “It’s alright. Sit down before you fall down.”
“I’m fine.” She glared at him, but then lowered herself into the chair opposite his. Her movements were jerky, clumsy. Will guessed that the caffeine she’d been running on wasn’t quite sufficient to keep her from eminent collapse.
“You keep telling yourself that. Have you eaten today?”
“Maybe.”
“Which sounds an awful lot like no.”
“I don’t remember, okay?”
Will stood up. “Stay there,” he said when it looked like she was going to object.
“This is my house,” she said, sounding affronted.
“And people have probably been walking on eggshells around you for the past two weeks.” And if he was any judge of human nature, that meant that she was probably about ready to explode and needed a handy target. Well, fine. He was used to being punched and kicked and even, on one memorable occasion, shot at. He could handle it. “So I’m not going to do that.”
He ambled over toward the counter, which was piled with the remnants of cakes and casseroles in foil pans and all of the assorted foodstuffs that neighbors and friends and family brought for death.
“I don’t want any of that,” she informed him. “I already told you I’m fine. Could you just sit down, please?”
“No.” He didn’t blame her for not wanting the food that no doubt reminded her with every bite that her husband was dead. He found a loaf of bread, located the toaster, and popped two slices in. Then he opened the refrigerator – saw even more casseroles – and dug around until he located some jelly. He was going to raid the pantry for peanut butter when he spotted a jar of cashew butter in the fridge. He looked at it suspiciously, but figured it would do.
He carried his booty back to the counter.
Will could feel Cam’s eyes boring into his back while he puttered around her kitchen, but he figured the fact that she hadn’t yet unsheathed her claws and attacked him meant that she wasn’t quite ready to explode yet.
He was sure the detonation would come at some point during their conversation, though. All the more reason to get fueled up.
Finding paper plates beside the toaster – a good idea on someone’s part, so that Cam didn’t have to worry about dishes – he doctored the two pieces of toast and then carried them to the table.
He sat down, picked up one of the pieces and began to eat.
“You… made yourself peanut butter and jelly toast?”
“Actually, it’s cashew butter,” he said after he’d swallowed. “Not too bad.” Since he’d caught her off guard, managing to defuse her anger long enough to get some food in her, he slid the plate across the table, silently offering her the other piece of toast.
She looked at the toast, looked at him, and then shook her head and took a bite.
“You have a unique way of handling people,” she said.
“Adds to my charm,” he told her, and felt a spurt of warmth in the middle of his chest when she smiled.
They ate in silence, Will sipping his coffee and watching her from the corner of his eye as she struggled to get the toast down. It confirmed for him that she probably hadn’t been eating much of anything. His grip tightened on the handle of his mug as he mentally condemned Tobias Abernathy to hell.
“Thank you,” she said when she’d eaten all that she could. Only a few pieces of crust remained, so he guessed that was as good as it was going to get.
“It’s the least I can do,” he heard himself saying. “Since it was my digging around that set all of this in motion.”
Her eyes darted away, staring out the bay window into which the table was tucked. Moss dripping from the live oaks which dotted the edge of the marsh swayed in the light breeze, while clouds sat like fat balls of cotton candy in the powder blue sky. But he didn’t think that Cam saw any of it.
“Do you think that I’d be happier if you hadn’t dug around? That I’d be happier in the dark about what my husband was allegedly doing?”
“I think you’d be happier if your husband wasn’t dead.”
She jerked her gaze back toward him. “If he hadn’t died in that fire I’d be tempted to kill him myself.”
“I generally don’t advocate homicide as a way for people to work out their problems, but I can’t say I blame you for feeling that way.”
“If it’s true, what they say. That he was trafficking in stolen antiquities. That he used the business his grandfather started and built as a means of profiting from the sale of things he had no legal right to, then that’s bad enough. How do I tell my son that his father was a criminal, a thief? But…”
She stared down at her coffee mug, clutched like a lifeline between her hands.
“I know that you… talked to… your sister-in-law.”
“Ex sister-in-law. I arrested her for driving while intoxicated.”
Her head jerked up. “But you asked her about her… relationship with Tobias. You had to have. I know the police in Savannah interrogated her because they thought she might have had something to do with his death, but the detective… the detective said they wouldn’t be pressing any charges at this time. That they didn’t have any evidence against her. But they wouldn’t tell me anything else. And I have to know. I have to know how long it was going on.”
Will sat down his empty mug, pinched the bridge of his nose. “I know you think you’re ready to hear this now, but I don’t know if that’s such a good –”
“Oh no. No, no.” Trembling now, she sat her own much fuller mug down with an audible thunk. Coffee went flying, but this time she didn’t seem to notice, and Will wasn’t about to point it out.
“You don’t get to determine what I am and am not ready for. This is my life.” She jammed her thumb into her chest. “He was my husband.” Her voice rose with every word. “And aren’t you the one who said that people have been walking on eggshells around me? Well, you’re right. They have. And I’m sick of it. I deserve to know the truth.”
Will sighed. Apparently it was time for the detonation portion of the program.
Nothing Victoria told him that day was officially on record, so telling Cam what he knew wouldn’t breach any professional ethics. But on a personal level, it was going to suck.
“Okay.” He kept his own voice level. “Although hearsay might be a better term than truth. I only have Victoria’s word for it, and I’d take that with a grain of salt.”
“Fine,” she said, straightening her spine. “Just tell me. And don’t gloss it over.”
Will told her. Although he did gloss it over, just a little, feeling that instead of Victoria said they fucked like rabbits all night, that they started an affair was a sufficient description.
He watched Cam’s face grow paler and paler as she began to realize just how long that affair had been going on.
She squeezed her eyes shut. “I can’t believe I didn’t know. That I didn’t suspect. Don’t they say that the wife always knows? Women’s intuition and all that? Apparently my intuition is defective.”
“Some people are really good liars,” Will said. “And some people, when they love, when they trust, don’t believe that the person they love would ever do things that they would never consider doing themselves.”
She laughed, entirely without amusement. “So in other words, love is blind? Or maybe I’m just a fool.”
“You’re not a fool, Camellia. You –”
She held up a hand, palm out. “Stop. Just… stop.”
Will stopped. “I’m sorry,” he told her.
“No, I as
ked for it, didn’t I.” She looked out the window again, then back at him. “And I don’t mean to be rude, but I’d like to be alone now.”
Will figured as much. He stood up, wiped away the spilled coffee, and cleared their mugs and plates from the table.
“I’ll show myself out.”
She nodded.
“If there’s anything I can do…”
“I have your number.”
Well then. “Take care.”
Will went back out through the laundry room, glancing at a little boy’s happy painting of castles and unicorns.
Too bad, he thought as he shut the door, that real life so often sucked.
ALLIE walked out onto the stage, and saw Bran sitting in one of the wing-back chairs they used as props.
“Hey.”
He looked up from the piece of paper he’d been reading, beckoned her over. “Hey yourself.”
She crossed the stage, perched on the arm of the chair. “What are you reading?”
“Letters,” he said, then looked up at her quizzically. “I thought you’d read these already.”
“Why… oh,” she said as she noticed the box sitting on the floor at his feet. The box she’d taken from the attic and – given how chaotic her life became at that point – promptly forgotten about. “No. It had some sort of trick locking mechanism and I couldn’t figure out how to get it open. But there are letters?” Delight colored her voice. “Do any of them mention Eugene?”
Bran’s mouth quirked into a lopsided smile. “You could say that. Here.” He handed over the letter he’d been reading. Allie took it carefully by the corners so as to not smear the ink or tear the yellowed paper.
My Dearest Eugene…
Allie read through the poignant, eloquent declaration of affection returned, of secret trysts in moonlit gardens, of longing glances across crowded rooms. Eugene, it seemed, had been heavily embroiled in a clandestine love affair.
Admit One (Sweetwater Book 2) Page 30
