“Good afternoon,” he said as he approached her.
She glanced at him and smiled. “Good afternoon, Mr. Carson.”
“May I join you?” he asked.
“Would you like a cup of tea?”
“No, thanks. But I’d like to talk to you, if you have time.”
“Won’t you sit down.”
He joined her at the table, taking the seat across from her. “You want to help Jordan, don’t you?”
“Yes, certainly.”
“You know that she’s considered the most likely suspect in Dan Price’s murder.”
“Yes, I know, and it’s absolutely ridiculous.”
“Some people believe she not only murdered the senator, but also her first husband, her father, a former boss and even your son.”
Darlene eyed him speculatively. “I think I know where this is going. Roselynne told me that you asked her for permission to have Wayne Harris’s body exhumed and an autopsy performed.”
“She refused,” Rick said. “Powell’s thought if an autopsy proved Mr. Harris died of natural causes—”
“I’m sure he did. And I know, without a doubt, that Robby Joe died from injuries he received in the car wreck and that the wreck was an accident.”
“If we could prove—”
“You can,” Darlene told him. “I had what was left of the car inspected thoroughly at the time. I had planned to sue the manufacturer if the accident had been caused by any type of default. There was none. So you see, if your theory is that there might have been tampering, there wasn’t.”
“Do you still have that report?” Rick asked.
“Yes, I do. And if you believe that it’s possible Robby Joe was drugged or poisoned and his condition either caused the wreck or the wreck was a cover-up, then an autopsy might prove otherwise. Is that right?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Then you have my permission to exhume Robby Joe’s body and have an autopsy performed.”
“No!” Jordan cried.
They turned and stared at Jordan standing in the doorway, a stricken expression on her face.
“Yes,” Darlene said. “You didn’t kill Dan or anyone else. Certainly not Robby Joe. If allowing them to do an autopsy will prove he wasn’t murdered, then let them do the autopsy.”
“No. You don’t have to do this.” Jordan came into the room, her gaze searing Rick with her barely restrained anger. “I thought I told you not to ask her. I believed you understood—”
“Don’t blame Mr. Carson.” Darlene rose to her feet and held out her hand to Jordan. “He didn’t ask me. I made the offer because I want to help you, because it’s what Robby Joe would want me to do.”
Chapter 29
During the next few days, Rick came to understand something important about Jordan, something he had sensed about her for weeks now. The lady had an uncanny ability to hide her true emotions. Although she had been angry with him since this past Thursday and was still upset with him, she played her part in their public charade. But in private, she barely spoke to him. He could deal with her coldness even if it did piss the hell out of him. What he had real difficulty dealing with were his doubts. Jordan’s reluctance to have Robby Joe Wright’s body exhumed worried him. Did that mean she had something to hide, that if an autopsy was performed on Robby Joe, it would reveal that he had been drugged or poisoned?
When Devon had learned that Darlene had given Powell’s permission to have her son’s casket unearthed, he had reacted just as Rick had thought he would, with a great deal of hostility, all of it directed at Rick. But committed to their plan of trapping Dan’s killer, Jordan had defended Rick to Devon and the others, pretending she agreed with Rick.
Considering Jordan’s reluctance to have her former fiancé’s body exhumed and her devotion to Devon, was it possible that Jordan either knew or suspected that Devon had killed Robby Joe? And Dan? Would she really have covered up for him over the years, time and time again? Rick didn’t want to believe that she was capable of either murder or of protecting a friend she knew was a killer.
It was possible that she opposed the exhumation only because, as she had told him, she thought it would be a difficult ordeal for Darlene.
He wanted to believe her. God, how he wanted to believe her.
With Darlene Wright’s permission, Powell’s had set the legal wheels in motion to have Robby Joe’s casket removed from the cemetery and taken to the Powell agency’s lab in Knoxville. Darlene’s only requests were that she be present for the exhumation and that before the reburial, they would have a private ceremony at the local funeral home chapel.
Rick didn’t understand why she would want to watch while her son’s casket was dug up and removed from the burial plot. But if that’s what she wanted, so be it. He suspected that Jordan didn’t want to be there, on the scene, but she wouldn’t allow Darlene to go to the cemetery without her.
If he had thought he could talk Jordan out of going, he would have tried; but when it came to family obligations, she always stood firm. There had been no use wasting his breath.
While Jordan and Rene went over Tuesday morning’s mail, Rick left Nix Elliott at the study door to keep watch while he took a break. Although he had come to the conclusion that Jordan was in no real danger, that all the phone calls and letters had merely been attempts to take suspicion off Jordan, guarding her twenty-four/seven was now part of the deadly game they were playing.
The cold, silent wall that Jordan had erected between them when they were alone bothered him more and more each day. And Jordan damn well knew it.
Just as he opened the door to the kitchen, intending to get a cup of coffee, his phone rang. When he noted the caller—Griff Powell—he answered immediately.
“Everything is set for the exhumation,” Griff said, not bothering with any preliminary greetings or small-talk. “This afternoon. Three-thirty.”
“It’s a forty-five minute drive,” Rick said. “The cemetery is a private family place, out in the country, on land that’s been in Mrs. Wright’s family for generations.”
“I take it that you haven’t been able to persuade Mrs. Wright not to be there when they bring up the casket.”
“Nope. I’ll be driving her and Jordan and Devon Markham to the cemetery.”
“The body will be taken directly to Knoxville, to our lab at headquarters. We’re bringing in two retired medical examiners to oversee our doctor’s autopsy. I’m asking for a rush job on this. Hopefully, we’ll have some answers in days instead of weeks.”
“The sooner the better,” Rick said. “Mrs. Wright insists on a private ceremony before the reburial. She’s already made plans with the local funeral home to provide a new casket. I think it’s a bad idea having a second funeral, no matter how small and private. It’ll be difficult for Jordan and for Mrs. Wright.”
“If the autopsy indicates that any factors, such as drugs or poison, or an injury not likely to have occurred in the car wreck, led to Robby Joe Wright’s death, Powell’s will have to turn over that information to the proper authorities.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Watch your back,” Griff told him. “You’re the bait in the trap. If the killer comes after you, you’re at a disadvantage because you don’t know for sure who the killer is or exactly when he or she will strike.”
She watched him as he stood there on the patio, his cell phone to his ear. Who was he talking to? His boss? Or had someone from the hospital called to give him a report on Maleah Perdue, who was supposed to be released tomorrow? Perhaps the caller was a woman, someone he had known in the past? He was quite handsome and rather charming when he chose to be. There were probably numerous women in his past.
Even though she knew that Jordan would never find anyone to replace Robby Joe, she could be tempted by broad shoulders and piercing brown eyes. After all, she was only human. But surely Jordan realized that Rick Carson was no different from other men.
They couldn’t trust him.
She should know by now that I will take care of everything, as I always have. I’ll protect her, no matter what the cost. I’ll even protect her from herself.
He doesn’t love you, Jordan. He may want your body, but sex isn’t love. Why can’t you see him for what he is? He’s a user. He’ll toss you aside once he’s finished with you. He will break your heart.
If I don’t stop him.
The Jernigan Cemetery, atop a hill outside the small town of Jernigan Crossroads, Georgia, looked down over green fields in three directions and thick woods to the north. The oldest headstone dated back to 1812. Darlene had informed them that the couple buried beneath the stone marker were her father’s ancestors, one of the first families to settle in the area.
“Jernigan Crossroads was named for Ezekiel Jernigan,” Darlene had told them, quite proud of her heritage.
On the drive over from Priceville, the sky had turned dark as rain clouds moved in, but not a drop had fallen. Jordan hoped that the rain would hold off until after the exhumation.
It had been a year since she and Darlene had been here at the family cemetery where Robby Joe was buried. They usually came once every year, on Mother’s Day, which was Decoration Day at this cemetery and many others throughout the South. This year, they had arranged for flowers to be delivered, but had stayed away because the press had been following Jordan’s every move. Even today, a couple of reporters had somehow found out what was happening and were already here waiting for them.
Jordan leaned over and whispered to Darlene, “Are you sure about this? If you’ve changed your mind—”
“I haven’t. The autopsy will prove that Robby Joe’s death was the result of an accident.” She grasped Jordan’s hand. “As for being here this afternoon…I have to be. I feel that if I’m here, Robby Joe will understand that I would never disturb his rest without a very good reason.”
Jordan swallowed hard, determined to stay strong. When they made their yearly pilgrimage to Robby Joe’s grave, Darlene always cried. Jordan didn’t.
Rick pulled the Mercedes up behind the patrol car that was parked on the gravel drive circling the small cemetery. A spit-and-polished young deputy leaning against the side of the hood snapped to attention.
“If y’all will stay put, I’ll see if I can get rid of those reporters.” Rick opened the car door.
“Wait,” Jordan called. “They aren’t likely to leave just because you tell them to, and right now, they’re not rushing toward us, so don’t create a scene.”
“Okay. Whatever you want.”
Whatever I want? I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to watch while that big, loud backhoe digs into the earth, going deeper and deeper with each lunge until Robby Joe’s casket appears. I don’t want to see the casket. I don’t want to think about the day Robby Joe died or the day we buried him or the fact that he’s not in that casket, not really. Only what remains of his body is inside the casket. He’s gone from me forever. He’s in a better place. Isn’t that what the minister had said at his funeral? Robby Joe’s soul is now in heaven.
“They’re waiting for word from you, Mrs. Wright,” Rick told her as he opened the back door and held out his hand to assist her.
She looked up at him, her eyes damp with tears, and took his hand. “Thank you.”
Jordan emerged from the car, but when Rick offered her his hand, she refused to touch him. Devon got out last and immediately slipped his arm around her waist. She could accept Devon’s tender concern, but not Rick’s. She couldn’t explain why she felt the way she did, but somehow having Rick here today didn’t seem right. Even though she wasn’t sure how she felt about him, she did feel something— something powerful—and feeling that way seemed like a betrayal of her love for Robby Joe.
“I can go with Darlene,” Devon told her. “You should stay here.”
“He’s right,” Darlene said. “If you don’t want to—”
“My place is with you,” Jordan said. “I won’t let you go through this alone.”
In her peripheral vision she noticed Rick glancing her way. She had gotten over her initial anger with him rather quickly, but she still held him at least partially responsible for their being here today.
“Please, tell them to begin,” Darlene said to Rick.
He nodded and then spoke to the deputy who held up his hand and signaled the workers. The roar of the small backhoe’s engine shattered the gentle stillness enveloping the cemetery. Flocks of birds perched in nearby trees, startled by the racket, fluttered into the sky and flew away.
Jordan moved to Darlene’s side, then reached out and took her hand. They stood there together and watched as the machine dug into the grave, scooped up a shovel of earth and dumped it behind Robby Joe’s headstone. As the process continued, shovel after shovel of dark, rich Georgia earth excavated, Darlene wept quietly, her slender shoulders quivering. Jordan felt immense pity for Robby Joe’s mother. For Darlene, the agony of his loss always seemed as fresh and painful as the day they had buried him. But it wasn’t like that for Jordan. Odd that she only now realized how on their visits to his grave the past few years, she had thought only of consoling Darlene, not once thinking about her own grief and her own great loss.
She had loved Robby Joe with youthful passion. So many of her dreams had been wrapped up in the fantasy of the life they would share. Their home. Their children. Their perfect happiness.
Emotionally buried in the past with her first love, she had married twice, both times to men she hadn’t loved, not the way a woman should love her husband. She had gone into both marriages believing they could protect her from ever being hurt again. But by barricading herself against pain, she had also cut herself off from the joy of truly loving again.
Oh, Robby Joe, I loved you. A part of my heart will always belong to you.
The backhoe engine shut off. An eerie silence echoed on the warm spring breeze. Two men with shovels walked over to the gaping hole in the ground and removed the last few inches of earth covering the casket. Then they moved aside as the mini-crane wheeled off the gravel road, onto the thick, green grass, and pulled to a stop by the open grave.
Darlene keened softly. Jordan squeezed her hand.
Once the casket had been raised, four men who had been standing near the large dark truck parked in front of the backhoe approached the dirty, age-stained casket nestled in the grass.
“Those men will load the casket onto the truck and take it directly to the Powell lab in Knoxville,” Rick explained.
Darlene broke away from Jordan and ran toward the casket. She laid her shaky hand atop the damp, faded lid. “We’re doing this for Jordan. I’ve taken care of her for you and she’s taken care of me. Forgive us for disturbing you. I promise that we’ll bring you back here soon and then we’ll all be at peace again.”
Jordan walked slowly toward Darlene. Once at her side, she touched her back gently. “Are you ready to go now?”
Darlene lifted her hand from the casket, looked at Jordan, and nodded.
When she took Darlene’s hand in hers, she felt the moist, gritty earth that had transferred from the casket to Darlene’s palm and fingers.
A strange, foreboding tingle shivered along Jordan’s nerves.
Before they reached the Mercedes sedan, which had been Dan’s car, the two reporters, who had been taking photographs throughout the excavation procedure, made a beeline to Jordan. Rick rushed Darlene and Jordan into the backseat, then he and Devon faced the reporters.
“We’d like to ask Mrs. Price a few questions,” one said.
“Then what about you, Mr. Markham?” the other reporter asked. “Now’s your chance to tell your side of the story.”
“Get in the car.” Rick motioned to Devon.
“Are you running the show, Mr. Carson? Are Mrs. Price and Mr. Markham taking orders from you?”
“Leave us alone,” Devon shouted. “You have no right to harass us this way.”
Rick eased between Devon and the reporters. He turned his head sideways and reissued his initial order. “Get in the car. Now.”
Devon froze for a millisecond, then backed up, opened the driver’s side door and got in, leaving the door open behind him as he moved over into the passenger seat.
“How about you tell us what’s going on, Mr. Carson?” the younger of the two reporters asked, a cocky grin on his face. “Why dig up Robby Joe Wright?”
“Is Powell’s doing an independent autopsy?” The other reporter, middle-aged and stocky, lifted his camera and snapped a shot of Rick. “Tell me, what’s it like guarding a black widow? With her track record, aren’t you worried about becoming one of her many victims?”
“Is there a problem?” The young deputy walked toward the reporters.
“No problem,” they replied in unison, then backed away from the car.
“I have no statement,” Rick said. “Nor does Mrs. Price or Mr. Markham.” He slid behind the wheel and shut the door.
The reporters continued snapping shots of the car, of the empty grave, of the backhoe, and of the casket as it was loaded onto the truck.
Rick started the engine, backed up, and drove around the squad car and equipment blocking his way.
“Please, get us out of here,” Devon said.
“Y’all can take it easy,” Rick told them. “The worst is over.”
No, it’s not. He only thinks it is. Jordan knew that, at least for her, the worst was yet to come.
Chapter 30
Jordan didn’t realize she had left her bedroom door wide open until she heard Rene’s voice.
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