Paulson spoke from close beside him, and his tone was as frigid as what coursed through Cal’s veins. “Do you have any idea,” he said “what was in the journals?”
“No.” Cal shook his head. “I didn’t read them.” Because it had felt too much like an intrusion. A violation. One he had no right to make. “But I know who wrote them.”
He looked up, met Ben’s icy blue gaze. “They were Carly’s.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
AINSLEY stared out the window of Ben’s police SUV as he pulled away from the hospital, where she’d just spent two hours waiting to have her ankle examined. The swelling at least wasn’t too awful – she had Callum’s first aid to thank for that. But she had been ordered to stay off of it as much as possible for the next few days. Needless to say, that put quite a damper on her plans to help search for Sabrina.
Not that she would be much use if she hadn’t twisted her ankle – it wasn’t like she was an expert tracker or knew the area well. But she’d wanted – needed – to do something other than just sitting around waiting for news.
Ironically, thanks to her injury, it seemed she was now destined to sit around waiting for news, just in a different location.
Thankfully, Ben hadn’t suggested that she was better off going home. She might have committed violence against his person if he had.
It comforted her somewhat to learn that Ben’s office already had bloodhounds out scouring the woods in the area near where Bree’s car had been found. And woods was an inadequate descriptor, considering it fell within Chattahoochee National Forest and Blood Mountain Wilderness. The area contained part of the Appalachian Trail, and was frequented by hikers and nature lovers from all over the world, particularly, as Ben reminded her, at this time of year. It was prime leaf-turning season, and turning leaves meant lots of tourists. The upside was that if Sabrina were lost in the wilderness, there was a chance that she would run across a trail or hikers who could help get her back to safety.
The downside was that she could have already run across one or more of those visitors on that lonely stretch of road the other night, and that their intentions hadn’t been so benevolent. Given the bloody shoe they’d found, Ainsley knew that Ben feared this might be the case.
But that didn’t explain the fact that – according to Cal, at least – someone had broken in to his shed over the weekend and stolen Carly’s journals.
Why? And who? Callum insisted that he hadn’t mentioned them to anyone but Sabrina. That didn’t mean that no one else knew, of course. Bree could have told any number of people, and so now Ben had to run down her friends and the other artists that worked at the gallery and anyone else she may have spoken with on Friday.
Because Cal left Friday early in the day and because Sabrina hadn’t disappeared until sometime that evening, there was even a chance that Bree could have gotten impatient and taken them herself.
Except that made no sense. Cal – again, according to him – told her about the box and offered to bring her the contents when he got back. Breaking into her boss’s shed, even if it had been Bree’s grandmother’s shed first, seemed like a really reckless plan. Even for Sabrina, who, Ainsley was forced to admit, had had more than her fair share of reckless plans over the years.
Given that her job required her to look for counterarguments and to examine every scrap of evidence with a fine-toothed comb, Ainsley was hesitant to make a connection. But the timing seemed more than a little coincidental. Cal told Sabrina he discovered journals and photo albums belonging to her late sister, and then both Bree and the journals go missing.
It was particularly worrisome considering that Carly’s murder had never been solved.
Ainsley turned away from the window, glancing at Ben’s stern profile. Shadows lurked beneath his summer blue eyes and his skin had that drawn look that came from sheer exhaustion. It was only to be expected, given the fact that he was leading the investigation into his sister’s disappearance. Ainsley knew that he loved Bree fiercely, even though she often exasperated him.
And he’d already lost one sister.
Ainsley stifled a sigh. Tension filled the car so palpably that she half expected the windshield to shatter from the pressure. Which was ridiculous, wasn’t it? They were cousins. Family. And while they’d never been as close as she and Bree – Ben was almost six years older, after all – they’d once enjoyed a fond, teasing relationship. Ben had been a carefree teen, all golden good looks and both academically and athletically successful. He’d been part of a stable, loving family whose roots were sunk deep in his hometown soil. He’d had a place, and it was a good one.
Until Carly’s death changed it all.
“Are you ever going to forgive me?” she finally asked.
He hesitated, and then glanced her way. “For not coming to visit until now? For not telling Elias to go to hell when he slapped that twenty on the table? For being a general pain in my ass? What exactly is it you’re seeking forgiveness for, Ainsley?”
But she wasn’t going to let him bait her. “You know what I’m talking about, Benjamin.”
His lips twitched slightly at her use of his full name, which she and Bree had always used when they’d wanted to annoy him. But then any hint of amusement fled.
“There’s nothing to forgive.”
“I know that,” she admitted “logically.” And lord knew her father and stepmother had told her that a million times. As had Sabrina. And the therapists she’d seen over the years. “But it still feels like I’m somehow responsible for tearing our family apart.”
“Because you found Carly’s body? That’s ridiculous.”
“No, because I saw Carly sneak out that night and didn’t say anything until it was too late.” She stared out the window, but didn’t notice their surroundings. Her mind saw only images from that night. “If I had, she might still be alive.”
“Bullshit,” Ben said with some heat. “Even if you’d told Gran, what do you think she would have done? Called out the police? Formed a search party? Carly had just turned sixteen,” he said. Then he hesitated before adding “and she was wild. It wasn’t like that was the first time she’d ever snuck out of the house to meet a guy.”
“But it was the first time one of those meetings proved deadly. And I saw him, Ben. I saw him in the shadows of the shed.” She caught her breath against the sharp stab of guilt. “And he killed her.”
Ben was quiet for several moments. “We don’t know that for sure. As an attorney for the defense, I don’t have to tell you that the evidence is circumstantial at best.”
“Who else, Ben? Yes, I could tear apart my own testimony in court, but who else?” She swallowed, the pain of the movement letting her know that she was dangerously close to tears. “Don’t tell me you still believe it was Grant. It wasn’t.”
Ben’s hands tightened slightly on the wheel, but he made an effort to relax them. And when he glanced at Ainsley again there was a hint of irritation in his eyes. “You were only twelve years old.”
“And therefore too young to know what I saw?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Ainsley swallowed. “Then what did you mean?”
He was quiet for so long that Ainsley thought he wouldn’t answer. “I meant,” he finally said “that it was a damn shame you had to bear the brunt of my parents’ grief and anger because you deprived them of an easier target. You were just a kid.”
“It wasn’t Grant that Carly met that night. I’m as certain of it now as I was at the time. The man I saw wasn’t black.”
Ben briefly closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, they were grim. “You want to know the truth, Ainsley? The ugly, unvarnished truth? I was glad that you stayed away. You and Uncle Thomas and Aunt Tyra and Grant. All of you. Because after some of the shock wore off and the grief backed down to just a dull ache, I was ashamed. Ashamed that it had been so easy for my parents – and me, if I’m going to be brutally honest – to believe that Grant w
as guilty just because Carly had flirted outrageously with him that night and he admitted to sneaking out of his hotel room. He had no alibi. He’d been seen walking along the road near the university, which isn’t that far from where Carly was killed. He was an unknown quantity, a stranger. And it seemed easier to believe that a stranger – particularly a black stranger, even if he was family by marriage – could be guilty of something so heinous rather than someone here in town. Someone who knew us, knew Carly. Someone she trusted enough to sneak out of Gran’s house to meet. It horrified me, after I’d had time to think about it, that I’d so easily fallen into believing that sort of racial stereotype. I liked Grant. So if anyone needs forgiveness here, it’s me. I’m more sorry than I can tell you about how everything went down.”
Ainsley’s throat burned even more painfully and she looked quickly out the window again. She wasn’t a crier, and it embarrassed her to find herself on the verge of tears. She hadn’t expected Ben’s confession – or his apology. It felt like, well, like that old cliché of a weight having been lifted. She’d been carrying the burden of the family rift on her shoulder for years.
Not to mention the guilt surrounding Carly’s death. She’d seen the killer – of that she was convinced – but couldn’t identify him. She only knew that it wasn’t Grant.
“Don’t expect the same admission from my mom,” he said, breaking the silence. “I’m afraid that she still holds onto the belief that your stepbrother raped and murdered Carly because she wouldn’t have sex with him and that you covered for him. It’s… comforting to her to believe she knows what happened, to believe she was in the right for questioning what you saw the way she did. The alternative is to admit that she wronged you and your family, and worse – that Carly’s killer is still unidentified. That’s intolerable to her.”
“Many people would rather cling to a belief, however erroneous, than admit that they may have been mistaken. It’s ego, but more than that I think it’s fear. There’s a sort of comfort in unproven belief, whereas the truth is often distinctly uncomfortable. It’s something I face in the courtroom all of the time. People are often willing to believe vague accusations or even outright lies as long as they coincide with their belief system.”
Ben slanted her a look. “Trying to convince me of the ethical necessity of your job again, are you?”
“No, because you know it’s the truth. That’s why you swore to uphold a document that proclaims people are innocent until proven guilty beyond a reasonable doubt.” She sighed. “But I didn’t come here to argue professional politics. Ben. The journals – Carly’s journals. It can’t be a coincidence that they disappeared at the same time as Sabrina.”
Ben pokered up, once again becoming Sheriff Paulson, the tentative camaraderie they’d established blowing away like dust. “We only have Elias’s word for it that there were journals, and that they were Carly’s. And that he told Bree about them before he skipped town.”
“Why would he make that up?” Ainsley asked even though she’d been thinking much the same thing.
“I don’t think it’s in the best interest of my investigation to discuss the whys and wherefores with Elias’s attorney.”
“I’m not his attorney,” Ainsley shot back. “I returned his twenty. And anyway, his main goal in soliciting my professional help was to get under your skin. I’d say it worked. What is it with you two, anyway?”
Ben’s lips pressed into a line.
“Fine, don’t tell me. But you have to consider that the photo albums are still there, so he wasn’t lying about that. And the window in the shed was broken from the outside. I can only wonder why someone would have taken the journals and not the albums, though.”
“The albums are heavier, and maybe – if Elias is correct about the timing – the barking dog scared whoever it was, so they took what they could carry easily. Or maybe they knew that the journals were… incriminating, somehow, whereas the photo albums weren’t.”
“Meaning that Carly wrote about her killer.”
“If the theory that the man she snuck out to meet that night is the one who killed her holds, then it’s certainly plausible.”
“That also means that her killer is still here. And that he might know Sabrina.”
“Or Callum,” Ben pointed out, his jaw clenching. “We’re here.”
Ainsley looked out the window. He’d pulled up in front of her hotel. She’d been so engrossed in their conversation that she hadn’t even realized they’d driven through the town square. She glanced around and could see the old county courthouse, which now functioned as a gold rush museum. Surrounding it were historic buildings, most dating back to the early eighteen hundreds, which housed restaurants, inns and shops of all kinds.
Including her aunt and uncle’s general store.
Her uncle had died several years ago – Ainsley sent flowers for the funeral rather than risk upsetting her aunt even more by showing up in person – but Aunt Denise still ran the shop which had been in her husband’s family for generations. Ainsley sighed. The main center of town wasn’t particularly large. She was bound to run into her aunt eventually.
“Do you need me to help you inside?” Ben asked.
“No. I can manage.”
He looked as if he wanted to protest, but nodded instead. She knew he was busy, and he’d already spent a significant chunk of time hauling her to the ER.
And she’d just callously pointed out that Carly’s killer might have been living under Ben’s nose this whole time, associating with his other sister.
It was enough to make her blood run cold.
“Ben, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Stop apologizing. You’re not telling me anything I haven’t already considered. I’ll have one of my deputies drop off your car and bring your bags inside.”
“Putting the service in public servant,” she said, grabbing her purse, which Ben had retrieved from her car before dropping her off at the emergency room. Ainsley hesitated, and then she leaned across the console, planting an impulsive kiss on her cousin’s cheek. He surprised her by wrapping an arm around her, pulling her closer for a tight hug.
“It’s good to see you,” he whispered into her hair.
Her damn throat burned again. “You, too.”
Before she got all weepy, Ainsley climbed out of the SUV, being careful not to put too much weight on her bad ankle. But before she could close the door, Ben called her name.
“Yes?”
He hesitated a second. “Be careful around Callum Elias.”
“Assuming I had any plans to see him again, why? And don’t think I didn’t notice that you avoided my earlier question.”
Ben’s lips thinned. “I mentioned he was a combat medic. He was stationed in Afghanistan. It’s… well, all I’ll say is that he hasn’t been quite the same person since he came back.”
“You knew him beforehand?”
“We played football together back in high school.”
“Are you saying he’s dangerous?”
“I’m saying be careful. If I get a break, I’ll call you later. Stay off your ankle.”
With that, he reached across the seat and pulled the door closed himself.
Ainsley watched him drive away. She considered his warning, and thought back to the impression she’d had that Cal was not the sort of man one wished to underestimate. She’d sensed a degree of lethality in him.
But he also seemed considerate. And he had helped her out when he really didn’t have to.
Ainsley wondered if that was her hormones speaking, because she couldn’t deny that there’d been an… attraction. He certainly wasn’t her usual type – Ainsley generally went for more polished, urbane men. Men like Jack, she thought ruefully, which made it doubly odd that she’d never developed at least a minor crush on her boss. However, there was no denying that Callum Elias was a very, oh, virile man.
But virile or not, the only thing that really interested her about Cal right
now was the photo albums and journals he’d found.
Had he really not read them? He had to have read just a little bit in order to ascertain whose they were. And what about the photo albums? She vaguely recalled Carly carrying around a camera the summer prior to the one in which she was murdered, snapping pictures of all sorts of things, occasionally even Ainsley and Sabrina. She’d fancied herself a budding photographer, and if Ainsley remembered correctly, she’d actually been pretty good. Those were the days before phone cameras and Instagram, so she’d kept her photos in physical albums.
Ben hadn’t even let her see them. He’d whisked them away as possible evidence. From a legal, investigative standpoint, he had every right to do so.
From a personal standpoint, it was frustrating as hell.
Dangerous or not, she would have to find a way to talk to Callum Elias later, away from her cousin’s prying ears. She wasn’t content to sit idly by while Ben horded all of the evidence to himself. If there was one thing she’d learned as a defense attorney, it was to investigate things independently. Not that she mistrusted Ben, but…
But.
Ainsley sighed, realizing that it wasn’t going to be easy to throw off seventeen years of hurt and anger and family drama just like that. She believed Ben when he said he was sorry, but she also thought that his close ties to the investigation – and his antagonistic relationship with Cal – might be clouding his judgment where the latter was concerned. Ainsley would pump the combat medic turned gallery owner for information, and draw her own conclusions.
Turning, Ainsley looked at the front of the hotel. Painted a deep red, it dominated the corner at this end of the square, the rocking chairs on its front porch lending it an air of southern welcome. Cornstalks tied to the posts indicated the season, as did the pumpkins piled on a bale of hay and the scarecrow guarding the flower bed. She hobbled carefully up the shallow steps and pushed open the door, glad that she wasn’t trying to drag her luggage along with her. She was already out of patience with the limitations imposed by her bum ankle, and despite what she’d told Ben, locomotion wasn’t all that easy. For a woman who was used to striding along courthouse corridors, consciously projecting confidence with every step, it was lowering to appear so ridiculous. She was only glad ADA Daniels couldn’t see her now.
The Southern Comfort Prequel Trilogy Box Set Page 35
