“The word I got when I checked in at the hospital was that he was stable.” Still unconscious, which was worrisome, but his vital signs were all basically good. When he woke, they could get some answers.
Ms. Becker shook her head. “Seems like we’ve had our share of bad luck on the square here recently. Let’s hope this is the end of that streak. Well.” She smiled again. “You two take care. I have a dinner date which I’m in danger of running late for.”
She hurried off, and Cal found himself running his hand down Ainsley’s hair, settling it low on her back. He recognized it for the possessive gesture it was, but couldn’t seem to give a damn.
“Do you need to call your dad?”
She nodded. “Do you mind if I use your phone? He’s probably worried.”
“Of course.” He pulled it from his pocket, handed it over. “Will he answer? I tend to ignore calls from numbers I don’t recognize.”
“He probably will, since he knows that my phone is out of commission. Plus the area code should let him know that…”
“Ainsley?” he said when she went pale, trailed off.
“I have to talk to Ben,” she said, and turned around.
“I take it you just thought of something? And here, let me have the phone. You can’t carry it and hold on to the crutch at the same time.”
“I think I know why my phone was stolen,” she said.
“Care to enlighten me?”
“Sure. I… Ben,” she said when he stepped out the door of the building. She glanced at Cal. “I’ll tell you both at once.”
“Works for me.”
Ben looked over and saw them, frowning when he noticed that they were walking toward him. “You forget something?”
“Ainsley remembered something,” Cal clarified, and then looked at Ainsley. “We should do this inside. You’re freezing.”
“Can we use your office?” Ben said.
“Of course.”
Cal held the door open for Ainsley, and then ushered them into the gallery, which would be closed for the next couple of days. He wasn’t risking any more “accidents.” Not to mention the fact that two of his contractors were out of commission.
He kept the office locked when he wasn’t in the store, and used his key to open it for the second time that day. Ben had wanted him to check to see if anything was disturbed, which thankfully it hadn’t been.
Cal pulled his desk chair around for Ainsley.
“It’s my phone,” she said as soon as she was sitting. “I think I know why it was taken. Cal asked if Dad would answer my call from his phone since he wouldn’t recognize the number, and I said he would recognize the area code. Which made me remember that Sabrina called me…” she pressed her fingers to her forehead “maybe not quite two weeks ago? She said that her battery died, so she was using a friend’s phone. I can’t even remember what we talked about. You know how she gets a random urge to call, and does so for no particular reason. Which is generally fine, but I was really busy preparing for the big case I just won, and I only half listened. And not for long at that. But I answered because I recognized the area code.”
“Okay,” Ben said. “Okay, that definitely gives us something to go on. I’m pretty sure that I can pull up the records on my phone. Hang on.”
He swiped his screen, typed, swiped again.
“Here we go. You think you can find the call in your log?”
“Yes.”
Ainsley took Ben’s phone, scrolled down the screen.
And scrolled.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t realize how many calls I field in a three week timespan. I… here,” she said. “I’m pretty sure this is it.”
Ben took the phone back. “I’ll just do a reverse search.”
He typed in the information, waited what seemed to be forever. And then finally, he frowned.
“You recognize the name?” Ainsley said.
“Yeah.” Ben nodded, his expression grim. “It’s the number for Crossings Winery.”
AINSLEY stared into the fire while she absently stroked a hand over Beaumont’s head, which currently rested on her thigh.
She glanced over when Cal walked into the room, carrying two cups of coffee, a bottled water tucked beneath one arm and holding a bottle of what looked to be ibuprofen between his teeth.
The cups were full, so he was watching where he was going, but when he looked up, met her gaze, something inside her settled. It was odd, since both her heart and her mind had been in a constant state of turmoil since she’d woken up to that phone call from Ben.
She felt… safe, she realized. And she wasn’t the type of female who needed a man to feel that way. Who needed a man, period.
But Cal, despite the fact that she’d known him such a short time, had been a rock at a point when she particularly needed a sense of stability. Ainsley was used to handling crises, but for the most part it was other people’s lives that’d fallen to bits, and they looked to her to help pick up the pieces.
This was the first time in a really long while that she felt… vulnerable.
And because she did, her instinct was to become a sort of steamroller, flattening everything in her path. To erect impenetrable shields around her emotions. It was the way she’d always operated, her modus operandi during periods of high stress. It allowed her to perform her job very effectively, but sometimes made it difficult to form close relationships with people.
But Ainsley realized that she didn’t want to keep Cal out. In fact, it was slightly uncomfortable for her to admit how very much she desired to let him in.
He sat both of the mugs on the table, handed her the water and then pried the lid off the ibuprofen. “Figured you could probably use some of these.”
“What about you? You can’t tell me you’re not sore after the accident.”
“I am, which is why I took a couple when I was in the kitchen.” He shook a couple into her palm, and Ainsley chased them with the water.
Cal snorted, nodding toward Beaumont. “Looks like you’ve garnered a willing slave.”
“Only one?” she asked as she exchanged the water bottle for the coffee mug. “I must be off my game.”
He shot her a look before sitting down on the opposite end of the sofa and pulling her feet onto his lap.
But Ainsley couldn’t maintain the lighthearted tone. Despite the unfamiliar sense of rightness she felt sitting here with Cal, she couldn’t forget what they’d just learned.
“I wish,” she said, wrapping her hands around the mug, absorbing some of its warmth for comfort. “That I could drive out to that winery and wring Tanner Cross’s neck.”
“You think he knows more than he’s saying?”
“I think that he acted like he could barely pick Bree out of a lineup when I mentioned her. But clearly she’s familiar enough with his place of business that she felt comfortable using the phone there for a casual conversation.”
“There are probably a dozen employees there,” Cal pointed out. “And didn’t you mention that Tanner said he’d been out of town for a couple weeks? He might not have been there when Sabrina visited.”
She stared at him. “I hate that you’re being more logical than I am.”
“That’s because you’re more emotionally involved than I am.” He took a sip of coffee. “Also, you’re a female.”
“After I bury your body in a shallow grave in the backyard, I’m going to order my slave here to pee on it. But you’re right – about my emotional involvement, not the predilections of my gender. But even eliminating Tanner Cross’s personal involvement, someone that works for him obviously knows Sabrina fairly well. That phone call came in around nine in the evening, which according to the winery’s website is after hours. Whatever employee she’s friendly with has to be one who’s trusted to have a key.”
“I’m sure Ben is checking into that as we speak.”
“I know.” She sighed. “But it’s driving me crazy, not knowing exactly what’s going
on. I feel like we’re so close to figuring out what happened to Sabrina. And maybe even Carly.”
Unexpectedly, tears sprang into her eyes.
When she felt the squeeze on her good foot, Ainsley struggled to keep the tears in check. When a few spilled over, she found a tissue being pressed into her hand.
She glanced at Cal.
“I figured you were probably going to break down eventually.”
“So you stuffed tissues in your pocket?”
He shrugged. “I wasn’t going to offer you my sleeve.”
She laughed, as unexpected as the tears. “God,” she found herself admitting. “I don’t know what I would have done without you over the past couple days.”
“Is that all it’s been? Seems like an eternity.”
But his expression was one of tenderness when he reached out to stroke his thumb over her damp cheek. “I’m honored,” he said “to have been able to be here for you. Even if it’s only to ice your ankle or pass you a tissue when you need it.”
“Shit,” she finally said.
“You can say that as much as you want, but pretty soon you’ll come to the same realization I have, that this is pretty much a done deal. I think you have a good point,” he said, changing the subject as if he hadn’t just casually dropped a verbal hand grenade right here on the couch. “About photography being the thread that connects this, I mean. That photo of Sabrina. What did it look like, again?”
Ainsley gaped at him, but shelved his offhand comment about their relationship as something to examine at another time. “Ah, Sabrina – or mostly her silhouette, at any rate – naked in the moonlight. Her arms were raised like this,” she sat down the coffee cup and demonstrated “so that it looked like she was cupping the moon between her hands. It’s a common enough concept, but this was really well executed.”
“You told me that when Ben had you walk through the night you saw Carly sneaking out of the house, that you thought she might have had her camera with her.”
“I can’t be sure. Not enough to swear to it.”
“Stop being a defense attorney for a minute, and go with your gut. And given the fact that you keep coming back to photography as a key, I’d say your gut is telling you that she did.”
“Okay.” She nodded. “Yes, I think she did. The fact that my aunt and uncle never found her camera is circumstantial, but I’d say it backs up that theory. Maybe the man who killed her took it.”
“I’d say that’s a good possibility. And you also told Ben that you were studying the pattern the moonlight through the lace curtains made on the floor. So it must have been strong that night.”
“A full moon,” Ainsley agreed, her heart beating a little faster. “We could research it to confirm, but… yes.” She nodded, seeing where he was going. “I think you’re right. So maybe Carly was sneaking out to take the same sort of picture?”
“I doubt she would have told her parents oh hey, I want to take some shots of myself basking in the moonlight, totally naked. That cool with you?”
“Yes,” Ainsley said. “God, yes. I can’t believe I didn’t make that connection.”
“Emotional involvement,” Cal repeated. “And I have faith you would have arrived at it eventually. So my question is: who would Carly have trusted to take those photos? Not that I think she was a prude about showing off her body – for obvious reasons – but because I know she was a stickler about the quality of her photography. Granted, she either used a self-timer or someone else actually took the shots, but either way, she trusted someone to be there assisting her. That says to me that this person was more likely an… associate, let’s say, as opposed to a lover.”
“Someone from the photography club.”
“Or someone she met through the contests she won, yes.”
“My initial reaction is to suspect Wesley Fisher – like you said, for obvious reasons. If he was the one to take that photo of Bree, it stands to reason that they had a closer relationship than they let on. He might have been the one who was with her in that abandoned store, which means he was in her company shortly before she disappeared. If they had a close relationship, it’s also likely that Bree would have mentioned the photo albums and journals. Again if he had something to do with Carly’s murder, he wouldn’t want those coming to light, provided she mentioned him in them. Or maybe he was simply worried that she had. He claimed to be away, hiking and doing his photography thing, but if that’s the case he has no way to account for the time period when your shed was broken into, or when we were run off the road. And it’s possible he could have snuck into the hotel, stolen a key, and let himself into my room. He had to know that Sabrina and I were close. But that doesn’t connect him to the phone call from the winery – unless there’s information we don’t yet have. And I get the impression that you don’t think those shelves fell over accidentally.” She paused for breath. “Do you?”
“No. I really don’t.”
Her heartbeat kicked up even further, and Ainsley leaned toward Cal. “Do you happen to have any of your old yearbooks?”
“Yeah, actually I do. My mom gave me a box of crap and insisted I take it after I bought this place. Hang on a minute.”
Ainsley lifted her legs so that Cal could get up, and as he walked out of the room again, she tried to organize her thoughts. If Wesley Fisher had been in the photography club with Carly, maybe the moon photo was something that they’d talked about back then. Maybe it was even an assignment – although Ainsley imagined the students were supposed to be clothed.
And if whoever was with Carly the night she was killed had seen Wesley’s photograph of Sabrina, maybe it brought all of that back? Had he perhaps wanted to… recreate Carly’s death and therefore went after Sabrina?
The thought made Ainsley sick, but she also knew that it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility. For some people, a murder – particularly of a sexual nature – was often an experience that they treasured, and even longed to repeat. It was that sort of sickness that drove a certain type of serial killer.
But that was getting ahead of herself. There was no indication as of yet that this person had killed anyone else – maybe not even Carly – although she would certainly suggest that Ben run a check to look for crimes which met that profile.
Not to mention the fact that he needed to look extra hard at employees of the winery that frequented the restaurant or had stayed at the hotel. Because that could explain how they’d seen the photograph of Bree.
Or shoot – employees that worked at or frequented The Tasting Room. Which probably opened up the suspect field even more. She’d almost forgotten that the winery’s in-town shop was located across from the gallery – and right downstairs from the hotel.
Beaumont sighed, stretching beside her, and Ainsley stroked the dog’s fur as she tried to consider any angle she might have missed. It would be helpful if Ben were more forthcoming about the other evidence he’d gathered, but then again she was used to working against law enforcement officials who didn’t want her to be privy to what they knew. It was just that this time, she and the police were operating on the same side.
Cal came back into the room carrying a large box, which he sat down on the floor beside the sofa.
“They’re somewhere in here,” he said. “Feel free to have at it. I’m going to refill my coffee. You need some?”
“No, I’m good. Thanks.”
Ainsley leaned over and pried apart the flaps of the box, which were labeled Callum, High School with an indelible marker. Lying on top was a football jersey, which Ainsley pulled out and shook, releasing it from its folds.
ELIAS #22
Ainsley remembered going to one of Ben’s football games when she was younger, and realized now that she must also have watched Cal play. It gave her a jolt, the fact that they shared a tie that she hadn’t even been aware of until now.
She turned the jersey over, looked at the name of the school, and then noticed what appeared to be a faint stain of some
sort on the front.
“My winning touchdown jersey,” Cal said, coming back to sit down beside her. “I caught the ball maybe a yard from the end zone and earned a broken nose during the tackle that followed. Bled all over that jersey. But I still managed to put the ball where it needed to be, and we won. I celebrated from my hospital bed.”
“Wait.” Ainsley huffed a laugh of disbelief. “I was at that game.”
“You serious?”
“Absolutely. My dad had some conference he had to attend, and I came to stay with my grandma for a week because I was on fall break. It’s the only game of Ben’s that I ever went to. Bree and I were totally grossed out by all the blood.”
Cal stared at her. “That’s just weird.”
“I’m in total agreement.” Ainsley folded the shirt again and set it aside before pulling out several sports trophies, various ribbons and paper certificates. A graduation tassel. She wanted to study each item, ask Cal about them, but time was of the essence.
Beneath his cap and gown, Ainsley finally located the yearbooks. Three of them. He’d attended a different school his senior year.
She handed two to Cal since he would be better able to know what he was looking at, and kept the other for herself.
“Let’s look at the photography club, see if we recognize any of the members. Or if you recognize them, anyway. I’ll mostly be looking for familiar names.”
Cal sat down his coffee and took the books, and then Ainsley opened hers, looking for the table of contents. She found the photography club, flipped to the right page.
And there was Carly.
It hit her, a solid punch to the gut that brought images swirling into her head even as nausea roiled in her stomach. The cloud of blonde curls, the winsome, flirtatious smile.
And Ainsley remembered – more vividly than she wanted to – how Carly had looked that morning, her hair floating like a macabre kind of seaweed in the water, tangling around Ainsley’s legs, her arms, binding her to her dead cousin.
The Southern Comfort Prequel Trilogy Box Set Page 53
