Traceless

by Debra Webb

  Violet made a sound of disbelief. “Why, that’s preposterous. People know that reporters will make a story out of anything.” Justine was surely making too much out of this. She couldn’t know what Clint Austin was up to … unless someone like Ray Hale had told her. Ray knew Austin better than anyone. Justine and Ray were friends.

  Justine’s gaze lingered on her glass a moment but then rested heavily on Violet’s. “All he has to do is dig around until he finds a single shred of real doubt to pounce on. He might not be able to change the fact that he was convicted, but he can try all of us in the media, maybe even crucify someone. All he needs is one loose end to pick at.”

  Uneasiness crept along the length of Violet’s spine beneath the expensive silk of her dress. “I’m sure you’re giving Austin far too much credit, Justine.”

  Justine sighed. “Maybe so, but he must think he can convince somebody, since he demanded to see the case files on Heather’s murder investigation.” Justine sent Violet a knowing look. “He wants to see if the police made any mistakes. If I were you,” she pressed quietly, “I would make sure Keith stayed away from Troy. He’s teetering on an edge that could destroy him, and anyone standing too close could go down with him.”

  Justine was right. Violet should find Keith. “Excuse me.”

  Before Violet could get away, the French doors on the far side of the room opened and Marvin Cook stalked in carrying a can of beer. God, Violet could just die. How tacky. Why couldn’t he drink her bottled beer? The man had absolutely no class. He cut through the crowd and headed her way as if she’d drawn him there. Perfect.

  “Hey, Marv,” Justine said.

  He glanced at her. “Justine.”

  Violet was surprised at the indifference in his tone when he said the other woman’s name. Most of the men in town loved having Justine’s attention even for a fleeting instant. Then Marv’s gaze shifted to Violet. She hoped he hadn’t brought his wife. Violet had disliked Jean Cook since she showed up at one of her Christmas parties and bragged about her new tattoo. She might be the most popular hairstylist in town, but Violet couldn’t tolerate her trashy ways when the woman got a little alcohol in her.

  “Violet, we have a situation.”

  Oh, God. “What do you mean?”

  “Troy came out back mouthing off and got everybody riled up. The whole bunch is pretty drunk—”

  “Get to the point, Marv,” she snapped. If a single one of her rosebushes was damaged, she would have someone’s hide.

  “Anyway, Troy, Larry, and Perry just took off. Said they were going to finish this business with Clint Austin.”

  Marv’s announcement combined with Justine’s recent warning sent fear surging through Violet. “Where’s Keith?”

  “Well, that’s the other thing,” Marv explained, “Keith went to try to stop ’em before somebody gets hurt.”

  “Find Ray,” Justine ordered.

  Thank God. Violet was inordinately happy for Ray’s attendance and for Justine’s quick thinking.

  Marv shook his head. “He had to take Sarah home. Left about a half hour ago.”

  “Call him or Mike,” Violet ordered, then grabbed Justine’s arm. “We have to go over there.”

  Justine set her glass aside. “I’ll drive.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Valley Inn 10:10 P.M.

  What was she missing?

  Emily stared at the pages spread across the bed. She’d been juggling information and names for the past three hours. Kept her mind occupied.

  You just needed someone to blame besides yourself.

  She blocked Clint Austin from her head. Focused on the pages.

  These were the names of all the people who had been aware of Emily’s plans that night and a few others who might be somehow connected, like her father and Principal Call. Each name had two columns, “Negatives” and “Positives.” The “Negatives” column, on the one hand, represented reasons that person might have had for hurting Heather or for simply being in on the plan for that night. The “Positives,” on the other hand, were all the reasons that same person wouldn’t possibly want to hurt Heather.

  For more than ten years Emily had lived with the idea that Heather was murdered in her stead.

  If Austin wasn’t the killer, then the murder hadn’t been about Emily. It was about Heather.

  Marv, on the one hand, had gotten angry with Heather a few weeks prior because she’d gone back to Keith. Keith, on the other hand, had gotten superjealous over her dating Marv. None of which, as far as Emily could recall, had really been investigated.

  The police had their murderer; why look any further?

  That concept settled inside her like a block of ice.

  Focus on the list.

  Violet. She’d wanted to be captain of the cheerleading squad. She’d wanted Keith. Heather’s death ensured the path was wide open for both.

  Cathy … well, she was just jealous of Heather’s popularity. Everyone had loved Heather the best out of their tight little group. Heather had simply been the most popular girl in the entire high school.

  Megan had nothing in the “Negatives” column. Same with Principal Call.

  Ed Wallace: “A secret with Fairgate.” There was no reason Ed would have wanted to hurt Heather. There was only the business with Fairgate.

  Fairgate. “Secrets. Lies. Protect his interests.” All those things were listed in his “Negatives” column.

  Justine … nothing.

  Misty … weird, which didn’t really count.

  Austin … nothing. There was no reason whatsoever that he would have wanted to hurt Heather.

  If Emily was not the intended victim, he had no motivation.

  Why hadn’t the police considered this theory? Chief Ledbetter hadn’t been a fool. Ray Hale—Emily paused—maybe she should add him to her list. But why? Ray had known Heather, but he was three years older. It wasn’t like they’d hung out together. Every single person who had known Heather couldn’t be a suspect. Otherwise Emily would be adding Mike Caruthers and God only knows who else.

  Emily crawled around the papers and off the bed. She paced the small room. If Clint Austin wasn’t the murderer … then Heather’s killer was still out there. Just like Clint said.

  That subzero sensation sank all the way to Emily’s bones.

  If that was the case, Clint would be a target … she would be a target. He’d said that, too.

  A rap on the door nearly sent her jumping out of her skin.

  She took a moment to reclaim her breath.

  Maybe her father had decided to make amends. No, her parents wouldn’t be out at this hour.

  Clint Austin. Emily didn’t want to see him again … yet.

  She peered out the peephole in the door.

  But it wasn’t Clint Austin.

  She drew back, gathered her courage, and opened the door, anticipation rising.

  “Good evening, Miss Wallace. I’d like a moment of your time if you’re not too busy.”

  Sidney Fairgate.

  She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. The idea that she should be afraid crossed her mind, but no reason materialized to suspect he had anything to do with Heather’s murder. But the truth was, Emily couldn’t be sure.

  “I can see my visit has had a profound effect. Perhaps you’ll allow me to step inside so that you might hear what I have to say.”

  Somehow she backed up; he came inside the small room and closed the door behind him. No bodyguards. No dogs. Just him. She should be afraid. She knew this. But what she felt was hopeful. Maybe now she would know the truth about her father.

  “You’ve changed your mind,” she suggested. Please let that be the case. All she wanted was the truth.

  “Actually, yes. I have changed my mind. A previous negotiation failed to live up to my expectations.” He smiled and those black eyes glittered. “I see this pleases you.”

  Her attempt to conceal the new rush of anticipation had obviously failed.
“Yes.” Her defenses snapped into place, a little behind the curve. “What will this cost me?” The idea that they were in a motel room alone with the bed right behind her wasn’t lost on her.

  “This, Miss Wallace, is for free.”

  Surprised, she reiterated, “No strings?”

  He moved that narrow head from side to side. “None.”

  She moistened her lips, summoned a little extra courage. “Okay.”

  “Brace yourself, Miss Wallace,” he said with all the pomp and circumstance of a well-rehearsed freak show. “Your father, and mine, allowed an innocent man to go to prison for murder. I won’t bore you with the details. I’m sure you can learn those straight from the horse’s mouth.”

  She started to shake. It began with a quaking deep, deep inside her and radiated outward. She wanted to demand an explanation, but she couldn’t seem to summon the necessary cognitive processes.

  “Have a nice evening.” He turned to go, then hesitated. “I almost forgot.” Those dark, toxic eyes connected with hers once more. “I heard on the scanner on the way here that there’s some trouble at the Austin place. Something to do with Troy Baker and some of his friends.”

  Austin Place

  10:40 P.M.

  “I know you’re out there!”

  Clint stayed in the perimeter of the woods that bordered the back of his property. From his position he could see Troy Baker and some of his friends moving around in the backyard. The moonlight didn’t allow for seeing their faces as well as Clint would like to, but he recognized most of the voices. They’d searched the barn and called out to him repeatedly.

  There was a half dozen of them, one armed with a baseball bat. And only one of him. He was no fool. But he did have the tire iron he’d found in the barn.

  This could get ugly; someone could get hurt and it wouldn’t be him. But he’d end up with the blame.

  No thanks. Been there, done that. He would stay put.

  The whole lot had arrived drinking and hadn’t let up. The only one who appeared to be sober was Keith Turner. He’d spent most of the time since they arrived trying to talk the others into going home.

  Smart guy.

  Clint sagged against a tree trunk. He felt sorry for Baker. Other than that, Clint was sick to death of the bullshit from these people. He couldn’t even go in the goddamn Piggly Wiggly and buy food.

  Every instinct told him that recent events meant he was making progress. The vandalism, his gut clenched, was about running him off. Last night had been about putting him six feet under. He’d meant what he said to Emily. She might very well be in danger as well, considering she’d saved his ass.

  He was reasonably sure she wasn’t going to listen to anything he said. Maybe Ray could talk some sense into her.

  Like he did you, a voice he wanted to ignore nagged.

  Clint straightened, tension charging through him again as Larry Medford, the guy with the bat, started toward his Firebird.

  He’d figured they would get around to that. Dammit.

  The initial blow shattered the windshield. Clint winced.

  He had insurance but only liability, and he wasn’t sure it covered vandalism. Even that was costing him a damned arm and a leg. But the insurance had been required when he got his driver’s license.

  Clint held himself back, remained invisible, as Medford prepared for the second swing.

  The blue lights cutting through the darkness came just in time. The siren wailed to life and the baseball bat stalled in midswing.

  Clint waited until the two squad cars had barreled into his driveway before he stepped out of the woods. He tossed the tire iron in the general direction of the barn.

  Baker and his friends were momentarily distracted by the arrival of the cops.

  “Troy, what the hell are you doing?”

  Ray Hale, followed by three deputies, spread out to contain the rowdy group.

  “Doing your job,” Troy shouted at Ray. “That bastard needs to go back to prison!”

  “Where’s Clint?” Ray demanded.

  “Coward’s hiding,” Medford said, too stupid to have dropped the bat. He held on to it as he sauntered right up to Ray. “We called his name and he was too chickenshit to come out.”

  “Did you want something, Medford?”

  Heads swiveled in Clint’s direction as he walked toward the group.

  Troy lunged at him.

  Clint stepped aside, narrowly escaping the impact.

  “Let’s go, Troy.”

  Ray reached for him, but he wasn’t ready to go yet. He rushed Clint again. Like a linebacker coming in for the takedown, Troy’s shoulder made contact with Clint’s torso. They hit the ground together.

  Clint shoved Troy off him and got up. The idiot scrambled to his feet and charged Clint again. He had no choice but to put Troy down.

  Mike Caruthers hauled Clint off Troy. Ray and another of his men manacled the persistent little shit who would have made another dive for Clint.

  “I’m gonna get you,” Troy threatened. “That’s a promise.”

  Clint stared at Troy, told himself that his sympathy was wasted on the guy. “Do something constructive, Baker,” Clint suggested with enough threat in his tone to have Baker’s pals backing off. “Ask some of your so-called friends about their alibis that night.”

  Baker tried to go at Clint again. He landed a right hook square in Baker’s face.

  “That’s enough!” Ray glared at Troy, who was holding his bleeding nose and swearing profusely. “More than enough,” Ray said to Clint.

  Three more cars skidded to screeching stops on the road, drawing everybody’s attention.

  “Keith!”

  Violet Manning-Turner rushed into the fray, Justine Mallory right on her heels.

  “Are you all right?” Violet hovered around Turner. He said something to her that Clint didn’t hear.

  “We should all go home,” Ray said. “Except the four of you.” He looked at Baker, Turner, Medford, and Woods. “You fellas are coming with me.”

  “Ray!” Violet challenged, evidently unhappy with the chief’s decision. Ray refused to back down. Justine Mallory stared at Clint for a long assessing moment before she turned and followed the others.

  Clint exhaled a mighty breath. The air smelled of the charred remains of his home. His gaze lingered on the black rubble highlighted by the three-quarter moon.

  He’d lost everything and the truth still felt out of reach. Like Psycho Sid said, the whole community would be happy to see Clint dead. Maybe Ray was right, Clint considered, defeat sucking at him. Maybe this whole effort was pointless. But he’d waited so long for this moment … he couldn’t quit now.

  Shouting dragged his attention back to the squad cars. Troy Baker was bellowing again. His friends backed him up, making comments of their own. Something about traitor. “Bitch.”

  Clint’s blood froze.

  Another car had arrived.

  Emily.

  Baker and his buddies were shouting at her.

  Fury blasted away the chill and Clint stormed right into the middle of the ruckus.

  Ray had finally gotten Baker and Woods into one of the cruisers. Turner and Medford were being hustled into the other. Not quickly enough, since Medford managed to shake loose and get right in Emily’s face.

  “You’ll get yours, too,” he warned her. “Just wait—”

  Clint grabbed Medford’s shoulder and jerked him around. He put one solid punch in Medford’s face and the guy dropped like the bag of shit he was.

  Ray restrained Clint as Medford was hauled into the squad car. “Shake it off,” Ray said to Clint.

  Clint yanked his arm free of Ray’s grip. “Next time,” he threatened, “I won’t play nice.”

  He turned back to Emily. She hadn’t moved. She stood at the edge of his yard near the end of the driveway, her arms wrapped protectively around her waist. She looked lost.

  The rest of the crowd, which was bigger than Clint had realized,
had to be herded back to their vehicles. Every damned one looked as if they’d come from some fancy party. Come to think of it, Baker and his friends had been dressed similarly.

  Violet stopped a few feet from Emily, Justine Mallory at her side. “You should be ashamed of yourself, Emily,” Violet accused. “Just look what you’ve done.”

  Justine ushered her away, toward one of the cars parked on the road. Emily stared after them; her shoulders trembled.

  This was what she got for rescuing Clint last night. The ache started down low in his gut, unfamiliar and fierce. She took an unsteady step and then another. She was leaving.

  “Emily.” Her name came out raw. His throat was sore and swollen from the smoke last night. Couldn’t be anything else.

  She hesitated, glanced back at him, then walked away.

  Maybe he had made a mistake coming back here. But there was no stopping the momentum now.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  City Hall 11:45 P.M.

  “I want the truth.” Ray gave Keith and Troy equal time with his most intimidating glare. He’d had enough. He’d already questioned Larry and Perry. They didn’t know anything. Just kept blustering about what they were going to do, which meant they hadn’t done a damned thing.

  “Why didn’t you haul Austin in?” Troy demanded. “You didn’t want to put him in the car with any of us? Or you just plain didn’t think he did anything wrong? You’re on his side in all of this, aren’t you, Ray?”

  Troy paced back and forth in the interview room like a lion on Ritalin. Ray wasn’t at all sure he would get the man to calm down short of giving him overnight accommodations. He didn’t want to do that. Troy had kids. It was a damned shame he wasn’t thinking of them in all this.

  “You trespassed on his property. He’s the victim here,” Ray said in answer to Troy’s insolent question, “and I didn’t want him kicking your ass.”

  Troy stuck his face in Ray’s. “You think that sonofabitch can kick my ass? No way. I’ll be doing the ass kicking, by God. You should’ve let me do it tonight.”

  “You mean the way you were when we pulled Austin off you?” Ray hated to rub it in, but somebody had to wake this guy up. “Austin didn’t survive ten years in prison without learning a few things. You’d better think about that before you start anything else with him.”