by Debra Webb
“So where were you that night?” Clint asked, pursuing the more sensitive issue.
Marvin’s guard went up. “I told you, I was home.”
Clint eased closer to him. “Maybe you and Turner had it out, then decided to make her pay for using the both of you, or maybe you didn’t want anyone else to have her if you couldn’t.”
Marvin’s jowls quivered with the force of his head moving from side to side in denial. “I wasn’t that hung up on her. I swear. I was pissed, yeah, but I got over it. I wouldn’t have hurt Heather. No way.”
“What about Violet? How did she feel about Turner sticking with Heather through thick and thin? Is that who Turner was cheating with?”
Emily wanted to deny that assertion, but she had to keep an open mind.
“Violet?” Marvin’s expression went from worried to confused. “She had a thing for Keith, but he never gave her the time of day. Too fucking bossy.”
“Did that make her angry?” Emily was taken aback that the question had come from her. But there it was … out in the open.
Marvin’s gaze narrowed again. “Hell, she was your friend; you tell me.”
“Watch your mouth,” Clint warned.
Marvin was right. How could she do this? Emily backed off, wrapped her arms around her waist. “I can’t take any more of this. Let’s just go to Deputy Caruthers with this information. Let him talk to Justine about our theory and what I discovered at her house,” she said to Clint, suddenly realizing that she’d forgotten to tell him about her visit to Justine’s. He was going to be pissed. His gaze collided with hers and that prophecy was fulfilled.
“Wait a minute.” Marvin’s expression turned nervous. “Keith was my friend. Why would I hurt him? Why would I have hurt Heather? Or Ray? This is crazy! Those photos of Justine’s are something else altogether. They have nothing to do with any of this.”
Shock quaked through Emily. How could Marvin know about the photos? She’d meant that they should tell Deputy Caruthers about Justine’s missing necklace and the fact that Ray Hale had “lost” the necklace found in Heather’s hand. Surely Marvin wasn’t talking about the same photos Emily had discovered.
“They might matter,” she challenged, taking a shot in the dark. And hoping like hell she’d find out what pictures he was talking about. Did Justine have pictures of him … like that?
“I think Emily’s right,” Clint said quietly, playing along. “We should all three go see Acting Chief Caruthers and see what he thinks.”
Fear bulged Marvin’s eyes. “Wait. If you want some real motivation, why don’t you ask Justine these questions?”
“What does that mean?” Emily demanded as if she didn’t see the connection. She didn’t … actually.
“Violet had a major crush on Keith, sure,” Marvin said with a nod as he looked from Clint to Emily. “But it was Justine who was fucking obsessed with him.”
“Justine Mallory was our teacher,” Emily reminded. Marvin’s suggestion was ludicrous. “Ten or twelve years older than us.” Recent headlines would suggest that Marvin’s assertion wasn’t such a ridiculous idea. As would Justine’s apparently strange sex fetishes … but still. This was Justine. Everybody loved her. But what about the missing necklace?
Marvin exchanged a look with Clint. Emily didn’t get it. What could the two of them possibly share other than species and airspace?
“Trust me,” Marvin insisted, his expression manic. “She had a thing for Keith. She got all obsessed and shit with him. When she found out he was dating Heather again that last time, she went nuts. He was all she talked about, even when I was giving it to her—if you know what I mean,” he said to Clint. “And Keith …,” Marvin shrugged, “ … he was torn big-time. He liked being with Justine. Hell, who wouldn’t? But I think her coming on so strong scared him.”
Emily felt weak all over. Justine had been jealous of Heather? She’d been having sex with the guys? How could Emily not have known this?
“You’d better not say you got that from me,” Marvin warned, his face suddenly going pale. “If she found out …”
“So what?” Clint argued. “What can she possibly do to you now? If she’s guilty of what you say, then she needs to face the consequences.”
“You know she’s guilty,” Marvin said to Clint, then looked around as if he was afraid someone would hear. “All I can say is, it’s like my daddy always told me, down here in Alabama you can raise cattle your whole life and never be called a rancher, but get caught sucking one dick and you’re a queer for life.” He backed toward his door. “Whatever you do, just keep my name out of it.”
Clint couldn’t get Emily out of there fast enough. Her head was spinning; her stomach churned.
“Is any of that possible?” she asked, knowing Marvin hadn’t directed certain comments to Clint for no reason.
“I remember the year Justine Mallory started her teaching career at Pine Bluff High,” he said. “All the guys thought she was beautiful. I was a freshman and damned stupid, but I wasn’t blind. She was beautiful.”
Emily didn’t interrupt him. She was afraid if she said a word to encourage him, the truth she didn’t want to hear would come spilling out faster than it already was.
“By senior year, I could see the writing on the wall. She always had her picks. A couple of guys each year, usually athletes. But nobody could prove it and the boys never said a word. I don’t know how she kept them from bragging, but nobody I suspected might be involved with her ever talked.
“But I knew.” He glanced at Emily. “She hit on me my senior year. I ignored her and that was the end of it. But she had it in for me after that. I barely survived her class.”
Emily didn’t know how to feel. They were talking fifteen years here. That meant dozens of guys. “Surely someone would’ve suspected something.”
“I can’t answer that.” He braked for the first traffic light as they entered Pine Bluff proper. “All I can say is what I suspected. Maybe she stopped. Evidently there were blackmail pictures. That sure appears to be the way Justine kept Marvin quiet.” Clint held Emily’s gaze. “What were you talking about when you said something about a discovery at Justine’s house? Did you find the necklace?”
Oh, hell. She’d forgotten to tell him about that. He wasn’t going to like it. “When I went off on that tangent about Marvin I completely forgot.” She quickly told Clint what she’d seen and heard and how she hadn’t found Justine’s necklace where she’d said it was stored. “The pictures were really bizarre.” Emily shuddered at the idea that there could be something to what Marvin had said. Definitely those could be construed as blackmail photos. “And all that expensive jewelry …” That part suddenly surfaced amid her worrisome thoughts “ … How could she afford all that?”
“You went to her house,” Clint said, his face stony when he glanced at her, “and took that kind of risk? What were you thinking?”
“I was desperate to find out if she had her necklace.” Emily still couldn’t fully absorb the scope of what they were alleging here. “It’s hard to believe I was that close to her all those years and didn’t suspect a thing. She was a friend to all the cheerleaders. Everybody loved her.” Still did, Emily realized, recalling her recent visit to the school.
“A good enough friend to know about the open window?” Clint asked. “To know Heather would be in your bed that night?”
He braked for a light and their gazes collided again. Emily felt the earth shift beneath her. “Yes.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Turner Mansion Midnight
Granville poured himself a brandy, downed it, then poured himself another. He repeated the process twice more before he paused to catch his breath.
He was sixty-two years old. He’d spent the past forty-odd years amassing his vast fortune. He’d worked hard to reach this place in his life. The only thing he’d ever really wanted was for his family to be happy.
There had been sacrifices, of course.
; A man didn’t reach this level of security without having stepped on a few toes and over a few bodies, figuratively speaking. Those times weighed on Granville’s conscience. He would, in the end, answer to his Maker for those choices, but even if he had the chance, he wouldn’t do a thing differently. His daddy had always preached one motto: Do what you’re big enough to do.
As imperfect as he might be, Granville was still a damn good Christian compared to many. He’d loved his wife and she had never known about his indiscretions. He gave to his church and he gave to his community, a hefty chunk, but then, who was keeping count?
Funny thing, he realized, beyond the warm fuzziness of the alcohol finally taking hold, none of his accomplishments mattered anymore.
His son was dead.
Granville had just returned from City Hall, where he’d learned what Troy Baker had to say. Keith and Troy had met to discuss Austin. Keith had broken down and admitted to his buddy that he’d been with another woman that night. Granville had known. Ray Hale had protected Keith for more than ten years. Now both Ray and Keith were dead.
If anything Troy said could be taken for truth, Granville’s boy had fallen completely apart at that damned quarry. Troy swore he’d left Keith very much alive.
Surely Keith hadn’t taken his own life. Granville couldn’t bear to believe that theory. The autopsy might not be able to confirm anything one way or the other unless there had been a struggle before Keith fell. And even that might not tell the tale, since Keith and Troy had fought, which might also explain the extraneous tissue found under Granville’s son’s nails. Granville had to face the fact that he might never know exactly what happened. He would have done anything for his son; why hadn’t he come to him?
Then there was the other question that seared like acid in his gut. Three people, besides Granville, had known what really happened that night, and two of them were dead. Maybe Granville simply wanted to believe there was something wrong with that equation. It beat the hell out of the idea that his son had killed himself.
But the part that drove the idea home for Granville was the manner of Ray’s death. The man had been burned to death inside his truck. The pickup was too old to have the fire-retardant materials of newer models or any other safety features that might have helped him survive. They couldn’t say for sure just yet, but there appeared to have been head trauma prior to his having been doused in gasoline and lit with a match.
To Granville’s knowledge Ray had no enemies who would want to hurt him in such a heinous way. The manner of death, as Caruthers pointed out, indicated a strong emotional motive. There was only one incident in Ray’s career that might spawn that kind of emotion.
It would be very easy to blame Granville’s son’s as well as Ray’s murder on Clint Austin and be done with it. If Austin had discovered the truth, he would have strong motivation, he actually had enough even without that knowledge. But he also had an alibi for both murders, leaving Granville with quite a quandary on his hands and with only one other possible candidate.
Granville had suspected his son had the occasional affair. Like the time Violet had come to him fearful that her husband was cheating after finding a gift she was certain hadn’t been purchased for her. After all, Violet was not one to wear such wicked lingerie. Then there was the time before the children were born when Violet had been out of town with her folks and Keith had staggered in well after midnight, drunk and with another woman’s red lipstick on his unshaven jaw. Granville had been surprised to find his son, drunk as a skunk, at his door that night. Keith had locked himself out of his own house and it had been too cold to sleep in his car, so he’d come dragging home.
Granville certainly hadn’t minded the smell of whiskey on his son’s breath. A man had a right to pull one now and then. It helped relieve stress, took him to the bottom so he could rise up and be whole again.
The problem was, Granville had smelled more than alcohol that night; he’d smelled her perfume.
At first he’d played it off, assuming she wasn’t the only one who wore that particular perfume. But that combined with that bloodred shade of lipstick had nagged at him. Eventually he’d asked her and she had laughed, saying she’d helped Keith get home that night. Granville had believed her, had even thanked her for looking out for his son.
Had she been toying with Keith all this time? A more active than usual sex life was something Granville enjoyed, as had his son. Hell, there wasn’t a healthy man alive who didn’t need a little more than he could get at home in most instances. Unencumbered sex could be a good thing. Everyone got something they wanted. God knew he’d spent a fortune buying gifts for that woman. But could she have used that old secret to drive Keith to that edge? Granville knew her … knew her power. If he discovered that she had used that night to manipulate his son, she would pay.
Granville refilled his glass and brought it to his lips.
He couldn’t prove any of this. All he had was his instincts. Pure speculation mostly. But there was one thing he knew after years of clawing his way to the top and then fighting ruthlessly to stay there: give a person enough rope and they would hang themselves.
“Gran, baby, where in the world have you been?” She came up behind him, pressed close to his back as she hugged her arms around his middle. “I was so worried. I missed you.”
He downed the brandy in his glass and set it aside. “I needed to drive around, clear my head, after leaving City Hall.”
“I’m glad you’re home.”
She loosened her arms so that he could turn around to face her. “Caruthers has Troy Baker in custody … seems he was with Keith right before he died. He thinks Keith may have jumped because of something that was bothering him. Wonder what that could have been?”
Uncertainty flashed ever so briefly in her eyes.
“I tell you,” Granville went on sagely, leaving the last comment for her to stew over, “the longer Austin hangs around this town the worse things get. My son is dead because of him. He was fine until Austin showed up. His presence pushed him over that edge. I’m certain of it.”
“You’re right, Gran; we’ve got to do something. Ray apparently couldn’t handle the situation. Caruthers likely won’t do any better.” She peered at Granville pleadingly. “Someone has to do something. Austin’s ruining this town. Your town.”
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” he said wearily. “My son is dead; what difference does the rest make?”
She crooked her arm around his. “Let me tuck you into bed, Gran. This day has been too long.”
“Did you know that Austin and that Wallace girl broke into the courthouse and pilfered through the files stored there?” he said, fertilizing those seeds of worry he’d just planted. “The man is obsessed with proving his innocence. And now he’s got that crazy Wallace girl on his side.”
“Let’s get you to bed,” Justine urged as if the idea of what Austin and Emily had done was of no concern to her.
Granville allowed her to lead him up to his bedroom. She undressed him slowly, lathing every inch of flesh she bared with kisses and caresses. She brought him to the very edge of his sanity with nothing more than those skilled hands and that carnal mouth. He let her. He was only human after all.
Slim, lithe, beautiful, with her lovely full breasts and long, shapely legs. She would try anything to pleasure him. Whatever he wanted she gave him. Like now. She swallowed him fully, drew hard on his rigid flesh, once, twice, then worked up and down with those lush red lips until he exploded so forcefully he bucked off the mattress.
She crawled naked into bed next to him. His eyes closed, but he would not sleep. He would lie here and wait for her reaction. If she went to sleep, as a part of him fully expected, all would be well—as well as could be with his son lying dead on a slab.
If she had anything to hide, she would do one of two things while she still had the cover of darkness to her advantage: run like hell to escape the coming wrath or try to cover her tracks.
&nb
sp; Just like the Good Book said, your deeds will always find you out. He’d made his share of mistakes; he’d paid the price. He would find out who was responsible for his son’s death.
And then that person would pay dearly.
CHAPTER FORTY
Austin Place Wednesday, July 24, 12:35 A.M.
“In the barn? That’s where you want to sleep?”
“Yep.”
Clint helped her out of the truck, which wasn’t really necessary, but at this point she kind of liked holding his hand. And she was exhausted. Totally and completely.
“But what about that nice new trailer?” She gestured to the temporary housing that had been provided by the insurance company. They’d come and set it up without even notifying Clint. He’d been as surprised as she was when they arrived five minutes ago.
“That’s where we want anyone who comes snooping around to think we are.”
The heavy cloud cover didn’t allow much of the moon to show through, just the occasional glimpse. Still sticky despite the cloudiness. They could definitely use some rain. If they were lucky, the ominous sky would deliver.
Clint led her deep inside the barn where it was even darker but, thankfully, cooler. He clicked on the flashlight, had her hold it, while he shook the sleeping bags to ensure no critters had crawled inside them.
“Will this work?” he asked when he’d arranged the bedding.
“Sure.” A bed might have been softer, but he had a point. Out here would be safer. Considering how his house had been burned to the ground and that both Keith and Ray had been murdered, taking precautions was necessary.
“I’ll be right back.”
“Where’re you going?” She wanted to stay close to him, but she was beat. Her head had started to ache again.
“To turn on a light inside and maybe try to make the bed look as if we’re in it.”
Another good idea.
Emily got comfortable and waited for him to come back. When he returned he tossed something on the ground near the sleeping bags and settled in next to her. Not as close as she would have liked. The distance, only an inch or two, felt like a yawning canyon between them. Why didn’t he touch her? She needed him to hold her … to make her mind stop playing everything over and over.
