Sam offered her a single white rose when she opened the door to his knock at six o’clock. It was her first break from staring at her computer screen since Leigh Ann’s phone call. She couldn’t work, only pretend. Danny was dead, Gavin had been attacked, and she didn’t know what to do about it.
“What’s the occasion?” she asked, noticing the fresh haircut, the crisp shirt, pressed tie and jacket, and scent of aftershave. He must have taken off work a little early, gone home, showered, and changed. He was looking really good. “Did we have a date?”
“Yes, only you didn’t know about it. We have a reservation for seven-thirty. I thought you could use a little dinner and maybe some dancing.”
Oh, he was being good. Very good. Sam didn’t dance, and she loved to. It was probably the only offer she couldn’t refuse, and he knew it, because he never would agree to go. But that didn’t keep her from trying.
“Where?”
“At that new club on Zebulon Road, Casablanca.”
The one she really wanted to see inside. She’d passed it on the way to the movie theater. It had a tropical theme and looked enticingly exotic. But...
“I’m a mess.” She ran her hand through her hair. It really needed washing.
“A gorgeous mess.”
More than good. He had just upgraded himself to great. “And I have other plans.”
“To do what? Sit home and write? Or fret? I don’t think so.” He pulled her into his arms and leaned down, gazing into her eyes. “Come tango with me into the night.”
She giggled. A tango with Sam would no doubt be more of a tangle. Besides, she couldn’t tango either, and she was sure the musicians at Casablanca were not the tango type.
He kissed her nose. “So what do you say? Have I sweet-talked you enough? Let’s blow this joint.”
Muffy, who’d been biding her time waiting for her turn at attention, wedged her nose between the two of them.
“If you won’t dance with me, I’m sure Muffy will.”
Upon hearing her name, Muffy let out a loud woof and vigorously wagged her tail.
“See? I told you.”
Draping her arms over his shoulders, she kissed his neck. “I’d love to,” she whispered into his ear, taking a quick nip at his earlobe. She felt him shudder. It’d be nice if for once they could call an evening their own.
She broke away. “But I’m sort of watching Leigh Ann long-distance.”
“Why are you babysitting Leigh Ann?”
“The woman can’t be left alone. Only she won’t let me stay with her. I don’t want to go into all the details. Okay?” Thankfully, Leigh Ann had broken Gavin’s trust, but she wouldn’t.
If Sam was curious, he let it pass. “Understood. Let me offer a solution. We’ll leave her my number. That way you can go out, have fun, and still fulfill your friendly obligations. Besides, that information you wanted me to get for you, the Telegraph’s accounts of Mitchell’s disappearance—I’ve got it.”
He was even better than she thought. Only he was playing his hand a little fast.
“Where?” Playfully, she searched his pockets.
He wrapped his arms around her, pinning hers. “No, no, no, my dear. Dinner first. Then dancing. And if you’ve been exceptionally good at relaxing, information for dessert.”
Who cared about dessert? She could stay like that, with Sam’s arms about her forever. As long as forever was no longer than twenty minutes. She had to get dressed, and she knew exactly what to wear: a shimmery, midnight blue cocktail dress that had been gathering dust in her closet for six months and still had the tags on it. Now if she could only figure out what the heck she was going to do with her hair…
The food was wonderful. She’d have to tell Dee Dee to check out the honey butter they served with the freshly baked loaf bread. It had an extra ingredient, something she couldn’t quite put a name to, but Dee Dee would know.
The dancing—at least Sam’s version, which had more to do with planting his feet in one spot and swaying back and forth, so, according to him, he couldn’t step on her feet—was heavenly.
Unfortunately, her curiosity kept rearing its ugly head. She wanted to know what he’d found out, but every time she mentioned it, he pressed his finger to her lips and said, “Over dessert or not at all.”
Sheeesh. He could be such a drag.
But by the time she’d finished her second glass of wine, Sam’s eyes were getting deeper and bluer all the time. She didn’t much remember what it was she wanted to know.
“Two almond cheesecakes,” Sam ordered, handing the menus back to the waiter. “Plus two coffees. Make hers decaf. Better yet, bring the pot.” He studied her face. “Your eyes have dilated to an alarming degree.”
“Thanks for noticing.” She could feel them contract as he said the words. Sam had an uncanny talent for breaking moods. “So spill it. Dessert’s officially on the way.”
“I didn’t find much more than what you’d already told me in the newspaper accounts of Mitchell’s disappearance, but I did talk to Harry Osner.”
Her gaze followed the swirl of red liquid as she rotated the stemmed glass. As his words registered, she threw him a puzzled look.
“The guy whose byline is on all the stories,” Sam explained.
Ah, yes. Print the whole story, except for the part that might get you sued. Maybe, just maybe, Sam had learned something. She leaned forward.
“He never spoke directly with Underwood—they kept him pretty well shielded—but Osner was tight with the investigating officer.” He sipped his wine.
Third hand information, but she’d take what she could get and hope they weren’t all playing a game of telephone. “Yeah, and...”
“He said young Ben was scared.”
“Of course he was scared, being dragged in for questioning by the police.”
Sam shook his head. “Sure he was frightened of the police and the whole situation, but he refused to talk. No matter what they threatened him with.”
“You mean...”
“Right. He may have been afraid of the police, but he was either petrified they’d learn something he’d done, or a whole lot more afraid of someone else.”
“So you think he’d been threatened?”
“Maybe not directly. But I think we can be pretty sure, one way or the other, Underwood never believed Mitchell ran off. And neither did the police.”
Jennifer put down her glass. “Ben didn’t come back to school that year. He was home-schooled for the remaining month. We all thought it was because of all the gossip.”
“When in fact it may have been—”
“Because he didn’t feel safe.”
“Right.”
“But he did graduate on time, right?”
Sam nodded. “He was back in regular classes come fall.”
“Did Osner mention Gavin—”Jennifer began, but Sam’s phone beeped.
He pulled it out and looked. “It’s Leigh Ann. Her number plus 911.”
“That means it’s serious.”
Simultaneously, they pushed back from the table and stood up at the same moment their cheesecake arrived. Jennifer gave it a look of regret.
“Enjoy,” Sam told the waiter, patting his shoulder and dumping a wad of bills on his tray.
And then they were gone. Leaving the waiter with his mouth open and his hand in the air.
Chapter 28
Leigh Ann must have been watching out the window of her ground floor apartment, because she was out the door and into the parking lot as soon as Jennifer and Sam drove up. Her building was at the extreme back of the complex. It offered privacy. In this case, maybe a little too much privacy.
Leigh Ann’s car, a hatchback coupe, stood half in and half out of a parking space, blocking access to the back part of the lot. Sam pulled his Honda against the curb near a stand of pine trees and cut the engine.
Leigh Ann was at the passenger side door before Jennifer could even get it open. “Something’s wrong with my
car,” she sputtered.
“I don’t do cars, and I suspect Sam doesn’t either,” Jennifer reminded her, perturbed that their first evening out in more time than she could remember had been interrupted by a summons to Leigh Ann’s apartment. She was obviously all right. No blood, fire, flood, or mayhem. She’d given up cheesecake and Casablanca and Sam playing it again for a broken automobile? Leigh Ann should have called AAA.
But when she caught a better glimpse of her friend’s face...
“What is it? What happened?” Jennifer demanded, a hollow feeling settling in the pit of her stomach. She pushed open the door, got out, and grabbed Leigh Ann by the shoulders.
“I know you told me not to go out at night, but I was only going to be gone for just a second. To the drugstore. I started to back my car out of the parking space. It wouldn’t stop when I stepped on the brake pedal. I bumped the car parked in the row behind me.”
“Okay.” She let go of Leigh Ann. “So why was it again that we had to get over here so fast?”
“Did you check your brake fluid?” Sam asked, coming up beside them.
“Yeah. It’s all over the asphalt.”
Light was dawning in her poor brain, if a little slowly. “Where?” Jennifer asked.
They followed Leigh Ann, who was shivering as though it were much cooler than it actually was, to the space in front of her car.
“There.” Leigh Ann pointed to two puddles of reddish brown liquid.
Both Jennifer and Sam bent down, touching it. Sam rubbed it between his fingers and smelled it. She hoped he knew what brake fluid looked like because she had no idea. Whatever this was, it obviously should have been in something, not lying on the ground.
“Do you mind getting me a flashlight from the trunk? And see if I left that brown tarp in there.” Sam offered her his keys.
By the time she got back with the light and the tarp, he had his coat and tie off and his sleeves rolled to the elbow. He pushed on Leigh Ann’s car to make sure it was level and not about to move, unfolded the cover, shoving it as best he could under the frame, and then carefully shimmied under the front part of the coupe.
There went his shirt, possibly his trousers, and definitely the evening. Leigh Ann was going to owe her big-time for this one.
“What do you see?” Leigh Ann bent down and called under the side of the car.
Jennifer watched the flashlight beam flick out and about from under the car.
“Are you finding anything?” Leigh Ann asked.
“More fluid.” Sam’s voice sounded muffled.
“Where’s it coming from?” Jennifer added, but he didn’t answer. They could hear him shifting against the asphalt, and the foot that hung out on their side disappeared.
In another few seconds he rolled out on the other side. Before he’d even gotten back on his feet, Leigh Ann was all over him. “What’d you find?”
“We need to stay calm.” Sam said, as much for her benefit as for Leigh Ann’s. “I want you to go inside and call the police.”
“But why should—”
“Your brake line’s been cut.”
Leigh Ann stared at him, obviously confused. “It couldn’t—”
Sam grabbed her by the shoulders, and for a moment Jennifer thought he was going to shake her. “Don’t go into denial on me. That’s why you called us. You suspected it might have been cut. Otherwise, you would have called a garage.”
“God. Somebody just tried to kill me.” Apparently Leigh Ann’s knees went to jelly, because she dipped slightly. Jennifer steadied her. Now if only someone would steady her.
“The brake line’s been severed at each of the wheels,” Sam told them.
“Maybe they’re just old. Maybe they wore—” Leigh Ann insisted.
“Clean slices. Not worn, not ragged, but sliced. As in cut.”
Jennifer’s breath caught in her chest. She didn’t dare breathe. Surely he was wrong. Surely, somehow, he was mistaken.
She searched Sam’s face. Even in the light of the street lamp she could tell he was dead serious.
Whatever madness was sweeping Macon had just got even more personal, and Jennifer didn’t appreciate it one bit. She’d already lost one friend. She wasn’t about to lose another. She had to stay calm. And rational.
“Where’s Gavin?” Jennifer asked.
“At his motel, I’m sure. He said he didn’t want to put me in danger. Oh, my.”
Sam took them each by the elbow. “Let’s get inside.”
Chapter 29
The police took the report, examined the car, asked who might want to hurt her, and told Leigh Ann to be careful. Jennifer hadn’t expected more. After all, what could they do?
“They didn’t even offer me the witness protection program,” Leigh Ann grumbled.
“I’m sure it was an oversight,” Sam assured her, his white shirt grimy and his hair a mess.
Jennifer was trying hard not to be angry with Leigh Ann, not to go into her what-were-you-thinking-hooking-up-with-a-guy-you-hardly-know mode, because somewhere deep in her gut, Jennifer couldn’t help but put some of the blame on Gavin. Not because she should, not because he was responsible, but because she felt certain his association with Leigh Ann had somehow put her in the line of fire.
Preaching at Leigh Ann wouldn’t help. She was already sufficiently rattled. Or so Jennifer hoped.
They sat at the small glass and metal table near the window of the tiny kitchen area, drinking the coffee that Jennifer had made. Leigh Ann got up once more and adjusted the blinds, making sure that no one could see in.
“Gavin has stirred up something he should have left alone,” Jennifer said, not able to keep her thoughts to herself.
“Gavin Lawless? What’s he got to do with—” Sam asked.
“He’s Leigh Ann’s old high school boyfriend,” she told Sam, as though that explained it.
“You’re not being fair,” Leigh Ann insisted. “Gavin’s not to blame. And he’s my current boyfriend, Jennifer. Gavin’s the one who said Danny was murdered, remember?” Leigh Ann reminded her. “He told us in the bakery that ‘They’re killing people again.’ He wouldn’t have said that if he was the one doing the killing. He didn’t do anything to Jimmy, and he certainly didn’t do anything to Danny. I was with him every minute the night of the reunion, remember?”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Sam interrupted. “What’s this about killing people again?”
She hated it when people walked in late on a movie or a conversation, and this wasn’t much different. Whatever she said, she’d be sure to leave out something vital.
“Gavin thinks Jimmy Mitchell, the boy who disappeared twelve years ago, was murdered. That’s what his song is about,” she explained patiently. “He seems to think whoever did in Jimmy had a hand in what happened to Danny.”
“I see. Well, for what it’s worth, I don’t think anyone was trying to kill you,” Sam told Leigh Ann.
“But her brake lines—” Jennifer began. He was the one under that car. Had he not said—
“Calm down,” Sam told her.
Telling Jennifer to calm down was as good as using a poker on a fire. He put a hand over hers.
“Look at this rationally. Leigh Ann couldn’t even get out of the parking lot,” Sam reminded her. “This seems more like a warning.”
A warning. Two in one day.
“If someone really wanted to do her harm, they’d wait until the car was parked on the street, preferably on a slope.”
“Do I look like somebody who needs to be warned?” Leigh Ann demanded.
Jennifer grabbed her with her free hand. “Of course not.” But somebody else had, assuming that someone hadn’t cut the lines himself. She turned to Leigh Ann. “You weren’t with Gavin every minute at the reunion. We first saw him after I talked with Danny.”
“How long after, and why would you think Gavin had something to do with Danny’s death?” Sam asked.
“A while, and because I think his stirring up tr
ouble over Mitchell’s death is the reason Danny was murdered.”
“Is not,” Leigh Ann declared in a huff.
“It would have taken a while for the murderer to drug Buckner and set up that car, but the actual time it took the carbon monoxide to—”
“Please,” Jennifer interrupted.
Sam took another sip of coffee from the Macon Whoopee Ice Hockey mug that Leigh Ann had set out for him. “What is it you think Gavin had against Buckner?”
“Nothing,” Jennifer stated, “but I think Danny may have somehow walked into the line of fire.”
“You know something, Jennifer?” Leigh Ann’s face was solemn, and Jennifer could tell she was about to get ugly. “You talk about me being in denial, but I think there’s a really simple solution to everything that’s happened. You won’t admit it because you don’t want it to be that way.”
“Go on,” Sam urged.
“Danny killed himself because he was involved with Jimmy’s disappearance. Gavin’s song drove it home to him that people weren’t going to forget about that kid who vanished.”
She’d stopped short of saying Danny might have killed Jimmy, and for that Jennifer was grateful. She wouldn’t be honest if she denied the thought hadn’t crossed her own mind, but she’d rejected it, and for good reason.
“Fine,” Jennifer agreed. “Let’s assume Danny killed Jimmy and somehow disposed of his body while, I might add, he and I were wrestling in his dad’s old Chevrolet on prom night.”
Sam threw her a look, but she didn’t have time to deal with his curiosity right now.
“Then who, exactly, cut your brake line?”
Leigh Ann collapsed onto one of the dining chairs, covering her face with her hands. Sniping at each other, or contesting whose high school boyfriend deserved the “worst bet” label, wasn’t helping a bit.
“Earlier you told me about the article in the Atlanta Eye,” Jennifer reminded Leigh Ann.
Leigh Ann retrieved a newspaper from the counter and tossed it across the table.
Jennifer winced at the photo of Sheena and Mary Jo and skipped that article. She already knew what Teague had to say about Danny’s murder. She didn’t care to read what else he made up. She scanned through the write-up about Gavin that lay directly below. Out loud she read:
Dying to Remember Page 13
