Deadly Competition (Without a Trace)

by Roxanne Rustand

  “Your uncle Clint believes your momma isn’t in heaven, honey. He’s sure she’ll come back.”

  Sarah lifted her head, finally, but didn’t meet Mandy’s eyes. “Why can’t she come today?”

  “I don’t know why. Maybe she just can’t right now. But she still loves you more than anyone in the whole wide world.”

  The child’s unfocused eyes widened, as if she were looking into the past. She reached for the doll lying nearby and hugged it tight. “What if she’s like Daddy?”

  Dead? Please, God, help me here. “If…your mommy is in heaven, she is safe and sound. She’s not sick, or hurting, or sad…but she still loves you with all her heart.”

  “If Momma’s in heaven, I want to go there. I don’t wanna be here!”

  This time, Mandy didn’t hold back. She instinctively wrapped her arms gently around the little girl and drew her into her lap. Sarah stiffened and pushed away, then collapsed against Mandy’s shoulder, sobbing.

  “A b-bad man made Daddy go to sleep. Daddy needed lotsa Band-Aids, but the policeman took me away.”

  Horror washed through Mandy at the image of what this poor child must have witnessed. She’d seen her father lying in a pool of blood? Had she even caught a glimpse of the killer? No wonder she’d been in intensive counseling this spring.

  And no wonder she often seemed shell-shocked as she moved through the day. Could a child ever fully recover from something like that? Did she even understand what she’d seen?

  “Have you seen the bad man since then?”

  She shook her head, but a deep shudder rocked through her.

  “Did you see someone by the trees, honey?”

  Sarah started crying in earnest. “Maybe the bad man took Mommy, too.”

  It wasn’t the clear answer Mandy hoped for, but to the poor little girl, it was her whole world.

  Holding the sobbing child tightly, Mandy stood and moved to a heavy leather recliner in the living room, where she slowly rocked and rocked and rocked, long after Sarah fell into a fitful sleep.

  The sweet, trusting warmth of her, nestled against Mandy’s shoulder, unfurled a depth of emotion that Mandy had never felt before—fierce protectiveness. Deep love. Now she knew why mothers would give their lives for their children without a second thought.

  This child had endured so much already. Losing both parents. Coming upon a murder scene. If danger loomed, Mandy knew she’d stop at nothing to keep her safe.

  But even if that didn’t happen, another danger loomed for her, and there was no way to avoid it.

  She longed to stay here…to weave herself gently into the lives of Clint and his little niece. To help them through the tragedies they’d faced. Sarah was such a sweet little girl, and Clint…

  Mandy closed her eyes, imagining what it might be like to love a man like him. To grow old together, with someone to love, to cherish…and who would love her in return.

  But it wouldn’t happen. Certainly not here.

  She’d need to leave soon. She had no choice. And when that happened, she’d be leaving behind a big piece of her heart.

  After spending most of his afternoon waiting on the deputy, Clint headed out to a job site in a neighboring town, where he had a crew of three men working on a basement remodel. Caught up on the job until after five, he finally headed home, feeling restless, frustrated and weary.

  As Clint walked into his house, his mood lifted as he took in the scene before him.

  Through the archway leading into the living room, he could see Mandy on the sofa reading a storybook, Sarah snuggled in her arms.

  The picture of them together was so sweet that his eyes burned and his heart filled with unaccustomed longing. Most of his high school buddies were on their second or third kid by now, taking daughters to dance class and sons to T-ball games. Coming home to wives who loved them. Where had he gone wrong in his life, to still be alone? Maybe because you never came across someone like Mandy, a small voice whispered in his heart.

  Maybe that inner voice was right.

  How many of his old flames had been focused on their careers or their social lives? How many of them had ever voiced an interest in raising a family someday?

  And how many of them had made him feel like Mandy could, just with her smile? Maybe when Leah came back, and life returned to normal…

  Though even then, the thought of going through one more personal upheaval in his life just made him feel weary. Could he find the heart to try, knowing that in the end, he might have another empty place in his life? God…what are your plans for me? Maybe I’m just meant to be alone, and I should be content and thankful for what I have.

  After seeing his three best childhood friends go through bitter divorces, maybe being single was a happier life.

  He set his keys on the kitchen counter and picked up today’s stack of mail, leaning against the doorway as he riffled through the junk mail and bills.

  At the sound, Mandy stirred and her gaze flew to him, then to the clock. “I’m so sorry—I lost track of time. You must be starving!”

  “No, don’t get up.” The phone in the kitchen started ringing. “I’ll get that, then I’ll check on what we can start for supper.”

  He strode across the kitchen, his step lighter than it had been all day, and caught the call on the fourth ring. The caller hung up before he could even say hello. He glanced at the caller ID. No name, just an area code and prefix from somewhere in the neighboring Tangipahoa Parish.

  Just a wrong number.

  Yet…this was the third time in as many days.

  The back of his neck prickled as he pulled open the door of the freezer and considered a container of étouffée Shelby had brought over, or steaks he could grill.

  A wrong number. Nothing more than that.

  Yet whenever it happened, the incident always filled him with a flash of hope. Leah—calling to say she was all right? Someone with good news?

  Mandy hesitated at the door, then walked into the kitchen. “I didn’t want to disturb your call, but I can get to supper now.”

  “Let’s make it easy. Steak? Or étouffée?”

  “What does Sarah like best?”

  He turned, pleased once more with her priorities, and grabbed the étouffée out of the freezer. “We can defrost this in the microwave on low, and stir up some cornbread.”

  Mandy nodded and turned to the cupboard for the cornbread mix. “Sarah had a bad day, I’m afraid.”

  “Looks like you two were getting along fine, though.”

  “Only because she was so upset. She—” Mandy hesitated “—well, after the scare at the pawnshop and her friend’s comments at the burger place, then she overheard some teenagers talking in Bitsy’s.”

  A heavy, familiar weight settled in Clint’s chest as he retrieved a glass pan from a lower cupboard. “About Leah?”

  Mandy nodded and bit at her lower lip. “They were mocking her, I’m afraid. They talked about someone nominating her for that big mother’s pageant as a joke.” She winced at that admission. “I’m sorry, but I thought you should know—especially after the trouble at the Super Burger. I’m just worried about Sarah.”

  The pageant. An event that every mom in Loomis could enter, but tended to slant to society types who left mothering to their nannies, lest they break a fingernail or be late for a luncheon. When had a real mom ever won? Someone deserving? Mandy could put them all to shame, and she wasn’t even Sarah’s real mother.

  “We should enter you in that pageant.”

  She laughed. “I don’t even qualify.”

  “Why not? You are now Mandy’s primary caregiver—a full-time nanny. You’re with her more than a lot of moms are with their kids.”

  “That,” Mandy said dryly, “is because most moms these days have to work. They can still give their kids love and attention while needing to be breadwinners.”

  “Still, I don’t see why you wouldn’t technically qualify.”

  Her eyes flared wide with al
arm. “Oh, no. I—” She stilted her head and managed a wobbly smile. “You’re kidding, of course.”

  “I’m not. I’d love to see you show some of those society types up.”

  “That wouldn’t happen.” She opened the package of cornbread mix and dumped it into a bowl, then reached into the refrigerator for the milk and eggs. “And there’s something else. Sarah told me something about seeing her father after he died. Is that true?”

  Clint glanced into the living room. Molly had followed him into the house, and now Sarah was playing with the puppy on the floor a good distance away.

  Still, he lowered his voice. “We don’t think she realized that he was dead when she walked into his office and saw him. She saw the blood and knew he was hurt, but Leah whisked her out of there and then a police officer took her to Shelby at the library. Leah had to go down to the sheriff’s office for questioning, and it just wasn’t the place for Sarah to be.”

  “She hasn’t put two and two together?”

  “Jocelyn recommended that we stay vague about the time frame, to lessen her trauma.”

  “What child wouldn’t suffer, after seeing her father lying in blood?”

  “We were told that she’ll relive the experience again and again as she grows up, and will have to deal with it at different levels of maturity.”

  “Sarah said something about a ‘bad man’ hurting her dad. Could she have seen him murdered?”

  “Whether she saw someone at the scene or saw her father threatened earlier, we don’t know.”

  “What child should ever have to go through all of that?”

  “We tried just telling her that her father got hurt and went to heaven, so she wouldn’t be afraid that a killer was still lurking in town. But then she overheard people talk, and started asking questions, so we had to be a little clearer. Now she’s leery of all strangers and is terrified of anyone with red hair, except for Shelby.”

  He turned and put the freezer container of étouffée in the microwave and set it for defrost. Behind him, the phone started ringing again. “Can you get that?”

  He heard her pick up the phone and turned in time to see her face blanch and her hand tighten on the receiver.

  After a moment, she hung up, face pale.

  “Wrong number?”

  “I—I don’t know. I said hello, and there was a long silence. Then the caller disconnected.”

  This time Clint felt a sense of urgency that sent him launching to his feet. “What area code is on the caller ID?”

  Mandy read off the number, then took a hasty step back when he strode to the phone and read it himself. His heart faltered.

  It was the same number as before, from an area an hour away. What if it was Leah—but she was too afraid to speak? Or what if the real murderer was letting them know he knew right where they were?

  EIGHT

  Clint jotted down the number on the caller ID, then quickly dialed it. He held his breath and offered a silent prayer as he heard the phone ring.

  Five, six, seven.

  Ten times.

  No one answered.

  He grabbed the note and went into his home office, where he fired up his computer and did a quick reverse look-up of the number.

  It was a pay phone in the small, backwoods town of LaPetite Creek, dead center in St. Bernard Parish. He had no relatives there. No friends. No business connections that he could remember.

  Who would call from there—twice—and from a pay phone?

  Leah. It had to be her. Was she lost? Confused? Could she have been injured, held captive, or left for dead? Had she been hiding there, afraid to come home?

  “I need to leave for a few hours.” Clint checked his pockets for his wallet. “I’ve got my cell.”

  Mandy turned in surprise. “But your supper—”

  “Go ahead. I’ll catch something on the way.”

  She picked up his keys and handed them to him, and their fingers brushed. A rush of startling warmth sped up his arm and landed in his chest, and from her sharp intake of breath, he knew she felt it, too.

  “I—” A faint blush tinged her high cheekbones. “Drive safely.”

  He nodded, suppressing the sudden desire to draw her into his arms, and stepped back, then took a detour through the living room to give Sarah a quick hug and farewell.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Can I come too, Unca Clint?”

  “Not this time. But I’ll be back to kiss you good-night, honey.”

  Then he hurried out the door to his truck, his heart lighter than it had been for four long months. With luck, the caller was still in LaPetite Creek—or had been observed making the calls. Could Leah’s nightmare nearly be at an end?

  Please, Lord—let this be Leah—and help me bring her home.

  The town of LaPetite Creek was even more desolate than he remembered. Since Hurricane Katrina leveled it in 2005, the economically repressed area had been slow to come back.

  The first couple of bars had Closed signs tacked to their boarded windows. The door to the third was wide open, and when he stepped into the smoky, sweltering heat, dust swirled up in the swath of sunlight pouring through the door. A lone bartender leaned on the bar dozing, while a couple of customers were hunched over their glasses at the far end.

  “Can I help you?” the bartender drawled, straightening to slowly push a bar towel back and forth on the polished surface. “Gotta special today. Two draws, price of one.”

  “I’m looking for a young woman who might have been in town this afternoon.”

  “Ain’t we all?” The man snickered. “Not your best place to go lookin’, though. Seeing as how this ain’t exactly N’Awlins.”

  “My sister,” Clint amended. “Someone called me from a LaPetite Creek pay phone twice but didn’t leave a message. I’m afraid it’s her, and that she’s in trouble.”

  “Ain’t been no gal in here, and I’ve been at the bar since eleven.” The man stopped moving the bar towel. “The only public phone is over there.” He pointed out the open front door to the convenience store across the street, where the pay phone was in full view. “Haven’t seen anyone use it for days, though. You might want to ask at the store.”

  Clint opened the folder in his hand and held out a photo of Leah. “Have you ever seen her?”

  The bartender leaned over the bar to squint at the photo, then shook his head. “She’s a looker, that one. I’d remember if she’d ever been here.”

  “Can I get a can of Coke?”

  The man pawed through a refrigerator behind the bar, then tossed one over the bar. Clint caught it with one hand and downed it, savoring the cool soda sliding down his parched throat.

  He put the can back on the bar, with a ten-dollar bill and his business card. “Keep the change. If you see her, give me a call. Information that leads me to her is worth five grand.”

  The bartender clearly perked up at that. “Yes, sir.”

  Clint nodded and strode back out to the street, thankful for the bright sunshine and smoke-free air as he crossed over to the small store. A single gas pump stood out front, and at one end of the building, open garage doors led into the dark cavern of a mechanic’s shop. The pungent odor of sun-baked earth soaked in motor oil filled the air, coupled with hot rubber and gasoline.

  The inside of the store was crammed with merchandise ranging from cattle wormers to shotguns, with a tiny grocery section and glass-front coolers filled with beer. Flies buzzed in the windows. “Anyone here?”

  A heavyset woman in a tight, stained T-shirt appeared from a back room and eyed him with suspicion, her expression relaxing as she took in his loafers, khaki pants and black polo shirt he wore with the Herald Construction emblem on the pocket.

  “I’m looking for someone who used the pay phone this afternoon,”

  “Wouldn’t know. I’ve got no windows facing that way.”

  “Did any strangers come into the store this afternoon?”

  She pursed her fleshy lips an
d hiked a thumb over her shoulder. “Couple fishermen docked down on the bayou and came in for night crawlers.”

  “Anyone else?”

  She erupted with earthy laughter. “This is a bustling metropolis all right.”

  “Have you seen this woman?” He handed her the file and studied her face as she opened it, but caught no hint of recognition.

  “Nope, can’t say as I have. What are you, some kind of investigator?”

  Clint repeated his reward offer as he pulled a business card and a ten out of his wallet and slid both of them onto the counter by the cash register. “I’d be grateful for any news.”

  “And I’d be real glad to get that reward, sugar. If your sister shows up, you’ll be the first to know.”

  Another dead end. Disheartened, Clint climbed back into his truck and headed slowly back to Loomis with the windows rolled down, feeling a hundred years older than when he’d left home with such hope just hours earlier.

  Leah—where are you? But there were no answers, save the cry of a seagull overhead and the hum of his tires. He’d followed every possible lead. Sent out reward posters. Called morgues and hospitals and the law enforcement departments in every Louisiana parish.

  Clint kept trying to believe that Leah was well, safe and just confused or scared. That she would appear at his door someday and fall into his arms, wanting to come home for good.

  But all the way home, he tried to ignore the images that had been slipping into his mind all too often lately. Images of Angelina Loring, the local beauty who had been murdered and was found floating in the bayou not long after Leah disappeared. There hadn’t been much of her left by the time the gators and swamp rats had finished.

  Nausea rose in his throat, forcing him to pull over to the side of the road and get out of the truck until his stomach settled.

  Had that been Leah’s fate as well?

  After serving the étouffée and corn bread, Mandy gave Sarah her evening bath, read her some more storybooks and put her to bed by eight o’clock.