Then Clint turned it upright and flipped through the pages again, searching for the one that hadn’t been as flimsy as the rest.
It wasn’t a page of the book.
It was a plain, bright white envelope far newer than the pages that had concealed it. Used as a bookmark, maybe…but Clint felt his blood pound as he slid a finger under the flap and pulled out a booklet folded lengthwise.
It was a bus ticket.
An open-ended bus ticket, with no identifying name of the prospective passenger. The receipt was tucked inside—paid with cash on December 30 of last year.
Just two days before Earl died.
The following morning, Clint called Shelby and asked to meet her for coffee before she went to work.
Laden with lattés and a sack of beignets from Café Au Lait, they settled at a picnic table in the park, just across the street from the library.
Shelby cradled her tall coffee cup in both hands, her expression pensive. “Maybe Earl had planned to leave Leah. With all the speculation about who Sarah’s father really was, maybe he just wanted to start over someplace else.”
“He wasn’t that close to Sarah, so I’m not sure he’d bother himself over that. Maybe he planned to extort money from Sarah’s real father and wanted an escape plan.”
Shelby frowned. “The cops will say that Leah bought that ticket, planning to murder her husband and flee before anyone was the wiser.”
“And leave her daughter behind? We both know she’d never do that.”
“Yet they’ll say she did—because she’s missing right now. The sheriff will assume she just didn’t have time to grab her ticket before she ran.”
“Reed is an idiot. If evidence doesn’t bite him on the foot, he doesn’t know it’s there.”
“Which makes it dangerous for Leah if you turn that ticket over to him.” Shelby ran a hand through her long hair. “When she does turn up, he’ll use it as just another nail in her coffin.”
“That’s why I gave it to Sam Pierce instead.”
“Did you try to find the clerk who sold the ticket?”
“L. Baxter was printed at the bottom of the receipt. I called the bus station, but that employee quit last winter. They have no idea where he went. Sam is working on it.” Clint looked thoughtful. “But would a clerk remember one person out of the hundreds who happened to buy a ticket with cash four months ago? Especially a clerk who apparently hated his job and walked away? I doubt he was paying much attention to his customers.”
“You’re right.” The hope in Shelby’s eyes faded as she glanced at her watch and stood. “I’m afraid I need to get over to the library for the Thursday morning story time. What’s next in all of this?”
“I’m going back to the pawnshop every minute I can spare. If I could find this one thing that was missed during the investigation, maybe there’s something else—something hidden away so well that none of us ever found it. It’s all I can do.”
SIXTEEN
Clint spent a few hours at his office, left word with Mandy that he’d be late, then went back to the pawnshop and worked into the night filled with hope. There had to be something else—something everyone had missed. How could there be such cold-blooded murders in this small town without a reason? Without a clue left behind?
At two in the morning he finally had to quit for the night. He returned at nine with both Mandy and Sarah, since his niece had looked so bereft at seeing him leave home without her.
He led them up to the apartment and opened the windows to accept the cool morning breeze. “You two can stay up in the apartment, okay? There are still lots of toys up here, and you’ve got the TV and DVDs. I’ll just be downstairs.”
Sarah clung to his jeans, her eyes swimming with tears. “Play with me, Unca Clint. Please?”
“I can’t, not right now, Sarah. I’m looking for some things downstairs.”
“What?”
“Things that have been lost.”
Mandy scooped Sarah up and playfully snuggled her. “Well, that sounds boring. I’d like to play! Should we play with blocks or all those dolls?”
Sarah’s lower lip trembled, but after a moment she silently pointed at the toy box in the corner.
“We’ll be fine,” Mandy said to Clint. “You go on.”
By noon, he’d been through all but one of the boxes that had been crammed into Earl’s office. He’d flipped through every book and ledger, examined every envelope and paper stuffed in the desk and the metal file cabinets.
He was finishing the last box—a fruitless effort, given that it was filled with extension cords and old chargers for out-of-date or long-lost electronics—when Mandy and Sarah appeared at the door.
“Don’t come in here,” he ordered sharply. Last time, Sarah had become distraught, apparently remembering what she’d witnessed of her father’s death.
But this time, she twisted free of Mandy’s grasp on her hand and raced to Clint to give him a hug around the knees. “We want lunch, Unca Clint,” she announced. “We’re hungry!”
He tossed the final box aside. “Might as well. I can’t find what I’m looking for, anyway.”
Sarah perked up and looked around the room as if expecting a game of hide-and-seek. “What?”
“I don’t know, really.”
She giggled. “Then how can we find it?”
Clint sighed heavily. “I guess we can’t.”
“I know a hiding place,” she whispered.
Startled, he looked down at her. “Where?”
“I—I can’t tell.” Sarah took an uncertain step back, clearly afraid she’d said something wrong. Her lower lip started to tremble. “Daddy got mad when I saw.”
“This sounds like a really, really fun guessing game,” Mandy announced, dropping to the floor and crossing her legs. “I wonder where some hiding places could be?” She made a show of studying the ceiling. “In the lightbulbs?”
Sarah shook her head.
“In…the doorknobs?”
That made Sarah laugh. “No, silly!”
“Hmm.” Mandy looked around. “In…the desk?”
“Nope!”
“Is it in this office?”
Sarah shook her head.
“Upstairs?”
Again, no.
Mandy threw up her hands. “I give up. Where could it be?”
Sarah gave her a stricken look.
“Can you show us?” Clint urged gently. “I’d love to have a good hiding place.”
Earl had apparently frightened her into silence, because she stuck her thumb in her mouth and started to rock back and forth on her heels, one arm wrapped tightly around her middle, her face pale and drawn.
“You won’t get in any trouble for showing us, Sarah, We’ll be really, really happy—and then we can go get some lunch, okay?”
She stood stock-still for so long that Clint thought she’d never tell, but then she walked into the back hallway and pointed at a section of tongue-and-groove wood paneling.
When she looked up at Clint, her eyes were wide. “But don’t tell, ’kay?”
He knelt in front of the paneling and ran a hand over the ridged surface. Rapped against it with his knuckles. It all sounded hollow, save for where there were studs framing the wall. There were no hinges, no shiny nails or screws or cuts in the wood signifying a hidden door. “Here? Are you sure?”
She nodded, her thumb still in her mouth.
Another two feet down, a faint glimmer caught his eye. There, he found a place where a small section of paneling had been pieced in so perfectly that the seam was almost invisible. The dark bronze screws holding it in place nearly disappeared against the color of the wood.
“I need tools,” he said to Mandy as he straightened. “I know there are some in the pawnshop case, but not a Phillips screwdriver that small. I’ll need to come back later.”
“Do you want Sarah and me just to go home for lunch, so you can get to it?”
At the look of betrayal in the
child’s eyes he shook his head, despite an overpowering urge to search that wall as soon as possible. “It’s been kept secret this long, so it can wait a little longer.” He turned to his niece and grinned broadly. “You are an excellent finder, and a super secret keeper, my little Miss Sarah. Now, I’m hungry. Let’s get some lunch!”
Before they finished lunch at the Super Burger, Clint got a call from one of his crews about a gas leak on a construction site and one from an irate owner at another site who wanted to talk to him immediately. Clint left, half-finished burger in hand, with promises to get home in time for the church barbecue and pageant celebration at five.
By five o’clock, he’d called home twice with regrets over one delay after another. At six, Mandy checked the laundry drying outside on the line—which never seemed to dry very well on a humid day like this one—and then got Sarah dressed. The two of them headed out for the church dinner alone.
“Isn’t this beautiful?” Mandy said, smiling down at Sarah.
The congregation’s gardening committee certainly took their job seriously, because the grounds around the church were a riot of color. The meandering rose gardens were all abloom in shades of pink and yellow and cream, set against a darker backdrop of cypress and willows that edged the swampy ground beyond the property, and there were southern varieties of flowers that she couldn’t begin to name.
As they drew closer, the lemony scent of magnolia blossoms competed with the smoky-sweet scent of barbecue. On the other side of the church, dozens of long tables had been set up with lavender tablecloths, and already, a long line of guests was slowly going through the buffet.
Sarah tugged on Mandy’s hand when they joined the end of the line. “Can I go see my friend?”
Mandy looked at another little girl a few yards ahead of them in the line and nodded. “Keep close, though, so you can go through the line with me for your food.”
Some of the people in line glanced back, smiled and waved. A few who were already seated came over to say hello and to wish her well in the contest. The other contestants had arrived earlier and were already seated at a head table, but the thought of sitting with them wasn’t nearly as appealing as finding a nice, shady spot to sit with Sarah—and Clint, if he managed to arrive in time.
She smiled to herself at the thought of him and looked back at the street, wishing he would suddenly show up at her side and give her one of his trademark, teasing grins.
“Now, why would I ever expect to find you at the end of the line, and all the other ladies already at the head table?” a voice drawled.
She turned and found Portia standing behind her, dressed in a suit of yet another shade of pink, her arms folded and toe tapping, but this time Mandy saw a hint of humor in her eyes. “I seem to have a bit of trouble with time, I guess. As you can see, I’m really not the right kind of gal for the pageant.”
“Hmmpf.”
“But I’m enjoying all of this, just the same. What a lovely event this is!”
Portia nodded, her expression weary. “Where’s that boss of yours, anyway? He ought to be here.”
“Complications at work, but Clint does plan to come.”
“Good—because the people who wrote the contest essays are the ones who are supposed to read them tonight after the dinner.” She winked. “I’m not sure you’d want to read yours.”
“Read them? Aloud?” Mandy stared at her, a sinking feeling starting a little tap dance in her stomach. What on earth could he have written about a woman he barely knew? “Is it that bad? Am I going to be embarrassed?”
Portia fluttered her fingers in farewell. “Just hope that he shows up, that’s all I can say. Good luck.”
Clint arrived just as the crowd settled down to coffee and blackberry cobbler and wedges of juicy, crimson watermelon. He’d showered and changed, his dark hair still slicked back and damp, and he looked worn out.
Mandy put down her fork. “Bad afternoon?”
“A long one. One of my newest employees misread the diagram while his crew boss was running after supplies. Luckily, the gas company got out there right away. At the other site, the owner had completely changed his mind about his cement work but didn’t let us know.”
“I think your day is going to get a lot better.”
He turned to study the buffet. “There’s still food left over?”
“Lots of it. But that’s not the best part.”
“Which is…”
“Remember that essay you had to write for the contest? You get to read it aloud. Here. Tonight.”
He pivoted back to search her face, apparently trying to see if she was teasing. Beneath his dark tan, she thought she could detect a blush.
“Portia Rogers came by awhile ago, quite concerned that you wouldn’t make it in time.”
“You’re serious.” He paced toward the buffet, then came back again. “I wish I could remember what I said. I didn’t realize it would be public. I was much better at math than I ever was at English or public speaking, so if it’s awful, will you forgive me?”
She hid a smile. “Definitely not.”
“Then…maybe we should just slip away. Who would notice?”
Mandy tipped her head at the front table. “Her.”
Portia stood up and clinked a glass with a spoon. After several announcements, the contestants—or their friends—stood up one by one and began reading their essays.
“At least she’s having fun,” Mandy whispered, nodding toward Sarah. The little girl and her friend were a few yards away, trying to string dandelion chains, their hands smeared with bright yellow.
Portia stood up one more time. “And last but definitely not least, we have Clint Herald, reading his essay about Ms. Mandy Erick.”
Clint sauntered up to the front table and took the paper from Portia, his disarming grin sending a ripple of warm laughter through the crowd. “Y’all know I’m not one to be giving speeches, and I’m not much of a writer, either. But when Sarah and I were going through such hard times this year, we desperately needed something—or someone—to help us through it all, and I didn’t even realize it. Then Ms. Erick showed up and told me I needed to hire her. Being raised to be real polite to ladies, I had to say yes.”
More laughter and warmer smiles arose at his southern banter.
“So I guess I could read what I wrote and embarrass us all, or I could just tell you what this woman has meant to us.” He nodded toward Sarah, who was too busy playing to notice. “Y’all know about all the tragedies in Loomis early this year. Losing your momma is a terrible burden for an adult. Imagine being three, when the sun rises and sets on her. Even with Dr. Gold’s good counsel and an uncle trying to be everything she needed, nothing could be the same. Then a stranger came along, with a big and loving and open heart, and managed to get through that shell of pain and grief. She was able to bring joy back into each day.
“We think about biological mothers on Mother’s Day, as well as stepmoms and grandmas and the ones who have opened their hearts to adopted kids. Every one of them deserves all the honors of that day, in full measure. But I just thought Mandy should receive a little recognition, too. Because without any permanent commitment, without the legal or biological bonds that the rest of you enjoy, she has made a world of difference in the life of one broken-hearted little girl. So—thank you, Mandy, from the bottom of my heart. I hope you’ll be with us for a long time to come.”
There’d been clear divisions in the crowd after Lenore’s and Charla’s speeches, but this time applause rolled through the entire audience.
“C’mon, Clint, let’s hear your essay, too!” Someone shouted.
“Not on your life!” He ducked his head and grinned as he wound his way back through the crowd to Mandy and Sarah. “Let’s go,” he said.
He’d gracefully declined to read his essay, but Clint had skillfully managed the crowd with good humor and words that sounded as if they were straight from his heart. Mandy looked up at him, surprised once again a
t the different layers in this man that kept unfolding.
“Well done,” she murmured as they headed toward the parking lot. “And that was awfully sweet of you.”
He rested an arm on her shoulders as they neared his truck, a touch that sent shivers of gentle awareness through her.
“It’s all true,” he said, stopping and looking straight into her eyes. “I can’t tell you how glad I am that you came along…or how much I hope that you will stay.”
Clint dropped Mandy and Sarah off at the house, then headed for the pawnshop. “I’ll be back in an hour, tops. I’ve got my cell if you need me.”
Mandy watched him leave, a melancholy feeling settling in her chest. He was such a good man. An honorable man who stood behind his word and believed in those he loved. Wherever she was right now, Leah had an advocate who would never abandon her cause. And Clint would make a wonderful father and husband someday.
But if he found out the truth about Mandy, he probably wouldn’t give her the time of day.
She closed her eyes, wishing she could erase her past. Wishing she’d never been lured by Dean’s flirtatious smile or his dark, bad-boy image. How had she been so blind?
And now she was nearly a thousand miles away yet still looking over her shoulder, imagining that he might have followed her. Fearing that he could step in and ruin every chance she had for happiness. If she wasn’t careful, the worries alone could destroy her entire future.
As she walked out to the clothesline, she saw something that made her believe those possible threats had become all too real.
“Sarah?” Mandy spun around and saw her just a couple of yards back, still up on the back porch with Molly draped over her lap. Thank goodness. “I’ll be right there,” she called out. “Stay on the porch, okay?”
Sarah immediately stood up, awkwardly clutching the dog, which was now nearly as long as she was tall. “What’s wrong, Miss Mandy? Where are you going?”
Mandy took a few steps farther and stared at the clothesline where she’d hung her freshly washed sundress, two of her three pairs of slacks, and a couple of tops—easily half of the wardrobe she’d hastily packed before leaving Chicago.
Deadly Competition (Without a Trace) Page 14
