by Nora Roberts
Since she wanted it to be easy, natural, she went out early, chatted with a few people she knew at the bar. Got herself a bottle of water.
She knew her mother tended to get worked up before she performed—or always had—so she didn’t go to her parents’ table but sent them a smile. And another for Matt and Emma Kate. One more for Griff as Tansy stepped onto the little stage.
When Tansy spoke into the mic the clattering, scraping and voices quieted some. “Welcome to our first Friday Nights. We’re traveling on back to the forties tonight at Bootlegger’s, so sit back and enjoy those martinis and highballs while we bring you tonight’s entertainment. Most of y’all know Shelby, and most have heard her sing. Those who haven’t are in for a treat. Derrick and I are pleased and proud to have her here, on our stage, tonight. Now y’all give a Rendezvous Ridge welcome to our own Shelby Pomeroy.”
Shelby walked onto the stage, faced the room, the applause. “I want to thank y’all for coming out tonight. I’m so glad to be back in the Ridge, hearing familiar voices, breathing that good mountain air. This first number puts me in mind of what it was like to be away.”
She started with “I’ll Be Seeing You.”
And here she felt like herself. Shelby Pomeroy doing her best thing.
“She’s just great,” Griff murmured. “Sensation.”
“Always was. You’ve got stars in your eyes.” Emma Kate patted his arm.
“That’s okay, I can see fine through them. They just brighten things up.”
She sailed through the first set, pleased to see people come in, crowd at the bar or at tables. When she took her break Clay walked straight up to her, lifted her off her feet.
“So proud of you,” he whispered in her ear.
“It felt good. Really good.”
“Wish we could stay, but I’ve got to get Gilly home.”
“She okay?”
“Just tired. It’s the first night in a month she’s made it past nine.” He laughed, squeezed Shelby again. “Come on over before we leave.”
She glanced over, saw Matt and Griff pushing the tables together so her family, her friends made one unit.
Maybe she’d had a rough start to the day, she thought, but it was turning into a perfect night.
She spent some time with them, then went back to the bar for more water.
It didn’t hurt her feelings when she noticed Arlo and his friends leaving. She’d lose that mild discomfort from having him stare at her.
He’d often stared at her, just like that, when they were teenagers. And, she recalled, had tried to get her to take a ride on his motorcycle or sneak off for a beer.
She’d never done either.
And she found it downright creepy that years later, he’d still just stare at her, unblinking as a lizard.
Griff slipped up to the bar beside her, and made her think of much more pleasant companionship.
“Go out with me tomorrow night.”
“Oh, I—”
“Give a guy a break, Shelby. I really want some time with you. Just you.”
She turned, looked straight into his eyes—bold, green, clever. Absolutely nothing about those eyes made her uncomfortable.
“I think I want that, too, but I don’t feel right leaving Callie two nights running, and asking my parents to sit her again.”
“Okay. Pick a night next week. Any night, and anywhere you want to go.”
“Ah . . . Tuesday would probably be best.”
“Tuesday. Where do you want to go?”
“I really want to see your house.”
“You do?”
She broke out in a smile. “I really do, and I’ve been trying to figure how to invite myself for a tour.”
“Consider it done.”
“I could bring dinner.”
“I’ll take care of it. Seven?”
“If we made it seven-thirty, I could give Callie her bath first.”
“Seven-thirty.”
“I need to check with Mama first, but I expect she’ll be fine with it. And you should listen to what else has come out before we make any sort of date.”
“It’s already a date.” He kissed her lightly before he walked away.
She thought that quick gesture had been a statement, a kind of stamp. And couldn’t quite figure out if she minded that or not. She put it in the back of her mind as she went back on stage for her next set.
She saw Forrest come in with her grandparents, take the empty seats.
But she didn’t notice the brunette until halfway through her set. Shelby’s heart jumped, but she kept the song going when their eyes met.
Had she been there all along, tucked into a table at the back, barely visible in the shadows?
Shelby looked away, tried to catch Forrest’s eye, but he’d gone up to the bar, wasn’t looking in her direction.
The brunette rose, stood a moment, sipping from a martini glass. Then she set it down, put on a dark jacket. She added a smile, kissed her fingertip, flicked it in Shelby’s direction, then strolled out.
She finished out her set—what else could she do? Then made a beeline for Forrest.
“She was here.”
He didn’t have to ask who. “Where?”
“In the back.”
“Who?” Griff demanded.
“She left,” Shelby continued. “Easy fifteen minutes ago. She’s gone, but she was here.”
“Who?” Griff demanded again.
“It’s hard to explain.” Shelby pasted on a smile, turned and waved when someone called her name. “I have to work. Maybe you could fill them in some, Forrest. I couldn’t get your attention when I saw her, but I swear she was here.”
“Who?” Griff demanded for the third time when Shelby walked over to another table.
“I’ll tell you about it, but I’m going to take a little look around outside.”
“I’ll go with you.” When Matt started to rise, Griff shook his head. “Keep the table. We’ll be back.”
“What’s all this?” Viola leaned over.
“Nothing to worry about. I’ll explain when I get back.” Forrest gave her shoulder a rub, then made his way out with Griff.
“What the fuck, Forrest? What woman? And why did she put that look in Shelby’s eyes?”
“What look?”
“Half scared, half pissed.”
Forrest paused at the door. “You read her pretty well.”
“I’m making a study of it. Get used to it.”
“Is that so?”
“That’s down-to-the-ground so.”
Forrest’s eyes narrowed as he nodded. “I have to think about that. Meanwhile, we’re looking for a hot brunette, about thirty, round about five-six, brown eyes.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s looking like she was married to the guy Shelby thought she was married to.”
“What? Thought? What?”
“And she’s bad business—so was the asshole Shelby likely wasn’t married to after all. A lot worse than I figured, and I figured bad enough.”
“Was Shelby married or not?”
“It’s hard to say.”
“How can it be hard to say?” Frustrated, and temper building under it, Griff threw up his hands. “It’s yes or no.”
Forrest scanned the street, the cars parked along the curb, the light traffic passing by. “Why are people from the North always in such a damn hurry? A story takes time to tell properly. I’ll do that while we walk around back, see what we see. Have you put your hands on my sister?”
“Not so much. Not yet. But I’m going to, so get used to that, too.”
“Does she want your hands on her?”
“You should know me well enough by now, damn it, Forrest. They don’t go on her unless she wants them on her.”
“I know you well enough by now, Griff, but it’s my sister here, so that takes more. And it’s my sister who’s been fucked over right, left, sideways. So that’s more yet.”
He told the story as they walked around the side of the building, made their way toward the back and the parking lot.
“And you think this woman’s telling it straight?”
“She’s telling enough of it straight so I know the bastard Shelby was with was a liar and a thief. I’ll be doing some looking for something on this millions in jewelry and stamps she claims they stole or conned somebody out of.”
His eyes, shadowed in the dim light, scanned the cars. “If they hadn’t bussed the brunette’s table, I could’ve gotten prints off it, gotten her name, her real one.”
“If she’s telling the truth about being married to Foxworth, he was using Shelby all along.” Griff stuffed his hands in his pockets, paced away. “And Callie . . .”
“Callie’s going to be fine either way. Shelby will see to that. But I’d like to have a conversation with this woman who’s dogging her.”
“Brunette, right? Hot, brown-eyed brunette.”
“That’s right.”
“I don’t think you’re going to have any conversations with her. Better come over here.” Griff took a deep breath as Forrest hurried toward him. “Looks like we found her.”
She sat, slumped in the driver’s seat of a silver BMW, eyes wide and staring. Blood still seeped from the tiny black hole in her forehead.
“Well, shit. Well, shit,” Forrest repeated. “Don’t touch the car.”
“I’m not touching a goddamn thing,” he said as Forrest pulled out his phone. “I didn’t hear a shot.”
Forrest took a picture from the side, one from the front. “Small caliber, and see how it’s burned around the entry wound? Held it right against her. Right up against her forehead, pulled the trigger. Somebody might’ve heard a pop, but it wouldn’t be all that loud. I’ve got to call my boss.”
“Shelby?”
Like Griff, Forrest looked back toward the bar and grill. “Let’s just wait on that a little bit. Just wait on it. We need to secure this area. And shit, we’re going to have to start talking to people inside the bar and grill. Sheriff?”
Forrest adjusted his stance, re-angled the phone. “Yes, sir. I got a body here in the parking lot of Bootlegger’s Bar and Grill. Yes, sir, that sure would be a dead one.” He glanced at Griff as he spoke, nearly smiled. “I’m certain of that as I’m looking right at her and the small-caliber bullet wound, close-contact, in her forehead. I got that.”
On a sigh, Forrest shoved his phone in his pocket. “Sure wish I’d finished that beer because it’s going to be a long, dry night now.” He studied the body another moment, then turned to Griff. “I’m deputizing you.”
“What?”
“You’re a competent individual, Griff, and you sure keep your head when you find a dead body, as you’ve just proven. Don’t shake easy, do you?”
“It’s my first dead body.”
“And you didn’t scream like a girl.” Laying a bolstering hand on Griff’s shoulder, Forrest gave it a friendly pat. “Plus, I happen to know you didn’t kill her since you were inside with me.”
“Yay.”
“She’s still warm, so she hasn’t been dead long. I got some things I need in my truck, and I need you to stay here. Right here.”
“I can do that.” Because, he thought, as Forrest walked off to his truck, what else could he do?
He tried to think it through. The woman had been inside, then she’d gone out, gotten in her car. The driver’s-side window was down.
Warm enough night. Had she put it down for the air, or because somebody had walked up to the car? Did a woman alone in a parking lot outside a bar roll down the window for a stranger?
Maybe, but it seemed less likely than rolling it down for someone she knew.
But . . .
“Why’s her window down?” he asked Forrest. “From what you told me, she doesn’t know anybody around here. She’s got to have some basic street smarts, so who’d she roll the window down for?”
“Deputized two minutes and already thinking like a cop. Makes me proud of my own character assessment. Put these on.”
Griff looked at the gloves. “Oh, man.”
“Don’t want you to handle anything—probably—but just in case. Use your phone, take some notes for me.”
“Why? Don’t you have backup coming or something?”
“They’ll be coming. This woman came at my sister. I want a leg up. Get the make, model, license plate. Go on and get a picture of the plate. She’s got a high-end rental here. We’ll find out where she got it.”
He shone his light in the car. “Purse is still in here, sitting on the passenger seat. Closed. Keys in the ignition, engine off.”
“She’d have had to turn the key to get the window down. Strange town, she’d’ve locked the car up, right?”
“Son, if you ever give up carpentry and such, I’d take you on.” Forrest opened the passenger door, crouched, opened the purse. “She’s got herself a pretty little Baby Glock here.”
Now Griff leaned over Forrest’s shoulder. “She had a gun in her purse?”
“It’s Tennessee, Griff. Half the women in that bar are carrying. Loaded, clean. I’d say it hasn’t been fired recently. Got a Florida driver’s license under the name Madeline Elizabeth Proctor, and that’s not the name she gave Shelby. Miami address. Got her DOB as eight twenty-two ’eighty-five. Got some lipstick—looks pretty new—got herself a folding combat knife.”
“Jesus.”
“Nice one, too. Blackhawk. Visa and American Express cards, same name. We got two hundred and . . . thirty-two dollars in cash. And a key card for a room at the Lodge at Buckberry Creek in Gatlinburg. Fancy.”
“Didn’t want to get rousted.” When Forrest glanced over, Griff shrugged. “She had to know Shelby had a cop for a brother. Go at Shelby, she’s going to have a cop rousting her. Plus plenty of family circling the wagons. So she doesn’t stay at the local hotel, which is pretty fancy, too. She puts some distance between herself and the Ridge, gives Shelby a phony name.”
“See why I deputized you? So, what do you figure happened here?”
“Seriously?”
“Dead woman in the car, Griff.” Curious, Forrest straightened up, rolled his shoulders. “It’s pretty serious, all in all.”
“Well, I’d guess she came tonight to mess with Shelby’s head. Keep herself right in the front of Shelby’s mind. Once Shelby spotted her, she could go. She came out, got in her car, most likely to drive back to Gatlinburg. Somebody came over to the car, to the driver’s side. I’m leaning toward she recognized whoever it was, and felt easy enough to lower the window instead of driving off or getting her own gun. After she rolled down the window . . .”
Griff mimed putting a gun to his forehead, made a trigger with his thumb.
“That’s my way of thinking, too. If I didn’t know my mama would call you instead of me when the porches need scraping and painting, I’d talk you into joining the sheriff’s department.”