“Where would Jared hide his insurance?” She spoke to no one, and her words echoed around the trailer.
That’s what Jared had called it. Insurance. He’d bragged about its existence often enough, but had never allowed her to see it or witness where he had kept it. Maybe it wasn’t even in the trailer. It made sense that Lucy would toss the place. She’d want whatever Jared had collected that would incriminate her. Courtney’s stomach spasmed at the possibility the evidence was already gone.
She set her mind to thinking like Jared. He was a man of limited imagination. He’d hide his stuff somewhere obvious to him but maybe not obvious to the rest of the world. In a sudden burst of inspiration, she pulled his keys out of her pocket. Sure. Hadn’t she seen a package in the seat compartment of the bike when she was storing the diary she’d found at Victoria House? If Jared had to run, he wouldn’t have to spend time getting the stuff out of a hiding spot. The motorcycle would provide a quick getaway, and the evidence would be right there under his butt, ready to leave with him on a moment’s notice if things got rough.
She smiled. Her dead ex was a dumb ass, but he could be wicked clever when it came to self-preservation. Although, he had underestimated her defensive instinct to protect her own life. The last punch he’d landed before she shoved the screwdriver into his belly had been one punch too many. She’d had enough.
The evidence had probably been with her all along because she’d taken the bike, a vehicle that had never been registered in Jared’s name so it couldn’t be traced to him or to her. She rushed out of the trailer and stood next to the bike. With trembling fingers, she pushed the key into the lock and twisted. When the compartment popped open, she grinned. There inside the seat underneath the diary was a manila envelope stuffed full of papers. Just as she reached to pull it out, a big, black SUV turned down the gravel driveway and headed toward her.
****
After Shaw had dropped Josh off at his house, he’d checked into a local motel and managed a couple hours of rest. Apparently, his mind had kept churning, even while he slept, because he woke up thinking about Courtney Crenshaw. The urge to find her had rattled around his consciousness for a few hours before he had finally shut his eyes. He’d studied everything he’d learned about her, and still, he had no idea where to start looking. Her mother hadn’t seen her since before Jared had died. If Josh McCord knew where she was hiding, he wasn’t talking.
Then, his mind had turned to plans for the day. He needed to talk to Grayson, and he didn’t want to have the necessary conversation over the phone. Looking a man in the eyes when he asked the hard questions was more likely to get honest results, and face-to-face was a more accurate way to discern a lie.
Josh McCord had told a few, but Shaw figured the man was only trying to protect Courtney. He probably didn’t know where to find her, but he also probably had a good idea where she might go, and that was the information McCord wasn’t giving up.
The conversation with Grayson would have to wait awhile. Shaw had agreed to meet Laurel Standridge and Chase Peterson at a truck stop diner halfway between Fairview and Little Rock about an hour out of town. He had plenty of time before he had to leave for the meet, so he decided to take a trip out to the Crenshaw place near Lake Jefferson, just north of Fairview As he drove near the gravel drive that led from the lake road to the trailer, he spotted a woman in the yard standing next to a motorcycle and reaching into the storage compartment beneath the seat.
She jerked her head up when he turned onto the drive and slammed the open seat cover closed, her face a study in sudden fright. Another few seconds, and the woman would run. Shaw had to move quickly if he was going to stop Courtney Crenshaw from getting away before he had a chance to interview her.
His first live glimpse of her blew him away. Although her face was thinner and definitely more feminine, she was a female version of Grayson. Were the two of them related? The wind blew her long, dark blonde hair around her shoulders, framing her as if she were something from another world. She was too thin for the clothes she wore, her jeans baggy on her butt. The open blue chambray shirt flitting and flapping in the breeze hung off her shoulders. As he stopped the SUV and shoved the gear into park, their eyes met and locked. An electric pulse raced through him.
In a flash, she’d straddled the bike and was frantically trying to get it started. The cycle rumbled a few times, but sputtered, never quite revving to life.
He pushed open the door and jumped from his vehicle. “Courtney? Wait.”
She glanced his way and paused. Something passed between them, a look of complete understanding. She was on the run and he was chasing her. Her efforts to get the bike to start escalated.
He crossed the few feet between them in three long strides and placed a hand on her forearm. “I’m not going to hurt you. I promise.”
She stopped long enough to assess him, her pale blue eyes seeming to dive deep into his soul. He felt her scrutinizing stare to the bottom of his heart, all the way to his gut.
“My name is Shaw Bennett. I’m with the State Police.”
“I know who you are.”
He let go of her and raised both hands. “Let’s just talk.”
Her sneer lacerated his ego. “I don’t trust cops.”
Not entirely true. She trusted Josh McCord, and he thought that trust might be misplaced, but he wasn’t going to argue with her about her attitude toward law enforcement.
“You can trust me.”
“Who says? You?” She laughed at him and her scorn circled them, yipping and yapping like a mad dog ready to bite into soft flesh.
Her derision seemed a bit forced, revealing the possibility that she was being braver and bolder than she really felt.
“I know you didn’t kill Jared. Josh McCord told me Lucy Kimbrough confessed.” Maybe tossing McCord’s name out there would win Shaw some points.
“I know.”
“Now, how do you know what I know?”
“I was there when you busted into the room right after Tori Downing killed Lucy. I saw it all.” She bit her lip as if she suddenly realized maybe she shouldn’t have admitted to being a witness to the incident.
He grinned, hoping to relieve her anxiety with his warmest, friendliest, most-practiced put-them-at-their-ease smile.
She returned his smile as if he was getting to her, but a skeptical attitude lurked behind the pretense. “Are you going to arrest me?”
“I could…as a material witness.”
The renewed tension in her face made her jaw muscles twitch. Fear and anger glittered in her blue eyes. “I guess Josh and Gray told you everything that happened right before you got there.”
He nodded. “Most of it. The important stuff anyway.”
Actually, Shaw had listened to Grayson’s digital recording of the event and had gotten a better idea of what had gone down in Victoria Hamilton’s bedroom than from the post-traumatic accounts of the witnesses.
“Something strange happened in that room. Something not normal or natural. You know, people around here have always said that house is haunted and now I believe it.”
“What did you see? Tell me about it.” He wanted to hear her version of what happened. It was always interesting to get yet another perspective.
She shifted from one foot to the other. There was at least a minute of absolute silence while he watched her make up her mind whether she would tell him what she saw or not. He wasn’t going to speak first, and she was going to make him wait. The moment became awkward.
She made a noise of disgust before she relented and began talking again. “There was a dark ghost or apparition or black form or whatever you want to call. It took over Lucy and lifted her off her feet, and then a lighter form entered the room.”
“Two apparitions?” He knew this already. His question was more of a prompt to get her to keep talking because she looked like she wanted to stall out.
“Yeah, two.” Mischievous skepticism glittered in her blue eyes. “M
aybe one of them was the ghost of Victoria Hamilton. Who knows? Do you?” That sounded like a taunt. She paused, but only for a single heartbeat.
“Then I saw an explosion of light, and Lucy hit the ground. That’s when everyone froze as if they were all in a trance or something. That moment seemed to last forever.” She closed her eyes as if recalling the scene in her mind. “Then they all started trying to take the gun away from each other, and then Tori got the gun and shot Lucy…right between the eyes. And you know what? I tried not to laugh. I wanted to. I was so relieved to have that bitch out of my life.”
He suppressed a smile. The woman was trying hard to act tough and ruthless. Maybe she was trying to impress him. She didn’t have to try so hard. He was already impressed. She didn’t cower. She didn’t fall to pieces. She didn’t whine. Once she had started relating her account of the event, she spewed it out as if she was regurgitating something spoiled she’d eaten for dinner. And she was obviously about to make a point.
“How are you gonna keep me from talking about it? Are you going to lock me up in some secret government facility and refuse me my one phone call? I’m not a terrorist. Just a scared woman who wants to be left alone so I can live my life.”
She was smart enough to be scared.
“I can’t let you leave, you know.” More for her protection than her detention.
“Do you have a choice? You’re ex-military, aren’t you?”
He nodded. How did she know that? Well, he guessed he still had a military bearing. That never left someone after they’d served.
“A play-by-the-rules sort of guy who has to bend a few every once in a while?”
He nodded again. She had him figured out.
“Then you can’t stop me from talking to someone, a lawyer maybe or a reporter or somebody who’ll listen. Do you really want me telling the whole world exactly what I saw?” She shook her head. “No, you won’t stop me from leaving.”
No, he wouldn’t.
He had been correct in his evaluation of her. Courtney Crenshaw didn’t think she needed anyone to take care of her. If she had stayed with Jared even though he had abused her, it had been for some other reason than the fractured psychology of the abused.
With a pang of regret, he stepped back from her. “Okay, then.” He pulled out his wallet and slipped one of his cards from the sleeve where he kept them. “Have you ever heard of Shaw’s Landing?”
She nodded.
“If you decide to stick around, and you still need help, I’ll help you. Just find a way to get to Shaw’s Landing.”
“You’re letting me go?” She truly seemed surprised, and that seemed odd after the intense posturing she had done to convince him he had no choice but to watch her go.
He’d let her think it was her choice. “I really don’t want word getting around that a ghost attacked Lucy Kimbrough before Tori Downing shot her. I could take you in and keep you from talking to anyone, but you’re right, I’m not gonna do that.”
“Why?”
“Because I want you to trust me. When you decide to tell me your story, I want you to talk to me on your own terms, and I want the truth. If you ask for my protection, I’ll give it to you. No strings attached.”
“Why would you do that for me?”
“Now that Cooley’s dead, you’re probably running from Fred Haskins, and I’m guessing Jared owed Cooley a lot of money, which he owed to Haskins, and now Haskins is going to collect on that debt from you. Haskins is a dangerous man. You might need someone’s help if you’re trying to hide from him. The man has a lot of resources.”
She revved the bike, and this time it caught and stayed alive. “I know all about his resources.”
She pulled her long hair into a tight bun and shoved it inside the helmet that had been hanging on the handle bar. When she flipped open the visor, he caught one more glimpse of her eyes. Mesmerizing eyes.
“Will you answer one question before you leave?”
She hesitated. “Maybe. Depends on the question.”
“Did you help Lucy kill Caroline Grayson?”
Her thick eyebrows drew together over her nose. “No. Why would you think that?”
“She carried Caroline up the stairs from the basement, didn’t she?”
Courtney nodded.
It had been a good guess. Courtney had watched Lucy bring Caroline into the house.
“How did she do that without help?”
Courtney’s eyes drilled into his. “I didn’t help Lucy kill Caroline or help her take Caroline to Victoria Hamilton’s bedroom. Putting her in that bed… That was just…sick.” She blinked at him. “You need answers and you think I have them, don’t you?”
He nodded.
“I have something I have to do first. Then maybe I’ll give you a call and try to answer your questions…honestly.”
His breath caught and held as she made a circle and rode away. Yes, he believed she would call him eventually.
His blood raced a little faster in anticipation of meeting Courtney Crenshaw again. He wanted to kick himself for letting her get away, but he sensed that allowing her to do things on her own terms was the only way she’d ever tell him what he wanted to know. Besides, he really didn’t want her talking to anyone about what she’d seen at Victoria House.
Chapter Nine
It was mid-morning before Courtney found a place secluded enough to stop and pull the papers out of the bike’s storage. The Park Service had tucked one picnic table behind a stand of trees and bushes at the Ashley Ridge trailhead not far from the old Jepson farm where she had asked Josh to stash the money.
She had studied the papers for nearly an hour, trying to make sense of them. It wasn’t Jared’s handwriting. Her heart sank a little as she realized the information probably concerned Cooley’s activities rather than Haskins’s.
There was no way to decipher the author’s notes without a key to the code he had used. Jared obviously hadn’t had the key. If he had, he would have used it to his advantage. That meant the writer was probably Omar Cooley. The writing looked like his nearly illegible scratching.
Irony smacked her in the gut. Jared’s insurance hadn’t kept him alive. Having the written details of Cooley’s operation hadn’t kept a psycho woman from killing Jared.
One page in particular caught her attention, a reference to James, the son of Celeste Standridge, the crazy old woman who had owned Laurel Heights. The chronicler had jotted a crude chart with James’s name at the top. The list consisted of names, dates, locations, and amounts, and for some reason, it was the only page not written in code and the only page that didn’t look like Cooley’s handwriting.
Most of the newer names on the list seemed Hispanic. She was pretty certain she was looking at a list of lab workers, most of them illegal immigrants that Cooley had involuntarily enlisted to help him cook his meth.
The first name on the list was Cherish Duncan. If Courtney wasn’t mistaken, the date next Cherish’s name was the same night she’d gone missing. Halloween 2010. Had James Standridge kidnapped women for Omar Cooley to use in his operation? Had he been responsible for Cherish’s disappearance?
She sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. The papers were no good to her unless she could decode them and use them to connect Haskins to Cooley. First, she had to find the key code. If he didn’t keep the key in his head, which he might have, then it would have to be written down somewhere and hidden in his house. That meant a trip out to Cooley’s place.
He had lived at an odd spot down Highway 65, a weird little corner of the adjacent county that was only accessible by highway from its two neighboring counties, a triangle that made law enforcement difficult because it was sort of a no man’s land.
Courtney was on the road again in a matter of minutes. She eventually passed Laurel Heights and thought again about James Standridge. She’d only met him once. He’d seemed a sort of shadowy figure in the background of everything. A lot of people knew of him, but didn’t reall
y know him. Yet somehow everyone knew that he worked for Cooley.
When she finally arrived at Cooley’s house, she was surprised there was no seal on the door. Why hadn’t law enforcement searched his place yet? If Cooley was dead, something incredibly unnatural had happened to him. That would mean an investigation and a search of his possessions. She’d seen the scenario played out before.
When she’d finally traveled down the highway until she’d crossed into the next county and found his place, she stalled in Cooley’s driveway. Maybe barging into his house was a bad idea. What if he wasn’t dead? Would she be walking into another bad situation? He’d want an explanation for her unexpected presence. No way she’d tell him about Jared’s insurance policy.
The sun pushed a steady stream of light through overhanging tree limbs. It wasn’t quite mid-day but the earth was already steaming from evaporating rainfall. The humidity was climbing, and her t-shirt clung to her. The rush of wind as she rode had kept her cool and dry until she dismounted and stepped into a sauna.
She brushed the accumulating droplets of sweat from her brow and moved toward the door. Before she had taken three steps toward the front porch steps, a woman emerged from the house and aimed a double-barreled shotgun at her.
“Who are you?” The woman acted as if she owned the place.
As far as Courtney could remember, Cooley had never had a woman live with him. Who would want him? The sun hung almost dead center over Cooley’s house causing Courtney to stare into its glare. She squinted at the woman from beneath the shade of the hand she held over her eyes. “Cherish Duncan?”
“Who wants to know?” Hostility rang in the woman’s question.
She raised her hands to show the woman she wasn’t armed. “I’m Courtney.”
The barrel of the gun lowered a smidgen.
“I used to work for Cooley.”
The barrel rose once again. “What do you want?”
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