by Gayle Wilson
In response to Susan’s pleas, Jeb had agreed to knock on the door as long as she agreed to stay in the truck. His prepared excuse, to pretend to have come to offer Lorena’s condolences, wasn’t needed. No one answered the door.
When he’d returned to the truck, his eyes had reflected the same fear she felt. Seeing it, she didn’t have the heart to rant at him or even to say that she’d told him this would happen. He had done what he’d believed was right, and if he’d been wrong…
She refused to consider that possibility. After all, as he’d told her all day, Adams’s funeral was set for tomorrow afternoon. Diane would stay long enough for that.
“The funeral home,” she suggested. At least the trip back toward town would give them something to do. Something other than worry about Emma.
“You think she might be there?”
“Making the arrangements, maybe? After all, she’s got to be somewhere.”
It was what she’d been saying about Emma since she’d been in Linton. And she’d been right. Maybe she would be again.
The funeral director had been politely surprised by their visit, but he’d readily provided information about the sheriff’s viewing and the service. He’d also confided that, under the circumstances, it would be “closed casket,” of course.
When they returned to the truck this time, Jeb had sat with his hands gripping the top of the steering wheel for several long, silent minutes. A muscle flexed in his jaw as he stared unseeingly at the building they’d just left. When he turned toward her, the fear she’d seen in his eyes earlier had been replaced by determination.
“I don’t believe Diane’s left, but…if she has, I swear to you I’ll find her. I won’t rest until I do.”
It was the promise Susan had tried to extract before. And she couldn’t doubt its sincerity now.
“There’s one more place we haven’t looked,” she said. “I don’t know if she’s there, but…I think it’s somewhere she’d feel safe.”
“Safe?”
“If Diane knows where and how Wayne got Emma—and we both agreed last night that by now she must at least suspect—then she has to be wondering if his death had anything to do with what happened here seven years ago.”
“You think she’s afraid that if someone did kill Wayne—”
“That she might be next. And I think the only people she would trust to make sure that didn’t happen…”
Even before she had completed the thought, Jeb had started the truck, backing out of the funeral home’s tree-shaded lot and heading downtown.
WHEN THEY ARRIVED at the sheriff’s department, they discovered Buck Jemison had wasted no time in taking over, apparently relishing his new position. Using the pretext of the missing fax, they were quickly ushered into his office, which still had Wayne Adams’s name on the door.
“Sorry, folks, but the fax doesn’t seem to have turned up yet. We’re still looking, though. I’m gonna send one of the boys out to Wayne’s house to see if he took it home with him.”
“They finished up the investigation out there?” Jeb asked.
There had been no visible activity going on when they’d driven by. The closed garage had been marked off limits to curiosity seekers with a strip of yellow caution tape.
“Pretty much. Hell of a thing to happen, but that jack was about as worn out as that ’38 Chevy Wayne was so proud of. But I guess that ain’t such a bad way to go, doing something you love as much as he loved working on that old truck.”
“I’m sure that’s a comfort to his family,” Jeb managed with a straight face. “Wayne had a sister, didn’t he? It seems like I remember that.”
“Diane,” Jemison said readily. “And a niece. She would have been since your time. They’re pretty broken up about his death. ’Course, Wayne took care of them. We’ve been talking around here about pitching in to keep things up out at Diane’s place.”
“She didn’t live with Wayne, then?” Jeb’s question sounded perfectly natural, despite their recent visit.
“Diane’s got a house out in Ravenswood. Subdivision probably wasn’t even here the last time you were in town.”
“Do you think they’ll stay in Linton?” Susan asked. “Now that he’s gone, I mean?”
“Why, where else would they go, Ms. Chandler?”
Jemison’s mud-colored eyes expressed more interest in her question than anything else that had been said, making her wonder if Diane’s departure had already been planned. Although if so, why she would tell Jemison—
“I’m going on home now, Buck.”
They turned to find a woman standing in the doorway of what had yesterday been Adams’s office. Although Jemison didn’t offer an introduction, Susan knew immediately who she was.
Tall and angular as her brother, and almost as deeply tanned, Diane Paul was dressed in a dark sweatshirt and a pair of white jeans. Her light brown hair was cut short and highlighted in chunky streaks. The only signs of her recent grief were the red-rimmed eyes, eerily reminiscent of Wayne’s.
“You need me to take you?” Jemison asked.
“Byron’s going to do it. Just call me later.”
Buck nodded. “You try to get some rest now, you hear? Tomorrow’s going to be another long, hard day.”
Diane nodded, but by then her eyes had fastened on Susan. Her head tilted as if she were trying to figure out who she was.
“You’re the one who found Wayne.”
“Yes, I am. I’m Susan Chandler.”
“Buck said you went out to Wayne’s because they might have found your baby up in Randolph County.”
“They found a baby.” Susan wanted to add “but she wasn’t mine.” Only Jeb’s eyes, harder than she’d ever seen them, prevented her.
“I don’t know what I’d do if something like that happened to my daughter,” Diane said. “I can’t even bear to think about it. Especially not after what happened to Wayne.”
Although the words were appropriate enough in the situation, there was something about them that seemed almost challenging. While Susan was trying to figure out how she could possibly answer them, Diane turned back to Jemison.
“I’ll see you later, Buck.”
“Don’t forget what we talked about,” he said.
“No, I won’t. I’ll call you later.”
Diane looked at Jeb assessingly before she smiled at him. “You’re Jeb Bedford, aren’t you? I heard you were home. Welcome back.”
Susan couldn’t decide if Diane was making a play for Jeb or for Jemison. Or maybe this was the only way she knew how to relate to men. That slightly flirtatious-schoolgirl approach.
“Ms. Paul,” Jeb said.
The smile widened, but when Jeb didn’t return it, Diane turned back to Susan. “Good luck finding your baby.”
“She’s a little girl now.”
“She would be, wouldn’t she? I guess I didn’t think. Well, good luck finding her.”
“Thank you.”
“See you later, Buck,” Diane said again.
This time she made good her departure. No one said anything for a few seconds after she’d disappeared down the hall.
“Funeral’s at two tomorrow,” Jemison informed them. “Hopewell Baptist. I guess Miz Lorena will be there.”
“My aunt seldom misses a funeral,” Jeb said. “I think it’s some form of self-congratulation.”
“Self-congratulation?”
“That it isn’t hers.”
Jemison laughed. “What is she now? Pushing ninety? She’s liable to outlive us all.”
Especially if jacks keep falling on people or if they go off bridges and into the river, Susan thought.
“About that. Let us know as soon as that fax turns up, will you? Ms. Chandler is eager to put all this behind her.”
“I understand,” Jemison said, his eyes meeting hers again. “I’ll get a couple of people onto looking for it right away.”
“WHAT DID YOU THINK?” she asked as soon as they were back in the tru
ck.
“About what?”
“About Diane.”
“I don’t think there’s any doubt she knows.”
“About Emma?”
“I thought she was warning you off.”
Susan wasn’t sure what she had wanted him to say in response to her question, but it was disturbing to hear that his reading of Diane’s attitude so clearly mirrored hers.
“I didn’t like that cryptic exchange with Buck. It felt like they had something already set up. Maybe he’s going to help her try to get Emma out of town.”
“Why don’t you call the FBI again?”
Jeb’s lack of reassurance was frightening, considering he’d been the one assuring her that Diane wasn’t going anywhere. If he no longer believed that…
“Let’s drive out to her house again and see if she picked Emma up on her way home.”
“What about the FBI?”
“I’ll call them on the way.”
DESPITE THE NUMBER of times she had now called the Jackson office, she jumped when her cell phone finally rang. She reached out, grabbing it off the console. Despite her eagerness, she hesitated, trying to control her breathing, before she flipped open the case.
“Hello?”
“Ms. Chandler? Susan Chandler?”
“That’s right.”
“This is Special Agent Rob Hill, Ms. Chandler. How are you, ma’am?”
“Very anxious to know when you’ll arrive in Linton,” Susan said. “I’ve been trying to reach you all day. Did they explain the situation to you?”
“Yes, ma’am, they did, and—”
“Then you understand that every minute could be critical. There’s no way I can stop this woman from taking my daughter and leaving the area. Her brother was the former sheriff here, and the local department won’t step into this. Not if it means taking Emma away from her.”
“Emma? That’s your daughter.”
“That’s right. Emma Kaiser. She’s been listed as missing for the last seven years.”
“This was a parental abduction, right?”
He was probably reading that from the old case file. Susan took a deep breath, trying to control the automatic anger that term provoked.
“That’s what we believed at the time, but now that her father’s body has been found, we know that isn’t true. I believe that the sheriff here may have taken Emma when he found my husband’s body.”
“That would be Sheriff Adams. He’s the one whose body you found last night.”
“That’s right. He may even have had a hand in Richard’s murder. In any case, however it happened, he ended up with Emma, and now his sister—”
“Richard? That would be your husband?”
“Look, I know this is complicated. I told whoever I spoke to last night it was. I’ll be glad to go over it all again when you arrive.”
“Actually, ma’am, before I called you back, I spoke to the Johnson County sheriff myself.”
“The sheriff? But…”
“Sorry. I should have said the acting sheriff.”
“Buck Jemison.”
There was a crackle of paper as Hill apparently checked the name against his notes. “That’s right. Henry Jemison.”
“So you’ve already explained the situation to him.”
For the first time since she’d picked up the photograph off Adams’s desk, the tightness in her chest eased. No matter how much his newly acquired authority had gone to his head, Jemison would have to listen to the FBI. They had jurisdiction in a kidnapping, and Emma had long been on their list of victims.
“Have you talked to the sheriff’s office this afternoon, Ms. Chandler?”
At something in the disembodied voice, the tension that had begun to ease was suddenly back in force. She couldn’t even think to tell him she had just left there.
“What’s wrong?” She fought to control the surge of panic she couldn’t explain.
When Hill responded, his voice was imbued with compassion. “It seems the sheriff’s department received a fax from the state forensics lab yesterday afternoon.”
Somehow she knew what Special Agent Rob Hill was going to say before his words came across the line. They were words she had feared for more than seven years. Words she had thought last night she need never fear again.
“I’m terribly sorry, Ms. Chandler, but according to the DNA test the state lab performed, it turns out that the body the officials in Randolph County found and subsequently interred was indeed your daughter.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“HOW DID JEMISON THINK he could get away with that?” Susan asked. She was holding on to the grip above the door as Jeb took the last in a series of hairpin curves far too fast.
“Remember, he only has to get away with it long enough to carry out whatever he and Diane have got planned. If he can keep the FBI at bay until then…” He let the sentence trail in order to concentrate on the winding road that led out to the subdivision they’d visited only a couple of hours ago.
As soon as Jeb had taken the phone away from Susan, who’d obviously been stunned by whatever Hill had told her, it had taken only a quick comparison of the times Jemison had told his conflicting stories to prove that the acting sheriff had lied. It would have been to Buck’s advantage to convince Susan that what he had told the FBI was true. Since he hadn’t tried to do that, despite the fact that they’d been in his office less than fifteen minutes ago, the logical conclusion was that he hadn’t produced the fax because it didn’t say what he had claimed.
After Jeb had explained to the FBI agent what he believed was going on in Johnson County, using all the persuasive power and presence of command he had acquired during his years in the Army, Hill had promised to get down there as quickly as he could. They’d all known, however, that it wouldn’t be quick enough to prevent what Jeb was now convinced was going to happen. Not tomorrow after the funeral as he’d thought, but tonight.
“Jeb.”
He had been slowing to make the entry into the subdivision where Diane lived. Something in Susan’s voice caused him to turn to find her looking out the back window of the truck.
He glanced up into the rearview mirror, but the two-lane was deserted as far back as he could see. “What is it?”
“That truck that just pulled out…”
He looked up into the mirror once more, this time spotting the black pickup that had passed them, headed in the opposite direction. It must have come out of the neighborhood street they were about to enter.
Thinking about what might lie ahead, Jeb hadn’t paid any attention to it until Susan’s comment. He watched until the vehicle disappeared around the curve he’d just negotiated before he looked back at her.
“What about it?”
She shook her head slightly, staring out through the front windshield as he guided the truck through the turn. “I don’t know. It just seemed…I think it could be the one that chased me that night.”
Whatever he had expected her to say, it wasn’t that. His eyes automatically lifted to the mirror again, but there was no longer any sign of the pickup.
“What made you think that?” She’d seen it only at night. And in a situation that hadn’t lent itself to noting details.
“I don’t know. Something about the headlights. Or the size. It just…” She shook her head again, almost as if she were trying to convince herself she was mistaken.
“The headlights?”
“They were on. Something about them…looked familiar.”
Even though the sun hovered just above the horizon, the pickup was new enough that it would have been equipped with automatic lights. That was about all he could tell from the glimpse he’d gotten. That and the color.
The night Susan had been forced off the road, she had described the truck as big and dark. The one that had just pulled out of Diane’s neighborhood had been both. Not as large as his vehicle, perhaps, but close. Neither characteristic, however, seemed like grounds for a positive ident
ification.
“There are a hell of a lot of pickups down here.”
“I know. It doesn’t matter.”
He made the second turn, approaching the spot where he’d parked before. Only the side of Diane’s house was visible from this point, along with a small section of browning lawn.
Instead of stopping, Jeb pulled into the cul-de-sac, realizing immediately what was different from the last time he’d seen the house. The garage door was up, the space inside empty.
He didn’t look at Susan, unsure whether she understood the implications. He didn’t have long to wonder.
“Her car’s gone,” Susan said. “She’s gone to get Emma. I know it.”
He didn’t argue. He gunned the engine instead, sending the truck shooting around the narrow cul-de-sac.
“Oh, God, Jeb, that pickup.”
As he approached the entrance, he expected to see the vehicle returning. There was nothing there.
“What about it?”
“It’s hers,” Susan said. “It’s Diane’s. She’s the one who didn’t want me asking questions. She’s the one who tried to run me off the road.”
The conclusions fell into place like the missing pieces of a nearly completed puzzle. Of all the people in Linton, Diane Paul had the most to lose from Susan’s questions. Only she and Wayne knew what had happened the night Richard died. And both had done their best to discourage Susan from her attempts to find out. Now one of them was dead, and the other…
Without bothering to articulate any of that, he floored the accelerator, sending the truck out into the neighborhood street with a squeal of tires. Although there were a limited number of roads around Linton, if he didn’t catch up with the black pickup and keep in visual contact with it, there was a good chance he might lose her. And if he did…
“Hold on,” he warned, roaring toward the turn that would put them out of the residential section and back on the state highway. He took it as fast as he dared, the Avalanche hugging the curve as he pushed the accelerator down again.
“Jeb.”
He took his eyes off the road a second to glance toward Susan again. The way she’d said his name hadn’t sounded like a protest of his speed.