White Hot

by Sandra Brown

  “That’s ridiculous. Why wouldn’t they?”

  Again the woman laughed, but with sadness. “I don’t come from money, Ms. Lynch.”

  “Please call me Sayre.”

  “My daddy works at the Tabasco plant in New Iberia, and my mother is a homemaker. They scraped together enough money to send me and my sister to college. We’re their pride and joy because we’re both elementary school teachers.”

  “They have every right to be proud, and I don’t mean that to sound condescending. How did you meet Danny?”

  “I teach third grade, but I also work as a volunteer in the public library. He came in one night to browse and got interested in a book. It got time to close. I roused him and asked him to leave. He looked up at me, and kept on looking for the longest time. Then he said, ‘I’ll go quietly, but only if you’ll join me for a cup of coffee.’ ” She touched her cheek with the back of her hand as though the memory of their meeting had caused her to blush.

  “Did you?”

  “Go for coffee? Yes,” she said with a soft laugh. “I shouldn’t have. It wasn’t like me to go somewhere with a man I’d just met, but I did.” She returned her gaze to the flower-banked grave. “We talked for hours. Before we said good night, he asked me for a date the following weekend. By the time Saturday rolled around, I had learned that he was Huff Hoyle’s son. That scared me. I started to beg off, but I liked Danny so much that I kept the date.

  “We went to dinner at a place between here and New Orleans. Danny said he wanted to take me there because it was such an excellent restaurant, and it was. But I understood even then the reason for the secrecy. I didn’t mind. I didn’t particularly want to get involved with your family.” Turning her head quickly, she said, “I hope you’re not offended.”

  “Not at all. I dislike being involved with us myself. I know better than you how rotten we are.”

  Jessica smiled sadly. “Danny wasn’t rotten.”

  “No, not him.”

  “He worked at the foundry and did his job there well, but his heart wasn’t in it. He disagreed with your father and brother’s management philosophies. He disagreed with them about a lot of things. It was just hard for him to stand up to them, lifetime habits being difficult to break. Although he was getting more courageous.”

  Sayre tucked away that statement to think about later. How had Danny demonstrated his newly acquired courage, she wondered.

  “How long had you been engaged?”

  “Two weeks.”

  “Two weeks?” Sayre exclaimed.

  “That’s right.” Jessica shook her head adamantly. “They’re saying Danny killed himself. He didn’t. I know he didn’t. We were making plans about where to live and what we wanted to do. We’d chosen names for our future children. Danny did not commit suicide. He would have considered it a sin.”

  The word sin triggered Sayre’s next question. “Do you attend Danny’s church?”

  “Yes. After our second date, I invited him to go with me. I was singing a solo that Sunday in the worship service.”

  So she was a vocal soloist. That accounted for her lilting laugh.

  “Danny was reluctant to go. He said Huff—that’s usually what he called your father—scorned religion. But I told Danny I couldn’t continue seeing him if he couldn’t believe as I do. And I meant it.”

  She smiled shyly. “He cared enough to go with me that Sunday. After that first time, he realized that it was God’s love that had been missing from his life. He discovered it and became a new person.”

  On that point Huff, Chris, and Beck Merchant agreed with her, although they attributed Danny’s personality change to a lapse in reason rather than to a religion-based renewal. They saw it as a negative change, not a positive one.

  “I think you must have been very good for my brother, Jessica. I’m glad he knew you. I’m grateful to you for loving him.”

  “I can’t accept any gratitude for that.” Her voice cracked, and she held the tissue to her eyes as tears began to flow again. “I loved him with all my heart. How am I going to endure this?”

  As Jessica wept, Sayre hugged her against her shoulder. Tears filled her own eyes, but they were as much for Jessica as for Danny. Danny was beyond feeling, while this young woman’s heart was breaking and there would be no surcease except the passage of time.

  There were events in your life that you didn’t think you could survive . . . and weren’t sure you wanted to. Things happened that were so painful, you’d rather die of them than go on living with the agony of surviving. Sayre knew what that was like. She remembered what it felt like to have a heartache so severe she wanted to die. Nothing short of death would relieve the pain. But the survival instinct is a miraculous thing. One’s heart goes on beating even after the will to live is lost. One takes another breath even when the desire to breathe has been crushed. One lives on.

  She didn’t blame Danny’s fiancée for her bitter grief. Nor did she try to console her with banalities. She merely held her and would have continued holding her all night if necessary, because when she’d gone through her personal hell, there had been no one to hold her.

  Eventually Jessica stopped crying. “Danny wouldn’t want me to do this.” She blotted her eyes and blew her nose. When she was more composed, she said, “I do not accept the coroner’s ruling.”

  “It may give you some comfort to know that you’re not alone. Hard questions are already being asked.” Sayre told her about the meeting with Sheriff Harper and Wayne Scott. She gave her as detailed an account as she could remember.

  When she was finished, Jessica mulled it over for several moments, then said, “This detective works for Red Harper?”

  “I know what you’re thinking. That Red Harper is on Huff’s payroll. Nevertheless, Deputy Scott seems determined to continue his investigation.”

  The young woman thoughtfully gnawed on her lower lip. “Danny had been troubled by something lately. Every time I asked him about it, he made a joke, said he was worried about how he was going to support me, or what if I got fat and sloppy after he married me, or if he lost all his hair would I still love him. That kind of thing. I’d begun to wonder if I was imagining it, but I don’t think so. I knew him so well.”

  “He never gave you a hint about what was troubling him?”

  “No, but something definitely was.”

  “Something weighty enough to cause him to take his own life?” Sayre asked gently.

  “He wouldn’t hurt me like that,” Jessica insisted. “He wouldn’t leave me with a lifetime of asking myself why he did it and what I could have done or said to prevent it. He wouldn’t burden me with that kind of self-doubt. No, Sayre. I’ll never believe he shot himself.”

  After a pause she said, “But I’ll admit that the alternative is just as unthinkable. Danny was so guileless. Even foundry workers who don’t think too kindly of the other Hoyles liked Danny.”

  “Not entirely, Jessica. He was director of human resources, in charge of hiring and firing, insurance claims, salary. Issues like that can create ill will.”

  “Danny only implemented Huff’s policies, which are feudalistic, and I think the employees were aware of that.”

  Maybe, thought Sayre. But someone with a bent toward revenge might not have made that distinction. “When Deputy Scott asked us who might have wanted to kill Danny, Beck Merchant— I’m sure Danny had mentioned him to you.”

  “I know who he is. Everybody does. He’s a top dog at the foundry. He and Chris are thick as thieves.”

  “Are they that good of friends?”

  “Practically inseparable.”

  Sayre tucked away that tidbit of information to think about later, too. Anything said to Beck might go straight to Chris.

  To Jessica she said, “When Sheriff Harper asked if we knew who might have wanted to see Danny dead, Mr. Merchant answered for all of us, saying what I believe we were all thinking. The Hoyles have cultivated a lot of enemies over the years, for various
reasons. If someone wanted vengeance, Danny would be an easy target because he kept the lowest profile and was the most defenseless.”

  Jessica thought it over for a moment before saying softly, “I suppose. But it hurts to think that he lost his life because someone had a grudge against the family over something that was none of Danny’s doing.”

  “I agree.” Sayre hesitated, then asked, “Do you plan to tell Huff and Chris about your secret engagement?”

  “No. Absolutely not. My parents knew, because Danny asked my father for my hand. They and my sister are the only ones. Not even the faculty at my school knew. We always met away from town. Even at church, we were always careful to be part of a group, never alone.

  “I see no reason to announce it now. It would only cause a brouhaha with your brother and father that, frankly, I don’t have the desire, or the strength, to engage in. I want to concentrate all my thoughts on Danny, not them. I want each memory of our time together to be sweet. They would say or do something to taint it.”

  “Sadly, I agree with you,” Sayre said. “I think that’s a very wise decision. Don’t give them the opportunity to hurt you any more than you’re already hurting. Although it’s their great loss that they won’t know you.” Sayre reached for Jessica’s hand and squeezed it. “I’m glad you and I met. It’s made this easier, knowing that Danny was happy the last year of his life.”

  She decided to leave so that Jessica would have time alone at the grave. They exchanged telephone numbers before saying good-bye. Sayre promised to keep Jessica apprised of developments in the investigation.

  Out of keeping with her fragile appearance, Jessica said stubbornly, “No matter what conclusion that Deputy Scott reaches, I know that Danny didn’t commit suicide. He wouldn’t have left me. Somebody killed him.”

  chapter 7

  The Destiny Diner had undergone a renovation since Sayre had last been there. The chrome stools along the counter now had turquoise vinyl seats where once they had been red. New Formica table-tops had been installed in the booths. These were also turquoise, probably intended to complement the hot-pink tufted benches.

  Apparently the owners had thought this Miami Beach color scheme was an imitation of a classic 1950s diner. But all they had accomplished was to turn the real thing into a tacky parody of itself.

  Compact discs had replaced 45s in the Wurlitzer, but at least the jukebox was still there. And, although the decor had changed, the current unrepentantly high-caloric, artery-clogging menu was virtually the same as the original.

  Sayre placed her order, then relaxed against the padded pink vinyl of the booth to sip her vanilla-spiked Coke and to ask herself for the umpteenth time what she was doing here, why she hadn’t driven back to New Orleans tonight so she could take the first connecting flight to San Francisco tomorrow morning.

  Instead, upon leaving the cemetery, she had driven to the better of the two motels in Destiny, which wasn’t much of a boast, and checked into a room. Then, deciding that she was hungry, or perhaps just restless, she left for the diner.

  On this weeknight, well after the dinnertime rush, she almost had the place to herself, which suited her frame of mind. She needed time to reflect on all that had happened today.

  Her timing for going to the cemetery had been fortuitous. Had she arrived a half hour sooner or later, she might never have known that Jessica DeBlance existed, or about Danny’s happiness with her. Talking with the woman who had loved him had been like receiving a consolation gift.

  But, more important, his recent engagement was the most compelling argument against the suicide ruling. Now that Sayre was equipped with that information, she wondered what she should do with it.

  It also made the reason Danny had called her after a ten-year silence an even more puzzling question. Had he been going to share the news of his engagement, or put closure on their relationship prior to his suicide, or ask her advice on the problem he was confronting? Not knowing would torment her forever.

  “Hiya, Red.”

  Roused from her thoughts, Sayre glanced around, expecting to see someone addressing Sheriff Red Harper. But the man standing at the end of her booth was grinning down at her and had obviously called her Red because of her hair. Did he actually think he was being original? Apparently so, because his smile seemed to be self-congratulatory.

  He nodded toward her glass of Coke. “Drinking alone?”

  “And I prefer it that way.” She faced forward again, hoping he would take the hint and go away. He didn’t.

  “How do you know? You ain’t tried drinking with me yet.”

  “Nor will I.”

  “Nor will I,” he repeated, imitating her. “You sure picked up some highfalutin ways out in San Francisco.”

  She looked at him sharply.

  “Ha! Wondering how I know you? I know you, Miss Sayre Hoyle. Couldn’t forget that hair, or . . .” His eyes slid over her in what he probably thought was a sexy come-hither. “The way you’re put together. You’ve acquired a few bad habits out in California. All them fags out there talk fancy, I guess, so I can’t say as I blame you.”

  Leaning in closer, he lowered his voice to a whisper. “But I bet your ass is still as sweet as it was when you were a sixteen-year-old cheerleader bouncing all over the football field, turning cartwheels and such. Gave me a charge every Friday night to see you do those high kicks. Looked forward to it all week.”

  “Charming,” she said, giving him a drop-dead look. “Now will you please get lost?”

  Instead, he slid into the bench opposite her. She reached for her handbag, but before she could leave the booth, he clamped his hand over her wrist. She tried to yank it free, saying, “Let go of me.”

  “I’m just trying to have a friendly conversation,” he said in a wheedling voice. “It’s not like we’re strangers. Don’t you remember me?”

  She didn’t want to have a conversation, friendly or otherwise, with this creep who had long, yellow, lupine teeth, a scraggly yellow goatee, and enormous ears. But she also didn’t want to get into an undignified arm wrestling match with him and attract the attention of the few others in the diner.

  Besides not wanting to make a spectacle of herself, she would just as soon Huff and Chris think she had returned to New Orleans tonight, according to her plan. It wouldn’t take long for news to reach them that she was fighting off a masher in the diner, which would no doubt provide them with a good laugh.

  She fixed her frostiest glare on the man. “I don’t know who you are, nor do I care to know. If you don’t let go of my hand immediately, I’ll—”

  “What?” he taunted, applying more pressure to her wrist, digging into the tender underside of it with his thumb. “Wha’chu gonna do if I don’t let go?”

  “She’ll break your fucking neck. And if she doesn’t, I will.”

  Her unwanted companion’s jaw went slack as he looked up and beyond her. She turned to see Beck Merchant leaning indolently against the back of the booth behind her, in much the same way he’d been leaning against the fender of her car that morning. He was smiling the same casual smile now, too, but only with his mouth. His eyes echoed the threat he had issued.

  It caused the other man’s confidence to waver, although he tried to brazen it out. “Who’re you to be butting in?”

  “I’m the guy who’s going to break your neck.”

  “I whipped your ass once, you know. You’ve obviously forgotten that. But I’ll be all too happy to refresh your memory.”

  He was bluffing. Even Sayre, who was by no means an expert on fistfights, could tell that.

  “Let go of her.” Emphasizing the two words separately, Beck added, “Right now.”

  The man hesitated only a moment longer, then released her and slid out of the booth. Sneering down at Sayre, he said, “Just like all the Hoyles, you always did think you was hot shit.”

  She didn’t bother with a comeback but watched him saunter to a booth at the far end of the diner, where his companio
ns began riling him for being shot down. Then she looked at Beck. “I could have handled the situation myself.”

  “Hold the thought.”

  Before she could say more, he walked to the door of the diner, pushed it open, and whistled softly. A large dog leapt from the bed of a pickup truck and bounded up to him. “Go on back there and let them feed you.”

  The golden retriever ran to the double swinging doors that led into the kitchen and nosed his way through them. Sayre heard exclamations of greeting from the staff. Beck rejoined her, sliding into the booth.

  “Frito?” she asked.

  “How did you know?”

  “Chris mentioned him.”

  “Oh, right. The night at the fishing cabin. The bobcat.”

  “I assumed Chris was referring to a dog.” She glanced toward the diner kitchen. “Apparently Frito is a regular.”

  “So am I, but I’ve never seen you here, and frankly I’m shocked. At the house, you were chomping at the bit to be on your way back to California.”

  “I went to the cemetery. It got late. I decided to stay here tonight and get a fresh start tomorrow.”

  He assimilated that without comment, then asked, “Have you ordered?”

  “A cheeseburger.”

  He called out to the short-order cook who could be seen through the open space behind the counter. “Grady, double her order, please.”

  “Coming up.”

  He settled back into the booth. “Now, what were you saying about handling the situation with Slap Watkins?”

  “Watkins,” she said with sudden enlightenment. “I remember now. He was a troublemaker, several classes ahead of me in school. I think he had to repeat a couple of grades. He once got suspended for window-peeping into the girls’ locker room.”

  “He’s still a troublemaker. I heard from Chris that he’s recently been released from prison and is on parole. When I pulled in, I saw you through the window, and it looked to me like you needed some help.”

  “Insert ‘thank you for rescuing me’ here?”

  He grinned, then looked up at the approaching waitress and winked when she set a glass of Coke in front of him. “You remembered the lemon wedge without my even asking. Thanks.”