Betrayed

by Sharon Sala

  She sat for a couple of minutes thinking about Caitlin's mother. What had made her start drinking? Had she really fallen into the pool or had she been pushed? She was still thinking about Mona's death when someone knocked on Logan’s window. She turned to look and then frowned.

  Chief Evans? What does he want now?

  She rolled down the window.

  Josh wasn't sure this was the time to approach this subject, but he wasn't the patient kind.

  "Can we talk?"

  She shrugged. "Get in."

  "I'd rather you stopped by the office," he said.

  "Well, I'm going in to get some groceries, and then I'm going back to the motel to check email. I have five builds going on at once in my housing addition and a lot to deal with, so I'd rather you talked to me here."

  He blinked.

  She didn't.

  "Then would you mind getting into my cruiser to talk?" he asked.

  "Only if you keep the air conditioning on high," she said.

  He grinned. "Yes, ma'am."

  She killed the engine and locked her car, then strolled over to the police car where he was waiting. He opened the door for her, and as she got in, pushed the seat back as far as it would go to accommodate her long legs.

  Josh got in, then realized they would be having this conversation over the squawk of the police radio, so he decided to make this quick.

  "Miss Talman—"

  "Mrs."

  He flushed. "Right. Sorry about that. Mrs. Talman, I talked to your old landlady."

  "Mrs. Beaudine? I didn't think she'd still be living. I need to look her up and say hello," Logan said.

  "Yes, well, as I was saying. Several people have told me that you left Bluejacket very suddenly, and when you did, you left alone."

  Logan's heart skipped, but her expression never changed.

  When she didn't volunteer anything, he frowned.

  "Why didn't you answer me?"

  Logan pretended surprise. "Because you didn't ask me a question. You just stated some third-party gossip, which should not have a damn thing to do with why I'm visiting. I am still in shock that I have become a 'person of interest' to you, when I have done nothing but come back to a place where I once lived."

  He heard tension in her voice, but guessed it was because she was trying not to get angry. He knew he was pushing for answers to questions he didn't have the right to ask.

  "Mrs. Beaudine said you left without telling her."

  Logan frowned. "Well, back then my brother took care of all that stuff, and I didn't know she hadn't been notified. What I do know is that we left with all bills paid and the house keys on the kitchen table. It's not like we'd signed a lease. We were month-to-month renters, like all of her other properties, and we didn't owe her notification or a reason for leaving."

  "Where is your brother?"

  She glared. "Is he wanted for a crime?"

  "No, but—"

  "Am I wanted for a crime?"

  He sighed.

  "No, but—"

  "Then you, sir, need to go find someone else to question. If at any time during my visit I feel the need for police protection, rest assured, I will not hesitate to call. And just so you know...if anything should happen to me while I'm here, then and only then will you have yourself a reason to be all up in my business. Okay?"

  "Why would you think something might happen to you?" he asked.

  Her eyes narrowed. "Life has a way of cutting the legs out from under me now and then, so I always hedge my bets. If we're through here, I really need to go."

  Josh frowned. "I suppose I'm—"

  She got out and shut the door without looking back.

  He watched until she went into the store, and then he put the car in gear and drove away. She was hiding something...and she'd side-stepped commenting on her brother for a reason. He had a feeling her business would become his business, too, before they were through.

  Logan grabbed a shopping cart and headed for the produce aisle. After picking up a small bunch of bananas, a couple of apples, and some grapes, she went to look for cheese snacks and a box of crackers. She added those to her cart and moved next to the soft drink aisle. Two six packs of Pepsi later, she was finished and on the way to check out. She put everything on the conveyor and then moved up to the register where the checker was running her purchases through the scanner.

  She was waiting for the total when a man walked into the store, then suddenly stopped. She glanced up and caught him staring. He looked familiar, but then so did a lot of people here, so she ignored him, swiped her credit card, and then signed her name.

  "Do you need any help with carry out?" the checker asked.

  "No, ma'am. I've got this," Logan said. She put everything into her basket and pushed it toward the exit.

  The man hadn't moved. When she got closer, she realized he was shaking.

  "Excuse me, ma'am. I didn't mean to be staring, but you look like someone I used to know. By any chance are you related to Damon Conway?"

  "I'm his sister, Logan. Do I know you?"

  "Probably only by name. I'm George Wakely. Wakely's Plumbing? He worked for me, you know, and I used to see you around town, but you were just a kid then."

  "Yes, Mr. Wakely. Nice to see you," Logan said, and went through the exit door, pushing her cart.

  When she realized he had followed her back out, his dogged persistence added to the tension.

  She stopped, then turned around to face him, which elicited a quick red-faced apology.

  "I don't mean to stare,” he repeated, “and I'm sorry to keep bothering you, but what happened? One day y'all were here, and then you weren't. He was a good employee. I worried."

  "It was all really sudden," Logan said, then turned off the car alarm and put the sacks in the passenger seat.

  "So, did he come back with you?" he asked.

  "No. After I grew up, I married and live in Texas now."

  Wakely nodded.

  "Well, when you see him, tell him I asked about him."

  "Yes, I'll do that," she said. "Nice to meet you."

  Then she got in and drove away, well aware her behavior had bordered on rude, but it couldn't be helped. She just wanted to get back to her room, see if she had any more information from Big Sky, then solve this mess and go home.

  She pulled up to the motel and parked, then began carrying her purchases inside before going back to get the gun from under the seat, reset the alarm, and locked the door.

  She was kicking off her boots when she realized there were fresh towels in the bathroom, which meant the maid had been here. Damn it! She'd forgotten to put out the Do Not Disturb sign. She immediately began looking to see if everything was still here, and it was.

  She put a few bottles of Pepsi into the mini-fridge, as well as the cheese and fruit, then changed back into her shorts and t-shirt, grabbed her laptop, and crawled back onto the bed.

  She was about to check email when her cell phone rang. She glanced at Caller ID and sighed. It was Wade.

  "Hello. I'm fine, how are you?" she said.

  He chuckled, and the sound rolled through her like silk against her skin.

  "Okay, then. Good to know. We had an issue with flooring on McGuire's crew. The delivery truck wrecked on I-35 Northbound, scattering pecan brown laminate all over the place this morning. They're sending a new flooring shipment tomorrow, so it won't throw them behind enough to stress about."

  Just hearing Wade talk about everyday business was calming.

  "As long as the cost is on them and not us, then it's all good," she said.

  "Agreed," he said, then cleared his throat. "Doing anything new?"

  "I had lunch with the woman who was my best friend in high school. It was good. Her name is Caitlin Baptiste. She married her high school sweetheart, Johnny, and has two red-headed boys like him."

  "Okay...but you didn't go there for a school reunion. What else is going on?"

  She leaned back against the
headboard, staring up at a small water stain on the ceiling and squinted her eyes, trying to decide if that was a bug or a dirty spot on the wall below it.

  "Logan! Damn it!"

  "Don't yell at me. I'm trying to decide how much I'm going to tell you, and if you piss me off, I will hang up."

  "Then talk to me, and you know better than to threaten me."

  She frowned. "I'm waiting on more information from the private investigator. I want to know if any of the surviving spouses collected on big insurance policies, and if the two women who divorced and moved away are alive in the world somewhere."

  There was a slight pause. "Good thinking," he said.

  "Thank you."

  "If you need me..."

  "Yes, I know," Logan said.

  "I'll call tomorrow."

  "Was that a promise or a warning?" she asked.

  He chuckled again.

  She closed her eyes, suddenly wishing she was safe at home and not down here taking chances with her life. But there was her brother and that promise she'd made.

  "Take care of yourself," he said.

  "I will."

  The line went dead in her ear.

  She laid the phone aside and pulled up her email. There was a new message from Hank Rollins. She opened it, and as she began to read, realized this information would likely eliminate two of the five on her list.

  There was a half million-dollar life insurance policy on Julia Stephens, who’d had died in a wreck.

  There had been no life insurance policy on Trena Franklin, who’d died on an operating table.

  There had been a two hundred and fifty-thousand-dollar policy on Ramona (Mona) Adams, which had had a double indemnity clause if the death was accidental. The half-million had been paid out after a lengthy investigation to rule out suicide.

  Regarding the divorcées, Connie DeChante Bales, was living in California, but Ellen Warren, the other divorcée, had dropped off the radar and was believed to have gone to Alaska to live off the grid. Logan noticed Bales’ maiden name was DeChante and wondered if she was related to the mayor, then let it go.

  Hank Rollins ended the report by including a bill and the same instructions. “If you need further information, just let me know.” And then he'd signed it.

  She thought about handing all of this over to Chief Evans right now, but she didn't know him well enough to trust him.

  But to safeguard what she had learned, she needed to share it with someone, and who better than Wade?

  She paid the current bill to Blue Sky through PayPal, and then began typing up a cover letter to Wade, writing a detailed listing of everything she knew and how she'd come by the info, then attached the latest email from the P.I. as well. She re-read it twice and then hit “Send” before she changed her mind.

  When she looked up and realized it was almost four o'clock, she groaned. One last task before she went to bed. She wanted to see where the two divorced men lived. If their living conditions were such that they would never have been able to offer ten thousand dollars to get rid of a wife, then she was going to eliminate them.

  She dressed once more and then left. Once inside the Hummer, she entered the first address into her GPS system, then followed it, weaving her way through the streets, then out to the south edge of town to an ordinary-looking house. It wasn't large, but it wasn't a hovel, either. There were three late model vehicles in front of the house, and an older man washing a car in the shade of two live oaks. She wondered if that was Danny Bales. He looked the right age, and he did not look like a man who would ever be able to throw money around.

  She entered the second address into the GPS and headed for the other side of town, looking for the residence of Tony Warren—the man whose wife had dropped off the grid. She couldn't assume this meant anything sinister, because she'd personally known two different people in the last ten years who'd done that very thing. One had moved up into the mountains in Colorado to live off the land, and the other had chosen Alaska and done the same thing Warren's wife had supposedly done.

  As she was driving, she began to notice the clouds building off in the distance. It would rain soon, certainly before the night was over. She braked at a stop sign near the high school, allowing herself a few moments of reverie, and noticed a heavy-set guy mowing out on the football field. When she accelerated through the intersection and passed the man on the riding mower, she looked closer, wondering if she would know him, too.

  Then she saw his face.

  "Wow. How far the mighty have fallen."

  Rhett PreJean, the star quarterback from high school, who had been generous enough to give every cheerleader on the squad his own brand of tryouts, was mowing the football field.

  She shook her head as she drove past, and within a few minutes, came up on the property belonging to Tony Warren.

  The house was nice. Not on the same level of elegance as Peyton Adams' home, but a really nice home with a quartet of white Grecian-style columns gracing the two-story verandah.

  There were two cars under the portico—one a racy little sports car, and the other one a big white Lincoln. Either he had company, or he'd remarried, neither of which was suspicious.

  She drove past, not knowing what to make of either of the residences. She accepted she wasn't much of a detective, but she was a really good judge of character. Too bad there was no way to meet all five of these men on equal ground and see what kind of vibe she came away with. It was for certain that one of them had her presence on their radar.

  She was still thinking about how to move forward when the first drops of rain hit the windshield. She looked up, then frowned and accelerated, hoping to get back to her room before the main part of the storm hit. She made it by less than a minute and had just stepped into her room when the clouds unloaded.

  Chapter Six

  It was after midnight before Big Boy could get out of the house unobserved. He needed another look at the Bayou Motel and didn't want Sugar all up in his business. So, he'd waited until she'd taken her nightly dose of sleeping pills and passed out.

  The air smelled fresh from the passing storm. The tree frogs were starting to tune back up, but the cicadas were still silent. The tiny niggle of concern that he'd be found out was digging in like a tick on a fat dog. He had committed many sins in his life, but he'd always gotten away with it. This time felt different. It was the first time he knew what it felt like to be hunted.

  He started his car, then eased out of the driveway. Once out on the streets, he headed for the Bayou Motel via neighborhoods, rather than down Main.

  A skinny hound slunk back into the shadows as he passed, and a few blocks down, he braked for a raccoon waddling across the street. He’d probably been digging in someone's garbage.

  Big Boy had his own sense of what was right and what wasn't, and didn't see the irony in the fact that he chose not to run over a raccoon, but was willing to end a human life.

  He came into the motel parking lot from the alley with his lights off, and again, stopped near the back beneath the live oaks.

  God, but he wanted this over.

  The lights were out in 4A. He thought about setting off the alarm on that Hummer to bring her out again, but that would bring everybody else outside as well, and he couldn't have witnesses. He sat with the cold air blasting in his face, waiting for an epiphany.

  After a while, he came up with a plan. If he was already here when she came out of the room in the morning and used the silencer on his handgun, he could pop her right on the threshold without anybody hearing a thing. She'd drop, and he'd be long gone before anyone discovered the body.

  The more he thought about it, the better he liked it. Satisfied with his plan, he headed home. Then to assure himself that he would get out of the house again unobserved, he slept in his downstairs recliner with his cell charging on the table beside him, the alarm set for six a.m.

  It was sundown in Dallas before Wade got home from the jobsite. He’d stayed late to be on hand to receiv
e a rush order of flooring to replace the shipment that wound up in the wreck at the I-35 junction.

  He was tired, filthy, and hungry when he reached the bathroom and started to strip. While he showered, he debated with himself as to whether he was too tired to eat, or too hungry to wait until morning. By the time he’d dried off and dressed in gym shorts and a t-shirt, he felt better. He went barefoot to his kitchen to make his go-to meal—a three-egg, cheese and jalapeno omelet.

  As always, his thoughts went to Logan. She'd been upbeat when they’d spoken earlier, but he couldn't let go of a looming sense of dread.

  He finished cooking the omelet, turned it out on a plate, and carried it to the table so he could go through email while he ate. He inhaled the first three bites with relish before opening the email and responding to the ones that needed answers while reading and deleting others. He didn't find Logan's email until he'd finished eating, but when he saw it and the words For Safekeeping in the subject heading, he opened it immediately.

  The message consisted of a one-page explanation of what she wanted him to know, and how important it was for someone else to have the info in case something happened to her. A cold chill ran through him as he read the last paragraph.

  I have a tattoo on my belly. It is the date of Damon's death and how to find where I buried his body. But to find the grave, you need to read them in reverse. Start at the city limit sign on the north side to begin the count. Reading in reverse, the first number is how far north you drive on the highway. Turn west. The second number is how far you go on the westbound blacktop road. Then, once you stop, you have to walk south the last quarter of a mile into the swamp. The land didn't used to be fenced, which was why it was a bit difficult for me to locate. However, when you get to the inlet of the bayou, you will see a grouping of old cypress trees to your left. Find the one with the X marked on the back.

  * * *

  I buried Damon in front of that tree.

  * * *