Shaking off his thoughts about Annie, about marriage, and how the two didn’t mix, Dane dialed the number for Hughes Chemicals and Plastics. He wanted to ask Dickie Hughes a few questions.
Annie absentmindedly tapped her foot on the floor as she and Dane sat in the waiting area of the executive offices at the Hughes plant. Dickie’s secretary, Judy Cantrell, had asked them to wait, that Mr. Hughes would see them directly. That had been twenty minutes ago.
Dane had awakened Annie at ten and shared with her the information his agency had given him over the phone earlier that day. After she’d showered and dressed, she had gone downstairs and found breakfast waiting for her. Waffles and sausage links. And a good cup of coffee. Dane Carmichael could cook, something no self-respecting good ole boy would dream of doing. Other than barbecuing, which was an acceptable manly chore. Every day she spent with Dane, she saw a new facet to his personality, a new trait she found endearing.
Fidgeting, tired of waiting, Annie checked her watch. One forty-five! Just as she rose from her chair to protest to Dickie’s secretary, the outer door swung open and her uncle Royce entered.
He paused, smiled at her, nodded to Dane and then told Judy that he was there to see Dickie.
Judy glanced past him and smiled nervously at Annie. “Ms. Harden and Mr. Carmichael are waiting to see him, too.”
Royce turned to them. “What business do y’all have with Dickie?”
“We just need to ask him a few questions,” Annie said.
“We’ve come across some information that we think might be linked to Halley Robinson’s murder,” Dane told him.
“Really?” Royce asked. “What sort of information?”
“It seems that Halley might have been given some evidence concerning the suicide of a man who was the plant manager here twenty years ago.” Studying Layman’s reaction, Dane noted a tightening in his facial muscles. “Do you remember Martin Edwards? He was supposedly guilty of allowing PCBs from the plant to be illegally dumped into the river.”
The color drained from Layman’s face. His shoulders slumped. He cast his gaze to the floor.
“Did you know Martin Edwards, Uncle Royce?” Annie asked.
“Yes, I knew Martin. He was a fine man. A family man.” Royce walked across the room and gazed out the windows that overlooked the parking lot. “I suppose he just couldn’t live with the disgrace. Such a pity he chose that way to end things. We would have stood by him and seen him through. Richard had told him that the company would support him, pay all the legal costs. I’ve never understood why he…” Royce turned abruptly. Color splotched his cheeks. “What possible connection could Martin’s suicide have to Halley Robinson? What sort of information do you think she had?”
The door to Dickie Hughes’s office opened. Jason Webber, his arm no longer in a sling, stood guard just inside the door. Dickie emerged, went straight to Royce Layman and shook his hand.
“I’m afraid I’ll have to postpone our appointment a few minutes,” Dickie said. “It seems Annie and Dane have something urgent they want to discuss with me.”
Annie had never paid much attention to Dickie Hughes. He was attractive enough, she supposed, if you liked the tall, slender type. However, his delicate features bordered on the feminine. In most instances, Dickie seemed to fade away alongside his handsome, manly, charismatic father.
“They’ve got some ridiculous notion that Halley Robinson’s death might be somehow connected to Martin Edwards’s suicide,” Royce said. “You remember, don’t you, Dickie, you were staying with us that summer?”
Jason Webber cleared his throat loudly. All eyes turned to him.
“I think this discussion is best suited for the privacy of Mr. Hughes’s office,” Webber strongly suggested.
Five minutes later, with everyone seated in Dickie’s office—everyone except Jason Webber, who stood behind Dickie’s chair, his pose that of a guardian protecting his charge—Annie felt a strange undercurrent in the room. For the first time since Dane had suggested the possibility that her uncle might somehow be involved, she wondered if Dane could be right. No, it wasn’t possible. Uncle Royce wasn’t the kind of man who would be involved in murder.
Dickie Hughes placed his clasped hands atop his desk, straightened his shoulders and looked directly at Dane. “I have no idea how you made a connection between Martin Edwards’s suicide twenty years ago and Halley Robinson’s murder, but I can assure you that whatever your source of information, it’s incorrect.”
“You remember Rene Martin, don’t you, Dickie?” Dane asked, and was rewarded with an indiscreet blush on his former brother-in-law’s hollow cheeks. “You and she dated that summer, before her father died.”
“Yes.” Dickie cleared his throat. “I dated her a few times that summer. But I don’t see—”
“Rene Edwards was in possession of some information that, according to her, proved her father’s death was not a suicide.”
“That’s preposterous,” Jason Webber said, his voice deadly calm. “Martin was depressed and despondent. He was so ashamed of what he’d done, how he had betrayed Richard and the company, that he took his own life. The coroner ruled his death a suicide.”
Suddenly a memory flashed through Dane’s mind. Let me handle this, Richard Hughes had told Dane when Lorna died. The coroner will rule Lorna’s death an accident. There’s no need to tarnish her family’s good name or put any of us through the humiliation. Believe me, son, Lorna would want it this way.
If Richard Hughes had possessed the power to change a coroner’s findings from suicide to accidental overdose, then was it possible he’d had the power to have other findings altered from murder to suicide? No, Richard wouldn’t have covered up a murder! Unless— Dane knew that nothing was more important to Richard than his family’s good name. What if Richard had been protecting Dickie?
Annie waited for Dane to speak up, but he remained silent. When she glanced at his face she realized his mind was a million miles away. Something Webber had said must have triggered a memory of some kind. Was he, at long last, questioning his former father-in-law’s integrity?
“We have reason to believe that Rene Edwards sent Halley Robinson the proof she claimed she had,” Annie explained. “Whoever murdered Martin Edwards found out that Halley had this proof and he hired someone to retrieve the evidence and murder Halley to keep her quiet. But the killer didn’t get to Halley before she called me and told me…” Annie glanced at Dane. She took his nod as a signal to continue. “Halley mailed a package to me and I’m sure that package contains the information Rene gave her.”
“If you have this information, then why haven’t you turned it over to the police?” Webber asked, his keen dark eyes narrowed on Annie.
“I haven’t received the package, yet,” Annie admitted. “But that isn’t going to stop us from finding out the truth.”
“If there is any truth to this wild story of yours, why would Rene send the information to Halley Robinson? Why not a newspaper reporter?” Dickie asked. “And why haven’t you contacted Rene and asked her if she sent Halley any type of evidence that her father’s death wasn’t a suicide? She’ll tell you that someone is fabricating vicious stories. Probably one of Father’s political opponents.”
“Rene’s mother and Halley’s grandmother were first cousins,” Royce Layman said, as if thinking out loud. “I thought everyone knew. It’s common knowledge. If any such information exists, then Rene would have known she could trust her cousin.”
“Whatever you think Rene knows, you’re wrong,” Dickie said. “I worked here the summer the PCB dumping scandal hit and Martin took all the blame for it. He held a plant meeting and told the employees that he and he alone was at fault. He couldn’t face a trial and more scandal for his family, so he killed himself. It’s that simple. There can’t be any proof that his death wasn’t a suicide!”
“Rene Edwards has vanished, so we can’t ask her anything until she’s found,” Dane said. “She put her mothe
r’s house in Ohio up for sale and disappeared. I think she’s afraid for her life.”
“Why should she be afraid?” Royce asked. “Why didn’t she just go straight to the police with her so-called evidence?”
“Maybe she thinks that whoever she’s afraid of has the power to influence the police,” Annie suggested.
“Just what are you implying?” Dickie shot up out of his chair. His face flushed and perspiration dotted his upper lip. He glowered at Annie. “I hope you’re not implying that my father was somehow involved.”
“Of course she wasn’t implying that Richard was involved,” Royce said hurriedly, as if he were trying to calm Dickie.
“Ms. Harden can’t possibly think Richard Hughes would do anything illegal.” Jason Webber placed his hand on Dickie’s shoulder and urged him back down into his chair.
“I’d like to talk to Richard,” Dane said. “We can probably clear up this matter with a simple conversation.”
“Richard is out of town,” Webber said.
“He and Gloria got away for a few days of vacation before he goes off to Birmingham for a rally there this weekend,” Layman explained.
“You of all people should know the kind of man my father is.” Dickie looked directly at Dane.
“I do,” Dane said. “But Richard may be able to help us uncover the truth about Martin Edwards’s death. I’m sure if he knew that there’s evidence floating around out there somewhere that Edwards might have been murdered, he would want to do whatever he could to help us find the killer and bring him to justice.”
“Of course he would.” Webber kept his hand on Dickie’s shoulder, as if making sure he stayed put and kept quiet. “I’ll be joining Richard this weekend in Birmingham and I’ll tell him about your concerns. I’m sure he’ll want to talk to you as soon as he comes back to town.”
“And when will that be?” Annie rose to her feet.
“He’s due back in the Shoals area for the big Fourth of July celebration at Spring Park in Tuscumbia,” Webber said.
“If you’ll give me a number where I can reach him, I’ll call him and explain the situation myself.” As he stood, Dane’s gaze locked with Webber’s.
“I’m afraid I can’t give out Richard’s vacation number. Not even to you,” Webber said. “He and Gloria gave strict instructions not to be disturbed.”
Dane nodded. “Then when you speak to him, ask him to call me.”
“Certainly.” Webber gave Dickie’s shoulder a squeeze, then rounded the desk and went over to Annie. “May I escort you out, Ms. Harden?”
Instinctively, Annie backed away from Jason Webber. Dane moved between them and took Annie’s arm in his.
“We’ll see ourselves out,” Dane said.
When they reached the hallway, Annie started to speak, but before she could do more than open her mouth, Dane stopped her.
“Don’t say anything until we’re in the car.”
“But—”
“Wait!”
Once Annie was seated behind the wheel of her Mercury Navigator, she started the engine before Dane had a chance to buckle up. He knew she was upset that he’d asked her to stay quiet until they got outside the plant. But he had been afraid that in her exuberance over her suspicions, she might talk a little too loud and be overheard. Besides, she was liable to go off the deep end with her speculations. Something told him that Richard was still her chief suspect. He had to admit, reluctantly, that Richard’s name now appeared on his mental list of suspects. But Dickie’s name was still at the top, followed by Royce Layman’s. And his gut instincts assured him that whatever else he didn’t know for sure, he did know that Jason Webber was an accomplice.
One of the first things he’d had Denby do after Halley’s funeral was run a check on Webber.
“I’m pretty sure Webber is the man who shot at us when we left the Robinsons’s cabin,” Dane said.
Annie kept her gaze focused on the road, but Dane noticed her eyelids flicker and her jaw tighten.
“I had the office check him out.” Dane waited for Annie to comment. She didn’t. “His record is clean as a whistle. Not so much as a traffic ticket.”
Annie pulled up at a red light on Court Street. She tapped her neat, French-manicured nails on the steering wheel. “You know as well as I do that they were hiding something. They’re scared spitless. Even Uncle Royce seemed nervous.” The light turned green. Annie pressed her foot on the gas pedal.
“Are you acknowledging the possibility that your uncle could be involved?” Dane asked.
Annie sucked in a deep breath. “Yes.” She glanced quickly at Dane and then back at the street in front of her. “Are you willing to admit that your former father-in-law might be involved?”
Was he? Dane wondered. He had mentally added Richard’s name to the list of suspects, but was he ready to voice his suspicions out loud? Somehow admitting that Annie could be right about Richard seemed paramount to admitting that his own life was a lie, that all he believed in was false. If a man like Richard, whom Dane admired and trusted, could be involved in the deaths of two people, then Dane could no longer have faith in his own judgment.
Annie whipped the Navigator into the driveway, then eased it into the garage. She killed the motor, unbuckled her safety belt and turned to Dane.
“You still can’t accept the truth, can you? A Southern gentleman, a leading member of the good ole boys’ club, just might not be the noble man you think he is. The golden god may actually have feet of clay.”
Dane sat silent and unmoving, trying to come to terms with the possibility that Annie was right. Even if Richard hadn’t been involved in Martin Edwards’s death, he could have—and probably would have—been involved in the coverup. Especially, if it meant saving his son.
Annie opened the door and started to get out. Dane grabbed her arm. “It’s possible that Richard is somehow involved.”
“Oh, Dane.” Annie saw the lost look on his face, the pain etched around his eyes and mouth. “I know what it cost you to admit that—”
“Even if Richard did something illegal to help protect Dickie, I can’t believe he was behind Halley Robinson’s murder or the attempts on your life.” Dane released Annie’s arm. “I need to talk to Richard to find out for myself just what he knows.”
“For your sake, I hope I’m wrong about Richard. And I hope I’m wrong about Uncle Royce, too. I can’t believe he’s capable of doing anything illegal any more than you can believe the worst of Lorna’s father.”
When they got out of the Navigator, Dane rounded the vehicle and fell into step alongside Annie. Just as they emerged from the garage, Dane noticed a car slowing down on the street in front of the house. One of the car’s darkly tinted windows eased down a fraction. The afternoon sunshine hit the tip of the metal object inserted through the partially open window.
Dane grabbed Annie, threw her to the ground, covered her body with his and rolled her off the driveway. That’s when Annie saw the rifle that was aimed directly at them.
“What—” Annie cried, then heard the shots whizzing through the air, several peppering the garage door. All the while the shots rang out, Dane sheltered her body with his as he moved her farther and farther away from danger.
Relying on Dane completely, she didn’t move and barely breathed. The rifle shots continued for several seconds, then the car sped away, tires screeching and the motor roaring. Loud, piercing screams came from somewhere nearby. When Dane lifted himself up and off her, she saw two of her neighbors running toward them. Stacy Kimball and Andy Porter. Undoubtedly, Stacy had been the one screaming.
Using his left hand, Dane lifted Annie to her feet. When she grabbed his right arm and leaned into his body, he groaned.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, then she saw the rip in the sleeve of his jacket. She lifted her hand to the tear and felt the moist stickiness of fresh blood. “Oh, God, Dane, you’ve been shot!”
Chapter 14
As Dane had been rolling on the
ground, one of the bullets zinging past him had ripped through his jacket and shirt and tore through the flesh of his upper arm. He’d tried to pass off the wound as nothing, but Annie would have none of it. She wouldn’t allow him to swagger and act all macho on her, despite his efforts to assure her all he needed was a bandage.
“You’re going to the hospital,” she told him.
“We’re calling Chief Holman.” Dane grabbed Annie’s chin. “Are you all right?”
“My God,” Stacy Kimball said as she approached Annie and Dane. “Someone tried to kill y’all. Right here in Florence, in broad daylight. I can’t believe it. Are y’all okay?”
“I’m fine,” Annie said. “Dane was hit.”
“Andy got the license number on the car. He’s gone to call the police. I’m sure they’ll send an ambulance,” Stacy said. “Who in the world would do something so awful? A person isn’t safe anywhere these days. Not even at home.”
“When the police get here, tell them that I’ve taken Mr. Carmichael to ECM hospital,” Annie said. “They can find us in the emergency room.”
Dane protested, but Annie insisted. Her will was every bit as strong as his and he knew it. Besides, his arm hurt like hell, so he didn’t put up much of a fight.
Annie waited in the ER, talking to Milton Holman, while the doctor cleaned and sutured Dane’s wound. She wasn’t sure just how much she should tell the police chief. She knew he was one of Richard Hughes’s staunchest supporters and that he and Dickie were golf buddies, but that didn’t mean the police chief would do anything illegal to protect the Hughes family. Deciding to play it safe, she told Chief Holman only about Rene Edwards’s connection to Halley Robinson. She also gave him the license plate number that Andy Porter had written down. He made a call and within ten minutes received his answer—a quick check on the vehicle showed it was a stolen car.
“I’ve issued an all-points bulletin on the car, but my guess is he’s already ditched it somewhere. And we’ll look your place over good to see if we can find some bullets in the garage,” Holman told her. “If we find any, I’ll have them checked against the bullets Sheriff Brewer found at the Robinsons’s lake house.”
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