Truly, Madly, Dangerously

by Linda Winstead Jones

  Kathy headed toward the cash register when she spotted the last customer rise with check and cash in hand. She intercepted the older lady, smilingly gave change, and then locked the door behind her. When she returned to cleaning the table with a vengeance, Sadie decided Kathy just wanted to drop the subject. Not that she could blame her.

  Sadie mumbled to herself as she cleaned. Did she really look like a killer? Not just someone who might dispose of a bad man who had a gun trained on her or one of the guys, but a cold-blooded killer. Truman apparently thought so, and so did Evans. Again, Evans’s suspicions didn’t bother her nearly as much as Truman’s did.

  Why had she been so foolish as to expect better of him? Expecting better always led to disappointment.

  After a few minutes, Kathy sat down at a booth near Sadie. She played with her fingernails, stared at the tabletop, and finally lifted her head to look at Sadie. Realizing that Kathy was waiting for her, Sadie took a seat on the other side of the booth. For a long while Kathy remained silent, but something in the air, and in the pretty girl’s eyes, kept Sadie riveted to her seat.

  “There is no abusive husband or boyfriend looking for me,” Kathy said quickly.

  “Then why are you here? I know you’re running from something.”

  Kathy stared at the tabletop again and placed her hands in her lap. “I’m in trouble,” she said, her voice so low Sadie could barely hear her. “Real bad trouble.”

  Her face was so pale, Sadie didn’t doubt that she was telling the truth. “I’ll help, if I can.”

  Kathy shook her head. “Thanks, really, but… No one can help. It’s too late. I messed up everything…”

  “Tell me,” Sadie said, gently commanding. Nothing was so bad that it couldn’t be fixed.

  Kathy placed her hands on the tabletop and threaded her fingers together, gripping them tightly. She did not look Sadie in the eye. “When I was seventeen, my stepfather decided that beating me wasn’t enough to satisfy him anymore. He didn’t touch me at all while Mom was alive, but once she was gone…” She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Everything that went wrong, every disappointment, he took it out on me. I learned how to duck, and how to hide when he was in a mood, but I didn’t have any place to go so I stayed. One night he came home mad about something that had happened at work, and I didn’t get out of his way fast enough. He…he raped me.”

  Outrage flew up in Sadie, as if the blood boiled inside her veins.

  “I didn’t have anywhere to go,” Kathy continued. “My brother, the only other family I had, I’d just found out that he was dead, too. We got a…a letter. I didn’t know what to do, so I’ve been running ever since.” Her voice was small, as if she couldn’t bear to hear the words she spoke.

  Sadie reached across the table and placed her hands over Kathy’s. The poor girl trembled. A few sentences, and Sadie’s own troubles seemed not so bad. “Oh, honey. If you want to go back home and face him, I’ll be with you every step of the way. I’ll protect you from your stepfather and I will make sure he goes to jail for the rest of his…”

  “He’s dead,” Kathy said softly. She slowly lifted her head. “I killed him.”

  Evans had set up an office of sorts at the Sheriff’s headquarters in Garth, claiming a corner and a small desk and a phone. Sheriff Wilks wasn’t territorial. He was a political animal, and all he cared about was that the murders in his county were solved. He didn’t care who solved them. His own investigators were unaccustomed to such violent cases, so they all made the ABI investigator welcome and gave him whatever he asked for.

  Apparently they had all heard about where Sadie Harlow had been located this morning. When Truman walked into the office, all eyes turned in his direction. Instead of the usual round of friendly greetings, he was met with silence.

  He headed straight for Evans, who sat at the desk he’d claimed as his own. Without looking up, Evans said, “Your coffee is better.” A cup of unnaturally dark brew in a foam cup sat near his elbow.

  “Yeah, I know. Did you trace the phone call?”

  Evans glanced up. “I really shouldn’t be telling you any of this, you know. I shouldn’t be talking to you at all.”

  “Maybe I can eliminate Sadie as a suspect altogether. Tell me when and from where that call was made, and maybe I can clear a few things up.” He could account for her at two, and not long after five he’d come awake for a few minutes and she’d been lying beside him.

  “Why should I believe you? You’re obviously thinking with your…”

  “I won’t lie to you, not even to cover for Sadie.”

  Evans nodded slightly and considered Truman closely—as if he were a suspect himself. “The call was made from a phone booth at the gas station near the park where the body was found. Elmo’s or…”

  “Elton’s,” Truman said crisply.

  “That’s it. The call was made at two-fifty-four. Davenport was at home drinking with a buddy, still moaning about the outcome of his date with Miss Harlow and the state of women in general, when he got the call.”

  “How does that point to Sadie, exactly?”

  “His buddy could tell that it was a woman’s voice on the other end of the line, and a very surprised and happy Davenport called the woman Sadie. He ended the phone call quickly and then told his friend that he had to leave. The body was found at six, in that park on the opposite side of the lake from your place. I don’t have the coroner’s report just yet, but even I could tell that he’d been dead a few hours.”

  Logistically, she could’ve done it. Sadie could’ve left him sleeping, taken his truck, made the call, killed Jason Davenport and been back in bed by five.

  But he couldn’t believe it. She was tough, she was angrier than she’d let anyone know. But she wasn’t a psychopath.

  “She didn’t do it.”

  “You already said you were asleep between two-thirty and five.”

  “I was, but…”

  “That’s more than enough time for her to sneak out, take your truck, make the call and kill Davenport, then slip back into bed.”

  “She didn’t.”

  Evans was not convinced. “I’m going to want to have a look at your truck.”

  A flash of anger rose up in Truman. “Go ahead. You’re not going to find anything.”

  Wilks sauntered out of the office, his chin lifted high as he took on that pose he always adopted when he wanted to look important. He knew Truman had aspirations to take his job one day, thanks to Abby McCain’s glowing words about her son and his future, and he didn’t like it. Not at all. “McCain,” he said, hooking his thumbs in his belt and joining the conversation uninvited.

  “Sheriff,” Truman said softly.

  “I hear you’ve gotten yourself knee-deep in the wrong side of a murder investigation.”

  “Is that what you hear?”

  “Yep.”

  Evans remained silent. He decided to leaf through some papers on his desk and ignore the exchange taking place above his seated position.

  “Sadie didn’t do anything…”

  “Regardless of your obviously biased opinion, you are knee-deep in a mess of horse hockey, deputy.” Wilks offered his hand. “I’m going to have to ask for your badge and gun, at least until this investigation is done.”

  Truman took the gun from his holster and handed it over, then reached for his badge and did the same.

  “If it turns out your lady friend is innocent, then we’ll talk about you getting these back. Until then…”

  “Keep ’em,” Truman said as he walked away from the sheriff and the ABI investigator. “I’m done.”

  Before he reached his truck, Evans was right beside him. Apparently the investigator was capable of moving much more quickly than he usually did.

  “I think I’ll have a look at that truck of yours now.”

  “Have at it,” Truman snapped.

  Evans slipped on a pair of cotton gloves and opened the driver’s side door. He very cautiously lo
oked around, searching the seats and the floorboard and behind the seat for anything that might be called incriminating. Truman stood back and let him look to his heart’s content.

  He didn’t need the money from his job as deputy. For a few years he’d made big bucks playing football, and he’d been smart enough to invest it well instead of spending it all, even though Diana had very much wanted to spend every dime he made. She’d gotten more than she deserved when she’d left him, settlement-wise, but still, he had a nice little bit tucked away.

  No, he didn’t need the money, but he did need the purpose the job gave him. The feeling of being a part of something larger than his own ego. After losing his career and his trophy wife, he’d felt at loose ends for a long time. The job as deputy and the occasional aspirations to sheriff had given him a sense of purpose again.

  And now that was gone. Until Evans turned his attentions to a suspect besides Sadie, he was stuck in the middle of this mess. Knee-deep, Wilks had said more than once.

  He should’ve approached Sadie with the same detachment he’d called upon when dealing with women since the divorce. Detached sex was easy, but when a man started wondering what would make a woman laugh and cry he was in too damned deep.

  Finding nothing in the cab of the truck, Evans turned to the bed. He lowered the gate and stepped up and inside…no small feat, since he was not a small or an athletic man. He studied every speck of dirt as he made his way forward, and sidestepped a few large pieces of mud along the way.

  When Evans reached the small lockbox, he looked to Truman. “Key?”

  Truman was shuffling through the keys on his key-chain, looking for the right one, when Evans whistled low and reached into the small space between the lock box and the side of the truck bed. He came up with a single gardening glove, which was muddy and stained with something in addition to mud.

  Blood.

  Chapter 9

  At first she thought the black pickup truck that pulled into the parking lot was a new customer for the motel, or someone who’d forgotten that the café closed at two. It was almost upon her before she saw the driver’s face.

  A very angry Truman McCain stared at her through the windshield, as he parked the truck not three feet from Sadie. She turned and walked into the room she’d been about to clean, ignoring him completely.

  She heard the truck door slam. Hard. Next thing she knew Truman was in the room with her. At least he had the good sense to keep his distance.

  She stripped the sheets off the unmade bed with a vengeance. “New truck?” she asked, after a few moments of uncomfortable silence.

  “A loaner. Mine’s been impounded.”

  She snapped her head around to look at him. No, he wasn’t kidding. He had never looked less like he was kidding. “Why?”

  “Take a wild guess.” He didn’t lean against the doorjamb, he didn’t smile, his blue eyes didn’t twinkle.

  “I’m sure they won’t keep it long. There’s nothing to find.”

  “Nothing except a bloody glove in the truck bed,” he snapped.

  Sadie dropped the sheets. “That’s not possible.”

  Truman walked toward her, and the small room suddenly felt smaller. Closer. Warmer. “My truck has been impounded, my cabin is off limits until the ABI has finished searching for more blood, and the sheriff asked for my gun and badge this afternoon.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she said softly. “I never intended…” She’d been so angry with him, but looking at him now she could only feel regret that she hadn’t just mucked up her own life; she’d mucked up Truman’s as well. “I didn’t do it.”

  “I know that,” he snapped. “Don’t you think I know that?”

  She shook her head.

  “Someone is setting you up, Sadie, and things don’t look good. Evans isn’t even looking at anyone else for the murders.”

  “But I didn’t…”

  “You have motive, you have opportunity, and damned if you don’t have the attitude.”

  “Wait just a minute,” she said, stepping toward him. Attitude? She’d show him attitude. “I don’t appreciate you coming in here tossing out all the reasons why I make such a great murder suspect. I’m not an idiot and I’m not blind.”

  Truman didn’t back down or away as she advanced, but grabbed her wrist and held on tight. “The way I see it we have two choices. We can sit back and wait for Evans to arrest you, or we can find the killer ourselves. The choice is yours, Sadie. After all, it’s your head on the chopping block.”

  She could call Benning and have the entire team—well, whoever was available—here in a matter of hours. They took care of their own, and the Major had the resources. But Sadie didn’t want to go that route, not immediately, anyway. If she and Truman could take care of this mess on their own, no one she worked with would ever have to know that she was foolish enough to come home and get herself embroiled in not one but two murders. She definitely didn’t want them coming face-to-face with Truman.

  They sat at the small table in Truman’s motel room. Since his cabin was off limits, he’d taken up residence here for the time being.

  “We need to find Conrad,” she said. “He must’ve seen something Monday night that spooked him, and he ran. We need to know what he saw.”

  “What if he’s dead, too?” Truman asked. “If the killer knows he was seen going into that room, it’s definitely a possibility. Then there’s always the possibility that Conrad killed Hearn, for some reason we haven’t uncovered yet.”

  Sadie shot out of her chair and began to pace in the small space that allowed such movement. “Does anything tie Hearn and Davenport together?”

  “You mean, anything beside you?”

  She spun and stared down at Truman. “Yes. Anything besides me.”

  “I don’t know. Hearn, the missing Conrad, Davenport. This is a small town, Sadie, but I swear, I don’t think those three knew one another at all. They ran in three very different crowds.”

  “There has to be something!”

  Truman remained calm. “We need to go back to Hearn. This started with him. And don’t discount the possibility that there are two killers and two motives, and whoever killed Davenport just chose this opportunity because you’re already under suspicion in Hearn’s murder and they saw a way to muddy the trail. The bloody glove was obviously planted in my truck to make sure Evans doesn’t look at anyone but you for this.”

  “Great. I’m a patsy.”

  “Sit,” Truman ordered.

  “I can’t.”

  “Sit. You’re making me nervous.”

  Instead of sitting again at the table between the wide window and the double bed, she perched on the end of the bed. The mattress dipped. She tapped her toes nervously on the carpet. From this vantage point, she didn’t have to look at Truman.

  Like it or not, it still stung that he had been slow to come to her defense. He had, eventually, but the look in his eyes this morning…it stayed with her. That look had been a reminder that she couldn’t rely on anyone else. Professionally, yes. She trusted the other Benning agents with her life, and even now, working with Truman, she trusted him to do his best. But personally? Never.

  “It’s going to be all right,” he said, his voice oddly and unexpectedly soothing. He hadn’t been this even-tempered since some point last night, when they’d both been sated and unnaturally happy and drugged with afterglow. He certainly hadn’t been so calm when he’d stormed into a different motel room this afternoon.

  “Is it?”

  “Sure. Have faith, Sadie Mae.”

  She didn’t scold him for calling her Sadie Mae, since there was teasing in his voice and he so obviously meant to distract her.

  “I don’t.” She didn’t have faith in anything, and hadn’t had for a very long time.

  “I know,” he said softly.

  She tried to explain, even though she didn’t owe Truman any explanations. “If you expect the worst, you’re never disappointed.”

 
; “That’s a sad way to spend your life.”

  “Yeah. It is. But it works for me.”

  Truman crawled onto the bed. The mattress dipped, the bed creaked. And when he put his arms around her she didn’t push him away. She placed her hands on his strong forearms and soaked up his body heat and the comfort he offered.

  He lowered his head and kissed her shoulder. “It’s going to be okay, Sadie.”

  She wanted to believe him. She wanted so very badly to believe… “Do you actually think that the two of us can find the real killer and then everything will magically go back to the way it was?”

  “I don’t want everything to go back to the way it was.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. “What about your job?”

  “I’m running for sheriff in the next election. I had planned to wait a few years, but Wilks needs to go sooner rather than later.”

  “You’ll make a good sheriff.” But he wouldn’t get elected if she was charged with murder and his name was attached to hers.

  She wanted to stay here, get lost in these warm, strong arms and let him tell her again and again that everything would be all right. She wanted to sleep with him again, here in this bed. Last night she’d slept so well with Truman beside her.

  But she wasn’t going to stay in Garth when this was all over and done. And the more involved she and Truman were, the more this catastrophe of a relationship would stain his reputation.

  He moved his mouth to her neck, and a shudder whipped down her spine. She closed her eyes and savored it before whispering, “I can’t do this.”

  “Of course you can. We can’t start investigating until tomorrow morning. Tonight…”

  She slipped out of his arms and stood, and he didn’t try to stop her. “No. What happened with us last night, that’s over. We’re not…dating, McCain. We were both lonely so we got a little old business out of our systems.”

  “Old business?” he repeated in a dangerously low voice.

  “Old business.”

  She backed toward the door. “You know, I really don’t need you to investigate anything. I’ll check around myself, and if I don’t find what I’m looking for in a couple of days I’ll call my boss and he’ll put a couple of the guys on it. With the resources the Benning Agency has they’ll get this cleared up in no time.”