The Southern Comfort Prequel Trilogy Box Set

by Lisa Clark O'Neill

Mrs. Paulson finally snapped out of her trance, and darted a look around. There were several people milling about, at least one of whom was glancing curiously in her direction from behind a rack of postcards.

  Ainsley’s aunt straightened her spine. “I’m just going to step into the office for a minute,” she said to the woman who wandered up – obviously an employee. “Keep an eye on the register for me, would you?”

  She came out from behind the counter, several inches shorter than her niece and fair where Ainsley was dark. But there was a family resemblance there – one that both Sabrina and Ben also shared, now that he thought about it. The set of the eyes, the shape of the mouth.

  Although Mrs. Paulson’s mouth currently resembled a taut, fraying rope more than anything else. One that was likely to snap at any moment.

  “This is Callum,” Ainsley said by way of introduction. “Callum, my aunt Denise.”

  “I remember you,” she said without preamble, and more than a little frost in her tone. “You picked a fight with my son and cost him a scholarship.”

  “A folly of youth,” Cal said, rather than correcting her. It was Ben who’d thrown the first punch, even if Cal had totally deserved it. “Which I regret.”

  “Hmmm. I would say I’m surprised to see you here with my niece, but I heard you were staying in her hotel room.” She divided a scornful look between the two of them. “That didn’t take long.”

  Cal’s temper spiked, but he reminded himself that she’d lost one daughter, and faced the prospect of losing another. Grief and worry could make people lash out with bitterness and anger.

  “I’d forgotten how quickly word travelled in a town this size,” Ainsley said in a placid voice, though the look she shot at Cal carried a warning. She didn’t offer any more information, didn’t explain the circumstances surrounding the night they’d spent together or attempt to defend herself in any way. And the temper that he usually had to fight cooled in pure admiration.

  This wasn’t a woman who allowed herself to be baited.

  Instead, she tilted her head. “Is the office still in the back?”

  Her mouth pressing into an even thinner line than before, Mrs. Paulson strode toward the rear of the store.

  “Do you want me to stay out here?” he asked Ainsley.

  “No.” She shook her head. “This affects you, too.”

  Cal followed in the wake of both women, his discomfort outweighed by his curiosity. He generally ran from emotional drama and family spats as one would from an escaped tyrannosaurus or a band of marauding zombies, but he had to admit that he wanted to see how this particular one unfolded.

  When they were all crowded into the small office, Mrs. Paulson closed the door and then gestured for them to sit down. As there was only one extra chair, Cal pulled it out for Ainsley, standing behind it as her aunt went around to take her place behind the desk. The power position, Cal mused.

  She glanced at Ainsley’s medical boot, but didn’t inquire about the injury. Then again, if she knew that Cal had spent the night in Ainsley’s hotel room, she’d probably heard about her ankle, too.

  As well as the accident last night.

  Ainsley’s hair failed to completely cover the butterfly bandages on her temple, and the bruise on Cal’s face was plainly visible. Mrs. Paulson acknowledged neither.

  Instead, she laced her fingers together, rested them on the desk. “I’m not sure there’s anything you have to say that I would be interested in hearing,” she told Ainsley. “Unless of course you have some knowledge of my daughter’s whereabouts which you’ve withheld up to this point for your own reasons.”

  “My own reasons being a desire to hurt you?”

  Denise shrugged. “I have no idea what motivates someone like you.”

  Someone like you. Cal’s fingers curled around the back of Ainsley’s chair, but he held his tongue. He doubted Ainsley would appreciate his leaping to her defense.

  “What motivates me professionally,” Ainsley said, again in that placid voice “is a desire to ensure that innocent people aren’t convicted of crimes they didn’t commit simply because circumstances suggest their guilt is possible, or because it would be convenient for certain people to hold them responsible.”

  “If you’re still attempting to persuade me that you didn’t lie all of those years ago in order to protect your stepbrother over my daughter, your own blood, I’m afraid you’re wasting your time.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of wasting your time, or my own. I’m here because I love Sabrina, and I want to do whatever I can to see her brought home safely. I’m learning to love Ben again, and I want to help him toward that end.” She drew a breath before continuing. “I also loved Carly.”

  “You have no right. No right to speak her name.”

  “I understand that in your mind, that makes sense. You have to place the blame somewhere, since her killer was never apprehended.”

  “He was apprehended. But he got away with it thanks to you.”

  Cal glanced from aunt to niece, saw that the bandages on Ainsley’s forehead stood out a bit more starkly against the pallor of her skin. She wasn’t quite as composed as her voice, her posture might suggest. But she pushed forward anyway.

  “I know you believe that, and I’m sorry for it. But right now I’m interested in trying to understand if and how Sabrina’s disappearance might connect to what happened to Carly. In order to determine if there is a connection, I need to know if you’re the one who broke in at Callum’s.”

  The question caught her off guard, which Cal suspected was Ainsley’s intention. Mrs. Paulson’s head jerked back, her gaze darting between him and Ainsley. Finally, she lifted a hand to her throat and huffed a disbelieving laugh. “Broke in? Why on earth would I do that?”

  “So you didn’t?”

  Her aunt stabbed the air with an accusatory finger. “You’re insane. You must have inherited it from your father, who was crazy enough to make the same mistake twice.”

  Cal heard Ainsley’s indrawn breath, though he didn’t see her face as he was busy studying her aunt, whose own breathing had become rather heavy with outrage.

  “I don’t think that Mr. Elias has any intention of pursuing charges of trespassing or breaking and entering at this point, although it is certainly within his rights. However, knowing who is responsible for the break in and subsequent theft will assist the investigators – Ben – in finding the link between Carly’s murder and Sabrina’s disappearance, should there be one.”

  The color leached from the older woman’s face until her cheeks were as white as her knuckles. “Sabrina took off on one of her adventures. That’s all. She’ll show up soon, completely oblivious to the alarm she caused, like she’s done a dozen times or more. It’s nothing short of cruel for you to suggest that the two… events are in any way connected.”

  “I’m not trying to cause you any further pain. I’m simply trying to establish the facts so that they can be evaluated objectively. However, since it’s apparent that I’m failing at both of those endeavors, I’ll leave. I ask only that if you do know anything about the breakin, that you discuss it with Ben. Take care, Aunt Denise.”

  Ainsley climbed to her feet, graceful and dignified despite the sprained ankle and crutches, and Cal reached over to open the door. She thanked him as she passed through. Cal started to follow her, and then hesitated before turning back.

  “I’ve done a lot of things that I regret,” he said “but one thing my experiences have taught me is that life is short. And most of the grudges we bear against people who we believe wronged us end up hurting us a lot more than it hurts them. I don’t see much point in creating more pain for ourselves when life already has so many opportunities to create it for us.”

  Cal closed the door behind him, noting that Ainsley had already made her way to the front of the store, her dark hair swinging as the crutches ate up the ground. He hustled, but she was out the front door before he could reach her. In fact, she was halfway down the sidew
alk by the time he caught up.

  He said nothing, just followed along beside her. It wasn’t until they’d reached the end of the block and turned the corner that she finally stopped.

  She stood there, breathing heavily for a few moments, and Cal suspected that she was trying not to cry. But when she finally turned her head to look up at him, fire leapt from her eyes.

  “I’m so angry I could spit.”

  “Just aim it that direction, would you? This is a clean shirt.”

  She stared at him and then shook her head. “You’re remarkably unflappable.”

  “Oh, I’m flappable. Which sadly, is far less sexual than it sounds. I’ve just learned, through a great deal of effort, to control my… flapping.”

  “Now you’re just trying to make it sound dirty.”

  “Did it work?”

  She squeezed her eyes closed in obvious frustration. “God. I know how she is. Ben even warned me that she hadn’t changed her mind or softened in her resentment. Why did I let her get to me?”

  “Because she’s your aunt? Because your emotions are already on edge with worry over Sabrina, not to mention the fairly incredible amount of shit that’s happened since you rolled into town? Because she’s kind of a bitch?”

  She laughed, and then opened her eyes. “I should have hit her with my crutch.”

  “Nope. You took the high road. I have to say, I was impressed by your composure. You sounded like you were cross-examining a key witness. Just the facts, ma’am.”

  “Joe Friday was a cop, not a lawyer. And he never actually said that.”

  “Well, now you’re just trying to burst my bubble.” He reached out, tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “You okay?”

  She considered, nodded. “Yeah. I was prepared for her antipathy toward me, but it really pissed me off when she made that crack about my dad making the same mistake twice. Aunt Denise was always judgmental about my mom – I told you about her addiction – but it’s patently unfair to suggest that my stepmother has the same problem. She has multiple sclerosis and she uses medical cannabis oil to help fight the effects of the disease. It’s spiteful of Denise to conflate the two, especially since if my mom had had access to cannabis, which is a proven, non-addictive painkiller, she might not have become addicted in the first place. And I’m sorry. I’ll step down off my soap box now.”

  “You’re kind of cute when you’re filled with righteous fury. And anyway, you’re preaching to the choir. There’s a large movement among veterans to gain legal access to cannabis for treatment of PTSD, rather than the pills they push on us. Way too many commit suicide.” He hesitated. “I won’t lie and say it wasn’t something that I considered during some of my darker moments. Luckily, I managed to find my way back out of that place without the pills. But I’m an advocate for those who need additional help.”

  She studied him for a long moment. “Shit. My parents would love you.”

  “Yet more talk about me meeting the people close to you. If you’re not careful I’m going to start to think you have designs on me, and begin picking out my trousseau. There’s a chance your aunt was lying.”

  “What?” She blinked, and then shook her head as if to clear it. “Why do you think so?”

  Cal looked behind him, noted that they weren’t as private as they could be, and grasped Ainsley’s elbow. “Let’s move away from the square, shall we?”

  They walked down the hill, Cal continuing to hold onto her so that she didn’t slip on the leaves that littered the sidewalk. Even as they walked more fell at their feet, blown by the wind that blew from a darkening and moody sky.

  They came to an alley, and Cal tilted his head to indicate they should duck in there.

  “I’m guessing, given what you do for a living, that you’re familiar with body language and signs of deception.”

  “Of course. I’m guessing, given your question, that you are as well.”

  “It was part of my training, actually. Psychology is a significant part of military medical practice. Aside from the fact that she’s in a total state of denial about Sabrina’s disappearance, did you notice her reaction to your question about the breakin?”

  “Before or after she called me insane? I… of course,” she sighed. “Her head jerked back, she raised a hand to her throat, she pointed at me. All defensive gestures.”

  “Not unexpected considering you were basically accusing her of a crime, but when she turned the tables immediately, hitting you in a place that she knew would hurt, it seemed to me like deflection. I could be wrong, and you certainly have more experience than I do –”

  “But I wasn’t an objective observer,” she said. “I was so caught up in trying to keep my cool, that I didn’t pay enough attention. You’re right. It’s not definitive, but she did swing from defense to deflection pretty damn quickly. But maybe that’s just because she basically hates me.” She sighed. “I’ll have to talk to Ben and tell him about my suspicions. Although Aunt Denise is probably already on the phone with him right now, making sure her side of the story is the first one he hears.”

  “You’re correct, though. Knowing who took those journals is a pretty important piece of the puzzle.”

  “If Aunt Denise didn’t take them, the only other person it’s reasonable to suspect is Carly’s killer. And if you didn’t tell anyone else about them, that means Sabrina did. Which means that in all likelihood she’s acquainted, perhaps closely, with whoever murdered her sister.”

  Because Cal thought the path of logic was sound – he’d travelled it himself – he didn’t contradict her.

  “Do you need to stop by the gallery?”

  “I called one of the other members to take my shift. It’s covered.”

  “Then would you mind if we just picked up something to go?” she said. “As charming as the restaurants are here, I’m not feeling particularly social.”

  “Of course.”

  Right at that moment, with the hint of vulnerability in her eyes, Cal thought he would have given her a kidney if she’d asked for it.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “THE image was uploaded to this laptop,” Deputy Watson said “on October twelfth.”

  Two days ago. After Sabrina went missing, and near the time of Joe Cooper’s suspected suicide. Ben leaned over the deputy’s shoulder to examine the screen, which contained a chronological list of Cooper’s pictures. Aside from the photo of Sabrina, the most recent image upload was four months prior. The folder contained photos from a camping trip in Yosemite. Prior to that, there were no pictures uploaded for almost a year.

  “Not a prolific photo taker. Or uploader, at any rate.” At least on this laptop. But that didn’t mean there weren’t other pictures. “Did we find a camera?”

  “No.” Deputy Watson shook her head, her short dark curls shifting with the motion. “And in fact, I don’t think it was taken with a camera. Looks like an iPhone. On a hunch, I uploaded the photo to my Dropbox and then downloaded it to my own phone. I have an EXIF app that allows me to view the date and time any photo was taken.”

  Ben frowned when she opened the app, explained what the various lines of data meant. Or tried to. Ben was having a hard time following, despite the fact that the information seemed pretty straightforward. He shook his head to clear it.

  “So you’re saying that this was taken August sixteenth of this year.”

  “Yes.”

  Steeling himself, he studied the larger image on the laptop, trying not to think of the naked woman as his sister. “Tan lines,” he said. “She went down to Savannah at the end of July to visit our cousin, spent a few days on the beach.”

  He couldn’t be positive, but the timing seemed to fit. So she’d either gotten involved with Cooper – presumably, he reminded himself – after she returned from visiting Ainsley, or she’d been involved with him already and simply hadn’t mentioned him.

  If that were the case, then why not? The two of them had always been thick as thieves, althoug
h he guessed that didn’t necessarily mean they told each other everything. Still, it struck him as odd that she hadn’t mentioned him if they were involved. Cooper was – or rather had been – single. He’d been gainfully employed. A background check revealed no priors, no credit problems. His search history didn’t suggest he spent his days surfing porn websites or learning how to build bombs. He’d been a decent enough looking guy. Unless there was something else, something not readily apparent – maybe a fetish lifestyle or something they hadn’t yet discovered – he couldn’t see why Sabrina would want to keep their relationship a secret.

  “Thanks, Jessica. Let me know if you find anything else you think might be relevant.”

  Ben mulled the timing over as he left Deputy Watson’s desk. Why would Cooper have uploaded the photo if he was responsible for Sabrina’s disappearance? Out of guilt? Remorse? If it was his version of a confession, why not leave a note explaining what happened?

  Ben had been a cop too long to expect human beings to act logically, especially when they were in the throes of emotional turmoil, but those were questions that needed to be answered. If Cooper killed himself over the fact that he’d…

  Hell, Ben needed to say it, even if only in his own head. If Cooper had killed Sabrina due to some lover’s spat or whatever, and then committed suicide because he couldn’t live with the guilt, those loose ends still needed to be tied. Because he’d also been a cop long enough to know that things weren’t always what they seemed.

  And yeah, maybe he wanted to believe that, because it meant there was a chance that Sabrina was still alive.

  Regardless, he planned to exhaust every single option until he had definite proof otherwise. Even if that proof indicated that Cooper had murdered his sister, Ben still needed to know why. Because he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was some sort of bigger picture he was missing.

  The BB he’d found in the dirt at Conway’s barn could very well have come from anywhere. But coupled with the missing journals, the burglary of Ainsley’s hotel room and the fact that she and Cal had been run off the road, Ben couldn’t help but start making connections.