Traceless

by Debra Webb

  “We don’t know that,” Ray interjected.

  He was the one who’d stood by Clint all these years. Had supported the parole board’s decision. Why the about-face?

  “What we all need to do is put this behind us,” Ray explained patiently. “The past is over; we can’t change it.” He paused. “It’s time to look to the future, Emily, not the past. We’ve all done too much of that already.”

  “You don’t want to see the past set to right?” How could he not? The law was his job. “And what about the real killer? If Austin is innocent, that means the person who did it got away with murder.”

  “Emily, there was no evidence other than what was used to convict Clint,” he said quietly but firmly. “Not a single trace. There’s nothing I can do.” He stood, letting her know that the conversation was over. “I appreciate you coming in, Emily. We may need to call on you again when we have a more exact time of death.”

  She rose, confusion making her slow to react. “Sure.”

  What had just happened here? She made her way out of his office and across the lobby without pausing to turn around and stare. When had Ray stopped being Clint’s ally?

  As the top representative of the law in this town, Ray should have jumped on the information her father had passed along. Why wasn’t Ray calling Sid Fairgate in for confirmation?

  Maybe it was Keith’s murder.

  Maybe Ray was preoccupied.

  She reached the door and she had to look back. She was almost surprised when she didn’t find Ray watching her go. He’d been so anxious to be rid of her.

  Maybe he was preoccupied with this newest tragedy.

  But that didn’t explain his insistence that looking into Heather’s murder was pointless. She could see him suggesting that they do so later, when Keith’s death was resolved. But Ray had said there was no evidence that pointed to anyone other than Clint. In other words, why bother looking? The case was closed. End of story.

  This was wrong.

  Ray was ignoring the facts. She hesitated. Or maybe he was hiding a secret of his own. Every damned body else sure seemed to be.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Turner Mansion 9:30 P.M.

  Justine stopped at the entrance, entered the code she knew by heart, and the massive wrought-iron gates spread open, slowly, regally, like welcoming arms. She finally had an invitation, albeit unspoken. Telepathy wasn’t necessary to know Granville needed her right now.

  She pressed the accelerator and rolled up the long, winding drive to the grand colonial-style mansion that still took her breath away.

  This was where she belonged.

  She sighed, appreciating the abundant branches of the ancient oaks and maples that shaded the lush green lawn and curving cobblestone drive. There wasn’t a single home in the whole state of Alabama that even came close to being as exquisite or timelessly classic as this one.

  Coming to a stop in front of the house, she got out and closed the door of her eleven-year-old Audi. It had been a long time since he’d given her that gift. Definitely time for an upgrade. He would lavish her with all the gifts she would ever require. She would never need anyone else ever again. Only Gran. They could grow old together, but she would always be younger and more beautiful than him. She would give him exactly what he needed until death parted them.

  She surveyed the beautifully landscaped property that spread out in three directions for as far as the eye could see. Rolling pastures and grazing horses covered the acres between the house and the tree-covered mountains that gently sloped downward to abut the property. This was what she’d wanted since she was just a little girl. To be rich … to have everything her heart desired. And now, finally, it was her turn.

  No matter that she’d made Gran happy many times in the past, he’d been devoted to that snobbish wife of his. But she was out of the way now. There was nothing to stop Justine.

  She climbed the steps, took a moment to touch up her favorite lipstick, Iced Cherry, and to smooth her sleek black dress; then she rang the bell. All the hired help would be gone home by now. He would be all alone.

  Grieving.

  He’d been a widower for six months, sufficient mourning time in Justine’s opinion. Now he was faced with the most painful tragedy of his life—the loss of his son and only child.

  Yes, it was her turn. Her ultimate purpose was at hand. He would see that he needed her more than ever. No more putting her off or setting her aside. Now she would take her rightful place in society.

  One of the two towering doors swung inward and a disheveled Granville stood peering out at her over his askew reading glasses. “Justine?”

  “I’ve been out of town all day.” He didn’t need to know that was a fabrication, that she’d actually waited, giving him plenty of time to slip deeper into his anguish. She reached for his hand and squeezed it. “I came as soon as I heard.”

  “My boy’s really gone.” His lips quivered on the frail words.

  Dear Lord, he was practically a ghost of the man she knew him to be under normal circumstances.

  “Gran, honey, have you eaten? You look exhausted.”

  Confusion lined the face that looked weary and uncertain rather than commanding and powerful.

  “You shouldn’t be alone.” She walked in, ushering him aside. “Let’s get some soup into you.” She closed the door. “And a little brandy.”

  Perhaps the brandy first, she mused, considering his current state. She ushered him to the parlor on the left, the men’s den, he liked to call it. He smoked his cigars there, kept his fine liquors and whiskeys there.

  Becky’s tail thumped against the floor as her master and his guest entered the room. The dog’s big old soulful eyes followed their movements, but the lazy hound didn’t bother getting up.

  “You sit; I’ll get you something to take the edge off.”

  Justine hurried behind the bar and selected the Raynal Brandy he liked best. As she poured a hefty serving, she kept an eye on him. He hadn’t taken a seat as she’d suggested, but she saw why. There were photographs spread over every available surface.

  Pictures of his poor, dead family.

  Well, he’d forget about them soon enough. She would see that he forgot. She would stand beside him, hold his hand and anything else that needed holding, and when this investigation into Keith’s death was over, Granville Turner would be all hers. And she would finally have the life she deserved.

  She crossed back to where he stood staring at the mess he’d made with the family photo albums.

  “Here, honey, drink this.” She pressed the tumbler into his hand. “I’ll straighten up for you. We wouldn’t want any of these precious memories to be damaged.”

  She bent this way and that, picking up photos, stacking them neatly in the designer boxes, probably the highestquality acid-free and photo-safe products available. But she could care less about that. What she cared about was how much of her legs showed each time she crouched down to gather a pile of photographs. Or how nice her bottom looked with the black silk pulled tight across it whenever she bent this way or that.

  She’d selected this dress just for him. She knew how much he loved short black dresses that fit as tight as a smooth layer of youthful skin.

  “There.” She stood back and surveyed what she’d accomplished. “You ready for another, Gran?” She smiled, sugary sweet. He needed her and she wanted to be there. She’d waited a long time for this moment.

  The tumbler was empty, but he wouldn’t be needing another drink, she realized. His gaze had riveted to her breasts the moment she’d turned back to face him.

  “Here, let me take that.” She slipped the glass from his hand and set it on the coffee table. Moving closer … close enough for him to smell the fragrance she’d selected, his favorite, she murmured, “Is there anything else I can do for you, Gran?”

  Those pale, watery eyes lifted to meet hers. “You’re the only one who ever really understood what I needed.”

  “Of cour
se I understand.” She smoothed her hand over his stubbled jaw. He hadn’t even shaved today. So unlike the Granville she knew. “You don’t worry about a thing. I’ll take real good care of you.” She drifted down to her knees and smiled lovingly up at him.

  His broad chest rose and fell rapidly as the excitement of seeing her in that submissive position coursed through his veins. Yes, she knew what he wanted, what he needed. That was her one true gift; she could please a man like no other woman could hope to. Her entire adult life she’d been blessed with the ability to induce a full erection with just a look … a near climax with a mere touch. Time for all that skill to pay off.

  The metal-on-metal scrape of his zipper lowering, inch by inch, echoed in the deathly quiet room. His strangled gasp encouraged her, made her all the more determined to ensure he never forgot who had taken care of him this tragic night.

  By the time her fingers closed around him, he was more than ready. That she could so easily bring a man of his age to this state of arousal made her better than the little blue pill and far less dangerous to his health.

  She cupped his weight, let the feel of her fingers drive him nearer to the edge. He groaned as she moved closer, close enough for him to feel her warm breath on that tender, intimate flesh that quivered and pulsed helplessly in her hands.

  Justine had always tried to make the best out of every situation, good, bad, or indifferent. Always saw the glass as half-full.

  Well, her glass had just filled to overflowing.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Valley Inn 10:15 P.M.

  Emily’s parents had called to check on her. They’d asked her to come home, but Emily wasn’t ready for that yet. They had talked at length about her plans, which were actually their plans about how she should get on with her life and finally put this awful tragedy behind her now that their horrible secret was out. Surely Chief Hale would follow through.

  But he wouldn’t. He wanted this to go away, just like everyone else in town.

  Since leaving Ray’s office Emily had cried for Keith, for Violet and their boys. Emily had cried for Heather and her family, especially Troy. And Clint Austin. Finally Emily had reached that numb zone and the tears had stopped. A long hot bath had relaxed her and soothed her aching muscles. She shivered even now at the memory of how she’d gotten all those tender places.

  No matter what Ray or her parents thought, Emily couldn’t move on with her life until she’d found the truth for Clint’s sake and for her own.

  Heather’s killer was out there … somewhere.

  Could Keith’s murder be connected to Heather’s somehow?

  Restless, Emily moved around the room. Was Ray investigating that angle?

  As desperately as she wanted the truth revealed, someone else wanted it covered up. The fire was an attempt on Clint’s life; there was no denying that. Was Keith’s murder about shutting down this digging into the past? Had Keith known something about what really happened that night? Emily couldn’t bring herself to believe that Keith would have done anything to harm Heather. But that didn’t mean that he might not have known certain things. Heather had promised to tell her something important … had it been about Keith?

  The idea that someone could be watching her right now, the same someone perhaps who had murdered Keith, had her peeking past the drapes to see if there were any new cars in the parking lot. So far there were only two other guests. Both their cars were still parked out front along with hers.

  Clint had said she could be in danger. But she didn’t actually know anything. She had theories, but those were irrelevant without evidence, as Ray had kindly pointed out.

  As she started to draw away from the window a vehicle across the street snagged her attention. She looked again. An old green truck. Single-passenger. Goose bumps shivered across her skin. She recognized that truck from some place, but where?

  Then she remembered.

  Fragments of moments shared in that barn flickered, making her too warm. What was he doing here? Sure, it was possible he’d chosen that particular convenience store to patronize, even though the Sack&Go was closer for him. But the way he was parked, at the edge of the lot as far away from the store as possible—nowhere near the gas pumps or the entrance or exit to the parking lot—didn’t point to a mere shopping stop.

  He was watching the inn … watching her.

  Before good sense could kick in, she’d unlocked the door and opened it. She stood there, on the sidewalk outside her door, moths fluttering around the exterior light, and stared directly at the truck.

  The engine started and the headlights came on. She put her hand up in front of her face to block the glaring lights. What was he doing now?

  What if she’d been wrong? What if it wasn’t him?

  Her heart fluttered as the truck backed up, moved to the exit, and pulled straight across the street. Instinct shouted at her to go inside and lock the door.

  She didn’t.

  It was him. She sensed it even before the streetlight provided the necessary illumination to verify her conclusion.

  He parked the truck several doors down from where she stood. He got out, his gaze immediately colliding with hers, and started toward her. Sounds and sensations from the day before kept getting in the way of her ability to think rationally. Some part of her wanted to back away … but the woman that yearned for more of him refused.

  “Get back in your room.”

  The sharply issued order shattered the distracting memories.

  “What’re you doing here?” she demanded, just as sharply.

  “We’ll talk inside.”

  He stopped right in front of her then, forcing the issue with his big body. She trembled. The white bathrobe suddenly felt too thin … too fragile a shield around her nakedness.

  For three beats she argued with herself as to whether going into her room with him would be a good idea, but then an old saying of her grandmother’s came to mind: Too late to close the barn door after the cows were out. It wasn’t like he could do anything to Emily that he hadn’t already. Or vice versa.

  She pivoted and went back inside, her respiration growing labored with no other provocation than seeing him … being near him. He closed and locked the door. When his full attention landed on her once more she trembled yet again. His face was clean shaven. He’d obviously showered and changed somewhere.

  “Why are you watching me?”

  One corner of that sexy mouth lifted in amusement. “Turnabout is fair play. You sure as hell got in your share of watching me.”

  She raked her fingers through her hair and immediately felt self-conscious that it was still damp. “What’re you really doing here?” It’s late, she didn’t add. I can’t trust myself alone with you.

  “Keith Turner is dead.”

  Pain arced through her chest. It was still so hard to believe. “I know.”

  “Until they find out who killed him, I’m not sure you’re safe. The fire was one thing, that was about me, but this is different. This is about wiping out the possibilities. Whoever killed him may not be finished yet.”

  She didn’t mention that she’d considered the same thing. Someone intended to end the speculation by getting rid of anyone who might know anything. “Why would you think that?” Might as well have Clint’s reasoning.

  He stood very still. Different from all those years before, when he’d been so confident and full of charm. She wondered if he’d learned to be very still like that in prison so as not to be noticed. The idea of what he’d endured because of her made her throat ache to say something that would adequately relate the depth of her regret.

  “Are you through analyzing me?”

  Her gaze snapped to his. Heat rushed up her neck and across her cheeks. “You were going to tell me why you think I might be in danger.” No more getting distracted.

  “I think maybe Turner knew things he never told. Whatever he knew may have gotten him killed.”

  “You’re speculating,” she coun
tered, knowing that her own thoughts had mirrored his and were every bit as speculative.

  He nodded. “Yeah. But he was her boyfriend and his alibi was shaky at best.”

  Emily held up her hands to stop him. “There is no way Keith hurt Heather.” She’d gone down that road herself, but hearing anyone say it made it somehow worse.

  “You wouldn’t believe for a second that he would harm her, yet you were convinced I did.”

  It wasn’t a question.

  “I knew Keith,” she offered. “I didn’t know you.” Except in my dreams.

  He moved a step closer. Reached out, touched her cheek. She trembled. “Did I do that?”

  “Yes.” It was nothing. A small abrasion. She’d completely forgotten about it. She had other bruises and scrapes from falling out the window during the fire. And from grinding around in the dirt with him … none of which she intended to mention.

  “I’m sorry.” His hand fell away, regret registered on his face.

  “It’s no big deal,” she argued. “I’m sure I left a few marks on you.”

  The intensity in his eyes escalated. “Maybe.”

  She shivered, wished he wouldn’t look at her like that. “Why didn’t you tell Ray the truth? That I was with you yesterday morning?”

  “None of his business.” Clint’s eyes roamed over her as he spoke, a slow, measuring gaze. Her body heated everywhere his eyes touched.

  She licked her lips, her mouth feeling dry and hungry. “I told him I was with you.”

  His gaze settled back on hers, steady, penetrating. “Why?”

  The way he looked at her now made it difficult to breathe. “Because it’s the truth.” He moved one more step closer. Her difficulty drawing in a breath escalated to impossible. “Because there have been enough secrets and lies in this town.”

  “I want you to know,” he said, his voice surprisingly soft, the sound flooding her with unexpected tenderness, “that I’m clean. Every year for the past four years I’ve been tested because of … the things that happened. I wouldn’t have purposely hurt you for anything.”