HOT ON HIS TRAIL

by Linda Winstead Jones

  Maybe Polly had had trouble sleeping at night, after Gary's murder. Then again, maybe she had always needed help to sleep. Marriage to Gary couldn't have been pleasant.

  Polly seemed surprisingly receptive to the theory that someone else had murdered her husband. The others Shea had spoken to had expressed open skepticism, but not Polly. Nick listened as she told Shea how surprised she had been to hear that Nick was the one. As she said, sounding sincere, what a nice young man he was.

  Like Lillian Casson, Polly offered Shea tea and cookies, an overture Shea declined.

  Nick leaned against the wall and relaxed his guard for the moment. God, he was on edge! When Vernon had told Shea she'd be sorry if she kept sticking her nose into the past, he'd almost rushed into the living room to protect her from the old man. And then Vernon had explained why.

  Shea had hesitated before responding. Was she beginning to doubt him, the way everyone else did? Nick wouldn't blame her. He wouldn't blame her if she walked out of here right now and called the police and told them where to find their escaped murderer.

  If the plan worked tonight, they'd soon know the truth. Everyone would know the truth.

  If it didn't work he'd run again. Alone, this time.

  * * *

  Chapter 18

  « ^ »

  Shea wanted to hate Lauren, but she couldn't. The woman was anxious to prove Nick innocent, and she threw herself wholeheartedly into putting together a quick barbecue for the neighborhood suspects.

  Lauren was beautiful—blond and tallish and long legged. And she obviously loved Norman very much.

  She even insisted on loaning Shea a white sleeveless sundress for the occasion, and with the white sandals Shea took from the duffel bag she'd been storing at Nick's house, she was set.

  Nick would be watching from the dark wooded area behind the house. Shea had hoped he'd be satisfied to watch from a window, but he had rejected that option because it would limit his field of vision. She was terrified that he would step on a fallen branch or move into a ray of light that reached into the woods from Norman's deck. But so far, so good.

  Everyone was here—even Lillian Casson, who so obviously disliked Lauren. Maybe Lillian was afraid she would be the subject of neighborhood gossip if she weren't here to defend herself.

  Shea stood alone at the far end of the deck, watching. People were spread across the sprawling deck and a small portion of the backyard. The kids appeared now and then, but for the most part they played in the driveway and the cul-de-sac. Norman flipped burgers like a pro, the ladies had their heads together and the men talked golf and fishing. All in all, it was a very normal neighborhood party.

  But from the way they kept glancing her way, Shea had a feeling she and Nick were the most interesting topic of conversation tonight. Of course, no one knew the extent of their relationship. Well, of the relationship she'd thought they had. To them, Nick was the fugitive and she was the nosy reporter who'd had the misfortune to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and was now making the best of a bad situation.

  Lauren, wearing a cool blue sundress, sidled up to Shea, a glass of iced tea in her hand. "What do you want me to do?" she whispered.

  Lauren and Norman, in particular, didn't know what had happened between Shea and Nick. They saw only the face she wanted them to see, the reporter who had her hooks in a good story. They didn't know that if she failed she'd never forgive herself, that no matter what happened between her and Nick—which would be nothing at all, if she bought the story he'd told this morning—she would never forgive herself if he went back to jail. She couldn't bear it.

  "In a few minutes," Shea said, "I want you to join the neighborhood women and tell them that I know who killed Gary Winkler."

  Lauren started to walk away, but Shea called her back, placing a hand on the woman's bare arm. "Not so fast. We should talk for more than thirty seconds before you run off to share the news. We don't want this to look like a setup." She raked her eyes over the crowd, noting the glances that were often cast her way. "How about a glass of that iced tea?"

  Together, she and Lauren walked into the kitchen, where paper plates, napkins, plastic cups and an ice chest had been set up. Lauren filled a blue plastic cup with ice, poured sweet tea from the pitcher on the counter and handed it to her. Grateful to be away from the melee for a moment, Shea leaned against the counter and took a long sip.

  "So," she said casually, her eyes on Lauren. "When this is over and Nick is free again, will you two take up where you left off?"

  Lauren shook her head vigorously. "No. It was never serious between us, and I'm with Norman now. I love him. We really are going to get married."

  Shea wondered if she should tell Lauren that Nick had been very serious.

  "Norman is just the kind of man I need," Lauren said, the soft smile blooming on her face and making her even more beautiful, darn her hide. Her eyes glowed; her cheeks flushed pink. "And I think I'm what he needs. We click, you know? Some of the women in the neighborhood hate me because they think I broke up Norman's marriage, but that's not true. Norman and Margaret hadn't been good for one another for a very long time."

  Margaret! Darn, Shea had thought she'd covered all her bases, but she'd forgotten about Norman's first wife. Margaret Burgess had been at Nick's barbecue last year, too.

  This was all Nick's fault. Shea never forgot a detail like that, but he had her mind going in too many different directions.

  "Nick and I were temporary," Lauren said with a sigh. "I had too many problems, and he was too closed off. I like a man who can tell me how he feels, and who makes me feel like there's no other woman in the world. Even if this hadn't happened, we wouldn't have lasted much longer."

  "You never loved him?"

  Lauren flashed a sad smile. "I liked Nick a lot, but I never loved him and he never loved me."

  Nick had been planning to marry Lauren, to spend his life with her. If that wasn't love, what was? Lauren didn't know about Nick's plans, of course, and it wouldn't do anyone any good to tell her now.

  Shea was surprised Lauren didn't know how much she'd meant to Nick. After all, he was so transparent! His emotions were raw, his eyes telling. All you had to do was look at him to know what he was feeling, what he was thinking.

  She and Lauren stepped onto the deck, into the muggy night air. Lauren went one way, toward the cluster of women, and Shea, the outsider, moved to her solitary post on the deck. She allowed her eyes to flicker to the woods only briefly.

  If she didn't mean anything to Nick, why hadn't he looked her in the eye when he'd told her to get lost? Why had he kept his back to her through most of that hellish conversation, when he'd told her she was nothing more than a bit of fun for a man who'd been in jail for almost a year?

  Lauren said Nick was closed off. That statement was proof to Shea that the blonde had never known Nick the way she did. He was the most passionate man she'd ever known, the most openhearted. And he was such a terrible liar.

  * * *

  It was like watching a play from a darkened theater. When he moved he did so silently, taking care with each step. His jeans and black T-shirt blended into the shadows, even when he shifted positions. Most of the time he stood very still and watched.

  He should be watching his old friends as the rumor worked its way through the crowd, but his eyes constantly found and held Shea.

  She was beautiful. What he wouldn't give for one more night with her. One more night before he had to let her go. They hadn't had enough time together. Of all the terrible things that had happened to him in the past year, that seemed the most unfair.

  Nick searched for a guilty face in the crowd, but saw none. After today he at least knew the truth: all his neighbors thought he was capable of murder. Polly, the widow, had been the only one to agree with Shea that he wasn't.

  But Nick knew that anyone was capable of murder, in the right circumstances.

  He stood there, silent and still, while Norman took the burger
s off the grill. The crowd moved in and out of the house, filling their plates from the side dishes in the kitchen, camping out here and there to eat. Natalie and Amanda sat together at a table on the deck, the youngest of their children with them. The men stood in a knot, laughing and eating too fast. Lillian and Vernon stayed together, as usual, and they joined Polly at the well-lit kitchen table. Nick could see them clearly through the bay window.

  He didn't see Lauren, though. She was probably off somewhere fixing her face. If he remembered correctly, she usually didn't go a full hour without checking her makeup.

  Shea didn't eat. She stood on the deck and sipped at something in a plastic cup. Her eyes watched and catalogued everything. She listened, taking notes as surely as if she had her notebook in her hands. Her stomach was probably in knots, and she didn't ever eat much when she was excited. She had to be excited now.

  While everyone else ate and visited, Nick moved closer. It was a risk, he knew, but he wanted to be close enough to hear what was said. He didn't make a sound as he stepped carefully through the shadows, ending up behind an old oak tree that shielded him from view. He couldn't see everything from here, but he could listen.

  Sure enough, it wasn't long before the discussion took the turn he'd been waiting for.

  "Can you believe that Sinclair woman?" Tom asked. "I thought this was finally over, and she comes around stirring things up again."

  "Yeah," Carter said. "But what if she's right?"

  Tom scoffed. "Please. What more do you want? A videotape? A signed confession?"

  Norman remained silent. Since he was usually outspoken about any subject, he was probably biting his tongue right about now. Still, he had to allow the conversation to continue. Eventually he excused himself and stepped away. Good idea. The others would speak more clearly without the lawyer present, of that Nick was certain.

  He heard soft, tentative footsteps through the grass, as more of the party joined the men. Ah, he was a subject that could bring the husbands and wives together at one of these shindigs. Murder crossed all gender lines.

  "Are y'all talking about Nick?" Amanda asked. "Can you believe it? You know, that reporter says she knows who really killed Gary, and it wasn't Nick."

  A voice he rarely heard at these get-togethers joined in. "Her heart's in the right place I'm sure," Polly said sweetly. "But we all know Nick is guilty."

  A different tune from the one she'd been singing this afternoon. Everyone let Polly talk. After all, her husband was the victim.

  "I hate to admit it, because I liked Nick very much, but there's too much evidence to ignore."

  There was a murmur of agreement.

  "The bat with his fingerprints, the T-shirt." She sniffled, and did not mention her husband's blood on that incriminating piece of clothing. "We all heard them argue that night, and if that's not enough there was that blood and paint the police found on the underside of his kitchen table."

  It was damning; Nick had known that all along. If Shea didn't scare up a confession, if he didn't remember something that would lead them to the real killer … this was it. He'd light out of here tonight. Saying goodbye would take too long and hurt too hard, so he'd just go. Where, he had no idea, but he had to go alone.

  * * *

  Luther sat at his desk and frowned down at Grace's file of hodgepodge information on the residents of Teakwood Court. He picked up the phone and dialed from memory.

  "Daniels," he snapped. "The Winkler woman."

  "What are you doing working so late?" Daniels asked. "And on a weekend?" He sounded like he'd been asleep, napping on the couch.

  Luther ignored the question, as well as the heated response he bit back. "Polly Winkler. You didn't find anything odd in her background?"

  Daniels hemmed and hawed and finally admitted, "I didn't really check into her background."

  "You always check the spouse's background, Daniels," Luther snapped. Hell, he had a headache corning on. "Always."

  "We had so much evidence," Daniels whined. "Fred was about to retire and he was no help, and I was swamped. Most criminals are not geniuses, Malone, and Taggert is no different. He left a trail of evidence a rookie could've followed."

  With that, Daniels hung up.

  Luther stared down at the file. Grace hadn't been able to find anything on Polly Winkler more than six years old, and he was having no better luck. It made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

  * * *

  Shea had wondered who would come to her, once the rumor had circulated. She hadn't really expected Polly, who was shy and had been silent through most of the evening.

  "Hi," Polly said, leaning against the rail beside Shea. "You're not eating."

  Of course not. Her stomach churned unpleasantly. Anything solid that went down was likely to come back up. "I'm not hungry."

  Polly nodded as if she understood. "I hear you know who killed Gary," she said, her voice soft and her eyes wide.

  "Yes," Shea said confidently. "I do."

  "You've been very persistent in your investigation. Very thorough. How clever of you to succeed where the police failed." Her voice remained calm, but her eyes were bright. "Tell me who it is. Gary was my husband, and I have a right to know who killed him."

  "Not until I've shared what I found with the police."

  "You haven't done that yet?" Polly asked softly. "I'm sure they'd like to know what you've uncovered."

  Shea nodded. "Soon enough. I don't want every other reporter in town on this story until I have it wrapped up."

  Polly leaned slightly closer. "I understand. But how can you make me wait for this kind of news? Tell me, was it Margaret?"

  Shea's heart skipped a beat. Norman's ex-wife! "Why do you say that?"

  "She and Gary were…" Polly looked away and shrugged her shoulders slightly. "I guess there's no use pretending Gary was a saint. Everyone knows he wasn't. After he died I found these terrible pictures."

  "Pictures?" Shea said, unable to hide the excitement in her voice.

  "I should've burned them, I know," Polly said contritely. "They were proof that Gary was not a faithful husband. They were tangible evidence that I failed miserably as a wife."

  "You still have the pictures?" Shea grabbed Polly's arm in her excitement. "Can I see them?"

  Polly seemed reluctant. She looked down at her feet and pursed her mouth. "They're quite scandalous."

  "Please," Shea whispered.

  Polly lifted her head and looked at Shea as if she were still trying to make up her mind. "Well," she finally sighed. "I suppose."

  They didn't walk across the deck and through the crowd, but took the most direct route—through the house, out the front door and across the street. They had to step past kids on their tricycles and bigger kids throwing a baseball by the light cast from the tall streetlamps.

  Polly's front door was unlocked, and they went in. Walking through the door took them into a small foyer, and Shea followed Polly into the living room.

  "Have a seat," Polly said, gesturing to a chair by the window. "I'll be right back."

  Shea sat in the same comfortable wing chair she had occupied during her interview earlier that day. Polly was not all that old, but her living room had an old-fashioned feel to it, like an elderly lady's visiting parlor. The furnishings were deep green and shades of red, and there were knickknacks everywhere. Ceramic figurines of animals of every kind decorated the room.

  On the table beside Shea sat a good-size philodendron in a ceramic pot, a small reading lamp, a doily and a sandstone coaster.

  "I'm going to put on water for tea," Polly called from the kitchen, "while I round up those pictures. I'm not sure exactly where I put them."

  "No tea for me, thanks," Shea called out.

  "Don't be silly," Polly said from the kitchen. "I have a microwave. We'll have hot water in no time."

  Shea tapped her foot nervously on the floor. Margaret! If she hadn't been so distracted, she would have thought of her this afternoon. N
o other man or woman in the world could distract her, but Nick turned everything upside down. Even her brain. Norman couldn't very well invite his ex-wife to an engagement party, but something could have been worked out.

  Gary and Margaret. Gary and Lauren. Norman and Lauren. Sheesh, they should've named this cul-de-sac Peyton Place Court. What went on here was more interesting than any soap opera. Murder, adultery. Pictures! It was true what they said, about a picture being worth a thousand words.

  "Here we go," Polly said, carrying in two cups of steaming tea. One cup was tall and decorated with violets, and that was the one Polly placed in Shea's hands. The other was a more traditional shape and was adorned with hand-painted red roses. Polly placed that cup and saucer on the table by the couch. "I'll be right back."

  Shea held the warm teacup in both hands, sipped at the bitter brew and then set it aside, using the sandstone coaster. While Polly left the room Shea made a face at her back. Herbal tea.

  * * *

  The party had begun to die down. Amanda and Natalie made excuses about getting the children inside before it got too late, and Lillian and Vernon said good-night.

  So far, Nick was still the only suspect. The case against him was too great. The weapon, the shirt, the evidence in his kitchen.

  The blood and paint that had been planted there. Something niggled at his brain, an idea, something that wasn't quite right. He turned, taking a small chance of being seen as he looked around the backyard for Shea. In her white sundress she should be easy to find, but he saw no sign of her.

  No sign of Polly, either.

  He had nothing left to lose, anyway, he thought as he ran from the woods and straight to Norman, who was nervously scraping off the grill.

  Those still in attendance, Carter, Tom and Lauren, turned their eyes to him. Carter and Tom each took a wary step back.

  Nick ignored them and gave all his attention to Norman. "Was the exact location of the evidence that was found in my kitchen ever on the news or in the paper?"