Emily thought about the stranger on his motorcycle. Did he get cold, racing along the streets? Or did he feel exhilarated, with the wind blowing through his hair and the feel of the powerful bike between his thighs? Emily felt a little surge of adrenaline, just thinking about it. She’d never in her life ridden on a motorcycle, but she’d always wanted to. Especially now.
“I have to get back early myself,” Mike was saying as he maneuvered the car through Paradise’s narrow streets. “Gotta make a run out to the highway, check out that defaced sign. No doubt that’ll be our lead story tomorrow,” he said with open contempt.
In the short time Emily had known Mike, he’d never bothered to disguise his disdain for the small town in which he found himself living, or for the small-town paper for which he found himself working.
He’d once been an award-winning investigative reporter for the Arkansas Democrat, having lived in both Little Rock and Washington, D.C. But after his fall from grace seven years ago, no one in the print media would touch him. The only job he’d been able to get was working for his uncle at the Herald.
Emily supposed the ensuing years of struggle and frustration explained the flashes of desperation she occasionally glimpsed in Mike’s eyes.
She said now, “I really appreciate the time you’re spending on this story.”
He shrugged. “I have to admit, I wasn’t too keen on the idea when you first brought it up, but I’m starting to think you may be on to something. We’ve already had quite a few complaints at the paper about that article. Even a couple of anonymous threats.”
“What kind of threats?” Emily asked in alarm.
“The usual crackpot stuff. People letting off steam. But it does appear that some folks in Paradise get mighty touchy at the very mention of the Wilcox murder.”
“I hope your uncle hasn’t changed his mind about the series,” Emily worried. She knew how important advertisers were to a newspaper. If too many people complained, Roy Travers, the owner of the Herald, might want to kill the rest of the articles she and Mike had planned.
“You let me worry about Uncle Roy. I know how to handle him. Besides, do you know how long it’s been since I’ve written about anything other than who bought what at the latest craft show, or which house received first place for the best yard display at Christmas?” He glanced at her, giving her an enigmatic wink. “I should be thanking you for putting me on the right track, Emily. A good murder is exactly what I need right now.”
His tone was light, but something in his eyes—that look of hunger, that flash of desperation—made Emily uneasy, and she couldn’t help remembering why Mike had been fired from the Democrat seven years ago. According to town gossip, he’d fabricated a story that won him all kinds of industry accolades and awards. When the truth eventually came out, his career had been in ruins.
Emily stared at Mike’s profile, wondering what a man like him might be willing to do to recapture all that he’d lost.
The thought left Emily unsettled, and both she and Mike fell silent. Neither of them spoke again until they pulled into the parking lot at the Shady Oaks Nursing Home in Batesville, over an hour later.
“Let me do the talking,” Emily said as they walked through the front door. “I’ve known Miss Rosabel for years, but she might be a little nervous around you.”
Mike looked around, wary. “Fine by me,” he said, fiddling with the collar of his shirt.
Funny how some people got nervous around old people, Emily thought. She’d once worked in a nursing home while she was still married to Eugene. She’d gotten along fine with the residents. It had been the management and their medieval policies she couldn’t handle.
At least Shady Oaks had a nice homey quality to it, Emily noticed with relief, taking in the beautiful needlepoint wall hangings and lush potted plants decorating the lobby.
Miss Rosabel was sitting in a rocking chair by the window when they walked into her room. She wore an intricately crocheted shawl of sky blue that highlighted her gray hair and her brilliant blue eyes. She had once been Emily’s piano teacher, and even though Emily hadn’t seen her in years, she would have recognized Miss Rosabel anywhere.
“Miss Rosabel,” she said, hurrying across the room to kneel beside the old lady’s chair. “You haven’t changed a bit.”
“You have,” Miss Rosabel said bluntly. “What have you done to your hair?”
Emily fingered the short curls at her nape. “I got it cut a few months ago. I figured it was time for a change,” she said, offering an explanation where none was needed. Stuart had almost had apoplexy when he first saw her.
A woman’s crowning glory is her hair, he’d said disdainfully. And you’ve just cut all yours off.
“You had the most beautiful long hair when you were a little girl. Dark and glossy as a raven’s wing,” Miss Rosabel reminisced. She ran a critical eye over Emily, until Emily began to fidget, just as she had years ago. Finally, Miss Rosabel nodded and said, “This style suits you, though. You always were an original. And I imagine all that long hair was a tangled mess in the mornings.”
“It was,” Emily agreed, surprised by the old woman’s perceptiveness. “But I wish you’d explain that to Stuart.”
“And how is your dear brother?” Miss Rosabel asked the question mildly, but her voice was tinged with sarcasm. Emily remembered that while she was staying with Stuart, he and Miss Rosabel had had one or two run-ins over Emily’s lack of discipline in her music. Emily had wanted to play her own compositions, with Miss Rosabel’s enthusiastic approval, while Stuart had wanted her to learn the classics. She’d never become an accomplished pianist by pecking out that racket, he’d said.
Emily smiled a little at the memory now, even though Stuart’s words had hurt at the time. “He’s running for the state legislature this year,” she told Miss Rosabel.
“I suppose he and Trey Huntington are still thick as thieves.” Miss Rosabel’s gaze sharpened on Emily, making her wonder uneasily just how much the old woman remembered about Emily’s relationship with the illustrious Trey Huntington. She wondered if Miss Rosabel held the same opinion everyone else in town seemed to have—that Emily had been out of her mind to turn down a man like Trey.
“They’re still friends,” Emily said carefully. “In fact, Trey’s handling Stuart’s political campaign.”
Miss Rosabel raised her eyebrows at that, but said nothing. Emily kept quiet, too, letting the brief silence make the transition from idle chitchat to business matters. Then she said, “Look, Miss Rosabel, the reason we’re here—”
“You want to know about the murder.” The blue eyes moved from Emily to Mike, who had been standing surprisingly patient through their small talk. “You must be that reporter fellow Emily told me about. The one who faked a story and got himself fired off the Gazette a few years ago.”
Two bright spots of color ignited Mike’s cheeks. “It was the Democrat,” he said, stepping forward.
“Well, they’re one and the same nowadays,” Miss Rosabel pointed out.
“So they are. I hope you won’t hold my past transgressions against me,” Mike said with false levity. “I’ve learned from my mistakes.”
“Have you?” Miss Rosabel made it seem doubtful as she gave him a thorough once-over, then returned her gaze to Emily. “What is it you want to know about that poor girl’s death?”
“Everything,” Emily said. “Mike wants to do a series of articles about the house to coincide with the anniversary of the murder. It’ll be terrific publicity for the grand opening of my bed-and-breakfast. You know how people love a mystery.”
“Except for the good citizens of Paradise,” Miss Rosabel said dryly. “They won’t like having their dirty laundry aired in public, and they won’t be happy about me talking to you two.”
“Why not?” Emily asked, even though, judging by Caroline and Stuart’s reaction to Mike’s first article and by what Mike had said about the complaints and threats the paper had received, she knew tha
t what Miss Rosabel said was true.
“I imagine they have their reasons,” Miss Rosabel evaded. She gazed out the window for a moment, as if gathering her thoughts, then said, “It happened such a long time ago. I don’t know if I can remember everything.”
“Tell us what you do remember,” Emily offered encouragingly, settling herself on the throw rug at Miss Rosabel’s feet.
Mike sat on a footstool and brought out his recorder.
“What’s that thing?” Miss Rosabel asked suspiciously.
“A tape recorder, to make sure I quote you accurately.”
“I’ve never seen one that small,” Miss Rosabel said, her disdain obvious in her tone. Then her sharp eyes lifted to Mike’s. “Are you sure it works?”
“Oh, it works, all right. Trust me,” Mike said, with an odd little smile that sent a sudden, unexplainable chill down Emily’s spine.
Chapter Two
“She was a beautiful girl.” Miss Rosabel’s eyes looked dreamy and far away, and Emily knew that the old woman had transported herself back in time, to fifteen years ago, when she’d first met Jenny Wilcox, the young woman who had been murdered in Miss Rosabel’s bed-and-breakfast. Emily’s bed-and-breakfast now.
“She came to Paradise as a substitute for one of the high school teachers, who’d broken her leg. Since she didn’t know how long she’d be needed, she rented a room from me rather than trying to find a house. It was offseason, so I gave her a good price. My niece, Nella, was also staying with me, and the two of them hit it off right away, even though Nella was a few years younger, just seventeen that summer.
“I remember feeling relieved, because Nella never had any friends, and we were all so very worried about her. She was always shy and withdrawn, especially after her mother died so suddenly….” Miss Rosabel drifted off, but then, with an effort, seemed to regroup her thoughts.
“Anyway, that’s why her father had sent her to me, hoping a new town, a new school, would bring her around. But nothing I did helped until Jenny came along. Jenny had this way about her, you see. People were drawn to her. All the men in town were half in love with her before that first week was out. Trey Huntington and your brother, Stuart, both came around the inn to see her, but Tony Vincent fell the hardest for her. And because the other two men were his friends, they backed off.”
Emily remembered Tony Vincent. He was about Stuart’s age, and she vaguely recalled that the two of them had been friends of a sort. Unlikely friends, because Tony had been a real jock back then, and Stuart had always considered himself an intellectual, a part of Trey Huntington’s elite group.
But even though he came from a poor background, Tony’s feats on the football field had earned him a place of honor in Paradise. He’d been captain of his high school football team and had later attended the University of Arkansas on a full football scholarship. After that, he’d been drafted by the St. Louis Cardinals, but his professional career had been somewhat of a disappointment. He’d suffered a lot of injuries to his knees, and there’d been rumors of a serious drinking problem, Emily recalled.
“Well,” Miss Rosabel continued, drawing Emily’s attention back to the story. “The September that Jenny Wilcox came to Paradise, Tony had just been released from his contract with that professional football team. Knowing that he was down on his luck, Jenny went out of her way to be nice to him. That’s the way she was. Well, Tony was so smitten that he proposed to her just a week after they’d met, right there in the inn, in front of Nella and myself and a number of other guests. Oh, it was very romantic,” Miss Rosabel said, her eyes sparkling.
“What did Jenny do?” Emily asked, getting caught up in the woman’s excitement.
“She turned him down, of course, but in such a charming manner that Tony fell for her even harder. He was determined to win her over, and he and Jenny began spending a great deal of time together. I remember how I used to hear her slipping out of the inn in the middle of the night sometimes, and I was sure she was going to meet Tony. Nella and I both thought a wedding would be imminent by the end of October. Then, a few weeks after Jenny arrived, a stranger came to Paradise, and everything changed.” Miss Rosabel’s eyes darkened. The hand clutching her shawl trembled.
“What was this stranger’s name?” Mike asked.
“Wade Drury. He was handsome as the very devil, but you only had to look into his eyes, those beautiful gray eyes, to know he meant trouble. Nella was quite taken with him. He rode this big black motorcycle, you see, and—”
Emily’s head jerked to attention. “Did you say motorcycle?”
Miss Rosabel nodded. “Yes, and the minute he saw Jenny, he was just as enamored as everyone else in town was, though he tried not to show it. But you could tell how he felt by the way he looked at her when he thought no one was around. She was the only reason he hung around Paradise for as long as he did,” Miss Rosabel said. “He didn’t have family in town, no job that I ever knew about. What other reason could there be?”
He rode a motorcycle, Emily thought. Wade Drury, the man who killed Jenny Wilcox, had ridden a big black motorcycle. And he’d had gray eyes. Beautiful gray eyes.
Emily shuddered. “What happened after Wade came to town?”
“Tony became insanely jealous. He hated the idea of Jenny staying in the same house with Wade Drury, even though Nella’s room was between Wade’s and Jenny’s. One night Tony saw Jenny and Wade talking, and Tony’s temper got the better of him. He’d been drinking, and he and Wade fought bitterly. Nella and I tried to help Jenny break them apart, but it didn’t do any good. All we could do was watch helplessly while the two men tried to kill each other over Jenny. I finally had to call the sheriff to come stop the fight.”
Miss Rosabel paused and took a deep, shuddering breath. “The next day, Jenny’s body was found in her room, covered in blood. She’d been stabbed to death with a butcher knife.”
Even though Emily had heard bits and pieces of the story for years, she still felt the sickening shock of Miss Rosabel’s words.
“Who found the body?” Mike asked.
Miss Rosabel’s eyes closed. “I did.”
“It must have been awful for you,” Emily said softly.
“I’ve never seen anything like it. I still dream about all that blood….”
Emily took the old woman’s hand and held it between hers.
Mike said, “What happened after you found the body?”
“The sheriff came. We were all questioned, but Wade Drury was nowhere to be found. Tony swore that Jenny had told him Wade was making unwanted advances toward her, that Wade had even tried to break into her room one night. Jenny was terrified of the man, according to Tony.
“It was easy to believe Wade was guilty. No one knew anything about him, you see. He’d just shown up in town one day and stayed on. He was a drifter, a stranger in Paradise, and Tony was one of our own. Everyone assumed he was telling the truth.”
“Even you?” Emily couldn’t resist asking. Her gaze met Miss Rosabel’s, and Emily thought she saw a faint glimmer of doubt reflected in the depths of the old woman’s eyes.
“I didn’t know what to think,” Miss Rosabel finally admitted. “The whole town was outraged that a brutal murder could occur in our peaceful little community. The citizens were incited to almost a mob frenzy by Trey Huntington, who demanded justice. Wade Drury was guilty, Trey insisted, and had to be punished. But the night after the murder, someone claimed they saw Wade leaving town on his motorcycle, and he was never heard from again.”
“Didn’t the investigation continue?” Mike asked.
“The sheriff asked a few more questions, some outsiders came to town and made a few inquiries, but nothing ever came of it. When no family came forward to claim Jenny’s body, the town buried her, and both she and Wade Drury were soon forgotten. Until you two came along and started stirring things up,” Miss Rosabel finished.
Emily glanced at Mike. She’d never seen him look so animated, so excited. His pale
blue eyes were almost glowing with anticipation, but there was still something about him that disturbed Emily. That hunger…
She had a sudden sick feeling in the pit of her stomach that perhaps she’d started something she wouldn’t want to see finished.
“What happened to your bed-and-breakfast after that?”
Mike asked, seemingly oblivious of Emily’s misgiving.
“It was doomed.” Miss Rosabel shrugged her frail shoulders. “Nothing I could do to stop all that talk. I remember the day I left the house for the last time. Cora Mae Hicks was standing on her front porch, gloating, as I walked down the street. I actually heard her laugh. Can you imagine?”
A vision of Cora Mae’s cold black eyes and her thin, unsmiling mouth formed in Emily’s head, and it wasn’t too terribly difficult to picture the woman’s glee over her rival’s misfortune.
Miss Rosabel sat up suddenly, her eyes snapping with anger. “I’ve thought about this a lot over the years, made a lot of notes about the murder and such, and there is only one person I can come up with who actually benefited from that murder. My bed-and-breakfast was giving the This Side of Paradise Inn a run for its money. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised to learn Cora Mae Hicks killed that poor girl herself, just to drive me out of business.”
Emily looked at Miss Rosabel, in shock. “Surely you don’t think—”
Miss Rosabel glared at Emily. “In my opinion, Cora Mae has always been one brick shy of a load, and she’s ferociously protective where that bed-and-breakfast of hers is concerned. You be careful, Emily. You’re the competition now, and in Cora Mae’s eyes, that makes you the enemy.”
ALL DURING THE DRIVE back to Paradise, Emily couldn’t get Miss Rosabel’s story out of her mind. Emily had known about the murder, of course, but she’d been only eleven at the time, and she hadn’t given it much thought over the years. But somehow, hearing the tragedy in such detail from Miss Rosabel made it seem more immediate.
Poor Jenny. No one had come forward to claim her body. The town had buried her, then forgotten her. It was the saddest thing Emily had ever heard. Had Jenny’s family even been notified? Or, fifteen years later, were they still wondering about her, waiting for her to come home?
Amanda Stevens Bestseller Collection: Stranger In Paradise/A Baby's Cry Page 2