The Girl Who Cried Murder

by Paula Graves

  “Charlotte and our daughter came from different worlds,” Diana said bluntly. “Perhaps that sounds elitist, but it doesn’t make it untrue.”

  “Charlie was from a poor family.”

  “Not just poor,” Craig said. “Unstable in a lot of ways. No father. A poorly educated mother with six small children to raise after his death. The children ran wild most of the time. There were discipline problems, especially with the two older boys. I suppose you know her two oldest brothers are in prison?”

  “She said something about that, yes.”

  “That world was a world our daughter knew little about.”

  “Until she met Charlie?”

  “Charlotte was different. I will grant you that. Unpolished, but very smart. She liked to please, and she wasn’t afraid of working hard to get the things she wanted.”

  “I’m sensing a ‘but’ here,” Mike murmured.

  “Charlotte had a somewhat adversarial relationship with the truth.”

  Diana Bearden made a soft huffing sound, but when Mike glanced her way, her expression was unchanged.

  Mike’s stomach tightened. “She lies, you mean?”

  “Not lies, exactly. Augmentation might be a somewhat better term,” Craig suggested. “Charlotte starts with a kernel of truth, but she always seemed to find a way to make her reality bigger and better than it really was. For instance, her father didn’t just die in a mining accident. He died saving a dozen other men.”

  “Did he?”

  Bearden looked surprised by the question. “If he did, nobody ever spoke of it but Charlotte.”

  “Understandable, that she’d want to believe her father died a hero.”

  “Of course. But understanding a lie doesn’t make it true.”

  “Charlie was with your daughter the night she died.”

  Bearden’s lips tightened. “Yes.”

  “Do you blame her for it?”

  Bearden didn’t answer right away. The ache in the pit of Mike’s stomach started to grow before the man finally spoke. “The person who ran over our daughter is to blame. The police assured me there was absolutely no evidence that Charlotte was that person. For one thing, I don’t believe Charlotte had access to a vehicle at that time in her life.”

  “But if she had, do you think she was capable of leaving your daughter on the street to die?”

  Again, Bearden’s pause went on too long. “Do you?” he asked finally.

  “I haven’t known her long,” Mike hedged.

  “My gut instinct is no,” Bearden admitted. “Charlotte might have been a fabulist, and she sometimes led Alice into situations that weren’t good for either of them. But I never doubted her affection for our daughter. I don’t think Charlotte would have left Alice to die.”

  The tension in Mike’s gut started to ease. “I understand Charlie doesn’t remember very much about your daughter’s death.”

  “It seems the girls went out drinking at a bar in Mercerville.” Diana Bearden clasped her hands more tightly in front of her. “They told us they were going to a movie that night.”

  “Not an uncommon thing for high school seniors to do, I suppose?”

  “Not uncommon,” Bearden agreed. “We just expected better judgment from our daughter. No matter what Charlotte wanted to do that night.”

  From what little Charlie had told him, it had seemed the idea to go to the bar had been Alice’s, not Charlie’s. But the Beardens had known the girl Charlie had been then. They’d also known their own daughter. Could Charlie be lying about what had really happened that night?

  Or was she remembering only what she could allow herself to remember?

  “I’m not sure we’ve given you the information you were looking for,” Bearden murmured.

  “You’ve both been helpful,” Mike disagreed, though Bearden was right about one thing—they definitely weren’t giving Mike the answers he was hoping for. They were just adding to the stack of unanswered questions piling up around the night of Alice’s death.

  And the more questions that arose, the more Charlie seemed to be in danger.

  Bearden rose, as if he sensed this was the perfect time to bring the meeting to an end. “I’ve told Becky Cameron that we’ll be happy to answer any of your questions in the future. I hope Diana and I haven’t wasted your time today.”

  “On the contrary. I appreciate your time. I know this is a busy time for the two of you.”

  Diana remained seated on the sofa while Bearden walked Mike out to the sidewalk in front of the campaign office. He offered his hand.

  Mike shook it. “Thank you.”

  “Charlotte wasn’t a bad girl. And she’s had almost ten years to grow up. I hear she’s working as a technical writer for Ordnance Solutions.”

  So, Mike thought, Bearden had taken pains to keep up with his daughter’s old friend. Interesting.

  “Age and experience have a way of smoothing out the rough edges of a person’s life,” Mike agreed.

  Bearden’s expression darkened. “Alice never had that chance to grow.”

  Mike didn’t know how to respond, so he just nodded and walked down the sidewalk to his truck, pulling out his phone as he slid inside the cab.

  Charlie answered on the second ring. “How did it go?”

  “It was interesting,” he said vaguely.

  “That’s...unhelpful.”

  “Well, how about something I hope will help?”

  “What’s that?”

  He put the keys in the ignition. “Put on your dancing shoes, darlin’. We’re definitely going to the Headhunter Bar tonight.”

  Chapter Twelve

  The Headhunter Bar hadn’t changed in a decade. There were still kitschy fake shrunken heads hanging from the wall and a cheesy attempt at a tiki bar ambience complete with a straw-covered awning over the bar in the center of the room.

  In contrast, the music was all Southern-fried classic rock—Lynyrd Skynyrd, the Allman Brothers, Marshall Tucker Band, the Doobie Brothers—blaring from large speakers in each corner of the room.

  The sense of walking straight into the past sent goose bumps scattering across Charlie’s skin. She paused in the entryway, trying to reorient herself to the world she’d left outside the bar, where she was a grown woman who had made a life for herself and not a nervous teenager with a fake ID burning a guilty hole in her pocket.

  “Whose idea was it to come here that night?” Mike’s voice barely carried over the driving beat of Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Gimme Three Steps,” but it made her jump.

  Mike put his hand on her arm, his fingers circling her wrist and holding it lightly. The look in his eyes was somewhere between sadness and understanding.

  “Alice’s. Everything was always Alice’s idea.”

  “And you did everything she suggested?”

  Charlie shook her head. “Not everything. I had a well-honed instinct for survival. I knew there were things a rich girl could get away with that a poor kid from Bagwell never would.”

  “Illegal things?”

  “Nothing terrible.” Charlie nodded toward an empty table in the far side of the bar, far enough away from the speakers that they should be able to hear each other over the music.

  Twining his fingers with hers, Mike led the way through the rough-looking Saturday-night crowd and pulled out her chair for her.

  “You were saying, nothing terrible?” Mike sat across from her and leaned over the table to hear her better.

  “Alice fancied herself a girl detective. Like Veronica Mars or something. She was always trying to solve things. I used to tease her that her life was too easy if she had to go looking for trouble to get into.” She shook her head. “Finding trouble in Mercer County doesn’t take much effort, you know?”

 
“Was she looking for trouble that night?”

  “She was looking for something. She just never told me what.” The déjà vu sensation was starting to get to her, making her head swim. Or maybe it was the loud music. Or the nearness of Mike Strong and his chiseled features and smoldering green eyes.

  “Let’s dance, okay?” She pushed up from her chair and headed for the dance floor, not waiting for him. The song had changed to a Little Texas ballad, slow enough for even Charlie, with her lack of dancing skills, to handle.

  Mike caught up and wrapped one strong arm around her waist, drawing her close. “What are you afraid of?” he asked, his voice a rumble in her ear.

  “This place,” she said.

  “What about it? The memories?”

  She nodded, her forehead rubbing against his chin, the stubble of his beard rasping against the sensitive skin. “This place hasn’t changed a bit. It’s like walking into the past, and I didn’t know how much that would affect me.”

  “I’ve got your back, you know. I’m not going to let anything happen to you tonight.”

  Oh, she wanted to believe him. Wanted to think that someone might actually be on her side for once.

  The way Alice hadn’t been. Not that night.

  I’m sorry, Charlie. But I have to do the rest of this by myself.

  “Alice came here for a reason, but she didn’t tell me what it was. And she made sure I didn’t know anything else about what she had planned.”

  “Made sure?” Mike repeated.

  Charlie drew her head back and looked up at Mike, voicing the thought that had been creeping around the back of her mind since she first remembered Alice saying those words that night. “I think it was Alice who drugged my drink.”

  Mike was silent for a long time. The physical ease she was beginning to feel with him faded, and she started to tense up again, studying his face for signs that he thought she was crazy.

  “Why would she do that?” He asked the question as if there could be a plausible answer. She started to relax again.

  “I told you I’ve been having dreams about that night, right?”

  He nodded.

  “In one of the dreams, Alice said something odd. I clearly remember her saying ‘I’m sorry, but I have to do the rest of this by myself.’”

  His brow furrowed. “The rest of what?”

  “I don’t know!” Her voice rose in frustration. She lowered it quickly, not wanting to draw attention. “I told you she thought of herself as Veronica Mars, always looking for a mystery.”

  “You think she found one that killed her?”

  “Yes. But I don’t know what! She might have been my best friend, but I’m not sure I was hers.”

  “Was there someone else she might have confided in?” Mike asked.

  “That’s not really what I mean.” The song was ending, but the temptation to stay in Mike’s arms had a distracting effect. She couldn’t seem to gather her thoughts to explain the kind of relationship she and Alice had shared.

  Mike took her arm and steered her back to the table they’d vacated. A waitress came over from a nearby table. “What can I get you?”

  “I’ll take a ginger ale,” Mike said. He looked at Charlie. “What’s your poison?”

  If she’d come here to relive that night, she should probably order another light beer. “Whatever light beer you have in a bottle.”

  The waitress jotted down the orders. “Want a menu?”

  “Charlie?” Mike asked. She shook her head and he said, “Nothing, thanks,” to the waitress.

  After she left, he reached across the table and touched Charlie’s hand. “You look ready to jump out of your skin.”

  She tried to shake off her nerves. “I’m sorry. I just— I haven’t been back here since Alice died. I thought it would have changed a lot more than it has.”

  “You don’t have to do this tonight if you’re not ready.” He hadn’t released her hand, and the warmth of his fingers curled around hers had a settling effect on her, as if his strength were passing through his fingers into her own. “We can do this later. Or not at all.”

  “I’ve spent the past couple of days trying to think of anything else that might make someone want to hurt me.” She turned her hand until her palm pressed against his. “And there’s nothing else. My job can’t be it. I don’t have a boyfriend or a stalker ex.”

  “If what happened to Alice is what’s behind the attacks on you, why now? It’s been nearly ten years. Why would someone decide it’s time to go after you now?”

  “I think it’s because I’ve started to remember things.”

  “Has something happened that would trigger your memories?” His thumb had begun tracing circles across the skin of her wrist. The caress somehow managed to be both soothing and electrifying at the same time.

  “I found a note from Alice a couple of weeks ago. It was stuck in an old Dickens novel I hadn’t read since high school. I was having trouble sleeping, so I thought Dickens ought to do the trick,” she added with a rueful smile. “It’s so funny. Alice wasn’t much of a note writer. She preferred phone or text or face-to-face communication. But she slipped a note into my book the day before she died, between classes. We were so close to graduating. Our lives were about to really begin.”

  “What did the note say?” Mike’s voice had a gentle, coaxing tone, as if he understood how difficult it was for her to talk about her friendship with Alice and the night that led to her death. He was offering a kindness nobody else ever had, she realized. Certainly not the Beardens. Or her schoolmates, who’d never understood why pretty, popular Alice had taken one of those Winters kids under her wing. Not even Charlie’s mother or her siblings, who had never felt comfortable with her running around with a Bearden. Our people and her people just don’t fit, her mother had warned her, with genuine concern. Nothing good will come of it.

  Maybe her mother had been right.

  “It was our Christmas holiday,” Charlie said, tightening her grip on Mike’s hand. “School would start in a week, and then it would be a hard slog to graduation, with just spring break between us and the big bad world of adulthood. So Alice wrote me a note suggesting we needed to get a sneak peek at being grown-ups. The note told me to meet her outside her house at seven that night, and to be sure to dress to party.”

  “Are you sure it was from Alice?”

  “I told you, she slipped the note in my book herself. Besides, she met me at the right place and time, as the note asked.”

  “I guess what I’m really asking is, are you sure the idea to come here was originally hers?”

  “Oh.” She thought about it. “I think it must have been.”

  “If she was going to drug you and ditch you, why invite you at all?”

  “I don’t know. For the longest time, I thought maybe she had been drugged, too, although nobody ever said so, not even when the police questioned me.”

  “They didn’t think maybe you were drugged, too?”

  She shook her head. “You’d have to understand where I came from. What my family was like. We were poor. Both my parents drank too much, and when they were drunk, they had a way of finding trouble. My two oldest brothers were mean drunks. In and out of jail all the time before they finally committed crimes they couldn’t wriggle out of. When a Winters kid ends up passed out in the backyard and can’t remember anything, it’s not exactly a novel situation.”

  “But you didn’t make a habit of that, did you?”

  “No.” She sighed. “But I think the cops always figured it was just a matter of time.”

  “They should have dug deeper.” Mike sounded angry.

  She gave his hand another squeeze. “Maybe they should have. But I get why they didn’t.”

  “Take me through that night. Do you thi
nk you could walk me through what you remember? Where did you go when you entered the bar?”

  She looked at the door, trying to recapture that moment in time. “The music was loud, just as it is now. Southern rock. A little country.” She smiled a nervous smile at the memory, just as she had that night when they walked through the door. “Alice was wearing a short dress and a leather jacket with cowboy boots. Red snakeskin. All eyes turned to her. As always.”

  “Are you sure they weren’t looking at you?”

  She met Mike’s eyes, relished the appreciation she saw there. “No, trust me. They were looking at Alice. I hadn’t known how to dress, so I asked my brother. He told me to wear jeans and a sweater and I’d be fine. I think it was his way of trying to keep me out of too much trouble.”

  “I’ve seen you in a sweater,” he murmured. “You’re nothing but trouble in a sweater.”

  She flashed a smile. “Sweet talker.”

  “Did anyone approach y’all?”

  Her smile faded. “Bees to honey. But Alice just swatted them all away. I just wandered along in her wake.”

  “Where did you sit?”

  She nodded toward an empty table in the back of the room, close to the restrooms. “Right there, by that window in the back. She wanted to sit with her back to the wall, I guess so she could see the whole bar. I wondered at the time if she was looking for someone.”

  Mike nodded toward the table. “Go sit where you were that night. I’ll let the waitress know we changed tables.”

  Charlie grabbed her purse and took a seat at the table in the back, shivering a little as snippets of memory flashed back to her. Alice’s tawny hair had been pulled up in a messy ponytail at the crown of her head, wavy tendrils spilling over her cheeks and neck. She’d favored cat-eye makeup, with exaggerated liner that made her blue eyes look large and mysterious. She’d been smiling that evening. A lot. The kind of smile that said “I’ve got a secret and wouldn’t you like to know?”

  Charlie hadn’t tried to coax her to spill the beans. By then, she’d known Alice well enough to realize that she couldn’t be wheedled into anything she didn’t want to do. Alice would tell her what was going on when she was good and ready.