by VK Powell
Emma sipped coffee and refused to eat Donovan’s exquisitely prepared breakfast, though her stomach rumbled for food. She debated how to shield Carter and Ann if the facts proved they were involved in Thompson’s murder and/or cover-up. Could she even get involved at that point? Every aspect of her life revolved around and intertwined with the successful resolution of this case. If she reported an objective and compelling story about the whole affair, she could write her own ticket professionally but potentially lose Carter. If she protected Carter and Ann, she just might have a chance at love but in the process sabotage her career.
Her phone rang and she punched the answer key. “Hello.”
“Emma, is that you?” Harriett Smoltz’s nasal voice asked.
“Yes, Harriett. How can I help?”
“Are you okay, honey? You sound a little stressed this morning.” Like a bloodhound, always sniffing around for gossip-worthy news.
“Somebody tried to crush my head with a tree limb last night.”
“Oh my Lord, are you all right? Why would someone want to hurt you?”
“I’m okay. Maybe somebody isn’t happy I’m looking into Theodore Thompson’s murder and have gotten the BCI involved.”
“Did you get a look at the scoundrel who attacked you? Any description at all?” Harriett’s capacity for acquiring and disseminating information was a thing of beauty. Donovan would do well to elicit her assistance.
“It was dark. All I know is the guy was very strong.”
Harriett let out a long sigh, probably upset with Emma’s lack of juicy details. “Maybe I can help. You asked for a list of folks who lived in Stuart then and now. You’ve met and talked with most of them already, but I have one more to add.”
“Whatever you have, Harriett, would be greatly appreciated.”
“You should talk to Daniel Tanner, the druggist. He was open that night and might’ve seen something. Nobody ever questioned him. I hope it helps.”
“Thanks, Harriett. I’ll keep in touch.”
“Be careful, Emma. Folks in this town can be ruthless when pressed.”
Emma dressed and slowly cruised by the ranger’s office to be sure Carter wasn’t inside. She needed an uninterrupted talk with Ann. She wanted answers to questions she had no right to ask, and Ann was her only hope.
When she opened the front door, Ann waved her in with a mock salute. Her outfit for the day was beige camouflage pants, T-shirt, and a black beret.
“Commander West at your service, ma’am. How may I be of assistance?”
“Ann, you’re a hoot. I love how you’re just right out there, like it or not.”
“You know what they say: An ounce of pretension is worth a pound of manure. The outfit is actually for the kids. We’ve got a group checking in later today. Come sit down and tell me why my niece thinks the world’s coming to an end and you’re the reason.”
“I wish I knew. Seeing a half-naked woman on my porch this morning probably didn’t help.”
“Oh, my. Do tell. She didn’t mention that.”
“It wasn’t the way it looked. The BCI agent assigned to this case came over to talk. Just so happened, I was being mugged at the time.”
“Being what?” Ann ushered her to a recliner, her hand resting on Emma’s shoulder. “Darling, are you okay?”
“Just a bruised arm, but the agent thought I wasn’t safe so she slept on the sofa. Carter saw her this morning when she was making rounds, and I can only imagine what she thought.” Emma rubbed her arm and winced.
“I’m sure her mind jumped to several wrong conclusions and confirmed her lack of trust in womankind all over again.”
“To add insult to injury, this story I’m doing sends her over the edge for some reason. I guess she told you about it.”
“According to her, you’re the Antichrist digging a black hole to suck us all in. Honestly, I don’t know how she comes up with this stuff.”
“Ann, you have to believe me. I had no idea this disappearance story would have anything to do with you or your family. I swear it. I never meant any harm.”
“I believe you, Emma. And I don’t really think it’s the story that scares Carter so much as it is the possibility of dredging up things she can’t remember.”
“What do you mean she doesn’t remember?” A shaft of pain shot through Emma. She couldn’t bear it if she’d unearthed more grief from Carter’s past.
“Carter told you about her parents’ death when she was two.”
Emma nodded, her pulse racing at the memory of her night with Carter after their chat.
“It took her a long time to adjust afterward. Then, just when she was settling down, something else happened, and she withdrew from everybody.” Ann paused and covered her face in her hands.
“What happened? Withdrew how?” The questions poured from Emma before she could stop them.
“I’m not sure I should be telling you any of this. If Carter finds out, she’ll be madder than a wet setting hen. But if you’re going to understand her at all, you need to know.”
Emma took Ann’s hands and looked her in the eyes. Her unspoken promise was all the encouragement Ann needed.
“This second event sent Carter into a withdrawal so complete she didn’t speak for almost a year. She wouldn’t communicate with anyone.”
“Oh, my God, Ann. How awful for a child.”
“We took her to therapists, specialists, and even a few woo-woo doctors, but nothing helped. None of them could tell if it was the accident, losing her parents, an unconscious sense of guilt, or this other thing that caused her withdrawal. She blocked an entire segment of time from her life.”
“But you finally got through to her?”
“Cass did. She’d take Carter down to the lake, and they’d play for hours and just be with nature. She never tried to push Carter to talk. Their excursions went on for almost a year, and one day Carter looked up and said Cass’s name. Then little by little she came back to us.”
Emma wiped her eyes. “That’s why she wears the cat’s eye around her neck. She told me Cass gave it to her.”
“But Carter never remembered everything, and I think that’s why she’s so afraid of you digging up this Thompson story.”
“Why didn’t you tell her all of it?”
“I tried a few times when she was younger, but she always resisted. This case and that traumatic time in her life are connected in her subconscious, but she doesn’t know the details. Guess I figured the truth would never come out, and we’d be okay.”
Emma considered her next question, unsure if she wanted to hear the answer but knowing she had to. “And they are connected. Is there something about Thompson’s case that could hurt you or Carter? If there is, Ann, I’ll drop this story immediately. You’re both too important to me.”
“Well, I thin—”
The front door flew open and banged against the wall. Carter stood red-faced in the doorway glaring at them. “Ann, I told you she’s just after her precious story.”
Emma wasn’t a stereotypical redhead who flew hot in a strong wind, but when her reputation and integrity were questioned, she employed whatever means necessary. She was already preparing her response when the fear in Carter’s eyes registered. She stifled the angry words poised on the tip of her tongue and walked over to Carter. “I’m really sorry you feel that way. I would never do anything to hurt you or Ann.” Her eyes met Carter’s. She stroked the side of Carter’s face, silently urging her to feel her sincerity, and glimpsed a momentary softening.
Then Carter stepped away from her touch.
“Words are cheap,” she said.
“Mine aren’t. When I say something, I mean it.” Before she walked away, Emma felt the heat radiating between them, but Carter’s eyes had turned cold and angry again.
*
Carter slammed the door behind Emma before facing Ann. “Do you ever listen to anything I say?”
“I could ask you the same question. And don’t take th
at tone with me, Carter Amelia West. Come over here and sit down.”
“I don’t want to sit.”
Ann pointed to the recliner Emma had vacated. “I said sit down.” When Carter lifted the footrest and focused her attention on the fire in the stove, Ann said, “Did it occur to you that you’re wrong about Emma?”
“She’s a liar.”
“About what?”
“I saw…never mind. I just know.”
“You saw another woman on her porch this morning, and jumped to conclusions. How does that make her a liar?”
“We were together less than—”
“Pot. Kettle. You’re the last person who should judge when it comes to one-nighters. Emma Ferguson is a friend, and in your case she could be more, but you’re too stubborn to realize it.”
Carter shifted, the room suddenly too warm. “Who was she—the woman on the porch?”
“A BCI agent sent to work the case. She was only there because Emma was assaulted last night outside her cabin and the agent didn’t want to leave her unprotected.” Ann snorted. “Should’ve been your job, if you weren’t so thick.”
“Emma was attacked? Was she hurt?”
“He swung a tree limb at her and bruised her arm pretty bad.”
Carter’s stomach roiled, and she buried her face in her hands. Ann was right. She should’ve been there for Emma, not some BCI agent. “Did she say what the agent’s name was?”
Ann shook her head as if Carter were missing the point completely.
It had to be Billie Donovan. That’s why the woman had seemed familiar this morning.
Ann shook Carter’s shoulder. “You should be concerned about our friend, Emma, not some random government woman.”
“If Emma was our friend, she’d never have stirred up this whole Thompson mess. I asked her to leave it alone, but she refused.”
“We’ve known from day one why she was here. Her story focus only shifted when she uncovered more information. She didn’t know Thompson and Cass were married until day before yesterday, when I told her. And she had no idea that Cass Calloway and Sandra Thompson were the same person.”
“She should’ve dropped it when she connected you and Thompson.” Carter tried to sound convincing, but she knew Emma had too much integrity to overlook relevant facts in a story.
“Really, Carter? Emma’s an intelligent professional who takes her job very seriously. Would you turn away a needy child to save a friendship?”
“Of course not, but that’s different.”
“How?”
“Helping a child is always the right thing to do.” Carter glanced at Ann, certain she was backing herself into a moral corner, assisted by her wise aunt.
“And telling the truth isn’t?”
“Of course it is, but what if you only think you’re telling the truth?”
“Emma isn’t that kind of person. She’ll get her facts straight before she goes public.”
Carter raked her fingers through her hair. “And that’s another thing. Haven’t we had enough publicity—my parents’ accident and folks glaring at our family like we were lepers for years? Do you really want our life plastered in the newspapers and magazines? I certainly don’t.”
Ann edged closer to Carter’s chair. “Emma is our best chance for a fair shake on the matter. Trust me on this. The way Fannie Buffkin is stirring up dust, she won’t be happy until somebody is arrested for Theodore’s death, and she won’t care if they’re guilty or innocent. The BCI will be pressured to close the case quickly and won’t waste a lot of time in this Podunk town. I’ll take my chances with Emma any day.”
Carter watched the glowing logs in the stove turn to embers, wondering how things had been so unbelievably right with Emma and then turned so horribly wrong. “What did you tell Emma about me?”
“You told her about your parents. I only added that you suffered another traumatic event and didn’t talk for a while. That’s it.”
“You didn’t say what.”
“Figured that was yours to tell, but you better be quick, or I’ll have to tell it all. We never thought this would come back to us, but it has. Honesty might be best now.”
“I’ll think about it, if I can ever face Emma again.” The image of blond, naked Billie Donovan flashed through Carter’s mind, and she stormed out of the office. Billie was a very sexual and available woman, the kind of person Emma might be drawn to right now—like she’d been to Carter two days ago. The thought of Emma and Donovan together made Carter feel sick.
Chapter Fourteen
Emma’s thirty-minute drive to Tanner’s Drugstore wasn’t enough to erase Carter’s angry expression from her mind. She struggled with a desire to rush into her arms one minute and completely ignore her the next for her irrational behavior. The only thing likely to distract Emma from the situation with Carter was total absorption in her work. She pulled beside Tanner’s Drugstore and vowed to finish this story and get out of Stuart as soon as possible.
“Good morning, ma’am,” a deep baritone called from somewhere in the store as Emma entered. A young man with reddish-orange hair, acne, and a scraggly goatee walked toward her.
“Can I help you?” The booming voice emanated from behind a beaming smile.
The old-fashioned drugstore housed a long marble counter and bar stools that reminded Emma of soda shops from her childhood. Fifties-style blenders stood ready to whip up her favorite concoction of chocolate, chocolate, and chocolate. “Good morning. Is the owner here?”
“No, ma’am. Mr. Tanner doesn’t usually make it in until mid-afternoon. Something I can do for you? Would you care for a soda?”
“I’ll have a double chocolate malt.”
“Yes, ma’am. One double chocolate malt coming up.”
Emma watched the young man pull the ingredients from the cabinet and pour them into the blender. As the mocha-colored elixir spun around in the pitcher, she refused to consider the number of calories in it, preferring to guiltlessly indulge in a favorite childhood treat.
“You must be the reporter who’s doing a story on the town.”
“That’s right. Emma Ferguson. Where could I find your boss before he comes to work?”
The young man handed Emma the malt and glared at her with wide eyes. “I wouldn’t recommend that, no, ma’am.”
“Why not? It’s important that I talk with him.”
“Well…Mr. Tanner’s a night person. He doesn’t function too well before noon.” The man pulled at his already stretched T-shirt as if grappling for the right words. “You’d be more likely to catch him in a talking mood tonight over at Wally’s.”
“I’m not familiar with Wally’s.”
“It’s a local watering hole…our only bar, outside of town about thirty minutes down Highway 57. You missed it if you came in from Bassett. Don’t go alone. Guys can get pretty rough after they’ve had a few drinks.”
“Thank you very much.” Emma polished off her malt, paid, and exited the drugstore. Revived by a double blast of caffeine, she reviewed her options. Her next contact wasn’t available until tonight, but she couldn’t afford to waste half a day if she expected to stay ahead of Donovan. She’d check in with Harriett again.
As she rounded the corner near the library, Emma stopped. Donovan’s state-issued car was parked in front of the entrance. She knew she’d have to talk with Donovan sooner or later, but she voted for later. Emma spun around and headed for the Riverside Hotel.
Sylvie Ferguson gave Emma a reserved smile as she entered the lobby. “Ms. Ferguson, I hadn’t expected to see you again so soon, but I want to thank you for the referral.” Emma cocked her head to the side and Sylvie added, “The BCI agent.”
“Of course. You’re welcome.” Emma smiled, happy to refer the business to such a nice woman and even happier that Donovan wouldn’t be staying at the park.
“What can I do for you today?” Sylvie led Emma into the office.
“I was just wondering if anything else had co
me to mind since our last chat. Did you remember any other details about the night Theodore Thompson disappeared?”
“You mean was killed, don’t you? The whole town is buzzing with the news.”
“Yes, I’m sure it is. Anything else?”
“No. I’ve told you everything I know.”
“Are there still people in town that lived here then?”
Sylvie closed her eyes and stroked her chin for several seconds before raising her hand and counting off as she went. “There’s Tim Black with the funeral home, Daniel Tanner at the drugstore, Fannie Buffkin, Ann and Carter West, and myself. And of course, the twins, Harriett and Hannah Smoltz. They’re the youngest, aside from Carter. Everybody else is either dead or moved away.”
Emma’s excitement vanished until another possibility occurred to her. “You mean there could be others who’ve relocated?”
“Lots of folks left after the plants closed, but I can’t say how many of them were here that long ago or how many are still alive. The only one I know for sure is old Clem Stevens over in Rocky Mount. He was a janitor at the first Thompson plant for years. He pulled up stakes about the time of Thompson’s disappearance, but I can’t be certain if it was before or after.”
Emma silently prayed for two miracles—somebody who knew the truth about Thompson’s murder and to find him before Donovan did. “You don’t happen to know where in Rocky Mount I might find him, do you, Sylvie?”
“Last I heard he was doing night janitorial work for the new super-store warehouse.”
By nightfall Emma was on her way to Wally’s pub to find Stuart’s druggist. The twenty-eight-mile stretch of roadway loomed in front of her like a dark tunnel into the abyss. She was used to the city with streetlights and lots of traffic, and the contrast made her jittery. Emma questioned the wisdom of making the excursion without telling anyone. What if she had a flat tire, ran off the road, or even had an accident? Would she ever be found?
A dull set of headlights several car lengths behind suddenly appeared in her rearview mirror. Maybe she hadn’t given Donovan the slip after all. The momentary relief of having company on the deserted road vanished when the car sped up, cut its headlights, and came within a few feet of her bumper. The car’s interior was too dark to get a glimpse of the driver. After a few seconds of tailgating, the vehicle backed off but continued to follow. All she could tell about the car was that it was dark and old.