Faces Of Evil: Traceless Part 14

Valley Inn 12:30 p.m.

Someone had tried to kill Clint Austin.

Emily wasn't alone in her conclusions. The headlines of the Huntsville Times had heralded the same.

And she had heroically, according to both the Huntsville Times and the Pine Bluff Sentinel, saved Austin's life.

Emily tossed aside the copy of the Times and lay back on the cool sheets of the bed. Plain old human compa.s.sion. Her actions had been instinct, nothing more. She would have done the same for anyone... for a dog or a cat. How many times had she told herself that already?

But it didn't change the momentum of the uncertainty mounting inside her.

She hoped the police wouldn't discover that Troy had been involved in the fire. He'd warned her that he was going to take care of Austin personally. For Troy's family's sake, she hoped he hadn't done this.

Dealing with her own unchristian thoughts about revenge after Heather's death had been a difficult aspect of facing life without her friend. But this uncertainty Emily faced now... was far worse.

What if she had been wrong?

The prospect shook her.

She had been there that night. He was there. No one else. No other suspects... just him.

As much as she didn't want to, she closed her eyes and allowed the memories to surface. Megan had rushed to get Emily home as soon as they'd finished leading the freshman girls through their final challenge: decorating the outside of Princ.i.p.al Call's house for Christmas in July, complete with lights and light-up characters like Frosty the Snowman. In her haste to leave, Megan had backed into Mr. Call's mailbox. Seconds later the princ.i.p.al was hot on their tail.

Knowing how much trouble Emily would be in if her parents found out, Megan had let Emily out at her house and barreled away. The princ.i.p.al had followed Megan's car to the other end of the block, taking the unavoidable confrontation away from Emily's house. Emily'd had only one thing on her mind. Hearing the secret Heather had to tell her. It wasn't until she'd reached her bedroom window that she'd recognized something was wrong. She'd climbed inside... straight into her worst nightmare.

Her heart pounded mercilessly as she recalled the instant she'd realized it was Clint in her bedroom.

She pushed the painful images away and opened her eyes to stare at the bland walls around her. The question that she had ignored at the time was why hadn't he left while he had the chance? That was the one aspect of that night that couldn't be answered logically by anything she knew or remembered. She'd told herself that the horror had just occurred. That her coming in unexpectedly had confused him, especially if he'd only just realized he'd killed the wrong girl. But looking back now, Emily had to ask herself if running had even entered his mind.

Even when she'd managed to push him away from Heather, he hadn't run.

Why was that?

And if there had been drugs involved, as some speculated, though blood tests hadn't backed it up, why hadn't he finished what he'd come there to do? Why hadn't he killed Emily? The knife had been lying on the floor right by the bed. Her parents hadn't been home yet, and several minutes had pa.s.sed before the princ.i.p.al had heard the screams and called the police.

But Austin hadn't killed her. And he hadn't run. Why?

Had he been developing his story even then? Attempting to lend credibility to his alibi for being in the room since he'd been caught? That was what she'd told herself the days and weeks after that night. All through the trial, she'd let the momentum carry her along. Everyone thought he was guilty. There were no other suspects. There were no prints on the murder weapon, a kitchen knife that could have been purchased at any Wal-Mart or Kmart. He'd been wearing gloves. There just hadn't been anything else to believe.

A jury had weighed the evidence, no matter how meager and circ.u.mstantial, and had found him guilty.

The story should have ended there.

And, yet, it hadn't.

A knock on the door hurled her out of the past and into the present... there was no relief either place. How could she keep living like this?

Another knock.

"Emily?"

She sat up.

Clint Austin.

Why would he come here? How did he know she was here?

"I need to talk to you."

She scooted off the bed, even as she thought of all the reasons she shouldn't answer the door. She moved closer, angled her head for listening. "What do you want?" He could say what was on his mind and then go. She didn't need to see him... not right now; she was too confused... too vulnerable.

"I need to talk to you. I don't want to do it through this door and I'm not leaving until I've had my say."

Emily surrendered to the inevitable. She drew back the chain and opened the door.

Those intense gray eyes zeroed in on hers. "You okay?"

"No, I'm not." He should know. She prepared to shut him out. That he'd come by, that she'd answered the door, was against nature somehow.

"I drove past your house."

G.o.d, she prayed he hadn't stopped.

He lifted one broad shoulder. "Then I remembered Ray mentioning Fitzpatrick had dropped you off here."

"You found me." She didn't want to look at him any longer than necessary. And she sure didn't want to listen to his voice. She couldn't deal with all that being this close to him entailed just now. Not until she'd sorted out her feelings. "What do you want, Austin?"

He stared directly into her eyes. She should have looked away... but she couldn't.

"To thank you."

"Don't thank me," she said defensively. They couldn't have this conversation. "For all you know, I set that fire."

He chuckled, a rich, throaty sound that rumbled deep in his chest and sent a new kind of tension through her, one that was far too familiar. "You're right, except why would you have rescued me if you were the one to start it in the first place?"

"Temporary insanity."

"You know I didn't kill her. You were there. You know."

"I can't talk about this right now." She braced to close the door. He flattened one palm against it, keeping it open.

"I was trying to help her. I could've run, but I didn't."

"Just leave." She couldn't do this... not yet. She'd heard it all before... when he'd testified. She'd asked herself why not five minutes ago.

"Think about it, Emily," he urged before she could shut the door in his face. "That means her murderer is still out there. That's what last night was about. Someone wants me dead. You could be in real danger for helping me."

"Go! Please." Her throat closed; her stomach churned violently. Just let him leave.

"I'm telling the truth," he urged. "Think about it and you'll remember what really happened. I didn't kill her. You just needed someone to blame besides yourself."

She slammed the door. This time he let her.

Collapsing against it, she tried to stop his final words from echoing in her head. How could she have been wrong?

That would mean he had been the hero to the rescue he'd claimed to be. An innocent guy doing a job next door who'd heard a scream and come running. An innocent man who'd lost ten years of his life in the worst of prisons.

And just like the rest of this nightmare, that would be her fault, too.

CHAPTER TWENTY.

125 Carriage Avenue 9:45 p.m.

Violet Manning-Turner was a legendary hostess. Her parties were the subject of discussions for months after the events. No one was as good at developing guest lists or creating spectacular food and drink presentations whether for a cook-out in the backyard or a black-tie sit-down dinner.

This time, however, she had made a strategic error. One she hadn't antic.i.p.ated. Very unusual.

Violet surveyed the crowd gathered in her great room. Every well-dressed guest had praised Violet's grand home and the delicious hors d'oeuvres she'd made herself. The wine was the best that had ever rolled across the tongues of these people, whether they said so or not. The idea that more beer bottles than stemware floated around the room made her want to scream. But then that was to be expected in Pine Bluff; this was Alabama after all.

But it was the tension between her husband and his friends that concerned her. Troy had openly avoided Keith all evening. As had Larry and even Perry. She scanned the crowd and her gaze settled on her dear husband. This was so unfair to him. Clint Austin's return had put Keith's life in a tailspin. There didn't appear to be anything she could do to help.

d.a.m.n Heather Baker.

Violet's lips tightened as did her fingers around the bowl of her gla.s.s. Heather had had everything. She and Emily were to have been the captains of the squad senior year. Violet should have been captain from the outset. She worked harder than both of them put together, but popularity had made the decision. Justine had insisted that she had made the decision, but Violet knew.

Heather had been blessed with the honor of captain, and she'd latched on to the man Violet loved. He and Heather had broken up three times junior year. Keith had turned to Violet two of those times. Why hadn't Heather just let him go? Selfish b.i.t.c.h.

Relax. Violet took a deep breath. This was her party. She had to be a good hostess. Besides, Heather had gotten herself murdered and Violet had ended up captain anyway. And she'd gotten her man as well.

She had deserved both. She'd earned every single thing she'd attained in life. And no one, her gaze landed on Cathy Caruthers, was going to take any of it away from Violet. If Cathy's d.a.m.ned husband didn't work so many extra shifts, he might notice that his wife had turned unfaithful in recent years.

Putting the thought out of her mind, Violet merged into the crowd. Played the good hostess, ensuring everyone's drink was fresh and their bellies satisfied. She popped into the kitchen to check that there was still plenty of beer in the refrigerator and to remind the kitchen help to stay on top of keeping the hors d'oeuvre trays filled. The waiter was just about to make another round with the selection of wines. Excellent.

She checked her makeup in the hall mirror before returning to the great room. Her French twist looked exquisite, as did the black dress. She'd tried on a dozen dresses before selecting this one. A trip to Birmingham had been necessary to find one no one else would be wearing. At nearly one thousand dollars, no one else could have afforded it.

A m.u.f.fled thumping from the hall powder room drew Violet closer to the door. Surely no one had gotten that drunk already. A chorus of "oh yeahs" and "give me all you've got," had Violet backing away from the door. Fury streaked through her. She was going to kill Cathy. That s.l.u.t was having s.e.x in her powder room!

If she made a mess in there...

What were obviously simultaneous climaxes rattled the painting on the wall next to where Violet stood, her jaw hanging slack in horror. She righted the picture, her lips compressed in fury, and stamped away.

How dare Cathy do this at one of her parties!

Three or four minutes later, Cathy, all smiles and with a fresh beer in her hand, joined the other guests. Violet's jaw dropped again when Troy Baker, still shoving his shirt into his trousers, swaggered in behind Cathy.

Another burst of outrage crashed over Violet. That no-good... he'd claimed the baby was sick and Patricia hadn't been able to come. Violet knew better. The two were having serious trouble. Mostly because Troy wouldn't get over the fact that the man accused of murdering his sister was out of prison now.

He was just like Emily Wallace. Both of them were obsessed with the whole Clint Austin issue. Emily hadn't even bothered to call with her regrets. The world was full of total fools, and Troy and Emily fit unerringly into that category. Violet still cringed when she allowed herself to recall the fact that she'd dated Troy once, or maybe it was twice. She'd felt sorry for him... and she'd needed Keith to take her a little more seriously. Her strategy had worked like a charm.

A hand waved in front of her face. Violet started, almost sloshed her wine.

Justine Mallory looked at Violet as if she had smeared her lipstick or smudged her mascara. "Are you all right, Vi?"

Violet ordered a smile into place. "Of course. I was just thinking how glad I am that so many were able to attend on such short notice."

Justine nodded. 'This was a great idea." She motioned to the twenty or so people gathered in the room. "We all needed a tension breaker, and this was the perfect solution."

Violet would have agreed until a few minutes ago. She gave Cathy the evil eye. "More for some than others," Violet muttered.

"I'm surprised Emily isn't here." Justine scrutinized the guests as if looking for her.

"After her death-defying rescue of Clint Austin last night, she may have been too embarra.s.sed."

The very idea that Emily had dashed into a burning house to rescue Clint Austin. She should have let the b.a.s.t.a.r.d burn and then this whole thing would finally be over.

"I heard about that." Justine sipped her wine, then said, "This whole situation is escalating. I'm afraid to think what might happen next."

Violet kept one eye on Cathy. She wasn't sure where Keith had gotten off to, but as long as she knew where Cathy was she didn't have to worry. If he was tempted, he might just stray. She felt sure he had from time to time, just as his father had done. A rich, powerful man like that had needs. But she needed Keith to be discreet as his father had been. It was the least he could do for his wife and children. Maybe he wasn't cheating on her, but there were moments lately when she saw something in his eyes or noticed that his lovemaking was off. Nothing as blatant as those times in the early years.

Why was she even thinking about that? "I agree," she said to Justine. Everything seemed to be revolving around Clint Austin these days. "I wish Ray would do something." He was here somewhere. Both he and Sarah.

"I'm sure he's doing all he can. But the uproar surrounding Austin's return is getting completely out of hand," Justine went on, her concern evident. "We need to make people like Troy see what a mistake they're making."

Violet couldn't agree more. She was all too well aware of how far over the edge the situation had pushed Troy. "Someone could get hurt."

"Not to mention," Justine pointed out, tilting her head toward Violet as if she didn't want anyone else to hear, "that all this drama is going to do nothing but keep Austin's face in the media. The next thing you know, he'll be using the moment as a platform for promoting his cause."

Violet frowned but caught herself and corrected the outward display. "Really? I'm not sure I follow."

"He had a reason for coming back here," Justine said before taking a leisurely swallow of wine. "He wants to make us pay. He wants to do that by trying to make the world believe he was innocent and that we're all guilty of railroading him. Did you see the papers this morning? The Times is already jumping on that bandwagon."

Violet made a sound of disbelief. "Why, that's preposterous. People know that reporters will make a story out of anything." Justine was surely making too much out of this. She couldn't know what Clint Austin was up to... unless someone like Ray Hale had told her. Ray knew Austin better than anyone. Justine and Ray were friends.

Justine's gaze lingered on her gla.s.s a moment but then rested heavily on Violet's. "All he has to do is dig around until he finds a single shred of real doubt to pounce on. He might not be able to change the fact that he was convicted, but he can try all of us in the media, maybe even crucify someone. All he needs is one loose end to pick at."

Uneasiness crept along the length of Violet's spine beneath the expensive silk of her dress. "I'm sure you're giving Austin far too much credit, Justine."

Justine sighed. "Maybe so, but he must think he can convince somebody, since he demanded to see the case files on Heather's murder investigation." Justine sent Violet a knowing look. "He wants to see if the police made any mistakes. If I were you," she pressed quietly, "I would make sure Keith stayed away from Troy. He's teetering on an edge that could destroy him, and anyone standing too close could go down with him."

Justine was right. Violet should find Keith. "Excuse me."

Before Violet could get away, the French doors on the far side of the room opened and Marvin Cook stalked in carrying a can of beer. G.o.d, Violet could just die. How tacky. Why couldn't he drink her bottled beer? The man had absolutely no cla.s.s. He cut through the crowd and headed her way as if she'd drawn him there. Perfect.