Faces Of Evil: Traceless Part 15

"Hey, Marv," Justine said.

He glanced at her. "Justine."

Violet was surprised at the indifference in his tone when he said the other woman's name. Most of the men in town loved having Justine's attention even for a fleeting instant. Then Marv's gaze shifted to Violet. She hoped he hadn't brought his wife. Violet had disliked Jean Cook since she showed up at one of her Christmas parties and bragged about her new tattoo. She might be the most popular hairstylist in town, but Violet couldn't tolerate her trashy ways when the woman got a little alcohol in her.

"Violet, we have a situation."

Oh, G.o.d. "What do you mean?"

'Troy came out back mouthing off and got everybody riled up. The whole bunch is pretty drunka""

"Get to the point, Marv," she snapped. If a single one of her rosebushes was damaged, she would have someone's hide.

"Anyway, Troy, Larry, and Perry just took off. Said they were going to finish this business with Clint Austin."

Marv's announcement combined with Justine's recent warning sent fear surging through Violet. "Where's Keith?"

"Well, that's the other thing," Marv explained, "Keith went to try to stop 'em before somebody gets hurt."

"Find Ray," Justine ordered.

Thank G.o.d. Violet was inordinately happy for Ray's attendance and for Justine's quick thinking.

Marv shook his head. "He had to take Sarah home. Left about a half hour ago."

"Call him or Mike," Violet ordered, then grabbed Justine's arm. "We have to go over there."

Justine set her gla.s.s aside. "I'll drive."

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE.

Valley Inn 10:10 p.m.

What was she missing?

Emily stared at the pages spread across the bed. She'd been juggling information and names for the past three hours. Kept her mind occupied.

You just needed someone to blame besides yourself.

She blocked Clint Austin from her head. Focused on the pages.

These were the names of all the people who had been aware of Emily's plans that night and a few others who might be somehow connected, like her father and Princ.i.p.al Call. Each name had two columns, "Negatives" and "Positives." The "Negatives" column, on the one hand, represented reasons that person might have had for hurting Heather or for simply being in on the plan for that night. The "Positives," on the other hand, were all the reasons that same person wouldn't possibly want to hurt Heather.

For more than ten years Emily had lived with the idea that Heather was murdered in her stead.

If Austin wasn't the killer, then the murder hadn't been about Emily. It was about Heather.

Marv, on the one hand, had gotten angry with Heather a few weeks prior because she'd gone back to Keith. Keith, on the other hand, had gotten superjealous over her dating Marv. None of which, as far as Emily could recall, had really been investigated.

The police had their murderer; why look any further?

That concept settled inside her like a block of ice.

Focus on the list.

Violet. She'd wanted to be captain of the cheerleading squad. She'd wanted Keith. Heather's death ensured the path was wide open for both.

Cathy... well, she was just jealous of Heather's popularity. Everyone had loved Heather the best out of their tight little group. Heather had simply been the most popular girl in the entire high school.

Megan had nothing in the "Negatives" column. Same with Princ.i.p.al Call.

Ed Wallace: "A secret with Fairgate." There was no reason Ed would have wanted to hurt Heather. There was only the business with Fairgate.

Fairgate. "Secrets. Lies. Protect his interests." All those things were listed in his "Negatives" column.

Justine... nothing.

Misty... weird, which didn't really count.

Austin... nothing. There was no reason whatsoever that he would have wanted to hurt Heather.

If Emily was not the intended victim, he had no motivation.

Why hadn't the police considered this theory? Chief Ledbetter hadn't been a fool. Ray Halea"Emily pauseda"maybe she should add him to her list. But why? Ray had known Heather, but he was three years older. It wasn't like they'd hung out together. Every single person who had known Heather couldn't be a suspect. Otherwise Emily would be adding Mike Caruthers and G.o.d only knows who else.

Emily crawled around the papers and off the bed. She paced the small room. If Clint Austin wasn't the murderer... then Heather's killer was still out there. Just like Clint said.

That subzero sensation sank all the way to Emily's bones.

If that was the case, Clint would be a target... she would be a target. He'd said that, too.

A rap on the door nearly sent her jumping out of her skin.

She took a moment to reclaim her breath.

Maybe her father had decided to make amends. No, her parents wouldn't be out at this hour.

Clint Austin. Emily didn't want to see him again... yet.

She peered out the peephole in the door.

But it wasn't Clint Austin.

She drew back, gathered her courage, and opened the door, antic.i.p.ation rising.

"Good evening, Miss Wallace. I'd like a moment of your time if you're not too busy."

Sidney Fairgate.

She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. The idea that she should be afraid crossed her mind, but no reason materialized to suspect he had anything to do with Heather's murder. But the truth was, Emily couldn't be sure.

"I can see my visit has had a profound effect. Perhaps you'll allow me to step inside so that you might hear what I have to say."

Somehow she backed up; he came inside the small room and closed the door behind him. No bodyguards. No dogs. Just him. She should be afraid. She knew this. But what she felt was hopeful. Maybe now she would know the truth about her father.

"You've changed your mind," she suggested. Please let that be the case. All she wanted was the truth.

"Actually, yes. I have changed my mind. A previous negotiation failed to live up to my expectations." He smiled and those black eyes glittered. "I see this pleases you."

Her attempt to conceal the new rush of antic.i.p.ation had obviously failed. "Yes." Her defenses snapped into place, a little behind the curve. "What will this cost me?" The idea that they were in a motel room alone with the bed right behind her wasn't lost on her.

"This, Miss Wallace, is for free."

Surprised, she reiterated, "No strings?"

He moved that narrow head from side to side. "None."

She moistened her lips, summoned a little extra courage. "Okay."

"Brace yourself, Miss Wallace," he said with all the pomp and circ.u.mstance of a well-rehea.r.s.ed freak show. "Your father, and mine, allowed an innocent man to go to prison for murder. I won't bore you with the details. I'm sure you can learn those straight from the horse's mouth."

She started to shake. It began with a quaking deep, deep inside her and radiated outward. She wanted to demand an explanation, but she couldn't seem to summon the necessary cognitive processes.

"Have a nice evening." He turned to go, then hesitated. "I almost forgot." Those dark, toxic eyes connected with hers once more. "I heard on the scanner on the way here that there's some trouble at the Austin place. Something to do with Troy Baker and some of his friends."

Austin Place 10:40 p.m.

"I know you're out there!"

Clint stayed in the perimeter of the woods that bordered the back of his property. From his position he could see Troy Baker and some of his friends moving around in the backyard. The moonlight didn't allow for seeing their faces as well as Clint would like to, but he recognized most of the voices. They'd searched the barn and called out to him repeatedly.

There was a half dozen of them, one armed with a baseball bat. And only one of him. He was no fool. But he did have the tire iron he'd found in the barn.

This could get ugly; someone could get hurt and it wouldn't be him. But he'd end up with the blame.

No thanks. Been there, done that. He would stay put.

The whole lot had arrived drinking and hadn't let up. The only one who appeared to be sober was Keith Turner. He'd spent most of the time since they arrived trying to talk the others into going home.

Smart guy.

Clint sagged against a tree trunk. He felt sorry for Baker. Other than that, Clint was sick to death of the bulls.h.i.t from these people. He couldn't even go in the G.o.dd.a.m.n Piggly Wiggly and buy food.

Every instinct told him that recent events meant he was making progress. The vandalism, his gut clenched, was about running him off. Last night had been about putting him six feet under. He'd meant what he said to Emily. She might very well be in danger as well, considering she'd saved his a.s.s.

He was reasonably sure she wasn't going to listen to anything he said. Maybe Ray could talk some sense into her.

Like he did you, a voice he wanted to ignore nagged.

Clint straightened, tension charging through him again as Larry Medford, the guy with the bat, started toward his Firebird.

He'd figured they would get around to that. Dammit.

The initial blow shattered the windshield. Clint winced.

He had insurance but only liability, and he wasn't sure it covered vandalism. Even that was costing him a d.a.m.ned arm and a leg. But the insurance had been required when he got his driver's license.

Clint held himself back, remained invisible, as Medford prepared for the second swing.

The blue lights cutting through the darkness came just in time. The siren wailed to life and the baseball bat stalled in midswing.

Clint waited until the two squad cars had barreled into his driveway before he stepped out of the woods. He tossed the tire iron in the general direction of the barn.

Baker and his friends were momentarily distracted by the arrival of the cops.

"Troy, what the h.e.l.l are you doing?"

Ray Hale, followed by three deputies, spread out to contain the rowdy group.

"Doing your job," Troy shouted at Ray. "That b.a.s.t.a.r.d needs to go back to prison!"

"Where's Clint?" Ray demanded.

"Coward's hiding," Medford said, too stupid to have dropped the bat. He held on to it as he sauntered right up to Ray. "We called his name and he was too chickens.h.i.t to come out."

"Did you want something, Medford?"

Heads swiveled in Clint's direction as he walked toward the group.

Troy lunged at him.

Clint stepped aside, narrowly escaping the impact.

"Let's go, Troy."

Ray reached for him, but he wasn't ready to go yet. He rushed Clint again. Like a linebacker coming in for the takedown, Troy's shoulder made contact with Clint's torso. They hit the ground together.

Clint shoved Troy off him and got up. The idiot scrambled to his feet and charged Clint again. He had no choice but to put Troy down.

Mike Caruthers hauled Clint off Troy. Ray and another of his men manacled the persistent little s.h.i.t who would have made another dive for Clint.

"I'm gonna get you," Troy threatened. "That's a promise."