Faces Of Evil: Traceless Part 28

Troy laughed at himself. He'd been saying that for a f.u.c.king week and he hadn't done a d.a.m.ned thing about it except break a few things and tear up a few d.a.m.ned pictures. He'd just gotten drunker and pa.s.sed out.

He'd called Keith a coward when he was the f.u.c.king coward.

His fingers tightened on the b.u.t.t of the weapon.

By G.o.d it was time he made this right. He knew one surefire way to lure Clint Austin into a trap.

Emily Wallace.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX.

302 Dogwood Drive 4:30 p.m.

Justine was home.

Clint would be furious when he found out Emily had left the inn without him. But she couldn't wait any longer. Ray was dead. G.o.d, she couldn't believe it. How could this be happening? What were the police doing about it? Besides questioning Clint.

She had to get to the truth. She'd left Clint a note telling him where she'd gone in case he was released before she'd finished here.

The whole concept of what she was about to do felt insane. Justine had been her friend. Everyone's favorite teacher. All the cheerleaders loved her. What could she have hoped to gain by hurting Heather?

It just didn't seem logical or possible.

Then again, the missing necklace was the only other piece of evidence besides the knife. That left Emily with little choice except to follow the only clue she had.

She leaned her head back against the seata"Ray and Keith were dead. Her chest constricted with regret. Their murders gave her all the more reason to suspect that what she and Clint were doing was not only right but also necessary. Someone was killing off every single person who might have known the truth about that night.

Someone had to do the right thing. Clint was being held for questioning, so that left her.

Emily got out of the car and walked up the sidewalk to the porch. Justine had lived in this small house since coming to Pine Bluff. She liked calling it a cottage. And it did sort of look like one with lots of architectural features and lovely fretwork. Very old world. Oodles of flowers.

Not the kind of place where a murderer lived.

Emily pressed the doorbell and waited, working hard to keep her respiration even.

The door opened and Justine appeared, her eyes red and swollen. "Emily. Did you hear the news about Ray? It's just awful."

"I did. It's terrible."

Justine's white skirt and halter blouse showed off her tan. She'd woven her blonde hair into a French braid. She looked beautiful as usual, but she also looked grief stricken. Emily should have thought of that. She'd been out of the loop so long she'd forgotten how close all of these people still were.

"You just caught me." Justine's voice was raw with emotion.

Emily mentally scrambled for the proper response. "Maybe I should come back another time." G.o.d, she didn't want to wait. She wanted to do this now!

"No. No. I was just going shopping for funeral dresses." Justine pressed a hand to her chest. "I can't believe it." With monumental effort, she drew in a breath, seemed to compose herself. "Please, come on in."

Emily went inside, briefly admired the comfortable furnishings. She remembered then that Justine had more framed photographs than anyone she knew. They were everywhere. That was Justine's hobby, she'd always said, the thing that kept her grounded.

"Would you like something to drink?" Justine asked, then sniffed and pressed a tissue to her nose.

"No, thanks." Where to start? Emily had planned this; stick with the plan. "I saw Violet this afternoon."

Justine motioned for Emily to take a seat on the sofa while she curled up in a chair. "How is she?"

"She's Violet," Emily allowed. "She won't let anyone see her pain."

"I know she must be absolutely devastated." Justine shook her head, anguish on her face. "I just can't imagine who would do such a thing. Keith was such a great guy. And Ray. My G.o.d. Everyone loved him."

Emily clasped her hands together to prevent their shaking. "It's hard to believe they're really gone."

"Did Violet say when the funeral will be held? I'm sure it's too early to know anything about Ray's."

How could Emily sit here and believe that this woman, a woman she'd known more than half her life, was a murderer?

"Depends upon the autopsy, I think." No matter what Emily wanted to believe, she had to see this through. "You know," she began, her voice sounding too chipper even to her, "while I was there Violet showed me her senior necklace. Can you believe she still has it? After all this time?" She shook her head. "I don't know what happened to mine. I guess lost it."

Justine folded her hands in her lap, stared straight into Emily's eyes, but her gaze was blank, distant. "That's a shame."

Do it! Emily braced. "Do you still have yours?"

A tiny line formed between Justine's eyebrows. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

'The necklace," Emily prompted, feeling horrible for pursuing the subject.

"Oh." Justine blinked. "The necklace. I haven't worn mine since Heather... pa.s.sed away. I didn't want to risk damaging it or losing it. It's been right there in my jewelry box ever since." Regret clouded her eyes. "You girls were the first to get the necklaces. It didn't seem right to give them to anyone else after what happened. I went back to the charm bracelets after that year."

"I feel terrible about losing mine." G.o.d, she hated lying.

"Would you like me to get you another, Em?" Justine offered. "I don't mind trying. It might not be exactly the same, but it would probably be close."

This was the woman she wanted to accuse of murder?

"That..." Nothing in her plan about this. "That would be wonderful."

"Consider it done." Justine managed a faint smile, the effort visible. "Just give me your address in Birmingham before you go and I'll take care of it."

Banging on her front door drew Justine's attention there. She frowned as she pushed to her feet. "Excuse me, Em."

Deviation from plan. What did she do now? Emily pushed to her feet. "Could I use your bathroom?"

Justine hesitated before opening the door. "Sure. Down the hall and on the left."

Her heart thudding in warning, Emily forced her legs to move at a normal pace as she went from the living room to the hall. Three doors. One on the left, two on the right.

Shouting stopped her dead in her tracks. Both voices female. Her heart felt as if it had stopped as well. The voices turned hushed. Emily started moving again. First room on the right was a home office. The second, Justine's bedroom. The span of floor s.p.a.ce between the bathroom and the bedroom was only about six feet. Hardly anything at all. She could do it.

Emily went into the bedroom. She glanced around, took stock of where things were. The jewelry box sat atop the dresser. She went there. Listened to ensure Justine was still engaged in conversation.

Her hands shaking, Emily opened the jewelry box. Didn't even consider that it might be one that played music until she'd opened it. She held her breath. No sound came from the box.

Thank G.o.d.

She listened again. Justine and her visitor were still talking.

Working as fast as she could, she sifted through the necklaces, bracelets, and earrings. It wasn't there.

d.a.m.n.

Then she saw the huge jewelry box that stood upright like a small dresser. Her pulse raced.

Do it.

She crossed to the jewelry box, but the array of framed photos on the bureau distracted her. Lots and lots of pictures of Justine... and some with Misty. One photo in particular intrigued Emily. Justine and Misty looked really young... grade school maybe. Emily picked up the photograph. Voices echoed in her head. Heather talking about creepy Misty Briggs. Marv saying she was weird. The memory of running into Misty outside Fairgate's house. But was any of that relevant? It felt strange, but was it important to what had happened to Heather? Not likely.

Emily replaced the framed photo and settled her attention back on the larger jewelry box. The hushed voices indicated Justine was still distracted. Emily moved across the room, opened drawer after drawer. Each one held expensive jewelry. Incredible pieces. How on earth did a teacher afford such luxury?

Last drawer, this one was the deepest. No necklace, no jewelry, period. More photos. A whole stack. The photo on top made Emily's eyes go wide. "Oh, my G.o.d." The words rushed out on a breath.

Her pulse blipping wildly, she withdrew the stack and studied the photo on top more closely. Two young men engaged in a s.e.xual act... did she know those guys? The profile of the tall one with blondish hair looked vaguely familiar. The other one had his back to the camera... he was on his knees.

The tempo of the conversation in the other room rose, then fell again. Emily stared at the door, told her heart to slow.

She had to hurry.

She shuffled through the stack. Her fingers shook as she recognized Justine in one. A man, his face obscured by Justine's hair, was giving it to her from behind. The third person in the photo was female. Emily couldn't see her face, since she knelt in front of Justine... her hands on Justine's hips, her face pressed to the juncture of her thighs. The woman on her knees had long brownish hair. Misty? Emily couldn't be sure, but the hair color was right.

Okay, this was none of her business. She reached to put the stack back into the drawer and a change in the intensity of the voices jerked her attention back to the door. She had to hurry. Emily shoved the pictures into the drawer and started to turn away. Something on the floor snagged her attention. d.a.m.n! One of the photos. She'd dropped one.

The front door closed. The sound unmistakable.

s.h.i.t.

She s.n.a.t.c.hed up the photo and hurried to the bedroom door, then across the few feet that stood between her and having to answer a h.e.l.l of a lot of questions.

She eased the bathroom door closed, prayed it wouldn't creak. She flushed the toilet. Turned on the water in the sink to make it seem as if she'd been doing her business.

She needed a reason for being in here so long.

The blood pounding in her head made it difficult to think. She set the photo aside, splashed water on her face, and rubbed her eyes hard. She turned off the water, grabbed tissues from the box on the toilet tank, and prepared to rejoin her hostess.

The picture! Emily grabbed it off the counter. Shuddered at the images. She couldn't possibly know these guys.

What the h.e.l.l did she do with the d.a.m.ned thing? If she left it behind, Justine would most likely find it. She'd just have to take it with her. She slid it inside the waistband of her panties. Gross but necessary, since she didn't have any pockets.

Okay. Now. She took a breath and opened the door.

Justine was standing in the hall right outside.

Emily yelped.

"I'm sorry," Justine said. "I thought something was wrong."

Emily dabbed at her eyes. "I guess talking about everything..." She shook her head, blew her nose. "Sorry."

"Oh, Em, I understand." Justine put her arm around Emily's shoulders and escorted her back to the living room. "Would you like a brandy or something?"

Emily prayed the photo wouldn't start slipping downward.

She flashed Justine a weak smile. "I should go. Let you get to your shopping." She grabbed her purse from the arm of the couch and tried her level best not to look nervous or guilty. "I hope I didn't cause you to rush away your company."

"It was nothing," Justine a.s.sured her. "A persistent salesperson." She placed her hand on Emily's arm as they walked to the front door. "I'm so glad you stopped by, Em. I'm sure I'll see you at the funerals."

"Of course," Emily promised. Her knees felt weak with relief as she crossed the threshold toward freedom.

"Emily."

Slowly, Emily turned to face Justine. "Yes?"

"Did you forget something?" Justine waited expectantly.

Emily's fingers tightened on her purse. Justine couldn't know. "Did I?"

"I need your address," Justine said. "So I can mail you a new necklace if I locate one."

"Oh. Right."

Emily gave her the address, thanked her again, and somehow managed to walk, not run, to her car. Justine waved as Emily backed out onto the street. As she drove away she pa.s.sed a black car that looked vaguely familiar. Emily did a double take. Was that Misty Briggs? Too late to tell without driving past again. She d.a.m.n sure wasn't driving back that way again.

Emily didn't breathe easy until she had gotten back to her room at the inn. She'd had to make a stop by the office for a key, since she'd given hers to Clint.

She took the photo from her panties, grimaced with distaste. She'd taken a h.e.l.l of a risk going into Justine's bedroom.

And the pictures. Talk about disgusting. These women were teachers, for G.o.d's sake! Emily was almost sure she knew one of these two guys. She peered at the photo in her hand. But she couldn't be positive. In this one a naked, younger Justine watched two men engaged in oral s.e.x. One had his back to the camera; the other's profile was visible. The whole setup very similar to the other photo. Again, the blondish guy in profile looked kind of familiar. Emily shook her head. Some folks were just kinkier than others, she supposed. But it was the photographing of the activity that struck her as odd.

What did she know? First thing to do was hide this photo. She couldn't prove any of this was relevant, but she wasn't taking any chances leaving it lying around. She hid the evidence of her pilfering beneath the bedside table. Her throat felt like sandpaper. She needed water. As she got to her feet, the light blinking on the telephone distracted her.

She s.n.a.t.c.hed up the receiver and went through the procedure for listening to the message. If this was Clint, that could only mean things had gone worse than expected. The voice rasped in her ear and Emily's chest tightened.

"Emily, this is Troy. I need to talk to you. I'm desperate, Em. I need your help." Silence. "Please help me, Em. I'm at home all by myself."

Her fingers trembling, she dropped the receiver back in its cradle. She knew Troy was hurting. Keith had been his best friend. Ray had been Troy's friend, too.