“What did she mean by that?”
“Bonnie resented Pauline’s attentions to Amy. Or perhaps I should say she resented Amy’s adulation of Pauline. She felt Pauline was stealing her daughter.”
Not exactly the same story Bonnie had given Tom. “Why were they there?”
“My assumption has always been that Bonnie wanted to put a stop to Amy and Pauline’s friendship.”
“I’ve been told that Mrs. Turner was sick, and Pauline’s sisters wanted her to visit their mother, but she refused.”
Mrs. Barker drew back as if offended. “You were misinformed. She would never have refused to visit when her mother was ill. She did so on a number of occasions. She would have paid for a doctor if Mrs. Turner had been willing to see one. But Mrs. Turner preferred to treat herself with herbal remedies.”
So Bonnie Watford had lied. What had been behind that visit, what was it that Bonnie didn’t want him to find out? “Tell me everything you saw or heard,” he told Mrs. Barker. “Even a scrap of conversation.”
“I heard nothing after the first few minutes. Pauline told me to keep Holly occupied in the garden. The others stayed in the house, with the windows and doors closed.” Mrs. Barker poured more coffee into Tom’s cup. “But I could see them through the living room windows, having a furious argument. At one point Bonnie slapped Pauline, and Jean and Amy had to restrain her.”
“But you couldn’t hear what they were arguing about?”
“Not a word. But the oddest thing happened after the others pulled Bonnie away from Pauline. Pauline went to Bonnie and embraced her, and the two of them cried in one another’s arms.”
Tom drank his coffee and considered this. He would probably never get the straight story from Bonnie. He had to locate Amy. Who else could have witnessed the argument? “Where was Mary Lee?”
“She didn’t return from her grand tour of Europe until the next day.”
Damn.
“All right, you said the McClures showed up too.”
“Oh, yes. Ed arrived first. He’d been drinking. He pounded on the door, but Pauline wouldn’t open it. He threw stones at the windows, shouting all the while. Poor little Holly was outside with me, as I said, and the child was terrified. This had been going on for fifteen or twenty minutes when his wife and brother arrived.”
“Together?” Tom asked.
“In Robert McClure’s Lincoln Town Car,” Mrs. Barker said. “They leapt from the car and ran to Ed.” The flowing motion of her hands described their actions. “Natalie screamed at her husband. Invective such as I have never heard before or since. Robert seized Ed and attempted to maneuver him into the Lincoln, but Ed fought him wildly. Pauline came out of the house, with her sisters and Amy. The sight of all of them seemed to enrage Robert McClure.”
“Enrage is a strong word.”
“Oh, he was already quite worked up. When he saw Pauline and her sisters and niece, he…what’s that expression young people use? Went ballistic.” Her faint smile showed her pleasure in the sound of the slang. “That describes his reaction perfectly.”
“What did Robert do?”
“He advanced on them. His face was almost purple. I was sincerely concerned that the man would keel over with a coronary in the front garden.”
“He advanced on them, and—?”
“He said it made him sick to see Melungeon trash in his grandfather’s house. He said he was going to set things right no matter what he had to do, and if they thought they were going to live high on McClure money for the rest of their lives, they had another think coming.”
A real threat, or more of Robert’s bluster? “How did Pauline react to that?”
“She looked him in the eye and said,
Robert, if you weren’t so funny, I’d feel sorry for you. Take your brother home and leave me alone.
”
“What happened then?”
“Natalie continued to carry on at a remarkable decibel level. Robert told her to drive Ed’s car home. Ed would ride with him. Natalie finally got into her husband’s car, but before she left, she rolled down the window and yelled at Pauline that if she didn’t leave Ed alone she, Natalie, would…would…”
Tom sat forward. “Would what?”
The words came out in a whisper. “Kill her.”
Tom took a moment to imagine Natalie McClure in the role of cold-blooded killer. She had a motive, the strongest motive in the world. In a rage, she could have swung an ax at Pauline’s head. But she couldn’t have taken Pauline’s body up that mountain.
Maybe Natalie engineered Pauline’s murder but hadn’t done it herself. If the motive was Natalie’s jealousy, Tom couldn’t explain—yet—where the second, unidentified victim fit in, but he could easily imagine Natalie hiring somebody to get rid of Pauline. Something Jack Watford had said a couple of days before popped into Tom’s head. When he’d suggested that Troy Shackleford was Pauline’s killer, Watford had answered,
She wasn’t robbed. Troy don’t do nothin’ except for money.
Tom asked Mrs. Barker, “Do you know whether Natalie McClure ever met Troy Shackleford?”
“Met him? Of course. He’s an electrician, you know, and he did an extensive rewiring job at Ed and Natalie McClure’s house. She saw quite a bit of Shackleford, I would think.”
Rachel had barely slept the rest of the night. Lying in the dark, she was awash in guilt. How could she feel so drawn to Tom when she still ached for Luke? How could she even think of bringing her troubled past into Tom’s life, when he had such a heavy burden of his own?
She didn’t want Tom, or any other man, to ever know her the way Luke did. She’d loved him, still loved him, but he would always see her as damaged, fragile, and that had made her feel dependent and frustrated. Tom was already over-protective of her, and if he knew her story he’d probably be as smothering as Luke had been.
She had hoped to start a new life here in Mason County. But she hadn’t realized how lonely that life might be. She couldn’t let loneliness push her into a relationship with Tom that she wasn’t ready for, might never be ready for.
At dawn she rose and dressed. With her cat Frank at her side, she crept past the room where Holly was asleep at last.
In the kitchen she found a bleary-eyed Joanna having coffee with Brandon. Billy Bob sprawled on the floor beside Joanna’s golden retriever, Nan. “Where’s Tom?” Rachel asked.
“He’s gone to see Pauline’s housekeeper,” Brandon said, frowning into his coffee mug. “I hope he’ll be able to drive okay.”
“Yeah,” Rachel said, both disappointed and relieved that Tom wasn’t there. She opened a can of food for Frank, who had jumped onto a counter when he saw the dogs in the kitchen, then she grabbed a coffee mug and dropped into a chair. “I’d love some coffee, but I don’t think I have enough energy to lift the pot. I might have blown it all on feeding Frank.”
“Allow me.” Brandon reached across the table and filled Rachel’s cup. He wasn’t exactly a picture of perkiness himself, Rachel thought. His fresh-faced look was lost to fatigue and his short sandy hair was headed in the direction of punk rocker spikes. “Man, you guys had a rough night from the sound of it. Is Holly asleep now?”
“Yeah. I wish I were.” Rachel sipped the strong brew. That should help. Joanna refused to have decaf in her house, claiming coffee wasn’t coffee if it didn’t jolt you wide awake. “I haven’t had a full night’s rest since she moved in with me.”
“You’re not gonna throw her out or anything, are you?” Brandon asked.
“Absolutely not. She needs friends to help her stand up to her nutty relatives.”
“I’m glad she’s got somebody like you on her side,” Brandon said. “I’m gonna be right there for her too, anytime she needs me.” His cheeks flushed when he added, “She’s a great girl, isn’t she?”
“You seem to be taking more than a friendly interest in Holly.”
“I thought you and Debbie were planning a spring wedding,” Joanna said.
Brandon’s blush deepened and he gave a short embarrassed laugh. “I’ve kinda been rethinking all that.”
Uh-oh.
“Well,” Rachel said, “you’re a terrific guy and any girl who got you would be lucky. But I don’t want Holly hurt. She can’t take any more.”
“I wouldn’t hurt her for anything in the world,” Brandon said, somber and earnest. “You gotta believe that.”
“You know what you sound like, Rachel?” Joanna smiled across the table. “A mother.”
“What? No. Just a friend.” For a moment Joanna’s words flustered her, and she automatically rejected the idea. But she didn’t need much time to get used to it. Why shouldn’t she be a mother figure to Holly? Maybe the girl was a young adult, but she was such a lost little kid in so many ways, and she needed help and guidance. Rachel couldn’t say no to that need.
***
Brandon wouldn’t hear of Rachel going back to the cottage to get more clothes for herself and Holly. He relented only after another deputy dropped by and agreed to stay with Holly while Brandon accompanied Rachel.
As they drove down the farm lane, heavy mist blanketed the paddocks and meadows on either side. Dark clouds hung low over the hills, but lights shone in the stable and barn. At the barn door a farmhand loaded bales of hay and bags of grain onto a pickup for the short drive across the road to the horses’ quarters. Through the open stable door, Rachel saw two men walking down the long aisle, giving each of the two dozen horses a morning check for overt signs of illness. Up ahead, shrouded in mist at the end of the lane, sat Rachel’s cottage. The world seemed so normal, so ordinary, that the shooting yesterday seemed a bizarre incident in another dimension.
Brandon pulled the car to the side of the road before they reached the cottage. “Let me have your keys,” he said. “You stay here till I go in and make sure everything’s okay.”
Rachel thought he was being over-cautious, but she’d noticed that arguing with a cop seldom got her anywhere, so she pulled her keys out of her coat pocket and handed them to him. She watched Brandon trot to the cottage.
He started up the short flight of steps, then stopped as if he’d hit a wall. He seemed to be staring at the porch floor. In the car, Rachel leaned forward, trying to see what Brandon saw. She was too far away, and she couldn’t make out much through the mist.
She hopped out of the cruiser and jogged toward the cottage. “What’s wrong?” she called.
Brandon whipped around.
“Sorry,” Rachel said. “I didn’t mean to startle you. What’s the matter?”
Brandon gestured and moved aside so she could see.
A gray goose sprawled on the porch, its wings stretched to their full span, its head and neck twisted to one side, its eyes half-closed and glazed. An iron stake pierced its body, pinning it to the floorboards.
“Oh, my God,” Rachel whispered. “Penny?”
“No,” Brandon said. “It couldn’t be. I saw Holly’s goose at the house this morning.”
“It’s one of Joanna’s,” Rachel said. The sight of the bird sent a wave of angry, helpless pity crashing through her. “They’re practically pets, they’re so trusting. Who would do this?”
“Somebody that wants to scare Holly out of her mind. And you.” Brandon pointed.
Rachel tore her gaze from the dead bird and followed Brandon’s gesture. What she saw made her gasp. Painted in red on the front door of her home were four words.
YOUR DEAD DOCTER BITCH
***
They’re just trying to scare me into abandoning Holly,
Rachel told herself as she paced Joanna’s living room, waiting for Tom to show up again. Whoever
they
were, they’d succeeded in scaring her. But she’d be damned if she’d throw Holly’s life away to protect herself.
When she heard a car door slam outside in late morning, she peeked through the drapes. Tom, at last. She ran to let him in. He’d changed into his uniform, and he crossed the lawn from the driveway with the confident stride of a man who was sure of his strength and authority. The very sight of him made Rachel feel safer.
As soon as Tom came in, Billy Bob charged up the hall, followed by Brandon. Tom looked at Rachel while he stooped to pat and scratch his dog. “The barn door was standing open this morning when the farmhands showed up, but I couldn’t see any sign that your house was broken into. A crime scene tech’s over there now. He might turn up something useful.” Tom stood and touched her shoulder. “Nobody got to you and Holly last night. That’s the important thing.”
Rachel drew a deep breath and let it out. “Right. But we haven’t told Holly about this, and I’d rather you didn’t either, okay?”
“Sure. I need to talk to her about something else, though.”
“Can I be with her?”
“Me too?” Brandon said.
Tom grinned and shook his head. “I don’t know what you two think I’m going to do to the girl, but okay, you can be there to protect her from me.”
Rachel led him and Brandon down the hall and through the kitchen to the enclosed porch, where Joanna was using strands of twine attached to a board to teach Holly how to make fancy braids in a horse’s mane. Penny, the goose, had settled in a corner, her eyes half-closed as Cicero groomed her neck feathers.
Joanna glanced from one deputy to the other and excused herself.
“Hi, Holly,” Tom said. “I need to ask you a few more questions.”
Holly continued braiding twine, her fingers moving in intricate patterns, and didn’t look at him.
“Do you remember going to your Aunt Pauline’s house the week before she disappeared?” he asked. “With your mother and Aunt Bonnie?”
Holly’s hands stilled and she frowned. “I haven’t thought about that in a long time. Amy was there.”
“Right,” Tom said. “And the McClures showed up too—Ed and Robert and Ed’s wife, Natalie. Do you remember anything Natalie said to Pauline?”
“I don’t know if I remember it right.” Holly looked so distressed that Rachel moved closer and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Grandma says I get a lot of stuff wrong, I claim stuff happened and it really didn’t.”
“Just tell Tom what you remember,” Rachel said. That old woman had really done a number on Holly, and Rachel had begun to think the motive behind the brainwashing was much deeper and darker than fear of losing a companion. “I’m sure your memory is just as accurate as anyone else’s.”
“I’ll get in trouble.” Holly’s voice edged toward panic. “Sayin’ things about rich people.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Tom said. “The McClures can’t hurt you.”
Holly picked up the strands of twine, dropped them again. Rachel squeezed Holly’s shoulder reassuringly, wishing she could make her believe in the truth of her own memory and emotions.
“What did you hear?” Tom asked.
Holly looked directly at him for the first time and spoke in a rush. “Everybody was mad. Yellin’ and callin’ each other names. The pretty woman with the blonde hair, she said…she said she was gonna kill Aunt Pauline.”
Good God. Rachel had to wonder what else was lurking in Holly’s memory, but she hoped the worst of it was out now. Holly had seen and heard more violence and threats as a little girl than any child should ever have to.
The hard glint in Tom’s eyes made Rachel fear he would press Holly until she broke down. But Tom moved on. “Thank you. That’s what I needed to know. Maybe you can help me with something else too. I need to get in touch with your cousin Amy.”
“Oh.” A smile of relief transformed Holly’s face. “Sure. I can tell you where Amy lives. She writes to me. She was always so good to me. She used to look after me while Mama worked at the diner.”
Tom drew a pad and pen from his jacket’s inner pocket. “Can you remember her address offhand? And I need her married name.”
“It’s Wood. Her husband’s name is Darrell, and they live in South Carolina.” Holly gave Tom a post office box address in a town Rachel had never heard of. While he wrote it down, Holly added on a wistful note, “Will you tell her I said hello and I’d really like it if she’d call me sometime?”
They left Brandon with Holly. In the kitchen, Rachel asked Tom, “Is her word enough to prove anything? She was so young when it happened.” Rachel had seen photos of Natalie McClure in the
Mountainview Gazette
’s society column, and she had trouble imagining that pristine being wielding an ax on her sister-in-law. A jury would have the same difficulty.
“I’m hoping Amy’ll back up Mrs. Barker’s story about the threat,” Tom said. “But to make charges stick, I’ll have to get a confession out of somebody.”
The telephone on the kitchen wall rang, but when Rachel reached to answer it, it fell silent. Joanna must have picked up an extension elsewhere in the house.
“What about the second victim?” Rachel asked. “Why was she killed?”
Tom shrugged. “Could be as simple as wrong place, wrong time.”
“When will you know for certain whether it’s Holly’s mother?”
“Probably by the end of the day. The director of the county clinic is giving up his Sunday to go through old records and find Jean Turner’s dental chart. I’ll be back tonight. You’ll be all right with Brandon here.”
“We’ll be fine.” Rachel folded her arms tightly and lowered her head, unable to look at him when she added, “It’s you I’m worried about.”
“Me?” His fingertips brushed her cheek and sent a tremor through her. “There’s no reason to worry about me.”
“You’ve already been shot once,” she blurted. “You’re out driving around, walking the streets, going to people’s houses, and one of those people is a murderer.” She could barely force her next words out in a whisper. “I’m terrified you’re going to get killed.”
He nudged her chin up to make her look at him, his face somber, his dark eyes pinning her with an intensity that made heat rise to her skin. Gently he unfolded her arms and pulled her to him. She leaned into his warmth and wished desperately that she could keep him here, solid and real and alive.
“I promise you I won’t let that happen,” he said, his breath warm against her forehead. “I’ve got too much to live for.”
A movement at the doorway made her break away from him. Joanna stood just inside the room, looking from Rachel to Tom, her mouth open in astonishment. Rachel knew she was blushing, and she turned her back to Joanna, feeling like a teenager caught making out. When Tom chuckled, she wanted to kick him.
Joanna cleared her throat. “Tom, Dennis Murray’s on the phone. They’ve found Rudy O’Dell. Somebody shot him.”
Half a dozen Sheriff’s Department cruisers sat in the old motel’s crumbling parking lot when Tom arrived. The place had been closed, its rooms boarded up, as long as he could remember. It looked like the Bates Motel, with less charm.
He ducked under crime scene tape and fought through shoulder-high weeds to reach the shed out back.
Six deputies stood around the shed, in a patch of weeds flattened by their footsteps. Two were smoking. “Let’s not trample the physical evidence, guys,” Tom said. “And put out your cigarettes—but not here. Wait in the parking lot.”
Four deputies departed, two looking embarrassed and two red-faced with anger at the rebuke. The Blackwood twins, Kevin and Keith, stayed in their guard positions at the shed’s door. Both wore latex gloves, a precaution none of the other men had bothered with. “We’re the ones that found him,” Kevin told Tom.
“Good work. You can’t even see this shed from the road.”
The twins smiled, and Keith said, “We’re intrepid.”
“That you are.” Tom replaced his leather gloves with the latex pair he carried in his jacket pocket. “Okay, let’s take a look.”
Kevin pushed the door open. It creaked on rusty hinges. A stench billowed out, a warm fetid fog on the cold air.
Tom took the flashlight Keith handed him, pinched his nostrils to shut out the odor, and moved inside the dilapidated structure. O’Dell lay on his back, arms and legs straight. His head touched one side wall and his boot-clad feet came within inches of the other. A milky blue haze covered his staring eyes. Long red hair formed a tangled halo around his head, and a bushy beard covered bloated cheeks. The visible part of his face had turned the mottled green-black of corroded copper, but his fingertips were a bloodless white. His heavy wool jacket lay open in front, exposing three bullet holes over his heart.
When Tom lifted the left shoulder, he found no blood on the floor except for smears from O’Dell’s soaked jacket. The combined exit wounds formed a hole the size of Tom’s fist in the man’s back.
Tom left the body and stepped out into the crisp morning air. He paused for a cleansing breath before he spoke. “Any sign of a gun?”
The Blackwoods shook their heads in unison.
“He was killed somewhere else,” Tom said, talking more to himself than the twins. “He’s been dead for days. Maybe since the day he shot me.”
Kevin stated the obvious. “So he couldn’t have been the one that fired at Dr. Goddard and Holly Turner yesterday.”
“You two stay here,” Tom said. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
He waded through the weeds again to reach the deputies in the parking lot. “I’ve got a job for you. Two teams, two men each. Go look for Troy Shackleford and deliver him to me at headquarters. Don’t tell him we found O’Dell’s body. Say I want to question him. If I’m not back yet, make him wait.”
***
The door opened a crack and the bony, suspicious face of Rudy O’Dell’s mother appeared. Before Tom could say anything, she barked, “He ain’t here and I don’t know where he is. Leave me alone.”
Tom placed a hand on the door to keep her from slamming it. “We found Rudy a while ago.”
Her face crumpled. “I guess you went and throwed him in jail already.”
“No. I’m afraid I have some bad news for you.”
Mrs. O’Dell gasped and staggered back from the door, horror distorting her face. “You killed him. You killed my boy.”
“No, ma’am.” Tom entered the house and closed the door behind him. “He was dead when we found him. Somebody shot him.”
She bent double and let loose a long, high-pitched wail. “My boy, my little boy. Oh, God, my baby.”
Tom steeled himself against the riot of pain boiling out of the woman. The ache in his wounded arm reminded him that the baby boy she mourned had been a fugitive, possibly a killer.
“Where is he?” she sobbed.
“At the hospital. You have to go with me and identify the body, then he’ll be sent to Roanoke for an autopsy.”
A fresh wail tore from her. “My poor little boy, they’re gonna cut him to pieces.” Mrs. O’Dell stumbled around the room like a woman struck blind, lurching into furniture, careening into walls. Tears cascaded down her face and mucus bubbled from her nose.
Tom raised his voice to get through to her. “Do you have any idea who could have killed him?”
She stopped with her back to Tom and choked out the words, “If it wasn’t the law, it was Troy Shackleford.”
“What makes you think that?”
She rounded on him, her face blotchy with fury. “Rudy probably went to him for help and got killed instead. I told him a million times, don’t trust that bastard, stay clear of him.”
“What—”
A howl of misery cut him short. Mrs. O’Dell flailed her arms and whacked a lamp off a table. Tom dove for it, too late. It crashed to the floor and shattered.
He caught her by the shoulders and steered her to the couch. “Come on now, calm down. If you know anything that’ll help me catch the person who killed your son, you have to tell me. Don’t lie to me.”
She collapsed onto the couch and lowered her head to her knees. Tom took a chair and waited until her crying subsided to shuddering gasps.
Raising her head, she looked at him with red-rimmed eyes. “I got nothin’ left to lose. I don’t give a damn if he comes after me. Rudy was all I had. And now he’s gone.” She sniffled, took the handkerchief Tom handed across, and blew her nose. “Whatever my boy done all them years ago, he done because Troy made him. I remember that night so clear. Rudy didn’t come home for supper, he didn’t come home till the middle of the night, and he was all broke up. Cryin’, sayin’ somethin’ awful happened at Mrs. McClure’s house.”
She paused to wipe her wet cheeks with the back of one hand, and Tom struggled to control his impatience.
“Rudy told me she was dead—before word ever got out about her disappearin’. He said Troy made him do somethin’ horrible. He wouldn’t say what. But I don’t believe for one minute that my boy helped Troy Shackleford kill anybody.”
Tom leaned forward in his chair. “What else did he say? Try to remember.”
“That’s all. Except for what he said about the girl.”
Tom stopped breathing for a second. His skin prickled. “What girl? Who?”
“I don’t know who. He said,
Mama, Miz McClure’s dead, and the girl is too.
”
By late afternoon, O’Dell’s body was on its way to the state medical examiner in Roanoke. The deputies Tom assigned to pick up Shackleford reported that he’d apparently left the county, but Tom wasn’t worried about losing him. He couldn’t stay away from his source of income for long.
Tom headed out of Mountainview to Ed and Natalie McClure’s estate. This might be his only stab at Natalie. The sheriff would have stopped him from interrogating one of the county’s most prominent ladies, but Willingham and his wife were spending their Sunday with Mrs. Willingham’s ancient mother at a Lynchburg nursing home, and for the time being Tom didn’t have to ask anybody’s permission to do his job.
Light snow drifted down. As he passed Dennis Murray’s house, he saw Dennis’ two young sons running around with their tongues stuck out to catch flakes. Smiling at their antics, Tom honked the horn. The boys jumped up and down and waved wildly.
He should have a family of his own by now. Dennis and he were the same age, but Dennis went home every night to a wife and kids while Tom rattled around in his parents’ house with only his dad’s bulldog for company. Thoughts like that used to stir up regret, but now he found himself wondering what his and Rachel’s children would look like.
He was getting a little ahead of himself. He’d think about the future when this case was behind him. Right now he had to organize his thoughts before he faced Natalie McClure.
The scenario that played out in his imagination made perfect sense. Ed had been in love with Pauline. When he’d found out Pauline was having an affair with John Bridger, he’d pitched a fit. That led Pauline to cut him out of her life completely. Ed went a little crazy and started making a nuisance of himself. For Natalie, already wounded by her husband’s obvious feelings for Pauline, Ed’s out of control behavior was the last straw. Instead of leaving her husband and her comfortable life, she decided to get rid of her rival.
Shackleford and O’Dell had played some part in Pauline’s death. That was a given. Maybe Shackleford had killed her for money and roped O’Dell into helping. But even if Natalie herself was the killer, Tom was betting the men had disposed of the body for her.
“Bodies,” Tom corrected himself aloud.
Mama, Miz McClure’s dead, and the girl is too.
What girl was O’Dell talking about when he came home that night? O’Dell wouldn’t have described Jean Turner as a girl. Who, then? Not Mary Lee. Tom had seen her, alive and well. Amy? She’d been writing to Holly for years, sending regular Christmas and birthday cards and occasional short letters.
Tom had asked Dennis to find out Amy’s home address and phone number. With any luck, she would not only confirm that Natalie had threatened to kill Pauline, but would also have a good idea who the dead girl was. If Amy had stayed silent all these years out of fear of the Shacklefords, Tom would have to find a way to persuade her to talk.
Every bit of this made sense. So why did he have the niggling feeling that he was overlooking something vital?
The McClures’ maid answered the door promptly. Before Tom could ask for Natalie, the mistress of the manor glided into the foyer, her golden hair shimmering under the chandelier’s lights.
“Hello, Captain Bridger.” Natalie smiled, appearing neither surprised nor distressed that he’d shown up uninvited. “Come in out of the cold. Cora, make some coffee, please.”
Tom brushed snow off the shoulders of his jacket and stepped into the foyer.
“How can I help you?” Natalie wore slim navy slacks and a pink turtleneck sweater that looked soft and costly. “I assume you’re here about poor Pauline.”
“Yes. I have a few questions for you.” Closer to her now, Tom detected tension around Natalie’s eyes and mouth.
“Let’s go in the living room where there’s a fire,” she said, “and you can warm up. The snow is so beautiful, isn’t it, but I hate to be out in it.”
Tom’s boots shed mud and snow on the foyer’s white marble floor. Why would anybody have a white floor in the country? He was momentarily overwhelmed by the opulence of the living room, the swagged red draperies with gold fringe, red oriental carpets, huge oil paintings on cream-colored walls. He’d thought Mary Lee’s house was pretentious, but this one had it beat.
“Sit near the fire,” Natalie said. “You must be frozen after that long drive out.”
“I’m fine, really.” Did she think his vehicle was unheated? She settled in a red velvet armchair and Tom sat on a sofa covered in cream silk. He felt like a clodhopper in his brown wool uniform.
With long fingers Natalie brushed back her hair. “What can I help you with?”
“Is your husband around?”
“He’s out in the greenhouse. Would you like me to—”
“No, I’m here to see you.” With any luck, Ed would stay out of the way. Tom got right down to business. “You said you didn’t know Pauline well. Was that your choice?”
“No, it wasn’t.” Natalie’s expression melted into sadness. She laced her fingers together in her lap. A diamond ring sparkled on the right hand, a gold band gleamed on the left. “Heaven knows I tried. But we had nothing in common.”
Except your husband.
“You married brothers.”
“Yes, but Pauline was…different. She preferred animals to people. I don’t know how anyone can be a friend to someone like that.”
“I keep hearing she had a lover,” Tom said. “Maybe more than one.”
“Oh, well.” Natalie’s little laugh sounded breathy and nervous. “She wouldn’t have confided in me about that.”
“But you’ve heard the gossip.”
“I never listen to gossip. I don’t mean to be uncooperative, but may I ask where these questions are leading?”
“I’m trying to find out who had a motive to kill her. A lover, a lover’s wife—those would be leads I’d want to follow up on.”
She bit her full lower lip and averted her eyes.
The maid bustled in, carrying a silver tray laden with cups and saucers, sugar and cream servers, a silver pot. Wordlessly the servant deposited the tray on the coffee table. As Natalie poured, Tom was again reminded of his visit to Mary Lee a few days before. Mary Lee was the first to mention Ed McClure’s “friendship” with Pauline.
Tom took the coffee Natalie offered, sipped once, set the cup and saucer back on the tray. “I’ve received some information that’s…” He paused as if searching for the right word. “…disturbing. I thought you’d want to give me your side of the story.”
Color suffused her cheeks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
In all these years, Tom thought, she hadn’t learned how to hide her emotions. Had she been terrified every day since Pauline’s bones were found that the police would come after her? “I’ve heard from more than one person that your husband and Pauline were…close.”
“Ed tried to be a friend to her after Adam’s death. She needed a friend.”
Tom held her gaze, hoping he could provoke her into filling the silence with more than she intended to say.
Her expression altered to a mixture of anger and desperation. She leaned forward. “Who’s been telling you lies about my husband? I have a right to know.”
“Exactly what lies do you think I’ve been told?”
She drew back in confusion. “I—You’ve implied—”
“What have I implied?”
“That my husband and Pauline—” She broke off.
“What about them?”
“Why are you doing this?” she cried.
“This is my job, Mrs. McClure.”
“Well, your job is despicable.”
So I’ve been told, more times than you can imagine.
“Your husband’s obsession with Pauline wasn’t a secret. I’ve heard all about his jealousy of her other relationships. And your jealousy. I’ve heard about the scenes you made at her house.”
Natalie grabbed her cup and gulped the hot liquid. “I suppose you’re getting all this so-called information from Pauline’s housekeeper. She’s probably been spreading lies about my husband and me for years.”
“Why don’t you tell me your side of the story?” Tom said. “Did you go to Pauline’s house shortly before she disappeared and threaten to kill her if she didn’t leave your husband alone?”
“Oh, dear God.” Natalie’s hands went to her throat as if she were choking. “Are you going to believe a crazy black woman who claims to see visions? You’ll take her word over mine?”
“Mrs. Barker wasn’t the only person there that day.”
“It’s a lie, no matter who says it.” Natalie stood. “I want you to leave.”
Tom got to his feet. “We’ll be talking again. Soon.”
“Not without my lawyer present.”
“That’s up to you.”
Without answering, Natalie turned her back on him and faced the fireplace.
Tom walked to the door. Pausing, he said, “By the way, how well do you know Troy Shackleford? I understand he did a lot of electrical work for you around the time Pauline disappeared.”
Natalie bowed her head and didn’t reply.
“Holly, I’ve got some great news for you.” Rachel settled in an easy chair in the den, where Holly and Brandon were watching lemurs on PBS. Frank slept on Holly’s lap and the two dogs, Joanna’s and Tom’s, reclined at her feet.
A smile broke across Holly’s face. “It’s not her, is it? The dental records don’t match?”
“No, they don’t. Tom called a minute ago. He doesn’t know who the second victim was, but it wasn’t your mother.”
“I knew it!” The exclamation made the cat and dogs raise their heads to look at Holly. “I knew she wasn’t dead. She couldn’t be.” Holly beamed at Rachel, then at Brandon, who patted her shoulder and grinned back.
But some part of Holly must have believed her mother’s death was entirely possible, Rachel thought. What else could account for the previous night’s marathon of nightmares? The last time Holly saw her mother, Jean Turner was preparing to flee from Shackleford after he’d beaten her.
“You said your mother wrote to your grandmother,” Rachel said, “and she sent money for you. When was the last time your grandmother heard from her?”
“Oh, gosh, I’m not sure. Mama sent her a new fridge and kitchen stove last summer, though.”
“Sent them to her?”
“One day a truck came with a fridge and a stove. The men said it was all paid for, and Grandma said it must be Mama who sent ’em.”
Thousands of dollars for a gift of new appliances. Wherever Jean lived, she was doing well.
Brandon used the remote to mute the TV. “So your grandmother writes to your mother? I mean, how did your mom know she needed new kitchen appliances?”
“Well, yeah, I guess she told her. Mama sends money orders sometimes. Grandma goes to the post office to cash them.”
“And you never see the letters or the return address on the envelopes?” Rachel asked.
“No. But I’ll bet she writes to me too, and Grandma burns the letters without lettin’ me see them.” Holly’s expression soured. “I can see why she didn’t want me runnin’ off to find Mama when I was a kid, but I’m old enough to go anywhere now. And she still won’t tell me where my mother is.”
Tom would have to get the information out of Mrs. Turner. Jean could be an important witness against Shackleford. “How did your mother get along with your Aunt Pauline?” Rachel asked.
The question seemed to startle Holly, and Rachel was afraid she would balk at answering. Holly stroked Frank’s head. After a moment she said, “I’m not real sure. I mean, I was little and I didn’t understand everything. But Mama and Grandma used to talk about Aunt Pauline a lot, and it seemed like they were always mad at her.”
“You got any idea why?” Brandon asked.
“I think it was because of my cousin Amy. She was spendin’ a lot of time at Aunt Pauline’s house and gettin’ all kinds of presents from her. I remember Amy comin’ by one day in this beautiful white sweater. She said it was pure cashmere and Aunt Pauline gave it to her. Pauline gave her a lot of things.”
“Why would that upset your mother and grandmother?” Rachel asked.
“Maybe they felt bad for Aunt Bonnie and Uncle Jack. They said Amy was startin’ to act like she was too good for them, because Pauline was puttin’ ideas in her head.”
“I can see why that would bother them,” Rachel said. It was hardly a motive for murder, though.
Holly gave her a chiding look. “You’re askin’ me all these questions so you can tell Captain Bridger what I say.”
“I—Well—” Rachel threw a furious glance at Brandon, who was trying to suppress a laugh and wasn’t helping her at all. “Okay. You caught me. But, Holly, anything you can remember might help find your aunt’s killer.”
“My mother didn’t kill her. And my grandmother didn’t either.”
Rachel hoped not. “I didn’t mean to say they did. But you might remember some little thing about your Aunt Pauline that doesn’t seem important to you, but it could give Tom a lead.”
Holly bit her lip, her expression showing doubt and resistance. “I thought Aunt Pauline was nice. When she was visitin’ she always put me on her lap and told me I was pretty. But…”
Rachel wished she could pull the words out of Holly, but willed herself to be patient while the girl pondered her memories.
“I think she was probably a snob. Grandma used to get upset because Pauline never would bring her daughter to visit. Like she didn’t want Mary Lee associatin’ with her own blood kin. I never even met Mary Lee. But I liked Aunt Pauline anyway. I didn’t know it till about a year ago, but she was helpin’ Mama and me all along. At least that’s what my daddy told me.”
“He told you what?” Rachel moved to the couch, next to Holly.
Holly covered her mouth with her hand. “I’m not supposed to talk about it,” she said, her voice muffled by her fingers. “He said if I ever did, he’d—” She broke off and squeezed her eyes shut.
“Troy Shackleford won’t get anywhere near you again. You’re safe now.” Rachel tried to sound confident, but she could hear doubt creeping into her voice.
“I thought he’d be in jail already, after I told Captain Bridger about him sellin’ drugs.”
“You gotta trust the Captain to do what’s right,” Brandon said. “Tell us what your father said. He’ll never find out you did.”
Holly’s face was a tableau of fear, frustration, indecision. She kneaded Frank’s fur too vigorously for his taste, and he croaked a complaint and jumped off her lap. She watched him march out of the room.
After a moment, she said, “Aunt Pauline paid my daddy to work at her house, and she made him give most of it to my mama. The only reason she had him workin’ for her was so she could make sure he supported me. I guess Aunt Pauline was tryin’ to help us without it lookin’ like charity.”
Not exactly an earthshaking revelation, and Tom probably knew already. But Holly’s anxiety meant the story didn’t end there. “He went along with the arrangement?” Rachel asked.
Holly gathered the fabric of her jeans leg between two fingers, formed a crease, smoothed it out.
“Sometimes he’d get drunk, you know? At Rose’s diner, where I used to work? And he’d start in on me, like me and my family’s the cause of everything bad that ever happened to him. He’d go on and on about how I’m one more Turner b-bitch—” She stumbled on the word and her face went red. “And how the Turner women near about ruined his life.”
When Holly fell silent, Rachel tried gentle prodding. “He seems to be doing okay these days. So I guess the Turners didn’t ruin his life.”
“Well—” Holly pulled her shoulders up in an exaggerated shrug, as if trying to loosen tense muscles. Brandon began to knead one shoulder, and she gave him a shy smile.
These two were getting too cozy too fast, in Rachel’s opinion. Having them cooped up together was a bad idea.
Holly went on, the words tumbling out. “He said Aunt Pauline was always preachin’ to him about his responsibilities. She said if he didn’t support me, she’d pay the best lawyer she could find to help Mama take him to court and she’d sic the law on his whole family for sellin’ drugs. He told me he got tired of a woman bossin’ him around. He said where Pauline was now, she wasn’t ever gonna bother him again. And he was makin’ fun of what Mama told him before she…went away…” Holly’s voice faded.
Brandon squeezed her shoulder. Rachel asked, “What did your mother tell him before she left?”
“What he said to me was,
Jeannie thought she could scare me. Little bitch said we’d never get away with it. But here we are, every one of us free as the birds in the air.
And he laughed like it was the funniest joke in the world.”
Rachel exchanged a look with Brandon.
We? Every one of
us
? How many people were involved in Pauline’s death? And who were they?
“The next day, after he sobered up,” Holly continued, “he told me I’d better keep my mouth shut. He said if I ever told anybody what he said, he’d kill me and Grandma too.” Holly lifted her gaze to Rachel, then Brandon. “And now I’ve gone and told both of you.”
After Rachel called to report on her talk with Holly, Tom spread the original case files on the conference room table and started rereading them, searching for some elusive piece of information that would make everything click into place. He’d been at it for half an hour when Sheriff Willingham charged in.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Willingham slammed the door behind him. Under his camel overcoat he wore a suit and tie, and Tom guessed he’d just returned from taking his mother-in-law to evening church service. On his coat melted snowflakes glinted like sequins.
Tom had a good idea why Willingham was so worked up, but he feigned ignorance. “I’m going through the case files again to see if I missed anything.”
“You know damned well what I mean.” Willingham leaned on the table and loomed over Tom. “I got home and found five messages on my answering machine from Cecil Merck. Ed and Natalie McClure hired him to get you off their backs.”
“Merck called me too. Like I told him, all I did was ask the McClures a few questions.”
“The hell you did. Cecil said you accused them both of murder. What kind of half-baked theory are you going on?”
Tom sat back and waited, knowing better than to interrupt the full tide of Willingham’s indignation with sensible answers.
“Or maybe you don’t have a theory,” Willingham went on. “Sounds to me like you’re going around accusing everybody in sight, whether you’ve got evidence or not. I told you that your dad believed Shackleford killed Pauline, and I expect you to find proof so we can put the son of a bitch away and close this case.”
The reference to his father irked him, but Tom kept his voice cool. “I’m sure Shackleford was involved. The question is whether he did it for reasons of his own or for somebody else.”
Willingham’s brow puckered with impatience. “You want to tell me what you’re talking about?”
“Witnesses heard Natalie McClure threaten to kill Pauline. I think it’s possible Natalie hired Shackleford to do the killing. And based on what Rudy O’Dell’s mother told me today, I believe Shackleford coerced O’Dell into helping him dump the body. Or bodies.”
“I must be losing my mind,” Willingham said. “I could swear I heard you accuse one of the most prominent women in this community of putting out a hit on her sister-in-law.”
Tom hadn’t expected the idea to be an easy sell. “It’s a theory. I need evidence.”
“People like Natalie McClure don’t do things like that.”
Tom could point to any number of murders committed or instigated by people like Natalie McClure, but he let it go. “She had a clear-cut motive. Her husband was in love with Pauline. He admitted it to me. Natalie pitched a fit about it more than once. And she threatened Pauline in front of witnesses.”
Willingham responded with a sneer. “Who are these so-called witnesses?”
“Pauline’s housekeeper—”
“Oh, for God’s sake.” Willingham threw up his hands. “You believe that nut?”
“Ed and Robert McClure were there.”
Willingham’s mouth fell open.
“I don’t expect either of them to give evidence against Natalie,” Tom said. “But both of Pauline’s sisters were also there.”
“Oh, well, I’m real impressed. One of ’em took off right after Pauline disappeared and the other one’s a nervous wreck.”
“Both of Pauline’s nieces heard Natalie threaten to kill her,” Tom said. “Holly was only eight at the time, but—”
“Who’s gonna listen to her, talking about what happened when she was a kid?”
“But Amy Watford was in her late teens,” Tom said. “Dennis is trying to locate her in South Carolina. If she confirms the threat, we’ll have at least two witnesses who were adults at the time.”
“This is crazy, Tom.” Willingham moved to the window and Tom swung around in his chair to keep him in sight. The sheriff scowled at the snow falling on the parking lot. “Where are you planning to go with this next?”
“Wherever the evidence takes me. I haven’t ruled out Pauline’s relatives.”
Shaking his head, Willingham muttered something unintelligible. He raised his voice and said, “That doesn’t make any more sense than trying to pin it on Natalie McClure. Your father never found any evidence Pauline’s family wanted her dead.”
“I can’t turn a blind eye to any possibility. We’ve got two dead women, and now O’Dell’s been murdered. Rachel and Holly were almost killed—”
“That’s another thing.” Willingham rounded the table to face Tom. “The department can’t afford to pay Brandon Connelly a salary to be a bodyguard.”
Tom took a couple of deep breaths and didn’t speak until he was sure he could do it without shouting. “Somebody tried to kill Holly. I’m not leaving her unprotected. I don’t want to go out there and find her—and Rachel and Joanna—dead because we left them alone.”
Willingham shook a finger in Tom’s face. “Now you listen to me—”
“What the hell’s wrong with you?” Tom jumped up and glared at Willingham. “We’ve got a killer out there. We’ve got somebody running around with a gun shooting at innocent women. What do you want me to do? Give up? Forget about it?”
“I want you to find evidence against Shackleford that’ll stand up in court.” In his vehemence, Willingham spit drops of saliva in Tom’s face. “And that’s all I want you to do.”
“I’ll get Shackleford, don’t worry.” Tom wiped his chin with the back of his hand. “But I’m not stopping there. I won’t be finished till I’m sure I’ve got the whole story. There’s too much I don’t know about Pauline’s life, who she slept with, who fathered her child—”
“You don’t know what a can of worms you’re trying to open.”
“If you’re talking about my father and Pauline— By the way, is Mary Lee my half-sister?”
“What the hell— You little bastard—”
“No, Mary Lee’s the bastard. Was my father sleeping with Pauline before Mary Lee was born? I assume you know, since you seem to know plenty you don’t want to tell me.”
“You self-righteous little prick!” Willingham’s flushed face took on a purple tinge. “You’re not half the man your father was. He saved my life in Vietnam, and he was a better cop than you’ll ever be. I’m not gonna let you smear a good man’s memory to make yourself feel important.”