Shades of Twilight (11 page)

A stocky paramedic, Turkey Maclnnis, entered the room and crossed to where Roanna was sitting, hunkering down in front of her. Turkey, so called because of his ability to imitate a turkey call without benefit of any gizmos, was both competent and soothing, one of the better paramedics in the county. Booley listened to the casual matter-of-fact voice as he asked the girl a few questions, assessing her responsiveness as he flicked a tiny penlight in her eyes, then took her blood pressure and counted her pulse. Roanna answered the questions in a flat, almost inaudible tone, her voice sounding strained and raw. She regarded the paramedic at her feet with a total lack of interest.

A blanket was fetched and wrapped around her, and the paramedic urged her to lie down on the sofa. Then he
brought her a cup of coffee, which Booley guessed to be heavily sweetened, and cajoled her into drinking it.

Booley sighed. Satisfied that Roanna was being taken care of, he couldn't put off his onerous duty any longer. He rubbed the back of his head as he walked over to the small group on the other side of the room. For at least the tenth time, Harlan Ames was recounting the event as he interpreted it, and Booley was getting heartily sick of that greasy, too-loud voice.

He sat down beside Lucinda. “Have you found Webb yet?” she asked in a strangled tone, as more tears slipped down her cheeks. For the first time, he thought, Lucinda looked her age of seventy-three. She had always given the impression of being lean and strong, like the finest stainless steel, but now she looked shrunken in her nightgown and robe.

“Not yet,” he said uncomfortably. “We're looking for him.” That was an understatement if he'd ever made one.

There was a slight disturbance at the door, and Booley looked around, frowning, but relaxed when Yvonne Tallant, Webb's mother, strode into the living room. Technically no one was supposed to be allowed in, but Yvonne was family, even though she had distanced herself several years back by moving out of Davencourt into her own little house across the river in Florence. Yvonne had always been a woman with an independent streak. Just now, though, Booley wished she hadn't shown up, and he wondered how she'd found out about the trouble here tonight. Ah, hell, no use worrying about it. That was the trouble with small towns. Someone in dispatch, maybe, had called home and said something to a family member, who'd called a friend, who'd called a cousin who knew Yvonne personally and had taken it upon herself to let her know. That was always how it worked.

Yvonne's green eyes swept the room. She was a tall, slim woman with streaks of gray in her dark hair, the type described more as handsome than pretty. Even at this hour, she was impeccably clad in tailored slacks and a crisp white
blouse. Her gaze lit on Booley. “Is it true?” she asked, her voice cracking a little. “About Jessie?” Despite Booley's own reservations about Jessie, she had always seemed to get along with her mother-in-law. Besides, the Davenport and Tallant families were so close that Yvonne had known Jessie from the cradle.

Beside him, Lucinda gulped on a sob, her entire body trembling. Booley nodded an answer at Yvonne, who closed her eyes against welling tears.

“Roanna did it,” Gloria hissed, glaring across the room at the small, blanket-wrapped figure lying on the sofa.

Yvonne's eyes flew open, and she gave Gloria an incredulous look. “Don't be ridiculous,” she snapped, and purposefully strode over to Roanna, crouching down beside her and stroking the tumbled hair back from the colorless face, murmuring softly to her as she did. Booley's opinion of Yvonne jumped up several notches, though he doubted, from the look on her face, that Gloria shared it.

Lucinda bowed her head, as if unable to look across the room at her other granddaughter. “Are you going to arrest her?” she whispered.

Booley took one of her hands in his, feeling like a meaty, clumsy ox as his thick fingers folded around her cold, slender ones. “No, I'm not,” he said.

Lucinda shuddered slightly, some of the tension leaving her body. “Thank God,” she whispered, her eyes squeezing shut.

“I'd like to know why not!” Gloria shrilled from Lucinda's other side, rearing up like a wet hen. Booley had never liked Gloria nearly as much as he did Lucinda. She'd always been prettier, but Lucinda had been the one who'd caught Marshall Davenport's eye, Lucinda who had married the richest man in northwest Alabama, and envy had nearly eaten Gloria alive.

“Because I don't think she did it,” he said flatly.

“We saw her standing right over the body! Why, her feet were in the blood!”

Irritably, Booley wondered why that was supposed to
have any significance. He reached for patience. “From what we can tell, Jessie had already been dead for several hours before Roanna found her.” He didn't go into the technical details about the progression rate of rigor mortis, figuring Lucinda didn't need to hear it. It wasn't possible to pin down the exact time of a death unless it was witnessed, but it was still a sure thing that Jessie had died at least a couple of hours before midnight. He didn't know why Roanna had paid her cousin a visit at two in the morning—and he'd definitely find out—but Jessie had already been dead.

The little family group was frozen, staring at him as if they couldn't comprehend this latest twist. He took out his little notebook. One of the county detectives normally would have done the interviewing, but this was the Davenport family, and he was going to give the case his personal attention.

“Mr. Ames said that Webb and Jessie had a lulu of a fight tonight,” he began, and saw the sharp look that Lucinda gave her brother-in-law.

Then she took a deep breath and squared her shoulders as she mopped at her face with the mangled handkerchief. “They argued, yes.”

“What about?”

Lucinda hesitated, and Gloria stepped into the breach. “Jessie caught Webb and Roanna carrying on in the kitchen.”

Booley's gray eyebrows rose. Not much surprised him anymore, but he felt mildly astonished at this. Dubiously, he glanced at the frail, huddled little form across the room. Roanna seemed, if not childish, still oddly childlike, and he wouldn't have figured Webb for being a man who was turned on by that. “Carrying on, how?”

“Carrying on,
that's how,” Gloria said, her voice rising. “My God, Booley, do you want me to draw you a picture?”

The idea of Webb having sex with Roanna in the kitchen struck him as even more unlikely. He was never surprised at the depth of stupidity supposedly smart people could exhibit, but this didn't ring true. Odd, that he could see Webb
committing murder, but not fooling around with his little cousin.

Well, he'd get the true story about the kitchen episode from Roanna. He wanted something else from these three. “So they were arguing. Did the argument turn violent?”

“Sure did,” Harlan replied, only too eager to take the spotlight again. “They were upstairs, but Jessie was screaming so loud we could hear every word. Then Webb yelled at her to get a divorce, that he'd do anything to get rid of her, and there was the sound of glass breaking. Then Webb came storming downstairs and left.”

“Did any of you see Jessie after that, or maybe hear her in the bathroom?”

“Nope, not a sound,” Harlan said, and Gloria shook her head. No one had tried to talk to Jessie, knowing from experience that it was better to let her cool down first or her fury would erupt on the erstwhile mediator. Lucinda's expression was one of growing disbelief and horror as she realized where Booley's questioning was headed.

“No,” she said violently, shaking her head in denial. “Booley, no! You can't suspect Webb!”

“I have to,” he replied, trying to keep his voice gentle. “They were arguing, violently. Now, we all know Webb has quite a temper when he's stirred up. No one saw or heard a peep out of Jessie after he left. It's a sad fact, but any time a woman's killed, it's usually her husband or a boyfriend who does it. This hurts me bad, Lucinda, but the truth is Webb is the most likely suspect.”

She was still shaking her head, and tears were dribbling down her wrinkled cheeks again. “He couldn't. Not Webb.” Her voice was pleading.

“I hope not, but I have to check it out. Now, what time was it when Webb left, as near as you can remember?”

Lucinda was silent. Harlan and Gloria looked at each other. “Eight?” Gloria finally offered, uncertainty in her voice.

“About that,” Harlan said, nodding. “That movie I wanted to watch just had come on.”

Eight o'clock. Booley considered that, chewing on his lower lip as he did so. Clyde O'Dell, the coroner, had been doing his job for just about as long as Booley had been doing his, and was damn good at guessing the time of death. He had both the experience and the knack for adding the degree of rigor with the temperature factor and coming up with pretty close to the right answer. Clyde had put the time of Jessie's death at “Oh, ten o'clock or thereabouts,” with a rocking motion of his hand to indicate the actual time could slip either way. Eight o'clock was a mite early, and though it was still within the realm of possibility, that did throw a bit of doubt into the mix. He had to make damn sure of his case before he presented it to the county prosecutor, because old Simmons was too slick a politician to take on a case involving the Davenports and Tallants unless he was sure he could make it stick. “Did anyone hear a car or anything later on? Did Webb maybe come back?”

“I didn't hear anything,” Harlan said.

“I didn't either,” Gloria confirmed. “You'd have to be driving a transfer truck before we could hear it in here, unless maybe we were in bed and the balcony doors were open.”

Lucinda rubbed her eyes. Booley had the feeling she wished her sister and brother-in-law would shut the hell up. “We can't normally hear anyone driving up,” she said. “The house is very well insulated, and the shrubbery deadens the sound, too.”

“So he could have returned and you wouldn't necessarily have known it.”

Lucinda opened her mouth, then closed it without replying. The answer was obvious. The upstairs balcony that circled the huge, elegant old house was accessible from the outside stairs on Webb and Jessie's side of the house. Moreover, each bedroom had double French doors that opened onto the balcony; it would have been ridiculously easy for anyone to go up those stairs and enter the bedroom without anyone else in the house seeing them. From a security standpoint, Davencourt was a nightmare.

Well, maybe Loyal had heard something. His apartment in the stables probably wasn't as soundproof as this massive old house.

Yvonne left Roanna's side and came to stand right in front of Booley. “I heard what you've been saying,” she said quietly, her tone even despite the way her green eyes were boring a hole in him. “You're barking up the wrong tree, Booley Watts. My son didn't kill Jessie. No matter how mad he was. he wouldn't have hurt her.”

“Under normal circumstances, I'd agree with you,” Booley replied. “But she was threatening to have Lucinda cut him out of her will, and we all know what Davencourt means to—”

“Bullshit,” Yvonne said firmly, ignoring the way Gloria's mouth tightened like a prune. “Webb wouldn't believe that for a second. Jessie always exaggerated when she was mad.”

Booley looked at Lucinda. She wiped her eyes and said faintly, “No, I would never have disinherited him.”

“Even if they divorced?” he pressed.

Her lips trembled. “No. Davencourt needs him.”

Well, that undercut a damn good motive, Booley thought. He wasn't exactly sorry. He would hate like hell to have to arrest Webb Tallant. He'd do it, if he could build a strong enough case, but he'd hate it.

At that moment a flurry of voices came from the front entrance, and they all recognized Webb's deep voice as he said something curt to one of the deputies. Every head in the room, except Roanna's, swiveled to watch as he strode into the room, flanked by two deputies. “I want to see her,” he said sharply. “I want to see my wife.”

Booley got to his feet. “I'm sorry about this, Webb,” he said, his voice as tired as he felt. “But we need to ask you some questions.”

J
essie was dead.

They hadn't let him see her, and he desperately needed to, because until he saw it for a fact himself, Webb found it impossible to truly believe it. He felt disoriented, unable to sort out his thoughts or feelings because so many of them were contradictory. When Jessie had yelled at him that she wanted a divorce, he'd felt nothing but relief at the prospect of being rid of her, but … dead? Jessie? Spoiled, vibrant, passionate Jessie? He couldn't remember a day of his life when Jessie hadn't been there. They had grown up together, cousins and childhood playmates, then the fever of puberty and sexual passion had locked them together in an endless game of domination. Marrying her had been a mistake, but the shock of losing her was numbing. Grief and relief warred, tearing him apart inside.

Guilt was there, too, in spades. Guilt, first and foremost, because he could feel relief at all, never mind that for the past two years she had done her best to make his life hell, systematically destroying everything he'd ever felt for her in her relentless quest for the fawning adoration she'd thought she wanted.

And then there was the guilt over Roanna.

He shouldn't have kissed her. She was only seventeen, damn it, and an immature seventeen at that. He shouldn't have held her on his lap. When she had suddenly thrown her arms around his neck and kissed him, he should have gently pushed her away, but he hadn't. Instead he'd felt the soft, shy bloom of her mouth under his, and her very innocence had aroused him. Hell, he'd already been aroused by the feel of her round bottom on his lap. Instead of breaking the kiss, he had deepened it, taking control, thrusting his tongue into her mouth for an explicitly sexual kiss. He'd turned her in his arms, wanting to feel those slight, delicate breasts against him. If Jessie hadn't walked in at that point, he probably would have had his hand on those breasts and his mouth on the sweetly pebbled nipples. Roanna had been aroused, too. He'd thought she was too innocent to know what she was doing, but now he saw it differently. Inexperienced wasn't the same as innocent.