Digging Up Death (A Mari Duggins Mystery) (24 page)

I swallowed past the coincidence and googled Candace Sanders, Texas. A slew of links popped up referencing her name. I clicked on the first one. The second. The third. With a Miss Texas sash slung over her shoulder, a young, gorgeous Candy Finch pasted on a smile for the camera. I couldn’t believe it. Candace? A beauty queen?

I switched to Google Images, compelled to see more photos of Candy in her pageantry regalia. It was too unbelievable to be true. I had almost given up on my foolish notion Candy was an antiquities smuggler when an image almost knocked me out of my chair.

There in color grinned Candace Sanders with the Texas crown and one of the judges. Theron Henderson. I studied the photo for several seconds, unable to move. Then as if in hyper drive, I searched for the notes I took on Henderson’s love letters. Some things didn’t make sense, other things did.

The language of the sender was so sophisticated, nothing like the down-to-earth Candy Finch I knew. Still, the time frame of the letters determined by the forensics fit. But why after their breakup did she stay at the university? How could she forgive him for wanting to abort their child, and what happened to Henderson and Candy’s baby? Oh, boy. This is the dirt that hooked people on soap operas.

“Yoo hoo, anyone here?” Candy called from the lounge. She was early.

I poked my head out. “Good morning, Candy.”

“I thought someone was here when I found the door open. Can you mind the phones for me? I need to run to the little girls’ room.”

“Sure.” Though I doubted anyone would call this early. I ducked into my room and perused the images on the screen. Candy and Henderson. I shook my head.

A weird sort of relief trickled over me. At least there was no connection with Candy and stolen artifacts, but my search brought up new questions. If Candy and Henderson had an affair years ago, could she be the blackmailer? Or worse. Is Candy’s cyber stalker actually the blackmailer leading her into a death trap?

I entertained the thought, then tried to shrug it off, but it wouldn’t budge. I slipped out of my chair and peeked into the lounge. Candy was still in the ladies’ room. I hurried to her desk. Peter and Fletcher wouldn’t grace the office for about thirty minutes, but who knew how long I had before Candy emerged.

Sitting behind her desk, I turned on the computer. I didn’t waver while logging into Candy’s email with the saved password. Right and wrong were no longer black and white. I still believed in respecting relationships, but when the truth was in jeopardy, when other lives swayed in the balance, how could I sit by and let them be catapulted into darkness? After the last two days, I was beginning to doubt Ma’at existed. If it did, I was willing to take a chance and tip the scales to find the truth.

Glancing at the sender’s list, I spotted the last unopened email from A FRIEND. I started reading.

Thursday 6:33 a.m.

You’re getting closer to discovering who

One last question, one last clue.

Where were you twenty-one years ago today?

Come with the answer at the Restaurant Bombay.

5:00 p.m.

Skin prickling, I debated whether to erase the email. If Candy was in danger, why would the sender request to meet in one of the busiest restaurants downtown? But if he gained her confidence, made her feel safe, they didn’t have to stay at the restaurant. It’d be easy to lure someone like Candy away to her death. Bombay Restaurant at 5:00 p.m. After my interview at KTXL, I could stop by the restaurant before the memorial service and make sure Candy was safe.

The door to the bathroom squeaked. I froze as the swoosh of Candy’s hose got louder. Adrenaline spiking, I quickly X’ed out of Candy’s email and grabbed the large black leather book on her desk. I leaned back, crossed my legs, and flipped it open. She had asked me to answer the phone, right? I was just sitting at her desk, minding the phones. Like a helpful coworker.

As Candy rounded the corner, the first page fueled my maternal guilt. With gold lace against black paper, the beautiful décor reminded me of the scrapbooks Elizabeth spent hours creating for her children. Something I had always been too busy to start for mine.

I read the gold calligraphy words.

“Your beauty should not come from outward adornment, such as braided hair and the wearing of gold jewelry and fine clothes. Instead, it should be that of your inner self, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is of great worth in God’s sight.”

A cord plucked within my heart. I turned to the first page. An adorable blonde, curly haired girl in a puffy, pink dress smiled a gap-toothed grin. Eye shadow and makeup. A sash with the words “Little Miss Sunshine” draped across her body. A six-year-old beauty queen. “I see you’ve found my little secret.” Candy toddled to my side.

I closed the photo album. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to invade your privacy.” My face warmed at the irony. “I was watching the phone and saw the book on your desk.”

“Oh, no bother.” She swatted the air with her hand and scooted a chair beside me. “I’m glad you found it. Go ahead. Take a look.”

As I flipped through the pages, the child grew into a preteen, then a teen with big Texan hair, too much makeup, and form-fitting gowns. Candy grew older and more beautiful. Time stood still as I studied each photo.

As a child I dreamed of being a part of the pageants I watched on TV, but we could barely afford decent shoes. A forgotten longing welled inside me as I admired each gown, which grew more exquisite than the last. Even now, decades later, a part of me wanted to be the girl in the photo, wearing the gowns, winning the awards, getting the attention.“Can you believe that was me?” Candy shook her head.

I studied at the last photo. Actually, I couldn’t. The woman sitting next to me was at least one hundred pounds heavier. Her face now showed the signs of someone ten years older than her forty-seven years. No trace of a beauty queen left.

“I was a different person. If I only knew then what I know now.”

“What’s that?”

She cupped my hands in hers. “Beauty is only skin deep. God looks on the inside, not on the outside. I know that sounds cliché, but it’s the truth. I forgot that for a while.” She released her hold and stared through me. “I used my looks to get what I wanted. To help me get ahead. It worked for a while, but mostly it got me in a heap of trouble. Made me do things I regret to this day.”

“You only did what you had to do to get ahead. To win. We live in a world where image is everything. Everywhere you turn people are telling you what you should wear or eat. To make it in this world you have to conform.”

“Why?”

“Because if you don’t, you’ll be overlooked, be second runner up, or passed by for that promotion or raise.” Or abandoned. “If you don’t be who others want you to be then …”

“Then you’ll be left with being yourself?” Candy took the photo album from my hands. “Mari, I understand all too well. When you looked at these photos, what did you see?”

“I saw an adorable, bright-eyed child grow into a stunning, confident beauty queen.”

The corner of Candy’s lips turned up. “That’s what I wanted you to see, but deep inside I was just a redneck girl from a poor Texas town. Sure, I learned how to talk all nice and pretty, minded my manners, and I fooled a lot of people. My momma started me in pageants when I was young, but she had to work three jobs to pay for the used costumes and fees. She wanted me to be somebody.”

“She must’ve really loved you.”

“In her own way, I guess. Though I would’ve rather played in the mud with my momma than wear all those itchy dresses.”

“I would’ve given anything to have the looks and opportunity you did.”

“If you knew the whole story, you might change your mind.”

I glanced at the clock on the wall. “We’ve got time.”

Candy sighed, her eyes glazing over as she traveled back through the years. “To make a long story short, at twenty-four, I was a has-been, just having lost the Miss America Pageant. Miss Oklahoma took home the crown, and I took home a broken heart and shattered dreams.”

“You had your whole life to live.”

“I was ancient in pageant circles with no marketable skills or a higher education. That’s when I met a dashing young man, one of the judges at the pageant who donated a lot of money.”

Henderson.

“You can say he swept me off my ridiculously high heels.” Candy’s eyes lit at the memory. “He offered me a great paying job working as his personal assistant. I had nothing else planned since I was counting on winning the Miss America title, so I accepted. It wasn’t long before our professional relationship became personal and we … how do I put it …” Candy’s pale face turned a shade of crimson. “…got involved. I was still living a lie, pretending to be a sophisticated socialite to hide my redneck past. Thought if he saw the real me I would lose him.”

Candy and I had more in common than I thought.

“Even when I learned he was married with a little girl, I continued the façade. Then when I got pregnant—”

The door banged open. Clutching his briefcase, Peter plowed through the office. Candy and I looked at each other. She shook her head. “I guess I better be gitting to my work.”

“You can’t leave me like this. Why’d you stay here after all you went through?”

Candy’s thick brows drew together, hiding the brown spot on her questioning eyes.

“Never mind, you can tell me the rest of the story later.” As I walked toward my office, the door swung open again. I turned.

Fletcher walked in with his trademark grin. A quagmire of emotions swamped me. Two men that I had loved in my life. Both archaeologists, both under investigation by the authorities. I couldn’t, wouldn’t believe either one was involved. My strongest suspicion fell on Peter, and there it would remain until someone showed me concrete proof of their guilt.

I ducked into my office, hoping to sort through the circumstantial evidence, to be able to articulate an intelligible defense, but before I reached my chair, Fletcher materialized in my doorway. “I wanted to apologize for how I left things yesterday. I should’ve told you I was in the lab during the time the artifact could’ve disappeared. I shouldn’t have run out on you. You were right, old habits die hard.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

He sauntered in the room. “No, you were right. I know I can be a jerk sometimes.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Sometimes?”

A belly laugh escaped his lips. “And you still keep coming back for more.”

“Can’t help myself. You’re always here.”

“Like I said, old habits die hard.”

My breath hitched as he started to speak the words to a familiar song that once belonged to us.

“Like the song says, thought I could shake myself free of you.” He took a step closer. “But I can’t. I tried, believe me, I tried. But every time I see you—I know it’s crazy, but I never stopped loving you even when you were with Jack.” He took my hands as I fought the rising emotions. “I know I’ve been an arrogant jerk, but I can’t deny it any longer. You’re all tangled up in my head.”

“Fletcher, I don’t think I can ...”

“Mari, can’t you see? You and me getting a second chance must be fate.”

I pulled my hands away. “I don’t believe in fate.”

“What
do
you believe in?”

“I’m not sure anymore.” I wanted to say forgiveness, letting go, moving on with my life, the innocence of the two men I loved, but the words wouldn’t come. “You know I’m not mad at you anymore.” I waited for him to say something. He didn’t. “I don’t blame you for anything. I’m angry with myself. I know I pushed you away.”

He stepped closer. “Don’t put this all on yourself. I was a part of it. I accept responsibility for how things ended between us. I’m sorry for leaving you. I should’ve never gone on that dig, I should have come back and seen you through the pregnancy. I should’ve been there when you miscarried.”

Tears welled, and I was unable to stop their flow. All the mistakes from our past floated to the surface. I had no words for the emotions coursing through me, so I let my tears speak for themselves. Pain and regret flowed down my cheeks, trying to wash away my sin.

Fletcher held out his arms, offering comfort and nothing more. I shied away, but he drew me into an embrace. The warmth of his innocent touch started to melt the iceberg between us. He held me long and steady, not hurrying to push me off. I relaxed, feeling the beat of his heart in my ear, allowing the healing between us to come. I longed to be transparent. To tear off my mask, to tell him everything, but I didn’t. I couldn’t.

He lifted my chin and gazed into my eyes. No words necessary. Whatever was wrong between us was made right. I knew that I knew that I knew Fletcher was innocent, but whether we had a future together remained a mystery.

Someone knocked on my door. I jerked away from Fletcher as Natasha sashayed in. She glared at us. “Hope I’m not
disturbing
anything. I need to talk to Mari.” She eyed Fletcher as he walked past her and closed the door on his way out.

My face flushed. “Natasha, it’s not what—”

“I could care less about your love life. But I would caution you, Fletcher Murdock is not who he pretends to be.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s a gold digger, a player. I should know.” She rolled her eyes. “I was raised by the best.”

She pulled a stack of VHS tapes from her purse. “There’s more, but I could only get these.”

Great, I had forgotten Natasha asked me to play Columbo.

“They’re from a month before Daddy’s murder. Do you really think they’ll be useful?”

“I don’t know, but it’s worth a look.”

“Here’s the list you wanted.” She handed me three pages, single-spaced.

“Thanks.” I glanced at the list of all the people that held a grudge against Henderson, not knowing what to do with it.

“I stopped by the bank and removed the contents from Daddy’s safety deposit boxes. The code to the trophy room was there. It seems Daddy put me back on the list when he thought he divorced Susan. I’m having my lawyer go through the papers, but it doesn’t look like anything significant. Just passports, birth certificates. Not stocks or bonds, though I’m sure Daddy must have had a ton of investments. I’m having a hard time getting access to his financial records since I’m not the Executor.”