The Liar (39 page)

“That’s right. Looks like a break-in, or made to look like it. Like a sloppy one. But then you figure—from the report we got from the investigating officers—he was shot at his desk. He had a nine-millimeter in the drawer. There wasn’t any sign he went for it, or put up a fight. Head shot, like Warren, too. Not a contact shot, but close range.”

“Let me take a breath.” She took it bending over, hands on her thighs. “I didn’t like him. He scared me some coming into the house up North the way he did, and following me here. Just . . . lurking. But he left me alone when you told him to.”

“They found pictures he’d taken of you and of Callie in his office, in his files.”

“Callie.”

“Some notes he’d made, an expense account. Not yet paid, and overdue, according to the file. They don’t have the name of the person who hired him to shadow you. The locals are talking to the secretary, and to his associate, but so far nobody seems to know who hired him for this particular job. And there’s no record.”

“Maybe he didn’t have a client. Maybe he lied.”

“Maybe.”

“But . . . you said it looked like a break-in, but wasn’t.”

“The door was forced from the outside, some electronic equipment was missing. His watch, his wallet, the petty cash. Things tossed around some. You might think it was a sloppy break-in. But his personal tablet and laptop, they were gone, too. And it seems the ones at his house aren’t turning up.”

“Someone was in his house, you think?”

“Slicker job there as there’s no sign of forced entry at all. But anything to do with this case of his, except for those pictures, some notes and expenses, they’re gone.”

She straightened. Her face still felt too hot, her head too light, but she knew how to follow basic logic. “You think what happened to him goes back to that damn robbery in Florida.”

“I do, as he brought it and the finder’s fee up to me when I advised him to move on.”

“So back to Richard—or to Harlow, now. Harlow escaped from prison, and he probably had a new identity somewhere. He hired the detective to help him find Richard. But he found me and Callie. Only me and Callie because Richard was already gone. He came here, and he saw his other partner. She’d turned on him, so he killed her.”

“We know he was here. You saw him yourself.”

“The detective either thought Harlow was really a client, or was working with him. Doesn’t matter much, I guess, which it was now. But he probably let Harlow into the office, sat there talking to him.”

“And either Harlow didn’t like what he heard, or he figured Privet as a loose end. He cut it off, staged a break-in, took what he needed—whatever he felt might link him—took a few valuables, some cash, and took off.”

“He can’t think I’m a loose end, Forrest. He stole all that information so he knows I’m not just broke but in debt. If he’s still looking for those millions, he knows I can’t tell him where they are.”

“I don’t know why he’d come back here, but I want you to keep being careful. He’s killed two people now. Miami’s going to keep us updated—professional courtesy. The feds will put an oar in, I expect. The damn thing is, Shelby, they can’t find anybody who’s seen hide nor hair of this guy except you.”

“He let me see him.”

“That’s right.”

She glanced toward the backyard, where the children played and her older brother tended the vegetable garden. “I can’t run, Forrest. I’ve got nowhere to go, and it has to be safer for Callie here than anywhere else. I’ve got nothing for this man. I have to believe he was just—like you said—taking care of a loose end. It’s horrible, but that’s what he did.”

“That’s what it looks like. Don’t go anywhere without your phone.”

“I never do.” She patted her pocket, and the phone in it, but Forrest shook his head.

“Anywhere. You take a shower, it goes in the bathroom with you. And.” He pulled a small canister out of his pocket.

“What’s this?”

“Pepper spray. You’ve got your Second Amendment rights, but you never could shoot worth shit.”

Because he wasn’t far off in that assessment, she bristled. “I wasn’t that bad.”

“Worth shit,” he repeated. “And you don’t want a gun around Callie. Neither do I. So you leave the gun to me, but you take this. You carry this with you. You have trouble, aim for the eyes. Put it in your pocket for now,” he advised when she studied the canister.

“I’ll take it, I’ll be careful if doing that and saying that puts your mind at ease. He’s no reason to come after me, especially now. I want to put this aside—that doesn’t mean I’ll be stupid—but I’m not going to keep it at the center of my life anymore. Now, Mama made her party potatoes and she’s doing up some collard greens. I marinated the chicken myself, and Daddy’s going to grill that up once he gets home. Why don’t you come on in and eat?”

“I hate to say no. I love those damn potatoes. But I’ve got some things to do. Tell Mama I’ll come by later if I can, scrounge up any leftovers.”

“I will. I need to get back, check on the kids.”

“You go on, then. I’ll see you later.”

He watched her walk back around the house. Things to do, he thought. The first was to go by Griff’s. It wouldn’t hurt to give his friend the information. He wanted as many eyes on his sister as he could get.

•   •   •

O
N HIS HANDS AND KNEES
, Griff set the next tile on the bathroom floor. The golden sand color made him think of the beach, so he thought the little en suite would be both pretty and cheerful.

While he listened to Forrest, he sat back on his heels.

“It can’t be random. Breaking into a PI’s office—
that
PI’s office, killing him. You guys with the badges can’t think that’s random.”

“It’s being looked into. No,” Forrest added, leaning on the doorjamb while Griff worked. “We don’t think it’s random. The trick is connecting Privet to Harlow, to Warren, to that fucker Foxworth, to the Miami case back five years ago. Odds are Harlow killed him, but you gotta ask why. What did the PI know, or who did he know, ’cause maybe those odds don’t play. Maybe there’s somebody else we don’t know about.”

“That’s not a comfort.”

“Nothing comfortable about any of this.”

“What happened in Miami five years ago isn’t over.”

“Nope.”

“If Harlow had the take from that job, he’d be gone. Maybe the PI was the last thing he had to cross off, and now he is. Gone.”

Griff set the spacers, moved to the next tile. “Then again, if the PI knew where the take was, it seems like he’d have been gone.”

“It’s a puzzle.”

“You’re worried this Jimmy Harlow may be missing some pieces yet, and may still think Shelby’s got them.”

Forrest hunkered down. “There’s not a lot we can do here but keep hunting for him locally, asking questions, showing his picture around. The federals, they’re sniffing out leads, but what I get is there isn’t a lot to sniff at this point. They’ve dug up some of Foxworth’s past associates—same on Harlow and Warren. But nothing’s shaken out of that. Not that they’re telling us local badges, anyway.”

“Do you think they’re holding back?”

“Can’t say for sure, and don’t see why they would. But you never know. What I know is we’ve got an unsolved murder in the Ridge, and that doesn’t sit well with any of us. My sister’s in the middle of it, and that doesn’t sit well with me, or with anybody in the department. We’re keeping an eye out for her, extra patrols and the like. But she’s not inclined to have dinner with the sheriff or spend the night with Nobby.”

“If she was, I’d end up in jail for assaulting an officer. I’m looking out for her, Forrest. She doesn’t much like that terminology, but she’s going to have to live with it. It’ll be easier when she moves in here.”

Now Forrest sat back on his heels. “Is that so?”

“Sure it is. I’ve got that new security system in—pain in the ass, but it’s done. I’ve got this fierce guard dog.”

They both glanced over to where Snickers lay, snoring on his back, feet in the air.

“Vicious son of a bitch, that dog.”

“He’s just resting between patrols.”

“Uh-huh. I think you know I meant ‘Is that so?’ about Shelby moving in here, not about the safety of it.”

Griff continued to work. Laying a row of tile was methodical. So for him that made it soothing.

“I can’t push that button yet. She’d balk. The fucker did a number on her, and she’s working her way through it or out of it faster than most people would. But she’s not there yet, so the word of the day is ‘tenacity’ with a side of patience. Because yeah, that’s so. I want her here, with me. I want her and Callie here with me.”

“If you go there and with your patient tenacity, son, talk her into moving in out here, my mama’s going to start planning a wedding.”

“That’s fine, just the next step in the plan. But it’s going to take Shelby longer to get there.”

Forrest said nothing as Griff set the next spacers, carefully applied more adhesive to the subfloor.

“Is it my understanding you’re planning to marry my sister?”

Griff sat back again, rolled his shoulders, circled his neck. “What do you think of this room?”

Obliging, Forrest straightened up, took a turn around the bedroom area. “Nice space, windows ought to give nice light, good views. Damn big closet for a secondary sort of bedroom. Window seat’s a nice touch, like having its own bathroom. That tile you’re laying ought to give it some glow.”

“I’m thinking of a slipper tub for in here, and a vanity with an under-counter oval sink. I’m after plenty of storage with a small footprint. Recessed medicine cabinet over the vanity—more storage there, but frame it in to give it some style. And some bling with the lighting.”

“Slipper tub and bling? Sounds female.”

“Yeah. Pale, warm green for the bedroom walls, echo off the bathroom lighting for the ceiling fan with light kit.”

“The bling.”

“That’s right. I’m going to do a small built-in for the closet, along with the rods and shelves.”

Nodding, Forrest took another turn around, began to see it.

“You’re putting this room together for Callie.”

“Green’s her favorite color, she tells me. That
Shrek
obsession of hers, that’s bound to pass eventually. But it’s a good color for her, and for a bedroom. A few years down the road, having her own bathroom’s going to matter to her.”

“And you’re a man who looks down the road.”

“I am. I’m in love with both of them, and being a trained observer, you know that already. Callie’s there with me; Shelby’s just gotta catch up. She’ll catch up quicker, I think, if we can put this shitstorm the fucker left her in behind her.”

“What if she doesn’t catch up?”

“I wait. She’s the one, so that’s that. And Callie? The kid just lights me up. She deserves me. They both do. I’m a hell of a catch.”

“Shit, Griff, if you had tits, I’d marry you myself.”

“There you go.” Seeing he’d reached the point where he’d have to measure and cut tile, Griff pushed to his feet. “I’m taking a break, tossing a sandwich together. You want one?”

“Thanks, but I’ve got a couple more things to do, and a hell of a lot better waiting in leftovers at my mama’s once I do them.”

“We’ll walk down with you. Come on, Snick. Time for patrol.”

The dog waved his feet in the air, did an ungainly rollover, then scrambled up.

“One of these days I’m going to get me a dog,” Forrest said as they started down with Snickers racing down the steps, halfway up, down again.

“Snick’s litter mates are gone, but I saw a sign for beagle pups on the turn at Black Bear and Dry Creek.”

“It’s not one of these days yet. I’m not home enough, and I don’t think the sheriff would approve of me taking a dog for ride-alongs.” Forrest glanced at the security panel as they passed it. “What do you figure on doing if this fancy new security system goes off?”

Griff shrugged as he opened the front door. “Call you—and get my pipe wrench. It’s got weight.”

“A shotgun’s going to carry more weight than a pipe wrench, son.”

“Don’t have one, don’t want one.”

“City boy.”

Griff breathed in the night while the dog ran over the patch of grass to the verge of the woods where the stream bubbled.

“Not anymore, but I still don’t want a gun.”

He looked west to the faint blush of pink the setting sun painted on the clouds that smoked over the mountains. “I never had any trouble here. Worried about it some when I had all that copper for rewiring and plumbing. That stuff’s like gold and easy to transport. But nothing but that once, and that’s direct to the fucker and the shitstorm.”

Like his friend, Forrest looked west, toward color and cloud. “You’ve got a good spot here, Griff. It’s got a feel to it, appealing, settled. But it’s a fact it’d take a solid ten minutes for us to respond to that nine-one-one should you call for it. You can load a shotgun with rock salt if you’re feeling dainty about things.”

“I’ll leave the firearms to you, Deputy. I’m damn good with a pipe wrench.”

“Suit yourself.”

He would, Griff thought as he stood in the quiet, letting the dog run and sniff, watching the first star wink to life in a sky gone the color of pale purple velvet.

Suiting himself was just what he was doing. So he’d go fix that sandwich, then finish the tile in Callie’s bathroom.

“Front porch swing,” he said, and bent to rub the dog when Snickers raced back to him. “Maybe I’ll build one. Things mean more when you build them. Let’s eat and think about that.”

If he’d known while he sat in the kitchen eating a sandwich and doing some rough sketches of swings that someone was watching through field glasses, he might have changed his mind about the shotgun.

I
t took time to finish the room he wanted for Callie, to build a front porch swing. But he had plenty on his hands as Shelby was wrapped up in the plans for the engagement party.

Or more, from what she said, in keeping Bitsy under control.

He filled evenings and nights he couldn’t be with her chipping away at projects on the house, and planning for down the road.

When they finally managed an evening together, she vetoed his suggestion of dinner out for a casual one at his place.

That was fine with him.

He was out in the yard when she arrived, just hanging the tire swing he’d made on a sturdy branch of an old hickory.

“Look at that!” she called out. “There’s something Callie will make a beeline for.”

“Pretty cool, huh? Got the tire from your grandfather.”

He’d built it horizontally, choosing a mid-size tire that would suit a little girl’s butt, and had fed the chain through a garden hose to protect the branch.

“It’s so sweet.”

“Wanna try it out?”

“Of course I do.” She handed him a large insulated jug, leaned in when he slid an arm around her for a kiss.

“What’s in here?”

“Hard lemonade. My granddaddy’s recipe, and it’s a winner.” She scooted onto the tire, gave the chains a tug. “It’s sturdy.”

“Fun can be safe,” he said, gave her a push.

She leaned back, hair flying, gave a laugh. “And it is fun. What made you think of such a thing?”

He didn’t want to say—yet—that he’d been looking at plans for backyard swing sets, and had stumbled across the idea. “Just came to me. I had this friend—what was his name? Tim McNaulty—when I was about Callie’s age. He had one of these in his yard—set vertical. This way makes more sense.”

“I love it. So will she.”

As if hypnotized, the dog sat on the ground, his head tilting this way, then that, following Shelby’s rhythm. “I swear, that dog’s bigger than he was when I saw him a few days ago.”

“Next outdoor project’s a doghouse. A big one.”

“He’ll need big.”

She jumped off the swing. “I’m sorry I’ve been so tied up lately. I feel like I’ve had barely a minute without something that needed doing.”

“I know the feeling. It’s no problem, Red. Our best pals are getting married. It’s a lot.”

“It’d be a Macy’s Day Parade if I couldn’t keep Miz Bitsy down, and that’s taken every bit of creativity and energy I have. She’s jumping so fast from this party to the wedding and back again, my head’s on a constant revolution. She got it into her head Emma Kate should arrive at the ceremony—venue yet to be determined—in a princess carriage. White horses and a carriage, as Emma Kate had that on her wedding list when she was about twelve. It took some doing to nudge her off that one.”

“Emma Kate’s going to owe you for the rest of her life.”

“That’s a benefit. Why don’t we— Oh, Griff, you got a porch swing!”

Speaking of beelines, she made one herself, twirled a circle, the full skirt of her grass-green sundress billowing. “I just love it! How’d you find one this wonderful blue?”

“Like your eyes.” He followed her onto the porch. “I painted it. I made it.”

“You made it yourself? Of course you did.” She sat down, pushed off gently with her feet. “And it’s perfect, just perfect for sitting here on a lazy afternoon or a quiet evening. It’d be extra perfect if you got us a couple of tall glasses, and sat down here with me so we could sample that hard lemonade.”

“Be right back.”

When the dog tried to climb up with her, she hefted him up—no easy task now. “You’re almost too big.” But she hooked an arm around him, swinging and thinking she’d rarely seen a prettier spot.

All so green and private with the sky a blue dome dashed with white clouds. She could hear the stream, fast and lively from the last rains, and the insistent, echoing
rat-a-tat-tat
of a woodpecker busy somewhere beyond the green, setting up the percussion section for the chorus of birds.

“He’s got my spot,” Griff said when he brought out the drinks.

“He didn’t want to be left out.”

Resigned, Griff sat on the other side of the dog, who wiggled with absolute joy.

“There couldn’t be a better spot for a porch swing.” She sampled the drink. “I think I did Grandpa proud.”

“I’ll say.”

“It goes down easy, but it’s got a kick. It’s made for sipping. And sipping on a warm evening, on a porch swing, is even better. You’ve got your own little Eden here, Griffin.”

“Eden needs considerable work yet.”

“If Adam and Eve had put some time into working the garden instead of picking apples, they might still be there. Gardens, houses, lives, they’re a continual work in progress, aren’t they? I stopped progress on mine for a while, but I’m making up for it. It’s peaceful here. The light, the swing, this very fine lemonade. You, this sweet dog. I’m going to get what’s not peaceful out of the way, then we won’t have to think about it again.”

“Something happened.”

“I don’t know for certain, but I know now you didn’t talk to Forrest this afternoon.”

“No, not today.”

“I’m guessing he knew I was coming over, and I’d tell you. The police think they might have a kind of witness. On the detective. The FBI agents are going in to talk to him.”

“What did he see?”

“They’re not altogether convinced he saw much of anything, or anything useful. But the man—a boy, really—was in the building the night Privet was killed. He said how he heard this pop. Just one pop, like a muffled firecracker, he said. He didn’t think much of it. The timing’s right, and more, he saw who they think is the killer leave.”

“Harlow?”

“They can’t say for sure, but he’s claiming the person he saw wasn’t that big—tall or broad. No beard, either. He says blond hair—very blond—and glasses with thick, dark rims. Wearing a dark suit. He says how he can’t be sure of much, it was only a quick glimpse—saw him leaving the building when he was looking out the window. Saw him walk across the street and get into a big SUV.”

“Wig, glasses, shave.” Griff shrugged. “At a glance, in the dark, it’s hard to say if it was Harlow or not.”

“More, he was a little high at the time, and where he shouldn’t have been. That’s why he didn’t say anything until he was picked up for possession, and not the first time on that. He’d been working as a photographer’s assistant in that building, and he’d gone in late because he was setting up to shoot some porn on the side. He’s trying to make a deal so he doesn’t have to go to jail.”

“So he could be making it up trying to save his ass.”

“He could, but he has the time, and that single pop. Just one. The police didn’t say how many times Privet was shot, how many shots fired. So that’s something to consider.”

Griff considered it while they glided on the swing and sipped. “It’s a stretch to think somebody else shot the PI. Same gun, that’s what they said, as the one used to kill Warren. And we know Harlow was in the area. But let’s stretch it. Somebody else is involved, somebody else hired the detective. Maybe somebody connected to the Miami Montvilles, or the insurance company, or somebody Richard worked with at some point.”

“It makes me wonder if maybe that somebody killed Richard and staged the boating accident.”

“Bigger stretch.”

“I know it, but he was so determined to go, so I’m wondering now if it was to meet somebody, to finally deal with the jewelry he’d stolen. Another double cross, but on him this time.”

“What would you do if you’d just gotten your hands on millions in jewelry—not hot anymore—and had killed to get your hands on it?”

“I’d run fast and far, but . . .”

“There are still two people who want what you have,” Griff finished. “So you hire a detective, and you put him on it. And on you, Red, in case you knew something.”

“Griff, it’s made me think about how many people I let into that house up North in those weeks after Richard’s death. I might have let his killer—if there was one—inside to give me an appraisal, to take something away. Or all the times I was out of the house for hours at a go. Someone who knew how could’ve gotten in, looked around all they wanted. If Richard left something behind that mattered in all this.

“I don’t know. Maybe I’m making it more complicated than it already is.”

“It’s pretty risky to try to stage a boating accident in the middle of a storm. Why not just dump the body—or leave it like the others?”

“I don’t know.” But she’d chewed it over endlessly. “I was thinking to buy time. Or maybe it was an accident—killing Richard, I mean. And the rest happened from there. And the simplest is usually right,” she finished. “Richard died in an accident. Harlow killed the woman and the detective. And this witness was coked up, got no more than a glimpse out a window. I’m going to stop worrying about it as of right this minute.

“We’ve got this beautiful evening, and a few hours to enjoy it.”

“Maybe you could stay, just stay again. I could get another invitation to breakfast.”

She smiled, sipped. “It happens I have an overnight bag in the car, in case I got an invitation.”

“I’ll get it.”

“Thank you. It’s on the floor of the passenger seat. Oh, and there’s a blanket on the seat. Would you bring that, too?”

“Are you cold?” he asked as he headed for the car. “It must be eighty, at least.”

“I do love a warm evening. Makes me feel like I’ll never want to go inside, just stay out, watch the sky change, the light change, hear the first night birds when twilight comes.”

“We can stay out as long as you want.” He started back with bag and blanket. “I fell back on the old reliable of steaks on the grill.”

“That sounds perfect. For later.”

She took the blanket from him, gave it a quick whip in the air to open it.

“Where’d the dog go?”

“Oh, I put him inside, with the rawhide bone I had in my pocket. I think we’ll all be happier this way.” She laid the blanket on the porch, straightened, shook her hair back. Smiled. “Because I think it’s time you got me naked on the porch.”

She staggered him. Aroused him. Delighted him. “Is that what time it is?”

“I think it’s past time, but I know you’ll make up for it.”

“I can do that.” He set her bag aside, pulled her into his arms.

He took his time so the kiss alone left her limp—all watery knees and misty thoughts. He had a way of making that meeting of lips into a long, slow shimmer. A kindling rather than an explosion.

Wrapped in him, seduced when she had thought to seduce, she let herself be guided, let herself be glided along the river of sensation. Swaying to him, with him, on the old front porch with the sunlight like shattered gold and the world too still for a single leaf to stir.

He eased the zipper down at the back of her dress, enjoying, lingering over every inch of skin he exposed. Soft as silk, smooth as lake water.

His to touch.

He nudged the straps from her shoulders, gave himself the pleasure of laying his lips there. Stronger than she looked, he thought. Shoulders that didn’t shirk from lifting a load.

He wanted—needed—to help her with the weight.

For now, he gave the dress a little brush so it flowed like air to her feet. The pretty bits of lace she wore echoed the tender green of the dress.

“I bought them special.” She laid fingertips between her breasts when he looked down at her. “I shouldn’t’ve spent the money, but—”

“Worth every penny. I’ll pay you back.”

“I’m counting on it,” she said before his mouth took hers again.

A little stronger, a little deeper now so her head fell back to accept all he offered, to give all he asked.

He drew her down with him so they knelt on the blanket. Their lips broke apart long enough for her to tug the T-shirt he wore over his head; met again as she tossed it aside. Hot flesh under her hands, the water and soap of his shower teasing her senses as she played kisses over the curve of his shoulder.

And still that faint, lingering scent of sawdust, reminding her as the calloused palms reminded her, he worked with his hands.

A quick shiver ran over her skin, ran into her blood when he flicked the clasp of her bra open. Those working hands cupped her breasts, the rough pads of his thumbs stroked across her nipples, waking new needs, churning up a storm in her belly.

Everything in her so full now, so tender and already yearning. But his hands continued to play over her, finding more, stirring more.

He laid her back, ran his finger along the edge of the panties, along that vulnerable line between thigh and center.

That sound in her throat, not quite moan, not quite sigh. It could undo him. His own needs gathered, but he held them, held them, floating his palm over the lace, building the heat under the thin barrier until her hands lost their grip on him.

Her breath quickened, deepened; the lids lowered over the magic blue of her eyes.

His to touch, he thought again. His to have.

He slipped that thin barrier away and took her up, took her over with his hands.

It burst through her, lightning through the storm, slashing pleasure, a new flash of deep, driving need. She dragged at his belt, impatient now for all, to take, be taken.