Traceless (33 page)

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I feel terrible about losing mine." God, she hated lying.

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

This was the woman she wanted to accuse of murder?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thank God.

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

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

Damn.

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

Do it.

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

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

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

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

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

She had to hurry.

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

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

The front door closed. The sound unmistakable.

Shit.

She snatched up the photo and hurried to the bedroom door, then across the few feet that stood between her and having to answer a hell of a lot of questions.

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

She needed a reason for being in here so long.

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

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

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

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

Justine was standing in the hall right outside.

Emily yelped.

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

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

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

Emily prayed the photo wouldn't start slipping downward.

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

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

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

"Emily."

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

"Did you forget something?" Justine waited expectantly.

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

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

"Oh. Right."

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

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

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

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

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

She snatched up the receiver and went through the procedure for listening to the message. If this was Clint, that could only mean things had gone worse than expected. The voice rasped in her ear and Emily's chest tightened.

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

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

If Troy needed her, she had to see what she could do to help. He was Heather's brother. Emily couldn't let him down. Maybe this would make up for the way he'd been hurt by her change of heart where Clint was concerned.

She wadded the old note she'd written to Clint, then hurriedly prepared another telling him where she'd gone so he wouldn't worry if he got back here before her.

As she drove to Troy's she kept replaying the way his voice had sounded. Definitely drinking heavy and definitely desperate. She hoped she wasn't too late.

First she went to the front door and tried the doorbell. She knocked a couple of times.

No answer.

He'd said he was home. His truck was here.

The possibility that he'd hurt himself had her going around to the end of the house where a garage door stood open.

She wove around the lawn mower, tricycles, and mountains of beer cans and made her way to the door that led from the garage into the house. The smell of oil, gas, and stale beer wasn't a pleasant mix. Cabinets and shelves lined every wall—all cluttered with stuff from Christmas decorations to old buckets of paint.

Rapping her knuckles sharply on the door, she shouted, 'Troy! It's Emily!" She knocked again and again, pausing to listen each time. Still nothing.

She should just give up, but he'd sounded so desperate. She reached up to knock again. Pain exploded in the back of her head as she slammed face-first into the door.

She crumpled onto the cool concrete steps and the blackness closed in on her thoughts.

Her mind fought the darkness. She heard the sound of a car engine starting. Heard the rasp of rubber against concrete and brakes engaging tire tread. The smell of exhaust brushed her senses.

Wake up!
She couldn't.

Open your eyes!
Too heavy.

She was moving... sliding across the floor. She bumped something and cans rattled. Hands pulled at her, lifted her, then dropped her. Her face pressed against something soft... fabric?

What was happening?

A car door slammed. Then another. Movement. Music. The radio? Yes. The call letters of the station she always listened to as the deejay promised ten songs in a row. Emily inhaled, tried to analyze the smells. Her car?

Emily licked her lips. Moaned. Told herself to wake up!
Open your eyes!

Her stomach roiled and bile rose in her throat. She swallowed it back. Had no idea how much time passed with the car moving... her head throbbing with pain so sharp she had to breathe shallowly to fight it. She floated in and out of awareness.

The forward momentum ceased with jarring force.

She groaned at the ache in her head.

A door slammed. The sound reverberated inside her skull, causing ripples of pain.

Silence.

Another thump... like the trunk closing.

Water sloshed on her clothes. Emily tried to open her eyes again... tried to reach up and block the splashing but couldn't make her arms move.