Traceless (36 page)

Marvin looked at her as if he could rip off her head and spit down her throat. "A couple of times. She just used me, but then you were her best friend, so you knew that. Probably laughed about it." He folded his arms over his belly in a show of defiance.

"She did, but that didn't mean she didn't like you, Marv. Heather was young. We all were. We did stupid stuff." Talking about those days made Emily's stomach even queasier. She wished there were another way. "But nothing she did should have cost her life."

Emily's last words seemed to take the wind out of Marvin's sails. "What do you want? Last time we talked you were accusing Keith of killing her."

"Keith is dead," she reminded Marvin.

The regret in Marvin's eyes told her she hadn't needed to remind him. "And so's Ray," he muttered before turning up his beer can once more. "Makes you wonder who the hell's next." He didn't look at either of them as he said this.

Clint ignored his comment and took the lead again. "Was Turner cheating on Heather at the time of her murder? And why didn't the police bother to question either of you?"

Emily frowned. "The police didn't question Keith?" But that was absurd. Even though she couldn't believe he was involved in Heather's murder, logic dictated that the boyfriend would be questioned.

Clint's attention shifted briefly to Emily. "They had me. Why question anybody else?"

"Wait a minute," Marvin piped up. "You're wrong; they did question us. Anybody who knew Heather got questioned."

"And what was your alibi?" Clint pressed.

Marvin shrugged. "I was home all night."

"Who vouched for you?"

Worry etched across his face. "Nobody... I told Chief Ledbetter where I was and that was the end of it."

"Then you weren't really questioned," Clint argued. "They took your word and left it at that. The parading of Heather's classmates through City Hall was for show."

Jesus
. Maybe he was right. Emily vaguely recalled some of the other students saying that all they'd had to do was say what they were doing that night. No pressure. No discomfort. A mock investigation. The police hadn't been looking for a killer; they already had Clint pegged. Just like he said.

"So where were you that night?" Clint asked, pursuing the more sensitive issue.

Marvin's guard went up. "I told you, I was home."

Clint eased closer to him. "Maybe you and Turner had it out, then decided to make her pay for using the both of you, or maybe you didn't want anyone else to have her if you couldn't."

Marvin's jowls quivered with the force of his head moving from side to side in denial. "I wasn't that hung up on her. I swear. I was pissed, yeah, but I got over it. I wouldn't have hurt Heather. No way."

"What about Violet? How did she feel about Turner sticking with Heather through thick and thin? Is that who Turner was cheating with?"

Emily wanted to deny that assertion, but she had to keep an open mind.

"Violet?" Marvin's expression went from worried to confused. "She had a thing for Keith, but he never gave her the time of day. Too fucking bossy."

"Did that make her angry?" Emily was taken aback that the question had come from her. But there it was... out in the open.

Marvin's gaze narrowed again. "Hell, she was your friend; you tell me."

"Watch your mouth," Clint warned.

Marvin was right. How could she do this? Emily backed off, wrapped her arms around her waist. "I can't take any more of this. Let's just go to Deputy Caruthers with this information. Let him talk to Justine about our theory and what I discovered at her house," she said to Clint, suddenly realizing that she'd forgotten to tell him about her visit to Justine's. He was going to be pissed. His gaze collided with hers and that prophecy was fulfilled.

"Wait a minute." Marvin's expression turned nervous. "Keith was my friend. Why would I hurt him? Why would I have hurt Heather? Or Ray? This is crazy! Those photos of Justine's are something else altogether. They have nothing to do with any of this."

Shock quaked through Emily. How could Marvin know about the photos? She'd meant that they should tell Deputy Caruthers about Justine's missing necklace and the fact that Ray Hale had "lost" the necklace found in Heather's hand. Surely Marvin wasn't talking about the same photos Emily had discovered.

"They might matter," she challenged, taking a shot in the dark. And hoping like hell she'd find out what pictures
he
was talking about. Did Justine have pictures of him... like that?

"I think Emily's right," Clint said quietly, playing along. "We should all three go see Acting Chief Caruthers and see what he thinks."

Fear bulged Marvin's eyes. "Wait. If you want some real motivation, why don't you ask Justine these questions?"

"What does that mean?" Emily demanded as if she didn't see the connection. She didn't... actually.

"Violet had a major crush on Keith, sure," Marvin said with a nod as he looked from Clint to Emily. "But it was Justine who was fucking obsessed with him."

"Justine Mallory was our teacher," Emily reminded. Marvin's suggestion was ludicrous. "Ten or twelve years older than us." Recent headlines would suggest that Marvin's assertion wasn't such a ridiculous idea. As would Justine's apparently strange sex fetishes... but still. This was Justine. Everybody loved her. But what about the missing necklace?

Marvin exchanged a look with Clint. Emily didn't get it. What could the two of them possibly share other than species and airspace?

"Trust me," Marvin insisted, his expression manic. "She had a thing for Keith. She got all obsessed and shit with him. When she found out he was dating Heather again that last time, she went nuts. He was
all
she talked about, even when I was giving it to her—if you know what I mean," he said to Clint. "And Keith..." Marvin shrugged, "...he was torn big-time. He liked being with Justine. Hell, who wouldn't? But I think her coming on so strong scared him."

Emily felt weak all over. Justine had been jealous of Heather? She'd been having sex with the guys? How could Emily not have known this?

"You'd better not say you got that from me," Marvin warned, his face suddenly going pale. "If she found out..."

"So what?" Clint argued. "What can she possibly do to you now? If she's guilty of what you say, then she needs to face the consequences."

"You
know
she's guilty," Marvin said to Clint, then looked around as if he was afraid someone would hear. "All I can say is, it's like my daddy always told me, down here in Alabama you can raise cattle your whole life and never be called a rancher, but get caught sucking one dick and you're a queer for life." He backed toward his door. "Whatever you do, just keep my name out of it."

Clint couldn't get Emily out of there fast enough. Her head was spinning; her stomach churned.

"Is any of that possible?" she asked, knowing Marvin hadn't directed certain comments to Clint for no reason.

"I remember the year Justine Mallory started her teaching career at Pine Bluff High," he said. "All the guys thought she was beautiful. I was a freshman and damned stupid, but I wasn't blind. She was beautiful."

Emily didn't interrupt him. She was afraid if she said a word to encourage him, the truth she didn't want to hear would come spilling out faster than it already was.

"By senior year, I could see the writing on the wall. She always had her picks. A couple of guys each year, usually athletes. But nobody could prove it and the boys never said a word. I don't know how she kept them from bragging, but nobody I suspected might be involved with her ever talked.

"But I knew." He glanced at Emily. "She hit on me my senior year. I ignored her and that was the end of it. But she had it in for me after that. I barely survived her class."

Emily didn't know how to feel. They were talking fifteen years here. That meant dozens of guys. "Surely someone would've suspected something."

"I can't answer that." He braked for the first traffic light as they entered Pine Bluff proper. "All I can say is what I suspected. Maybe she stopped. Evidently there were blackmail pictures. That sure appears to be the way Justine kept Marvin quiet." Clint held Emily's gaze. "What were you talking about when you said something about a discovery at Justine's house? Did you find the necklace?"

Oh
,
hell
. She'd forgotten to tell him about that. He wasn't going to like it. "When I went off on that tangent about Marvin I completely forgot." She quickly told Clint what she'd seen and heard and how she hadn't found Justine's necklace where she'd said it was stored. "The pictures were really bizarre." Emily shuddered at the idea that there could be something to what Marvin had said. Definitely those could be construed as blackmail photos. "And all that expensive jewelry..." That part suddenly surfaced amid her worrisome thoughts "...How could she afford all that?"

"You went to her house," Clint said, his face stony when he glanced at her, "and took that kind of risk? What were you thinking?"

"I was desperate to find out if she had her necklace." Emily still couldn't fully absorb the scope of what they were alleging here. "It's hard to believe I was that close to her all those years and didn't suspect a thing. She was a friend to all the cheerleaders. Everybody loved her." Still did, Emily realized, recalling her recent visit to the school.

"A good enough friend to know about the open window?" Clint asked. "To know Heather would be in your bed that night?"

He braked for a light and their gazes collided again. Emily felt the earth shift beneath her. "Yes."

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Turner Mansion

Midnight

Granville poured himself a brandy, downed it, then poured himself another. He repeated the process twice more before he paused to catch his breath.

He was sixty-two years old. He'd spent the past forty-odd years amassing his vast fortune. He'd worked hard to reach this place in his life. The only thing he'd ever really wanted was for his family to be happy.

There had been sacrifices, of course.

A man didn't reach this level of security without having stepped on a few toes and over a few bodies, figuratively speaking. Those times weighed on Granville's conscience. He would, in the end, answer to his Maker for those choices, but even if he had the chance, he wouldn't do a thing differently. His daddy had always preached one motto:
Do what you 're big enough to do
.

As imperfect as he might be, Granville was still a damn good Christian compared to many. He'd loved his wife and she had never known about his indiscretions. He gave to his church and he gave to his community, a hefty chunk, but then, who was keeping count?

Funny thing, he realized, beyond the warm fuzziness of the alcohol finally taking hold, none of his accomplishments mattered anymore.

His son was dead.

Granville had just returned from City Hall, where he'd learned what Troy Baker had to say. Keith and Troy had met to discuss Austin. Keith had broken down and admitted to his buddy that he'd been with another woman that night. Granville had known. Ray Hale had protected Keith for more than ten years. Now both Ray and Keith were dead.

If anything Troy said could be taken for truth, Granville's boy had fallen completely apart at that damned quarry. Troy swore he'd left Keith very much alive.

Surely Keith hadn't taken his own life. Granville couldn't bear to believe that theory. The autopsy might not be able to confirm anything one way or the other unless there had been a struggle before Keith fell. And even that might not tell the tale, since Keith and Troy had fought, which might also explain the extraneous tissue found under Granville's son's nails. Granville had to face the fact that he might never know exactly what happened. He would have done anything for his son; why hadn't he come to him?

Then there was the other question that seared like acid in his gut. Three people, besides Granville, had known what really happened that night, and two of them were dead. Maybe Granville simply wanted to believe there was something wrong with that equation. It beat the hell out of the idea that his son had killed himself.

But the part that drove the idea home for Granville was the manner of Ray's death. The man had been burned to death inside his truck. The pickup was too old to have the fire-retardant materials of newer models or any other safety features that might have helped him survive. They couldn't say for sure just yet, but there appeared to have been head trauma prior to his having been doused in gasoline and lit with a match.

To Granville's knowledge Ray had no enemies who would want to hurt him in such a heinous way. The manner of death, as Caruthers pointed out, indicated a strong emotional motive. There was only one incident in Ray's career that might spawn that kind of emotion.

It would be very easy to blame Granville's son's as well as Ray's murder on Clint Austin and be done with it. If Austin had discovered the truth, he would have strong motivation, he actually had enough even without that knowledge. But he also had an alibi for both murders, leaving Granville with quite a quandary on his hands and with only one other possible candidate.