Wakefield College 01 - Where It May Lead (12 page)

She nodded, almost numb now. “Yes, of course. What’s the
name?”

“Frank Claybo.”

“Oh. I hadn’t gotten far into the Cs yet.” Realizing they
hadn’t talked since she started her project, she explained about going through
old records. “I was too busy today to continue.”

“Can you look for Claybo in the morning?”

“First thing,” she promised, even as she wondered whether this
Claybo would know who
had been being blackmailed. Of
course, if it turned out there was a whole list of victims, it wouldn’t matter
so much if her father was on it. Because then there would be a whole lot of
other people who’d had reason to hate Mitchell King.

Dad had said that, too, she remembered. So he must have been
aware he wasn’t alone.

“You said you had a lot to tell me.”

“I also located a witness who walked into the sauna that night
and saw King and another student talking. The other student wore street clothes
and had a wallet in his hand.”

Madison jumped to the obvious conclusion. “He was making a
payment.”

“That’s a possibility.” Troy glanced up and she realized the
waiter had brought their drinks. White wine for her and lemonade for him. He
nodded his thanks and waited until they were alone again. “There are probably a
dozen other explanations, though. He might have been paying him back a few bucks
he’d borrowed the week before...”

“In the middle of the night in the sauna?”

A smile lifted one corner of Troy’s mouth. “I didn’t say it was
likely, only possible. He could have been pulling out a slip of paper with
someone’s phone number to give to King, he could have been loaning
him
a few bucks, he could have been...”

She rolled her eyes.

Troy grinned, but he also had a steely glint in his eyes that
reminded her that he was, in his own way, a hunter. One closing in on prey. His
prey just happened to be human.

And one of the people he intended to cut out of the herd could
easily be her father.

“Do you believe the guy who told you this? How come he didn’t
talk to police back then?” she asked.

“He was apparently high that night. I gather he smoked a lot of
weed, which may explain what sounds like a chronic distrust of law enforcement.
He said he’d have come forward if he’d seen anybody get hurt, but he didn’t. He
didn’t actually know either guy in the sauna until he heard about the murder the
next day and saw pictures of King on the news.”

“What about this Claybo?”

“The witness was in a class with Claybo the next year and
recognized him. Claybo was a junior the year of the murder, and the stoner was a
sophomore.”

Their salads came and then their entrées. Madison ate without
tasting. Troy told her about some of the other people he’d talked to and his
conclusion that he’d started in the wrong place. All the while, Madison
desperately searched her conscience.

He was being open with her, exactly as he’d promised. What’s
more, even as he’d reopened the case Troy had started with a handicap because
he’d promised not to tell anybody about his own father’s accusation. She owed
him for that. They had agreed to investigate together...

No, Madison reminded herself, he’d been quite firm about saying
that
he
was doing the investigating. She was only
providing research support. Still, fair was fair.

Also, he was already suspicious of her father. Would she really
be making things any worse for him if she told Troy what Dad had said? And it
did seem to confirm some of what Troy had learned, which might be helpful.

She roused from her brooding to realize Troy was watching her
with a faint smile. He had the glass of lemonade in his hand and was rocking it
slightly, enough to clink ice cubes off each other.

“Deep thoughts?” he asked, in a voice husky enough to make her
wonder if he was thinking about murder anymore.

Her heart cramped, both at the look in his eyes and at the
conclusion to her inner battle.
Oh, God. I
have
to tell him,
she realized.
He’s done something amazing for me. I can’t lie.

“I talked to my father last night,” she said, and saw the slow
change of Troy’s expression. His very features seemed to harden.

“You called him?”

His tone was so careful, Madison realized in outrage that he
thought she might have broken her promise.

“No!” she exclaimed. “I said I wouldn’t tell him anything, and
I didn’t.”

“Okay.” Troy set down the glass of lemonade. The hard line of
his mouth had eased and small lines creased his forehead. “I’m sorry. I didn’t
mean to accuse you, but I can’t lie. It crossed my mind that you got to feeling
guilty and decided you had to tell your dad everything.” He grimaced. “I’m not
sure I’d even blame you.”

“Well,
I’d
blame me.” She frowned
at him. “I made a promise.”

“Okay,” he said again. “So if you didn’t call him, that means
he called you. Is that usual?”

She hesitated, hating the feeling of having her loyalty ripped
jaggedly down the middle like a piece of fabric. “No,” she finally admitted. “We
often go a month or more between calls. At first he made conversation. I could
tell that’s all he was doing. And then I asked why he’d phoned and he admitted
that Mitchell King had been on his mind. I think what he most wanted to know was
who it was who claimed to have seen him that night.”

“What did you say?”

“I admitted it was a man, but that’s all.”

“Good.”

“Dad wondered why the person hadn’t told the police then, and
insisted he could have cleared up any questions. I suggested he contact you now
and he said the whole thing didn’t have anything to do with him.”

“Because he wasn’t anywhere near McKenna Center?”

“He didn’t say that,” she admitted reluctantly. She drew a deep
breath. This was the hard part, she thought, but squared her shoulders. “He told
me that lots of people had reason to hate Mitch King’s guts.”

Troy had gone very still. “He said it in those words.”

“Yes. I asked him why, and Dad said because other students’
screwups were Mitch’s wine and song. That’s a quote.”

Troy’s eyes narrowed slightly. “That jibes with what I was told
today.”

“Yes. That’s...why I thought you should know what Dad
said.”

“You didn’t want to tell me.”

She felt ridiculously close to tears for someone who didn’t
cry. “No.”

“I do understand, Madison.” His voice was gentle and he reached
across the table for her hand. “You’re in a really lousy situation.”

She made a face at him even as she relished the warm,
enveloping clasp of his hand. “Yes, I am. It sucks. I feel like a traitor.”

“Do you want to stay out of this from now on?”

She didn’t even have to think about her answer. “No. It would
be worse being kept in the dark. And I know I owe you.”

He shook his head. “No. I offered to keep quiet about what Dad
wrote for my own reasons, too. Don’t forget that. I don’t want you to help
because you think you have to.”

“I’m curious now. I can’t let go of it.”

“Then we’re two of a kind,” he said softly.

The night had cooled enough that when the waiter brought
coffee, Madison welcomed it. Neither she nor Troy wanted dessert, but she was
glad to continue sitting here as dusk settled. There was very little traffic on
the street, and all businesses except for restaurants were closed. She and Troy
were alone out here.

After the waiter left them alone, Troy scooted his chair
partway around the small round table. He took her hand again, as if that was the
most natural thing in the world, and seemed comfortable lifting his coffee cup
with his left hand.

They sipped in silence for a few minutes, Madison, for one,
grateful for the release of tension. She actually felt a little bit limp—maybe
the aftereffect of the wine, although that wasn’t fair since she’d only had the
one glass.

“I’ve been wondering,” Troy said. “There’s a lot you haven’t
said.”

Apprehension balling in her stomach, Madison looked at him.
“You mean about Dad.”

“No. Well, I guess I don’t understand your relationship with
him, either, but it’s actually your mother I was thinking about. What happened
there?”

“You haven’t said much about your mother, either,” she
countered.

He half smiled. “True enough. The way I feel about my mother
these days is...complicated. Hard to talk about something you haven’t yet worked
out yourself.”

Madison nodded her understanding. “I’m not sure how much of
what went wrong was Mom’s fault and how much was mine.”

He looked at her, his gaze compassionate. “How old were you
when your parents split up?”

“Seven. And they fought a lot before.”

His hand tightened, but he didn’t say anything.

“It started because Mom left me with Dad. She said it was only
temporary, until she figured out where she was going to live and what she was
going to do, but I didn’t believe her.” It wasn’t hard to remember the child’s
shock and hurt and bewilderment.

“What kid would?”

“Dad didn’t talk to me much about what was happening, but I
heard enough to know he canceled a few business trips in the next couple of
months because he didn’t want to leave me even though we had a housekeeper and
he could have gone. I think maybe he did more things with me than he had before.
You know?”

Troy’s expression was so kind, it melted something deep inside
Madison. She wasn’t sure she’d ever had anybody listen to her in quite the same
way. In fact, she’d never talked to anyone the same way, not even college
roommates and later friends. She had never until now been tempted to open the
lid to expose emotions she hadn’t quite come to terms with.

My own Pandora’s box
.

“Then one day Mom was there, saying I was to go live with her.
Part of me wanted to, part of me didn’t.”

“Did you have to change schools?”

She nodded. “That didn’t help, of course. But the worse thing
was that I found out she’d already remarried. She hadn’t told me or invited me
to the wedding. On the drive to her house she talked about how much I was going
to like my new stepfather. She also admitted she was pregnant and that I’d have
a new baby sister or brother in a few months.” She gave Troy a shy glance. “I
thought she’d gotten fat.”

He laughed, a deep, rich sound that improved her mood.

Even so, resuming her tale plunged her back into the utter
misery her then eight-year-old self had felt. “Probably no surprise, I hated her
husband. The baby was born only a few months later. Even at that age, I figured
out she’d gotten pregnant not very long after she left Dad. I still suspect she
was already involved with Thomas before the separation. Not that it matters
anymore.” She sighed. “They were excited about the baby and consumed by her. A
girl.”

“Direct competition,” Troy murmured.

Madison ignored that, although it was undoubtedly a truthful
observation. “Abby was blonde and blue-eyed like Thomas. In comparison, I felt
like the ugly duckling. I thought they were relieved when school let out and I
went to stay with Dad for the summer. When fall came I had to go back. I threw
some major temper tantrums, which neither of my parents appreciated. I was so
miserable that year, though, that when I begged to stay with Dad after the next
summer they let me. I still went to Mom’s for holidays and for a couple of
summers, but by that time I had a half brother, too, and I was eleven, I think,
and already starting to get breasts and I felt like this hideous, ungainly,
unwanted, ugly
thing
compared to my mother’s two
perfect children.”

Troy’s chuckle and hug were the responses she needed. “You’re
beautiful.”

“Thank you.” She smiled at him. “Anyway, that’s the story. I
suspect my mother loved me as much as ever, but I was so suspicious and angry I
probably frustrated her and I’m sure I gave them good reason to be happier when
I wasn’t around. Dad isn’t the warmest guy in the world, but I think he actually
did want me with him. I convinced myself he loved me in a way Mom didn’t
really.”

Again Troy was quiet for a minute, but this time his eyebrows
had drawn together and she thought he looked disturbed. “The screwed-up modern
family” was all he said.

“Yup. Mine’s classic.” She managed a smile. “Could be worse,
though. I had a friend in college whose father remarried three times and her
mother once after their divorce. She had so many half siblings and stepsiblings,
she wasn’t sure she’d recognize all of them if she ran into them by chance. At
least Mom stayed with Thomas.” She gave a jerky shrug. “And Dad never remarried.
He dated and I suppose had relationships, but he was never serious enough about
any of them to bring them home to meet me.”

“You friends with your sister and brother?”

“Friendly acquaintances is probably a closer description. There
is a pretty big age difference between us. They’re in their twenties now, of
course, and we have more in common when I see them than we did as kids.”

“Have you and your mother ever talked about any of this?”

“She tried. I deflected.” Madison wrinkled her nose. “I can be
stubborn.”

“Never noticed.” Smiling, Troy kissed her cheek, ending with a
nuzzle that made her nerve endings sizzle. “Once again, I think we’ve outstayed
our welcome at a restaurant.”

“What?” As she turned her head, she realized night had fallen
and even the interior of the restaurant seemed to be deserted. “Oh, dear. I
suppose they close at nine on weeknights.”

“Looks that way.” Troy stood easily and held out his hand. “How
about we save my family history for another night?”

“That’s reasonable.” She realized she hadn’t even noticed him
paying, but he put an arm around her and steered her out to the sidewalk without
going back into the bistro.