Faces Of Evil: Traceless Part 22

He didn't mention Heather's murder. Or Emily's father's visit.

"Do you have any reason to believe that Clint held Troy or Keith responsible for the fire?"

"No."

Ray stared at something on his desk for a long moment Was there something more he couldn't tell her? Something that implicated Clint?

"Where were you between ten and eleven yesterday morning?"

"Is that when you think he died?"

"It's an estimate. We'll know more after the autopsy."

Evidently Clint hadn't told Ray he'd been with her. "Did you question Clint?" She was sure he had.

Ray hesitated, then said, "Yes."

"Then you should know where I was."

The confusion on his face confirmed her deduction.

"I was with Clint."

Ray's expression turned wary. "He didn't mention it."

"If the estimated time is right, Austin does have an alibi."

"He claims he was home, alone."

"He was home," Emily agreed, "but he wasn't alone, I was with him."

All reaction had been banished from Ray's face now. "Why would he withhold that information? Having confirmation of his alibi would be very important for Clint."

Emily moistened her lips, tried to swallow, but her throat was too dry. "Maybe to protect me; I don't know." She looked directly into Ray's eyes. "I have no reason to lie for him."

She would prefer Ray didn't ask for details. Memories, too vivid to ignore, kept filtering through her head, reminding her of what she'd done.

"This doesn't have anything to do with what your father told me yesterday, does it?" Ray eyed her closely. "If you're feeling guilty because of the information your father withheld, you shouldn't."

He did think she was lying! How could he believe that? Of course she should feel guilty. So should he! She reached for her purse. Whether it served any purpose or not, she wanted him to see what she'd come up with.

"There are things about Heather's murder thata""

"That investigation is over." He cut her off. "Closed."

"Wait." She looked up, surprised at his sharp tone. "If he's innocenta""

"We don't know that," Ray interjected.

He was the one who'd stood by Clint all these years. Had supported the parole board's decision. Why the about-face?

"What we all need to do is put this behind us," Ray explained patiently. "The past is over; we can't change it." He paused. "It's time to look to the future, Emily, not the past. We've all done too much of that already."

"You don't want to see the past set to right?" How could he not? The law was his job. "And what about the real killer? If Austin is innocent, that means the person who did it got away with murder."

"Emily, there was no evidence other than what was used to convict Clint," he said quietly but firmly. "Not a single trace. There's nothing I can do." He stood, letting her know that the conversation was over. "I appreciate you coming in, Emily. We may need to call on you again when we have a more exact time of death."

She rose, confusion making her slow to react. "Sure."

What had just happened here? She made her way out of his office and across the lobby without pausing to turn around and stare. When had Ray stopped being Clint's ally?

As the top representative of the law in this town, Ray should have jumped on the information her father had pa.s.sed along. Why wasn't Ray calling Sid Fairgate in for confirmation?

Maybe it was Keith's murder.

Maybe Ray was preoccupied.

She reached the door and she had to look back. She was almost surprised when she didn't find Ray watching her go. He'd been so anxious to be rid of her.

Maybe he was preoccupied with this newest tragedy.

But that didn't explain his insistence that looking into Heather's murder was pointless. She could see him suggesting that they do so later, when Keith's death was resolved. But Ray had said there was no evidence that pointed to anyone other than Clint. In other words, why bother looking? The case was closed. End of story.

This was wrong.

Ray was ignoring the facts. She hesitated. Or maybe he was hiding a secret of his own. Every d.a.m.ned body else sure seemed to be.

CHAPTER THIRTY.

Turner Mansion 9:30 p.m.

Justine stopped at the entrance, entered the code she knew by heart, and the ma.s.sive wrought-iron gates spread open, slowly, regally, like welcoming arms. She finally had an invitation, albeit unspoken. Telepathy wasn't necessary to know Granville needed her right now.

She pressed the accelerator and rolled up the long, winding drive to the grand colonial-style mansion that still took her breath away.

This was where she belonged.

She sighed, appreciating the abundant branches of the ancient oaks and maples that shaded the lush green lawn and curving cobblestone drive. There wasn't a single home in the whole state of Alabama that even came close to being as exquisite or timelessly cla.s.sic as this one.

Coming to a stop in front of the house, she got out and closed the door of her eleven-year-old Audi. It had been a long time since he'd given her that gift. Definitely time for an upgrade. He would lavish her with all the gifts she would ever require. She would never need anyone else ever again. Only Gran. They could grow old together, but she would always be younger and more beautiful than him. She would give him exactly what he needed until death parted them.

She surveyed the beautifully landscaped property that spread out in three directions for as far as the eye could see. Rolling pastures and grazing horses covered the acres between the house and the tree-covered mountains that gently sloped downward to abut the property. This was what she'd wanted since she was just a little girl. To be rich... to have everything her heart desired. And now, finally, it was her turn.

No matter that she'd made Gran happy many times in the past, he'd been devoted to that sn.o.bbish wife of his. But she was out of the way now. There was nothing to stop Justine.

She climbed the steps, took a moment to touch up her favorite lipstick, Iced Cherry, and to smooth her sleek black dress; then she rang the bell. All the hired help would be gone home by now. He would be all alone.

Grieving.

He'd been a widower for six months, sufficient mourning time in Justine's opinion. Now he was faced with the most painful tragedy of his lifea"the loss of his son and only child.

Yes, it was her turn. Her ultimate purpose was at hand. He would see that he needed her more than ever. No more putting her off or setting her aside. Now she would take her rightful place in society.

One of the two towering doors swung inward and a disheveled Granville stood peering out at her over his askew reading gla.s.ses. "Justine?"

"I've been out of town all day." He didn't need to know that was a fabrication, that she'd actually waited, giving him plenty of time to slip deeper into his anguish. She reached for his hand and squeezed it. "I came as soon as I heard."

"My boy's really gone." His lips quivered on the frail words.

Dear Lord, he was practically a ghost of the man she knew him to be under normal circ.u.mstances.

"Gran, honey, have you eaten? You look exhausted."

Confusion lined the face that looked weary and uncertain rather than commanding and powerful.

"You shouldn't be alone." She walked in, ushering him aside. "Let's get some soup into you." She closed the door. "And a little brandy."

Perhaps the brandy first, she mused, considering his current state. She ushered him to the parlor on the left, the men's den, he liked to call it. He smoked his cigars there, kept his fine liquors and whiskeys there.

Becky's tail thumped against the floor as her master and his guest entered the room. The dog's big old soulful eyes followed their movements, but the lazy hound didn't bother getting up.

"You sit; I'll get you something to take the edge off."

Justine hurried behind the bar and selected the Raynal Brandy he liked best. As she poured a hefty serving, she kept an eye on him. He hadn't taken a seat as she'd suggested, but she saw why. There were photographs spread over every available surface.

Pictures of his poor, dead family.

Well, he'd forget about them soon enough. She would see that he forgot. She would stand beside him, hold his hand and anything else that needed holding, and when this investigation into Keith's death was over, Granville Turner would be all hers. And she would finally have the life she deserved.

She crossed back to where he stood staring at the mess he'd made with the family photo alb.u.ms.

"Here, honey, drink this." She pressed the tumbler into his hand. "I'll straighten up for you. We wouldn't want any of these precious memories to be damaged."

She bent this way and that, picking up photos, stacking them neatly in the designer boxes, probably the highest-quality acid-free and photo-safe products available. But she could care less about that. What she cared about was how much of her legs showed each time she crouched down to gather a pile of photographs. Or how nice her bottom looked with the black silk pulled tight across it whenever she bent this way or that.

She'd selected this dress just for him. She knew how much he loved short black dresses that fit as tight as a smooth layer of youthful skin.

"There." She stood back and surveyed what she'd accomplished. "You ready for another, Gran?" She smiled, sugary sweet. He needed her and she wanted to be there. She'd waited a long time for this moment.

The tumbler was empty, but he wouldn't be needing another drink, she realized. His gaze had riveted to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s the moment she'd turned back to face him.

"Here, let me take that." She slipped the gla.s.s from his hand and set it on the coffee table. Moving closer... close enough for him to smell the fragrance she'd selected, his favorite, she murmured, "Is there anything else I can do for you, Gran?"

Those pale, watery eyes lifted to meet hers. "You're the only one who ever really understood what I needed."

"Of course I understand." She smoothed her hand over his stubbled jaw. He hadn't even shaved today. So unlike the Granville she knew. "You don't worry about a thing. I'll take real good care of you." She drifted down to her knees and smiled lovingly up at him.

His broad chest rose and fell rapidly as the excitement of seeing her in that submissive position coursed through his veins. Yes, she knew what he wanted, what he needed. That was her one true gift; she could please a man like no other woman could hope to. Her entire adult life she'd been blessed with the ability to induce a full erection with just a look... a near climax with a mere touch. Time for all that skill to pay off.

The metal-on-metal sc.r.a.pe of his zipper lowering, inch by inch, echoed in the deathly quiet room. His strangled gasp encouraged her, made her all the more determined to ensure he never forgot who had taken care of him this tragic night.

By the time her fingers closed around him, he was more than ready. That she could so easily bring a man of his age to this state of arousal made her better than the little blue pill and far less dangerous to his health.

She cupped his weight, let the feel of her fingers drive him nearer to the edge. He groaned as she moved closer, close enough for him to feel her warm breath on that tender, intimate flesh that quivered and pulsed helplessly in her hands.

Justine had always tried to make the best out of every situation, good, bad, or indifferent. Always saw the gla.s.s as half-full.

Well, her gla.s.s had just filled to overflowing.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE.

Valley Inn 10:15 p.m.

Emily's parents had called to check on her. They'd asked her to come home, but Emily wasn't ready for that yet. They had talked at length about her plans, which were actually their plans about how she should get on with her life and finally put this awful tragedy behind her now that their horrible secret was out. Surely Chief Hale would follow through.

But he wouldn't. He wanted this to go away, just like everyone else in town.

Since leaving Ray's office Emily had cried for Keith, for Violet and their boys. Emily had cried for Heather and her family, especially Troy. And Clint Austin. Finally Emily had reached that numb zone and the tears had stopped. A long hot bath had relaxed her and soothed her aching muscles. She s.h.i.+vered even now at the memory of how she'd gotten all those tender places.

No matter what Ray or her parents thought, Emily couldn't move on with her life until she'd found the truth for Clint's sake and for her own.

Heather's killer was out there... somewhere.

Could Keith's murder be connected to Heather's somehow?

Restless, Emily moved around the room. Was Ray investigating that angle?

As desperately as she wanted the truth revealed, someone else wanted it covered up. The fire was an attempt on Clint's life; there was no denying that. Was Keith's murder about shutting down this digging into the past? Had Keith known something about what really happened that night? Emily couldn't bring herself to believe that Keith would have done anything to harm Heather. But that didn't mean that he might not have known certain things. Heather had promised to tell her something important... had it been about Keith?

The idea that someone could be watching her right now, the same someone perhaps who had murdered Keith, had her peeking past the drapes to see if there were any new cars in the parking lot. So far there were only two other guests. Both their cars were still parked out front along with hers.

Clint had said she could be in danger. But she didn't actually know anything. She had theories, but those were irrelevant without evidence, as Ray had kindly pointed out.

As she started to draw away from the window a vehicle across the street snagged her attention. She looked again. An old green truck. Single-pa.s.senger. Goose b.u.mps s.h.i.+vered across her skin. She recognized that truck from some place, but where?

Then she remembered.