Deadly Competition (Without a Trace) Page 11

  Chuck kept walking.

  “Can I give you a ride?”

  The man finally pulled to a stop. “You can’t buy what I can’t tell. Understand?”

  Their eyes met for a long moment, and when Clint read the soul-deep fear and hopelessness in Chuck’s expression, he knew this was just another dead end. Something—or someone—had intimidated him beyond the lure of food and shelter and a possible chance of a new start.

  “I understand. But the offer still stands. I’m going on to that motel and diner, and the room and tab for some meals will be waiting for you. I’ll also leave some cash at the resale shop so you can get some clothes and throw those away. Clothes, understand? Not beer. Leah would like knowing that I was helping you a little, wouldn’t she?”

  Chuck shambled on with his head bowed, and Clint said a silent prayer as he watched the man go. He would do everything he’d said, and he would hope for just a small flicker of trust to build.

  Because even though the FBI and deputies had come up dry during their interrogations, Chuck did know something—Clint had seen it in his faded, bloodshot eyes.

  TWELVE

  Saturday morning dawned bright and sunny, with the kind of heavy humidity that would blaze into oppressive heat by midday. Back home, Mandy would have felt like going for a long run on one of the trail systems nearby.

  Today she only wanted to crawl under her covers and disappear. What on earth was she going to say when she had to join the other contestants at the ladies’ tea being given at the Loomis Public Library?

  She could hardly talk about her philanthropic efforts or her plans to support good causes in the area throughout the coming year.

  She couldn’t smile benignly at the crowd and recall all of the lovely fund-raising events, review what she’d done on church committees or talk about how she’d enjoyed helping the destitute of St. Tammany Parish.

  Instead, she’d helped her father run his upscale furniture store and some of his other businesses, and that had meant sixty-to seventy-hour weeks during the last few years. She’d enjoyed the challenge, but it had become the entire focus of her life until Dean—suave, charming, handsome, with his bad-boy air and devilish smile—had come along.

  The good ladies of Loomis would certainly be impressed with all the mistakes she’d made. Mistakes that could follow her for the rest of her life.

  A chill swept through her as she imagined the kind of influence Dean would’ve been, if she’d actually married him and had children.

  She moved to the window of her apartment that looked out on Clint’s house. He’d told her to take the morning off so she could get ready for the luncheon at twelve, but it felt strange, staying home while Sarah was probably asking him to make chocolate chip pancakes. Or maybe they were finished eating now, and Sarah was curled up in the big easy chair with her puppy on her lap, watching Sesame Street.

  Feeling a little lonely and at odds, Mandy tied her tennis shoes, took the stairs two at a time and started off at an easy jog toward the Loomis College campus. Just a few blocks away, it offered groomed lawns and meandering sidewalks shaded by the grandeur of live oak and bald cypress and tupelo that had to be hundreds of years old. On its western edge, it bordered on the sparkling deep waters of an inlet off the bayou. This early on a Saturday there’d be few people up and about to slow her down.

  She picked up her pace when she reached the nearly empty campus and breathed in the heady scents of antique roses blooming in riotous colors, plus the lemony-sweet perfume wafting from the massive magnolias now in full bloom. She turned left up a cobblestone path leading through a stone archway heavily draped in purple wisteria, and felt a tug at her heart.

  It was so lush, so beautiful here…like a Garden of Eden. What would it be like to settle here and make a good life for herself?

  It couldn’t happen.

  Yesterday, she’d taken Sarah to Bitsy’s again for ice cream, and Nonnie had repeated the message that she’d given Clint. A man had stopped by for pie and coffee. He’d seemed tense, a little out of place. He’d commented on the local pageant and had casually asked about any strangers who might have come through town recently.

  Casual conversation by a lonely traveler…not likely.

  Nonnie had only been able to say that the man was big and broad-shouldered. He hadn’t taken off his hat or his shades, and a long-sleeved shirt had covered his forearms.

  Dean had a massive tattoo on his left forearm—a snake entwined around a woman. Unforgettable.

  An uneasy feeling crawled up her spine and she pulled to a halt to survey her surroundings. She was far from home. There wasn’t another person in sight. So why did she suddenly sense that a malevolent presence was nearby? Staring at her, calculating her first move?

  Something big lunged from the shadows of a building off to her right.

  Run. Stifling a scream, she poured on the speed and raced for busy Merchant Street without looking back, her lungs burning and her heart battering against her ribs.

  She glanced over her shoulder once she reached the campus gates leading out onto the street.

  There was no one in sight.

  Maybe it had it been her imagination…or that hulking form had simply been a campus gardener. Yet why would he lurch toward her? And she still couldn’t shake the sense that she was being watched, or shake that warning prickle at the back of her neck.

  Melting into the pedestrian traffic on her way home, Mandy kept glancing back toward the college, trying to still the agitation that threatened to tie her stomach in knots.

  The threat had been real. She could feel it in her gut. And that insistent, inner voice was telling her something else: Rationalizing away her fears could be a quick way to become the next murder victim in Loomis.

  Smiling broadly, Shelby met Mandy at the door of the library and clasped both of her hands. “You did come! Clint said you were pretty nervous about this.”

  Mandy looked over her shoulder at the sea of gauzy spring dresses in every pastel hue. The ubiquitous pearls that seemed to be a badge of belonging. All of the other women had their hair drawn up into elaborate chignons or artfully sculpted into sophisticated styles.

  After her frightening moments this morning, Mandy felt as if she’d landed on a different planet.

  “I don’t really belong here,” Mandy whispered. “I think that’s probably clear to everyone but Clint.”

  “Maybe he knows better than all the rest of them combined,” Shelby retorted. Her shiny auburn hair swung as she twisted to look over her shoulder. “Take away those fancy dresses and all the jewelry, and what do you have?”

  Mandy laughed. “A lot of women in lingerie?”

  “See? You are perfect for this contest. Now, let’s go in and mingle.”

  Thankful that Shelby hadn’t abandoned her to the wolves, Mandy nodded politely and murmured pleasantries as they made their way through the crowd.

  Few of the young matrons spared her more than a brief smile, but she hadn’t expected anything different. In her simple, pale yellow sundress and hair hanging shiny and loose, she looked exactly what she was—a twenty-five-year-old nanny. An employee, not a mover and shaker in local society.

  If it hadn’t been for Clint’s sweet admiration and encouraging words this morning, she wouldn’t have even come, but how could she disappoint a man she had grown to care for—even when she didn’t want to—a man who seemed so proud of her?

  Long tables had been set up in a large conference room, and this time the table decorations were a profusion of yellow and white blooms set against ivory tablecloths. When the caterers arrived with an ornate array of chafing dishes to set out on the buffet, Mandy headed for a table in the farthest corner. “I think I see the two with the best chance,” she whispered to Shelby during the interminably long luncheon. “Over there—the ones all the others are paying court to.”

  Shelby paused with a bit of seafood quiche halfway to her mouth. “Charla and Lenore? You think so? Not Lenore, an
yway, with what happened this spring. And Charla—well, there’s a battle-ax I wouldn’t want to cross.”

  Mandy rolled her eyes. “That’s what I mean. Who would dare vote otherwise?”

  When the luncheon plates had been cleared and the delicate lemon soufflés served, Ava Renault stood up at the head table and rapped her water glass lightly. She smiled down at the handsome man seated next to her. “Max Pershing and I would like to thank the committee for all they’ve done to make this contest a success, and to thank all of you for being such wonderful contestants. I’m sure this is the best field we’ve ever had, and selecting the winner will be a nearly impossible task.”

  Charla, her electric wheelchair parked at a table closest to the dais, smiled benignly at her table partners and whispered something to them, then sat back, preening. With her hair perfectly coiffed beneath a stunning black hat and her red silk dress a startling contrast to all of the delicate florals around her, she looked like a rare vintage rose in a field of daisies.

  Lenore, also at the front but as far as possible from Charla, appeared equally intimidating with her platinum-blond hair and striking black suit. She made a clear effort to avoid looking at her competitor when Charla wheeled up to the front, and appeared supremely bored when Charla started to speak.

  When Lenore took her turn afterward, Charla noisily spun her wheelchair around and headed out the door—ostensibly heading for the powder room, though the timing and the attitude were clearly meant as a snub.

  “It’s almost amusing to watch those two,” Shelby whispered. “I don’t believe they’ve ever spoken a civil word to each other. Not once. It’s less amusing when you see how they’ve tried to divide this town into two opposing camps.”

  Mandy fidgeted in her chair as the rest of the twenty contestants went to the front of the room and confidently recounted the community service projects they’d worked on in the past year. The accomplishments of their children. Their goals for the future.

  When her name was finally called, she felt her knees turn to jelly. “This is really so foolish,” she said to Shelby under her breath. “Wish me luck.”

  Shelby chuckled. “Go get ’em, tiger! At least you won’t be boring.”

  At the front of the room, Mandy stood behind the podium and looked out at the garden of color. The beauty of the women. The evidence of all of the hard work done by Ava and Max and all the other members of the committee. And in place of her self-consciousness, she felt a sense of awe.

  “I want to thank Clint Herald for nominating me. It is such an honor to be here, and to see you all. I couldn’t be more impressed by all of the hard work and dedication that you’ve all given to your community. You all are deserving of the honors that await at the end of the contest.

  “The rules state that one simply needs to be the primary caregiver of a child to qualify as an entrant—which is how Clint managed to sign me up. I’m afraid I don’t have the years of experience that the rest of you have raising children—and nurturing grandchildren, some of you. I just want to say that I admire you greatly. My own mother left when I was a little girl, so I can’t begin to imagine the kind of challenges and responsibilities you have all shouldered as good mothers.”

  A smattering of polite applause sounded.

  “But I’ve had a taste of it, I think, while caring for Sarah Farley. The tears and the sorrows. The joy of successfully coaxing a little laughter into each day. The hopes and dreams I feel for her, and for the eventual reunion of her family, if that can ever be. I hope the good people of Loomis will spend their pageant votes wisely on the other, more deserving women in this room. But whatever your thoughts on the sad events of the past four months here in Loomis, I hope you’ll keep this little girl in your thoughts and prayers, and will help her remember her mother in a positive light.”

  Murmurs rippled through the room, followed by louder applause as Mandy made her way back to the corner table.

  “That was lovely,” Shelby said under her breath as Mandy took her seat and Ava once again went to the podium to make some announcements. “I’ll bet you just won some votes.”

  “Please, no. I don’t want them.”

  Shelby grinned. “You won mine.”

  “Okay—one vote. That’s my quota.” Mandy smiled back at her as a feeling of relief eased through her. She’d managed to get through this part. Now, there were just the individual interviews on Tuesday, then community events on Friday and Saturday. The final awards ceremony fell on Mother’s Day. But she wouldn’t have to worry about any sort of public performance that day—the winner and runners-up would accept their awards and speak, and Mandy could melt in the shadows.

  She would leave town the very next day.

  With Mandy busy all Saturday afternoon, Clint loaded up a trailer with discarded roofing materials and headed for the landfill, Sarah and her pup at his side. At seven months, the mixed-breed lab was already a good size, with feet that had recently grown too big for her body.

  “After we finish at the landfill, we can go to the park. Would you like that?”

  Nodding, Sarah looked over Molly’s head at him. “Do you think Momma will like Molly?”

  Clint felt his heart catch. “Of course, sweetie. Molly is a great dog, and your momma loves animals.”

  “Can Molly be at our ’partment?”

  Would Leah want to move back to the building where the horror of Earl’s murder would be an ever-present memory? If he had to borrow every cent, he would see that didn’t happen.

  “I imagine your momma will want to find a nice place with a big yard, so you and Molly can play. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

  “What ’bout my toys? My bed?”

  “I’ll make sure you have a nice bedroom and all your toys, honey. I promise.”

  At the landfill, Clint drove over the scale and nodded to the attendant, then drove back over the winding, bumpy roads to the far end of the dumping site, where she’d directed him to drop off the shingles. He rolled up the truck windows halfway. “You and Molly stay inside, okay? I don’t want either of you walking around here. There could be all sorts of sharp and dangerous things.”

  A Springer spaniel romped past, its silky white-and-brown coat shiny and well kept—obviously a dog not meant to be loose in a place like this. A faint voice called out and the dog lifted its head, then went merrily on its way, sniffing, digging and pouncing on each new burst of delicious scent emanating from the garbage.

  “Here, boy,” Clint called out.

  The dog ignored him as well and ranged farther, past a towering mound left by a garbage truck.

  Clint went back to his trailer and began rhythmically throwing out the heavy, awkward mass of old shingles and ripped tar paper.

  Somewhere in the distance, the spaniel suddenly erupted into a round of fierce, nonstop barking, and soon a heavy-set man came up the road with a leash in hand. He nodded in greeting. “Guess I know which way Arnold went,” he sighed, trudging onward.

  From inside Clint’s pickup, Molly barked furiously, scrabbling at the windows. She bounced across to Sarah’s window and then back to the driver’s side.

  Sarah leaned forward, and Clint realized what she was up to a moment too late. Before he could reach her, she’d un-fastened her car seat and the passenger door opened just wide enough for Molly to squeeze through. In a flash, the dog disappeared.

  “Molly!” Clint yelled. “Come back here!”

  Sarah climbed out of the truck and ran to Clint. “She wanted out,” Sarah wailed. “But then she ran away!”

  “I know, honey. We’ll find her.” He swung Sarah up on his shoulders and picked his way through the rubble toward a muddy, deeply rutted track. “You keep an eye out for her and call her name, okay? Maybe we can follow all that barking.”

  By the time he reached the other man, the fellow had tied his dog to a discarded truck bumper and grabbed Molly’s collar. Both dogs were barking, straining to get at something hidden behind an old mattress.


  “Don’t bring the girl over here,” the man shouted over the melee.

  Instantly, fear knifed through Clint over what the dogs had found. Please, Lord, not another body. Please, Lord, not Leah.

  He swung Sarah gently down from his shoulders. Looking around, he spied a metal folding chair that was remarkably undamaged. He opened it up, tested it, then lifted Sarah onto it. “Now, I have to go over there to get your puppy. You have to stay here, understand?”

  “But—”

  “No. There are sharp, dangerous things everywhere in this place, so don’t get off this chair. Not even for a second. I’ll be in sight the whole time.”

  She stared at the man and her puppy, her face white and frightened.

  “Promise? That’s the only way I can get Molly for you.”

  “O-okay,” she managed around a sob.

  Keeping an eye on Sarah made the treacherous footing all the more difficult. His racing heart and growing sense of dread made each step, each second, take a lifetime.

  “I’m Paul Trenton, by the way,” the man said as he finished tying Molly to an iron bed frame. “I’m afraid my dog turned up something that doesn’t look good.”

  Clint said a swift, silent prayer. “A body?”

  “No. But take a look at that tarp over there. My dog was digging in the dirt like crazy, and he dragged part of it out.”

  It was a pale, gray canvas tarp with singed edges, as if someone had tried to burn it and failed. It was covered with large blotches of rust-colored stains.

  “Blood,” Clint said in a low voice.

  “Looks like it to me, too. Now ask yourself, why would anyone try to burn it, then fold it like that and bury it here?”

  “The canvas wouldn’t burn, so someone buried it way back here, figuring no one would find it. Safer than burying it in their own backyard.”