Deadly Competition (Without a Trace) Page 8

Long, dark shadows fell across the yard outside as twilight slowly gave way to nightfall. The house creaked and moaned as it settled into the cooler night air, and through the screened windows she could hear the lonesome call of an owl.

  She stared out the windows facing the street, then paced the living room, trying to settle the feeling of uneasiness that had been tying her stomach in knots since this afternoon. She’d tucked the threatening letter into her purse after discounting it as the work of teenagers, but now she wasn’t so sure.

  Clint had been convinced those hang-up calls were from his troubled sister. But were they? She shuddered and wrapped her arms around her middle, wishing she dared call someone back home to ask about Dean’s whereabouts. But she had no idea who she could trust.

  Over the last year, her friends had faded away and Dean’s circle of friends and relatives had dominated her world. Some of her old friends had moved away, and the others…even the ones who had helped her escape might be too risky now—especially if Dean had gotten to them.

  She knew all too well how utterly charming and convincing he could be, and she had no doubt that he’d approached them all, trying to find out where she’d gone. Knowing Dean, he’d probably told them she was distraught and depressed and needed help…which meant they’d tell him if she ever called. Even if their motives were pure, that could bring him to her door.

  Though maybe he was already here.

  Maybe he had written that note.

  And maybe those phone calls hadn’t been from Leah at all.

  She closed her eyes and sifted through the memories of a relationship that was a mistake from the beginning. Deep in grief over the death of her father, and in little contact with her distant, extended family, she’d found refuge in Dean’s concern and caring. His descent into suspicion and control and volatile anger had been so gradual that at first she’d told herself it was only her imagination.

  When she finally woke up and took a stand, he’d flown into a rage, then dissolved into heartfelt apologies and regret, promising he’d never lose his temper again.

  When she announced that she was leaving him, he slammed her against the wall, sending dizzying stars spinning through her brain. “You’ll leave over my dead body,” he’d snarled.

  The further he escalated, the more she knew he meant every word—and that she’d soon become just one more statistic unless she found a way to escape.

  A loud creak sounded at the back of the house.

  Jerked away from her thoughts, Mandy froze, listening. She backed up against the kitchen counter, fumbling for the cell phone lying there. She clipped it to the waistband of her jeans, then hurried to the open windows, slammed them all shut and pulled the curtains.

  Another creak cut through the silence, sending a chill racing down her spine. Was it just the settling of the old house…or something more? And was that the crunch of gravel beneath someone’s feet out by the garage?

  Turning off the lights in the kitchen, she lifted the corner of a curtain. All was black out there, without so much as a glimmer of moonlight…except…

  Except for a faint flicker of light that flashed behind the curtains of the apartment above the garage—her apartment—though she had turned all the lights off. She fumbled for her cell phone, wishing it had a lighted keypad, feeling for the keys to dial 911.

  But before she could finish the call, the back door crashed open and someone stepped inside.

  NINE

  Mandy bit back a scream. She had to get into Sarah’s room and barricade the door. Finish her call to 911—

  “Mandy!” Clint’s voice came out of the darkness. “What on earth—?”

  She heard him fumble for the light switches at the back door, and the lights blazed on with blinding intensity.

  He crossed the room and gently gripped her upper arms. “What’s going on? The lights are all off, and you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  He pulled her into a comforting embrace. At once, she was filled with relief and other, deeper emotions that had no place in her life right now. “I—I heard noises. I thought someone was trying to get into the house…and then I heard footsteps. I turned off the lights so I could look outside without being seen.”

  “Noises?”

  She felt a rush of warmth climb into her cheeks. “Probably just the sounds of an old house, but then I looked outside and thought I saw lights on and someone moving up in my apartment.”

  He stepped back, still holding her, and studied her face. “The footsteps were mine, but I just returned, and I parked out in front. I wasn’t up at your apartment. And I sure didn’t try to enter any other doors.”

  She managed a nervous laugh. “Just too much imagination and a little too much caffeine, I guess. You would’ve seen an intruder if there’d been one.” She glanced at her watch, wishing she could hide her embarrassment. “Sarah’s sleeping, and everything is done here. I guess it’s time for me to head home.”

  “I’ll walk with you and make sure everything is okay.”

  “That isn’t necessary. You should stay here with Sarah, anyway.”

  “I won’t be out of sight of the back door, so she’ll be fine for two minutes. Let’s go.”

  He led the way over to the garage apartment and used her key to unlock the door. After examining every closet and corner of the small efficiency, he handed the key back. “Don’t forget the deadbolt and the chain.”

  “I never forget either of them, believe me.” She flipped on her exterior light and watched him go back in the house, thankful for her solid, locked door and the second-story level that precluded easy access through the windows. This was a safe harbor, for now. She’d just been overly anxious. No one was lurking about.

  She pulled the shades and started to draw a bath with her favorite lily of the valley bath salts, then turned and went to her bureau for a nightgown. But something wasn’t right.

  The drawers were slightly askew. Inside, her meager wardrobe had been neatly folded, but now it looked as if the contents had all been dumped haphazardly inside.

  Icy fingers crawled up her spine as she whirled around. It took just a moment to take a quick visual inventory of the few possessions. Nothing was missing, as far as she could tell. And no one else was here—Clint had made sure of that.

  So were those tumbled clothes just her imagination? Perhaps she’d rushed this morning and had jumbled them herself. After her little scene up at the house, bothering Clint over nothing would make him think she was even more foolish.

  Turning off the bath water, she trailed her fingers in the fragrant warmth, uneasy about the vulnerability of taking the relaxing bath she’d looked forward to all afternoon.

  Tomorrow morning she’d feel safer. For now, she was going to stay dressed and stay alert.

  A wisp of a childhood prayer drifted into her thoughts, and she felt a pang of longing for those days of childlike faith. The peace and comfort she’d felt, giving herself completely to a God she had trusted with all her heart.

  It had been a long time since she’d depended on anyone except herself. The grim realities of dealing with her father, and then with Dean, had robbed her of so much…left her feeling hollow and old and without hope, until the day she decided to run.

  Yet here, in this quiet little town, she’d felt and seen and heard the uplifting of faithful hearts down at the community church each Sunday, and a reawakening sense of joy and peace had started to creep back into her life.

  God, it’s me—Mandy. It’s been a long time. But if you have a minute, please watch over Clint and Sarah, and keep them safe from harm. Bring back Leah so they can be happy and whole once again.

  She closed her eyes, not sure God would even want to listen, willing her message to wing its way heavenward.

  If you’ve got any extra time, Lord, I could sure use your help…because I need to escape my old life and start over. And God, I’d like to do it with You at my side, because I’m not sure I can do this alone. Please forgive me for tur
ning away from you, and help me trust you again. Amen.

  Mandy climbed into bed and pulled out her little-used Bible, opening it to the Psalms. A few minutes later, she drifted off to sleep.

  On Saturday morning, Clint took Mandy and Sarah into town to find the child new shoes, inwardly delighted that he had an excuse for them all to go together.

  His mood took a downward turn when he noticed Lenore Pershing on the sidewalk ahead. The wealthy real estate owner had been badgering him, wanting to end the pawnshop lease early. He’d refused, and stood on firm legal ground since Leah could still be alive, but Lenore had ranted at him all the same.

  Now, she silently passed him on the sidewalk with an arrogant lift of her chin, though the sideways glance she shot at him was laced with venom. A few yards farther down the sidewalk, she stopped to speak with several well-dressed women coming out of Milly’s dress shop, and even at that distance he could hear her railing first about him and then about her nemesis Charla Renault, but the latter was no surprise—the two women bickered if they came within a dozen yards of each other and had despised each other for years.

  What had surprised him and everyone else in town was Lenore’s speedy release from jail this spring, given the way she’d set up her own innocent son to face criminal charges. Apparently, she’d been livid about his relationship with Charla’s daughter, Ava Renault, the woman Max now loved, but what kind of mother would be so heartless for any reason?

  Lenore certainly hadn’t been humbled by the experience. According to some people chattering after church last Sunday, she’d even entered herself in the Mother of the Year Pageant. Unbelievable.

  With a bemused shake of his head, Clint continued following Mandy and Sarah up the sidewalk, but within half a block he felt the malevolent stare of the other wealthy, powerful widow in Loomis.

  Charla, tooling along in her electric wheelchair with an air of royalty, pulled to a stop on the sidewalk across the street when she saw him. “Herald,” she barked, “come here.”

  “Do you two mind going ahead, so you can start looking for tennis shoes that Sarah likes?” he said to Mandy with a resigned sigh. “I know what Charla’s going to say, and this won’t take long.”

  “Believe me, we’ll be happy to oblige.” Mandy’s mouth tipped in a conspiratorial grin. “She doesn’t look like a happy woman.”

  Charla didn’t disappoint. As soon as he crossed the street, she scowled. “Your sister ran because she’s a killer,” she said in a low, hard voice. “My son’s murder investigation won’t end until that woman is on death row—I’ll see to it.”

  He forced a pleasant smile but expected it didn’t fool her for a second. “You know Leah couldn’t have done it. She went missing before Dylan was killed.”

  “If she could slither out of town and disappear, she could certainly slink back. When she’s found, I promise the best lawyers in Louisiana will make sure she pays for what she did.” Her eyes narrowed. “And if you do anything to help her avoid arrest, I’ll see that you face charges as well.”

  Her threats weren’t anything new, and a response would just set her off, so Clint only nodded.

  A harried young woman in pearls and a tight pink suit clicked up the sidewalk in high heels and stopped next to the wheelchair. “Ms. Renault, the luncheon for all of you pageant participants is starting in a few minutes,” she said breathlessly. “Can you come with me?”

  Speechless, he stared at the two of them. Charla was entered in the Mother of the Year Pageant as well? That was a laugh. Whatever happened to sweet mothers and grandmas who baked cookies and played in the park with their kids and helped with homework every night? If Charla or Lenore had ever done those things, he’d be surprised.

  Without a farewell, Charla buzzed away in her wheelchair, leaving the woman in pink to trot after her.

  Clint turned and followed Mandy and Sarah as they headed for the shoe store. Sarah skipped along holding Mandy’s hand, while Mandy looked down and grinned at her.

  The interaction between them did funny things to the beat of his heart.

  He’d only known Mandy a short while, but Mandy had qualities that beat the rest of those pageant contestants, hands down, as far as he was concerned—especially Charla and Lenore.

  A sudden thought struck him. He’d seen a sad, faraway expression in Mandy’s eyes when she didn’t realize he was watching her. Was she lonely, without family and friends here?

  He smiled to himself. Maybe she’d enjoy being part of the local festivities. She’d meet people, make some new friends, and then she’d be less likely to want to move on. He’d been hoping she would stay long-term, for Sarah’s sake.

  Not that it had anything to do with his personal feelings…not at all. At least, that’s what he was telling himself.

  “I need to run over to the bank for a minute,” he called out. “I’ll catch up.”

  He watched Mandy and Sarah reach the shoe store and go inside, then jogged across the street and went straight to the information desk at the bank. Why hadn’t he done this before?

  It was a perfect way to let Mandy know just how much he appreciated her help. And it might just shake up a few of the locals, as well.

  His other, deeper feelings were ones that he firmly shelved. He had serious problems to deal with. A mourning child, a sister in deep trouble. He had no business being attracted to Sarah’s nanny. Not now, and probably not ever….

  But reasoning with his heart was about as useful as trying to reason with the wind.

  “You did what?” Mandy felt the blood drain from her face.

  “I just ran over to the bank and entered you in the Mother of the Year Pageant,” Clint said, looking pleased and proud of his gesture, as if he was sure she’d be thrilled. “The deadline is Monday, so we just made it in under the wire. We talked about it before, remember?”

  Oh, please, no. She rested a hand on her stomach to quell a burst of sudden terror. What if the coverage in the local papers fell into the wrong hands?

  “I thought you were joking. I can’t be in the contest.”

  “Sure you can! If you win, you get five thousand dollars, plus all sorts of other prizes. And it ought to be fun, just meeting everyone and attending all of the events.”

  Fun? She attempted a smile. “I’m not anybody’s mother, remember?”

  “I double-checked the rules. Technically, anyone with the primary care of a child, past or present, can enter. That certainly includes you!”

  “I’m sure that’s meant to include stepmothers. Legal guardians. Or those wonderful people who adopt a dozen special needs kids to give them a chance in life.” Her voice rose, tinged with panic, and she swallowed hard. “Not some hired nanny who’s only been on the job for a month.”

  “I asked.” He gave her a self-satisfied grin. “The gal at the bank is the one handling entries, and she stammered a bit, but then she reread the rules and gave me the form. You’re in.”

  Now all Mandy wanted to do was run and hide, or beg him to go back and rip up the application.

  But if she demanded that the entry be withdrawn, Clint or someone else might find her reaction strange, grow too curious and look into her past. Her new identity probably wouldn’t hold up to intense scrutiny.

  “That was—” she struggled to rein in her fear “—nice of you, Clint. But you should get your money back. Those other contestants are classy ladies with connections here. Women who have made their mark on the community. I’m…nobody.”

  “You’re a special woman, Mandy, and if those judges don’t see that, they’re blind.”

  The tender expression in his eyes stunned her. When had she ever had someone who was proud of her? It certainly hadn’t been her father, who saw her only as someone to groom for the family businesses.

  And it certainly hadn’t been Dean, who had imagined that she would receive a windfall inheritance after her father died.

  Dean’s self-righteous sense of betrayal—as if she’d purposely led him
on—had turned to anger and controlling behavior when her father’s financial house of cards collapsed after his death.

  The sick feeling came back again, full force. She understood Clint’s motivation and could forgive him for his “surprise.” But how would he feel about her when he found out she was living a lie? That she’d just used this town—and him—as a chance to earn enough money to keep on running from a violent, dangerous man?

  She closed her eyes. What would she do if Clint found out her secret before she’d earned enough money to reach California?

  She hadn’t exactly been honest with him. Could she keep her head down, stay quiet and last until she had more money saved? Avoid all the hoopla surrounding this crazy pageant?

  She managed a weak smile. “I think it’s a big mistake. But it was sweet of you to think of me.”

  At a rapid clicking of footsteps, they both turned. It was the lady in pink who had come after Charla Renault, and now she looked more stressed than before. She swung one arm wide in a beckoning motion. “Hurry!”

  Mandy gave her a blank look, then exchanged glances with Clint. “What?”

  Mrs. Pink Suit stopped and twisted her hands together, as she gave Mandy’s jeans and light sweater a head-to-toe inspection. “Oh, dear. We weren’t expecting to be at the luncheon, were we,” she exclaimed in dismay.

  “Not in my wildest dreams.”

  “Still—you’re an entrant now, and this is an important event. You need to meet the coordinators and the other ladies, and hear about the schedule.” The woman tsk-tsked under her breath as she took Mandy’s hand firmly in her own and started off at a fast clip, pulling Mandy toward the Loomis Hotel. “The information has been in the paper for weeks. We’ll have to be better planners in the future now, won’t we?”

  “But I—I just entered. I didn’t know.”

  “We can be thankful Maria at the bank just called my cell to be sure your name was added to our list. My name is Portia Rogers, by the way. I’m one of Ava Renault’s assistants.”

  “Ava?”