The Liar, Page 25

  “Not on a bet. I don’t like guns.”

  “You’d get over it.” He looked over as a cruiser pulled in. “Shit, should’ve known he’d send Barrow first off. Guy’s affable enough, but slow as a lame turtle. Go on back in, Griff, round up Derrick and fill him in.”

  “You want me to fill Derrick in?”

  “Save some time. He’s a competent individual himself, and he’s been working the bar most of the night. Could be he saw somebody who didn’t strike him quite right.”

  “Whoever did this is long gone.”

  “Yeah, for right now, anyway. You’re a lot quicker than Barrow, Griff. ’Course, that doesn’t take much.”

  “What we got here, Forrest? Hey, Griff, how’s it going? Sheriff said— Holy shitfire!” Barrow said when he saw the body. “Is she dead?”

  “I’d say that’s affirmative, Woody.” Forrest rolled his eyes at Griff.

  Griff went inside to find Derrick and fill him in.

  14

  Shelby sat in the tiny office holding the Coke Tansy had pushed on her with both hands. She didn’t think she could actually swallow.

  O. C. Hardigan had been sheriff for as long as she could remember. He’d always scared her a little, but she figured that was the badge more than the man. Not that she’d ever been in any trouble—any real trouble. He’d gone full gray since she’d left the Ridge, so his buzz cut looked like a shorn-off Brillo Pad. His square-jawed face was fleshier than it had been, and he carried a more generous paunch.

  He smelled of peppermint over tobacco.

  She knew he was being gentle with her, and appreciated it.

  He’d said Forrest had given him a full report on her encounter with the victim—he called the woman “the victim”—but had Shelby go through it all again.

  “And you’d never seen her, been contacted by her, talked to her before this morning?”

  “No, sir.”

  “And your . . . The man you knew as Richard Foxworth, he never mentioned anyone named Natalie Sinclair or Madeline Proctor?”

  “No, sir, not that I remember.”

  “And this private investigator—this Ted Privet. He never said her name to you?”

  “No, Sheriff, I’m sure of that.”

  “How about this Mickey O’Hara she talked about?”

  “I never heard about him before, either. Not until she talked about him.”

  “All righty, then. What time was it would you say when you saw her tonight?”

  “I think it had to be about ten-thirty. Maybe ten twenty-five. I was more than halfway through the third set, and I started right about ten. She was all the way in the back, the far right corner.” She held her hand up to demonstrate. “My right, that is. I didn’t see her before that, but the light’s dim back there.”

  She made herself take a drink. “After I saw her, she got up. Not in a hurry. It was like, all right, now you’ve seen me, now I made my point and I can go. She had a martini glass, but I don’t know who was working that table. It had to be at least fifteen more minutes before I finished the set and could tell Forrest. Might’ve been a few minutes more, but no more than twenty. I had four songs left after the one I was doing when I saw her. And the talk between songs, well, I keep that short. So fifteen minutes, likely no more than seventeen.”

  “Did you see anyone follow her out?”

  “I didn’t, but I was looking for Forrest once she got up and started out. I wasn’t watching the door.”

  “I bet you saw a lot of familiar faces in the crowd tonight.”

  “I did. It was so nice to see everyone.” She thought of Arlo. “Mostly.”

  “A lot of unfamiliar ones, too.”

  “Tansy did a lot of marketing. She had flyers all over. I heard we had a lot of people in tonight who’re staying at the hotel and the lodge and so on, even campers who came in tonight. Something new, you know?”

  “Wish I could’ve been here myself. We’re going to make a point of it, the wife and me, next time. Now, did anybody strike you, Shelby? Somebody who just didn’t look right?”

  “I didn’t notice. Arlo Kattery was here with the two he always hung around with, but they left at the start of the second set.”

  “Arlo’s mostly for Shady’s, or one of the roadhouses.”

  “He didn’t do anything but sit, have a few beers, then go on. I’m just thinking of him because he never looked right to me.”

  “Never has been.”

  “I guess for most of it I was pulling on the familiar faces more, and the couples. A lot of the songs I did tonight, well, they’re romantic, so I played to that. It couldn’t have been anybody from the Ridge, Sheriff. Nobody even knew her.”

  He patted her hand. “Don’t you worry now. We’ll figure it out. If you think of anything else, anything at all, you tell me about it. Or you tell Forrest if that’s easier for you.”

  “I don’t know what to think. I don’t know what to think about any of it.”

  Out in the restaurant, Griff had done about all he could do. He’d helped organize people so the deputies could take statements, or just names. He’d helped Derrick serve out coffee, soft drinks, water, as another deputy interviewed the staff in the kitchen.

  He’d gone out once for air, had seen the police lights around the BMW, and timed it inadvertently so that he watched them loading the bagged body into the coroner’s wagon.

  An experience, he decided, he’d be happy never to repeat.

  The second time he made rounds with coffee, Forrest pulled him aside.

  “Shelby’s going to be out in a minute or so. I need to keep my hands in this thing here. I’m trusting you with my sister, Griff, because I can.”

  “I’ll look out for her.”

  “I know you will. She pushed Emma Kate to go home, and that’s likely for the best. She’ll get out of here quicker without another female to stroke her and ask for details. Get her home.”

  “You can count on it.”

  “I know I can. Coroner’ll know for certain once he digs the bullet out of her, but eyeballing, he figures a .25.”

  “Do you know who she is yet? Real name?”

  Distracted, Forrest shook his head. “We’ve got her prints now. I’ll be running them myself tonight. There’s Shelby now. Give me a second with her, then get her out. She argues, carry her out.”

  “If I do, don’t shoot me.”

  “Not this time.” Forrest walked over, took Shelby by the shoulders as he studied her face, then just drew her in, held her.

  Whatever he said had her shaking her head, again and again, as she burrowed into him. Then she sagged a little, shrugged. When Forrest let her go she started toward Griff.

  He met her halfway.

  “Forrest says you need to drive me home. I’m sorry he’s being so fussy.”

  “Whatever Forrest says, I’m driving you home. Men aren’t fussy—that’s a girlie word. We’re logical and protective.”

  “Sounds fussy to me, but thank you.”

  “Let’s go.”

  “I should find Tansy first, or Derrick, or—”

  “They’re busy.” He didn’t go as far as carrying her, but he took her hand, pulled her firmly away from the building and the hard lights. “We’ll take your van.”

  “How are you going to get home if—”

  “Don’t worry about it. You’ll need the van. I’ll drive.” He held out his hand for the keys.

  “All right. My brain’s too rattled to argue. Nobody knew her around here. People around here don’t just walk up to a strange woman and shoot her in the head, for God’s sake.”

  “Which should tell you whoever did isn’t from around here.”

  She looked up at him with considerable relief. “That’s what I said to the sheriff.”

  “She brought trouble with her, Shelby. That’s how it reads to me.”

  “It has to be that O’Hara person.” The one, Shelby remembered, the brunette had warned her about. “She said he was in pris
on, but she lied about her own name, so who knows what else she lied about. If it was him, and if she was telling the truth about Richard, about all those millions, it’s not safe to be around me.”

  “A lot of ifs there. I’ll add some.” He shot her a glance, sorrier than he could say that the sparkle she’d emitted when she sang had dulled. “If this O’Hara’s around and did this, and if he thinks maybe you know something about those millions, it would be pretty stupid to hurt you.”

  He waited until she got in the van, then settled behind the wheel.

  “And if he’s such a badass, why didn’t she drive away, get the gun in her purse. Why just sit there?”

  “I don’t know.” She let her head drop back on the seat. “I thought things couldn’t get crazier. After Richard died and the roof caved in, I thought, This is as bad as it can get. Then it got worse. Then I thought, All right now, that’s as bad as it gets and we’ll work our way through it. Then she came here and it’s worse again. And now this.”

  “You’ve had a streak of bad luck.”

  “I guess you could put it that way.”

  “Luck changes. Yours already has.” At an easy speed, he followed the wind of the road. “You sold the house, you’re carving away the debt. You packed the house tonight and had them in the palm of your hand.”

  “You think so?”

  “I was in the house,” he said. “And you’ve got a date with me coming. I’m a damn good catch.”

  She didn’t think she had a smile in her, but he found it for her. “Are you?”

  “Damn right. Just ask my mother. Hell, ask yours.”

  “You don’t lack in the confidence department, do you, Griffin?”

  “I know who I am,” he told her as he pulled up at her house.

  “How the hell are you getting home?” She pushed fingers against that headache spot between her eyes. “I didn’t even think. You can take the van, and I could get Daddy to drive me over and pick it up in the morning.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  He got out, came around. She’d opened the door before he got to it, but he took her hand when she got out.

  “You don’t have to walk me to the door.”

  “It’s just one of the many things that make me such a good catch.”

  The door opened as they came up the walk.

  “Oh, baby girl.”

  “I’m all right, Mama.”

  “Of course you are. Come on in here, Griffin.” Ada Mae scooped Shelby up in a hug. “Your granny and grandpa came by, told us everything. Forrest, is he still over there?”

  “Yeah, he’s still there.”

  “Good. Don’t you worry about Callie. I checked on her five minutes ago, and she’s sound asleep. Why don’t I make you something to eat?”

  “I couldn’t, Mama.”

  “Let me look at the girl.” Clayton stepped up, tipped up Shelby’s face. “You’re pale and you’re tired.”

  “I guess I am.”

  “If you can’t sleep, I’ll give you a little something. But you give it a try first.”

  “I will. I guess I’ll go on up. Daddy, Griff left his truck back at the bar and grill so he could bring me home. Thank you, Griff.” She turned, touched her lips to his cheek.

  “I’m going to see you settled and tucked in.” Ada Mae put an arm around Shelby’s waist. “Thank you, Griff, for seeing to my baby girl. You’re a good boy.”

  “But am I a good catch?”

  At Shelby’s tired laugh, Ada Mae gave a puzzled smile. “Best in the whole pool. Come on now, my baby.”

  Clayton waited until they were up the stairs. “You got time for a beer and some details, Griff?”

  “If you’d make that a Coke or ginger ale, I’ve got time. I plan to bunk on your couch there anyway.”

  “I can get you back to your truck.”

  “I’d feel better bunking right here tonight. I don’t think there’s going to be any trouble, but I’d feel better right here.”

  “All right, then. We’ll have a Coke and a talk. Then I’ll get you a pillow and blanket.”

  An hour later, Griff stretched out on the couch—a pretty comfortable couch. God knew he’d slept on a lot worse. He stared up at the ceiling awhile, thinking of Shelby, letting some of the songs she’d sung that night replay in his head.

  At some point he’d let the whole business play around, like the songs, in his head. It’s how he solved most problems. Let all the pieces roll around, try fitting some together, taking them apart again until a picture formed.

  Right now the only clear picture was Shelby.

  She was in plenty of trouble, no doubt about it. Maybe he couldn’t resist a damsel in distress. Not that he’d use that term out loud. Besides, if a woman liked the term, if she was the sort who just wanted to sit around doing nothing while he rescued her, well, she’d bore the crap out of him in short order. And that would be right before she irritated him so he never wanted to deal with her again.

  So it probably wasn’t the damsel-in-distress thing, now that he thought about it. Turn that around into a smart, strong woman who just needed some help. Add in the way she looked, the way she sounded. The way she was.

  He’d be a moron if he didn’t want the whole package.

  He was no moron.

  He let his eyes close, ordered his mind to go drifting. Drifting, he dropped, slept light and restless until, on the edge of dreams, he heard something that brought him to full alert again.

  An old house settling? he asked himself as he strained to hear.

  No. That was creaking boards and footsteps. He slid off the couch, moved quietly in the direction of the sound. And, braced to attack, slapped on the lights.

  Shelby clamped a hand over her own mouth to muffle the scream.

  “Sorry! Jesus, sorry,” Griff began.

  She waved her free hand, shook her head, then leaned back against the wall. Slowly, she dropped her other hand. “Well, what’s another ten years? What are you doing here?”

  “I’m bunking on the living room couch.”

  “Oh.” Now she dragged her fingers through her hair in a way that made all those wild curls go just a bit madder—and tightened every muscle in his body. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t sleep, so I came down to make some tea or something.”

  “Okay.”

  “Do you want some tea or something?” On a thoughtful frown, she cocked her head. “Do you want some scrambled eggs?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  He followed her back to the kitchen. She wore cotton pajama bottoms—bright blue with yellow flowers all over them—and a yellow T-shirt.

  He could’ve lapped her up like ice cream.

  She put the kettle on, got out a skillet.

  “I can’t turn my mind off,” she began. “But if I asked Daddy for a sleeping pill, Mama’d start fussing again.”

  “They love you a lot.”