Lone Ranger Page 22

  “Smart thinking and thanks again.”

  “Thank you for the coffee.” He raised his cup and directed her to the maintenance department.

  She followed the two-lefts-and-a-right directions and wandered around in the belly of the massive warehouse until she located a fortyish woman with stringy dishwater hair whose burgundy smock identified her as Sissy. Emma extended her hand and smiled. “I’m Emma Ferguson, and I’m looking for Clem Stevens. It’s very important I get in touch with him.”

  The woman smiled and offered her a seat on the corner of a pallet of liquid detergent. “I’m Sissy, but I can’t help you.”

  “Because you don’t know where he is, or because you promised not to tell?”

  “Either way, I can’t help you. Clem’s a good man, so why don’t you leave him alone?”

  “He’s not in trouble, but somebody else’s life could depend on my talking to him.”

  “Did it ever occur to you that his life might depend on you not doing that?” The concern in her eyes made Emma wonder if she and Clem were more than coworkers.

  “What’s he afraid of? Has he been threatened? Because I know how that feels.”

  Sissy stood. “We’re done here.”

  “Has Clem ever mentioned the murder of a man in Stuart thirty-seven years ago? Please, Sissy, it’s urgent I get in touch with him.”

  “Like I said, lady, I cannot help you.”

  The optimism Emma had felt earlier settled heavily in her stomach along with the bitter coffee. “Would you at least tell him I came by? Give him my business card, and tell him Ann and Carter West are being railroaded and need his help.”

  “If I see him, I’ll give him the card, but I ain’t saying I’ll see him.”

  Emma took Sissy’s hand and held it tightly. “I know you’ll do what’s right. Thank you for your time.”

  On the drive back to the cabin, Emma tried to stay awake by replaying the facts of the case, but memories of Carter interrupted. She recalled their night together and how vulnerable Carter had been when she’d told Emma about her parents. They’d shared intimacies and been tender in their lovemaking. Carter had even surrendered control, something she now understood didn’t usually happen, but which Emma had needed.

  Had she become so emotionally invested in Carter after only one night of making love? Or was she drawn to the way Carter had spoken about her life with Ann and Cass? Maybe her attachment began when she saw Carter with the children, so attentive and devoted to their needs. Perhaps Carter’s protectiveness of those she cared about and the stable, loving life she and Ann shared had captivated her. She couldn’t possibly choose only one. Carter was all those things and so much more, and somewhere along their short, bumpy road, she’d fallen hard.

  Emma jerked, startled by her last thought. Had she really fallen for Carter? The voice from Emma’s past that always kept her dreams in check boomed with deafening clarity. You might have fallen for her, but she will never love you. You’re not right for someone like Carter West. Billie Donovan’s grinning face mocked her. Carter had sided with Donovan. Emma might not be right for Carter, but she wasn’t giving up until Carter said so. Jealous ex-lovers and self-doubts be damned.

  When Emma focused on her driving again, she was pulling into the park entrance. She glanced longingly at the office, remembering the great conversations she and Ann had enjoyed there, Carter’s stricken face the night she couldn’t find Emma on the trail to Lookout Pointe, and Carter’s sincerity as she apologized for bogarting her that evening. Emma’s throat tightened, and she fought back more tears.

  After she found Theodore Thompson’s killer, she’d confront Donovan about her lies and loose interpretation of the law, and she’d find the nerve to tell Carter how she felt. When Stuart, Virginia was in her rearview mirror, she’d secure a position as an investigative reporter with a reputable paper. And finally, Emma vowed never to listen to that nay-saying voice in her head again…not about work, not about life, and especially not about love.

  When she pulled in front of her darkened cabin, Donovan’s state car occupied Emma’s usual parking space. She called out as she walked to the porch. No response. Where could Donovan be on foot at night in the woods? Emma felt as if someone had jammed a pin in her inflated plans. Her positive attitude popped, and that damn voice announced, She’s with Carter.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Emma spat the hot water into the sink and lifted the lid of the pot. No coffee. Great. She’d finally abandoned the possibility of sleep around five thirty, drank a pot of coffee, and fixed another. While she spooned coffee into the filter, she listened for the sound of tires or footsteps outside. Where the hell were Carter and Donovan? It was almost ten.

  She tapped her fingers on the countertop while the coffee brewed, shoving her cup under the first drip. When she brought the steamy, rich-smelling brew to her lips, she heard a car pull up outside. She raced to the window, coffee sloshing down her T-shirt and burning her chest. “Damn it.” She pulled the hot fabric away from her skin and peered through the sheer curtains without moving them.

  Carter’s Jeep slowly approached the cabin down the long gravel drive. Donovan was in the passenger seat way too close to Carter. They had been together last night. Her stomach churned, and the wet spot on her shirt made her shiver. She wanted to look away, but instead she watched, waiting for the horror-show reveal she really didn’t want to see.

  Carter and Donovan sat in the vehicle, talking for what seemed an eternity. Donovan tossed her blond hair from side to side as she laughed and then rested her head on Carter’s shoulder. Emma suppressed an urge to claw Donovan’s eyes out and then considered doing the same to her own. Why hadn’t she told Carter about her feelings before now? Why hadn’t she trusted her instincts and her heart? The questions tore through her mind while she tormented herself with the scene outside.

  Donovan reached over, cupped the back of Carter’s neck, and pulled her closer. Just before their lips met, Emma turned away. She’d seen enough. Carter had obviously made her choice, and no matter how much it hurt, Emma would have to accept it.

  One car door slammed, then another, and tires crunched on gravel. Maybe she was a masochist, but something pulled her back to the window. Donovan’s car disappeared toward the park exit, but the Jeep remained. Carter sat in the driver’s seat, hands on the steering wheel, staring toward the cabin. She pounded the wheel with her fist, opened the door, and stepped out. Emma held her breath, willing Carter nearer. She took a few steps toward the cabin, stopped, and then ran back to the Jeep. Gravel peppered against the side of the cabin as she sped away.

  What now? She couldn’t go back to a passionless, disconnected life—always remembering and longing for what she’d felt with Carter. Emma sank into the sofa and played several scenarios of what Carter might’ve said if she’d come inside, but none of them ended with “I love you.”

  Her last chance to turn things around was to clear Ann and expose Donovan as a fraud. Time was running out to locate a viable suspect to replace Ann on the top of Donovan’s list. Timothy Black and his assistant had worked at the funeral home until after two in the morning, clearing them of suspicion. Daniel Tanner certainly had motive, and Harriett said the two men had fought publicly. She’d dig a little deeper in that direction, and if nothing else, it would take her mind off Carter for a while.

  After her first luxurious soak in the claw-foot tub, she dressed and was in the tax department office downtown two hours later. A clerk escorted Emma to the computer room and demonstrated how to use the outdated equipment. She drummed her fingers on the side of the antique as the cursor on the screen flashed. She imagined tiny minions inside the archaic machine running back and forth, climbing miniscule ladders, and dragging huge tomes of fifty-year-old tax records on Daniel Tanner. She laughed aloud but covered her mouth when the clerk eyeballed her.

  When the screen filled with data, she clicked through each page until she found the information she needed. The result
s were much better than she’d expected: months of delinquent notices, lien advertisements, and foreclosure papers on Tanner’s drugstore property. A special notation on two pages indicated Theodore Wayne Thompson had made an offer to assume Tanner’s loan and the tax debt. She made a copy and highlighted the pertinent data. This information might not solve the case, but it could take the spotlight off Ann long enough for Emma to find the killer. Adrenaline surged as she ran across the street toward the sheriff’s office.

  Sheriff Echols met her at the door. “You look like a little kid with a new toy. What’s up, Ferguson?”

  “We have another suspect to consider.”

  “Come in, and let’s take a look. I sure hope you’re right.”

  Emma spread the tax records across the desk and tried to wait patiently, drinking more coffee and pacing.

  Echols read the papers and checked something on his computer. He finally scratched his chin and pushed his chair back from the desk. “This isn’t going to work.”

  “Everybody knows Thompson wanted to buy Tanner’s store and even tried to force the bank into early foreclosure.”

  “But what I’m telling you is—”

  “Anybody could’ve had a gun back then, and just about everybody did. I admit that part would be hard to prove, but he certainly had the opportunity. By his own admission he closed the store early that night.” Emma leaned over Echols’s desk, desperate to make her point.

  “Yeah, he did, but—”

  “And folks witnessed the two of them in a fist fight on Main Street about Thompson trying to buy him out.”

  “There’s still paperwork on file to back that up, but, Ferguson—”

  “Plus Tanner’s reputation as a drinker started about the same time, and he hasn’t slowed down much, maybe a man with something to hide.”

  “You’re right again, but—”

  Emma threw her hands in the air. “But what, Sheriff? It doesn’t sound like you want to consider this at all.”

  “I’ve been listening. You wouldn’t let me get a word in edgewise. If you had, I’d have told you Daniel Tanner couldn’t be a suspect.”

  “But this,” she pointed to the papers on his desk, “raises enough doubt to take a look.”

  “But Tanner was in jail that night.”

  “Sheriff, I really don’t—” Echols’s words registered, and Emma stared at him. Her rush of adrenaline evaporated, and she slumped into a chair. “He was in jail?”

  “Contrary to what Ms. Donovan thinks, I’m not some hayseed playing at being a sheriff. I checked on everybody who could’ve been a suspect. The records clearly show Tanner was in jail that night for affray, disorderly conduct, and destruction of property.”

  “How is that possible, Sheriff? He admitted he was at the store until after ten o’clock.”

  “I’ve got a copy of the original report. He told the deputy he started drinking before he left the store because Thompson called, taunting him about his financial situation again. He closed just before ten thirty and went to Wally’s. He was almost crocked when he got there.

  “He started a fight with the first guy who looked at him crossways. They tore up the place pretty good, and the owner pressed charges. He was in lockup before eleven o’clock and left around noon the next day. Thompson was seen on the street after eleven. I’m sorry to blow your theory apart.”

  “None of that was in the statements.”

  “The deputy didn’t see the need to document it. An error on his part,” the sheriff said.

  “I can’t believe it. I thought we had something.” Emma dropped her head into her hands.

  The phone rang and the sheriff answered, making notes as he listened. A few minutes later he hung up and pulled his coat off the back of his chair. “I’m sorry as I can be about this, but I’ve got to go over to the curb market. One of the local kids stole a bunch of cigarettes and beer. Will you be all right?”

  She nodded. “Mind if I sit here a few minutes until I figure out what to do next?”

  “Make yourself at home. There’s even some relatively fresh coffee in the back.” He grabbed his hat from the coatrack and closed the door softly.

  Emma’s head pounded. She felt like a cub reporter on her first story. She should’ve checked the jail records to tie up loose ends. What a rookie mistake. “Sorry, Dad.”

  The shrill ring of her cell phone pierced her aching head, and she searched her bag for aspirin. “This is Emma Ferguson.” She downed four pills with lukewarm coffee and waited for the caller to speak. Her disappointment was so thick she had to muster even the tiniest bit of enthusiasm. “Hello. Is anyone there?”

  “Ms. Ferguson?” a soft female voice asked.

  “Yes, how can I help you?” Emma prayed the caller would get to the point as soon as possible. Her head was a bowling pin with the ball barreling her way.

  “Ms. Ferguson, this is Sissy Brown from the superstore. Remember me?”

  Emma’s energy returned and she forgot all about her headache. “Of course I remember you, Sissy.”

  “Clem, that is, Mr. Stevens, wanted me to tell you that he’d meet you tonight.”

  Emma’s body tingled, on high alert once again. “That would be great. When and where?”

  “He said to come by the Food Lion warehouse in Stuart around eleven tonight. He’s got a job doing evening maintenance. Won’t be nobody there but him. He’ll leave the back door unlocked. Just holler out when you come in.”

  “Sissy, I really appreciate this. You have no idea—”

  “There’s one more thing, Ms. Ferguson. Clem said to bring the sheriff. He don’t feel safe otherwise. Besides, he only wants to tell this story once.”

  “Of course, and thanks again, Sissy.”

  Emma disconnected and wrote a message for the sheriff with the particulars about the interview. She folded it over, scribbled Urgent on the outside, and left it in the center of his desk. She argued with herself for several minutes before leaving a message on Donovan’s voice mail about the meeting. She wanted Donovan to be there with the sheriff to hear what Clem said so she couldn’t possibly distort it later.

  *

  When Emma’s car pulled into the park entrance, Carter jerked her hand out of the way just before the office door closed on it. Emma accelerated and then slammed on brakes so hard the old car stalled and rolled limply into the parking lot and stopped in front of them. How did Emma manage klutzy while driving a car? She wanted to talk to Emma, and she didn’t. She followed Ann toward the Jeep. If she didn’t make up her mind soon, she’d lose the opportunity. Emma made the decision for her.

  “Ann. Carter. If you have a few minutes, I’d like to discuss something with you.” Emma lurched toward them, her gait one of uncertainty or impending flight. She wound a strand of her long red hair around a finger and pulled at tangles.

  Carter stared at Ann, willing her to speak, but Ann was apparently leaving the decision to her. The awkward silence stretched, and the longer it continued, the more Emma’s face paled. “Yeah. I think that would be a good idea.”

  Once Carter had broken the ice, Ann jumped in. “You’re darned right we need to talk, but not in the parking lot. We’ll follow you to the cabin so we can have some privacy.”

  In the Jeep, Ann placed her hand on Carter’s arm before she cranked the car. “You know I love you more than my life, don’t you?”

  The words landed with a sick certainty in Carter’s gut. “Yeah. What’s wrong?”

  “You’re in for a shock tonight, but just remember everything I’ve done in my life, I’ve done for you.”

  Carter felt like the Jeep was closing in on her. She pulled for breath. “What are you saying, Ann? Should we leave? Go somewhere else? I’ll take care of whatever it is.” She’d lost everyone she loved once when she was helpless to do anything about it, but she wasn’t going to let it happen again. She’d protect Ann no matter what the cost.

  Ann leaned over and kissed her cheek. “I know you would, child
, but we have to stay and face this together. It’s long overdue.”

  “If you don’t tell me what’s going on, I can’t protect you, not even from Emma.”

  “That’s not necessary. Let’s go.”

  The short distance to Emma’s cabin felt like a long, slow drive to a future she wasn’t ready to face. Carter and Ann had kept a secret for years, but Carter had never known what it was. When she’d asked Ann about Cass’s appearance in their lives, she’d been told it was divine intervention. She’d always known there was more to the story but never broached it again. Was she ready to hear it now, or would it destroy everyone and everything she loved?

  When they entered Emma’s cabin, Carter smelled fresh brewing coffee with a hint of Emma’s distinctive fragrance in the background. She glanced at the sofa, and flashes of her night making love with Emma returned. She considered running, but she would’ve left something vital behind. And tonight Ann needed her support and possibly her protection.

  “Either of you care for something to drink?” Emma asked. “I have fresh coffee and a little brandy. It’s not as good as yours, Ann, but it’ll do in a pinch.”

  Carter shook her head.

  Ann said, “I’ll take a shot of that brandy. Think I’ll need it.”

  Emma poured a healthy dose for Ann and handed it to her. “Okay, guess I’ll get star—”

  Ann held up her hand and knocked back half of the brandy in one swallow. “I hope you don’t mind, but I have a few things to say first. Get comfortable. It’s going to be a long evening.”

  Carter tried to intervene. “Ann, don’t you think you should let Emma—”

  “Absolutely not. What I have to say affects both of you and has already caused more trouble that it should’ve for a lot of people.”

  Carter and Emma approached the sofa they’d made love on a few days ago from opposite ends and sat as far apart as possible. Emma looked as scared as Carter felt.

  Ann pulled one of the kitchen chairs over in front of the coffee table. “First, I want to tell Emma the rest of mine and Cass’s story.”