Erica Spindler (15 page)

He stood and ambled over, Sarah at his heels. She pointed. “A shape just beneath the water. See? Its edges are silvery.”

He bent closer, then looked at her. “I think it's a car.”

“A car?” She turned back to the pond. Made a sound of surprise as the shape that had caught her eye suddenly became clear to her. “I think you're right.”

“One way to find out.” He stripped down to his jog
ging shorts, then waded in. She watched as he took a deep breath, then dived under.

A moment later, he surfaced. “It is. And a fine car at that. A Mercedes coupe.”

She frowned, something plucking at her memory.

“I'm going to take another look.”

Hunter went under again. Sarah began to bark. This time when he reappeared he swam back, then climbed out. “I think we better call Dad.”

N
either Avery nor Hunter had a cell phone. They decided the quickest route to a phone would be through the woods and across a pasture to Sam Tiller's place. The man caught sight of Hunter and broke into a broad smile, his weathered face creasing up like a Shar-Pei's hide.

He pushed open the screen door, smile faltering when he saw the condition they were in. “A bit early in the year to be swimming. Water'd be real cold.” He shifted his gaze to her. “You're the doc's girl.”

“Yes, sir. Good to see you.”

“Damn shame about the doc. He was a good man.” He turned to Hunter. “What's this all about?”

“We need to use a phone, Sam. To call Buddy.” Hunter explained about jogging to the pond, Avery seeing the shadowy form of something under the water, then realizing it was an automobile.

The man scratched his head. “A car, you say? A Mercedes? Damned if I can figure how it got there. Come on in, phone's this way.”

They followed him inside. Sam's wife had died back when they were in high school and as far as Avery knew, the couple hadn't had children. The old farmhouse's interior begged for a little TLC. Fabrics were frayed, curtains
dingy and any feminine touches had long since gone the way of the dinosaurs.

It reminded her of how her dad's house had begun to look.

Hunter dialed. Avery could tell by Hunter's side of the conversation that his father was surprised to be hearing from his son.

“You want me to call or—Fine. We'll meet you there.”

Hunter hung up the phone. He turned to her and Sam. “Dad's calling Matt. The farm's outside the city limits and falls under the sheriff department's jurisdiction.”

“Seeing it's in my pond,” Sam said, “I think I'd better get a look at this thing. I'll drive us.”

They all three crowded onto the bench seat of his battered old pickup truck; Sarah rode in back. The sky had begun to turn dark, fat black clouds forming to the south.

Within minutes they reached the turn for the pond. Hunter hopped out and unhooked the chain barricade; Sam eased the truck through. Avery wasn't surprised to see they had beaten both Buddy and Matt there.

Sam stopped the pickup; they climbed out. The farmer crossed to the water, squinted down at the cloudy surface. After a moment, he looked at Hunter. “Damned if it isn't a car. I'll be.”

Just then, Matt pulled up, followed by Buddy. The younger Stevens climbed out, waited for his father, then crossed to the trio.

“What's the deal?” Matt asked.

Sam stepped forward. “A car,” he said. “In my pond. Damned if I know where it came from.”

Matt shifted his gaze briefly to her, then turned to Hunter. “You seem to be in the thick of everything these days.”

“What can I say? Trouble finds me.”

“How about you give me the sequence of events.”

Hunter did. Matt shifted his gaze to hers. “You want to add anything to that?”

Dark clouds drifted over the sun; she shivered and shook her head. “I can't think of anything.”

“How you goin' to get it out of there?” Sam asked.

“Call Bubba, get one of his wreckers over here, haul it out,” Matt answered.

“You're certain it was a Mercedes?” Buddy asked.

“One hundred percent. Silver. A CLK 350.”

The two lawmen exchanged glances. “But you say it was empty?”

“It appeared so,” Hunter confirmed.

“But you're not certain?”

“No.”

“If we need anything else, we'll be in touch.” Matt looked at her. Something in his gaze had her folding her arms across her chest. “Storm's moving in,” he said softly. “I suggest you take cover.”

A
t the same moment the storm hit, Avery remembered what had eluded her before: the guy whose Mercedes had supposedly broken down outside of Cypress Springs, the one whose girlfriend had claimed he'd gone missing. She'd cried foul play, but without any evidence of a homicide, Buddy and Matt could only assume the story a fabrication or that the guy had wanted to disappear.

They had their evidence now. Though a submerged vehicle did not a murder make.

That's why Matt had asked twice about the vehicle being empty. He was looking for a body to go with the car.

“Here you are,” Sam said, interrupting her thoughts. His pickup rattled as it crept up her driveway, then creaked to a stop.

She turned to him. “Thanks for the ride. I really appreciate it.”

He peered out at the rain. A boom of thunder shook the truck. “I don't mind waitin' a minute, till it eases up out there.”

“I appreciate that, Sam. But I'm already wet. A little more water's not going to hurt me.” She grabbed the door handle. “Thanks again for the—”

“It's not true,” he said, cutting her off. “What they all say about him.”

She stopped, looked back at him. “Pardon?”

“Hunter's a good man. Rock solid. Your father liked him.”

Her mouth dropped. He motioned to the door. “Go on now. Before it gets any worse.”

She did as she was told, hopping out into the downpour. Instantly soaked, she hurried to the front porch. There, she watched the old truck rumble off.

What who said about Hunter? His family? Others in the community?

Your father liked him.

She sank onto the porch swing and stared out at the rain. Her lips lifted with a curious kind of pleasure. The old farmer's comment shouldn't matter to her, but it did. It warmed her. She had always considered her father an excellent judge of character. Had turned to him for advice about people often, during both her adolescence and adulthood.

She liked Hunter, too, despite their recent clashes. She always had. As a young person, she had admired his intelligence and wit. His fine, dry sense of humor. She thought back, recalling the times he had helped her with math, the subject that had given her never-ending fits. She recalled how he'd had the ability to make her smile, even when she had not been in the mood to. She remembered the time, after a particularly upsetting disagreement with her mother, when he had held her and talked her through it. Quietly supporting her while getting her to see her mother's point of view as well.

Where had Matt been that day? she wondered. Busy? Or had she sought Hunter out because she'd known that he would be the one able to calm her?

And now, as an adult, she sensed a deep, abiding honesty in him—about himself and his shortcomings and about others. That made him difficult for some to take, she supposed. It made him confrontational.

Cypress Springs didn't embrace diversity. Round peg,
round hole. PLUs—People Like Us. That made them feel safe. Secure.

She had always been the square peg. She hadn't realized it until now, but Hunter had been, too.

Lightning flashed, thunder shook the sky and the rain came down in blinding sheets. Avery turned her thoughts to Matt and Buddy at Tiller's Pond, arranging to have the vehicle hauled out. Standing in the rain, drenched and chilled. And she wondered if Hunter had made it home before the rain had come. He had eschewed Sam's offer of a ride in favor of completing his run.

She recalled Matt's comment to Hunter about being in the thick of everything of late. He'd been making reference to Hunter's having found Elaine St. Claire, now this car. His tone had been adversarial. Confrontational. To Hunter's credit, he hadn't taken the bait.

Matt had hardly looked at her, she realized. Neither had Buddy. Matt hadn't directed but one of the questions her way. His only comment to her had been about the approaching storm.

She glanced down at herself. The wet, white cotton was nearly transparent, her lilac-colored bra clearly visible. Her cheeks warmed.
Great, Chauvin. Very classy
.

She stood, took one last look at the rain and headed inside to change. The phone was ringing; she grabbed it.

She knew a split second before the woman spoke that it was her—the one who had called before. The heavy moment of silence when she picked up the phone tipped her off. She didn't give the woman a chance to speak. “Who are you? What do you want?”

“Damn you to hell,” the woman said, laughing thickly, the sound mean. “Your father's already there.”

“My father was a good man. He—”

“Was a liar and murderer. He got what he deserved.”

“How dare you,” Avery snapped, so angry she shook. “My father was a saint. He—”

The woman began to laugh, a witch's cackle. Pure evil.

With a cry, Avery slammed down the receiver. Without missing a beat, she picked it back up and punched in the Stevenses' home phone. Cherry answered.

“Cherry,” she said, “is Buddy there?”

“Avery? Are you all right?”

“Yes…I—” She sucked in a deep, calming breath, the woman's awful laugh, her words, still ringing in her ears. “Is he there?”

“No. He and Matt are out at Tiller's Pond. Do you need me to beep him?”

“No, it's not urgent. It's just…could you have him ring me when he gets in? It's important.”

Cherry called Matt instead, Avery realized several hours later. He stood at her door, expression concerned. “What's wrong?”

“Cherry told you I called.”

“She said you were upset.”

Avery made a sound of embarrassment. In the hours that had passed, she'd put the incident into perspective. “I overreacted about something.” She pushed open the door. “Come in.”

He stepped inside. He'd changed out of his uniform and wore a pair of old, soft blue jeans and a white golf shirt. His arms and neck looked tan against the startling white.

He met her eyes. “What's up?”

“Did my father have any enemies?”

The question surprised him, she saw. “Enemies? Not that I know of. Why?”

“I've gotten a couple of unsettling anonymous calls. I got one this afternoon and it…I got upset. I called Buddy.”

“The calls, were they from a woman or a man?”

“A woman.”

“The nature of the calls?”

“Ugly.” She folded her arms across her chest, then dropped them to her sides again. “The first time she called, she said that Dad had…gotten what he deserved. And that I would, too. This time she called him a—” she had to force the words out “—a murderer. And a liar.”

“And you have no idea who the woman is?”

“No. None.”

“You try
^*
69?”

“Tried it. Dad didn't subscribe.”

“You might want to add it or caller ID. Just in case she calls again.”

Avery nodded. “I will.”

He searched her expression. “She's just a crank, Avery. You know that, right?” When she hesitated, he shook his head. “We're talking about the doc here. Nobody had a higher moral character than your dad. I believe that. Black and white, no moral gray area.”

“I know. But—” She clasped her hands in front of her. “I keep coming back to what she said, that he got what he deserved. Like maybe, he didn't kill himself. Like maybe somebody helped him out.”

For a long moment, he said nothing. “You mean, somebody killed him?”

She met his gaze evenly. “Yes.”

“Who would hurt your dad?” he asked.

“Someone who thought him a liar and murderer.”

He caught her hands, rubbed them between his. She hadn't realized until that moment how cold they had been. “The CSPD did a thorough job. Dr. Harris is a crackerjack coroner who doesn't let anything slip by him. I reviewed everything as well, Avery.” He gentled his tone. “I didn't want to believe it either.”

Avery couldn't bring herself to look at him. He squeezed her fingers. “This caller is a mentally disturbed person. Or someone with an ax to grind, maybe with Buddy. Maybe someone trying to cause trouble through
you. Why don't you take a look at Dad's report. It'll put your mind at rest.”

“You don't think Buddy would mind?”

“No way.” He smiled. “When it comes to you, Avery, Dad'll do anything.”

She changed the subject. “How'd it go at the pond?”

He slid his hands into his front pockets. “Figured you might want an update.”

“Car belonged to that guy who went missing, didn't it? The one you and Buddy were talking about the other day? The one reported missing by his girlfriend.”

“Yup, sure did. His name was Luke McDougal.”

“Was? He's dead?”

“Don't know. The vehicle's been hauled out. It's empty. Cell phone's in the car. Evidence team has it.” He glanced at his watch. “The property's being searched, the pond dredged.”

Avery shivered and rubbed her arms. “When will that be done?”

“The rain's slowed us down. Not until tomorrow, I suspect.” He met her eyes, expression grim. “I need to ask you something, Avery. What were you and Hunter doing at Tiller's Pond?”

“I went to see him. He was going for a run. I joined him.” She lifted a shoulder. “Ended up there.”

He looked away, dragging a hand through his hair, swearing softly.

“What is it, Matt?”

He returned his gaze to hers. “I'm wondering why you went to see him in the first place.”

“He and I were friends, I guess I still think of him that way. Does it matter?”

She saw by his expression that it did matter to him. It mattered a lot. She let out a pent-up breath. “I wanted to find out more about the St. Claire murder. Since he had been at the scene, I figured he could tell me what I needed to know.”

“You could have come to me. I would have answered your questions.”

“Matt,” she chided, “I'm a journalist. I'm experienced enough to know what the police will, or will not, share.”

He tipped his face toward the ceiling, the picture of frustration. “Help me out here, Avery. I feel like a jerk.”

She smiled. “You're jealous?”

“Don't laugh.” He glowered good-naturedly at her. “Hell, yes, I'm jealous. I know the kind of things that went on at Tiller's Pond.”

Flattered, she closed the distance between them, stopping inches from him. She tilted her face to his, shamelessly flirting. “Yeah, but all those things happened with you.”

Something flickered in his eyes, some strong emotion. One that stirred her blood. “Dammit, your shirt was wet.”

“I was hot. The water was cool.”

He cupped her cheeks in his palms, grip just short of painful. “Be careful, okay? Hunter's not…he's not the boy you knew.”

It's not true what they say about him. Hunter's a good man.

“I'm a big girl, not a teenager, Matt.” He didn't smile. Hers wavered. “Is there something you're not telling me?”

He bent, pressed his mouth to hers in a quick, hard kiss. “I'll pick you up for Spring Fest tomorrow at three.”

Without another word, he left. She watched as he crossed to his cruiser, climbed in and backed down the driveway. She brought a hand to her mouth, to the imprint of his lips against hers. Their date, she realized. Spring Fest, she had forgotten all about it.

A date with Matt Stevens. After all these years. She eased the door shut, locked it, but didn't move from the foyer. What was she getting herself into? What did he want from her?

More than friendship, more than a stroll down memory lane. That was obvious. But what of her feelings? What did she want?

She enjoyed his company, reliving the past. When with him she became the girl she had been back then.

She thought of Hunter, his image slipping into her head, filling it. There was something between her and Hunter as well, she realized. Something strong. Something that caused her to think of him when she shouldn't.

But what? Concerned friendship? Attraction? Sexual awareness?

Or suspicion?

What had Matt meant when he'd said she didn't know Hunter as well as she thought? When he had warned her to be careful?

Moody and aggravating as Hunter could be, she hadn't felt threatened around him. Even when they had clashed. The only thing that had seemed in any imminent danger had been her reputation.

So why his real, nearly palpable concern?