In the Shadow of Evil (12 page)

—KATHARINE HEPBURN

DARK AND DISMAL. SEEMED the weather mimicked the sentiments of her heart on this January afternoon. Even though it was Tuesday, it felt like Monday all over again.

Even Alana had called with bad news. Fred had traced the drugs Gavin used back to the Ike Thompson site. One of the crew remembered a stranger talking with Gavin off to the side. Now Gavin's probation officer had pulled him from the program. Alana was beside herself.

Layla rested her chin in her hands, staring at the computer screen with Taylor Construction's schedule. She'd received umpteen calls this morning—all asking or commenting about that stupid newspaper article. But the calls that worried her most were the ones from clients. Two had already called and delayed their upcoming remodeling projects. If a couple more did the same, her business could be in for some rough months.

She couldn't blame them, really. If they believed what that nervy Krissy Morgan implied in the article, Layla's doing any work for them could put their project in danger of being destroyed. Who wanted to take that risk?

Understanding that didn't make it any easier to accept.

Do what needed to be done. Wasn't that her motto?

Layla lifted the phone and dialed the number. She would call every independent she'd contracted on the Hope-for-Homes site. There had to be an answer somewhere. She just had to find it.

"J. B. Carpentry."

"May I speak with Jonas, please?"

"Hang on."

Layla glanced at her notes while she waited on hold. She knew every name on the list—knew these people personally—and just couldn't believe any of them would burn a home.

"Jonas Baxter."

"Hey, Jonas. It's Layla." She smiled and leaned back in her chair.

"Hi, Layla. Sorry to read that article about you in the paper. Nasty business."

She let the smile slip away. "It is. Listen, I wanted to ask you about that project."

"Yeah?"

"Do you remember anything odd about the job?"

"The Hope-for-Homes house?"

"Yeah." She lifted her pen and chewed on the end.

"What exactly are you thinking of?"

"Nothing in particular. Just wondering if you remembered anybody hanging around the site who didn't belong or something like that."

"No. I'm sorry."

"Do you have a list of your crew who worked there?"

"Of course."

"I know you had one Second Chancer."

"Yeah. Sam Roberson."

"What do you remember about him? Was he a good worker?" Sam had also worked for Bob Johnson on some days. Was he flipping interests to get onto sites?

Jonas laughed. "I hope so. I hired him on full time after he was released from the program."

Alana would be pleased to hear that. "No problems with him, then?"

"Not a one. He's one of my best workers."

"Thanks, Jonas. I appreciate it." She replaced the receiver and made a note. At least she could cross one name off her list. If Sam Roberson had gone even slightly over the line, Jonas would've yanked him back faster than a flooding in a hurricane. He sure wouldn't have hired him.

Layla glanced back over the list. She'd save the call to Bob for last. Going to the next number, she lifted the receiver again and dialed.

"Denny Keys Electric." The older woman's forced chipper tone grated against Layla's nerves.

"Denny, please."

"May I ask who's calling?"

"Layla Taylor."

"Hi, Layla. You haven't heard?"

She sat forward, hunched over the desk with every muscle tensed. "Heard what?"

"Denny had surgery two weeks ago. Had his hip replaced. He's still in the physical-therapy unit."

Two weeks ago. Definitely couldn't be involved with the burning. "No, I didn't know. I'll have to send him a card. Thanks."

"Anything I can help you with, hon?"

"No. Just give Denny my best when you talk to him." Layla replaced the receiver and crossed another name off the list.

Progress, although she hadn't learned anything useful for her situation. She didn't even really know what she hoped to find out. Something. Anything.

The phone rang, startling her. "Hello."

"How's it going?" Alana sounded awful, even compared to her tone earlier that morning.

Layla swallowed the sigh and forced her voice to come out upbeat. "Making some calls. What's up?"

"I just heard Ms. Ethel passed away."

Words wouldn't form. Layla's heart tripped.

Alana sniffled. "Her grandson says she slipped into a coma and just stopped breathing."

Tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision. "I-I can't believe it."

"I know." Alana sniffed again. "I called Pastor Chaney. He's headed to the hospital now. It's awful."

"I don't know what to say."

"There's nothing to say. I just wanted you to know."

"Thanks."

"Cameron and I are still planning on going to your performance tonight."

"You don't have to."

"I want to."

"Well, considering Ms. Ethel . . ."

Alana let out a little laugh. "She'd be the first one to tell you the show must go on."

Layla smiled as the woman's face danced across her mind. "Yeah, she would."

"She loved watching you dance, Layla."

The ache in her chest tightened. "I know."

"Well"—Alana cleared her throat—"we'll see you tonight. Seven, right?"

"Right. Thanks." She hung up the phone, a large hole already forming in her heart. She'd miss Ms. Ethel. More than she missed her mother.

No. She wouldn't go there now. Layla forced herself to shove aside the grief. She knew all too well she'd take it back out and deal with it later. When she was in the privacy of her house.

Layla glanced at the clock. She had time for another call or two. She lifted the phone and dialed the next number.

"Y Building Supplies, how may I direct your call?"

"Ed Young, please."

"May I tell him who's calling?"

"Layla Taylor."

"One moment, please."

Music flooded against her ear. She tapped her pen to the beat of the easy-listening tune. This was probably a waste of time. Ed had been the supplier her father used most often. He'd been so supportive when Kevin Taylor had died. Encouraging to Layla when she started her own company. She never had to prove herself worthy of his business.

Not like some of the independents she'd had to convince.

"Well, hello, Layla." Ed's booming voice vibrated over the line.

Layla smiled. "Hi, Ed. How're you?"

"Fine. Fine. How's business?"

"You know. Slow season."

"What can I do for you?"

"I need to pick your brain about the Hope-for-Homes project we concluded a few months ago. You were the supplier on it."

"I remember."

"Do you recall anything odd about the job?"

"Odd?"

"Yeah." She lifted her pen and chewed on the end again. "Like if you remember anybody hanging around the site who didn't belong or something like that."

"No. I'm sorry." Ed paused. "Then again, we only delivered the materials and dropped them off."

"That's what I figured." She sighed. "Just had to ask."

"Why? What's going on?"

"Did you see the article on me in today's paper?"

"I haven't read the paper yet. What's the deal?"

She wrapped the cord around her finger. "Long story short, that house was burned down and they found a body in it."

"Oh, dear. I hadn't realized."

"Yeah. So I'm just trying to figure it out."

"Aren't the police investigating?"

She snorted and let the cord go. It sprung off her finger and hit the desk. "I don't think they're doing a good job of it."

"So, you are?" Ed's voice deepened. "Layla, you need to let the police do their job."

"I know. It's just frustrating."

Ed chuckled. "That's why I'm considering retiring at the end of the year. Get out of this crazy business."

"You aren't serious?"

"Not really, but I have thought about it."

"You're too good to retire." She smiled. "Besides, you're my favorite supplier."

He laughed again. "And you're one of my favorite contractors."

A buzzing sound came over the line.

"But now I've got another call."

"No problem. Thanks, Ed. It was great talking with you."

"You too. And I'll think about it tonight. If any memory pops up, I'll let you know."

"Thanks." She placed the receiver back in its cradle.

Another dead end. They were all long shots. What did she think she'd find out?

She glanced at the clock. Four fifty. She'd have to call Bob on his cell. With a sigh, she lifted the phone and dialed the number.

"This is Bob." He answered on the second ring.

"Hey, Bob. It's Layla Taylor."

"Yeah?"

"Do you remember the Hope-for-Homes house?"

"Of course. Do you think drugs were there too?"

She couldn't really blame him for being defensive. Days ago she'd questioned him about drugs on his sites. Even though she'd been as diplomatic as possible, nobody liked the inference.

"Not that I'm aware of. I was just wondering if you remember anything odd or strange about the site."

"You were the foreman."

"I know. But maybe something I didn't see. Like strange visitors to the site when I wasn't there."

"Like a drug dealer? I know you think that's what happened on Thompson's site."

She sighed, sorry she'd ever talked to him. "No. Just someone who didn't belong."

"I can't think of anybody. I didn't see anything out of the ordinary."

Another dead end. And she'd irritated Bob even more. He'd probably never do any plumbing work for her again. "Well, thanks anyway. You have a good evening."

"Why do you want to know?" He interrupted her dismissal.

"Well, the police are supposedly asking around. Trying to find out about the house burning and the body inside."

"So, why are you calling me? Did you tell them you thought someone was using drugs on one of my sites?"

"No, no. Nothing like that." Even though that's what Fred and Alana had determined. She bit her bottom lip. Why
was
she calling? What did she hope to find out? "I'm just trying to look into it. The police don't know any of us."

"You think one of us in the industry is responsible?"

"It would make sense, don't you think?"

"No."

"Then what do you think?"

"I don't know, Layla. I let the police do their job."

The chastisement stung. "Well, thanks anyway, Bob." She hung up the phone, letting her hand rest on the number pad as she thought.

She'd called all the independents she'd contracted and didn't learn a single thing. Except that Bob would never work for her again.

Right now she had to head home and get ready. She had a performance to give.

She'd give the best performance of her life tonight and may just have to do the same to save her business.

"THAT WENT BETTER THAN I thought." Houston started the car and pulled out of the LeJeune's driveway.

Maddox swallowed. "Always hard to tell someone her loved one is dead, though." Worse was witnessing a loved one dying right in front of them. He'd never forget the image of his mother dying on her bedroom floor. The memory was emblazoned upon his brain forever.

Houston glanced at the clock on the dashboard light. "I'm going to interview Fred Daly, Second Chances' assistant director and the good doctors there. Want to tag along?"

"I have plans tonight."

Popping his gum, Houston took his attention off the road for a moment to look at him. "Do tell?"

Heat fingered out across Maddox's shoulders and neck. "Yeah. I promised a certain lady supper in exchange for her help. She called it in today."

"Anyone special?" Houston concentrated on the road again.

"No. Definitely not." Maddox could've bit his tongue. He didn't mean to sound so sharp and callous.

"I see."

And by Houston's tone, Maddox knew he was about to get yet another lecture on the joys of a committed relationship. He wasn't in the mood, so he would cut off the spiel before Houston could start. "And I'm kinda working."

Houston grunted. "How's that?"

"Well, after supper, I'm taking the lady to a performance."

"A performance?" Houston steered the car into the sheriff's department parking lot. "How is that considered working?"

"It's a
Flows of Grace
performance."

Houston turned off the engine and twisted to stare at Maddox. "That rings a bell."

"It should." Maddox smiled. "It's the dancing group Layla Taylor belongs to. I already checked . . . she's scheduled to dance tonight."

"Think that's smart? Just to show up like that?"

"It's a public performance." Maddox reached for the door handle. "She probably won't even notice me in the audience."

Houston opened his door and got out of the car. He spit his gum into the trash can beside the parking lot. "And if she does?"

"So what?" Maddox slammed the door shut.

"She could take your presence there as harassment."

Maddox chuckled as he dug his keys out of his pocket. "Puh-leeze. Harassment? By attending a public performance? That's not harassment by anybody's standards."