In the Shadow of Evil (27 page)

And because of those questions, Second Chances lay in ruins and Layla had death threats zinged at her. Maddox inched to the edge of his chair. "And how did you feel about that? Her asking you questions?"

Johnson's face reddened. "Well, I wasn't too happy, but she was just trying to help with the investigation."

"I see." Maddox glanced at Houston, who picked up the questioning. "Did you happen to notice anything amiss with the site?"

"As I told Layla, no, I didn't notice anything out of the ordinary."

"I see." Houston wrote in his notebook.

"And, no, I didn't know anything about any drugs being used on any of my sites." Johnson's arms over his chest were tighter . . . rigid. He'd locked his jaw, the muscle popping in his cheek.

Maddox leaned forward. "What drugs?"

"Look, I don't know what all Layla told you, but I've never seen anybody using, buying, or selling drugs on any construction site I've been on. Definitely not on the Hope-for-Homes site."

Layla thought drugs had been involved on the site? This could take the investigation into a new direction. Why hadn't she said anything to them?

Houston tapped his pencil against his notebook. "Layla thought there were drugs on a site you were on? On the Hope-for-Homes site?"

Johnson's Adam's apple bobbed once. "Look, she just asked questions. One of the other Second Chancers I had on a site got high. Layla said the only time he'd been off the grounds was when he was working with me on another job." He uncrossed his arms and sat straight, poking a finger through the air. "But I assure you, there were never any drugs on any of the sites I worked. Ever."

"Who was that Second Chancer? Was it Roberson, Watkins, or Lindsay?"

Johnson shook his head. "It was a newer one on the program. Gavin somebody." He shoved his arms back across his chest. "And he was never on the Hope-for-Homes site."

Houston scribbled.

"What did you think of Dennis LeJeune?"

Johnson twisted his gaze to meet Maddox's. "The inspector?"

"Yeah. You heard he was the one murdered, right?" Everyone else in town knew—it'd been in the news and in the paper. If this guy wanted to pretend he didn't know . . .

"I did hear that. Dennis will be sorely missed. What did I think of him? He was a good inspector, I can tell you that."

Maddox didn't miss how Johnson had referred to the deceased by his first name. "How well did you know him?"

Johnson shrugged. "I knew him from the business, of course, but he also was a bowler. Not on my specific team, but I saw him at the alley a lot. Was a pretty good bowler too. Played against him several times."

Finally . . . a personal connection.

Houston tapped his pencil again. "And what do you think of Layla Taylor?"

Maddox studied Johnson carefully. The man's face reddened again. "She's a good contractor. A little intense, but so was her daddy."

Intense? Yeah, Maddox could see that. "And as a person?"

"She's straightforward. Blunt. Sometimes guys don't take too kindly to that. Some have resented her."

"Like who?" Houston asked.

Johnson shrugged. "Nobody in particular. Just sayin' . . ."

Again, no particulars. The industry. The guys. Maddox was sick of the generalities. "Do you know anyone who'd want to hurt Layla or her business?"

"Like I said, I ain't heard anybody say anything bad about her. But guys talk amongst themselves."

"But you're a guy . . . you haven't heard anything?" Maddox jammed his hands in his jacket pockets. Anything to curb the urge to take Johnson by his collar and ram him against the wall until he told the truth. And the stale smoke smell was giving him a headache.

Johnson stiffened. "I'm a boss. I overhear things, but water-cooler talk doesn't come to bosses."

This was going nowhere. "As a plumber, you know how to fit together pipes and things."

Johnson shot him a quizzical look. "Y-yes."

"Do you know how to make a bomb?"

Johnson's expression went slack for just a moment, then he scowled. "What kind of question is that? No, I don't know how to make a bomb. That's a stupid question to ask a plumber. What does plumbing have to do with bomb making?"

Quite the protest. Maddox leaned back and gave Houston a brief nod.

"Only one question left, Mr. Johnson." Houston rapped his pencil rapidly against the notebook. The tapping echoed off the walls holding only business licenses. "Where were you last Friday night between eleven thirty and midnight?"

"Bowling. It was a tournament. All the leagues were there."

Maddox stood and crossed his arms over his chest. Sometimes intentional intimidation worked wonders. "Was Dennis LeJeune there?"

Johnson looked up. "Yes, I believe he was. But his team was knocked out early. They didn't make it to the final cuts."

"Did yours?"

Johnson puffed out his chest. "We won first."

Houston shifted in his chair. "What time did you leave the bowling alley?"

"Right around midnight."

Houston scribbled. "There are people who can verify this?"

"My team. The workers at the bowling alley. Oh, and the unofficial photographer for all the leagues. After we won, we took group pictures."

Houston took down the names, then closed his notebook. "Thank you for your cooperation."

Maddox headed out of the office, his mind scrambling. He'd got a sense from the guy—there was something he hadn't volunteered. Information that would help break this case wide open. But with such an alibi . . .

Houston followed Maddox outside. "What do you make of him?"

"I think he's hiding something. His body language was all defensive. Remember that butt I found at the scene? Well, Johnson reeks of cigarettes."

"Yeah, I picked up on that. And what's this about drugs? Has Layla mentioned anything to you about drugs on the site?"

"No." And he was sorely disappointed she hadn't. If drugs were involved, they could be spinning their wheels. "But I intend to ask her tonight."

Houston's phone rang. He grabbed it from his belt and held up a finger to Maddox. "Wallace here." He paused. "Yeah. Are you sure?"

Maddox leaned against his Mustang GT and glanced at the late-afternoon sky. Dark clouds swirled. The forecast called for another stormy night, followed by yet another cold front. A brewing storm to match his mood—lovely.

"Well, thanks. Appreciate you rushing." Houston shut the phone and returned it to his belt. "That was about the text message."

Maddox stood straight. "Yeah?"

"Traced it back to a throwaway. Was bought two days ago at the local Wal-Mart. Looks like whoever sent the text message paid cash for the phone and minutes."

Those throwaway cell phones were a menace to law-enforcement investigations everywhere. Maddox wished they'd outlaw them. He spun his key chain around his finger. "So that's another dead end."

"Yep." Houston unlocked the cruiser and stared at his partner over the hood. "Maybe we'll get a break soon."

"I hope so."

"I'm heading to the house to check on the boys. I'll meet you at Layla's in an hour or so."

Maddox nodded and got behind the wheel of his car.

They needed a break on this case. Something was there . . . a clue, a connection they had missed.

He needed to find out what it was.

Before someone came after Layla.

TWENTY-SIX

"All progress is precarious, and the solution of one problem brings us face to face with another problem."

—DR. MARTIN LUTHER KING JR.

BRRING!

Layla bolted upright in the kitchen chair, nearly knocking it over. What? She'd just closed her eyes for a moment. How long had she dozed? Darkness crept over the bayou. Thunder rumbled off in the distance.

Brring!

She snatched up the phone and glanced at the caller ID. Out of area? She pressed the TALK button. "Hello." Layla covered her yawn with her hand.

"Layla, it's me." Alana sounded farther away than ever.

And was that panic in her voice? Oh no . . . not Cameron. "You made it okay? How's Cameron?"

"They're getting him settled in the burn unit. Listen, you got a text message."

Definitely panic. Layla yawned again. "From who?"

"That same number. Were you asleep? Wake up, this is important."

As soon as Alana said it was the same number, Layla had come fully awake. "What was the message?"

"Let me read it to you. I didn't want to use your phone, so I'm calling from the hotel." Muffling sounds came over the line. "Okay, here's the message:

Stop looking for answers or someone closer to you will be hurt.

Alana's breathing was so fast, she'd hyperventilate if she didn't slow it down. "Layla, what are you doing?"

Guilt held Layla's stomach in a vise, tightening with every breath. "I haven't done anything." Not in the last day or so anyway. But to know her sister was in another town, unprotected and alone . . . "I don't have a clue who's doing this. Or why."

"Neither do I. You need to let the detectives know about this message. If they need your phone, I can always overnight it to you."

"Wait. They might have an agency there that can come and get it or something." The message was clear. The only person she loved was her sister, so the threat had to be against Alana. But she didn't want to scare her sister.

"I want you to do something for me." Alana's voice was steady.

"I'll ask Maddox if I can come. Considering the circumstances, I'm sure he'll let me leave—"

"No, I'm fine. No one knows where I am."

Unless someone was watching. Following. Fear slithered through Layla, paralyzing her. "But you're the only one I'm—"

"For once, Layla, just listen to me. Do me one favor."

She'd never heard her sister be so . . . forceful and aggressive. Demanding. In charge. "I'm listening."

"Don't worry about me. Trust me, no one knows I'm here."

"Oh-kay."

"But I want you to go check on Mom."

Layla felt dizzy and nauseous all at once. "I don't think—"

"Stop interrupting me. You said you were going to listen."

"Sorry." But the pit of her stomach roiled with acid.

"If this person doesn't know you well, he or she doesn't know you haven't seen Mom. He doesn't know you refuse to go visit your own mother because you can't forgive and move on from the past. He doesn't know you're a stubborn, hardheaded mule."

"Is there a point to the insults?"

"Yes. If he doesn't know you well, he might think you do have a relationship with Mom. She's your mother, after all. Most people do have relationships with their mothers."

The harsh words stung. Yeah, most people did have relationships with their mothers, but most mothers hadn't been drug addicts who neglected their children. Most mothers weren't so desperate to numb their emotions that they overdosed on downers and caused respiratory depression resulting in an anoxic brain injury. Most mothers didn't cause damage to themselves that rendered them helpless and caused them to have to go into a full-care nursing home.

"Layla? Are you listening to me?"

"I hear you, Alana." But she couldn't do it. Not yet. "I'll call and check on her. Maybe Maddox will get a car there or something. Or, hey, I can call Lincoln Vailes and see if the Eternal Springs police could do that."

"You aren't listening to me."

"I heard you. And I said I'd check on her."

"No, you said you'd call and check on her. I'm asking you to go. Get in your truck and drive to the nursing home. See that she's okay."

"I c-can't."

"Yes, you can. And you will. For me."

Oh, her sister knew how to play dirty. When had she become such an independent force?

"Layla, I love you dearly, but I'm sick of this."

"You don't understand. You were younger. I took care of you when she'd forget about us. When she'd be so desperate for drugs that she'd get so agitated and try to take it out on us." And Alana wasn't the one who'd found their mother out cold on the floor. She wasn't the one who had to call 911, holding her breath in fear that their mother was dead.

"I know that. I'm not stupid. I know the truth."

"Then how can you ask me to go before I'm ready?"

Alana's sigh whooshed through the phone where Layla could almost feel her sister's breath against her ear. "I've never asked you for one thing before. Have I?"

"That's not fair. I—"

"No. I've never asked you for anything. The land, you volunteered it before I even thought of it. The loan, you came up with that and didn't even ask for my input. You take charge . . . that's what you do. I love you for it, but I've never asked for a single thing. I'm asking you now. Do this for me. Go see Mom and check on her."

Maybe Layla could just duck her head into the room. See that their mother was the same as usual. That would be checking on her in person, right?

"I have to be here with Cameron, or I'd go myself." The tears were evident in Alana's voice. "Please, Layla. Go. For me."

Guilt tightened her vocal chords. "Fine."

"You'll go?"

"I said I would." Now that she was committed, she didn't have a choice. But she'd just stick her head in the room. She wouldn't have to stay. Wouldn't have to sit there and see the damage their mother had done to herself, not caring about her family enough to break free of her addiction. "I'll go. Tonight."

"Promise?"

"Yes." Layla ground out her answer from behind clenched teeth.

"Call me when you get back. Let me know that she's okay, otherwise I'll worry all night. I mean, I'll be up anyway. I get to see Cameron for ten minutes every hour."

"That's good. I'll call you."

"Thank you, Layla. It means a lot to me."

"I'll let you know what Maddox says about the phone too."

"Okay. Well, I'm heading back to the hospital. Oh, I need to tell you where I'm staying." Alana gave her the information. "Thank you again. I love you."

"Love you too." Layla turned off the phone and set it on the kitchen table.

She stared out into the bayou, her insides churning. Lightning split the darkening skies. What had she agreed to do?