Last Kiss Goodbye (21 page)

“Who was that?” he asked, wondering if the caller was the man who’d threatened her.

“George Riddon,” she said quietly, “a man I work with. I’ll phone him back later.”

He let the comment slide, although her clipped response and refusal to answer the call spiked his curiosity. What if the two of them had a personal relationship he’d stepped into the middle of? He didn’t want to pursue that now. Couldn’t think of Ivy with another man.

“Ivy, do you know anything about the property your parents owned?”

She shrugged. “No. Why?”

“The woman who raised you never mentioned monies collected from a real estate sale? Maybe she used the funds to raise you. Or maybe she put them in a trust fund for you.”

“Miss Nellie never mentioned it. And the lawyer who handled her affairs said there was nothing but her house when she died.” Ivy sipped her coffee. “What’s this about, Matt?”

“Just a theory.” His lips thinned to a grim line. “I’m looking for a motive that might explain your parents’ deaths.”

She grew quiet for a minute, obviously contemplating the possibilities. “Arthur Boles worked in real estate, didn’t he?”

Matt nodded, sped around the curve past the new subdivision, and drove to the more affluent side of Kudzu Hollow. They passed a large white building at the top of one of the ridges that looked as if it had once been a business, but was shut down. She wondered what it had been.

“I don’t remember this part of town,” Ivy said.

“Boles owns an estate on the river.”

She swallowed, studying her surroundings as she spotted the black wrought-iron gate surrounding the estate. Boles’s antebellum house was reminiscent of a picture from
Southern Living
magazine. Set off from the main road, the two-mile drive was flanked by dogwood trees and live oaks.

Ivy frowned, surprised to see A.J.’s squad car in front of the house. Facing Arthur was daunting, but having his son present unsettled her even more.

A few minutes later, a butler with white hair and a curt expression answered the door. Loud, heated voices echoed through the hallway as they approached the study. The voices quieted immediately when the butler knocked, and they entered the massive paneled study. A.J. and his father stood on opposite sides of the room, staring at each other warily.

“We need to talk,” Matt said without preamble.

“Look, Mahoney,” A.J. began, “I’ve gotta go. I have two boys who need to be arraigned, a dead hooker, and the feds are on their way here today to ask questions.”

“I think you should stick around,” Matt said. “Hear what your father has to say.”

Momentary panic flickered in A.J.’s eyes, and Ivy stiffened. What did he know that he wasn’t telling?

Then Ivy glanced from A.J. to his father, and the air caught in her lungs as another distant memory surfaced. Arthur Boles had been at her mother’s house the night she died.

But so had A.J.

ARTHUR BOLES SHOT Matt an intimidating look, but Matt didn’t waver.

“What’s this about?” Boles asked.

“The night the Stantons died,” Matt said in a cold voice. “Ivy remembered that you were at the house. I think you were working a land deal back then, and that you had an affair with Lily with the intentions of swaying her to sell for less money than the property’s value. Either she caught on to your scam, or she wanted more money. Maybe she even threatened to expose your affair—”

“What Lily Stanton and I had was not an affair,” the older man snarled.

Matt’s heart hammered in his chest. He knew what Boles was going to say, but the truth would hurt Ivy.

Hoping to protect her, he hurriedly cut off Boles before he could continue. “Did she threaten to expose you—is that what happened?”

Boles shook his head, a bead of sweat trickling down his jaw.

“My father didn’t kill anyone,” A.J. snapped. “You’re way out of line, Matt.”

“Am I?” he asked. “Ivy saw him in her house with her mother that night. And I’ve seen him with Talulah a couple of times since I’ve been back, and now Talulah’s dead. Maybe Talulah knew the truth and threatened to expose him, too.”

“Don’t be crazy,” Arthur shouted.

“He was standing beside her outside Ivy’s trailer at the fire.” Matt’s voice rose a decibel. “I think he was afraid Ivy would remember, and he tried to kill her to keep her quiet.”

“That’s ridiculous,” A.J. hissed.

“Is it?” Matt asked.

Ivy cleared her throat. “Then if you didn’t kill my mother, Mr. Boles, maybe your son did, and you covered for him.”

Matt jerked his head toward her, confused.

A.J. pounced toward Ivy. “Shut up, that’s not true.”

“You were there, too,” Ivy said, her voice low, distant. “I remember now. I saw you. You were in bed with my mother….”

A.J. shook his head, but Matt read the blind panic in his eyes. He’d suspected Arthur Boles Sr. but not his son. Dear God, had his own best friend killed the Stantons and left Ivy without a family—then let Matt take the fall?

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

BITS AND PIECES OF THAT night flashed back like fireflies flickering in the darkness. Ivy had woken up and seen A.J. in the bedroom with her mother. She’d heard the noises, the ugly sounds of the two of them grunting like rutting animals. Then A.J. had chased Ivy away.

Later, she’d awakened again, and when her father came in, she’d seen Arthur Boles helping A.J. out the back door. Panicked and frightened, she’d turned away from the men, then had spotted her mother lying on the floor in a pool of blood.

She dropped onto the floor and sobbed, pulling at her mother’s arm, trying to wake her. She couldn’t be dead. No, her mother wouldn’t leave her.

Her father had grabbed her and forced her to look at the blood…. “It’s all your fault, Ivy. You’re poison….”

“Ivy?” Matt slid a hand to her arm. “Are you okay?”

She nodded, the image of A.J. and his father running away from her mother’s dead body haunting her. “You killed her, then you left her there to die,” she whispered. “How could you just leave her that way?”

“It wasn’t like that,” Arthur Boles argued.

“Dad’s right,” A.J. said in a hoarse voice. “I…did sleep with your mother, but I was drunk, and then I passed out. After that, I don’t know exactly what happened.”

Ivy shuddered and backed away, her stomach twisting into a knot.

“My son did nothing wrong,” Arthur said. “Your mama was a whore. Half the men in this town slept with her.”

Shock immobilized Ivy. “No…no, my mother wasn’t—”

“Yes, she was,” A.J. said sharply. “She made money on her back while you went to school, Ivy. And sometimes at night, she’d sneak in more customers. She liked the money, she liked men and she was damn good at seducing them.”

Ivy swung toward Matt. He had to deny it. Tell her it wasn’t true. Her mother was a good person. She’d loved Ivy. She’d baked cookies with her, collected Santa Clauses and told her stories about the Ivy League universities. “Matt, no, they’re wrong—”

“Ivy…” Matt’s own voice broke, the denial failing to materialize.

“You knew?” she rasped.

His eyes flickered with guilt as he reached for her, but she yanked her arm away.

“Of course he knew,” A.J. hissed. “The two of us went to Red Row together for our first time. Who do you think broke us both in, Ivy?”

Ivy gasped.

Regret and guilt filled Matt’s eyes. “Listen to me, Ivy—”

“No.” She shook her head and took another step backward, disgust pouring through her in waves of nausea. The three of them were repulsive. “I can’t believe you, Matt. God, I trusted you.”

She had fallen in love with him. She’d even thrown herself at him.

And he had slept with her mother.

Pain, raw and fiery, rippled through her, and she clutched her abdomen and doubled over. A sob welled in her throat, the image of Matt in bed with her mother racing in her mind like a horror show.

She had to get out of there. Away from all three of them. Away from the sight of Matt reaching for her, trying to placate her when he’d denied her the truth about her mother.

And that he had taken her mother to bed before Ivy had jumped in the sack with him.

A cry wrenched from her as she turned and fled, fighting the bile rising to her throat. Outside, rain splattered her hair and clothes as she threw herself into Matt’s SUV and groped for the key. Thunder roared above, and lightning shot its jagged line across the hood. Matt raced outside and grabbed the car door. “Stop, Ivy, listen—”

“Don’t, Matt. I…if you lied about that, maybe you’ve lied about everything. Maybe you did kill my parents.”

PAIN STABBED AT MATT as Ivy sped away. He had to go after her. Explain. Make her forgive him.

But her accusations stung so deeply that his feet remained rooted to the concrete. It would always be this way for him—people would never fully trust him. Why had he thought Ivy was different?

Rain drenched his face and ran into his eyes, and he finally latched onto the anger and bitterness that had driven him for so long, spun around and headed back inside. The Boleses had some explaining to do. If his former buddy and A.J.’s father had killed the Stantons, they had to pay.

Their booming voices pierced the hall as he strode back into the study.

“I hope you’re proud of yourself, you asshole,” Matt shouted.

A.J. jammed his hands into the pockets of his uniform. “She had to know the truth before she attacked me. Her mother was a slut and you know it.”

“Did you kill Lily Stanton?” Matt asked between clenched teeth.

For a second, A.J.’s face paled to a deathly white. “I don’t remember what happened. I got drunk and blacked out.”

“Shut up,” Arthur barked. “Don’t say another word, A.J.”

“Why? So you can cover his ass?” Matt asked. “Is that what happened that night? A.J. got drunk and killed Lily, then you had to step in and protect him by setting me up?”

Red stained Boles’s cheeks. “He’s my son. I had to protect him.”

“So why did you do it, A.J.?” Matt asked. “It wasn’t about the land deal, and Lily Stanton couldn’t have blackmailed you. You were just a kid. Did you kill her just for kicks?”

“He told you, he had sex with her, then blacked out,” Arthur interjected. “When he woke up, Lily Stanton was dead. He panicked and called me, so I drove over and got him. End of story.”

“If that’s the truth, then why didn’t you speak up fifteen years ago?” Matt asked.

A.J. looked at him deadpan. “When they arrested you, I…thought maybe you had done it.”

The blood roared in Matt’s ears. “That’s a lie.” He glanced from father to son. “But I get it now—you actually thought your dad might have killed her.”

A.J. refused to look at his father.

Boles’s voice thundered across the study. “Is that true, A.J.? You thought that I killed the woman?” Arthur dropped his head into his hands. “Hell, son, I almost set fire to those cabins to protect you, and you were innocent. I could have killed Ivy.”

A.J. shrugged, a helpless look on his face. “I’m sorry, Dad. But I didn’t call you that night. You were already there when I woke up, and Lily was dead.”

Caught in a lie, Boles scrubbed a hand through his thinning hair. “I knew you were drinking, and that you might be in trouble. Dammit, it wasn’t the first time. You never knew how to hold your liquor.” He wheezed a breath. “Anyway, I went driving around looking for you, then I saw your car at the Stantons’. I was trying to arrange this land deal with her and didn’t want you to screw it up by getting involved with her. When I went in, I smelled whiskey and saw all that goddamn blood. You were passed out cold, so I dragged your butt out of there.”

“And you thought I’d killed her?” A.J. asked.

Arthur stared down at his fisted hands but refused to answer.

Matt’s head spun. He wasn’t sure who to believe. All these years, both men thought they’d been protecting the other, yet each had suspected the other was guilty.

So which one of them was lying now? Which one had killed the Stantons?

And if neither of them had killed Lily and her husband, who had?

IVY FELT AS IF SOMEONE had driven a stake into her heart. Her chest throbbed with the effort to breathe, the sobs racking her body consuming her remaining energy. Blinded by tears, she hit a rut in the road, nearly lost control and swerved, barely missing an oncoming truck. It blared its horn, and she jumped and overcorrected, skidding near the rail where the mountain ridge dropped off hundreds of feet below. Ivy screamed, then slammed into it with such force that fiery sparks spewed from the car hood, and the metal rail buckled. She held her breath at the sound of tires screeching and gears grinding, and heaved in relief when the SUV finally lurched to a stop.

Hands trembling, she dropped her head forward, closed her eyes, shuddering. She should have listened to Miss Nellie and stayed away. A car zoomed past, and she jerked upright, praying Matt hadn’t followed her. She had to pull herself together, go back to the cabin and pack, then leave town right away. She couldn’t stay one more minute in a town where people thought her mother was a hooker, where men like Arthur and A.J. Boles lived.

And she couldn’t bear to stay another second in the cabin she had shared with Matt. Not and smell the lingering scent of his body, or sleep in the bed where she’d proclaimed her love to the man. She felt dirty all over, sick and aching. She’d have to shower, wash off the stench of his hands and his lies.

But the mere idea of a shower only reminded her of the night before when she’d climbed inside with him and nearly begged him to take her. Her misery tripled, running so deep she thought that surely his betrayal had sliced open an artery. A horn blasted the air, and Ivy jerked her head up to see a pickup truck approaching. She was well off the road, but didn’t feel like dealing with anyone now, even a kind stranger, if one actually existed in this town.

Shaking all over, she inhaled several deep breaths, determined to make it back to the cabin and pack before Matt could catch her. Then again, he might not. He had his answers now—Arthur Boles and his son had killed her parents, then framed Matt.

She had just been a pawn to him, used to find out the truth. And she’d thrown in a night of hot sex for free, volunteered it on her own. How could she really blame Matt?

She had been the fool. She had proclaimed her love. Matt had never made any promises.

No, he’d simply lied and taken what she’d offered without bothering to fill her in on the— No, she couldn’t think about it again or she would be too ill to drive back to the cabin.

And she would survive, dammit.

She flipped the key again, and the engine caught. Thank God. Shifting into gear, she hit the accelerator, swerved onto the road and blinked away tears. In an hour, she’d be out of Kudzu Hollow. She couldn’t leave this godforsaken place fast enough.

Then somehow, she had to figure out a way to forget Matt Mahoney.

MATT DESPERATELY WANTED to make Ivy believe him, but she hadn’t had enough faith in him to listen to an explanation. Just as his mother hadn’t years ago, and others hadn’t when he’d returned to Kudzu Hollow. And now that he suspected both A.J. and his father had had something to do with the Stantons’ deaths, he wasn’t about to leave them alone. Ivy needed time to calm down, then maybe she’d listen to the truth about him and Red Row.

At least if Arthur or A.J. turned out to be the killer, Ivy was safe.

A.J.’s phone buzzed, and he cursed as he glanced at the caller ID. “It’s the damn feds. They’re at my office. I have to go now.”

“We’re all going,” Matt said. “Then we can sort out the past.”

Arthur and A.J. exchanged furtive looks. “I’m calling my lawyer to meet us there,” Arthur said.

Lumbar’s offer to help Matt right the wrong from years ago echoed in his head. Maybe his own lawyer had evidence that he hadn’t pursued, evidence that would pinpoint the killer’s identity. “I’m calling Lumbar, as well,” Matt stated.

A.J. grunted and headed to his car, and Matt and his father followed. Arthur grabbed his cell phone, punched in his lawyer’s number and arranged for him to meet them at the station.

The ride to the station was strained. A.J. worked his mouth as he drove, the rain drilling into the ground.

Matt remembered the other arrests. “Do you know for sure that those boys killed their mothers?”

“We’ve got pretty solid evidence. DNA from both boys on their mother’s bodies. They were also both part of that river cult. One of the boys’ sweatshirts was ripped. He might have been the one who attacked Ivy.”

Matt clenched his jaw. “I’d like a minute alone with him.”

“I can’t allow that, Matt,” A.J. said. “The law will take care of him.”

He made a sarcastic sound. “I don’t have much faith in the law, A.J., especially with you as sheriff.”

A.J. shot him a hurt look. “I…I’m sorry, Matt.”

“It’s too late for apologies,” he snapped. “But if you’re any kind of man, you could at least speak up now and tell the truth.”

He cut his eyes to the back at Arthur Boles, but he remained tight-lipped, his hands fisted.

A.J. looked at the road and clammed up tight. Matt grimaced and said a silent prayer that Lumbar had some concrete evidence to uncover the real killer’s identity.

Then Matt had to find Ivy and make things right with her.

He just hoped to hell she could forgive him for that night at Red Row….

THE SUV BOUNCED over the ruts in the road, the windows rattling with the wind. Ivy swiped at her tears, barreled down the graveled drive and careened to a stop a few feet away from her Jetta. Desperate to escape, she bolted to the cabin, then frantically began throwing her clothes into it, not bothering to fold or arrange the articles neatly as she normally did. When she’d filled the suitcase, she stuffed her notes into her briefcase, threw her camera bag over her shoulder and turned toward the door. A knock sounded, and she started, yelping at the unexpected pounding. Was it Matt?

She didn’t want to see him now. Not ever again.

“Ivy? It’s me, George, let me in.”

Hissing out a breath of relief, she vaulted forward. She might have avoided him before but if Matt showed up, George would be a good buffer. And he could help expedite her escape.

Striving for an emotionless expression, she threw open the door. “George, what are you doing here?”

He looked frantic, his short blond hair shoved haphazardly in different directions as if he’d been running his hands through it. “I’ve been worried sick about you,” he said, his voice strained. “The news reported that the feds have come here to investigate all the crimes. They said a woman was attacked by some teenage cult. When you didn’t answer your phone earlier, I panicked and called the hospital. A nurse told me you were admitted yesterday but that you were released.” He gripped her arms, his eyes wild. “I drove here as fast as I could, Ivy. Are you all right?”

She nodded, the concern in his voice triggering her emotions. A tear escaped, but she swallowed hard to hold back another round.

“I need to get out of here,” she said in an anguished voice. “I have to leave Kudzu Hollow, George. It was a m-mistake for me to come here. I should have listened to Miss Nellie.”