Playing Dead in Dixie (23 page)

"That's it," Vic answered.  "Are you ever going to get around to telling me what this is all about?  And before you say it, no, I'm not buying the story that you're just trying to find out everything that happened to your cousin."

"I'll explain everything.  Just not right now.  Thanks for the help, Vic."  Wes hung up the phone before Vic could ask any more questions.

Okay.  An FBI agent was looking for Carly, but it didn't seem to be a manhunt situation.  So Carly had seen something in Atlantic City, something criminal.  Something to do with the ex-boyfriend?

He frowned.  Actually, she'd never said he was an ex.  Wes had just assumed it.  That was the usual case with stalkers.  Maybe even someone she'd dated no more than once or twice; that was enough for some guys to go off the deep end.

But she'd said the cops wouldn't listen to her, and that's why she'd run.  Had she taken it to the FBI?

Maybe they were looking for her body because they thought her stalker caused the bus crash.

Could that be the case?  Wes had been over the preliminary NTSB findings five times this afternoon alone, and he'd found nothing that would suggest the bus crash had been any more than an accident caused by a trucker driving a little too fast on a rainy highway.

He looked at his watch.  Four-thirty, he realized with surprise.  He hadn't called in to check on Carly since two.  For that matter, she hadn't checked in with him, either.

He grabbed the phone and punched in his home number.

"Yeah, what do you want?"  The low huff of his father's voice caught Wes by surprise.

"What are
you
doing there?"

"Your smart-mouthed girlfriend dragged me over here to do her work for her."

Wes heard a soft scuffling noise and Carly's voice came on the line.  "I needed an extra hand to help me get through these files more quickly," she said, a little out of breath.  "Floyd said your father used to do his books for him, so—"

Wes shook his head in disbelief.  "And J.B. agreed to come?"

"Well, when I suggested he was probably too senile to be of much help—"

"See what I'm havin' to put up with from her?" J.B. said, apparently bending close to the phone so Wes could hear him.

"You were supposed to call me if I didn't call you."

"Oh, crap, it's already four-thirty?  We got a little involved."  Carly's voice lightened with excitement.  "And we think we've found something."

Wes sat forward.  "Really?"

"We need to double check some things, but yeah.  I think we have definite signs of a shell fraud."

TRACKING DOWN THE HANDFUL of travelers who'd witnessed the bus crash and the aftermath had taken Agent Jim Phillips a couple of days.  Fortunately, the Virginia State Police officers who'd worked the scene had kept good records of the witness statements.  Tuesday evening around six, Phillips found a witness who remembered seeing Lottie Sandano at the crash.

"Yeah, that's the woman I saw."  Dr. James Turkett took one look at the photo Phillips showed him and gave a quick nod.  "She was trying to administer aid to one of the crash victims.  She seemed upset by his condition."

"Was Ms. Sandano injured?"

"Not that I could tell.  It was late at night and there wasn't a lot of light where we were, so I can't be certain."

"You said she seemed upset."

"She was telling him not to leave her.  I got the feeling he might have been someone she cared about."

That made no sense.  They knew most of Lottie's associates.  None had been on the bus.  Maybe she'd arranged for an out of town friend to meet her and help her get away.

"It's too bad," Dr. Turkett added, shaking his head.  "The man didn't make it."

"You don't happen to know what his name was, do you?"

"As a matter of fact, I do.  I declared him dead, so I had paper work to deal with.  His name was Stephen Floyd Strickland.  That's Stephen with a 'ph.'  He lived in Richmond, but the morgue ended up delivering his body down to his family somewhere in south Georgia.  I don't remember the name of the town."

Phillips jotted down the name.  "Did you see what happened to Ms. Sandano?"

Dr. Turkett shook his head.  "I lost track of her once I started working on Mr. Strickland."

Phillips closed his notebook and thanked the doctor for the information.  Heading out to his rental car, he flipped open his phone.  He started to punch in the office number when he realized the phone's battery was dead.  "Damn it."

He hurried to the car and pulled out his briefcase, where he stashed extra batteries.  He inserted the battery and the phone came to life.  But before he could dial the office number, the phone rang.  He clicked the answer button.  "Phillips."

"It's Davis.  I've been trying to get you for an hour."

"My phone battery died and I didn't realize it.  Listen, I've got something—"

"So do I.  Dominick Manning left A.C. a little after noon today.  Heading south."

Phillips leaned against the rental car's fender and loosened his tie.  "By train?"

"By air.  Lindler's still tailing him.  They just made a connecting flight in Charlotte."

"Where are they headed?"

"Lindler says Savannah, Georgia."

Phillips straightened, alarm bells going off.  "That's in south Georgia, isn't it?"

"Last I looked.  Wonder why Dom's headed to Dixie?"

Phillips didn't have to wonder.  He knew.  "They've found Lottie."

"THIS STACK IS INVOICES from Shelton Industries.  They make nuts, bolts and screws."  Carly waved at another, smaller stack.  "That's the inventory list.  I know it's up to date because I did it myself on Friday.  It was part of what I had to do at work Monday."

Wes looked from one stack to the other as she gestured.  "They don't match up."

"Nope," J.B. interrupted, grinning widely.  "About five months ago, best we can tell, someone started submitting duplicate invoices from Shelton Industries for products never delivered.  At first it was one or two invoices every couple of months, but in the last two months, they submitted nine phony invoices."

Wes gave his father an odd look.  Probably couldn't believe the old man was actually smiling, Carly guessed.

"That's a lot of phony invoices," Wes commented.  "No chance it's just a clerical error?"

Carly shook her head.  "If I'd been doing the books, I might not have caught the fraud a few months ago, when the company was submitting only one or two every couple of months.  But with as many invoices as they dummied up over the past couple of months—"

"Nobody with half a mind could have kept the books and not realized what was going on," J.B. finished for her.

"So Sherry was in on it."  Disappointment flickered across Wes's face.

"I think she must have been," Carly said gently.

Wes looked to his father.  J.B. nodded, confirming Carly's statement.

"Damn."  Wes passed his hand over his stubbled chin.  "I need to call the county prosecutor in on this now.  That means I need to take the books and files into evidence. I'm also going to need to get an affidavit testifying to your part in examining the books."

Carly opened her mouth to protest.

"Smart of you to bring my dad in on it," Wes added quietly.  "Since his statement is enough to justify the county prosecutor investigating the files for evidence of fraud, I won't need an affidavit from you."

"That's not why I got him to come over," she protested, though she couldn't deny the relief washing over her.

"I know.  But it was lucky."  He turned to his father.  "Why don't you stay for dinner?"

"You ain't gonna let Miss New Jersey cook, are you?"

"Hey!" Carly protested.

Wes grinned and started packing the files into the boxes they'd emptied.  "I'll grab something in town as soon as I deliver these files to the evidence room."

Carly helped him carry the boxes to the car.  "Does this really take me off the hook?"

"If I work it just right."  Wes's voice was a little tight, as if he had something else on his mind.

"Is something wrong?"

He turned to look at her, his face painted a deep golden rose by the glow of the setting sun.  "I have a few more questions for you, but they can wait until after dinner.  When I get back from taking J.B. home."

Carly's heart went into free fall.  "What kind of questions?"

He laid the final box on top of the stack in the back of his truck and turned to her, gently touching her cheek.  "Don't worry.  I just have some loose ends I want you to help me tie up.  It'll hold until we have time to talk."

"So I'm still going to be here tonight?"  Carly licked her lips as his eyes narrowed.  "I mean, we've found the fraud.  There's really no reason I couldn't go back to the Stricklands' house."

"Do you want to go back there tonight?"  His voice was low, growly.  Sexy as hell.

Heat pooled deep in her belly, sparking a million little explosions along her nerve endings.  "No," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper.

He passed his thumb slowly over her bottom lip, his gaze dipping to watch its progress.  "Too bad I already invited J.B. to dinner."  He dropped his hand and went around to the driver's door of the truck.

Carly backed away from the curb as he started the truck.  She gave a little wave as he drove away, her insides melting into a river of molten need.

The next couple of hours were going to be the longest of her life.

THE DOORBELL RANG JUST as Bonnie finished drying the last of the dinner dishes.  Floyd was with Jackson in the back bedroom, giving the little boy some rough and tumble time to tire him out for bedtime.

"I'll get it," she called as she passed through the living room to the front door.

She didn't recognize the man standing outside, but it was still daylight, and there were other people in the house.  She didn't think twice about opening the door.  "Yes?"

The short, slender man standing on her porch gave a polite nod.  Bonnie took in his appearance and found it reassuring.  His charcoal suit looked tailored, fitting him perfectly.  Most of the men Bonnie knew bought their clothes off the rack.  This man didn't.

He smiled at her, easing what was left of the tension she felt at finding a stranger at the door.  "Are you Mrs. Strickland?"

She smiled back at him.  "Yes, I'm Bonnie Strickland."

"I'm from Entertainment Tours.  Our bus company was the one—"

"Oh."  Bonnie's heart clenched.  "I told the man who called before, I'm not pursuing any sort of lawsuit."

"Actually, we're trying to locate a passenger who may have been on the bus with your son."  The man pulled a piece of paper from the inside pocket of his suit jacket and handed it to her

It was a photo of Carly, Bonnie saw with surprise.  "It's Carly."

"Carly?"

Bonnie nodded.  "Carly Devlin.  A friend of my son's."

"Do you know where I could find her?  I need to discuss some loose ends about the bus crash.  She didn't finish filling out some paperwork."

"She's at my nephew's house."

"Do you have that address?"

Bonnie frowned.  "Are you sure it can't wait?  They're probably in the middle of dinner or something."

"I need to catch a flight out of Savannah this evening.  It's just one little piece of paper I need her to sign."

Bonnie found a notepad on the desk by the door to the hallway.  Grabbing a pen from the drawer, she jotted Wes's address down for the man.  "Here you go."

"Thank you, ma'am.  You've been a big help."  The dark-haired man smiled at her again before turning and heading down the porch steps to a car parked out on the curb.

Bonnie closed the door behind him, beginning to second guess herself.  She hadn't even gotten the man's name, she realized.  She should have insisted on getting a name, and a phone number.  Let Carly call him if she wanted to.

Alarm creeping up her spine, she crossed to the phone.  The least she could do was call Wes's, give them warning that they were about to have a visitor.

But when she picked up the phone, there was no dial tone.

NEELY BOYD STOPPED WES as he returned to his office from delivering the boxes of files to the evidence room.  "We've got bad trouble."

Wes didn't like the sound of Neely's voice.  His first, panicked thought was of Carly and her stalker.  "What is it?"

"Trent Carlisle found a male d.b. off the side of the highway just a few minutes ago.  Gunshot to the head. It's fresh."

Which meant the shooter might still be in the area.  Wes pulled his Glock from his shoulder holster and checked the clip.  "Let's go."

They grabbed body armor on the way out to the patrol car.  Wes hoped his officers on the scene were wearing their vests.  Though odds were that the shooter was long gone, nobody should take any chances.  He also grabbed a box of latex gloves, in case he needed to examine the body himself.

Wes slid into the passenger seat of the patrol car, letting Neely drive.  He pulled out his cell phone and punched in his home number.

Carly answered.  "Miss us already?"

"Sorry to do this, but we've got a change of plans.  Do you think you can feed J.B.?

"Sure."

He could tell she was trying not to sound disappointed.  It wasn't working.  "There's some ham in the fridge, and bread in the box by the stove.  And you'll need to call Floyd to come pick J.B. up.  We've had something bad come up, and I don't know how long this is gonna take.  And Carly, be sure you lock all the doors, okay?"

"What's wrong?"  Carly sounded worried.

He couldn't blame her.  He was worried himself.  "Someone found a body.  Gunshot to the head.  It's fresh.  We may be looking at a manhunt.  So take care.  In fact, call Floyd to come get y'all as soon as you finish dinner.  Have him take J.B. home with him, too.  They can put him on the fold-out sofa in the living room for the night."

"Okay.  I'll call them as soon as we eat."

Wes could see the flashing blue and cherry lights ahead.  "Gotta go.  Remember to lock up."  He hung up the phone as Neely steered the squad car to the shoulder behind the other cars.  Wes pulled a couple of latex gloves from the box next to him and slipped them on.  Neely did the same.