The Liar (22 page)

She spent some time with them, then went back to the bar for more water.

It didn’t hurt her feelings when she noticed Arlo and his friends leaving. She’d lose that mild discomfort from having him stare at her.

He’d often stared at her, just like that, when they were teenagers. And, she recalled, had tried to get her to take a ride on his motorcycle or sneak off for a beer.

She’d never done either.

And she found it downright creepy that years later, he’d still just stare at her, unblinking as a lizard.

Griff slipped up to the bar beside her, and made her think of much more pleasant companionship.

“Go out with me tomorrow night.”

“Oh, I—”

“Give a guy a break, Shelby. I really want some time with you. Just you.”

She turned, looked straight into his eyes—bold, green, clever. Absolutely nothing about those eyes made her uncomfortable.

“I think I want that, too, but I don’t feel right leaving Callie two nights running, and asking my parents to sit her again.”

“Okay. Pick a night next week. Any night, and anywhere you want to go.”

“Ah . . . Tuesday would probably be best.”

“Tuesday. Where do you want to go?”

“I really want to see your house.”

“You do?”

She broke out in a smile. “I really do, and I’ve been trying to figure how to invite myself for a tour.”

“Consider it done.”

“I could bring dinner.”

“I’ll take care of it. Seven?”

“If we made it seven-thirty, I could give Callie her bath first.”

“Seven-thirty.”

“I need to check with Mama first, but I expect she’ll be fine with it. And you should listen to what else has come out before we make any sort of date.”

“It’s already a date.” He kissed her lightly before he walked away.

She thought that quick gesture had been a statement, a kind of stamp. And couldn’t quite figure out if she minded that or not. She put it in the back of her mind as she went back on stage for her next set.

She saw Forrest come in with her grandparents, take the empty seats.

But she didn’t notice the brunette until halfway through her set. Shelby’s heart jumped, but she kept the song going when their eyes met.

Had she been there all along, tucked into a table at the back, barely visible in the shadows?

Shelby looked away, tried to catch Forrest’s eye, but he’d gone up to the bar, wasn’t looking in her direction.

The brunette rose, stood a moment, sipping from a martini glass. Then she set it down, put on a dark jacket. She added a smile, kissed her fingertip, flicked it in Shelby’s direction, then strolled out.

She finished out her set—what else could she do? Then made a beeline for Forrest.

“She was here.”

He didn’t have to ask who. “Where?”

“In the back.”

“Who?” Griff demanded.

“She left,” Shelby continued. “Easy fifteen minutes ago. She’s gone, but she was here.”

“Who?” Griff demanded again.

“It’s hard to explain.” Shelby pasted on a smile, turned and waved when someone called her name. “I have to work. Maybe you could fill them in some, Forrest. I couldn’t get your attention when I saw her, but I swear she was here.”

“Who?” Griff demanded for the third time when Shelby walked over to another table.

“I’ll tell you about it, but I’m going to take a little look around outside.”

“I’ll go with you.” When Matt started to rise, Griff shook his head. “Keep the table. We’ll be back.”

“What’s all this?” Viola leaned over.

“Nothing to worry about. I’ll explain when I get back.” Forrest gave her shoulder a rub, then made his way out with Griff.

“What the fuck, Forrest? What woman? And why did she put that look in Shelby’s eyes?”

“What look?”

“Half scared, half pissed.”

Forrest paused at the door. “You read her pretty well.”

“I’m making a study of it. Get used to it.”

“Is that so?”

“That’s down-to-the-ground so.”

Forrest’s eyes narrowed as he nodded. “I have to think about that. Meanwhile, we’re looking for a hot brunette, about thirty, round about five-six, brown eyes.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s looking like she was married to the guy Shelby thought she was married to.”

“What? Thought? What?”

“And she’s bad business—so was the asshole Shelby likely wasn’t married to after all. A lot worse than I figured, and I figured bad enough.”

“Was Shelby married or not?”

“It’s hard to say.”

“How can it be hard to say?” Frustrated, and temper building under it, Griff threw up his hands. “It’s yes or no.”

Forrest scanned the street, the cars parked along the curb, the light traffic passing by. “Why are people from the North always in such a damn hurry? A story takes time to tell properly. I’ll do that while we walk around back, see what we see. Have you put your hands on my sister?”

“Not so much. Not yet. But I’m going to, so get used to that, too.”

“Does she want your hands on her?”

“You should know me well enough by now, damn it, Forrest. They don’t go on her unless she wants them on her.”

“I know you well enough by now, Griff, but it’s my sister here, so that takes more. And it’s my sister who’s been fucked over right, left, sideways. So that’s more yet.”

He told the story as they walked around the side of the building, made their way toward the back and the parking lot.

“And you think this woman’s telling it straight?”

“She’s telling enough of it straight so I know the bastard Shelby was with was a liar and a thief. I’ll be doing some looking for something on this millions in jewelry and stamps she claims they stole or conned somebody out of.”

His eyes, shadowed in the dim light, scanned the cars. “If they hadn’t bussed the brunette’s table, I could’ve gotten prints off it, gotten her name, her real one.”

“If she’s telling the truth about being married to Foxworth, he was using Shelby all along.” Griff stuffed his hands in his pockets, paced away. “And Callie . . .”

“Callie’s going to be fine either way. Shelby will see to that. But I’d like to have a conversation with this woman who’s dogging her.”

“Brunette, right? Hot, brown-eyed brunette.”

“That’s right.”

“I don’t think you’re going to have any conversations with her. Better come over here.” Griff took a deep breath as Forrest hurried toward him. “Looks like we found her.”

She sat, slumped in the driver’s seat of a silver BMW, eyes wide and staring. Blood still seeped from the tiny black hole in her forehead.

“Well, shit. Well, shit,” Forrest repeated. “Don’t touch the car.”

“I’m not touching a goddamn thing,” he said as Forrest pulled out his phone. “I didn’t hear a shot.”

Forrest took a picture from the side, one from the front. “Small caliber, and see how it’s burned around the entry wound? Held it right against her. Right up against her forehead, pulled the trigger. Somebody might’ve heard a pop, but it wouldn’t be all that loud. I’ve got to call my boss.”

“Shelby?”

Like Griff, Forrest looked back toward the bar and grill. “Let’s just wait on that a little bit. Just wait on it. We need to secure this area. And shit, we’re going to have to start talking to people inside the bar and grill. Sheriff?”

Forrest adjusted his stance, re-angled the phone. “Yes, sir. I got a body here in the parking lot of Bootlegger’s Bar and Grill. Yes, sir, that sure would be a dead one.” He glanced at Griff as he spoke, nearly smiled. “I’m certain of that as I’m looking right at her and the small-caliber bullet wound, close-contact, in her forehead. I got that.”

On a sigh, Forrest shoved his phone in his pocket. “Sure wish I’d finished that beer because it’s going to be a long, dry night now.” He studied the body another moment, then turned to Griff. “I’m deputizing you.”

“What?”

“You’re a competent individual, Griff, and you sure keep your head when you find a dead body, as you’ve just proven. Don’t shake easy, do you?”

“It’s my first dead body.”

“And you didn’t scream like a girl.” Laying a bolstering hand on Griff’s shoulder, Forrest gave it a friendly pat. “Plus, I happen to know you didn’t kill her since you were inside with me.”

“Yay.”

“She’s still warm, so she hasn’t been dead long. I got some things I need in my truck, and I need you to stay here. Right here.”

“I can do that.” Because, he thought, as Forrest walked off to his truck, what else could he do?

He tried to think it through. The woman had been inside, then she’d gone out, gotten in her car. The driver’s-side window was down.

Warm enough night. Had she put it down for the air, or because somebody had walked up to the car? Did a woman alone in a parking lot outside a bar roll down the window for a stranger?

Maybe, but it seemed less likely than rolling it down for someone she knew.

But . . .

“Why’s her window down?” he asked Forrest. “From what you told me, she doesn’t know anybody around here. She’s got to have some basic street smarts, so who’d she roll the window down for?”

“Deputized two minutes and already thinking like a cop. Makes me proud of my own character assessment. Put these on.”

Griff looked at the gloves. “Oh, man.”

“Don’t want you to handle anything—probably—but just in case. Use your phone, take some notes for me.”

“Why? Don’t you have backup coming or something?”

“They’ll be coming. This woman came at my sister. I want a leg up. Get the make, model, license plate. Go on and get a picture of the plate. She’s got a high-end rental here. We’ll find out where she got it.”

He shone his light in the car. “Purse is still in here, sitting on the passenger seat. Closed. Keys in the ignition, engine off.”

“She’d have had to turn the key to get the window down. Strange town, she’d’ve locked the car up, right?”

“Son, if you ever give up carpentry and such, I’d take you on.” Forrest opened the passenger door, crouched, opened the purse. “She’s got herself a pretty little Baby Glock here.”

Now Griff leaned over Forrest’s shoulder. “She had a gun in her purse?”

“It’s Tennessee, Griff. Half the women in that bar are carrying. Loaded, clean. I’d say it hasn’t been fired recently. Got a Florida driver’s license under the name Madeline Elizabeth Proctor, and that’s not the name she gave Shelby. Miami address. Got her DOB as eight twenty-two ’eighty-five. Got some lipstick—looks pretty new—got herself a folding combat knife.”

“Jesus.”

“Nice one, too. Blackhawk. Visa and American Express cards, same name. We got two hundred and . . . thirty-two dollars in cash. And a key card for a room at the Lodge at Buckberry Creek in Gatlinburg. Fancy.”

“Didn’t want to get rousted.” When Forrest glanced over, Griff shrugged. “She had to know Shelby had a cop for a brother. Go at Shelby, she’s going to have a cop rousting her. Plus plenty of family circling the wagons. So she doesn’t stay at the local hotel, which is pretty fancy, too. She puts some distance between herself and the Ridge, gives Shelby a phony name.”

“See why I deputized you? So, what do you figure happened here?”

“Seriously?”

“Dead woman in the car, Griff.” Curious, Forrest straightened up, rolled his shoulders. “It’s pretty serious, all in all.”

“Well, I’d guess she came tonight to mess with Shelby’s head. Keep herself right in the front of Shelby’s mind. Once Shelby spotted her, she could go. She came out, got in her car, most likely to drive back to Gatlinburg. Somebody came over to the car, to the driver’s side. I’m leaning toward she recognized whoever it was, and felt easy enough to lower the window instead of driving off or getting her own gun. After she rolled down the window . . .”

Griff mimed putting a gun to his forehead, made a trigger with his thumb.

“That’s my way of thinking, too. If I didn’t know my mama would call you instead of me when the porches need scraping and painting, I’d talk you into joining the sheriff’s department.”

“Not on a bet. I don’t like guns.”

“You’d get over it.” He looked over as a cruiser pulled in. “Shit, should’ve known he’d send Barrow first off. Guy’s affable enough, but slow as a lame turtle. Go on back in, Griff, round up Derrick and fill him in.”

“You want me to fill Derrick in?”

“Save some time. He’s a competent individual himself, and he’s been working the bar most of the night. Could be he saw somebody who didn’t strike him quite right.”

“Whoever did this is long gone.”

“Yeah, for right now, anyway. You’re a lot quicker than Barrow, Griff. ’Course, that doesn’t take much.”

“What we got here, Forrest? Hey, Griff, how’s it going? Sheriff said— Holy shitfire!” Barrow said when he saw the body. “Is she dead?”

“I’d say that’s affirmative, Woody.” Forrest rolled his eyes at Griff.

Griff went inside to find Derrick and fill him in.

S
helby sat in the tiny office holding the Coke Tansy had pushed on her with both hands. She didn’t think she could actually swallow.

O. C. Hardigan had been sheriff for as long as she could remember. He’d always scared her a little, but she figured that was the badge more than the man. Not that she’d ever been in any trouble—any real trouble. He’d gone full gray since she’d left the Ridge, so his buzz cut looked like a shorn-off Brillo Pad. His square-jawed face was fleshier than it had been, and he carried a more generous paunch.

He smelled of peppermint over tobacco.

She knew he was being gentle with her, and appreciated it.

He’d said Forrest had given him a full report on her encounter with the victim—he called the woman “the victim”—but had Shelby go through it all again.

“And you’d never seen her, been contacted by her, talked to her before this morning?”

“No, sir.”

“And your . . . The man you knew as Richard Foxworth, he never mentioned anyone named Natalie Sinclair or Madeline Proctor?”

“No, sir, not that I remember.”

“And this private investigator—this Ted Privet. He never said her name to you?”

“No, Sheriff, I’m sure of that.”

“How about this Mickey O’Hara she talked about?”

“I never heard about him before, either. Not until she talked about him.”

“All righty, then. What time was it would you say when you saw her tonight?”

“I think it had to be about ten-thirty. Maybe ten twenty-five. I was more than halfway through the third set, and I started right about ten. She was all the way in the back, the far right corner.” She held her hand up to demonstrate. “My right, that is. I didn’t see her before that, but the light’s dim back there.”

She made herself take a drink. “After I saw her, she got up. Not in a hurry. It was like, all right, now you’ve seen me, now I made my point and I can go. She had a martini glass, but I don’t know who was working that table. It had to be at least fifteen more minutes before I finished the set and could tell Forrest. Might’ve been a few minutes more, but no more than twenty. I had four songs left after the one I was doing when I saw her. And the talk between songs, well, I keep that short. So fifteen minutes, likely no more than seventeen.”

“Did you see anyone follow her out?”

“I didn’t, but I was looking for Forrest once she got up and started out. I wasn’t watching the door.”

“I bet you saw a lot of familiar faces in the crowd tonight.”

“I did. It was so nice to see everyone.” She thought of Arlo. “Mostly.”

“A lot of unfamiliar ones, too.”

“Tansy did a lot of marketing. She had flyers all over. I heard we had a lot of people in tonight who’re staying at the hotel and the lodge and so on, even campers who came in tonight. Something new, you know?”

“Wish I could’ve been here myself. We’re going to make a point of it, the wife and me, next time. Now, did anybody strike you, Shelby? Somebody who just didn’t look right?”

“I didn’t notice. Arlo Kattery was here with the two he always hung around with, but they left at the start of the second set.”

“Arlo’s mostly for Shady’s, or one of the roadhouses.”

“He didn’t do anything but sit, have a few beers, then go on. I’m just thinking of him because he never looked right to me.”

“Never has been.”

“I guess for most of it I was pulling on the familiar faces more, and the couples. A lot of the songs I did tonight, well, they’re romantic, so I played to that. It couldn’t have been anybody from the Ridge, Sheriff. Nobody even knew her.”

He patted her hand. “Don’t you worry now. We’ll figure it out. If you think of anything else, anything at all, you tell me about it. Or you tell Forrest if that’s easier for you.”

“I don’t know what to think. I don’t know what to think about any of it.”

Out in the restaurant, Griff had done about all he could do. He’d helped organize people so the deputies could take statements, or just names. He’d helped Derrick serve out coffee, soft drinks, water, as another deputy interviewed the staff in the kitchen.

He’d gone out once for air, had seen the police lights around the BMW, and timed it inadvertently so that he watched them loading the bagged body into the coroner’s wagon.

An experience, he decided, he’d be happy never to repeat.

The second time he made rounds with coffee, Forrest pulled him aside.

“Shelby’s going to be out in a minute or so. I need to keep my hands in this thing here. I’m trusting you with my sister, Griff, because I can.”

“I’ll look out for her.”

“I know you will. She pushed Emma Kate to go home, and that’s likely for the best. She’ll get out of here quicker without another female to stroke her and ask for details. Get her home.”

“You can count on it.”

“I know I can. Coroner’ll know for certain once he digs the bullet out of her, but eyeballing, he figures a .25.”

“Do you know who she is yet? Real name?”

Distracted, Forrest shook his head. “We’ve got her prints now. I’ll be running them myself tonight. There’s Shelby now. Give me a second with her, then get her out. She argues, carry her out.”

“If I do, don’t shoot me.”

“Not this time.” Forrest walked over, took Shelby by the shoulders as he studied her face, then just drew her in, held her.

Whatever he said had her shaking her head, again and again, as she burrowed into him. Then she sagged a little, shrugged. When Forrest let her go she started toward Griff.

He met her halfway.

“Forrest says you need to drive me home. I’m sorry he’s being so fussy.”

“Whatever Forrest says, I’m driving you home. Men aren’t fussy—that’s a girlie word. We’re logical and protective.”

“Sounds fussy to me, but thank you.”

“Let’s go.”

“I should find Tansy first, or Derrick, or—”

“They’re busy.” He didn’t go as far as carrying her, but he took her hand, pulled her firmly away from the building and the hard lights. “We’ll take your van.”

“How are you going to get home if—”

“Don’t worry about it. You’ll need the van. I’ll drive.” He held out his hand for the keys.

“All right. My brain’s too rattled to argue. Nobody knew her around here. People around here don’t just walk up to a strange woman and shoot her in the head, for God’s sake.”

“Which should tell you whoever did isn’t from around here.”

She looked up at him with considerable relief. “That’s what I said to the sheriff.”

“She brought trouble with her, Shelby. That’s how it reads to me.”

“It has to be that O’Hara person.” The one, Shelby remembered, the brunette had warned her about. “She said he was in prison, but she lied about her own name, so who knows what else she lied about. If it was him, and if she was telling the truth about Richard, about all those millions, it’s not safe to be around me.”

“A lot of ifs there. I’ll add some.” He shot her a glance, sorrier than he could say that the sparkle she’d emitted when she sang had dulled. “If this O’Hara’s around and did this, and if he thinks maybe you know something about those millions, it would be pretty stupid to hurt you.”

He waited until she got in the van, then settled behind the wheel.

“And if he’s such a badass, why didn’t she drive away, get the gun in her purse. Why just sit there?”

“I don’t know.” She let her head drop back on the seat. “I thought things couldn’t get crazier. After Richard died and the roof caved in, I thought, This is as bad as it can get. Then it got worse. Then I thought, All right now, that’s as bad as it gets and we’ll work our way through it. Then she came here and it’s worse again. And now this.”

“You’ve had a streak of bad luck.”

“I guess you could put it that way.”

“Luck changes. Yours already has.” At an easy speed, he followed the wind of the road. “You sold the house, you’re carving away the debt. You packed the house tonight and had them in the palm of your hand.”

“You think so?”

“I was in the house,” he said. “And you’ve got a date with me coming. I’m a damn good catch.”

She didn’t think she had a smile in her, but he found it for her. “Are you?”

“Damn right. Just ask my mother. Hell, ask yours.”

“You don’t lack in the confidence department, do you, Griffin?”

“I know who I am,” he told her as he pulled up at her house.

“How the hell are you getting home?” She pushed fingers against that headache spot between her eyes. “I didn’t even think. You can take the van, and I could get Daddy to drive me over and pick it up in the morning.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

He got out, came around. She’d opened the door before he got to it, but he took her hand when she got out.

“You don’t have to walk me to the door.”

“It’s just one of the many things that make me such a good catch.”

The door opened as they came up the walk.

“Oh, baby girl.”

“I’m all right, Mama.”

“Of course you are. Come on in here, Griffin.” Ada Mae scooped Shelby up in a hug. “Your granny and grandpa came by, told us everything. Forrest, is he still over there?”

“Yeah, he’s still there.”

“Good. Don’t you worry about Callie. I checked on her five minutes ago, and she’s sound asleep. Why don’t I make you something to eat?”

“I couldn’t, Mama.”

“Let me look at the girl.” Clayton stepped up, tipped up Shelby’s face. “You’re pale and you’re tired.”

“I guess I am.”

“If you can’t sleep, I’ll give you a little something. But you give it a try first.”

“I will. I guess I’ll go on up. Daddy, Griff left his truck back at the bar and grill so he could bring me home. Thank you, Griff.” She turned, touched her lips to his cheek.

“I’m going to see you settled and tucked in.” Ada Mae put an arm around Shelby’s waist. “Thank you, Griff, for seeing to my baby girl. You’re a good boy.”

“But am I a good catch?”

At Shelby’s tired laugh, Ada Mae gave a puzzled smile. “Best in the whole pool. Come on now, my baby.”

Clayton waited until they were up the stairs. “You got time for a beer and some details, Griff?”

“If you’d make that a Coke or ginger ale, I’ve got time. I plan to bunk on your couch there anyway.”

“I can get you back to your truck.”

“I’d feel better bunking right here tonight. I don’t think there’s going to be any trouble, but I’d feel better right here.”

“All right, then. We’ll have a Coke and a talk. Then I’ll get you a pillow and blanket.”

An hour later, Griff stretched out on the couch—a pretty comfortable couch. God knew he’d slept on a lot worse. He stared up at the ceiling awhile, thinking of Shelby, letting some of the songs she’d sung that night replay in his head.

At some point he’d let the whole business play around, like the songs, in his head. It’s how he solved most problems. Let all the pieces roll around, try fitting some together, taking them apart again until a picture formed.

Right now the only clear picture was Shelby.

She was in plenty of trouble, no doubt about it. Maybe he couldn’t resist a damsel in distress. Not that he’d use that term out loud. Besides, if a woman liked the term, if she was the sort who just wanted to sit around doing nothing while he rescued her, well, she’d bore the crap out of him in short order. And that would be right before she irritated him so he never wanted to deal with her again.

So it probably wasn’t the damsel-in-distress thing, now that he thought about it. Turn that around into a smart, strong woman who just needed some help. Add in the way she looked, the way she sounded. The way she was.

He’d be a moron if he didn’t want the whole package.

He was no moron.

He let his eyes close, ordered his mind to go drifting. Drifting, he dropped, slept light and restless until, on the edge of dreams, he heard something that brought him to full alert again.

An old house settling? he asked himself as he strained to hear.

No. That was creaking boards and footsteps. He slid off the couch, moved quietly in the direction of the sound. And, braced to attack, slapped on the lights.

Shelby clamped a hand over her own mouth to muffle the scream.

“Sorry! Jesus, sorry,” Griff began.

She waved her free hand, shook her head, then leaned back against the wall. Slowly, she dropped her other hand. “Well, what’s another ten years? What are you doing here?”

“I’m bunking on the living room couch.”

“Oh.” Now she dragged her fingers through her hair in a way that made all those wild curls go just a bit madder—and tightened every muscle in his body. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t sleep, so I came down to make some tea or something.”

“Okay.”

“Do you want some tea or something?” On a thoughtful frown, she cocked her head. “Do you want some scrambled eggs?”

“Oh yeah.”

He followed her back to the kitchen. She wore cotton pajama bottoms—bright blue with yellow flowers all over them—and a yellow T-shirt.

He could’ve lapped her up like ice cream.

She put the kettle on, got out a skillet.

“I can’t turn my mind off,” she began. “But if I asked Daddy for a sleeping pill, Mama’d start fussing again.”