Leave No Stone Unturned (A Lexie Starr Mystery, Book 1) (19 page)

"Yes, he bagged his moose illegally too, but that's the least of our concerns right
now. Does the log cabin Clay stayed in have an eagle etched in the door?"

Wendy gasped again. She began to whisper, "Yes. Oh, jeez—oh my goodness. How did you
know that? He took me there once and it—oh my—no, no, Mom. It must be all a mistake.
Clay would have told me. Wouldn't he, Mom? Wouldn't he tell me something as important
as that? A murdered wife and child, for goodness sake!" She sounded as if she were
going into shock, becoming hysterical. She didn't want to believe what I was telling
her. I can't say I blamed her.

Memories of Wendy as a child flashed through my mind. She'd be shaking her head violently,
her eyes squeezed shut, and her hands over her ears, when she was being told something
she didn't want to hear. I could picture her standing in the airport doing the exact
same thing right now. At least she was beginning to believe I knew too much for it
all to be coincidental. She surely knew by now there had to be at least a grain of
truth to all I'd told her. She also knew I'd never invent a story just to hurt her.
I'd hurt myself before I'd intentionally hurt her.

"Apparently he didn't tell you about any of it, honey. Do you happen to know his old
roommate in Boston?"

"Jake?"

"Yes, Jake Jacoby."

"Uh-huh. Clay moved in with Jake shortly before Clay and I started dating. Clay told
me he'd met Jake after Jake joined the same gym. Jake is the guy who owns the little
cabin in the mountains. He inherited it from an uncle, I think Clay said."

"Wendy, did Clay ever tell you his roommate, Jake Jacoby, was gay, or that he's a
cocaine addict?"

"Jesus, Mom! How do you know all this?"

"Stone's been helping me investigate the situation. We've found out a lot of things
you should know. Enough that we're concerned for your safety in regards to Clay."

"Oh, Lord—do you think Clay would hurt me? You do, don't you? Why does all this have
to happen now? You know, I wondered sometimes if Jake was gay—"

"He's a stripper."

"At some club."

"At an all men's club, Wendy."

"Oh, good God. No kidding? Well, Jake hated me, Mom. I can tell you that much, anyway.
He tried everything he could to get Clay to break up with me. He didn't want Clay
to have anything to do with me, almost as if he was jealous of our relationship. I
knew Jake did coke occasionally. He even turned Clay on to it. But Clay knows I'm
against drugs of any kind, and he swears he's not doing any now. I found some in the
glove compartment of his truck the other day, but he told me it wasn't his."

"Honey, think about that for a minute. How often do people put expensive, illegal
drugs in someone else's glove compartment and then forget about them? Not too often,
wouldn't you say? That's just an excuse, a cop-out."

"Yeah, I know," Wendy said, with resignation in her voice. "I knew in my mind the
drugs belonged to Clay. But my heart didn't want to believe it. I was in denial, I
guess. I wanted to ignore the evidence in hopes it'd go away."

Wendy had fallen silent. I could hear her breathing hard over the phone, almost hyperventilating.
I tried to comfort her, tried to calm her down as much as I could and assure her everything
would work itself out. "Everything will be okay, Wendy. Don't worry, honey. Stone
and I, and Andy—Stone's thirty-two-year-old nephew—will take care of everything. Among
the four of us we'll get things worked out. I don't want you to be concerned about
anything but getting on the plane, Wendy."

My right hand was on the table next to my coffee cup. It had begun to tremble as if
afflicted with a temporary palsy. Stone reached over and clasped my hand in his. He
was trying to calm me, as I was trying to calm Wendy.

"I can't believe all this, Mom." Then her whispering grew even fainter, and she sounded
panicky. "You know, Mom, I didn't want to tell you this, but Clay's whole personality
seemed to change when he found out I was expecting a baby. He became almost hostile
to me, as if I'd done something wrong, something intentionally designed to hurt him.
He acted as if I'd betrayed him. I still can't understand why he reacted the way he
did to my pregnancy. But when I lost the baby, he seemed almost relieved—like a tremendous
burden had been lifted from his shoulders."

"Do you know what Clay's childhood was like?" I asked. "Has he ever talked to you
about it? From what I found while talking to his mother, Wanda—if you can believe
her, anyway—his childhood was pretty grim. Clay's father was an alcoholic and a child
and spouse abuser. His mother is in a home for the mentally ill. Wanda said she'd
been there for around sixteen years."

"You talked to Clay's mother?" Wendy asked, incredulously. "I knew Wanda was alive,
and his father, Homer, was mean. Clay said his mother was unable to come to the wedding
because of health problems, but he never said she was mentally ill. He didn't mention
his father at all, remember? Clay never said much about his family, though, other
than he was an only child like me. He left home when he was about fifteen and joined
the Navy soon after."

Wendy's voice dropped even lower. I could hardly make out her next words. "Here comes
Clay, Mom. I see him walking this way. I don't know what to do—oh, Lord—what do I
do? What do I do, Mom?"

"Listen to me, Wendy, and do exactly as I tell you. Behave as normally as you possibly
can. Tell Clay you talked to me and we're all heading up to Maine and New Hampshire
from here, so I thought it'd make sense to have you fly into JFK instead of Charleston.
Don't mention anything about the rest of this. Okay? Promise me that, Wendy. Not one
word that anybody suspects him of anything. Promise!"

"I promise," she whispered. She sounded a little calmer, but I still worried she wouldn't
be able to pull it off in front of her new husband. "What if he doesn't believe me,
Mom? You know I never was a good liar. Oh gosh, I've got to go. He's almost here now.
He's almost here. I heard him on his cell phone. I think he's talking to Jake. I heard
him say Jake's name. Jake still calls him every day. What do I do? Oh, God, what do
I do?"

"Stay calm. Don't say anything to Clay about anything. Just get on the plane. Whatever
happens, Wendy, just get on that plane! We'll take care of you once you get here.
Not a word to Clay about anything now, you hear me? Tell him he doesn't need to stay
with you while you wait to board the plane. Tell him he can go back to the house—that
you'll be fine waiting there by yourself." I was whispering into the phone now. I
tried to reinforce the things she'd need to do, and keep her calm at the same time.
"We'll see you in a just a few hours. Okay, honey? Act normal now, okay? I love you."

"Me too," she said. And then the phone went dead and I collapsed in nervous tears.

Chapter 20

The engine sputtered as Stone guided my Jeep Wrangler to the shoulder of the road.
The vehicle took one final gasp and died. It rolled to a stop along the busy interstate.
I noticed in alarm that steam was pouring out from under the hood.

"Damn!" Stone swore and pounded the steering wheel with the heel of his hand. "I knew
I should have checked this car over while I was tuning up the Lincoln!"

"What's wrong with it?"

"It's overheating. I'd guess the radiator fluid level is low. I'll take a look."

While Stone stepped out of the Jeep, I checked my watch to see how much time we had
before Wendy's flight arrived. We had an hour and ten minutes. I tried not to panic.
By my estimate, we weren't more than twenty minutes from JFK Airport. Stone had worked
on Harriet's car, so he must have some mechanical skills, I told myself. I bent my
head and said a quick prayer that he'd have the Jeep running and back on the road
within a few minutes. I looked up as Stone approached my window with something in
his hand resembling a rubber snake.

"Here's our problem," he said in a disgusted voice.

"What's that?"

"It's the fan belt."

"Oh, my! It'd been running rough recently. I had it serviced just before I left Kansas.
Kenny said the fan belt was still like new, or I would have had him replace it. He
said the engine didn't need a complete tune-up yet. He just thought the air filter
was probably clogged so he replaced it with a new one. It must have needed a complete
tune-up."

"Kenny was probably correct. I doubt it needed a complete tune-up. It's possible it
may need the timing adjusted, but that has nothing to do with this fan belt. See this
smooth edge? Then it is jagged at the very edge." Stone held it up for my inspection.
"Someone took a knife to it. It must've snapped in two a few minutes ago. Without
the belt to run the fan, the engine overheats and shuts down the motor. It won't start
again now until it cools off."

"We have over an hour before the flight is due," I said. "If we wait for it to cool
off, could we make it—"

"No," Stone cut in with impatience. "After the engine cools down it will start, but
we won't get far before it overheats again."

"But why would someone cut my fan belt? And who?"

"I don't know. Someone sabotaged your vehicle, I'm sure. I don't think it was a random
act. Who knows you're here besides Harriet, Wendy, and me?"

"No one I'm aware of, Stone."

"Well, we'll have to worry about that later. Right now we need to find a way to get
to the airport." Stone removed his cell phone from his belt clip and a plastic card
from his wallet. Studying the card, he punched in a number. He spoke briefly into
the phone, then dialed a second number. After he replaced the phone in the clip, he
led me toward the grassy area beyond the shoulder, away from the Jeep and the heavy
traffic on the busy interstate. The Jeep had stalled next to a green mile marker sign.

"Stand back here while I put the hood up on the Jeep and turn on the hazard lights.
I have AAA on the way to tow the Jeep and a taxi coming to take us to the airport."

"Okay. Be careful."

I paced nervously on the shoulder while we waited for the taxi to arrive. By the time
we were in the cab and on the way to JFK again, it was only a half hour before Wendy's
flight arrived. I had always assumed all NYC taxi drivers drove ninety miles an hour
and used curbs and sidewalks as passing lanes, often missing pedestrians by mere inches.
In fact, I thought as a rule they ignored traffic laws altogether. So why'd we have
to get the only law-abiding taxi driver in the whole darn city who was never within
ten miles of exceeding the speed limit? Didn't this guy realize he was driving Miss
Crazy, not Miss Daisy?

Our driver slowed down when anything crossed our path, whether it was ten feet or
ten miles away. I was beginning to think he might have a depth-perception problem.
Pedestrians darted across the street in front of us. At times they stood in the middle
of the street, blocking traffic. I didn't actually want to see anyone get hurt, but
I would have gladly nudged a few people out of the way with the cab's bumper.

Traffic slowed and became more congested as we neared the airport. Cars cut in and
out in front of us and honked their horns incessantly as they swerved from lane to
lane. We could hear a siren several blocks away. Before we knew it, traffic had come
to a complete stop. I looked out the window and could see the airport up ahead. Stone
saw the look of concern cross my face after I once again checked my watch.

"We'll get out here," he said to the cabby, as he handed the man forty dollars. Stone
helped me out of the back seat and then held my hand as we zigzagged through traffic
toward the terminal. Drivers honked and glared at us as if they wanted to nudge us
out of the way with their bumpers. How rude!

We were winded by the time we entered the building, but we didn't slow down. I was
surprised we weren't stopped and questioned by security until I noticed how many other
agitated people were running at top speed through the terminal. It was over twenty
minutes past the time the flight had been due to arrive. With any luck at all, the
flight had been delayed.

When we reached the bank of televisions announcing arrival and departure times we
stopped to scan the screens for Wendy's flight. Stone had been thinking along the
same lines as I had. "Damn," he muttered. "Her flight was on time."