Smoke Screen (21 page)

“How nice for you. Are you protected or not?”

“Either way, it’s no concern of yours. It won’t be. Ever. You’ve got nothing to worry about, okay?”

Then she turned on her heel and stalked into the bedroom, soundly closing the door behind her. Still feeling the simmer of anger in her cheeks, she unceremoniously dumped the contents of the sacks onto the bed, prepared to hate everything.

Actually, the selections were pretty good.

Everything was white, black, or denim. Mixable basics. The kinds of garments you’d pack for a casual weekend trip. She wondered if Hallie had taught him that fashion sense.

She ripped the tags off a set of underwear and put on the panties and bra, then dressed in a pair of white jeans and a black T-shirt, white sneakers with silver leather trim. Not bad at all. The sizes were either spot on or not too far off, even the undies. It made her flush hotly to think that, if he’d bought these items yesterday, he might not have been as accurate.

Along with the clothes were some basic toiletries, including body lotion, a lip gloss, a compact of blusher, and a tube of mascara. For added confidence, she applied them before returning to the kitchen, where he was gutting the cantaloupe. He glanced at her over his shoulder but didn’t remark on the new clothing.

“I feel more like myself now,” she said. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He reached around her to take a bowl from the cabinet, but he wouldn’t look her in the eye.

“Is it going to be the purple elephant in the room?”

He hacked into the hapless melon with a butcher knife, slicing it quickly and efficiently. “What?”

“Don’t play dumb, Raley. Are we going to act like adults and talk about what happened last night, or are we going to ignore it?”

“We already talked about it. Last night.”

“That was talking about it? You grunted a few syllables and turned out the light.”

He shrugged. “You didn’t leave me much to say. All that mumbo jumbo you spouted was—”

“You thought it was mumbo jumbo?”

He set down the knife and turned to her. “Well, what we did was either that, what you said, or it was two people just wanting to hump each other. You pick.”

“You don’t have to be so crude.”

“You don’t have to be so analytical.” He picked up the knife and went back to slicing the cantaloupe.

“I thought you would rather it be analyzed,” she said. “You’re the one who vowed he’d never touch me, remember? Then a few hours later you were—”

“Fucking you like there was no tomorrow. But there is a tomorrow. Today is tomorrow,” he said, making stabbing motions toward the floor with the knife. “And I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Except to reassure yourself that there won’t be any consequences to you nine months from now.”

“Aren’t you worried? I could have an STD.”

“You? Careful, paranoid-about-protection Raley Gannon? Not a chance. I think I’m safe.” He turned away, but she caught his elbow and brought him back around. “My
analysis
is as much for your benefit as for mine. It relieves us of responsibility. It lets you off the hook for having a woman that Jay had first, that Jay had only a few nights ago.”

His jaw turned to iron. “You said he didn’t.”

“I said I didn’t think so.”

“You were emotionally hopped up the night he died, same as last night. How do you know you didn’t climb all over him the way you did me?”

“What if I did? What do you care? Why are you so hung up on that? Because of Hallie?”

He pushed the bowl of melon toward her. “Do you want any of this? If you do, eat up. We’ve got work to do.”

She stared up into his newly shaven face and saw in his expression a steely resolve not to take this conversation any further. Fine. She didn’t want to talk about it, either. He could believe what he wanted. She knew why she’d thrown herself at him.

Remembering it now made her burn with embarrassment. But that outpouring of lust was excusable because of her experience in the river. That was the only reason she’d behaved as she had. She hoped he understood that.

She hoped
she
did.

She bit into a slice of the melon, talking as she chewed. “Are you going to tell me about the fire now?”

“Later. First I’m going over to Delno’s and see what’s on the news this morning. See if they’ve found your car.”

“Do you think they have?”

“Doubtful. The guys who pushed you off the road surely didn’t report it. While I’m gone you can—”

“I’m not staying here by myself.”

“Why not?”

“Somebody tried to kill me last night!”

“So they think you’re dead. And even if they don’t, they don’t know you’re with me.”

“They might.”

“They couldn’t.”

“I’m going with you.”

“It’s a long walk. It’s hot. You’ll get your new sneakers dirty. And Delno’s place isn’t exactly a garden spot.”

“If there’s news about me, I want to hear it firsthand.”

He stared at her with vexation, then shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

He took two bottles of water from the fridge and handed one to her, then tramped out, she behind him. They thrashed through the woods, where there were bugs and nettles. Her new sneakers did get dirty, but she didn’t utter a word of complaint.

If there was a trail, it was undetectable to her, but Raley knew where the worst of the briars grew. He gave wide berth to a dead tree where yellow jackets had made a nest and said, “Mind the gator,” when they walked along the edge of a swamp where there was a thick grove of cypress trees. Their knobby knees poked up out of the cloudy water like stalagmites. The alligator was completely submerged except for his malevolent eyes.

By the time Raley announced, “We’re here,” she had sweated through her new T-shirt.

He’d warned her that Delno’s place was no garden spot, but he hadn’t told her it was a dump ground surrounding an odd-looking structure balanced on stilts but bolstered by all the stuff crammed into the crawl space.

Raley led her through an obstacle course of junk—some of the rusted objects she couldn’t even identify—and up a set of rickety wood steps. Animal pelts and reptile skins were tacked to the exterior walls. For decoration? she wondered. Or were they patches?

The three hounds were dozing on the small porch. They must have recognized her and Raley’s smells because they didn’t bark, or even move, when they approached, although one whined when Raley nudged him away from the door.

“Delno?” he called through the screen.

“Comin’!” The shouted reply came from the far side of the clearing. Delno appeared out of the underbrush, pulling up one strap of his overalls. “I’s in the john.” He halted abruptly when he saw Raley’s shaven face. “Well, I’ll be double-dog damned.”

Without a word, Raley opened the screen door and went inside. “Hi, Delno,” Britt said, then followed Raley into the stifling cabin, saying in a whisper, “He uses an
outhouse
?”

“I warned you.” He made straight for a television with a rabbit-ear antenna and turned it on. He glanced back at Delno as he came in. “Did you see any news this morning?”

“She’s still missin’,” he said, nodding at Britt but never taking his eyes off Raley.

Raley, annoyed by his gaping stare, said,
“What?”

“Nothin’. Nothin’ a’tall.” He ran his hand over his own scratchy face, then motioned toward a stove, where a pot was simmering. “Y’all want some of that stew?”

“Thank you, no. We just had breakfast,” Britt said politely, not even wanting to speculate on what was stewing in the pot.

There was a game show on TV, although if not for the sound track, Britt wouldn’t have known that. She could make nothing of the snowy picture. Raley switched through the limited number of channels, but regular programming was on each station. He switched off the set. “Was anything else said about her, other than she’s still missing?”

“They interviewed this guy, said he was her lawyer.” Before continuing, Delno spat tobacco juice into an empty green bean can. “He said he’d talked to her last night by phone, said she was going to surrender. But the cop said she never showed up, so she’s still at large and they’re still lookin’. Cop said that when she’s caught she’ll have a lot to answer for.” He stopped and looked at Britt expectantly, but she didn’t elaborate on what he already knew.

Raley asked, “Any mention of an accident on River Road?”

“Naw. Not that I heard.”

“Any mention of me?”

“You? Naw.”

Raley looked down at her. “That’s good.”

“I guess. It still makes me a fugitive instead of the victim of an attempted murder.”

“You tried to
murder
her?”

They turned to Delno, who’d asked the question of Raley. Britt laughed, but Raley frowned and said, “No, I didn’t try to murder her. Thanks for the use of the TV. If you hear anything about either of us, will you come tell us?”

Delno moved the wad of chaw from one cheek to the other. “I might. If I’m not otherwise occupied. I ain’t Walter Cronkite, you know.”

Raley gave a snort of derision. “I don’t think anyone would mistake you for Walter Cronkite.” He headed for the door. Britt thanked Delno for the information, then followed Raley out.

They were halfway across the yard when Delno called after them, “She make you shave?”

Raley didn’t stop or turn around.

The old man cackled. “I thought maybe on account of whisker burns on parts o’ her where they oughtn’t to be.”

Britt pretended not to hear that. So did Raley.

“She tell you no shave, no more—”

Raley stopped and spun around. “She had nothing to do with it. All right?”

“Then how come—”

“I’m going to a funeral.” Raley turned again and stepped into the cover of the forest.

He was walking faster now than he had on the trek over, and she had difficulty keeping up. Once, when she lagged far behind, he had to stop and wait for her. When she caught up, she was breathing hard. “Sorry. I caught my foot on a vine. My sneaker got stuck.”

“Where’s your water?”

“I finished it at Delno’s.” He passed her his bottle, but she declined it. “You’ll need it.”

“I’m okay.”

She drank from the bottle but left some for him. He finished the rest and recapped the empty bottle. “Not much farther.”

He was about to continue on their way when she said, “Jay’s funeral?”

He gave a brusque nod. “It was on the radio when I went into town this morning. His body was released to relatives yesterday after the autopsy. Funeral is at three o’clock this afternoon.”

He had got a haircut and shave to make himself more presentable, she supposed. “They’ll be there. Cobb Fordyce. George McGowan.”

“Probably.”

“They’ll recognize you.”

“So? Jay was my boyhood friend. Why wouldn’t I attend his funeral?”

“Because of what he and they did to you.”

“But they don’t know that
I
know. They think they accomplished what they set out to. They ruined me and got away with it. For five years, I’ve been out of the picture. No longer a threat to them.”

“Then why are you going to the funeral?”

He grinned. “To make them wonder if maybe they’re wrong.”

She found herself responding to his grin. “Seeing you will make them nervous.”

“That’s the plan and my heart’s desire. Plus, I hope to see Candy.”

He set out again, and she fell into step behind him, staying as close on his heels as possible. “When are you going to tell me about the fire, your investigation?”

“This evening. When I get back from Charleston.”

“That’ll be hours. I don’t want to stay out here by myself.”

“You can’t go with me, Britt. You can’t be seen. Whoever tried to kill you will try again if they know you’re alive.”

“I’d be defenseless out here.”

“I’ll circle by Delno’s on my way, ask if he’ll come over and stay with you.”

“That isn’t funny.”

“Wasn’t meant to be. If anyone tried—”

He stopped so suddenly Britt ran into him. Before she could even ask what had caused him to stop, he spun around, hooked his arm around her waist, and drew her into some brush.

“What—”

“Shh,” he hissed close to her ear. “Someone’s inside the cabin.”

W
HO IS IT?”
B
RITT WHISPERED.

“I don’t know. I just caught a glimpse through the window above the kitchen sink of someone moving around.”

Peering through a tangle of wild shrubbery, he watched the window for a full minute but no longer saw the moving shadow. However, he knew he hadn’t been mistaken. His first impulse was to charge into the cabin and confront the intruder. But he hadn’t been able to determine if the person was male or female, large or small, a potential threat or someone who was lost and seeking the help of a stranger.

Given the event of last night, he feared the worst.

Apparently Britt’s thoughts were moving along the same track, because she looked at him with apprehension.

“Stay put,” he said.

But when he tried to move, she grabbed his arm. She seemed about to beg him not to leave her alone. Instead she nodded. “Be careful.”

Raley took a deep breath and stepped from behind the concealing shrubbery. If the intruder happened to look out a window, he would see him running in a crouch toward the north exterior wall of the cabin. The distance could be covered in seconds, but during those seconds Raley was exposed and virtually defenseless.

When he reached the cabin, he hunkered down beside a brick pier. He expected a shout, a challenge, something. Nothing. He’d made it across the clearing unseen. He assumed.

He looked back toward Britt’s hiding place. He couldn’t see her. If he couldn’t, probably no one looking out a cabin window could, either, which gave him some relief as he crept along the wall toward the front of the cabin, where he hoped to catch the intruder when he or she came out.

He was moving along the outside wall of his bedroom. Hearing movement inside the room, he halted and cursed under his breath. It sounded like someone was searching the room. Opening drawers, closing them. He heard the familiar squeak of his closet door, hangers being moved along the metal rod, someone knocking against the wall.

Then there was a crash and the sound of breaking glass and he figured that casualty was his reading lamp on the TV tray. If you backed too far away from the closet without looking, you’d bump into his makeshift nightstand.

Then for several minutes there was no sound from inside. Just when Raley was about to go and investigate, he detected footsteps through the wall, the volume of them fading as they went from bedroom to living area.

Keeping against the wall, he crept to the corner of the cabin and remained crouched there as the screen door was pushed open and a man stepped onto the porch. “Anything?”

Until then, Raley hadn’t realized there was a second man. He was seated in the passenger side of the pickup, apparently searching the glove box.

Raley ducked out of sight and held his breath. If he was seen, he would have to face these guys without a weapon. He was convinced that this was no ordinary burglary, and that it was no coincidence the pair of them had shown up the morning after two men had tried to kill Britt.

He heard the glove box being snapped shut, then the passenger door of his truck. “There’s drying mud on both sides of the floorboard. He’s had a recent passenger. What about inside?”

“I’ll tell you on the way back.” The man on the porch leaped over the three steps and started across the yard. “But I think my hunch was right.”

Raley didn’t want them to leave without his getting a look, so he risked peeking around the corner of the cabin. The one who’d been in his truck had already got in on the passenger side of a maroon sedan. He was in shadow, but Raley could make out his profile. Sloping jaw, sunglasses, receding hairline. Nothing noteworthy that Raley could detect from this distance.

He got a better look at the one who’d been inside the cabin. He was of average height, slender and fit, mid-forties. A no-nonsense haircut. Conservative dark slacks and a light blue knit golf shirt.

There was nothing noteworthy about him, either—except for the pistol he returned to the holster clipped to his belt at the small of his back before he climbed into the driver’s seat, started the car, and backed away. He executed a precise and economic three-point turn, then drove off down the lane toward the highway.

Raley made note of the make and model of the car and memorized the license plate number. He didn’t move until he could no longer hear the car’s motor. Then he slowly came to his feet, wiping sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand and shaking his legs to return circulation.

Staring down the empty lane, he thought,
This changes everything.
Then, out loud and with heat, “Son of a
bitch.”

Galvanized, he took a more direct route back to where he’d left Britt. When he was still a ways off, he called to her. “It’s okay. They’re gone.” There was no movement of leaves, no sign of her white pants and black shirt. “Britt?” Still nothing. His heart hitched. He ran the remainder of the distance to the clump of shrubbery and pushed aside the branches.
“Britt?”

She was where he’d left her, but her back was to the cabin. She was sitting on her bottom, her knees hugged to her chest, and when she raised her head and looked up at him, she looked like she’d just seen a ghost. And in a way she had.

“He was there. At The Wheelhouse. That night.”

Raley hustled her into the cabin. “Gather up that stuff I bought you this morning, whatever you want to take. We’ve got to get out of here, and we may not come back for a while. Hurry.”

While going through the living area, he surveyed it with a keen eye. After Britt’s rampage the day before, when she’d launched a reckless hunt for a telephone, he had put everything back in its place. On the surface it seemed as though nothing had been disturbed. It took someone who lived here, lived here alone, someone trained to store firefighting gear to exact specifications and keep everything spotless and ready for use, to notice that things had been moved, even a fraction of an inch.

Whoever had searched had been meticulous about replacing things, but not so well that Raley couldn’t tell that drawers and cabinets had been opened, cushions squeezed, rugs lifted, pieces of furniture scooted aside, then replaced.

It was the same in the bedroom. Even the TV tray had been placed upright. The lightbulb was missing from his gooseneck lamp. He remembered the long minutes of silence following the crash. Had the tidy intruder been sweeping up the shattered bulb? Obviously. Also obvious was that he’d taken the broken glass with him, because Raley didn’t see even a sliver of it.

He registered all this within a second of entering the room, because he looked immediately toward the bureau. One drawer, which he knew he hadn’t left open, was slightly ajar, but he expelled a light laugh of relief and said, “He didn’t find it.”

Aware that Britt was watching him as she stuffed her new clothes back into the plastic sacks, he lifted the jar containing the sweet potato vine off the top of the bureau and set it on the floor. He pulled tendrils of the vine away from their anchors tacked to the wall and coiled them around the jar.

“You said it was a nice touch. I didn’t think anyone would disturb it.” Then he put his knee and shoulder to the heavy bureau and pushed it away from the wall. “There’s a hammer in a toolbox on the floor of the closet. Bring it to me, please.”

Britt found the hammer in seconds and carried it to him. He used the claw at the end of it to pry away several nails, then pulled a section of the cheap paneling away from the wall. Behind it was a hollow space. He reached in and withdrew several folders. They were banded together with a thick rubber band and wrapped in protective plastic.

“Your files,” Britt said.

“Yeah.”

“Did you see the guy?”

“Both of them.”

“There were two?”

“One searched the truck while his buddy was in here.”

“What did the other one look like?”

“Like the one you saw. Like guys who just walked off the eighteenth tee, except with guns.”

Reaching beneath the bed, he pulled out a duffel bag and placed the package inside it, then grabbed handfuls of underwear, socks, and T-shirts from the bureau drawers. From the closet he got several pairs of jeans and crammed them into the duffel. He gave her a look, then reached into the closet again, took a ball cap from the top shelf, and handed it to her. “Put your hair up under this and pull the bill down low.”

Then he took his one pair of dress shoes and a dark suit from the closet.

“You still plan to go to the funeral?” she asked.

“Yes.”

She opened her mouth, but he cut her off before she could say anything.

“We’ll talk about it on the way.”

“On the way to where?”

“That’s part of what we’ll talk about.”

“Raley.” She caught his arm as he moved past her, carrying the hastily packed duffel bag and his suit. “Were these the men who pushed me off the road last night?”

“I wouldn’t bet against it.”

“Who are they?”

They had no time to lose, but he took a moment, holding her gaze. “I don’t know who they are, Britt. But I can guess who sent them. And I know they aren’t fucking around.”

Raley had heard one of the intruders say “on the way back.” “I assume that means they’re returning to Charleston,” he told her as they sped away from the cabin. “If that’s the case, we’re probably okay for the immediate present.

“On the other hand,” he said grimly, “these two assholes seem to enjoy vehicular homicide. They could be waiting at the intersection with the main road, knowing this road is a cul-de-sac, the only way in to my place, the only way out. Sooner or later, we’d have to pass this way, and these guys strike me as men who wouldn’t mind the wait, even indefinitely.”

He reached beneath his seat and, to her startlement, produced a pistol. “I’m surprised the guy searching the truck didn’t find this. Or maybe he did, and just didn’t want me to know he did.”

It was a revolver. A big, evil-looking thing with a long barrel. He released the cylinder and checked it. From where Britt was sitting, she could see that each chamber was loaded. He snapped the cylinder back into place.

“They’re under the assumption that we don’t know about their visit,” he continued. “That we’re unsuspecting. They could be waiting at the main road planning to pull out behind us, follow us until we reach a convenient spot, and do another hit-and-run that would look like an accident. We’d be found dead, end of story. No one would suspect murder.”

They were fast approaching the intersection he was concerned about. Raley told her to lie down on the seat. “I want you to keep your head down. Understand?”

She nodded, but apparently he didn’t trust her to do as instructed. His hand was firmly planted on the top of her head when he barely slowed to check for oncoming traffic, then shot out onto the road and jerked the truck into a turn so sharp, the tires squealed and smelled of burning rubber.

He kept his hand on her head for several more minutes, until he was convinced that no one was following them. Then he told her she could sit up, but he still drove fast, his whole aspect alert and tense, his eyes shifting often to the mirrors. She was relieved when he replaced the pistol under the seat.

“Would you have shot at them?”

“If they’d tried something like they did last night? You bet your ass, I would’ve.” His tone left her with no doubt.

“Then I’m glad they weren’t waiting to follow us.”

“Now I’m thinking that maybe they didn’t need to,” he said. “The guy searching the truck could have put a tracking device on it. They’ll take us out when they get the go-ahead from their boss, and it’s convenient.” He ruminated for a moment, then looked over at her. “Is there anybody you can go to?”

“Go to?”

“Stay with. Till it’s safe for you to come out of hiding.”

“No.”

“Family?”

“No.”

He looked at her dubiously.

“No, Raley. No one,” she said. “My parents are dead. Both of them were an only child, and so was I. No siblings, no aunts, uncles, nobody. Okay?” Realizing she sounded defensive, she changed tones. “Even if I had a clan of kinfolk, I wouldn’t involve anyone else in this. I’m a fugitive. Besides—”

When she broke off, he looked over at her. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“What?”

“I’m onto a huge story. I’m not just reporting it, I’m living it.”

“Living it,” he said with scorn. “Yeah.
For the time being.”
Then, angrily, “Jesus, Britt, this isn’t a game. Five minutes from now you could be dead.”

“I realize that. I was the one in the flooded car last night, remember?”

“I remember. Do
you
?”

“Your life is on the line, too. Would you give up your investigation?” she demanded. “Well?” she prodded when he didn’t respond. After several more seconds of stubborn silence, she continued. “I’m not giving up my story, either. And I’m not going into hiding. That’s that.”

A mile whizzed past. Maybe two. Finally he said, “You could surrender to the police. You’d be safe in police custody.”

“No I wouldn’t. If Fordyce and/or McGowan can’t kill me, they’ll make dead certain I’ll be convicted of killing Jay. You said so yourself. They’ll make sure I look so guilty that no one would believe anything I told them about Jay, the fire, nothing.

“You should know. They stopped just short of having you charged with Suzi Monroe’s death. If it hadn’t been for your friend Candy’s influence on Fordyce, he probably would have seen you tried and convicted of something. Not premeditated murder, but something where you would have been muzzled and put away for a long time.”

When he muttered a heartfelt
goddammit,
Britt knew she’d won the argument. To seal it, she added, “Unfortunately, I don’t have a Candy running interference for me.”

“I hate to call and ask a favor. It’s been five years since I’ve talked to her. Besides, she’s busy with this Senate confirmation thing.”

Britt’s jaw went slack with disbelief. “Are you…Is…Your Candy…Candy Orrin…is Judge Cassandra Mellors?”

“Yeah. I thought you knew that.”