Читать книгу Texas Secrets, Lovers' Lies - Karen Whiddon - Страница 12

Chapter 4

As Zoe left the police station and stepped outside into the bright sunshine, her cell phone rang. She didn’t recognize the number but answered anyway.

“Zoe, it’s Cristine.” The other woman’s words were rushed, as if she was nervous. “I need to talk to you.”

“Okay.” Zoe checked her watch. “I’m just leaving the police station. I can be back there in a few minutes.”

“Oh, not here.” Cristine coughed delicately. “It’s too crowded. I’d like someplace a little more private.”

Interesting. Zoe sensed it could be important, but still needed clarification. “Is this about Shayna?”

“Yes. I’m tied up with this until late this afternoon. We’ve already started organizing some searches, though the big one will be on Saturday, when everyone is off work. How about we meet for breakfast tomorrow morning? How about Joe’s coffee shop?”

“Joe’s is still there?” Zoe and the Bell family had spent many a Sunday morning at that diner. “From what I remember, it’s always really crowded.”

“On weekends, yes,” Cristine said. “But since tomorrow is Friday, if we go right after the morning rush, say about eight-thirty, it will be fairly empty. We should be able to have a private conversation with minimal interruptions.”

“Sounds good.” Ending the call, Zoe didn’t see the need to head back to the high school. At this point, it appeared she was on her own. She texted Mama Bell, letting her know to take the car whenever she was ready to go. Mama replied almost immediately with an okay and a smiley face.

Relieved, Zoe popped into the corner gas station and purchased a bottle of water. She set out, glad of the alone time, planning to walk back to the Bells’ house at a leisurely pace. It was probably just over a mile and she knew she could use the exercise. She walked a lot in the city and not only was the movement therapeutic, it always helped clear her head.

And she certainly had a lot to think about.

As she left downtown behind, she realized she’d always considered Shayna fragile. Zoe loved her like a sister—and always would, no matter what. The woman Shayna had apparently become proved that point. From what Zoe had heard, Shayna was more fragile than ever, doing drugs, sleeping around—and disappearing.

What the hell had happened to make her change so completely? Had it been Brock, as Cristine had hinted? Or jealousy over Zoe’s life, like the sheriff thought? Or was it something more, something no one yet realized or understood, that same something that had made her tell Zoe she needed her? Zoe suspected if she learned the secret to that, she might find out what had become of her friend.

* * *

Emotions—chief among them jumbled regret and longing—swamped Brock as he’d watched Zoe stride into the sheriff’s office. Was she playing some sort of game with him? First she’d asked for his help and then, barely a minute later, told him she’d changed her mind.

And she’d claimed they needed to put their differences aside? As if what had happened between them was that simple.

Did she not understand that she’d freakin’ ripped out his heart? That every time he saw her and she gave him that patently false smile, he wanted to haul her up against him and kiss her senseless, before shoving her away and then daring her to tell him that he meant nothing to her. Did she not realize she was the reason he couldn’t love Shayna the way she deserved, and, worse, that Shayna had guessed it, too?

Of course, he couldn’t. Not when the only reason Zoe had returned was because her friend Shayna had gone missing.

Another twist of the knife in his heart, knowing she hadn’t come back for him. Worse, Zoe couldn’t see the parallel between how she’d behaved then and what Shayna appeared to have done now.

Disappeared without a word to the ones who loved her.

He’d tortured himself for months after Zoe left. Searched high and low, hounded Shayna and the Bells for some hint, any hint of where she’d gone. He’d planned to find her, demand an explanation, ask her to look him in the eye, kiss him on the mouth, and then tell him she didn’t love him, didn’t want to be his wife.

After a while, tired of spinning his wheels, he’d tried to drown his sorrows in the bottle. His sister Eve had been the one to pull him from the abyss when he’d hit rock bottom. With both their parents dead, she needed him more than he needed oblivion. So he’d returned home to raise Eve and nurse his broken heart. As the years had passed, he’d come to believe that, even if not entirely whole, he had healed as best he could.

He’d been wrong.

Her mere presence had brought it all rushing back.

Cursing, he felt like punching something. He wanted Shayna found as much as anyone else did, but for sanity’s sake, he needed to spend as little time around Zoe as possible.

Instead of going home, he headed for TJ’s Brew Pub. Though he hadn’t been to the place in months—no, make that years—the bartender Jason, who was the J in TJ’s, welcomed him as if he was an old friend.

Which he sort of was, since they’d gone to high school together.

“What’ll it be?” Jason asked, only his narrowed eyes indicating how apprehensive he was about the answer. He rubbed his bald head quickly, the gesture born of habit. Even back when he’d had hair, Jason had always rubbed his head.

“Club soda,” Brock told him, giving him a twisted grin. “Don’t worry, I’m not falling off the wagon any time soon.” He’d been sober three years and counting.

“I’m glad,” Jason countered, grinning back. He brought the club soda and placed it on the counter. “Though I had to wonder, man. I mean, you coming into the bar and all.”

“I wanted to test myself.” Brock picked up the club soda and took a drink. “Plus, sometimes I miss the atmosphere.” To his surprise, the words rang of truth. He hadn’t thought of anything beyond going inside the pub, as if the dim light and the seventies-style paneled walls represented a safe haven.

In the old days, they had. But then, so had alcohol.

“Hey, I’m hearing things.” Jason leaned closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial near whisper. “How are you dealing with Zoe Onella being back in town?”

Brock stifled a groan. Even here, he couldn’t escape her.

“Fine,” he said. “Just fine.”

TJ’s was empty, the after-work crowd still glued to their desks and computers. A few die-hard souls dotted the interior, intent on the beer or their laptops, mostly alone, though Brock spotted one couple snuggling in a back booth, giggling over a pizza and a couple of brews.

He’d always loved the taste of beer. Even now, though he hadn’t drank one in years, his mouth watered.

With the ease of much practice, he pushed the craving away. He’d heard it never left you, this almost obscene yearning for alcohol. Kind of like the way he felt about Zoe.

Damn. Cursing under his breath, he took another drink, glad Jason had moved away to help another customer. He’d just gotten his world whipped into shape. While he couldn’t say he was truly happy, he was content. He had the feed store, his mother and sister, and his weekend gig at the college radio station. That was enough. It had to be, because that was all he had.

He cursed the day Zoe had come back into town and started him once again wanting more.

* * *

Morning arrived silently in Anniversary, the only hint of its arrival a shaft of yellow light. Stretching, Zoe reflected on how she missed mornings in Manhattan. There, the noise built like a crescendo, rising in waves and pulling you from your nest under the covers. She found it invigorating, emerging from her apartment onto the bustling street, the sounds of the city a shot of adrenaline straight into her veins.

Here, she had to rely on coffee. Strong coffee. She had a cup at Mama Bell’s before driving into town to meet Cristine. She took the cup with her, sipping as she drove.

Still she felt half-asleep as she negotiated the surprisingly crowded downtown area. It took her a few minutes to find a parking spot. Once she had, she slugged back the rest of the coffee, aware there’d be more.

Stepping into the coffee shop felt like hopping backward in time. A blast from the past at Joe’s. It ought to be their slogan. Glancing around, Zoe could swear the same people in the various red vinyl booths had been here the last time she’d come, over five years ago.

“Well, I’ll be... Zoe Onella?” Hand on one cocked hip, the other holding a steaming pot of coffee, Patsy O’Brien flipped her long, gray braid out of the way and grinned. “Have a seat anywhere, sugar. Let me guess, cheese blintzes with blueberries, right?”

Zoe nodded. Though she’d originally planned on having a sensible breakfast of scrambled egg substitute with turkey bacon and wheat toast, she suddenly craved the comfort food of her youth.

“Zoe, over here.” Cristine waved from a booth near the back. Today, she’d lightened up on the heavy black eyeliner, though apparently she still favored low-cut shirts and push up bras.

Zoe hurried over and slid in.

“Coffee?” Cristine passed a cup over to her. Accepting gratefully, Zoe caught Patsy’s eye. The older woman bustled over, filled the cup and sighed. “Look at you, all sophisticated and everything. Maybe when the breakfast rush slows down, I’ll have time to chat.” And she hurried off, to Zoe’s relief.

“You do look different,” Cristine mused. “Of course, you were always pretty, even back in high school. But now you look so...citified.”

Not sure if the statement was an insult or a compliment, Zoe only sipped her coffee and nodded. Then, because she wanted to focus the conversation where it belonged, she leaned forward. “How was Shayna acting these last few weeks? Did she say or do anything unusual?”

“You mean something to let me know she was planning on running off?” Pursing her lips, Cristine considered the question. “Well, she had been acting worried. She had a bit of a run-in with a drug dealer. That’s never good. She owed him money and wasn’t sure how she’d come up with it.”

At the words, Zoe’s stomach clenched and she closed her eyes. Again, it was hammered home to her how much Shayna had changed. Shayna had known the adverse effect drugs had had on Zoe’s life. Zoe’s mother had been an addict and had done prison time, before being released and then murdered by her dealer in front of Zoe.

She couldn’t believe Shayna had sunk that low.

“Are you sure?” she heard herself ask, even though she knew Cristine had to be.

“Yes.” Cristine bit her lip. “But no worries. I covered it for her. I loaned her the money and she’d already started paying me back.”

“Did she?” Zoe felt a flash of anger and let it show in her voice.

Cristine looked down. “Yes.”

Hurt and angry and confused, Zoe sighed.

“Hey.” Cristine’s sweet Southern drawl brought her out of her thoughts. “Are you okay? You looked kind of out of it for a minute there.”

“I was just thinking about the past.” Before she could say anything else, Patsy appeared with their food.

“Here you go, sugar.” She set a plate with three cheese blintzes covered with blueberries and whipped cream in front of Zoe. “Now you try and eat all of this, you hear? You are looking way too skinny these days.”

Zoe nodded, unable to keep from smiling. In New York, everyone she knew was obsessed with remaining svelte. Hearing Patsy call her too thin was like balm on her soul.

Obligingly, she dug in. Across from her, Cristine stared at her omelet before finally picking up a piece of crispy bacon and crunching it between her teeth.

At least the arrival of their breakfast had saved them from further conversation. Zoe still had no idea why Cristine wanted to meet with her privately. Though she knew things moved much slower here in Texas than they did up north, she needed to try and pry that out of her.

Eventually, Patsy cleared their plates, refilled their coffee and left the check, expressing her regret that she was still too busy to stay and chat.

Taking a deep drink of coffee, finally feeling caffeinated, Zoe glanced at her watch before extracting a twenty from her wallet to pay for the meal. Funny how this exact same breakfast in Manhattan would have cost twice as much. “Cristine, was there a reason you wanted to meet me for breakfast? If not, I’ve really got to get going.”

Leaning back in the booth, Cristine arched her brows. “Yes, Zoe. I did need to discuss something with you. I’m sorry I didn’t bring it up sooner, but it’s difficult for me to say.”

Watching her, Zoe waited.

After getting no response, Cristine continued. “I think I know what happened to Shayna, though I don’t know if she ran off or was abducted.”

“Abducted?” Zoe sucked in her breath. “Why are you telling me this? Don’t you think you should go to the police?”

“I don’t have concrete evidence.” Cristine grimaced, looking uncomfortable. “Only my suspicions.”

Crap. Torn between wanting to believe her and demanding Cristine march right down to the police station this instant, Zoe leaned close. “Tell me what you know,” she said. “Then maybe we’ll go talk to the sheriff together.”

“Okay.” Relief colored Cristine’s voice. “Shayna was friends with a lot of men, you know?”

Zoe nodded. “Go on.”

“Well, she’d been hanging around with this biker who did a lot of work for the local dealer.”

Could this get any worse? Somehow, Zoe suspected it could and would.

“What’s the biker’s name?” she asked.

“Mike.” Cristine sighed. “I haven’t seen him around at all since Shayna disappeared. That dude is really good-looking, but jealous as hell. And like I told you, Shayna doesn’t make any long-term commitments.”

“What about Brock?” Zoe pointed out. “Shayna moved in with him.”

“Yeah, but once she realized it was going nowhere, she got bored.” Cristine gave a soft laugh. “She likes to keep things free and easy. Like me. We just want to have fun.”

“Do you think Mike ran off with her?” Zoe asked.

“Ran off?” Cristine’s heavily made-up eyes filled with tears. “It’s possible, but like I said, Shayna didn’t make commitments.”

“We need to tell Roger. Even if there’s no real evidence, this is something he needs to know.”

“I already told him an amended version.” She shifted in her chair, clearly uncomfortable. “I couldn’t tell him about the drugs. I didn’t want to get Shayna in trouble.”

Or herself. “What did he say?”

Cristine sighed. “He promised to put it in his file.”

“And now you’re telling me?” Zoe leaned forward. “Why?”

“Because someone needs to go talk to Mike—and probably some of the others Shayna was involved with.”

Someone, meaning obviously not her. Zoe found that slightly odd. “Cristine, you know their faces. Who better to dig for information?”

“That’s just it, I can’t.” Twisting her hands together, Cristine leaned closer. “You see, Shayna wasn’t the only one who owes money. After I covered her debt, I thought she’d be paying me back. Instead, she disappeared. Meanwhile, I sort of owe a couple of other guys money and...”

“If you show up, they’ll expect you to pay it.”

Cristine nodded. “And I can’t. At least not until I get paid. What about you? No one around there knows you. You’d be perfect. Shayna and I hung out at several places, but there’s one bar in particular, the one where Mike hangs out. We were there the night Shayna disappeared.”

“Where is it?”

Cristine named a bar in a bad part of town. The Hitching Post. Of course. Zoe shouldn’t have been familiar with it, but she was. She’d witnessed her mother’s murder in the alley behind there.

The idea of going back to that bar, near that dark alley, made Zoe break out in an uncomfortable sweat.

She had no choice. If she wanted to find out what had happened to Shayna, she had to go back to the place that haunted her nightmares.

Unfortunately, she couldn’t go alone. She’d have to ask Brock. At least she trusted him. He was and always would be the most honorable man she’d ever known. But then again, Shayna had changed completely. What if Brock had, too?

Still, she’d ask him. At the thought, her insides churned. Still, maybe they could figure out a way to work together for Shayna’s sake. “I’ll let you know,” she told Cristine, pushing up from the table.

Instead of going home, she took a deep breath and headed out to the one place she knew she could find Brock. McCauley’s Feed Store.

Several pickup trucks were parked in the lot. She pulled in between two of them and killed the engine. Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and got out.

Inside, she blinked. The store had changed dramatically. She remembered a homey place of disorganized chaos. Saddles had been mixed in among bird feeders, dog food next to fertilizer. Customers had to hunt to find the items they wanted.

Now, everything had been arranged in logical order. Saddles were grouped with bridles and halters and bits. There was a bird section, a wildlife section, and a gardening section, among others. Hunting was big business in these parts and come deer season McCauley’s would sell out of deer stands and feeders. There were even two entire rows of fishing rods and reels, along with lures and various other angler items. The concrete floor appeared clean and well swept, and the checkout counter had been relocated to the opposite side of the store.

Again, she scanned the interior, almost feeling as though she was in another place entirely. She didn’t see Brock anywhere.

Two men were standing by the shelves containing sacks of dog food, hotly debating the merits of particular brands. They fell silent and turned to stare as she walked by. She gave them a friendly smile and tried to move past.