Читать книгу Deadly Competition - Roxanne Rustand - Страница 14

“So, how are things going?” Shelby Mason, head librarian at the Loomis Public Library and a longtime friend of Leah’s, made her way through the people visiting with each other outside the church and leaned over to give Sarah a quick hug. “I haven’t gotten to see you for a while!”

“I gotta nanny.” Sarah pointed a chubby finger at Mandy, who was standing at Clint’s side.

“As of last week.” Clint nodded and made the introductions between the two women, thankful for this sunny Sunday morning and the friends who had made the last four months bearable. “You’ve been a true blessing, Shelby, for all the times you’ve watched Sarah. I hope we won’t have to impose quite as often, now.”

“It was never an imposition.” She tucked her long, auburn hair behind her ear as she gently touched Sarah’s cheek. “We go way back, don’t we, sweetie? I got to hold you when you were just an hour old. But you’re a big girl, now. Do you like Sunday school?”

Sarah nodded emphatically and held up her collection of colorful papers. “I made pictures.”

“That’s great!” Shelby straightened and looked at Mandy. “So, is Clint a good boss, or is he driving you crazy?” She cocked her head when Mandy just offered a polite smile. “Ahhh…diplomacy is best. Someday, we’ll have to meet for coffee, and you can give me the real scoop.”

The rest of the congregation had spilled out the front doors of the church, and people were chatting in small groups nearby. Clint glanced around, and waited until Sarah and Mandy wandered a few yards away to inspect some dandelions. He lowered his voice. “Have you seen any more signs of Leah?”

“Only that glimpse I thought I caught of her in the shadows a few weeks ago, and I still don’t understand it. I just know it was her—but why would she run when I called her name? She should know I’d do anything to help her. It just doesn’t make sense.”

“No, it doesn’t. You’re her best friend. If she was in Loomis, why wouldn’t she contact you directly—or me? And why wouldn’t she come to see Sarah? She loves her daughter more than life itself.”

“Maybe she wanted to come home but heard about the warrant for her arrest and is too afraid.” Wrapping her arms around her waist, Shelby shivered. “I would be, if I knew the police thought I was a murderer…” Her voice trailed off and she looked away, tears shimmering in her eyes.

“Except we both know she never would’ve been capable of—” He caught his past tense and cleared his throat. “Maybe Earl wasn’t a good husband, but she wouldn’t have harmed him or anyone else. And as far as Dylan Renault, he died after she disappeared. She surely wouldn’t have any reason to sneak back into town to do something like that.”

At Shelby’s raised eyebrow, Clint flinched. Shelby was certain that Dylan had slipped a drug into Leah’s soft drink at a party and that the wealthy playboy had raped Leah. The very thought of it made Clint’s stomach pitch. But rape or not, Leah would never sink to murder.

“I still think there’s a possibility that Dylan was Sarah’s father, and given the circumstances, you have to admit it could be true.” Shelby linked her arm through Clint’s and drew him even farther from the others. “DNA testing could prove it either way. Sarah would never need to know what the blood sample was for.”

Clint sighed heavily, torn by the options that had been plaguing him for months. “I can’t go behind Leah’s back like that. It should be her choice.”

“Look, if DNA shows Earl was Sarah’s dad, there’d be no reason to think he went into a jealous rage over finding out that he wasn’t. There’d be no reason for Leah to resort to self-defense.” Shelby glanced across the lawn to where her fiancé Patrick was strolling in their direction with the minister, and lowered her voice. “And if Sarah wasn’t Dylan’s, why would Leah confront him after all this time—much less kill him?”

Their eyes met, and Clint knew he and Shelby were both thinking the same thing. Sarah had the exotic, almond-shaped green eyes and blond hair seen in some of the Renaults. Earl and Leah both had brown eyes and dark hair, so the chances were slim that Earl could’ve been the child’s biological father.

“I have to believe that when we find Leah and get her side of the story, we’ll be able to prove that she’s innocent—because she is. As for all the rest—” Clint splayed his hands. “I just have to trust that God is watching over her and that everything will work out for the best. It’s what I pray for every single day.”

Mandy hadn’t meant to eavesdrop yesterday after church. But the rest of the congregation had drifted away, and Clint’s deep voice had carried to where Mandy was helping Sarah string a daisy chain of fat, golden dandelions.

The tension in his stance and the agitation on Shelby’s face had been clear, too.

At first, Mandy thought the two might be romantically involved, because they’d stood so close, with Shelby touching his arm and looking up at him intently, but then a handsome man had joined them, brushed a kiss against her hair, and introduced himself as Patrick Rivers, Shelby’s fiancé.

Surprised at her own flicker of relief, Mandy had focused on the dandelions in her hand. The little sense of awareness she felt whenever Clint drew near meant nothing. She had no future here. It wouldn’t matter if he was dating, engaged or even married. It might be better if he was.

Right now on this Monday afternoon in Loomis, she couldn’t even imagine ever wanting to be involved with another man. If she’d been so utterly wrong about Dean, how could she ever trust her heart again?

It was ironic, learning that the mother of poor little Sarah was apparently on the run, just like Mandy herself—but it also gave her an odd sense of comfort. Would Clint be understanding if Mandy’s troubles suddenly caught up with her? Would he be willing to help?

He’d certainly been gracious and patient so far, with a good measure of humor thrown in, over the fact that she was an abominable cook with a lot to learn in the housekeeping department. And he certainly looked like a man who could handle anything that came his way. Even Dean.

Lost in her thoughts, she grimaced as she strolled down the sidewalk in downtown Loomis with Sarah’s small hand tucked safely in her own. She wouldn’t ask that of him. Not ever. A cold chill swept down her spine as she remembered Dean’s twisted expression and the loathing in his voice during their last fight.

She furtively surveyed the street, feeling exposed and vulnerable at being out in broad daylight, half-afraid he might appear. It was certainly a possibility.

Dean was a small-town cop, from a family of cops, with a couple of lawyers thrown into the mix. After her first 911 call, his relatives and buddies had closed ranks against her, accepting Dean’s claim that she had major depression over the loss of her father, that she was potentially suicidal and that she couldn’t be believed. That he’d taken her to the E.R. with those claims only supported his position.

He’d smugly told her that his friends and family had all promised to help keep an eye on her and would let him know if she “went crazy and called 911 again.”

And then he’d hit her where the bruises wouldn’t show…just to drive that lesson home.

His connections to information and power had made her afraid to attempt reporting his verbal and physical abuse after the first time. And now, those connections would make it easy for him to track her down if she made even one misstep.

But if he showed up here, she’d run before she’d let anyone stand against him. He had a dark, cold side to him that was too unpredictable to risk bringing out, and there was no way she’d let anyone else get hurt.

Sarah tugged on Mandy’s hand and looked up at her with a worried expression, then she quickly twisted around to stare at the other people on the street as if afraid someone dangerous was lurking nearby

Mandy summoned a bright smile. “It’s fun, coming to town with you. Did you like going out for lunch at the café?”

“My favoritest place. ’Specially the smile sundaes.”

Shelby had mentioned that Leah enjoyed taking her daughter to Loomis Hotel’s Café Au Lait, and it had proven to be a great choice. Even Mandy had gotten a chuckle out of the sundaes decorated as clown faces, and the bright atmosphere had made for a pleasant experience…

Except for the imperious older woman sitting in a wheelchair parked at a corner table.

Even from a distance, there was no mistaking the designer clothes and hat, or the real pearls of a wealthy matron who surely had more important things to think about than a little girl and her nanny. So why had she glowered at the two of them through most of their meal?

Some of the other patrons had picked up on it, too, glancing surreptitiously between the irritable old woman and the table Mandy and Sarah shared, then leaning close to each other to whisper.

“Um…Sarah, do you remember the lady at the café—the one sitting in the wheelchair?”

The child shrugged as she peered into the drugstore window at the colorful display of toys and magazines.

“Do you know her name?”

Sarah shook her head. “Can I see the toys?”

“I don’t see why not, for a few minutes.” Mandy opened the front door and followed Sarah to the toy area. “Just remember they’re for looking, not playing, unless your daddy buys something. Okay?”

Enthralled, Sarah knelt in front of a display of dolls and doll clothes while Mandy stood watching over her. A few customers wandered down the aisle and nodded politely. Outside the big glass storefront, pedestrians strolled past as they went about their errands. A few of them cast curious glances at her through the window, looked down at Sarah, then smiled and offered little waves of acknowledgment.

Mandy blinked when the woman in the electric wheelchair rolled by, then jerked to a stop and backed up to give her a cold, hard stare. Mandy’s heartbeat picked up its pace.

“That’s Charla Renault,” a deep, familiar voice said behind her. “She owns the Renault Corporation—biggest company in the county.”

Mandy turned and looked up at Clint, feeling a rush of relief at his arrival. They’d planned to meet at the town square in a half hour, but right now she was more than eager to go home. “She sure doesn’t seem very friendly.”

“You wouldn’t be the first person to say that. But it’s also been a bad year for her, given the death of her son, Dylan.”

So she was the mother of the man that Sarah’s mother was being accused of killing? Now it was all starting to make sense. A bitter, grieving old woman, seeing the daughter of a woman who might have killed her son, might struggle with a lot of anger and resentment. “I feel sorry for her, poor thing. I can’t imagine being in her shoes.”

“She’s never made things easier for herself.” Clint lifted Sarah into his arms and started for the door. “You’d be surprised at the long-term feuds and jealousies going on between some of the richest families in the area. The Renaults aren’t on good terms with any of them—especially the Pershings. They’ve been battling for decades over one thing or another. Money, as they say, sure doesn’t buy happiness.”

The ticket clerk in Atlanta gave Dean a wary look and swallowed hard. “I—I’m not sure.”

“Look again. You saw this photo once before and told my partner that you recognized this woman. You said you sold a bus ticket to her.”

“I—thought I did.” The man pushed up his glasses with a forefinger. “But like I told the other guy, the hair was different. And with the glasses she wore…well, I just don’t know for sure.”

“She has big, hazel eyes. Sort of a heart-shaped face, with freckles across her nose, and she’s really slender. She was probably nervous and avoiding eye contact…maybe not real sure about where she wanted to go. Sound familiar?”

At that, the old man’s gaze flew to meet Dean’s. “I wouldn’t remember exactly, seeing as how hundreds of people come through here every week. But that does sorta fit the description of the one I saw. Wouldn’t remember her, ’cept she reminded me of my niece Betsy—and that fax of the woman’s photo came through just a few days later. Betsy is such a sweetheart. Just got married, and—”

“Forget that. Where did this other woman go?”

Flustered, the man ran his hand through his thinning hair. “West—she wanted to go west, I think.”

“You think?”

“No—maybe south. Down New Orleans way.”

Dean fought the urge to wrap his hands around the man’s scrawny neck. “Maybe,” he said with lethal calm, “you could be a little more specific.”

“I—” sweat beaded on the ticket clerk’s forehead “—I think she wanted a ticket for New Orleans but didn’t have enough cash. Close, but not enough. I’d say that would put her somewhere in southeast Louisiana, but I swear I don’t remember.” He pulled out a map, unfolded it and drew a circle with his forefinger over the area just north of New Orleans. “Prob’ly here.”

Dean slapped a personal business card down on the counter. “If you remember anything else, call me. Day or night. This gal is on the run, and she’s wanted for murder. Got it?” He slid a fifty across the counter. “If I find out that you’re covering for her, you can bet I’ll be back.”

“I—I don’t even know her,” the man protested, licking his lips. “Why would I do that?”

Dean gave him a long, hard stare, then rocked back on his heels, satisfied. Despite the threat, the guy hadn’t wavered. Which meant that Dean now knew which direction to go, and soon, Katherine would be very, very sorry that she’d dared to run off.

How could she not realize that she had no choice—that he owned her, body and soul?