“Think about it, Emily,” he urged before she could shut the door in his face. “That means her murderer is still out there. That’s what last night was about. Someone wants me dead. You could be in real danger for helping me.”
“Go! Please.” Her throat closed; her stomach churned violently.Just let him leave.
“I’m telling the truth,” he urged. “Think about it and you’ll remember what really happened. I didn’t kill her. You just needed someone to blame besides yourself.”
She slammed the door. This time he let her.
Collapsing against it, she tried to stop his final words from echoing in her head. How could she have been wrong?
That would mean he had been the hero to the rescue he’d claimed to be. An innocent guy doing a job next door who’d heard a scream and come running. An innocent man who’d lost ten years of his life in the worst of prisons.
And just like the rest of this nightmare, that would be her fault too.
28
9:45 p.m.
Violet Manning-Turner was a legendary hostess. Her parties were the subject of discussions for months after the events. No one was as good at developing guest lists or creating spectacular food and drink presentations whether for a cookout in the backyard or a black-tie sit-down dinner.
This time, however, she had made a strategic error. One she hadn’t anticipated. Very unusual.
Violet surveyed the crowd gathered in her great room. Every well-dressed guest had praised Violet’s grand home and the delicious hors d’oeuvres she’d made herself. The wine was the best that had ever rolled across the tongues of these people, whether they said so or not. The idea that more beer bottles than stemware floated around the room made her want to scream. But then that was to be expected in Pine Bluff; this was Alabama after all.
But it was the tension between her husband and his friends that concerned her. Troy had openly avoided Keith all evening. As had Larry and even Perry. She scanned the crowd and her gaze settled on her dear husband. This was so unfair to him. Clint Austin’s return had put Keith’s life in a tailspin. There didn’t appear to be anything she could do to help.
Damn Heather Baker.
Violet’s lips tightened as did her fingers around the bowl of her glass. Heather had everything. She and Emily were to have been the captains of the squad senior year. Violet should have been captain from the outset. She worked harder than both of them put together, but popularity had made the decision. Justine had insisted that she had made the decision, but Violet knew.
Heather had been blessed with the honor of captain, and she’d latched on to the man Violet loved. He and Heather had broken up three times junior year. Keith had turned to Violet two of those times. Why hadn’t Heather just let him go?Selfish bitch.
Relax.Violet took a deep breath. This was her party. She had to be a good hostess. Besides, Heather had gotten herself murdered and Violet had ended up captain anyway. And she’d gotten the man as well.
She had deserved both. She’d earned every single thing she’d attained in life. And no one, her gaze landed on Cathy Caruthers, was going to take any of it away from Violet. If Cathy’s damned husband didn’t work so many extra shifts, he might notice that his wife had turned unfaithful in recent years.
Putting the thought out of her mind, Violet merged into the crowd. Played the good hostess, ensuring everyone’s drink was fresh and their bellies satisfied. She popped into the kitchen to check that there was still plenty of beer in the refrigerator and to remind the kitchen help to stay on top of keeping the hors d’oeuvre trays filled. The waiter was just about to make another round with the selection of wines. Excellent.
She checked her makeup in the hall mirror before returning to the great room. Her French twist looked exquisite, as did the black dress. She’d tried on a dozen dresses before selecting this one. A trip to Birmingham had been necessary to find one no one else would be wearing. At nearly one thousand dollars, no one else could have afforded it.
A muffled thumping from the hall powder room drew Violet closer to the door. Surely no one had gotten that drunk already. A chorus of “oh yeah”s and “give me all you’ve got”s had Violet backing away fromthe door. Fury streaked through her. She was going to kill Cathy. That slut was having sex in her powder room!
If she made a mess in there ...
What were obviously simultaneous climaxes rattled the painting on the wall next to where Violet stood, her jaw hanging slack in horror. She righted the picture, her lips compressed in fury, and stamped away.
How dare Cathy do this at one ofherparties!
Three or four minutes later, Cathy, all smiles and with a fresh beer in her hand, joined the other guests. Violet’s jaw dropped again when Troy Baker, still shoving his shirt into his trousers, swaggered in behind Cathy.
Another burst of outrage crashed over Violet. That no-good little shit. He’d claimed the baby was sick and Patricia hadn’t been able to come. Violet knew better. The two were having serious trouble. Mostly because Troy wouldn’t get over the fact that the man accused of murdering his sister was out of prison now.
He was just like Emily Wallace. Both of them were obsessed with the whole Clint Austin issue. Emily hadn’t even bothered to call with her regrets. The world was full of total fools, and Troy and Emily fit unerringly into that category. Violet still cringed when she allowed herself to recall the fact that she’d dated Troy once, or maybe it was twice. She’d felt sorry for him and she’d needed Keith to take her a little more seriously. Her strategy had worked like a charm.
A hand waved in front of her face. Violet started, almost sloshed her wine.
Justine Mallory looked at Violet as if she had smeared her lipstick or smudged her mascara. “Are you all right, Vi?”
Violet ordered a smile into place. “Of course. I was just thinking how glad I am that so many were able to attend on such short notice.”
