49
3:45 p.m.
Troy was scared. He slung the empty can across the kitchen and reached inside the fridge for another. The milk he shoved aside was expired. He slammed the fridge door, shook the magnets holding his little girl’s artwork. His gut clenched. Goddamn it all to hell. He looked around at the empty kitchen. Dirty dishes were piled in the sink. The whole place was a wreck.
Patricia had left him.
He popped the top on the beer and guzzled it down in one long, sucking swallow. He exhaled a belch and tossed the can in the corner with the last one. One can at a time just wasn’t doing the job. He dived back into the fridge and grabbed a fresh six-pack and stalked off to the living room. He flopped into his recliner and popped the top on another.
The pain started to swell again and he tried his best to wash it away with more beer.
Keith was dead. And it was his fault.
He gulped down the rest of the beer and slung the can away. This time instead of reaching for another beer he picked up the .38 Smith & Wesson lying on the table next to his chair. He stared at its inviting black barrel. He should just blow his damn brains out and be done withit. His life was over. He’d lost his sister. He’d lost his wife and kids. He’d lost his best friend.
The man responsible for all of it was walking around free. Happy-fucking-go-lucky like nothing had ever happened. Clint Austin had come back to this town and torn it apart.
Someone had to make him pay.
Troy laughed at himself. He’d been saying that for a damned week and he hadn’t done a thing about it except break a few things and tear up a few damned pictures. He’d just gotten drunker and passed out.
He’d called Keith a coward whenhewas the coward.
His fingers tightened on the butt of the weapon.
By God it was time he made this right. He knew one surefire way to lure Clint Austin into a trap.
Emily Wallace.
50
4:30 p.m.
Justine’s house came into view. She was home.
Clint would be furious when he found out Emily had left the inn without him. But she couldn’t wait any longer. Ray was dead. God, she couldn’t believe it. How could this be happening? What were the police doing about it? Besides questioning Clint.
She had to get to the truth. She’d left Clint a note telling him where she’d gone in case he was released before she’d finished here.
The whole concept of what she was about to do felt insane. Justine had been her friend. Everyone’s favorite teacher. All the cheerleaders loved her. What could she have hoped to gain by hurting Heather?
It just didn’t seem logical or possible.
Then again, the missing necklace was the only other piece of evidence besides the knife. That left Emily with little choice except to follow the only clue she had.
She leaned her head back against the seat—Ray and Keith were dead. Her chest constricted with regret. Their murders gave her all the more reason to suspect that what she and Clint were doing was not only right but also necessary. Someone was killing off every single person who might have known the truth or some part of it about that night.
Someone had to do the right thing. Clint was being held for questioning, so that left her.
Emily got out of the car and walked up the sidewalk to the porch. Justine had lived in this small house since coming to Pine Bluff. She liked calling it a cottage. And it did sort of look like one with lots of architectural features and lovely fretwork. Very old world. Oodles of flowers.
Not the kind of place where a murderer lived.
Emily pressed the doorbell and waited, working hard to keep her respiration even.
The door opened and Justine appeared, her eyes red and swollen. “Emily. Did you hear the news about Ray? It’s just awful.”
“I did. It’s terrible.”
