Chapter 22
Emily couldn’t take the not knowing a minute longer. She had to find out what was going on with her parents now. Today.
She waited impatiently for them to return home from their morning walk.
Shivering, she checked the thermostat, nudged it up a degree.
She’d tossed and turned last night, unable to fixate on anything but Clint Austin.
Damn him. Her parents might be in trouble and she couldn’t stop obsessing about him and trial transcripts and rumors that couldn’t possibly be true.
Her entire existence had been focused on Austin for so damned long that she’d missed the signs that her folks needed her. What kind of daughter did that make her?
The remarks Cathy and Violet had made about Emily holding out, waiting for Austin, had pushed a hot button, made her obsessively analyze every minute since she’d come back .
. . since he’d come back. She hadn’t wanted a social life since the murder.
Every day for the past ten years she’d done nothing but what she had to do.
Exist. Nothing more. She felt nothing, wanted nothing.
That didn’t mean she had been holding out for Austin.
Dr. Brown had had a theory about that, as usual.
He’d insisted that Emily was punishing herself.
Why should she have a life when Heather didn’t have one?
That was one time he’d probably been right.
As for sex, she’d had her share of encounters.
But none of it had made her feel . . . nothing ever made her feel. Except, apparently, him.
Pacing the length of the living room again, Emily ordered her thoughts away from Austin and back on the real problem she needed to deal with right now.
She didn’t relish the idea of confronting her parents about Fairgate.
But maybe she could help. Besides, trying to sneak around to learn the truth wasn’t going to cut it.
Fairgate had refused to talk and she’d found nothing in her father’s study that gave any clues.
Snooping in her parents’ house was a new low for her.
But she was desperate. Desperate enough to consider asking Clint Austin what he knew about Fairgate’s dealings with her father.
A slow, swelling realization crept into her thoughts.
Maybe she should do that with all the questions she had about the past. Principal Call couldn’t say for certain that he hadn’t seen anyone else in the neighborhood that night.
Add to that the comments tossed out regarding the possibility that Austin was innocent, by her own friends no less, and she was feeling damned confused.
She should demand some straight answers from all involved.
Starting with Ray Hale and then maybe even Clint Austin. Why not?
First she had to deal with her father’s situation.
Admittedly, she couldn’t seem to separate, no matter how hard she tried, the idea that her father was keeping an old secret that involved Fairgate and the fact that Clint Austin’s alibi had hinged on Fairgate.
There couldn’t be a connection. The idea was ludicrous.
Emily perched on the edge of the sofa to wait. Why did she even go there anyway? She knew Clint was in the room that night . . . touching her. He’d had Heather’s blood all over him. He was not innocent.
The front door opened.
Emily rocketed off the sofa.
“Hello, dear.” Her mother fanned herself as she closed the door behind her. “Whew, it was hot out there this morning.”
Emily’s heart thumped. “Where’s Dad?”
Her mother sat down in a chair in the entry hall and started to untie her walking shoes. “He had an appointment this morning. He’ll be home this afternoon.”
He was avoiding Emily.
Fairgate had to have told him about her visit.
“Where’d he go?” Emily stalked over to her mother, her frustration illogical, she knew. “I need to speak with him. Why would he have an appointment this morning? Is he avoiding me?”
Dammit, she hadn’t meant to say that. She clamped her mouth shut at the expression that claimed her mother’s face. This was new, not one of the usual four zones.
“Emily, listen to yourself. Your father had no idea you needed to speak with him.” Carol slipped off her shoes and stood. “Now, what’s the trouble, dear?”
Emily had seriously overreacted. But this was important. Fairgate was not the kind of man to fool around with. A new fist of fear punched her. What if her father had gone to see Fairgate?
“What’s going on with Dad and Sidney Fairgate?”
The mixture of horror and disbelief in her mother’s expression dissolved, turned guarded. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Em. Are you sure you’re all right?”
Her mother had just lied to her.
Emily stilled inside.
“Where in the world would you have heard such a thing?” She glanced around the room as if looking for somewhere to rest her attention.
There was the crack . . . the slightest breach in her mother’s always flawless poise. Uncertainty peeked beyond it.
Emily fought to control the tightening in her throat. “I heard it from you and Dad.”
“Well.” Her mother jerked the slightest bit, squared her shoulders. “You’ll need to discuss this with your father. I can’t help you.” She picked up her shoes and walked away.
Emily smoothed her hands over her skirt, drew in an uneven breath. The silence felt so much worse than if her mother had yelled at her for eavesdropping.
With nothing else to do, Emily gathered her purse and phone and walked out of her parents’ home. She had to think. Had to get out of here.
That was the one thing she was really good at . . . running away.
4:30 p.m.
She’d done dumb things in her life.
But what she was about to do probably made the least sense.
Emily had sought refuge in the library and spent the better part of the day making a list of all the things she didn’t understand about Heather’s murder and the events leading up to it. She’d labeled it appropriately: “Secrets and Lies.”
The panic hadn’t come after the confrontation with her mother as Emily had expected. Staying busy with the list had helped. She’d read every single newspaper article she could find in the library on that night once again.
None of what she thought she knew made sense any longer. The past was all scrambled so that the pieces didn’t fit together the way they always had before. Fairgate and her father. Fairgate and Austin. Her friends’ protecting her from what they really believed.
The one thing that remained exactly the same, despite the passage of time and changing events, was Clint Austin’s insistence that he was innocent. That he had an alibi.
But that couldn’t be right. Emily had played that night over and over in her head.
She’d recently reread the trial proceedings.
God knew she hadn’t been all there at the time of that first trial.
The most vivid moment had been Austin’s testimony.
At the time, she’d been appalled by his lies.
Every fiber of her being had been focused on the moment when she’d found him in her bedroom.
She’d blocked out all else. Had that been a mistake?
The seemingly insignificant and unconnected comments and rumors and snippets of conversation that had brought her to this place felt illogical when considered separately. But when combined, they overwhelmed her with feelings of doubt.
Was everyone else wrong?
Or was she?
Dr. Brown had suggested that she recalled that night the way she wanted to see it. But she’d never believed him. He hadn’t been there; she had.
Was he wrong? Or was she?
Austin had insinuated that maybe Emily wasn’t the intended victim that night, but Heather didn’t have any enemies. Did she? There was only one aspect of Heather’s life where there had ever been any friction. The theory was ridiculous, but Emily had to know for sure. She needed answers.
The sound of casual banter drew her attention back to the parking lot of Higgins Auto Repair Shop. After leaving the library, she had come here to wait. She sat in her car and watched as the employees chatted briefly before climbing into their vehicles and preparing to leave.
Emily waited until Marvin Cook reached for the door of his truck before she got out. “Marv!” He looked up and she waved.
He met her halfway between his truck and her SUV. They hugged and she was keenly aware that Clint Austin had hesitated at the door of the repair shop’s office to watch.
She pulled back from Marv’s embrace and smiled at her old friend. “Can we talk for a minute?”
A familiar grin spread across his face. “Your car or mine?”
“How about mine?” She gestured to her SUV. “I’ve had the engine running so it’ll be cooler.”
“We could go for a beer.”
“Maybe another time.” She smiled to cover the lie. “I only have a few minutes.”
Marv opened the door for her and she slid behind the wheel; then he strutted around to the passenger side. “Nice ride.” He surveyed the interior. “Looks brand new.”
Her parents had pushed until Emily had traded in her old car. They’d insisted on something with an emergency services subscription since she’d been known to lock her keys in her car and to forget her cell phone.
They took overprotectiveness to a new level.
“Thanks,” Emily said in answer to Marv’s compliment. She needed to get to the point before he started asking her questions. But first she might as well ask what he knew about Fairgate. Marv had lived here his whole life; surely he knew something. “Marv, what do you know about Sidney Fairgate?”
His cheeks puffed, then collapsed with the breath that hissed across his lips. “You don’t want to know Psycho Sid,” he said, telling her nothing. “He is big-time bad news.”
She braced a hand on the steering wheel and fisted the other in her lap to keep them steady. “Would you say he’s the kind of man who would physically hurt someone to get what he wanted?”
Marv’s gaze locked with hers. “Definitely. Em, stay away from Sid. He’s frickin’ nuts.”
Dear God. What had her father gotten himself into?
“I had lunch with the girls yesterday,” she said, propping her lips into a smile and moving on to her real reason for this impromptu conversation. She prayed Marv wouldn’t see them tremble. “Cathy and Megan and Violet.”
He shook his head. “I can’t believe it’s been ten years since you guys graduated. Twelve, for me.”
“Yeah.” Breathe. Keep it normal. “Oh, I went by the school too. I saw Justine.”
“Yeah, she’s still around.”
Funny, the mention of Justine’s name usually stirred interest in men rather than the opposite. “Misty Briggs is still around, too, I noticed.”
Marv made a face. “That woman’s as weird as ever.”
“She is,” Emily agreed with a laugh that held not a single nuance of humor. “She said the weirdest thing to me.”
“Yeah?”
This was a long shot.
“Misty,” Emily forged on, her voice stilted in spite of her best efforts, “told me some bizarre story about Austin’s alibi being real. That he was innocent. Isn’t that the most ridiculous line of crap you’ve ever heard?”
“She’s a fruitcake,” Marv said. “Everybody knows what Austin did.” He looked fully at Emily then. “Right? I mean, you were there. You of all people would know.”
She nodded hesitantly.
“It’s a damn shame they released him. His coming back here is making people afraid. Making them second-guess what they know is true.” He studied Emily so closely that she started to feel claustrophobic. “He’s not doing that to you, is he, Em? Making you second-guess the truth?”
“No,” she lied. Partial lie. “It’s just that . . .” She swallowed, wished her throat wasn’t so dry. “You don’t think Keith would have hurt Heather, do you?”
This time Marv just stared at her, seemingly stunned, before a visible guard went up. “No way. He loved her too much. Why would you ask something like that?”
She managed an awkward shrug. “I don’t know . . . Something’s just not right.”
“Nothing’s right,” Marv insisted. “Not with Austin walking the streets a free man.”
“Yeah, that’s true.”
For about fifteen seconds the tension ballooned, pushing the air right out of the SUV.
“I guess I’ll see you Saturday night?” Marv ventured finally.
Violet’s party. The invitations had already been issued. Violet was on the ball as usual.
“I’m looking forward to it.” Another lie. She’d lost count of the number in the past twenty-four hours.
“Well, I’d better get going.” Marv issued a half-hearted laugh. “Gotta get to the bank before closing time.”
“Thanks, Marv.”
He smiled at her, the expression almost genuine. “Remember what I said, Em. Don’t let that bastard get to you.”
Marvin Cook climbed out of her car, crossed to his big truck with its huge wheels, and drove away.
Emily sat there, wondering how she could suddenly feel this tug in her stomach.
A tug that somehow connected the anger and hurt she felt about the past to this new, creeping sensation of doubt and confusion confounding her instincts.
All this time she’d been so certain. Was it possible that she really had only seen what she needed to see?