Chapter 48 #2
“On that list you made,” Clint nudged, once more pulling her away from the emotional side of this, “you noted that Violet was jealous of Heather. That she wanted to be captain of the squad. That she wanted Keith for herself.”
Emily threaded her fingers into her hair and cradled her skull to try to ease the throbbing tension there. “That’s all true. Violet is a pain in the ass, but she wouldn’t murder anyone.”
Would she? Did Emily know for sure Violet wouldn’t?
Emily had been to a shrink enough to know that obsession could do strange things to people.
She of all people knew how a single obsession could overtake one’s life.
Maybe Violet’s obsession with having Keith all to herself had pushed her over the edge.
She couldn’t account for her necklace. She had known the window would be open and that Heather would be sitting in for Emily that night.
“This has to be wrong.” Emily shot to her feet, paced the room.
“Violet couldn’t have been that cold.” Careful calculation was required to commit a murder and get away with it.
“And even if in some twisted heat-of-the-moment episode she had hurt Heather, Violet loved her husband. She wouldn’t kill him.
She wouldn’t do that to her children. She couldn’t. ”
“It’s possible the two aren’t related,” Clint suggested.
They both knew better than that.
“Or maybe she caught him cheating on her,” was his next suggestion.
Emily shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Did anyone else know Heather would be in your room that night?”
“No.” She thought about it another moment just to be sure. “No one.”
“Did Heather have any problems with anyone in or outside school that you were aware of?”
“Everybody loved Heather. She was the most popular girl in school. Even . . .” Emily swallowed back the lump of emotion. “Even Violet seemed to adore her. She just wanted the things Heather had.”
“But you said Violet seemed to worship Keith,” Clint countered with a truth that couldn’t be denied.
Emily sifted through her memory banks, forced herself to replay images she had banished years ago.
“Keith never paid any real attention to Violet,” she recalled after a bit.
The memory came with a price. Keith had been the cutest guy in school, next to Clint.
He’d been witty, charming, the all-around good guy and beloved athlete.
The boy voted president of the class by his peers.
Now he was dead. Murdered. Emily shuddered, still had difficulty accepting that he was gone. So young, and with a family.
“Wait,” Clint said, drawing her attention from the painful thoughts. “We may be looking at this necklace thing with too narrow a focus. You said it was something the senior cheerleaders received. What about the year before? There may be other people we should be considering.”
“It was a new tradition. The years before us the seniors had received charm bracelets. Justine said we were special.”
“Then what do we have?”
Nothing. Even the necklace seemed so insignificant in and of itself.
“We have nothing.” Emily couldn’t accept that, but neither was she willing to label Violet a murderer.
“Violet might have lost the necklace. It’s not impossible.
” Motive, means, opportunity. God, how did she overlook that? “I want to talk to her.”
Clint stood, looked skeptical. “That could be a problem.”
He was right. Violet’s husband was dead. Violet despised Emily for faltering in her stand against Clint. Emily lifted her chin in defiance of her own misgivings. “I’ll just have to deal with it.”
2:30 p.m.
Emily wished she had called first. She’d watched cars come and go from Violet’s drive for ten minutes. Most carried casseroles or a plant. Emily stood on the porch empty-handed. What could she possibly bring that Violet hadn’t already received?
Emily asked God to forgive her for coming here like this with a hidden agenda. This couldn’t be right. But people were dead, including Violet’s husband.
Emily couldn’t allow sentiment to stop her.
She pressed the doorbell and Violet’s mother came to the door, her eyes red and puffy.
“Hello, Mrs. Manning.”
The older woman managed a smile. “Em, it’s so good of you to stop by.” She opened the door wider, glanced briefly at Emily’s empty hands. “Please come in.”
Emily felt exactly like a traitor crossing the threshold into this home of sorrow and grief.
Mrs. Manning forced a dry sound that might have been an attempt at a laugh. “Thank God you didn’t bring another casserole.”
The smile that bent Emily’s lips this time felt more natural. “I was feeling a little guilty that I hadn’t.”
The older woman pressed a hand to her chest. “Please, you’re one of Violet’s oldest and dearest friends. You don’t need to bring anything except yourself.”
She used to be one of Violet’s friends. “How is she?”
The question was stupid but expected.
Mrs. Manning sighed, the effort a momentous task for her petite body.
“As well as can be expected.” She wrung her hands as if uncertain what to do with them since there was no casserole or plant to accept.
“The children are with my husband at the park. We felt they needed a break from . . . all this.”
Plants and flowers were everywhere. Emily imagined that the counters in the kitchen were loaded with casseroles that wouldn’t fit into the fridge. Cookies and cakes and breads. Enough to feed an army. It was the Southern way.
“Is there anything I can do?” Another expected question.
Mrs. Manning patted Emily’s arm. “Thank you, Em, but I think I have things under control for now. Why don’t you come say hello to Violet? I know how excited she was to see you the other day at lunch. You’ll be a ray of sunshine on this dark day.”
Evidently Mrs. Manning hadn’t heard about Emily’s recent exploits or had decided not to hold them against her. Either way, Emily was glad for the reprieve.
She followed Violet’s mother through the grand home until they reached the double doors that likely led to the main suite. Mrs. Manning rapped softly on the door. “Violet, you have company, dear.”
The door opened almost immediately and Violet appeared looking her usual regal self.
“Em!” She rushed to hug Emily. “Thank you for coming.” She glanced at her mother. “Would you prepare tea, Mother? Tea would be so nice.”
“Certainly, dear.”
“Please, don’t go to any trouble,” Emily offered.
“Tea will do us good.” Violet tugged Emily into her room. “You’re just in time, Em.”
Men’s suits, clearly designer and expensive, lay across the bed, four in all. Two shirts for each were draped over the jackets along with three or four ties.
“I’m just having an awful time deciding which suit he should wear.” Violet turned to Emily. “Everyone will be there, you know. It’s imperative that the suit is perfect. Keith wouldn’t want it any other way.”
They both knew it was Violet who wouldn’t want it any other way.
Emily watched as her friend tried different ties against the various shirts.
Unlike her mother, Violet’s eyes weren’t red or swollen.
Her black sheath looked exquisite. Her hair and makeup were perfect.
She chatted on and on about what an enormous task making this final selection was for her.
If Emily only looked at the surface, at this seemingly cold woman who was more worried about her dead husband’s burial clothes than the fact that he was dead, she could almost imagine Violet climbing in through that bedroom window and killing the competition.
Could almost see her pushing Keith over that ledge for whatever reason he’d failed to meet her expectations.
But this was Violet. She’d always been this way. A perfectionist. Obsessed with appearances, with meeting her goals.
“I think the navy suit would be best,” Emily offered, her voice too high, too shaky. “With that crisp white shirt and the tie that has that touch of red in it. Very classy.”
Violet inclined her head and surveyed the selections one last time. “I think you’re right.” She gathered the navy suit, white shirt, and specified tie and draped them across a wing chair. “Thank you,” she said to Emily. “I was leaning in that direction.”
“Would you like me to help you put the others away?”
“Oh yes. You know how I like everything in its place.”
Emily did know that. Together they put the fine suits away in the massive walk-in closet that was as big as Emily’s entire bedroom back at her apartment in Birmingham. Violet chattered with hardly a pause for breath about all the things she and Keith used to do. Her voice remained calm and stoic.
Emily couldn’t seem to find an appropriate opening to bring up the necklace. She felt exactly like a traitor.
“I called Troy and left a message that I’d like very much for him to speak at Keith’s eulogy, but he hasn’t returned my call.”
Violet said this with much confusion and disappointment. Folks, especially friends, didn’t usually ignore calls from Violet Manning-Turner.
“I’m sure he will,” Emily offered. Troy would be torn up pretty badly himself. He would need time to come to terms with his friend’s death before he spoke with Violet.
Violet stroked the sleeve of one of the suits she’d put away. “I’ll miss him.” She turned to meet Emily’s eyes. “I’m not sure it’s hit me just yet.”
Emily managed a trembling smile. “I know.” And she did.
Violet’s face brightened abruptly. “I’m glad you came, Em. I felt bad about the harsh words between us. This thing with Austin has been painful for us all.” Then she hugged one arm around Emily’s shoulders. “Let’s go see if that tea is ready.”
“Vi, I was wondering—”
“Oh.” Violet hesitated abruptly. “I almost forgot to tell you. I found that silly necklace.” She left Emily standing in the middle of the room to go over to the ornate jewelry chest sitting atop her dresser.
“I was looking for cuff links and there it was.” She held up the gold necklace with its familiar charms. “I was sure it was lost.”
Somehow Emily kept her smile in place until they’d had the lovely tea Violet’s mother had prepared. Not the usual iced tea Southerners preferred, but hot tea with sugar and cream. Emily listened like a good friend should and then hugged Violet and offered again to help in any way needed.
Finally, when Emily could scarcely contain the mounting pressure a moment longer, she said her goodbyes and left. Clint waited for her just down the block.
She climbed into the truck and closed the door. Before he could ask, she told him, “She has her necklace. I saw it.”
Clint pulled away from the curb. “How is that possible? Could she have had a duplicate made?”
“Why?” Emily looked at him. “It wasn’t introduced as evidence in court. As far as we know, it wasn’t really investigated at all. The fact that it was lost was likely chalked up to the idea that it was mine or Heather’s. There was no real reason for anyone to think it might be relevant.”
The necklace was a dead end. Where did they go from here?
“Then someone else who knew Heather had to have a necklace like that.”
“No,” Emily argued. “Only the . . .” She hesitated. No, that was ridiculous.
“What?” he demanded, as he slowed for the turn onto Main Street.
“Justine.” Emily turned to him. “She had one.”
The discordant wail of a police cruiser’s siren jerked Emily’s attention to the street behind them. Blue lights throbbed.
Clint checked the dash, then slowed to a stop. “I wasn’t speeding. What the hell does Ray want now?”
“It’s not Ray,” she said after studying the man behind the wheel of the car easing up behind them at the curb.
Mike Caruthers stepped out of the official vehicle and strode to the driver’s side of Clint’s truck.
“Caruthers,” Clint acknowledged.
“Step out of the vehicle, Austin.”
Fear crowded into Emily’s throat. She leaned past Clint and asked, “What’s going on, Mike?”
He ignored her and motioned for Clint to get out.
Clint climbed out of the truck, his hands already raised in compliance with the unmistakable tension the man exuded.
“You’ll be riding to City Hall with me for questioning. Your attorney will be waiting there.”
Emily wrenched her door open and rushed around the hood.
“Why are you taking him to City Hall? Where’s Ray?
” Time seemed to stand still as she waited for his response.
Surely they hadn’t found some evidence they thought could connect Clint to Keith’s murder.
She’d already told Ray that Clint had been with her.
Mike stared at her, blinked as if he hadn’t understood the question.
“Are you arresting me?” Clint demanded to know when Mike remained mute.
As if he’d suddenly snapped from a trance, Mike’s head swiveled in Clint’s direction. “You have the right to remain silent—”
“Don’t even bother.” Clint backed up a step. “I’m not going any-damned-where until you tell me what the hell is going on.”
It wasn’t until then that Emily noticed the pale, blank look on the man’s face. She hadn’t really hung around Mike Caruthers that much back in school, but anyone could see that something was very, very wrong. Terror gripped her . . . the kind that accompanied the threat of the unknown.
Mike reached for the handcuffs on his utility belt. “I’m taking you in for questioning related to the murder of . . .” Emily held her breath.
“. . . Ray Hale.”