Chapter 50
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.”
Justine’s white skirt and cropped blouse showed off her tan.
She’d woven her blonde hair into a French braid.
She looked beautiful as usual, but she also looked grief stricken.
Emily should have thought of that. She’d been out of the loop so long she’d forgotten how close all of these people still were.
“You just caught me.” Justine’s voice was raw with emotion.
Emily mentally scrambled for the proper response. “Maybe I should come back another time.” God, she didn’t want to wait. She wanted to do this now!
“No. No. I was just going shopping for funeral dresses.” Justine pressed a hand to her chest. “I can’t believe it.” With monumental effort, she drew in a breath, seemed to compose herself. “Please, come on in.”
Emily went inside, briefly admired the comfortable furnishings. She remembered then that Justine had more framed photographs than anyone she knew. They were everywhere. That was Justine’s hobby. She’d always said that her photographs were her way of keeping her memories close.
“Would you like something to drink?” Justine asked, then sniffed and pressed a tissue to her nose.
“No, thanks.” Where to start? Emily had planned this; stick with the plan. “I saw Violet this afternoon.”
Justine motioned for Emily to take a seat on the sofa while she curled up in a chair. “How is she?”
“She’s Violet,” Emily allowed. “She won’t let anyone see her pain.”
“I know she must be absolutely devastated.” Justine shook her head, anguish on her face. “I just can’t imagine who would do such a thing. Keith was such a great guy. And Ray. My God. Everyone loved him.”
Emily clasped her hands together to prevent their shaking. “It’s hard to believe they’re really gone.”
“Did Violet say when the funeral will be held? I’m sure it’s too early to know anything about Ray’s.”
How could Emily sit here and believe that this woman, a woman she’d known more than half her life, was a murderer?
“Depends upon the autopsy, I think.” No matter what Emily wanted to believe, she had to see this through.
“You know,” she began, her voice sounding too chipper even to her, “while I was there Violet showed me her senior necklace. Can you believe she still has it? After all this time?” She shook her head.
“I don’t know what happened to mine. I guess I lost it. ”
Justine folded her hands in her lap, stared straight into Emily’s eyes, but her gaze was blank, distant. “That’s a shame.”
Do it! Emily braced. “Do you still have yours?”
A tiny line formed between Justine’s eyebrows. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“The necklace,” Emily prompted, feeling horrible for pursuing the subject.
“Oh.” Justine blinked. “The necklace. I haven’t worn mine since Heather passed away.
I didn’t want to risk damaging it or losing it.
It’s been right there in my jewelry box ever since.
” Regret clouded her eyes. “You girls were the first to get the necklaces. It didn’t seem right to give them to anyone else after what happened.
I went back to the charm bracelets after that year. ”
“I feel terrible about losing mine.” God, she hated lying.
“Would you like me to get you another, Em?” Justine offered. “I don’t mind trying. It might not be exactly the same, but it would probably be close.”
This was the woman she wanted to accuse of murder? “That . . .” Nothing in her plan about this. “That would be wonderful.”
“Consider it done.” Justine managed a faint smile, the effort visible. “Just give me your address in Birmingham before you go and I’ll take care of it.”
Banging on her front door drew Justine’s attention there. She frowned as she pushed to her feet. “Excuse me, Em.”
Deviation from plan. What did she do now? Emily pushed to her feet. “Could I use your bathroom?”
Justine hesitated before opening the door. “Sure. Down the hall and on the left.”
Her heart thudding in warning, Emily forced her legs to move at a normal pace as she went from the living room to the hall. Three doors. One on the left, two on the right.
Shouting stopped her dead in her tracks.
Both voices female. Her heart felt as if it had stopped as well.
The voices turned hushed. Emily started moving again.
First room on the right was a home office.
The second, Justine’s bedroom. The span of floor space between the bathroom and the bedroom was only about six feet.
Hardly anything at all. She could do it.
Emily went into the bedroom. She glanced around, took stock of where things were. The jewelry box sat atop the dresser. She went there. Listened to ensure Justine was still engaged in conversation.
Her hands shaking, Emily opened the jewelry box. Didn’t even consider that it might be one that played music until she’d opened it. She held her breath. No sound came from the box.
Thank God.
She listened again. Justine and her visitor were still talking.
Working as fast as she could, she picked through the necklaces, bracelets, and earrings. It wasn’t there.
Damn.
Then she saw the huge jewelry box that stood upright like a small dresser. Her pulse raced.
Do it.
She crossed to the larger jewelry box, but the array of framed photos on the bureau distracted her.
Lots and lots of pictures of Justine . .
. and some with Misty. One photo in particular intrigued Emily.
Justine and Misty looked really young. Grade school maybe.
Emily picked up the photograph. Voices echoed in her head.
Heather talking about creepy Misty Briggs.
Marv saying she was weird. The memory of running into Misty outside Fairgate’s house.
But was any of that relevant? It felt strange, but was it important to what had happened to Heather? Not likely.
Emily replaced the framed photo and settled her attention back on the larger jewelry box. The hushed voices indicated Justine was still distracted. Emily opened drawer after drawer. Each one held expensive jewelry. Incredible pieces. How on earth did a teacher afford such luxury?
Last drawer, this one was the deepest. No necklace, no jewelry, period. More photos. A whole stack. The photo on top made Emily’s eyes go wide. “Oh, my God.” The words rushed out on a breath.
Her pulse blipping wildly, she withdrew the stack and studied the photo on top more closely. Two young men having sex . . . did she know those guys? The profile of the tall one with blondish hair looked vaguely familiar.
The other one had his back to the camera. He was on his knees.
The tempo of the conversation in the other room rose, then fell again. Emily stared at the door, told her heart to slow. She had to hurry.
She shuffled through the stack. Her fingers shook as she recognized Justine in one.
A man, his face obscured by Justine’s hair, was giving it to her from behind.
The third person in the photo was female.
Emily couldn’t see her face, since she knelt in front of Justine .
. . her hands on Justine’s hips, her face pressed to the juncture of her thighs.
The woman on her knees had long brownish hair.
Misty? Emily couldn’t be sure, but the hair color was right.
Okay, this was none of her business. She reached to put the stack back into the drawer and a change in the intensity of the voices jerked her attention back to the door.
She had to hurry. Emily shoved the pictures into the drawer and started to turn away.
Something on the floor snagged her attention.
Damn! One of the photos. She’d dropped one.
The front door closed. The sound unmistakable.
Shit.
She snatched up the photo and hurried to the bedroom door, then across the few feet that stood between her and having to answer a hell of a lot of questions.
She eased the bathroom door closed, prayed it wouldn’t creak. She flushed the toilet. Turned on the water in the sink to make it seem as if she’d been doing her business.
She needed a reason for being in here so long.