Chapter 17
Aubrey
BEFORE THE ALIBI
Deacon and I pull into the parking lot, one row over from where Camille’s car is parked.
“Don’t be nervous. You’re holding all the cards,” Deacon says as he puts his hand on my knee to stop its bouncing.
“I know. You’re right. But what if she’s surrounded by a bunch of people when she comes out?”
“Then we’ll catch her somewhere else.”
This will be the first time I’ve spoken to Camille since she showed up at the bar to confront me about sleeping with her husband. I’ve been preparing myself for this conversation with her for the last few days, mainly to make sure I wouldn’t be blindsided like I was last time.
The PI who Ben hired has fully flipped on him and is feeding Deacon info as he gets it. Deacon was right—his loyalty lies where he financially gains the most.
Ben broke down and had to bring Vic in on his plans when he was faced with a task he couldn’t handle on his own.
When you believe the information you’re seeking is locked away in a home gun safe that is five feet tall and weighs more than four hundred pounds, you’re going to need a little help getting inside it.
To break into a safe like that, you’d either need a knowledgeable locksmith, which would be hard to find considering you’re asking them to open a safe you don’t own, or you’d have to drill through the lock, which would alert the owners that their safe was breached.
But the funny thing about a gun safe is there’s always a backup way to get inside that’s honestly not that hard to get…
as long as you don’t mind waiting about a week.
In the model they are trying to break into, there’s a keyhole hidden behind the electronic lock face.
All you need is the serial number of the safe, which can easily be found if you have a dolly and enough manpower to tip the safe on its side so you can look underneath it.
Then you request a replacement from the manufacturer, which is also surprisingly easy since they don’t keep ownership records on their safes.
And that extra manpower was Ben’s PI, Vic.
Ben will receive the key sometime next week and plans to get into the safe when he knows the house will be empty.
“There she is.” Deacon points to the group of women exiting the building, leaving their Junior League meeting. Thankfully, Camille says her goodbyes and breaks away from the group, walking in a different direction to her car.
Just as I’m about to get out of Deacon’s car, he stops me. “Remember, keep it simple. We need her to think Ben has someone bringing it to him, not that he’s going to get it.”
I nod. “Okay. Simple. I can keep it simple.”
My nerves are at an all-time high. Ben is going to a lot of trouble to make sure Camille is out of the house, so we need Camille to be there to see what he’s doing.
We also know a big part of Ben’s plan is getting into a safe at Foster’s, which is why we’ll also need to get a tracker on Ben’s car so we know when he’s headed that way.
But we decided to keep that part to ourselves.
Camille has to believe she’s in control of any information uncovered, because I’m not sure she’ll willingly share it with us.
When Deacon said we may have to get creative, he wasn’t joking.
I feel like if I screw this up, our whole plan falls apart.
Deacon gets out with me but stays by his car while I start walking toward her.
“I’ll be right here if you need me,” he assures me.
Camille stops abruptly when she sees me. “I was wondering when you were going to turn up.” She opens the driver’s door, dropping her purse inside, before turning to face me.
I cross my arms in front of me, hopeful I look tough instead of terrified. “You must have looked me up by now. Know who my parents were.”
My words are meant to hit, and from the slight flinch, I see they do.
“Yes. And I’m very sorry for your loss.”
“I looked you up too. Both you and Ben. You’re from Corbeau. Where they died.”
Camille nods then glances around the parking lot to see if anyone is near enough to hear this conversation, but thankfully, we are alone.
I take one small step toward her. “Ben would have been what, twenty, twenty-one when that happened? Funny what you can find on the internet. His mom still lives a few houses down from where Paul Granger lived. What are the chances they knew each other? Hung out together?”
Her mouth tightens as if she’s stopping herself from saying something she might regret.
Remembering the lines I’ve practiced with Deacon, I go in for the kill. “Your husband is dirty. Your family is dirty. Crooked. Corrupt,” I say, then pause for effect. “And I don’t believe my parents got the justice they deserved.”
My words hang in the air between us.
Camille straightens, as if finally finding a little backbone. “What is the purpose of this visit?”
This is the moment where this works or it backfires on us.
She’ll either be scared enough to help or she’ll run straight to her husband and tell him everything.
Deacon and I went over the pros and cons of approaching her like this for days but it finally came down to the fact that we really didn’t have a choice.
For there to be any chance to get my hands on what Ben is searching for, I need Camille.
And I’ve got to sell this in such a way that she believes her only choice is to work with me, not against me.
I let out a deep breath. “I need your help. And honestly, you need mine too. There’s something you should know.
Ben played a part in the accident that killed my parents and that information is coming out.
There’s nothing he can do to stop it. And Ben knows it.
I’m on to him. I know what he did. That’s why he’s been watching me.
” It’s a bluff, but I can see it in her face—she’s buying it.
She takes a step back. “I don’t understand…”
“There is evidence to show Paul Granger is innocent. The same evidence that will show Ben’s guilt.” An exaggeration, yes, but the fact that Ben is so obsessed with getting his hands on whatever is floating around out there tells me our hunch isn’t far off.
The color drains from Camille’s face.
Now I need to soften my approach.
“Camille, if I’m being completely honest with you, I know the chances of holding Ben accountable for what he did all those years ago are so slim.
He’s connected in ways I can’t even fathom.
And if this whole experience has taught me anything, it’s that if people want to bend and break the law to protect themselves, that’s exactly what will happen. ”
She’s shaking her head. “What are you saying?”
“No matter what, your husband will find a way to stay free and Paul will still be in prison.”
“So what are you doing all this for?”
“I want to finally know for sure what happened to my parents. I want to stop wondering and have real answers. The not knowing is killing me. Ben will get his hands on it before me, that is something I’m very sure of.
I just want to know what it is before he destroys it. And then I can move on with my life.”
Tears are trailing down my cheeks even though I didn’t want to show her this much emotion. While some of what I’m telling her isn’t true, the last sentiment is. I need to be able to move past this in any way I can.
“Aubrey, I understand what you’re saying and my heart is breaking for you. It really is. But I don’t know what you want from me. How you think I can somehow help you.”
I wipe away my tears and pull myself together. “I can’t tell you how I know this, but Ben will be meeting someone at your home next Saturday and they will give him what he’s been searching for then.”
She deflates at my words.
And I jump on it. “I’m taking a wild guess, but will you be out of town that weekend? I know you travel a lot for your food blog.”
She nods but doesn’t say anything else.
I think back to her demeanor when she showed up at the bar. She was a mess. She’d gone out in a thunderstorm just to ask me if I was sleeping with her husband. A woman doesn’t do that unless her marriage is in a pretty rough place.
So I add, “I feel like I’m not the only one who wants to know who Ben really is and what he’s done.”
She tenses at my words. “If I refuse to help you, what will you do?”
It’s a question I expected. Hoped for. “I’ve been thinking about my options. The police aren’t much help since they don’t like looking into closed cases. But there’s the media. I could find one of those podcast groups that love to dig through old cases.”
I don’t have to know Camille to know she would hate to be dragged into the public spotlight like this.
“How do you intend for us to see what evidence you think Ben is getting?”
I try not to look shocked by her question. Honestly, I felt like it was a very slim chance she would consider helping me.
“We need to figure out how to make sure you’re home too, but without him knowing. You can set some cameras up.” I motion to Deacon behind me. “We can teach you how to prepare so you see what he’s seeing. That you’re recording it.”
She’s shaking her head. “Ben tracks me. My phone, my car, credit cards. There’s no sneaking up on Ben. He watches my every move.”
My head tilts to the side as I consider her words. Being tracked is nothing new. Before my parents died, my mom followed my every move using Life360, but my friends and I worked hard to make sure she only saw what we wanted her to. “What if he watches my every move instead, thinking it’s you?”