Chapter Thirteen
Liz told herself not to do anything impulsive.
She needed time to think as she drove toward Billings.
The last thing she should do was anything rash.
She hadn’t slept well after seeing Jack Marshall coming from Whitney’s rented house.
Her brain kept replaying it until the wee hours of the morning when she’d finally dozed off, exhausted.
Did Jack Marshall really think he’d fooled her with his beat-up car, his hoodie, his baseball cap?
She scoffed. He might be one of the most recognizable men in the county, maybe the state because of his television commercials.
Even without them, the man stood out. As if he didn’t know how handsome he was.
He’d used that and his apparent charm to sell cars for years.
He was everything Whitney had dreamed of.
One late night after talking about the man she planned to marry, Whitney had opened up about her childhood.
“You don’t know what it’s like to be dirt poor,” her roommate had said from the darkness of their shared college room.
While Liz had been half asleep, something about Whitney’s tone had made her stir herself fully awake to listen.
She’d suspected her roommate’s life hadn’t been as normal as she’d wanted everyone at college to believe.
“Living in an abandoned house, going to school smelling like a skunk because one had gotten in through a hole in the wall the night before.” Her voice lowered.
“The way the other kids walked past me as if I didn’t exist or made fun of me behind my back because of my ill-fitting hand-me-down clothes.
There wasn’t water in the house. I bathed in the creek out back except in the winter.
” Her voice faltered. “There were these jars of canned food in the basement we were afraid to eat but sometimes I was so hungry…” Whitney had fallen silent.
Liz had lain perfectly still, feeling her friend’s pain.
She’d known girls at school who came from less fortunate families.
But there was one that filled her full of shame at the memory of how she’d avoided the girl because of her homemade ill-fitting clothes, her dirty hair and the smell.
Kids at school said her family didn’t have running water.
Listening to her roommate’s confession, Liz hadn’t moved, hardly breathed until she was sure Whitney had fallen asleep.
The next morning, she’d pretended she’d been sound asleep and had heard nothing, again ashamed of herself.
But while she hadn’t known what to say, Whitney’s revelation had left its mark on her.
While she’d hoped her friend would find the fairy-tale life she yearned for, Liz had feared it would always elude her and eventually destroy her.
Was it Whitney’s neediness or her beauty that had attracted Jack Marshall to her friend?
Not that it mattered, she thought as she turned off the interstate and headed for the man’s car dealership.
He’d done what so many other men had. Played to Whitney’s need for that perfect life, making promises he never planned to keep, lying until he was finished with her and then discarding her like yesterday’s trash.
Even as she told herself it was a bad idea, she pulled into the parking lot of Jack Marshall Auto determined to find out what this man had done to her and where Whitney had gone.
Jack was still fuming even after he finally got a decent take for the commercial.
He couldn’t wait to call the chief of police.
He was through fooling with Amy Sue Brand.
Once behind his desk, he made the call only to be told that the chief was out of the office.
He asked for Detective Hanson, but was told by a dispatcher that he was being put through to Detective Tate since Hanson was also out of the office.
“Wait,” he said, trying to stop her. “I don’t want to talk to Tate.”
“Sorry, but you’ve got me anyway,” the detective said. “What can I do for you, Mr. Marshall?”
Jack groaned and thought about hanging up. “When is Detective Hanson going to be in?”
“Not sure. He was called away on a family emergency. Maybe I can help you.”
“I’m being harassed, and I want her stopped,” Jack said with a curse.
“Her?”
“That Brand bitc—woman. This is the second time I’ve seen her in my showroom, but today—”
“Wait, I thought you’ve never laid eyes on the woman.
Are you sure it was Amy Sue Brand? Oh, that’s right, you saw her the day previously to when she filed a report that you came to her ranch and made a point of pretending to shoot her?
” Tate said. “You must have recognized her then since you were on her property.”
He bit back a curse. Hadn’t he known this was a mistake talking to Tate? “Why if I had threatened her on her ranch would she show up at my car dealership to harass me?”
“That’s a good question, since wasn’t the idea to scare her off?”
“Let’s not play games, Detective. Are you going to do something about her or not?” he snapped. “Or am I going to have to do something about you?”
“You aren’t threatening an officer of the law again, are you, Mr. Marshall?”
Jack gripped the phone. This cop was going down. He bit off each word. “This woman is after me. She’s trying to defame me. She’ll say anything to make me look bad.”
“Why would she do that?” Tate asked.
“How should I know? I’m a public figure. It wouldn’t be the first time someone was jealous of my success.”
“A woman who runs a ranch in Dry Creek miles from here?” the detective asked.
“I don’t know what her problem is, but she won’t leave me alone.”
“What would you like me to do about it?” Tate asked.
He tried to hold in his anger, but it bubbled up. He could feel the heat of it burning his face, roiling his stomach. He sometimes lost control when he got this furious, and he made mistakes. “Make her stop. Isn’t that what I pay your wages for?”
“I’d be happy to speak to her on your behalf,” the detective said.
“Speak to her? Lock her up! She’s dangerous! Next time she might come on my property with a gun and kill me.”
“Do you want to take out a restraining order on her?” Tate asked.
Wouldn’t the detective just love it if that got out about the woman who accused him of murder. He gripped the phone so hard he thought it would break. “Never mind. I’ll take care of it myself.”
“I wouldn’t suggest—”
But that’s all he heard before he threw his phone across the room.
Russ didn’t need his partner around to tell him that he was walking on dangerously thin ice. Jack Marshall was off-limits. The chief had made that clear, and he’d watched the way Detective Hanson was with Marshall. Careful. Almost coddling the businessman.
It made him sick. He could barely contain his contempt for Jack Marshall no matter how hard he tried. He knew it was going to cost him his job. But he desperately wanted to see the man behind bars before anyone else got hurt.
He immediately thought of Amy Sue. She wasn’t going to stop trying to prove the man was a murderer. He raked a hand through his hair. It wasn’t as if she didn’t know who she was dealing with. The woman was stubborn as some of the horses Russ broke on the ranch, he thought with a smile.
He couldn’t help himself. He admired the hell out of her, but he feared they were both making a mistake going after Jack Marshall. With him, it would mean his job. With Amy Sue, she was playing Russian roulette with her life.
It was late, long past quitting time. Russ rubbed his temples as he leaned back from his computer. The office was nearly empty this time of the night. Only a few officers on duty, most of them out patrolling. What was he still doing here?
He sat forward again and kept looking for something in Jack Marshall’s past. A red flag of some kind.
He couldn’t shake the feeling that if Jack Marshall killed a woman that night and Amy Sue witnessed it, then that wasn’t his first time.
It was too well planned. The alibi, getting rid of the body, making sure there was not even a sign of a confrontation wasn’t luck.
It was due to planning and practice. It nagged at Russ.
Jack Marshall had killed before and gotten away with it.
Except Russ refused to believe there was a perfect murder. Amy Sue accidentally being at the scene and witnessing the murder proved that. This couldn’t have been his first brush with the law. If there was evidence that was missing in his past, Russ was determined to find it.
Amy Sue sat in her car, engine running, in front of Jack Marshall Auto, unsure what—if anything—to do next. What had she accomplished by all of this? Nothing. Just how far was she willing to push this man knowing what he was capable of doing?
Pondering that question, she noticed a woman with short red hair get out of her older-model vehicle.
The redhead stood for a moment as if as unsure as Amy Sue felt, except this woman was nervous, almost scared.
For a moment, the redhead looked as if she was going to climb back into her car and drive away.
But apparently a decision made, she straightened and stalked toward the showroom door, hitching up the strap of her large purse as she went.
Amy Sue watched her, curious. The woman didn’t appear to be here to buy a new car.
She seemed jumpy and tentative as she pushed open the door and entered the building.
Something about the woman’s behavior had Amy Sue opening her door and following her. At the entrance, she hesitated, then slipped in, determined not to see Jack Marshall again if she could help it. Worse, she didn’t want him to see her.
When she spotted the redhead marching toward Marshall’s office, she wondered if she could be another of the mistresses. She definitely seemed upset as she approached the office’s open door and came to an abrupt halt.
Amy Sue moved so she could see past the redhead into the fairly large room. Marshall was at his huge desk. He hadn’t seen the woman. Or at least he hadn’t reacted to her. He seemed to be engrossed in the paperwork on his desk.
“Jack Marshall?” The woman’s voice broke.
When he looked in the redhead’s direction, Amy Sue stepped back out of sight but not before she’d seen his surprised expression. Marshall knew her, and he wasn’t happy to see her.
The moment the redhead stepped a few feet into the office, blocking Marshall’s view past her, Amy Sue quickly moved to the side of the office door without all the windows so she could hear what was being said without being seen.
She heard him say, “Can I help you?” and the redhead answered, “I’m here about Whitney Clark.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know anyone by that name,” the car dealer said.
The woman’s next words were so quiet that Amy Sue barely made them out. “I know about the two of you.”
“Like I said, I don’t know—”
“Please, I need to find her and make sure she’s all right. If you can just tell me where she is. Is she at the house you bought her?” He started to say something, but she stopped him with, “Don’t lie. I know about the two of you.”
Marshall was on his feet, moving to step past her as if to close the door. “You’re mistaken, but please come in and have a seat.”
Before he reached the door, the redhead turned as if to leave and blocking him from closing her in.
She turned back so quickly he almost crashed into her.
This time when the woman spoke there was nothing timid about her tone.
“I know you lied to her about the divorce and probably everything else, but you can’t lie to me.
I know. If I don’t hear from her soon, I’m going to the police.
” With that, she walked out, looking unsteady on her feet.
With a loud crack, Marshall grabbed the door and slammed it hard. Amy Sue stood frozen for a few seconds, shocked by what she’d heard, before she hurriedly followed the redhead out of the building and into the parking lot. Her mind was whirling. Was Whitney Clark who she thought it was?
She’d hoped to catch the redhead before she left, but the woman was already behind the wheel and pulling away. Amy Sue rushed to her SUV and followed her, keeping the car in sight as they left the city.
If she was right, she now knew the name of the murdered woman.