Chapter Thirty-two
B ack at Ian’s trailer, I ripped the sunglasses from my face. “Get your laptop,” I told him.
It had been torture to pretend to stroll nonchalantly back to the Magnolia Rolling Estates when all I’d wanted to do was race to a computer and log into the library’s periodicals database to search Byron’s name.
Both he and Tyrone had come to Wilfred for a reason.
Either they’d sought Wilfred specifically or, more likely, were on the run from somewhere else.
“He’s here,” Ian said, unable to hide sheer panic. “I should have never come back. We need to leave. Lalena, you’re not safe, either.”
“The sooner he’s in jail,” Lalena said, “the sooner we’re all safe. Especially Josie.”
She was a good friend. If I survived the next few days, I’d make sure the library’s bathtub was always stocked with high-end bubble bath.
“I feel like an idiot for believing Tyrone was Byron,” I said. “Obviously Tyrone was his name, or the medical examiner wouldn’t have been able to make an I.D.”
“Don’t worry about it. We know now.” Lalena drew the curtains as I called up the database and typed in Byron’s name. I scored right away—an article from the Baltimore Sun :
Tyrone Beaudrie and Byron Marshall sought for questioning in a homicide. The two men were seen leaving Marvin’s TV and Appliance Tuesday night at approximately 11:30 p.m. Proprietor Marvin Chang was found dead of a gunshot wound when employees arrived the next morning.
Honey,” Lalena said, her arm on Ian’s shoulder. The engagement ring still sparkled from her finger. “Don’t worry. I’ve got your back.”
“Did you know Tyrone?” I asked.
“No. Never heard of him.” He shook his head in amazement. “I’m not surprised about Byron, though.”
“This explains why they left town.” I closed the laptop. “Although it doesn’t explain why Byron would have killed Tyrone.”
“The murder might not have been planned,” Ian said. “Maybe this guy Tyrone wanted to turn himself in, and Byron wouldn’t stand for it.”
“Maybe Byron pulled the trigger,” Lalena pointed out. “He would have had more to lose.”
Now I saw my conversations with Tyrone in a completely different light. “I’d buy that. When I talked to him, Tyrone seemed to be intent on changing his life. Maybe Cliff—excuse me, Byron—didn’t share those views.”
“It could have been anything,” Ian said. “I tell you, Byron is a dangerous man. Once I saw him break a man’s finger on a bet.” He made a snapping motion with his hands and flinched at the memory.
“It’s not enough to go on,” I said. “The police would be very interested to know Byron is here, but that won’t prove he killed Tyrone.
It won’t clear my name.” I drummed my fingers on the kitchen table.
“As far as we know, Byron, calling himself Cliff, has no idea anyone has caught onto who he really is.”
“We should delay telling the sheriff. Is that what you’re getting at?” Ian said.
“It wouldn’t be for long,” I said. It couldn’t be. Between the hunt for me and Aunt Beata’s magical efforts, every minute that ticked by worked against me. “How can I prove he killed Tyrone, that I didn’t do it?”
“You mean, we prove. You’re not doing this alone,” Lalena said.
My heart warmed, and I wanted to cry. “Thank you.”
Ian dropped a hand to pet Sailor’s head, but it was clear his mind was somewhere else. “If Byron found out I was here….” He shook his head. “I don’t want to think about it.”
There were two of us in hiding now. Me from the sheriff, and Ian from Byron. We all stared sullenly at random spots in the room.
I let out a long breath. “Let’s walk through the night Tyrone died. Maybe there’s something we’re overlooking, something that could nail Cliff. I mean, Byron.”
“Something the sheriff’s department missed?” Lalena said. “What makes us better than they are? They have labs and whole teams of specialists.”
“We know about Byron, and they don’t. Besides, they think they have their suspect.” I didn’t need to add “me.”
“Okay. I’m listening,” Ian said. “I’m happy to brainstorm ideas, and I want Byron locked up. I can’t risk him knowing I’m here.”
“Hang on a minute,” Lalena said. She plugged in the window unit air conditioner. “So no one overhears us.”
I caught a glimpse of myself in the reflection from the window and flinched at my hair and pink velour get-up. I moved to the couch and drew up my legs. “Tyrone died sometime the night before last. How did it go down?”
Ian turned his chair to face me, and Lalena took the opposite end of the couch. Ian spoke first. “Tyrone was found in the woods. It seems unlikely that Byron killed Tyrone in town and dragged his body up the hill and into the forest. He must have met him somewhere, and they walked there together.”
I nodded. “I saw Byron on the trail a few days ago. He might have been scoping a place to hide Tyrone’s body.
” A grisly thought. I gulped from my glass of water.
“But back to that night. Tyrone had left the guest house early that evening. I know, because I’d received a note to meet him.
I looked for him at the guest house and the café, but he wasn’t there.
” The note had disappeared. Undoubtedly Beata’s work.
The note may not have even been from Tyrone in the first place, but a trick so I’d be seen asking around for him.
Lalena picked up the thread. “Byron took him to the woods and strangled him with a zip tie.”
“How did you know that?” I asked. I’d seen Sam with the zip tie, but I hadn’t known it was conclusively the murder weapon.
“Marjorie at the sheriff’s office gets her hair done by Candace, who passed it on to Patty, who told me at the café this morning.”
Good grief, there were no secrets in this town. “You’d think with this kind of intelligence, the murderer would have been caught practically before he struck.”
Lalena continued. “They found keys, but no wallet on the body. That’s why they assumed the dead man was Ian. They didn’t have a reason to think otherwise.” She rose and pecked him on the cheek before returning to the sofa.
“Byron would never be so stupid as to keep Tyrone’s wallet. You can bet he burnt it, minus the cash,” Ian said.
A thought began to crystallize. “What keys did they find?”
“A key ring, I think she said.”
I remembered the key hooks near the Wallingford Guest House’s front door. Each key hung on a brass tag. “Was the guest house key found?”
“Patty didn’t mention it.”
“Tyrone would have had it on his body somewhere. Maybe it’s still out there,” I said.
“You mean, maybe Byron has it,” Ian said. “That’s an idea.”
“He wouldn’t know he still has the key, of course,” I said. “He might simply have overlooked it.”
Lalena reached for her phone and tapped out a text. Almost instantly, her phone chimed in reply. “Patty doesn’t know. She’s texting Candace.”
The next minutes stretched on. My hope alternately grew and was crushed as I ran through scenarios in my mind.
If Byron had overlooked the guest house key and kept it, it might provide the evidence the sheriff needed to arrest him.
People overlooked details, especially people under a lot of stress.
Byron had easy access to the zip ties at the Empress, and Tyrone would have trusted him enough to follow him into the woods.
On the other hand, my future as a free person rested on a slender piece of metal. If Byron was smart enough to destroy anything linking Tyrone to the body in the woods, he surely would have tossed the key into the river.
Lalena’s phone chimed again. Ian and I watched her as if she were reading the results of a blood test for a possibly terminal case.
“Patty says Candace says Marjorie says ‘No.’ No guest house key.”
I had a chance after all. I rose and grabbed the butterfly-lensed sunglasses.
“Where are you going?” Lalena asked.
“To get that key. Or at least to see if Byron has it. If he does, we’ll know for certain he killed Tyrone.”
“No, you don’t,” Ian said. “You can’t just charge out of here and ask Byron if he happens to have a dead man’s room key, or you’ll be his next victim. Guaran teed.”
“If she doesn’t get picked up by the sheriff first,” Lalena added.
“If Byron has the key, he doesn’t know it,” I said. “If he has it—”
“A big if, ” Ian said.
“—it’s in his van, likely in the pocket of whatever he wore that night.” There would have been no reason to destroy his clothes. Any scraps left from burning them might be traced to him.
“You’re going to break into his van and search for the key?” Lalena stood, her voice incredulous. “That’s nuts. Besides, what if you do find it? The sheriff will think you had the key all along and that you planted it on Byron. You definitely don’t want your fingerprints on it.”
I had plans for that key. If the key existed, that was. I needed it for more than clearing my name with the sheriff’s office. This would be the biggest test of my magic yet.
“True,” I said. “This is not your problem—it’s mine. You two have done enough to help, and I can’t tell you how grateful I am.”
“Josie, don’t be foolish. You don’t know Byron like I do. You read the article. He won’t hesitate to kill you.”
Lalena’s eyes were wide. “I know you’re desperate, but don’t put yourself at risk. Look at what happened to Ian.”
Ian rolled back a few inches. “To me?”
“The injury, your scar,” she said. “Byron is ruthless.”
“This?” Ian gestured toward his legs. “I got injured falling off the bleachers at a concert. What did you think happened?”
Lalena hugged him. “Never mind. We can talk about it later. Bottom line, it would still be stupid for Josie to look for the room key.”
I looked from Ian to Lalena. They were both right, of course. I could call the sheriff’s office, turn myself in, and tip them off about Byron. Over the course of a few days, they might come to the same conclusion we had. Or not.
However, in the meantime, Beata would orchestrate whatever final details she needed to ensure I was the one behind bars. She had already woven a veil of glamour around the murder that turned heads toward me as Tyrone’s killer. If she planted the room key at the library, I was as good as convicted.
Once I was out of the picture, she would go on to destroy whomever stood between her and whatever glory she sought, whenever she wanted it. The damage she’d done as a young woman was nothing compared to the ruin she could wreak now. My sense of justice would not allow it.
I had no choice. “I’m not going to get the key, Esca lade is.”
That was a lie. This job was all Rodney’s.