Sinclair Connection - Hot On His Trail Part 20

Head high, she walked past Nick's house, not even glancing up at the bedroom window. She walked past the Burgess house. To anyone watching it might seem odd that she skipped that house, but she wasn't ready to face Lauren. Especially not right now.

If Nick was keeping pace in the woods that ran behind the houses, she never saw him. Again, she told herself she didn't care if he was there or not.

The snake.

* * * The Blackstones' back door was unlocked, so the mangled credit card stayed in his pocket. Shea had already begun, questioning Tom and Natalie in her most professional voice.

The Blackstone kitchen was set up much like his own, but was much warmer. There were flowers in the breakfast nook, a cake cooling on the counter. The kids had left their mark here, with juice boxes, Kool-Aid stains, and crumbs in every corner. Somehow the mess made the place seem more homey, lived in and welcoming.

Nick had told Shea he would look around the houses while she interviewed his neighbors, but he didn't even try. No one here was stupid enough to leave a clue sitting around for more than ten months. He got as close as he dared and listened. He listened to what his neighbors and friends had to say, but more than that he listened for signs of trouble. If Shea pushed the wrong b.u.t.tons and got herself in too deep, he would be there to step in.

If Shea was in danger, it didn't matter who saw him, didn't matter if the police caught up with him or not. He wouldn't allow anyone to hurt her.

And it was entirely possible that someone would try. She was tenacious, pushed too hard at times. If he was guilty, Shea Sinclair would scare the bejesus out of him.

So he listened. The Ables had been boring and a little too interested, as usual. Tom was more reserved, but his wife, Natalie, was eager to tell Shea everything she knew. Including the fact that she thought Nick, bless his heart, was guilty as sin.

Nick flattened his back against the wall, close enough to listen and respond if necessary, not so close that anyone would know he was there.

"I never could quite figure out why," Natalie said. "I mean, no one liked that G.o.dawful green Gary was painting his house, but I don't think anyone would kill him over it. Except maybe Vernon Ca.s.son. He can be such a grump." She paused to take a deep breath. "But maybe Gary gave Nick that same awful stock tip he gave us-remember, honey?"

"I'm sure Miss Sinclair doesn't care about a year-old bad stock tip," Tom muttered.

But of course, Miss Sinclair did.

"What kind of stock tip?"

"We lost a bundle," Natalie said, unnatural cheer in her voice. "Gary said later he was sorry, but I wouldn't be surprised if it turned out he knew all along the company would tank. It was one of those Internet stocks? Gary said it would go up twenty, a hundred times what we paid for it, but ... well, it didn't."

"No big deal," Tom said, in a low voice that told Nick it was a big deal. The interview didn't last long. When Shea said her goodbyes and promised to be back at a later date with her cameraman, Nick scooted toward the kitchen door and the wooded area beyond. "Poor Nick," Natalie said as she opened the front door for Shea. "I always knew he had a temper, but bless his heart, I didn't think he'd actually kill anyone." As he opened the back door he heard Shea say, confident as ever, "He didn't." * * *

They were far from Marion, but the profusion of flowers in front of the Ca.s.son house reminded Shea a little of the small town where she and Nick had hidden for a while.

That half-wit.

Like the others, Mrs. Ca.s.son recognized Shea immediately. Unlike the others, she was initially reluctant to talk.

Lillian Ca.s.son had the look of a strong woman, taller than average, solidly built. Her gray hair was done up in a soft, easy style, and she wore a minimum of makeup.

"I a.s.sure you," Shea said as Mrs. Ca.s.son finally opened the door and invited her in. "Nothing you say will go on the air unless you approve it beforehand."

"I'll be allowed to view the videotape and veto any part of my segment I don't approve of?"

No self-respecting newsman would ever agree to such a request, but Shea smiled and said, "Of course."

In her honeyed Southern accent, Mrs. Ca.s.son called her husband in to join them. He'd been taking a nap in his den, and yawned as he entered the living room. Vernon Ca.s.son wasn't much taller than his wife, and she probably outweighed him by about twenty pounds. He came instantly awake when he spotted Shea.

"The weathergirl Taggert kidnapped," he said with a grin and a twinkling of his eyes. "Hot d.a.m.n."

"Vernon," Mrs. Ca.s.son said tersely. "Behave yourself. We have company."

When she turned her head away from her husband, Lillian rolled her eyes.

Shea opened her notebook, poised her pen to take a few notes, and set her calculating eyes on the Ca.s.sons. There was certainly nothing sinister here!

"I don't believe Mr. Taggert is guilty," she said straight-out. "But someone in this neighborhood is. Who on this cul-de-sac might have had cause to murder Gary Winkler?"

Lillian Ca.s.son lifted her chin, placed her nose in the air and sniffed. "Who didn't? Gary Winkler was a mannerless Yankee who managed to offend everyone, isn't that right, Vernon?"

"You're absolutely right, dear," Vernon agreed halfheartedly.

"Why, that horrid green paint he chose for his house was atrocious, and clashed horribly with my azaleas." Mrs. Ca.s.son had been reluctant to talk, but once she started she got on a roll and didn't want to stop. "He used to allow his gra.s.s to get nearly a foot high, and then mow at the crack of dawn on a Sunday morning, when Vernon was trying to sleep, isn't that right, Vernon?"

"Yep," the old man said. "Winkler was a nuisance."

"He was a dreadful neighbor," Lillian finished.

"Mr. Ca.s.son," Shea began, "did you spend any time with Gary? Do you know of anyone besides Mr. Taggert who might've wanted him dead?"

Mr. Ca.s.son opened his mouth, but it was Mrs. Ca.s.son who spoke. "Vernon and Gary were not close. They played golf a few times, but Gary cheated, so of course Vernon never played with him again."

"So you didn't socialize with your neighbors on a regular basis." Again, Shea's eyes were on Mr. Ca.s.son, but Mrs. Ca.s.son answered.

"Oh, no," she said, pursing her lips.

Shea made a few notes. Apparently Vernon was not allowed to talk. "What about Mrs. Winkler?"

Mrs. Ca.s.son smiled. "Polly is a sweet girl. Her people are from Georgia, I believe. How she ever hooked up with that Yankee, I'll never know."

Nick had been right. No one here had liked Winkler. They'd tolerated him, they might even have occasionally played golf with him, but no one liked him. He was definitely not missed.

"Would you like some tea?" Mrs. Ca.s.son asked, rising from her seat. "I have a special herbal blend I make myself. Polly loves it."

Since Mr. Ca.s.son had a hard time getting a word in edgewise when his wife was in the room, Shea was tempted to accept, though herbal tea was not on her list of favorite beverages. But Nick was probably hiding in the kitchen, listening. She didn't dare.

"No, thank you."

She tried to turn her attention to Mr. Ca.s.son. He was a little bit older than her father, she imagined. Retired but still kicking.

"So you think he didn't do it, huh?" he asked.

Shea shook her head. "That's right."

"So who did?"

Shea had to shake her head. "I don't know."

Lillian started to speak, but Vernon raised a hand to silence his wife. She closed her mouth, alerting Shea to the fact that the balance of power in this marriage was not completely one-sided.

"Let me give you a little advice, Miss Sinclair," he said, dipping his chin and looking her square in the eye. "I liked Nick, I really did. He kept his yard nice and neat and he never made much noise and he kept to himself, most of the time. But don't let yourself be fooled by a purty face. I was there that night, and Nick was sure as shootin' mad enough to kill."

Shea felt her face flush hot. Heavens, she was blus.h.i.+ng! A real no-no in her profession. "I a.s.sure you, Mr. Ca.s.son, I was not fooled by a pretty face. In researching the case I discovered that the investigation was tainted in several areas-"

"Tainted my foot," he interrupted. "I saw them drag the bat out of the sewer drain. I heard all about the blood and paint they found in his kitchen. I saw Winkler trifling with Nick's girlfriend."

Mrs. Ca.s.son wrinkled her nose and sniffed.

"Let it go, Miss Sinclair," Vernon Ca.s.son advised. "You're only going to get hurt if you keep on dredging up the past."

She wasn't about to let an old man scare her. "Hurt? In what way?" she asked calmly.

He hesitated, but only for a moment. "I have a feeling you're going to be real disappointed when you find out your pretty boy is a cold-blooded killer."

Shea again declined Mrs. Ca.s.son's offer of tea, and left the house with a sigh of relief. Mr. Ca.s.son, a murderer? Over green paint and Sunday morning mowing? Would that nice old Southern man who spent his days napping and playing golf kill a "mannerless Yankee" over such trivialities?

There was only one house left, the most important interview of all. Polly Winkler.

The woman who answered the door was just as Nick had described her. Mousy, drab. She looked like she'd jump if Shea said boo.

But like the others, she asked Shea in. And as with the others, when Shea told the widow that she thought Nick was innocent, she had the woman's attention.

* * * Polly's kitchen door was locked, but using Shea's credit card, Nick opened it easily. Already Polly and Shea were discussing the murder. In this case, Shea was being more sedate, gentler than in the other interviews. This was, after all, the widow she was speaking to. Polly might not take kindly to the idea that someone was trying to clear the man who had been convicted of murdering her husband.

The house had been completely repainted. It was white now, with a tasteful slate-blue trim. Polly didn't do her own yardwork; she hired a service. They had watched the team of young men tackle the yard yesterday, finis.h.i.+ng up in no time and leaving behind an orderly lawn.

Nick glanced around the kitchen as he listened. There was no sign of Gary Winkler in this room, and perhaps there never had been. It was all Polly. There were cookies on the counter, a collection of herb teas to the side, an artful arrangement of mismatched china cups and saucers. Above the sink, on a small shelf, was a small collection of medicine bottles. Aspirin, allergy medications, a prescription. Nick sidled closer to the sink to get a better look. Sleeping pills.

Maybe Polly had had trouble sleeping at night, after Gary's murder. Then again, maybe she had always needed help to sleep. Marriage to Gary couldn't have been pleasant.

Polly seemed surprisingly receptive to the theory that someone else had murdered her husband. The others Shea had spoken to had expressed open skepticism, but not Polly. Nick listened as she told Shea how surprised she had been to hear that Nick was the one. As she said, sounding sincere, what a nice young man he was.

Like Lillian Ca.s.son, Polly offered Shea tea and cookies, an overture Shea declined.

Nick leaned against the wall and relaxed his guard for the moment. G.o.d, he was on edge! When Vernon had told Shea she'd be sorry if she kept sticking her nose into the past, he'd almost rushed into the living room to protect her from the old man. And then Vernon had explained why.

Shea had hesitated before responding. Was she beginning to doubt him, the way everyone else did? Nick wouldn't blame her. He wouldn't blame her if she walked out of here right now and called the police and told them where to find their escaped murderer.

If the plan worked tonight, they'd soon know the truth. Everyone would know the truth.

If it didn't work he'd run again. Alone, this time.

Chapter 18.

S hea wanted to hate Lauren, but she couldn't. The woman was anxious to prove Nick innocent, and she threw herself wholeheartedly into putting together a quick barbecue for the neighborhood suspects.

Lauren was beautiful-blond and tallish and long legged. And she obviously loved Norman very much.

She even insisted on loaning Shea a white sleeveless sundress for the occasion, and with the white sandals Shea took from the duffel bag she'd been storing at Nick's house, she was set.

Nick would be watching from the dark wooded area behind the house. Shea had hoped he'd be satisfied to watch from a window, but he had rejected that option because it would limit his field of vision. She was terrified that he would step on a fallen branch or move into a ray of light that reached into the woods from Norman's deck. But so far, so good.

Everyone was here-even Lillian Ca.s.son, who so obviously disliked Lauren. Maybe Lillian was afraid she would be the subject of neighborhood gossip if she weren't here to defend herself.

Shea stood alone at the far end of the deck, watching. People were spread across the sprawling deck and a small portion of the backyard. The kids appeared now and then, but for the most part they played in the driveway and the cul-de-sac. Norman flipped burgers like a pro, the ladies had their heads together and the men talked golf and fis.h.i.+ng. All in all, it was a very normal neighborhood party.

But from the way they kept glancing her way, Shea had a feeling she and Nick were the most interesting topic of conversation tonight. Of course, no one knew the extent of their relations.h.i.+p. Well, of the relations.h.i.+p she'd thought they had. To them, Nick was the fugitive and she was the nosy reporter who'd had the misfortune to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and was now making the best of a bad situation.

Lauren, wearing a cool blue sundress, sidled up to Shea, a gla.s.s of iced tea in her hand. "What do you want me to do?" she whispered.

Lauren and Norman, in particular, didn't know what had happened between Shea and Nick. They saw only the face she wanted them to see, the reporter who had her hooks in a good story. They didn't know that if she failed she'd never forgive herself, that no matter what happened between her and Nick -which would be nothing at all, if she bought the story he'd told this morning-she would never forgive herself if he went back to jail. She couldn't bear it.

"In a few minutes," Shea said, "I want you to join the neighborhood women and tell them that I know who killed Gary Winkler."

Lauren started to walk away, but Shea called her back, placing a hand on the woman's bare arm. "Not so fast. We should talk for more than thirty seconds before you run off to share the news. We don't want this to look like a setup." She raked her eyes over the crowd, noting the glances that were often cast her way. "How about a gla.s.s of that iced tea?"

Together, she and Lauren walked into the kitchen, where paper plates, napkins, plastic cups and an ice chest had been set up. Lauren filled a blue plastic cup with ice, poured sweet tea from the pitcher on the counter and handed it to her. Grateful to be away from the melee for a moment, Shea leaned against the counter and took a long sip.

"So," she said casually, her eyes on Lauren. "When this is over and Nick is free again, will you two take up where you left off?"

Lauren shook her head vigorously. "No. It was never serious between us, and I'm with Norman now. I love him. We really are going to get married."

Shea wondered if she should tell Lauren that Nick had been very serious.

"Norman is just the kind of man I need," Lauren said, the soft smile blooming on her face and making her even more beautiful, darn her hide. Her eyes glowed; her cheeks flushed pink. "And I think I'm what he needs. We click, you know? Some of the women in the neighborhood hate me because they think I broke up Norman's marriage, but that's not true. Norman and Margaret hadn't been good for one another for a very long time."

Margaret! Darn, Shea had thought she'd covered all her bases, but she'd forgotten about Norman's first wife. Margaret Burgess had been at Nick's barbecue last year, too.

This was all Nick's fault. Shea never forgot a detail like that, but he had her mind going in too many different directions.

"Nick and I were temporary," Lauren said with a sigh. "I had too many problems, and he was too closed off. I like a man who can tell me how he feels, and who makes me feel like there's no other woman in the world. Even if this hadn't happened, we wouldn't have lasted much longer."

"You never loved him?"

Lauren flashed a sad smile. "I liked Nick a lot, but I never loved him and he never loved me."

Nick had been planning to marry Lauren, to spend his life with her. If that wasn't love, what was? Lauren didn't know about Nick's plans, of course, and it wouldn't do anyone any good to tell her now.

Shea was surprised Lauren didn't know how much she'd meant to Nick. After all, he was so transparent! His emotions were raw, his eyes telling. All you had to do was look at him to know what he was feeling, what he was thinking.

She and Lauren stepped onto the deck, into the muggy night air. Lauren went one way, toward the cl.u.s.ter of women, and Shea, the outsider, moved to her solitary post on the deck. She allowed her eyes to flicker to the woods only briefly.

If she didn't mean anything to Nick, why hadn't he looked her in the eye when he'd told her to get lost? Why had he kept his back to her through most of that h.e.l.lish conversation, when he'd told her she was nothing more than a bit of fun for a man who'd been in jail for almost a year?