Copyright 2009 Tommie Lyn
All rights reserved.
Cover image: Big Stock Photo David Morgan
Print Version ISBN: 9781441484307
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, locales or events is entirely coincidental.
Prologue
Farrell Gilbert addressed one blank envelope to the Bellview box and another to his goose that was laying the golden eggs. He inserted the photocopied pages into the envelopes and sealed them, thought he heard a sound and stopped to listen. His imagination. Had to be. He was all nerves—wound up tight and shaking. And he surely imagined the noise.
All the same, he took a small square of notepaper, wrapped the two keys to the post office boxes in it and looked for a place to hide them, a place no one would think of looking, any place to keep them from being found in his possession. Big mistake, bringing the keys with him when he returned to the office after closing. In the future, he would take the extra minutes to drive back to his apartment and leave them there. The contents of the Bellview box stood between him and sure disaster. It was his insurance. If they found that post office box...he shuddered.
He spied the stuffed Auburn tiger on Shelley Goodnight’s desk next to his own. It was a fixture, a decoration no one ever touched. Perfect. Farrell grabbed it, looked it over and picked up his letter opener. He made a tiny puncture in the bottom seam where a label protruded. He broke a few stitches loose, inserted the folded piece of paper with its metallic contents and pushed it into the soft fiberfill with his finger. He replaced the tiger in its accustomed spot. He would retrieve the keys later, when he felt safer.
He started to tuck the two envelopes inside his shirt when he thought he heard another sound. Cold waves of fear undulated through his body, and he regarded the envelopes for a moment. He leaned over and slipped them under the stack of file folders atop the in-box on Shelley’s desk.
And jerked around toward the back of the office which lay in shadows. Farrell couldn’t see anything. With eyes stretched wide open, staring into the darkness of the back hall, he backed slowly away from the desk until he bumped into his own chair and half-sat, half-fell into it. He picked up the file folder into which he placed the original document he had copied.
A click. He heard a definite click. It sounded like the opening of the lock on the door to the alley, the door all employees used to access the employee parking lot behind the building. Yes. Someone just unlocked the back door.
He rose to a crouch, his eyes straining to see into the darkness of the back hall. There was movement in the shadows. Two figures emerged into the soft, dim glow cast by the emergency exit sign and walked to his desk. They stood looking down at him.
Beads of sweat popped up on his forehead like puffy clouds into a blue panhandle sky on a clear summer morning. He stared at the two men facing him and swallowed. He tried to calm himself. He stretched a caricature of a smile across his trembling lips.
“Hey,” he said in a quavering voice that sounded unnatural to his own ears. “What are you doing here? Didn’t expect anyone would be hanging around here this late. Where’s the boss? Does he know you’re here?”
There was no reply.
“I didn’t know you had a key to our office. When did the boss give you one?”
No reply.
He tried again. “I would think you’d be at the beach getting an early start on the weekend. Heard it’s supposed to be good weather this weekend.”
Still no response.
Farrell’s heart was hammering so hard he thought surely they could hear it. He tried to swallow and his breath came in a gulp.
“You seem nervous, Gilbert. Anything you should feel nervous about? Or guilty? One would think you felt guilty about something, the way you’re sweating,” said the man in the expensive suit, his voice smooth and suave. He looked poised, assured. No, not assured. Arrogant.
Farrell looked at the smug expression on the man’s face and wondered if he ever sweated or feared anything. If he did, it didn’t show. He appeared confident and relaxed. But if Farrell disclosed certain information publicly, the man wouldn’t be so unruffled.
Farrell wiped away the sweat trickling down the side of his face.
“No. Nothing. Nothing at all,” he said and licked his lips with a dry tongue. He held the file folder with a trembling hand. It danced like a marionette on a string. He circled around his desk, headed toward the bank of file cabinets against the back wall. “I gotta put this up.”
The other man, tall, dark, and thin, showed no emotion. Not arrogance, like his companion, nor fear. His cold manner lacked any hint of feeling. He took one step toward Farrell. “Hand it over.”
Farrell stopped dead still and stood rooted to the spot. The only movement he was capable of was the incessant tremble of his hands.
“I said ‘hand it over,’” the thin man said.
Farrell didn’t move. He was lost and he knew it. If he didn’t give it to them, they would take it. And when they got it in their hands and saw the contents of the folder—his mind stopped and would go no further, as though he reached a blank, solid wall.
The thin man grabbed the folder from Farrell’s hand. He turned and handed it to the man in the suit, who opened it and took one quick look at the contents.
“Looks like I was right. I told William it had to be you, Gilbert. Why did you want to go snooping into things like this? Hadn’t you been told to keep your nose out of things that don’t concern you?”
Farrell didn’t respond. Nothing he said or did would matter now. He knew enough about their tactics and methods to understand that. He said nothing, staring at the two men with moist eyes.
“Well?” asked the thin man.
“Yeah. We’ve got no choice. When people don’t keep their noses out of other people’s business, they get what’s coming to them.” The man in the expensive suit looked at Farrell with hard, glittering eyes. “Sorry about this, Farrell boy. Nothing personal, you understand. I just can’t afford any loose ends right now, and you’re about as loose as they come.”
He turned to the thin man. Farrell’s gaze went to the man, too, and he saw the gun.
“Take care of it. And be careful. We don’t need any cops poking around because you forgot something or left some kind of calling card. Like you did that time in—”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” The thin man tilted his head, looked down his nose. “You’re worse than a woman, all your nagging. I’ll take care of it. And it’ll be clean.”
“It had better be. That’s the reason we’ve got this situation now, because you fouled up.”
The thin man ignored the complaint. “Go to the car.” He waggled the gun at Farrell.
“Please—” Farrell began, his voice cracking and shrill.
“Shut up! It’ll do you no good,” the man in the suit said. “You should have thought of this before you started your little blackmail scheme.” He turned to the thin man. “Get him outta here before he starts blubbering.”
“You gonna come quietly, or have I gotta hurt you?” the gunman asked.
Farrell tried to take a step, but his legs wobbled, and he almost fell. The gunman shook his head. “Man, when my time comes, I want to go like a man, not like this pantywaist.”
The man in the suit mentally dismissed the two men and glanced around the office. He rifled through the paperwork on Farrell’s desk, satisfied himself nothing else was there that shouldn’t be and turned to his henchman again.
“I said, get him outta here. We don’t need anything connecting us with this place tonight. Every minute we’re here is an invitation for disaster. Be sure to get rid of his car when you’re done.” He hesitated, rubbing his chin. “Seems like I’m overlooking something.” He stood staring at Farrell’s desk and mumbled, “What is it? What’s bothering me?”
The gunman grabbed Farrell’s arm in a steel vise grip and shoved him toward the door. When he neared it, he opened it to a crack and peered outside. “It’s clear. Let’s go.”
He shoved Farrell, stumbling, shambling and now whimpering, toward the rental car, opened the trunk and pushed him into it. He lifted Farrell’s feet, pushed them inside and slammed the trunk shut.
After a quick scan of the surrounding area, he opened the driver’s door and climbed behind the wheel. He looked around again before he inserted the key in the ignition. He saw no one. But then, he didn’t expect to see anyone. If he had, it would have presented only a minor annoyance. An extra bullet.
The rental car eased from behind the building and through the parking lot. The thin man observed all traffic laws as he drove over the bridge, through Gulf Breeze and out Highway 98. When he reached the intersection with Highway 87, he turned onto it, headed north. His tail lights glowed red as he left the crowded coastal highway behind and headed toward the deserted place he’d picked for this chore.
Chapter One
“But I want my own place,” Shelley said.
“I just don’t understand why,” her mother said. “You don’t make that much money. If you stay here, you could save all that rent money. Maybe take a vacation with A.J. Go to one of those exotic places she’s always visiting.”
“No, Mama,” Shelley said. “I’m finally going to stand on my own two feet.”
Since her divorce nine months previously, she stayed at her parents’ house. She found it easier at first. They consoled her, petted her and otherwise treated her like they always had. Their little princess. That’s how they both saw her, and she knew they always would. But of late, it started getting on her nerves. She wanted to be on her own.
“Well, I still say—” her mother began.
“No, Mama. I’ve always depended on you and Daddy. You even bought Lance and me a house when we got married. I’m an adult. It’s time I was finally on my own.”
But Shelley wasn’t being honest with herself. She wasn’t on her own and sometimes did not intend to be. Her daddy took care of any matter she didn’t want to be bothered with. He handled the legal matter of having her name changed back to her maiden name after the divorce. And he employed her as a secretary in his real estate business at a salary much higher than any other person who worked in a similar position. But she overlooked the little discrepancies in her new “I’m doing this on my own,” stance.
Shelley never questioned her family’s money or position. She just enjoyed them. But she was not a snob. Some of her closest friends in high school were of average means. Their friendships with Shelley were based on the heart, upon similar interests and the comfort of one another’s company. But she did enjoy having things, having an easy life, and having what she wanted when she wanted it.
“Besides, Lanette already gave me the day off to do this. I intend to have an apartment rented by the time I come home this afternoon.”
“Well, if you’re determined, I guess I could help you look for a place,” her mother said, her doubt ringing clear in her voice.
“You don’t have to, Mama.”
“I know I don’t have to, I want to.” Ellen Goodnight set her cup on the table and stood. “I’ll go get dressed and we’ll drive around and check the places you’ve picked out.”
Shelley didn’t mind having her mother accompany her. Most of the time, she enjoyed her mother’s company and was proud to be with her in public. Ellen, at age fifty-two, was still an attractive woman. She kept her blonde hair coiffed in the latest style, worked to keep a girlish figure, and wore the newest fashions. The grace and charm imparted by her Southern Belle upbringing made her at home and comfortable in any gathering. Wherever she went, Ellen Goodnight was warmly welcomed.
Shelley possessed only a shadow of her mother’s social graces and none of her blonde beauty. Shelley “took after” her father’s side of the family. She was a moderately attractive young woman, with brown hair and hazel eyes, and plumper than she liked. She still wore her hair in the style popular when she was in high school. She only half-way noticed when she and her mother were compared, she was found lacking.
They drove in Ellen’s Jaguar as they went from apartment building to condo, to beach house, to town home, throughout the suburbs as well as the downtown area of Pensacola. Shelley didn’t see anything she liked.
They stopped for coffee at Grinnett’s about ten o’clock. Shelley picked up a morning paper and scanned the classifieds.
“Hey, look,” she said. “Here’s a new listing. An apartment that wasn’t in yesterday’s paper. When we finish our coffee, let’s go check it out.”
“All right.” Ellen took a sip. “Where is it?”
“Gulf Breeze. And I think with this address, it’s probably out toward Tiger Point. That wouldn’t be bad. It’s not all that far from the office. Not nearly as far as I was when I was living off Woodbine Road. Maybe a whole lot closer.”
“Well, then, let’s hope it’s still available.”
They finished their coffee and headed east, toward the address listed in the newspaper. Shelley frowned when they drove into the parking lot. It seemed to be another version of the “live in a Florida condo” facility, with the obligatory palm trees and sub tropical vegetation in the landscaping. Turquoise paint trimmed peach stucco walls, a color scheme popular in Pensacola several years before. One Shelley detested. But, if the apartment itself was nice, Shelley thought she might consider it.
She scanned the ground floor doors and pinpointed the manager’s office within thirty seconds after stepping out of Ellen’s car. She started toward it when a silver sports car sped by her and pulled into a parking spot.
A tall, dark man wearing sunglasses, khaki pants and a Hawaiian shirt extracted himself from the driver’s side. He nodded to Shelley, took a briefcase from the backseat of the roadster, and went to apartment one-fifteen on the ground floor.
Good looking.
Shelley realized she was staring at the man and composed herself. She asked her mother, “You coming?”
They crossed the parking lot to the manager’s office and Shelley rang the doorbell. They waited for several moments, and Shelley rang the bell again. She was about to turn from the door when it opened.
A frowsy man opened the door. “Yeah?” He wore a stained T-shirt, shorts and flip flops. A television was turned up loud, and Shelley heard the theme music from The Price is Right.
Shelley stepped back, put off by his appearance. “Are you the manager?”
“No. I’m his brother. Just visiting. You look for him, you’ll find him out there somewhere.” He closed the door with no further comment.
Shelley crossed her arms.. “Not a good sign. I don’t know whether I should go looking for him or not.”
“Maybe we’ll have better luck—” Ellen began.
“Hello. May I help you?” A man descended the stairs and approached them. He wore a polo shirt and slacks, dressed casually but neat.
Shelley took a step toward him. “I came to see if the apartment you advertised in the Pensacola News Journal is still available.”
“You’re in luck. I just showed it to a couple, then found out they have children. You’d think people would take the ad at its word when it says ‘no children, no pets.’ Oh well.”
“So it’s still available?”
“Yep, sure is. I suppose you’d like to see it?”
“Yes, I would.”
“This way then, ladies.” He turned to lead the way up the stairs he’d descended, then turned back to them. “Sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Johnny Adair.”
“I’m Shelley Goodnight, and this is my mother, Ellen Goodnight.”
“Pleased to meet both of you. If you’ll follow me,” he said.
Shelley liked the second floor apartment. The color of the carpet, a dusty beige, was barely acceptable, the wall color was horrible, but the layout was perfect. She looked out the large expanse of glass in the living room. A distant sliver of white beach on Santa Rosa Island gleamed in the distance.
And she had a view of the handsome man who’d caught her attention earlier in the parking lot. She watched him get into his car and drive away, then turned her attention to the rest of the apartment, even as she kept the manager’s running spiel tuned out.
The bedrooms were large, with enough closet space for her large wardrobe and collection of shoes. The bathroom had a shower and a garden tub. She’d be comfortable here.
A twinge of excitement tightened her muscles and sent a pleasurable sensation through her stomach when she thought of being on her own here, starting her life over without Lance.
“Okay, I’ll take it.”
“There’s more I haven’t told you about it. I don’t think I mentioned how much the rent is,” Mr. Adair said.
“That doesn’t matter.”
His eyebrows raised. “All right. You ready to sign a lease?”
“Sure.”
“If you want to wait here, I’ll run downstairs and get it.”
After he left the room, Ellen asked, “Are you sure you aren’t being a bit hasty? We can still keep looking. You have plenty of time to pick something out. You haven’t even checked your daddy’s properties yet.”
“Mama, I know what he has available. I work in his office, remember?”
“Well, yes. But—”
“The only rentals he has available right now are either too grungy, in a part of town where I don’t want to live, or they’re out of my price range.”
“But—”
“I’m running out of options, Mama. I’ve got only one more place circled in the want ads, but it’s even farther away from the office than this one. This is a nice place, and it’s convenient. I like it, and I’m pretty sure I can afford it myself, without help from you and Daddy. That’s just what I want.”
She regarded the walls and counters of the kitchen where they stood. “I’m not real crazy about the color scheme, but I’m going to ask if I can have it painted. Maybe I’ll even ask if I can change the carpet.”
When Mr. Adair returned with the lease contract, Shelley looked it over with an expert eye. Yes, she could afford the rent, and she found no troublesome provisions in the contract. She signed it and wrote a check for the required deposit. Mr. Adair handed her copies of the lease and a set of keys. She took them with a smile, already thinking about how she’d decorate her new home. Mr. Adair left with the check and his copies of the signed lease, and Shelley walked through her empty apartment, looking, considering, deciding where she’d place her stored furniture.
“I think Aunt Jenny Belle’s antique desk would be perfect right here. And my couch, maybe I’ll put it against that wall so I can see the view....”
“View? A parking lot is now a view?” Ellen asked.
Shelley chuckled. “No. But a handsome man in a sports car driving across it is.”
“Why, Shelley Goodnight. I didn’t raise you to be so crude.”
“I know, Mama. I’m sorry. Bad joke. And there really is a view. Come stand where I’ll put the couch. See the sound? And the island? Over those trees.”
“Ah, yes. Now I see. I suppose that might be a pleasant sight in the evenings, with the lights from the island twinkling in the twilight.”
Shelley laughed. “Why, Mama. I didn’t know you were poetic.”
“There are many things you don’t know, dear.”
“Well, let’s go. I have a lot of things to do. I’ll have to call the phone company and the movers. I won’t get to move in until they deliver my furniture, but I can start bringing some of my other stuff. Clothes and things.”
“And, Shelley, dear, now that you’ll be closer to The Zoo, you can visit it,” Ellen said, with a smile.
“Mama—” Shelley began.
Ellen, a devoted do-gooder, picked causes to champion like a greedy eater selected goodies from an all-you-can-eat buffet. Her latest cause was The Zoo, located between Gulf Breeze and Navarre. She hosted fund raisers, helped procure publicity for The Zoo, and generally made a nuisance of herself about it to her family members and friends.
“And guess what! I forgot to tell you. We’re thinking about acquiring a morpork from New Zealand for the aviary. Isn’t that exciting!”
“Mm-hmm,” Shelley said, absent-mindedly, having tuned her mother out.
She took one last look around and walked to the door.
* * *
“Donnie?” Deputy Don Yearwood heard Aunt Mamie’s voice when he answered his cell phone.
“Yes, ma’am. This is Donnie.”
“Donnie, could you do something for me, honey?”
“Sure. Name it.”
“It’s Farrell. Have you heard from him?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Well, I ain’t seen him all week. He ain’t called or nothing. That’s not like him.”
Don cringed. “You want me to check on him for you?”
“Would you do that? I hate to act like a worried mama, but—”
“No problem, Aunt Mamie. Happy to do it. I’ll let you know something soon.”
“Oh, thank you, honey. You’re such a good boy. Always were.” His aunt’s relief was palpable.
“Now don’t you worry about a thing. Okay? ’Bye for now.” He pressed the button to end the call.
But Don wasn’t happy to do it. His aunt’s call reawakened the disquiet that haunted him every time he thought of his cousin Farrell and what he was doing. In one part of his mind, he agreed with Farrell, wanted to see the illegal activity succeed, but another part, his cop mentality, told him he had a duty to arrest his cousin, turn him in. Family loyalty kept him silent.
At this moment, he wished with his whole being that he didn’t know what was going on, wished Farrell hadn’t confided in him. He set the cell phone on the seat, clenched his teeth and squeezed the steering wheel of the patrol car with both hands until his knuckles turned white. If anyone in the sheriff’s office ever discovered that he’d known….
Chapter Two
“It’s in that new apartment complex Franklin-Jameson Construction finished this spring. It’s really nice,” Shelley said, after swallowing a bite of salad.
“I can’t believe you’d rent an apartment from my biggest competitor,” her father said in mock surprise.
“Well, if you build a better place, I’ll rent from you when my lease is up. Right now, you’re no competition to Jameson.”
Her father laughed. “Well, I’m glad you at least found something you liked. Although I hate to see you move out. It’s been nice having you at home again.”
“And it’s been nice being here,” she said, with a warm smile at him.
“We’ll miss you, dear,” Ellen said. “With just the two of us rattling around in this big house, it gets a little lonely at times.”
“Just the two of you? What about Jessie and Fred. They’re here almost all the time.”
“You know what I mean. Family,” Ellen said.
“They’re almost like family,” Shelley said. “Both of them have been here as long as I can remember.”
“They may seem like family, but they’re not, really. It’s not like having you here.” Ellen turned to her husband. “More salad, dear?”
The phone rang.
“Yes, I’ll have some. Jessie outdid herself today. It’s exceptionally good—” He broke off when Jessie appeared in the dining room door. “Yes?”
“A phone call for you. He said it was urgent.”
William stood and placed his linen napkin beside his plate. “Excuse me, ladies. Hopefully, this won’t take too long.” He exited into the hall behind Jessie.
“Hmmm. Wonder what that’s about,” Shelley mused.
“Oh, don’t worry about it. Whatever it is, your father will take care of it.”
“I know. I was just wondering, that’s all.”
* * *
By Monday afternoon, Shelley arranged for a phone to be installed and scheduled the delivery of her furniture from storage. She would have to stay with her parents until then, but she visited her new apartment every day. She needed to measure for drapes, she said. Or she needed to decide if she’d have to buy more furniture. They were all just excuses to spend time in the space that would be hers. Only hers.
She’d never had a home that was purely her own. She’d gone from her parents’ home to Auburn University, where she shared a dorm room with Mary Ann Clark. She married Lance the month after graduation, and they lived in a nice suburban home in one of her father’s upscale developments in Santa Rosa County, a wedding gift from her parents. Then she moved back home when she decided to divorce Lance.
This place would be hers and hers alone. She looked forward to moving in, to being on her own for the first time in her life. She wouldn’t be under someone else’s observation, wouldn’t be subject to the expectations of others. She could do as she pleased. If she wanted to eat ice cream in bed while watching late night television, she could do it.
Ah. Make a note. Go to an electronics store and buy a small television for the bedroom.
* * *
Lanette’s lover put his arms around her and pulled her close, murmuring in her ear. She loved that. Usually. But today, she was tired. No, past tired. She was weary.
She pulled away and took his hand, led him to the sofa, catching a glimpse of his questioning look as they passed the large mirror hung over the credenza.
“What’s the matter, baby?”
“Nothing. I’m just tired. Since that creep Farrell just up and left, no notice, no nothing, the work-load has been horrible. And, of course, Daddy’s Little Girl can’t be depended on. She takes the day off whenever her little heart desires. And I can’t do a thing about it. So that leaves me and the other two girls to handle it all.”
She sat and kicked off her shoes.
He nodded toward the bedroom. “I bet a little while in there will rev you up, baby. Whataya say? Hmmm?”
* * *
Within a week after signing the lease, Shelley moved into her apartment and her new life. Her exhilaration lasted for a few days before it waned and life settled into a day to day routine. She called her friends to let them know about her move and to give them her new phone number.
“Hey there, Shelley Melly,” Tatum Reynolds said when she heard Shelley’s voice. Tatum was the only person from whom Shelley tolerated the nickname from her childhood. And Shelley was the only person from whom Tatum accepted her own nickname.
“Hey, Tater Tot,” Shelley said. “How’s it going?”
Tatum gave a short, bitter laugh. “Oh, just plum-peachy. What’s up?”
“Almost time for our yearly excursion into the past, isn’t it?”
“You’re kidding! Man, I know they say the older you get, the faster time moves, but this is ridiculous. Seems like just last week we were out camping on the bay.”
“Yeah, I know. But the real reason I called is, I finally got my own place,” Shelley said.
“Really? Where?”
“An apartment in that new complex Franklin-Jameson built.”
Tatum chuckled. “How’s Daddy feel about that, you renting from his rival?”
“I don’t think he cares. He didn’t have any rentals listed that were suitable, so….”
“‘Suitable?’ Wish I had money enough to worry about ‘suitable.’”
Shelley tried to think of something to say to thwart the current direction of their conversation. Tatum could turn bitter and scathing in an instant. She’d always had that tendency, but now, it had been intensified by the disappointments she’d experienced since reaching adulthood.
Tatum worked her way through the nursing program at Pensacola Junior College after high school graduation. She married soon after receiving her nursing certificate, and the marriage lasted five long years. Her husband, Brent Reynolds, was abusive and controlling, and it took Tatum, who’d always been an out-going and courageous girl, that long to muster enough courage to divorce him. She hadn’t dated since that time, not interested in making another bad marital choice.
“Well, anyway, you up for the outing?” Shelley asked.
“Sure, why not? It’s the only time I get out of my self-imposed rut these days,” Tatum replied. “When is it?”
“Not sure yet. You’re the first one I’ve talked to. But, let me give you my address and phone number—”
“I have your cell number,” Tatum interrupted.
“Yeah, but let me give you my land line number, too,” Shelley said.
“Okay. But hold on, let me get a pen.”
Shelley waited a few brief moments.
“Go ahead. I’m ready.”
Shelley gave her the number, and they broke the connection.
She decided to call Rose next. Shelley usually called Tatum first, in case Tatum said anything to hurt her feelings, Rosalyn MacAfee always knew what to say to soothe Shelley.
“Hello,” a childish voice said. “MacAfee residence.”
“Hey, there. Is this Jamie?” Shelley asked.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“May I speak to your mother?”
“May I ask who’s calling?” the little boy asked.
Rose is doing a fine job raising her kids, Shelley thought. Manners and all.
“Tell her this is Aunt Shelley.”
“Hey, Aunt Shelley!” The boy’s voice changed from a polite tone to one of exuberance. Shelley heard the clatter of the phone receiver as he laid it down, and, from the distant recesses of the MacAfee home came Jamie’s voice, “Mama! It’s Aunt Shelley on the phone!”
Shelley heard other background noises and then, “Shelley! How are you, girl!”
Shelley smiled. Rose’s voice could always make her smile. “Real good. How are y’all doing?”
“Same ol’, same ol’. Work, kids, you know the routine,” Rose said. “Oh, by the way. Jim got a promotion at work.”
“Tell him ‘congrats’ from me.”
“I sure will. So, what are you doing these days? I haven’t seen you in at least a couple of months,” Rose said.
“Well, my divorce is final,” Shelley said. “And I had my name changed back to my maiden name. Legally.”
“I’m sorry your marriage didn’t work out, Shell,” Rose said, compassion in her voice.
“Hey, don’t be sorry. Lance Dubinsky and I were not meant for each other. He’s a sports nut and I’m not. I’m fine with it, really I am,” Shelley said, and she meant every word.
Rose had a happy marriage and could not conceive of anyone being unhappy.
“Well, listen, Shug, I hate it, but I’ve got to go. Got to be at work in a half hour. But we’ll get together soon and get all caught up with each other, all right?”
“Sure. But let me give you my new phone number and address. I just got moved into my own place.”
“Can I call you on your cell phone when I get off work? I don’t have anything to write it down. And I know I’d forget it. I hate it, but I’ve really got to run now.”
“Okay. See you soon,” Shelley said, and hung up.
She dialed A.J.’s number next.
A servant answered the phone, “Delacourt residence.”
“May I speak with A.J., please,” she said.
“I’m sorry, but Ms. Delacourt is out of town. May I take a message?”
“No. I’ll...wait, yes, you can take a message. Tell A.J. that Shelley called. And give her my new phone number.” She told the servant her new number and hung up, disappointed that she hadn’t got to speak to A.J.
Shelley looked around her apartment, a faint emptiness growing within.
Daddy was right, it does get a little lonely when you’re by yourself.
She’d never been alone much and would have to learn how to adjust. She squared her shoulders and raised her chin. She could do this. She could live on her own and learn to like it. Even when there were lonely times. Like now.
She wandered into the kitchen and checked her almost bare refrigerator for something to eat. An apple. A small bottle of ranch dressing. Three cans of diet cola. A chicken pot pie and a Lean Cuisine meal in the freezer. She opened her cabinet doors. A box of Special K, two cans of cream of chicken soup and a box of crackers. She grimaced and went to the bar between the kitchen and dining room where she had laid the new phone book. She would order pizza tonight.
She carried a check to the door when the doorbell rang. The delivery boy pulled the pizza box out of his bag and exchanged it for the check. As he turned to go, Shelley saw the silver sports car enter parking lot. She stood in the open doorway, watching as the tall, dark, lean man got out of his car and sauntered to his apartment. She wondered who he was.
Chapter Three
“Hello, Mama,” Shelley said, as she breezed into the kitchen. She gave Ellen a perfunctory kiss on the cheek and moved to her father’s side of the built-in booth to give him a kiss. “Hello, Daddy.”
William scooted over on the bench to make room for her. “Have a seat, honey. Jessie, fix Miss Shelley a plate, please.”
“Yes, sir.”
“No, Jessie, don’t bother,” Shelley said. “I’ll just have coffee. I’ve already eaten.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Jessie took a cup and saucer from the cabinet.
“So. How is the life of a footloose and fancy-free single woman?” her mother asked.
“I’m enjoying it. ’Course, I’ve been real busy, getting everything fixed up the way I want it. And—”
“Really,” Ellen said.
“Yes, really.”
“No,” Ellen said. “I mean, the word you should use is ‘really,’ not ‘real.’”
Shelley tried not to show her exasperation. Her mother had always been a stickler for formality and correctness, whether in speech or in behavior. “Okay, Mama. I’ve been really busy.”
Ellen nodded, smiling. “That sounds better, dear.”
“As I was about to say, as soon as I get it all arranged, I want y’all to come for supper one evening.”
Ellen looked down at her plate and William cleared his throat. Shelley knew they weren’t often together in the evenings and had only observed family suppers during the months she’d stayed with them after her divorce. William was always out “taking care of business,” as he put it.
“Hey, y’all can be in the same place at the same time at least one evening.”
“To what do we owe the honor of your visit?” her father asked in an obvious attempt to change the subject.
“I just came to see about getting out my camping gear.”
“Is it that time of year already? My, how time flies,” Ellen said.
“Yeah, it’s that time. Seems like it rolls around quicker each year.” Shelley took a sip of the coffee Jessie set before her. “Mmm, good. Nobody makes coffee like you do, Jessie. That’s one thing I miss in my apartment.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Jessie said and smiled.
Shelley had a second cup of coffee and went to the garage to get her tent, cook stove and sleeping bag.
* * *
Don Yearwood turned up nothing about Farrell. He knew Aunt Mamie expected him to use his position as a deputy to make inquiries, but he wanted his family connection to Farrell to be unknown to anyone at work, so he used other avenues to seek information. He wanted to maintain a distance between himself and his cousin in case Farrell’s activities were discovered.
As it was, no one on the force knew he was related to the Gilberts, and he wanted to keep it that way. It wouldn’t have been possible to conceal it a few years ago, when Santa Rosa County was a slow, sleepy place of interwoven family connections, when everyone knew everyone else. But the explosion of population growth had changed that, had made anonymity more possible, since many of the people working in the sheriff’s office had moved into Florida from other places.
He checked what he could, followed up each avenue of information which occurred to him. And his sense of disquiet grew with each day of dead ends.
* * *
“Hey, honey, this is A.J.,” came the throaty drawl when Shelley answered the phone.
“Of course it is. You didn’t have to tell me, I knew it was you.”
A.J. laughed. “Do you have caller ID? Or am I that predictable.”
“No, your voice is that distinctive. So, how did your trip go? Where was it this time? Acapulco, Paris, Honolulu?”
“Atlanta.”
“Atlanta? What’s in Atlanta?”
“A lot of history. And, a lot of yankees,” A.J. said. Shelley could imagine the expression on A.J.’s face; the wrinkled nose, the lips pulled up in a sneer to reveal perfect teeth. Not only were A.J.’s teeth perfect, so was everything else about her.
“And they had to deal with you? Poor yankees,” Shelley said, and laughed.
“You may be right at that.” A.J. joined in Shelley’s laughter.
A.J. Delacourt’s one immutable passion was Southern heritage. She supported groups which promoted the culture of the South, with donations of money, time and effort. She supported other causes she deemed worthy, too, but Southern heritage was her primary, unchangeable interest.
She professed not to understand why both Shelley and her mother had married yankees. And while Ellen’s marriage to William Goodnight had endured, in spite of the fact he was from New York, Shelley’s marriage had not lasted. “See there! I told you, didn’t I?” A.J. had said when Shelley told her of the impending divorce.
“To what do I owe the honor of receiving a phone call from you, Shelley?”
“Oh, please. I call you all the time.”
“No, you don’t. You call me less and less as the years go by.”
“The phone lines run from Mobile to Pensacola, just like they run from Pensacola to Mobile. You could call me, too.”
“Touché. But, really, you usually call for a reason, not just to berate me for my attitude toward yankees. What’s on your mind?”
“Two things. First, I just moved into my own apartment, and I called to give you the address and phone number. And, second, to remind you that it’s time for the get together.”
Every summer, during the latter part of August, the four friends, Tatum, Rose, A.J. and Shelley, went on a camping trip. When they were younger, they camped for the better part of a week. But after Rose became a mother, they curtailed their annual camp out to one night, always on a Friday, at their accustomed place on the eastern shore of Blackwater Bay. It was remote but accessible and gave them a feeling of closeness, a feeling of “it’s us against the world.”
Next weekend would be the ideal time for their trip, if they could all work it into their schedules. Shelley wondered if things would change, if, some year, one of them would not be able to break away from her daily life to meet with her friends and turn back the clock. She dreaded facing the likelihood that this special group of friends might grow apart. For this year, at least, that possibility was pushed out to the distant future horizon. They would gather, gossip, laugh, eat and connect, heart to heart again.
* * *
“Look, Shelley, I really need your help,” Lanette said. “Ever since Farrell quit, the work has been piling up. We’ve just got to get it caught up.”
Shelley shook her head. “I’m sorry, Lanette, any other weekend, I’d be happy to work. But not this one. I just can’t.”
She saw frustration and resentment in the sideways glance Lanette gave her. Shelley was the boss’s daughter. She could get away with a refusal to work overtime. Lanette could not. A faint pang of guilt gripped Shelley for a moment, but she pushed it aside, quelled it with little effort. She had been the recipient of special treatment all her life. Corners had been cut for her, rough patches smoothed and glossed over, and most of the time, she was hardly aware of the carefree way she sailed through her life.
Now, it was hard for her to take responsibility when an unpleasant choice lay in front of her. She could stay and shoulder part of the work, or she could go have fun with her friends. She hesitated only a moment before choosing fun with her friends. She even left work an hour early to prepare for the trip to the shore of Blackwater Bay.
The sun had moved halfway down the western sky toward horizon, but its heat had not dissipated by the time Shelley’s car bounced along the rutted road toward the campsite. The area was used by some who, like Shelley and her friends, had discovered it and liked the privacy of its remoteness and enjoyed its undeveloped beauty.
She parked her Toyota alongside A.J.’s BMW. Neither Tatum nor Rose had arrived yet. Shelley opened the trunk and unloaded her tent. It was still so hot at this time of year she didn’t need the tent for warmth. Its primary function was to hold mosquitoes at bay. By the time she set it up on a smooth sandy stretch under a live oak close to the water, A.J. came meandering along the narrow beach.
“You don’t have your tent up yet. Need help with anything?” Shelley asked.
“No. I just wanted to enjoy the beauty and the quiet for a little while before all of y’all got here. I’ll take care of it.” A.J. glanced around. “The others not here yet?”
“Nope. Just me,” Shelley said. “I suppose we could get the camp ready before they get here. I brought the hot dogs. Tatum is bringing the drinks, and Rose is bringing condiments and buns.”
“And I brought dessert. S’mores, for old time’s sake. And a cheesecake for actual enjoyment.”
“From Symbrosia?”
“Of course. Is there any other kind?” A.J. flashed a smile at her friend. Shelley’s weakness for cheesecake from Symbrosia Ristorante in Mobile was well-known.
“All right! Now, if those other two will just hurry up and get here, we can eat supper and I can have a piece of cheesecake.”
Shelley put the hot dogs on the portable grill when Tatum arrived. A.J. helped Tatum carry the cooler of drinks from her truck to the beach where they always built a small campfire after darkness fell. Rose showed up last, as usual.
“Rosie!” They all hailed her as she exited her five-year-old Chevy. She waved at them and reached into her back seat for plastic Walmart bags. Although each of them had preferences for additional toppings, hot dogs with mustard and catsup were a part of the tradition, as were the s’mores. The only deviation was the cheesecake, and they were all willing to make an exception in that instance.
They ate and began the search for wood for the campfire before it got dark. No one wanted to ramble through the underbrush in darkness looking for wood at this time of year when the weather was hot and snakes were prevalent. Tatum and A.J. started the search for wood to the north of the camp.
Shelley and Rose headed south, watching where they stepped and making noise so any critters would be scared away. A small dim trail led southward away from the beach, and they followed it while they talked.
“So. How are things with you really, Shelley?”
“I don’t know, Rose. I’m starting to rethink my life. I’m taking stock of who I am. Matter of fact, this trip brought up a situation that is making me take a closer look at myself.”
Rose walked beside her without comment, waiting for Shelley to continue.
“See, a fellow at work quit a couple of weeks ago, didn’t give notice, no word to anybody, not even to his family. Work is piling up now and this afternoon Lanette, the office manager, she asked me to work this weekend. I said ‘no.’”
Shelley stopped to break up a dead branch at the side of the path. She picked up the pieces, added them to the bundle of sticks she carried, and continued. “I couldn’t have done that if I weren’t Daddy’s daughter. I’ve always taken things like that for granted and let everyone else take up the slack. But, today, it bothered me. Not enough to make me give up the trip, you understand, but….”
She stopped. She wrinkled her nose. “Do you smell that?”
Rose sniffed. “Smells like something dead. Probably some animal.”
They continued along the path through the late afternoon sun. Golden sunlight threaded through the branches overhead making kaleidoscope patterns on the bare sand beneath the trees. The path turned toward the bay, and as they followed it, the smell dissipated.
“Whatever it was, it’s back there somewhere,” Rose said.
“Yeah, makes me wonder what it is,” Shelley said. “Just hope it’s not something a gator dragged up. Somebody, Thomas, I think, told me the last time he was here this spring, he found a gator nest along here. I sure don’t want any scary surprises. Maybe we’d better look, make sure this isn’t the spot he was talking about.”
They turned and retraced their steps, walking slower and listening intently, all conversation ended now.
“Be ready to run,” Shelley whispered. “If there are any gators here, and if any of them are big….”
“I know.”
Shelley pointed to the left side of the path ahead. “Look. I didn’t notice that when we came past it.”
The brush was broken, branches snapped, some hanging.
“A gator couldn’t break branches that high up on bushes,” Rose said.
The smell was getting stronger.
“I don’t like this.” Rose shivered. “There’s something...I don’t know...something makes me feel...”
Shelley leaned over the concealing bushes and peered past them. She shrieked, dropped her bundle of wood, and backed up into Rose.
Chapter Four
“There’s a...a...behind th-those bushes,” Shelley said. “Some...some clothes. And a...a body. Look!”
“No, no! I don’t want to!” Rose backed away.
“You have to.” Shelley clasped her hands together under her chin, almost as though she were praying, her eyes wide and dark. “I can’t look again.”
They heard the thump of running feet.
“Are y’all all right?” Tatum shouted.
“Where are you? Who screamed?” A.J. called.
“Here. Come on down the path,” Shelley yelled.
“So, who screamed?” A.J. asked when she reached them.
“Look behind...behind that bush.” Shelley began to tremble.
“What are we supposed to be looking for?” A.J. asked.
“A dead body,” Tatum said solemnly, as she peered over the bushes.
“What did you say?” A.J. stared at Tatum.
“I said, a dead body. There’s a dead body in there.” Tatum grimaced and backed away.
“What are we supposed to do?” Rose asked.
“Call 911,” Tatum said. “Get the police out here.”
“Police?” A.J. asked.
“Yeah. They’ll take care of it.”
Shelley rubbed a hand over her hair, grasped a curl and twisted it around her finger. Why didn’t I listen to Lanette and work overtime?
A.J. pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and tried to make a call but her phone went dead. “Uh oh. I forgot to charge the battery. What about yours?”
“It’s in the car. I’ll go get it.” Shelley hurried up the path, away from the gruesome sight she’d seen behind the bushes, her stomach churning, nausea threatening to empty it of the hot dogs she’d eaten.
“I’m coming, too,” Rose said.
All of them hustled along behind Shelley, heedless of the need to watch for snakes.
* * *
The sun was near the horizon by the time the Santa Rosa County Sheriff’s Office green-and-white car eased to a stop behind the vehicles parked at the end of the dirt track. The door opened, and a tall, brown-haired man in a dark green uniform climbed out, stood and stretched. Deputy Clay Cameron had been on patrol for almost eight hours, and he was stiff from sitting in the driver’s seat. The order to check out a call in this remote area had come as a welcome diversion. Some hysterical women thought they saw something. Whatever. By the time he checked it out, his shift would be over and he could go home.
One woman left the group clustered by one of the cars and approached Clay. She appeared to be distressed. It was obvious to Clay she had been upset by something.
“Sheriff?” she said.
“No, deputy. Deputy Cameron,” he said, hooking his thumbs in his belt. “You the one who called?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And your name is?”
“Shelley Goodnight.”
“Goodnight. You any kin to that big mover and shaker in P’cola?” he asked with a grin.
“That ‘mover and shaker’ is my daddy.” An irritated expression flickered in her eyes for a moment.
“Oh. Well, want to tell me why you called?” he said, trying to distance himself from his blunder.
“We...we found a...a...we think it’s a body,” she said. She clasped and unclasped her hands. Clay noted that she grew more nervous as she spoke.
“Where?”
“There, down that path.” She gestured to a faint opening in the brush.
“Just a minute.” Clay reached into the car, got his flashlight and put it into the loop on his belt. “Okay. Lead the way.”
Her eyes grew large. “Really? I have to go in there again?”
“I don’t know where it is,” Clay said, in the tone of one explaining something to a child. He clenched his teeth, then forced himself to relax, to quell his building exasperation. “Somebody’ll have to show me.”
Another woman, a tall, slender redhead, started toward the path. “C’mon, I’ll show you.”
“And what’s your name?” he asked.
She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Tatum Reynolds.”
He followed her lead but kept his eyes moving, searching the ground in front of her. The other three women stayed by the cars.
Tatum slowed as the path entered the thicker brush.
“I don’t think it’s much farther,” she said. “It’s on the left side of the path. Just watch for broken limbs on the bushes.”
The smell of death alerted Clay to the proximity of the body before he saw the snapped twigs on the undergrowth.
Aw, man! I thought this would be some ding-a-ling woman with an overactive imagination. Looks like it might be for real, though. I sure won’t be going home any time soon.
He sighed. He moved in front of Tatum and pulled the bushes aside. It was a body, all right. He couldn’t tell how long it had been here nor how long it had been dead, but it was obvious the death had not been recent.
“Okay,” he said. “You’re right. Let’s go back.”
He let Tatum lead the way to the clearing.
“All right, ladies. Until we have some idea of the cause of death, we’ll have to follow some strict procedures. I’m going to call this in, and while we’re waiting, I’ll need to get some information from you. If y’all would stand over there while I make the call, we’ll try to get this over with as quick as possible.”
He asked them to stand in a spot where they would be visible to him as he placed the call to dispatch.
“Yeah, Sonny, it’s me, Clay. We got a body here. You’ll need to send somebody from Major Crimes.”
Sonny chuckled. “You get all the luck, don’t ya, Clay?”
“Yeah. I was looking forward to a soda and some pizza. Bet the Pizza Palace will be closed by the time I’m done here.”
“I’ll get ’em out there soon as I can,” Sonny assured him. “But you’re right. Pizza Palace will probably be closed long before you’re outta there.”
Clay ended the call, sighed broadly and got out his little-used notebook and a pen. He approached the group of women.
“All right.” He cleared his throat. “One at a time, I’d like for you to come over here and answer a couple of questions. Okay?”
They agreed. He pointed to Shelley. “You first.”
She followed him to his car. He opened the notebook and pulled the cap off the pen.
“Your full name, please?”
“Shelley Melanie Goodnight.”
He wrote it at the top of a clean page. “And where do you live, Ms. Goodnight?”
“Gulf Breeze.”
“Address, please.”
“5201 De Luna Terrace Apartments, Number 202.” She brought a finger to her mouth and chewed on a nail.
“Phone number.”
“Is all this necessary?”
“Yes, ma’am, it is. I’m sorry, but it’s my duty to gather information in a situation like this one. Phone number, please.”
She sighed. “555-4430.”
“And how did you happen to be here this evening?”
“We...my friends and I...always get together at the end of the summer for a camping trip. We’ve been coming here ever since we were in high school.”
“I see. So, it was just a sort of social party.”
“It was just friends getting together,” Shelley said, her tone curt, sharp.
“I see. So...why did you decide to go into those woods?”
“We always have a campfire on the beach after we eat.”
“Is that right?”
“Yes,” she snapped. “So we were gathering wood for the fire.”
“All four of you went traipsing off down into those woods?”
“No, just me and Rose. Tatum and A.J. went in another direction.”
“Which one is Rose?”
“That one.” Shelley pointed to Rose.
“Would you mind calling her over here, please, ma’am? And if you would, just step over there on the other side of the car.” He needed to keep them separate until he had written down each of their accounts of what happened.
“Rose! He wants to talk to you next.” Shelley called.
When Rose came near, Clay waited until Shelley retreated to the other side of his cruiser. Then he continued his questioning.
* * *
The crime scene van showed up about a half hour after Clay spoke to Sonny.
“Man, couldn’t y’all have come any slower?” he asked Bob and Junior as they climbed out of the boxy vehicle.
“Where’s the stiff?” Junior asked.
“This way.” Clay led them to the path. He stopped and turned to the four women. “Listen, y’all stay right there. I’ll just be a minute.”
He led Bob and Junior to the body and returned to the women. He looked at each of them as he neared. Shelley Goodnight was a nice-looking woman, not what you’d call beautiful, but better than average. And she carried herself with a natural ease and self-confidence that made her appear more attractive at first glance. The other women were good-looking, too. Except for A.J. Delacourt. That one was downright beautiful. But she seemed unapproachable. She was just a little too perfect. His gaze returned to Shelley each time he looked over the group.
Hey, rein it in, buddy. This is business, strictly business.
Clay was a little surprised at his reaction to this woman. How long had it been since he looked at a woman in that way? He stopped that train of thought, squashed it. That wouldn’t do.
He crossed his arms and leaned back on his cruiser, waiting for Bob and Junior to finish their inspection of the body. When they emerged from the woods, Clay didn’t like the looks on their faces. Neither of them spoke until they reached the van. Junior went to the back of the vehicle while Bob went to radio dispatch.
Clay approached Junior. “So?”
“Looks like homicide,” Junior said. “Can’t tell for sure from the look-see we had, since we can’t touch anything ’til we get some shots of the area, but I saw what looks like a hole in the skull. Could be a bullet hole. Anyway, until we do all the preliminaries, we’ll have to treat it like a homicide.”
“Aw, shucks!” Clay said and groaned. He scraped his foot across the ground in frustration. “And my shift ended thirty minutes ago.”