Not This Time (17 page)

“No, they’re not stupid. They’re watchful.”

Someone would have told Beth, unless they didn’t trust her either. She couldn’t accept that; she had access to all of the Crossroads computers. That required a high level of trust. Still … “You may have a point.” Beth sighed. “But Darla’s been kicked hard. If the evidence proves she’s guilty, okay. Just don’t ask
me to condemn her without it. I won’t do that.” Doubt seeped in. Giving Sara the property on Airport Road and making a sizable donation could have been a manipulative move to get back into the villagers’ good graces. It wasn’t impossible. Oh, Beth hated doubting Darla. They weren’t close friends, but it was just unfair.

“I was involved in that investigation. I saw. Just keep what I said in mind.” Jeff tossed his empty can in the trash with a little extra force. “Meantime, we need a backup plan. We can’t go to that river empty-handed.”

“Will you quit and move on to whatever comes next? The money issue is resolved.” She spoke more sharply than she intended, but Jeff kept pushing, knowing she was frazzled and worn-out. Dennis Porter would handle it. Why couldn’t Jeff give her credit for knowing it?

He shoved a fisted hand into his pocket. “You’re asking a lot—and betting someone else’s life on it. A man you dislike.”

“Now you’re crossing the line. I know cops have to be suspicious, but you’re insulting me.” Her temper flashed. She struggled to leash it. “I’ve done what needs doing, which means I’m asking very little. Why is trusting me difficult?” That raised her hackles. “I’ve done nothing to earn your doubt.”

“You hate the victim.” Jeff looked away. “Bottom line, this is about saving his hide.”

“Disliking a man is not hating him or wishing him dead.” Jeff should know that. “But whatever. Just wait and see what happens. Dennis Porter will be on the bank steps with the money.” Beth tilted her glass toward Jeff. “You’re forgetting that to me this isn’t about
your
victim, it’s about Sara. I thought I knew you. I thought your priorities were in order. But I don’t know you at all. That’s fine. I don’t need to know you. I know me. And I never take unnecessary risks with
my
family.”

“Don’t make this personal.” A muscle in his jaw ticked.

“I didn’t. You did.”

“I can’t afford the luxury of waiting and seeing. It’ll be too late to do anything else.”

“It’s already too late to do anything else. That’s the kicker. Whether you don’t see it or won’t admit it doesn’t matter—though, I have to say, both tick me off. But here’s a deal you’ll love. If I’m wrong and Dennis is a no-show, then just shoot me.” What else could he possibly want from her? “That’ll make us even.”

“Don’t tempt me.” His face burned red and he clamped his jaw.

“Save your outrage for later,” she said, taking a tip from Joe. “Right now, we need to address a couple concerns, if you don’t mind.” Putting up two million to get Robert back should buy her that much goodwill. If Sara made it through this ordeal, she’d reimburse Beth. Robert wouldn’t even consider it.

“Fine.”

Beth backed up to the bar and snagged an apple. “First, your concerns.”

“Okay.” Jeff circled around to the table, then clasped the back of a chair. “When the kidnapper put Robert on the phone, he said he knew Sara was upset with him. Was that upset about the bounced check?”

“Doubtful. The check incident happened months ago.” Beth washed the wax from the apple at the sink, snagged a napkin, then sat at the table and took a crunchy bite. Her stomach was full of acid and rumbling.

Jeff sat opposite her. “Then why was Sara upset with him?”

“I don’t know.” Beth recalled the nagging feeling she’d had earlier. “But something was off with her all day yesterday. If she and Robert were at odds, that could have been it.”

“You guys are close. If there was trouble, wouldn’t she have told you?”

“We talk about everything
but
him. Sara knows I tolerate him for her. That’s not a sympathetic ear for airing your troubles.”

“Reasonable.” Jeff pulled a peppermint from his pocket and unwrapped it. The cellophane crinkled in his hand. “So who would she talk to about him?”

Beth chewed an apple bite and thought. “Maybe Margaret.”

“Who?”

“Our personal assistant, Margaret McCloud. Though that’d be a stretch.”

“Let me guess.” Jeff slid Beth a deadpan look. “Margaret doesn’t like Robert either.”

“Actually, she doesn’t, but that’s not why. Margaret lives in a world of her own and just kind of drops out of the clouds to work for us. She’s an excellent assistant, don’t get me wrong, but she has her own brand of relationship reality.”

He popped the mint into his mouth. “I don’t understand.”

He couldn’t, could he? Beth squirmed. She didn’t like talking about Margaret this way, but the last thing she wanted was for Jeff to get it in his head that Margaret could be a suspect. “Let me give you an example,” Beth said. “Three years ago, Margaret married a musician. He danced to his own drum—you know what I mean.” When Jeff nodded, Beth went on. “When she got tired of supporting him and his habits, she moved him out. A few months later she fell in love with this mechanic and married him.”

Jeff shrugged. “What’s odd about that? People remarry all the time.”

“They usually get a divorce or an annulment first. Margaret didn’t.” Beth cocked her head and shrugged. “That’s how Margaret thinks. If she wants to get married, she gets married. She doesn’t bother with the details, like divorcing her current spouse first.”

He nearly choked on his mint. “So she’s a bigamist?”

“You’re getting sidetracked,” Beth warned him. “My point is that Margaret loves being a bride but she’s not crazy about being married. She might have a dozen husbands out there. I don’t know. But there hasn’t been any trouble. Every now and then one of them shows up at SaBe. She’s glad to see him, and he’s glad to see her. It’s weird, but it works for Margaret. I’ve tried and tried to get her to go to Crossroads for counseling, but so far, she’s not interested. At the office, she’s a powerhouse—great work, totally trustworthy, and no trouble. I can’t make her personal choices for her.”

“Is that a woman thing, or what?”

“It’s a faith thing.” Beth frowned. “I’m a work-in-progress, especially where Robert’s concerned. I’m not fit to judge anyone. Margaret’s stuff is between her and God.”

Jeff thumbed the place mat. “Sara wouldn’t go to her. No common ground.”

“That was my thinking, but you make your own call.” Relieved that he got
it, Beth sifted through other possibilities. “Sara used to come home for dinner once a week—Robert nixed that—but she and Mom had lunch fairly often.”

“What do they talk about?”

“Probably all the things girls and their mothers discuss that is of no interest to anyone else; you know, the mundane and significant.”

“They’re that close?”

“Closer.” Beth nodded. “But don’t waste your time there. Their chats are private. Neither will tell you a thing. There just isn’t anyone else.” Sara had lots of acquaintances but only one really close friend. If Beth could have been thrilled about Robert, it would have meant the world to Sara. Things should have been so different. Guilt swam through her, settled in her heart. It wasn’t warranted—he was a user. But she regretted the situation for Sara.

“What’s troubling you?”

“It’d be easier to answer what isn’t.” Beth bit the apple, enjoyed its tart crunch, and focused on what she would next say. “During the kidnapper’s call, something odd happened.” Surely Jeff had noticed. It was his job to notice things like that, but he hadn’t said anything. “It’s nagging at me.”

“What?”

Keep your mouth shut. Things get twisted …
“You know, it was probably nothing. Forget—”

“No.” He lifted a hand, still holding the wadded mint wrapper. “Tell me.”

“Robert called me Sara.”

“So?”

“So the man talks to his wife a dozen times a day. He’s terrified anyone else will influence her.”

“What’s your point?”

Palms on the table, she leaned toward him. “My point is a question, Jeff.” She almost regretted bringing this up. Almost. But something warned her not to drop it, that it was significant. “Things important to women don’t always register with men.”

“Granted, though we do have other redeeming qualities.”

Clyde Parker would have belly laughed at that one. “You do.”

“So there is a
but
in that comment,” Jeff said. “What is it?”

Doubt left Beth. “How can a man talk to his own wife on the phone that often for that long and still not recognize her voice?”

“Nathara, what are you doing here?”

Darla Green closed her front door and stared at Nathara and Tack, standing in the middle of her entry hall.

“Running an errand for Nora.” Her floppy hat had a wide green brim that shadowed her eyes. “I thought you were at Crossroads, manning the phones.”

“I was. Every crazy in the tricounty area is calling in sniff reports.”

“Sniff reports?”

“Smell something funny—because of the club attack.”

Tack harrumphed. “Seeing the Hazmat teams on the news, I expect.”

“Probably, Tack. Things are finally settling down.” Darla laid her purse on the entry table, then dropped her keys on a silver tray. “So what does Nora need, Nathara?” Tack hadn’t moved. Why was he staying put? And what was that on his shoes. It looked dry—and it’d better be. If he soiled her new white carpet, she would be upset.

“Nothing from you. She wants Tack to be a pallbearer at Clyde’s funeral tomorrow. It’s at two o’clock.”

That “nothing from you” stung, but Darla ignored it. “How’s she doing?”

“It’s silly.” Nathara sniffed. “Such a fuss over her and a man who lived a long life.”

Darla bit her tongue. She wasn’t fond of Nathara, but what Beth said at the club about Darla not being beyond redemption had stuck with her. She didn’t want to put it to the test. Her mistakes were bad ones, and there were a lot of them. She’d mulled over Beth’s words—especially that coward remark—and figured she had nothing to lose by praying. That’s why she’d gone to Crossroads.
All those people prayed a lot in its little chapel and God heard them. Darla figured if she prayed there, maybe He’d hear her too. So she gave it a try. But if God had heard her, He hadn’t let her know it. Still, she wasn’t giving up. She wasn’t a coward and something had to change. No mere mortal could do what needed doing to help her. She’d hit rock bottom and parked there. It was God or nothing.

“I’d better get back.” Nathara walked past Darla to the door. “Don’t be late for Clyde’s funeral. Nora’s reminding everyone. Why that’s so important to her, I have no idea.”

Tack tipped his hat. “I’ll be there early.”

Nathara frowned, looked down her nose at Darla. “Will you be there?”

“Of course. I’ve known Clyde for years.” That she wasn’t wanted didn’t escape her; Nathara’s expression made it abundantly clear.

“Then you need to know he’s not being buried at the village cemetery but at Race Miller’s old place in Magnolia Branch. Nora says everybody knows where it is.”

Darla did. “Why is he being buried there?” Surely he could afford a cemetery plot.

“Apparently Clyde was born on that property and he wanted to be buried on it.”

“But it’s private property,” Darla told Nathara. “Race Miller sold it to SaBe.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Then Beth’s given permission to bury Clyde there?”

“You’d have to ask Beth that. All I know is what Clyde wants, Nora will get.” Nathara walked out and closed the door behind her.

Darla turned to Tack. “Did you know Clyde’s family once owned that property?”

“Yeah.” Tack’s weathered face looked pinched. “For a couple generations. Then Clyde fell on hard times—back when his wife got sick—and he got a mortgage from Race. The community went bust about the same time. Poor Clyde lost his wife and the land. Race left it vacant until some pornographers
trespassed to make movies and got arrested on it. He was beside himself about that and sold it to SaBe.”

Tack lifted his cap then set it back on his head. “I heard at Ruby’s that Beth bought it and tried to give it to Clyde, but he wouldn’t take it. Said them putting a safe house on it was a fine thing.”

Beth adored Clyde. Her offering it to him didn’t surprise Darla a bit. “How awful for Clyde to lose his family’s land.”

“He was holding on to it for sentimental value. Ain’t lived up there since he was a kid.”

“Sad. I just hate that.” Darla was genuinely touched. “Family is important.” She’d had one and lost it. John to death, her son to guilt. She deserved the loss, but she still regretted it.

“Well, I need to get back to work.” He moved to the back of the house, toward the door to the terrace. “I’m bleaching the terrace to kill any mold. Best let it dry before coming out.”

Being so close to the water, everything outside molded or rusted. “Didn’t you do that last week?”

“Yep, but with all the rain, it needs doing again.”

Usually the deep cleaning lasted a lot longer than a week. Strange. “Don’t you have a campaign debate with Hank tonight at the high school?” The polls had them neck and neck.