Murder in the Smokies

chapter Thirteen



“Did you get through to your pretty little cop?”

Sutton opened his eyes to find Seth Hammond sitting in the waiting room chair directly across from him. He looked tired and disheveled, but his green eyes were as sharp as ever. “I thought you were going home.”

“I stopped in to check on Cleve and ended up staying until his pain pill kicked in and let him get back to sleep.”

Once again, Sutton felt a twinge of guilt that it was Seth who was able to give his father comfort in his time of distress. All Sutton seemed to do when he visited his father was stress him out. “Is he any better at all?”

“He’s resting a little easier.” Seth shrugged. “Not sure if it’s because he’s actually in less pain or if he’s just getting acclimated to it.”

“He hates me, doesn’t he?”

“I always figured it was the other way around.”

“I don’t hate him.” At Seth’s dubious look, Sutton added, “I just don’t want to follow in his footsteps.”

“He doesn’t expect that. Hell, he doesn’t even expect me to anymore.”

“You’ve turned over a new leaf?” It was Sutton’s turn to be skeptical.

Seth shrugged. “Call it what you want.”

“Why?”

“Why’d I get out of the con game?” Seth rubbed his jaw, his palm making a swishing noise against his beard stubble. “I didn’t like how people looked at me when they realized they’d been had. See, your daddy always treated it like a game. He’s not actively trying to hurt people. He just wants to see what he can convince them to do to his benefit. He tried to teach me how to see it that way, but in the end, I couldn’t. People got hurt, some real bad. Some might have deserved it for being greedy and stupid themselves, but a lot of them didn’t. I just couldn’t live with it.”

“But you still watch out for Cleve.”

“Somebody’s got to.”

“Are you trying to watch out for me, too?”

Seth’s brow furrowed. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

“You left that marble on Ivy’s porch for me to find. You knew I’d know who’d left it there. You knew I’d come looking for you.”

“You ascribe a whole lot of knowledge to me—”

“You wanted to point me in the direction of Davenport Trucking, which suggests maybe you know more about these murders than you’re letting on.”

“First I’m the second coming of Ponzi and now I’m Ted Bundy?”

“I didn’t say you committed them. But you know that Davenport Trucking is somehow involved. Did you know before you started working there or did you pick it up from being there day in and day out?”

“Rachel Davenport was close to all four of the murder victims. You’ve figured that out by now, haven’t you?”

Sutton nodded.

“Ever wonder if that means something?”

He had, of course. He and Ivy had speculated about Rachel’s connection to the cases just the night before. “What do you think it means?”

“I think George Davenport is dying, and there’s a lucrative trucking company that’s about to be looking for a new president. Right now, I’d reckon on Rachel Davenport being the obvious choice for the job. Which makes me wonder, why might someone be picking off Rachel Davenport’s support system, one at a time?”

Sutton stared at Seth, a lot of loose puzzle pieces starting to click into place. “You think these really are murders for hire, don’t you?”

Seth met his gaze with the intensity of a man who was sure he was right. “Don’t you?”

He couldn’t say no. The more he learned about the victims and the circumstances of the murders, the less they seemed to fit the pattern of a serial killer. The trappings were there, and Sutton had a feeling that the killer got some enjoyment out of the murders. But the only connection between the victims that made any sense at all was their connection to Rachel Davenport.

If she was the killer’s focus, it would seem likely that she’d be a murder victim rather than a serial mourner. So whatever the motivation behind the murders, it wasn’t about killing Rachel physically. It was about destroying her emotionally.

“Why would anyone want to hurt her that way?” he asked Seth. “Do you know anything about her?”

Seth was slow to answer. “A few things.”

“Anything that would motivate someone to wreck her that way?”

“I’m not sure.”

Sutton had the sense that Seth knew more than he was saying, but he didn’t bother trying to press him directly. Seth could dig in his heels with the best of them. Instead, he changed topics. “Did you hang around here long after I left?”

“Yeah. I was in and out, but mostly in. Why?”

“I just get this sense—” He stopped, realizing whom he was talking to. When they’d been boys together up on Smoky Ridge, they’d shared everything, from tree forts to secret hiding caves. But then Seth Hammond had disappeared, sucked into the secrets and lies of Cleve’s world. He wasn’t Sutton’s buddy. He wasn’t his confidant. He sure as hell wasn’t going to be Sutton’s sounding board about Ivy Hawkins.

“You get what sense?”

“Nothing.”

“You want to know what life was like for your daddy when you left?”

“No.” He supposed he should feel guilty about that, but he just wasn’t. Cleve had made the life he wanted, and he’d made it impossible for Sutton to stick around and be part of it without selling his soul.

“Ivy, then?” Seth’s sharp green-eyed gaze met his directly. “You want to know what it was like for her when you hightailed it out of here?”

Sutton didn’t answer. He supposed his silence was all the response Seth needed.

“For a little while, she just kept on going like always. I reckon part of her figured you’d come to your senses and come back here where you belonged. Then, when it became clear you weren’t coming back, she started sticking around home with her mama a little more than usual. Turned out to be a big mistake, that.”

The dark tone of Seth’s voice made Sutton look up at his old friend. Seth looked angry.

Sutton’s heart dropped. “What happened?”

“Billy Turlow happened.” Seth’s hands twisted around each other as he spoke, the motions quick and almost violent. “Took up with her mama the summer after you left. Only it was clear to everybody but Arlene that the girl he really wanted was Ivy. I don’t know all the details. The cops kept it pretty hushed up for a little town like this, but the basics got out. Seems one night, Ivy decided to take a kitchen knife to bed with her. Billy went into her bedroom, tried to force himself on her and took a knife in the side for his trouble.”

“She killed him?”

“No, last I heard he was still alive. Nobody pressed any charges on anybody, but Billy Turlow left town as soon as he got out of the hospital, and Ivy went off to Chattanooga for a couple of years on a college scholarship. She didn’t last there long. I guess her mama needed her too much.”

Sutton felt sick. One of Ivy’s deepest fears, he remembered, was that her mama was going to get raped or killed by one of the men she took home with her. Somehow, she’d never seemed to worry that she herself might be in danger.

But he’d worried. Not deeply, not daily, but from time to time, he’d noticed the way some of Arlene’s fellows looked at her blossoming daughter and worried that they’d start wanting the young version more than her mother.

He’d figured it would cause more trouble between mother and daughter than create any sort of danger for Ivy herself. But he should have known better. He should have seen the signs of danger.

He’d just been too busy thinking about himself and planning his escape from Bitterwood and his father.

* * *

MARK BRAMLETT TURNED out to be friendly and accommodating, making Ivy wonder if the link between Bramlett Nurseries, Davenport Trucking and the nightshade found at the cemetery was nothing but a coincidence.

“We clean the truck out after every delivery or job,” he told her as he let her take a look around inside the back of the rented panel truck while Antoine watched from a few feet away. “But we do the washing here at the nursery. I don’t deal in products with special sanitation needs, so there’s not much point in jumping through hoops to make sure the inside is sterile the way food processors do.”

The interior of the truck looked freshly cleaned, she noted. “When was the last time you used it?”

“I had a crew out delivering seedlings to a retail outlet up in Knoxville just yesterday,” he answered. “The crew washed it down when they got back.”

“Would it be possible to speak to the employees who drive the truck?”

Bramlett shrugged. “Most of them are trained to handle trucks this size, so any one of them might be called on to drive it, depending on the job and the work crew on any given day. I do have a handful of workers who drive it more than others. I’ll write up the list of names for you.”

“Thank you,” Ivy said with a grateful smile. “You’ve been very helpful.”

“Glad to do it.” Bramlett cocked his head, looking curious. “Is this anything to do with the murders in Bitterwood?”

“We’re just following up on the possibility that one of these rental trucks could have been used in the commission of a crime.”

“You think one of my employees used the truck to go out and kill those women?” Bramlett shook his head. “I know they say you can’t always tell who’s going to turn out to be a monster, but the guys we hire just don’t seem the type.”

“Most likely, your truck had nothing to do with any crime we might be investigating.” Ivy kept her tone noncommittal. “We’ll mark you off our list once we’re done and that will be that.”

“Just being thorough,” Antoine added with a placid smile.

“Okay.” Bramlett led them back inside and went behind the counter in search of paper and a pen. He jotted down a list of five names. “These guys do most of the driving, and they’re responsible for making sure the truck is cleaned and locked before they leave at night.”

Ivy took the list. “Thank you, Mr. Bramlett.”

“Glad to help.”

“Are any of them here today?”

“Gil Thomas and Jeff Plott will be in around ten today, and Kel Dollar’s off this morning but should be in by one. Shane McDowell is off today but comes in tomorrow, and Blake Corbin is on vacation until next week.”

“We’ll be back around ten to talk to Thomas and Plott,” Ivy said.

“I’ll make sure they’re around.”

“Oh. One more thing,” Ivy said as Bramlett walked them to the door. “Do you cultivate belladonna here at the nursery?”

Bramlett looked puzzled. “No. We don’t cultivate toxic medicinals. Too many liability issues.”

“Okay, thanks again.”

“You’re welcome.” Bramlett gave a little wave as they headed back to the department-issued Ford Taurus.

Ivy handed Antoine the list of names. “See if we can get addresses and any background on any of these guys before we come back at ten.”

“Maybe this is just a big ol’ red herring. Shouldn’t we start looking at other names on the list, too?”

He was probably right. Nothing about Bramlett Nurseries had pinged her radar. Since they were doing busywork at the moment, routine stuff, there was no reason they couldn’t split up and get the job done twice as fast. “Tell you what. I’ll drop you off back at the station so you can start making phone calls. Set up some interviews with the people on the list. I’ll come back here and talk to the guys at the nursery, then we can regroup at the end of the day.”

“Good idea. We should be able to get through this list in no time if we do it right.” Antoine had never been a big fan of down-and-dirty legwork. He liked the puzzle aspect of solving crimes, which made Ivy wonder why he’d stuck around Bitterwood rather than heading for a bigger city, where he’d get more chances to play Sherlock Holmes rather than Barney Fife.

Maybe for the same reason she’d never left Bitterwood. Life in this sleepy mountain town, good or bad, was all she’d ever known. She knew who she was when she was here. She didn’t worry about who she could be.

But maybe it was time she expanded her horizons. Maybe it was time to find out who she could be outside of Bitterwood, Tennessee.

And how much of your newfound wanderlust, taunted an inner voice, comes from knowing that sooner or later, Sutton Calhoun’s going to dust this little town off his boots and never look back?

* * *

THE SOUND OF KEYS IN the door roused Sutton from a light slumber. He hadn’t bothered with the bed, since Ivy’s overstuffed sofa had looked too inviting to pass up, and it was a hell of a lot more comfortable than the hard sofas in the hospital waiting room.

By the time Ivy entered, he was sitting up, shaking off the stupor of sleep. She stopped in the doorway with a soft gasp. “You scared me. What are you doing in here?”

“Napping.”

She looked at the sofa dubiously. “Isn’t it a little small for you?”

He shook his head, stretching. “Just right.” He caught her gaze dropping to his midsection and looked down to see his T-shirt had slipped upward as he stretched, baring his stomach. Amused by catching her staring, he shot her a teasing smile and stood up, taking a deliberate step toward her. “You’re home awfully early in the day. Miss me that much?”

Her cheeks turned deliciously pink. “J-just came to pick up some notes I left here.” She seemed to have trouble getting the words out past her suddenly tangled tongue. “I, um, I have to go do a couple of interviews soon—”

Amazing, he thought, how the room could heat up so suddenly. He still wasn’t touching her, still stood a few feet away, too far from her to even feel the heat of her body radiating toward his, but he would swear he could hear her heart pounding from where he was.

Or was that his own heart he was hearing?

“I did miss you.” Her tone was soft. Helpless. He could tell she hadn’t meant to say the words, that making herself vulnerable to him with her confession scared the hell out of her.

It scared him, too, because hearing her admission of need sent a wave of pleasure rocketing through him, as powerful as if she’d reached out and touched him.

He wasn’t a man who felt things deeply. He didn’t let himself, preferring a hard-shelled cocoon of distance and solitude to keep him from getting hurt again. His memories of childhood all shared a common thread of pain, from losing his mother young to learning, revelation by revelation, just what it was his father did to keep food on the table and clothes on his back. He’d watched in silent agony as his friends and their families suffered from his father’s sins, hated but understood the inevitable distance that grew between them and him.

Apple didn’t fall far from the tree, after all....

“I missed you, too,” he admitted, closing the gap between them until he touched her, a light brush of his fingertips against her cheek. “Not just today, either. I missed you when I left. All the time.”

She closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. “I figured you’d forgotten me once you had Bitterwood in your rearview mirror.”

“I tried. I guess eventually I sort of compartmentalized my life. You know, Bitterwood and everything that came after.” He cradled her face between his hands. “Why didn’t you tell me about Billy Turlow?”

Her eyes widened, and she pulled away from his grasp. “Who?”

“Seth told me about what Turlow did to you.”

She wrapped her arms around her waist, turning her profile to him. “Don’t you mean what I did to Billy?”

“Did he rape you?”

She shot him a hard look that made his blood chill. “I never gave him a chance.”

He nodded slowly. “Good.”

“She wouldn’t believe me when I tried to warn her.” Ivy’s tough expression faltered, and she sank onto the arm of the sofa, hunched forward. “She thought I was making it up to break them up. I told her I wouldn’t lie about something like that, but she said I was just jealous of her attention.”

“God.”

“She just wanted to be happy. She always thinks when she meets a new man that this is the one who’s going to make her happy. But she looks for men in all the wrong places.”

“What about after you stabbed him?”

“Oh, she believed me then.” Ivy shot him a bleak smile. “Kind of hard to wish away the sight of your boyfriend in his jockey shorts lyin’ on the floor of your daughter’s bedroom with a steak knife sticking out of his ribs.”

“How long was it?”

Her eyes narrowed with confusion. “The knife?”

“No. How long after I left town?”

“Oh.” She looked down at her feet. “About five months. It was a few days after my sixteenth birthday.”

He crossed in front of her, laying his hands on her shoulders. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I’m so sorry.”

She shook her head. “What could you have done to stop it?”

“Maybe nothing.” He lifted her chin to make her look up at him. “But I’d have been there for you afterward, at least.”

“It doesn’t matter now. It’s done. I’m long past it.”

“Are you?” He ran his thumb along the curve of her jaw, noting with a combination of pleasure and fear how her eyelids fluttered shut in response. Pink color rose along her neck, flushed into her cheeks, and he knew she was as vulnerable to the combustive attraction between them as he was.

He could hurt her so easily if he made a mistake.

But could he give her the peace and happiness she deserved?

“I’m not my father, Ivy—”

Her eyes snapped up to meet his. “I never said you were.”

“I’m not my father,” he repeated. “But I still have some of him in me. I don’t always think about how my actions affect other people. I think more about my feelings. How things affect me.”

“Most people do.”

“I don’t want to hurt you. Ever.”

She held his gaze a moment, a thoughtful look in her dark eyes. Then she pulled away from him and moved to the window that looked out on the front yard. In profile, she looked more sad than conflicted.

“You said you didn’t go to the prom. That was your choice, wasn’t it?” he asked, suddenly understanding why she was fighting so hard to keep him at arm’s length. “You don’t do relationships, right?”

She didn’t turn her head. “Right. I date sometimes. I’m not a virgin. But I haven’t believed in fairy tales in a long time.”

“Because of Billy Turlow?”

She made a soft huff that might have been a laugh. “It didn’t take Billy Turlow to cure me of my romantic streak. People come. People go. That’s the way of things, more often than not.”

He crossed to her side, tucking behind her ear a tendril of hair that had sneaked out of her ponytail. “You’re not your mama.”

“Close enough. I have a bad habit of wanting things that aren’t good for me.”

“Do I fall into that category?” He couldn’t blame her for thinking so.

She looked up at him. “I don’t think you’re a grifter like Cleve, but you’re not going to stick around forever. Sooner or later, you’ll leave. You can be as honorable as they come and it doesn’t change anything. You already have one foot out of this town. And I’m planted here like a tree.”

He smiled at the description. “Somebody’s got to stay around to make sure your mama doesn’t get into too much trouble.”

“Bitterwood is her home. Hell, the town’s been trying to buy her land for a long time, but she won’t budge. She’s not going anywhere. And since I’m all she’s got—”

He slid his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close, pressing his lips against her forehead. It was meant to be a chaste expression of the friendship they’d once shared, but the feel of her body melting into his proved a potent reminder that he and Ivy Hawkins couldn’t be just friends anymore. And apparently, they couldn’t afford to be lovers, either.

So where did that leave them?

She pulled away from him. “I’ve got to talk to a man about a truck.”

“Any new leads on that?”

She shook her head. “It’s early yet.”

He knew she wasn’t telling him everything she knew, but he didn’t fault her for it. She was walking a thin line between following Rayburn’s orders and her own instincts. He didn’t want to make things any harder for her.

He walked with her out to the car, catching her hand as she reached to open the door. “I’m going to spend tonight at the hospital with Cleve. The doctor said it was okay, since he’s going to need help getting in and out of bed and going to the bathroom.”

She squeezed his hand. “That’s going to be hard for you, isn’t it?”

“I can’t get used to seeing him so helpless. He was always the most vibrant, self-possessed person I ever knew.” That zest for life had been part of the con man’s appeal. He could convince a catfish to buy a raincoat.

“Maybe this will be good in the long run,” she suggested. “He’ll probably have to do some therapy on that broken arm, and didn’t you tell me it was the arm that’s mostly useless due to the stroke?”

“So maybe he’ll get it right this time instead of being a stubborn cuss?”

She squeezed his hand again before letting it go. “I’ve got to go.”

He caught her chin in his palm and lifted her face, brushing his mouth to hers. Her lips clung for a moment, as if she wanted to prolong the kiss as much as he did. But she pulled away, ducking her head as she opened the car door and slid behind the wheel.

“I guess I may not see you much after this.” She didn’t look at him, her gaze directed forward as if she had addressed the dashboard instead of him. There was a finality in her voice that he couldn’t pretend he didn’t hear.

“I had to go, Ivy. If I’d stayed here any longer, it would have killed me. One way or another.”

She nodded, still looking forward. “And I have to stay.”

“I know.” He let the silence linger a moment, then added, “Take care of yourself.” He had no other argument to make. She was right. He’d be leaving soon, and she’d be staying, and neither one of them could do a damned thing about it. Prolonging their goodbye would only prolong the pain.

“You take care of yourself, too,” she said, her profile frozen in place, as if any expression she might make would cause her to fall apart.

He stepped back, letting her close the car door, and watched her drive away with his heart in his throat. He hadn’t managed much of a nap before she came home, and any chance of one now was gone. All that was left to do now was pack up the rest of his things and move on. As usual.

Even if it felt like fifty kinds of wrong.