Shane.
Rory frowned. Why would Shane Carter be driving by at this exact moment? She waved back at him, then got into the car. Maybe he was meeting someone at the barbecue place just on the other side of the park.
Chance started the engine and shifted into Drive. “Wasn’t that Pete’s cousin Shane?”
“It was.” Maybe Shane felt compelled to keep an eye on her. He’d been helping out since she got home.
As they drove out of the park, she glanced over at the barbecue joint, but Shane’s truck wasn’t there. Maybe he’d met someone at one of the rental properties. The county park used to be the place for teenagers wanting to hang out and make out. Then again, Shane was no teenager anymore.
Maybe, she thought, Eudora and Anthony had enlisted his help in watching her. Eudora certainly liked being in control. Rory wouldn’t put it past her to do exactly that. Shane had showed up at her place out of the blue. She wondered again how a wonderful man like Pete had such a wretched mother.
One of the world’s great mysteries, she mused.
“You have an address for the clerk?”
“Yes, he lives on Franklin near where Pete and I lived before…”
“Headed that way,” Chance said.
Rory mentally dissected the latest scenario that seemed the most likely explanation for what happened that awful night. Shegave Chance the occasional direction for turns. But something about that scenario kept bugging her, snagging her attention.
“If what happened that night was somehow related to me,” she said, turning to Chance, “why was Pete the one who died? Why not me?”
Chance looked to her for a moment before shifting his focus back to the street. “Sometimes, the best way to hurt a person is to take away what they love most.”
His words blasted like tiny bombs in her brain. He was right. There was no more painful way to hurt a person. Dying a quick death—even a violent one—was over before you realized what was happening. You had little time for regrets or pain beyond the physical. But to be left alive while the person you loved most in the world was murdered…that was the worst possible pain, physical and emotional. Worse, it lingered, never truly went away.
Who would hate her so much that killing another human seemed a reasonable revenge for some perceived wrong?
The only person she suspected hated her that much was Eudora. No way in the world would she have killed her own son to punish Rory or to get her out of her life. She thought of all the times she had seen Pete and Eudora together. The woman was the epitome of the doting mother. She would have done anything for him…given him anything. There was no way in this world she would take his life.
Pete washerlife.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Wade Residence
Franklin Street
Scottsboro, 4:00 p.m.
Chance wasn’t really surprised about Rory’s attorney. The agency had found his work on the case to be lacking. Not falling to the level of inadequate from the law’s perspective but less than it should have been—absolutely less than he was capable of providing. Had he done his best, the possibility that anything would have changed was largely unlikely. There simply had not been any evidence to support Rory’s side of the story. While the other side had her prints on the murder weapon—a fact she could not explain. Her prints and the lack of story-confirming evidence had ensured the jury could only go one way—guilty. Patterson’s failure had been in not doing more to sway that perception. Tangible evidence wasn’t the only way to influence opinion.
Frankly, the man and his secretary had behaved a little on the suspicious side. Perhaps it was guilt. Whatever it was, the story about Leonard Wade, the clerk, suddenly going on vacation out of the country at the same time Rory was to be released didn’t sit right with Chance. Leonard had been the one to find the single piece of evidence that could win the appeal. Why not be around for her release? Why not do interviews with the local media? What future attorney didn’t want a little free publicity?
Didn’t make a lot of sense for a guy trying to build experience for when he graduated law school and went out on his own.
“Doesn’t look like anyone’s home,” Rory noted as she surveyed the yard and house.
There wasn’t a garage. The midcentury brick rancher had a carport, but there was no vehicle parked there. Rory was correct. The place did look deserted. Maybe Patterson had been telling the truth.
“Only one way to find out.” Chance reached for his door.
When they were standing on the driveway in front of his rental car, he took a moment to scan the block. Some of the houses along this section of the street had vehicles parked in the driveways. Farther down on the left, a lone dog barked, sending the occasional look in their direction. Otherwise, the street was quiet. No traffic, but then, it was well away from the main thoroughfares.
Rory led the way to the front door. She knocked and waited. The lack of sound inside added to the probability that no one was home.
Confident he wouldn’t find anyone staring back at him, Chance went to the large window next to the door and had a look inside. The room he could see beyond lay in shadows since no lights were turned on. The only illumination came from the window where he stood. Despite the low visibility, it was obvious the space was empty. Not only of people but of anything. Furniture. Photos. Books. There was nothing in the room but the hardwood floor staring back at him.
