Lancelot of the Pines (Louisiana Knights Book 1) Page 8

  It was while they were eating a fast lunch made from staples out of the refrigerator that Lance finally got around to mentioning Bruce. Putting down his ham sandwich, picking up a potato chip, he watched her a minute before he spoke.

  “You overheard what Trey said, didn’t you?”

  She barely glanced at him. “The RV isn’t that big or that sound proof.”

  “So you know your husband is gone.”

  Gone. It was a handy euphemism, but exact in a strange sort of way. She lifted her head, swallowing the tears that threatened before she answered.

  “You mean Bruce was shot in the head and dumped in the river like so much trash. Do they have any idea who did it?”

  “If the NOPD does, they haven’t shared it with the sheriff’s office.”

  “Or why, either, I suppose?” Anger and frustration at the lack of information still, after long days with no word, roiled inside her.

  “I thought maybe you could answer that.”

  “No, I can’t. I told you before, and I’ll say it again, I had nothing to do with what happened. I don’t know how, when, why or really even where. Bruce simply left the house one morning and didn’t come back. That’s all I can tell you.”

  “And you don’t much care if he did.”

  “You don’t know the first thing about me, so don’t presume to know how I feel!” She gave him a glare edged with hot tears. “Bruce was my husband. The murder of any man is painful to think about, but especially when it’s someone you’ve lived with for any length of time. I may have been planning to leave him, but I didn’t want him dead.”

  “Is that so?” he asked, his voice soft as he watched her.

  “Yes, it’s so.”

  “Funny, but I keep thinking about that shot aimed toward your head, putting it together with the bullet hole in Caret’s.”

  She shuddered at that too vivid description, though she couldn’t tell if it was typical police callousness or an attempt to shock her into saying something rash. She’d been trying for hours to not think of exactly how Bruce might have died.

  “Me, too,” she answered. “That’s what the man who tried to kidnap me said, that he’d put a bullet in my brain if I didn’t do exactly as he told me.”

  “But he didn’t,” Lance said at once.

  “No, but I think—I’m almost sure there was a silencer on his gun.”

  He dipped in head in assent. “It was in the report. They found it in your car after the wreck.”

  “Then why doesn’t anyone believe me?”

  “Who says they don’t?”

  The look she gave him should have turned him to stone.

  “It’s only your word that says there was ever a kidnapping.”

  “But the man who was killed—”

  “Could have been with you for some other reason, which means you’re not in the clear yet.”

  How could he say such a thing after the terror of that drive with a gun at the back of her neck? Or was he suggesting Bruce had somehow involved her in something that might end in her arrest. Again. The very thought made her feel cold inside, yet furious with it.

  “Maybe I’m not,” she said, picking up her uneaten sandwich and rising from the table, “but I still have to wonder if I’ll see a hit man instead of a lawman the next time I answer a doorbell.”

  Mandy stepped to the kitchen area to put her trash in the can under the sink. Closing herself in the small bathroom, then, she held a wet washcloth to her face while she fought the urge to cry. It wasn’t for Bruce this time, but because Lance was like all the rest, willing to believe the worst of her. She won that battle, but was relieved when she felt the RV begin to move again, and she knew Lance wasn’t waiting to renew his questioning.

  As the afternoon advanced, Lance asked Mandy to help him watch for a campground. She spotted one a short time later. They followed the signs to a state recreation area situated on a lake.

  “Is this safe?” she asked as they slowed near the entrance. “I mean, what about those nosy people with cell phones you mentioned before?”

  “We should be far enough away not to set off any alarms now.” He pulled to a stop near the office, and reached for the door handle.

  “But won’t it be more likely to be patrolled by police or park rangers or somebody?”

  “It’s easy to see who you think are the enemy.”

  “Welcome to my world,” she said, her voice tart. She paused, thinking of the way Lance avoided using a credit card when they stopped for diesel fuel, and the dangers of such things when she first went into hiding. “Do you have enough cash?”

  “I wouldn’t have stopped otherwise. I did have my billfold on me when we started on this little adventure.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “Good.”

  “Besides, Trey told me where to find his emergency stash.”

  “What, in here?” She flashed a glance around the RV’s interior.

  “Where else?” He didn’t wait for more, but climbed from the cab and slammed the door.

  Mandy narrowed her eyes as she watched him stride toward the office. She didn’t need anyone, and especially not an arrogant, know-it-all deputy who suspected her of who knows what and couldn’t see past the end of his nose. So he was an impressive specimen of manhood who looked fine walking away, so what? There was more to a man than wide shoulders and firm buns. Tenderness, empathy, deep interest, and a steady personality were good, too. If he could laugh at himself now and then, it was a nice plus.

  For two cents, she’d search out the stash he’d mentioned and strike out on her own. It wouldn’t really be stealing since she’d replace the money when she was able.

  No, she thought on a long sigh. She couldn’t do it. She’d learned the hard way that she had to follow the rules to the letter. If the law saw the move as a sign of guilt, rather than a panicked need to run and hide, she could end up back in jail. Anything was preferable to that.

  She was stuck with Deputy Benedict for the duration, then, or at least until she could get back to Chamelot and her belongings. She wasn’t sure what she’d do then, but a plane ticket to some island paradise, like the one she and Bruce visited last year, was beginning to sound good. Yes, even if she had to wait until this mess was over.

  “No problems?” she asked as Lance returned with paperwork for their campsite in his hand.

  “None at all.”

  It was ridiculous to take the assurance in his voice as a sign that all might yet be well, but she couldn’t help it. She didn’t exactly believe in signs, but would take one whenever she could get it.

  The site was a full hookup, which meant they had not only water and electricity but access to sewage for emptying the vehicle’s holding tanks. Mandy absorbed these details of campground living as she did most things, since you never knew when they might come in handy.

  She helped direct Lance as he backed into the site they’d been assigned, and then called out to him when the RV was level. While he saw to hooking up to the facilities she took ground beef from the small refrigerator, along with tomatoes, lettuce and dill pickles. She stood for a moment, weighing the wisdom of adding an onion to what was going to be burgers cooked on the grill, but then set it out on the cabinet. It seemed unlikely there would be the opportunity to offend each other with onion breath.

  Lance busied himself outside, rolling out the awning and securing it, setting up the small portable grill on the nearby picnic table, mounding the charcoal just so and lighting it. Mandy watched him from the kitchen window while she prepared the vegetables. His movements were competent and quick, as if he’d performed the tasks a thousand times. Who knew, maybe he had. He might know little about her, but she knew even less about him.

  The smell of the charcoal smoke drifted into the RV, in spite of closed windows and the air conditioning going full blast. It made her salivate as surely as it must have since primitive man discovered fire. Funny, but she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt actual
hunger. Her usual reaction to stress was total lack of appetite. She’d subsisted on delivered pizza and Chinese, peanut butter and frozen dinners while at the safe house.

  Maybe she was less on edge because she no longer felt alone? Or could they have traveled so far it seemed no one was likely to find them. That made more sense. Deputy Benedict might be her designated protector, but he was hardly on her side. He’d doubted her when Bruce was only missing; how much more must he distrust her now?

  A short time later, Lance came to the door to ask for salt, pepper and a spatula to use when the charcoal burned down. She had the burgers ready to go, too, and passed everything out the door at once. His thanks sounded almost civil, which made her turn away with a sardonic smile for the domesticity of it all.

  When he requested a beer from the refrigerator, she found one and handed it out the door as well. She didn’t watch him drink it, however. The last thing she needed was a reminder of the way he’d slugged down the lemonade in Granny Chauvin’s backyard. No, nor the torment of it.

  Searching for distraction from the deputy, Bruce, and her situation, she turned to the bedroom where the bags supplied by Zeni still lay on the bed. As she picked them up, a box fell out of one. She reached for it, turning it over in her hands before sitting down on the end of the bed to read the directions. After a moment, she smiled to herself with quiet anticipation. Still reading, she rose and walked toward the bathroom.

  “What have you done to yourself?”

  That question came from Lance a quarter hour later, as he stood inside the door with a plate of sizzling burgers in one hand and his spatula in the other.

  It was all Mandy could do not to laugh at the consternation in his face. He couldn’t have looked more stunned if she’d grown a second head.

  “Zeni sent a box of hair color with the rest of the stuff,” she said easily. “Using it seemed like a good idea. What do you think?”

  She twirled to give him a full view of the damp, golden brown mass enlivened by shades of caramel and russet that straggled down her back. Without a blow dryer to straighten the strands as they dried, her newly colored hair had reverted to its natural waves and curling ends.

  “I don’t—I’m not sure.”

  “It’s really close to my natural color, though I don’t know how Zeni figured that out.”

  “You weren’t always a blond?”

  “Bruce insisted I get platinum highlights after we married, and then go on having them done until no brown was left.”

  “Guess he wanted it long, too.”

  A corner of her mouth curled in derision. “He went for the Barbie Doll look.”

  Lance’s gaze, critical, assessing, lingered on her hair. “It certainly changes you, but will take some mental adjustment. I’m used to thinking of you as a blond.”

  “Meaning an airhead? Or maybe a bimbo?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” she said, giving him a straight look. “This is me from now on.”

  Lance kept sneaking glances at Mandy while they ate their burgers. He couldn’t believe the difference made by the change of hair color. Her features seemed more regular, her face more oval without the stark contrast of dark brows and lashes against near-white hair. She looked healthier, somehow, less washed out, and the blue-green of her eyes appeared deeper and somehow mysterious.

  The waves and curls that drifted around her face gave her a softer, more approachable look. They made him want to touch, to wind his fingers among them, bring them to his face to see if the delicate scent he caught now and then was trapped in the shining strands.

  She looked more normal, less like the bimbo she’d suggested and that he’d somehow fallen into the habit of thinking her. She looked like the kind of woman a man might marry.

  He was in trouble, deep trouble.

  Mandy Caret was a widow, no longer a married woman and so off limits. The more time he spent with her, the more real she became, and the harder it was to remember she was a person of interest in a criminal investigation, possibly a murder accomplice. She didn’t whine or sulk, and wasn’t demanding, all things he’d have expected. So far, she’d been reasonable and cooperative. Though she might be independent beyond what was safe at times, the trait was understandable. She’d been on her own, for the most part, since she was a kid.

  How she’d managed to escape the life that was handed her was difficult to fathom. A lot of women would have lacked the guts or the drive. Of course, she hadn’t quite won free. Her grab for the easy life with a man many years her senior had turned out less than perfect.

  The question was what she’d done to get out of her marriage. That was what Lance couldn’t get around, no matter how he tried.

  A low, drawn out booming sound came from outside, loud enough to be heard above the steady drone of the air conditioning unit. He and Mandy looked upward at the same time.

  “Sounds like thunder,” she commented.

  “I noticed a dark bank of clouds in the southwest while I was grilling the burgers, thought I heard a rumble or two.” He used his napkin and dropped it into his empty plate. “I should check to be sure everything outside is okay.”

  She nodded and began clearing the table, rising to dispose of the trash. He reached to help her, but she shook her head. “I’ve got this. You go ahead with what you need to do.”

  Lance didn’t argue. A rising wind was flapping the awning like a sail, making the RV rock with every snap. The grill he’d used and other supplies were still laid out on the picnic table.

  Wind caught the metal door the instant he stepped outside, almost jerking it out of his hand. The gust faded an instant later, but the wind didn’t die down. He moved around the rig, putting things away, checking that all the bins were locked. The cover was fastened on their electric connection, and everything else was secure. The awning only needed to be dipped at one corner so water would run off if it rained. Everything seemed in good shape, which was a relief. He’d have to answer to Trey for any damage to his baby.

  The sky was getting darker by the minute. A high wind stirred the treetops around them into a swaying dance. Gusts hit him at intervals, pressing his borrowed shirt against him, searching out and cooling his heated skin under the fabric. The lake glistened through the trees, its wind-churned waters releasing the smells of mud and fish. Lance stood for a moment, breathing deep, enjoying that smell as it mixed with the scent of the tall, dark green pines that loomed over the camp site.

  Thunder rolled again, and lightning flashed in the distance, far out over the lake. On impulse, he headed in that direction, threading his way through the woods and undergrowth until he reached the water’s edge. The lake reflected the muddy blue-gray sky on its shifting surface, while waves lapped the shore in a steady rhythm. The wind across the water carried a fine mist, so he was damp within seconds.

  Lance didn’t care. The disturbance of the elements satisfied something deep inside him.

  The rain began without warning, a deluge with warm drops the size of quarters. Damp was one thing, soaking wet was another. Lance turned and ran for the shelter of the RV’s awning. It heaved and flapped, rattling in its long bracket as if about to take flight. The storm seemed stronger than he’d first thought, so the awning needed to come down before it could be torn by the wind.

  It was only as he ducked under the treated canvas that he saw Mandy. She stood on the far side, her arms clasped at her waist as if chilled while she stared out at the rain. Her hair lifted, flying around her in the rising wind, and her face was set. She looked forlorn, somehow, and alone. So alone.

  Had she lost sight of him, and maybe come out to find him because she didn’t want to be by herself? No reason existed for him to feel guilty at that possibility, but he did anyway.

  “You okay?” he asked as he moved to stand beside her.

  Her chin came up. “Yes, of course.”

  “Not afraid of storms?”

  “No. I like them, really. Alwa
ys have.”

  The answer was clear above the drumming rain, but she turned away, presenting a shoulder to him. Maybe she needed a little time to herself, he thought, and almost left her to it. Yet something held him in place.

  He raked his fingers through his wind-tangled hair before clearing his throat. “This situation we have here is weird, I’ll admit. If I was a little hard on you earlier—”

  “Don’t worry, I understand.”

  “You do?” It was the last thing he expected.

  “I’m guilty until proven innocent, or you have to treat me that way. You’re caught halfway between keeping me in protective custody and holding me under house arrest. If I get killed or escape, you’re doomed either way. Does that about cover it?”

  “Checks every box,” he answered in a dust-dry affirmative. She’d failed to mention how he was ordered to keep her safe, yet dared not get too close. But it wasn’t something he cared to point out to her.

  She shook her hair back, but curling, golden brown tendrils clung to her face, stuck in the wet tracks of tears. Seeing them, Lance winced and looked away into the falling rain in his turn. It must be the news about her husband that had upset her.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t more forthcoming about Caret’s death,” he said, the words a little rough. “You had a right to know, even if I thought the details would be hard to take. A killing like that—it has to be a shock, even if two people aren’t all that close.”

  “I can’t bear to think about it, what he must have thought in his last minutes, how he probably felt, but still…”

  “Still?”

  She didn’t reply for long seconds. Then words seemed to burst from her. “I’m so angry at Bruce! I hate it, but it’s true. He lied to me about so many things, and now I can’t be sure he didn’t lie about everything.”

  “What are you saying?”

  She gave a quick shake of her head. “I thought I was street wise and super-cool after being on my own. I kept my guard up, knew I shouldn’t trust anybody, not at any time. I refused to rely on Bruce for ages, but he was good to me, gave me so much I’d never had before. I was his angel, he said, his good luck charm. He convinced me he was a different man because of me.”