Part 16 (1/2)

”We figure he wasn't so much stupid, as he was in over his head,” Connor said. ”Everything we were able to learn about him prior to 1998 gives us the picture of a man who was glib and charming, but generally lacking depth. I've spoken to old friends of his, and cla.s.smates, who recall a guy they would party with, but not one that they'd call on when they needed a hand with anything.”

”He cut and run once, and it likely cost him more than he imagined it would,” Mel said. ”He took care of business within days of killing Jackson, and then settled in at his place outside of Divine and waited for the dust to settle. But as time went by, the fear of what might be waiting for him if he stuck his head up out of his little hidey-hole likely worked to keep him in one place.”

”So he'll stay where he is unless he perceives he's in danger,” Ace said. ”But if he thinks he's threatened, he could do d.a.m.n near anything. There's something really off about the guy. I'd bet the man is working with diminished capacity.”

”That's what we think, too,” Connor said. ”If Smith, or Baxter, thinks he's in danger, then all bets are off. That's why we want to go slow, take our time, and build a case. Find out who this man is now, his habits, what he does with his time. If, however, at the end of the day, we can't find evidence of what he did, then we will need him to panic-but according to our script, and not his 'diminished capacity.'”

”That makes sense.” Ethan Grant sat back and looked from him to Mel. ”I never met Carrie Rhodes, but I did meet Chloe on a couple of occasions. She lived here in Divine, as you know, for a time. She worked at Madeleine's, where Gracie likes to go.”

Connor guessed that Ethan had something on his mind. Since the man was Mel's friend, he sat back, and waited.

”She did,” Mel said. ”She came to live in l.u.s.ty when her sister settled there, and after a relations.h.i.+p she was involved in here didn't work out.” Mel sat forward. ”One of the things we do for the l.u.s.ty Town Trust is have a look into the backgrounds of people who decide to make l.u.s.ty their home. Normally that information is extremely confidential. I would never have mentioned it, but you seem to have a reason for bringing her and that past relations.h.i.+p up.”

Ethan seemed to relax at that. ”I do. The man she lived with-Beck O'Malley-took her leaving hard, and has only recently been coming to grips with the fact that things didn't work out between them. He's in a new relations.h.i.+p now, and finally getting his s.h.i.+t together. I'd like to bring him and his best friend into this. I think it would be good if he could have a hand in finding justice for Chloe. I think it would be good for him, and good for Chloe, too.”

Mel looked over at Connor. Perhaps a few months ago he would never even have considered Ethan's request. But as a man dealing with a woman who'd been wounded by a past relations.h.i.+p, he could totally understand the need to heal. Not for that a.s.shat that hurt their Emily Anne, of course. But he knew enough of the situation to understand that in the case of Chloe Rhodes and Beck O'Malley, no one really mistreated anyone. Neither one had done anything bad. It had just been a case of their not really being meant for each other.

Chloe had been wise to understand that and turn down O'Malley's proposal. From his perspective of having one broken marriage under his belt, he could attest to the simple truth of things. Sometimes it was better not to marry than to marry and then have to walk away.

Connor hoped O'Malley had finally found the woman meant to be his. So he nodded.

”That's fine with us,” Mel said. ”Bring them up to speed on the situation. In the meantime, Connor and I will get to work and gather as much as we can on Smith. When we get to the point where it's time to figure out our game plan, another couple sets of eyes and ears-especially ones rooted here in Divine-could prove useful.”

Chapter 16.

Maybe I'm going crazy.

There were days when Bruce Smith looked into the mirror and didn't know who he was anymore. Sometimes, he'd look into his own eyes and feel a sense of disconnection, as if what he was looking at was a painting, the representation of a fictional character. It was almost as if there was a gap opening up between himself and the image that stared back at him-a gap that kept getting wider and wider with each pa.s.sing day.

Those sensations had escalated in the last few weeks. He didn't quite know what to make of it except to wonder if he finally was just going crazy.

Bruce had made choices in his life, some that he regretted, certainly, but there were no do-overs, and nothing he could do about all of that now, anyway. In a lot of ways, even though the life he had been living the last fifteen years was all a lie, it was easier, day to day, than what had come before it.

As Bruce Smith, he didn't have to present a particular facade to the world. He didn't have to have the latest styles hanging in his closet. He didn't have to smile all the time and put on that hat that read ”salesman.” He didn't have to fuss over his appearance, although he thought he'd probably been vain enough that it hadn't seemed a ch.o.r.e to him before. Not like it did now. h.e.l.l, sometimes he found it hard to remember to shower or even comb his hair.

He didn't have to meet people every day and pretend to like them. That alone was worth everything he'd been through over the last fifteen or so years. People, by and large, were just no d.a.m.n good and it felt right to be able to let his true feelings on the matter show.

Bruce almost never, ever even thought the name ”Ralph Baxter” anymore. Ralph Baxter was dead. Bruce Smith had been born from his ashes, and after all this time, Bruce should just accept that he'd survived, and he'd won, and the fear and the hiding were over.

He'd begun to do that, venturing into the town of Divine more often, thinking of himself as Smith more often. He was home. The past was over. He was happy because life really was good.

So if life was good, and he was happy, why was he so on edge, lately? He should be feeling on top of the world. He'd actually won the first two rounds of the Grand Texan Tournament, and would log in to play in the final on Sat.u.r.day night.

He would log in to that final, and play, and he would win!

Bruce looked down at the paper bag he'd just set on the kitchen counter. He didn't even know why he'd decided to go into town, get those few things at the grocery store. He'd made a habit of shopping for what he needed usually on Monday. The original plan had been to be seen just enough that no one would gossip much about him, so that after a year or so he'd be considered a regular, a local, and be left alone. That had worked to a large degree. He'd been a regular of Divine for more than a dozen years.

That was why he'd thrown out all his power suits and dressed instead in clothing that was notable only for being very bland and nondescript. He was clean, and pressed, but not impressive. He'd stopped going to the stylist, instead opting for an ordinary barber shop. Lately he'd actually been cutting his own hair. He'd made all these adjustments just so that he would blend in, become invisible-so that he could fade away. And for the most part, for more than a decade, Bruce knew he'd been successful.

Around the town of Divine, folks who knew his name nodded when he went past. h.e.l.l, he'd even begun to stop in at the Dancing Pony and had made that a regular part of his routine for the last year. He enjoyed having a cold beer once in a while. The nightclub was decent, and the music, in the late afternoons, not too loud.

Bruce Smith's life was predictable, if boring, but after what he'd been through back in the late nineties as Ralph Baxter, predictable and boring were good things. If he went into town on a day that wasn't his regular shopping day, he usually had a reason, like taking one of his computers in for repair, or fetching something he needed.

Today hadn't been like that. He'd been on his way to town before he'd known what he was actually doing. He'd gone, he thought now, as if something deep in his subconscious had warned him to go and look and see. And there, had felt that unease, that uncertainty. He'd felt dread.

Why can't I shake the feeling that everything is going to blow up in my face?

He'd felt ”off” for the last couple of months, now that he thought about it. He couldn't even say what the h.e.l.l was wrong, but whatever it was, whatever had stirred his insecurities, it was getting worse.

He focused on the last couple of hours, let everything that he'd done, everything he'd felt, play over in his head. This morning, while he'd been walking from the grocery store back to his car, he could have sworn that someone had been watching him. He'd looked around as casually as he could, but he hadn't seen anyone or anything out of the ordinary.

Had Brody Carp finally found him? He ran a hand through his hair. No, if that b.a.s.t.a.r.d loan shark knew where he was he wouldn't follow him, or watch him. He'd break down his f.u.c.king door, and then he'd break him.

Maybe it's time to move again. Maybe I am going crazy. Maybe I'm being haunted by ghosts-ghosts that are long dead and buried They were still dead and buried, weren't they? He was still dead and buried, wasn't he? Of course he is. No one comes back from the dead.

Bruce left the grocery bag on the counter and headed outside. The Texas sun beat down without mercy, making the air hot and the gra.s.s dry. If the weather gurus had it right, 2013 was going to be another scorcher. Thank G.o.d he had AC and that he didn't have to go outside very often at all.

Sweat began to dot his forehead as he made his way across his backyard toward the barns. He had four of them, s.p.a.ced out in an arc behind the house. They weren't actual barns-they were more the size of s.p.a.cious garages, but he never, ever referred to them in his thoughts as ”garages.”

Not ever.

He thought of them as barns because the land he lived on had once been a farm. But he didn't farm. He just did what he did, which was not much. He stood and looked at each building in turn.

What will it be, Mr. Smith? Will you choose door number one, door number two, door number three, or door number four?

Bruce snickered as the image of a game-show host, complete with microphone and phony smile popped into his head.

He'd choose door number three, of course. It was always door number three.

He pulled out the fistful of keys he religiously kept close at hand and began to open the sequence of locks that barred entrance to the building. Seven sets of hasps with seven different styles of locks had been installed on this building. He'd repeated that pattern with each of the buildings, of course, just so that they were all the same. So that they didn't look suspicious, being different. On each one of the ”barns”, the line those locks formed down the outside wall appeared straight and precise.

He hadn't marked the keys, because he hadn't wanted to make things easy for anyone who might try and sneak in and see what he had inside.

He nearly snickered aloud. If thieves broke into any of three of his buildings, they would be left disappointed. They were empty. Only this building had anything inside it.

Smith put his attention on his task. He might have trouble figuring out what keys opened the seven locks on each of the other three barns, but he knew the ones that opened these locks on this barn by heart.

Startled, Smith realized it had been a few months since he'd last opened this door. The locks functioned, but a couple of them seemed to have weathered slightly. He'd have to oil them-and make a point of coming out and opening these locks at least a couple of times a month.

Finally the last padlock sprang open. He looked around, that sense of being watched almost as strong now as it had been earlier that day in town.

There's no one there watching you. Well, no one corporeal, at any rate. The idea of a ghost had been planted in his mind, and he wondered how long the concept would haunt him.

He swung the door open just enough for his body to pa.s.s through, and stepped into the dark and dank interior.