Page 65 of Traitor
Paul Hadley, who looks as relaxed as a man can be, fixes his line with a new worm and gives it a good toss, then settles back with a fresh beer. “Man, I needed this today. Thanks for inviting me out.”
“Can’t say I didn’t have ulterior motives, Paul.”
He takes a deep drink from his beer. “They didn’t make me sheriff for nothing. I figured you were wondering about Lola, considering I heard you and Ms. Peyton are getting serious.”
“I know you can’t talk about an ongoing investigation,” I say.
His aviators wink under the glare of the sun as he focuses his gaze in my direction. “I can’t, but hypothetically, if wewereto talk about the investigation, you’d be interested to learn the DNA from under Lola’s fingernails wasn’t male. It was female. Strictly off the record of course.”
“No one to hear you but me and the fishes,” I tell him. “Female?” I repeat after a minute of contemplation. Peyton had been so sure it was a man. It must have been a tall woman. Or someone in really tall boots.
“I’m about ready to put this mess to rest, let me tell you.” He sighs, adjusts his sunglasses, and twitches his fishing rod while he waits for a bite.
I make a sound of agreement as I reel in my line. My thoughts are rolling as slow as molasses, until it hits. “Jesus H. Christ!” I shout.
“Well, what the hell is that about?” Paul says indignantly. “You ‘bout scared all the fish from here to Tennessee.”
“Reel your line in. What do you want to bet when you run that DNA again it’ll match Lola’s?” I start gathering up our gear and stowing it haphazardly. “Fuck, hurry up, Paul. I have to get to Peyton.”
My hands turn clammy and despite the sweltering heat, I break out in a cold sweat. For a moment, as my nose fills with the stomach-churning scents of sunbaked North Carolina mud and the damp odor of rotting vegetation, I’m overcome with the same helplessness I felt in Afghanistan. The same dread of being responsible for another life and knowing there’s a possibility I may feel again—with Peyton.
“Ford, man, calm down and tell me what’s going on.”
My gear stowed, I start helping him with his. “Who in this town would have a motive to kill Lola and is female? Who is close enough to Peyton to fuck around with her shit, make her think she’s going crazy?”
Paul packs up his fishing rod and dumps the rest of his beer overboard, then throws the can in the trash. While he does that, I flip up the trolling motor and wait impatiently at the steering wheel. As soon as the rest of his equipment is safely stored, I shift into gear and speed away from our peaceful little fishing spot, shattering the calm, still water with a guttural groan from the engine and a loud crash of water.
“You can’t mean Alice,” Paul says over the sound of the boat cutting through the waves.
“That’s exactly who I mean. Christ, Paul, she’s been systematically discounting Peyton’s credibility so even if she did point the finger toward Alice, no one would believe her.”
It takes me less than half the time to pull up to the landing than it did to get out to our spot. With the ease of many years’ worth of practice, I line the boat up to the dock and slide it in.
“You wait here, I’ll get the truck and the trailer.”
“Goddammit, Ford. What do you think we’re gonna do? Arrest Alice on suspicion?” Paul yells behind me, as I leap over the side of the boat and into the murky lake water.
“I don’t give a fuck what you do, Paul, but I’m going to find Peyton.”
Tires spit gravel in protest when I back out of the parking spot with reckless abandon. My heart beats so fast in my chest, I’m afraid it may come right out of my mouth. I’ve been through a fuck of a lot, seen a lot of violent shit, but nothing scares me as much as the thought of realizing how good I had it with Peyton until it was too late.
Thanking God the Marines had trained me well to act under pressure, I back the truck up into the water and wait with growing impatience as Paul lines the boat up and drives it onto the trailer. He secures it with straps and I try calling Peyton’s phone while I wait, noting she’d tried to reach me several times. Cursing myself for putting it in the glovebox, I leave a message, but the growing sinking feeling in my stomach doesn’t bode well.
The expression on Paul’s face doesn’t inspire confidence either. I lower the window at his tap. “You coming with me?”
“I don’t mean to be a dick, but what exactly are you planning to do here?”
“Look, man, no disrespect, but I don’t have time to argue with you about this. Why don’t you pick up Jim and question him about where Alice was the night Lola was murdered? Push the angle of their affair. If you don’t believe me after that, then I guess I’ll be on my own.”
“You can’t run off and do something stupid. We don’t need any vigilante justice. I’ll go back to the station, get one of my deputies to pull Jim in. Let’s do this the right way.”
“Fine. You do that. I’m going to go get Peyton and make sure she’s safe.” I’d left her to keep her safe, and instead, I’d left her vulnerable to a killer.
“Don’t do anything rash, Ford. I’ll send a deputy to Splatters.”
“I won’t do anything stupid as long as you get your hand off my truck and check out what I said about Alice.” The loaner I’d gotten while my Jeep was repaired didn’t replace my baby, but it’d due.
He raps a knuckle against the door and finally takes a step back. “You watch yourself now.”