Virals(88)

My senses dulled, returned to normal.

"Damn!"

Rising, I checked the cabinet's interior. Three items.

The first was an old black-and-white snapshot of Hollis Claybourne. Young Hollis was standing by a stand of longleaf pine, pointing to a pair of eagles swooping low in the sky.

Cole Island! The bastard knew about the eagles!

Below the picture was a manila folder. Inside were legal documents. I flipped through. Records of the sale of Cole Island to Candela. A contract of employment. Evidence, but no smoking gun.

The bottom shelf held a small velvet box. I popped it open.

Inside were two weathered dog tags, one grimy, one gleaming like new.

Francis P. Heaton. Catholic. O Positive.

"Son of a bitch," I whispered.

Any sane person would have destroyed the tags. Not Hollis Claybourne. The egotistical bastard saved them in his trophy case as another souvenir.

Anger blazed anew. Those tags represented Katherine's murder. Hollis kept them in a box to admire at his leisure.

Monster.

The door creaked.

Footsteps kissed the carpet below.

"What the hell are you doing?"





CHAPTER 64


"Tory?" Chance was still dressed for lacrosse. "Is that you?"

Busted.

My mind blanked.

"What are you doing here?" I babbled.

"What am I doing here? I live here."

Chance stepped into the room. I tried to block his view of the cabinet, but splintered wood littered the catwalk and the carpet below. He couldn't possibly miss it.

"If you're asking why I'm home early, it's because we lost this morning." A frown replaced his look of confusion. "The others can watch the finals without me. I'm not interested."

"You left Hannah there?" I was still in panic mode. How to play this?

As casual as possible, I strolled back down the catwalk, turned the corner, and moved toward the staircase.

"I dropped Hannah at home ten minutes ago." Chance's eyes tracked me. "Did you try to call? She left her phone in Jason's car."

Oops. Hadn't thought of that one.

Chance crossed to his father's desk, leaned against it. Folded his arms. From his new position, he'd be at the stairs well before I could reach the floor.

I stopped in the center of the catwalk, just above the hearth.

"Why are you up there?" Chance's eyes flicked to the cabinet. "Why did you smash my father's case?"

I should've made an excuse. Lied. Played dumb. Cried.

But my anger was hot to the touch. Hollis Claybourne was a monster, and his son was playing me.

"Just stop it, Chance." My hands gripped the railing. "I know you're full of shit. And now I have proof."

"What's that supposed to mean?" The upturned face darkened. "I tried to help you, little girl."

"Help me?" I spat. "By lying? By treating me like a fool?"

"I told you everything I know." The dark eyes said otherwise.

"Jimmy Newman?" I sneered. "Bullshit! Where's your hired goon, Baravetto? Driving someone home?"

Wordlessly, Chance retraced his steps, closed the door, and threw the lock.

I was trapped.

Strolling to a chair, he sat and crossed his legs. His eyes rose again to my perch.

"What is it you think you've found?" The velvet tone was now cold steel.

"I know your father is a murderer."

"How dare you!" Chance shot forward, but quickly regained his cool. "You're lucky my father is in Columbia. God help you if he found you here."

"What? He'd kill me too?"

Chance remained silent, but his top foot bounced, dancing the laces on his sneaker.

"I know about Cole Island," I said. "The deal with Candela Pharmaceuticals. Your father murdered a girl named Katherine Heaton to protect his precious land sale."

"You can't prove that. It's complete nonsense." Chance pointed at the smashed cabinet. "And you've committed a felony. More than one."

"Nonsense? Really?" I held up the dog tags.

The foot started winging double-time.

"And that's not all." I was on a roll. "I found Katherine Heaton's journal. I know she discovered bald eagles on Cole Island. That's why your father killed her."

Chance's lips drew into a thin, hard line. For a moment he was silent. Then, "You're right. Congratulations."

I was stunned. Chance was conceding that his father was guilty of murder. And admitting to his own knowledge of the crime.

"You already know the truth," Chance said. "And you're too smart to be tricked again. So why bother? I admit it. The old bastard killed the Heaton girl."

"You knew about it?"

"He called me in here two weeks ago." Chance glanced at the desk, as if imagining his father behind it. "Told me the whole story. The eagles. The sale. Some meddling girl he'd been forced to eliminate." Chance shook his head. "He was so nonchalant. Matter-of-fact. Heaton's death meant nothing to him. It was incredible."

"But why kill her?" My voice cracked. "She was only sixteen."