Gone (8 page)

“Actually, there is. I read in the phone book that you’re a realtor. I’m looking for a place to rent.”

Lowney scratched his chin. The skin was smooth, like a young boy’s, and looked baby-soft.

“That’s me,” Lowney said. “I help you buy ’em. I help you sell ’em. Not any call though to help you rent ’em. Sorry. There’s an inn a ways up here.”

“It’s not going to work out there.”

Lowney winced. “Connie wasn’t partial to you, I take it. You looking the way you do, like her brother’s wife.”

“You know the Ryders?”

“Surely do. Farley’s got two-thousand-four-hundred-ninety-six people at last count. Don’t believe there are too many folks I don’t know.” Lowney’s chest puffed out, stretching the buttons on his striped shirt. “Dean Ryder, why he’s a genuine war hero. A marine who served our country in the Gulf War, saved his platoon from an ambush. He got hurt himself, ending his military career, but lucky for us, he came back and joined the Columbia Police Force where he can protect us all. If you don’t know Dean Ryder, you don’t know Farley.”

Lowney was obviously a fan of Ryder’s. Clare nodded at the biography of Beth’s husband. “Maybe I could rent one of the properties you have for sale? It would be short term and if the owners get an offer, I’ll certainly leave.”

Lowney tapped a pudgy finger against his lips briefly. “Well, come to think on it, I got a place you could rent for the next little while. I inherited my uncle Chester’s place. It’s on a nice plot of land. I go out regularly to check on things and since I’m looking to sell, haven’t shut off the water and electrical. We could go take a look now if you like.”

Lowney was obviously eager, and just as obviously trying to conceal that he was. Clare had a feeling the place was going to leave much to be desired. What Lowney didn’t realize was that the condition of the house didn’t matter to her. She just wanted a post from which to conduct her search.

“Sounds good, Mr. Lowney. Let’s go take a look.”

* * * * *

The house was situated at the edge of town. Following Lowney, Clare watched the distances between the houses grow. She hadn’t seen another house for several miles and was beginning to wonder if she wouldn’t be just as well served commuting from a hotel in Columbia when he turned onto a narrow, dirt road.

There was only this one house on the long road, a copy of an antebellum that had seen better days. Lowney parked in the driveway. Clare parked beside him.

“Uncle Chester was a cotton farmer,” Lowney said.

Clare followed the direction of the finger he pointed. A large crop was planted in a field on the east side of the house. That crop, though, now withered from neglect.

The house backed onto a swamp. Two glossy-leaved Magnolia trees grew along the ragged edge of the land, casting shadows across the still, murky water.

“Let’s take a look inside, Mr. Lowney,” Clare said.

* * * * *

Thirty minutes later, she closed the front door on Lowney. He left, grinning, with a few of her endorsed traveler’s checks tucked in his shirt pocket. She was sure the man had been drooling as she’d handed them to him. The affable Lowney had turned into a shark when he scented the opportunity to exploit her and named a figure to rent his deceased relative’s house for a week that would let a Park Avenue apartment for a month.

Lowney had said the rent was not negotiable. Clare gave him a level look that had him shifting his feet, then signed the checks without a word. She knew she was being fleeced, and wanted him to understand that she knew. It went against the grain for her to allow herself to be taken advantage of, but she was going to go along with him anyway. It was either do so, or walk away and take a room in Columbia. Lowney had her, and they both knew it.

With a spring in his step, Lowney made his way back to his car. Clare considered slamming the door behind him, but she needed to leave it open. The storm brewing earlier had gained strength. A cool wind had blown in from somewhere, and would dispel the stale air inside the house. Clearly Lowney’s claim of coming out often to check on the place had been false. There was no way he wouldn’t have noticed the odor.

She opened the windows to the wind and along with a chill breeze, rain struck her face. An instant later, rain fell in a steady downpour. She shut then latched the windows. Reluctantly resigned, she also closed the door.

She needed a meal and a bath. First the bath, she decided, then she’d go into town in search of food. She turned to the vast staircase that bisected the hall, intent on making her way to the bath. Rain struck her head. Clare looked to the ceiling. Water dripped from several spots.

* * * * *

Clare found an assortment of pots, and a telephone directory in the cupboard under the kitchen sink. After setting out the pots in the living room to catch the rain, she entered the upstairs bath. The claw-footed tub had a buildup of scum on it that looked like it dated back a century. She found cleaning products under the sink, and gave the old porcelain a scrub until it shone.

She was down to her bikini panties when the door knocker thudded. Who would be at her door? No one knew where she was, or would be of a mind to pay her a call if they did.

Ignoring it, she turned the hot water tap, then stood watching the steam rise from the tub. She’d spoken with several people about Beth. Could one of them have remembered something and tracked her down to deliver the information?

With one hand, she gave the tap a sharp turn, shutting off the water. With the other, she snatched the shorts and blouse she’d worn earlier from the vanity counter. She dressed in an instant and ran down the stairs to the front door.

She yanked it open. Lightning zig-zagged across the dark sky, illuminating the trio of swaying Oaks laden with Spanish moss in front of the house and the man who stood between the two crumbling stone pillars on the sagging verandah.

Jake.

The storm was in full swing now. Rain pelted the earth.

Jake’s dark hair was matted to his head. A drop slid from his hairline and trickled down the side of his face. He seemed oblivious to it. His focus was all on her.

She crossed her arms. “What are you doing here, Jake?” She had to shout to be heard above the rumbling thunder.

“May I come in?”

Inviting him in was the last thing she wanted to do. She hadn’t intended to see him again while she was in town. She hadn’t expected that he would seek her out. She was about to refuse and send him on his way. He must have sensed it, because he added, “This isn’t a social call.”

Clare raised an eyebrow, then stepped back from the door, leaving it open. Turning away from him, she crossed the short hall to the living room. The breeze blowing in carried the pungent scents of damp earth.

Jake closed the door then joined her in the room. He pushed his hair back off his forehead. Hands low on his hips, he glanced around. “Nice,” he said, the sarcasm evident in his voice.

The house was long past any glory days. Plaster had cracked. Paint had peeled. Velvet wallpaper curled at the corners. Rugs were threadbare in places, worn through to the floor beneath in others. Rain fell steadily into the pots she’d placed about the room. The drops struck the steel cookware with audible plops.

“Your sources at this Bureau office must be better than what we’ve got in New York,” Clare said. “I only rented this place a little over thirty minutes ago.”

“I went by the inn, looking for you. When I asked Connie Dannon if she had a guest staying there, and gave her your name, she gave me an earful.”

So he knew why she was in Farley.

“With Connie’s place out,” Jake went on, “that only left Earl Lowney if you were looking for a place to stay in Farley.” Jake’s gaze lifted from his surroundings and returned to her. “You never mentioned a sister.”

“No.”

Clare straightened her shoulders, anticipating accusation, but there wasn’t any in his mild tone.

A new possibility presented itself to her and her heart picked up its pace. “Do you know Beth?” she asked in a rush.

“I know her husband. He’s on the Columbia PD. Town golden boy. I never met his wife.” Jake’s gaze softened on her. “I never met Beth,” he said gently.

Clare rolled her shoulders against the disappointment that settled on them like a mantle. It made sense that Jake didn’t know Beth. If he had, it was likely he would have noticed her resemblance to Clare. Maybe questioned it. He probably didn’t know anything more about Ryder or Beth than she’d learned herself.

She’d moved closer to him in her eagerness for information about Beth. He was now near enough that she caught his subtle aftershave. Rain had dampened his clothing, but not his attractiveness. He had a face that was ruggedly male, and an athlete’s hard-muscled body. The combination of face and form would speed up the heart rate of most women. And beneath the handsome exterior lay a strength that would shield and comfort.

When she’d needed both from him most, he’d withdrawn.

The memory brought pain. She lowered her eyes so he wouldn’t see her hurt. Kept her eyes down until she was sure they would not betray her. Then, she straightened her shoulders and met his gaze. “You said this wasn’t a social call. Why are you here, Jake?”

“To offer you the services of my office in the search for your sister.”

Again, she recalled that she was without her laptop and couldn’t access the Bureau’s databases.

“I’m also offering my help,” Jake said. “I work and live with these people, Clare. That gives me an edge you don’t have. You can expect more reaction like the one you got from Connie Dannon. Farley’s a close-knit community. Beth left one of their own and the people here didn’t take that kindly. They’re not going to hand the key to the town to her sister.”

“I’m not after the key to the town. I just want to find Beth.”

It was a knee-jerk response, one that lacked real heat. He was right, and they both knew it. If he wasn’t considered an insider, at the least he was now a local. That gave him an edge she couldn’t hope to gain. Added to that she’d worked with him, knew him to be a skilled investigator.

She’d be a fool to turn down his offer of help. Still, she hesitated. They shared a painful past and hadn’t parted amicably. His offer made no sense and she needed to know the reason for it.

Clare eyed him. She chose her next words carefully and infused them with the firm tone she reserved for interviewing suspects. “I could use your take on the town and its people.”