Never Smile at Strangers Read online

  “Tommy, we’re talking about your room,” she said, trying to keep her tone in check.

  It had become difficult around the house in the last year. She was always on edge and she knew her children felt it. She wondered if they knew about the affair. The town was small, and she was sure that others knew. But who? And how many?

  Was he still cheating despite his insistence that he wasn’t? Had he cheated before, or had this really been the first time? Rachel forced the wave of questions into the back of her mind. “This conversation is about your room, Tommy,” Rachel repeated. “You told me it was clean.”

  “You see? You’re always on my case and not hers!” He snorted. “You know, she’s not as perfect as you think.”

  Rachel raised an eyebrow. Her sixteen-year-old daughter Kelsey had changed a lot lately. She’d become rebellious even, and Rachel was beginning to worry if she was okay. “She’s not?” She looked out the living room window and watched the handsome young man who cut their grass ride the length of their back yard on the big John Deere lawnmower they’d inherited from Tom’s now-dead father.

  She picked up a cushion from the floor and situated it on the couch, wondering what the best tactic would be to coax Tommy into giving her some information.

  After a few seconds, she turned back to her angry son and said something she knew that a good mother wouldn’t say. “I think she’s pretty darn close to perfect, Tommy. Kelsey’s a good girl. You could stand being more like her.”

  Tommy’s eyes smoldered. “Yeah, she’s a good girl, all right. If you call sneaking out your window in the middle of the night good, then, sure, Kelsey’s a great girl. If only I could be like her.”

  Rachel’s breath caught in her throat. Kelsey was sneaking out of her window? To do what? And. . . with who?

  She dropped to the couch. “How do you know this, Tommy?” she asked, nervously fingering her bracelet.

  “I’ve seen her. She did it last night, too. She always does it.” Tommy shook his head. “And you think she’s so dang perfect.”

  ***

  AN HOUR LATER, the phone rang. It was Myrna, one of Rachel’s colleagues at the college.

  “I just wanted to let you know, Rachel,” Myrna said. “Oh dear. How do I say this?”

  Rachel tossed a stack of student essays on the kitchen table. “Say what? Just say it, Myrna.”

  “There’s been. . . talk,” Myrna said. She said the word “talk” so softly Rachel could barely hear it. Having known Myrna for years, however, confirmed that that had indeed been the word she used. Rachel could imagine the woman right now, probably sitting in her bedroom, bubbling with anticipation, dying to tell her the juicy, hurtful news.

  Rachel swallowed. “Talk?” What about? Tom? About Tom and Tiffany?

  “I’m not sure how to say this.”

  Rachel headed to the liquor cabinet. “Just say it, Myrna,” she said, desperate to maintain her composure.

  “It was about Tom’s. . . his affair.”

  Rachel tried not to acknowledge the tears in her eyes as she filled a shot glass with whiskey. She downed it and winced. So Myrna knew about the affair. And if Myrna knew, then—

  “And now that the Perron girl has disappeared, people are. . . well, you know how they are. They think that maybe Tom. . .”

  Rachel’s heart sank. She wrapped her free arm tightly around her middle and tried to hold herself together. She managed to keep her voice even.

  “What are you saying? You think this is something more than just a young girl rebelling and running away from this small town? You’re saying that you think something went awry and that Tom had something to do with it? Because if that’s what you’re saying, I have to tell you that you couldn’t be farther from the truth.”

  There were footsteps behind her. Then a young voice. “Mom, I’m going to Stephanie’s.” Rachel turned to see her daughter, Kelsey, dressed in a black t-shirt and the black Texas A&M sweats Tom had bought her during a recent conference at the university.

  Rachel suddenly wanted to speak to Kelsey. Since it now seemed the rest of Grand Trespass had learned of the affair, she wanted to find out just what her children knew. “Hold on, Myrna,” Rachel said into the phone, her voice just a croak. She covered the mouthpiece with a shaky hand. “No. I don’t want you to leave the house. Not now.”

  Kelsey’s jaw dropped. “But Mom!”

  “I said no, Kelsey.”

  “Dammit, Mom!” the girl shouted, although the two stood only a few feet apart.

  “Don’t curse in this house, young lady,” Rachel whispered, concentrating on not dropping the phone. She was sick from the news, the whiskey, the sudden shouting.

  Rachel could hear Myrna’s voice, teeny in the phone. “Oh dear. Do you want to call me back?”

  “But why? Why can’t I go to Stephanie’s?” Kelsey asked.

  “Because you and I need to talk,” Rachel whispered. “When I get off the phone—”

  “Oooh! I can’t wait to turn eighteen!” Kelsey shouted even louder. “I hate your stupid rules. Youdon’t understand me. You don’t understand anything!” she exclaimed, then disappeared.

  Rachel blinked, listening to the angry footsteps in the hallway, then a door banging shut.

  “Myrna? You still there?”

  “I’m sorry to have to bring up such a sore subject,” the woman replied.

  Sure she was.

  “No. No, I appreciate the call,” Rachel said. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

  There was a brief silence, then “Sure. I’ll see you tomorrow, Rachel. Chin up.”

  Chin up? Rachel thought, slamming the phone down. What the hell was that supposed to mean? And how long had people known about the affair? Longer then she had? Without hesitating to think, she uprooted the phone and hurled it against the wall.

  The house was silent as she poured her next drink. And the next. She’d probably been the laughing stock of the college all this time, and they were still gossiping about her during the summer term. And now this? Thinking Tom could be some sort of suspect in what was just a silly little girl’s rebellious tantrum? Which surely was all what this was. At least the ladies at the diner seemed to think so.

  She had the urge to do something awful to Tom, to really hurt him. Maybe put a knife to his throat while he slept. While he slept dreaming of young, beautiful girls.

  What had changed? Wasn’t she still attractive? Why did she suddenly not make him happy? The thoughts infuriated her. She could have married many men. But Tom had been the one she loved most. And he seemed to be so taken with her. So loyal.

  But now they couldn’t talk. He was distant. Hard, cold. But not to the kids, just her. Is this what happened to men when they entered their mid-forties?

  And then there was the conversation about trading in the Pathfinder for a sports car. Some tiny, ridiculous red thing. Had he always been like this? Had she just been oblivious?

  She downed another shot of whiskey.

  Chapter 16

  TUESDAY MORNING, HALEY led Detective Guitreaux to Chris’s small, dusty office in the kitchen trailer behind the diner. She took a seat in the chair that faced the desk. The young detective stood across from her.

  He was about Mac’s height, six-foot-one, but much beefier. Olive skinned, he had small uninspiring, wide-set eyes and a cleft chin. His suit looked expensive but it was badly in need of pressing.

  “I hear you and Tiffany were best friends?” he said softly, his eyes probing hers.

  “Not were. Are,” she corrected, politely.

  Tiffany had now been missing three nights and Haley had no clue where she could be. If she’d gone somewhere voluntarily, she would have told her.

  She needed answers. She needed sleep. Although she’d tried her best to talk with Charles to find out what exactly happened on Saturday night, she hadn’t been successful.

  “You were with her on Saturday night at a bar—” he paused and flipped open a notebook encased in a smooth, black
leather cover. “Provost’s. You were at Provost’s with her the night she disappeared?”

  Disappeared. The word sounded ominous, horrible.

  Haley studied the detective’s long, square face, his smooth, olive skin. His Cajun French accent was thick and soft, but his eyes seemed hard. He had a thin nose that flared out slightly at the tip as though he were smiling. But he wasn’t.

  “Yes sir. We were together Saturday night at Provost’s.”

  His eyes seemed to soften. “Call me Eddie, cher,” he said. “I call my father sir. And the two of us are like motor oil and kitchen matches. Now, can you do me the honor of telling me what transpired that night? The full story, please.”

  She fidgeted in her chair, then took a deep breath. “Tiffany picked me up at my house and we left for Provost’s a little before nine o’clock. We were only there a few minutes, maybe fifteen, before Charles, Tiffany’s boyfriend, got there. I didn’t see her for long after that.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I saw a friend of my daddy’s and went to talk to him.” She felt lightheaded as she again recalled the night’s events.

  The detective tapped a large ring against Chris’s desk. Austin, Luke’s main cook, had told her that it was a college championship ring. Supposedly the detective had played football for LSU for a couple of years before a ligament injury cut his career short.

  “Then what happened? After you talked to your father’s friend?”

  “I went to the bathroom for a while. Waited.” She remembered waiting in the bathroom stall, upset that she’d gone out. At the time, she had no idea that her friend would vanish. If she had, she would never have left her alone.

  “Waited?”

  “Yeah. Tiffany and Charles were. . . arguing. They needed privacy. They’d gone out to the parking lot to talk.”

  “Was it out of the ordinary? The fighting?”

  “No.”

  He watched her for a moment before he opened his notebook again and examined something. “How long were you in this bathroom?”

  “Maybe fifteen minutes. I’m not sure. I wasn’t wearing a watch.”

  He jotted a long note into his book, then looked up again. “And then?”

  “I walked out to the parking lot, but I couldn’t find her.”

  “So, what did you do?”

  “I walked home.”

  “Did you find it odd that she’d leave you there alone?”

  Haley shrugged. “No, not odd. I just thought they left together. That maybe they made up and forgot about me.”

  He tapped his ring against the desk again. “I wouldn’t be very happy if a friend did that to me. I’d find it strange.”

  “Well, you don’t know Tiffany. Sometimes she’s inconsiderate. It wasn’t really unusual for her.”

  “Did you hear from her after you left?”

  “No, but I got a call on Sunday morning from her mom, Julia Perron. She asked where Tiffany was. She was worried.”

  “Has Tiffany run off before?”

  Haley shook her head.

  “Spent the night away from her house without her mother knowing? Or talked about leaving town?”

  Haley straightened in the chair. “She sneaks out of the house sometimes, but she’s always careful. She worries too much about her mother catching her. And no, she never talked about leaving town. Not like this. It just isn’t something she’d do.”

  “Most 19-year-olds aren’t expected to be so accountable to their mothers,” Guitreaux observed.

  “You don’t know her mother. She’s very overbearing. She still treats Tiffany like a child.”

  “Is that right? Any idea why she would put up with that? From what I’ve gathered, Tiffany’s pretty strong-willed.”

  “Money. Her parents control a big trust until she turns twenty-one. She does her best to stay in her mother’s good graces, but it’s difficult for her. She feels like her mother breathes down her neck and she hates her for it.”

  Guitreaux nodded. “I see.” He tapped his pen against his upper lip for a few moments looking thoughtful. “Let’s talk about Tiffany’s relationship with Charles. For starters, what were they arguing about?”

  “I think she was seeing someone else, or at least thinking about it. Charles might have known.”

  “You talk to Charles since Saturday night?”

  Haley shook her head.

  “Not at all?”

  “No.”

  “The two of you. . . You and Charles. Would you say that you’re close?”

  “Not terribly, but yes, we’re friends through Tiffany. Why?”

  “Well, it just would seem that you two would want to talk after someone you both cared about disappeared.”

  “I haven’t been able to find him. I’ve tried.”

  The detective’s eyes seemed to sparkle. “I see. And you don’t know the gentleman’s name that she might have been seeing?”

  “No sir, I don’t.”

  “No clue who it could be?”

  “No.”

  “You and Tiffany. Were you getting along okay that night?”

  Haley’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah? Why?”

  “No disagreements? Arguments of any kind?”

  “No, none. But why do you ask?”

  He looked into his notebook, tapping his pen against his top lip. “Part of my job.” His eyes met hers again. “So the last time you saw Tiffany, she was leaving through the back door of Provost’s around 9:30. . . 9:45 PM. And you haven’t heard from either her or Charles since. Is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Clarify this for me, if you could. Was she alone?”

  Haley was confused. “What?”

  “When she left through the back door. Was she alone?”

  “No, she was with Charles.”

  “And again, that was the last you saw or heard from her?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, good. I think I have enough for now. Unless, of course, there’s anything else you can tell me that would help us find your friend?”

  She grabbed her purse and stood. “I’ve told you everything,” she said, wearily. But as the words left her mouth, she flashed back to something Tiffany had told her that night. Something that hadn’t bothered her when it was said, but disturbed her now. “This probably doesn’t mean anything but. . . one of the last things Tiffany told me on Saturday was that Charles had been acting. . . obsessed. It was the first time she ever told me anything like that about him.”

  Chapter 17

  AFTER LEAVING DETECTIVE Guitreaux, Haley fumbled in the parking lot outside the diner for her car keys. Though there were only five keys on the ring, she was having a difficult time finding the right one. Her hands shook and her lungs revolted against the hot, humid air. She coughed and an excruciating pain shot through her head.

  Recounting that night over and over again had drained her, stripping her of the little energy she had left. Although she didn’t think Charles had it in him to do something horrible to Tiffany, why else would he avoid her?

  She heard someone call her name. Squinting in the harsh sunlight, she saw Austin jog toward her. “You’re in no shape to drive. C’mon, let me take you home.”

  “No, I’m okay,” she insisted, dropping the keys, then bending to pick them up again. She grabbed at them, also picking up several pieces of gravel. She straightened and wiped the gravel off her hands. “I am. Really, I’m fine.”

  But when she tried to look up at him, to show him she was okay, the tears surged forward.

  “It’s going to be okay,” he assured her. “Let’s get you home. Chris said he can get your car to you sometime this evening.”

  She trembled as they drove down Main Street. Too many horrible things were happening and she wasn’t sure how much more stress she could take. Before going in to speak with the detective, Chris suggested she take a few more days off. It was a relief because focusing on something as small as placing an order was becoming difficult. Her head w
as too muddled.

  She spent the previous day holed up in her room, downing double shots of Nyquil and trying to sleep. But sleep didn’t come until late in the night, after she spent hours staring at a crack on her bedroom ceiling. And when it did come, it was in the form of a vivid nightmare: Her riding her bicycle to the grocery store, only to realize that she didn’t know the way back home. As she rode, nothing had looked familiar. It was as if she was in another town. She drove around and around, terrified.

  “Is the AC too cold?” Austin asked, pressing his palm against one of the vents.

  “No, I’m fine,” she sniffed. “You’ll want to turn left at the church.” She glanced at Austin, the boy she’d had a crush on for months. She had made small talk with him on several occasions since she worked at Luke’s, but not as much as she’d like to have since he and Chris spent most of their time in the trailer out back.

  She knew her crush was innocent. Just something to take her mind off of her troubles. Something she’d never act upon. Women like her, plain, predictable and responsible, went for boys like Mac. Stayed with boys like Mac.

  Besides, Mac was good to her. And Austin had a serious girlfriend. Beth, a freshman at Texas A&M. Rumor had it, he was going to ask her to marry him. And Haley was likely to some day marry Mac.

  “How’s Beth?”

  The edges of Austin’s mouth turned up. “She’s good. Real good. And Mac, how’s he?”

  “Doing well. I didn’t realize you knew him.”

  “Oh, I don’t. Just seen him around Luke’s,” he said. “And, of course, Mrs. Motor Mouth talks about him from time to time.”

  Haley smiled at the nickname he’d given Kim.

  “So, how often do you get to see Beth?”

  “We shoot for every other weekend and, of course, college breaks. It’s not a short drive by any stretch of the imagination.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Haley said, wondering if she could have a long-distance relationship with Mac, and quickly decided she could. Even though they lived only ten miles from one another, it wasn’t like they saw each other every day anyway. He usually stopped by three times a week. Sometimes more, sometimes less. And when he did, it seemed he was much more interested in making sure that she and her family were okay then wanting to make out or do anything romantic.