Fear No Truth Page 5

  I dropped to my knees, sliding the back of one hand under the lace dust ruffle. Cliché, hiding stuff under the bed, but that doesn’t stop it from being common.

  Laying my head on the thick floral-patterned rug, I clicked the flashlight on my phone.

  Tenley Andre was not common. Not even a flipping dust bunny.

  The closet?

  I stood and moved to the double doors on the opposite wall. Nudged one open with the toe of my boot.

  Bathroom.

  Resplendent in gold and white, it even sported a chandelier over the huge claw-footed swimming tub, crystals swaying in the current from the air vent overhead. They speckled the marble sink with tiny rainbows, courtesy of the skylights.

  Same care and precision as the rest of the house, not so much as Tenley’s toothbrush out of place. The closet door lay open on the opposite wall, and I crossed to it, pausing when I heard a rumble that sounded an awful lot like an engine.

  Shit. I might not get another chance to look around Tenley’s room. But pissing off the wrong people would cost me any ability to help Tenley’s family.

  Yanking my phone back out of my pocket, I fired off a photo of each wall. Nothing jumped at me from the rows of neatly hung designer apparel organized by season and color, but maybe the photos would pick up a clue that panicked, in-the-moment me didn’t see.

  I spotted the bear on my way back through the bedroom and snagged it, pulling the door shut behind me with the back of one finger. Better if Erica didn’t walk by an ambush eyeful of her daughter’s things.

  I hurried back to the stairs—just as chimes drifted through the house.

  So close.

  Turning my back flat against the wall, I watched a tearstained Erica Andre cross the foyer.

  The door clicked. Hinges squealed.

  Muffled voices. I strained, but couldn’t make out what they were saying over the blood rushing in my ears. Dammit.

  I put a foot on the top stair. Pulled it up again. Squared my shoulders and stepped away from the wall.

  What the hell was I hiding from? I was a goddamned Texas Ranger, with the badge and the slightly bruised ego to prove it.

  It’s not your case, I could practically hear Lieutenant Boone’s voice.

  It is if I make it my case. Not that I would dare talk to him like that in real life, but boy it felt good to do it in my head.

  Erica walked back into my sight line toting a square end table finished to a high shine with cherry lacquer.

  And no cops. Thank God for small favors.

  I cleared my throat before I started down the stairs.

  Erica looked up, her eyes widening at the bear, table crashing to the marble floor. “You found him.”

  “He was hiding.” I flashed a half smile as I stepped off the bottom riser and handed the toy to Erica.

  “Thank you!” Erica hugged the thing to her chest with a force that would put an unfortunate end to any actual critter that size.

  “Of course.” I bent and reached for the table, moving it to the hallway off the left of the foyer.

  “My neighbor refinishes antique pieces for my studio.” Erica sniffled.

  I nodded absently, my thoughts still on Tenley and the photos chronicling the last few hours of her life. Damn, I hoped that password grabber was the real deal. I pulled my buzzing phone from my pocket, wincing at the channel two news notification.

  EXCLUSIVE: Marshall High track star found dead near Lake Travis. News2 standing by for details. Click to stream live.

  My lips folded between my teeth as my eyes went from the screen, to Erica, to the portrait of Tenley’s parents smiling from another lifetime.

  Damn Captain Jameson and his monstrous ego.

  “I’m afraid I have to go, ma’am. Will you promise to call me if you think of anything that might help me figure out what happened to Tenley?”

  Erica’s eyes spilled over again as she nodded. I gave her fingers a last squeeze and strode out the door, checking my watch.

  The last bell would ring at Marshall in sixteen minutes. A pinch of luck, and I could still get to the boyfriend before the press did.

  8

  A jackass is still just a jackass, no matter how many diamond bridles you dress it up in. Larry Jameson was preening, posturing proof my granddaddy was right about that.

  Stopped at a light halfway to the high school, I banged one palm against the steering wheel, shaking my head at a text message from Graham: As soon as Jameson gets done with his TV strutting, he’s going to tell the family himself. When he finds out they already know . . .

  Shit. Of course the cameras were the captain’s first priority when someone had lost a child—but Jameson’s particular brand of sadistic narcissism meant he’d find delivering tragic news to the Andres nearly as much fun as talking to the press. While I was too invested in Tenley’s story to care about saving my own ass from hot water, I couldn’t let Jameson’s temper keep me from finding her family an answer.

  The light changed. I checked the rearview. Empty. Bending my head, I ignored the light, thumbs flying over the screen. I haven’t talked to her father. He’s out of pocket. Pilot for Continental. The captain was the kind of man who would consider notifying Mr. Andre “informing the family” whether he talked to Tenley’s mother or not. Problem solved.

  I dropped the phone in the cup holder and hit the gas when the light flashed to yellow.

  Bing. 10-4.

  I swallowed a smile I didn’t have the time or energy for. Graham was willing to help me nose around in this case. That could mean something interesting. But we could figure out how interesting after we had Tenley Andre’s death unraveled.

  Blowing right past the secretaries, I barreled into Sarah Bauer’s office with two minutes to spare—and found exactly what I was looking for, with an unwelcome bonus: the boy from Tenley’s locket, the hair longer and shaggier but the face unmistakable, sprawled across the chair Erica Andre had vacated an hour earlier.

  Three heads turned when I opened the door without bothering to knock. In half a tick, I knew three things: Nicholas didn’t know yet. Sarah had every intention of telling him. And, with Darren Richardson in the other chair, this was about to get complicated. Hadn’t I been clear with the “Please don’t talk about this yet”?

  “Officer McClellan, I didn’t expect to see you again today?” I couldn’t tell if the rise in Sarah’s tone was more question or guilt—or a little of both. I held the woman’s gaze for a ten count before I answered, my voice tight.

  “So I see,” I said slowly, turning a smile on Nicholas and his father. “Coach Richardson, it’s nice to meet you. Faith McClellan, Texas Rangers.”

  “Come in, Officer.” Sarah Bauer’s voice was at least an octave too high, and my smile faded when I turned back to nod a curt thank-you.

  Damn this woman to the very tip-top ring of hell. Kids are tricky—interviewing anyone under eighteen requires a parent’s presence, unless of course it’s a casual conversation and not an official questioning. Add even a little bit of money or a hint of celebrity to the room, and tricky becomes downright impossible because the lawyers have to have their hands in every damned thing.

  I had walked right into the exact situation I was trying to avoid by hauling ass up there. Not only was Coach Richardson present but he’d have legal counsel at his side in twelve seconds if I so much as thought the word investigation.

  The kid sat up straight and shook back bronze curls, his smile fading. “Mrs. Bauer?” he asked as his father shot out of his seat with a too-loud, too-fast “The Texas Rangers? Is this a joke? Dammit, boy, is it possible for you to not be an embarrassment for more than five minutes? All I’m asking is a little effort.”

  Mrs. Bauer’s awkward half smile didn’t flicker. Neither did Nicholas’s stony mask. Darren Richardson’s cheeks and forehead, however, went from ruddy to an alarming shade of magenta during his tirade.

  Damn. Whether the kid was a troublemaker or not—and by the sympathy pour
ing from the vice principal’s eyes, my money was on not—that was quite a flying leap off the handle.

  I shut the door behind me and stepped forward, narrowed eyes on college basketball’s best-loved coach.

  “Nobody is saying Nicholas has done anything, sir.” I gave the words a little volume and a lot of edge, pulling every eye in the room my way. Standing up to my full nearly six-foot height, I met Richardson’s scowl with one of my own. “While I believe I know why Mrs. Bauer asked Nicholas in here, as you just heard her say, she was not expecting me.”

  “Fine.” Richardson sank back into the chair, his color fading to near normal. “What, then?”

  Mrs. Bauer opened her mouth, snapped it shut, and closed her eyes.

  I reminded myself that she’d found Tenley’s mother for me and held my tongue.

  I crossed to Nick and knelt in front of him the same way I’d knelt in front of Erica. “Nicholas—” I began.

  “It’s Nicky,” he interrupted quietly, guarded green eyes fixed on a spot above my left ear.

  “Only because you want to aggravate me any way you can,” his father muttered.

  Hot damn. Yes, let’s.

  “Nicky.” I cloaked the word in chirpy brightness. “When was the last time you saw Tenley Andre?”

  “Why?” Pretty sure that was a chorus of Richardson voices, but I stayed focused on Nick.

  “Can you tell me first?”

  “Last night. This morning, I guess, technically. It was after midnight when I took her home.”

  The party. I was itching to ask, but I needed to let him tell his story.

  “Home from where?” I kept my eyes on Nick and my tone light, well aware that his father would holler for an attorney at the first breath of interrogation. Not to protect the kid, of course, but to protect his image. That’s a much more urgent concern for a narcissist of Coach Richardson’s caliber, and I’ve known my narcissists inside out and sideways since long before I graduated the academy.

  “We were at a party. Somebody’s parents were out of town. Everyone ended up there. Same story, different day.”

  “You don’t know whose house it was?”

  Nick shook his head, his eyes finally meeting mine. “I think the kid was like a sophomore or something. Why are you asking? Is Tenley okay?” His eyes went wide, his nostrils flaring, breath speeding.

  Never gets one teeny heart tear easier.

  I sucked in a long breath and reached for his hand before I shook my head. “I’m afraid not. She was found dead near Lake Travis early this morning.”

  Mrs. Bauer sighed. Coach Richardson’s breath hissed in through his teeth.

  I only saw Nick, whose whole face had gone slack and unfocused, a single tear disappearing into the four-day scruff lining his jaw.

  “No.” He shook his head. “No way. We were going to Stanford together, me and T. Getting out of all the bullshit here.”

  The room was cemetery silent for a full second before it exploded.

  “Like hell you are!” Richardson jumped back to his feet, a big vein popping out of his temple to highlight the magenta flooding his face this time. “I gave Mo Owens my word. Your ass will be right here come September. You want to stick with your faggoty sport, fine, but you’re not going anywhere.”

  Dad of the year right there. Flinching at the hateful words and tone, I watched Nicky’s eyelids drift down before I stood slowly and spun to face the coach. “Sit. Down. And shut. Up.”

  “Excuse me?” he roared, his cheeks going from magenta to plum.

  I took a step forward and lowered my voice. “Your timing might be great on a basketball court, but it’s shit in the real world. I just told this boy his girlfriend is dead. Can’t your diatribe about college choices wait?”

  Richardson’s face stretched into a grin, a single boom of laughter sliding through his bonded teeth. “His girlfriend?” He shook his head. “Some Texas Ranger you are. If you can prove this kid of mine isn’t a fucking fairy, I’ll let him go to college anywhere he damn well pleases. Owens will live.”

  Wait. What?

  I turned back to Nicky, who made no move to acknowledge that his father had spoken, his head still shaking slowly back and forth. “She was the only person who ever loved me just for me. Jesus, Tenner, what did you do?”

  I pressed a clenched fist into the side of my thigh to keep from slamming it into the top of Mrs. Bauer’s desk. First order of business: Did Tenley kill herself? While my gut said that was the easy solution to what was becoming a more convoluted equation by the minute, Nicky’s accusatory words were enough to give me pause.

  Ignoring the blustering asshat to my left for the moment, I knelt in front of Nicky again. “Can you tell me what makes you think she did anything?”

  “Do we need a lawyer for this?” That came from the coach, low and threatening.

  Dammit. I swiveled a withering look at Richardson, not bothering to stand. “I guess that’s dependent on whether or not anyone here has done anything you think might require legal advice. At the moment, the Travis County sheriff is pursuing a suicide investigation in this case.” Every word true.

  Richardson moved to the wall and leaned against it, cocking one leg up to flatten his shiny brown wing tip against the beige paint. “I see.”

  When he stayed quiet, I turned back to Nicky.

  “Can you help me understand this? Because from where I sit, it makes very little sense.”

  He shrugged his broad shoulders, his eyes still distant. “I’ve been so wrapped up in my own bullshit I didn’t try hard enough to find out what was bothering her.” He slumped forward and buried his face in his big hands, fingers digging into his scalp. “God, what if I could’ve stopped it?”

  I left him to his grief for a moment, turning back to Sarah Bauer. “Had you seen any evidence that Tenley was unhappy?” I asked, trying to keep the irritation I still felt with the woman out of my voice.

  Sarah’s carefully shellacked, teased brunette hairdo didn’t budge as she shook her head hard. “Tenley was a model student athlete. Our track season isn’t even over, but we’ve already qualified for the state meet on points, most of them from her blowing every other kid in the district straight off the track.” She punched a few keys on her computer and tapped a finger on the space bar as she waited for something to load, then shook her head again. “Near-perfect grades. She’s solidly in our top five seniors, battling for the salutatorian’s seat at graduation. No discipline issues.”

  “Visits with the counselor?” I asked.

  “I can’t see that here,” Mrs. Bauer said. “And unfortunately, Tenley’s counselor is on personal leave for her daughter’s wedding in Jamaica this week.”

  Of course she was. My eyes went back to Nicky, who was still hiding his face. I laid a hand on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  He looked up at me. “She told me she loved me about a hundred times last night. I loved her so much. How did this happen?”

  “We don’t have all the facts yet.” The kid didn’t need the gory details.

  “You said she was at the lake?” Nicky’s brow furrowed. “Why else would she go alone?”

  I tipped my head to one side, itching for a pen and paper but choosing to push my freakish total recall ability because I didn’t want to spook Coach Richardson. Why didn’t he have somewhere more important to be?

  “I saw lots of photos of you guys on her laptop,” I said. “The lake was special to her?”

  “We ski off the coach’s boat every week in the summer. But the best memories I have of Tenner and the lake will always be of sitting up on the dam talking all night.”

  The dam. I couldn’t ask, though. Better to let him fill the silence.

  “She loved it there. Said it felt like she was on top of the world, but the world felt big. Big enough that she couldn’t break it. We’d sit up there, right off the edge of the old closed road, and just spill our guts until the sun came up.” He let the sentence trail, his att
ention going to his long fingers, playing with a fat platinum class ring.

  When he’d been silent for a full minute, I cleared my throat. “Have you been there recently?” Like maybe this morning?

  Nicky shook his head. “I haven’t seen much of Tenley since . . . well, most of this year, really.” His eyes flicked toward his father. “I’ve been busy. I was actually glad to rescue her from Davenport last night. At least I got to talk to her for a while.”

  Rescue? I felt my brow furrow. The kid from the Instagram photo, maybe?

  But what of the rest of that? From what I’d seen and heard so far, Nicky was the most important person in Tenley’s world. So why had they lost touch for one of the biggest years of their young lives? Two and two here was anything but four.

  “Why hadn’t you seen her? Did you two have a fight?”

  Nicky shook his head. “We never fought. Not since we were kids.”

  Richardson snorted. “Easy to avoid fighting with a girl you’re not screwing.”

  And here I’d almost forgotten he was there. Probably what made him pipe up in in the first place. I closed my eyes and locked my jaw for a five count so I wouldn’t tell him which orifice he could shove his useless bullshit into.

  Ignore him. That was certainly the thing that got under my father’s skin best.

  I stayed on Nick. “Can you tell me what happened?”

  He scrubbed both hands over his face, hooking a thumb toward the coach so subtly I wasn’t sure it was on purpose until he met my eyes with widened ones and a barely whispered “I can’t.”

  He could. But wouldn’t with his dad there. Ten-four, kid.

  I turned a pleading glance on Mrs. Bauer. Get him out of here, I mouthed.

  Sarah Bauer offered a small nod, clearing her throat. “Coach? Principal Shannon was just telling me the other day we should discuss adding you to our hall of fame, even though you didn’t attend Marshall, because of your extraordinary accomplishments and devotion to the school. I wonder if you’d have a minute to talk with him about that, as long as you’re in the building?”