He wiped his hand on the towel. "Am I wrong so far?"
She stared at him, wondering how he knew so much. "No," she said.
"And you've wondered about it, haven't you?"
"Sometimes," she confessed. "But don't you think you're reading way too much into this? Even if I were as perfect as you say, you have to remember that times have changed. There are probably thousands, if not tens of thousands, of women that you could describe in the same way."
"Perhaps." He shrugged. "But you're not convinced."
"No." His clear blue eyes held her in their unwavering scrutiny.
"What? You think there's some sort of conspiracy?" Instead of answering directly, he reached for another handful of sand. "What can you tell me about your ex?" he asked. "Why does that matter?"
"I'm curious as to how he feels about you dating."
"I'm sure he doesn't care in the slightest. And I can't imagine why you think that even matters."
He released the sand all at once. "Because," he said, his voice low. He turned toward her. "I'm pretty sure he was the one who broke into my house the other day."
Chapter 19
Thibault
Late Saturday evening, after Elizabeth had left, Thibault found Victor sitting in his living room, still dressed in the shorts and cabana-style shirt he'd been wearing on the day he died.
The sight of him stopped Thibault in his tracks. All he could do was stare. It wasn't possible, nor was it really happening. Thibault knew that Victor was gone, buried in a small plot near Bakersfield. He knew Zeus would have reacted had anyone real been in the house, but Zeus simply wandered to his water bowl.
In the silence, Victor smiled. "There is more," he said, his voice a hoarse promise.
When Thibault blinked, Victor was gone, and it was obvious he'd never been there at all.
It was the third time Thibault had seen Victor since he had passed away. The first time had been at the funeral, when Thibault had rounded a corner near the back of the church and seen Victor staring at him from the end of the hallway. "It's not your fault," Victor had said before dissolving away. Thibault's throat had closed up, forcing him to rush to catch his breath.
The second appearance occurred three weeks before he set out on his walk. That time, it had happened in the grocery store, as Thibault was rummaging through his wallet, trying to figure out how much beer he could purchase. He'd been drinking heavily in those days, and as he counted the bills, he saw an image from the corner of his eye. Victor shook his head but said nothing. He didn't have to. Thibault knew that he was being told that it was time to end the drinking. Now, this.
Thibault didn't believe in ghosts, and he knew that the image of Victor hadn't been real. There was no specter haunting him, no visits from beyond, no restless spirit with a message to deliver. Victor was a figment of his imagination, and Thibault knew that his subconscious had conjured up the image. After all, Victor had been the one person Thibault had always listened to.
He knew the boating accident had been just that: an accident. The kids who'd been driving the boat had been traumatized, and their horror at what had happened was genuine. As for the drinking, he'd known deep down that the booze was doing more harm than good. Somehow, though, it was easier to listen to Victor. The last thing he'd expected was to see his friend once more. He considered Victor's words-there is more-and wondered whether they related to his conversation with Elizabeth. Somehow he didn't think so, but he couldn't figure it out, and it nagged at him. He suspected that the harder he pressed himself for an answer, the less likely it was that the answer would come. The subconscious was funny like that.
He wandered to the small kitchen to pour himself a glass of milk, put some food in the bowl for Zeus, and went to his room. Lying in bed, he brooded on the things he'd told Elizabeth.
He'd thought long and hard about saying anything at all. He wasn't even certain what he'd hoped to accomplish by doing so, other than to open her eyes to the possibility that Keith Clayton might just be controlling her life in ways she couldn't imagine.
Which was exactly what the man was doing. Thibault had become sure of it when he'd first noticed the break-in. Of course, it could have been anyone-someone wanting to make a quick buck grabbing items that could be sold in pawnshops-but the way it had been done suggested otherwise. It was too neat. Nothing had been strewn about. Nothing was even out of place. Nearly everything had, however, been adjusted.
The blanket on the bed was the first giveaway. There was a tiny ridge in the blanket, caused by someone who didn't know how to tuck in the covers military fashion-something few, if anyone, would have noticed. He noticed. The clothes in his drawers showed similar disturbances: a rumple here, a sleeve folded the wrong way there. Not only had someone entered the home while he'd been at work, but he'd searched the house thoroughly.
But why? Thibault had nothing of value to steal. A quick peek through the windows beforehand made it plain there was nothing valuable in the place. Not only was the living room devoid of electronics, but the second bedroom stood completely empty, and the room where he slept contained only a bed, end table, and lamp. Aside from dishes and utensils and an ancient electric can opener on the counter, the kitchen was empty, too. The pantry contained dog food, a loaf of bread, and a jar of peanut butter. But someone had taken the time to search the house anyway from top to bottom, including under his mattress. Someone had diligently gone through his drawers and cleaned up afterward.
No outrage at finding nothing of value. No evident frustration that the break-in had been a waste. Instead, the burglar had attempted to cover his tracks.
Whoever had broken in had come to the house not to steal, but to look for something. Something specific. It hadn't taken long to figure out what it was and who had been responsible.
Keith Clayton wanted his camera. Or, more likely, he wanted the disk. Probably because the photographs on the disk could get him in trouble. No great leap of logic, considering what Clayton had been doing the first time they'd bumped into each other. All right, so Clayton wanted to cover his tracks. But there was still more to this than met the eye. And it had to do with Elizabeth.
It didn't make sense that she hadn't had any relationships in the past ten years. But it did jibe with something he'd heard while standing around the pool table, showing her picture to the group of locals. What had one of them said? It had taken a while to recall the exact words, and he wished he had paid more attention to the comment. He'd been so focused on learning Elizabeth's name, he'd ignored it at the time-a mistake. In hindsight, there was something menacing about the comment's implication.
… let's just say she doesn't date. Her ex wouldn't like it, and trust me, you don't want to mess with him.
He reviewed what he knew about Keith Clayton. Part of a powerful family. A bully. Quick to anger. In a position to abuse his power. Someone who thought he deserved whatever he wanted whenever he wanted it?
Thibault couldn't be certain about the last one, but it all fit the picture.
Clayton didn't want Elizabeth to see other men. Elizabeth hadn't had any meaningful relationships in years. Elizabeth occasionally wondered why but hadn't even considered the possible connection between her ex-husband and failed relationships. To Thibault, it seemed entirely plausible that Clayton was manipulating people and events and-at least in one way-still controlling her life. For Clayton to know that Elizabeth was dating someone in the past meant that Clayton had been watching over her for years. Just as he was watching over her now.
It wasn't hard to imagine how Clayton had ended her previous relationships, but so far, he'd kept his distance when it came to Thibault and Elizabeth. So far, Thibault hadn't seen him spying from afar, hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary. Instead, Clayton had broken into his house in search of the disk when he knew Thibault would be at work.
Getting his ducks in a row?
Probably. But the question was, to what end? To run Thibault out of town, at the very least. Still, Thibault couldn't shake the feeling that this wouldn't be the end. As Victor had said, there is more.
He'd wanted to share with Elizabeth what he knew about her ex, but he couldn't come right out and tell her about the comment he'd overheard at the pool hall. That would mean telling her about the photograph, and he couldn't do that yet. Instead, he wanted to point her in the right direction, hoping she would begin to make the connections herself. Together, once they both knew the extent to which Clayton was willing to sabotage her relationships, they would be able to handle whatever he chose to do. They loved each other. They would know what to expect. It would all work out.
Was this the reason he'd come? To fall in love with Elizabeth and make a life together? Was this his destiny?
For some reason, it didn't feel right. Victor's words seemed to confirm that. There was another reason that he'd come here. Falling in love with Elizabeth may have been part of it. But that wasn't all. Something else was coming.
There is more.
Thibault slept the rest of the night without waking, just as he had since arriving in North Carolina. A military thing-or, more accurately, a combat thing, something he'd learned out of necessity. Tired soldiers made mistakes. His father had said that. Every officer he'd ever known had said that. His wartime experience confirmed the truth of their statements. He'd learned to sleep when it was time to sleep, no matter how chaotic things were, trusting he'd be better for it the following day.
Aside from the brief period after Victor's death, sleep had never been a problem. He liked sleep, and he liked the way his thoughts seemed to coalesce while he was dreaming. On Sunday, when he woke, he found himself visualizing a wheel with spokes extending from the center. He wasn't sure why, but a few minutes later, when he was walking Zeus outside, he was suddenly struck by the notion that Elizabeth wasn’t the center of the wheel, as he’d unconsciously assumed. Instead, he realized, everything that had happened since he’d arrived in Hampton seemed to revolve around Keith Clayton.
Clayton, after all, had been the first person he’d met in town. He’d taken Clayton’s camera. Clayton and Elizabeth had been married. Clayton was Ben’s father. Clayton had sabotaged Elizabeth’s relationships. Clayton had seen them spending an evening together on the night he’d brought Ben home with the black eye, in other words, he’d been the first to know about them. Clayton had broken into his house. Clayton – not Elizabeth – was the reason he’d come to Hampton.
In the distance, thunder sounded, low and ominous. There was a storm on the way, and the heaviness in the air portended a big one.
Aside from what Elizabeth had told him about Clayton, he realized he knew very little about Elizabeth's former husband. As the first drops began to tall, Thibault went back inside. Later, he would visit the library. He had a little research ahead of him if he hoped to get a better feel for Hampton and the role the Claytons played in it.
Chapter 20
Beth
Doesn't surprise me," Nana snorted. "I wouldn't put anything past your late husband."
"He's not dead, Nana."
Nana sighed. "Hope springs eternal."
Beth took a sip of her coffee. It was Sunday, and they had just returned from church. For the first time since Nana's stroke, Nana had had a small solo in one of the musical numbers, and Beth hadn't wanted her to be distracted. She knew how much the choir meant to her.
"You're not helping me," Beth said.
“What's to help?"
"I was just saying…"
Nana leaned across the table. "I know what you're saying. You've already told me, remember? And if you're asking whether I think Keith actually broke into Thibault's house, I'm simply Saying that it wouldn't surprise me. I've never liked that man."
"Gee, really?"
There’s no reason to get fresh about it." I’m not getting fresh."
Nana didn’t seem to hear her. “You look tired. Do you want more coffee? Or how about some cinnamon toast?"
Beth shook her head. "I'm not hungry."
"Even so, you still have to eat. It's not healthy to skip meals, and I know you've already skipped breakfast." She got up from the table. "I'm making toast."
Beth knew there was no point in arguing. Once Nana made up her mind about something, there was no way to dissuade her.
"What about the other part? About whether Keith had something to do with…" She trailed off.
Nana shrugged as she put two pieces of bread in the toaster. "About running other men off? Nothing that man did would surprise me. And it kind of explains things, doesn't it?"
"But it doesn't make sense. I can name at least half a dozen women he's gone out with, and it's not like he's even hinted that he wants to get back together. Why would he care whether or not I date?"
"Because he's no better than a spoiled child," Nana declared. She put a couple of dabs of butter into a saucepan and turned on the burner. A small blue flame whooshed to life. "You were his toy, and even though he's got new toys, it doesn't mean he wants anyone to play with his old toys."
Beth shifted in her seat. "I'm not sure I like that analogy."
"It doesn't matter if you like it. All that matters is whether it's true."
"And you think it is?"
"That's not what I said. What I said was that it wouldn't surprise me. And don't tell me you're surprised, either. I've seen the way he still looks you up and down. It gives me the willies, and it's all I can do to keep from clobbering him with the pooper'scooper."
Beth smiled, but it lasted only an instant. When the toast popped up, Nana grabbed the pieces and put them on a plate. She dribbled melted butter over the top, then added sugar and cinnamon. She brought over the plate and set it in front of Beth.
"Here. Eat something. You're skeletal these days."
"I weigh the same as I always have."
"Which isn't enough. It's never been enough. If you're not careful, you'll blow away in the storm." She nodded toward the window as she took her seat again. "It's going to be a big one. Which is good. We need the rain. I hope we don't have any howlers in the kennel."