Page 20 of Lawman’s Witness

Now, as he glanced around, he wondered if he was about to make another mistake. Her house was far enough away from anything and everyone that it should have been safe, but he’d only come here with her once. From then on, they met at hotels far from the city. He’d been so careful that this should have been over by now, he thought with growing frustration.

Even though he hadn’t expected to see anyone around, he’d dressed in the older jogging clothes he kept at work. With the hood up, he could hide his head of thick dark curly hair and pale blue eyes—his two most distinguishing features.

“Quit stalling,” he muttered to himself and, pulling on the gloves he’d brought, he used the key he’d taken from her key ring to open the front door. He was hit with the scent of her perfume as he turned on the overhead light.

He’d been surprised how neat and clean the small house had been the other time he was here, so wasn’t surprised to find it looked the same. He’d liked that she had brightly colored pots of flowers and nice linens in her bath and on her bed. He now knew just how much she liked nice things and how far she’d go to get them.

Glancing around the small house, his fear was that she’d left something around like a diary or letters that could incriminate him. Fortunately, there weren’t a lot of places to hide something, he thought as he removed a large garbage bag from his pocket. The plants were wilted. He’d leave those, taking only what he thought she would have grabbed before hitting the road.

He had no idea when her rent was due, but he wasn’t taking any chances. He didn’t think anyone would be surprised that she’d skipped out and left town without telling anyone—maybe especially her landlord.

In the bedroom, he took most of her clothes, leaving behind ones he’d never liked. He checked under the bed and in the closet but found nothing more of interest. As he turned to her bedside table, he opened the only drawer. Nothing exciting. As he started to close the drawer, he noticed the framed photos.

There was one of Whitney and an attractive redhead, the local friend? Whitney & Liz. Best Friends Forever! was written on it along with Love You Roomie. Whitney looked much younger than Liz. College roommates?

He stared at the photo before breaking the frame to see if she’d written anything on the back of the snapshot. Blank. Again he considered the snapshot, wondering just how good friends they still were and if Whitney had told Liz about him. Urging himself to hurry, he couldn’t help thinking of the ways Whitney had deceived him. He’d told her he wasn’t looking for a relationship. She’d said she felt the same way. She’d lied. Laura Whitney Clark had even lied about her name he’d realized when he’d gone through her purse. Whitney was her middle name and she was thirty-two—not twenty-four like she’d claimed. She’d been in great shape and had certainly passed for much younger, but another lie.

What else had she lied about? He realized he was still holding the photo of her and her best friend. Of course she would have told Liz about them. The only question was did Liz also know his name?

Furiously, he threw the broken frame and the photo into the garbage bag. As he reached for the only other framed photo next to the bed, he froze.

It was a candid selfie of Whitney and a man. It appeared to have been shot at a hotel pool patio. In the photo, the man was checking his phone while she was smiling at her cell camera with him off to one side and slightly behind her. Clearly, she hadn’t wanted him to know she’d taken the photo.

He let out a curse as he picked up the framed photograph. He’d told her absolutely no photos, and yet here they were together, and he was definitely recognizable as the man in the shot. When had she taken this? Not that it mattered. Another lie, another deceit. He smashed the frame against the nightstand, the glass shattering. He banged it a couple more times, then jerked out the photo and tore it to shreds, dumping all of it into his trash bag.

Trembling with rage at what a close call this had been, he reminded himself that he’d dodged the bullet by coming here. His instincts had been correct. If this best friend and former roomie became worried about Whitney and had seen this photo and gone to the cops, he would never get them off his back. His pulse pounded as he thought of how Whitney had manipulated him almost from the beginning with her lies.

Feeling a new urgency to cover his tracks, he moved quickly through the house, taking things he thought she would have taken if she’d been in a hurry to leave town. He broke some things, left drawers open and tossed clothes on the floor. Fortunately, the house was small and minimally furnished.

Slightly out of breath, he looked around, checking to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything. If her friend or her landlord came looking for her, they’d think that she’d left town for greener pastures. At least that was his hope.

He’d never asked Whitney anything about her friend, whom she’d mentioned a few times. What would have been the point since he’d known they weren’t going to be together long? Now he realized that had been a mistake because he really wanted to know how to find the redhead if it became necessary. All he needed was another woman going to the cops with a wild story about him.

Worse, that would give the cops a name. Once the eyewitness identified Whitney from some photo Liz could supply, Amy Sue’s story became a little too plausible.

He had to get this to end, he told himself as he stepped outside and loaded the full bag of Whitney’s belongings into the trunk of the old car. He would dump it in a large trash container on the way back to Billings.

Leaving the house unlocked, he slid behind the wheel, hoping the old beater would start. Things in his life had gone as planned for so long, he had expected it to last—until the eyewitness the night of the murder. He’d always been so cautious. After that first time with Whitney when he’d given her a ride back to her place, he’d never returned until now. When he registered each time at a hotel far from Billings, he mentioned that his daughter would be joining him so he would need adjoining rooms. They never arrived or left together.

He had his routine down and it had always worked like a charm—until Whitney. Now he no longer trusted his good luck. What should have been the perfect murder had been anything but.

He realized he was sweating as he turned the key. With a sigh of relief, the car started, though it was running rough. He couldn’t wait to get it back to the dealership, the bag in the back thrown in a dumpster on the way.

Still, he hesitated, feeling as if he’d forgotten something important.

That’s when he realized what else was missing from the house other than Whitney. There’d been no sign of the student master’s thesis she said she’d been working on, no paperwork in the house at all. The woman had lied about everything.

The thought rattled him. He was usually better at picking women who could be trusted and while not happy about it, had known the score and walked away without squawking.

As he drove down the road in the late-afternoon fading light, he felt an urgency to get away from Laurel and get rid of the trash in the trunk. He wanted to be rid of everything about Whitney Clark. He still couldn’t believe how she’d fooled him. She was determined to marry a wealthy man no matter what she had to do. Once she’d set her eyes on him, there had been no turning back for either of them.

Liz Baker tried her friend’s cell number, not all that surprised when it again went to voicemail. For the past two weeks she’d tried to convince herself that there was no reason for concern. It wasn’t like she and Whitney talked every day. Sometimes they went for a week or two without talking, especially since they now lived so close.

But she was concerned because the last time she’d seen Whitney, her friend had told her something that had her more than a little worried. It wasn’t anything new, Whitney’s choice in men, she reminded herself. She and Whitney had been roommates at college. Before that, Liz had watched Whitney fall in love multiple times and always with the wrong man. Her friend would go into a downward spiral after the breakup and had eventually dropped out of college. Liz had hung in, graduated with degrees in history and art, both of which had turned out to be worthless. She’d gotten married to the first man who asked. That, too, had turned out badly since she was now recently divorced.

So could she really blame her friend for wanting more out of life by marrying better? The problem was Whitney hadn’t found that wealthy man to give her that life—until recently. Before that Liz would get a late-night drunk call from her friend who was either crying or overly excited about someone she’d just met.

He’s perfect. He has tons of money and he’s crazy about me. That was usually the way the optimistic calls went. But soon after would come the late-night drunk calls with Whitney in tears because she’d been duped or dumped or both.