Truly, Madly, Dangerously. Linda Winstead Jones
sugar into her coffee and stirred absently. With a tilt of her head and a sigh, she looked a little bit like the girl he remembered. Not so tough, after all. “Let’s change the subject,” she said softly.
“Gladly.”
“What do you know about Aidan Hearn? Was he into anything dirty, like drugs or money laundering?”
“We can’t be having this conversation, Sadie.”
“I’m not asking about anything that might’ve come up in the investigation. I’m interested in gossip, that’s all. I could ask anyone else in town.”
“But you’re asking me.”
“You’re here,” she said softly, and the way her mouth wrapped around the words… Yeah, she was definitely messing with his head.
“Far as I know, Hearn was clean as a whistle. No drugs, no money laundering.” He almost snorted. Had she forgotten what Garth was like? “I have heard rumors over the years that he was a bit of a ladies’ man, but…”
“I thought he was married.”
“He is.”
Sadie’s eyes positively sparkled. “Why did Evans even bother talking to me? The wife, a girlfriend, an ex-girlfriend…if Hearn wasn’t into something dirty, then the murder was personal.”
“You’re probably right.”
“So…”
“I thought we weren’t going to talk about this,” Truman interrupted.
She looked him in the eye, smiled and shrugged. “Sorry. Occupational hazard.”
Why did he know in his gut that this woman was trouble? That she found or created trouble wherever she went? She settled back in her chair for a moment and again let her gaze travel about the room. This time her mind was definitely elsewhere. More trouble.
He insisted on paying for dinner, and while Sadie argued, she eventually backed off. A rarity for her, he imagined.
“How about a short drive before I take you back to the motel?” he asked as he opened the door of his pickup truck for her.
“I don’t know,” she said, stepping onto the runner, pulling her great legs into the truck. “It’s been a long day.”
“I have a quick errand to run. Won’t take but a few minutes,” he promised.
“Okay.”
Miranda Lake. How many babies had been conceived in cars parked along the edge of the lake? Plenty, Sadie suspected. In Garth and the surrounding area, there was an unnatural number of baby girls named Miranda born every year.
“What are we doing here?” she asked suspiciously. She’d specifically told Truman she wasn’t interested in sleeping with him, and even if she were…she was a little old to get lucky in a pickup truck.
“Nightly patrol,” he said. “I’m off duty, but since I live close by I usually make a nightly drive through. There are half a dozen or so spots where the teenagers park, and every night I hit one or two of them. Keeps the kiddies on their toes.” He turned a corner, and sure enough, there were four cars parked in the gravel lot that looked over Miranda Lake. He pulled into a parking space of his own, smiled at Sadie and told her he’d be right back then stepped out of the truck. Almost immediately, three engines came to life. Truman smiled and waved at the teenagers who made their escape, and walked toward the one remaining car. The occupants were obviously too engrossed to know they’d been caught.
Sadie watched Truman walk away. Yeah, maybe there was a little bit of a hitch in his step, but he was far from a gimp. That ex-wife of his was a real bitch, to leave him when he needed her most, to run out when he was already hurting. She’d never met the woman, but she had seen pictures. Even then, from a mere photograph, Sadie had known the woman Truman married right out of college wasn’t good enough for him. Then again, maybe she would have thought the same about any woman Truman married.
Why did Truman stay in Garth? Sure, his mother was here, and he had old friends in town, but… She had always known Truman McCain was meant for greater things, that he was meant for greater places than Garth, Alabama. She hated to think that he might be hiding here, staying because it was safe, because he would always be a hero to the locals for getting out and making it big; even if his escape and his fame hadn’t lasted.
He leaned down and tapped on a steamed-up window. After a moment where all was still and quiet, the window rolled down. Truman said a few soft words, and the engine revved to life. He stepped back, and the last car made a quick getaway.
After the kids were gone, Truman headed back to the pickup where Sadie waited.
“What a job,” she said with a grin.
“When the mayor found out his daughter had been coming out here with her new boyfriend, we had to step up patrols.” He settled into the driver’s seat and looked out over the water. “It is a beautiful place,” he added softly.
“You said you live close by,” Sadie said.
Truman rested his arm on the steering wheel and pointed to the other side of the lake. “I have a cabin over there. Small, but nice, and it looks out over the water. What else does a man need?”
The question hung in the air, unanswered.
Sadie rested her head on the seat and stared out over the water. Moonlight sparkled there, gentle waves lapped. “Did you ever wonder if the story was true?” she asked, her voice soft to match the mood and the night.
“What story?”
“About Miranda Fairchild and Samuel Garth.”
“The ghosts,” Truman deadpanned. “Some old tale about a couple of ancient people who killed themselves. I don’t know what it is chicks like about that story.”
Sadie sighed. “You never got laid out here, did you?”
“I got laid out here plenty, and I never had to resort to ghost stories to get what I wanted.”
Of course he hadn’t. Gorgeous football hero with a killer smile, all Truman had to do was grin, and he got whatever he wanted. It was so unfair.
“It’s a beautiful story.” Heavens, she was tired. But this was nice, resting her head against the seat, looking out over the water, talking to Truman.
“Okay, convince me. What happened, exactly?” Truman prodded.
Sadie took her eyes from the moonlit water, for a moment. No, he wasn’t teasing her. At least, he looked serious. Maybe it was a fanciful story, more legend than fact, but there was something mesmerizing about the tale. At least, there once had been. Living with Spencer had killed most of Sadie’s fanciful notions about love and happily ever after. There was no forever. A man would always get tired of a woman. He’d get bored and go elsewhere looking for love, no matter how hard she tried to make him happy.
Reality was harsh. No wonder a touch of fantasy, a tale of romance, seemed so attractive at the moment.
“When Samuel was called to the war with those nasty Yankees, he and Miranda wanted to get married.” Not a wise choice, in Sadie’s estimation, but she tried to push away her own bad experience and just enjoy the story. “They wanted to be together before he left, but Miranda’s father said she was too young. She was sixteen. Samuel was a couple of years older. Eighteen or nineteen, maybe. Since her father refused to allow them to marry, Miranda swore she’d wait for Samuel. She said she’d wait forever, if she had to.”
Truman shook his head in disbelief, and Sadie returned her gaze to the water. “So Samuel went to war,” she said softly. “You know how it was. They all thought the unpleasantness with the Yankees would last weeks. Months, maybe. But Samuel was gone for years. When word came that he’d died in battle, Miranda very calmly left her house, walked to the lake, and drowned herself.”
“Stupid,”