must be because he hadn’t had sex in such a long time. Man, he didn’t even want to think about how long it had been.
His body chose that instant to remind him just how deprived it was feeling. He took another step backward and pretended he couldn’t still smell gardenias or see her freckles.
When she sat, her skirt rode up to her thighs. Despite his irrational anger, his mouth went dry and his libido spiraled out of control. He slammed the door with a vengeance it didn’t deserve and stalked around to the driver’s side.
When he got in, Laurel grabbed his arm. “Cade, I just remembered something.”
He wished she’d quit touching him, and while she was at it, quit wafting that gardenia perfume his way. Everything about her was playing havoc with his good sense. He looked down at her hand then up at her. “Yeah?”
“Ralph Langston got the ten-thousand-dollar scholarship after Wendell died.”
Chapter Three
Later that evening, when Cade came out of the shower, his phone was ringing. A glance at the caller ID told him it was his dad. He picked up the handset.
“Dad, I was going to call you in the morning. What are you doing up at this hour?”
“I wanted to check on you. Gotta keep up with the only son I’ve got left.”
Cade rubbed his chest. The pain was old and familiar, but still sharp. Only son I have left. That’s how his dad always referred to him. As if he was nothing but James’s leftovers.
His brother, James Dupree Senior’s first-born, had died five years before. The same week his dad had suffered a stroke that had left him with a mild speech impediment. Every time Cade talked to him, he was reminded of both.
“We had a breaking-and-entering at Misty Waller’s house.”
“I heard. Misty okay?”
“She’s got a knot on her head, but she’s fine.” Cade paused, glancing at the clock. “Dad, feel like talking for a minute?”
“It’s why I called.”
“What do you remember about Wendell Vance’s death?” Cade paced as he talked.
“Vance? Oh. Kid that hanged himself on his graduation night?”
“Right.” His dad might have trouble speaking, but there was nothing wrong with his brain.
“Ever’thin’s in the file, I reckon.”
“Did you ever think it was murder?”
“Murder? Maybe for a minute. Remember what I tol’ you? Always consider every possibility. But the boy was taking pills for depression. It’s all in the file.”
“What did you think about Ralph Langston?”
“Who?”
“He was in the same class. Apparently he got a ten-thousand-dollar scholarship that would have gone to Wendell.”
“Don’ remember that. I musta talked to him. Everybody was all shook up. I gotta say though, the boy did a good job of killin’ himself—”
“Good job? What do you mean?” Cade pushed his fingers through his damp hair, raining cool drops of water onto his shoulders and back.
“He tied that rope that hangs from the Swinging Oak ’round his neck. Broke his hyoid bone and crushed his larynx. Quickes’ way. Beats choking slow.”
“Hyoid bone.” Cade thought back to his forensics training from Quantico. “That doesn’t usually happen in a hanging, does it?”
“Nah. Only thing I could figure was maybe that disk an’ chain got caught in the rope.”
“Disk? Oh—the Science Medal. He was still wearing it when he hanged himself?” The metal disk could have gotten caught between the rope and Wendell’s throat, crushing the bone.
“That was strange, too,” his dad continued. “Never did find that medal. Just a coupla links of chain. If I didn’ know better, I’d say somebody took it.”
Cade stopped pacing. “Could it have fallen into the creek?”
“I wondered about that. But the pieces of chain I found were about six feet or so to the left of the body.”
Cade wiped his face with the towel. “Left. Not in front, not behind.”
“That’s right. Odd.”
“What did you do with it?”
“It’s in the evidence room with the case file. We looked for that medal for days. Your brother helped. That was the week he told me he was droppin’ out of college and joinin’ the service.” Emotion choked his dad’s voice.
Cade’s chest squeezed tighter. He rubbed it again, his palm spreading the few drops of water that clung. He hadn’t remembered James helping Dad with the investigation of Wendell Vance’s death. Was there anything his brother hadn’t done before him?
Cade sighed. “It’s been a long day, Dad. I’d better let you get to bed. I’ll see you in a day or two, okay?”
“Sure. Cade?”
“Yeah?”
“You thinkin’ the Vance boy was murdered? Why now?”
“This weekend’s the ten year reunion of his high school class. People are talking.”
“This have anythin’ to do with Misty’s attack?”
“Maybe. I’m checking into it.”
“Take care, son.”
“I will. Good night, Dad.”
Cade hung up and flopped down onto his unmade bed. He stared at the ceiling and thought about what his dad had said.
He was impressed with his dad’s memory of the case and the thoroughness of his investigation.
He punched a pillow and doubled it up under his head. Tomorrow he’d pull out Wendell Vance’s old case files and go over them. He’d meant to ask his dad if he’d dusted the links of chain for prints, but he’d find the answer to that in the file.
He could already hear Laurel when she found out Wendell’s cause of death. A broken hyoid usually indicated foul play. Her criminologist brain would go straight to murder. He wondered if he could hold her back for two days, until the reunion was over.
There was no way he’d let her whip the town into a frenzy by spouting her theories of murder. Hell, they were based on nothing—just a few odd photos.
She would disagree of course. He could see her now, with those wisps of red hair framing her angry face and her multicolored eyes flashing.
