Born Innocent Read online

  “Dan, Mr. Leven? Coffee?”

  The men shared uncomfortable glances, and then both agreed that would be nice. There was an uneasy silence as Ella poured and passed the cups around.

  Finally, they began talking of the subject that was most on all their minds. Claire asked if they had been able to determine how long Henson had lain injured on the bungalow floor before she had discovered him.

  “To tell the truth,” the sheriff explained between sips at the coffee, “with all the firecrackers going off all night, no one we’ve talked to can identify when the shot that injured Henson was fired.”

  “Yes, well,” Ella said unnecessarily. “That makes sense, of course.”

  A silence ensued, where Brawley and Leven looked ill-at-ease, and Ella’s apprehension was painful to see.

  Then Ella said to Sheriff Brawley, “Dan, have a cookie. I know you love pralines.”

  “Why, thanks, Ella. Don’t mind if I do.” Sheriff Brawley took the praline and bit into it, and was careful to catch the crumbs in his napkin.

  As Dan Brawley chewed slowly and thoroughly, his undersheriff, who was not from an old Pine Bluff family as were Brawley and the Snows, shifted impatiently in his chair. Finally, Leven said, “We’ve got to get on with this, Dan.”

  “I know, I know.”

  Leven turned to Claire. “Ms. Snow, we’ve already talked to a few people who are staying here at your motel. And by the time we’re through, we’ll interview everyone. And of course, we need to ask you some questions, too.”

  Ella said, “But you talked to her right after she found that poor man, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, but only about what happened today, about how she found Henson in his bungalow. Now we need to find out everything anybody can tell us about Henson himself—and about the last few days before he was shot.”

  Ella was shaking her head, looking doubtful. “I don’t know. It seems to me that—”

  “It’s all right,” Claire said. She could see no escape from this interview. At least they weren’t asking her to go over to the sheriff’s office behind the courthouse. “What did you want to know?”

  “Let’s see.” Leven produced a little notepad and scrutinized it for a moment. He flipped it back a page. Then he looked at Claire again. “You’ve been dating Alan Henson, is that correct?”

  Ella piped right up. “She has not. She absolutely has not. Why, only last evening, she told me—”

  Claire put her hand on her mother’s arm. “I can answer the questions myself, Mother.”

  “Fine. Of course. Fine.” Ella smoothed her hair. Her face looked very pinched. In spite of her conflicts with her mother, Claire loved Ella deeply. And never so much as now, seeing the way Ella rushed to her defense, a mother hen protecting her endangered only chick.

  Sheriff Brawley took another praline.

  Undersheriff Leven commented flatly, ‘ ‘We’ve contacted Henson’s wife in San Francisco.” Ella gasped. Leven shot her a sharp, triumphant look. “So. You didn’t know he had a wife?”

  “No,” Ella answered. “I certainly did not.”

  Claire said, “He never mentioned a wife to me, either.”

  “I’m sure he didn’t.” Leven scribbled himself a little note on the pad, then he asked Claire again, “Have you been dating Alan Henson?”

  “No.”

  “You’ve been seen with him repeatedly.”

  Claire refused to be intimidated; she reminded herself that she had done nothing wrong. “We never had a date,” she said quietly. “I ran into him over at Mandy’s a few times, and we sat together for lunch. And he bought me a drink at O’Donovan’s one night. And last night, my mother had him over to her house for a barbecue. When dinner was over, he walked me home.”

  Leven smiled. “He walked you home.”

  “Yes.”

  “And after that, what happened?”

  Claire took in a breath. The truth was going to sound bad. Very bad. But lying would do her no good. If they hadn’t already done so, they would talk to the couple who’d found her outside, leaning against the main building after Henson had attacked her. And they’d talk to Verna and Amelia, both of whom would have to tell them that she’d had some kind of conflict with Alan Henson last night. In the end, Claire realized, the truth was all she had.

  So she told it. Slowly and clearly. Right up to the moment when she sent Verna home.

  After she was done, her mother looked as if she might pass out, Sheriff Dan reached for yet another praline and Undersheriff Leven still wore that unpleasant smile.

  Leven pressed a little, “Are you sure Henson was unhurt when you left him?”

  “Yes. I’m positive.”

  Leven did not look convinced, but he evidently decided to move along anyway. He asked the question Claire had been dreading more than all the others. “After Verna Higgins left you alone, what did you do next?”

  Even though she had known this moment was coming, she still was not fully prepared for it. Her mouth was very dry, suddenly. She took another sip of coffee.

  How could she tell the rest? How could she say it?

  I took a pregnancy test and found out I’m going to have a baby....

  How could she just say that—in front of her poor mother and Sheriff Dan and the disapproving Leven?

  Claire had hardly adjusted to the fact that she was pregnant herself. The thought of having her mother, Sheriff Dan and a virtual stranger know right now, before she’d even had a chance to think about what to do—no, she wouldn’t do it. She couldn’t do it. It was none of their business and it had nothing to do with Alan Henson, anyway....

  “Ms. Snow?” Undersheriff Leven prompted. “I asked what you did next.”

  Claire set her coffee cup into its saucer. It made a scraping, clattering sound, a sure giveaway that she was rattled. She jerked her hands away from the betraying cup and folded them in her lap. The others were watching her, waiting. She knew she had to say something.

  “Well, I...”

  And the service bell out at the desk rang.

  The other three tensed at the sound. For her part, Claire had never known such relief, even though she was fully aware that it was only a temporary reprieve.

  She stood up. “Excuse me a moment. There’s someone out in front. I’ll be right back.” Claire stepped around the coffee table and made a beeline for the foyer and the front desk beyond.

  She came through the inner door to the lobby with a big, grateful smile on her face for whoever it was that had unwittingly interrupted her grim moment of truth. But the smile froze in place when she saw who her rescuer was.

  Joe.

  He stood there on the other side of the desk, looking hard and rangy and ready for anything. He was dressed in his usual faded jeans and a dark shirt.

  Claire wanted to run to him and bury her face against his hard chest, and beg him to help her out of the trap she felt closing around her.

  He didn’t waste any time. “Brawley’s back there now?” he asked quietly, tipping his head toward the door behind her.

  She nodded. “And Wayne Leven, too. How did you know?”

  “The word’s out,” he said cryptically. “You’re in trouble.”

  “I know. Oh, Lord...”

  “What did you tell them?”

  Claire collected herself and explained as succinctly as she could. “I told the truth. Last night in his bungalow, Henson more or less attacked me. I hit him with a water glass and told him to get out by noon today.”

  “Was he hurt?”

  “By the glass, you mean? No. It was a very thin glass, and he wasn’t even cut that I could see. He was fine when I left him.”

  Joe’s amber eyes bored through her. “What else?”

  “At noon today, I went to order him out, and I found him unconscious on the floor of his bungalow. From what the sheriff told me a little while ago, he’s been shot in the side, and he’s in a coma from hitting his head on the credenza when he fell.”

>   “And that’s all?”

  She caught her breath for a moment, thinking about the baby, before she realized he was referring only to her dealings with Henson. She nodded. “Yes, Joe. I swear it. I—” Claire cut herself off as she saw Joe’s gaze shift to something behind her.

  “Ms. Snow?”

  Claire turned. Undersheriff Leven was standing in the door to her rooms.

  Leven, who knew his town and everyone who lived near it, even if he wasn’t from an old Pine Bluff family, demanded, “What do you want here, Tally?”

  “I’m a friend of Claire’s.”

  “Well—” Leven gestured at the lobby couch “—have a seat. We’re just having a little talk with her. And when we’re finished— ’ ’

  Joe cut him off. “Is she under arrest?”

  “Of course not, Joe.” Sheriff Brawley, who had wasted little time following Leven out, spoke from the doorway to Claire’s rooms. “We’re taking her statement, that’s all.”

  “From what she’s just told me, you already have it.”

  “We’re not quite through yet.”

  “Is she a suspect in the shooting of Henson?”

  Though Joe had asked the question of the sheriff, it was Leven who hastily replied, “No, not at this point.”

  Joe looked from Leven to Brawley and back again. “Like I said, I think she’s told you enough. She needs legal counsel before she says any more.” Joe strode to the front door and held it open. “Have a nice day, gentlemen.”

  Leven looked red in the face. Claire assumed that he didn’t like being one-upped by a bounty hunter. Joe had once told Claire that bounty hunters were considered little more than vultures by most legitimate policemen. “Damn you, Tally. Who the hell do you think you are?”

  Brawley walked around the desk. “Never mind, Wayne. Let’s go.”

  “But—”

  “I said, let’s go.”

  His face pinched and sour, Leven followed his boss to the door. But he couldn’t resist one parting shot. “And where were you last night and early this morning, Tally?”

  “Wayne,” Brawley chided.

  “It’s all right, Dan.” Joe turned to Leven. “I played poker in the back room of O’Donovan’s until dawn. Then I walked with Rusty Farber over to Mandy’s for breakfast. After that, Millie Jens came in and said they needed help with the parade floats up at the schoolyard. I was there until parade time.”

  Ella, who had followed the others out into the lobby, confirmed in regal tones, “That is correct, at least the last of it. Mr. Tally was at the school grounds all morning. As you know, I traditionally oversee the float lineup, and I did so this year. Mr. Tally was quite a help to us all.” If one less thing had been wrong in her life right then, Claire would have smiled. Her mother considered Joe Tally far beneath her own lofty position on the social scale. But to Ella, even one’s inferiors had a right to be supported when they told the truth.

  Leven snorted and then said with a great show of irony to Joe, “Up all night, eh? You must be beat.”

  “You know, now you mention it, I am a little tired.” Joe gestured once more toward the open door.

  “This isn’t the end of it,” Wayne Leven said tightly. “One way or the other, it’s our job to find out who shot Alan Henson. If Ms. Snow won’t cooperate with us, then—”

  “Enough,” Sheriff Brawley said to his second-in-command. Then he spoke to Joe. “But he’s right. Chances are, we will be back.’ ’

  Joe said, “I understand.”

  Brawley and Leven went out the door.

  When they were gone, Joe turned to Claire. “Are you okay?”

  She nodded.

  Her mother spoke up from right behind her. “Thank you for ending an... unpleasant interview, Joe Tally. And now my daughter and I would prefer to be alone.”

  Joe looked pained. Claire knew he’d always respected her mother, though Ella invariably played the high-and-mighty lady of the manor any time he came near. “Mrs. Snow, I don’t think you realize the seriousness of this situation.”

  “Yes, I do. Of course, I do. I know exactly what’s going on here. They suspect Claire of... shooting Alan Henson. But of course, since she didn’t shoot him, everything will work out fine.”

  “Oh, will it?”

  ‘ ‘Yes. Certainly. They will... investigate further and they’ll discover who really did this awful thing, and everything will be as it should be.”

  “I’m glad you have such confidence in the system, Mrs. Snow.”

  “Don’t be cynical with me, young man.”

  “I’m only pointing out that—”

  Ella was waving her hand in that dismissive way of hers. “Never mind. We simply would like to be alone now. If you’ll just... be on your way.”

  A rueful smile played on Joe’s lips. “No,” he said gently.

  Ella gave a small start. “What did you say?”

  “I said no. I’m staying here. With Claire.”

  “Don’t be absurd. Claire doesn’t need you! I’ll be here.”

  Joe shook his head. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Snow. But she does need me right now. I don’t think you’ve looked at all the sides of this situation. Though we all know Claire didn’t shoot Henson, somebody did.”

  Ella was becoming indignant. “Well, of course, somebody did. I realize that. I’m not a fool.”

  “I just want to. ..hang around for a while, that’s all. Until we know better what’s going on.”

  ‘‘There is no need for you to ‘hang around,’ ” Ella insisted. “I will be here.”

  “Mrs. Snow, in this situation, Claire could need more than her mother to watch out for her.”

  “This is ridiculous.” Ella puffed out her already considerable bosom. “I suppose I’m going to have to be blunt with you. You are not wanted here. We want you to—”

  “Mother.”

  Slowly, Ella turned to look at her daughter. “What is it, Claire?”

  “Joe is staying.” The words were out almost before Claire realized she was going to say them.

  “What?”

  Claire gathered herself and faced her mother. “I want him to stay.”

  After all, she told herself, Joe was right. Just watching him get rid of Brawley and Leven had made her realize how much she didn’t know about what was happening to her. If he was willing to help her out now, she wasn’t going to turn him down.

  Ella was sputtering. “B-but, Claire! You simply cannot let him—”

  “Yes, I can. I’m in trouble, Mother. The kind of trouble someone like Joe knows all about.”

  “I do not believe you’re saying this.”

  “Believe it. It’s true.”

  “I warn you, Claire. I will not stay here if he is here.”

  “I understand.”

  Ella looked hurt and bewildered. She also realized she’d just trapped herself with her own ultimatum. “Well, then, I... I suppose there is nothing more to say.”

  Claire reached out. “Mother, I—”

  Ella jerked back. “No. Don’t try to placate me. I am firm on this.”

  “So am I.”

  “Well. Humph. That’s it, then.” Gray head high, Ella strode to the open front door. “Call me when he leaves.” And she was gone.

  Claire went to the door and watched her mother until she disappeared at the turn to Sierra Street. She could hardly believe what she’d just done.

  And she knew it could turn out to be a huge mistake. Her own motives were suspect. There was her own foolish love for Joe that simply refused to die—not to mention the baby he knew nothing about.

  Yet he was her friend. He was willing to help, and he’d come to her side when she needed him—just as she had for him not too long ago.

  Joe said from behind her, “She’ll be back.’ ’

  “I know.” Claire turned to face him. He had moved away, toward the couch and chairs grouped tightly on one side of the wide lobby. “What now?”

  “Got coffee?” He lifted a d
ark eyebrow at her. “I really didn’t go to bed last night.”

  She nodded. “Come on. It’s all made.”

  She led him back to her living room and got him a cup. He drank the coffee Ella had made for Sheriff Dan and Wayne Leven. Once he was on his second cup, Joe asked her to tell him the whole story of the night before.

  She did, giving every last detail she could recall—until the point where she’d sent Verna home. Then she told a lie of omission, because she simply was not ready yet to tell Joe that their one night together had resulted in the most classic of consequences. She said only that she had felt cooped up in the cottage and had slipped out the back and gone for a walk in the dark, ending up at the river, where she went for a late-night swim. She told him she’d returned around one, which was the truth.

  Joe watched her as she talked, and Claire couldn’t tell whether he believed her or not. Then he asked her to tell how she’d discovered the unconscious Henson in the bungalow. Once again, she went through the whole thing in detail, from the call to Henson’s room at noon, until the ambulance arrived.

  Then he asked, “What about the gun that shot him?”

  Claire was puzzled. “What about it?”

  “Did they find it?”

  Claire thought for a minute. “No. I didn’t see a gun when I found him. And I don’t think they found one, either.”

  Joe, who’d been sitting in one of the wing chairs, stood up. Claire jumped a little at the swiftness of the movement.

  “Relax,” he soothed. “I just want to check something.”

  He went out through the foyer and was back in minutes. “Where’s the .38 I made you buy, Claire?”

  Claire stared up at him. A couple of years ago, there had been a rash of night robberies in the county. Joe had come in one day and insisted Claire buy a gun and learn to shoot it. He’d been so adamant that she’d done as he ordered, though she didn’t like guns at all. She kept it mounted where it was hard to see but easy to reach, beneath the counter.