Debby Giusti - The General's Secretary

“The guilty always return to the scene of the crime. Irene Beaumont’s house burned down years ago, but her daughter was still in town. If Granger killed Irene, he might want her daughter to know about his release from prison.”

“Lillie was only four years old when her mother disappeared.”

“She heard a man’s voice that night,” Pritchard said. “Irene Beaumont had a Fulton County license plate on her car when she arrived in Freemont. Initially, folks thought she had gone back to Atlanta with her lover. No mention of a husband. Most people presumed she had never married.”

“And left her child home alone?”

“No one said she was the best of mothers.”

Small towns were all alike. Similar talk had lived on in Cotton Grove. Hard for a kid who heard what people said behind his mother’s back.

Pritchard sniffed. “Of course, all that changed when they found her body.”

“Did the motel manager know anything about what happened today?” Dawson asked.

“He saw a guy who matched Everett’s description. Red hair and a scar on his right cheek. Hard to miss. Highway Patrol’s on the lookout for him. I’ll keep you posted.”

Dawson disconnected and pocketed his phone as he returned to the booth.

“That was the police, wasn’t it?” Lillie wrapped her arms defensively across her chest. “Did they find anything at the motel?”

“A photograph of a guy named Billy Everett was tucked in the Bible. Red hair. Scar on his right cheek. Do you know him?”

She shook her head.

“Pritchard thought there had been a scuffle.”

Lillie shrugged. “Granger’s face was bloodied, but I got the impression someone had searched the room.”

She thought for a moment. Her face clouded. “You were there when I arrived.”

Dawson pointed a finger back at his own chest. “You think I messed up the place?”

“You didn’t tell Pritchard about the motel room.” She held his gaze. “Granger had your BOQ phone number in his pocket. You didn’t reveal that either.”

“And you failed to mention the key.”

“Which belongs to me.” Once again, she held out her hand.

Disregarding her request, Dawson stared into her pretty eyes. “Granger knew he had been set up. The case was open and shut, as you mentioned, only because they had a fall guy, a transient construction worker who came to town when he needed money. A guy who didn’t have resources to defend himself.”

“The court appointed an attorney.”

Dawson laughed ruefully. “A lawyer who should have retired years earlier. You probably didn’t follow the local news when you were a kid. Not long after the trial, the lawyer was diagnosed with dementia and was placed in a nursing home where he died a bit too soon thereafter.”

“If you grew up in Cotton Grove, why were you interested in a murder that took place in Freemont?”

Her question caught Dawson off guard. He looked down at his mug, weighing his response. “I planned on making the army a career. My local library carried the Freemont papers as well as information about Fort Rickman.”

Lillie shook her head. “My mother’s death had nothing to do with the military. What aren’t you telling me?”

He ignored her question. “I still don’t understand why Granger would return to Freemont and jeopardize his new-found freedom?”

“He wanted to clear his name, to make good on the past. At least that’s what he told me over the phone. He said he’d made mistakes. He’d abandoned someone and wanted to make it up to him.”

A muscle in Dawson’s neck twitched. “Him?”

“His son.”

Inwardly, Dawson groaned. “A son was never mentioned in the news reports. Maybe Granger was lying to get on your good side.”

“It’s possible.” Her bravado faltered. She rubbed her forehead. “Actually, I don’t know what to believe. I boxed up all the memories of long ago, hoping I could hide the past. Granger’s death forces everything out into the open.”

Maybe Lillie understood how he felt growing up as the kid without a dad. Dawson had put the snippets of gossip together. Some people never forgot the drifter who had left his mother pregnant. No name on his birth certificate meant legally Dawson didn’t have a father. It didn’t mean he didn’t know who his father was.

Just as Lillie had indicated, Granger’s death forced everything into the open. It was time for the truth.

“You said Granger mentioned having a son.” Dawson let out a lungful of pent-up air. “He was talking about me. Granger Ford was my dad.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why didn’t you say so earlier?”

“Because I buried the past just like you did.”

“I don’t believe you.” She grabbed her purse and slid from the booth.

He stood and reached for her wrist. “Don’t leave, Lillie.”

She jerked free of his hold. “You used me to get information.”

“I did no such thing.” He dug in his pocket and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. Throwing it on the table, he turned to find the two truckers glaring at him.

The waitress came around the counter. “Is there a problem?”

“The lady’s not feeling well.”

Dawson hurried after Lillie, but when he stepped outside, all he could see were the taillights of her Honda Civic racing away in the distance.

Climbing behind the wheel of his own car, Dawson pulled out of the lot and backtracked along the winding road. The temperature had warmed somewhat, and a thick fog rose from the wet earth, clouding his view of the roadway.

Lillie said the past had found her. It had found Dawson as well, but the past wasn’t the issue. The present was the problem. For a father who never claimed him as his son, Granger’s death was liable to change Dawson’s life forever—and not for the better.

* * *

Lillie drove too fast along the narrow road, wanting to get away from Dawson Timmons. If not for the key, which he still had, she never would have stopped at the diner.

He had hidden the truth from the Freemont police and from her, pretending he had her best interest at heart. All the while, he was gathering information about his father.

She didn’t understand anything, including her mixed feelings about the determined CID agent whose eyes were rimmed with sorrow. On one hand, she didn’t want to reveal anything to him, then she found herself opening up and saying more than she should.

Coming around the bend, she slowed her speed. Headlights approached, faster than the limit allowed on the twisted back road. She pulled her Honda to the right, hoping to give the speeding vehicle more room.

The glare blinded her for an instant. When her vision cleared, she saw an SUV had crossed the line and was headed straight for her.

Her heart stopped.

She turned the wheel and swerved off the road, narrowly missing a head-on collision.

Her car hit the shoulder and skidded in the wet grass. She lifted her foot from the accelerator and pumped the brakes. Keeping the wheels in line took all her strength.

The engine died, and the Honda rolled to a stop. Heart in her throat, she gasped for air and glanced in her rearview mirror.

A tingle of ice ran down her spine. The SUV that had almost run her off the road had turned around and was racing toward her.

Lord, protect me.

She turned the key in the ignition, relieved when the engine purred back to life, but when she accelerated, the wheels dug into the rain-soft earth. The tires spun over and over again.

“Oh, God, please.”

In a flash of motion, the large sport-utility vehicle passed by and then braked to a stop just ahead of where she was stuck in the mud.

A door slammed.

A figure cut through the fog.

Opening her door, she sprang into the wet night and started to run.