Death by the River Read online

  Derek shook his head. “I bet that was a scary situation for you.”

  “It was.” Her voice cracked. “When three guys start manhandling you, you want to run away. I tried to get Dawn to go with me, but she refused and stayed with Beau. So I headed back to the road and walked to town.”

  “At night?” His voice edged up. “That was dangerous, Leslie.”

  She took in the sunlight skipping over the tops of the buildings along the street. The smell of grilling hamburgers from Mo’s Diner lingered in the air.

  “Staying at the party was dangerous. A virgin hanging around a bunch of drunk and horny football players would only end badly.”

  Derek edged closer. “I don’t want you to put yourself in that situation again. The only guy I want drunk and horny around you is me.”

  Leslie considered the inkling of possessiveness in his voice. “But you never try anything with me when you’re drunk or horny.”

  He sat back. “That will change one day.”

  Near the edge of town, the buildings retreated and tall oak trees covered with Spanish moss replaced them. The gentle breeze ruffling the treetops eased her tension.

  Leslie turned off Main Street and headed down Devereaux Road toward the remains of St. Francis Abbey.

  Derek hooked his hand around her thigh. “I want your first time to be special. But that doesn’t mean we can’t fool around at The Abbey.” He bobbed his eyebrows. “What do you say?”

  She let her foot off the gas, slowing as the road narrowed, her sense of dread returning. “Are you sure you want to go to those ruins? The place is so eerie.”

  Derek flashed a boyish grin. “Hell yeah.”

  The trees around them dipped and the spires of St. Francis Abbey peeked out. The car cruised along the road and the ruins of the towering white marble and brick structure rose behind a patch of trees. A horrible chill enveloped her. Leslie slammed on the brakes, not wanting to go any farther.

  Derek leaned in front of her. “Is something wrong?”

  Tearing her gaze away from the ghastly structure, she sought refuge in his eyes and the feeling passed.

  “Can we skip the tour of The Abbey? I don’t think I’m in the mood.”

  “We can do whatever you want.” He lightly kissed her lips. “I only want to make you happy.”

  * * *

  The smell of sweat and freshly cut grass greeted Beau as he strutted onto the practice field in his jersey and warm-up sweats. He tightened his grip on his practice helmet. The team, already on the field, was in the middle of their stretches. He was late.

  Coach Brewer, his protruding belly hanging over his gym shorts, walked between rows of guys, blowing his whistle to keep time with the exercises he insisted on before and after every practice.

  Beau’s attention drifted to the metal bleachers and the cheerleading squad working on their routine. Dawn was there, in a short, white cheerleading uniform accentuating her tiny waist. He loved how the bright red St. Benedict cougar hugged her breasts. The other girls on the squad, whose names eluded him, shouted their silly rhymes for victory and team spirit as Dawn watched them kick, split, and jump with enthusiasm.

  She turned to the field and, spotting him, waved.

  The wind caught her long blonde ponytail and brushed several strands over her shoulder, making it appear shorter like Leslie’s. Though they were physically identical in every way except for their hair length, Beau wished Dawn was the smart-mouthed bitch he really wanted.

  Before he could turn away, Dawn came running out to greet him. It was the last thing he needed. Coach Brewer would be pissed.

  “Hey, baby.” She frowned at him. “You okay? I heard Madbriar called you into her office.”

  Her voice wasn’t Leslie’s. He’d memorized the husky, sexy sound of her sister. The way she raised her tone ever so slightly when she was about to say something sarcastic. Dawn had none of Leslie’s nuances—her voice was utterly lifeless. Unlike her sister, Dawn worked hard on portraying a wholesome image by avoiding cursing and smoking, which he admired. But her love of red lipstick and clumpy mascara aggravated him. He had told her more than once not to wear so much, but she didn’t listen. She just put on more, thinking he liked it. Beau longed to wipe the color from her mouth, to make it clean and pure.

  He gave her a warm smile, hiding his thoughts. “She wanted to talk to me about my father contributing to the gym fundraiser.” He glanced at his buddies, who were warming up on the field.

  “I heard it was because you were giving Derek and my sister a hard time.”

  He snapped back around to her. How dare she contradict him? “No way, baby.” He laced his voice with extra charm to sound convincing. “Why would I waste my time on that loser Foster and your sister? I already have the sweetest Moore girl.”

  She squealed. Putty in his hands, Dawn melted against him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

  “I knew it wasn’t true,” she whispered, nuzzling his cheek.

  He smelled her skin. It wasn’t there—the heady aroma of clover always lingering on Leslie. Another difference between them, but one he was sure only he noticed.

  “Beau, get your ass over here,” Coach Brewer yelled from the center of the field while walking between players.

  “Gotta go.” He unwound her arms from his neck. “See you after practice.”

  “I love you,” Dawn barely managed to get out before he turned away.

  He pretended not to hear her and hurried to the field while putting on his helmet.

  Love wasn’t what he was after with Dawn. He was saving that for someone far more deserving.

  Chapter Three

  Leslie turned her car down a tree-lined street composed of tired old homes, with peeling paint, sagging porches, and varying degrees of disrepair. It saddened her to see the residences crying for attention. One of the older neighborhoods in St. Benedict, the atmosphere reflected the work-weary attitude of the people struggling to hold on to their dreams.

  She pulled into the cracked cement driveway of a familiar yellow wooden house. With a rusted tin roof, broken white picket fence, and bent mailbox, the residence mirrored others on the street. Despite its unsettling appearance, the home contained happy memories.

  She shut off the engine. “Is your mom still working doubles at the diner?”

  Derek shoved open his door. “Yes. Thank goodness.”

  Leslie got out of the car, astounded by his comment. “What makes you say that?”

  He pointed to the bruise on his cheek. “You know how she feels about fighting. She’s going to kill me when she sees my face.”

  “You can barely—”

  The chug of an approaching engine cut off her reassurances.

  A blue pickup truck, with a bent front fender and cracked windshield, pulled into the driveway alongside her car.

  Leslie blocked out the sun with her hand, a sinking feeling settling over her. “I guess you’re going to find out real fast.”

  “Thought I might beat you home.” A waiflike brunette stepped out of the truck.

  Leslie decided it was the polyester yellow waitress dress that made Carol Foster look a lot older than her forty-two years. It accentuated the deep crow’s feet and circles rimming her eyes. She saw little of the pretty young girl her father told her once made the male hearts in St. Benedict beat faster.

  Derek went to his mother’s side and helped her unload the groceries from the back of the truck.

  “What are you doing home early, Mom?”

  “I got the afternoon off.” Carol nodded to Leslie. “How have you been, dear?”

  She went to Derek’s side, nervous about what would happen. “I’m good, Mrs. Foster.”

  “I told you to call me Carol, sweetheart.” She ambled up the drive next to her son. “No need for all the—” Her eyes honed in on her son’s cheek. “What happened to your face?”

  Leslie’s insides clenched, and she winced.

  Derek coolly kept going to the porch
steps, ignoring his mother’s reaction. “It’s nothing.”

  “Nothing, my ass.” Carol dashed up to him and turned his chin to get a closer look. “Who did this?”

  He tugged his head away. “It was an accident. I ran into Beau’s elbow.”

  Carol’s cheeks paled. “Gage Devereaux’s son? Why were you fighting with him?”

  “I wasn’t fighting.” The dejection in Derek’s voice cut across Leslie’s heart. “He turned around and caught me with his elbow in the hall. No big deal.”

  Carol wheeled around to Leslie. “Were you there?”

  Leslie cautiously approached, twisting her fingers as her guilt grew. “He was coming to my rescue.”

  “Your rescue?” Carol marched to the porch steps. “What did Beau do to you?”

  Derek waited for Leslie to climb the steps before following her with the groceries.

  “He’s been stopping Leslie in the hall a lot lately. Saying upsetting things.”

  Carol’s green eyes widened. “Beau Devereaux? Why would he pick on you?”

  “Because he hates me.” Leslie rolled her eyes, the sick feeling she got whenever thinking of Beau resurrected. “Always has, ever since the night he got with my sister. He keeps telling everyone he wants to be friends, but I don’t buy it. The way he looks at me, the things he says ... He doesn’t want to be friends, not by a long shot.”

  Carol yanked her keys from her handbag. “Sounds like you need to steer clear of him, Leslie.” She opened the front door, but it stuck halfway. Leaning her shoulder into the warped wood, she shoved hard to get the door to budge. “I’ve been meaning to fix this.”

  A single mother working twelve hours a day deserved a break, but Leslie didn’t know how to help Derek or his mother. Getting ahead in St. Benedict took more than a strong work ethic; it took the good graces of the town patriarch, Gage Devereaux.

  Leslie followed Carol and Derek inside. The sparsely furnished living room had a simple green sofa, a wobbly oak coffee table, and a cream oval rug covering the dull hardwood floors. The only new item was the flat screen TV mounted on the wall above the dusty mantle.

  “I haven’t cleaned.” Carol ran her hand over her forehead, hiding her worry lines. “But you’ve seen the place messier than this.”

  Leslie put on a reassuring smile, her heart aching for the woman. “You should see my room. My mother’s always complaining about it.”

  Carol set her five-gallon purse on a rickety, round table next to the kitchen. “And what about your sister? Do you two share your propensity for messy rooms?”

  Leslie shook her head as she considered her sister’s OCD-like ways. “No. Dawn is the perfect one. Her room is always spotless.”

  Derek took the groceries to the kitchen counter. “But her personal life is a mess.”

  “That’s not a kind thing to say.” Carol slapped her son’s shoulder, frowning at him.

  “Why not?” Derek tossed the book bag from his shoulder to the kitchen counter. “She’s well aware of how he feels about Leslie, but still, she says nothing to him.”

  “You don’t know that.” A pensive line across her lips, Carol went to the kitchen and flipped on the lights. “Right now, Dawn is caught up in having the attention of a guy she thinks is the catch of St. Benedict. Dating the football star and heir to the Devereaux fortune seems like a dream come true. She’s probably afraid to speak up and risk losing him.”

  Carol’s expression bothered Leslie. She sensed the woman was hiding something.

  “You seem to know an awful lot about what Dawn is feeling, Missus ... I mean, Carol.”

  Carol lifted a milk from one of the grocery bags. “I was in your sister’s shoes once.”

  Leslie swallowed hard. “You were?”

  Derek removed eggs from a grocery bag. “Mom dated Gage Devereaux in high school. Didn’t I tell you that?”

  Leslie gave him a wide-mouthed no you did not tell me that look.

  “So, what happened?” More than a little intrigued, Leslie moved into the kitchen. “Why aren’t you the one living in their big plantation house outside of town?”

  Carol tossed her head. “There isn’t much to tell. Gage and I dated for a couple of years, and then we went off to separate colleges.”

  “That’s when she met my dad.” Derek put the eggs in the fridge. “After she quit college.”

  “Don’t remind me.” Carol sucked in a ragged breath. “We weren’t even married two years when your father took off for California.”

  Derek shook his head and headed back to the counter to finish unpacking the grocery bags.

  Leslie observed the interaction between mother and son. She knew Derek’s father skipping town was a sore spot. He never talked about him. Her curiosity about Carol’s past with the Devereaux family got the better of her.

  “Is Beau like his father?”

  A slight smile added a touch of warmth to Carol’s sad eyes. “I don’t know Beau, but Gage was very kind and considerate of other people. Even though he was the richest boy in town, he never acted like he was above anyone else.” Her smile vanished. “I’m going to take a shower.” Carol nodded to Leslie. “Good seeing you, sweetheart.”

  Derek waited until his mother disappeared down the narrow hall to her bedroom before he approached Leslie.

  “Did she seem upset to you?” Leslie hooked her pinkie around his. “When I asked about Mr. Devereaux, she changed.”

  “Nah. She’s upset about me getting hit. I’ll get an earful after you’re gone.”

  She rested her head against his chest, wishing she could stay, but she could hear her mother’s voice in her head. “I should go. My mother wants me home for dinner.”

  Easing away from him, Leslie went to the freezer and found a pack of frozen peas. She returned to his side and gently pressed the bag against his bruised cheek.

  “Keep this on for a few hours. I can’t have my boyfriend walking around school and looking like the other guy won.”

  Leslie kissed his good cheek and scurried to the door. It took a stiff yank to open.

  She strolled down the driveway, rehashing what she’d learned about Carol’s connection to Beau’s father. She knew there were secrets buried in their small town, especially about the Devereaux family. Hints about their nefarious past had circulated among the residents of St. Benedict as long as she could remember. But Carol’s disclosure about her history with Gage Devereaux had not been one of those tales.

  Images of Beau’s father and Carol filled Leslie with a strange sense of foreboding. If Dawn continued dating Beau, would she end up like Derek’s mother? A broken woman, struggling to survive.

  The chill she’d experienced on the road to The Abbey resurfaced. She didn’t know why, but the daunting thoughts about her sister’s future made her think of the sinister spires of the abandoned abbey. Unnerved by the sensation, Leslie made a beeline to her car.

  She backed out of the Fosters’ driveway and decided to take the long way home, avoiding The Abbey altogether.

  Chapter Four

  The beauty of the sunlight filtering through the oaks lining Leslie’s street offered a moment of distraction as she drove through her upper-middle-class neighborhood. Nestled in a quiet part of St. Benedict known as The Elms, her house wasn’t far from the entrance to the lands owned by the Devereaux Estate.

  Leslie pulled up to the three-car garage. She cringed when she looked at the clock on the dash.

  Late again.

  She grabbed her book bag and headed toward the back door, hoping her mom wouldn’t be downstairs.

  “You were supposed to be home ten minutes ago, Leslie Elise,” Shelley shouted from the kitchen.

  Leslie sighed and shut the garage door. “Yeah. Sorry.”

  Her mom rounded the corner, her honey-blonde hair back in a clasp.

  No doubt about it. Shelley Moore could intimidate Satan himself if she wanted to.

  Her mother’s blue eyes sparkled with irritation. “You were at tha
t boy’s again, weren’t you?”

  Leslie scowled. “His name is Derek, Mom. Not that boy. I hate when you call him that.”

  “And I hate when he makes you late for dinner.” Shelley pointed a spatula at her daughter, her lips nothing but a thin, angry line.

  Leslie followed her mother into the kitchen. She crossed the threshold, her tennis shoes squeaking on the brick floor. She hiked her bag onto the counter with a heavy thump.

  “I was only ten minutes late. It’s not a big deal.”

  “We have rules for a reason.” Her mother wielded the spatula again, pointing it at Leslie like a sword. “And you know better. Books on the floor, not the counter.”

  Leslie deposited her bag next to the breakfast bar. “Where’s Dawn?”

  “Not home from cheerleading practice yet.” Shelley carried a bowl of vegetables to the table in the open dining room.

  Leslie gritted her teeth. “Is Beau bringing her home?”

  “Of course. You know he always brings her home after practice.”

  Great. The princess gets to be driven home by her asshole boyfriend and I get crap for spending ten extra minutes with mine.

  A few choice curse words slipped from Leslie’s lips.

  “What was that, young lady?”

  “Nothing. Dad home yet?”

  Shelley pointed her spatula to the family room next to the kitchen. “In his office. Go tell him it’s time for dinner.”

  Leslie hurried through the family room toward her father’s office. She knocked and gingerly pushed the door open.

  Soft overhead lights stretched across a paper-strewn desk. His head bowed in concentration, John Moore’s slight frown told her he wasn’t happy with what he read. A stack of manila folders lay neatly on the corner of his mahogany desk, each representing a case.

  Leslie leaned against the doorframe and smiled. The only attorney in St. Benedict, she couldn’t remember a time when he had not been working on a case.

  “Hey, Dad.”

  John glanced up from the file, his glasses slightly askew.

  “What are you working on?”

  He ran his hand through his thinning hair and leaned back, resting his head against the leather seat. “I’m finishing up one of the contracts for the brewery.”