Murder in the Smokies - By Paula Graves Page 0,25
the gloom, almost blinding him for a second.
It took a moment for his eyesight to adjust enough to see what she held between her thumb and forefinger. It was a small marble, the stone orb a unique swirl of bright lime-green and darker teal. Sutton’s breath caught for a hitch as he realized he’d seen the marble before.
A long, long time ago.
“This is what I tripped on.” Ivy turned the marble over and over, studying the twists of color as if she could find an answer there. “Looks like a kid’s marble.”
“It is,” Sutton said, his mind reeling through the implications of this particular marble showing up here on this particular night. His gaze slid back out to the dark tree line where he thought he’d seen movement earlier. The darkness was still and silent now. If someone had been out there before, he was long gone now.
But there was no if about it, was there? Someone had been here. Someone had left that marble.
And he knew who.
He realized Ivy was looking at him. He met her curious gaze in the ambient glow of the flashlight. “It’s mine,” he added. That much wasn’t a lie. The marble had belonged to him once, many years ago.
Ivy’s brow creased a little more deeply. “You carry a marble around? What, like a good luck charm or something?”
He took the marble from her fingers and dropped it in his pocket. “Guess it didn’t turn out so lucky for you. Sorry it tripped you.”
Her puzzled expression didn’t clear right away. “No harm done.”
“You know, if we saw anyone,” he added, already moving toward the door, “it was probably some kids or something. Maybe they’d planned to play a prank until you scared them off.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Ivy followed him slowly back inside, still looking thoughtful. “You go on back to bed. I’m going to check all the doors and windows before I hit the sack again.”
He should offer to go with her, to make sure the place was locked down securely, but the green marble seemed to be burning a hole in his pocket. He gave in to his roiling curiosity and went back to the spare room, closing the door behind him so he could figure out in peace what to do next.
He checked his watch. Almost midnight. Which would make it eleven back in Chickasaw County. Late, but not egregiously so. He picked up his cell phone and dialed Delilah Hammond’s cell number.
She answered in a sleepy growl after two rings. “Damn it, Sutton, just because you can’t sleep doesn’t mean the rest of us can’t.”
“I know you said you never hear from Seth, but do you ever hear anything about him? Maybe what he’s doing these days or where he is?”
She was silent a moment. “What makes you ask that now?”
He considered telling her about the marble, then remembered she hadn’t known anything about Seth’s con job back then. Sutton had been suckered out of that marble thanks to his own stupidity as much as Seth’s duplicity, and he hadn’t wanted to admit his mistake to anyone.
“I guess it’s just being back here in Bitterwood,” he answered instead. “Makes me nostalgic for the old days.”
“Seth hasn’t been your friend in a lot of years.” She sounded more puzzled than defensive.
“I know. I just wondered if you had any idea where he was these days or what he was doing.”
She paused again before answering. “He’s in Maryville now. At least, that’s what he told me when he called this afternoon.”
Sutton sank onto the edge of the bed, his gut tightening with dismay. Maryville was a short, easy drive from Bitterwood. Not far from Clingmans Dome, either. “He called you this afternoon? Out of the blue?”
“Yeah. Said he’d been thinking about me and wanted me to know where to find him if I ever needed him. Says he’s got a real job. Legit.” Her hopeful tone made Sutton’s stomach ache. Even though Delilah was a smart, sensible woman who knew her brother as well as anyone, there was a part of her that wanted to believe he’d changed, as unlikely a possibility as it might be. Sometimes love was more free with second chances than was wise.
“Where’s he working now?”
“Some trucking company there in Maryville.” She stifled a yawn. “I wrote it down—wait a sec—here. Davenport Trucking in Maryville. You thinking of looking him up?”
Sutton looked at the green marble nestled in the curve of his palm. The teal threads of color inside the green