A Candidate for Murder Read online

  Books by Joan Lowery Nixon

  FICTION

  A Candidate for Murder

  The Dark and Deadly Pool

  Don’t Scream

  The Ghosts of Now

  Ghost Town: Seven Ghostly Stories

  The Haunting

  In the Face of Danger

  The Island of Dangerous Dreams

  The Kidnapping of Christina Lattimore

  Laugh Till You Cry

  Murdered, My Sweet

  The Name of the Game Was Murder

  Nightmare

  Nobody’s There

  The Other Side of Dark

  Playing for Keeps

  Search for the Shadowman

  Secret, Silent Screams

  Shadowmaker

  The Specter

  Spirit Seeker

  The Stalker

  The Trap

  The Weekend Was Murder!

  Whispers from the Dead

  Who Are You?

  NONFICTION

  The Making of a Writer

  Cary Amberson’s father is running for governor of Texas.

  Cary Amberson is running for her life.

  When the phone jangled me awake, I groped for it and squinted at the clock. Two fifty-five. Rubbing my eyes with one hand, I managed to mumble something into the phone.

  The voice was slurred again, but I knew who it was. “Why did you come nosing around here?” she asked. “Are you that stupid?”

  I was awake in a hurry and sat up in bed, cupping the phone and keeping my voice down. With two closed doors and a hall between us I didn’t think that Mom and Dad could hear me, but I didn’t want to take chances.

  “You called me,” I told her. “You wanted to tell me something.” She didn’t answer, so I said, “I think you wanted to warn me.”

  “That’s what I’m doing now! Don’t come around here anymore!”

  “I need to know what you were going to tell me.”

  “You know too much already. And they know you know.”

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 1991 by Joan Lowery Nixon

  Cover illustration copyright © by Tim Barrall

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Delacorte Press, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, a division of Random House LLC, New York, a Penguin Random House Company. Originally published in hardcover by Delacorte Press, New York, in 1991.

  Laurel-Leaf Books with the colophon is a registered trademark of Random House LLC.

  Visit us on the Web! randomhouse.com/kids

  Educators and librarians, for a variety of teaching tools, visit us at RHTeachersLibrarians.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.

  eISBN: 978-0-307-82746-3

  Random House Children’s Books supports the First Amendment and celebrates the right to read.

  v3.1

  For a special friend

  NORMA JEAN BACHO

  Acknowledgments

  With grateful appreciation for their advice and encouragement to political administrative advisers Allie Page Matthews, Deputy Director of Office of Child Support Enforcement, Health and Human Services Department, Washington, D.C.; Donald G. Carlson, Chief of Staff, Office of Congressman Bill Archer, Washington, D.C., and Houston, Texas; and Norma Jean Bacho, Staff Assistant, Office of Congressman Bill Archer, Houston, Texas; to Joe Nolan, Assignments Director, KPRC-TV, Houston; and to Kevin Henry, Director of Security, The Adolphus, Dallas, Texas.

  Contents

  Cover

  Other Books by This Author

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  I stepped out onto the darkened country club terrace and shut the heavy carved door behind me, muting the music and the laughter coming from the ballroom. It was like popping them into a bottle and holding my finger over the top. If I took my finger off—if I opened the door—the noise would blast out like fireworks.

  Later, I’d go back, but for a little while I needed to be alone.

  I walked over to the railing and leaned on it, taking deep breaths of the warm night air and wishing that Justin were with me. The moon was as slight as a chalk mark, not bright enough to pierce the blackness beyond the terrace; and a pungent bitter-orange fragrance rose from the shrubs below the railing. A setting for romance. But Justin was dancing with Cindy Parker, and I was trying to avoid obnoxious Mark Steadman, who was intent on stalking me with his camera. So what if it was Mark’s party. He didn’t have to be such a dork.

  “Hey, Cary! One more!” he’d yelled at me just before I’d ducked into the ladies’ lounge to escape. “If your dad gets to be governor of Texas, these candids of you will be valuable.”

  “Leave me alone!” I snapped, but the flash went off before I could close the door between us.

  It was a rotten party, and for at least a few minutes I wanted out, so when I peeked out the door and saw that Mark was busy talking to someone and wouldn’t notice me, I slipped out of the rest room, through the hallway, and outside to the terrace.

  My thoughts were suddenly interrupted by Mark’s booming voice. I turned to see him standing near one of the large ballroom windows, his dark hair in his eyes, his tie crooked. No matter what Mark was wearing, he never seemed put together the right way.

  I knew if Mark looked outside he might be able to spot me in the light that spilled through the glass. I slipped out of my shoes and silently ran in my stocking feet across the cool, smooth slate to the place where the terrace makes an abrupt turn as it curves around the dining area. In my shadowed, corner niche I pressed against the wall, trying to become invisible.

  A deep voice spoke so close to me that I jumped, ready to run again, but I saw the glowing end of a cigarette arc through the air and fall to the grass, and I realized the man who had spoken was standing just around the curve, his voice carrying in the night’s stillness. “There won’t be any problem? You’re sure of this?”

  A second voice answered. It was a strange, scratchy voice that sounded as though each word had been dragged over gravel, then spit out. “Positive. We’re back in the ball game—at least as long as the status quo doesn’t change.”

  “And it’s up to us to see that it doesn’t.”

  There was silence for a moment, and I felt creepy. I didn’t like eavesdropping.

  The first man said, “I don’t mind telling you, I was worried. I never thought Gil would—”

  “Well, now he won’t. You could say that because of his big mouth, he’s up a creek.” His chuckle was as rasping as an emery board scraping a broken fingernail.

  The door to the terrace was shoved open, and Mark bounced through. “Cary?” he yelled. “I know you’re out here. Lee saw you. Where are you?”

  Feeling as guilty as though I’d been caught snooping on purpose, I stepped from my dark corner, waving my arms as I tried to signal Mark
to be quiet, but it was too dark for him to get my message. He caught only a shadowy movement and galloped toward me.

  “There you are!” he shouted.

  “Mark!” I warned. “Be quiet!”

  I could hear approaching footsteps on the side terrace as Mark aimed his camera and said, “Gotcha!”

  The brightness of the flash blinded me. “Mark,” I pleaded as I rubbed my eyes and tried to see. “You’re not funny.”

  “I’m not trying to be funny,” he said. “If your dad gets to be governor, I’m going to sell these pictures of you. Maybe to People magazine.”

  “Go jump,” I muttered. I stumbled into my shoes and stalked toward the door to the ballroom. There was only silence behind me, but I didn’t dare look around to see if the two men on the terrace were watching.

  Mark trotted after me. “Justin’s looking for you,” he said. “I’ll help you find him.”

  “I can find him myself!” I threw open the door and plunged into the noise, and the brightness, and Justin’s arms.

  “Where were you?” he asked.

  “Hiding from Mark,” I answered.

  “How about a picture of the two of you?” Mark asked, and before we could answer, the camera flashed again.

  “No more pictures.” Justin looked down on Mark. “Unless you want to eat your camera.”

  “Okay, okay,” Mark said and grinned. “That was the last one on this roll anyway.” He laid his camera on a small, carved table near the terrace doors, and zeroed in on the buffet table.

  Justin smiled at me. “Slow music, Cary,” he said. “Come on. Let’s dance.”

  I melted against him, my arms around his neck and my head against his shoulder. I closed my eyes as we swayed back and forth in rhythm with the leisurely beat.

  Justin is tall and maybe a little too thin, with red-orange hair and freckles. He might not be the best-looking guy at school, but I don’t care. He looks great to me, and he has a super sense of humor. We laugh at the same things and like the same movies—even the same things to eat. I love being with Justin. In fact, I think I love Justin.

  When the music stopped I pulled back, smiling, but I could see beyond Justin to the terrace door. It was slightly open, and just outside, barely discernible in the shadows, was a large, stocky man dressed in a dark blue business suit. He squinted as he peered from face to face. It took just an instant before his gaze met mine, and he stopped as though he’d been hunting for me. His look was so intense that his eyebrows drew down into a frown.

  I didn’t know how to interpret it. Was he angry? Was it my imagination, or did he even look a little scared?

  Justin was following my gaze. “Who’s that?” he asked.

  The man drew back, closing the door behind him.

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  “That was some look he gave you. I wonder what’s bugging him.”

  “Maybe he was one of the men on the terrace,” I said, and explained, adding, “I didn’t mean to listen in, but I couldn’t help it.”

  Justin glanced in Mark’s direction and mumbled, “Mark can really be a nerd.”

  At the moment I wasn’t concerned about Mark. I shivered, remembering the strange expression on the man’s face. “The way that guy looked at me was scary,” I told Justin. “What I did wasn’t that bad. I wasn’t listening in on purpose.”

  “Maybe the men were talking about something top secret,” Justin suggested.

  I made a face. “What have you got in mind? C.I.A. and spies?”

  He laughed, then said, “What were they talking about?”

  “I can’t remember much about it,” I told him. “Some guy was giving them problems. I don’t think what they said was important, and I didn’t understand it anyway.”

  “If that guy at the door was one of them, then he’s just an old grouch,” Justin said. “Don’t worry about him, Cary. You’ll never see him again.” He looked toward the buffet table and added, “I’m getting hungry. Are you?”

  “Yes,” I said, and tucked my hand in Justin’s as we made our way to the buffet table. Justin was right. The guy was just an old grouch. Forget him!

  Later, when I came in, Mom raised her head from the pillow to ask sleepily, “Was it a good party, Cary?”

  Justin’s good-night kiss was still warm on my lips, and nothing else mattered. “You know it,” I said.

  I looked toward Dad’s side of the bed, but it was empty. “Dad hasn’t come to bed yet?” I asked. “It’s awfully late.”

  “I came upstairs about eleven thirty,” Mom told me. “Charles was still meeting with his campaign managers.”

  “There weren’t any cars in front of the house,” I said. “They must have gone.”

  Mom sat up and swung her feet to the floor, wiggling her toes into the slippers next to the bed and turning on the lamp on the bedside table. “He’s been working too hard on this campaign. I’d better go down and remind him that he needs his sleep.”

  She pulled on her robe as she walked toward the open door into the hall, and I followed her.

  Dad’s campaign. I thought of Mark and the way some of the kids were acting. “It’s kind of hard to get used to the idea of Dad running for governor,” I said. “It makes everything so … so different.”

  Mom put an arm around my shoulders and gave me a quick hug, resting her cheek against mine. “There’ll be some changes in our lives,” she said, “but most of them will be interesting and exciting.”

  I smiled and hugged her back without answering. Dad had announced his candidacy three days ago. Since then the phone had hardly stopped ringing, our house was usually filled with people I’d never seen before and whose names I couldn’t remember, Dad had been missing sleep, and Mark had been even more of a nerd than usual. Interesting and exciting changes? I had my own opinion about that.

  Early Sunday afternoon people began arriving, and I couldn’t get out of the house fast enough. I smiled and nodded and shook hands, glad that they all were too busy to want anything more from me. Some of the faces were familiar, but there were new ones, too; and everyone was talking about television slots, telephone appeals, speaking tours, and all the stuff that has to do with a political campaign.

  My best friend Allie’s house was a safe haven. Allie and I swam in her pool, listened to the music on a couple of new discs, and talked and talked—about the party some, but mostly about guys.

  Allie’s mouth is a little too big, her nose is a little too long, and she’s at least two inches taller than any of the other girls in our class. No matter how many times Allie’s mother reminds her, Allie slumps, and if a dish crashes in the school cafeteria we can be pretty sure who dropped it. If we’d been given grades a few years ago when we took the Neiman Marcus class on good manners for preadolescent young ladies, Allie would have flunked, and what’s more, she wouldn’t have cared. But in spite of being a klutz, Allie’s one of the best-liked girls at Gormley Academy—where we go to school—maybe because life almost always looks good to her and she isn’t uptight about anything. I always feel good when I’m with Allie.

  Allie’s mother came out to the patio carrying a phone. “The call’s for you, Cary,” she said.

  I raised my head from the chaise lounge where I’d been tanning. “I wonder what Mom wants.”

  “It’s not your mother,” Mrs. Richards said. “It’s a boy.”

  “Justin?” I wondered why he’d call me here.

  As her mother walked back into the house, Allie grinned at me and whispered, “Just pretend I’m not listening in.”

  I took my finger off the mute button. “Hi, Justin,” I said.

  But it wasn’t Justin. “I suppose you think what you did was funny!” someone shouted in my ear.

  “Who is this?” I asked.

  “It’s Mark,” he said.

  I wondered what was bugging him. “Oh, Mark, your party last night was great. Allie and I were just talking about how much fun …”

  He interrupted. �
�Sure, sure, great party. You showed me how much you liked it.”

  “What’s the matter with you?” I asked.

  “You know.”

  “No, I don’t. I really don’t.”

  “I want my film back,” he said.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You weren’t the only one on that roll,” he said. “I took a lot of pictures of the party, and I want them back.”

  I took a deep breath. “Listen to me,” I said. “I’m beginning to figure out what you’re talking about. Someone took the film out of your camera, and you think I did it.”

  “I know you did it. You or Justin.”

  Now it was my turn to be angry. “We didn’t touch your camera, and we didn’t take your film! And I don’t like being accused of stealing!”

  He began to simmer down. “I—I didn’t say stealing exactly. I mean, I thought you might think it was funny to take the film, but it isn’t.”

  “We didn’t do it.”

  There was a pause and this time his voice was almost pleading. “You were the only one who got mad about having your picture taken, Cary. Nobody else did. If you didn’t take the film, then I don’t know who else to ask. I really want my film back. I haven’t got any other pictures of my party.”

  I calmed down, too. “Maybe one of the guys just wanted to kid you,” I told him. “You’ll probably find the film in your locker tomorrow.”

  “You think so?”

  “Sure. This all has to be a joke of some kind. Why would anybody want the film for any other reason?”

  “I guess so,” he mumbled. His voice became more hopeful as he added, “Cary, if you hear anything … I mean, if you find out who … I want my film back.”

  “If I find out anything about it, I’ll let you know,” I said. I hung up the phone, placing it on a nearby table, and said to Allie, “I don’t know why anybody would play a joke on Mark. He can’t take it.”

  “He’s pretty much of a nerd,” Allie agreed.

  I felt a little guilty. After all, we had all gone to his party, hadn’t we? And a lot of his other parties over the years. “He tries to be nice,” I said. “He’s really not so bad. He can even be kind of fun sometimes.”