All the Pretty Girls - J. T. Ellison [52]
She knew she was going too fast as she tried to take the right turn. She braked hard, and the X5 slid into a 90-degree turn onto Belle Meade Boulevard. As the Beemer tried to obey its master and turn on a dime, Whitney lost control. The SUV weaved precariously, flashing across the turning lane right into the two bronze Thoroughbreds that graced the entrance into the Belle Meade enclave.
The life-sized metal horses bucked into the air and crashed onto the street behind her. The impact didn’t stop her SUV, which continued across the median into the oncoming traffic on the Boulevard. Drivers swerved to miss her, but one car stayed its course. Whitney’s BMW plowed into and over the Audi station wagon, crushing the car and its three occupants.
In her panic, she’d neglected to fasten her seat belt. Without the restraint to hold her in place, the impact hurled Whitney through the windshield as if she were a missile. Her left foot caught in the wiper blade, and her broken, bloody body splayed on the shiny hood, mingling with the splat of a couple of lovebugs, all three joined forever in death.
Twenty-One
Baldwin had just arrived at the airport, checked his bag at the curb and was heading inside to grab a cup of coffee before his plane returned to Nashville, when his cell phone rang. He looked at the number and smiled. Taylor had tried to call him late last night, or early this morning, seeing as the time code on the message was 3:30 a.m. She hadn’t left a message. He must have slept through the ring. He hated missing her calls, and wondered why she had tried him in the middle of the night. Sometimes it got to the point that they spoke to each other’s voice mail for a whole day, trying to match up.
“Hi, sweetheart. Everything okay?”
Taylor’s voice was a little shaky, but she sounded all right to him. “I’m fine. When are you coming home?”
“I’m at the airport now, my flight leaves in half an hour.”
“Good. I, uh, we, uh—”
Baldwin heard a beep in his ear, glanced at the display and interrupted her. “Hold on a sec, Grimes is calling my other line.” He hit the flash button. “Hey, Grimes.”
“Baldwin, you haven’t gotten on the plane yet, have you?”
“Oh, no.”
“Oh, yeah. And the media is broadcasting the story already.”
“Wait a second, would you? I need to get off the other line.” He clicked over. “Taylor, I have to go. Let me call you right back.” He hung up before he heard an answer and switched back to Grimes.
“Where is she?”
“They found her body off Highway 81 right outside of Roanoke, Virginia. The guy who found her called his girlfriend and told her to call the local Fox affiliate before he called the police. Wanted his fifteen minutes of fame. And before you ask, no, he doesn’t look good for the crime. But we need to get up there ASAP. I’ve got a plane chartered here at the private airstrip. Go grab a cab and have them run you to this terminal, okay?”
The stress in Grimes’s voice was palpable. Baldwin started walking toward the exit with purpose, firing questions as he made his way through the throng of people.
“What else do you know?”
“Other than the national news has already picked it up before we’re on the scene? Well, she was strangled, I know that for sure. But the highway patrol officer I talked