As I wind down the mountain, I wonder about the motorcyclist. Did she make it okay to the truck stop? I can’t imagine undertaking a cross-country motorcycle jaunt on my own. I wonder if she has a concealed carry permit. That would get tricky because each state has different laws.
The town of Buckneck has its patriotic game face on, thoroughly bedecked for the Fourth of July. Baskets of red geraniums hang from the wrought-iron streetlamps. Most houses are festooned with some sort of starred and striped decorations, and one well-shorn lawn has red, white, and blue stars spray-painted on it. Original.
I grit my teeth as I pass the familiar brown-and-orange Meredith and Jenkins, LLP sign. The name Spencer should be on there—in very fact, it should be front and center. My husband does more work than Royston Jenkins, and Jack Meredith happens to be dead. But years into this gig, Royston still hasn’t asked Thomas to become partner.
I’m tempted to drop in on Charlotte and give her the day’s scoop, but she’s probably at The Haven anyway. Besides, I need down-time with Mira Brooke. I took this job because I could have part-time hours, but this week it feels like I’ve practically moved in at the spa.
Petey opens the door at the big house for me. I ruffle his mop of red hair. “You’re getting taller every day, cute little punk.”
He grins, showing the bright green bands on his new braces. “You know it. Someday I’ll be the tallest Spencer of all.”
The family dog, a miniature Pinscher named Thor, clicks up to me, then sits and wags his tail. I stare. “Is it my imagination, or is this dog learning some manners?”
“I’ve been reading up on obedience training since Ma said she absolutely won’t spring for it. I figured out I might be a dog whisperer.”
“Either that, or Velvet and Thor had some smack-down cage fight we missed.”
We laugh. My white fluff-ball cat, Velvet, has more than enough attitude to take on dogs three times her size. Most of the time she’s inside, but sometimes she escapes and tries to give Thor a what-for.
“How’s Mira Brooke?”
“Come on in and see for yourself. Dad’s kept an eye on her all day, but Ma lit into him when he let her take a nap on his chest. Said she could fall outta the chair or something.”
I follow Petey into the kitchen, where Mira Brooke sits in her baby seat, stuffing banana slices into her mouth. When she sees me, she squeals and throws her arms out, scattering sticky pieces everywhere.
I plant a big smooch on her forehead and Nikki Jo comes over with a wet paper towel to clean up the mess. “The house looks great,” I say. “You planning a big Fourth blowout while Andrew’s in?”
She sighs. “Blamed if I knew what his plans are. He said something about a little surprise. I’d like to know what gave him the notion I enjoy surprises. But yes—I want us to celebrate, no matter what he’s up to this trip.”
We stand in silence a moment, remembering that awkward Christmas with Helga, the Icelandic girlfriend who spoke halting English. It’s entirely possible things will get worse before they get better on Andrew’s dating front.
Petey perks up. “Tess, you have time to play a couple rounds?”
Much as I love playing video games with my brother-in-law, I need to spend more of my limited time with my daughter. “How about this weekend when I’m off work, okay?”
Petey gives an exaggerated sigh, then trudges off toward his room.
Nikki Jo springs right into her questioning as I extract Mira Brooke from the chair. “So…did they find anything? Was Zeke there?”
Erring on the side of too little information, I tell Nikki Jo they’re still digging and aren’t sure how many bodies there are, which is entirely true.
“I have to go back tomorrow, though. Stinking computer stuff.”
“Sorry, Tess. Well, I’ll be around and Andrew will be getting here, too. Roger has to go to his Veterans’ Club meeting. Just you rest your mind about Mira Brooke.” She squeezes her granddaughter’s cheeks. “She’s the light of my life, aren’t you, sugar cube?”
Mira Brooke lunges for her grandma. I wonder if she’ll ever know my mom or feel the same warmth toward her. Probably not, since my mom is in the Alderson Women’s Prison and hasn’t called me since last year. I have a feeling drug rehab isn’t going as well as they’d hoped.
I SETTLE A SQUEAKY-clean Mira Brooke in my lap, reveling in her soft Johnson’s Baby Shampoo smell. She snuggles into me, her chubby legs and arms swathed in fluffy pink pajamas. Her fair little fingers grip my hand as I begin to read a story from one of her thick board books.
I’ve nearly nodded off like Mira Brooke when my phone rings with Charlotte’s distinctive Wonder Woman ringtone. I pick up.
“You there?”
“Yes. What’s going on?”
She sounds like she’s walking, feet crunching gravel. “Nothing. But I’m here—outside your house. Can I visit a little?”
“Sure. Hang on while I put Mira Brooke in her crib.”
I tiptoe upstairs, checking to make sure the baby monitor is on before shifting Mira Brooke into Petey’s old crib. Thank goodness she’s a sound sleeper, like her dad. She barely stirs.
Outside the front door, Charlotte furiously bats at moths with her jade green envelope clutch. She’s one of the few people on earth who could look elegant doing this.
I hug her, catching a whiff of her rose-citrus perfume. I’m not sure what I smell like this time of day, but it sure isn’t rose-citrus.
“Coffee? I have some apple pie Nikki Jo sent over yesterday.”
Charlotte nods and makes a beeline for the couch, dropping into it. If we didn’t get along so well, her quietness would be unnerving. While I’m scooping fresh grounds into my French press, Charlotte finally pipes up.
“I’m dating.”
I peer around the partition that separates the kitchen and living room, trying to hide my surprise. “Well…that’s good!”
She frowns. “You think so? At a time like this?”
“Especially at a time like this. You need someone to lean on, someone to be there when your mother can’t. I know these past months have been grueling on you, Charlotte.”
“Right. I mean, it’s already July. The university has contacted me about teaching Ceramics next semester. They want to make me an Associate Professor. I’m starting to think I should go back, just to get my mind off everything.”
I serve up the pie on small plates, thoughts whirring. West Virginia University is all the way over in Morgantown, a good two and a half hours away. If Miranda gets worse or if anything happens, I’ll be first in line to deal with it. Which I don’t mind, but what if I do something wrong? I can’t bear for our friendship to be severed.
Charlotte walks into the kitchen to help. “I see that look on your face. Don’t stress it. I’ll check in with The Haven every day. Mom has a private nurse, remember? I can get back here fast if something happens.”
We sip our coffee in silence. Finally, the curiosity overtakes me. “So…who are you dating?”
She laughs—a rich sound I will miss so much. “You’re not going to believe this.”
“Hit me.”
Stretching her long fingers, as if she’s gearing up to sculpt some pottery, she gives me a sheepish look. “The Good Doctor.”
I suck in my breath. “But his daughter is your age!”
“See, I knew you wouldn’t like it.”
Doctor Bartholomew Cole, whom we’d nicknamed The Good Doctor, was a major person of interest when I was hunting down Rose Campbell’s killer last year. Even though he was exonerated, it’s still awkward when I run into him doing rounds at The Haven.
Charlotte shovels a bite of pie in her mouth. “Please don’t lecture me. Of course I know how old he is. I told you I like older men.”
The steel edging Charlotte’s words warns me to back off. Anyway, I want to be happy for my lonely friend.
“But if you leave?”
“I’ll be here this summer. Doc—Bartholome
w—can keep me posted on Mom when I go.”
“But Rosemary?”
The Good Doctor only discovered Rosemary was his daughter last year and I wonder if he’s had any success getting to know her. The woman has been hostile to us on more than one occasion.
“She’s…well, she’s Rosemary, you know? Driving around in that big truck, smoking like a chimney. I need to spend more time with her, but it’s hard with my mom.”
“No, don’t waste time trying to get on her good side. I figure if she’s going to like you, she will. So does she at least get along with her dad?”
“They’ve met up a few times. She’s back at work at the Bistro Americain. I hear she makes a regular salary in tips alone.”
We laugh. It’s not a stretch to believe the curvy, flirty Rosemary would be well-tipped.
Seriousness darkens her eyes. “Really, Tess, I’m more concerned about leaving you. What about this bone dig? Is this a dangerous situation? Does Thomas know there are more bodies?”
It’s a gentle rebuke. Charlotte knows I haven’t told Thomas. It’s not that I want to hide things from him, but sometimes he just can’t handle the truth. After all, I’m doing my job, raking in some income for our little family. I can’t help it if there are dead women’s bodies turning up at my workplace.
“Perfectly safe. The place is crawling with cops. Zechariah Tucker is allegedly the bane of criminal masterminds everywhere, and he’s the lead detective. So I’m not worried.”
“No, you’re not,” Charlotte says slowly. “And that’s what worries me.”
7
I‘VE MET WITH A PSYCHOLOGIST twice, at the dean’s insistence. He said I needed a break from teaching, so I’ve been put on hold, as it were, for a year. I explained to him that life is suffering and our separation is just a natural part of things. Before I can understand anyone, I must understand myself. I need this time for introspection, for renewal.
I had a letter from your foster mother, Karen. I can’t imagine how she got my address, but perhaps you shared it with her? I’d rather you tell no one where I am now. I don’t want your mother harassing me again. Karen said you are the model child, making straight A’s. She urged me to bring you home, but of course she doesn’t understand our situation. I am not ready to support you and I am a bit distressed that she would even suggest it. What does she look like, this caregiver of yours? Is she single? Kind? Perhaps I should look in on her.
Or perhaps I should visit you; take you on a trip. I have not visited West Virginia in a long while.
“WISH I DIDN’T HAVE to work these long hours.” Thomas nuzzles me with his morning-stubbled face. “This neglect case requires so much time. These things are so draining but no one else will touch them.”
I know that’s about all he’ll tell me, but it’s obvious his work weighs heavy on his mind. It strikes me that I could’ve been a neglect case. I learned to fix my meals at a fairly young age because my mom was either working or too tired to come up with something. I ran around wherever I wanted in the trailer park, even at night. My afterschool program consisted of memorizing snippets of my neighbors’ conversations as the words drifted from their windows. And yet, by the grace of God, I survived, and now I’m able to thrive in the Spencer family.
I smooch Thomas’ cheek, then his lips. Unruly blond bangs drop over his eye and I smooth them back. “I love you,” I whisper. Tears flood my eyes.
He understands I’m thinking about my mom. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Wonder if there’s some reason she can’t write or call.”
“I don’t know. I wrote her after the shootout at Rose’s. You’d think she could call or write to say she’s glad I survived.”
He nods. “So what’s going on at the spa? Mom said you have to go in today? I thought Detective Tucker was still there.”
I roll out of bed and stretch. “He is. They’re still investigating. But Dani needed me to be around for the computer repair guy.”
Thomas raises his eyebrows.
“Don’t freak. I’m going to take the Glock.”
He nods in approval. “As long as Detective Tucker is around, I won’t worry.”
Much as I like Detective Tucker, I will worry until my Glock is securely tucked in its holster. Its familiar weight on my belt is a tangible reminder of the weight of responsibility I carry with it.
“There’s something we need to talk about sometime.” Thomas strips off his shirt, prepping for the shower. I try to read his glance: perturbed? stressed? excited? Those hazelnut-brown eyes tell me nothing.
“Okay, sure. How about supper tonight? Maybe I could make meatball subs.”
Thomas strides to the bathroom. “Thanks, but how about I treat you? We can have a home-date. I’ll pick up subs from Giorelli’s. Maybe Mom wouldn’t mind babysitting Mira Brooke a little later tonight, especially since Andrew’s coming in. He’ll want to see her, too.”
I throw my arms around him. “You’re an angel to me, and worth your weight in gold. We’ll talk tonight.”
I PULL INTO THE SPA parking lot, next to Byron’s van. He’s nowhere in sight, but I can’t see far in this early-morning fog. Here on top of Grover’s mountain, you’re often sitting smack in the middle of a cloud.
As I unhook my seatbelt, I touch the frame of my Glock, reminding myself I don’t have to be afraid. Last year’s showdown with a revolver-wielding psychopath taught me one unforgettable lesson: don’t take a knife to a gun fight.
Fog snatches my voice and muffles it as I call out in the parking lot. “Byron? Anybody here?”
Someone jogs my way. Byron’s dark hair and glasses come into view, emerging from the mist like some bodiless alien. “Hey there, Tess. I was just waiting for you up at the spa.”
Only he wasn’t waiting at the front door, like a normal person would. He came from around back, where the bodies were.
“See any police?” I ask.
He looks surprised. “No. Why, are they still around?”
So he’s going to play dumb. “Sure are, and they’re not going to appreciate you sneaking around their dig. Come on inside.”
As I unlock the door, I can almost feel Byron’s glare, burning holes in the back of my head. I don’t need to apologize for warning him to stay where he’s supposed to.
Teeny meets us at the door, shifting from one foot to the other like he has to go to the bathroom. He gives Byron a once-over, then ignores him. “Tess, I have a couple massages today. Could you just send them on back when they get here?”
“But there’s nothing on the books.” I boot up the computer, then move out of Byron’s way as he sets up his laptop.
“These are on my own time.” Teeny offers no other explanation.
While I’m pretty sure my administrative duties don’t extend to taking Teeny’s personal appointments, I’ll make an exception since I have nothing else vying for my time. “Sure thing. By the way, have you seen any cops here today?”
Teeny laughs—a heavy, braying sound. “Nope. Must be sleeping in.” He shambles on down the hall.
I can’t imagine Detective Tucker abandoning a hotspot littered with skeletons. Something else must have come up…something big.
BYRON TAPS AT KEYS, chews on pens, and generally drives me nuts for hours with his nervous energy. When an overly-tanned platinum blonde shows up, I steer her toward the massage room. I wonder what kind of gig Teeny is running. I’ll be sure to mention this next time I talk to Dani, although I wonder what she’s up to anyway. What kind of owner abandons her business when dead bodies show up?
Around eleven, a police car pulls in. Detective Tucker makes for our front door while his underlings go around back. Today he’s wearing faded Wranglers and a beat-up Dr. Pepper T-shirt. Topping the look is a WVU baseball cap, which lends an oddly distinguished air to the ensemble.
Byron glances up but doesn’t say a word. Detective Tucker motions for me to follow him down the hall. He stalks into the hair salon, closes the door behind me, and plop
s down in a styling chair.
“Something’s come up.”
“What?”
“Woman went missing yesterday. She was seen going into a truck stop bathroom, but no one saw her leave. Reason I’m telling you is that it’s not far from here.”
A heaviness drops on me, literally pushing me to a sitting position in the closest chair. Sudden nausea rises. I rest my head in my hands.
“You okay?” He walks to my side.
I can’t really say I am, but I push past my light-headedness. “The woman…did she have a motorcycle?”
“Sure did. It was left there overnight, which is why the employees started to wonder. How’d you know?”
“We saw her yesterday. She came by the spa, looking for a gas station. Byron—the computer repair guy—he told her how to take a shortcut through the woods to get there.”
“Oh, right, I remember hearing that engine rev. Did she give you any information as to who she was, where she was from?”
I replay her words in my mind: “I’m taking some time off from my marriage…seeing the country. Carpe Diem, you know. I’ve never been this far east.” I repeat them to Detective Tucker. “She didn’t say her name. Do you think something happened to her? She was looking for a place to eat and stay overnight.”
“Could’ve been any number of things, since no one saw her leave and the surveillance cameras don’t cover that area. She could have taken a ride from someone or walked to a restaurant. Her gas tank wasn’t filled. We’ve searched the truck stop and asked at local hotels and hospitals, but so far, nothing.” He gives me a searching look. “You feeling any better? You looked like you were going to pass out.”
I nod, slowly straightening up. Probably nothing happened to her. But I admire that woman…her joie de vivre, her excitement to be on an adventure. What kind of bravery does it take to travel cross-country on a motorcycle? I hope things will work out with her husband, if he’s a good man.
An ashen-faced cop stumbles into the salon, absently brushing dirt from his pants onto the clean white tiles. He looks at me and hesitates, but Detective Tucker nods. “Go on. News?”
Trial by Twelve Page 4
