After Dark

by Beverly Barton

  Lane wished that James and Will would return with the coffee soon. She hated being alone with Edith, alone with Kent’s mother, the woman who had condemned her for his murder.

  “Thank you for allowing Will to come here this morning.” Edith offered Lane a forced, closed-mouth smile. “I feel certain that he’ll be the first person she wants to see when she awakens.”

  Edith sat perched on the edge of a green vinyl chair positioned in the corner of the waiting area. With her ankles crossed and her hands folded in her lap, she gave the appearance of being a genteel lady. Lane knew better. Edith Noble Graham Ware might have been born into a wealthy, blue-blooded old Southern family and reared as a lady of impeccable breeding, but in truth Kent’s mother was a ruthless business woman, a power-hungry grand dame and a first-class bitch.

  “Why would you think I’d try to keep Will away, knowing how much he and Mary Martha love each other?” Lane ceased her nervous pacing.

  “Considering the circumstances…. I couldn’t have blamed you if you hated me enough to—”

  “I think that for the time being, for Will’s sake, we need to forget our personal differences.”

  For the first time since she had known Edith, and that had been since her infancy, Lane thought the woman was beginning to look old. Despite her surgically maintained smooth face, her slender, petite figure and her dyed hair, Miss Edith didn’t appear youthful and vibrant anymore.

  Of course, the woman had lost her son only weeks ago, and today she had come very close to losing her daughter. Grief and worry had a way of aging a person. Whatever the reason, something had certainly taken the luster from Edith’s time-has-stood-still image.

  “Even though I’m quite grateful to you for allowing Will to come here today, I find it impossible to put aside our differences.” Edith rose from the chair and, with a regal strut, crossed the room to confront Lane. “I blame you for what happened to Mary Martha. She’s been distraught since Kent’s death. If your actions hadn’t taken her brother away from her, she wouldn’t have been half out of her mind and swallowed that overdose of sleeping pills.”

  “I realize that you’re terribly upset, but you can’t honestly blame me for the actions of a woman who has been mentally unstable all her life!”

  “I can and I do blame you! And until Kent’s death, my daughter hadn’t had a bad spell in quite some time. My children were very close to each other. Mary Martha loved Kent dearly, as he loved her.”

  Lane opened her mouth to speak, but from somewhere behind her, Johnny Mack growled a startling comment.

  “Mary Martha hated Kent as much as she loved him, and you, Miss Edith, know that as well as I do!” Johnny Mack stood just inside the waiting room doorway.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Edith hissed the words, then turned her back to Johnny Mack, dismissing him.

  “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

  He gave Lane no more than a glance as he zeroed in on Edith. When he came up behind her, she refused to face him.

  “I know the secret,” he whispered.

  Lane eased closer, wanting to hear what he was saying to Miss Edith. Had he said that he knew the secret? What secret?

  Edith shivered ever so slightly, but stood her ground, unmoving and unresponsive. Lane had seen Edith this way more than once—whenever she heard something she didn’t want to hear, she did her best to ignore it, just as she was trying to do now.

  “I know the dirty, ugly little secret,” Johnny Mack said. “Mary Martha told me all about it years ago. That night Kent caught me with her when I’d taken her home. You know, after I’d found her wandering around not far from the country club. She was tipsy and talkative.”

  Edith’s shoulders tensed. Lane waited, holding her breath, wondering what secret Johnny Mack was talking about.

  “She begged me to make love to her that night, but I refused.” Johnny Mack shot Lane a quick glance, a silent plea for understanding. “I told her that if the rumors were true, she might be my half sister.”

  “The rumors were true,” Edith said, her voice deadly quiet. “You knew as well as I did that John was your father. Why do you think I—” She cut herself off abruptly, as if she had caught herself about to confess to some personal secret sin.

  Surely, Johnny Mack’s true parentage wasn’t considered a well-kept secret. The whole town had heard those old rumors. No, whatever the secret was, Lane decided, it wasn’t something that was common knowledge.

  Johnny Mack persisted. “Do you know what Mary Martha said when I told her that I couldn’t make love to her because we might be brother and sister?”

  Edith whirled around, hands clenched in front of her, red nails bared to attack. “No one will believe you. Do you hear me? Whatever filthy lies you tell, no one will believe you.”

  “Won’t they? Doesn’t what I know explain why Mary Martha has been plagued with mental and emotional problems all her life?”

  “She’s simply delicate, the way my mother was delicate,” Edith countered, tilting her nose in the air.

  “That may be true, but—”

  “I refuse to listen to whatever story you’ve dreamed up.”

  Johnny Mack pushed, refusing to be silenced. Lane held her breath, waiting, wondering, halfway afraid of what truth he was about to reveal.

  “Mary Martha told me that it was all right if she and I had sex, that it didn’t matter if I was her brother. That she and Kent had been—”

  Edith screeched, then slapped her hands over her ears and keened loudly. Lane looked to Johnny Mack for help. My God! My God! Was he implying that…. No! It couldn’t be true. No matter how much she had hated Kent, no matter how badly he had treated her, had he actually been capable of…. No. Please, no.

  “Do something for her!” Lane demanded.

  Johnny Mack grabbed Edith and shook her soundly, then pried her hands from her ears and held her in place in front of him. “Kent had been sexually abusing Mary Martha since she was eleven years old.”

  “Nooooo…” Sobbing uncontrollably, Edith crumpled, falling helplessly against Johnny Mack’s chest.

  Lane gasped. Her knees gave way as her legs turned to rubber. She eased down into the nearest chair. Clasping her trembling hands together, she forced herself to breathe in and out slowly, calmly. And all the while Johnny Mack’s words replayed inside her head. Over and over again, like a litany from some sordid TV movie of the week.

  Kent had been sexually abusing Mary Martha since she was eleven years old.

  Chapter 20

  Buddy Lawler stormed out of his office. “What the hell’s going on out here?”

  Before any of his men could explain the ruckus, Buddy saw Glenn Manis being forcefully restrained by Sergeant T. C. Bedlow and Officer Mike Davis. This was a complication he had been expecting. After all, Glenn and Jackie had been an item for nearly a year now, so it was only natural that Glenn would be making some inquiries. But if he didn’t handle this situation just right, Glenn could wind up being a major pain in the ass.

  Buddy ambled over to Glenn and smiled. “What’s the matter with you, boy? You done gone loco or something?”

  “I ain’t loco,” Glenn said, struggling to free himself. “And neither was Jackie.”

  “Promise me that you’ll calm down and act reasonable and I’ll get T. C. and Mike to let you go,” Buddy offered. “But I’ve got to have your word that you’ll behave yourself.”

  “I’ll behave myself.” Glenn ceased his struggling, but his agitated breathing sounded like a snorting bull preparing to charge. “All I want is some answers to my questions.”

  Buddy motioned to the officers flanking Glenn. “Let him go.”

  They followed orders and released Glenn, who immediately dragged a handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped the sweat from his fat, red face. “Me and Jackie’s uncle Ronnie are making funeral arrangements for her and I need to know when her body will be released.”

  Buddy sighed,
undeniable relief spreading through him. The last thing he needed was to have to lock up Jackie’s boyfriend. The sooner the Jackie Cummings situation was over and done with and the woman was buried, the better for everyone involved, especially for Mary Martha. That was the reason he had demanded an immediate autopsy. Get the death ruled a suicide and put an end to it.

  “Why don’t you come on into my office, Glenn.” Buddy waved an invitation. He waited for his guest to precede him into his private quarters, before following him and closing the door behind them.

  “Have a seat.” Buddy indicated a wooden chair in the center of the room, then positioned his hip on the edge of his desk and crossed his arms over his chest. “I asked Doc Thompson, as a favor to me, to get the autopsy done today if possible. He finished up about thirty minutes ago and sent his report right on over. I’ve got it right here.” Curving sideways, Buddy reached behind him on the sturdy metal desk and picked up a file folder. “You can call over to the funeral home and have them pick up Jackie’s body in the morning.”

  Tears pooled in Glenn’s eyes. Poor bastard, Buddy thought. Apparently he really had loved Jackie, despite the fact that probably a fourth of the men in town had bonked her at least once. Hell, he could remember back in high school when Jackie had spread her legs for him and half the football team.

  “Did Doc Thompson agree that Jackie shot herself?” Glenn asked, then blew his nose loudly into his sweat-stained, white handkerchief.

  Buddy lifted the folder, slapped it down on the open palm of his hand and sighed dramatically. “I’m afraid so.”

  Making a sound somewhere between a snort and groan, Glenn shook his head repeatedly. “But it don’t make no sense to me. She didn’t have no reason to kill herself. We were talking about getting married, and she said that…well, that she was coming into some money soon.”

  “I can let you read a copy of the suicide note, if you’d like,” Buddy said. “But Miss Edith has already taken a look and said the handwriting was Jackie’s all right.”

  “Not doubting Miss Edith’s word or nothing, but I’d like to take a look at that note all the same.” Glenn lifted his wide butt just a fraction and stuffed his handkerchief in the back pocket of his pants.

  Buddy opened the folder and flipped through the pages, then lifted a sheet of copy paper and handed it to Glenn, whose hand quivered just a tad when he reached for the suicide note. As he scanned the message slowly, seeming to study each word, fresh tears formed in his eyes. He swallowed several times, apparently struggling to keep from boohooing like a baby.

  Buddy knew the words by heart. He had read the damn thing at least a dozen times. Please forgive me for taking the coward’s way out. I’ve done some terrible things in my life, but I hope that God will take me on up to heaven despite all my sins. If there was any other way. But there’s not. I am so very sorry. Jackie.

  The message said a whole lot, yet didn’t really explain a damn thing. But he had seen suicide messages that said less. And he had worked numerous cases where the person hadn’t even left a note.

  “I’m telling you, Buddy, this note don’t make no more sense than Jackie killing herself.” Glenn’s tight clutch wrinkled the paper. “Surely to goodness if something that bad was bothering her, she would’ve told me.”

  Buddy slid off the desk and walked over to Glenn, then placed his hand on the man’s shoulder and gave him a comforting squeeze. “I’m awful sorry about this, and I know you’ve got questions that I can’t answer. But they’re questions nobody can answer except poor old Jackie. Something awful must have been bearing on her mind for her to have resorted to suicide.”

  “I just can’t believe she did it.” Glenn sniffed several times, sucking back tears. “She didn’t own a gun. I don’t think she even knew how to use one.”

  Buddy patted him on the back. “The evidence is clear. Doc Thompson and I agree that Jackie shot herself. We may never know why. And as far as the gun goes, well…she took it from Mr. John Graham’s collection that was stored in the attic. Miss Edith distinctly remembers telling Jackie about the collection one day when they were discussing Miss Edith’s collection of teapots.”

  Glenn stood. The letter fell from his hand and floated to the tiled floor. Buddy wrapped his arm around Glenn’s broad shoulders and walked him out of his office, through the police station and outside to where his old Chevy pickup was parked by the curb. The sweltering sun hung low in the western sky, preparing for sundown. Glancing up and down the street, Buddy noted that there wasn’t much traffic and the sidewalks were nearly empty. Noble’s Crossing rolled up the streets after dark, becoming a quiet, sleepy little town. And that was the way he liked things. Nothing wild and wooly going on, at least not out in public. Nope, all the sex and sin in Noble’s Crossing went on behind closed doors. Mostly after dark.

  “You take care now,” Buddy said. “And let me know about the arrangements for Jackie’s funeral. Miss Edith will want to attend. And of course, I’ll be there.”

  “That’s mighty fine of Miss Edith. Jackie sure did admire that woman. She was all excited when she got the job as Mary Martha’s nurse.” Glenn choked up. Pursing his lips, he strained to keep from crying.

  Glenn got into the truck, looked point-blank at Buddy and shook his head. Tears trickled down his chubby cheeks.

  When the truck disappeared up Third Street, Buddy heaved a sigh of great relief. He had been dreading the confrontation with Glenn, not knowing for sure if he could convince Jackie’s lover that she really had committed suicide.

  Once back in his office, Buddy removed his cellular telephone from where it was clipped to his belt. Best to use his private phone for this call. He punched in the familiar number.

  They sure as hell had themselves a mess with Mary Martha. After all these years of emotional and mental problems, why had she chosen now, of all times, to try to take her own life? Was it because she simply couldn’t live without Kent? Or was it possible that waking and finding Jackie dead, she had just acted on impulse? Or had Mary Martha not been asleep and actually witnessed Jackie’s death?

  Edith answered on the third ring. “Hello.”

  He figured she had been waiting to hear from him. “Glenn Manis was just in to see me and I’ve dealt with that problem. He’s confused and in a lot of pain; but we talked things over, and I think he’ll accept the facts without stirring up a stink. After all, what else can he do?”

  “I’m not concerned about that nitwit Manis,” Edith snapped. “Johnny Mack Cahill is the man we need to be worried about.”

  “I don’t think Johnny Mack would do anything to hurt Mary Martha.”

  “You idiot! No, he’d prefer not harming Mary Martha, but he will if he thinks it will help Lane. Haven’t you got sense enough to know that if we don’t find a way to get rid of him, he’s going to repeat those vile things he said about Kent? And what happens if someone believes him?”

  Buddy squinched his eyes and gritted his teeth as his face contorted with anger. Damn the woman! Was Kent’s reputation all that concerned her? “Those vile things he said about Kent were true. Your precious son damaged Mary Martha beyond repair.”

  “Don’t you think I know that. I have to live with that knowledge every day of my life…every time I look at Mary Martha.” Edith cleared her throat. “We have to do something about Johnny Mack. And the sooner the better.”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “I’ll come by your house tonight, late. And we’ll discuss our options.”

  “Ten o’clock?”

  “Eleven,” she replied and then hung up.

  Buddy clipped his cell phone on his belt and fell back into the swivel chair behind his desk. If he knew Miss Edith, and he did, discussing ways to deal with Johnny Mack wouldn’t be her top priority tonight. Getting laid would.

  Johnny Mack didn’t want ten inches between them, let alone ten feet. But he simply sat there on the sofa in the den and watched Lane pace the floor. She had been nervous and edgy
since their return from the hospital. At first he’d chalked it up to concern over Mary Martha. But Mary Martha had survived her suicide attempt and, after a few days in the hospital, would return home. And Will wasn’t the cause of Lane’s distress. Once the boy had seen for himself that his aunt was all right, he had calmed down. So that left only one thing—Lane’s agitation was probably due to the little bomb he had exploded in Miss Edith’s face. A truth bomb, that would no doubt leave more than one casualty in its wake.

  “Want to talk about it?” he asked.

  “Yes, I want to talk about it.” Lane halted, planted her hands on her hips and confronted him. “Knowing the truth about what Kent did to Mary Martha, why didn’t you do something? Why didn’t you tell someone?”

  “What should I have done?” he asked. “Who should I have told?”

  “You could have gone to Mr. John or Miss Edith and told them. Or you could have gone to the police.”

  “And Mr. John and Miss Edith would have believed me, wouldn’t they? And there was no reason the police wouldn’t take the word of a trailer trash bastard over the word of the town’s golden boy, was there?” Johnny Mack got to his feet, reached out and grabbed Lane’s hands. She resisted at first, but when he tugged her toward him, she went willingly. “When Mary Martha told me that Kent had been sexually abusing her since she was eleven, she was half-drunk and upset with me because I wouldn’t…because I’d turned her down. Hell, a part of me didn’t even believe her.”

  “But a part of you did.”

  “Yeah, but dammit, Lane, there was nobody in this town who would have believed me. And my guess is that in the cold, hard light of day, with Kent at her side, Mary Martha would have denied it and called me a liar to my face.”

  “You could have gone to my father. He—”