by Jeff Abbott
She looked at me through her fingers, tears streaming down her face.
“I-I don’t like Mr. Loudermilk very much, but I couldn’t think he was a killer. My God, I’ve known him practically my whole life, and he’s the mayor! He’s Jenny’s dad! I figured it had to be… someone else.” I leaned back against the creaky plastic of the chair and closed my eyes for a minute. Dee must’ve known that Parker killed Greg when she heard about Greg’s death. I tried to imagine her response: cover the precious Loudermilk ass. She’d sworn Jenny to secrecy. Then why had she shown me the barbed wire in her studio? Showing me the wire pointed more fingers at her family, not fewer. I opened my eyes and made myself swallow past the heaviness in my throat. Unless she was sending us a signal. Maybe she was afraid of that vaunted temper as well, but wasn’t willing to risk herself-or her daughter-by coming forward. If the police fingered Parker, she wouldn’t have to-at least not until the trial, when he would safely be in jail. I could understand Dee’s fear, but I thought she’d taken the wrong tack. The tough, cool Dee might be able to keep a horrifying secret, but Jenny, pulled between loyalty to her father, terror over what she thought he’d done, and grief over her dead lover, hadn’t coped with the pressure. “Okay, Becca. I know this has been tough. Is there anything else that you can tell me? Did you see anyone else around?” She shook her head. “No, I didn’t. I was just glad there hadn’t been a scene on the front lawn. I went straight home.” She wiped sweat from her palms on her faded jeans. “You really think he did it, don’t you?” “It’s possible, Becca. I won’t kid you. I think Jenny must know. Did she ever have a problem with booze or pills before?” Becca shook her head.
“Not really. I mean, we drink beer every now and then at a party, but neither of us is much of a drinker. I don’t like having to pee as much as you do when you drink beer and I don’t think Jenny likes it. She just drinks to be cool.” Suddenly tears filled her heartbreaker eyes.
“God, I don’t want to lose her.” I took her hand and she squeezed my fingers. “I think you just did a lot to help get her back. Let’s go see how she’s doing. Then maybe you and I can go see Junebug Moncrief together.” She wiped her eyes and nodded. We left the cafeteria; she walked with perfect posture. She wasn’t going to show weakness, not in this case. A doctor I didn’t know was with Dee and the others in the waiting room. Dee’s eyes went to Becca as we walked back in and then fastened on me. Her eyes, reddened by tears, stared into mine. Parker was nowhere to be seen. “Mrs. Loudermilk, please, how’s Jenny?” Becca attempted, but Dee cut her off. “Jenny’s not doing well. Hello, Jordan.” Dee’s voice had a forced calmness to it. “Dee. Do you know where Parker is?” She shook her head. “No, I don’t.” “Why has he left town, Dee?” I forced myself to ask. She took my arm and steered me away from everyone else, to the water fountain. I saw Becca and the gathered parents watch for a moment, then turn away to talk in quiet tones. She sagged then, a little of the Loudermilk pride seeping out of her. “God, I’m a stupid bitch. Stupid, stupid, stupid.” I placed cautious hands on her shoulders. “Look. I know you saw him at the Mirabeau B. that night.” She stiffened under my palms but didn’t look at me. “I guess you think I was protecting him,” she said in the most toneless of voices. Her shoulders shuddered and I steadied her. “No, I think you were trying to protect yourself and your daughter. But for God’s sake, why didn’t you just tell the police you’d seen him there?”
“He’s-my husband. And he’s a dangerous man when he’s crossed. I thought the police would figure out he’d killed Greg on their own, and that way-he’d never blame Jenny or me. We wouldn’t be the ones to turn him in.” “Has he beat you, Dee? Or Jenny?” She looked up at me with old, old eyes. “Oh, no. He’s not the type to beat. He’d just kill us straight out if he wanted to.” I went downstairs to the main hospital lobby; Becca didn’t want to leave while Jenny was still in bad shape and I was loath to try to convince her to do so. And after my talk with Dee, I felt sick and shaky. I could only imagine the guilt she felt over Jenny’s suicide attempt. I found a pay phone and called Bob Don; but there was no answer. I called Junebug. He sounded exhausted.
“No one’s seen Parker. He’s vanished. I’ve got everyone looking for him to try and let him know about Jenny. You sure you don’t want to press charges against him?” “Yes, I do, and you might want to as well.” After eliciting a promise that he wouldn’t be mad at Becca for not immediately coming forward, I relayed her and Dee’s stories. I heard Junebug’s breath hiss out in a long sigh. “What a goddamned mess. And him being mayor, too. This is just the sort of crap that those tabloid shows love to gobble up.” “Well, if you decide to run for mayor, I guess it would help if your opponent was serving time,” I quipped. Humor seemed out of place, but I needed to avoid thinking about Jenny, even if just for a moment. “Honestly, Junebug, who cares?
We just need to find him.” “Let’s say, Jordy, that you’re right and Parker killed Greg. Still doesn’t explain about what happened to Freddy.” I took a slow breath. “Look, I’ve wondered-and don’t say that I’m crazy-if Parker might have something to do with these bombings.”
“Yeah, I made that joke about him owning the construction company, but-” “Listen, Junebug. I saw that man watching the Mirabeau B. burn.
The look on his face was downright eerie, like he was getting nearly sexual pleasure from it. And his daughter told me he has a love of fire.” “Then he ought to be setting fires, not exploding bombs. And why kill Freddy?” “I can’t explain everything right now,” I answered in a huff. “You’ve got to find Parker to get all the answers.” “God,”
Junebug muttered, and I could imagine him shaking his head in disbelief. “What the hell gets into folks? Why do they think murderin’s gonna solve a single problem? I got to get a search warrant out for his house and his business. Lord have mercy, will this be a mess.” I leaned against the cool concrete wall of the hospital lobby.
“I think I’m going home. Any luck on the Boston side?” “Nope. Doreen Miller seems to be made of air.” Junebug coughed, like he was coming down with a summer cold. “And you know, the whole setup with Intraglobal seems fishy. Their office space was leased in the name of Michael Beasley.” “Who’s Michael Beasley?” “He’s listed as some officer of Intraglobal. I called Lorna a few minutes ago, and she claimed she never heard of him.” I thought of those files that Candace claimed Lorna had obliterated. Was Lorna covering up for someone?
Herself? This mysterious Michael Beasley? “Am I the only one who thinks this is getting goddamned complicated?” I asked. “No, Jordy, you’re not.” “What was Lorna doing when you called?” “She said she and Mark were watching a movie. She was wondering when you were going to come home.” “She’ll have to wait a bit longer. I’m going over to see Candace.” “I think that’s a real good idea, Jordy.” Junebug’s voice sounded odd. “What do you mean by that?” “Just a good idea. I-well, hell, it ain’t none of my business.” “Say whatever you’re going to say, Hewett.” I call him by his first name whenever I get impatient with him. “Don’t take her for granted, Jordan,” he snapped back.
“That’s all I’m saying. Lorna’s a nice girl and all, but Candace-well, Candace is special.” My jaw worked. I hadn’t ever expected to hear such words regarding Candace from Junebug. I mean, they were friends and had known each other a long time, but I never thought that he thought she was special. “Yeah, Junebug, she is special. I’ve always thought so.” “Good. I’m glad to hear that. Well, if we find Parker I’ll give you a call.” “Thanks.” I hung up and stared at the phone for a moment. Then I hurried out into the hot summer night.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The lights were on in Candace’s house, and music drifted from the back porch. I paused at the side of the house, listening to Mary-Chapin Carpenter’s sweet-edged voice sing a lament of forsakenness. Not a good sign. Candace always played Mary-Chapin’s in-your-face songs when she was feeling mad. I tended toward Chris Isaak. And when we
were feeling romantic, well, there was no one who could hold a candle to Patsy Cline. I thought I probably wouldn’t be hearing Patsy’s elegant voice tonight. She sat on the back porch, sipping sangria she’d probably mixed herself, the musk blaring without too much concern for the neighbors. I rapped on the porch’s screen.
She frowned at me and leaned over, turning the music down low. “Have they carted her off yet to the hoosegow? Are you here to have a celebratory drink with me?” Candace asked dryly. I sat down beside her on the porch swing, easing because of the soreness in my arm. “No, she’s still there.” Ice barely rattled in Candace’s glass as she sipped her wine. She set down her glass, went into the kitchen, brought out another glass, and poured me some sangria. She handed it to me and watched me take a sip. Sitting down again next to me, she said, “Jordy, we need to have a serious talk.” “I know. Would you like to go first or should I?” The rim of the glass was against my lip and I kept it there, afraid to drink, afraid to talk. I had a sudden fear: she’s had enough of this mess, enough of me, and she’s getting out. I sat frozen, not wanting to hear her, not wanting to say what was in my heart. “I will.” Candace swirled her sangria in her glass. “I take it you still haven’t talked to Lorna about all her lies?” “No.” “I see.
Since Lorna’s still roaming free, why are you here?” I told her quickly, about Jenny’s overdose and Clo’s duplicity. She didn’t say anything or look at me, watching the fireflies pirouette under the shadowy trees. Finally she spoke: “Clo is not the villainess here.
She’s a good person, and the best goddamned nurse you could have ever found for your mother.” This I was not expecting. “Listen, Candace, she lied to us! She was practically in cahoots with Greg Callahan to frame me.” “This is the way that it always is with you, Jordy,” she said softly, her voice an arid whisper above the wind that moved through the trees like a dancer through a crowd. “The trust starts.
You let yourself really get close to someone. And then you find fault with them, and you get the hell out. That way you don’t have to deal with them anymore.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You make it sound like I was in love with Clo or something.” ‘Trust and love are different things, I think, although trust is a simple kind of love. That’s something men just never seem to get.” Candace shifted in her chair and sipped at her wine. She looked at me with her piercing blue eyes. “You haven’t really trusted anyone since you found out that Bob Don was your daddy, Jordy.” I drank down some of the wine before answering her, collecting my thoughts. “That is absolutely ridiculous.” “Is it? I don’t think so. Sure, you’re upset with Clo, but having her gone means one less emotional connection in your life.
Looking at her situation, it would not be hard to forgive her. You keep alternating between thinking Lorna is as innocent as the new-driven snow and thinking she’s guilty as sin-maybe even Greg’s killer. You’re always bickering with Gretchen; God forbid you make peace with her and attempt to have a fully mature relationship with your father and your stepmother. And as far as you and I go, I’m really tired of only being your stout support.” She set her sangria down on the porch table and her gaze held mine. “You could have been killed when those mailboxes blew up. I came within inches of losing you and you didn’t seem to notice how upset I was. Now you run off helter-skelter, sticking your nose in where it has no business being, and I wait for you to get hurt worse. Like that black eye. What if it hadn’t been Parker Loudermilk beating you up but that crazy Tiny Parmalee? And now you’ve got your ex-girlfriend, who I know is a liar, shacked up in your house, trying to win you back. And I’m just supposed to sit here, not be bothered by this unholy mess, and watch.”
“She’s not trying to win me back,” I answered automatically. I breathed in as soon as I said it, trying to suck the words back into my throat. Lorna had tried. I closed my eyes. I hadn’t even thought what wear and tear these past few days had been on Candace. “Yes, she is, Jordy. I’m not a fool. She’s still in love with you. My only consolation is that she’s even more messed up than you are, so I don’t think she’ll succeed. She loves you and she’s more afraid of that than anything else.” A thickness sat in my throat, one I couldn’t swallow past or cough up. Believe me, I tried. “She did try to get me back.
She wanted me to go to bed with her. I told her no. I told her-I told her that I’m in love with you.” I’d never said those words to Candace.
I was afraid and there always seemed tomorrow. I wanted to reach out for Candace’s hand, feel her warm fingers against my palm, feel her life. And, God, I didn’t want her to turn away from me. “Goddamn you, Jordan Poteet,” she whispered. “If you were going to tell that to someone, don’t you think it should have been me?” “Yes, I should have.
But I’m not good at this love crap, Candace. I don’t know how to do it right; I mean, be a couple. Be in love.” I felt like a dunce, the uncoolest person to ever draw breath. “You’re such a man. Hopeless.”
She shook her head. “You don’t have to do love, Jordy. It’s not like lunch or scoring well on a test. You just have to love. Don’t you see the difference?” I didn’t answer and she reached over, touching my chin gently and turning my face back to hers. “You’re scared to death of me, aren’t you? Is that why Lorna still beckons-because you don’t have to love her the way you love me? She makes life easier.” An odd tightness collected in my chest. The mysteries of women and love demanded bravery. “I never thought of it that way.” Candace studied me. “Then you go and think about it some.” She stood up, collecting her pitcher of wine and her glasses. I watched her go inside, then come back to the door. “Good night, Jordy.” I stood. “Wait a minute! I told you that I loved you and you don’t have anything to say to me?”
“You didn’t tell me you loved me, Jordy. You told me you’d told your ex-girlfriend you loved me. Come back and sit a spell with me when you’ve learned the difference.” And the door shut in my face, firmly, with a click that kicked at my heart. It couldn’t be true. I was not that messed up. I wasn’t cutting myself off from folks; look how many of them I still had in my life. Candace was nuts or drunk. Then why did I feel like I’d been pierced with a cold steel sword and laid open like a surgeon’s practice cadaver? I leaned against my car, still parked out in Candace’s driveway. The night air growled like a restless giant, and high above, heavy clouds dangled, ready to answer a prayer for rain. I wished the goddamned downpour would just come, come and drench me in the street, wash me clean of all my sins and failings. The clouded sky mocked me, rumbling flirtatiously, not offering even a meager drop. Miss Twyla’s house across the street was dark, except for one kitchen light. Poor Miss Twyla, I thought. Alone in this world. And I realized with a start that if I didn’t have Candace, I’d feel a loneliness that Sister or Mark or Bob Don would not be able to fill. I’d never had a successful relationship before and now the one I considered good was crumbling like stale tobacco between my fingers. Because I was scared, and I was letting Lorna call the shots. I glanced back at Candace’s house. Was she watching me from a window? All the curtains were drawn. I hoped she was. I hoped she still had enough patience in her heart to want to watch me leave. The light over at Miss Twyla’s went out. She and Nina must be retiring to bed, exhausted from planning their battles against Lorna and adding coins to their war chest. I had my own battle to fight and those two would just have to stand in line. I got in my car and drove back to my house, letting my anger and resolve boil.*** She was still up, watching the news when I got home. A bowl of popcorn sat in her lap and she was slowly nibbling. She was in a T-shirt and shorts and looked far, far too much at home in my house. “Well, hello,” she said as I walked in. “We gave up on dinner for you. Mark and I scarfed a frozen pizza and your mother had some tomato soup. Arlene called, she’s not going to be back until around two in the morning. Do you want anything?” I walked past her, snapping off the giddily grinning meteorologist describing the storm alert we were under until three A.M. “Yes,
I do. I want some answers.” “Uh, okay,” she said, setting the bowl of popcorn aside. “What’s wrong?” “What’s wrong, Lorna? Oh, that’s rich. That’s really rich. You waltz back into my life, try to get me back into your bed, your boss gets murdered, another guy gets blown up, a girl’s tried to kill herself, the woman I love is ready to drop me, and you want to know what’s wrong.” The words stung her. She stared up in defiance. “What is your problem? Are you laying all the blame for this on me?” “Why not?” I shot back. “Because Greg’s the one that stirred up everything!” she retorted. “I wasn’t the one who got someone pissed enough to kill me!” “I’m pissed enough right now, Lorna.” I took a deep breath. “You destroyed some of the files you accessed using Candace’s computer. I know you did. You lied to me and you could have destroyed evidence in a murder case. Why those files, Lorna?” Her dark eyes bored into mine. “I didn’t destroy anything, Jordan.” “Quit your lying.” “What, did Candace manufacture this little story? Obviously she wants to turn you against me. She’s pretended to be my friend, but she really loathes me. I can tell. She thinks she’s better than me.” Her tone turned ugly. “If you’re the liar I think you are, she is better.” Lorna looked away from me, her eyes traveling across the wall of photos of Sister and me in our youth. “You’re so goddamned smug. So superior in your small-town lightness. You do belong here, Jordan, not in the real world. You live in some Ozzie and Harriet fantasy of what life should be like-” “No, I don’t. I live in the real world. I live in the world of busting my ass and taking care of my family and having my friends and just trying to get by. And I don’t lie to people.” “I told you, I didn’t destroy any files.” “You know, there should be backup tapes of any of Intraglobal’s files, Lorna. Most companies do that.” I laughed hollowly. “But then, Intraglobal isn’t most companies, is it? Most companies aren’t committing fraud. Most companies don’t have folks who do work for them getting blown up like poor Freddy. Most companies don’t have silent partners who conveniently disappear.” Her eyes widened. I leaned down into her face. “Like this Doreen Miller that they can’t seem to find.
