“Look here, Claire,” Jeremy said. “If you want to work something out with Anne Marie, you have to come with me now. If she thinks you don’t trust her, she’s certainly not going to want to help you.”
“Is that the offer you made to Courtenay before you killed her?”
“You shouldn’t make accusations like that,” Jeremy said. “It’s dangerous.”
“Why did you have to kill Courtenay?” Claire said. “I mean, after you tried to kill Meredith the same way you killed Mamie?”
“I’m warning you,” he said. “If you want us to play nice, you better zip it.”
“Kind of sloppy to use the same tea, twice,” Claire said. “As soon as Mamie’s toxicology report comes back, I’m betting the cops will think so, too.”
“You just don’t know when to shut up, do you?” Jeremy said.
Bright moonlight glanced off the barrel of the gun he raised. Adrenaline pulsed through Claire’s veins, and the roar of the falls seemed to get louder.
“Nice gun,” Claire said. “Is that a crucial part of Anne Marie’s divine ministry?”
He gestured toward the path with the gun.
“Go back to the parking lot,” he said. “Walk slowly or I’ll shoot you in the back.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Claire said. “You’re going to have to shoot me right here.”
“Fine with me,” Jeremy said.
He released the safety on the gun. Claire waited for the feds to rush in, but nothing happened. Where in the hell were they? With a jolt she realized they were probably hoping for more incriminating admissions, and they didn’t care if Claire got shot in order to deliver them. Claire began to slowly back up toward the stone wall behind her.
“Since I’m going to die anyway,” Claire said, “tell me, Jeremy; I can understand why you killed Mamie, to get the insurance money, and Courtenay, seeing as how she knew all of Knox’s secrets; but why kill Meredith?”
“It was an accident that Meredith drank the tea,” he said. “She’s not important.”
“If they determine Mamie’s death was not from natural causes,” Claire said, “the insurance companies won’t pay out a penny.”
“The chemical compound in willow root is bio-identical to aspirin; that’s what made it so ideal for killing Mamie. We knew she had an aspirin allergy, plus the prescribed drugs she was on would make even the smallest dose toxic. Combine that with her age; it was a safe bet.”
“The police chief has already figured that out,” Claire said. “You’re not going to get away with it.”
“He’ll have to prove it first,” Jeremy said. “That’s why we can’t afford to have any loose cannons running around.”
“Like loose cannon Courtenay, you mean,” Claire said. “And now loose cannon Claire.”
“I’ll give you the same choice I gave her,” he said. “You can jump over that wall, or I’ll shoot you in the head. It’s up to you. You might even survive the fall.”
“You don’t believe that,” Claire said, “or you wouldn’t offer it.”
“It’s up to you,” he said. “I’m giving you five seconds to decide. One, two …”
He put both hands on the gun, raised it, and aimed it directly at Claire’s head. Claire’s heart leapt; where were the friggin’ feds?
“That will be too many deaths in one week,” Claire said. “All you’re doing is drawing more suspicion on Anne Marie.”
“Three, four ...” he said.
Claire dove sideways into the shadows and rolled in the dirt and leaves. The gun went off, and he missed her, but he might shoot again. She scrambled to her feet and ran, only to trip over a tree root and fall, skinning her hands and knees. She looked back in time to see Jeremy drop the gun, scream, and clutch one of the hands that had been holding it. His blood looked black in the moonlight. Claire hadn’t heard another shot, but then she thought the FBI sharpshooter had probably used a silencer.
“You took long enough!” Claire yelled. “Son of a bitch!”
Agents came running from every direction, along with her cousin Sean, out of breath and pale with fear. Sean held out a hand, Claire took it, and he pulled her to her feet. He pulled her into his arms and embraced her.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know they would let it go so far.”
Claire was trembling all over, and although she wanted to, she was damned if she was going to cry in front of them. Sean let her go and looked her up and down.
“Are you all right?” Sean asked her. “As soon as I heard he had a gun I started running. I thought they were going to let him shoot you.”
“Me, too,” Claire said.
There were so many agents around Jeremy that Claire couldn’t see him. Agent Brown slowly walked over to where Sean and Claire were standing.
“Are you crazy?” Sean asked him. “She could have been killed.”
“Good job,” Jamie said to Claire.
Claire slapped him hard across the face, and then she cursed him. Jamie just continued to smile at her as he rubbed his cheek. After she ran out of curse words, Claire lifted her shirt up and pulled off the wire taped to her chest, with one big, painful rip. The pain was worse than bikini wax.
“Son of a bitch!” she said. “That hurt.”
“Careful now,” Agent Brown said.
“Take me back to town,” she said to Sean. “This instant.”
“I’m going to need her to sign a statement,” Agent Brown said to Sean.
“I’m not signing anything for anybody,” Claire said. “And if I have to walk home I will.”
“Don’t call her, and don’t come near her again,” Sean said, “unless you want to see all of this on the news tomorrow.”
Claire pushed past Jamie and walked around the cluster of agents surrounding Jeremy, who was being suspiciously quiet. She was sure at any second someone would stop her, but no one did. Sean caught up to her and grabbed her hand.
“Claire, I’m so sorry I let you get sucked into this,” he said. “I had no idea they would let it go so far.”
“That man doesn’t give a shit what happens to us,” Claire said. “As soon as we get to the lodge, we’ll get someone from the state park to drive us down the mountain. I don’t want to be anywhere near that sociopath ever again.”
“I don’t think they’d make you ride with Jeremy.”
“I’m not talking about Jeremy,” Claire said. “I’m talking about Agent Brown.”
“Where’s Claire?” Scott asked Maggie.
“Off with Ed somewhere, probably,” Maggie said.
They were standing by the bar in a packed Rose and Thorn. Scott had to shout to be heard over the loud music, as Scooter and his band played an aggressively cheerful traditional Irish tune. Patrick was playing a drum and singing, so Sam was tending bar.
Because everything was on the house, everyone was pretty drunk. Scott was sipping the one beer he was allowing himself, while Maggie and Hannah were throwing back shots of whiskey. Maggie’s face was flushed red and her eyes were sparkling bright.
“You’re going to be throwing those up in the car tomorrow,” Scott shouted. “It’s a nine-hour drive.”
“I’ll sleep while you drive,” Maggie shouted back.
“Party pooper,” yelled Hannah.
“Sane voice of reason,” Scott said, but not loud enough anyone could hear.
Sam came up and clapped him on the back. He seemed a little drunk, as well.
“Where’s Claire?” he asked.
“Somewhere with Ed,” Scott said.
“No, she’s not,” Sam said. “Ed’s at the paper office, alone.”
“Should we worry?” Scott said.
Sam raised his eyebrows and nodded.
“Yes, we should,” he said.
Scott went over and asked Delia, who said Sean had called to say Claire was with him, and they’d be along later. He relayed that information to Sam.
“What’s that about?” Sam aske
d.
Scott shrugged.
“I’m worried about her,” Sam said.
“If Sean’s with her, she’ll be all right,” Scott said.
“I don’t mean right now,” Sam said. “I mean in general.”
“She just needs to settle in,” Scott said.
“She called her most recent ex the other night,” Sam said. “Did Maggie say anything about that?”
“No,” Scott said. “Claire’s a grown up; I’m sure she can take care of herself.”
Scott looked over at Hannah, who had hoisted herself onto the bar, where she then performed her own unique version of a River Dance.
“She’s going to fall,” Scott said.
“Claire and Ed seemed pretty cozy,” Sam said.
“I know, I was there,” Scott said. “You need to get her down, Sam. She’s going to get hurt.”
“It would be better for Claire to be with him than that Scottish dude,” Sam said.
“You might want to get your wife off the bar.”
Sam finally looked at Hannah, who was now dancing down the length of the bar, knocking over beer glasses as she went. He rolled his eyes and shook his head, but then went over and coaxed her down. Maggie came over, hugged Scott, and hid her face in his neck.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I’m too happy,” she said. “Something awful’s bound to happen.”
“Something awful’s always happening somewhere,” Scott said. “You may as well enjoy yourself.”
“You’re a wise man,” she said. “Let’s go home.”
By the time Claire and Sean returned to town, Rose Hill was dark and quiet, except for the Rose and Thorn. The moon that had so brightly shone down on the state park was now behind an immense dark cloud. The state park workers, who had given Sean and Claire a chilly, bumpy ride in the bed of a pickup truck, dropped them off at the curb in front of the bar.
Claire looked at her phone; it was 1:35 a.m. and the bar closed at 2:00. Inside, a few red-eyed, slurring locals were still seated at the far end of the bar, and a man Claire didn’t know was seated at the near end of the bar, where her father always used to sit. He sat sideways, with his back to the wall, situated so he could see the entrance as well as the rest of the room. Her father used to sit like that, too. He nodded to both Sean and Claire. Sean followed her down the aisle to the back of the room.
“Where’ve you two been? You look like hell,” Patrick said. “The party ended an hour ago. Bunch of old geezers; they get married, start having kids, and suddenly the parties have to end at midnight.”
“I want a hundred shots of Jameson’s,” Sean said. “To go.”
Patrick took a bottle from the top shelf behind the bar and handed it to Sean.
“I’m going home to sleep for a month,” Sean said to Claire. “If you ever again need an attorney, I suggest you call someone more qualified; preferably someone with a bulletproof vest.”
“Thank you,” Claire said, and kissed his cheek. “I’m not planning on needing one ever again.”
Sean left.
“Bad night?” Patrick asked her.
Claire looked down at her dirt-streaked shirt, the ripped knees of her jeans, and her mud-covered ballet flats.
“You could say that.”
“You want something to drink?”
“No,” Claire said.
“You going home?”
“No,” she said. “I think I’ll just sit here for a while, if you don’t mind.”
“Tell you what,” Patrick said. “You tend bar until closing, and I won’t make you clean up. I’ll do it tomorrow.”
“Fine with me,” Claire said. “But don’t expect me to be charming to anyone.”
“At this hour anything you say will sound charming,” he said. “It’d be better to give ‘em hell or you’ll never get ‘em out of here.”
“Is there still a baseball bat here somewhere?”
“If anyone gives you any trouble, just tell him,” Patrick said, and then nodded at the stranger at the end of the bar.
“Who’s he?” Claire asked.
“He’s a pal of mine,” Patrick said. “And a good guy; you could do worse.”
“No thanks,” Claire said. “I’m not interested.”
“Look, I know it’s none of my business,” Patrick said. “And I like Ed, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t think he’s the guy for you.”
“Why’s that?”
“Too boring, too political, too morally righteous,” Patrick said. “Listen, life’s too short to spend it stirring up shit, judging the hell out of everyone, and then complaining when they don’t like it. He’s a friggin’ know-it-all, and sometimes that’s irritating as hell.”
Claire figured Patrick’s opinion was tainted by Melissa’s previous relationship with Ed, so she should take whatever he said with a grain of salt.
“I’d hate to hear what you think of somebody you don’t like,” Claire said.
“I’m not saying he’s a bad guy,” Patrick said. “I just don’t think he’s right for you.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Claire said. “You go on.”
“C’mon,” he said to Banjo.
The sleepy dog slowly dragged himself from his bed behind the bar. Patrick handed the keys to Claire, stopped to have a word with the man at the end of the bar, and then left, with the wagging beagle on his heels.
As soon as the door closed behind him, Claire commandeered the sound system and stopped what sounded to her weary brain very much like manic Celtic caterwauling. She turned on the satellite radio and adjusted it to a channel she liked. The locals made complaining noises so she shot them a mean look; they returned to their conversation.
Among her body’s many complaints were a headache, painfully raw skin between her breasts from the tape she had so stupidly ripped off, skinned hands and knees, an aching back, and throbbing feet. She kicked off her shoes, washed her sore hands, and rooted around under the counter until she found a bottle of ibuprofen. She started to pop the cap and then stopped.
How many times had she carelessly taken what seemed like a harmless medication, without thinking about what it might do when combined with other things she might have ingested? She’d also tried herbal teas before without researching what the ingredients might do to her. Well, she wouldn’t do either of those things again. She put the bottle of ibuprofen back and poured some club soda in a glass instead. She dropped in a lime wedge and watched it sink, leaving a stream of bubbles in its wake.
The locals were muttering to each other about black helicopters from the government coming to take away their guns. When one of them tried to draw her into their discussion, Claire shook her head and rolled her eyes.
“I guess you don’t believe that could happen,” he said to Claire. “And you probably don’t mind subsidizing all those freeloaders up Possum Holler, with their satellite dishes and brand new pickup trucks. We should throw them out on their lazy asses. Let ‘em work for a living.”
“Not everyone is a freeloader,” Claire said. “Some people have bad luck and hard times; you know that as well as I do.”
“I know those welfare queens eat better than I do,” he said. “My tax money shouldn’t be used to pay for all the brats they keep popping out. We should sterilize the lot of them.”
The man at the end of the bar, the one Patrick said she should let know if she had any trouble, slammed down his glass, and it startled everyone.
“So you’d take away their food, shelter, medical care, and the right to bear or not bear children,” he said, “but they could still have as many guns as they want? I don’t think you’ve thought this through to its logical conclusion.”
The man who had been haranguing Claire instantly changed his demeanor.
“Oh, hey there, Laurie,” he said. “I didn’t see ya down there. How’s it going?”
The locals exchanged meaningful looks and all rose to leave.
“Don’t let me run you off
,” Laurie said.
“No, not at all,” the man said. “Past time for us to be home in bed, that’s all.”
Laurie smiled wryly and wished them all a good night as they left.
As soon as they were gone, he turned to Claire.
“Sorry,” he said. “I seem to have curtailed what was left of your business.”
“Good riddance, I say,” Claire said, as she walked to his end of the bar. “I’m Claire, by they way.”
“Lawrence,” he said. “But folks call me Laurie.”
She stuck out her hand, he took it, but he didn’t shake it. Instead, he turned it over and looked at her palm.
“Are you reading it?” she asked him.
“Yes,” he said. “Give me a minute.”
His hand was warm where he held hers. It didn’t feel creepy; it felt more clinical, for want of a better term.
Claire studied him. There was lots of gray in his brown hair, and he had a deeply furrowed forehead, like a man with heavy cares and worries. His bright blue eyes, creased with wrinkles at the corners, had shadows and bags beneath them. His chin was strong, but his nose was a little long, and his lips were thin. He was by no means a classically handsome man, but he had an aura of calm, quiet strength, albeit with a deep air of melancholy.
‘Character actor,’ Claire thought. ‘He could play a brilliant surgeon on a medical drama or a world-weary detective on a NYC crime drama, but he’s not romantic lead material.’
And then she thought, ‘but neither am I.’
“What do the lines say?” she asked him.
“I haven’t got a clue,” he said. “But I can tell you fell recently, possibly off your skateboard?”
Claire smiled.
“Roller skates?” he said.
Claire shook her head.
“Mysterious accident,” he said. “I’ll make a note to follow up later.”
“You’re not very good at this,” she said.
“Let’s see if I can do better,” he said. “You work with your hands in water or wash your hands frequently. Your nails are well-manicured so I don’t think it’s an OCD thing, and you couldn’t be a nurse or a doctor because you wouldn’t be allowed to wear that nail polish. I don’t think you usually work here because you don’t seem to know where anything is kept. That aspirin must not have been a brand you like, or you might have an ulcer, because you changed your mind about taking it. Also, you work on your feet all day; I can tell by the way you’re standing that your back hurts and you took your shoes off.”
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