Southern Cross

by Jen Blood

  “I’m not brooding.”

  “All right—sulking, then.” She reached over me to the glove box, one hand on the steering wheel, and retrieved a pack of cigarettes. “You smoke?”

  “I quit.”

  “Mind if I smoke?” She asked it as she lit up; it was clear she wasn’t really asking at all. “So… you were married to the first victim’s sister?” she asked after she’d breathed in deep. I took a reflexive sympathy breath and fought the urge to ask for one from her pack.

  “Wyatt would be the second victim, wouldn’t he?” I asked. “I mean, if we’re looking at Marty Reynolds as the first vic, back in ’02.”

  She conceded the point with a nod. “All right, then—you were married to the second victim’s sister.”

  “Yes.”

  “How long?”

  She obviously already had that information, since I assumed she had a complete dossier on me somewhere. I let it slide.

  “Three years.”

  “And you were close to the rest of the Durham family in that time?”

  “Yeah.”

  She frowned. “How close?”

  I thought back to nights on the front porch with George; holidays with the whole family gathered around the table; kids racing up the stairs and out the door and underfoot; Pop Warner with the boys…

  “Close,” I said shortly. “I coached the boys’ football team. We had Sunday dinners together. Wyatt would crash on our couch when Mae was pissed; I’d crash on theirs when Ashley was pissed.”

  “I bet you spent a lot more time on their couch,” she said dryly.

  “True.” I scratched my chin and tried for a normal breath and an even tone. “Why the questions? What’s this have to do with anything?”

  She glanced at me, then back at the road. “I’m trying to figure out how well you knew the victim. Did you stay in touch after the divorce?”

  “Not at first,” I admitted. It was oddly comforting knowing I didn’t have to fill in the blanks for her—she had the files. No doubt she knew about the addictions and Josh’s death and my time with Jesup Barnel. I chose not to think of all the other sordid details she might have about my life.

  “Once I got sober,” I continued, “I made amends to the family. Wyatt and I started talking again after that.”

  Blaze put out her cigarette when it was only halfway gone, and I directed her to the road leading to Wyatt’s place.

  “Is there something you’re not telling me about Wyatt?” I asked. “Something that would explain why he was killed?”

  She pulled up in front of the house, put the car in park, and cut the engine. “Let’s just ask a few questions here first,” she said. “Nothing’s been confirmed yet.”

  “Confirmed about what?”

  She considered whether or not to tell me whatever it was she clearly knew. Ultimately, she decided against it, shaking her head. The frustration I’d been feeling since I got back to town swelled. “Let me get some more facts,” she said. “Then I’ll tell you everything I’ve heard.”

  I would have argued the point, but she was already gone.

  Rick gave me a look like I’d drowned his puppy when we got to the door. He called for Mae.

  “I don’t know what else I can tell you,” Mae said to Blaze, who nodded understandingly.

  “Often in these situations, the family knows much more than they realize,” the agent said. “If we’re going to find your son and get to the bottom of your husband’s death, this is a necessary step. I’m just here to jog your memory.”

  Right. Mae led us to the kitchen. She poured coffee and set a plate of chocolate chip cookies in the center of the table. Blaze scowled at them like they were a mortal enemy, choosing the smallest from the bunch. I’d seen Solomon eat at least ten in a sitting the night before. Mae sat.

  “What can I tell you?”

  Blaze didn’t hesitate. “What kind of relationship did your husband have with Jesup Barnel?”

  “He was a believer,” Mae said promptly. She didn’t look at me. I remembered a night on George’s porch with Wyatt, after I’d published my first piece on Barnel. You oughta be more careful with that man, Diggs. I don’t trust Jesup Barnel as far as Mae could throw him. There’s somethin’ not right about him.

  Had things really changed that much since I left Justice five years ago?

  “He knew the reverend had some ideas not everybody took to,” Mae continued, “but he’d also seen firsthand the good the reverend could do.”

  “Was he active in the church?”

  This time, Mae paused. “He had been. Not so much these last few months, though.”

  “Why not? What changed?” Blaze asked.

  “He just got busy. And the reverend stopped doing regular services, only did his tent meetings every so often… We always went to the Justice Baptist church, anyway—that got to be enough.” Something in her eyes told me that wasn’t the whole story. Blaze picked up on it, too.

  “How did Reverend Barnel feel about that?”

  Mae didn’t say anything, worrying at a spot on the tablecloth. Blaze looked at me.

  “Mae,” I said as gently as I could. “I know I’m not your favorite person right now, but if we’re gonna find Danny, we need you to be straight with us.”

  She nodded, lifting her eyes to mine. “I don’t know what happened. Reverend Barnel and Wyatt had a fallin’ out, though—he said something to me once, about how Wyatt had crossed a line. Gone against the Lord.”

  “What was your husband’s relationship with Sally Woodruff?” Blaze asked, with no preamble. I looked at her sharply. Mae tensed immediately. I hadn’t heard Sally Woodruff’s name in years. And I’d never heard it in conjunction with Wyatt Durham before.

  “That lady that gives the abortions out on the town line?” Mae asked. “I’m not sure what you’re askin’. We don’t go near that place. Don’t have nothin’ to do with that woman.”

  “All right, thank you. Can you tell me a little more about your history with Jesup Barnel?” Blaze asked, switching subjects yet again.

  “I grew up in Reverend Barnel’s church,” she said. “That’s where me and Wyatt met. Wyatt wasn’t his biggest fan back then, of course…”

  I stood. “Listen, if you don’t mind I’m just gonna step outside for some fresh air, stretch my legs. You mind?”

  Blaze studied me for a long minute, eyes narrowed. For a second, I thought she would say no. Finally, she shook her head. “Don’t be gone long—I want to get back on the road shortly.”

  “Of course,” I agreed.

  <><><>

  I meandered aimlessly for about three minutes, then changed direction the moment I was out of sight of the house. There was no way in hell I’d spend the day trailing Blaze when I had leads of my own to follow. If Mae didn’t have the answers we were looking for, I had a feeling I knew where to find them.

  Half an hour later, I was standing in line beside Casey Clinton at the local Dairy Queen—Casey’s idea, not mine. It was eight-thirty on a Thursday night, which meant our wait wasn’t long: a couple of acne-ridden teenage boys got Blizzards and headed for the other side of the restaurant, and we were up. When it was our turn, a slim teenage girl with dyed black hair, camo pants, and an Iggy Pop t-shirt two sizes too small took our order. Her right eyebrow was pierced, and she wore those trendy thick-framed glasses everyone likes so much. In Justice, Kentucky, she might as well have been a Martian.

  “Hey, Case,” she greeted Casey, then looked inquiringly at me. “Who’s your friend?”

  “Danny’s uncle,” Casey explained. “Diggs, this is Sophie. Sophie knows pretty much anything that goes on in this town long before it hits the web.”

  “I’m at the hub of the rumor mill in this hell-hole,” Sophie said. She had no discernible accent. “So this is Diggs, huh? I guess that explains Danny’s weird surfing obsession... and how he got so good looking.”

  “We’re not actually related by blood,” I said. I tried for a raki
sh-but-completely-uninterested grin—something it pays to have in your repertoire when precocious high school girls are in the vicinity. “But thanks. Can I get a large Coke and a…” I looked at Casey.

  “The usual,” she said to Sophie, who nodded and promptly pulled two large cups from the stack beside her. “Listen,” Casey continued. “I heard Danny stopped in here last night. We been trying to reach him, but he’s not answering his cell.”

  “Yeah,” Sophie said. “Sure—I already told Creepy Jennings. Word is, Danny’s the one who freaked out and tried to cap the preacher. Is that true?”

  Casey bristled, but I intervened before something started. “We don’t know what happened last night; that’s why we need to find him. Did he say anything to you?”

  “Not really. He got here around eight. Got a dish of soft-serve and ate it over there.” She nodded to a booth in the back. “He said he was headed over to your place. I guess this means you guys won’t be playing next week?”

  Casey hesitated. “I’m not sure. It depends on what happens with Danny.”

  “Well, if you’re not playing, I’m not going,” Sophie continued with a practiced eye roll. “The rest of the bands they’re having are a bunch of losers. I heard if you don’t make it they’re bringing in Jake Six. If I wanted to listen to a bunch of drunk douche bags sing Toby Keith all night, I’d just come to work.”

  “I’ll let you know,” Casey promised. “And can you give me a call if Danny comes back here? Let him know we’re looking for him.”

  “Will do.”

  She handed Casey an Oreo Blizzard and grinned at me when she slid my Coke across the counter. “Y’all come back now,” she said with an exaggerated drawl and a wink.

  Casey and I took a booth on the other side of the restaurant, well out of hearing range of the kids who’d come in earlier. She apologized for her friend, then got right down to business.

  “So, what’d you want to talk to me about? How can I help?”

  “How well did you know Wyatt Durham?” I asked, right off the bat.

  She faltered. “Danny’s daddy? I—I didn’t, really. I mean… we talked a couple times. He gave me rides home every so often.”

  It wasn’t the truth, but I’d expected that. For now, I just wanted to see her reaction when I mentioned his name.

  “There were two other victims the police think were killed by the same people who killed Wyatt,” I said. “They were bad guys—into drugs, beating up their wives, that kind of thing. But I know for a fact Wyatt wasn’t that kind of man. So, I’m just wondering why anyone would lump him in with those losers.”

  She looked out the window, stirring her Blizzard into a melted mess. She was pretty, in an understated, trying-to-get-through-life-unnoticed kind of way—a wallflower in high school who’d likely go far… if she ever got out of this town and made it to college. I figured that was a big if, knowing even half of what she was facing right now.

  “I don’t know what to tell you,” she said. “I know Danny, not his old man.”

  “Casey, please,” I said. I took the damn ice cream from her, forcing her eyes to mine. “I think Danny’s in a lot of trouble here. I don’t think he ran away, I think someone took him. And if they did, we need to find him. Fast.”

  She bit her lip. I thought I was in, but then the veil fell. She shook her head, glancing at the crowd of teenagers getting louder by the minute behind us.

  “Sorry. I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about. I didn’t know his daddy.”

  “Okay,” I said. Rule number one when dealing with a reluctant source: Don’t get pissed off. Bullying only works in rare cases, and it sure as hell wouldn’t be effective here. “Let’s forget Wyatt for a minute, then. What about Danny? I know he smokes a little dope… Anything else that could have made someone mad enough to take him?”

  She looked relieved, which threw me. She’d talk about Danny, but not his father?

  “Danny’s harmless,” she said. I pushed the Blizzard back toward her, feeling like an idiot for having taken it in the first place. “He smokes bud and plays guitar and sleeps with a lot of girls. That’s about as bad as it gets.”

  “And Danny never talked to you about his old man? About problems they might be having?”

  “They didn’t get along too good,” she said carefully. “But I always knew that was Danny’s fault—like, he can be kind of a pain, you know what I mean? And Dr. Durham just seemed like he was always tryin’ to do what was best. Danny’s mama was more the problem, you ask me.”

  I didn’t say anything, waiting for her to continue on her own.

  “Dr. Durham couldn’t ever say nothin’ to her about any of it, but I know he didn’t mind the band so much. Mrs. Durham was the one always tryin’ to get Danny to give it up and go play at the dang church instead. ‘Til one day she just up and had a fit, and made Danny quit.”

  “And you talked to Wy—Dr. Durham about this?” I asked, treading as cautiously as possible.

  She lowered her eyes, returning her attention to her now-melted ice cream. “I told you, I didn’t know Dr. Durham. It’s just a feeling I got.”

  Right. While I was still trying to figure out my next approach, the Ford Focus Solomon and I had rented pulled in and slid into the space beside the Chevy Impala I’d borrowed from Mae when I ditched Agent Blaze. I watched Solomon get out of the driver’s seat, then waited to see if she had reinforcements with her. No one else got out, though. She came in, waved to Casey and me as casually as you please, then went to the front and ordered herself a turtle sundae. Only then did she come over, sliding into the seat beside me with her dessert.

  “Fancy meeting you here,” she said. There was a spark to her eye that suggested she was more amused than annoyed by my exploits. I took that as an encouraging sign. She slid the sundae toward me.

  “What are the chances?” I agreed.

  “Hey, funny story.” She turned in the seat so she could look me in the eye. “You know Agent Blaze? That super-hot, super-scary agent you were hanging out with this afternoon? She just got back… turns out she got three flat tires while she was out at the Durham place. All at once. Crazy, right?”

  “That is crazy,” I agreed.

  “That’s not even the weirdest part,” she said. She was on a roll now, so I let her run with it. “She said you excused yourself to go find George Durham, and then… poof, you just vanished. You and Mae’s old Chevy, gone. Apparently, she didn’t even find a note.”

  I took another bite of her sundae. Casey raised her eyebrows at both of us.

  “I should probably get going,” the girl said.

  “Don’t let me interrupt,” Solomon said. “If you guys were talking…”

  I shook my head. Whatever happened between Casey and Wyatt Durham, there was no way in hell she was talking to me about it. “I think we’re done. I’ll give you a call if I hear anything, okay?” I said to Casey. “And if you think of anything, or you need anything at all, you know how to reach either of us. Right?”

  She nodded, but I doubted I would hear from her. “I will. Y’all sure you don’t need anything else from me?”

  “No, we’re good,” Solomon said, too sweetly. “But we’ll definitely call you if we hear anything else.”

  Casey went back up to the front to have a confab with Sophie, and Solomon moved over to the other side of the booth. Not before she’d cuffed me soundly in the back of the head, however.

  “Ow! Don’t try and tell me you were surprised when you heard I ditched G.I. Jane,” I said. “You know me better than that.”

  “It’s the principle of the thing,” she said. “What’d you find out from the kid?”

  “Not a damn thing,” I said. “Danny smokes a lot of weed and I get the feeling he’s dipped his wick in some unsavory places, but I don’t see why that should get him kidnapped or killed. And Wyatt…”

  I paused. She raised her eyebrows, a spoonful of ice cream halfway to her mouth. “Wyatt what?”

&nbs
p; “I’m not sure. Casey knows something that she’s not telling me, though. Blaze hinted that there was something we didn’t know about him… I have this feeling it might have something to do with Casey.”

  “Like an affair?”

  I shook my head. “No. I can’t imagine it—Wyatt wasn’t that guy. And even if he was that guy, if he was going to have an affair, he sure as hell wouldn’t have one with a fifteen-year-old girl.”

  “It does seem like a stretch. So…?” she prompted.

  “So, I’m thinking of alternate theories,” I said. I had an idea, but I wanted to give it a little time. Ask a few questions before I spoke out of turn. “How’d you manage to duck out on the masked avenger?” I asked, switching gears.

  “The masked avenger, hmm? I think Juarez would like that, actually. We went over and interviewed a couple of weird old brothers who live together—they’re big fans of Barnel.”

  “The Reese brothers?” I asked.

  She nodded. “Yeah. They didn’t have much to say, really. You know they have at least a dozen cats, all of them with little bells on their collars? It wasn’t like a hoarding thing, though. More like… you know, everything was a little too clean, and the cats were secretly in control. It was like a horror movie. A horror movie with bells.”

  She was babbling, which meant however cool she might be playing it, she’d been worried when Blaze showed up at the station without me. I helped myself to more of her ice cream and let her babble.

  “That’s rough,” I said.

  “Tell me about it,” she agreed. “Anyway, Blaze was just coming off a murderous rage when we got back there. You might want to wear a cup when you see her next, incidentally. And somehow, her not being happy with you turned into her not being happy with me. I decided it might be smart to make myself scarce.”

  “Good move.”

  “That was my thought,” she agreed. She fell silent, watching me while I pushed caramel around in her sundae. “What are you thinking?” she asked.

  Landing the ball solidly in my court. I was just preparing to deflect the question when I read the look in her eyes and realized deflection was exactly what she expected. I thought of our conversation the day before. Everything’s this deep, dark mystery with you. I wet my lips.