Hard Truth

by Mariah Stewart

  “Mom said that?”

  “Billie did have her hands full, that’s for sure. That Jason was one nasty boy, even when he was a small child. You wouldn’t believe the things I heard come out of that mouth of his.”

  Oh, yes I would. Lorna thought back to the many times Jason had hurled curses at her and Melinda. She knew firsthand how vile he could be.

  “And your mother always told me how Billie was remorseful, how much she regretted that she’d been so rough with her kids. Well, sorry’s easy to say, when both kids are gone God knows where and you don’t have to deal with them anymore, isn’t it? Of course, now we know where Jason had gone. Most people think he only got what was coming to him. There are a lot of folks who still think he killed his sister.”

  “There are people who think Billie killed her.”

  “I don’t know about the girl, but I do think there’s a good chance Billie killed the boy.”

  “Why?” Lorna asked.

  “Everyone knows that Billie and Jason had a screaming match that night when he came home so late.”

  “How does everyone know that?” Lorna asked.

  “Well, that’s what Nancy Lafferty says, anyway.”

  “Dustin’s mother?”

  “Yes. He was a friend of Jason’s. He knew what was going on down there.”

  There was a rumble from outside the windows, and Mrs. Hammond started out of her chair.

  “You sit, I’ll see what that was.” Lorna stood and went to the window. “Must have been thunder. There are a lot of low, dark clouds up toward Route One.”

  Someone dashed out the back of the house next door and ran to the black pickup in the driveway. He opened the driver’s-side door and turned on the ignition, then rolled up the windows before jumping out of the pickup and running back toward the house.

  “Is that Fritz Keeler?” Lorna asked.

  “Yes, he still lives in his parents’ house. You’d think a good-looking young man like Fritz would have found himself a nice girl to marry by now. I swear, I don’t know what he’s waiting for.” Mrs. Hammond shook her head. “Now, Michael-you remember Michael, his younger brother?”

  “Sure. My first crush.” Lorna turned away from the window.

  “He’s married to Sarah Watts, you remember her?”

  “Two years ahead of me in school, sure.”

  “Yes. Well, they live out on Cannon Road in a nice little ranch house. Two kids. Michael and Fritz bought that gas station and convenience store, the one that sits right before the intersection, after their mother died. Pooled their inheritance, I suppose, and bought the business.”

  “Quik Stop?” Lorna frowned, trying to recall if she’d heard that news before. “I don’t think I knew that. I’m surprised I haven’t seen Fritz or Mike there. I buy my coffee at Quik Stop every morning.”

  “I heard lots of folks do, they say the coffee’s good. The boys are doing real well, from what I hear. But Fritz,” another solemn shake of the head, “he’s an odd duck.”

  “In what way?”

  “Well, he’s got no life. Spends most of his time in that house or working. Takes a week off here and there and takes himself on trips. Don’t know where he goes, but he leaves every other week or so.”

  Sounds like me. Without the trips. Hope he goes someplace good. “I’m sure he gets bored, staying in that house alone all the time. And if he works that much, he’s probably tired and just needs to relax.”

  “Yes, well, then there are the roses.”

  “What roses?”

  “I swear, every time I look out the window, Fritz is planting another rosebush. Says his mother loved roses, so he plants them for her.”

  “Did he plant them for her when she was still alive?”

  “Oh, yes. Just look at their backyard. It’s one huge rose garden.”

  “I’d think you’d like that. It must be very fragrant early in the summer. And it’s got to look beautiful from your house.”

  “Well, it does that. Strange, though. He’s still odd, in my book.”

  “Fritz always was a little shy, Mrs. Hammond. Maybe he still is.”

  “Could be. His father never had much to say either, though God knows his mother made up for that. She could talk the ears off a-”

  Another rumble of thunder, louder, closer.

  “I think I should go before the rain hits,” Lorna said.

  “I won’t argue with you, dear. They’re predicting quite a storm.” Mrs. Hammond reached for her cane, then eased herself out of her chair. “But you’ll have to come back to see me again soon.”

  “I’d love to,” Lorna said.

  “Well, I’ll look forward to that.” The old woman leaned upon her cane. “Now, I don’t know what you’re planning on doing, far as Billie is concerned, and I don’t know that anything I say could sway you, one way or another, and that’s fine. We’re all entitled. I suspect you’re inclined much as your mother was, and if I told her once, I told her a hundred times, I said, ‘Mary Beth, that is not a good woman. She beat her children, she drank half of every dime she ever made,’ and like I told you, she’d say, ‘Miss Veronica, that was a long time ago. Billie’s stopped drinking, she’s worked hard to clean up her life, she’ll never forgive herself for the way she treated her kids,’ ” Mrs. Hammond sighed. “Sounded like too little too late to me, but you know how your mother was, Lorna. If any woman ever had a softer heart, I swear I never met her. I suppose if Billie Eagan said the right words and shed enough tears, Mary Beth would have bought into it. I never did. I’m thinking you have, though.”

  “You really think she’s guilty?”

  “Yes, I do. I think sure as I’m standing here, Billie Eagan smacked that boy in the head and broke his skull. And I can’t help but wonder if she hadn’t done the same to that little girl of hers.” Mrs. Hammond leaned heavily on her cane. “And don’t you have to wonder what your mother would be saying if she were alive today.”

  “I think she’d say, ‘Innocent until proven guilty.’ ”

  8

  The cardboard coffee container all but singeing the skin of the palm of her hand, Lorna sat it on the kitchen counter and grabbed at the ringing phone just in time to hear the click on the other end.

  “Nuts.”

  She took a mug down from the cupboard and poured the hot liquid into it, at the same time questioning her choice of a hot drink over a cold one when the temperature was climbing and the humidity was closing in around the house like a damp cloak after a night of pounding rain. Old habits die hard, she told herself, and went into the dining room to turn on her computer.

  She watched out the window as a red-winged blackbird chased a hawk, the larger bird soaring ever higher, the smaller one flapping wildly to keep up. The blackbird swooped and pecked, harassing the hawk, who calmly continued to soar upward. The goal was to lure the hawk as far from the blackbird’s nest as possible, but in the process, the constant flapping of the smaller bird’s wings would wear it down, while the hawk rode the thermals and expended little energy. Once the blackbird had exhausted itself, the hawk could raid the nest to feed its young.

  Lorna had to turn away from the window. She loved the hawks, loved watching them circle overhead, but hated that they preyed on the smaller, weaker birds. She understood all too well the ways of nature, but hated to watch when she knew what was inevitably in store for the blackbirds.

  She read email from her closest friend back in Woodboro, who wanted to know how long she’d be staying in the sticks. Lorna smiled. Bonnie was from Los Angeles, and considered even Pittsburgh, where she was currently living, somewhat bucolic. She had no real conception of life in a small rural community like Callen, and so fell back on every farm and small-town stereotype she’d ever heard to tease Lorna. Today’s email contained a list of all the worst farmer’s daughters jokes she could find. Lorna laughed and shot back a quick response, then turned off her email and prepared to go to work.

  The phone rang just as she opened he
r first files of the day. Roger the bail bondsman from West Chester had forms for her to fill out. He’d be there until ten. If she wanted Billie out that day, she had to get into his office before then. Since it was Saturday, he was taking the afternoon off to go to the track. Oh, and bring cash. Seven thousand dollars in cash.

  Lorna showered and changed, then at nine A.M. drove to the savings and loan where her mother had kept her savings account. Mary Beth had added Lorna’s name to the account two years ago, so withdrawing the funds wasn’t a problem. What would be a problem would be explaining to her sister and brother where the funds went if Billie should bolt.

  Lorna made it to the bail office in just under thirty-five minutes. Not bad, considering all the roadwork they were doing on Route 896. Roger had all of the paperwork laid out for her on the worn and pocked counter in the front room of his two-room office, and after a quick ten minutes, the deed was done.

  “Your friend should be out by late this afternoon,” he told her.

  “How will she get home?”

  He looked at her as if she were speaking a foreign tongue.

  “That’s her problem.”

  “How will I know when they release her?”

  “You can call the prison in a few hours and someone there should be able to tell you.”

  “Well, how does this work?”

  “I go to the courthouse-which, lucky for you, is open till noon-and tell them that bail has been posted. The clerk will give me what they call a Release of Prisoner form. I take that to the prison, they let her out. I don’t provide transportation home, though. That’s on her. Oh, and you just make sure she shows up at the preliminary hearing, or it’s bye-bye.” He held up the envelope containing the cash she’d handed over.

  “She’ll be there.”

  “She’d better be. Else I’ll have to go out and find her. I hate it when I have to do that.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it,” he muttered as she walked out.

  Unsure as to when and where to pick up Billie, Lorna stopped at the Callen police station on her way home. Chief Walker would know what to do.

  She could not have been prepared for her reception.

  “You have your nerve, coming in here this morning.” Brad stood in front of the reception desk with his arms folded across his chest.

  “What?” Lorna looked behind her. Was he talking to her?

  “Who the hell do you think you are, calling in the fucking FBI?”

  “What are you talking about? I haven’t spoken to anyone from the FBI. Why would I have called the FBI?”

  “You’re telling me that guy who came here yesterday, you didn’t call him in? He wasn’t here on your account?”

  “I spoke with a private investigator, yes, I did that. I still haven’t decided whether to hire him, but I spoke with him. What makes you think he’s with the FBI?”

  He reached onto the desk and grabbed a fax and waved it in front of her.

  She snatched it out of his hand to take a look.

  “You telling me that’s a fraud and it’s not from the FBI?”

  “It sure looks official, but I don’t know why…” She skimmed the typed request for copies of all the reports relative to the disappearance of Melinda Eagan and that of her brother, Jason Eagan, all reports relative to the discovery of the body of Jason Eagan, and the subsequent arrest of Billie Kay Eagan. She frowned, confused, until she came to the signature at the bottom. Mitchell Peyton, SA, FBI.

  Regan’s friend.

  “I don’t understand.” She shook her head. “Mr. Dawson, the PI, did say yesterday he was going to stop in here to pick up copies of the reports, so why Agent Peyton-whom I do not know and did not call, by the way-why he’s requesting the same reports, I don’t know.”

  She handed the fax back to Brad. “You gave Mr. Dawson the copies of the reports, didn’t you?”

  “No, we did not.”

  “Why? At the very least, the reports on Melinda’s disappearance should be public record. Anyone can get a copy of a police report. Reporters do it all the time. Why didn’t you give him what he asked for?”

  “Because it was late in the day when he came in, and Mrs. Rusk was working by herself, and didn’t know if she should give them to him.”

  “She doesn’t know that the police reports are public record? No one’s told her that in the… how many years she’s been working here? Don’t you train your employees?”

  “Don’t get smart, Lorna. She just didn’t know if she should give them out, that’s all.” He paused, then said, “Or maybe she didn’t know where the files were.”

  “She couldn’t have asked someone? Maybe called your father or you at home and asked where the files were?”

  “She was just concerned, what with all the papers calling and everyone talking about how you were bailing Billie out and that sort of thing. She didn’t know what to do, okay? He’d have gotten his reports if he’d come back this morning. He didn’t have to call in the fucking FBI.”

  “Look, I’m sorry if you feel this puts you in an awkward position, but…” She held her hands out in front of her but he jumped in.

  “Awkward position?” He snorted. “I’d say it’s awkward. It’s not enough that you’re hiring someone to check to see if we dotted our i’s and crossed our t’s, but now we’re going to have the fucking FBI looking over our shoulder.”

  They stood and glared at each other for a long moment. Dotting i’s and crossing t’s was the least of it, but Brad wasn’t going to want to hear that.

  Finally, she said, “So, did you fax over the reports?”

  “Yes, we faxed over the reports,” he singsonged back at her.

  “Okay, then. Asked and answered.” She turned and left the office, closing the door quietly behind her.

  She dialed T. J. Dawson’s number on her cell phone as soon as she got into her car and found his business card in her wallet.

  He answered on the third ring.

  “What were you thinking, getting the FBI involved in this? What was the point of that?” she said without identifying herself.

  “Well, hello, Lorna. Nice to hear from you.”

  “Why did you feel it necessary to call in the FBI?”

  “First of all, I did not ‘call in the FBI.’ I called a friend to request some documents because the local police department was not cooperating, and I had every right to see those reports. The receptionist wouldn’t even show them to me, and when she called the chief of police on the phone, he told her to put me off, not to show me anything. It pissed me off.”

  “Couldn’t you have waited one more day to get copies of those police reports? Did you have to call out the troops immediately?”

  “I thought if I was going to be working this case, I’d be better off establishing right up front that the local cops were not going to push me around.”

  “But we hadn’t decided if you’d be handling this case, remember?” She blew out a long breath, then said, “Officer Walker didn’t mention that Mrs. Rusk had called his father.”

  “Gee, that comes as a big surprise.”

  “I understand that you felt you were being stonewalled, but I wish you’d called me instead of your friend at the FBI. You’ve put me in a very awkward position here.”

  He was silent for a moment, then said, “I apologize if I’ve made things awkward or uncomfortable for you. I thought I was expediting things. It never occurred to me that it would have repercussions. I wanted to get the facts as soon as possible, so that you could decide what you wanted to do sooner rather than later. Again, I am sorry.”

  She was still trying to decide how to respond when he said, “Mitch faxed over the reports an hour ago. I found them quite interesting. How ’bout I drop them off to you, point out the things I think you might want to take a closer look at, and I’ll just be on my way.”

  “That would be fine, thank you.”

  “Mrs. Eagan still in prison?”

  “Sh
e’s supposed to get out this afternoon. I took care of the bail this morning. At least, I think she’s supposed to get out this afternoon.” She sighed heavily. “That’s what I was stopping at the police department to find out. How do I know when she’s going to be released? I don’t suppose they’ll provide transportation for her, so I thought I’d pick her up. But I don’t know where or when.”

  “Call the warden at the prison and ask.”

  “They’ll tell me? And I can just pick her up?”

  “Unless she’s made other arrangements.”

  “I don’t know if she has any other friends or relatives around here. I think her family is still in West Virginia. I’m not sure I remember where Melinda said her grandparents lived, exactly.”

  “What would be a good time for me to stop by?”

  “Depends on what time I’ll be picking up Billie.”

  “How ’bout I plan on coming up around seven tonight?”

  “I should be able to pick her up and take her home by then. That would be fine. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. And again, I’m really sorry to have caused problems for you there. I’ve never had a situation like that before. I guess I could have handled it better.”

  “You’ve never had anyone refuse to give you the information you asked for?”

  “No.”

  “How have you managed that?”

  “Must have been the old Dawson charm.”

  “Too bad Mrs. Rusk didn’t fall for it.”

  “Lorna?” The voice on the phone was thin and soft.

  “Yes. Billie, is that you?” Lorna looked at the clock on her laptop. She’d called the prison twice to ask about Billie’s release, but hadn’t gotten a callback.

  “Yes. I just got home, I wanted to call and thank you. For getting me out of there. I didn’t expect to be out for a long time. I don’t know how to thank you.”