Perdition

by R. Jean Reid

  If I’d brought Josh, she’d have been forced to put on a mask, pretend it was just a friend who’d died, Nell thought, but then realized that was exactly what Kate was doing. Josh being here might have added another layer onto that mask.

  Doug Shaun entered. He caught Nell’s attention, but there were no seats near her and he disappeared somewhere into the middle of the church. Like Sheriff Hickson, he was in dress uniform, but that was the only similarity; the sheriff’s was a little tight around his stomach and although it had been ironed in the recent past, the pull of the sheriff’s corpulent body was already bringing the wrinkles out. In contrast, Doug’s uniform was crisp and handsome, the deep blue set off by the gold braid at his shoulder and the gleaming brass on his hat, tucked appropriately under his arm.

  The service began with the drone of somber words and somber hymns. Nell fought off the memories of other funerals, but images from each caught at her. Thom’s, her father’s from his sudden heart attack, and a few bare years later her mother’s, from the slow cancer. The familiar words echoed in the church and in her memory: “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”

  She heard a soft catch of breath and noticed that Jacko was silently crying. Nell reached over and took his hand. He returned her clasp, holding her hand as if it were a lifeline.

  From the front of the church, a strangled sob and then the words “my daughter” echoed. Nell glanced over at Kate. She, too, had tears sliding down her cheeks. Nell took her hand as she had Jacko’s. Kate’s grasp wasn’t as fierce as his was, but she didn’t let go and after a few minutes twined her fingers through Nell’s.

  The service ended, and Marion’s casket was brought down the aisle. She felt Kate shudder as it went by, but she made no sound. Nell watched the mourners leave, looking for the one face that had triumph hidden behind the grief. The sheriff had red-rimmed eyes, his face haggard. Wendell Jenkins was there; he, too, looked downcast. With him was his supposedly banished son Boyce, in a black suit that looked like his father’s. Nell felt a flash of anger, then wondered if Boyce had come back just for the funeral or if the “boys” had decided the ban was over. Or if he’d ever even left. But Boyce actually looked somber, following his father’s lead. Philip Yorst had had the good taste to leave his yacht club uniform at home. Buddy Guy was there, shaking hands even as he was making his way down the aisle, but doing so in hushed tones. Nell saw Harold Reed and his wife; he nodded at her. Behind him was Doug Shaun. Intermixed in the crowd were several other members of both the police force and the sheriff’s office.

  Nell saw what she wanted to see, finding a hint of malice in Wendell’s furrowed brow, guilt in the sheriff’s crying eyes, a sly look from one of the deputies. But she knew she saw these things only because she wanted to ascribe the blame to these men. If the murderer was here, he was hiding his guilt well.

  Finally, their row stood. Kate let go of Nell’s hand, as if she didn’t want anyone to see her weakness or their connection, but Jacko held on as they made their way out of the church. Only at the door did he let go, softly saying, “Thanks.”

  They made their way down the church steps, and then Kate abruptly said, “I’ve got to leave.” With that she strode across the parking lot, leaving them behind. Jacko hurriedly followed her.

  Nell started to go with them, but Doug Shaun took her arm.

  “Nell, I should have called and offered to escort you,” he said.

  Nell was looking beyond him at Jacko and Kate. Jacko had taken the keys from Kate and was leading her to the passenger side of her truck. She can cry with him, Nell thought.

  “That’s kind of you, but there’s no need,” she said to Doug. “I don’t require a police escort everywhere I go.” But maybe I do, she suddenly thought. Another glance at Jacko and Kate showed Jane, the Unitarian minister, taking what Nell guessed were the keys to Jacko’s car. He would drive Kate home, take care of her; they would drive his car either there or to his place. There was little she could do at the moment.

  “And I know it’s probably inappropriate to say this,” Doug said, pulling her attention back to him, “but that dress really shows what an attractive woman you are.”

  Nell shook her head to fend off his compliment. It was inappropriate. This was the dress she’d worn to Thom’s funeral, and having another man tell her it made her attractive seemed almost blasphemous. But, of course, Doug couldn’t know the history and the memory of the dress.

  She pulled him to the side and said, “I got another phone call last night. The same voice.”

  This did manage to get his attention off her attire. “Are you sure?”

  “As much as I can be. The voice is disguised. I suppose that anyone using the same technology would sound about the same. But he spoke to me the same way. The creepy pretense of intimacy.”

  “What did he want?”

  “To jar me out of my sleep. He said he hadn’t killed anyone—and left no clues that we’d find a body, in any case. But he did warn me to stay away from you.”

  “Really? Did he say why?”

  “No, just that he didn’t like you and he didn’t like me with you.”

  “Are you going to take his advice?”

  “He’s not my version of Ann Landers. But now we know it’s someone who doesn’t like you.”

  “And someone who seems to have some sexual attachment to you—or likes to imagine he has.”

  Nell didn’t like that thought. She wasn’t even sure she wanted Doug Shaun to have a sexual interest in her, let alone a perverted murderer. “He called around 2:30 in the morning. I guess you might as well try to trace the number. Maybe he was stupid enough to call from a phone that can be linked to him.”

  “Maybe. But I’ll bet it’s a throw-away cell. Perhaps we’ll get lucky. Maybe we can track it to the store he bought it from and someone will remember something. I’ll do … just a second.” Doug turned slightly away from her and took his cell phone out of his jacket. He may not have turned it off for the funeral, but at least he’d turned it to vibrate.

  “So should I get one of those?” someone behind Nell asked.

  “Makes sense,” someone else answered. “What if your car breaks down? I’ve got some good deals going right now.”

  Even at funerals, life—and commerce—went on.

  The crowd parted enough to give Nell a clear view of Mrs. Thomas. And Mrs. Thomas a view of Nell.

  “Be back,” Nell mouthed to Doug. She had to talk to her mother-in-law, even if it was only to hear her question why Josh and Lizzie weren’t there and who was watching them with Nell gone. She edged her way through to where Mrs. Thomas was talking to Marion’s brothers.

  There was a round of polite introductions. An awkward silence followed but was cut short by the need to begin the funeral procession. The brothers left to help Mrs. Nash into the car that would follow the hearse bearing her daughter’s body.

  “Where are Joshua and Elizabeth?” Mrs. Thomas asked.

  “I left them at home,” Nell said, then added, “Funerals bring back memories of other funerals. I didn’t think they needed that.”

  “God, yes, they do,” Mrs. Thomas replied, and a sudden wash of grief crossed her face.

  We’re both remembering Thom’s funeral, Nell thought. And her mother-in-law was watching another mother go through the loss of a child. Nell stood awkwardly, watching the imperious woman struggle to not cry.

  Then Mrs. Thomas swayed, as if she might lose her balance, and Nell reached out to her. Their embrace was stiff, almost clumsy.

  “Mother,” was all Nell said.

  “Poor Erma. She doesn’t yet know how lonely she will be.” Then Mrs. Thomas pulled away and said, “I need to go with them.” She leaned in to give Nell an awkward kiss on the cheek and then turned to go. One of Mrs. Nash’s sons appeared and took her arm. She would follow with them.

  Nell turned from the
hearse and found herself face to face with Wendell Jenkins. And Boyce.

  “Sad thing, isn’t it, Miz McGraw,” Wendell drawled at her.

  “More than sad. Brutal and senseless. Evil.”

  “When you go to a place like that … bad things happen,” he added sanctimoniously.

  “Oh? And what bad things happened to you there, Mr. Jenkins?” Nell shot back.

  “What are you accusing him of ?” Boyce stepped in. He still had the coiled feeling of anger and violence about him.

  “Your father alluded to personal knowledge of the kinds of events that happen in ‘places like that.’ I was curious to learn what he meant,” Nell said. “I thought you had … moved on.”

  “Boyce and Marion went to school together. Boy wanted to come pay his respects. Didn’t think you’d get riled about someone coming to a funeral,” Wendell said.

  “If you think Marion deserved her death, then I doubt your ‘respects’ are worth much,” Nell retorted.

  “Look, lady, you think you’re so much better than us ’cause you write the paper,” Boyce said in a low, threatening voice. “You might want to think again.”

  “Wendell, you get that boy out of here right now,” Sheriff Hickson said in a voice that matched Boyce’s threat. He was standing just behind Nell. “You act up at Marion Nash’s funeral and I’ll personally put you in jail,” he said directly to Boyce. He stepped around Nell to put himself between her and Boyce.

  “This woman is making accusations against Dad,” Boyce said defensively.

  “Oh, please, like I haven’t seen the pictures of the casino girls,” Nell said. She hadn’t, of course, but she’d heard enough to believe that some photos existed. Alessandra might even be able to get a few. “But I won’t listen to you talk about Marion like she was trash who deserved what happened.”

  “Miz McGraw, you need to go home to your children,” the sheriff told her. “Boyce, you got half an hour to say hi to your Maw and then you got to be on your way.”

  Nell decided that although she had no intention of doing what the sheriff told her, save on her own time, it was also time to leave the Jenkins boys alone.

  She headed back across the churchyard to where she’d left Doug, only glancing over her shoulder once. She was gratified to see that Sheriff Hickson was actually making them leave.

  Boyce Jenkins moved up even higher on her list of suspects. He did seem to have some sexual hatred for her. And he had good reason to include Doug Shaun in that hatred.

  “Hi, sorry about the phone call,” Doug said as she rejoined him. He was just putting his phone back into his jacket. “Do you think I can look at that book?”

  Nell had hoped to ask Kate about it but hadn’t had a chance. And just now didn’t seem like a good time—it had to be a horrible day for Kate, and Nell was reluctant to push.

  “I haven’t been able to arrange it yet,” she said. “It may take a little more time. Possibly later this afternoon, but I’m not sure.”

  “Okay, but I’d like to follow up.”

  “I would like you to follow up,” Nell agreed. “I’ll do what I can.”

  “Fair enough. We’re still on for tonight, right?”

  “Still are.”

  “Nell, Chief Shaun.” Buddy Guy joined them, hand already out for shaking. Nell listened to a few of his “starring Buddy Guy” ideas for newspaper stories before Philip Yorst also joined them and chimed in with ideas for yacht club stories, including one about how the number of beer cans clogging the harbor had increased since the reopening of Ray’s Bar.

  After the minimum amount of polite time had passed, Nell made noises about having to get back to her children. She didn’t out-and-out lie and say there was a babysitter who had to leave, but Lizzie had a limit to how long she would look out for Josh before regressing to whining adolescent angst. Nell guessed this was about Lizzie’s limit, and it was certainly hers.

  When she got home, she was more or less right. Improbably enough, Lizzie was out in torn shorts trimming the shrubs and Josh was ensconced in front of the computer. The clothes were yet to be folded.

  Children—and life—are full of surprises, Nell thought.

  thirty-two

  Of course, the minute Josh realized that Nell had returned, he jumped up from the computer and hurried to the laundry room. Nell took a few seconds to glance at what he’d been doing online, including checking the websites he’d been to. She did this openly most of the time, as she wanted her children to know she cared what they did and also that there were limits to what they could do. So far, no XXX hot girls sites had come up, although she was already working on the “mom” speech, a separate version for Josh and Lizzie, for when it did happen. Curiosity being what it was, she knew it was when, not if.

  But today wasn’t the day. Josh had been engrossed in nature sites, and it was the literal birds and bees that had kept him from the laundry. Or actually the snakes and sharks.

  Mid-afternoon, after a long shower, Lizzie left for her marathon slumber party. A little while later, the phone rang. It was Kate.

  “Nell, hello. I just wanted to let you know I’m at the bike shop if Josh wants to come over. That is, if it’s still okay with you.”

  “Of course it’s okay with me. But … how are you? Are you up to it?”

  “I need to keep … keep myself going. Josh helps me pull out.”

  “If you’re sure. I know he’ll be happy to come by.”

  “I’m sure. Send him along whenever. A new shipment of bikes arrived yesterday, so maybe between the two of us we’ll get them put together tonight.”

  “Consider him sent.” Nell continued before Kate could hang up. “Have you thought about showing the police the book? Chief Shaun asked about it today. Will you talk to him?”

  “I guess. I … yes, I’ll talk to him. Maybe I should have a friend with me. Or a lawyer.”

  “I don’t think you need a lawyer,” Nell answered. “If you’re comfortable with me, I’d be willing to be there.”

  Kate hesitated, then said, “Depends. Which side are you on?”

  Trust takes time, Nell realized. Kate had reasons to be slow in granting hers—her partner had been killed for this book.

  “Truth and justice,” she replied. “The side we all should be on.”

  “Who’s truth and who’s justice?” Kate asked, a bitter edge coming into her voice.

  Nell surprised even herself as she suddenly burst out, “It’s not justice that you had to sit in the back of the church. It’s not justice that Ronald Hebert was convicted and executed because he was gay. It’s not justice that I had to find another job for one of the best reporters I’ve ever had because he slept with another man. It’s not fair and it’s not right … and it’s not just.”

  Kate was silent for a long time, then she said, “Thanks. I … needed you to be angry. I needed …” She was again silent and Nell realized that Kate was either crying or trying not to cry. Finally, Kate broke the silence again. “Tell Josh to get over here. I’ve got bikes to put together. And I’ll talk to your cop friend whenever.” With that, she gently put the phone down.

  Nell went back to the living room to give Josh the good news. He was out the door in less than ten minutes. Nell felt a stab of envy as she watched him go; it was a beautiful clear day, perfect for biking, perfect for being out behind a shop putting together bikes. It seemed like such a carefree and easy existence. Should I call the bike shop to make sure he gets there, she suddenly worried. Can I lose a son in eight blocks of brightly lit street? Nell quickly picked up the phone again. “Josh’s on his way. He should be there in a few minutes,” she told Kate.

  Kate understood her undercurrent of worry. “I’ll call if he’s not here—wait—I see him turning onto the block now.”

  Nell thanked her and hung up.

  The phone rang again and t
his time it was Jacko.

  “Any chance you can swing by the office? I’ve got a few things for you.”

  “Ready to swing,” Nell answered. It wasn’t as pure and free as flying in the wind on a bike, but she was ready for an excuse to get out of the house, ready to be the intrepid girl reporter once again.

  It took her fifteen minutes to get ready to leave, not bad for a forty-something-year-old woman, she decided as she drove to the office of the Crier.

  Jacko was there waiting for her. No one else was about, but it was Saturday. Only the intrepid reporters show up on weekends, Nell thought as she entered the main room. And the ones decent enough to tie everything up before they leave for their new job.

  “What’s up?” she asked.

  “It’s all in this stack,” he said, indicating a pile of paper on his desk. “But to summarize: the county jail seems pretty clean, much as we want to hate Sheriff Hickson. The only other prisoner death was a heart attack and that was five years ago. But I did run into something interesting. Seems your good friend Wendell Jenkins has a blot on his record.”

  Jacko paused to take the top sheet off the stack. He handed it to Nell and said, “Back in his college days, he was a drinking man and allegedly brought an underage girl back to the frat house, poured alcohol down her throat, had sex with her when she was unconscious, and never bothered to notice when she didn’t wake up.”

  “She died?”

  “Yes, she was sixteen years old. Not only that, but Wendell got his frat brothers to help him get rid of the body. Only thing that got him caught was that one of them felt guilty about it and went to the campus cops.”

  “But I gather Wendell got off ?”

  “More or less. Even back then the Jenkins had money. He claimed she lied about her age, that she was loose, had sex with all the boys—she wasn’t around to contradict him. He got slapped on the wrist. Remember this was almost forty years ago.”