Clay

by Jennifer Blake

  “Maybe.”

  “Or because you’re a sucker for kids.”

  Clay gave him a look of disgust.

  “Turnabout is fair play or something along that line? You want to get this Janna Kerr into your bed instead of the other way around?”

  “Could be. Or I could also have a feeling that she needs help, needs it in the worst kind of way.”

  “Which is it?” Roan asked, his voice sharp with impatience. “Make up your mind.”

  “I think I have.” Clay let the words stand without embellishment.

  “So what do you need? Besides psychiatric help, of course.”

  “Answers,” Clay said, his voice sober. “More than anything else, I need answers.”

  9

  Janna took the old boat out again early the next morning, while Lainey was still asleep. She didn’t intend to go far, not with her daughter alone in the house except for Clay. There was just this one small creek-fed cove that had intrigued her the afternoon before. Lainey had been too tired for her to check it out then, but she could do it now in less than an hour.

  Quite a few boats were on the lake; more than usual, she thought. They buzzed up and down the nearby main channel, and the waves they made kept her light craft constantly rocking. It was a few minutes before she remembered the weekend fishing tournament Dr. Gower had mentioned. Today was Saturday, she thought, though she’d almost lost track in the confusion of the past few days. She avoided the activity, paddling quietly along close to various small islands and spits of land, keeping her eyes open.

  Rounding a bend, she came upon a fancy bass rig with a bright red fiberglass hull, elevated captain’s chairs, gauges of all kinds and a motor large enough to run the QE II. The two fishermen who occupied the boat gave Janna a pleasant greeting. She would have passed them by without another word, but the one in front hailed her across the water.

  “Say,” he called, “you wouldn’t be from around here, would you?”

  “Sorry,” she answered, resting her paddle a moment so bright droplets from it caught the sun and she drifted with decreasing momentum.

  “We were just wondering what was going on.”

  She gazed at them across the waves. Their faces were red and shiny from the heat, and their floppy, narrow-brimmed hats were something a Southern good old boy wouldn’t be caught dead wearing on his head. Accents from above the Mason-Dixon line were just the final proof that they were from out of state. It was unlikely, then, that they posed any threat. “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “We couldn’t put our boat in at the landing where the tournament brochure said. Had a small army of cops around it.” The man in the rear put down his rod and bent to rummage around in a built-in ice chest until he pulled out a beer. “Ambulance was there, too, rescue squad, fire truck, you name it. We thought maybe there’d been a drowning.”

  “I don’t know anything about it,” she said, though she could feel her stomach muscles tighten as if in anticipation of a blow.

  The first man said, “I’m sure I saw the medics put a young guy on the gurney. I have to say he looked like a goner, but I suppose they have to carry him in anyway, so the coroner can do his job.”

  “A teenager?” Janna’s voice cracked a little with strain as she spoke.

  “Maybe sixteen or seventeen, about that size, anyway. We were too far away to be sure.”

  It could really be a drowning accident, Janna told herself. This boy didn’t have to be a victim of organ theft like the first.

  “Funny thing is,” the fisherman in the rear seat went on, “I’ve never seen it take that many cops to check out a boating accident.” He popped the top on his beer. “You’d think they were looking for something.”

  “I heard mention of an airboat and the guy who owns it,” the first man added. “Took me a minute to get the picture because they were calling the thing a Jenny or some such name.”

  Janna had to get back to the camp, and fast. “Yes, well, I guess we’ll read about it in the paper,” she said as she dug her paddle into the water again. “Good luck with your fishing.”

  They answered, she thought, but she didn’t hear. She was too busy swinging back around in the direction she’d come.

  Arty was at the camp when she got back, for his ancient wooden boat was tied up at the dock. She let herself into the house with quiet care, since she didn’t want to wake Lainey just yet. She would want to be taken off dialysis the instant she opened her eyes, and Janna had other things on her mind.

  Lainey was asleep and Arty was nowhere in sight. Then as Janna passed Clay’s room, she heard voices. The door was firmly closed and Arty was speaking in a rasping near-whisper, as if he didn’t want to be overheard.

  Janna hesitated a second, then she moved closer to the door and bent her head to listen. The first voice she caught was Clay’s in a soft query that she didn’t understand. It was followed by Arty’s answer.

  “Yeah. Floating in the channel again, poor kid. Fresh killed this time.”

  Clay swore. “The same way?”

  “Same bits gone, if that’s what you mean,” Arty agreed. “But this boy was shot first. A pistol, they say, light caliber, probably a Saturday Night Special.”

  Janna barely heard Clay’s reply for the thunder of her heartbeat in her ears. She pressed a hand to her throat and closed her eyes. Another body, another teenager robbed of his organs, if not killed for them. It was unbelievable.

  “Somethin’ else you should know.”

  The grim warning in Arty’s voice grabbed Janna’s attention again, overriding her horror. She held her breath to listen. Everything was quiet inside the room for long seconds, then Clay demanded, “Well? Out with it.”

  “You ain’t gonna like it.”

  “So what else is new?”

  “The lake’s been crawling with law since dawn, as you’d imagine. Officer even stopped by my place asking questions. Thought for a minute or two that I was in trouble, you know. Then he wanted to know if I’d seen you, had any idea why you hadn’t been to home lately.”

  “Must not have been one of Roan’s men.”

  “State Police, this guy. I guess Roan had to call them in, being these kids were likely killed somewhere else and dumped here.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “Not a dad-blasted thing,” Arty said, his voice shaded with contempt. “I don’t see nothing, don’t hear nothing, don’t know nothing.”

  “He give you a hard time about it?”

  The old man gave a humorless laugh. “Tried, being as how I’m fair game.”

  Janna heard the bitterness in the old man’s voice, and the disgust. He was obviously upset, but it was impossible to tell whether it was from the latest death or this visit from the law.

  “You think they’ve put me on the short list of suspects.” Clay’s tone was thoughtful.

  “Looks that way. This deputy mentioned you being a vet and all, said something about that medical training you took years back and how well you know the swamp.”

  “Right,” Clay drawled. “I suppose it never occurred to this guy that the last place I’d dispose of a body would be the main channel? That dumping one there is like trying to hide it in the middle of an interstate highway?”

  “Could be they think you did it to make it look like an outside job,” Arty suggested.

  Clay made a sound of agreement.

  “Sometimes folks are so busy trying to be smart that they forget to be logical,” Arty commented in disgust. “On the other hand, the best plans can get a kink in ’em.” The two men were quiet, probably in recognition of Arty’s bad luck all those years ago, when he tried unsuccessfully to dispose of his wife’s lover. After a second, the old man went on. “That officer allowed one more thing.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Somebody saw you out in Jenny last night.”

  Janna drew a quick, soundless breath as she waited for Clay’s reply. It wasn’t possible. Was it?”

  �
��Did they now?” Clay asked, his voice grim.

  “Said they’d recognize you anywhere, that they’d seen you heading down the lake in the middle of the night a hundred times. Jenny’s right noisy, when all’s said and done. I heard you myself. Woke me up when you got back near dawn this morning, too.”

  Silence took over inside the closed room. Janna felt sick. Clay was free to come and go. If he’d ever truly been a prisoner, he was no longer. He had been, was now, loose in her house, this man who had so much to hold against her.

  Finally Clay asked, “You saying you think I’m involved in this thing?”

  “Hell, boy. What’s it matter what I think?”

  “Roan will never believe it.”

  “You Benedicts stick together, I’ll give ye that.”

  That answer could mean anything. Was it possible that he was guilty? It seemed unlikely. But then why on earth was he still here, shut up in such cramped discomfort, if not as an alibi? The only answer that made any sense was that he knew. He knew all about her and Lainey.

  “Mama?”

  Janna jerked around at the sound. Lainey was awake. It was terrible timing, but there was nothing Janna could do. She moved quickly and soundlessly down the hall to the kitchen where she called out that she was coming as if she hadn’t long returned to the house. Then she went to care for her daughter.

  It was a good thing that she’d performed the sterile disconnection of the dialysis tubing a thousand times, for her mind wasn’t on the job. Too much was happening too fast, and she was caught in the middle with dwindling options.

  Clay wasn’t a prisoner; somehow she could not get that fact through her mind. She’d like to march into his room and throw his playacting in his face, but she didn’t quite dare. He would leave, and she didn’t want that. She needed him around a little longer.

  Time was running out. She had only one more day to get the extra money Dr. Gower demanded. The Aphrodite’s Cup had been a will-o’-the-wisp, the search for it a waste of time. She must scrap the tentative plan to use it as an arguing point for an increase in her already huge loan balance. The trouble was, she had nothing to take its place.

  “Hurry, Mama, I want to see Arty.”

  “You heard him talking, did you?” Janna asked as she valiantly switched mental gears. “He’s with Clay right now, but maybe he’ll stay for breakfast.”

  Lainey, holding very still while her stomach incision was cleaned, gave her a confident smile. “Clay won’t care if I go to his room with them.”

  “Maybe not, but I doubt it’s a good idea. They could be talking about things they don’t want little girls to hear.”

  “It all right, really. Clay likes me.”

  “I’m sure he does, sweetheart.” Janna searched her daughter’s face, noting automatically that she had more puffiness than she should have this morning and her eyes were lackluster as well, an indication that her numbers needed checking. She might also need additional dialysis tonight.

  “He told me so,” Lainey insisted. “He said I was one of his most favorite people in the whole wide world. Can’t I go in with him and Arty? Please?”

  “We’ll see,” Janna said, falling back on the ancient answer of mothers who could think of nothing better. The major question now, she knew, was if Lainey were enough of a favorite that Clay would want to help her. The only thing she could do, now that he was free, was ask.

  The ideal solution would be the kidney. Could she risk asking? Suppose she went to him and said, “I’m terrified that I’ve involved Lainey, your brother’s child, in a dangerous situation, one that may mean her death. But I can get her out of it if you’ll just cooperate. I don’t have the money to pay for an illegal transplant now, but she could have a completely legal procedure if you’ll only give her a kidney.”

  No, she absolutely couldn’t do that. What if he refused? To sacrifice so much for a virtual stranger would be unusual. What if he denied that Lainey was Matt’s child? It wouldn’t be at all surprising, after the things she’d done to him. And if he did accept Lainey’s parentage, it raised the specter of what he might expect in return. Then there was his dislike of needles. He could well bolt at the first mention of surgery, taking all chance of aid with him.

  What Janna was laying on the line was nothing so trivial as pride or fear of rejection. It was, as it had been for so long now, her daughter’s very existence. For such a huge gamble, she could only trust a sure thing. What she needed then was the money for the illegal procedure.

  “Hurry, Mama.”

  “Yes, yes, I’m hurrying,” Janna said as she found clothes and helped Lainey dress, then sat down on the bed beside her and began to brush her hair.

  It was possible that she need not gamble at all. There had been the hint, slight but still present, that Dr. Gower might consider an appeal made in the proper manner. A naked appeal, literally. If she could force herself to that, then everything might be all right. All she’d have to do was find a way to live with herself afterward. But how difficult could that be when she might already be trading some young man’s life for her daughter’s chance to live?

  What kind of person was she that she could even think of doing that? She could tell herself that it wasn’t proven that Dr. Gower was receiving the illegal kidneys. She could pretend that she hadn’t heard this latest news about another body, didn’t make the connection. She could look the other way, even lie to herself and say she had no idea what was going on.

  Yes, but could she lie to Lainey when she was old enough, curious enough, to ask who had given her a kidney? How could she explain that unwilling sacrifice? Would she even be around to lie then, or would she be in prison for her part in this terrible scheme?

  “Mama, you’re hurting me!”

  She was hugging Lainey much too tightly, smoothing her hair over and over as if that might wipe the stain from her own heart. “Sorry, darling,” she said, releasing her with a final brush of a fine blond strand away from her face. “So sorry.”

  Somehow, she had to persuade either Dr. Gower or Clay to help fund Lainey’s surgery. She had to get close enough to one of them so that he would agree; she had no choice. It was wrong, it was crass and manipulative and all the things she despised, but it was also necessary. The only thing left to decide was which man she could trust that far.

  The doctor or Clay? Which one could she bear to face with primal seduction on her mind?

  It was a fine question. But to it, as in all the rest along this crooked road she’d chosen to travel, there was really just one answer.

  10

  Arty didn’t stay for breakfast. He was nervous about Beulah, he said; she’d filled her nest full of eggs and was likely to take a leg off anybody who came too close to it. Janna thought it was an excuse. He felt responsible enough to check on his friend, and also on Lainey, it seemed, but had little to say to Janna. Of course he knew that Clay could leave at will. It was possible, then, that the two men were conniving at something, though what it might be, Janna was afraid to think.

  The day was incredibly hot, a moist, sticky heat that seeped in through the thin walls of the old house and made the two air conditioners work overtime. The sun glared down, laying a sheet of molten-silver on the lake’s surface so bright that it hurt to look at it. The heavy air was difficult to breathe. Leaves hung straight and limp on the trees, while the shadows underneath were as deep and dusty as old black velvet.

  Clay appeared morose, almost sullen. Janna was so on edge that every sound made her jump. At the same time, depression gripped her so all she really wanted to do was lie on the living-room sofa and escape all her problems in sleep. She couldn’t do that, not only for Lainey’s sake, but also because of silent dread from knowing she was closed up with a wolf that could slip his chain at will.

  Lainey was fretful. She didn’t want to help Janna, didn’t want to draw, play or have a snack. Lethargic and restless by turns, all she wanted was to lie curled against Clay with Ringo in her arms, listening wh
ile he read bits aloud to her from a fishing magazine. When anything else was suggested, she protested so pitifully that Janna didn’t have the heart to insist. At least Clay didn’t seem to mind sharing his bed with her and the raccoon.

  Lunch consisted of cold cuts, boiled eggs and salad, a fast and easy meal that didn’t heat the kitchen. Lainey had hers with Clay, though she clearly had no appetite. She’d have done no more than pick at her food if he hadn’t teased and cajoled until she finished at least a small amount.

  Afterward, Janna cleared away the dishes, then got out her watercolors. The only thing that broke the silence for some time was the swish of her brush in water between colors, Clay’s voice as he read a scintillating tale about trout fishing, and an occasional rumble of thunder that indicated a distant summer cloudburst.

  Clay came to the end of his article, but didn’t continue or turn the magazine page. The silence of creative concentration, broken only by the hum of the air conditioner, settled around Janna. She finished the series of interlocking water hyacinth blooms that she was working on before she finally looked up.

  The room had grown so dim with the advance of the afternoon and the gathering clouds that she could barely see across it. She could just make out that Lainey had fallen asleep, lying in the protective curve of Clay’s body. He had dropped the magazine he held so it landed on the floor, and rested his head on the bent elbow of his arm. His eyes were closed and his chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm.

  Janna laid down her brush and rose quietly to her feet. Walking to the bed’s edge, she stood looking down at the pair. How easy it was to trace the resemblance between them while they lay with their faces so close together. The changes caused by Lainey’s illness obscured it a bit, perhaps, but it should be plain to anyone with eyes to see.

  She reached out a gentle fingertip to smooth Lainey’s fine, dark eyebrow then almost, but not quite, touched that same thick arch above Clay’s shuttered eye. As she stood with her hand hovering above his face, she was aware of a swelling fullness in her heart. It was stupidly sentimental, of course, but she felt an odd affection toward this man merely because he looked like her daughter.