by Kristen Lamb
Chapter Twenty-Four
Sawyer left the room as a nursing assistant dressed me, despite my protests I could do it myself. According to the hospital staff, Sawyer had rarely left my side since I’d been admitted. Daddy and Nana delivered my purse and a new dress and a pair of simple flats while I was sleeping off my final dose of Demerol. I texted a message.
I’m ready. Let’s finish this.
The nursing assistant combed my hair and pinned it in a bun, then adjusted my cervical collar, my leg brace, and eased on my flats. I wouldn’t be doing any bending for a while, or walking. Taking a full breath was already an epic undertaking. The .45 hadn’t penetrated the vest, but had badly bruised my heart. A doctor frowned in the doorway and a sour-faced nurse shoved a clipboard at me. Made me think of Angry Bird.
“You’ll need to sign these,” she said, her tone irritated.
The doctor added, “You’re leaving against medical advisement. The hospital won’t be liable for anything once you set foot outside.”
Doped to the gills with pain medicine, I chicken-scratched out my initials and handed the stack of prescriptions to Sawyer who’d been briefed about my wound care. Doctor and nurse pivoted and stormed out of the room.
Sawyer was dressed in a dark suit and dress shoes. “You’re in pretty bad shape. You sure about this?”
“You can bring me back after the service. I have unfinished business,” I said. I wore all black, and the St. Jude recovered from Heather’s body rested beneath the industrial cervical collar. I looked ridiculous, but after so much neck trauma, I couldn’t hold up my head without it.
St. Jude, patron saint of hopeless causes.
Today was a day of grieving, of letting go. Cotton’s service was in an hour, and I’d honor his memory. I thought about the now-gone sign that once marked my way home. A righteous man may have many troubles, but the Lord delivers him from them all. I thought about Ida how she’d been so right about the wilderness. I just hoped I was almost out of it.
This wasn’t over. I’d taken off the hydra’s head, but the heart remained.
Two CNAs wordlessly moved me into a wheelchair. Sawyer set crutches on my lap even though I had no intentions of using them. I couldn’t tolerate anything touching my ribs. Clothes hurt bad enough. Once the staff loaded me in the Suburban and returned through the wide doors, Sawyer said, “Angel is seeing to Phil and Kalista’s burials once the bodies are processed and they’ve searched for any family members to claim them. The headstones are ready and flowers ordered for when they’re eventually laid to rest.”
“Good.”
He shook his head. “I don’t understand though.”
“Don’t understand what?” I said staring ahead, seeing but not seeing.
“Why did you pay for it?”
“To prove Heather was wrong,” I said.
“Wrong about what?”
I licked my lips, chose my words carefully. “Mercy isn’t for the weak. It’s for the strong. We have to get going. The service is starting.”
“We don’t have to attend. You can visit the grave when you’re better.”
“I need to go today. Trust me,” I said.
He rubbed my hand tenderly as he drove. I didn’t stop him.
We parked in front of the cemetery. News vehicles and reporters hovered like vultures, and it looked as if the entire town was gathered around a minister on a hill. That’s when I spotted Meyerson exiting the passenger side of a cruiser. Sawyer bristled, “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of this—”
I stopped him, “No. He’s here because of me. I asked him.”
“You did what?”
I rolled down my window as Meyerson limped over on his crutches, his leg bound in a brace.
“You look like shit,” he said.
“You too, Robby.” I offered a wan smile. “Did you find them?”
He stared at his feet. “I did.” His eyes glistened and he wiped his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Romi. I know I wasn’t a good cop, but was never a bad one, neither. I tried standing up to Ferris. And there was no one to go to, so I did the best I could.”
“I know you did.”
He drew a shaking breath. “Could lose my job. Only thing I ever loved, you know. But I don’t care anymore. I want them to pay for what they did.”
“You won’t lose your job.”
He smiled weakly. “I never knew about any of this cartel stuff. Believe me. Cotton was good to me when no one else was. Not right what happened.”
“I know, which is why we’re here. To set things right. How young was she when…when it began?”
His face was tormented and he couldn’t meet my eyes. “Ten.”
I nodded and swallowed back the tears. Everything made sense now.
Sawyer looked at us as if we’d just beamed down out of a flying saucer. “Mind catching me up?”
I ignored Sawyer and held Robby’s hand. “Thank you. Be discreet. His wife has enough pain.”
Robby pointed to two other officers waiting in another cruiser. “We’ll keep it as quiet as we can, but with all these reporters? We can only do so much,” he said, somberly.
I nodded.
“Once we process him, we’ll turn him over to the feds along with the others. They’ll need good lawyers.”
“Be good to this town,” I said. “Bisby deserves it.”
“Bye, Romi. Again, I’m sorry,” he said, eyes downcast. “For everything.”
“Go do your duty, Officer Meyerson,” I said and he gimped back to the cruiser as I rolled up my window.
“What’s that about?” Sawyer asked.
“A reckoning,” I simply said and settled back in my seat and watched them lay my beloved Cotton to rest.
We sat in silence for another half hour then watched the steady stream of mourners flow down the hill toward shiny black cars waiting to take them to the wake at the Ferris residence. I spotted JC, Kim and the kids. JC stopped and hugged a group of men who were boys the last time I saw them. But they’d all loved Cotton. They wept silently and I wanted to join them. I wanted to reach out, but this wasn’t the time.
Two officers approached Mayor Ferris. I saw his face and knew. He ushered his wife to the waiting limo, probably telling her he’d meet her at home. Ferris would never go home. Ever. Not if there was any justice in this world.
Once the cars pulled away, the officers cuffed Mayor Ferris and put him in the back of the cruiser. Reporters crowded the vehicle, yelling for answers. Cameras everywhere to make Ferris’s ruin public. The camera crews dispersed from the cemetery, following the disgraced mayor.
Sawyer whirled to face me. “What the hell’s going on?”
“Stop, drop, and roll doesn’t work in Hell,” I murmured.
“What?”
“Ferris raped my sister, then led her to believe he loved her,” I replied with the emotion of a weather report. “My mom cleaned house for the Ferris family and found out he’d been molesting her for years. She followed my then-fourteen-year-old sister and likely discovered her and Ferris together. Probably found the tunnels, too since she would’ve known about the well at Eisler’s place. Knew Ferris was dirty.”
“Ah hell.” He rubbed his forehead. “And using Delroy to smuggle drugs under the town.” He put the Suburban in gear and drove out of the cemetery.
“Was small potatoes back then,” I said. “Just a network of natural caves. That hole Robby fell through wasn’t a storm cellar. It was a place to store drugs or Illegals. Those were the shadows we saw as kids. Ferris was already brokering a deal with a new, ambitious cartel eager for expansion. He ordered Delroy to stop my mom from meeting the cop in Presidio.”
“Folken.”
“Yes. Delroy murdered her. Didn’t count on Cotton not following me to Fort Worth. Instead, Cotton had chosen his childhood friend, still trying to save Delroy from Delroy. My guess is he witnessed the murder or saw his father overseeing my mom’s body being disposed. Confronted him.”
“
And his father had him and Delroy killed.”
I shrugged. “He knew Cotton’s character. He was one of the good guys. Ferris called in a favor from his new cartel friends to do his dirty work for him. Plausible deniability.”
“I don’t understand people. His own son,” he said and made a face like he’d bitten into something rotten.
“ Los Espectros promised to make Ferris rich and powerful if he was patient, so he sacrificed his only boy to become mayor. For money.” The words soured in my mouth. “Everyone has a price,” I said.
He gripped the steering wheel so hard I noted his knuckles were white. “How’d you figure it out?”
“Heather said some things…when…when she was trying to kill me. In the hospital, I realized Delroy wasn’t who my sister was in love with. That wasn’t the relationship my mom was trying to stop. My mom found love letters.”
“And?”
“And since my sister’s bedroom looked the same as it had in high school, I suspected she might still have those letters. I asked Meyerson to search her belongings and he found them sewn inside her stuffed animals, a forgotten journal taped under the dresser. Ferris began having sex with her when she was ten, poisoned her against her family.”
“Heather was blackmailing Ferris?”
“Didn’t need to. He’d already destroyed her. She’d do anything for him.”
“Stockholm’s,” he said, his voice solemn.
“Yes. The whole thing with Thoolen? The S&M? Ferris had the best of all worlds. A wife for politics, a missing son for sympathy, money, power, and my beautiful sister for a sex toy eager to please him.” I bit back the grief and anger.
“By delivering him Phil and Verify and handling business with Los Espectros .”
“My sister used Los Espectros to tie up Verify’s loose ends. Ida’s death was just to hurt me. Her plan was to take over as Daphne, gain control over the accounts and continue the fraud. New life, no family. Lots of money.”
“Could’ve worked, too. But why kill Cunningham?”
“Too many players. Only thing Claire cared about more than money was her image and Mark used her and humiliated her.”
“Golf course borders her property. No surveillance. Easy to draw him to a middle of the night meeting…”
“Bastard never saw it coming.”
“She could tolerate him working with a cartel, but not infidelity?”
“Him sleeping with the trailer park princess was probably the tipping point. Hit Claire in her pride. As far as the cartel? That was already in motion and the new vineyard had already been announced in the papers. No backing out without looking a fool and making lots of enemies. She could profit or end up in pieces. Going along was life insurance. No Claire Barrington, no Barrington Vineyard and no front.”
“The perfect détente,” he said.
“Yes, it was.” I noticed we seemed to be driving in circles. “You can take me back to the hospital now.”
Sawyer took a deep breath. “I can’t do that.”
“Why? Am I wanted for fashion felonies? In my defense, those weren’t my clothes.”
He chuckled and parked in front of a fine seafood restaurant, even though it wouldn’t open for another four hours. “You never lose your sense of humor, do you?”
“Takes my mind off the pain.” I winced. The Demerol was wearing off and I felt like I’d been beaten with a sledgehammer.
Shadows from old worries skittered across his face, and his mood darkened. “You aren’t safe,” he said, voice rough and low. “It’s why I never left you alone in the hospital.”
“Oh,” was all I could say.
“Odds are Los Espectros is a hell of a lot bigger than whatever low-level thugs we arrested. With reporters everywhere?” He shook his head.
Making a face, I said, “But, I’m not headline news. No one even knows I was at Claire’s in that cellar, do they?”
“No,” he replied, clearly harsher than he’d meant to because he followed with a far softer, “No. They don’t. It’s just I don’t trust something won’t be leaked. Something connecting you to all of this.” He waved his hand the general direction of Bisby proper then settled into a frosted silence.
I nodded.
As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t argue with his logic. Three can keep a secret, so long as two were dead. How many times had I quoted that to him? He was right. Too many people, too many moving parts. At least for now, distance would be my greatest ally. Lie low, heal, and reporters would eventually move on, find a fresher tragedy before viewers grew bored.
The town, too, would forget. The same way they’d forgotten my mother and my first love all these long years.
I held no illusions that, if given a choice in matters, most everyone would’ve preferred both bodies remained interred indefinitely. Pretty fictions were always more comfortable than pointy truths. I imagined every citizen of Bisby, especially the innocent ones, burned with shame for what they’d failed to see. For how they’d been fooled so easily.
I knew how exactly how they felt.
“The Bureau is good at cover stories, but…” He refused to meet my eyes, stared off at some distant point, and I wondered what ghosts might be lingering there that only he could see.
“But?” I pressed.
“No system is perfect,” he muttered, and his tone held an odd quality. The statement sounded as if wrenched from him, like a confession rather than a fact.
“What are you suggesting?” I braced for the worst, though I wasn’t certain what that was precisely. Then, I remembered whom I was in the car with and nudged him playfully. “You have a plan already, don’t you?”
He offered a wisp of a smile. His mood lightened like hot sun trying to break through a layer of storm clouds. “Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“As I see the situation, you’re already officially checked out of the hospital. I believe prudence dictates—”
“Immediate exfiltration from Bisby and relocation to a secured area under friendly control?” I finished.
He laughed and shook his head ruefully.
“What? I speak fluent Call of Duty,” I said, flipping my hair indignantly, the ice pick of stabbing pain making me instantly regret my attempt at comedy. But his open laugh was well worth it. Even if I’d wanted to argue, I’d almost lost what little voice I’d regained.
“Why am I not surprised?” he said.
“I’m just bummed I don’t get to ‘pop smoke,’” I finished with a wistful sigh. “What do you recommend?”
Fatigue and stress had etched lines in his face, deep furrows that hadn’t been there when we’d met only weeks ago. “Don’t know about you, but I’m in serious need of a vacation. The ocean’s a good place to heal.” He kissed my hand gently as if too much pressure might crumble my fingers to dust.
“Perhaps.” My thoughts drifted to waves, moist air heavy with brine, and the feel of warm sun on my skin and cool surf on my toes. “So long as I can just look at the ocean.”
He chuckled. “Ah, thalassophophia.”
“Yes, and feel free to add claustrophobia to that now, thanks to my sister.”
“There’s a nice open balcony for you to safely observe the ocean. There’s also a heated saltwater pool which you’ll need soon enough as banged up as you are.”
“Fine, then. Where’s this safe house you speak of?”
“My sister owns a place in Galveston. Not a resort, but a nice little bungalow. You can even have your own room,” he said cautiously, as if expecting an outright no.
“Let’s go then,” I said.
He narrowed his eyes and waited for me to say more, but I didn’t.
“Just like that. No argument? That easily?”
“Yep. That easily. Why so suspicious?” I smirked because we both knew this was the first time he hadn’t been forced to either threaten, blackmail, or use handcuffs to get me to cooperate.
“There’s one more thing we need to settle before we do…th
is,” he said somberly. He smoothed his tie as if it were the most fascinating activity in the world.
Maybe it was the drugs, or all we’d survived, or that life was short and I didn’t want to dance around the issue between us. “I’m not ready to say I love you, Ben. But, I’m fairly sure I’m catching up to the idea.”
He blinked as if my comment had leapt out in front of him like a deer from a line of trees. “I wasn’t meaning that, but…” Stopping short, he asked, “Did you just call me Ben?”
“Don’t get too excited, Sawyer. I’m on a lot of drugs. Technically, not supposed drive, have a chainsaw, or talk about feelings.”
“True.”
“But, hey, I’m a rule-breaker. What’s up?” I asked, cramming as much flippancy into my tone as possible, hoping to calm the raw fear that clawed at my insides. What was there to settle? 'Settle.' A trigger word only outranked by the phrases ‘We need to talk,’ and ‘Take care.’
