Clint Wolf Boxed Set: Books 4 - 6

by BJ Bourg

  “You go ahead,” I said, surprised that my heart had begun to race a little as she logged in and opened the message. She groaned and I slowed the Tahoe and turned to look at her. “What is it?”

  “It’s from Crystal Montana. She…she says she doesn’t have a brother and her dad doesn’t have a son.” Susan held up the phone and frowned. “And she blocked you.”

  CHAPTER 29

  Monday, November 21

  La Mort Police Department Crime Lab

  After turning all of my evidence over to the intake officer at the La Mort Crime Lab, I asked if they could expedite the testing. “These are for an active homicide investigation and I need to know if this pistol is the murder weapon,” I said. “The killer is still at large, so it’s critical that I get this back as soon as possible.”

  The intake officer nodded her head. “As are all of your cases, Chief Wolf.”

  “I’m no longer the chief of police in Mechant Loup.”

  “I know, but it’ll take me a while to get used to your new title—just like it takes me until February of every year to get used to writing the current year.” She smiled. “But don’t worry; I’ll put a rush on everything. You should hear back from the firearms examiner later today and the fingerprint expert tomorrow or Wednesday.”

  I thanked her and walked out of the building. I checked my phone. It was nine o’clock. I knew I should head back to Chateau Parish to file a return on the search warrant of Connie Taylor’s house, but I wanted to speak with my grandmother. Susan had located an address through some website on her laptop, and she was pretty certain it was accurate. She had also run an Internet search and found Garvan Montana’s name on his father’s obituary in a newspaper from La Mort, and we were able to ascertain that his mother—my grandmother—was named Hazel Montana.

  I scrolled through the last few text messages Susan had sent and I found the address. Having spent two years working as a patrol cop and ten years as a homicide detective with the La Mort Police Department, I was very familiar with the streets and neighborhoods in the city. Of course, it had been four years since I’d traveled throughout the area and things looked a bit different than they did back then. It was remarkable what four years could do to a place. A few buildings I used to know had been torn down and new ones had sprung up, and some streets had seen improvements while others had gotten worse.

  The address was at the corner of Meg and Seventh—thirty minutes away on a good day, but on a busy Monday, it would take me forty-five minutes if I was lucky. I was tempted to just drive away, to head back to Mechant Loup, but I needed to know why my mom didn’t want me to meet this woman. I also wanted to know why Garvan Montana had abandoned my mom and me and taken my sister away. Had my mom cheated on him? Perhaps I was the product of an adulterous relationship. She claimed she met Ezekiel after becoming pregnant with me, but what if it was for someone other than Garvan? It hurt my head to try and figure it all out. There were so many possibilities and only one truth. Unfortunately for me, I’d probably have to work hard to learn the truth.

  Many questions swirled through my mind as I drove. I finally reached the interstate and found myself in bumper-to-bumper traffic. I groaned and wondered how I’d gotten anything done when I lived out here. I definitely remembered spending most of my life in a car, waiting for the roads to clear. It seemed like such a waste.

  When I finally reached the exit to get onto Meg, I eased to the shoulder and took the ramp. It was a short drive to Seventh from there and, thankfully, the traffic was much lighter. I got stuck at the light, but soon found myself on Seventh.

  The street was narrow and bumpy and it only got worse as I drove farther toward the back. The houses were so close together that I didn’t know how anyone who suffered from claustrophobia could live there. I’d never realized how cramped these city streets were until I moved to the expansive swamplands to the south.

  When I finally saw the number I was looking for on one of the houses, I pulled to the curb and took in the area. It was a blue two-story duplex and, according to the number, hers was the one on the left. In a city of steel, asphalt, and concrete, there were only a few strips of natural greenery between the sidewalks up and down Seventh Street, and it appeared Hazel Montana had created her own little jungle out here. Various types of plants were growing in small pots and lined the concrete steps. There were also a few pots hanging from the roof of the porch.

  I texted Susan to let her know I was fixing to make contact with my newfound grandmother, and then I removed my gun and badge before exiting my Tahoe. I didn’t want to scare her or make her think I was there on official business.

  Wiping the sweat from my hands and clearing my throat, I crossed the small patch of land between the street and the house and ascended the flight of steps. There was a screen door in front of the main door and I reached for it so I could knock. It was locked, so I pounded on the white doorframe. Cursing myself for feeling so nervous about meeting long lost family members, I stepped to the side—out of force of habit, and not because I thought she would shoot through the door—and waited for someone to answer.

  When no one came to the door, I knocked a second time, but harder. I leaned against the metal railing and glanced along the side of the house. There was a small white car parked near a green garbage can. Under the overhang of the porch, a broom was leaning against the wall, some Crocs were positioned next to the door, and the plants appeared healthy and well-watered.

  I lifted my hand to knock again, but stopped when I heard feet shuffling from inside. There were clattering sounds as multiple latches and locks were apparently being dismantled. Finally, the old fashioned door handle turned and the door creaked open just a crack. I could see that a chain was still attached and an elderly woman stood on the other side, squinting through black-rimmed glasses. She appeared to be in her early to mid-seventies and she wore brown polyester pants and a checkered apron. The tantalizing smell of fried shrimp escaped through the partially opened door and my stomach growled.

  “Hello, ma’am,” I greeted, flashing a friendly smile. “I was wondering if I could have a word with—”

  “Garvan? Is that you?” the woman opened the door wider and stepped forward, peering through the screen. “I thought you weren’t coming down until Wednesday.”

  CHAPTER 30

  “I’m Clint, ma’am…Clint Wolf,” I said to the woman. “Are you Hazel Montana?”

  The woman pulled off her glasses and wiped them with the front of the apron that hung around her neck. When she shoved them back on her face, she moved closer to me and peered up into my face. “Dear Lord, you look just like my Garvan did when he was a young man. What did you say your name was again?”

  “I’m Clint Wolf.” I swallowed and took a deep breath. “I’m your grandson.”

  The woman studied me for a moment, but then shook her head “I’m sorry, but I only have one grandchild, and she’s a girl. And I’m not kin to any Wolfs.”

  “Would that grandchild be Crystal Montana?”

  The woman nodded. “She’s the only grandchild I have. You must have me confused with somebody else.”

  “No ma’am, I don’t. Crystal is my sister and Garvan is my dad. My mom’s Nancy Montana—she’s a Wolf now. She and Garvan were married for—”

  “You don’t need to tell me about Nancy.” Hazel’s top lip curled up into a sneer. “The best thing that ever happened to Garvan was when he left that she-devil. Pardon me for speaking ill of your mother. I don’t mean to; it’s just that she really did a number on my boy.”

  Hazel could’ve pushed me over with her pinky finger. When I was growing up my mom was a bit strict with me and she was abrasive with other people from time to time, but I’d never heard someone describe her as a “she-devil”. When I recovered from my shock, I asked if we could sit down and talk.

  Hazel looked me up and down. “You don’t look like some killer, so I guess it’s okay for you to come inside. I’ve got food on the stove, so we
can talk in the kitchen. I have to warn you, though, if you try to rob me or anything, my neighbors will come running—and God help you if you get crossways with them.”

  “You’ll get no trouble from me.” I smiled and followed Hazel through her narrow home, stopping once we reached the kitchen. It was small and simple. There were two pots and a pan on top of a gas stove, and one of them contained rice. I pointed to it. “My mom still cooks rice on the stovetop. She taught me how to do it.”

  “It’s a lost art, thanks to those rice cookers and instant microwave packets that have been popping up everywhere, but they’re not the same. Some people say they can’t tell the difference between rice cooked on the stove and rice that’s been cooked in a microwave. To those people, I say they never tried real rice on the stove.”

  I couldn’t argue. My mom’s rice was some of the best I’d ever tasted—well, other than my own. The secret was in measuring the water, and she’d taught me how to use my fingers to do it where it would come out the same each and every time; no matter how much I cooked and regardless of the size of the pot.

  “I have to agree with you, ma’am,” I said, taking the chair she’d pointed out. “The only way my mom cooks rice is on the stove, and she taught me how to do it the old fashioned way.”

  “Hold on to that skill and pass it on to the next generation,” she warned. “If you don’t, this will be a lost art and everyone will be eating instant rice that taste likes cardboard.”

  Just when I thought she would talk about rice all day, she finally put down her spoon and turned the fire down on the pan of fried shrimp. “Where’d you say you were from again?”

  “I’m living in Mechant Loup, but I’m originally from here, in the city. I graduated from La Mort High and I joined the police force straight out of school. After doing two years as a patrol cop, I became a detective and did that for ten and a half years before…”

  “Before what?” Hazel asked.

  “Um, before I ended up in Mechant Loup,” I explained quickly, not wanting to talk about Michele and Abigail. “I’ve been there about two years now. It’s really different in a small town. Things are slower and quieter. I like it.”

  “When I was a little girl, La Mort was a small town, so I know what you mean.” After turning down the fire on her pots, Hazel took a seat across from me and placed her hands on the table. “Well, young man, you didn’t come here to talk about rice and small towns, so let’s get down to it. You believe Garvan is your father. Why do you think this is the case?”

  “I found a picture of my mom with him and Crystal from a long time ago, and my mom told me he was my dad. She told me his name was Garvan and that she wasn’t sure what had become of him. She said he always dreamed of owning a surf shop. I’m fixing to get married and I wanted to meet him and see if he would attend the wedding, along with Crystal.”

  “I see. If she didn’t know what had become of Garvan, how was it that you found me?”

  “My fiancée located an obituary for your husband—my grandfather—and she tracked you down from there.”

  Hazel frowned. “I’m so sorry you came all this way thinking you would find your family, but I’m afraid your mother lied to you. Garvan doesn’t have a son. He only has the one child—a daughter—and her name is Crystal.”

  CHAPTER 31

  I had to figure out a way to convince this woman I was her grandson. Sure, the evidence was weak. Hell, if this would be a criminal case, I wouldn’t have enough probable cause for a warrant, but there had to be a way…

  “When you first came to the door,” I said after a moment, “you thought I was Garvan, so I must look like him. That has to mean something.”

  She waved me off. “My glasses were smudged from cooking all morning. When they get all smudged up and blurry, every man with brown hair and brown eyes looks like my boy.”

  “But my mom said he was my dad. She gave birth to me, so she would know best who my father is.”

  “Garvan’s my son, so I think I would know better than your mother how many children he has. As far as I know, your mother hasn’t spoken to him in over thirty years. I don’t know why she lied to you, but she did.”

  I thought about what I would say next. Should I be delicate and diplomatic, or should I simply be blunt? I decided on a combination of both; diplomatic bluntness. “Do you know how many mothers have sworn to me over the years that their sons were innocent, only to find out later they were dead wrong? Look, I understand there are three sides to every story—her side, his side, and the whole truth—and I would just like to hear his side.”

  “What’s her side of the story?”

  “She said he abandoned us when she was pregnant with me and that he’s never tried to visit me or have anything to do with me. He never supported her in any way. In fact, another man had to adopt me and be a real dad to me because Garvan was nowhere to be found.”

  Hazel’s eyes narrowed. “She said that, did she? Did you ever wonder why Crystal lived with Garvan? Did you ever ask yourself what it would take for a judge to award custody to a father over a mother? Did you ever wonder why your mother hasn’t spoken to Crystal or tried to visit with her in over thirty years?”

  I hadn’t considered any of those points, so I shook my head slowly from side to side.

  Hazel continued speaking, but her tone was softer. “Garvan would never abandon a child of his. I don’t know why your mother lied to you, but you’re not Garvan’s son. If you were his offspring, you would be living with him in—”

  She caught herself, but I smiled and said, “It’s okay. I know he lives in Galveston and owns a surf shop.”

  I leaned back in my chair and slowly folded my arms across my chest. If what Hazel said was true, it was very possible I was Garvan’s son and he didn’t even know I existed. If he didn’t know about me, that would mean my mom was lying—yet again. If I really wasn’t his son, I would be an army without a country…a ship without a flag. I remembered thinking the same thing about a young boy not so long ago, and I suddenly knew how he felt to find out his father wasn’t the man he’d grown up thinking he was.

  “Are you okay, son?” Hazel asked.

  I nodded and unfolded my arms. “I guess it’s time for my mom and me to have a long conversation.”

  “Look, I know I’ve characterized your mother as a liar and a she-devil…” Hazel sighed. “Although the Lord wants us to forgive those who transgress against us, I still harbor some resentment toward your mother, but those are issues I have to work out with my Maker. As for you, before you judge your mom too harshly, just remember that people change over time, and all of this took place a very long time ago, back when she was a young girl herself. I can assure you she is not the same person she was back then—none of us are.”

  “What did happen between my mom and Garvan?”

  “Back when Garvan and your mom separated, it was because of the way your mom treated Crystal.” Hazel paused and took a breath, as though trying to decide how much she should tell. “You see, your mom always had anger issues, but she started getting worse as time went on. Before long, the smallest thing would set her off and she became increasingly more violent. She’d break things and throw things and she even put a knife to Garvan’s throat once and threatened to kill him.”

  “Wait a minute…” My jaw must’ve been dragging the table. “Are you sure we’re talking about the same woman?”

  “I’m afraid so, young man. I haven’t seen your mother in decades, but, judging by your reaction, she is a different woman now, and you should judge her based on who she is today, not who she was back then. Everyone grows up eventually. Maybe she finally sought help.”

  I was silent for a moment, and then asked if Garvan left her when she put the knife to his throat.

  Hazel shook her head. “No, he loved her too much to leave her. He allowed her to abuse him on a regular basis and he never once lifted a hand to stop her, nor did he ever consider leaving her. Now, he never spoke about the
se things while they were together. The only reason I knew anything was taking place was because I witnessed her punch him in the back of the head at Crystal’s first birthday party.”

  I couldn’t wrap my mind around what I was hearing. I’d never seen my mom ball up her fist, much less punch someone. “My mom punched him in the head?”

  “Yes, she did. She hurt her hand and, instead of being angry at her, he took her to the emergency room. When the doctor asked how it happened, Garvan lied to keep her from getting in trouble.”

  “Well, if he loved her so much and would cover for her, why’d he divorce her?”

  “Oh, they never got divorced.”

  “Never? But she’s a Wolf now. She shares the same last name with my dad—the man who raised me.”

  “If she did remarry, it’s a crime.”

  What else didn’t I know about my mom? “Are you saying my mom is still married to Garvan Montana?”

  “That’s right. Garvan was never able to remarry because of your mom. He tried having her served with divorce papers many years ago when he met a nice girl in Texas, but your mom had moved and didn’t leave a forwarding address. His lawyer hired some investigators and they thought they found her house once, but every time they tried to serve her a man answered the door and said he never heard of her.”

  “I remember that!” I blurted. I was about ten years old when my dad had mentioned that there were two private investigators at the door to serve my mom with papers. At the time, I thought she was in trouble and would be taken away, but I overheard him telling her he would never let those investigators talk to her.

  “Oh, Garvan was so angry. That nice girl eventually left him because she had dreams of getting married and having kids with him, but they couldn’t get married until he got divorced from his first wife. She hung around for a year or two, but she finally just faded away.”