by BJ Bourg
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 shou
ld 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 these 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.”
I tried to remind myself what Hazel had mentioned earlier about it being many years ago and my mom being a different person now. “So, why did Garvan eventually leave my mom? If he loved her so much that he’d let her beat on him, why would he leave? What could be worse than getting beat on?”
“What could be worse than getting beat on is watching someone you love getting beat.” She scowled. “Garvan left your mom because she hit the one person he loved as much as he loved her—and that was Crystal.”
CHAPTER 32
A million thoughts swirled around in my head, and none of them had anything to do with the murder case I was investigating. My mom had spanked me as a kid, but I always deserved it and she never hit me in anger—that I could remember. Knowing what I knew about her, I found it hard to believe this story about Garvan leaving her for beating on Crystal.
I didn’t know how I felt about this revelation. I also didn’t know how I felt about my mom. I loved her, but if this information were true, I’d be very disappointed in her. What would cause her to beat a young child—her own daughter? What if she was lying about Garvan being my dad? Apparently, she had told more than a couple lies, so it wouldn’t be outside the realm of possibilities. And what kind of person was she back in her earlier days? What other skeletons were hiding in her closet?
As I turned onto the interstate to leave the city and head back to Mechant Loup, I remembered what Hazel Montana had said about my mom not being the same person today as she was when she was a young girl. I was smart enough to know everyone makes mistakes from time to time. Hell, I’d certainly made more than my share. By comparison, my mother was an angel. At least she’d never killed anyone in cold blood. Although those men deserved it and I was cleared of any legal wrongdoing, it was still morally wrong of me.
I once again found myself wishing I could return to that moment in time and make a better decision. How different would things have been had I spared their lives? It would’ve taken at least a year—probably much longer—for the case to make it to trial, and there would’ve been that slim chance they would’ve gotten off on a technicality…again. I sighed and begrudgingly acknowledged I’d done what was best for the case, the citizens of Mechant Loup, and the world in general.
Upon reaching Central Chateau, I stopped for food and ate while I drove. It took me twenty minutes more to reach the police department in Mechant Loup. Once I parked under the building, I slowly stepped from my Tahoe—taking my trash with me—and lumbered up the stairs. It was almost three o’clock when I finally entered my office and sat wearily in my chair. I was mentally exhausted. I’d gone over the conversation I wanted to have with my mom repeatedly in my head, but it never came out the way I liked and it sounded different each time I rehearsed it.
I could hear Susan’s voice emitting from her office, and it sounded like she was on the phone. I was sure she’d heard me say hello to the dispatcher, and my thoughts were confirmed when her head appeared in my doorway ten minutes later. I was busy catching up on my report and didn’t hear her until she faked a cough.
I looked up and smiled, happy to see her face. She limped toward my desk and sat in the chair across from me.
“Where are your crutches?” I asked. “I thought you were supposed to use them for six weeks?”
“I’m halfway there and it feels fine. Other than it itching and me nearly falling every time I put weight on those crutches, I wouldn’t even remember it was broken.” She rested her elbows on the desk. “So, how’d it go?”
“I haven’t heard back from the examiner yet.” I glanced at the clock on the bottom corner of my computer monitor. “I should be getting a call anytime with some of the results.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it.”
I leaned back in my chair. “I met Hazel Montana and had a long conversation with her. She says Garvan’s not my dad.”
Susan reached across the desk and gently touched my hand. “When you didn’t call, I figured it was bad news.”
“And get this; Hazel says my mom beat Crystal when she was real young and that’s why Garvan took her away.”
Susan’s eyes widened. “Are you serious? Your mom beat a child?”
“That’s what Hazel says.” After saving the document on my computer, I told Susan how my mom used to spank me when I was a kid. “I was a bad boy,” I explained, “and I deserved to be spanked. Maybe Garvan didn’t agree with parents spanking their children.”
“How would she spank you?” Susan asked. “Did she use her hand?”
“She used a belt mostly.”
Susan chewed on her bottom lip. “Your mom doesn’t strike me as the abusive type.”
“She’s not—I mean, not that I ever knew. Hazel did say people grow up and they change, so perhaps she was different before I was born. Whatever the case, I’ll interrogate her and learn everything I need to know.”
“Clint, don’t you dare interrogate your mother!” Susan’s head was shaking from side to side, causing her ponytail to flop around behind her head. “Especially not just before Thanksgiving. It just wouldn’t be the right time.”
“There’ll never be a right time. I’m going to find out what she knows and I’m going to find out tonight.” My mind made up, I stood and held out my hand to help her to her feet. “If you don’t want to hear the commotion, then you might want to go for a drive around five o’clock—and you might want to take your mom with you.”
Shaking her head, she hobbled out of my office and called over her shoulder, “I guess that’s the last we’ll taste of her cooking.”
I was about to tell her I loved our cooking just fine, but the dispatcher buzzed
my phone and told me she was putting the crime lab tech through. I hurried to the phone and answered when it buzzed.
“What’s the verdict?” I asked eagerly.
“What do you want first?” she asked. “Prints, residue, or firearm?”
“Surprise me.”
“Oh, you will be surprised.” There was a pause and I could hear paper shuffling. Finally, she spoke again. “Okay, so, the prints from the table and the cash register all came from the same person, this Jack Billiot character.”
Since Jack said he had been sleeping at the table and he’d already admitted to stealing from the register, this didn’t surprise me. “Next?”
“We don’t have an answer yet on the gunshot residue. I have an analyst working on it, but you know how time consuming it is to process the stubs. I should know something by tomorrow.” There was another slight pause, and then she asked if I was ready for the results on the spent shell casing and bullet.
“No, I’ll call back tomorrow for those results,” I joked, and then quickly said, “Of course I’m ready!”
“The gun you recovered from Chris Jenkins was not a match to the bullet or the shell casing.”
I had already opened my mouth to celebrate when my brain processed what she’d said. “Wait—what? It doesn’t match?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Then who the hell killed my victim?”
“That, I’m afraid, is something you’re going to have to figure out yourself,” she said. “But I’m happy to process any other evidence you might collect.”
I mumbled a “thanks” and hung up the phone. Where was I supposed to go from here? I already knew Jack didn’t do it, but now that I had to cross Chris off of my list of suspects, that only left Connie Taylor.
I stared at the report that was still displayed on my computer monitor and one name popped out on the electronic page—Foster Blake. I leaned close to the screen and squinted in thought. Sure, he had an alibi in Joyce Reynolds, but what if they were lying for each other? They were cheaters, so that meant they were already liars. But what would be his motive for wanting his boss dead?
