She peeked through the small square of leaded glass panes to see Troy, half turned away, his hands shoved in his pockets. She hurried to undo the dead bolt and flung open the door. “Troy?”
“Hey.” He offered her a smile that didn’t quite come off. “You busy?”
“Of course not. Come in.” She stepped back. “I was watching a dumb comedy. I’ve hardly turned the TV on for the past month, but someone told me this show was good. Apparently we don’t share the same sense of humor.”
He followed when Madison led the way into her living room and used her remote to darken the television set. “Would you like coffee?” she asked.
“Yeah...no. Hell, I don’t know. Sure. Maybe.”
Although disquieted by his indecision, she smiled. “Coffee it is. Why don’t you come with me?”
He propped a hip against the kitchen counter while she put on a pot.
“You went to your mom’s,” Madison ventured.
“Yeah, and stormed out.” He grimaced. “I was probably an SOB, but goddamn it!”
“There’s a reason you haven’t talked about her.”
“You could say that.” He sighed. “Don’t get me wrong, I love her. She was a great mom. I was closer to Dad as I got older, probably only because I was a boy. Mom was never much into sports, although she came to my games and cheered me on.”
“What kind of games?” Madison asked, momentarily diverted.
“The usual. Little League, Pop Warner football. Then I played high school football and baseball.”
Madison nodded, leaning back against the cupboard and crossing her arms.
“My parents were really in love.” He frowned. “Sometimes the way they looked at each other made me uncomfortable. You know?” His eyes sought hers. He seemed satisfied when she nodded again. “Mom hasn’t dealt very well with losing Dad. It hit me hard, too, but I didn’t live with him. Sometimes I still think, I’ll have to tell Dad... And then I remember.” He fell silent for a moment. “At first I thought my mother’s grief was natural. Sometimes she pretended for my sake, but mostly she’s turned inward. She doesn’t even want to see friends. Until she discovered delivery, I did her grocery shopping for her. That kind of thing.”
Madison had the uneasy feeling she knew where this was going.
“She found a lawn service, so I didn’t have to mow anymore. I’ve kept doing home repairs, picking up the odd thing at the hardware store or the plant nursery for her.” His mouth curved into an utterly humorless smile. “Funny how easy it is not to notice that a person never leaves her home.”
“Does she not go outside at all?”
“To her yard, yes. She’s always been a gardener and still is. Far as I know, she grabs her mail and newspaper from the boxes outside the front gate. I’d been thinking she still did things like go to the salon. But today she told me breezily that she’s found a nice hairdresser who comes to her house. It didn’t go so well when I told her she had a problem.”
“If she’s scared, it’s not surprising she’d be resistant to admitting it.”
His eyes, she saw when they met hers, were like storm clouds. “It might’ve helped if I hadn’t said that in the middle of an argument about Dad. Turns out she’s known all these years that Dad didn’t go to the police when he should have. I mentioned you and then your father. You should have seen her face.”
Oh, wonderful. She was falling in love with a man whose mother had a major aversion to her family. An aversion that would become something much worse if Dad really had murdered Mitch King.
Which he didn’t. You know he didn’t. Madison hid her expression by turning to reach into the upper cupboard for mugs. Pouring gave her something to do.
“I said I bet she wished she could have gone to the time capsule opening so she could make Dad’s little confession disappear. Except she couldn’t make herself leave the house, could she?”
Madison winced. She could only imagine the tumult of emotions both Troy and his mother had been feeling.
She cleared her throat slightly and turned back to face him. “No, that probably wasn’t the best way you could have raised the agoraphobia issue with her.”
“Tell me about it,” he muttered, reaching for the mug she extended to him.
“Let’s go sit down,” she suggested.
In the living room he sank down on one end of the sofa and held out his hand, drawing her with him. Madison, who hadn’t especially wanted coffee anyway, set her mug down on the table, curled her feet under her and cuddled into Troy’s embrace.
He took a swallow of his coffee and then set it down, too. His arm tightened and she felt his cheek gently rubbing the top of her head.
“Short girl,” he said.
“Tall man.”
She loved the vibration of his chuckle under her ear and the knowledge that talking to her had been enough to allow him to let some of his frustration and anger and fear for his mother go. In fact, she felt squishy and warm inside at the realization that he must have driven straight here from her house.
“I needed you.” His mind had obviously been working on a similar track.
“I’m glad,” she whispered, shifting so she could see his face.
His kiss came swiftly. It metamorphosed from soft into urgent with stunning speed. Within moments, she was plastered against him and his hands gripped her butt, lifting and fitting her to him. Little sounds escaped her, and her own hands squeezed the taut muscles in his shoulders. She was desperate to climb a little higher onto him, to feel the ridge in his pants where it would do the most good....
It might have been the desperation that triggered an internal warning. You’re not going to do this, remember?
She so didn’t want to listen. Didn’t care why making love with Troy had once seemed like a bad idea.
But remembrance slipped into her head, anyway. Dad. It had to do with Dad.
Troy thought her father was a murderer. He might end up arresting him, and she didn’t know if she could bear that.
She had gone still in his arms. The rhythmic kneading of his hands slowed. He lifted his head and looked at her, his eyes heavy-lidded and dark.
“Madison?”
“I’m sorry. This is, um, a little fast for me.” She flushed at her own lie. She’d revved every bit as quickly as he had. In fact, she’d been frighteningly close to launch, and they were both still fully dressed.
Muscles hardened under her hands. He searched her face for the longest time. “Okay,” he said finally, voice rough and deep. He lifted her, wincing as she scrambled to get off his lap and planted a knee close to his groin. “Maybe I should go.”
“No!” She was as startled by her own cry as he looked. “Please don’t.” Madison looked down at her hands. “To be honest, I’m a little mixed up because of Dad and...and my fear of what might happen. But...I really like you. I’m hoping you can be patient with me.” She hesitated. “I don’t want you to leave,” she finished, her voice smaller.
His chest rose and fell with a long breath. She couldn’t help seeing how aroused he was. But all he did was rest his head against the back of the sofa, close his eyes and say, “Yeah, okay.”
“You understand?”
He groaned and opened his eyes. “I don’t want to, but I do.”
“Really?” Oh, that was pathetic.
“I know how hard this is for you, Madison.” He reached out and took her hand in his. “Don’t worry.”
She gulped. “Thank you.”
His expression was half amused, half...not. “We haven’t known each other that long. What kind of creep would I be to throw a fit because you said ‘Whoa, slow down, buddy’?”
A smile crept onto her face. “When you put it that way...”
The beginnings of his answering smile made her heart do some peculiar gyrations. “I do,” he said in that husky voice. They sat and looked at each other, Troy still with his head resting against the back of the sofa, Madison half turning to face him, one foot und
er her. For what seemed like a long time, all they did was look. Deeply, without any defenses. Adults never simply stare at each other like this, she realized in some remote corner of her mind, but this felt...right.
Troy’s lashes finally swept down, veiling his eyes, and Madison blinked. She hadn’t in ages. When he looked at her again, he was smiling crookedly.
“I told my mother I wanted her to meet you.”
Madison’s stomach did a cartwheel. Or maybe it was her heart. “This might not be the best time.”
“No.” His smile became more crooked and less happy. “It seemed...meant to be that our fathers knew each other.”
“Maybe it was meant to be.”
“Maybe.” Lines gathered on his forehead. “But if so, not in the way I thought.”
“No.” She felt light-headed. “What are you going to do about your mother?”
“God,” he groaned. “I don’t know.”
“Do you have any other family?”
“No. I guess Mom had some kind of female problem and had to have a hysterectomy when I was only three or four. They talked about trying to adopt another kid but never did. They originally wanted to have a big family, maybe three or four kids, because they were both onlys. Weirdly, one of the things they had in common was that their parents were in their forties when they had them. I don’t know if they were an afterthought, or their parents had trouble getting pregnant, or what.”
“That might have been a big thing to have in common,” Madison said thoughtfully. “I mean, the fact that their parents were so much older than everyone else’s. Although it depends what kind of people they were.”
He was frowning into space. “Mom’s father was kind of a bastard, from what she’s said, and her mom timid and quiet. Dad never said that much about his parents, which probably means something.”
“Maybe they were both lonely.”
“And held on tight when they found somebody.” He grunted. “Now Mom’s alone again.”
“No, she isn’t,” Madison said stoutly. “She has you.”
“Not the same.”
“She’s not too old to remarry.”
Troy gave her a “get real” look.
“Would you mind?”
He had to think about that. “No,” he said finally. “Of course not. But I can’t see it.”
“I guess the first challenge is getting her out of the house.”
He grunted again.
“Why are you so angry at her?”
“You can ask that?” he asked incredulously.
“You’re mad she didn’t tell you.” Madison was the one to do some thinking this time. “Is that because you’re disappointed in her—I don’t know, her ethics? Or because she’s holding on to her loyalty to your dad at your expense?”
The moment the question was out, she regretted it. Too late.
Troy swore, jackknifing to an upright position. “You don’t pull any punches, do you?”
Madison bit her lip. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.” Would he leave now? She’d understand if he was seriously pissed. She didn’t even know his mother, and she hadn’t known him that long. And here she was, psychoanalyzing him.
“No,” he said, a little hoarse. “I want you always to say what you think. The hell of it is, you might be right. Partly right. Yeah, she probably hurt my feelings and I didn’t even realize that’s what was going on.”
“That’s probably natural,” she said tentatively.
He mumbled another curse. “Yeah? I thought I was all grown up, past getting my feelings hurt because Mommy allied herself with Daddy instead of me.”
Madison giggled.
Troy laughed, too, low and rueful. “On that note, I probably should leave.”
“Before I say something else we’ll both be sorry for?”
“Before I kiss you again while we’re both so conveniently on the couch. I can manage a polite good-night kiss at the door, though.”
“Oh, good.” She let him tug her to her feet. “I do love kissing you.”
“I’m glad.” He had that heavy-lidded look again, but he kept moving, towing her toward the front door. Where the kiss got a little heated, but not out of control. “Tomorrow,” he promised, and left.
She stood without moving for too long. To her silent house, she said finally, “I am in serious trouble.”
CHAPTER TEN
“YOU’RE LOOKING FOR my brother?” Janet Short sounded surprised. “May I ask why?”
Troy hesitated. It had taken him two days to get this woman on the phone, and he didn’t want to lose her. On the other hand, he was wary that she might call her brother to alert him.
“I’d rather not say, ma’am,” he said. “I can only tell you that he’s not in trouble. I’m hoping he can give me some information, that’s all.”
She dithered, but finally gave him the number. Frank, she said, lived in Texas but worked on an oil drilling platform, so sometimes he could be reached and sometimes not.
Hell, Troy thought. It would be a bitch if good ol’ Frank turned out to be unavailable for the next month. Wasn’t this still hurricane season in the Gulf, too? Storms couldn’t be good for phone reception.
He dialed as quick as he could, though, wanting to beat Frank’s sister to the punch.
On the fourth ring, a gruff male voice answered.
Troy identified himself and asked if he was speaking to Frank Claybo, who had graduated from Wakefield College.
Silence.
“I haven’t been back to Frenchman Lake since the day after I graduated. What’s this about?”
The spiel was well-practiced now. Police had reopened the investigation into Mitchell King’s murder. New information had been received. Detectives were trying to speak to any potential witnesses and also students who might have known King well.
Claybo did not leap to offer observations or remembrances. Troy could hear him breathing, and that was all.
“Your name was given to me as someone who might have significant information regarding Mr. King,” Troy said. “I was told that you identified him as a blackmailer.”
More silence. He didn’t hang up, which was something.
“I guess it doesn’t much matter anymore, does it?” Frank said finally, sounding resigned.
“The murder?”
“No, any stupid thing I did.”
“Not unless that stupid thing included bashing in Mr. King’s head,” Troy agreed.
“Oh, hell, I wasn’t that desperate. The asshole was blackmailing me, though. I’m pretty sure he was blackmailing a bunch of people.”
“Do you mind telling me what he was holding over you?”
“Why not? Like I said, it doesn’t matter anymore. I stole some marijuana from—” He stopped as if belatedly nervous. Not wanting to tattle? “This guy who was dealing. I’d have gotten the shit kicked out of me if the guy found out. I always wondered if Mitch was blackmailing him, too, but that might have taken more balls than he had.”
“What made you suspect you weren’t his only victim?”
Now that he’d gotten started, Frank seemed happy to open up. He thought King’s approach was too slick; this wasn’t someone freaking himself out because he’d seen an opportunity and dared to blackmail a fellow student for the first time. The demand wasn’t unreasonable—fifty bucks a month until the end of the school year. Like most students, Frank held a part-time job and all it meant was that he couldn’t always afford to do stuff with friends.
“So he had a good idea what you could afford. Maybe guessed your breaking point,” Troy said thoughtfully.
“He got it right on. Much more and I’d have been in trouble. As it was, I kind of viewed it as penitence. I shouldn’t have ripped off that baggie. So I was paying for it. You know?”
It occurred to Troy that the psychology might have been familiar to King. Calculating how much pressure to bear, how much money to demand, how much risk he was taking—all that required skill. The cost
if he screwed up was high. All it took was one victim saying “I don’t think so” and going straight to the administration to end Mitch King’s career as blackmailer and his stint in academia.
“He kept a ledger,” Frank continued. “That’s what made me think there were a bunch of us. He always had me hand the money over in person and he’d note down my ‘payment’—that’s what he called it—in his ledger. Real businesslike. My entries weren’t on the opening pages. He’d have to leaf a ways into that book to find me. He’d turn over...” There was a pause. “Maybe ten, twelve pages.”
“Can you describe this ledger?”
“It was black, I think a wire or plastic spiral binding, nothing fancy. Pretty thin. You can buy things like that at any office supply store. Maybe even grocery stores. He kept a pen clipped on it.”
“Where did you generally meet with him?”
“I’d only made three payments when he was killed. Uh...once he told me he’d be sitting out on Allquist Field, like he was studying. After that I’d watch him sometimes and see people come and go, but he was real good at whisking that money out of my hand. It was hard to tell who was making payments and who was stopping to talk.”
“Your other meetings with him?”
“He had me stop by his room once. The other time, uh, it was the locker room at McKenna Center. He was wearing sweats, like he’d been working out. I don’t know if he really had. I remember a towel was lying on the bench beside him. As I was walking away, I looked back and saw that he’d moved it and that damn ledger was under it.”
Troy’s eyebrows rose. The second towel in the sauna had been covering the ledger, and that made its disappearance more complicated than he’d thought. Probably if it had been blood-soaked, it would have been left behind. No, chances were the towel had been used to wrap the ledger so no one saw it. Which suggested the killer wasn’t wearing a jacket, or he could have tucked the ledger inside it.
He grimaced. The guy might only have been rattled. Not thinking at all, only desperate to get away.
Running away into the dark, something clutched in his hand. Lying the next day about whether he’d ever made it to McKenna Sports Center the night before.
Wakefield College 01 - Where It May Lead Page 14
