by D'Ann Lindun
Spotting a group of men standing off by themselves, he asked Mary-Gray, “Would you excuse me for a minute? I’d like to chat with the guys.”
“Of course. I’m sure my mother would like me to help clean up.” With a show of dazzling white teeth, she let go of him. “Hurry back, okay?”
He nodded then joined the group of men, saying nothing, willing to listen. Buford Krebbs, a beefy barrel of a man, was speaking to his friends. “I don’t care who killed Jimmy Ray. They did this community a favor getting rid of trash like that.”
Several of them nodded in agreement.
Almost the exact sentiment expressed by Mary-Gray’s mother and father. Trey wondered idly if the same kind of talk had gone around when Jace had been arrested for Soloman’s death. He supposed so. Gossip was the nature of small towns.
“Kind of weird, though, don’t you think? Jimmy Ray getting shot out of the blue like that? From what I hear, he’s been a thorn in a few people’s sides for a few years. Why do you think someone did him in now?” Trey asked.
“Darn right, he’s been a sore spot.” The speaker, a red-faced man Trey remembered as the grocer answered. “I don’t know why your daddy didn’t run him off the minute that establishment opened. Decent, God-fearing people don’t want his kind around.”
“You didn’t mind stopping in there a time or two,” one of them pointed out, “for a drink and a bit of titty-tat.”
The grocer’s face turned redder. “This isn’t about me,” he sputtered. When no one answered he stomped off.
Buford snapped his suspenders and rocked back on his heels, full of self-importance. “Tom’s right. Samuel should’ve taken care of that lowlife a long time ago. Run him out of town like the snake he was. Shut him down on a business license violation or something.”
“I guess Hunt probably had all his paperwork in order,” Trey said mildly. “The Chief can’t pick and choose who runs a business.”
“That’s right,” Leroy Eaton said. “We can’t have vigilante justice in this town. Look at what happened last time … ”
“Leroy.” Buford shut him up with one word.
Leroy shot a nervous glance at Trey.
“Go on,” Trey urged. This is what he wanted, for the men to open up and speak of the past. “What happened that I don’t know about? Something to do with Soloman’s murder?”
“Naw, nothing about that old business. Why would you think that? All Leroy means is that we can’t have folks shooting each other like we’re cowboys out in the wild west.” Buford put an arm around Leroy’s thin shoulders and squeezed. “Right?”
“Yeah.” Leroy kept his gaze on the ground. “That’s what I meant.”
“We have to let the Chief do his work. He knows what he’s doing. We just have to trust him.” Buford let go of Leroy’s shoulders and slapped the skinny man’s back, nearly knocking him down. “Like we always do.”
Trey looked between the men, puzzled by their behavior. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear Krebbs was warning Leroy to keep his mouth shut about something. Telling himself his imagination was working overtime, he tried to ignore his gut. These men were the Chief’s cronies. They probably had a few tall tales they shared among themselves, not a cover-up of some kind.
Frustrated by the circle of silence, he bid them goodbye and went back to Mary-Gray. With a sky-bright smile, she threaded her arm through his. “I’m in the mood for ice cream. The ladies’ society has some homemade. Will you get me a scoop?”
“Sure.” Wanting only to get out of there, he tried to be patient. It wouldn’t help his cause to annoy the Bennet family.
As they waited their turn, Trey nodded at the appropriate times but he couldn’t have repeated a word the brunette girl had to say. His gaze wandered, hunting for Summer, but she wasn’t with Glory. The redhead met his look with one of her own that was hard to read. He nodded and she gave a small wave. He turned his attention to Mary-Gray. “I’ll walk you back to your folks, then I’d better get home. I promised my mother I’d spend some time with her.”
A quick frown flitted across her perfectly made up face. “Okay, I understand. But, don’t be a stranger.”
After thanking her family and making Mary-Gray no promises, he looked for Leroy, but the man didn’t seem to still be around. Curious what Leroy would say if prodded, Trey decided to go find out.
Chapter Twelve
Summer gathered the last of their picnic, anxious to go home. She wouldn’t confess for the world, but watching Trey with Mary-Gray had made the evening seem endless. Just as she added the last item to Glory’s picnic basket, a shadow fell across her and she looked up. Jody stood there, feet spread wide. As her gaze traveled upward, a shiver ran down her back. He didn’t smile even a fraction.
“What is it, Jody?”
“You need to come with me.” His tone, normally a soft lilt, was somber. He wouldn’t meet her eyes, studying something near her chin instead.
Her heart skipped a beat. “Why? What is it? Has something happened to Mama? Did you find Jace? Oh, God, did someone shoot him?”
“No. No. Nothing like that.” He shifted his weight. “The Chief wants to talk to you.”
“I don’t have anything to say to him. So go tell him to leave me alone. This is my day off.” She continued to pack.
“He told me you’d say that. He said to come in or he’d come to your house.” Jody’s grave expression told her the Chief meant what he said.
Shooting Glory a trapped look, Summer said, “Fine. Glory’s coming with me. We’ll meet you there.”
“No, just you. I’ll drive you home.” Jody waited as the put the rest of their things in the basket.
Glory shrugged. “I have things to do. I’ll see you later.”
Shaking with fury, Summer marched to his car, got in and slammed the door behind her. “The nerve of that man! Who does he think he is, God?”
Jody tightened his lips and didn’t answer.
Within a couple of minutes, they pulled in front of the police station. “I’ll walk you up,” Jody said.
“I’m not going to cut and run.” Summer climbed out and slammed the door behind her. “Let’s get this thing over with.”
“Okay.”
Jody joined her on the curb. “The Chief just wants to ask you a few questions.”
“I don’t know anything.”
“Tell him that,” Jody suggested.
“Let’s just get this over with.” She marched in the building like a soldier going to battle.
Chief Bouché looked up from behind a scarred metal desk as they came into his office. “That’ll be all, officer. Thank you.”
Jody backed out of the room. “Yes, sir.”
Not much had changed, Summer thought as her gaze roamed over the stuffed bookshelves and rows of file cabinets. For a moment, she allowed a rush of nostalgia to overtake her. She’d visited here many times as a child. Unsure where to direct her attention, she looked out the window. From this vantage point, she could see most of Juliet’s main street. Regret for all they had lost filled her and she blinked back unexpected tears.
“It’s been a long time,” the Chief said quietly.
“Yes.” She refused to look at him.
“Sit down, please.” A request.
Summer hesitated for a minute then moved and sat across from him, spine straight, hands folded in her lap. She studied his face. He hadn’t aged well. Creases had etched lines of time around his mouth and eyes. Gray shaded his formerly blonde hair. She met his gaze and held it. “What did you want to see me about?”
“I think you know.”
“Like I’ve told Trey over and over again, I have no idea where my brother went.” She made an effort to relax her stiff body.
“He hasn’t been home? Made some contact?�
�� His blue eyes bored into hers, but she didn’t look away.
Summer held her voice steady. “No.”
The Chief didn’t blink and she was sure he knew she lied. “I hope you’re telling me the truth. If I find out you’ve seen him and didn’t tell me, I’ll charge you with obstruction of justice. Understand?”
Not trusting her voice, she nodded.
“Are you aware Lindy is missing? I have reason to believe she might be with your brother.”
“Do you have any evidence to support this theory?” Summer cleared her throat. “Or is this just a stab in the dark?”
His eyes turned a cooler shade of blue. “I don’t make wild assumptions, despite what you may or may not believe. The evidence always supports me.”
Summer wasn’t going to argue with him about it. They both had their perspective and they would never see eye-to-eye. “Why do you think Jace would have anything to do with Lindy’s disappearance? For all we know he may be in Mexico by now. Or maybe Canada. There’s a million possibilities.”
The Chief steepled his fingers. “Are you aware that Jimmy Ray Hunt was murdered?”
“I don’t see … ”
“One of the last people to see him alive was my daughter.”
“And this involves Jace, how?” Summer, holding her temper in check began to lose it. “Is he to be held responsible for every dirty deed that happens in this town?”
“Not at all.” He stood and went to the file cabinet farthest from him. Taking a key from his shirt pocket, he unlocked it and took some papers from it. Returning, he sat again and handed them to her. “But these lead me to believe your brother might be here and he might have taken Lindy.”
With numb fingers, Summer took the sheaf of paper. Her heart filling with fear, she dropped her gaze. In her hand she held a letter from her brother. Without looking at the signature, she instantly recognized Jace’s tiny scrawl. Forcing herself, she read her brother’s words. The first were pleas — begging the Chief to find the real killer, to believe in him, to trust. The next set was full of theories to the real killer. And, finally, threats. Ugly menacing, promising revenge.
The handwriting was similar, but not precisely the same between the first and last ones. She couldn’t put her finger on the exact difference, though. “These aren’t the same,” she said. She pointed to one. “Look, this one is tiny, almost impossible to read. And this one is a little easier. I’m not a cop, but these look like they weren’t written by the same person.”
“That’s ridiculous,” the Chief snapped.
Summer scanned the letters again. “I don’t think some of these are in my brother’s handwriting.”
“Don’t be melodramatic.” The Chief snatched the letters out of Summer’s hand. “Your brother is the one who wrote these. End of story. He’s going to kill Lindy if I don’t find him first.”
“You believe Jace took Lindy to make you pay for not finding the real killer?” Summer’s throat was so tight she could barely force the words out.
“He is the killer. Read these letters.” The words fell like hammer blows on her.
“Even if he did write some of these, it doesn’t mean Jace escaped, came here, and snatched Lindy,” Summer said. “And what does any of this have to do with Jimmy Ray Hunt?”
“You tell me,” the Chief shot back.
“I don’t know.” Her tense body trembled like a sapling in a storm.
“Did your brother ever give you any reason for disliking Hunt?” The Chief pressed her, almost as if he knew she had lied to him about seeing Jace.
She shook her head. Her fingers twisted in her skirt. “I don’t think Jace even knew him. I can’t remember.”
“There’s the possibility Jace murdered Hunt to throw us off his trail. Maybe he knew Hunt wasn’t exactly a shining example of citizenry.”
“You’re reaching.” Summer’s fingers tightened until they ached.
“Am I?” His intense gaze pinned down like a rat in a trap. She knew how the rodent must feel. Both terrified and mad.
“Yes. As far as I know, there isn’t a shred of evidence my brother even came this direction.” She knew she should’ve, but felt no guilt for her lie. If it weren’t for this man’s incompetence, her mother’s rapist would be behind bars and not her brother. Besides, there was no way her brother would’ve killed Hunt. He had no motive. Maybe Lindy was with Jace, but if so, how? The only person who could answer that question was dead. In her heart, she knew Jace hadn’t murdered Hunt yesterday any more than he had offed Deke Soloman five years ago. “May I leave now?” She began to stand.
“There’s one more thing.” His voice grew icy.
“Yes?”
“We need to have an understanding about my son.”
“What kind of understanding?” She did not want to have this conversation. Trey was the last person on the planet she cared to discuss with the Chief. Not sure how she felt about the younger Bouché, she didn’t feel like examining her feelings in the privacy of her own head, much less with his father.
“Don’t be coy, Summer. It’s unbecoming. You know what I’m talking about. A relationship between you isn’t wise. Not any more than it was five years ago,” he said. “When you were twenty-two and he was just eighteen.”
Guilty heat flooded her face. “I don’t … ”
He smiled, but it was more of a grimace. “Please do not insult my intelligence by denying that you and my son were intimate before he left.”
The hot blush that started at her chest burned up her neck and face. For the first time, she couldn’t meet his eyes directly. “There’s nothing between Trey and me.”
“I know there is not. I’m telling you it can go nowhere.” He drummed his fingers on his desk. “You can only bring each other misery.”
She stood on shaking legs. “I think you’re the one who’s guilty of bringing misery to everyone. But for the record, I don’t want to see Trey. He seeks me out, not the other way around. If you think you need to interfere then talk to him, not me. Now, if you’ll excuse me?”
Before she could flee, the door was flung open and Jody burst in. “Chief. You’re needed downstairs. The coroner needs you in the morgue.”
He stood. “He got something on Hunt?”
“No, sir. He said it was urgent.” Jody moved aside and the Chief went by him, apparently forgetting Summer. Jody was hot on his heels and his voice carried in the hall. “Leroy Eaton hung himself.”
Too shocked to move for a moment, Summer sat there staring after them. She’d just seen Leroy not more than an hour or so ago at the picnic. He’d seemed fine. What on God’s earth had possessed him to commit suicide?
Summer didn’t know what to do.
Jody was supposed to take her home.
Her gaze landed on the pile of letters. As she did so, she noticed a brown five by seven manila envelope on the bottom of the pile. Curious, she picked it up to see if it was another letter from Jace.
A black and white photo spilled out of the envelope.
A group of people smiled at the lens. Mama, Trey’s mother, Buford Krebbs, and Leroy Eaton. Emily sat on the lap of a dark-haired, handsome man. All toasted the camera.
She studied the background trying to tell where they could be, but she didn’t recognize anything. Where had the photo been taken? And who had been behind the camera? The Chief? Or Viola Krebbs? Summer’s frown deepened. She couldn’t fathom Mrs. Krebbs partying. A pain ripped through her as she studied the people in the pictures. They looked like they were having a great time. What she wouldn’t give to for her mother to have fun like that again. Instead, she had a life of loneliness and pain. And Emily Bouché wasn’t any better off. She lay dying.
Someone was coming!
Hurriedly, Summer dropped the letters back on the desk, stuffed the
picture in her bag, and tried to look innocent.
The chief came in, his expression distracted. He started when he saw her. “You’re still here?”
“I wasn’t sure if you were done talking to me.” She shifted her handbag, hoping he didn’t think she acted guilty. “And I need a ride.”
“I’ll have Officer Marvell drop you off on his way to Leroy’s place.”
Summer bit her tongue. She badly wanted to ask him about Leroy. And the picture in her purse. Questions burst through her mind, but she held them in check. There was no way she could let on she’d been snooping. He already thought poorly of her. “Thank you.”
Without answering, he picked up his phone and dialed. “Yes, I’d like you to take Miss Hill home. Drop her off, then go to the scene.”
They didn’t speak in the few moments it took Jody to come back. In his patrol car, Summer fastened her seatbelt. Her mind was on the smuggled booty in her purse. Her fingers itched to take it out and study the people again. She especially wanted to know about the man her mother had her arms around. She racked her memory trying to come up with a party her mother had been invited to, but nothing came to mind.
Had the rumors been true?
Violently, Summer pushed the thought away. No, her mother had always been decent. She wouldn’t do anything to compromise her good name. There was no way she’d been doing anything wrong in that photo. Someone had caught a group of friends having a nice time, nothing more. Then why did Summer feel so odd about it?
One thing was for certain, she couldn’t ask Mama. One look at her past, and she’d have a spell that would put her in bed for a week. Of all the people in the photo, there were none she could speak to. Not Mama, or Emily. Leroy had just committed suicide. And then there was Buford Krebbs. For a reason she couldn’t name, Summer hesitated. He was nice enough when she saw him around town, but she didn’t trust him and she really didn’t respect his wife. Viola had never made any secret of disliking Mama. Now Summer wondered about it. Had Buford been a little too friendly toward a woman other than his wife?
