Tin God

by Stacy Green

  “You’re not going to let the man get away with what he’s done.”

  “No. But I’m not putting all my cards on the table until I actually have them.”

  Minutes later, they were in Charles’s tiny office, the door closed.

  “Reverend. Samuels,” Charles sat down in his rickety chair. Judging from the bags under his eyes, he wasn’t getting much sleep. “You said you had information on the Harns murder?”

  Nick looked at Gereau. The reverend cleared his throat. “Yes. When I heard of the murder this morning, I knew I had to do the right thing and speak to you.”

  “So speak. What do you know?”

  “Paul Ballard was a frequent client of Ms. Harns.”

  Charles raised an eyebrow. “That don’t surprise me. You got proof?”

  “My word. He’d meet her over in Vidalia at least once a week for sex.”

  “Paid in cash, of course.”

  “Actually, no,” Gereau said. “He wasn’t worried about his wife finding out. He paid Ms. Harns by check for ‘consulting services.’ Even joked about it.”

  “And Sonia Ballard knew nothing about his extra activities?” Nick asked.

  “I didn’t ask.” Gereau broke eye contact with Detective Charles, glancing over at the wall of framed commendations. He tapped his middle finger against the metal chair arm.

  Charles narrowed his eyes. Finally, he cracked his knuckles and leaned forward in the chair. “So we’ve got to consider Paul Ballard as a person of interest in the Harns murder.”

  “Crystal Harns tried to extort money from Paul more than once. He was getting fed up with her,” Gereau said.

  Nick stared. Why hadn’t Gereau mentioned that earlier?

  “I’m sorry.” He faced Nick. “I didn’t want to mention it in front of Jaymee. She’s had enough thrown at her for one day.”

  “So Jaymee spoke to you this morning?” Charles’s tone changed.

  “My doing,” Nick said. “She was upset about Crystal’s murder. I thought she needed to talk to the reverend.”

  “I see.” Charles wrote something down on gray post-it. “I can only imagine what you’re going to say next, Samuels.”

  “Come on, Detective. Crystal was strangled, just like Rebecca Newton and my wife. She’s got ties to Paul Ballard, just like the others. Obviously he thinks he’s above the law. What’s he capable of?”

  “I think Paul Ballard is a grade-A bastard capable of just about anything.” Charles set his meaty jaw, eyes steely with determination. “I’m looking seriously at him for these murders.”

  “And Lana’s?”

  “You heard back from Jackson forensics on that note?”

  “Why would they call me? You sent it in.”

  Charles grinned. “Yeah, but you got the connections. I haven’t heard a damn thing, and until I do, there ain’t much to tie these two murders to Lana’s.”

  “Except the suspect’s hatred of her.”

  “You know it’s not enough.”

  “For a court. It’s enough for you to snoop around.”

  They faced off, Charles chewing the hell out of his gum.

  “I know Paul hated Lana Foster,” Gereau spoke up. “He certainly didn’t mourn her.”

  “Don’t make him a killer,” Charles pointed out.

  “No, but saying ‘the meddling bitch got what she deserved’ certainly makes him interesting.”

  Another detail Gereau failed to share.

  Charles spit his gum into the trash. “You willing to swear to that in court, Reverend? Willing to take the oath, on a Bible no less, that all you’re saying about Paul Ballard is the God’s honest truth?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good,” Charles said. “I just want to make sure this isn’t some sort of revenge thing.”

  “Why would I want revenge on Paul?”

  “Cause you hate his guts. Don’t know why. But I could see that when I interviewed him the other day and you came for ‘support.’” Charles laughed at the last word. “You’ve stuck by his side because he’s got something over you. Whatever it is has been enough to keep you toeing the line. Until today. Something made you say enough.”

  Gereau had a shitty poker face, but to his credit, he didn’t break eye contact with Charles. “Murder is enough, Detective. Are you going to investigate the lead I’ve given you?”

  “Hell, yes.”

  Gereau stood up. “Thank you.” He glanced at Nick. “I’ll be outside.”

  Charles waited until the reverend was gone. “Jaymee Ballard ain’t set foot in that church in seven damned years. It’s the last place she’d go for guidance, Samuels. Try again.”

  “You’re a better detective than I gave you credit for. My apologies.”

  “Accepted. You’re trying to make a case against Ballard with Jaymee. Why? Her motive, I get. But yours? Sure, Ballard could have killed your wife. But the other day you thought Royce Newton had motive. Now with Harns dead, Newton’s looking like a better suspect for these killings than Ballard. He certainly had motive to shut her up.”

  “You’re right. Both he and Ballard had motive to kill all three women.”

  “Cut the shit. What aren’t you telling me?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “I looked you up. You’re a damned good reporter. Busted some pretty bad guys. You know as well as I do the case you’re making for Lana being a victim of the same guy who’s killing ‘round here is thin at best. Yet you believe it wholeheartedly. What aren’t you telling me?”

  Nick considered his options. Charles was a good cop trying to do the right thing. If he knew the full story, he might run with it. Might go after Wilcher with power Nick didn’t have.

  “It’s not my place to tell you.”

  “I suppose it’s Jaymee Ballard’s?”

  Nick didn’t deny the truth.

  “Damn, I need some chaw.”

  “How long since you quit?”

  “Three months.” Charles unwrapped another piece of gum. “You tell Jaymee I want to help. Tell her to come in here and lay out everything for me so I can do my job. If she really has proof Lana is tied to all this, then trust me to put the case together.”

  “I’m working on it.”

  “Work hard. And fast.”

  Nick headed out of the station. Gereau waited next to Nick’s car, sweating in the scorching heat. “What happened?”

  “Charles knows we’ve got information we’re not sharing. Figured out it has to do with Jaymee. Wants her to come in and talk to him.” Now he fixed the reverend with a piercing glare. “Why didn’t you tell us what Ballard said about Lana?”

  “Protecting Jaymee. She was barely keeping herself together this morning. Not that I can blame her. All these years–I could have protected her.”

  “You didn’t know the whole story. Hindsight’s always 20/20, Reverend.”

  “I suppose.” Gereau wiped his forehead and turned to walk to his car. “I’ll talk to Royce Newton, see if I can get something out of him. You tell Jaymee that as far as Wilcher goes, he’s going to answer for his crime. I won’t stop until he does.”

  * * *

  Bone-tired, Jaymee sunk into the back booth where employees usually ate. She’d worked a double-shift, and even though she was off at seven, she wasn’t sure she had the energy to walk to the Foster’s house. Maybe she’d just lie down in the booth and sleep here tonight.

  Sallie forced a hamburger on her, but Jaymee barely picked at the food. Her mind was a tangle of emotions. The foundation of hate she’d been clinging to for years had crumbled with Penn Gereau jumping from enemy to ally. Her growing feelings for Nick clouded her thoughts. She wished to God she could turn back the clock and make life simple again. Go back in time and refuse Holden’s advances. Not let him sweet talk her into believing he truly cared for her despite their age difference. She’d be stronger, braver. Smarter.

  The chimes on the diner’s door rang. She groaned. Technically she was still on, and the new
waitress was about as useful as a cowpie.

  “Aunt Jaymee!” A chubby toddler raced to the back of the diner and threw himself into her arms. He smelled like bubble gum and baby lotion. She squeezed him tightly and peeked over his shoulder to make sure her father hadn’t brought the little boy.

  “Eli. It’s so good to see you.”

  He looked up at her, dark curls matted to his head. His cheeks were flushed and his skin was damp with sweat.

  “You were supposed to come babysit me, Aunt Jaymee.” He pointed an accusing finger at her.

  “I know. And I will, soon as your mom and dad need me to.” She smiled at her sister-in-law. Quiet and reserved, Mary reminded Jaymee of her own mother–without the tyrant husband. She stayed at home with Eli and reveled in being a homemaker, but she also had her own life and opinions.

  “It’s good to see you.” Mary covered her son’s ears. “I heard about Crystal. I’m so sorry. Are you all right?”

  Jaymee nodded. “I’m getting by, thanks.”

  “You’re not staying in your trailer right now, are you? I can’t imagine it’s safe.”

  “I’m staying with Lorelai and Oren Foster.”

  “Good.” Mary’s hand fluttered to her heart. “I hate the idea of your being at Ravenna alone. I was going to offer for you to stay with us.”

  Jaymee smiled gratefully. Mary never acknowledged the family divide. She always spoke as though Jaymee were just extremely busy and unable to visit. “Thank you. But I’m good.”

  “Guess what?” Eli pulled at her apron. “Guess what we’re doing tonight?”

  “What?” Jaymee clutched his sticky fingers with pretend excitement. “Let me guess. You’re going bowling. Or maybe Daddy’s taking you to the putt-putt course.”

  “Even better.” His eyes widened into saucers. “We get to go to Grandma and Grandpa’s, cause guess why?”

  “Why?”

  “Uncle Holden is visiting.” Eli jumped up and down as though he’d just delivered the most exciting news in the world and waited for Jaymee to agree.

  Ice formed in her veins and stilled her heart. Eli’s face blurred into a myriad of colors, and her hearing dulled. A thousand thoughts rushed through her brain, but she couldn’t make sense of any of them.

  “Jaymee?” Mary spoke from far off. “Are you all right?”

  The ice began to crack. She blinked, took a deep breath. The dullness in her ears switched to furious roaring. Her lips were numb, her cheeks ached. Had she been clenching her jaw?

  “I’m fine,” she heard herself say. “Just a headache.”

  “We’ll leave you be,” Mary said. “We just stopped in to pick up an apple pie. I know Holden loves those.” She lowered her voice. “You really should stop by. He’ll want to see you, and your father won’t fuss in front of him.”

  Jaymee’s focus snapped into place. This was the closest Mary had ever come to mentioning the hatred between Jaymee and her father. Of course she would stop by. She wasn’t going to hide from Holden anymore. But he couldn’t know that. He’d be prepared, have the control.

  “No,” she said. “I don’t want to ruin the visit.”

  “How could you do that, Aunt Jaymee?” Eli asked.

  She ruffled his curls. “Because I’m tired and cranky. You go see Uncle Holden and have fun.”

  Jaymee blew kisses to Eli when they left, a plan already taking shape. She should call Cage or Nick. Even Oren. Tell one of them to come get her before she did something stupid. Run and hide, stick her head under a rock, pretend the devil incarnate wasn’t entertaining just blocks away.

  Not this time.

  The Ballard home looked just as it always had: a two-story colonial with a white picket fence, rosebushes strategically placed so the vibrant pink blooms peeked out between the slats in the fence, and a massive oak tree in the front yard. Paul even left the old rope swing hanging on the branches. The perfect picture of a happy family life. Sans the black sheep, of course.

  Jaymee waited until darkness closed in. She didn’t need a nosy neighbor calling to kiss Paul’s ass by telling him his trashy daughter was skulking around. Just a block away now. Her hands tingled with every step, half-numb, half consumed with adrenaline. She envisioned them closing around Holden’s neck, squeezing the life out of him until he confessed. He deserved to be strangled just like her friends had been.

  Too bad she wasn’t strong enough. Cicadas called as she passed, and a mockingbird shot out of one of the oak trees.

  A knife would do it.

  Manic laughter shattered the peaceful night. Jaymee covered her mouth when she realized it was her own. Would killing Holden be fun? She pictured him dropping to his knees, blood pouring from the wound she’d inflicted, begging for mercy. Finally, she’d have the power. He’d confess his sins like a good Baptist believing God’s forgiveness would still allow him into Heaven.

  The rage she’d kept bottled up for years was now an inferno. Anger at herself and Penn Gereau now merged into a desperate need for vengeance.

  Lana was dead. Rebecca was dead. Crystal—dead.

  And Holden Wilcher held court in her family’s home as though he hadn’t destroyed countless lives.

  He needed to pay.

  Barbecue. The rich aroma filled the air. Light glowed from her parents’ backyard. The family was outside, no doubt enjoying some of Sonia’s excellent home cooking. Paul would have nothing less.

  She reached the fence, pushed it open. Her hand fisted in her pocket. Control, she reminded herself. This was her moment, her one chance.

  The front door now, adorned with a wreath of fake roses. Unlocked. She twisted the brass knob and pushed the door open. Front room dimly lit by the lamp sitting next to her father’s recliner. Sonia’s knitting next to hers. A new television. Flat screen. How modern.

  Her eyes strayed down the hall. The guest room was close. She could pilfer through Holden’s things and leave, not cause a scene, go on to fight another day.

  Too bad that’s not what she came for.

  Through the kitchen now. Lights were on, food spread out on the butcher-block counter. Daisies in a vase on the table. Holden always brought her mother daisies.

  Laughter outside. His. Bold, contagious. Sickening. Her pulse charged. She was really going to do this. Bring the pain–the shame–to him. Her family probably wouldn’t believe her, but at least the truth would be out there, oozing like an infected wound and impossible to ignore.

  Jaymee saw him now. Six foot tall, swimmer’s body, still in shape. Dark, wavy hair peppered with gray and always in place. Tan skin complementing a white smile. Holden stood near the grill talking with Darren. Her brother would be disappointed in her for causing such chaos.

  Eli laughed. A brief pang of discomfort. She was counting on Mary to get the little boy out of earshot as soon as she started slinging the mud.

  Time. Now. She breathed deeply. Honey barbecue mixed with summer flowers and humidity. Lovely.

  Jaymee slid the screen door open and stepped out onto the Ballard’s weathered deck.

  “Hello, family.”

  20

  “Aunt Jaymee! You came!” Detaching himself from Paul, Eli rushed to her, face covered with sauce.

  Her father turned scarlet. Sonia stilled, glass of iced tea frozen in mid-air. Mary tried to smile and then faltered at the look on Jaymee’s face. Darren blinked, cocking his head in confusion.

  “Hey, sis.”

  Holden beamed. He turned from the grill, tongs in hand, arms outstretched. “My goodness. What a happy surprise.”

  Jaymee closed the door. “Is it really, Reverend Wilcher?”

  “Of course.” He dropped his hands, but the smile remained.

  “Liar.”

  “That’s enough.” Paul strode forward, his face so purple Jaymee hoped another heart attack was on the way. She tightened her fist.

  “Do not touch me.” The strength of her voice stopped her father in his tracks.

  Mary sprang into a
ction. “Mr. Eli, we need to get you cleaned up. Let’s go.” She carried the protesting boy past Jaymee, who whispered a heartfelt thank you.

  Her footsteps faded away. The bathroom light came on. Jaymee turned back to her family. Embattled mother, father, bastard, and brother, all poised in various states of defense and attack.

  “Jaymee, what’s going on?” Darren approached her first. She loosened her fist, held up her hand to stop him.

  “I’m sorry, Darren. I know this will hurt you. But it’s time for the truth.”

  “You’ve been through a lot this past week, Jay. Let’s you and me go out front and talk about it.” Darren reached for her, and for a moment, she wanted to allow her brother to lead her away, calm her down, make her feel sane again. Safe.

  “No.”

  “Sweetheart.” Her mother’s voice caught Jaymee off guard. White-faced, Sonia glanced at her husband and shrunk from his hateful glare. Then, to Jaymee’s surprise, she stuck her chin up and squared her shoulders. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you. Come inside. Talk to me.”

  Sonia looked much older than her fifty years. Her honey-blond hair was almost entirely gray, and heavy wrinkles lined her eyes and mouth. She was heavier than Jaymee remembered, her chest straining against the modest blouse she wore.

  “I’ll fix you a plate before you leave.”

  Jaymee’s heart hurt at the desperation in her mother’s voice. Sonia had suffered so much. Jaymee was only adding to that misery tonight. “No, Mom. I’m sorry, but I have something to say.”

  “You don’t have anything to say.” Paul moved again, but Holden caught him by the shoulder.

  “Now, Paul. Let the girl speak.” His smirk held challenge. He didn’t think she had the guts. Prepare for shock and awe, pig.

  “Thank you, Holden.”

  Jaymee turned to her mother for reasons she couldn’t explain. “Remember my daughter, Mom? The little girl I gave up for adoption?”

  Darren started coughing. Paul made a choking sound. Jaymee stayed focused on Sonia. Her doe-eyed, abused mother opened her mouth but didn’t speak. Tears welled in her eyes. She shook her head and sat down.

  “Of course you do–all of you. Especially you, Holden. Remember? You were so kind as to help me keep my sin a secret and find a good home for our child.”