Tin God

by Stacy Green

  “I know. That’s something to worry about in the future. I just want to get through the present.”

  Sallie’s was just another block down. They crossed the intersection in silence.

  “Do you love him?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “He’s using you.”

  “He’s not, and you know it.”

  “You’re using him.”

  “Cage.” She stopped in front of the diner, balled her hands into fists, and anchored them on her hips to keep from shaking him. “Don’t turn this around. What’s happening between Nick and me is genuine. I don’t know if it’ll go anywhere or crash and burn, but right now, it’s real. I’m sorry to hurt you, but I’m not going to sugarcoat things. You deserve better than that.”

  “You can’t expect me to just clap my hands and cheer the two of you on.”

  “I don’t expect anything. I just hope you’ll still be my friend, because life wouldn’t be the same without you.”

  Cage closed his eyes, drew in a long breath. His shoulders sagged with his exhale. He opened his eyes, the usual warm brown dull with resignation. “I made that promise to you a long time ago. Not going to break it now.”

  “Thank you.” Jaymee waited until a group of locals passed. “About my father–”

  “I’m headed back to the station to see what Charles gets out of him. I’ll let you know.” He spun and walked down the street weaving between passersby with obvious frustration.

  “I’m sorry.” Jaymee whispered. Heavyhearted and already worn out, she opened Sallie’s door and headed into work.

  * * *

  Gereau’s car was parked in the driveway when Nick pulled up in front of Evaline. He didn’t feel like charming Fat Jonas, so he skirted the public entrance and went directly to the private door. Gereau had left it unlocked. Nick stole through the kitchen and into the main family area. Newton’s office was easy enough to find, and before he knocked, Nick leaned against the door to eavesdrop.

  “I don’t know why you’re asking about Lana Samuels,” Newton said. “How does her murder relate to my wife’s?”

  Gereau muttered something Nick couldn’t understand.

  “That’s ridiculous,” Newton said.

  Nick opened the door and leaned against the antique knob. “Mind if I join the conversation?”

  “Samuels. What are you doing here? Did Jonas let you in without my permission?”

  “Let myself in. Reverend Gereau left the kitchen unlocked.” He sat next to the preacher, whose face was a comical mixture of shock and confusion.

  “I’m sorry, but I have to ask you to leave,” Royce said. “I’m in the middle of a private meeting.”

  “Sorry. Your discussing my wife means I get to stay. Especially if you’re involved in her murder.”

  Royce’s hard eyes narrowed as his nostrils flared, and his jaw turned stone-like with tension. Nick didn’t flinch.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Sure you do. And we’re running out of time to play nice. Tell me why my wife was so upset when she saw you eating with Holden Wilcher and Paul Ballard the day she was murdered.”

  “I’d have no idea.”

  “Lana told the friend she was eating with you were a liar and Wilcher a pig in a silk hat. You probably know how she felt about Paul Ballard.”

  “I don’t.” Newton looked resolutely at the wall behind Nick.

  “I don’t have time for bullshit,” Nick ground out. “Jaymee’s got three days to find her daughter. You know, the baby you helped Wilcher sell? Did you know Wilcher was that baby’s father?”

  Newton’s expression went from sour to pallid shock. His eyes shifted around the room, sweat glistening on his upper lip. “Pardon me?”

  “That’s why you dropped Wilcher’s name when Jaymee and I visited the other day. It was a threat.” Nick gestured to Rebecca’s framed snapshot sitting on the edge of Newton’s massive desk. “Rebecca knew about some of Jaymee’s past. Lana knew all of it. So did Crystal. If you didn’t kill them to protect your role in the illegal adoption, then you know who did. Start talking.”

  The slick lawyer sputtered incoherently. Gereau leaned closely to Nick. “You sure you know what you’re doing?”

  “You need to leave, Samuels.”

  “And once again, I have to decline,” Nick said. “See, Royce, this little black-market adoption scam Holden Wilcher’s running? He’s setting you up to take the fall. Maybe you just did the dirty paperwork. Maybe Paul’s the real killer. But right now, you’re looking like suspect number one. You want to save your ass, move your lips.”

  “Nick is right,” Gereau said. “Tell us how you got involved. Better yet, tell the police. Bring this to an end.”

  “I’m not involved in anything.” Royce slammed his hands down on the desk and stood up. “I’ve got no idea why your wife would have called me a liar. We worked well together on several cases. As for your accusations about Wilcher and Paul Ballard, I had no idea Jaymee even had a child, much less that Wilcher was the father. Of course he’s a major proponent of adoption, although why you’d think he’s selling children is beyond me.”

  “No adoption records,” Nick said. “Anywhere. Phony social worker. Holden admitted it to Jaymee and said she’d never be able to prove it.”

  Newton stared. A flicker of worry passed through his eyes.

  “Royce, you’ve got to know something. Maybe something you don’t even realize.” Gereau played good guy. “Did Lana mention anything to you about false adoptions? Did she ever talk about investigating Wilcher?”

  Newton shook his head.

  “Come on,” Nick said. “Wilcher ran the scam through Hannah’s House. L.J. Clark–your old partner–is the private adoption attorney. And here you are, so deep in this pile of crap you’re suffocating. Stop lying.”

  Sweat trickled down Newton’s flushed face. He pulled at the corner of his starched, white shirt and then rubbed his lips with the back of his fingers. “Okay. Years ago, Lana showed up at the firm. She was still in graduate school, but she’d been present at several family hearings I’d handled. I assumed she was there to see me, but she wanted to speak with my partner, L.J. Clark.”

  “Did you ask her why?” Nick said.

  “No. I was busy, and it was none of my business.”

  “So you’re saying it’s Clark we should be talking to?” Nick said. “What about Debra R. Davies? Lana mention her?”

  “I–I think so. It’s been a long time. Perhaps you should talk to my old partner.”

  Nick quickly weighed his options. Telling Royce he already had an appointment with Clark could backfire. The two men might be working together. Royce could tip his ex-partner off and ruin any chance Nick had of surprising him.

  “I’ll look into it. Still doesn’t explain why Lana called you a liar.”

  Royce spread his hands out. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

  “Let me tell you what I think.” Nick got to his feet and strolled around the circular room. He ran his finger on the built-in bookshelves, past numerous law manuals and reference books. “You and Lana had the occasional working relationship. For whatever reason, she trusted you. I think, shortly before her death, she either confided in you or asked you point blank about the adoption. Either way, you told her you knew nothing. Moment she saw you being all chummy with Wilcher and Ballard, she knew she’d been lied to.”

  “You’ve got a big imagination,” Royce said. “I suppose that’s why you’re a reporter.”

  “She confronted you with the proof she had.” Nick allowed himself a triumphant grin at the short burst of shock on Newton’s face before the lawyer again turned stoic. “You couldn’t let your lucrative side business go to hell, so you silenced her and took the evidence. Trouble is, there’s a backup.”

  Royce’s folded hands clenched and unclenched. “I had no involvement in Lana’s murder. But I truly hope there is a backup of this supposed evidence. If a
ny of what you’re saying is true, someone needs to put a stop to it.”

  Nick ignored the show. “And somehow, years and who knows how many innocent babies later, Rebecca stumbles across the truth. So you killed her, too.”

  “A fantastic theory.”

  “Which I’ll prove.”

  Royce shook his graying head. “I truly hope you haven’t fed the police this nonsense. A killer is on the loose in Roselea, and they’re already bothering the wrong man enough. Tell them this and they’ll never catch the real monster.”

  “Monsters,” Nick corrected him. “And don’t worry. They’ll be caught. Unless you want to turn yourself in now, expose the other two, and get some time taken off your sentence.”

  “I’m not admitting to a crime I didn’t commit.”

  “Worth a shot.” Nick slid his sunglasses back on. “You’re going down, Newton. Whether you want to do it alone or with your ringleader is up to you.”

  “Now you’re really leaving.”

  “Thank you for your hospitality,” Nick said. “Reverend, are you going to finish your session?”

  Gereau, silent through the exchange, remained focused on Newton as he stood up, adjusting his collar. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, Bible clenched in his left hand. “I had more faith in you than this, Royce.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I believe Nick. And Jaymee. I believe you’re lying.”

  Newton’s lip twisted into a haughty scowl. “I believe you’re leaving.”

  “I’m going to help make this right.” Gereau pointed his Bible at the angry lawyer. “You need to do the right thing or face the consequences.”

  “Leave my home, preacher. Don’t return.”

  “Make it right.” Gereau banged the office door against the wall and left.

  Nick offered a pleasant grin. “I’ll show myself out.”

  Thankfully, Fat Jonas was leading another tour, and the private side of the house was empty. Nick still wasn’t sure Newton had the balls to strangle anyone, especially his own wife, but he knew about Holden Wilcher’s adoption ring. His entire face had been a big, fat tell. With any luck, he’d snap and confess to Detective Charles in hopes of catching a break.

  Gereau had already left by the time Nick reached his car. He didn’t know what to think of the quiet Baptist preacher. Sure, Wilcher had shamed the cloth, made fools of the whole town, taken advantage of Jaymee and probably countless other young girls. He was a bastard who deserved the bottom rung in prison. Yet Gereau’s newly revealed loathing brimmed with something more.

  For a man known for compassion and warmth, Gereau reeked of hate. He’d openly admitted to hating Paul Ballard despite years of supposed friendship with the man, but now he regarded Newton with disdain and spoke Wilcher’s name as though he’d swallowed a pile of shit.

  Since he’d known the kind of coward Ballard was, why the holier-than-thou cloak and dagger routine all this time?

  A trickle of doubt ran up Nick’s spine. The good reverend was hiding something, but what? More importantly, whose side was he really on?

  22

  “I see that young man’s here again.” Sallie winked at Jaymee. She flipped a burger and dropped four pieces of bacon onto the grill. “He’s here for you, I’m sure.”

  “He’s here to eat.”

  “And?”

  “And walk me home.” Jaymee left the kitchen before her boss could tease her anymore. She was too tired to play the game. As she’d expected, the entire town was blabbing about her bombshell at the police station earlier in the day. She was the villain, of course. It seemed every local who entered the diner had a scathing look reserved just for Jaymee. A few looked at her with pity, the proper way for a good Christian to treat the less fortunate, but most made their judgment clear.

  Sallie believed her without question. “Always knew that Holden Wilcher was slicker than shit. You keep your head up. Don’t let these sheep make you doubt yourself.”

  But desperation set in. Nick had told her when he came in that her father hadn’t talked. She’d hoped his embarrassment over Jaymee’s shame would cause him to slip up, but the scumbag held firm. He’d admitted he was a client of Crystal’s, but her mother alibied her father for the night of Crystal’s murder. Detective Charles had nothing to hold him on.

  Royce Newton had an alibi for Crystal’s murder too–Fat Jonas. Cage said the kiss-ass had shown up at the station with Royce and insisted he’d been staying at Evaline since Rebecca’s murder. Royce didn’t sleep well, he said, and the two had sat up talking past four a.m., conveniently past the estimated time of death the medical examiner had given Crystal.

  Ignoring the two weathered old ladies sharing a piece of blueberry pie and giving her the eyes of judgment, Jaymee filled Nick’s glass of iced tea. “You think Royce will cave?”

  “He’s our best bet.”

  “We thought the same about my father.”

  “I didn’t. Not when I saw Wilcher with him. Makes your dad feel untouchable. Newton’s nuts are hanging in the wind with only Jonas for protection. Charles will break his alibi. Just wait.”

  “I don’t have time to wait.”

  “I’m thinking of driving to Jackson tomorrow to try to get in early to see L.J. Clark, Newton’s old partner. He’s not taking my calls even though we have an appointment Friday.”

  “You think he’s been warned?”

  “Maybe. Or he’s busy and doesn’t want to deal with some jackass investigative reporter. I got a better chance of seeing him if I show up and make a scene.”

  “You’re good at that.”

  He took a drink, eyes smiling at her over the glass’s rim.

  “Wish I could have seen Royce’s reaction.”

  “He’s scared. He’s going to do something rash, without a doubt. I just hope it works to our advantage.” He finished the tea. “Sure you don’t want to eat before we leave?”

  “I don’t think I could. Too keyed up.”

  “You never told me how it went with Cage.”

  “About like I expected. He’s angry, but I think he’s resolved. With me, anyway. You’re a different story.”

  “He thinks I’m cheating on his sister.”

  “You’re not.” She silently pleaded with him to agree.

  “I know.”

  Jaymee cashed out and said goodbye to Sallie. She and Nick walked down the sidewalk, the setting sun against their backs. Heat from his arm, close enough to brush against Jaymee, warmed her inside and out. Her hand flexed with the need to grab his. She wrapped her arms around her chest.

  Most of the shops were closed for the night, but the crowd at Sweet Treats threatened to bust out the double door. Jaymee sidestepped a chatting family, the little boy desperately licking his chocolate ice cream cone before the entire thing collapsed onto the pavement.

  “Beautiful night,” Nick said.

  “It is,” Jaymee said. “I can actually breathe.” The humidity had lifted, and a fresh breeze painted with the scent of summer flowers gave Jaymee a spark of hope. Elaine might call. Royce could break. Her father might make a mistake.

  Things could be worse. Cage didn’t hate her. Her secret was finally out, and even though very few believed her, Jaymee felt only relief. She’d kept her mouth shut for too many years. Now that the weight had been tossed away, Jaymee was amazed at how free she felt, despite the storm brewing around her. And she wasn’t alone. Nick would go back to Jackson eventually, but for now, he was by Jaymee’s side and fighting for her.

  Eventually, they’d have to deal with the memory hanging over their heads, but not tonight. Maybe tomorrow.

  “You really want to go to the Foster’s right now?” Nick’s rich tenor in her ear sent a thrill of anticipation down Jaymee’s spine.

  “No.”

  “Good.”

  Understanding passed between them. Nick’s pace quickened. Jaymee hurried to match his long strides. Annabelle’s was just a few blocks away. The memory of Nick’s bar
e skin against hers sent Jaymee’s pulse racing. Her cheeks burned. A hot sweat erupted on the back of her neck. Her hands left their protective position, dropping to her sides. Her right hand brushed against Nick’s arm, and a heady groan escaped his lips.

  They crossed the last street. Nick’s car sat in its spot at the bed and breakfast. Most of Annabelle’s lights were off. Hopefully she wouldn’t notice Jaymee coming in with her guest.

  A car turned down the street, its headlights shining directly at them. Jaymee shielded her eyes. Nick’s hand rested against the small of her back, urgency surging through his casual touch. They’d just reached Annabelle’s front step when the car’s stressed brakes squealed to a stop. Jaymee kept her eyes forward, but the sound of the door opening and slamming shut made the hair on the back of her neck stand straight up. Chills erupted over her arms.

  “Jaymee, Nick.” Detective Charles’s voice cut through the peaceful night. “We’ve got a problem.”

  “I don’t understand.” Jaymee sat in Annabelle’s parlor surrounded by antiques, including a beautiful Tiffany lamp. The stained glass cast the room in a soft glow, but its ambience did nothing to ease her tension as she gripped the velvet cushion of the settee beneath her.

  “Holden Wilcher appears to be missing.” Detective Charles had taken up a position of authority, standing against the oak doorframe. Nick sat beside Jaymee. Annabelle’s audible gasp confirmed her hovering in the hallway, eavesdropping.

  “He was at the station this morning, running his mouth,” Nick reminded the detective.

  “I remember. After he got done playing babysitter for Jaymee’s father, I pulled him aside. Told him I was going to have to look into these accusations.”

  “What did he say?” Jaymee said.

  “Told me to do whatever I needed to. He wasn’t worried.”

  Jaymee inhaled, ready to unload, and then caught herself. She gritted her teeth. “Of course not.”

  “He left with your father. I got a call about an hour ago. Seems after lunch, Holden left your parents. Claimed he had some errands to run.”