Agent Van Den Berg looked down at me with a frown. “When you find the answer to that, Miss Ballard, please let me know.”
Those questions stuck with me with through the weeks, months. Hell, they’ll stick with me until the day I die. I went to college, then the FBI Academy, and spent almost a decade at the FBI looking for the answers. Still haven’t found them yet.
It filled me with pride when the agents told me it was my evidence about Stephanie Ridley that finally brought Mr. Armstrong to justice. Stephanie Ridley slipped up and told a friend where she and Armstrong were holed up. Vegas PD picked them up. When we got the word he was in custody, Mom was the one who burst into tears. I just smiled. With Stephanie quickly turning on her lover, and all the other evidence against him, Armstrong hung himself in his cell when the DA wouldn’t agree to a plea deal. They were going for death, and in the end he gave them their wish. I was so relieved I wouldn’t have to testify, but mostly because I’d been petrified I’d screw up and he’d go free because of me. I was sure the Sheriff’s Office was glad it was over because I could stop my biweekly bike ride to the station to ask questions about what was happening, and not just about the Armstrong case.
In the months after my FBI friends sparked my interest in those questions, I’d read every book in our library I could find on the FBI, police techniques, and murders, and even stole a copy of The Silence of the Lambs from Blockbuster. I did return it the next day. If the Internet had been around back then, I probably never would have left my room. I would have been researching morning, noon, and night. Instead, after I’d exhausted the library’s resources, I began hanging around the Sheriff’s station. They finally had to bar me from coming into the station with my million questions. I learned to go only twice a month after that. My first part-time job was at the Grey County Sheriff’s Office. Sheriff Hancock and his son, the future Sheriff Hancock, each wrote me a letter of recommendation to the Academy. As I stared at the old Armstrong place that sweltering July day, I hoped Hancock Junior—my mother’s old flame—would be as accommodating as his father had been during my childhood. I turned my back on the Armstrong homestead and continued jogging.
The once flourishing downtown area of Grey Mills was about a mile and a half from the house, but by the time I reached the town proper you could fill a swimming pool with my sweat. I’d tried to jog while on the press tour but barely managed once a week if that. I probably would have skipped that day too, except Mom usually came over for breakfast and after the previous night’s blowup, I wanted to avoid her until I had something concrete to tell her. Okay, really I was being a bit of a coward and wanted to put off telling her about Billy’s marriage as long as possible. There was also the fact that I wanted to get first crack at the pastry section at Starbucks. Danishes and croissants went a long way when seeking favors from the local constabulary.
I’d unfortunately timed things poorly. The Starbucks line was filled with a pack of women my age in yoga pants and ponytails, chatting and cackling. I kept my head down and earphones on. I recognized one of them from high school: Rachel Gardner. She’d been a year behind me but we had PE together. She was one of my half-sister Merrill’s henchwomen. Merrill didn’t even go to our high school—she attended a private school in Peterson—but her insidious reach extended to my public middle and high schools. Rachel Gardner and Joanie Milliken were the two most popular girls at my school and must have sworn a blood oath to Merrill to take every opportunity to make my and Billy’s lives miserable. They had their boyfriends threaten Billy, ridicule him, and make sure he got picked last for every team and group project. I received similar treatment but rarely cared. I was too busy studying and working to worry about my social standing. I had one goal in mind and one only: to get my ass to college, then the FBI, as fast as possible. I took the GED at sixteen and started community college almost the very next day. One year after that, I moved to Penn State Altoona and never looked back.
I could almost understand why Merrill hated us so much even though we barely crossed paths. Everyone in town knew our father cheated on her mother and that the Ballard bastards, as far too many people in town called us, were the result. She was born a few months after us, but we moved in different circles, attended different schools, and never had extracurricular activities in common. I wouldn’t have known her if we passed her on the street.
Her psychological warfare began for some still unknown reason in the seventh grade, but I assume she’d found out about Daddy’s other family shortly before. I had to chase down the rumors that I gave blow jobs for cash and Billy was gay for a week, but under the threat of a broken jaw someone finally spilled that Merrill Grey put them up to it. I thought of beating her ass too, but I had no way of getting to her. It continued like that through middle and high school, the rumors popping up like a herpes outbreak—a disease I apparently had—about twice a year.
Until Paul Keyes.
We met at a track competition when we were fourteen and kept seeing each other at track events throughout the season. He was cute as I tended to like them—tall and thin, with brown hair and eyes and a bright smile. He knew I was a Ballard bastard, but it wasn’t until our third meeting that I realized he was the son of Joshua Keyes, one of my sperm donor’s business partners. He was also one of Merrill’s friends from prep school, and if the venomous looks she gave me the few times we inhabited the same space, like at Paul’s birthday or his school dances, were any indication, Paul was one of her crushes as well. The moment we began dating the rumors began to circulate nonstop. I was a thief. I cheated on every test. I let the basketball team run a train on me at a party. I didn’t let the bombardment get to me, and no one really believed her. Then I had to go and give her something true to spread around town like the town crier.
I had an abortion at sixteen.
No, I absolutely do not regret it. No, it did not traumatize me even for a day. No, I am still not ashamed, nor do I think it was the selfish choice. I was poor, sixteen, and two months away from taking the GED and starting college. There wasn’t even a question of me keeping the baby. I’d made up my mind the moment I suspected I was pregnant, and Paul didn’t hide his relief when I told him my choice. He did offer to marry me if I wanted to keep the baby on the drive to the clinic, but that was just because I was visibly nervous about the procedure itself.
He was a good guy, Paul Keyes. I certainly lucked out in the first-love department. He even paid for the procedure and stayed with me all day afterward. Unfortunately, he was too damn trusting. He told his best friend, Simon, what happened, who then told his girlfriend, who told Merrill, who then enlisted the girlfriend to find the receipt. With actual physical proof, Merrill and her posse spread the news everywhere. They told the school administrators they were afraid I was suicidal because of what I’d done and my mother and grandparents, who hadn’t known about the abortion, had to come in for a meeting. We had local pastors and priests calling the house because people had called them concerned about my immortal soul. People on the streets, in the grocery store, even at my job at the police station looked at me sideways. One of my grandfather’s hunting “friends” even called me a whore and baby killer right to my face. Grandpa cold-cocked the bastard and hunted alone for two years. Paul and I ended a week after.
Once again I was deep down Memory Lane when I saw Merrill emerge from the Starbucks bathroom.
“Of course,” I muttered to myself as she walked toward her minions.
Billy and I may have been twins, but Merrill and I actually looked like siblings. We were the same height and build, and had the same eye color and face shape. We could have been twins, except I thankfully got Mom’s nose and lips, and Merrill dyed her hair blond. Her nose did resemble mine—but hers was man made.
My first instinct was to flee, forget the bribe or wait until later, but that thought made me pissed at myself. I’d been in showdowns with serial killers yet my insecure half-sister sends me running for the hills? Hell no. And it wasn’t as if
I were still that teenager with no money, no backup, and no power. So I looked up and stared right at her. It wasn’t until she was five feet away that she noticed me. The expression of pure shock and horror was almost worth the whole trip to Grey Mills.
Rachel noticed her friend suddenly become a statue and glanced back to find the cause. Her mouth flopped open when she realized who I was. “Holy…shit! Iris Ballard?” Rachel asked.
The four others turned to gawk too. More wide eyes and floppy mouths, all except Merrill. She moved toward her friends looking like she’d just sucked a lemon.
“Hello,” I said to my new fan club.
“Oh, my God,” Rachel said with a smile. “It’s really you! It’s Rachel Gardner—well, Rachel Carville now. I married Sawyer Carville.”
“I remember you and Sawyer both.” He was one of Paul’s friends, the one who hit on me more than once. “It’s good to see you again.” My gaze whipped to the now smirking Merrill. “Hello, Merrill. You’re looking very…” I just let it hang there. Her lip twitched up in disgust. One–nil.
“What are you doing in Grey Mills?” Rachel asked.
“Just visiting the family before I have to lock myself in my house to write my autobiography. I’m only here for a few days, though. I’d hate to have to give back the million my publisher paid me because I can’t meet the deadline.”
“A million dollars?” one of the women asked.
“Yep.”
“An autobiography? Don’t forget to include your abortion in it,” I heard Merrill say to one of her friends, who sniggered.
“I would include, it Merrill, but the book’s exclusively about how I brought Dr. Shepherd to justice before he could slaughter any other women,” I said with a smug smile.
“Last I checked murdering a man isn’t justice,” Merrill countered.
“It was self-defense, not murder. He was about to shoot me. There is a giant difference between fighting back and starting the conflict in the first place because you feel like shit about yourself and need to take that out on others.”
Merrill stared down at the ground. Two–nil.
“God, that must have been so terrifying,” Rachel said. “I can’t even imagine.”
“I don’t recommend the experience, no.”
“Is it true they’re gonna make a movie about it?” one of the women asked.
“There have been talks, yes.”
“Who is going to play you? Melissa McCarthy?” Merrill asked under her breath.
“God, I wish! She’s awesome!” I said.
“Well, I think that guy from Outlander should play your boyfriend,” Rachel said.
That knocked me off my smug perch momentarily. “My…boyfriend? Luke?”
“Yeah! Did he come here with you or—”
“Luke isn’t my boyfriend,” I chuckled nervously.
“But didn’t I read somewhere you two were having an affair right before you got your husband murdered?” Merrill asked.
My mouth twitched. Okay, she got that point. Two–one. Bitch. I was shocked it was actually Rachel who hissed, “Merrill!”
“What? I read it in a magazine. They can’t publish it if it isn’t true.”
“Have you seen him? Can you blame her?” one of the other women said, and the rest laughed. God bless her.
“We’re just friends now.” I think.
“Too bad. You’re not getting any younger, you know. Your biological clock is ticking,” Merrill said. “Oh, wait, sorry. I also heard you had to have a hysterectomy after that Rosetta guy stabbed you. Bet you regretted that abortion after that.”
Some of the others gasped. “Jesus Christ, Merrill,” Rachel said.
“I actually don’t regret it for a moment,” I said. “Not everyone’s meant to stay stuck in their hometown contributing nothing to the world but keeping Lululemon and Napa vineyards in business.”
“You’re the only lush here,” Merrill snapped.
“Really? Did your mother die? I’m so sorry to hear that.”
Merrill’s mouth twitched again. “Better an alcoholic than a bipolar whore.”
“Merrill!” Rachel hissed.
“It’s fine. I’m used to her insecure antics.” The customer at the cash register finally left and it was the women’s turn. Time to piss on her cornflakes. “Hey, do you mind if I cut in front of you all? I have an appointment with the sheriff.”
“Of course,” Rachel said and the other women, save for Merrill, nodded.
“You all are so sweet! Thank you.” With my best shit-eating grin for my dear half-sister, I moved past them and ordered eight pastries. I heard them all whispering behind me, but it was all good things. Merrill must have been dying inside. That brought a smirk to my face. Pastries in hand, I spun back around. “Thanks again, ladies. It was lovely meeting you all.” I nodded at my half-sister. “Merrill. Give my regards to our father. Excuse me.”
I stalked out of the coffeehouse with my head held high and had made it a few steps on the sidewalk when Rachel called, “Iris, wait!” I turned back around as she approached. “I just, I’m sorry for her. She’s…you know.”
“Oh, believe me, I know.”
Rachel smiled but dropped it slowly. “And I just wanted to say…I’m sorry for school too. How I treated you. It was wrong and mean and stupid and petty and what we did when you, you know…that was just evil. We put you through hell. It’s always bothered me. I am so, so sorry.”
I wasn’t expecting that. “I forgive you. It was a long time ago.”
“Thank you. I always felt shitty, even then. My dad worked for her dad; now my husband works for him too. I’m stuck, you know?” she chuckled nervously. “And she’s not horrible all of the time. She can actually be sweet when she wants to be.”
“So was Lucretia Borgia,” I pointed out, “but I appreciate your apology.”
“Long overdue. I’ll let you, uh, get to your appointment. See you around.”
I watched as Rachel reluctantly returned to her “friends” and when she was out of sight, I smirked to myself. The homecoming queen had just apologized to the abortion whore. Hadn’t seen that coming. I could get used to this hometown hero deal, I thought as I strolled down the street toward the Sheriff’s station two blocks away.
My former home away from home hadn’t changed since I’d last graced its halls almost twenty years before. The bronze plaques had more names on them, and the benches had more carved graffiti, but beyond that the carpet was the same grimy blue, the chairs in the waiting room were still ghastly yellow plastic monstrosities, and Joyce Hernandez still sat at the front desk typing away on an ancient computer with her ridiculously long acrylic pink nails, her silver hair as always in its messy bun held by decorative sticks. When I was ten I asked her why she sported the nails and sticks, and she told me that way she has two weapons at hand that most would overlook in a battle. I adored her from that moment on.
“One moment, please,” Joyce said, holding up one of her talons as I approached.
“Is the eBay auction ending? What was it this time, another signed Steelers jersey? Don’t you have ten of them already?” I asked.
Joyce gazed up from the computer and after a second her mouth dropped open. I loved when people did that. “Holy…Iris? Oh, my God!” She quickly rounded the counter and rushed over to me, pulling me into a strong hug.
“Careful. I’m all sweaty,” I said.
She just squeezed tighter. “And you reek too, Nancy Drew.” God, I hated that pet name. They all called me that when I worked at the station. Even before I made my bimonthly visits. Joyce finally released me only to scan me up and down. “You look great! Much better than on those news reports months ago. Still too skinny, though. Ten more pounds should do it.”
“You sound like my grandmother.”
“We take pottery together, you know. Don and I were over at their house two weeks ago for dinner. Are you staying with them? How long are you in town for? I should have you all to dinner!�
� she said in rapid succession. It appeared she was still on an all-coffee diet.
“Maybe. We’ll see. Everything’s a bit open-ended right now.”
“Well, tomorrow night you’re coming over for dinner. That’s final. I’m thinking steaks on the grill. Oh, is your boyfriend here too? He doesn’t look like one of those vegans, but you never can tell.”
“If you’re talking about Luke, a: he’s not my boyfriend, and b: he is not here.”
“Well, that’s a damn shame on both parts, Nancy Drew. That man almost died trying to save you. He deserves a little somethin’-somethin’ for the effort. Good men are hard to come by. You find one and you grab him and never let him go for nothin’.”
Okay…“I will keep that in mind.”
Joyce nodded. “So, what’s in the box?”
“Ridiculously expensive pastries.”
“So you didn’t come here just to be lectured by an old lady? I’m heartbroken.”
I opened the box. “I’m sure first pick will cure that. There’s a chocolate croissant with your name on it.”
She took it. “There is nothing sugar cannot cure, that is true.”
“Except diabetes,” I said as I closed the box.
“So what can the humble Grey County Sheriff’s Office do for the world-famous Dr. Iris Ballard today?”
“I have kind of a big ask. Hence the bribery,” I said, holding up the box. “Is the sheriff in?”
“He is. What’s going on? This about Billy?”
“Yeah. You know about that?” I asked.
“Faye came in the other day raising hell after the sheriff told her his hands were tied. I thought she was gonna slap poor Timmy. Thank God her husband was with her. He seems to be the only person on Earth that’s ever been able to calm her down.”
“Yeah, he’s a good guy.”
“Well, I’ll buzz you back. Sheriff’s in his office. You know the way. And you are coming to dinner tomorrow.”
Darkness at the Edge of Town Page 7
