“Hi, Jack.” Mary suddenly appeared behind Grace. “Did you have any trouble finding us?”
Before he could answer, Grace spoke. “You came to see us before, didn’t you,” she said softly. “With Whaley. When we lived on Salola Street.”
He nodded. “Yes ma’am. Whaley and I were partners then.”
“Did they bring you back on duty?” Grace’s tone was bitter. “Just to question us again?”
“I brought Detective Wilkins here, Grace,” Mary explained. “He’s retired from the force, working for me as a private investigator. I’m hoping he can figure out who’s been harassing you, while you and Zack are away.”
Grace snorted. “Oh sure. And just for fun maybe he can plant some new evidence.”
Jack was surprised at the woman’s cynicism, then further surprised when Mary Crow came to his defense. “That’s uncalled for, Grace,” she said, her voice like a knife. “You’ve hired me as your attorney. You have to trust that I’m doing the right thing.”
“Hadi.” Grace folded her arms across her chest.
Jack listened as they went for a couple more rounds in what he assumed was Cherokee. Mary Crow’s eyes flashed as she spoke, and it occurred to him that she’d be the last person he’d want to tie up with in court. Finally she stepped back as Grace Collier nodded at him. “Please come in, Detective Wilkins,” she said. “Forgive my rudeness. I just don’t have a very good history with the Pisgah County Sheriff’s Department.”
He smiled. “I understand.” He started to say something more—that he knew Whaley could be a jackass, that he’d ridden her son way too hard then and had, apparently, continued to do so, but then the boy himself came into the living room, dripping from a shower, with only a skimpy towel around his waist.
“Who’s here, Mama?” Zack asked, turning wide eyes on him. Jack marveled at how little the boy had changed. Where his own sons had put on muscle and grown out of their baby fat, Zack Collier had just turned into a bearded version of his fifteen-year-old self. There was little muscle tone in his arms and his fingers had dimples where knuckles should have been. Despite all that, Jack could see that had he been normal, he would have been as striking as his mother.
“You remember Mary, don’t you?” Grace hurried toward her son. “She’s going to take us on a vacation. Her friend Mr. Wilkins came along with her.”
“Is he going on our vacation too?” Zack eyed him suspiciously as his mother herded him out of the living room.
“No. I need you to pack up your videos and your animals and put on some clothes. We’re going to leave soon.”
“But I don’t want to leave! I want to … ”
“Zack, we talked about that this morning. Some very nice people are letting us use their cabin.”
Mary and Wilkins stood in the living room as their voices faded down the hall.
“That’s Zack in a good mood,” Mary told him. “It’s a whole different ball game when he gets mad. Most of these paintings are covering holes he put in the plaster.”
“Don’t they have places for people like him?” he asked.
“According to Grace, very few that welcome adults with anger-management issues.”
Jack nodded, remembering Whaley’s pet theory—that Zack Collier had killed Teresa Ewing and Grace had covered it up. In a way he couldn’t blame her—what parent would want to see their only, damaged child spend the rest of their life in the criminal ward at Naughton Hospital?
He turned to Mary. “Why don’t you show me where all this bad stuff’s been going on?”
She took him on a brief tour of the yard—pointing out where the dead animals had surrounded the bird feeder, showing him the remnants of the shattered mailbox.
As they returned to the front porch, he pointed to a series of small holes in the side of the house. “Grace ever mention these?”
Mary peered at the line of small dots. “Bullet holes?”
He nodded. “Looks like from a .22. Probably from a rifle, fired from the street.”
“Wonder why they didn’t aim for the window?” asked Mary.
Wilkins shrugged. “Bad aim, crappy rifle. Who knows?”
“Let’s just keep them to ourselves,” said Mary. “Grace may not know about them and it would be just one more thing for her to worry about.”
They went back inside the living room, where Grace had left her diary on the sofa. Mary picked it up and handed it to Jack.
“‘How I Was Driven Crazy, Volume 4’?” Jack had to laugh. “At least she hasn’t lost her sense of humor.”
“Everything’s in there—dates and times of footsteps in the driveway, crank calls at night. Even little cartoons that illustrate every incident.”
“If these calls are coming in on a landline, I can tap that here in the house. Phone records would take a subpoena.”
Mary was searching for a phone when Grace came back in the room.
“I’ve gotten Zack loaded up,” she announced, looking at Mary. “We’re ready to go any time you are.”
“Grace, have you got a landline?”
“In my room.” She led them to her bedroom and pointed to an old white phone on the bedside table. “Why?”
“I can record whoever’s calling you,” said Jack.
“How nice.” Grace gave another sardonic smile. “Our whole lives will be open for inspection.”
“Not really,” he replied, feeling both sympathy for and irritation with this woman. “Just the parts Ms. Crow wants me to inspect.”
Mary stepped forward. “Remember Grace, you need to trust me on this.”
She gave a reluctant sigh. “Okay. I’ll leave my house keys on the kitchen table. Mary, we’ll be waiting for you in the car.”
She feels violated, Jack thought as he watched her leave her own bedroom. Probably thinks I’m just another cop, trying to nail her son. He frowned at Mary. “Your client doesn’t seem exactly thrilled with any of this.”
“I don’t care,” Mary replied. “My client needs to do what I tell her.” She shouldered her bag. “I’ll leave you to it, Jack. I’ll give you a call tomorrow.”
“You have a weapon?”
She laughed. “You sound like my boyfriend.”
“Well, do you?”
“My old Glock Nine,” she said. “In my glove compartment.”
“Keep it with you. You never need it until you need it, and then you need it big-time.”
“Now you really do sound like Victor.”
He smiled at the woman he was growing to like. “Then I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Thirty-Three
Grace followed Mary Crow west on I-40, snaking through the Appalachian Mountains. Zack wept for the first hour of their trip, not understanding why a detective was at their house and Adam had not come over to say good-bye.
“Adam moved his parents to South Carolina this morning,” Grace explained. “And Mr. Wilkins is a friend, not a policeman.”
“He is too a policeman.” Zack turned his tear-stained face toward hers. “He came over after Teresa died. He wore a red tie. His badge was number 311.”
She looked at him, stunned. His recall was quirky, but amazing. Sometimes she wondered what she would find if she truly plumbed Zack’s memory, though she’d long ago decided it was better not to try.
“Mr. Wilkins is going to take care of our house while we’re on vacation,” she told him, the lie sour at the back of her throat. “And Adam told you good-bye last night.”
“He still could have come over this morning,” he muttered, staring miserably at the lush green foliage passing by.
Grace gave a heavy sigh. Not only did she have someone from the enemy camp occupying her home, now Zack was alone again. It would be hard for him to go back to just quarterly outings with the Autism Society. For once in his adult life, he’d had a
real friend who’d visited almost every day. They would both miss Adam a lot.
They crossed over into Tennessee, stopping once for hamburgers, then once more at a flea market, west of Knoxville. “Zack wants to look for videos,” she explained, calling Mary on her cell phone. “Trust me, it’s better if we do.”
“No problem,” said Mary. “I can return some calls while you two shop.”
They pulled into the flea market parking lot. While Mary stayed in her car, Grace trailed Zack as he scoured the market for old videos. As she watched him, her thoughts went back to the detective who was now probably perusing everything from her underwear drawer to her old check stubs. The anger she’d felt when he’d shown up at the door again raced through her veins. How dare Mary Crow invite a stranger to come and stay in her home! And why had she, Grace, even called Mary Crow in the first place? She could be in league with the police after all. Planting evidence against Zack and then defending him at a murder trial might be a big boost for her political career. Hot tears came to her eyes as she watched Zack, absorbed in the video selection. Maybe she just ought to tell Mary that they were heading west, and she would return with Zack only if he was indicted. She was about to go back to the parking lot when someone touched her arm.
She looked over her shoulder. Mary stood there, smiling. Grace started to cry.
“What’s the matter?” Mary asked, surprised.
Grace shook her head, unable to speak. She was too confused, too upset. Why were men calling her at night? Why were little girls calling Zack during the day? Who had wrecked Zack’s room? Why had she ever confided in this light-eyed woman? She and Zack could have handled everything, by themselves. They’d done it plenty of times before.
“Come over here.” Mary grabbed her hand, led her over to a little snack bar.
“Wait—Zack won’t know where I am!”
“Go sit down,” said Mary. “I’ll take care of Zack.”
Grace took a seat at the counter. She watched as Mary went over and touched Zack’s arm, pointing to where she sat. Then she gave him some money from her purse, and whispered something in his ear. He nodded, then returned his attention to the tapes.
“What did you tell him?” asked Grace when Mary came back to the table.
“I told him we’d be right here. To take his time with the videos and to come over when he’d finished.” Mary smiled. “I also gave him ten bucks, which he seemed particularly pleased with.”
Grace had to laugh. “Zack doesn’t understand a lot of things, but money he gets.”
Mary sat down beside her. “Now. Why were you standing in the middle of this flea market with tears running down your cheeks?”
Grace took a deep breath. She liked Mary, but she also feared Mary. “You want to know the truth?”
“I always want to know the truth, Grace.”
“I’m having second thoughts.”
“About?”
“This. Everything.” She gulped. “Mostly, I’m just not comfortable with Jack Wilkins in my home. I remember what he was like back—back when Teresa was killed.”
“What?”
“Oh he wasn’t as mean as Whaley. He just looked at us as if we were scum. Zack remembered him too.”
“He had a murder case that was eating away at him, Grace. Eating away at all of them. They were crazy to find that child’s killer.”
“I suppose.” She pulled a paper napkin from the dispenser and dabbed at her eyes.
“Did he look at you that way this morning?” asked Mary.
Grace shook her head. “No. This morning he just looked old. And sad.”
“Teresa Ewing has been as much a cancer on his life as it has on yours and Zack’s,” Mary said softly. “It’s the one case he’s never cleared. He nearly had a breakdown over it.”
“Is that why you brought him to my house? So he could solve the case and die a happy man?”
“Of course not. I brought him because I believe he can find out who’s harassing you. He’s not a cop anymore. He’s working for me. Anything he learns at your house is privileged information. Inadmissible in court.”
“But he was Whaley’s partner,” cried Grace. “Whaley would plant evidence—I know he would. What makes you think Wilkins wouldn’t too?”
“Because the only thing Jack Wilkins is interested in is the truth. He’s not out to burnish his arrest record anymore.” Mary reached for Grace’s arm. “Let me ask you a theoretical question. In your heart of hearts, do you think Zack could have killed Teresa Ewing?”
Grace looked at Mary. Her eyes seemed to bore inside her head, as if seeking whatever truth hid there. “Ninety-eight percent of me says no.”
“And the remaining two percent?”
Grace hesitated, afraid to give voice to the cold, silent fear that had lurked in the shadows of her heart. She looked at Zack, happily flipping through the videos, then at Mary, sitting across from her, her face as unreadable as the Sphinx. Then she took a headfirst plunge into truth. “The other two percent doesn’t know.”
Mary nodded, unsurprised. “That’s what I thought.”
“But you don’t think it’s terrible that I wonder at all? His own mother?”
“No. People love their children, regardless. Whatever they might have done.”
Ultimately, Grace decided to continue to the cabin Mary had arranged for them. She’d already cashed in her vacation chips with Alice Richards, so she figured they might as well take advantage of it. They exited the interstate at a little town called Harriman and drove northwest on a two-lane road, through mountainous country where thick stands of Sycamore trees bordered narrow, rushing creeks. Zack laughed at a miniature Statue of Liberty that beckoned the huddled masses into a restaurant; every mile or so they would pass a different Baptist church. Grace was beginning to fear they would spend their vacation behind some discount store at a country crossroads when they came to the town of Rugby. It looked different from the outset—a settlement of old-fashioned clapboard cottages with cedar shake roofs. Most were painted in somber colors and stood behind moss-covered picket fences. They seemed Old World, as if they’d been transplanted from the British Cotswolds. Men with croquet mallets and cricket bats would have fit right in.
Zack looked up from his video game. “Where are we?”
“Where we’re going to stay,” she replied.
“What’s here?”
“I don’t know,” she said, wondering what Mary had gotten them into. “But they call it Rugby.”
Following Mary through the town, they turned down a bumpy side road, then drove into thick green forest. Zack removed his ear buds and rolled down the window. A moment later, he said “I hear a wood thrush, Mama.”
“That’s great honey,” she said instinctively ducking as low hanging branches slapped against the windshield. “You might see a lot of birds here.”
She followed Mary another hundred or so yards, then the road—or, really, the path—ended in front of a dark brown cottage with a screened in porch. Mary got out of her car, grinning.
“This is it. I’ll go see if the key works.”
Grace watched as Mary went to unlock the door. The cabin looked so quaint that she feared it might have oil lamps and a wood stove. Mary opened the door of the screened porch, then a moment later, she beckoned them inside.
They got out of the car and went onto the porch. Zack plopped down in a wooden swing that hung from the rafters while Grace followed Mary into the living room. There a long sofa faced well-stocked bookcases that flanked a stone fireplace. Beyond that was a small kitchen outfitted with new appliances. Two bedrooms opened off a short hall, a bathroom between them. As rustic as the place appeared, it had central air conditioning and electricity that powered everything from a convection microwave to a Jacuzzi.
“Wow,” said Grace, as they walked through the little house
. “This isn’t like any cabin I’ve ever seen.”
Mary laughed. “It’s certainly not like the one I grew up in.”
Grace returned to the kitchen. On one wall was a sliding glass door that led to another room with louvered glass windows. In one corner sat a huge TV with some kind of gaming console already attached. Grace walked over and drew back the drapes. The back yard was similar to theirs at home—a shady lawn with a bird feeder, bordered by woods. Only here the woods were different. Here the woods would be more correctly considered wilderness.
“That’s the Big South Fork National Forest,” said Mary. “125,00 acres. Goes all the way into Kentucky.”
“How do you know so much about this?” asked Grace.
“I’ve been working on this estate for months. This little cabin and a hunting camp near Jackman, Maine, are what this family is squabbling over. I could quote you acreages and rights-of-way until the cows came home.”
“I had my doubts about this,” said Grace. “But with a giant TV, bird feeders, and those woods, Zack will feel right at home.”
“According to my client, there’s a church, a library, a café, and several bed-and-breakfast inns,” said Mary.
“Where can we get groceries?”
“Carson’s General Store. A mile down the main road.”
“What if we need a doctor?”
“Call the Clear Fork Volunteer Fire Department. They’ll get here the fastest.”
“Okay, then.” Grace smiled. “I guess we’ll unpack.”
Zack unloaded the car. Grace got the groceries she’d brought from home stashed away in the kitchen. As Zack began to fill the bird feeder, Mary gathered up her purse.
“You’re leaving?” Grace sounded surprised.
She nodded. “Emily’s booked me into a campaign appearance with the United Methodist Women tomorrow. She called me while you guys were at the flea market.”
“Can I at least fix you a sandwich to take with you?”
“No, thanks.” Mary smiled. “I’ll just grab something in Knoxville. Listen—my clients tell me cell service is sketchy here, but you can always get a signal at the grocery store. How about I call you with an update every day at one in the afternoon?”
A Judgment of Whispers Page 23
