Promises of Home jp-3

by Jeff Abbott

  We stood again by a grave, the second ceremony seeming like an eerie echo of the first, as though Clevey’s burial had been a dress rehearsal and Trey’s was the true performance.

  “Thou knowest, Lord,” Father Greene intoned for the second time that day, “the secrets of our hearts; shut not thy merciful ears to our prayer…” The secrets of our hearts. I glanced at Sister, with her terrible secret, her bruised face a badge of deception. Why wouldn’t she tell me the truth? Who could she be protecting? Candace’s hand closed around mine and I squeezed it.

  The sun shone bright, the clouds having retreated to a bluish-gray smudge near the horizon, but the day was still chilly. I saw Mark shiver as Father Greene cast earth upon his father’s coffin. Mark did not look at his mother or at me. He stared down into his father’s grave like it was some distant mirror. Candace leaned against me and I wrapped my arm around her, feeling her comforting warmth.

  This was the legitimate goodbye, I thought. The goodbye to Trey was never said before because he walked away from us. Was he watching us now, a slight smile on his face that his wife and his son were-

  “Bitch,” a voice softly said, barely breaking the drone of Father Greene’s somnolent voice. I had almost thought I’d imagined it until the word repeated, harder, more forcefully. “You bitch, you killed him!”

  At one corner of the grave Nola Kinnard stood, her hands clenched into fists, her upswept, overmoussed brown hair not moving in the breeze. Tears mottled her angry face. She was too close to the edge of the grave and a rain of pebbles and muddy clods rained down on the casket.

  “Nola, for God’s sake!” Hart seized her arm and pulled her back from the open ground.

  She wrenched free from him. “I can’t stand here while the bitch that murdered him stands there and watches him put in the ground! Look at her! Look at her face!”

  Scott seized his mother’s arm and tried to hush her. “Mom, please, don’t! Don’t!”

  “We all know you did it! You hit him! You told him to stay away from your precious brat! And when he didn’t want to, when he wanted to see his boy, you killed him! You killed him!” She broke into heaving sobs, cradling Scott’s head in her arm as he struggled against her.

  Hart shot me a look of distress and tried to steer Nola and Scott away from the grave. She jerked away from him, releasing Scott, and launched herself at Ed Dickensheets, burying her face against his shoulder. Embarrassed, he held her awkwardly, trying to stroke her hairsprayed helmet of hair in comfort. Wanda gaped at Nola, not knowing what to do under these funereal circumstances. Ivalou was more inventive, yanking on Nola’s arm, calling her a mean-faced little hussy in a sharp whisper.

  I turned to my sister. She stood statue still. I couldn’t see her eyes behind the midnight dark of her sunglasses. Mark pressed against her side, watching the spectacle of Nola with horror. Candace embraced Sister from behind, murmuring comfort.

  I tried to speak, but I couldn’t. Those dark lenses were boring through me. What was I supposed to say? This morning I’d made the same suggestion, although not quite so aggressively as Nola.

  Nola, perhaps realizing the focus of attention had shifted from her, broke away from the red-faced Ed, shoved her way past an outraged Ivalou, and stormed toward Sister. I interceded, hearing a dismayed Father Greene begging Nola to calm down, moving in front of her as she stepped over the corner of Trey’s grave.

  “Listen here, you just stop this right now,” I demanded, and she slapped me once, smartly, across the face. I seized her hand and she slapped me with her other. I seized it as well, my cheeks red as Christmas cherries, and I shook Nola in fury.

  “Stop it! Shut up!” I screamed in her face, and she wrenched away from me, trying to kick me in the shins. She would have toppled into the grave if I hadn’t had hold of her. Suddenly Davis was on one side of me, Hart on the other, pulling Nola away. She flayed me with a look of pure poison as I released her and Hart hurried her toward the house. She stumbled once but did not look back at us. Steven Teague followed at a respectful distance, probably ready to provide vast amounts of psychotherapy.

  Shock silenced the crowd. Except for a sudden, screaming keen as Bradley Foradory sank to the ground.

  “That,” Candace offered as I poured her a cup of coffee, “was a hell of a service.” She maneuvered me gently against the kitchen counter and planted a kiss on my cheek. “I don’t believe you’ve sustained any permanent damage. Of course a more thorough investigation will be called for later.”

  I smiled at her teasing, her sweet way of coaxing me back toward everyday life. I needed days empty of tragedy and sorrow. I needed days with Candace, time with her, time with my family. I returned her kiss, tasting the spot between her eyes. “I’ll look forward to that, sweetheart.” I fetched a second cup down from the cabinet and filled it with fresh coffee. “Let me take this to Sister, see how she’s feeling.”

  The living room was finally empty. The mourners had returned to both our house and the Shivers place for the traditional postfuneral gathering, to eat and drink and converse in hushed tones. Our house was undoubtedly the greater social attraction; no one had called Truda a murderer during the funeral. I’d forced myself to maintain a placid air as people crowded and jostled each other on our porches, in our living room.

  Cayla and Davis Foradory had phoned their regrets in. “We just can’t make it, Jordy,” Cayla said in a forced tone. “Poor Bradley was just so upset by the funeral, it’s best he stay home. You do understand, don’t you?”

  “Of course, Cayla. May I speak to Davis for a moment?”

  She coughed. “Well, Davis is getting Bradley settled. How about I have him call you when things calm down?”

  “Sure, Cayla.”

  “Please give my best to Arlene and Mark. And Truda.”

  “Of course.” I hung up the phone slowly, feeling the tinge of unease I always felt after talking to Cayla. Bradley Foradory might be retarded, but he was hardly high-strung. Generally he was a happy fellow, smiling and likable. Yet the funeral had thumped some horribly raw nerve to set him screaming and crying like that. What was wrong with Bradley?

  Although Bradley’s outburst generated a certain amount of talk, it couldn’t hold a candle to Nola’s dramatics. I’d caught Ivalou Purcell murmuring to her daughter, “Well, Arlene showed more restraint with that Nola than she did with Trey. She didn’t hit her.” I’d forced myself not to stop and chew the old bitch out. There had been enough unpleasant scenes today.

  Now Sister sat alone with Mama in the living room. Mama had not attended the funeral, but Clo had dressed her in a dark robe. Always one to get an early start on the holidays, Mama was humming the tune of “Away in a Manger,” which she’d plucked somehow from the quicksand of her memory. Sister didn’t appear to be noticing, still wearing her dark jacket and skirt, her sunglasses finally off, her hair a blonde tousle around her shoulders.

  I sat down and handed the fee coffee. She accepted it wordlessly, took a sip, and said, “I have to get down to the hospital and see how Junebug’s doing.”

  “Don’t you think you’ve done enough for today?” I said. “I’m sure Barbara or the doctors will call us if there’s a change. You need some rest.”

  “There have been two men in my adult life I’ve loved, Jordy. I buried one today. And the other one may not make it out of the hospital. I don’t think I can sleep any.”

  “You’ll make yourself sick, Sister.”

  “Spare me the worried-brother act. You practically accused me of killing Trey this morning.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t believe you killed him, but I had to know for sure. You still didn’t answer my question.”

  She rubbed her eye. “I didn’t kill him.”

  “Then tell me. Were you over there that morning?”

  Fatigue had won out against her defenses. “Yes, all right. I stopped by on my way to work. Even with it being a cold day, I wore those stupid pants ’cause it gets hot in the kitchen and they�
�re comfortable.”

  “What happened?”

  Her voice took a distant tone as she spoke, “He was there. Alone. He let me in, said he was even glad to see me as long as I wasn’t there to blacken his other eye.” She sipped at her coffee and closed her eyes.

  “Oh, he looked bad, Jordy. You’d seen him. He was a shell of the man he’d been. He’d had so much energy, so much power in his body. That man in the chair had nothing.” She shivered. “I apologized for hitting him-and said I hoped he wasn’t gonna press charges. He laughed and I started to cry. He said I looked wonderful to him. He said… he’d missed me.”

  I took a long breath while she paused. “And what effect did all this sweet talk have?”

  She shook her head. “Part of me wanted to belt him again. Part of me wanted to tell him to never darken our door. Part of me wanted to hold him. Stupid, huh?”

  “No.” I squeezed her shoulder.

  “He asked to see Mark. I explained I thought that was a bad idea, that Mark needed more time to get used to the idea of his father back in his life before he saw Trey face-to-face. Trey said I was stalling. He begged, Jordy. He begged to see Mark and I kept saying no.”

  “So when’d you get the black eye?”

  Sister paid me no heed. “I finally asked him why he’d come home after all this time-why hadn’t he just stayed away? He wouldn’t look at me for a while, then he said that he’d finally stared death in the face and it had made him a man. I said that was crazy, and he said you’d understand.”

  I eased back on the couch. Famous words from Trey from the tree house. It’d been his argument for our foolishness that long-ago day.

  “So,” Sister continued, sniffing, “he said abandoning us was the most terrible mistake he’d ever made. He wanted to come home more times than he could count, but he was too ashamed. And he said he knew I wouldn’t take him back, and he was afraid Mark would reject him. It wasn’t till after that bull nearly killed him that he decided to come home.”

  I didn’t say anything. I saw Candace standing at the kitchen door, tears in her eyes, her fingertips on her lips.

  Sister looked up at the ceiling-or perhaps past it, toward God and heaven. “He said he still loved me, he’d never stopped loving me. And he wanted to be a father to Mark. I told him it was impossible, it could never be like it was before. He pleaded with me, and I ran out.” She started crying again.

  “I don’t understand. When did you get the black eye?”

  “Oh,” she said, wiping tears away. I handed her a tissue. She dabbed at her eyes. “I stumbled when I fell down the stairs. I hit my face.” Sister got up and retreated to the kitchen. She looked back at me. “Now you know everything, Jordy. Happy? If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get something to eat, take a shower, and go to the hospital.” She ducked past Candace, who regarded me with concern.

  “She’ll be okay, Jordy. She just needs time.”

  I didn’t say anything; I just sat back down. Trey had neglected to tell Sister the most important point of all: just why had he so regretfully left Mirabeau in the first place?

  14

  Franklin Bedloedrummed his pencil against his pad as I finished talking.

  “Well, you’ve been busy,” he said. I couldn’t tell quite yet if he was angry or not.

  I’d invited him to stop by, and when he arrived, basically I’d spilled my guts. What I’d found out from Ed, from Scott, from Steven Teague, from Thomasina Clifton, from Hart. The only item I omitted was that dogged bit of Sister’s pants. She’d told me what I believed was the truth about her seeing Trey and there was no need to tell Franklin about it. At least in my judgment. I could pinch a penny if I gave him a pound.

  “Well, we had been talking to Mr. Teague about his treatment of Mr. Shivers,” Franklin began uncertainly, then stopped. I waited politely. Junebug had always told me Franklin was a bright fellow with a future. I hoped he was right, but I wondered if having been shoved into the role of acting chief had overwhelmed him.

  “Look, I really wasn’t trying to snoop, Franklin. I know Junebug’s told you I have a propensity to stick my nose in. I can’t help it if information comes my way. That’s why I’m sharing it with you. You do with it what you think best.”

  Franklin jotted a final note and shut his book. “Well, all this is real interesting, Jordy, but I’m not sure how it bears on the case. Especially the Rennie Clifton connection.”

  “But that stuff you found in Clevey’s house-”

  “We don’t have an explanation for it yet,” he said calmly. “And I’m in the business of evidence, not conjecture. You haven’t shown me one shred of evidence-only hearsay about both Clevey and Trey.”

  I opened my mouth to speak and shut it promptly. He was right. I’d built a house of cards and he was the wind.

  “Then I’m sorry if I’ve wasted your time, Franklin. I just feel so angry about what happened to Junebug, I thought-”

  “Jordy, listen, I do understand. Everyone at the station’s determined we’re gonna catch this bastard. I appreciate the information you’ve given us. We’ll take it from here.”

  He stood and we shook hands. When I showed him to the door, Hart Quadlander’s truck was pulling into the driveway. Franklin gave Hart a polite nod and drove off in his cruiser.

  Trouble with the police?” Hart asked as I let him and Scott in the door. I helped them off with their coats and hung them on the pegs. Scott eyed Mark nervously as I ushered them into the living room.

  “Mark, I’m sorry about my mom. She’s just really upset. But she still shouldn’t have said what she did.” Scott’s eyes held real apology. “I don’t know what else to say. I’m sorry she hit you, Jordy.”

  “How’s she doing?” I made myself ask. I thought Nola Kinnard needed a good rest home, but I wasn’t about to suggest that in front of her son.

  “She’s okay. Steven Teague talked to her for a while and he got Dr. Meyer to prescribe a tranquilizer for her.” Hart squeezed Mark’s shoulder. “It was unforgivable what she did at your father’s funeral, Mark. I am terribly, terribly sorry for the way Nola behaved. So is Scott; he wanted to come over and make amends. I hope you’ll understand that Nola is just very grief-stricken. I think she’s going to be ashamed of herself when she has a little time to consider her actions.”

  Mark shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter to me what Nola does. She doesn’t bother me none.”

  “My mom, she’s not a bad person at all.” Scott tried again, and I could see the pain in his eyes. He had to be horribly humiliated by Nola’s antics. “But you probably don’t believe that.”

  Mark shrugged again. “My mom’s done goofy things when she’s upset. Uncle Jordy says women are like that.”

  “I did not!” I bristled. I was glad Candace wasn’t around to hear that little divulgence.

  “Anyhow, just so everything could be cool, I brought you this.” Scott pulled a Swiss army knife out of his pocket and held it out to Mark. “Like I said, I’m sorry about all the fuss with my mom. I hope you and I can still be friends.”

  Mark blinked, taken aback by Scott’s generosity. Finally he reached out, took it, and started a detailed examination of the gift. “Wow, it’s a nice one. Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Thank you, Scott, that’s very kind,” I said.

  “You want some pie?” Mark offered, slipping into the role of host and pocketing the knife. Scott nodded and the two boys headed off to the kitchen. I sat down heavily after Hart declined my offer of coffee.

  “I’m beat,” I told Hart. “You’re still hosting the Kinnards?”

  Hart shook his head. “I can’t say I care much for Nola. Scott’s a good kid, but that woman is a trial. She’s one of those ladies who doesn’t quite know how to manage without a man in her life. I’m afraid she must’ve leeched onto poor Trey. She’s already casting about for the next victim.”

  “Are you a candidate?” I asked boldly.

  He laug
hed softly, his voice rich-timbred. It was a good laugh, the kind my dad had used. “Hardly. I made that clear to her right quick. But she’s sure sniffing around old Ed Dickensheets. Stupid of her to be chasing after a married man.”

  “He says he’s not interested,” I said.

  “Would you be? Lord, that woman’s a sight.”

  “That’s a shame. Scott seems rather lonely. I think he needs a family and friends. I was there when he found out about Trey. He took it like his heart had been ripped out.”

  “I feel for the boy,” Hart said, “but I imagine you won’t have to concern yourself with him too much longer. I don’t think his mama will be staying in Mirabeau if she doesn’t land Ed or some other fool as her next conquest.”

  “May I ask you something entirely off the subject of Nola?”

  He nodded.

  “Do you remember a girl named Rennie Clifton?”

  I saw it in his face. Sudden shock at the name’s mention. “Good Lord, yes. That poor girl that died in the hurricane when you and Trey were little boys. Her mama used to clean house for me. What on earth has brought her name up, Jordy?”

  I postponed answering his question. “Did you know her?”

  He shook his head. “Not well. I remember meeting her a couple of times when she came to help her mama out. But I can’t say I knew her better than to say hello to. She didn’t always come with Thomasina. Why?”

  “I just wondered if you remembered her. Her name came up when I was reminiscing with Davis today- talking about other tragedies our group of friends has faced.” I really surprise myself with my facility for fibbing sometimes. It’s good I have an honest heart. “We were trying to remember who her friends were in town.”

  He shrugged. “Fraid I never knew the young lady well enough to answer that. Speaking of Davis, what spooked his boy today at the funeral?”

  “I don’t know. That certainly wasn’t typical of Bradley. I’ve never seen him act that way.”