by K. C. McRae
“Your mother gave her word!”
Red fury swept up her neck and through each follicle on her scalp, hovering on the verge of explosion. With effort, she clenched trembling fingers into fists at her side.
“Get off my land.”
Spalding backed toward the shiny silver Cadillac parked in the drive. Merry paced him, step for step. He jumped in the car, started it with a roar. Running over a corner of the lawn, he left behind a cloud of dust as he raced away from the ranch.
An hour after Frank Cain tells her he got a great deal on prime grazing land adjoining his own, this real estate guy shows up with a mysterious buyer for the McCoy ranch. Mama hadn’t known about Frank buying the land along his north property line—she’d have at least mentioned it in one of their monthly phone calls—so she’d have no reason to sell the land that had been in her family for four generations.
What the hell was going on?
six
With sweat and the luck of a slight incline away from the building, Merry finished pushing Lotta out of the garage. She fed gas into the tank, hooked up the jumper cables, sprayed starter fluid into the carburetor, and fired up the Blazer. The older Chevy’s big engine tried a few times, then caught. She left the two vehicles running, still connected by the snaking umbilical cord, and went inside to do her dinner dishes.
Jamie had hightailed it out of the hardware store, but if he thought she wouldn’t hunt him down to find out more, he was dead wrong. She glanced at the clock. Once she was sure they’d be done with dinner, she’d call.
Lauri couldn’t have killed Clay. She might be a kooky, narcissistic little brat who tended to view the world in direct relation to her own version of how things ought to be, but she wasn’t a murderer. She’d been genuinely upset about finding Clay. Okay, she’d recovered pretty quickly from the experience. People who didn’t know her could see that as suspicious, but Merry saw it as evidence that Lauri had quickly come to see Clay’s death as being all about her.
That was just how Lauri worked.
Was she pregnant with his child? For that matter, was she pregnant at all? If he was the daddy, then they’d been seeing each other again. For how long? Jamie had run from Merry’s questions about the girlfriend like a scared bunny. Lauri wouldn’t have a reason to kill the father of her baby, whereas any girlfriend would be spitting mad about her boyfriend knocking up an old flame.
Find out what her alibi is.
Wiping her hands on the dishtowel, she went back outside, disconnected the jumper cables, and left Lotta running in the yard. The Chevy coughed. Merry ran her finger through the thick dust on the hood, remembering the new carwash on the north side of town.
With an old rag, she wiped the interior of the old truck free of the little dust that had sneaked around the windows, and drove it over to the shop. Fluorescent bars overhead illuminated an assortment of well-organized tools and a small, ancient blue tractor at one end of the mostly empty space. Replacing the jumper cables in the cubbyhole on the wall where she’d found them, she peered around and located the air compressor. She filled the one very low tire on the old truck and topped off the rest. Every movement, every tiny clank, echoed off the walls.
Her driver’s license had expired the year before, so any trip to town courted disaster. Driving without a valid license could get her parole revoked. But the dust nagged at her. At least that was what she told herself. The truth was, she loved driving and had missed it, and loved driving the old stepside in particular.
Back in the house, she stuffed some cash in her pocket and headed back out the door. Hoping the gas would last to town, she babied the elderly Chevy down the gravel road to the highway.
Lotta ran pretty smooth once she opened her up. At the Chevron station Merry filled her tank, indulged in a Brushless! wash, and checked her tires again.
What about the roommate, Denny Teller? Had he and Clay had problems?
Find out.
And the woman with the long black hair and impossible heels? What about her?
Find out.
Harlan had acted like Clay himself was an axe murderer when Merry had brought his name up at the hardware store. What was that all about?
Ask Shirlene about Harlan.
Tomorrow was going to be a very busy day for an unemployed ex-con who just wanted to sit on her porch and work her way through a list of foods she’d been forbidden to eat for four years.
———
She got back to the ranch around eight and called Jamie at home. His wife, Gayle, answered.
“Is Jamie there?”
“Um, yeah, hang on.” A pause. Then in a slightly different tone, “May I ask who’s calling?”
“Tell him it’s Merry.”
“Merry. I see.” The voice turned frosty. “Hang on.”
Through the window she watched Izzy roll on her back, then stand up and shake off a cloud of dust.
“Um, Merry?” Gayle again. “He can’t come to the phone right now. May I take a message?”
He was avoiding her. It was one thing for him to take advantage of Harlan’s arrival in the middle of their conversation that afternoon, but now he was actually avoiding her. She was unprepared for the empty feeling in her gut.
“No. No message. Thanks anyway.”
Gayle hung up.
Merry stood with the phone still pressed to her ear for a few moments until it occurred to her to replace the receiver.
———
“Do you have any retail experience?” the owner of Rexall Drugs asked as Merry leaned against the counter and filled out the application the next morning.
“I worked for a used bookstore while I was in college,” she said.
“Oh. Well, this would be a little different than that, but it’s not hard to pick up. You’ve got a degree?” The words had a Minnesota rhythm. He seemed impressed with her college experience.
She chose to view that as a good omen. “A B.A. in English Lit.”
He smiled and took her completed application. “We haven’t had much luck finding the perfect fit for this job. When would you be available?”
Jobs in Hazel were scarce and plenty of people were willing to work. What kind of “perfect fit” was he looking for?
“I could start in two weeks,” she said. She wanted this thing with Lauri figured out before she started a full-time job.
He frowned but didn’t respond as he scanned the form. She watched his eyes travel down the page, then snag where she knew they would. He looked up.
“You’re a convicted felon?”
She tried to swallow, but her mouth had lost all moisture. “Yes.”
“What did you do?” he asked.
Her lips parted in surprise. “What?”
“Oh, I don’t get to ask that?” Sarcasm replaced friendliness. “You come in here looking for a job and expect me to leave you around the drugs in the pharmacy and in charge of a bunch of money, but I don’t get to ask why you’re a felon?”
Her neck grew hot, and then her cheeks. She should have lied on the application. But someone would have spilled the beans sometime. This guy wasn’t going to give her a job now, no matter what she said.
So she turned around and walked away.
“Hey!” he called.
The ding-dong of the door opening drowned out whatever he said next.
———
“I’m glad you made it in time to catch Kate before she leaves,” Shirlene said as she opened her front door.
Her brows drew together when she saw Merry’s expression. Merry had half-hoped that renewing her driver’s license and applying for the job at the Rexall would take so much time that she’d miss Kate altogether.
No such luck.
The house smelled like stale cigarette smoke had burrowed its way into every square inch of paint, every twist
of carpet, every fiber of the upholstery. She followed Shirlene into the kitchen. Kate sat at the butcher-block table, tapping a pile of papers on edge to even the corners before sliding them into her open briefcase. Across the table sat an open pack of Camels, a green Bic lighter, and the usual amber ashtray half full of crushed butts. The back door was open, and a fan whirred on the counter.
Kate had plaited her luxuriant black hair into a thick braid that hung over one shoulder. She wore jeans and a dark peach silk blouse with the sleeves rolled up. The color glowed against her tan forearms. Her ski-jump nose sat between wide, high cheekbones, and when she looked up, her eyes were dark brown under long lashes.
Shirlene held out a cup of coffee.
With horror Merry realized her hands were shaking. “No. Thanks anyway, Shirlene.”
Her aunt’s eyes narrowed a fraction as she poured the coffee back into the pot on the counter.
“Merry.” Kate stood up. “You’re looking well.”
“You, too.” She cleared her throat. “You haven’t changed a bit.”
Kate didn’t smile. “Oh, but I have.”
Merry hesitated. “I guess we both have.”
Their eyes locked for a long moment. Shirlene watched them both over the flame of the Bic as she lit a cigarette.
“So,” Merry said, easing into a chair. “How do things look?”
Kate sat back down. A wedding ring glinted on her left hand. She must have kept her own name, at least for her practice. And Merry would bet her husband was a better catch than Rand had been. By a long shot.
“Well, it could be worse. From what Shirlene tells me, the main problem is they may match the footprints they found outside the house with some of Lauri’s footwear.”
Not if she was wearing those silly sandals. “And someone saw her there that night,” Merry said.
“And someone saw her there that night. Still, not enough for an arrest warrant.”
“She found the body.”
Shirlene looked as if Merry had turned on her.
“I’m just playing the devil’s advocate,” she said.
“We need that,” Kate said. “Anything else they might throw at us?”
“Where’s Lauri?” Merry asked. “She knows a whole lot more about what’s going on than I do.”
“She supposed to be here.” Worry sapped some of the anger from Shirlene’s tone. “I don’t know where she’s got to.”
A wave of anger at her clueless cousin threatened to swamp Merry’s good intentions. What was she thinking, dealing with people and authority she didn’t want to have anything to do with in order to help someone who didn’t even know she needed help? She should get up and walk out. Why bother with this bullshit?
She sighed. Precisely because Lauri didn’t know she needed help. Rory Hawkins could—and probably would—railroad her into a conviction unless someone stood up and prevented it. Convicting Lauri was the easiest way for him to snap the file shut on the case. The path of least resistance. And Hawkins was the sort to take the path of least resistance.
She looked up to find both Kate and Shirlene watching her.
“Anything else you think might be relevant?” Kate asked.
Merry glanced sideways at Shirlene. “Have you told her about the baby?”
Shirlene rubbed at a spot on the tabletop and shook her head.
Kate looked displeased. “Baby?”
“Lauri’s pregnant. Or at least she says she is,” Merry said. “She won’t say whose it is. She and Clay broke up a while back—how long, Shirlene?”
“A year, at least.”
“But the fact that she was over there at all suggests Clay was the father.”
“Well, shit.” Kate sat back. “Shirlene, I wish you’d told me this.”
Shirlene looked uncomfortable. “She could be seeing someone else entirely.”
Merry wanted to shake her. One look at Kate confirmed she had the same inclination.
“Clay had a girlfriend, you know. She’s a nice girl, too,” Shirlene said.
“You know her?”
“Oh, sure. Barbie Barnes. We’ve done some volunteer work together.”
“At the Quikcare?” Merry asked.
“Yeah, plus for WorldMed, which runs out of there.”
Kate nodded. “I’ve heard of it. You guys do good work. And I know who Barbie is. She’s involved with WorldMed, too?”
“Pretty much everyone at the clinic is.”
Merry rested her chin on her hand. “What would she do if she found out Clay was cheating on her?”
“Oh,” Shirlene said, her eyes widening. “You don’t think …”
“Someone killed him. The police aren’t looking at anyone but Lauri.”
“I can’t believe Barbie would shoot anyone,” Shirlene said. “She’s too level-headed. Even if Clay really hurt her, she’d never do anything like that.”
Kate didn’t look convinced.
———
Merry paused in the doorway of the Hungry Moose. Janelle was behind the counter filling salt shakers. A few customers lingered over their coffee, but the lunchtime rush was over.
After Kate had left, Merry asked Shirlene where she thought Lauri had gone.
Shirlene had shrugged. “She called in to work and told her boss she couldn’t make it.”
“Then where? A friend’s?”
“She doesn’t have that many friends. Except …”
“Who? She’s in a lot of trouble. I need to talk to her.”
“Janelle.”
“Payson? Over at the Moose?”
Shirlene had nodded.
Now Janelle looked up. “Hey, Merry.”
“Hey. Seen Lauri?”
“She just left.”
“You know where she was going?”
Janelle nodded out the window toward the drugstore. “Said she needed to pick up some eyeliner.”
No way was Merry going back in there today. But sure enough, her cousin’s car was parked around the corner from the drugstore. Merry walked up the sidewalk, glanced around to see if anyone was looking, and tried the passenger door of the little beige Honda. It was unlocked. She slid in.
Dozens of bright yellow Juicy Fruit wrappers littered the floor and back seat. Lumps of foil wrapped around huge wads of chewed gum were wedged in the ashtray and filled the cup holder. She rolled down the window to let out some of the thick, sweet air.
Ten minutes later, Lauri turned the corner. She raised her head, saw her cousin sitting in her car, and paused. Merry smiled and waved. Lauri heaved a big sigh. She trudged over, opened the driver’s door, and got in, tossing a small paper bag into the back seat.
“What are you doing in my car?”
“Your lawyer was just over at the house. Think maybe you ought to meet her?”
“Oh, God! Why can’t everyone just leave me alone?”
Merry gritted her teeth. “Listen—this is a big deal. You better hurry up and figure that out.”
Lauri glared at her even as her eyes filled with tears.
Merry tried to imagine the girl in prison. She wasn’t good at making friends, and inside you needed friends. As many as you could get. Merry had bunked her first three years with Vonda Dubuque, a tall black woman with a quick smile, Cajun accent, street smarts, and a genius IQ. She’d also been slightly insane, a fanatical animal rights activist who had been caught with four others trying to blow up a beef processing plant full of workers.
But Merry had worked with it, downplaying her family’s cattle ranching background and finding common ground in books and music. She knew she was extraordinarily lucky. If she’d had to bunk with Tally White or “Snickers” Montrose, those three years would have been pure hell. A few months into her fourth year, Vonda had been transferred, and Merry got a new cellmate.
The new girl hadn’t been a threat, but she had been one hell of a drain. A recovering addict, she’d moaned and wailed her way through both waking and sleeping hours, nightmares taking over after each complaint-filled day. But by then Merry had carved herself a place of respect, if not admiration, with the other women. And she’d known she’d be eligible for parole in a matter of months.
Even with Vonda as a bunkmate, it hadn’t been a cakewalk.
Any privacy was imaginary. Merry tried to see her cousin being rousted from her hard, narrow mattress at six every morning, showering with three dozen other women—women brittle from abuse, bewildered from addiction, and often with a hate-on at the world that Merry had understood even as she did her best to deflect it away from herself—and then off to breakfast and the rest of the day.
Jaw set, Lauri stared straight ahead as Merry struggled for the words to convey the enormity of what could be waiting for her if she were actually convicted of Clay’s death.
“I’ve been in prison, Lauri.”
“No kidding.”
“Not something I’d recommend. The food’s bad. Every minute of every day is scheduled.”
“Sounds like home,” she grumped.
Merry gripped her shoulder and turned her so they were facing each other. “The guards would come into our cells. We didn’t have much—mostly children’s drawings and family photos, some books and magazines, a few other things. But they’d search our stuff anytime they felt like it. And they felt like it a lot. Whenever something caught their attention, they’d just take it.”
Her cousin tried to twist away, but she didn’t let go. “Mama’s pecan double fudge brownies were a big hit. She sent me a batch every single month until she died, but I haven’t tasted one for three years.” Merry’s voice cracked, but she cleared her throat and went on. “You have few privileges, hard earned. You never know what the guards are going to do, but you can be sure they don’t like the prisoners on simple principle. They watch everything you do. Everything. You can’t even pee in private.”
Lauri blinked.
“If it’s not the prison authorities, there are always the other prisoners to make life difficult.” An unspoken protocol existed within the hierarchy that naturally developed among the inmates. “You’re never alone. You’re always afraid.”
