by Linda Reilly
Talia knew he was talking about himself, but where was this story headed?
“Then the young man met a girl, a fellow student, who shared his passion for equality and justice. This girl even burned her bra in a campus demonstration one day and got arrested for unlawful gathering.” He flashed a smile. “They fell in lust and had a quickie marriage. Seven months later she popped out a boy—a son they named Erik.
“But then something happened to the girl. Her ideals changed. After the baby was born, she moved in with her snooty parents, who agreed to set up a trust fund for little Erik if she would abandon her wicked ways. And her new husband.”
“Erik is your son,” Talia said quietly.
Jim nodded, and his expression darkened. “A son I hardly ever saw. A son who grew up thinking the world owed him something, that he could hurt people and get away with it because granddaddy would always fix it.”
“Jim, that must have been so hard for you.”
Jepson blinked. “Fast forward to the mid-nineties. After dropping out of college, roaming the country, and getting in all sorts of trouble, Erik meets a girl and gets her pregnant. Sound familiar?”
Talia winced. “Yes.”
“Only Erik doesn’t want to be saddled with a kid. So granddaddy shoves a pile of money at the mother. That way Erik can wash his hands of both of them and come out sparkling clean.”
“But that baby is your grandchild!” Talia said.
“She’s my grandchild, and she was born developmentally challenged,” he said. “The mother—her name’s Lara—has done a great job caring for her, but it’s been tough. Even with granddaddy’s dough, the child’s special needs were daunting.”
“Erik didn’t help out at all?”
“No, and there lies the crux of the drama. Erik refused to acknowledge the child, and Lara agreed never to reveal the identity of the father. In return, she receives regular stipends from Erik’s granddaddy, so she has no choice but to keep her lips sealed. But let’s go back again. Erik straightens out and goes back to school, where he manages to earn a liberal arts degree. At his granddaddy’s urging, he moves out of state—Oklahoma, of all places—to a town I’ll call Nowheresville. Granddaddy has an old friend there who takes Erik under his wing, gives him a job, sees that he stays on the straight and narrow. Before long, Erik has carved out a little niche for himself. He sets up his own insurance agency and starts making lots of money. I should mention, by the way, that Erik is freakin’ good-looking. He took after his mom, not his dad.” Jim grinned, revealing one graying front tooth.
Talia smiled on cue.
“So now Erik meets another girl, this time a sweet young thing named Amber. Amber’s dad is a former mayor, with lots of political connections. They marry, have two darling babies, and all is rosy in Erik’s world. But Erik has bigger dreams. Because of his popularity as a local business leader, he decides to run for state rep. With his father-in-law’s connections, and because he’s running on a ‘family values’ platform in a town where flag-waving is almost a blood sport, he’s a shoo-in.”
Talia shifted in her chair, wishing he would get to the point.
As if he’d read her mind, Jepson said, “Cut to another scene, good ole Wrensdale, Massachusetts. Turnbull tries to pressure me into signing a petition that, in my opinion, is elitist and discriminatory.” Jepson’s gaze narrowed. “I told him precisely what he could do with his so-called petition. Even gave him some suggestions on how to fold it so it would fit properly.”
Talia stifled a smile. She wanted him to get on with the story.
“Three days later, Erik called me in a panic. He’d gotten a call from Turnbull threatening to expose the sins of his youth. Turnbull had dug into my background, found out about Erik and the child he abandoned, and was threatening to disclose it to Erik’s opponent. Erik knew he’d lose the election if that happened. He’d be exposed as a liar, not to mention a deadbeat dad.”
“So essentially Phil blackmailed you,” Talia said. Suzy’s words rang in her ears. That was his weapon. He collected information about people …
“Exactly.” Jepson looked away, one foot jiggling nervously. “Erik was so sure no one would ever find out about his past. Turned out it was my fault. Turnbull saw a photo of me with my granddaughter on my Facebook page. She’s an adult now, and lives with her mom in Maine. I visit her two or three times a year. Phil connected a few dots, made some phone calls, and tricked Lara into telling him everything.”
An uneasy feeling gripped Talia. Clutching her purse tightly, she said, “Was that your son who called the night we were all at the tea shop? I heard a voice yelling at you. He said something like ‘you said everything would be okay, that you would take care of it.’”
Jepson looked away, his eyes glazed. “Yes, that was Erik. And I did take care of it,” he added softly. “I did something I was loath to do, but it had to be done. For my son.”
Oh dear God, he did murder Phil. So why am I sitting here like a bubblehead, taking his confession?
Talia tried to swallow, but the boulder in her throat wouldn’t budge. Her urge to bolt was quashed by the realization that her legs had gone numb. “S … so you mean, you …”
“Yeah, I signed that lousy frickin’ petition. I signed it so Phil would leave Erik alone.”
Talia let out the breath she didn’t realize she was holding. All at once, the room felt hot, and she had to fight the urge to peel off her jacket. “That’s … what you meant when you said you’d take care of it?”
“Of course. What did you think I— Oh, wait, I know what you thought.” Jepson let out a throaty guffaw. “You thought I killed the SOB, didn’t you?”
Talia cringed. “No, honestly, Jim, I didn’t really think that. Not until you said … I mean—”
“Aw, Talia, you’re priceless,” he said. “No wonder you were one of my favorite students. You’ve got guts, girl. You always did.” He raised his fist in a show of solidarity. “You keep up the good fight, you hear?”
Talia pushed back her chair and rose. “I will, Jim. I’d better go.”
“One last thing.” Jepson’s voice was sharp. He pointed a clay-mottled finger at her. “In case you’re inclined to think poorly of me for violating my principles, keep one thing in mind. In this crazy world where life is fragile and no one is safe, we all protect our own.”
Talia scuttled past the shelves of pottery until she reached the exit, those last five words vibrating through her head. By the time she stumbled outside onto the cobblestone plaza, Jim’s parting statement seemed to have taken an ominous tilt.
We all protect our own.
• • •
The sky was clear—a charcoal canvas scattered with pinpoints of light. Talia inhaled a lungful of the crisp air, grateful to be away from that stifling room in the rear of the pottery shop. Even the chill that crept up her arms felt like cool relief.
In the window of the Clock Shop, a faint light was visible. Talia hurried across the plaza, her Keds barely making a sound against the rounded stones beneath her feet. In spite of the posted hours announcing that the shop closed at six—it was now only five twenty—the sign in the window had been turned to CLOSED.
She peered through the leaded glass on the door. A shadow crossed her line of vision, but then vanished off to the left. Was she seeing things, or was Cliff still inside?
Talia felt bad about the way she’d treated him the day she confronted him in his shop. He suffered from the same addiction her dad had once battled, and she knew how all-consuming it was. She, of all people, should have been more empathetic.
An apology was in order. Cliff might reject it, and if he did, that was his privilege. She wanted to offer it anyway.
Truth be told, she had an ulterior motive. Maybe if she offered Cliff a friendly hand, he would open up to her. Even if he had nothing to do with Turnbull’s death, it was clear that he had at least one shady associate. A shudder boogied up her spine when she thought about the man who’d
approached Cliff in Queenie’s. He’d claimed to be Cliff’s cousin, but Talia didn’t believe that for a second. Whoever he was, he was downright frightening.
A weird feeling suddenly crept over her—a feeling that she wasn’t alone. She whirled around, and then laughed at her jumpiness. A trio of teenagers—two girls and a boy—were advancing across the plaza toward Lambert’s. One of them spotted her and waved, and she wiggled her fingers in return.
Relieved, Talia turned again and tried the door of Cliff’s shop. Just as she felt it give, it slammed shut, the force sending her slightly off balance. The harsh click of a deadbolt rang in her ears.
“Cliff?” she called out. “Is that you?”
She waited for a minute, and then shook her head. Cliff knew it was her and had no intention of letting her enter. No way. No how.
Talia swept her gaze over the plaza. At times like this, when the night was quiet, she found herself envisioning the real sixteenth-century England. In her mind’s eye, she saw a horse-drawn cart trek across the arcade, the driver’s face haggard from a long day tending his fields. She heard the clip-clop of the horse’s hooves moving rhythmically over the cobblestone, the weariness in its gait a sign that he was through for the day, ready for a night’s rest.
Shaking away the vision, she crossed Main Street and headed into Queenie’s, making a beeline for the pet food section. She snatched up a bag of kitty litter, and on her way to the checkout grabbed a quart of milk and a box of Rice Krispies. The broker would probably flip when she saw that a cat had moved in, but Talia refused to leave the creature in the cold another night. If she could coax her inside, then at least the kitty would have a temporary home. If Talia could find a rental that allowed pets, she might even be able to keep her.
Five minutes later, Talia swung into Nana’s driveway. She started to switch off her headlamps when she spied the calico cat. Perched on the front step, the kitty gazed at Talia through big gold eyes. She didn’t flinch when Talia got out of her Fiat, or even when Talia closed the car door.
Talia gathered her purse and her purchases, and walked slowly toward the bungalow. “Hey, Bojangles,” she cooed. “Are you ready for dinner?”
She hadn’t realized until now that she’d named the kitty. The cat darted to the side, but stayed on the porch as Talia slowly climbed the steps. Talia unlocked the door, surprised when the cat skittered inside.
“Success,” she whispered.
She set her things down on the sofa while the cat toured her new digs. Bojangles ambled from the coffee table to the sofa to Grandpop’s unsightly tweed chair. In one graceful leap, the cat swished onto the chair. She sniffed the fabric and then curled into a circle, keeping her gold-and-black head just high enough to peruse her new habitat.
Talia laughed. “That chair was meant for you, wasn’t it? Grandpop loved it, too.”
Bojangles opened her mouth and emitted a tiny mewl.
“Okay, I get it. You’re hungry.”
Talia went to the kitchen and grabbed two bowls from the cabinet. She was pouring kibble into the smaller one when she felt a soft form curling around her leg. Bending low, she stroked Bo’s head. “You’re so adorable,” she said. “How could anyone have tossed you into the street?”
While Bo scarfed her supper, Talia set up a makeshift litter box in the bathroom. The moment the cat swallowed her last gulp, she scooted into the bathroom and availed herself of the facilities.
“You knew exactly what I was doing in here, didn’t you?” Talia said. “We’ll probably move your box to a better spot, but this will do for now.”
Amazed at how comfortable the cat had already made herself, Talia put away the few groceries she’d bought. She was starving, she realized. A whopping order of Lambert’s fish and chips would hit the spot right about now. Why hadn’t she thought of it when she was out?
On impulse, she removed her cell from her purse and punched in Rachel’s speed dial. Maybe she’d be willing to bring over another pizza—Talia’s treat, this time.
“Talia?” Rachel’s voice seemed faint and distant.
“Hi, Rach. You sound far away. Are you home?”
“Um … no, not yet. I’m … tied up in a meeting. Can I call you back?”
“Sure,” Talia said, releasing a sigh. “Catch you later, then.”
A feeling of gloom slid over Talia. She had so much she wanted to tell Rachel—about her trip to Chet’s, her news about taking over Lambert’s. Not to mention that she had a new cat she might not be able to keep.
Talia thought of calling her mom, but she knew they’d have to talk about Nana’s house, and she wasn’t up for that. Instead, she made herself a peanut butter and jam sandwich, took a fast shower, and crawled into bed early.
She awoke to the jingle of her cell phone, along with a moist nose tickling her ear. “Hullo?” she muttered, horrified to see from her bedside clock that it was only 5:47. She cupped Bo’s silky head.
“Tal, I wanted to catch you before you heard it on the news.”
“Rachel?”
“Of course. Who else would call you at this hour? Didn’t you tell me that the girl who works for Bea was going out with a guy named Pug?”
“I did? Yeah, maybe, I guess so.” Talia’s senses went on full alert. “Why, what happened?”
“He’s dead,” Rachel said. “Someone bashed him over the head behind the burger joint on the Pittsfield-Lenox Road late last night. The paramedics rushed him to the hospital, but he didn’t make it.”
24
Bea sat at the small table, her coffee untouched and her face ashen. “I can’t believe this is happening,” she said. “I don’t even know what to think anymore.”
“I know,” Talia said quietly. “I don’t, either.” She slung her purse and jacket over the hook on the kitchen door.
Bea dabbed her eyes with a crumpled napkin. “Poor Whitnee. The girl had enough stress to start with, what with her classes and that oddball of a mum. And now this …” Her words trailed off, and she sipped her coffee, grimacing when she found it cold.
Talia poured herself a cup of coffee, added a touch of milk, and sat down opposite Bea.
“Oh, Tal, you don’t think they’ll accuse Whitnee of killing him, do you?”
That’s precisely what worried Talia, except she carried it a step further. Could Whitnee have had a hand in Pug’s death? Maybe she’d confronted him over seeing another girl? Bashed him over the head in anger and killed him unintentionally?
And why had Rachel known so much about it at five in the morning? Rachel claimed Talia had told her about Whitnee seeing a guy named Pug, but Talia couldn’t recall ever mentioning him to her.
“Bea, I honestly don’t know. Whitnee obviously won’t be coming in today, so you and I have to pull ourselves together, okay?”
“But …” Bea sniffled loudly. “What if the coppers come in and ask if we know anything? Oh, I wish Whitnee hadn’t told us about finding Pug with that other girl!”
“I know.” Talia’s voice rattled. “But she did, and if we’re asked about it, we simply have to tell the truth.”
They spent the next few hours in near silence. Talia gave the floor in the dining area a thorough washing, and then wiped down all the tables and chairs with lime-scented cleaner. Moments before opening time, a hard knock at the entry door made her jump.
The police.
Talia unlocked the door and it flew open, knocking her slightly off kilter.
“Oh God, did you hear what happened?” Whitnee rushed in, her face puffy and her eyes bloodshot. She tossed her book bag onto a table and sobbed for several minutes. Talia tried hugging the girl, but Whitnee pushed her away, tears flowing down her cheeks at an alarming rate.
Bea made her take a few sips of hot coffee. “Aw, Whitnee, why did you even come in? With everything that’s happened, I surely don’t expect you to work today.” She pushed a strand of greasy hair away from Whitnee’s face. “You’ve had a terrible shock, luv, and you need to take
care of yourself.”
“I … couldn’t stay home anymore. My mom was, like, driving me nuts, and I know the cops’ll want to question me. They’ll say … they’ll think I hurt Pug, and I didn’t!” A hoarse sob burst from her. “Plus, I have an exam tomorrow and I’ve gotta study for it.” She swiped the back of her hand over her leaky eyes.
Talia fetched a tissue for her. “I’m sure your professor would let you take a make-up exam. Would you like me to make a call for you?”
Whitnee ignored Talia’s offer. “I’ll stay here and work, if that’s okay, Bea. I can prob’ly, like, squeeze in some study time on my breaks.”
Bea bit her lip. “Of course, luv. If that’s what you want.”
The lunch rush kicked into gear. Whitnee pulled herself together and made it through, even adding a tepid smile to her voice as she took phone orders. At Bea’s urging, she managed to swallow a few fries and a helping of mushy peas. But as soon as business quieted, Whitnee burst into another round of tears. “I … I think I’d better go,” she told Bea. “I can’t get Pug out of my head. I wish the cops would just question me and get it over with.”
Talia, too, wondered why the police weren’t all over her. Wasn’t the victim’s “significant other” the first one they usually questioned?
Bea made Whitnee promise to call if she needed anything. Whitnee thanked her and left, without so much as a backward glance at Talia.
Taking advantage of the midday lull, Talia took a break and made a fast dash home to check on Bo. The darling little calico was curled up on Grandpop’s old chair, looking as comfy as if she’d slept on it all her life. She greeted Talia with a soft purr and a head butt, and then went back to her nap. After ensuring that her new charge had food and fresh water, Talia returned to Lambert’s.
Talia was starting to get concerned about Rachel. She’d texted her several times, to no avail. Something was definitely off with her friend. Yet one more thing to worry about, she thought, as she and Bea closed up for the night.
