Annie’s phone rang as she got dressed. She cut it off. Finding her mom in her apartment had given her heart more of a workout than the run.
“Who did that to your car door?” her mom had asked, looking as frightened as Annie.
“I don’t know,” Annie had answered honestly.
Then her mom had taken a good look at Annie, sweat pouring out of her every pore, and insisted she take a shower before they talked.
Annie accepted the reprieve.
But now her reprieve was over. Clean, she walked out of her bedroom that still smelled like Mark, like sex, and into the hall.
She searched through her soul for courage and found none. Once in the kitchen, she picked up Mark’s and her coffee cups from the table and set them in the sink.
“Did you have company earlier?”
“Isabella,” Annie lied. She didn’t need to explain Mark. Not to her mom.
Annie held on to the counter for one second, two, then turned around.
Their gazes met and somehow Annie knew this was just as hard on her mom as it was on her. Barely managing to stand on what felt like rag-doll legs, she sank into a chair. Pirate circled her feet, meowing.
Annie forced herself to speak. “What’s going on, Mom?”
“They’re family, Annie. People share things with family, things they worry about. I worried about you, so I told them. I’m sorry if that hurt you.”
It took Annie a second to realize her mom was talking about the argument they’d had.
Was that all her mom had come here to talk about?
“It was wrong,” Annie said, annoyed that her mom’s apology included an excuse.
“I confided in my sister. I didn’t know she’d tell…Fran.”
“Your sister is a drunk, Mom. She probably told her gynecologist about me.” Annie managed to keep tone level. Her mom hated raised voices.
“She’s not a drunk. I admit she indulges too much, but…”
Unwilling to argue the obvious, Annie put her first question out there. “Where’s Fran?” Needing something to do with her hands, Annie picked up a napkin and started rolling it.
“I don’t…Why would you ask that?” Nervousness tightened her mom’s tone. “I thought you didn’t want anything to do with my family.”
“She’s missing.”
“According to her mom, she regularly disappears. I’m sure she’s fine.”
The assurance dripping off her words, the same even-toned voice was what her mom used when she told Annie that her dreams meant nothing. She wadded up the napkin. “How about Jenny? Is she fine, too?”
Her mom’s pupils shrunk, then enlarged. With trembling hands, she touched her mouth. “You are the one.” Her weak voice trembled. “You talked to the police?”
“What happened to her?” Annie felt as if air were trapped in her throat.
Her mom stared at the wall. In the distance, Annie heard people leaving their apartments to go to work, to start a normal, ordinary day. Annie wished she could trade places, because nothing about this felt ordinary. Then the thought hit, that this, this talk, was going to change everything. Her relationship with her mom would never be normal or the same. But shit, what had her mother done?
Her mom looked at Annie. There was so much pain in her mom’s eyes, Annie instinctively wanted to protect her. Protect her like her father had protected her all those years. But what was Annie really protecting her from? And who was protecting Annie?
“Don’t do this. It happened a long time ago. It’s best forgotten.”
“What’s best forgotten, Mom? Tell me.”
Her mom closed her eyes, inhaled, and stayed frozen for a whole moment before lifting her lashes. “She drowned.”
There was something so stilted in her tone, as if she pulled the lie from a dark place in her soul.
Her mom laced her fingers together, rested the tight two-handed fist on the table, and stared at her hands as if the truth lay locked between her palms.
“They never found her…body,” her mom continued.
“That’s not true. What are you hiding? Tell me so I can…I don’t like thinking—”
“Stop! You shouldn’t have gone to the police. You have to drop it. Call them, tell them it was all a mistake.”
Annie tried to absorb what her mom was saying and what she wasn’t saying. “I can’t believe you’ve known, and…and you lied. Do you know what this did to me?” Her voice shook. “Do you?”
“Don’t yell at me, Annie. And when did I lie to you?” For one second her mother met Annie’s gaze, then she looked away as if it was painful.
But Annie had her own pain. “You’re lying now. You lied about the scar. You said I got it falling off my bike. But I didn’t. And the dreams? You knew what they were about. I lost jobs because of what this did to me. Lost friends. Lost Ted. I lost part of me. And you stood there and let my world fall apart.” Years of hurt sounded in her voice.
With eyes filled with denial, her mom sobbed. “I need your daddy.” She put her hands over her face as if to hide. Hide from Annie. And maybe hide from the truth.
“Damn it. Look at me!” When her mom did, Annie continued, “Did Dad know, too? Is that why he’d never let me go back to see your family?”
“Don’t you dare talk badly of him!” Her mom’s voice rose. “He was the kindest man I’ve ever known. Stop this, Annie.”
“I can’t. They’re going to find out the truth, Mom. I just pray you aren’t part of it. You need to talk to the police. Get ahead of this.”
Her mom pounded the table. Anger. Fury. Desperation. It all swam together in her eyes, making them bright. Too bright.
“You don’t know what you’ve done! Stop it.”
“It can’t be stopped.”
“It has to be.” Her mom snatched her purse from the table.
“Don’t go! We aren’t done.”
But her mom obviously was done. Done listening. Done talking. She shot up from the chair so fast, she was out the door before Annie got to her feet.
And for one second, Annie felt certain that the truth was going to be worse than not knowing. Why did she feel as if she’d just opened Pandora’s box?
Chapter Fourteen
Mark could have used some good news, but Sheriff Harper wasn’t giving him any. “There are no cameras on the street at all,” he said. “I’m about to head out to talk to Doris Roberts.”
“Did she agree to speak to you?” Mark asked.
“In these parts of the woods, you don’t need an invite. Besides, sometimes it’s better to surprise ’em.”
“True.” Mark shared everything he’d gotten on Fran from Austin PD. “She drives a red 2016 Malibu.” He gave him the license plate. “I spoke with Doris Roberts earlier about her daughter’s disappearance. I swear she’s hiding something.”
“Doesn’t surprise me,” Harper said. “Oh, I spoke to my receptionist’s mother. Karen Reed. Asked her about her in-laws. She pretty much told me what I knew, that they drank too much. When I asked if she remembered a Jenny Reed, she said her and her husband had just started dating then, and she couldn’t remember her husband saying anything.”
Adam continued talking about his visit to George’s house earlier, which was something Mark needed to hear, just not now.
“Look, I was on my way out,” Mark said. “Can we talk again this afternoon?”
“Yeah. I’ll call you after I meet Ms. Roberts.”
Mark hung up and muttered “Later” to Juan and the same to Mildred as he passed her desk. When he saw her combing through more boxes looking for the Reed file, he said, “It’ll be a good steak. I promise.”
He hurried to his car and took off chasing leads. His first stop was a place where he’d never felt comfortable. Almost worse than Murdock’s office. Damn, why hadn’t he made sure Connor had this one?
The office to the side of the church had been locked. But a car was parked out front. Opening the heavy doors, he stepped inside the sanctuary
and rolled his shoulders, trying to knock off the chip he’d carried since he was a teen. When that didn’t work, he squeezed his neck. He breathed in the dark, musty air. The place smelled of old hymnals, old people, and old sins. And a young boy’s pain.
Blinking to get his eyes to adjust, he heard someone’s shuffling, but he couldn’t see them. He inched down the aisle toward the big cross, toward the shadowy figure, trying to move away from the anger that still burned in his belly.
Why did the past seem to live and breathe in this place? A slow burn crawled up into Mark’s chest, and he clenched his fists.
He’d been fifteen. He’d lost his sister to murder, his mom to suicide, and his stepdad to prison. The foster father Mark had been placed with had brought Mark to church to find comfort. Mark hadn’t wanted to be comforted. He shouldn’t have worried.
The priest explained that the Heavenly Father had forgiven his stepfather for killing his sister and suggested Mark do the same. Mark, young and angry, had said things he didn’t mean. One of which was that his mom had been smart to kill herself. That led the priest to explain that killing oneself was a sin God couldn’t forgive. Mark, not stupid, understood the implications. His stepfather could be forgiven but not his mom. Mark had reacted accordingly.
Even after all these years, he didn’t regret breaking that priest’s nose or being removed from that home.
“Can I help you?” The voice rang out, echoing up into the vaulted ceiling.
Mark continued down the aisle toward the man lingering around the pulpit.
“Depends,” he replied curtly. “You Father Turley?”
“I am. What can I do for you, Detective?”
“Do we know each other?” Mark asked.
“No,” the man said. “Thirty years of living on the wrong side of the tracks honed my skill for spotting a man carrying a badge. Especially nervous ones.”
Uneasy at being read, Mark stopped in front of the older man, who he noticed still carried a few prison tattoos on his neck. “Who said I’m nervous?”
“Uncomfortable then. And in the house of peace.”
Mark started to make some off-color remark but caught himself. “You wear different hats, huh?” Mark motioned to the broom.
“Have to. Tithing has fallen out of favor. But I don’t mind. It keeps me humble and my doors open.”
Mark dropped his clenched hands in his pockets. “Janet Rigley gave me your name.”
“Janet? I haven’t seen her in years. What’s that woman up to?”
“Retired. Lives with her son.”
“She deserves to retire. She spent years working for nearly nothing at jobs so she could help others.”
Mark nodded. “That’s what led me to her. She worked at a shelter where a homeless man who called himself Johnny Cash often stayed.”
“There’s someone else I haven’t seen in a while,” Father Turley said.
“And that’s why I’m here. She said you might know where I could find the man.”
“His name wasn’t really Johnny Cash.”
“Janet told me. Do you know his real name and where I could find him?”
“Can I ask why you’re looking for him?”
“He witnessed something years back and we’d just like to talk to him.”
“Good. I was going to say if you thought he’d done anything, you were wrong. The man’s lifestyle almost killed his liver, but it never killed his heart.”
“He’s dead?”
“I said almost. He stopped drinking. Or had when he came by two years ago. Even left a hundred-dollar donation. Said he got himself a job changing oil and was playing in a band for extra money.”
“Do you have contact information on him? His real name?”
“His real name is Johnny Harden. Don’t have his number or address, but he was playing at the Barn Grill, off Cabot Road. I think he said the garage was at Sanders Avenue and Second Street.”
“Thank you.” Mark pulled out his wallet and handed the man two twenties.
“You don’t have to do that,” the priest said.
“My good deed for the day.” Mark turned to leave.
“I’ll pray for you.”
Mark looked back over his shoulder. “I’m fine.”
“Lord’s house isn’t supposed to make you nervous or upset.”
And yet it did. Mark left, but wondered how many good priests it’d take to make him forget the bad one’s harsh words that had stained his soul.
Starting his car, he looked at the time. He might have enough time to check out the garage before grabbing his and Annie’s lunch.
He checked to see if he’d missed a text or a call from her.
He hadn’t.
Was she regretting their night? He’d sensed she had been this morning.
He started to text her, but didn’t. They’d talk at lunch.
* * *
Five minutes early, Mark walked into the building carrying a bag with two salads. He had an Altoid in his mouth and a sense of accomplishment in his gut. The man at the garage had said Johnny no longer worked there, but he gave him Johnny’s cell number. Mark had called it and got his voice mail: Johnny here, have a happy and sober day. And leave a message.
Mark had found him. He’d found Johnny Cash!
The fact that right after his message came Sorry, voice mail is full didn’t discourage Mark too much. Even though he was out of message space, the man could still see missed calls. To make sure Johnny wouldn’t think it was a misdialed number, Mark had called him again.
Approaching Annie’s classroom, he saw what looked like the last straggling students leaving her room. His chest expanded with anticipation.
Nearing the opened door, he heard voices. Peering in, he saw a female student walking toward the teacher’s desk.
Annie wore black slacks and a light blue blouse. She had her hair up. He liked it better down. He recalled with visual and tactile detail how it felt to run his fingers through the strands as they’d made love. Annie spotted him and nodded as if asking for a minute.
He pulled back and leaned against the wall, but the voices in the room carried.
“Is there a problem?” the girl asked.
“No,” Annie said. “I just…You haven’t turned in some work, but I heard from some of the students that your mom’s sick.”
Annie’s comment brought silence. Then finally, the girl answered. “It’s cancer. She’s in hospice.” The young voice shook.
“I’m so sorry, Madison. I wanted you to know you can take your time handing in the makeup work. And if there’s anything I can do…Please, let me know.”
“I appreciate that,” the girl said. “You’re an awesome teacher, by the way. I’m not saying just ’cause…I’ve been meaning to tell you that.”
“Thank you,” Annie said.
Steps moved to the door, Mark moved back so it didn’t look as if he was eavesdropping, never mind that was exactly what he’d been doing.
When she walked out, Mark walked in and shut the door. It hit him with one swift thought. Here, he felt peace, unlike at the church. There was still goodness in the world after all.
Annie looked up. “Sorry.” She didn’t devour him with her eyes like he’d wanted her to, but she smiled.
“No problem,” Mark said, realizing again how different—good different—Annie was compared to Judith and even the women before her. She was the type a man could bring home to mom. If he had a mom.
As he got closer, he noted the worry line between her brows. “You okay?”
“Tough morning,” she said.
“What happened?”
“My mom came by.”
“And?” He felt slammed back into the case. He set the bag on her desk.
“She…said that I should haven’t said anything. When I asked what happened, she said Jenny drowned.”
“And…?” He didn’t finish his question, but he figured she knew what he meant.
She bit down on her lip.
“She was lying. I could tell. I’m scared. Maybe I was wrong to bring this up.”
“Hey…You weren’t wrong.” He pulled her against him.
She buried her head on his chest. He held her for several long seconds. “I’m here for you,” he said, his own words surprising him. Not that he didn’t regularly want to help someone. He just didn’t put his offer in words so often.
“I’m sorry.” She pulled away.
“For what?” He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek.
“For being an emotional twit.”
He caught her chin and lifted it so she could see his eyes and know he was serious. “This is emotional and I’m pretty damn certain you don’t have an ounce of twit DNA in you.” He used a thumb to swipe away a sole tear rolling down her cheek. “In fact, your halo was showing again.”
“My halo?”
“I overheard the conversation between you and your student.”
She looked confused. “Her mom’s dying of cancer.”
“Yeah, and when I went through college, not one of my teachers would’ve given a shit what was going on in their students’ lives. You give a shit. That’s rare.”
He pressed a soft kiss to her lips.
She deepened it, even inched closer until her breasts met his chest.
When he pulled back, her eyes held a hint of leftover passion.
“Have you heard anything?” she asked. “I’m sorry about not returning your call; the morning got away from me. Then I had several students show up early.”
“No problem.” He suspected the conversation with her mom had done a number on her. He kissed her again, briefly, one meant to soothe, not seduce. “I got some info, but waiting on more.” He told her what the Austin PD said about her cousin.
“Mom said about the same thing about Fran disappearing.”
“You asked her about Fran?”
“Yeah.”
Her tone told him how much that talk hurt her and he knew he’d pushed for it, but that was his job. It was why she’d come to him in the beginning. “Someone from Austin PD is going out to Fran’s boyfriend’s place to check things out there. They’ll call me when they get back. Someone’s combing through our old cases to find the Jenny Reed file. Sheriff Harper says there aren’t any cameras near the pay phone that your call came from, so that might be a wash, but he was going to see Fran’s mother. He’s supposed to report back to me.”
Don't Close Your Eyes Page 14
