by Jill Orr
“Yeah, I overheard you talking to ‘Mike’ on the phone at the diner the other day. You were talking about visiting Tackett in prison and said you needed to get that information ‘before he talks to her.’ One question, Jay,” I said, cocking my head to the side. “By ‘her’ did you mean Lindsey Davis or me?”
Jay stared at me silently for a moment, probably thinking back on the conversation in Mysa. “You weren’t there when I was on the phone. You walked in after.”
Damn his excellent memory. I said nothing.
He thought for a moment, then rolled his eyes. “Ryan.”
“It doesn’t matter.” I lifted my chin. “I know that you tried to interfere in Lindsey Davis’s attempts to make a deal with Tackett. That’s playing dirty, Jay.”
“You have no idea—”
“I heard you!”
“First of all, you didn’t hear anything,” he said, his voice dipping low into that serious tone he reserved for when he was really frustrated. “Second of all, you’re dead wrong.” He stood up, putting one hand on the back of his neck. “You do this all the time, Riley. You jump to a conclusion and then you just go off chasing leads down pathways you know nothing about without concern for your safety or—”
Not to be outdone in the moral outrage department, I rocketed to my feet. “So now you’re going to lecture me on how I do my job? You don’t get to do that, Jay. You’re not my boyfriend anymore!”
“I never said I was—”
“I don’t even know why you came here. You should probably just go.”
We were both seriously pissed off now. This was getting out of hand. We weren’t dating anymore—hell, we were barely friends. There was no reason for this kind of knockdown-drag-out.
“I came here to tell you something,” Jay said, his voice a touch softer than before. “If you’ll just listen to me for a second, there’s something you need to know. After that, I’ll go. I promise.”
“All right. Talk.” I folded my arms in front of me.
Jay sat back down on the armchair and sighed. When he spoke, it was in a calm, clear voice—the voice of a professional, not an ex-lover. “The ‘her’ that Ryan heard me refer to on the phone was not you and it was not Lindsey Davis either. It was Gina, my boss.”
“Gina?” I asked, surprised.
“She’s hell-bent on getting Tackett to talk. He’s in a unique position to share some very detailed information about the Romero organization—their supply chains, distribution network, etcetera. She knows if she could flip him, it would be a huge win for the department.”
“And her personally,” I said, reading between the lines.
“She’s an ambitious woman,” he said without judgment. “And she knows busting up the Romero cartel would do big things for her career, not to mention get a lot of drugs off the street.”
I waited for him to explain why he felt so strongly that I needed to know this.
“You should also know that the ‘Mike’ that Ryan heard me on the phone with was not Sheriff Clark,” he said, letting that sink in.
My cheeks began to burn. “Jay, I—”
He shook his head, as if to save me the humiliation of having to apologize for my conclusion-jumping. “He’s a confidential informant I work with who’s housed in Greensville. Sometimes prisoners hear things from other prisoners…it’s a controversial methodology but one we’ve had some luck with nonetheless.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, he’s helped me out in the past, and I reached out to him the other day unofficially to see if he could get anything out of Tackett.”
“Why unofficially?” I asked, confused. “I’d think if Gina was so hot to flip Tackett, she’d authorize you to use whatever resources you needed.”
A look passed over Jay’s face that I couldn’t name. “This wasn’t for Gina, Riley. It was for you.”
“Me?” Even as I asked the question, understanding was beginning to scratch its way through my thick skull.
“I asked him to see if he could get Tackett to say anything about Flick or your grandfather.”
So this whole time that I’d been convinced Jay was working against me to cut my chances of finding out what Tackett knew, he’d really been doing the complete opposite. And not only that, he was risking his job in order to help me. To say I felt like a self-centered fool would have been an understatement. “I don’t know what to say.” My throat felt dry. “I’m—”
“Gina has been frustrated with my inability to flip Tackett and was planning to come down here to speak with him herself. She mentioned pushing for Tackett to be moved to solitary until he talks, or requesting he be transferred to a facility in upstate New York where he’d most certainly face even more pressure from Romero’s people. I hung around here so I could go see Mike yesterday and ask him to accelerate his investigation before Gina swoops in and takes over.”
“I—I…” I stammered around and after a few false starts I managed to say, “but you could have gotten fired…”
He looked down at his shoes. “Flick was a good man. And I know how important finding out what happened to him and your granddad is to you.”
Tears pricked the backs of my eyes as a current of shame and gratitude washed over me like a tidal wave. Jay had risked so much to help me, and in return I’d been cold and childish. I’d shouted at him and refused to let him explain time and again. “I don’t know what to say…Jay, I’m so sorry, I—”
He shook off my apology. “I don’t need you to apologize. I understand. It was just important to me that you know I’m always on your side.”
I was literally speechless. I knew Jay was a good man when we’d dated, and I even knew it when we broke up, but being confronted by his “goodness” like this was almost too overwhelming to process. He risked his job to help me and didn’t want anything in return. Holman had been right to think of Jay as a hero; he truly was one. When people show you who they are, believe them.…
“Thank you,” I said quietly. “I know you don’t want an apology, but I’m giving you one anyway. I acted like a spoiled brat and the whole time you were—” I broke off. I took a breath and then continued, “Needless to say, I acted badly, and I’m sorry.”
He swiveled his eyes to the floor. I was embarrassing him, I could tell. “I didn’t tell you this to make you feel bad.”
“I know.”
“There’s actually more,” Jay said, shooting me a warning glance. “Mike was able to talk to Tackett before he was attacked. He got something.”
It was like all the air went out of the room, and I felt my pulse begin to pound. I managed to eek out only one word. “What?”
“I think I might know where Tackett hid the recording.”
CHAPTER 36
My office?” Carl Haight stared at us like we were half a bubble off plumb.
Jay and I had raced straight over to the sheriff’s department and basically insisted that Carl talk to us even though it was barely eight a.m.
“Tackett told an inmate at Greensville that he had a trump card that he could play at any time to get a better deal,” Jay said.
“The tape?” Carl asked.
“He didn’t say what it was, just that it was being protected by none other than the sheriff of Tuttle County himself.”
Carl frowned. “What the hell? I am not—”
“No one is suggesting that you’re somehow in cahoots with Tackett on this,” I said quickly. “But remember, this used to be Tackett’s office.”
“That’s why we think he must have hidden it somewhere in here before he was sent to prison.”
“Does anyone else know about this?” Carl asked. I knew he was thinking about what Skipper Hazelrigg would do with this information during the campaign. I could practically see the headlines myself: Sheriff sits on evidence of local murder for years without knowing it.
“No,” Jay said, “not at this point. But I can’t promise it’ll stay under wraps. The sooner we find whatever he’s hidden, the better.”
/> Carl sighed. “All right, let’s get to it then.”
The three of us each started in different corners of the room, feeling along walls and baseboards for anything that seemed out of place. We looked under shelves and behind light switches, and double-checked every creaky floorboard.
“If the attack was the work of the cartel,” I said as I checked under a chair in the corner of the room, “they won’t be happy to hear the job’s not done. Tackett could still be in danger.”
“I talked to Sheriff Clark this morning,” Carl said. “They’ve got security outside his room.”
“DEA has issued an order for all agents who have informants working with the Romero cartel to keep an ear out for any plans they hear about concerning Tackett,” Jay added, as he felt along the top of the shelving unit on the back wall of Carl’s office. “We think Tackett must be in a position to deliver some very valuable intel if the cartel attempted to take him out so brazenly.”
That couldn’t be good. The Romero cartel was known for being extremely well organized, thorough, and ruthless. “What if they just wanted to scare him?” I asked, trying to find some glimmer of hope. “Maybe they don’t care if he’s dead as long as he doesn’t talk?”
Jay made a doubtful sound. “He’s a loose end—and the Romeros don’t like loose ends.”
Carl unscrewed a vent cover on the wall to check behind it. He paused and turned to Jay, “Do you people have a plan if he recovers?”
I couldn’t help but notice the slightly adversarial tone in Carl’s voice with the use of the words “you people.” I understood where he was coming from—I mean, my tone had been way worse not even an hour earlier—but now that I knew Jay had been on our side all along, I felt defensive, and maybe even a little protective of him. “Jay wants to find out who killed Albert and Flick as much as we do, Carl,” I said.
It felt like my words had landed on the floor with a dull thud. No one said anything in response. I looked up from the book I’d been thumbing through. Carl and Jay had stopped what they were doing too—Carl’s mouth formed a thin line, and Jay looked down at the ground.
“What?” I said, looking from one to the other.
An excruciating few seconds of silence ticked by. Finally, Jay said, “Given what happened, if he survives, Tackett’s likely going to be transferred to another facility.”
It took a couple of seconds for me to realize the implications of this. I slowly, carefully set the book I’d been holding back on the shelf. “But—but that’s what he wanted all along,” I said. “Now he’ll have no incentive to tell us anything. The only reason he was even willing to talk in the first place was to get out of Greensville. Now, if he recovers, he’ll never talk.” I felt defeated, like everything I’d been hoping for had just burst into flames.
“That’s why it’s so important that we find the recording,” Jay said, trying to refocus me. “If we find it, we don’t need Tackett.”
Carl looked at me and nodded. “C’mon. Let’s keep looking.”
We spent the next hour going over every square inch of Carl’s office. We found nothing. By the time we replaced the last knickknack back on the last shelf, we were all thoroughly demoralized. Our optimism had been replaced by a growing sense of doubt regarding the likelihood of finding Tackett’s recording.
“I’m gonna call Sheriff Clark and check on Tackett,” Carl said as he walked me and Jay out to the reception area. “I’ll be in touch if I hear anything.”
Jay excused himself and went back to the Ottoman Inn, saying he had phone calls to make, and I decided to head over to the Times office. There were a few things I needed to do as well, having spent more time than I should have on this over the past couple of days. Besides, I was ready for a break from thinking about how all my hopes and dreams of finding out what happened to Granddaddy and Flick were about to die with Joe Tackett.
CHAPTER 37
Memorial Park was practically empty, which was not surprising, given the weather. It was still unseasonably cold for Virginia, but at least the sun was shining. It bounced off the white snow, giving it an almost iridescent, multicolored quality. Icicles hung from tree branches and melted slowly, the droplets of water making tiny plunking noises on the ground below. I was no fan of winter, but I had to admit there was a kind of peace to it. I actually closed my eyes and took a deep breath, allowing the chilly air to fill my lungs while the sun warmed my face.
The past few days were like being on an emotional rope swing. I’d been flying between anger, hope, fear, and frustration, all while clinging on for dear life to avoid falling into the abyss. For seven years, I’d been desperate to know what had really happened to my granddad, and then the one person who was helping me had been murdered himself. It seemed impossible that this should go unpunished, yet that was beginning to look increasingly likely. The only evidence we’d been able to dig up connecting Flick’s and Albert’s deaths wasn’t even really evidence of anything, except possible identity theft. And the one person who could give us all the answers we needed was a lying psychopath who was inches from death, and oh, by the way, even if he did manage to claw his way back to life, no longer had any reason to cooperate with us.
I stood under the sun, letting the brisk air renew and reset me for a long time. Eventually, my phone vibrated in my pocket, pulling me out of my reverie. Blocked Caller.
No good has ever come from a blocked caller. “This is Riley,” I answered. There was a weariness to my voice that even I could hear.
“Hi, Riley. This is Megan Johanning, Shannon Claremore’s personal assistant.”
“Hi,” I said, suddenly more alert.
“I understand you’ve been in touch with Pastor Claremore’s wife with some questions about her family.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Well, Shannon has so much on her plate right now, what with her ailing father and all, so she’s asked me to take up as point person for the rest of your questions.” The subtext was crystal clear: Leave Shannon alone.
I debated how to play this. If I challenged her, I risked cutting off the stream of communication with Shannon. But I also didn’t want her to think I was a pushover. My issue was with Shannon Claremore, not her assistant.
“And how is it that you would be able to help answer questions about Shannon’s family?” I asked, careful to keep my voice light.
“Oh, I’ve known the Claremores for years,” she said. “Wyatt and Shannon helped me through one of the most difficult seasons of my life. You see, I was diagnosed with facioscapulohumeral muscular dystrophy at the age of nineteen.”
I knew her story from her book. “Yes, I’m so sorry.”
“Oh, don’t be!” Her voice was bursting with cheery optimism. “I may have my challenges, but through the grace of Jesus Christ I am living my life’s purpose more fully than I ever would have had it not been for my disability. I consider it one of my greatest blessings.”
I didn’t know what to say. Megan Johanning was clearly a brave and faithful fighter. I could see why she’d been an inspiration to so many. What I couldn’t see was the reason for her phone call. “Ms. Johanning,” I said carefully. “I’m sorry, but I’m just having a little trouble understanding why you’re calling me.”
She continued as if I hadn’t asked the question, as if I hadn’t spoken at all. “I was ready to give up on everything—my family, my God, myself—and Wyatt healed me. He helped me to see that God had a bigger plan for my life.”
“That’s great, but—”
“And where Wyatt brought me back to life, Shannon made it worth living. She’s positively been my angel through the years. When I fell on a patch of rough sidewalk, Shannon nursed me back to health. When I lost the ability to raise my arms over my head, it was Shannon who helped rearrange my entire house so I could reach everything I needed. When my ankle muscles deteriorated to the point that I could no longer drive, Shannon had my car outfitted with all the necessary adaptations.”
“That�
��s amazing,” I said, not sure where she was leading with all this.
Then Megan’s voice lost its trademark pep. “One thing she hasn’t been able to help me with, though, is smiling. My facial muscles have weakened, and I can’t smile anymore.” She paused. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to go through life without being able to smile?”
“I can’t even imagine. I’m so sorr—”
“Oh no no no, remember: Don’t be sorry!” Her chipper voice came back and cut me off like a guillotine. “What I lack in physical strength, I more than make up for in mental fortitude.”
I was starting to feel unsettled by this conversation, though I couldn’t have told you why at the time. I only knew I wanted it to end. “I appreciate the call, Ms. Johanning, really, but the questions I have for Shannon are probably best kept between her and me for now.”
“She’s really just too busy at the moment. I’m sure I can help you with whatever you need. As I’ve said, I know just about everything there is to know about the Claremores!”
I hesitated for a fraction of a second, calculating whether or not I wanted to test the waters. “Um, well, my questions are from a time before she was Shannon Claremore.”
There was the briefest of pauses. Had she gotten my meaning? Did she know what I was trying to so cleverly say-without-saying?
“Riley,” she said, her voice taking on a knife-like edge. “Anything that happened before Shannon married Pastor Wyatt is ancient history. Much like he did for me, Wyatt transformed her through prayer and grace. Their marriage was like a baptism, a rebirth, if you will, and whomever she was before that is dead and gone.”
I felt a whooshing sensation in my gut. What were we talking about here? Did Megan know Shannon was really Bethany? Or was she just one of those people who spoke in religious riddles to try to sound profound.
“Still,” I said, slightly more forcefully, “I really need to talk to Shannon directly.”
“I just had a thought, Riley.” The tone of spontaneity in her voice was so false, it was almost like she was being sarcastic. “Would you like to meet in person to talk more about this? Perhaps at your little house? On Salem Street…”
