The Gossip

by Nancy Bush

  As soon as she was out of earshot, Nolan said, “I didn’t want her to know. I didn’t do anything about it, and maybe I should’ve. I just wanted out. You think Nye was involved and he got killed over it.”

  “I don’t know,” Taft said truthfully. “The police will investigate.”

  Redfield said, “You don’t think they’re going to come to the right conclusion.”

  “Oh, I’m sure they will.”

  “You’re holding something back.”

  The man was too astute by far. What Taft wasn’t saying, what he hadn’t said to Mackenzie, either, was that there was political pressure being brought to bear on the pathologists to render causes of death that might be not as truthful as they should be. Mitch Mangella had a lot of sway. Likely Andrew Best did, too. Taft didn’t trust Chief Bennihof to always make the tough choice when it came to River Glen’s heavy hitters.

  “I agree with you that Keppler’s drug distribution was small-time once,” said Taft. “It may be getting bigger now.”

  “Keppler is someone to watch out for. Mackenzie asked me about Troi Bevins, but we were two ships that pass in the night. Never at the same place at the same time.”

  Mackenzie came back out of the bathroom. “She’s okay. She’s pregnant,” she explained, though she’d already told Taft.

  They heard retching coming from down the hall and Nolan got to his feet. “That doesn’t sound okay.”

  Taft said, “We’ll let you be. Thanks. If you think of anything that might help, give me or Mackenzie a call.”

  “I will.” He walked quickly down the hall.

  Taft led the way out the door with Mackenzie bringing up the rear this time. They stood in a fine, misting rain outside for a few moments.

  “Nolan’s not any part of whatever’s going on with Keppler,” she said, hugging herself against the damp April night.

  Taft nodded.

  “I want to hear you say it.”

  He laughed. “Look, I’m going after the truth. That’s all.” “That’s good. So am I. The truth.”

  “Okay.”

  “I just want to get something straight,” she began as a brisk gust of wind threw a slap of water against Taft and he turned toward Mackenzie, who’d pushed herself his way at the same time. He bumped her and she staggered and he grabbed her, holding her steady.

  His nose was inches from hers. “What do you want to get straight?” he asked.

  “That we’re . . . working together. Not against each other.”

  Her voice trailed off to be caught by the wind.

  For a wild moment he thought about kissing her. Every cell in his body told him to.

  Very carefully he dropped his hands from her arms and took a step back.

  “I’m not out to get your brother-in-law. Are you worried about him?”

  “Of course not.” She drew herself up straight.

  He took a step away. “Yeah, well . . .”

  “Everyone’s warned me about you. Don’t trust him, they said. He plays fast and loose. For the record, I think they’re wrong. At least I hope they’re wrong. And I want to work, and I want a job, so I’m trusting you, Taft.”

  “No, you’re not.” He almost laughed again. “Good night, Laughlin.”

  She said firmly, “I’m just not sure I like you.”

  “Oh, you like me,” he threw over his shoulder.

  And you like her way too much.

  * * *

  Arrogant son of a bitch.

  Mackenzie let herself back into the house, asking herself what the hell happened there. Somehow that had gotten away from her.

  Stephanie was right inside, pale but smiling.

  “He’s cute,” she said.

  “Didn’t you warn me to be careful working with him?”

  “Yeah, but he’s cute.”

  So many words came to mind. Curse words. Serious turn-the-air-blue curse words. She fought them back and chose instead: “So are llamas, but they’ll spit at you.”

  Stephanie nearly keeled over laughing. “Man, this morning sickness has started to be all day, but Mac . . . this is going to be so much fun!”

  Mackenzie wasn’t sure she appreciated the humor. She snorted and stalked down to the pink and white bedroom.

  But the wry curve of Taft’s lips bare inches from her own felt burned on her retina.

  She grabbed up a pillow and held it over her face. When that didn’t block the image she threw the pillow down and sank onto the edge of the bed. She was aware there was also a smile on her lips and that was the worst of all.

  “You know better . . . you know better . . . Jesus, Mac . . .”

  She heard Stephanie talking to Nolan. Not the words, the cadence, and then a trill of amusement from her and a deeper chuckle from him.

  Get that apartment tomorrow.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Friday afternoon Thad sat in front of his computers, chewing on his lower lip. Last night’s death at Staffordshire Estates had caught his eye on the local news feed. He didn’t know the man who’d died, but he had a new interest in the River Glen Police Department since he’d learned the woman from the Waystation was an ex-cop. As he read the article he memorized the names of the officers and detectives who’d been at the scene of the accident. The reporter had tried to catch an interview with any member of law enforcement and had failed, though he did have a quote from Andrew Best, owner of Best Homes, the development company the victim worked for.

  Best said, “It’s a tragedy that Granger Nye fell to his death. We at Best Homes are saddened to lose such a fine man and loyal employee.”

  Thad smirked. They always said something like that. Total company bullshit. Nobody probably gave a flying fuck about the guy. And what about this Nye? How did a company foreman accidentally fall off a building?

  His thoughts moved away from the story, and his gaze fell on Rayne’s Hobo purse. He had to close his eyes and force himself free of the desire to relieve himself inside its folds. This hold Rayne seemed to have on him irked and somewhat alarmed him. He couldn’t wait much longer for his next fix.

  He glanced at his whiteboard, but his gaze turned inward.

  Laughlin . . . ex-cop . . .

  Dangerous. Very dangerous. But what was life without danger?

  His mind then tripped to Gillis. Had the man sobered up this morning and thought about the Good Samaritan who’d given him a ride home? Had he started overthinking it, wondering why “Chas” had asked him about the ex-cop?

  Had the police found any evidence that would tie him to Bibi Engstrom’s death?

  Cold fear pooled in his lower back and his body went into overdrive, his senses heightened. He jumped from his chair, yanked down his pants, grabbed the purse and folded it around his dick.

  Bang, bang, bang!

  “Thad! THAD!” Lorena’s tinny voice filtered down to him.

  “Fuck.”

  He threw down the purse, yanked up his pants and stalked up the stairs, his boner slowly dissipating as he had to deal with his goddamn mother.

  “What?” he shouted through the sliding metal door.

  “It’s Mom. I’ve got to go get her. They’re freaking out over at that place. She’s gotta come home.”

  “Keep putting them off.”

  “I can’t. You’ve got to come with me, Thad!”

  Oh, Jesus.

  “You can handle it,” he snapped.

  “I need your help so get THE FUCK OUT HERE!”

  He covered his ears with his fists and jumped back down the stairs two at a time to the lair. “Leave me the hell alone,” he snarled to himself.

  BANG!

  She’d kicked the door. Hard. He almost ran right back up. He’d like to snap her neck.

  But then everything went quiet. He hesitated, listening, but Lorena was gone. Good. He tasted blood and realized he’d chewed into his lip. He made a sound of annoyance. Damn. He couldn’t have Gram back. Couldn’t. If that place was so desperate to move her, she m
ust be loonier than he remembered.

  He stared longingly at the purse. No . . . no . . . he didn’t have time for that. Damn Lorena. DAMN HER AND GRAM. He couldn’t kill Lorena. He still needed her. But she was a problem.

  Was it even true about Gram? Maybe Ridge Pointe was just fine with where she was and this whole thing was one of Lorena’s lies just to get Gram under her control!

  Thad pressed his palms to his temples. He howled out a primal scream that reverberated through the lair. He waited half a minute, then did it again.

  The relief he’d hoped for didn’t come.

  He went back to his computers and realized blood was dripping down his chin.

  He’d bitten that deeply into his lip.

  Shit!

  He headed to the sink and cleaned his face off, staring at his reflection in the tiny mirror above it. His lip was swollen and still oozing blood. He had to keep licking it off. He turned sideways and saw the scab that ran down by his ear to his temple, courtesy of that bitch, Bibi Engstrom.

  He needed a way to bring himself back under control. When had he lost control? When had that happened? He’d been so cool, so careful for so long, but he felt shaky now.

  Rayne. It had happened with Rayne.

  His fury knew no bounds. He wished he could kill her again. Those other mean girls. He needed to get those other mean, mean girls!

  Stop being distracted, he warned his reflection.

  With that thought in mind he grabbed his father’s hat, jammed it on his head, and ran up the stairs. He would check on Brenda again. The dirty whore had to come home sometime. If she wasn’t there, he’d go to the Waystation, see if the cop was there.

  But if Gillis was perched on a stool he might have to do something about him. Or that shithead he’d played pool with. The guy had accused him of cheating and Thad had been immediately incensed. He was many things, but he was not a cheat.

  He glanced over at Rayne’s name, scrawled on the whiteboard, and the colorful list of names. Rayne’s and Bibi’s and Brenda’s and the cop’s . . .

  He ran lightly up the stairs, wondering if he should bring a rope, something to tie Brenda up with if she tried anything. The idea excited him. Something new. He pictured them making love on her dirty bed with him slipping the rope around her neck....

  Lorena was right outside the door. “You’re going with me,” she ordered. “We need to bring her back and you’re good with her. She’ll listen to you. I don’t know what you do down there all the time, and I don’t care, but you need to help me. Then I’ll leave you alone. After we get Mom.”

  Thad felt a growing rage. She had no right to order him around. He could picture the rope around his mother’s neck. He could picture himself tightening it, hanging her body from the chandelier . . .

  She was staring at him.

  He nodded.

  Not yet. He would go with her to pick up Gram.

  But sooner or later he would have to find a way to get rid of Lorena.

  * * *

  Emma straightened the stack of washcloths she had on her bathroom shelf, aligning the corners. She’d just gotten back from a walk with Duchess around the building. Duchess had done her business and then sniffed at the ground, tugging at her leash. Emma had allowed her to lead them toward the hiker’s trail. They had gone partway up that trail together a couple of times. Duchess wanted to run like crazy, but Emma had to hold her back. She couldn’t let the dog off leash unless they were at a dog park.

  “That would be bad,” she said aloud. Duchess could scare someone.

  She came out of the bathroom and Duchess was sitting on the kitchen floor, her eyebrows moving up and down as she looked at her bowl. The dog started whining.

  “Too many treats make you fat,” Emma said to her. Again.

  Duchess gave a sharp bark.

  Emma sighed. Duchess wasn’t a good listener.

  Knock, knock.

  “Emma? Are you in there?” Jewell called anxiously through the panels.

  Duchess barked and barked. “Shhh,” Emma told the dog, giving her a stern look, as she went to the door.

  Jewell burst into the room and Emma took a few steps backward. “Have you heard? Have you heard?” Her voice was shaking.

  “Uh—”

  “Twinkletoes slept in Sara’s bed! The cat was in her room! Sara’s really frightened. They need to get rid of that cat! It’s not right!”

  “The cat slept in Mrs. Throckmorton’s bed?”

  “It shot out of her room this morning!” She shuddered and looked over her shoulder at the door, as if the cat was coming for her.

  Emma wasn’t sure what she felt about the cat. She really didn’t like the name they all called it. But the cat belonged at Ridge Pointe, so she said, “The cat lives here, and you can’t take away someone’s home.”

  “Emma . . .” Jewell pressed her hand to her chest. “The cat is a stray and there’s something wrong with it.”

  “Is Mrs. Throckmorton dead?”

  “Emma!”

  Emma blinked at her.

  “No! Goodness, no. She’s alive. Her daughter and grandson are here now, talking with Bob and Faye.” Jewell sniffed. Jewell did not like Faye who also worked in the office. She liked supercilious Bob Atkinson, the facility director, who made more rules.

  “So, the cat was wrong,” said Emma.

  “They don’t die the day Twinkletoes shows up. You know that, Emma. It’s afterwards. Sara’s daughter is taking her home. Maybe she’ll be safe there, but I don’t know. It’s like a . . . hex, that cat!”

  “Mrs. Throckmorton is going home?”

  “That’s what I heard.”

  “You were eavesdropping?”

  Jewell glared at Emma, her brows in a dark line. “They’re in a meeting room and they’re loud. Sara is rightly upset. Old Darla’s making things worse. She can’t keep anything straight and she’s in the way. They’ve trapped the cat.”

  “What?” Emma’s heart flipped over painfully.

  Jewell held up her hands. “I just wanted to keep you informed.”

  “You wanted to gossip.”

  “Honestly, Emma, I know you have problems, but I really don’t need to be chastised all the time.” With that Jewell twisted the doorknob, yanked the door open, and slammed it behind her.

  Emma grabbed up the keys to her room and headed out, turning to Duchess who, as ever, wanted to follow her. “We’ll go later. I need to save the cat.”

  Duchess barked twice and her gaze switched from Emma to her bowl again, her tail sweeping the floor. Emma pretended the dog agreed with her, but Duchess just wanted a treat. That’s how dogs were.

  When she reached the Ridge Pointe lobby she walked around the center fireplace and looked through the glass wall to the meeting room, the special room with the circular table. Mrs. Throckmorton was seated there, her head down. Bob and Faye were there, too, along with Mrs. Throckmorton’s daughter . . . Emma couldn’t remember her name . . . and Thad.

  Bad feelings settled over Emma. She didn’t like the way Thad looked at her, and she was suspicious of the way he treated Mrs. Throckmorton. Emma had overheard him whispering to his grandmother about how much he cared about her, how he was the one she could depend on. Emma was pretty sure he was lying. He seemed like a liar.

  She could see Mrs. Throckmorton was crying, and Emma walked to the door and pushed it open.

  “Emma, this is a private meeting,” said Bob in a harsh voice, rising from his chair.

  “Mrs. Throckmorton is crying.”

  Faye had jumped up, too, and now she came to the door. “You can talk to her later,” she said in a soothing voice.

  Emma felt Thad’s eyes on her. They seemed to burn right into her. She couldn’t make herself look at him directly, but said, “Thad was kissing Rayne.”

  Faye gently touched Emma’s arm. “This is a family meeting, Emma.”

  Emma pulled away. “You’ve trapped the cat?”

  “Who told you that?�
�� Bob sounded angry, but like he was trying to hold it back.

  Faye said, “No, the cat was put outside.”

  “Twinkletoes!” Mrs. Throckmorton said, tears in her voice.

  Faye held the door open, waiting for Emma to exit. Emma backed out of the room and Faye closed the door.

  Emma stood there a moment as Faye walked back to her chair. She shot a look at Thad. He was staring at her. She hunched her shoulders and headed for the outside door to the front portico. She needed to find the cat and save it before they got rid of it.

  * * *

  Jesus . . . Christ . . . Thad felt his heart thundering in his chest. That . . . woman . . . that retard . . . God! They’d all turned to look at him when she’d said he was kissing Rayne. When had she seen him? Never! They couldn’t associate him with Rayne. They couldn’t!

  He could feel the blood drain from his face. There was a buzzing in his ears. They were still talking about Gram and Gram was crying, moaning that she didn’t want to leave, just like she’d moaned that she didn’t want to leave her home when they’d first brought her here. She didn’t know what she wanted. She was as loony as they were saying, as loony as that retard!

  He wanted to kill her. She’d caused him irreparable harm. He had to say something, do something.

  “I don’t know what she’s talking about,” said Thad, glad his voice sounded normal.

  “Whatever, Thad,” said Lorena, turning back to Bob Atkinson, who was being a pure asshole about the money and Gram’s care.

  They were taking Gram out today. Of course he didn’t want her to come home, but now with the retard’s words hanging over him like an arrow, pointing down on his head, a marker that he’d killed Rayne, Thad’s mind was changed. He needed to get away from this place and never see these people again. Never come back here.

  “We’ll take my mother tonight and Thad’ll figure out how to move out her things and furniture. That should make you happy.”

  “It’s not about that, Mrs. Jenkins. It’s the level of care,” Bob tried to say, but Lorena was in pure bitch mode and just waved her arm at him and glared at the other woman, Faye, who clearly felt he and Lorena were not up for the job.