by Kylie Brant
She called the number for the garage, pleasantly surprised when a gruff voice answered. “Pete’s.”
“This is Deputy US Marshal Cady Maddix. I’d like to speak to Peter Benson.”
“That’s me.”
From the corner of her eye, she watched a man get into the car beside hers, which was parked too close to the Jeep. “I’m calling about Bruce Forrester, a former employee of yours. What can you tell me about the time he worked for you?”
“Same thing I told the cops when they were here years ago, asking.” Under her watchful gaze, the driver next to her carefully maneuvered from the spot, with only inches to spare. “Decent mechanic. Rough around the edges, but that’s to be expected. Did what he was told and didn’t cause any problems, at least at work.”
“There were problems elsewhere?”
“Must have been, for him to be arrested. That violated the agreement I had with the fella at the prison who places the ex-cons. I’ll give ’em a chance, but I don’t want trouble. Never saw him after that.”
“Do you know anything about his relationship with women? How he treated them?”
“I didn’t spend any time socializing with him, and we keep the chitchat to a minimum when we’re working.”
“Is there anyone else employed there who would remember him?”
A bark of laughter sounded in her ear. “Marshal, why do you think I hire ex-cons? I can’t keep help here to save my soul. Soon’s I train them, the guys move on. Only one from that time still here is my son, Jeff. Don’t know that he could tell you any more than I did, but you’re welcome to talk to him.”
A moment later, a new voice sounded. “Dad says you want to know about Bruce Forrester.”
“That’s right. I know you’ve both spoken to the police about him before—”
“At least twice. But not recently. I’ll tell you what I told them. I didn’t like the guy. I didn’t trust him. Not just because he was an ex-con—I don’t like my dad hiring them, either, no matter what kind of kickback he gets for it—but this guy had trouble written all over him. I was glad when he was gone, although it was just a matter of time. Guy was a powder keg. Someone finally lit the match.”
Jeff seemed to have pegged Forrester correctly. “Did you ever hang out with him while he was there? After hours? Meet for drinks?”
“Nope. My dad never wanted me mentioning this to the cops, because I didn’t have proof. But I’m going to tell you: I thought he was dealing drugs even at work. I wanted him gone.”
Cady wondered if drugs were the “conveniences” Simmons had referred to. “What made you think that?”
“He disappeared most lunchtimes. Nothing wrong with that. But employees rarely get visitors at work. Forrester did, once or twice a week. Always on his break. Usually guys, but some women. They’d huddle in his vehicle for a couple of minutes; then the visitors would leave. I confronted him, and he said they were from his AA group. Just members offering each other support.”
“But you didn’t believe him.”
“Because I’m not stupid. I told him we didn’t want people on the property who weren’t customers and to knock it off. He gave me that cold-ass stare of his, but after that, the visits ended.”
She asked the question she’d put to his father. “What was his relationship like with women?”
“The guy liked his porn—I remember that. But that wasn’t my beef with him.”
Cady sat for a moment after the call was ended, impressions from today’s conversations careening and colliding in her mind.
He liked to watch. Simmons’s words sounded in her mind. Drugs. Porn. Fetishes. None of what she’d learned today was positive news for Cassie Zook. And given the man’s propensity for revenge, if Forrester really was after Tina Bandy’s family, it didn’t bode well for them, either.
Chapter 9
“Your mom’s still getting ready.” With visible reluctance, Cady’s aunt stepped aside to allow her into the cabin. If Alma Griggs had been able to, she’d forbid her from the property. But since Cady paid her to care for her mother, that option wasn’t feasible.
But she showed her disdain in other ways. Turning her back, she stomped into the kitchen, hostility emanating from her.
Cady followed her, going to the counter to pluck the notebook from the small bookcase there. In it, she’d find a thorough accounting of her mom’s days since she last visited. That was part of the caregiving deal she and Alma had struck after Hannah Maddix had received the early-onset Alzheimer’s diagnosis that had precipitated Cady’s transfer from the Saint Louis office. No one knew how long her condition would allow Hannah to be cared for at home. But Cady recognized that keeping her in familiar surroundings as long as possible would be helpful.
The cabin had been their home on and off when Cady was growing up. They’d landed here when Hannah was between jobs or, more often, when one of her worthless boyfriends had absconded with the rent money. It obviously held more pleasant memories for her mother than it did for her.
“It looks like she had a good week,” she said finally, replacing the notebook on the shelf.
“She did.” Her aunt’s voice was grudging. “Until this morning. She forgot how to dress herself.”
The news hit Cady with the force of a sneaky left jab. One hand crept to the edge of the counter. Clenched. “What happened?”
When Alma turned around, there was concern in her expression as well as the condemnation she reserved for her niece these days. “We’d picked out her clothes, and I laid them on her bed. Gave her a few minutes, and when I went back in, she was standing in the same spot, just staring at them. Said she didn’t know what to do first.”
A fist gripped her heart. Squeezed. Those episodes were to be expected. Logically, Cady knew that. They were still relatively infrequent. But each time one occurred, it ignited a fresh flare of panic inside her, reminding her that it was only a matter of time before the one person in the world she loved would no longer remember her.
“I reminded her of what to do, and she was fine.”
Cady’s gaze traveled to the bedroom door. “Is she . . .”
“Oh, she’s ready to go. She’s just doing a bit of primping.”
“Remember to write it in the notebook the doctor gave us. With the date.”
“I know how to take care of my kin, missy.” The moment of concern had passed. Alma had taken up verbal arms again. “More’n I can say for you, that’s for sure.”
“I’m not going to have this conversation again.” Cady pushed away from the counter.
“Yer cousin is sitting in a jail cell, and you could get him out if’n you wanted.”
“I told you before—I’m not paying Bo’s bail. You remember why he’s awaiting trial, right? For breaking into my house? And the office of my landlady, Dorothy Blong?” Her intruder a few months ago had been none other than her no-good cousin. His antagonism was a carryover from when they were kids. So was his stupidity.
“I’m not talking about the bail. You mighta been right before. Do him good to think on his behavior.”
That was a first, Cady noted. Alma had been making excuses for her boys since they were in diapers.
“I talked to that public defender of his. He said you could probably have them charges dismissed.”
“I . . .” Cady shook her head in frustration. “You need a different attorney. That’s ridiculous.”
“You got yourself that federal job, don’t you? Fed outweighs state, don’t it?” Alma planted both fists on her ample hips, a mama grizzly in a man’s flannel shirt and jeans. “If you didn’t press charges, they’d let him go.”
“I seriously doubt anyone with a law degree told you that.” Cady drew a breath. Counted to ten. Alma apparently didn’t think Bo stealing the key to Cady’s house and leaving a window unlocked in her home after he’d trespassed was a sign of ill intent. But she’d learned as a kid just what her cousin was capable of. “With his latents found at my place and at the la
ndlady’s office, law enforcement has him dead to rights on burglary charges. It has nothing to do with me.”
“But you could put in a good word for him,” Alma pressed. “It’d go a long way with the judge, a marshal speaking up for him.”
“Using my position to intercede for a relative would be a good way to get myself fired, even if I were willing to do so. I’m not.” She’d never shared Alma’s rosy perception of her sons, Bo and LeRoy. Cady knew from experience how dangerous they could be.
“I swear, if you wasn’t Hannah’s daughter,” Alma said between gritted teeth. “Ain’t like you never did nothing wrong. With your history, a body’d think you’d be a bit more sympathetic.”
Alma’s words rocked her, evoking the memories that were never far from Cady’s mind. The sound of the shot. The spray of blood. With long practice, she’d learned to shunt them aside. But they weren’t so easily avoided. Childhood trauma had sculpted the ghosts that haunted her into adulthood. It was a moment before she could fashion a response. “Bringing up my past isn’t exactly a way to elicit compassion.”
“Just because you don’t wanna remember it don’t mean folks ’round here have forgotten.”
Smiling thinly, Cady retorted, “The reminder still won’t get your son sprung from jail.”
“Alma, you should have told me Cady was here.” There was no reproach in Hannah’s voice as she practically danced into the room. “I didn’t even realize she’d arrived until I heard her voice.”
Relieved, Cady walked to exchange a hug with her mom, who was a stark foil to Alma in almost every way. She was as pretty and slim as ever, her ethereal air and bright smile causing most of the world to smile back. She possessed an almost naive sincerity, a contagious enthusiasm for life and appalling taste in men, including Cady’s father. Especially him.
“Bye, Alma,” Hannah sang over her shoulder after slipping into a winter coat draped over the back of a rocker. “Let me know if there’s anything I can pick up from town.”
“Probably headed there myself to buy a few groceries.”
Hannah linked arms with her daughter. “I just love our Saturday adventures.”
Their outings did not, by any stretch of the imagination, meet Cady’s definition of adventure. They usually included all the things Hannah enjoyed most—hair, makeup, nails, and shopping. But she treasured the time spent with her mom. More so, knowing days like these were numbered.
Cady returned her smile. “So do I.”
It was dark when Cady pulled into the cabin’s drive again. She shot her mom an assessing look. Maybe they’d overdone it. After Hannah had gotten her hair colored and wheedled her daughter into agreeing to pedicures, they’d strolled through every shop in Waynesville before Cady had noted the other woman’s flagging energy. She’d persuaded her to stop for salads, which they’d followed with malts. Hannah had regained her normal vivaciousness over the meal. Or so Cady had thought. But now it would be difficult to miss the fatigue in her expression.
Guilt surged. “Maybe we did too much today.”
“I loved every minute.” Hannah touched her shoulder lightly. “I don’t get enough time with my girl.”
“Still, I’d feel better if you promised to turn in early tonight. Maybe watch TV in your room until you fall asleep.”
“I’m not going to lie—that sounds tempting. And I’m going to wear that new nightgown you bought me today too. You know I have a weakness for pretty, frilly things. You’re just so sweet to indulge me like you do.” She gave Cady’s arm a squeeze. “We missed these moments, you and I, after you went to live with your grandfather.”
Tension shot through Cady’s muscles at the mention of Elmer Griggs. She’d come to terms with her mom sending her away after Bo had attempted to sexually assault her when she was twelve. A woman with almost no support system, Hannah had sought to protect Cady, without considering whom she was sending her to.
Without considering that abuse could take different forms.
“Before I knew it, you were off to college and then Saint Louis,” her mom continued brightly. “I just didn’t get to see you near enough, except for quick visits. I’m so thankful to have the time now.”
“Me too.” Cady pulled to a stop in front of the cabin, her throat full. The moments were bittersweet. More so when she acknowledged that if it weren’t for her mother’s diagnosis, nothing would have brought her back to North Carolina. She’d grown adept at burying her past, but the memories seemed closer here. More vivid. Life was a series of trade-offs. This one was worth it.
They got out of the car, collecting the bags, then climbing the steps to the cabin. The door swung open before they reached it. Alma’s girth filled the doorway. “I was ’bout to call. What on earth kept you?”
“Oh, Alma, we just had the best time.” But even as Hannah launched into a recounting of their day, her sister sent Cady a condemning look. Not unusual, but in this instance her disapproval had some merit.
When Hannah paused for a breath, Cady said, “We’ve eaten. Mom has agreed to rest now. Maybe turn in early tonight.”
“Which bag has my nightgown?” Hannah rooted through them as she and Cady walked toward her room. “It’s just the prettiest thing, Alma; you’ll have to see. It’s white and sprinkled with rosebuds. Cady has one too. She looks so cute in it.”
The words rocked her back on her heels. She could recall the garments her mom was describing in detail. The pink ribbon that threaded around the neckline. The delicately scalloped hem. It took effort to maintain a matter-of-fact voice as she guided Hannah into her room. “The one we bought was turquoise, Mom, remember? Your favorite color.”
“Oh, you’re right.” Hannah sat down on the edge of her bed and reached into a bag. Drew out the nightgown. “It’s so lovely.” But then she frowned, confusion tingeing her tone. “But I had that white one. I haven’t seen it in a while. I think it got ruined, but I can’t quite recall how. Why can’t I remember?”
Blood spattered on Cady’s pretty printed nightdress. Little pinpricks of crimson making their own pattern along the rosebuds. And her mother’s matching gown. Soaked with blotches of bright red.
“Because you’re trying too hard,” Cady said, slamming a mental door shut against the specters from her past. “Put it out of your head. It will come to you when you least expect it.” She knew that from bitter experience. But with any luck, her mother would forget the entire conversation in minutes.
She stayed while Hannah readied for bed, wearing the new nightgown. Got her tucked in with the TV on and the remote nearby. Cady thought she was nodding off and rose silently, preparing to leave. Before she got more than a step, Hannah’s eyes opened, an expression of misery crossing her face. “I’m so sorry, Cady. If only I could go back and change things. We never should have let you take the blame. That was so wrong. You were only four! How could we have done that to you?”
The words were sharpened little darts, each sinking deep, spreading their poison. But Cady ignored them for the moment. Concentrated on soothing her mom’s sudden agitation. Distracting her with memories of their day. After an hour, when Hannah seemed to doze off, Cady silently left the room and eased the door closed.
Alma surged up from the rocker she was sitting in, her expression thunderous. “She had an episode, didn’t she? And it’s all yer fault for running her about until she’s near faint with exhaustion.”
Cady moved farther into the room, her voice quiet. “We didn’t do any more or less than most weekends, but maybe there’s been some progression in her condition. I’ll call Dr. Baker Monday and discuss it with him. I wanted to ask you about something she said, though. She was talking about that day.” The flicker of recognition on Alma’s face told her better than words that the woman knew exactly what she was referring to. “She kept saying we. ‘We never should have let you take the blame. How could we have done that to you?’ Was there someone else involved? Someone there, or maybe later . . .”
Alma’s m
outh flattened into a thin, hard line. “Only people in the kitchen that night were you, your mama, and Lonny Maddix. Don’t go looking for anyone else to cast the blame on, missy. You mighta only been four, but you was the one who picked the gun up off the table and shot your daddy dead.”
Chapter 10
“What’s got you in such a good mood?”
When Eric’s voice sounded next to him, Bruce Forrester quickly closed out of the message he’d been reading on the computer screen. “What’re you talking about?”
The other man dropped into a chair next to him at the table. “Something had you smiling. Good news? Did Cortez agree to increase our next shipment?”
“Yeah,” Bruce lied. “Possibly.”
Eric gave a self-satisfied grin. “Told you it wouldn’t do no harm to ask. With more product, we can expand our territory.”
Anxious to be rid of him, Bruce asked, “You finish the packaging?”
“Yeah.” Eric’s eyes slitted. “I ain’t a kid. You don’t need to be reminding me every ten minutes.”
“No reason you can’t take the night off, then.” Bruce knew exactly how to keep him happy. And get him out of his hair for a few hours, which was even more important.
Shock flickered across Eric’s face, but he rose fast enough to almost topple his chair. “I’m not going to say no. Need me to get anything from town?”
Itching to have him gone, Bruce said, “Beer, maybe.”
“Okay, see you later.”
He waited until the door to the room closed behind Eric before turning his attention back to the computer. He clicked on the direct message to read it again. Found your runners. They’re in Asheville. The mom’s working at a Food Mart this time. 2nd half of payment is due.
A broad grin crossed Bruce’s face. The hunt was on. Again. And the only thing he liked better than hunting was watching the death throes of his prey.