“Mark, what’s going on?” She sniffed—of course, she would smell the smoke from the bar, the alcohol on his breath. Why hadn’t he thought of that? She stepped back, putting distance between them. “Mark, have you been drinking?”
“It’s not about that, Allie,” he said quickly, defensively. He shook his head and tried to find the right words, then gave up and just blurted it out. “There was another murder.”
Her face showed no expression. She was bracing herself, marshaling her energy, processing the words. “What do you mean, another murder?”
“Jamie Larkins.”
She caught her breath and took another step backward. “Oh, no.”
“She was shot, just like Martha, and there was a fire.”
“Oh, dear God.” The words caught in her throat as she asked, “Who’s doing this?”
“They didn’t know anything when I left,” he said. “But I’m sure everything’s being done to find the killer.”
She lifted her chin and tried to think it through. “Why Martha and Jamie?”
“They found some cocaine in Cale and Jamie’s house. Cale seemed genuinely surprised to see it. I don’t think he knew it was there. They’re thinking maybe a drug deal went bad, and that Martha might have known something. There’s no telling.”
“Jamie wouldn’t have confided in Martha. They were too different, and Martha was at least fifteen years older than Jamie. It’s not like they hung around together.”
“I know. It doesn’t make sense. But until they find him, I don’t think anyone is safe. Allie, I’m not going home tonight. I’m staying right here, with you, just to make sure.”
He could see the protest forming on her lips, but just as quickly, it died. She was as frightened as he was, and she didn’t want to be alone.
“I’ll sleep on the couch,” he said.
She stared at him for a long moment, and he felt a dread coming over him, coupled with an urgency that he didn’t think she’d understand. Was she going to be so stubborn that she’d send him home?
The telephone rang, startling them both. She reached for it, keeping her eyes on him, and he felt exposed, transparent, as if she could see right through him. Sometimes he thought she really could.
“Hello?” she said tentatively. She kept the phone far enough from her ear that Mark could hear the voice on the other end.
“Allie, honey, this is Susan. You’re not gonna believe what just happened! Jamie Larkins—”
“I know,” Allie cut in. “I’ve already heard.”
“Allie, this is getting scary, and Ray and I got to thinking about you being there all by yourself with a killer on the loose, and honey, we want you to come stay with us tonight. Ray will come and get you, but you don’t need to be by yourself—”
“I’m not alone right now, actually,” she said, and her eyes locked with Mark’s.
“You’re not?”
“No.” She swallowed, and Mark took a step toward her. The alcohol on his breath seemed to hit her again, and she looked away. “But I do appreciate the invitation, and if you don’t mind, I think I will come over. I don’t really want to sleep here alone, and the alternative seems” Her eyes shot up to Mark’s again, and he waited for her to finish her sentence. “Well, there really isn’t an alternative.”
The remark stung him, as it was meant to, and he took the phone out of her hand. “Susan, this is Mark. I’ve already told Allie that I would stay here tonight. I don’t want her here alone, either, so thanks—”
She grabbed the phone back and twisted away from him. “Susan, I’ll come right over. But you don’t have to send Ray.”
“Honey, I don’t want to interfere with you and Mark—”
“No, no,” Allie said. “Really, I’d rather stay with you.”
Mark was almost too angry to talk. “At least tell her that I’ll bring you.”
Allie put her hand over the phone. “No, Mark, I’d rather drive myself. You’ve been drinking.”
“Allie, for pete’s sake, I had one drink! I didn’t even finish it. You’re just using that as an excuse—”
“I’ll drive myself, I said!”
“Fine, then!” he shouted. “You can drive yourself in my car, but I’m going with you! He jerked the phone back from her and tried to calm his voice. “Susan, I’ll bring her over. She’ll be there shortly.”
Susan’s voice was dripping with apology. “Mark, I’m so sorry if I interfered. I didn’t know you were there.”
“It’s okay, Susan,” he said. “She’d rather face murder than have me in the house. I’m glad you called.”
He hung up the phone and looked down at her, standing in her white robe tied at the waist, with her bare feet peeking out beneath it. She had no makeup on, and her hair was sleep-mussed, and something about the whole picture made his anger melt. He was still drawn to her, no matter how their ardor seemed to have cooled. But he couldn’t act on it, not when her tongue was so sharp with accusations and allegations.
“Go get your stuff,” he said quietly. “I’ll wait for you.”
She started into the bedroom, but he stopped her. “Allie, I did drink tonight, but it was only because it’s been a lousy day.”
“There’ve been a lot of lousy days lately, Mark.” She looked down at the carpet beneath her feet. “I remember when they were about to build Joe’s Place, and you were one of the loudest opponents in the meetings at city hall, protesting the fact that it was being built too close to the church. They made him build it somewhere else. Who would have thought that you’d become a regular patron?”
“That’s not what I am, Allie. I just stop in there now and then, when things are really rough.”
“Maybe things wouldn’t be so rough if you didn’t stop in there,” she said. Her eyes were direct, clear, penetrating as she nailed him with her next question. “Tell me something, Mark. Was Issie there tonight?”
That anger rose again, and he looked away. “What if she was?”
“That’s what I thought.”
“I didn’t go there with her, Allie. It was Fat Tuesday. Everybody in town was at that bar.”
“Not everybody,” she said.
“Don’t be self-righteous, Allie.”
“I’m not, Mark. I’m just stating a fact. Did you take her home?”
He looked away again, indignant. “Actually, we were called away by Jamie’s murder,” he said, hoping his words had the same sting hers did. “And I’m here, aren’t I? Not with her, but here.” The fact that he evaded her question only bothered him a little. So he had followed Issie home. It didn’t mean a thing. He was still innocent. In fact, he probably deserved a trophy for not succumbing to temptation on a night like tonight. If Allie just weren’t so bitterly pious, she’d realize it.
“So why are you here?” she asked.
“Because I was worried about you. No underlying motive, Allie, as evil and deceptive as you think I am. I wanted to make sure you were all right.”
They stared off for a long moment, and finally, he said, “You’d better hurry. No need to keep the Fords up any longer than we have to.”
She nodded quietly and went to pack.
At the Fords’ house, Allie climbed out of Mark’s car, then waited while he dragged her bag out of the trunk and carried it to the door where the porch light was on. Mark set the bag on the porch. She felt him looking down at her, but she didn’t look back. Instead, she focused on a button on his shirt.
“Well…thanks for bringing me.”
“I didn’t bring you,” he reminded her. “You brought me.”
“Well, anyway. Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” he said, and she heard the sarcasm in his voice. They were behaving like strangers. Part of her wanted it that way; the other part despised it.
“Allie…”
She looked up at him, finally, but the moment she did, he looked away and seemed to lose his train of thought.
She started to knock, knowing th
at inside, Susan probably waited for her, not wanting to break the moment between them. Poor Susan, she thought. She had such hope for their reconciliation. More hope than Allie had.
But Mark caught her hand, and she hated the fact that his touch still caused a little electric jolt to shoot through her, as it had when they’d first met. “Allie, don’t always think the worst of me. I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“That’s exactly the problem,” Allie said.
“What? That I haven’t done anything wrong?”
“No, that you won’t admit it.” She felt her cheeks growing hot, and hoped he couldn’t see them reddening in the dim light.
“Allie, I can’t admit to something that I haven’t done. Do you want me to lie?”
“Why not?” she asked. “You’ve been doing it for months.” The words weren’t uttered in anger, but in deep sadness, and she looked away as she said them, hoping he wouldn’t see the tears filling her eyes.
He lifted her chin, made her look at him. “Allie, I’ve never lied to you.”
She moved her chin away from his fingertips and took a step backward. “No, Mark, it’s yourself you lie to, mostly. That way you can convince yourself that what you tell me is the truth.”
He rubbed his stubbled jaw and looked up at the night sky, as if he could find some logic, some rationale there. “I remember when you thought the best of me.”
“I remember when you were the best.”
The implication that he no longer was seemed to pierce him, and the pain on his face brought a pang to her own heart. She didn’t enjoy hurting him. But for some time now, their conversations seemed to consist of both of them saying things that hurt.
He turned his back and stood on the edge of the porch, looking out into the night. He smelled of smoke, as he often did, and his big shoulders, normally so strong and capable, looked slumped beneath the weight of all that had occurred that day. For a moment, she thought of touching his back, or reaching up to press a kiss on his stubbled cheek. But she wouldn’t allow herself to. Several silent moments passed, and finally he turned and said, “Make sure you aren’t alone in the store tomorrow. It’s easy to let your guard down in daylight, but don’t forget Martha was killed in the morning.”
She nodded.
“And if you need me, you know where I’ll be.”
Their eyes met again, and this time, he leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Good night, Allie.”
“Night.” She waited for him to leave, then realized he wasn’t going to until she was inside. She rapped lightly on the door, and Susan answered it.
“Hey, honey, come on in.”
Allie stepped inside as Mark trotted down the porch steps and back out to his car.
Susan closed the door and locked the dead bolt. “Is everything all right?”
Allie shook her head. “No, not really.” She pulled in a deep sigh. “I really appreciate your inviting me over.”
“Isn’t it awful about Jamie? And Martha…oh, Allie.”
The two women hugged. Ray, who was usually jovial, came into the room looking more solemn than she had ever seen him, and as tired and shocked as Mark.
“Ray, have you heard any more about Jamie’s murder? Any leads?”
“No, ’fraid not. I just got off the phone with my brother Sid.”
Sid was a lieutenant on the Newpointe police force, and likely to know how the investigation was going.
“He said they’re pretty sure the murders have somethin’ to do with the drugs they found. They’ve set up roadblocks and are hopin’ to catch the guy leavin’ town.”
“But that doesn’t make sense,” Susan cried. “Martha would never have touched cocaine. And she wouldn’t have known anything about Jamie taking it, either.”
“How is Cale?” Allie asked.
“Stunned,” Ray said. “He wasn’t even s’pose to work tonight. Swapped with somebody at the last minute. Wonder if anything woulda been different if he’d been home.”
“Maybe he would have been killed, too,” Allie suggested.
“Maybe.”
Susan wiped her eyes, breathed deeply, then released it. “Well, we’d better turn in. Tomorrow’s gonna be a long day. I made up Ben’s room for you, Allie,” she said, referring to her son who was away at Louisiana State. “Just make yourself at home, hear?”
Allie went into Ben’s room and dropped her bag on the bed. The room was decorated with posters of sports heroes and pennants of his favorite colleges; a basketball hoop hung on the wall. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror as she scanned the room, and quickly turned away. She didn’t like seeing herself lately.
The fact that Mark had wanted to protect her confused her. What did it mean? She couldn’t believe he still loved her, not after two months of separation, when he’d made so little effort to set things right again. He didn’t seem to care how she felt about his “friendship” with Issie-or anything else. Why, now, did he suddenly care?
She went to the window and peered out. His car was gone, and she wondered whether he’d go back to the bar or to his apartment. Would he go to see if Issie was all right, since she, too, lived alone?
The thought sickened her. Trying to shove down the emotions welling up inside her, she sat down in the chair across from the bed. Closing her eyes, she cried out to God.
She prayed for Mark, that he would be safe tonight, and that the thoughts he had of her as he drifted into sleep would not be cold, angry thoughts. She hoped they were tender thoughts, the way they used to be.
Where had they gone wrong?
She asked that question of God, but no answer came. Troubled and confused and frightened and exhausted, she finally fell into a shallow sleep.
Chapter Eleven
Jill Clark was awakened from a sound sleep at four A.M. by a ringing telephone. Reaching blindly for it, she managed to bump the touch-me lamp, and the light came on. Squinting from the sudden, unexpected brightness, she picked up the phone. “Hello?”
“Jill, you gotta help me.”
The man’s voice was not familiar, so she sat up in bed, trying to clear her brain. “Who is this?”
“Joe Petitjean,” he said.
For a moment she struggled to put a face with the name, then remembered—he was the owner of Joe’s Place, the town’s favorite bar. “What is it, Joe?”
“I need a lawyer. I’m down to the po-lice station, and they questionin’ me ’bout Jamie Larkins’s murder. Jill, I don’t have nothin’ to do with that, and I did not sell her the bag of cocaine she had in the house.”
“Jamie Larkins was murdered?” she asked, sitting straight up. “Joe, it’s Martha Broussard who was killed—not Jamie.”
“Both of ’em, Jill. I’m tellin’ you, they tryin’ to pin somethin’ on me, even though they said they just brought me in for questionin’. And I ain’t the only one.”
She had her pants on and was reaching for a pullover sweater. “What do you mean?”
“I mean they got at least twenty others in here. They got some kind of roadblock set up and they catchin’ every pot-smoking, beer-drinkin’ yo that tries to leave this town. You come down here, you better be ready to stay a while. I ain’t the only one gonna need a lawyer.”
Jill hung up and hurried to the bathroom. She washed her face and brushed her teeth, then grabbed her shoes and hopped as she put on one at a time on her way out.
It wasn’t until she was in the car that the horror of what Joe had told her finally penetrated. Jamie Larkins was dead?
She wondered if Allie knew. Digging her cellular phone from her purse, she punched in Allie’s number with her thumb as she drove, hoping Allie would have a few details Jill might need. The phone rang five, six, seven times before Jill pushed “end,” terminating the call attempt. Where could Allie be?
She tried to think. She needed some background information before she burst into the police station. Someone at the fire department would know something, she thought, since they were u
sually dispatched to all of the calls at the same time the police were.
She dialed information, got the number for the Midtown Fire Station, and waited as it rang. The voice that answered was subdued and muffled.
“Hello?”
“This is Jill Clark. Who’s speaking, please?”
“This is Dan Nichols, Jill,” the voice said, and she had an instant image of the tall blond fireman with bright blue eyes.
“Dan, I’m on my way to the police station, but I needed a little information about Jamie Larkins’s murder. Can you tell me anything about it?”
“I can tell you what I know,” he said. “I wasn’t on duty when they got the call. I just came in an hour ago to take Cale’s place. But whoever did it shot her through the chest, then set the house on fire.”
Jill’s stomach jolted, but she tried to stay calm. “What’s this about cocaine?”
“They found it in her house—in the part that didn’t burn down. They’re thinking that maybe there’s a connection.”
“Okay, that makes sense,” she said, thinking out loud. “So now they’re rounding up anyone who saw her today, trying to find witnesses. Dan, do they have any leads at all?”
“I couldn’t say, Jill. But for now there is a killer on the loose, and I wouldn’t be out there alone if I were you.”
She turned onto Purchase Street, where the police station and fire station were located. “Thanks, Dan. But I’m almost there.”
“I’ll meet you outside and walk you in,” he said.
She smiled. “I don’t think that’s necessary. No one’s going to attack me right outside the police station.”
“It’s four-thirty in the morning, Jill, and we know for sure there’s a killer in town. I’ll meet you outside,” he said.
He hung up. Smiling, she clicked off the phone and dropped it back into her purse. As she pulled up to the front of the police station, she saw him coming out of the open garage of the fire department adjacent to the building. Grabbing her purse and briefcase, she got out.
“I appreciate this, Dan,” she said.
“Not a problem.”
He walked her up the steps to the police station doors and opened the glass door for her. “If you want me to walk you out when you leave, just holler,” he told her. “Unless I’m on a call, it’s no problem to pop over here.”
Private Justice Page 6