Who could have done such a reprehensible thing? Who had lurked outside her house, waiting for an opportunity to shoot Johnny Mack in the back?
Lane shuddered involuntarily as she remembered hearing the shots and finding Johnny Mack’s still body lying on the kitchen floor. She had screamed loud enough to wake everyone in the house. While she had remained huddled on the floor by Johnny Mack, Lillie Mae had called for an ambulance. Lane had come to the hospital in the ambulance with him, while Quinn followed, with Lillie Mae and Will, and arrived at the emergency room seconds behind the ambulance.
“Mama?” Will came up behind Lane and wrapped his arms around her. “He’s going to be all right. He has to be.”
She patted Will’s arms where they crisscrossed her waist. “I love him. I’ve never loved anyone else.”
“I think he loves you, too,” Will told her. “He sure acts like he does.”
As Lane turned in her son’s arms, she grasped his hands and offered him a weak smile. “He loves you, Will. Of that I’m certain. He wants to be a father to you, if you’ll let him.”
“If he…” Will pulled away from Lane, turned his back on her and faced the glass wall. “Dammit, why doesn’t somebody come out here and tell us what’s happening? He’s been in surgery for nearly five hours. What’s taking them so long?”
Lane laid her hand on Will’s back. “I keep telling myself that no news is good news. We have to hold on to the hope that the doctors can save Johnny Mack.”
Will swerved around to face Lane. “Who could have shot him? And why?”
“I’ve been asking myself that same question, and I haven’t come up with an answer yet.” But a couple of suspects came to mind. James Ware for one. And Miss Edith for another. Each of them knew how to use a rifle. Miss Edith was an avid skeet shooter, and after he had married her, James had begun attending shooting events with her.
“I want you two to sit down and try to rest.” Holding two canned colas, Lillie Mae came up beside them. “Here”—she held out one to Lane and the other to Will—“I got y’all a Coke apiece. Figured y’all could use a little caffeine and some sugar. I know how when you get nervous, Miss Lane, you have a problem with nausea. A Coke will settle your stomach.”
Lane accepted the cola. “Thank you, Lillie Mae. I do feel a bit queasy.” She popped the lid and put the can to her lips. The cold, syrupy drink tasted good, and after several sips, her agitated stomach began to settle down a bit.
Just as Will opened his canned drink, Lane heard Quinn Cortez’s voice coming from outside in the hallway. She had been so absorbed in her own misery that she hadn’t said more than two words to Quinn in several hours. She had almost forgotten that he was there. But sometime in the past few minutes, he had left his chair in the corner of the waiting room and stepped out into the corridor.
“Can’t your interrogation wait?” Quinn asked. “Lane’s in no shape to answer any questions.”
“All I need is a statement,” Buddy Lawler said. “I’ve got an attempted murder investigation going on here, maybe even a murder investigation if Johnny Mack doesn’t pull through.”
“Dammit man, will you please lower your voice,” Quinn demanded. “There happens to be a woman and a kid in there”—Quinn hiked his thumb toward the waiting room—“who don’t need to hear any speculation about Johnny Mack dying.”
“Look, Cortez, I have no intention of upsetting Lane or Will. But I have to ask Lane a few questions. My people have conducted an investigation at the house and come away with pretty much nothing, except a good guess that somebody stood outside Lane’s kitchen and used a rifle to shoot Johnny Mack.”
Lane handed her cola to Lillie Mae. “Will, you stay here with your grandmother.”
“Looks like Buddy could show some decency and wait about questioning you,” Lillie Mae said.
“He’s just doing his job.” Lane patted Lillie Mae’s arm as she passed her and walked straight out into the hall where the two men were still arguing. “What do you need to ask me?” She looked directly at Buddy.
“I’m sure sorry about this, Lane.”
Buddy sounded sincere, but she knew better. Noble’s Crossing’s chief of police had as much reason to despise Johnny Mack as Miss Edith or James. Maybe more. After all, he had been the ringleader in the gang who had nearly beaten Johnny Mack to death fifteen years ago. And he had been the one who had dumped him into the river.
“Did I hear you right, that you didn’t find any evidence outside my house?” Lane asked.
Buddy shook his head. “No, ma’am, we didn’t find a thing, except a spot outside the kitchen windows that looked like somebody had stomped on the marigolds planted in the flower beds.”
“Then, you have no idea who shot Johnny Mack…in the back?”
“Sure don’t.” Buddy looked everywhere but at Lane. His eyes darted to the floor, to the ceiling, past her shoulder and even at Quinn. “How is Johnny Mack? Any word on his condition?”
“He’s been in surgery for right at five hours,” Quinn said. “We haven’t heard a thing in three hours. A nurse told us then that the bullet wound in his arm wasn’t too serious, but the bullet that went into his back collapsed one of his lungs and did some other internal damage.”
“Well, that’s too bad. I promise y’all that I’ll do whatever I can to find the person responsible.” Buddy glanced at Lane, but avoided prolonged eye-to-eye contact by letting his gaze wander. “Tell me exactly what happened tonight?”
“I was walking up the back stairs when I heard two shots. I ran down the stairs and saw Johnny Mack lying on the kitchen floor. He’d been shot in the back and in the arm. He was bleeding…there was blood on his shirt and on the floor.” She gasped for air. Quinn put his arm around her shoulders. She breathed deeply—in and out, in and out—until she calmed. “I must have screamed really loud. Lillie Mae came running out of her room, and when she saw what had happened, she called 911. Within a couple of minutes, Will and Quinn came into the kitchen.”
“Did you see anyone outside?” Buddy asked. “Even a shadow?”
“No, I didn’t see anyone, but then my main concern was Johnny Mack.”
“Of course.” Buddy nodded. “Do you have any idea who might have shot him? I mean, do you have a good reason to suspect someone in particular. I know that Johnny Mack made a lot of enemies before he left town fifteen years ago, so there’s probably more than one pissed-off husband whose wife Johnny Mack fu—er…fooled around with back then.”
“Fifteen years is a long time to hold a grudge, don’t you think?” Quinn asked.
“And you and I both know the real reason why Johnny Mack left town, don’t we, Buddy?” Lane raised her voice just a fraction. “And it wasn’t because some woman’s husband had threatened him.”
Buddy’s face flushed, and sweat popped out on his forehead. “I’ll need for you to come down to the station…later on…and sign a sworn statement. With you already being accused…well, it sure does look bad, your being found with a second dead body.”
Lane gasped. Quinn’s narrowed gaze bored into Buddy Lawler.
“Johnny Mack is still alive!” Lane said.
“Well, yeah, I know, but five hours in an operating room doesn’t bode well for his recovery, now does it?”
Lane wanted to hit Buddy Lawler. Hit him repeatedly. Smash the asshole’s face in! He was a cocky little son of a bitch who couldn’t hide the pleasure he seemed to feel over the possibility that Johnny Mack might die.
“Have you finished questioning Ms. Graham?” Quinn asked. “If so, I suggest you leave. You aren’t wanted here, Chief.”
“I’m finished. For now.”
Quinn wheeled Lane around and walked her back into the waiting room, then closed the door behind them. “Lawler’s counting on Johnny Mack dying, but he’s going to be disappointed. It would take more than a couple of slugs to kill him. No way would he die and give so many people in Noble’s Crossing that much satisfaction.”
&nb
sp; Lane chuckled softly. “You know him well, don’t you? You know he’s a survivor.”
Quinn squeezed Lane’s shoulders. “Got that damn straight.”
The minute Lane sat on the tan vinyl chair just inside the doorway, Lillie Mae came over and offered her the canned cola. “Are you all right?”
Lane nodded. “I’m okay. But if Buddy Lawler had stayed another minute, he wouldn’t have been okay. I’d have strangled the son of a bitch.”
“What did he say to you to upset you?” Will asked as he approached.
“Oh, sweetie, it doesn’t matter what Buddy said. And I didn’t mean to curse. But I’m so angry, I could…. I don’t care what anyone thinks; Johnny Mack is going to live.” Lane grabbed the cola Lillie Mae offered, took several hefty swigs and then set the can on the wood-veneer table beside her chair. “Why don’t y’all sit down?”
“I think I’ll go downstairs and find a coffee machine,” Quinn said. “I’m not much of a cola drinker. Besides, I need to walk off some of this pent-up energy.” He glanced at Will. “Want to go with me?”
“No, thanks. I’ll stay with—” Will halted mid-sentence as he stared past Quinn. “Ms. Graham?” A short, stout, blond nurse stood in the open doorway.
Lane shot to her feet. “I’m Mrs. Graham.”
“Dr. Gordon will be in to talk to you in just a few minutes,” the nurse said.
“How’s Johnny Mack?” Lane asked.
“Mr. Cahill is out of surgery and holding his own.”
A collective sigh of relief resonated throughout the room. Lane’s stomach flip-flopped. When Quinn slapped Will on the back, the two grinned at each other.
Lillie Mae said, “Thank you, Lord.”
A couple of minutes later, Dr. Gordon spoke to them briefly, updating them on Johnny Mack’s condition and explaining, in layman’s terms, the surgery and its aftermath. Once Lane heard the words, There’s every reason to believe Mr. Cahill will have a complete recovery, the doctor’s voice seemed to fade away as did the rest of the world. Nothing else mattered. The man she loved was going to live!
“The man has nine lives!” Edith Ware complained, as she clawed her nails up and down the arm of the Duncan Phyfe sofa on which she perched. “Obviously, he can’t be killed.”
“Seems you’re right, my dear,” James said. “The man is indestructible. You can’t beat him to death. You can’t drown him. And apparently he’s impervious to bullets.”
James had assumed that Johnny Mack would be dead by now, but instead he was recovering quite nicely in the local hospital’s SICU ward. But even if Johnny Mack was still a threat to him, he could use the man’s near-death experience to his advantage. While Edith and Buddy were so consumed with Johnny Mack, it was the perfect time to put his plan to leave town into action.
“If he’d died, it would have made all our lives easier,” Buddy said. “A dead man doesn’t tell any tales.”
“If he ever breathes a word about…” Edith lowered her voice. “About Kent having abused Mary Martha, I’ll find a way to shut him up. When I think of the scandal…the shame…what people will think and say about Kent and Mary Martha. About me.”
James guffawed, amazed that his dear wife could actually be concerned about scandal and shame, especially when her son’s murder was front-page news. “The Graham family seems to have thrived on scandal. After all, Mr. John had a reputation as a womanizer and a hell-raiser. And you, my dear, are notorious for being a first-class bitch.”
“The liquor has made you quite bold.” Edith sneered at her husband. “But I warn you, be careful what you say.”
James downed the last drops of whiskey from the glass he held, then crossed the room and poured himself another drink. Disregarding Edith’s warning, he continued his assessment of the Graham family. “Of course, you’ve done a rather good job of keeping your…er…dalliances discreet. A few people may suspect that you have a penchant for younger men, especially after you married me, but they don’t know the real truth, do they—that you’ve been whoring around for years with guys young enough to be your son.”
“Shut the hell up!” Buddy lunged toward James.
“Stop it. Both of you.” Edith stood, her head regal, her spine stiff. “Fighting among ourselves is stupid.”
“My goodness, Buddy, you certainly did seem to take personal offense at my accusations. You aren’t by any chance fucking my wife, are you?”
“You’re drunk, James,” Buddy said. “Why don’t you just shut up before I knock you on your ass.”
James found the situation ludicrous. But then his whole life had become a travesty. Sometimes he felt as if he were trapped inside an insane asylum. All he wanted, all he had wanted for several years now, was to escape, to run away with Arlene, before he succumbed to the lunacy that plagued this house.
“So that’s the way it is,” James said. “You can’t screw Mary Martha, so you’ve settled for screwing her mama.”
Buddy rammed his fist into James’s face. James went flying backward, into the wall. As he slumped over, slid down the oak paneling and his butt hit the floor, he thought he heard Edith cursing.
“I didn’t hurt him much,” Buddy said. “But if he ever says anything about Mary Martha again, I’ll kill him.”
James wiped his mouth and felt something sticky. Blood. His lip was bleeding. And he would probably have a big bruise on his jaw. Damn, Buddy might be a small man, but he had a wicked right cross.
“Are you all right, James?” Edith asked.
“I’ll be fine.” Bracing himself by placing his hands behind him on the wall, James managed to stand. “I suppose I went a bit far, didn’t I? And for that I apologize. just the liquor talking, you know.”
Get out of here, James told himself. Leave the room before you spout off again and Buddy winds up knocking your lights out permanently. The good police chief had a mean temper. And when it came to Mary Martha, he was totally unreasonable.
“Think I’ll go out to the kitchen for an ice pack,” James told them. “You will excuse me, won’t you?”
Buddy glowered. Edith simply nodded. James breathed a sigh of relief and headed toward the kitchen. While he was rummaging in the freezer for ice cubes, his cellular phone rang. For just a minute, he thought about not answering, in case it was Penny inquiring why he hadn’t come in to work today. Or had she already called? He couldn’t remember. He had definitely consumed too much alcohol this morning.
After removing the phone from his shirt pocket, he flipped it open and placed it to his ear. “Mayor Ware,” he said.
“Jamie?”
“Arlene?” He spoke her name in a hushed whisper.
“I just had to call you when I heard about Johnny Mack getting shot. Is it true?”
“Yes, it’s true. Last night, someone shot him through the kitchen window at Lane’s house. But the bastard’s still alive, and I’m in as much hot water as ever, maybe more.”
“Oh, Jamie, you—you didn’t shoot him, did you?”
Chapter 24
Lane lay across her bed and listened to the rain dripping from the roof, a soft pitter-patter blending with the cadence of the slow, steady downpour. Outside her windows the sky was gray and gloomy. A September steaminess filled the air, heat and moisture combining as it does only in the South. This was languid, lazy weather that sapped a person’s strength and induced sleepiness. Lane had promised herself that she would take a nap while Will was at school and Lillie Mae was at the grocery store. Quinn had taken a flight to Dallas three days ago to attend to some urgent business, and they didn’t expect him back until the weekend. So she and Johnny Mack were alone in the house.
Lane hadn’t been sleeping much at night, mostly tossing and turning as she thought about her upcoming trial. Less than two weeks away. And they were no closer to discovering Kent’s real murderer than the police were to apprehending a suspect in Johnny Mack’s shooting. To hear Buddy Lawler tell it, the shooter might as well have been a ghost, for all the evi
dence he had left. Not one clue, except the bullets taken from Johnny Mack’s body. Identified as .30 caliber, 180 grams, the bullets, according to ballistics tests, had been fired from a bolt-action Remington 700. An Alabama deer hunter’s weapon of choice. T. C. Bedloe had commented that the shooter must have been an experienced gunman to have gotten off two shots so quickly. Of course, in a town where over half the men were avid hunters, that didn’t narrow the field much.
During the two weeks since Johnny Mack’s return home from the hospital, she had smothered him with tender, loving care, and Lillie Mae had pampered him like a baby. Trying to deal with a man accustomed to living an active life, who had suddenly been forced into inactivity, was like attempting to tame a wild beast. He growled and grumbled and often roared with rage. Lane understood that a great deal of his frustration centered on her—the fact that he had yet to accomplish his objective and save her from standing trial for a murder she hadn’t committed.
Of course, they were all worried about Will and concerned about his determination to remember everything that had happened the day Kent died. He had undergone three hypnosis sessions the week when Johnny Mack was in the hospital, but when all three attempts failed to erase the last fragments of his amnesia, Dr. Agee had suggested taking a break. She had told them that Will was pushing himself too hard. And Lane knew why. Not only was her son desperate to save her, but he believed that if he could remember the person he’d seen hiding in the shrubbery the day of Kent’s death, then they would discover not only Kent’s murderer, but the identity of the man or woman who had shot Johnny Mack.
One good thing had come from the shooting—Will had been spending more time with his father, and the two were growing closer with each passing day. Only yesterday, she had walked past Johnny Mack’s room, where father and son were playing chess, and she had overheard Will say, “I’m glad you’re my father and not Kent.” She had gone straight to the bathroom and cried.
To make matters worse, the sexual tension between Johnny Mack and her hadn’t lessened any simply because he was recuperating from surgery. She suspected that his mood would improve if he could release some of his pent-up energy. She knew for a fact that if she could be with him, make love with him and fall asleep in his arms, she could finally get some much-needed rest.
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