She said that to Joe now, that Darren was well respected in the community. “He’s the head baseball coach at the junior high. Roy was telling me the other day how he’s turned the team around, that because of him they’ve won a state championship the past five years in a row.”
“Interesting,” Joe said.
“Why? You say he’s a person of interest. I’m not sure I know what that means. Is there evidence connecting him to these murders?”
“No, nothing confirmed. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything, at least not until I had the facts. Let me look into it some more, and I’ll call you if I find anything.”
Emily bit her lip. “I don’t know how I can ever thank you.”
“No, none of that now. I’m not even sure there’s anything helpful here. You realize these cases are Lincoln County’s business. Working in Houston/Harris County, I’ve got no jurisdiction, no influence and damn few friends up there.”
“That’s just it. I feel as if you’re risking your job, and I don’t know how I’d live with myself if you lost it.”
“You let me worry about that. You said Tucker and Coe aren’t friends, is that right?”
“I don’t think so, but honestly, I’m not sure.” She remembered when Tucker was younger how she’d done everything she could to discourage their association. After the incident with Holly, Darren stopped coming around, and she’d been relieved. She couldn’t remember now the last time she’d seen him.
“Well, just in case, tell Tuck to stay away from Coe, okay? The guy’s bad news, for one thing, and for another, he’s got an uncle who’s a deputy sheriff on the force up there. He’s the kind of guy—” He stopped.
Emily heard static, a voice, a staccato burst of words that sounded as if it was coming from Joe’s police radio. He came back in a moment and said he was sorry, he’d have to call her later, and that quickly he was gone. She clicked off her cell phone, wondering at his mention of Darren Coe, feeling troubled by it.
She felt the same sense of helpless aggravation she’d struggled with when Miranda was alive and causing Tucker so much heartbreak. Darren had manipulated Tucker, too, and bullied him, and Emily’s attempts to intervene, to guide Tucker away from Darren, had been as ineffective and frustrating as the ones she’d employed in Miranda’s case.
The experts claimed that under the right conditions everyone was capable of murder. But it would take more than the right conditions, wouldn’t it? A murderous person would have a certain kind of personality, Emily thought. They would have an aura, a darkness at their center, something almost tangibly evil. The sort of twisted deviancy she had sensed in Darren Coe even as a child with his smiling ways and slippery tongue. And whatever the pathology was, it would have grown up now, wouldn’t it, in the man?
9
“SO, YOU HAVE a sinus infection, and Dr. White thinks it’s stress related?” Evan wasn’t buying it; Lissa could tell from his voice.
Keeping her cell phone to her ear, she rested her head against the truck seatback. She was still parked in front of Dr. White’s office. It was lunchtime and people were deserting the building. They were like ants, streaming across her view, threading their way to their cars.
“What was his advice? Drugs, meditation? A gas mask?”
“He gave me a prescription to take care of my sinuses,” she answered. “He said too much stress can weaken your immune system.” At least this part was true. Dr. White had really said that.
“Where are you?” Evan asked.
“I’m headed your way.”
“You told him you fainted a couple of weeks ago, right?”
“I did.” She caught her lip. She should say she had passed out again, and she would tell him, later, when they were home together.
“Well, is stress to blame for that, too?”
“It could be. He took some blood to see if I’m anemic or something. He didn’t seem all that concerned.” Lissa caught her glance in the rearview mirror and looked away.
“When will you get the results?”
“A few days. Cathy said she’d call.”
Lissa could have filled the small pocket of silence that opened between them with the rest of everything that Dr. White had said, but she didn’t. Instead, she held her breath against the words and the tears that were packed behind her eyes, and when she could trust her voice, she said, “Have you heard from Tucker?”
“Wonder of wonders, he’s picking up the floor tile for your studio.”
“He got his car back?”
“Yeah. Your mom dropped him off at the shop. The alternator was out.”
“Evan?”
“What, babe?”
The words, the ones that would convey another of Dr. White’s suspicions about what ailed her, were still stacked against her teeth like small stones, but she couldn’t say them. Instead, she blurted out, “I talked to Detective Sergeant Garza,” which was the second in a list of items better left unspoken.
“What? Why?” he asked. “Did she come to the house?”
“No,” Lissa admitted. “I went to her office before I came for my appointment.”
“I thought you were at the Merrills’.”
She closed her eyes. The Merrills. The first of the three lies she’d told Evan and all of them in one day. “I know. I’m sorry, but I didn’t want to tell you before because I knew what you’d say.”
“That talking to the cops was a mistake?”
She didn’t answer.
“It’s hard,” Evan said. “I know it is. You just want to defend Tuck, and so do I, but you need to stay out of it, Liss.”
She rubbed her temple, thinking about Sonny Cade, her intention to see him. Evan would be against that, too. “I don’t think Detective Garza paid much attention to what I said, anyway. She seemed more interested in whether Miranda ever talked to me about Todd Hite. It turns out she really was working undercover.”
“You’re kidding. Wait until Tuck hears.”
“It’s crazy, isn’t it?”
Evan laughed. “Yeah, you could say that,” and then he paused, and Lissa knew why, that he was unwilling to speak ill of the dead, to say what he’d said before Miranda was murdered, that she was the reason blonde jokes were invented. But maybe he was wrong about her; maybe they all were, and there was more to Miranda, more to her life, than they gave her credit for.
“It gives Hite one hell of a motive to murder her, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, but how does that explain Jessica? She was murdered the same way, found in nearly the exact same place.”
“Could be two different killers.”
“I don’t see the police looking at anyone but Tucker. What if they never do and he ends up getting arrested? I can’t let that happen.” She waited for a response, more argument, a solution. “Ev?”
“We’ll get a lawyer, or a detective, someone who knows what they’re doing.”
“With what, Evan? We don’t have the money—” She stopped, conscious again of her fear and the cold, irrefutable fact that Tucker was in danger, real danger. The police went after the wrong man all the time. Innocent people ended up in prison; they ended up on death row. Her brother could— She bit the inside of her cheek, afraid she might scream.
Evan said they shouldn’t get ahead of themselves, that they’d find the money if they had to, and it was the sound of his voice more than his words that calmed her. “We’ve got no reason to believe the cops won’t get it sorted out, and this’ll blow over.”
“Garza wants Tucker to let them look inside his car,” she said.
“She should get a warrant, then.”
“What if I made it worse for him?”
“I doubt that you could. What if Jessica was part of the same sting operation? Did Garza say? If these women we
re police informants, it seems to me there’d be no end of suspects.”
“Listen to us, Ev. You’re using words like sting operation and police informant. We sound like a cop show on TV. How? Stuff like this doesn’t happen to people like us.”
Evan was silent. What could he say? That they were the exception? That maybe they’d get their fifteen minutes on 48 Hours or Dateline? But now it occurred to Lissa that Sonny Cade, in his capacity as a police officer, might know about the sting operation. He might know how Miranda was involved and whether or not Jessica had also been a part of it. The more Lissa thought about it, the more she felt there had to be a connection between their murders and that police action. If anyone could confirm that, it was Sonny. She had to talk to him. She started to say something about Sonny to Evan—she wanted to know what he thought—but he was talking about lunch, and it was fine, really. Better, in fact, to wait until after she saw Sonny to say anything. “I’d love to meet you somewhere,” she said.
“Me, too, but I’m at the site, waiting for the painters. Carl showed up, too, finally.”
“Really? Is he over his snit?”
“Seems to be. He says they’ll make the deadline if he has to work his guys overtime. He damn sure should since Roy tacked on the five percent.”
“It’s going to be hard to recoup that. I wish Dad hadn’t done it.”
“Yeah, but maybe he’s right, and it’ll light a fire. The faster we can get these models ready for the opening, the faster we can get potential buyers in here and start making money instead of spending it.”
“When I talked to Mom earlier, she said he was gone to the lake house. Whatever you said to him last night, Mom thinks it made a difference.”
“He’s just scared, Liss. I think since he retired he’s got too much time on his hands.”
“Hmm.” Lissa traced the lower arc of the steering wheel with her fingertip.
“Things haven’t exactly turned out for him the way he thought they would, or the way he wanted. We should cut him some slack.”
Lissa’s throat narrowed, and she blinked away a fresh threat of tears. She was turning into a regular crybaby, she thought.
“Babe? You there?”
“Yep,” she managed.
“What’s wrong?”
She thought of everything she could say, and then said the only thing that made sense to her. “I just love you so much. My family is so weird, but you take it in stride.” She laughed.
Evan didn’t. “They’re my family, too, you know. Your dad especially has done a lot for me. He went out on a limb for me.”
“I know, Ev, but still.” Lissa ran her finger along the steering wheel. She wouldn’t argue because it was true; she wouldn’t say out loud that it rankled that Evan felt so beholden. Sometimes she resented it, too, that her dad and Evan were so close. They shared an understanding that Lissa couldn’t. But even more, it hurt Tucker. He was the real son, the blood son, but of the two of them, her dad favored Evan. She knew why; she knew her brother wasn’t half the man Evan was. Tucker would never be as grounded; he lacked Evan’s discipline and quiet, inner strength. It wasn’t that Tucker didn’t try. Sometimes he tried too hard. Her dad tried, too. When he’d offered to pay for Evan’s night classes at the University of Houston, he’d offered Tucker the same deal, but Tucker had flunked out there the same as he had at Texas Tech, even though Evan spent hours tutoring him. And Evan had gone on to graduate—with honors. It was the way Evan did everything—with honor.
“God knows where I would have ended up if it wasn’t for your dad giving me a job,” he said. “But I also know you guys had a rough time on his account—” Evan stopped.
Lissa heard his breath go out. Her dad was a complicated man. His heart was a mystery; Lissa seldom knew how he felt about things, about her. Loving him wasn’t easy, not for Evan, either. She started the truck, saying she’d meet Tucker at the house and help him unload the tile. “I don’t know how long it’ll take.” She was thinking of her intention to see Sonny, that she needed to give herself time. She would tell Evan afterward.
“Don’t forget to fill your prescription,” Evan said.
The nonexistent prescription. Was that lie number four? Lissa put the truck in reverse, but then set her foot on the brake when Evan asked if she’d seen that day’s newspaper. “No,” she answered. “Why?” She cut the ignition.
“There’s an article in the Metro section. It says the cops have a suspect, that an arrest is imminent.”
“What? Why didn’t you tell me before? Is Tucker’s name mentioned? Does he know? What if he takes off again?”
“No one’s name is mentioned,” Evan said. “It probably doesn’t mean anything. That’s why I didn’t say anything.”
“Still, I better find Tucker and check on my folks. They’ll be thinking the worst.” There went her plan to stop by Sonny’s office, Lissa thought. But maybe her parents would be fine. Maybe Evan was right, and it was a false alarm.
“There might be reporters,” Evan said.
Lissa felt her hope flatten. She restarted the truck, promising Evan she would call if she needed him.
“It’s probably nothing,” he repeated.
But she thought, No. It was starting all over again.
10
EMILY AND ANNA spent Tuesday afternoon at the church sorting through clothing donations for the local battered women’s shelter, and while Emily was glad enough for the diversion, for the respite it gave her from the worry that darkened her mind, she was relieved when they were finished and could leave. She wasn’t as foolish as Roy thought; she knew she wasn’t welcome. Despite Anna’s protests that Emily was imagining the chill in the air, the reality was that their wider circle of friends—the ones Emily and Anna had, in the past, shared church socials, lunch dates and birthday parties with—had closed, leaving Emily outside its arc.
Because of Tucker.
None of her friends’ children had a habit of disappearing. They hadn’t fallen in with the wrong sort of people; they hadn’t grown up to distinguish themselves as murder suspects.
Not that anyone had brought it up, the fact that Tucker was under police scrutiny again. No one mentioned it or his or Jessica Sweet’s name, at least not in front of Emily. Still, she felt their scrutiny and enough of their judgment that she’d been provoked to the point of defending Tucker even if only to herself. Whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty? she had wanted to ask.
She was driving out of the church parking lot when Anna commented that everyone had seemed friendly enough.
Emily signaled a right turn at the corner, and said, “I called Joe this morning.”
“Really? How come?”
Emily changed lanes. “Roy wants me to put Tucker out of the house, and I’m not going to do it. If he wants him gone, he can see to it himself.”
“Good for you. Let him do his own dirty work.”
“Maybe he’s changed his mind. Maybe a day at the lake—”
“Why did you call Joe?”
Emily wished she hadn’t mentioned it. Now Anna would worry it to death. “What would you think if I told you I might move into the lake house when it’s finished?”
“I’d think you were crazy. What about your great-grandfather’s house? You wouldn’t sell it, surely.”
Emily felt the weight of Anna’s gaze, her consternation, and kept her attention on the road. “If Roy would give Tucker the chance he’s asking for...maybe. I don’t know....” Although in her heart she did know; she would do whatever it took to keep her family together.
A few blocks later, when Emily turned down Anna’s street, she slowed as she passed the house next door to Anna’s, a red-brick, Georgian colonial, where the McPhersons had once lived.
“Do you ever hear from Nat?” she asked Anna, peering
past her, at the house.
“Not in several years. I used to get a Christmas card, but no one seems to do that anymore.”
“I wonder how she and Benny are, how Holly’s doing, if they’re all right now.” If Nat has forgiven me... The conversation with Joe, recounting for him what had happened to Holly, had brought it all back.
Anna admitted that she wondered, too. When they were parked in her driveway, she said, “Come in for coffee.”
“All right,” Emily said, but even as she followed Anna into the kitchen, she felt the drag of reluctance. She didn’t necessarily want to talk to Anna about Joe or the McPhersons, and anyway, she still had grocery shopping to do. “I told Joe what happened with Holly,” she said, and it was as if none of her reservations was worth further consideration.
Anna turned from the cabinet, holding two mugs. “How did that come up?”
“He asked me if I knew Darren.” Emily brought the sugar bowl and spoons to the table and sat down.
“Why?”
“I’m not sure. The whole conversation was sort of strange.” Emily realized the truth of this. She met Anna’s glance. “He said I should tell Tucker to stay away from Darren.”
“But they’re not still friends, are they?”
“I didn’t think so, but now I wonder. Why would Joe say that?”
Anna filled the mugs and brought them to the table. “Just hearing the name Darren Coe makes a knot in my stomach. When I think of what he did to Holly and then turned around and acted like he was the injured party, the poor, suffering victim. It kills me that people fell for it, that they still fall for his act. It’s as if he walks on water in this town.”
“What if it turns out there’s a connection between him and these girls’ murders?”
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