by C. J. Thomas
The line filled with static at the sound of his sigh. “Kelly, you’re going to have to give me more time. It’s five years old and no labs combed for evidence at the time of the incident.”
“I visited the place the accident occurred.”
“And what did you find?”
I paused. “Nothing.”
“I don’t want to sound insincere here, but unless there is a confession—”
“There already has been a confession.”
Mark sighed again. “Not one on record.”
“Then ask Madam.” When he didn’t respond, I knew he hadn’t. “Have you even brought it up with her?”
A sound traveled through the line that made me picture Mark running a hand over his head. “She’s lawyered up, Kelly. It’s going to take time.”
“Right.” I felt my face flush red. “Time.”
“You know how these things work.”
“And I also know that the reason cold cases go unsolved for so long is because the only effort made by you assholes is when the media gets hold of a story and puts pressure on you to work.”
The front door opened. Heels clacked over the floor. I heard Giselle set her things down at her desk.
“Look, Kelly, it’s on our radar. We’re not discrediting anything yet.”
“Discrediting? Who said anything about discrediting?” I bared my teeth and flexed my neck. “The woman murdered my family, Agent.”
“We’re doing everything we can. Trust the process. You of all people should understand it best.”
I slammed the receiver down into the cradle, hanging up. “Fuck you,” I spat before finding Giselle leaning into my doorframe.
“Angelina Davis left a message.” She held up a small square of paper. “Blake Stone needs to speak with you. She said it was urgent.” Giselle stepped forward and handed me the transcribed notes she had taken.
“Fuck me. Is no one patient anymore?”
“Do you want an answer?” She folded her arms, raised a brow, and glanced to the phone. “Where do we stand, Kelly? Are we still moving forward with Stone? Because my inventory assessment tells me that his files were taken, too.”
I stared out the window long enough to have my vision blur into a solid bright light. Realizing my office, work, and life weren’t what they’d once been, I said, “I’m not sure.”
“Then while you figure that out, how about some good news?”
I rolled my neck to meet her eye.
“I got to work on Kendra’s dismissal. Without Madam’s funding, the litigation would be too costly for her family to continue with the case. I filed the motion to dismiss this morning. I think it’s safe to tell her that she can stop worrying about it.”
“I’ll let her know,” I said to the sound of tires squealing outside.
We both turned our heads as soon as the front door rattled on its hinges. Standing, I prepared myself for the next surprise marching directly for us.
Wes stared at Giselle without greeting.
Narrowing my eyes, I studied the grave expression masking his face. He was alone and, sensing his need for privacy, Giselle found a reason to excuse herself. Wes shut the door and turned to me.
Locking eyes, I knew it was serious.
Without saying a word, he stomped over to the wet bar near the library and began slamming cabinet doors open and shut. His skin glistened beneath the light and I could feel his frustration seeping through his pores. “Don’t you have any alcohol here?” His head whipped around. “Right. You don’t drink.”
I watched him pace uncomfortably around the office before lowering myself back into my chair. “I’m surprised you didn’t call.”
“I had my lawyer with me.” His deep blue eyes flicked to the empty chair across from where I sat.
That wasn’t what I meant, but okay, I thought. “Tell me what happened.”
Wes sat. “What do you think happened? I spent the entire night answering questions.”
“Since you’re here now, I assume no charges were filed.”
He scowled. “They know, Kelly.” Tipping forward, he brought his hands to my desk. “The questions they were asking me,” he shook his head, “they know Maria was killed at Mint.”
I steepled my hands beneath my chin and took a moment to think. As my thoughts rounded the track, I couldn’t tell Wes that the FBI asked Kendra about Maria without spooking him even more. Maria had been at Mint because Nash took her there. We all knew that, and it was safe to say the FBI did, too.
“There is no evidence,” I said. “They have nothing.”
Falling back in his seat, Wes shook his head. “Too many people know too much.”
“Stick to the script.”
“I did,” he sneered. “As far as I know, we all are.” He lowered his eyes and looked at me from beneath a sunken brow. “There’s something else Kelly…”
My heart slowed to a crawl.
“Nash isn’t answering his phone. We have to assume the cops have him now. We never told him what happened, what our script was, how the story needs to be told.”
As self-doubt scurried up my ribcage, I said, “He’ll keep his mouth shut.” But even I didn’t believe the sound of my own voice.
“Let’s hope that he does,” Wes raised a brow, “because I don’t know how much more of this shit I can take.”
20
Kendra
I sat in my car and stared at the house from across the street.
Dr. Hall suggested I move on. It was sound advice. Something I had to do. But that wasn’t why I was here. There was more to it than simply asking to be forgiven.
Pinching my bottom lip between my fingers, I blinked and continued to stare.
There was no movement inside. The curtains drawn. The grass still dead as dirt. I didn’t even know if my father was alive or not. There had been so much effort to keep me from seeing him, I began to doubt his existence at all.
I was hit with the same thought. Dad was dead and Mom was keeping him home because she was afraid to let go of her husband of so many years. It was a sick, disturbing thought, though seemed plausible.
Shaking the thought free, I’d read of weirder shit happening. It couldn’t be possible, could it? Why would Mom lie about his condition and offer me to visit with him if he was dead?
The minutes ticked by.
Time passed.
And, soon, thoughts of my parents were replaced with Dr. Hall.
A part of me wanted to make our sessions about my relationship with Kelly. Dr. Hall had other plans. She kept steering me back to my parents as if she secretly knew what my childhood was like. Alex could have told her. She was one of the few people who knew about my early triggers that started me on this journey of self-preservation.
I tapped my foot and kept my glare on my parents’ front porch.
If it was true, Alex should have given me the heads-up a friend deserves. How did she know? I kept asking myself. How did Dr. Hall know? Maybe Alex had shared only enough to guide Dr. Hall, knowing that nothing would happen until both my parents and I faced the truth.
My leg stopped rocking.
That had to be it. It was the only thing that made sense.
I wanted to put this to rest as much as anybody else. Tell both my parents how much they had hurt me and let me down when not coming to my defense. I was just a girl. My innocence stripped. My one chance at childhood ruined.
My brow furrowed with a mixture of anger and sadness.
Realistically, I didn’t expect much to come of it. Mom had already proved to not want to listen to what I had to say. She was more concerned about the money I had, and what Marvin was bringing home, than to make amends with her estranged daughter.
When my cell started ringing, I snapped out of my thoughts and glanced to the screen. Kelly. Feeling my heart jump, I couldn’t answer. Not now. The timing was bad. I needed to keep my game face on and not be distracted what I knew would be waiting for me after.
“Fuck th
is.” I dropped my cell into my purse and swung the car door open.
Crossing the street, I marched up to the front door with enough attitude to supply two teenage girls with the fire power to take on an entire school.
I wasn’t sure what I was hoping to achieve by coming here, or if I wanted to be polite and knock first or just kick down the door and come in, guns blazing.
Suddenly, I remembered I forgot something in the car.
Cursing, I turned back to the car and skipped across the street before diving into the back seat. Taking the two bags of groceries I had bought before coming, it was the least I could do to hopefully make Mom listen. An apology of sorts.
With the news of Oscar’s and Madam’s arrests, I was sure Mom would be happy to know I was okay. But I also feared that she would make the conversation about herself. Which was fine, to an extent. If she needed to vent, I promised to listen. Then it would be my turn to talk. I was trying to be a better person. Trying.
Mom had the door opened by the time I turned back around.
I froze in my tracks.
Mom’s disgusted face was one she’d wear if she’d just stepped in gum without shoes on. Her arms were crossed and her brows slanted with mild disbelief.
Shaking off her glare, I strode up to her with arms extended.
“What’s this?” she asked.
I glanced to the bags of food. “A peace offering.”
With her boney finger pulling back one side of a bag, she peeked inside. Twisting into the house, she didn’t mention anything else about the food. “The news has been talking nonstop about this woman called the Madam.” She paused to see how I would react. “And the district attorney.”
She was so predictable, I thought as I set the bags down on the kitchen counter. I glanced into the sink where dirty dishes sat unwashed. “Yeah, I heard. Pretty unbelievable, right?”
Mom flashed a knowing look. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
I turned my head away with a hardening stomach. Wiping my nose, I turned back to face Mom. “You were right.”
Mom’s brows raised. Her expression pinched.
“I did some bad things and now I’m paying the price for them.” I wasn’t sure what I expected her to say, but I thought she would at least say something. When she didn’t, I asked, “Has Marvin paid any bills recently?”
Mom’s eyes slowly cast to the table.
I was still curious to learn his fate, if he would get caught up in the sweep of Madam’s operation. I hoped he would, if only to receive his much overdue karma. Not to mention the security it would afford me.
Mom glanced to the calendar hanging on the fridge. Squinting her aged eyes, she muttered, “He still has a week before they’re due.”
I moved to the empty chair next to her and gripped the back of it. “Have you seen him lately?”
“What’s with all the questions?” Mom spat defensively. “What do you care, anyway?”
“Mom, he’s your brother.” I pretended to care.
“And suddenly you have nice things to say about him?” Mom glanced at me sideways.
“You’re right. I don’t. Sorry for asking about your life.” I turned back to the counter and began unloading the groceries, thinking how Mom could ask more about my life.
“He’s seeing some woman. Can’t say I approve, but you know how men are.”
Lifting my head, I murmured, “Yeah, I do.” Then I turned back to Mom with a hand on my hip. “Mom, I wasn’t the only one involved with the Madam and DA.”
Mom gave me funny look.
“Your brother was, too.”
She flapped her hand and brayed like a horse. “You should have been a writer with the stories you tell.”
I smirked. “The reason I’m telling you this, Mom, is if he was, then his cash flow will dry up now that his employer is behind bars.”
“We’ll cross that bridge if,” Mom gave me a stern look, “that time comes.”
I floated across the floor and fell into the chair next to her. Resting my hand over hers, she quickly pulled back, crunching her eyebrows. “What will you do then? How will you pay your bills?”
Mom’s brow twitched. “If you’re waiting for me to beg for money, I won’t.”
“Because you’re expecting to get it through the courts?” A wave of heat traveled up my neck.
“When you decide to be part of this family again, then maybe you would understand its finances.”
Shaking my head, I couldn’t look at her. I was already arguing with her inside my head. It was only a matter of time before I said something I would later regret. After inhaling a couple deep breaths, I turned and faced my mother once again. “I’d like to see Dad.”
Mom held my stare for a long pause before saying, “I’m glad you asked. After the night you didn’t show, I thought you didn’t care.”
“I care, Mom.”
Raising her chin, Mom stood. “Uh-huh.”
Pushing my chair back, I stood with a light head. I’d waited so long for this moment, and Mom’s agreeing to let me see him seemed entirely too easy for there not to be a hidden agenda waiting to surprise me. But as I followed her to the back of the house, I kept my mouth shut.
Mom stopped in front of the closed bedroom door. She turned to look at me. Blood pulsed in my ears as I stood wide-eyed, nervous flutters rolling across my stomach. Then, without another word, Mom twisted the handle and pushed the door open.
Dad lay in the twin bed near the window. His skinny legs stuck out from beneath the same white sheets his knobby knees made into tiny hills. Though they didn’t move, his toothpick arms flanked his sides. Dad was rail-thin, his muscles all but gone. Inside, I felt my heart break. I wanted to cry. I would have if it weren’t for his bright, alert eyes watching my every move.
Swallowing back the notch in my throat, I suppressed all my feelings of empathy, knowing damn well he didn’t deserve my compassion.
I flipped around and glanced to Mom.
Her head nodded once.
It wasn’t a spoof. Mom hadn’t lied. And, for her honesty, I gave a small smile of appreciation before flipping my eyes back to the man I’d come to see.
Dad wasn’t anything like I remembered. Even his appearance was barely recognizable. The ventilator where the nightstand had once stood was keeping him alive. The IV gave him the nourishment to keep from going stale. It almost seemed fake. Staged in a studio.
I padded in tiny steps to the edge of the bed and raked my fingers over the cotton sheets. Now I understood the cost of his care. Every beep from the machine was like a cash register tallying up the bill.
“You can talk to him,” Mom’s small voice said from behind. “He can hear you.”
Facing Mom, I asked, “Can he talk back?”
There was only a heavy weariness in her eyes. Nothing else. All her initial emotions drained as she watched her husband deteriorate before her eyes.
“Not without the machine.” Mom glanced to a fancy computer screen on the far wall that read the movement of his eyes. “It’s slow. He doesn’t like it much. Takes forever to get out a single sentence.”
“Must be torture,” I whispered, loud enough for Dad to hear.
“Look, baby, it’s your daughter.” Mom stepped up to the bed, resting a hand on Dad’s leg. “She came to see you.” Mom patted his knee gently.
Dad’s eyes remained glued to me. There was the same wild spark he always had and, as I stared into his eyes, I realized how alike we were. My passion, drive, and need to rebel all came from him. I didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t real. He wasn’t real. Looking into his face was like having a ventriloquist come alive. It was sure to give me nightmares.
Dad gasped as he lips parted.
The machine that helped him breathe sucked and hissed.
Suddenly, the walls closed in. I couldn’t take it. It was all too much. I had to leave the room.
Running into the kitchen, I filled a glass with cold water and chugged it. By the t
ime I was filling a second cup, Mom had joined me.
“It’s not easy,” she said. “Now you see why his mother’s inheritance is needed.”
“Mom—”
“I’m bankrupt, Kendra. When he dies, all he’ll leave me with is a mountain of debt.” She crossed her arms and pursed her lips. “I need that money, child.”
Shaking my head, I said, “You don’t need it. I have it. It’s safe with me and I’m not going anywhere fast.”
“So, you will help?”
“Depends.”
Both of Mom’s eyebrows raised.
“I don’t want to be a charity.” I wet my dry lips, not believing what I was about to say next. “I want to be family again.”
Mom opened up a drawer. Pulling out an envelope, she handed it to me. “Your father wrote you a letter.”
Staring at my name scribbled against the white backdrop, I asked, “What does it say?
“Take it.” Mom pushed it into my palm. “Read it for yourself.”
Peeling my gaze up from my hand, I looked Mom in the eye.
“Then you can decide if you still want to be family or not.”
21
Kelly
Wes left the office with the speed of hurricane force winds.
The front door slammed shut, ringing loud like the shatter of thunder striking directly overhead.
I didn’t flinch. Instead, I sat wide-eyed behind my desk, cradling my chin inside one hand. My lungs squeezed, gasping for oxygen. Frozen stiff, it felt impossible to keep my fears contained. Wes was right. The FBI knew where Maria was killed.
I closed my eyes and squeezed my pulsing temples until my head hurt.
The FBI was working fast. Fishing for confessions, dropping hints suggesting hidden evidence. Anything to prove Maria’s body did in fact get moved.
My stomach curdled. I felt sick. Swallowing back the bile that kept rising, I kept shaking my head no. How could we have forgotten about Nash?
The twisting winds had stopped and, thinking the storm was over, we’d moved on. It was a mistake. Wes had more to lose than I did, but he was clearly making this more my problem than his. I couldn’t escape it. Couldn’t deny it. He was also right about too many people knowing too much about what really happened.