Secondhand Sinners

by Genevieve Lynne

  “You’re sick.”

  “Exactly.” He dropped her hand. “So how ‘bout you remember where that key is so I don’t get it in my mind that Jack would be better off in a burlap sack.”

  Any urge to cry was gone the instant Alan issued this last threat. She had no idea where his damn key was, wasn’t even sure there was one, but she would get Hoyt’s treasure for him if she had to rob the bank herself. It seemed impossible that a few hours ago she was in Miller’s house, looking through Daniel’s old things with Jack downstairs watching TV.

  Daniel’s old things. “Wait…I…” she closed her eyes and tried to visualize the contents of the box spilling out onto the bed as Miller dumped it out. Two arrowheads. A dozen or so beat-up Matchbox cars. A key. “There is a key.”

  “Now we’re talking. Where is it?”

  “It’s at Miller’s. It’s in a box of Daniel’s old belongings. I wonder if he’s still out counting the cattle?”

  “Let’s go.” Alan yanked Emily up by her wrist and pulled her to his car.

  The quick trip was barely enough time to say a prayer that Miller was still out. She didn’t want to see him, didn’t want to see anything or anyone that reminded her of how happy she had been only a few hours earlier. She’d see Miller and think of him helping Jack catch a fish, giving him a high-five, or carrying him up the stairs. Seeing Miller now would make her think of Jack, and if she thought of her missing son, she’d cry. She couldn’t cry. She refused to.

  When they got to Miller’s, Alan parked several yards away behind some trees and pulled Emily by her elbow up to the house. He unlocked the door with a key he had on his key chain. He must’ve seen the horrified look Emily didn’t even try to hide because he held up the key and smiled. “Sara had this made for me back when we were messin’ around.”

  “Have you been using it?”

  “Why the hell would I?”

  “You have a tendency for taking things that don’t belong to you.”

  “Yeah, well, Miller doesn’t exactly have quality goods, if you know what I mean.” He opened the door and put his hand on her back. “After you.”

  She stepped around him and went upstairs with Alan close behind. The box was still on Miller’s bed. She rummaged through the trinkets that once meant so much to her friend, but there was no key. She hadn’t imagined it, had she?

  “Well,” Alan asked from right behind her. “Where is it?”

  “I don’t know.” She dumped the contents of the box out onto the bed and tried to hide her growing panic by replacing each item one at a time. “It was here. I swear.”

  “No. No. No.” Alan started pacing the same path Miller had paced earlier when he said he wanted to talk about Abby.

  Oh, God. Abby.

  He had wanted to talk about Abby. He was going to tell her the truth.

  “What the fuck is this, Emily?” He picked up a baseball bat that was standing in the corner and pointed it at her. “A trick?”

  “What? No!”

  “You’re lying. You lied to me to get me out here to Miller’s. Where is he? Hiding…waiting for a moment I’m not on guard? He threatened to kill me once.”

  “How could I have coordinated anything with Miller? You took my phone, remember?”

  He kept coming at her with the tip of the bat pressing on her chest. She retreated until her back hit the wall behind her, keeping her from going any farther. Pinned. Trapped.

  Keep talking.

  “Even if I had a chance to talk to him somehow, you think I’d let him kill you when you’re the only person in the world who knows where my son is?”

  With his hands on each end, Alan laid the bat against her shoulders and pressed so hard she knew that a little movement on her part or exertion on his would break her collarbone. He leaned in and whispered, “I’m gonna get something out of you today. If you refuse to tell me where the key is…” He pressed up against her, and she could feel the hard bulge in his pants. The sick bastard was actually getting off on hurting her. “There’s only one other thing I could possibly want from you.” For the second time that day, he forced a kiss on her, forced her mouth open, forced her to shut down the part of herself that would never allow such an act of intimacy with someone so full of hate.

  When a car door slammed outside, he stopped. “Sounds like your lover boy is home. You move one muscle, you make one peep,” he whispered, “and I’ll let your kid rot to death. Got it?”

  She didn’t answer because that would require moving a muscle or making a peep, and she believed him.

  “Good girl.” He backed away from her, took a practice swing with the bat and left the room.

  She didn’t know who was stronger, but she knew a fight was coming. All Emily could do was stand against that wall and pray Miller wouldn’t be too caught off guard. As soon as the sounds of a struggle broke out, she’d go down there and help Miller. She’d find a gun, a knife or another baseball bat.

  There was no sound of a struggle, though. She was starting to get worried, unnerved by the silence until Alan said, “Well, well, well. Today must be my lucky day.”

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Miller

  Miller pulled out of his driveway, cursing himself for not getting that receptionist’s name or phone number. He could have saved himself this trip back to the hospital. He’d wasted too much time already trying catch up to Alan. Hopefully this Capricorn, whatever her name was, cared more about her horoscope than her job.

  He’d just left the property and had passed the Cutbirth Farms sign when his phone rang. It was Abby. He answered it. “Everything okay?”

  “Peachy,” a man’s voice drawled out in a long, agonizing taunt.

  “Who is this? How did you get—”

  “I’m hurt, Miller. We’ve known each other for too long for you not to recognize my voice.”

  Alan? Miller’s voice failed him as fear took over. His mouth was too dry. His heart was pounding too hard.

  “How…why…let me talk to Abby.”

  “I’m told you’re in possession of a key that used to belong to Hoyt.”

  “Yeah. So?” He pulled over to the side of the road and put his truck in park. He stuck his hand in his pocket. It wasn’t there. Where was it? What’d he do with it? He’d dropped it into that bag from the hardware store and then he…oh hell. Where did he put that bag?

  “I want it. Now.”

  “I can bring it to you. I need a little time, though.”

  “Finally, some cooperation.”

  “I’ll bring it to you if you let me talk to Abby.”

  “You’re such a shithead. You’ll bring it to me even though I’m not going to let you talk to Abby. If you don’t put it in my hand within the next fifteen minutes, I’ll be even more annoyed than I am right now.”

  “I have to find it. I’m pretty sure I know where it is. It’s probably gonna take more than fifteen minutes.”

  “Tell ya what. You’ve given me so many gifts lately that I—”

  “Gifts? What gifts?”

  “First you starred in that rather ridiculous, though incriminating video in the jail. Then you didn’t even put up a fight when I made Emily come with me. Now you practically handed your daughter over to me—all of which have helped me get closer and closer to getting what I want. So I’ll wait an extra ten minutes to give your daughter the same kind of treatment I’ve been giving to Emily. When you’ve got it, come to the front door where I can keep an eye on you. I’ll send Emily out.”

  The pounding in his ears was back, and now his hands were shaking. “What kind of treatment?” he asked, but Alan had hung up. A moment later he got a text message. It took a few seconds for it to register that he was looking at a picture of Emily. Alan was holding her chin and tilting her head at the right angle to show she had a black eye and a busted lip.

  “Oh shit.”

  He hopped out of his truck and looked in the bed. The box of screws and drill battery were sca
ttered around. The bag was gone. It must have flown out when the screws and battery slid out of it. If he was lucky, the bag was somewhere along the road. If he was really lucky, the key was still in it.

  He got back behind the wheel and drove five miles an hour down the center of the road because the bag could have flown out on either side. Thank God it wasn’t busy and the few people he encountered simply honked at him and kept going. After a mile, he pulled over again. This was a waste of time. He’d been all over town, and to trace his path like this would take hours. Where was the most likely place along this old, beat-up street that would jostle the bag enough to push the screws and battery out? Probably over by the water tower where that damn pothole was. It had been there so long he hardly even noticed anymore when he drove over it.

  When he got back on the road, he drove faster this time, though not so fast he couldn’t scan the shoulders for the bag. He thought he found it wrapped around a mile marker, but it was an old Walmart bag. He got back in the truck and checked the time. Ten minutes had already passed. When there was no traffic, the water tower was a good ten minutes away from home, which meant he had a little more than five minutes to find that bag and get the key. He drove faster. Three minutes later he was at the railroad crossing, waiting for the world’s slowest train to go by. Six minutes later he found the bag. Seven minutes later the key was in his pocket and he was on his way home. He called Abby’s phone.

  “I’ve got it. I’m on my way.”

  “Tick, tock,” Alan taunted. “Don’t forget we’re keeping the police out of this.” He hung up.

  When Miller pulled up to his house, Emily came out and waited for him on the front porch. She looked worse than he expected, probably because he couldn’t see her eyes in the picture. Her eyes told the whole story. She was terrified.

  “Am I too late?” he asked, fishing the key out of his pocket. “Did he hurt Abby?”

  Her hand shook as she took the key from him and whispered, “No. Abby’s okay. Jack’s not.”

  “What’d he do to Jack?”

  “He knocked me out, and when I came to, Jack was gone.”

  “Does he have a gun?”

  She nodded.

  “Where’s Jack?”

  “He won’t tell me where he is until after we get Hoyt’s money.”

  “Hoyt doesn’t have money.”

  “Apparently he’s had a safe deposit box at the bank in town since we were teenagers, and whatever’s in there, he called it his treasure. Alan’s determined to get it before Hoyt dies. Miller, please find Jack. He’s gotta be around here somewhere. I don’t think I was out for too long.”

  What he wanted to do was stay nearby for Abby.

  When he hesitated, Emily said, “I’ll take care of Abby. I won’t let Alan hurt her. I swear. Please find Jack for me.”

  “All right. Alan has a helper. I bet she has him.”

  “Oh my God!” She reached for Miller’s hand but stopped herself and looked over her shoulder briefly. She looked down and pushed a lock of hair behind her ears. “Thank you. I’m relieved to know he might be with someone.”

  “I have to find out where she lives. Has he been talking to anyone? Or texting?”

  She shook her head. “And he took our phones so we can’t talk.”

  “All right, you two,” Alan’s voice came from the open window by the door. “That’s enough.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Emily said quickly.

  “It’s okay.” He wanted to take her in his arms, pull her close to his chest and hold her. He didn’t dare touch her for fear of what Alan would do.

  “He has a key to your house. Sara gave it to him. I’m sorry I brought him here. I had to get the key and I thought you’d be working for hours. Abby—”

  “You didn’t know I’d bring Abby home early today. I’d have done the same thing. I’ll find Jack. Don’t worry.”

  “I’m sorry for everything else too,” Emily said, then she went back into the house.

  Sorry for everything else.

  Miller knew what Emily meant. He wished he had the chance to tell her he was sorry too. She disappeared behind the screen door only to have her image replaced by Alan’s.

  “Hey, Miller,” Alan called out.

  “Yeah?”

  “I see you still have the same bed.”

  Miller’s first impulse was to take the four or five steps he’d need to take to get to his front door, pull Alan outside, and beat him to a pulp. However, that wouldn’t get Jack back.

  “I see you got all your people skills from Hoyt,” he said instead.

  “I’m trying to get what’s mine.”

  “None of it’s yours, you asshole.”

  “If I even suspect you’ve called the police, I’ll beat your daughter.”

  “You got what you want from me. Let her go.”

  “Like I said, don’t call the police or I’ll beat your daughter. Now go away. Stay away.”

  Miller got the message. Abby was another piece of collateral for Alan, another layer of protection. While she must be terrified, he trusted Emily. She’d protect Abby. She’d protect her own daughter. He stepped off the porch and went to his truck. He sat for a minute, trying to decide what to do next. If only he had more time to talk to Emily, he could have gotten more information about Jack. Was he close by, somewhere on the property? Or did Jenny Abernathy come and take him? Whichever it was, he could waste a lot of time chasing after the wrong lead. He hadn’t even gotten a chance to tell Emily about her mom…or her dad.

  He drove around the corner, where he’d be out of Alan’s sight but still close enough that he could get back to the house in less than a minute. He opened the browser on his phone to Google Dr. Nichols. He pushed the call button and hoped the Capricorn was still feeling helpful.

  He recognized her voice when she answered, so he didn’t bother with pleasantries. “Did you find out where Jenny Abernathy lives?”

  She smacked her gum. “Huh?”

  “This is Miller Anderson. The man who needs help.”

  “Who?”

  “Capricorn. Horoscope.”

  “Oh yeah. No. The doctor has her file on his desk. I probably won’t be able to look at it until he goes home.”

  “When will that be?”

  “Five, I think.”

  “I can’t wait that long.”

  “Why don’t you check with Sunny Horizons?”

  “The nursing home?”

  “Yeah. She used to work there.”

  “Why didn’t you say that?”

  The Capricorn sighed. “You didn’t ask.”

  “All right. I’ll try that. If you could still look for that address, I’d really appreciate it. I’m sure karma would like it too.”

  “What?” The girl laughed. “Karma isn’t a person. It’s a mystical insight into divine nature.”

  “Oh yeah, I get that and my Aunt Carmen mixed up all the time.”

  “Huh?”

  “Nothing. Bad joke.” He hung up feeling more depressed despite the new information. Abby liked his bad jokes.

  ***

  At the nursing home, he parked crookedly and ran to the center of the building where the nurses’ station was. There was no one there.

  “Shit!”

  “Shh!” A woman in white scrubs stepped out of a room.

  “I’m looking for some information about a young lady who used to work here.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “What kind of information?”

  “An address. A phone number would be good. An address is what I really need.”

  She nudged past him and took a seat at the station. “Like I’d tell some crazy man with a foul mouth.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s an emergency.”

  She cocked her head and squinted at him. “You’d be surprised what people try an’ pass off as an emergency ‘round here.”

  “Please. My daughter’s in danger.”

  “Jasmine? Jazz?” The lady called out
over Miller’s shoulder.

  Jasmine backed into the hallway pulling a cart. “Lord have mercy, Marie. Whatcha tryin’ ta’ do? Wake the dead?”

  “Someone’s here to see ya. He’s looking for an address.”

  Jasmine walked up to the nurses’ station with her hands on her hips. “You again? What in the Sam Hill are you doin’ back here looking like a maniac with no more sense than God gave a jackass?”

  “I need some information on Jenny Abernathy.”

  She looked Miller up and down. “Mmmhmm. Sounds to me like—” A loud metallic crash came from one of the rooms down the hall. “If that’s Ms. Violet again, I swear to the Pope, himself—” A light on the call panel started to flash. She threw her hands up in the air. “Sweet Jesus!”

  She started down the hallway, motioning for Miller to follow. “Well c’mon. It ain’t like you haven’t seen ‘er outta her mind b’fore.”

  Miller followed Jasmine into Violet’s room, remaining in the doorway.

  “What are you doin’ now?” Jasmine asked Violet as she bent down to pick up a metal tray and the debris that was scattered around on the floor.

  Violet sneered. “God you’re fat.”

  “I swear, Ms. Violet.” Jasmine put the tray on the dresser, out of Violet’s reach. “Some days I wish I was a Catholic. Then I’d know what saint to pray to b’fore I walked in here.”

  “How do you know my name? Where am I?”

  “You’s in the home, Ms. Violet. I’m takin’ care of ya.”

  “No. No. No.” Violet pulled her sheet over her head. “I ain’t in the home. I ain’t in the home. He said I was finished. I ain’t in the home.”

  “No, Miss Violet, not your home. You’s at the Sunny Horizons Nursin’ Home.”

  “No. No. No,” Violet repeated. “He said I was finished. I ain’t in the home. I ain’t in the home.”

  Something in the room started to beep. Fast.

  “What’s wrong with her?” Miller asked.