“Oh, dear Jesus,” Debbie whispered. “Figures. I’ve always loved a bad boy. Good Lord, I think I’m going to need another beer. No, several.”
Merry reached over and gave a gentle pat on Debbie’s trembling arm. “Me, too.”
Mitch stood, pacing across the porch while smoking. “I didn’t want to believe it. Called the guy a liar. Told him he was full of shit. Asked him to give me time to investigate on my own, and if he was right, I’d get Derek help. He agreed since it happens so much on the job. Cops get addicted to a substance—or the money, even sometimes both. It’s not a surprise. The risk of abuse is another reason why most only work up to a max of two years in narcotics before rotating to another unit. Morrison gave me one month. So, I attached a tracking device on Derek’s truck. The night De’Shawn Majors died, Derek went to Memphis. Detective Morrison called me and said he saw him there. I logged in to check out Derek’s location and was shocked to see not only had he been to Memphis but was parked in front of Mookie’s.”
Things were still fuzzy inside Merry’s head. It took her several seconds to soak up the words while she remembered the night at De’Shawn’s. To no one in particular, she mumbled, “Those were the headlights I saw.”
“What?” Debbie asked.
“I’ll explain later. Mitch, how did you end up at Tad’s?”
“Captain called me in first thing Thursday morning. Told me Derek called him late Wednesday night, drunk, and quit the force. Asked me to go check on him, which I did, but he wasn’t home. I called and sent several texts, but he never answered. Not until he sent me a text late last night. It simply said ‘coffee’s hot, need some ice’ and the address. It was our personal code for drug bust happening, weapons involved, and to arrive silently. I knew the second I read it things would be bad, but I was wrong. They were awful. Believe me I was shocked when I heard him confess. Really didn’t think he’d actually pull the trigger and kill the judge, but he proved me wrong.”
Debbie’s eyes widened. “Did you…are you…the officer who shot Derek?”
“Yes,” Mitch replied in a low whisper. He turned to face Merry. “I can’t even begin to express how sorry I am for that. The memory will haunt me the rest of my life, yet it pales in comparison to what awful images haunt yours.”
Locking gazes with Mitch, anger crept into Merry’s voice. “Don’t be. You were just doing your job, Mitch. Derek did this to himself. Ruined my life.” Merry paused to regain her composure. “I’m grateful the real monster responsible for Joshua’s death is dead.”
Debbie shook her head in disbelief while gulping down the remainder of her beer. “There are no words I can think of to capture how stunned I am. I mean, good God! We worked for what looks like to be one of the biggest crooks in the state! Never, in a million years, would I have ever suspected Judge Tompkins capable of this. Never. All this death—it’s just too surreal. I’ve got to be at home having a nightmare. I can’t even fathom how you must feel, sweetie. Must say, you’re handling the news better than I am!”
“Well, there’s a reason I seem sort of…off.” Casting a quick glance over to Mitch, Merry swallowed hard and cleared her throat. In a low monotone, she explained to them both something she’d only discussed with one other person—Dr. Cash.
When she finished forty minutes later, all three of them were crying.
23
10:00 a.m. Thursday morning
Debbie helped Merry finish getting ready for the funeral. The bouts with dizziness and balance, coupled with the raging migraines, occupied up to fifty percent of Merry’s days now. Though she hated admitting it, she needed assistance. Debbie had forced Merry to go see Dr. Cash on Monday, insisting she needed to hear the news from the doctor’s mouth, not Merry’s. He not only explained to Debbie what went wrong inside Merry’s brain, but also warned the inoperable glioblastoma in her frontal lobe had expanded—fast. The original prognosis of two months—which Merry surpassed three months ago—was whittled down to one week.
Fifteen minutes of tears—again—followed after they made their way out to Debbie’s car. In the parking lot of St. Vincent’s Memorial, the two friends tried in vain to comfort one another at the news.
Debbie had been by her side—just like Percy—ever since.
Merry dropped a makeup brush and squatted down to get it. Percy whined and nudged her head with his own. Debbie chuckled. “Guess it’s true what they say about dogs.”
Before Merry had a chance to reach out to steady herself, Debbie grabbed her hand and helped her up. “I’ve wondered the same thing. I mean, he took to me so quickly. Of course, he took to you right away and didn’t rip Mitch’s face off, so it could be he simply is a great judge of character.”
“I’m glad he likes me.” Debbie gave Percy’s head a gentle pat. “With him around, I won’t be so scared out here alone at night.”
“Nope. He’s a great companion. So, is it about time? I’m ready to get this atrocity over with. The thought of forcing myself to pretend I’m the heartbroken sister makes me nauseated. Galls me to no end to bury the bastard in our family’s plot. At least I won’t be faking it when I leave right after because of a headache. You did put in the obituary only a grave-side service, right?”
Debbie smiled. “Yes, sweetie. Got to say, I’m more concerned about the press. They’re going to hound you. This mess has been the opening story on every channel since last Friday.”
Unable to control her anger, Merry grumbled, “If they want to risk getting close to this mouth, let them. I’ll certainly give them an earful not fit for TV or print.”
“That you would my friend. Nobody can hold a candle to you when you’re all fired up. What did that one guy in high school call you when you slashed his tires after you caught him with that cheerleader?”
A snide grin appeared on Merry’s lips. “Maniacal Merry.”
“Yes! That’s it.”
Shooing Debbie from the bathroom, Merry moved to the bed and sat on the edge. “Mitch said he’d make sure to keep them out, so we should be good. He’s turned out to be quite a godsend throughout this whole thing. Feel sort of bad now considering how I felt about him before…and what I said to him that day in the living room.”
Debbie helped slide Merry’s shoes on. “Stop dwelling on something you can’t change. Besides, if you haven’t noticed he’s forgiven you, you’re blind. He’s been here every day!”
“Considering he was on paid leave while under investigation from the shooting, what else was he supposed to do?”
“He could have done a lot of things, none of which included being around you. Think about that. Enough about Mitch. Hey, at least we’ve been safe here. I mean, not one journalist has poked a nosey snout down your road.”
“That was my hope when I created the trust and bought this place. Hopefully, they never will, and you and Percy can live here in peace.”
“Damn, Merry! You promised me you wouldn’t make me cry today! I…still can’t believe you did this for me. I mean, you didn’t know all the particulars, the way things would work out…”
Merry grabbed both of Debbie’s hands, her gaze intense while she looked into the eyes of the kindest soul she’d ever encountered. “I can’t change the way our lives worked out my friend, and I’m so sorry Derek hurt you. Regardless of all the other things that happened, it didn’t matter at the time I made the decision. I knew I was dying, and my reason to buy this house was strictly based on you. I wanted your time left here to be tranquil and a daily reminder of better times. God knows the world is full of enough bad ones. I want you to enjoy the money and the house. There is enough cash to give you time to work full time on your art pieces so you can do your part to bring joy and beauty to an ugly world.”
Debbie dabbed her eyes with a tissue. “Remember all the times I said you were strong and amazing? I was wrong. You are the freakin’ Rock of Gibraltar. God, I can’t believe throughout all the turmoil in your life, you thought about me. I…love you so much.”
/>
Merry pulled Debbie close and hugged her, inhaling their friendship like it was sweet cologne. Her last act of kindness wasn’t even close to balancing the scales of other deeds, yet it felt marvelous.
***
Finished with her notes, Merry gathered them up along with two binders. She rose from the desk and made Percy stay in her room and then padded down the hallway toward the kitchen. She could hear Mitch rummaging around in the fridge.
“Hope I didn’t wake you.”
Merry motioned for Mitch to follow her out to the back porch. “You didn’t. Been working on something I need to give you. Sleep is my enemy these days.”
Once situated outside, Merry slid the binders across the table to Mitch.
“What’s this?”
“Before I tell you, I need to get a few things off my chest. First and foremost, I owe you an apology.”
“That tumor of yours really has messed with your thought patterns. You have that backward—I owe you…”
Merry held up her hand. “Stop and let me finish. I’m sorry for assuming you were the bad guy. In my quest for revenge, I’d already resigned myself to killing you, thinking you were next in line. Plus, I really never gave you much of a chance. Always assumed you were an ass.”
Mitch chuckled. “According to everyone else, I am.”
“That may be true in their world, but in mine it sure isn’t.” Merry paused and tried to focus on the right things to say. It was difficult considering the pounding inside her head. “I also owe you a debt of gratitude for keeping my deeds in the dark. Not many people would do that.”
Mitch scowled and shook his head. “You owe your brother for that gift. He made sure everything pointed to him as the killer and finagled things so I’d come out a hero cop. Too bad the last part was a waste of time since I quit.”
“You did? When?”
“Before the funeral. Couldn’t stomach being called a hero cop by the press or another minute around Detective Hudson without beating him to a bloody pulp. My captain tried to talk me out of it, but I was adamant. I’m done with law enforcement.”
“So, what’s next?”
Mitch sighed. “Not a clue.”
“You know, I didn’t decide to go on a killing spree simply because of a tumor in my head. I wanted justice for my son and husband. If my doctor ever found out what I’ve done, he would probably say the mass skewed my moral compass. Maybe, maybe not. Doesn’t really matter to me. What mattered, what drove me, was getting rid of as many dealers as possible. Do what I could in hopes another family didn’t go through the same pain. The drive is still inside me; unfortunately, my body has other ideas.”
Mitch let a small grin tug at the corners of his mouth. “You are one tough chick. I sure wouldn’t mess with you.”
“I used to be, but not anymore. I…don’t have much longer, Mitch. I can feel it. You know, the worst part about dying now is I haven’t been able to finish what I started. That’s where I hope you’ll come in.”
“Where I come in? What do you mean?”
Merry leaned closer and patted the binders. “Derek left me a lot of information about his supplier in Memphis. Personal information I doubt your detective friend even knows. The things inside these binders would make finding, and killing, the prick quite simple. More than anything, I want to do it. The harsh reality is I’m physically unable now.”
Because the justice gods are no longer smiling down on me. I’m too weak.
Mitch raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying what I think you are?”
Leaning back, Merry smiled. “I think the reason we never connected is because we’re alike. Both of us possess a dark side. A very dark side. I know your type, Mitch, because I’m just like you. Don’t you crave revenge for what happened to Derek? Want to slip your fingers around the neck of the bastard who he bought drugs from? Do your part—without any interference of the law—to rid the streets of dope, even if it’s short-lived?”
“It’s a big leap from cop to vigilante.”
“Yes, it is. If you decide to do it, all you need to know about your target is inside. There’s also three other items I wanted you to have, whether you make the jump to the dark side or not.”
“And they are?”
Merry pointed at the first binder. “One is Joshua’s journal. I want you to read it and understand just exactly what you’re fighting for. I wish I would have read through it sooner—things might have turned out differently if I had.” She stopped, swallowing the lump of tears in her throat. “One is a key to my storage unit at Store-N-Go off I-30. The other is this.”
Mitch stared at the keys in Merry’s trembling hand. “I don’t need a car, Merry…”
“These are to Joshua’s bike. Ownership papers are inside the binder. I’ve already signed it over to you. Now…” Merry’s voice failed.
Her throat clenched shut. Mitch’s face disappeared, replaced by blackness. Pain tore through her mind, worse than she’d ever felt. Unable to control her limbs, Merry crumpled to the ground. She heard Mitch yell for Debbie while he knelt by her side, his presence felt yet unseen.
“Hang on, Merry. We’ll get you to the hospital.”
Summoning the last bit of strength she possessed to fight off the death seizure, Merry whispered. “No. Let me go. Do this, Mitch. For Joshua.”
24
10:00 a.m. Saturday morning
“You okay?”
Debbie nodded, unable to speak. Her heart physically ached with overwhelming grief at the loss of her best friend. The funeral had been simple, intimate, and quaint, just as Merry had wanted. Though Debbie thought it morbid, she’d made sure the tombstone was engraved with the exact phrase Merry requested: And Justice For All. Reading it as she placed a fresh bouquet of roses next to the marker made her queasy. Debbie hadn’t spoken since the last handful of dirt was placed over Merry’s grave.
“Looks like Percy is happy to see you,” Mitch remarked as the big dog licked Debbie’s hand. “I’m glad he seems to have bonded with you.”
Debbie wiped her nose while clearing her throat. “Guess we need each other at the moment. We both miss her so much…”
Debbie’s sobs broke free. She felt Mitch guide her to the couch, his warm arm around her shoulders.
“Wish I knew what to say. I’m not good at things like this.”
“Obviously, I’m not either,” Debbie mumbled into Mitch’s shoulder.
“No, you’re doing what you should, which is grieving and letting your emotions out. Guys like me aren’t wired that way. We express our sorrow in others ways, which I’m about to do. Alone.”
Debbie raised her wet face toward Mitch’s. “You’re leaving? Now? I…sort of hoped you’d at least stay for lunch. Maybe have one last toast to Merry?”
Mitch stood and held out his hand to Debbie. “I have some things to take care of the next few days. I’ll be back no later than Tuesday. How about I come by for dinner and bring some champagne? We’ll give Merry a proper toast with some high-priced alcohol.”
Through her tears, Debbie smiled. “Sounds like a plan. Barbeque ribs okay with you?”
Mitch stood in the doorway and laughed. “I’m a Southern boy, so what do you think?”
Debbie waved and watched Mitch’s car until it disappeared. Shutting the door, she walked inside and straight to the couch. Percy jumped up next to her, showering her face with wet kisses.
“Come on, boy. Since I’m a full-time artist now, let’s use our sadness to create something magnificent. I’m thinking a painting of a beautiful, red-haired woman and her dog at the water’s edge on a sunny day, trees and a pond in the background. How about you?”
***
Forty minutes after leaving Debbie, Mitch found himself at the front entrance to Store-N-Go. He punched in the access code he’d memorized from Merry’s notes and waited for the gate to open. Once inside, he drove to the designated unit and parked.
When he opened the metal door, a sweet piece of machinery sa
t less than three feet away. He admired her lines, ran his hands over the smooth leather seat. To his right, he noticed a large, framed picture and moved closer. The portrait of the once happy family made Mitch’s anger spike. He felt the heat of sadness and grief poke inside his gut.
Rather than puss out and start crying, Mitch grabbed the handlebars and pushed the bike out. Glancing at the storage unit, he realized it was practically empty.
And had enough room to park his car.
Decision made as to where his new life would take him, Mitch started humming. A few minutes later, saddlebags packed and helmet secured, Mitch shut and locked the metal door. The sweet purr of the Honda made him almost giddy while he waited for the gate to open so he could get things rolling.
Without looking back, Mitch signaled and merged onto Interstate 40, a huge grin hidden under the visor as he passed the sign: Memphis – 142 miles.
Merry…this is for you.
And just the beginning for me.
About the Author
Award-winning and International bestselling author Ashley Fontainne is an avid reader of mostly the classics. Ashley became a fan of the written word in her youth, starting with the Nancy Drew mystery series. Stories that immerse the reader deep into the human psyche and the monsters lurking within us are her favorite reads.
Her short thriller entitled Number Seventy-Five, touches upon the sometimes dangerous world of online dating. Number Seventy-Five took home the BRONZE medal in fiction/suspense at the 2013 Readers’ Favorite International Book Awards contest and is currently in production for a feature film (www.number75thmovie.com).
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