by Stacy Green
“You’re crazy.”
“You’re a fraud,” Elaine shot back. “Ten years ago, Holden Wilcher convinced me to sell our baby. Said we were doing a good thing for everyone involved. I thought that was true until I heard about Jaymee Ballard. He did the same thing to her, with the help of a social worker. A social worker with your name and description.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Save it,” Nick said. “Royce Newton’s wife was murdered last week. But you probably already knew that.”
A barely discernible eye twitch was Debra’s only reaction.
Nick continued. “My wife was killed four years ago. Her name was Lana Samuels.”
A brief flash of sudden panic, then Debra quickly regained her poised features. “I don’t see what that has to do–”
“Both women had information that could bring your scheme down. And another woman, a prostitute Newton enjoyed visiting, knew the truth as well. She was killed just a few days ago.”
Debra gnashed her teeth, her carefully painted face suddenly ugly and menacing.
“She doesn’t care,” Elaine said. “Long as her bank account’s getting fat, and she’s kept in her precious lifestyle.”
“Holden Wilcher showed up in Roselea, and now he’s missing.” Nick dropped the news as casually as if he were commenting on the hot weather. “So’s Newton. Interesting how they both slithered out the back door after Jaymee confronted Holden in front of the whole town. And went to the police.”
Face ashen, icy eyes watery with rage, Debra shot forward, knocking her expensive bag to the floor. “Holden’s missing? What’s happened? Are there suspects?”
Now he got it. He should have figured it out as soon Debra walked into the restaurant. Holden liked younger women. She was at least ten years his junior. She liked wealth and power–a perfect combination.
“You and Holden,” Nick said.
“Jesus Christ,” Elaine said. “Of course.”
“I asked if there were suspects.” Debra’s cold voice grew shrill. “Answer me.”
“Theory is Holden and Royce beat it out of town, tails between their pompous asses.” That was only a working theory. Charles still feared something else had happened to Holden. “Cops got some interesting information from Royce’s financials. Took a while to discover since he’s got them hidden under RLN Enterprises. Not a great name for a doing-business-as operation, by the way.”
“I don’t care about that. I want to know what’s happened to Holden.”
“Seems Royce’s got a side business of sorts,” Nick said. “The fifth of every month, three thousand dollars is deposited to RLN Enterprises from New Life Baptist Church. Signee’s Gladys Wilcher, which makes sense. She handles the church finances and is probably clueless to her husband’s various dalliances.”
“Or maybe she ignores them in favor of ignorant bliss,” Elaine said.
Debra shook her head. The shark might be flopping on deck, but her eyes still glowed with hate.
“Forensic accounting traced RLN Enterprises back to Royce,” Nick said. “Seems he’s the primary owner, and I’m guessing the three grand is his monthly cut from the illegal adoptions.”
“So how does it work?” Elaine cut in. “I’m assuming you take the money from desperate prospective parents, and the three grand is Newton’s take for making sure the legal paperwork is up to par? RLN’s a dummy corporation, right?”
“Answer my question about Holden.”
“Isn’t it obvious? He and Newton bailed and left you to take the heat.”
“Holden would never do that to me,” Debra said. “This is our operation.”
Nick smiled at her mistake. Debra glared back at him.
“So who does the killing when people get too close?” Elaine said.
“Holden’s no killer.”
“My money’s on Paul Ballard, Holden’s lifelong ass kisser,” Nick said. “At Holden’s order. Which makes him an accessory at the least. Of course, he’s in the wind, and since it’s your operation, Debra, you’re an accessory too.”
“I don’t know anything about any murders. Neither does Holden. He’s not a killer.” Debra repeated her words with less conviction.
“But he’s a damned liar,” Elaine said.
“You can’t prove anything.”
“I can prove he fathered my baby–the first baby he sold,” Elaine said. “I’ve even got his signature saying as much. And now that you’ve admitted your part, I’m willing to go to the police. That should be enough to bring Holden in.”
“Then there’s the false adoption of Jaymee’s baby,” Nick said. “You know, the other child Holden fathered. Fun’s over with, Deb.”
She’d turned a frightening shade of puce. “Now you listen to me.”
“It started out as Holden’s idea,” Elaine cut her off. “He pulled it off with our son and then got greedy. Somewhere along the way, he met you. Perfect sidekick.”
Debra wrapped her arms around her chest and stared at the wall. The muscle in her jaw popped. Her lips were white.
Nick scooted his chair closer. Debra’s head snapped around, and she glared at him with such ferocity he almost laughed.
“Look. We want justice for my wife. Jaymee wants to find her daughter,” Nick said. “I don’t think you were involved in the murders. That’s not your style. You’re all about the con. Sophistication, manipulation, and greed. Killing someone doesn’t make you any money. I think someone like you would find a better way to protect her investment.
“But the police? They’re out for blood. Roselea’s a small town. Makes a lot of money off tourists. Murder’s bad for business. But if a favorite son like Holden Wilcher’s involved? That’s a death blow.”
“Get to the point,” Debra said.
“Quickest way to solve these murders is to pin it all on you, the Jackson outsider. A seductress. You manipulated both Holden and Royce into doing your bidding. That’s what they’ll say, if they’re even found.”
“That’s ridiculous. There’s nothing to tie me to any murder.”
“Except your previously confessed connection to Holden’s black-market scheme. Trust me, Deb,” Nick said. “You’re the easy suspect here. And a girl like you, in prison? Communal showers? Prison orange? No makeup, no hairstylist. None of the finer things in life. And life’s exactly what you’ll get if they manage to pin even one of these murders on you.”
Debra looked between Nick and Elaine, nerves making her left eyelid twitch. He waited, letting her chew on everything he’d told her.
“You tell us everything you know, we’ll get up and walk out of here instead of calling the police. Give you a head start on getting the hell out of Mississippi.”
The seconds dragged by. Debra’s heel tapped on the carpeted floor. Her once pink lips were now smudged from chewing and pale with anxiety. Spots of red dotted her fair skin.
“It’s up to you, Deb.” Nick tapped his pocket. “I can call the cops right now, or wait.”
She bared her teeth. “We met at the offices of Clark and Newton. Ten years ago, I was the firm’s secretary.”
“So you’ve got legal knowledge.”
“Paralegal,” Debra said.
“Hannah’s House opened ten years ago,” Elaine said.
“That’s why Holden came to see Mr. Clark. He wanted to procure a donation for Hannah’s. He got it. And me.”
“That easily?” Nick said.
“Took some time. But he’s persuasive. And well off.”
“How’d you two decide to keep stealing babies?” Elaine asked.
Debra sneered. She’d transformed from a sophisticated lawyer-vixen to a heartless, hard-looking shrew. “All his idea. There was a lot of money to be made. Worked out for the parents and the kids.”
“And when my wife came in and started talking about Jaymee, you knew you had to silence her. Who made the call, Royce or Holden?”
“Royce wasn’t involved until he stuck
his nose in where it didn’t belong. And I didn’t work there when your wife showed up. I’d already quit, but I remember damned Lana. That woman changed everything.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Royce figured us out. He didn’t have any hard proof, but he did have pictures of Holden and me in compromising positions.”
“Cheating on his wife with a hot, younger woman. Not too good for the tin god of Jackson.”
“Excuse me?”
“Idol worshippers in Biblical times often prayed to idols made of metal,” Nick said. “Christians–worshippers of the one true God–believed these to be false gods. A tin god is a false god, an idol who’s worshipped by those too ignorant to understand his treachery.”
“Sounds like Holden Wilcher to me,” Elaine said.
“So Royce Newton blackmailed the two of you,” Nick said. “That’s where the routine three grand deposit comes in.”
“How smart of you,” Debra snapped. “Except I didn’t kill anyone, and neither did Holden. He wasn’t worried about Lana. She never had all the information. She was just a dog searching for an old bone.”
“She had information,” Elaine said. “I gave it to her. Proof that Holden fathered my baby. I even had copies of the cancelled checks for medical fees and testing.”
“I’ve never seen anything like that.” Debra slid back in her chair. “You’re full of shit.”
“Nope,” Nick said. “Elaine’s still got the copies. So does the murderer. Hey, does Holden have access to your place? You have a safe?”
Wild fear burst across her face. Debra searched the room as if an answer would suddenly appear, licking her lips raw. She scratched her face, digging her fake nails into her cheek.
“Holden wouldn’t.”
Nick kept feeding her the bait. He needed Debra to believe Holden had turned on her. “Ask yourself–who’s got the most to lose? Who’s got the TV show? The love of the state’s conservatives?”
“Newton has plenty to lose,” Debra seemed to be babbling to herself. “He’s a well-known name, has family money. His wife is one of the victims!”
“Maybe, maybe not,” Nick said. “But is it worth the risk?”
She shook her head, red hair swishing like flames.
Elaine nudged Nick and then took over. “Instead of running, why don’t you help us out–and yourself–by giving up Royce and Holden. Let the police figure out who the killer is.”
“No.” She reached blindly for her purse, jumping when she realized it was on the floor.
Nick tapped his pocket. “It’s going to be a race to the cops, Debra. Whoever caves first will get the best deal. Might as well be you. Lovely as you are, you’ll be in and out of prison in no time, especially if you can pin it all on Holden. And if you don’t, you’re going to be a suspect in a really tangled murder case.”
Wild-eyed and sweating, Debra made one last attempt at bravado. “Debra Davies isn’t my real name. I’ll disappear by the time you get this information to them.”
“Debra Rogers.” Nick enjoyed seeing the shock play out on her face. He tapped the business card she’d dropped to the table. “You were smart to use an alias, but you never should have had this number listed to your real name–not to mention the same initials. Easy enough for the phone company to track once they had the number. Thank God for my connections.”
All decorum and glamour had dissipated. Debra’s once smooth hair frizzed, sweat gleamed on her forehead, and stress hives erupted across her face. Standing up, she ran her hand over her hair, but only made it worse. “I’m leaving. You’re not the police. Don’t you think I’ve prepared for this? There was always a chance we’d be caught. Holden was too confident to consider it, but I always had an escape plan.
“Holden’s not a killer. And he wouldn’t frame me. I don’t know where he is, but I’m sure,” her voice wavered, “I’m sure he’s waiting for me. I’ll find him.”
“Maybe Holden’s not a killer,” Nick said. “Maybe you arranged the murders to protect your own ass. After all, you’re the one with the plan.”
Debra picked up her bag and slung it over her shoulder. “Good luck on catching your murderer, Mr. Samuels.”
“I don’t need luck. I’ve got proof.”
“You don’t have any proof of murder. All you’ve managed to do is bankrupt our enterprise. These women knowing our little secret isn’t enough to prove they were killed over it.”
“People have killed for a lot less, honey. And once Paul Ballard learns about his hero being nailed to the wall, he’ll talk.” Nick was confident. “He’ll turn on Holden faster than you can crawl under your rock.”
“Better Holden than me.” Debra’s smile was brittle, her lips quivering. “And tell Jaymee Ballard her daughter went to a good home.”
“You can tell her yourself. You’ll be seeing her soon enough.”
“I’ll move faster than you.”
Nick pulled a digital recording device from his pocket. “Not with this baby. It’s wireless. Not mine. Sergeant Kees of the Jackson PD gave it to me this morning when I told her what I was planning.” He waved at the stout woman making her way across the restaurant with two uniformed officers. “Nifty little thing. Streams right into their system.”
Debra’s head twisted around. She stumbled backward on her heels, falling into her chair.
“I’ll be giving my records to Sergeant Kees as well,” Elaine said.
“So Holden Wilcher is going down,” Nick said. “Too bad he didn’t call you when Jaymee confronted him yesterday. Maybe you’d have been able to stay out of jail.”
27
Sweat rolled down the back of Jaymee’s neck. In just a few days, she’d gotten used to the comfortable air conditioning at the Foster’s house, and the trailer’s window fans seemed even more lacking. Still, the oppressive heat and crappy furnishings were a welcoming constant in a world that had just been capsized.
The young patrol officer hadn’t argued when she’d asked to be brought back to the trailer. She didn’t want to face Oren and Lorelai just yet. Didn’t want to explain the latest drama in her life.
Numbness seized her overheated body. Standing in her tiny bathroom, she stared at the reflection in the mirror. The same heart-shaped face gazed back at her, same dimples, same full lips, same naturally rosy cheeks. And yet she looked completely different. All that she’d known–both good and bad–was a lie. Her real father didn’t hate her. He would have killed for her.
But he could have saved her a long time ago.
She had no words to articulate her feelings. On the surface, she boiled with anger at Penn Gereau. His cowardly acts had ruined her life. But beyond that, irritating compassion brewed. He’d been a young man in trouble and made the best decision at the time.
Heartbreakingly familiar.
Condensation clouded the mirror. Jaymee swiped her hand over the glass leaving an ugly smear. A perfect metaphor for her mess of a life. She was too tired to muster the energy to cry. Chaos whirled around her. Nick was closing in on the murderer, Holden was half-dead, his co-conspirators against the wall. And yet Jaymee stood still, toes on the edge of a virtual precipice, unable to leap forward or step back. Stagnant.
For seven years, her life’s goal had been to find her daughter and bring her home. But Gereau’s words, and Elaine’s before that, ate at her. If a mother’s first responsibility was the well being and happiness of her child, did Jaymee have the right to shatter that for her own personal needs?
She’d once thought Sonia had been a lousy mother, her courage beaten out of her by Paul. But Jaymee was wrong. Her mother was the strongest person she knew. She’d endured years of Paul’s abuse to keep her family together and their names out of the mud. She’d taken his beating as penance for her misdeeds and shielded Jaymee as best she could. She’d made the ultimate sacrifice for her children.
Could Jaymee do the same?
Someone banged on the trailer door. Jaymee gave her reflection
a final glare, wiped the sweat off her face with a wet washcloth, and crossed the trailer to peek out the window. Her brother stood on the cracked steps.
Dammit.
“Hey.” Jaymee opened the door, bracing herself. She hadn’t spoken to Darren since crashing the family get-together and declaring war on Holden. Darren hadn’t believed her then, and he probably wouldn’t now.
His eyes were bloodshot, and he sported a couple days’ worth of beard. “Can I come in?”
“Sure.”
She sat down at the table motioning for Darren to sit. He leaned against the wall instead, in the very same spot Nick occupied just a few nights ago. Had so much really changed since then?
“How are you doing?”
Darren’s polo shirt was wrinkled, and his denim shorts looked grimy. For a few long seconds, he studied Jaymee. Finally, he drew a full breath and spoke. “How do you think I’m doing, sis? Our family is being torn apart.”
“I’m sorry about Holden.”
“Are you?” Emotion strangled his words. “After what you said, I would expect you’d be happy.”
“I hate him. But that doesn’t make this right.”
Darren rubbed his right hand over his face. His fingernails were dirty. “He’s still unconscious.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Detective Charles told me Reverend Gereau did this to Holden.” Darren drummed his fist on the wall in slow, deliberate rhythm. His eyes were almost vacant, and dark circles of exhaustion made him look slightly crazed. “Dad’s beside himself. And police spent half the night questioning him about Holden–his best friend. Our father would never–”
“He’s not my father.”
Darren slammed his fist against the trailer hard enough to rattle the windows. “Just. Don’t. He might not have treated you fairly, but he still put a roof over your head, fed you, clothed you. He’s still your father.”
“Actually, he’s not.”
“What are you talking about?”
She licked her dry lips and then gnawed at the corner of her mouth until her teeth broke the skin. Darren looked at her with angry, accusing eyes, and she tasted vomit.
“Speak.”