Chin up, she entered the prison. No tin cups or bars. The impression she got was minimalism meets drab: all was linear, sterile. The only warmth in the place came from the old red-brick walls.
A guard snagged her purse and locked it away, another wanded her for weapons, then a serious-faced geezer led her into a gymnasium-type room to wait. After a few minutes of her finger-tapping the metal table, the door opened and inmates rushed through.
Tears sprang to her eyes as her brother approached. She knew it was too much, but Macy didn’t see Billy the nineteen-year-old. She saw the five-year-old kid with big blue eyes fringed in black lashes, the kid who’d sneaked into her bedroom at night with his teddy bear because he was afraid of trolls under the bed. He looked scared now. All her anger vanished in a big puff of smoke. And without the anger, the anguish of knowing she’d failed him ripped at her heart. “Hey, Sis.” His voice shook as he lowered himself into the chair across from her. Once settled, he touched her hand, carefully, almost as if he feared she’d pull away.
Didn’t he know she loved him with every ounce of her heart? Didn’t he know the reason she hadn’t come until now was because this was going to kill her, and perhaps the only way to teach him to deal with the messes he created was to leave him on his own? Tough love wasn’t easy. Not for the giver or the receiver. She felt a few tears trickle down her cheeks. This visit might take three tissues.
“Hey back at you.” The ache in her throat doubled as she turned her palm over and threaded her fingers through his.
“You look good. Mom said you finally got your divorce.”
“Yeah. And I sure showed him. I got custody of most of his bills.” Swallowing, she fought for control. Billy probably got all the tears he needed from their mom. “How are you?”
“I’m…making it.” He gave the room a glance then met her eyes. “I know you’re mad,” he whispered. “You deserve to be mad. But I…There’s trouble.”
Macy braced herself for the whole break-out-of-prison request. This visit would definitely require three tissues
Billy leaned in. “I need your help.”
“What kind of help?” she whispered back.
“There’s this man. He’s real bad.” Billy’s big blue eyes grew wide. “He cut this guy’s head off. Now he wants to kill me and—”
“Why?” Macy gasped. “Why does he want to kill you?”
“Well, I sort of stole his girl.”
Macy’s mouth fell open. “You did what?”
“Her letter to him got caught inside my magazine in the mail room. I thought it was to me…from you, Nan, or Mom.” He glanced away. “It wasn’t to me, but…She wrote this poem about her grandma, and it was so beautiful. I wrote her and told her I’d accidentally opened her mail, and I told her how beautiful her poem was. I never dreamed that she would write me back. But she did, and…we fell in love.”
“You stole a murderer’s girl?” she asked. “Couldn’t you have, I don’t know, gone after a deadbeat dad’s? Or someone less violent, like a white-collar criminal?”
Billy’s forehead wrinkled. “I’m serious.”
“I’m not? What the hell were you thinking? You don’t steal a murderer’s girlfriend. Didn’t they teach you anything in school?”
“I didn’t know he was a murderer.”
“Wait!” Macy held up her hands. “I don’t need to know this. Because I can’t fix it. I mean, if you think this guy who just happens to cut people’s heads off will listen to me, why, I’ll be happy to read him the riot act, but something tells me—”
“I don’t want you near that freak. I want you to talk to Ellie.”
“Ellie?”
“My girlfriend.” Billy bit down on his lip.
Macy blinked. “The same girl who dated the murderer?” When Billy nodded, Macy dropped her head on the table. Her pizza delivery hat flipped off and her hair scattered. The cold metal on her forehead was bracing, but everything else felt surreal. Damn, if it still didn’t hurt, though. It might take four tissues.
Billy rested his hand on her shoulder. “Between the two of you, maybe y’all can fix things.”
Macy raised her head. “Fix what?”
“Maybe you could talk to the cops. Anyone but Jake Baldwin—don’t go to him. Maybe they’d listen to you. Ellie’s not like you. She’s too pretty. Men don’t listen to her.”
Macy was suddenly a frog’s hair away from committing her own murder. “But they’ll listen to homely-looking girls like me, huh?”
“I didn’t mean that. It’s just she’s blonde and—”
“Big boobed?” It would be justifiable homicide.
“Yeah.” Her brother smiled, then frowned when he looked at her. “What I mean is, men don’t think she’s smart.”
“Of course she’s, like, megaintelligent, right? That’s why she was dating a man who chops people’s heads off.” Macy knew she was being catty, but how much could a girl take?
“It’s not like that. She just got mixed up with him because of her stupid brother.”
Because of her stupid brother, huh? Well, that was an excuse she could understand. Macy dropped her head back on the table. She even gave it a good thump.
“She’s not stupid. Okay, she’s not smart like you….” Her brother nudged Macy up. “I know you’ll think I love her because she’s pretty, but I didn’t know what she looked like. I fell in love with her in her letters. We wrote every day—still do—and she comes to see me four times a week.”
Only the fear in Billy’s eyes kept Macy from grabbing her pizza hat and getting her homely butt home. Or was it the memory of the one time Billy hadn’t been afraid? Four years old, teddy bear in his arms, he’d stood up for her, stood up for her when no one else had been there. You’re not hurting my sister. Macy could still hear his little-boy voice saying those words. She could still hear the sound of her father’s fist knocking Billy across the room.
Another tear rolled down her cheek. “You need to talk to someone here. If they know—”
“They won’t do crap,” Billy interrupted. “Even the guards are afraid of him. And some of them…he does things for them. He’s got people on the outside, too. He’s the head of some big gang. I heard he has some cops doing things for him. Ellie even thinks that cop, that Baldwin guy who arrested him, is in his pocket now. He wouldn’t even listen when she tried to tell him about the murder.”
“Talk to someone above the guards,” Macy suggested. What was she supposed to do?
“Please, Mace. Her name’s Ellie Chandler. She lives a couple of miles from you. I gave her your number. Promise you’ll see her. I’m scared for her. But it’s not just her. Look, the main reason I needed to see you is…I’m scared for you, too.”
“For me?” Macy’s blood ran cold.
“I wrote you a letter, addressed and everything. I wrote to tell you how sorry I was about your car and all.” Guilt shadowed Billy’s eyes. “But it came up missing before I could mail it. The next day, Tanks told me he knew where my family lives. He’s got people on the outside and…he’s got your address. You need to get with Ellie. She’ll explain.” He placed a scrap of paper in Macy’s hand. “This is Ellie’s information. Promise me you’ll call her, Mace. Promise me.”
The bell announcing that the visitation was over rang. Macy didn’t make Billy any promises, but she took the paper he’d pushed into her hand.
After his sister left, Billy waited in his cell for a guard to collect him for work duty. If anyone would have told him he’d someday be excited to weed petunias, he’d have called them a friggin’ liar. But it was true. He loved the chance to get out from behind the prison walls. It was a tiny taste of freedom.
“You going on garden duty?” his cellmate Pablo asked, sitting in the room’s one chair, his face hidden behind a book.
“Yeah.” Billy dropped down onto his bed. Some days, he thought he’d go nuts being in here. Then he would remember that he deserved it.
“Your sister come
to see ya?” Pablo lowered his book.
Billy only nodded, not wanting to get into a conversation.
How many times had Mace told him he was going to get himself into trouble if he didn’t start thinking about his actions? He’d let her down, and she didn’t deserve it. That’s why he’d decided to turn his life around. He hadn’t told her about the college classes; he wanted to surprise her when he got out. He wanted to show her, his mom, and Nan that he was better than his ol’ man. And he would.
“I heard she was really pretty,” Pablo said.
“Drop it.” Billy closed his eyes.
What really hurt was Mace being disappointed in him. Again. But Billy refused to see Ellie as another of his mistakes. She was too sweet, too good-natured, and yeah, too pretty to be a mistake. Sure, he regretted getting Mace mixed up in this, but he hadn’t meant to do that.
Someone down the hall coughed, and it echoed along the gray concrete walls. Billy hated the echoes in here. God, he prayed Mace would do like he’d said and talk to Ellie. His girl might not be intelligent like Mace, but she had street smarts. And if Tanks went after his sister, Ellie would know better how to protect her.
Billy heard footsteps and remembered garden duty. Eager to leave the cramped room, he jumped up. He could almost smell the outside air.
“You ready?” Hal, one of the day guards, asked. The cell door clicked open.
“Yeah,” Billy said.
Of all the guards, Hal was the only one Billy liked. In his fifties, Hal reminded him of what a father should be. Once Hal had even shown him pictures of his grandkids. Billy wondered if the man’s family appreciated him, or if they took him for granted the way Billy had done with Mace. No more, though. Somehow he was going to make his sister proud.
Hal’s gaze shot to the stack of books. “School going okay?” he asked.
“Fine,” Billy grunted.
He and Hal made their way down the prison halls, their footsteps echoing. The thrill of leaving for a few hours stayed with Billy until he crawled into the van and saw a tattooed forearm resting on the back of a seat. David Tanks glanced at him over a shoulder. The man’s sneer had 24-karat evil stamped all over it.
“Heard your sis came by today,” the murderer whispered. “Heard she’s hot. I can’t wait to get me some of that. I’m going to fuck her hard, Billy boy—right before I slit her throat.”
CHAPTER TWO
It was five on Tuesday evening when Jake leaned back in his chair and tried to clear the paperwork from his desk. He spotted the pad where he’d written down Ellie Chandler’s info. It had been a whole day, and so far he hadn’t done a thing with it. Yes, he’d told her she needed to go to Homicide, but his gut told him she hadn’t done it. He supposed he should follow up.
He grabbed his cell phone and dialed. Ripping off the sheet of paper, he tossed it in the trash. He wouldn’t learn anything, but for his conscience’s sake he’d do it. Then he could forget the whole incident.
“Sergeant Anders,” his buddy in Homicide answered.
“Stan, it’s Jake. Look, I had this girl come in yesterday.…” He gave Stan the short version, about arresting Tanks and adding a bit of male color commentary, including, “Gorgeous. Stacked. But the voice!”
Stan laughed. “I don’t see a problem. Keep your tongue in her mouth or keep her mouth busy.”
Jake grinned, finished his story, and asked if they’d had any headless corpses show up.
“Didn’t you hear about the John Doe case?” Stan asked, the earlier humor missing from his tone.
“Don’t yank my chain.” Jake leaned against his desk.
“No chain yanking here. The body washed up in the Houston Ship Channel about six months ago. Clear Lake’s handling things. They still haven’t ID’d the guy. The body was in bad shape.”
“Great.” Jake snatched the crumpled notepaper out of the trash can. It looked as if he and Miss Squeaky Voice were destined to meet again. Damn if he probably didn’t owe her an apology, too. Sons of Baptist preachers always apologized when they made mistakes.
“Baldwin!” Donaldson barged into his office, his posture rigid.
“I’ll call you back, Stan,” Jake said, and disconnected. He turned to his coworker. “What’s up?”
“There’s been a prison break. A guard and an inmate were shot. Doesn’t look good for either one. Three other inmates escaped. Captain said you know one of them—David Tanks.”
Jake sighed. Oh yeah. He’d definitely be seeing Miss Squeaky Voice again.
Leaving the library, Macy realized her day was about to get worse. She’d forgotten her cash bag, so she had to swing home to pick it up. The stop would make her five minutes late for work, which meant the assistant manager, Mr. Prack—the employees referred to him as something funnier, if a bit obvious—was going to give her hell. Ever since she’d turned him down for beers and a night in the sack, he’d been particularly hard on her. Yeah, she could slap a sexual-harassment charge on him, but it would mean losing a job—a job close to home and with perfect hours. As long as the pervert kept his hands to himself, the verbal hell wasn’t enough to make her jump ship.
Of course, he was the least of her worries. Macy’s heart and mind were stuck on Billy. Stuck on her inability to change his circumstances.
Unlocking the door to her house, she stepped inside. A thump sounded. She paused and listened to the eerie hum of the old home. “Elvis?” Her voice vibrated in a strange silence. “Here, kitty, kitty.” She stepped farther into her living room, but the silence still felt too loud. Then she saw him. “Elvis?”
Her long-haired gray tabby stood beside the sofa, near the coffee table. A candy dish and a few peppermints lay on the floor beside him. Macy had a big desire to fall on the couch, hug her cat, and have herself a good cry. And a peppermint.
The blinking on her answering machine caught her eye. She gave Elvis a scratch, glanced at her watch, then hit the play button. “Hey, this is Ellie Chandler,” a voice screeched from the machine.
Elvis hissed and darted out of the room. Macy flinched, but it was for a different reason than the squeaky, high-pitched tone. She hadn’t decided if she would or wouldn’t contact this woman. All that talk about danger had to be Billy’s overactive imagination, didn’t it? Then again, maybe she’d give the prison warden a call tomorrow. Just to give him a heads-up.
Ellie’s voice continued. “Billy said to call. I think David is up to something. I went to talk to that cop, Jake Baldwin.…He’s the cop who put David away. I thought maybe he might help, but he seemed more interested in my boobs than what I had to say. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s working for David. What a jerk. Not like your brother.” She paused. “I know you don’t know me from Adam, and it probably sounds crazy me falling for him while he’s in prison, but I just want you to know I love Billy. Really love him.”
What kind of woman fell in love with inmates? Macy wondered. She herself had made some mistakes in her life, but none like that.
Grabbing her money bag, she darted out the door for work. She’d worry later. There was no time for it now.
It wasn’t until much later that night that Macy had time to breathe, but she’d worried the whole time. She parked her Saturn back at Papa’s Pizza and sat listening to the final minute of the tape she’d recorded, her notes about constitutional law. Listening to tapes while she delivered pizza had saved her butt on finals before. Tonight, however, her heart wasn’t into it. She’d been preoccupied with Billy, with the fear she’d seen in his eyes. Her mind kept replaying images of pulling her four-year-old brother into her lap and saying, There aren’t any trolls, Billy. Really, they don’t exist. You don’t have to be scared. But had she been wrong?
A knock at her window had Macy jumping off her seat. Sandy, the other female driver, smiled through the window. Macy got out.
“Was I right?”
Sandy, a single mom and college student, always wore a smile. If Macy had time, she figured they might actually bec
ome friends, but between school, work, family, and a few hours of volunteering at the church garden, time didn’t exist.
“Yup. He was a big tipper. Ten bucks.” Macy adjusted her baseball cap, which advertised Papa’s Pizza.
Sandy nudged her shoulder. “Told you. Did you loosen your buttons like I said?”
“No. But I fluttered my lashes at him,” Macy teased. In truth, flirting didn’t appeal to her these days, not even for a big tip. They walked to the front door of Papa’s Pizza, where the smell of yeast and spicy tomato sauce hung thick.
“Macy!” a voice called out.
“Prick alert,” Sandy muttered.
Macy dropped her pizza warmers on the counter. “Yes, Mr. Prack?”
“Your mom’s called six times, said it was crucial you call her.”
Macy remembered her cell phone was temporarily out of order. No money, no service.
“Then some squeaky-voiced female called,” the restaurant manager snapped. “Seven messages altogether—and you know we don’t allow personal calls.”
“Sorry,” Macy said. She turned to the cook, who slid a pizza onto a rack to cool. “Where am I off to now?”
Mr. Prack leaned in. “Nowhere. Declare your bank and clock out. Call your mommy on your own time. And fix your hair, it keeps falling down. If you want to look sexy on the job, go work at a bar.”
Macy ground her teeth. The more she considered, maybe this job wasn’t worth it.
“I thought I got off first,” Sandy spoke up. “But I don’t mind working.” The last hour could gain a runner big bucks, and as a single mom she had it tough.
“I’m fine with it if you are,” Macy said.
As she wrapped things up, she thought about calling her mom. Or about not calling. Her mother would want a verbal report on the visit with Billy, but Macy hadn’t figured out how much to divulge. All her mom needed was another reason to cry.
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