by Neliza Drew
Nik got out. “You need to talk to me.”
I tried to look at her but couldn’t.
She reached for my hand, but stopped just shy of touching, as though she were afraid I’d burn her. “What happened to you?”
“Nothing.” It came out automatically.
She worked her jaw around the words. “What happened when you were eleven?” She put her hand to her face, closed her eyes and rubbed the spot between them. She took a deep breath and looked at me. “At the foster home. What happened?”
I looked out at the water. Studied myself from within. I felt solid in my stance, my arms crossed, my feet, planted on the ground beneath them. Thought back to that day, without the filters of adulthood. “I saw the way he looked at you. I knew it was wrong, but wasn’t sure why. And I was jealous.”
“What?” I heard her heart break under that word, a sharp crack of air escaping her throat with the letters.
“He wanted to play. That’s what he called it. He wanted to experiment. He wanted to act out… things.” I thought about things he said and did and how they weren’t all things he’d heard from peers. “Some of the things hurt. Sometimes they felt good. And I was confused.”
“Davis, why?”
“I guess I was curious, too. You always had me reading adult books. And sometimes I snuck some of my own in.”
Her breath caught. “You blame me?”
“No. I’ve never blamed anyone but me. Him.” I wanted to comfort her, but I couldn’t. “He told me not to tell, so I knew it was wrong. I knew it was something he shouldn’t do with you or Lane. But still, sometimes it was…almost fun.”
Her face twisted to disgust.
I understood. But I didn’t say it.
“I fell asleep in class and the teacher asked me why. I made a mistake; I told her I’d stayed up playing with our brother.” I watched a pair of pelicans skim the surface of the water. “Her tone told me it was wrong. Her face told me to lie. So, when she asked what we played, I named toys. Games. And I learned I needed to lie better, or say nothing.
“I don’t know what she told him, the dad, but when he punished me, it hurt. A lot. And I learned my lesson. I learned not to tell.”
“Davis—”
“And I learned that the things he’d taught me to do, the things I’d done for free? I learned other boys would pay me for those things. And even if it hurt, it didn’t hurt for long. Later, I learned it wasn’t just teenage boys who’d pay. That the more a guy thought he had to lose, the more he was willing to pay. Or the more he was willing to kill. So I learned to read people. Just not well enough.”
Nik’s body held its shape, but only barely as her sobbing bent and swayed her in the stiff onshore wind. I wanted to hold her. I wanted to tell her it was fine. But I’d just told her it wasn’t.
When I saw her knees buckle, I caught her and hugged her to me.
She pushed me away feebly. “Your jacket stinks.”
I let go.
“I knew. I knew something happened. You changed. I knew you…I knew.”
I looked at my feet, which no longer felt solid.
“Why didn’t you talk to me? You had to know I knew. Why lie? Over and over and over?” She started to hit me with her fists, at first lightly on the arms, but it grew to a pounding on my chest.
I let her. Let her fists pound the stab wound Charley had made and gritted my teeth, because I knew I deserved it.
When her fury exhausted, she pushed me. I didn’t budge. “Why?” she asked.
“If I’d told you the truth, you’d have wanted to report it or fix it or stop it. You’d have had a burden you couldn’t carry.”
“Except I carried the back end of that thing across half the states. I carried all the stuff you dropped.” She studied me. “You’re bleeding again.”
“It happens.”
“Why didn’t we stop this from happening to Lane?”
“I don’t know.”
Chapter forty-nine
I drove the rest of the way to Rex Whittman’s in silence.
In the driveway, I pulled a Beretta and a .22 caliber trail revolver out of my purse. I handed her the Taurus. “Anyone tries to take you out of this car, point this in their ribs or stomach and shoot until it clicks. If I get killed, drive away. Don’t mess with the cops. Call Tom. And go back to Arizona.” I handed her my phone.
She gave me the look she used to give me when we were kids. The one that said “don’t do it and be careful and fuck you” all at once.
I got out and took Phil’s pistol to the front door with me. I wasn’t sure what I was doing besides coming unglued, but it felt right.
I beat the door three times with the side of my fist. “Rex, I want answers!”
I immediately ducked to a squat to the left side of the door.
Footsteps pounded from the back, followed by a boom that ripped a melon-sized hole out of the door. The second blast tore out a chunk of wall over my head.
I pushed open the door, staying low, and rushed him, jerking the gun barrel to the side as he fumbled to reload. I stuck the sleek 9mm against his cheek and yanked the shotgun out of his hands as I kneed him in the crotch. “Sit down.”
He sat. Right on the stack of yellowed TV Guides and a pile of remotes cluttering up the end table. “What the hell, lady?” He rubbed his nuts and scowled.
I realized I was breathing too hard, slowed it down to an even, calm pace. “That sums it up. What the hell indeed?”
He held up his hands, realized he still had a shotgun shell in one and threw it away. “Shit.”
“Tell me what the hell happened. No bullshit this time.”
He spread his hands wider. “I don’t know.”
“That sounds like bullshit. Strike one. Who shot Billy?”
“If it wasn’t Lane, I don’t know.” He must’ve seen the shift in my face because he added, “But I heard someone else was there.”
“Who?”
He looked sad. “Amber.”
“Why’d you try to shoot me?”
He looked down at his lap. He mumbled. “There’s a reward.”
“Someone put a hit on me? In the sticks?”
“Reward.”
“Uh huh. How much?”
“Six grand.” He glanced at me to see how I’d take it.
“Really? That’s it?”
He nodded again. Maybe he wasn’t sure what to add.
“Who’s paying?”
“Vince said Eric.”
“Has anyone even seen Eric?”
He shrugged.
“Then you don’t even know if it’s good or if he’s even still alive. You willing to risk jail time over that?”
He hung his head.
“What the hell’d you do to Melissa Armstrong?”
“Who?”
I considered shooting him just for the blank look on his face. “The girl passed out on a boat a week ago. You and Lane and Sylvia went out to party it up? Ring any bells?”
“That skank?”
“Strike two.”
“What? Look, lady, Davis, whatever. I was supposed to get the girl on the boat. The girls helped because, you know, I’m such a looker. The bitch wanted nothing to do with me.”
“She had a boyfriend.”
He snorted. “Some boyfriend. Didn’t stop her from screwing everyone else.”
“So, what’d you do to her?”
“Nothing.”
“Strike—”
“Wait! Fuck. I didn’t. I swear. I was told to get her on the boat and get her out to sea.”
I studied his face but all I saw was the loser no one wanted to let into the group, the guy who did all the work, got none of the glory, and for once wanted a piece for himself.
“How’d she get dead?” I asked.
“Brad, I guess.”
“You guess?”
“Yeah. Brad. It’s his fucking boat. He lived on it.”
“Billy’s boat? Jimmy’s boat?”
His look said that was bullshit.
“His own boat. Used to belong to John Taylor.” He looked at me like I was stupid. “Brad lived on the boat to keep Taylor’s kid off it. Damn brat kept coming around, snooping.”
“Brad killed her? Melissa?”
“I guess. She passed out. I had a few more beers. Helped him throw her over when he was done.”
“Done?” If my finger had been inside the trigger guard, I’d have shot him. I took a long, deep breath. “And Billy?”
“I heard he was leaving Amber.”
“Who said that?”
“I don’t know.” He up-turned his hands. “People. Around. Gossip. You know.”
“Why?”
“Someone said he was planning to nark on Vince for what he did to Amber.” He looked bitter about it.
“What’d he do?”
“You don’t know?” His eyes got big. Finally the fat kid had something over someone else. “He fed her habit. Got her to work for him.”
“He pimped her.” I cocked my head. “You sure this wasn’t about that crappy Chinese seafood?”
He shook his head like that explained it. “It wasn’t like that. She wanted it. They all did.”
Uh huh. “They’re teenage girls.”
“Most of them will do anything for a fix.” He sneered. “Like your mom.”
“You say that like I don’t know.”
He looked at his lap. “Look, Billy and Lane? They were best friends. They told each other everything. Everything. But she liked Vince. Thought she was using him.” His doughy face looked almost sad. “Vince was using her.”
“How’d they even meet?” I wanted his take. As a litmus test.
He shrugged. “Some party over on the beach. Billy brought her places back before he got tight with Amber. Course, Lane seemed to know Vince already, so…” He shrugged again.
“Why didn’t you just tell me this before?”
“They’d have killed me.”
“And not now?”
He glanced at me. Sheepish. “Someone’s gonna kill you. They maybe won’t know I talked. Besides, you been to see Lane, right? Maybe she talked.”
“That’s what you plan to tell people? To save your ass?” I thought about how he could’ve known where we’d been.
“Wouldn’t you?
“You think she told me anything?”
“If she had, you wouldn’t be here.” He seemed pretty sure of that and it made sense, provided he didn’t know where else I’d been since I last saw him.
“How’d you know I saw Lane?”
“Hell, everyone with a drunk in the family knows when jail visits are.” He looked at the floor, the wall behind me, and at his shoes. They were drugstore boat shoes worn to holes. Something about his demeanor had changed. Deflated.
I picked up the shotgun and walked toward the door. “You move, I shoot.”
Rex looked at me like a puppy who’d left a puddle on the floor. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
I wasn’t sure how much of him I hated and how much I pitied.
“My cousin used to run with them. Kelly. She wouldn’t talk about it. Got pregnant.”
“Suicide?”
“Supposed to look that way.” He sighed. “I’m done with this mess.”
I held up the shotgun. “This’ll be in the yard. Don’t point it at me again.”
I was almost across the hardscrabble yard when I heard the screen door open. I turned, ready to kill him, but he was standing with his arms up and harmless. He looked as forlorn as his sagging porch. Gray clouds, accumulating in the distance, only enhanced the portrait of rural poverty.
I wondered what he’d do with the shotgun.
• • • • •
In the car, Nik looked at me with her mom face. “My friend tried to kill herself once. She’s better now. I think you’re still trying.”
Chapter fifty
Back out on Lennoxville Road, I pulled out my phone and made two calls. The first was to Tom and went to voice mail. I hung up and called Lawson.
As we passed the abandoned fish factory on the corner, I noticed a faded wooden sign with Wright’s name on it. The old menhaden place. I couldn’t imagine it running. It looked about the same age as Rex’s house, but was in even worse shape.
Lawson answered on the sixth ring.
“Lawson. It’s Davis. I think I just figured out your defense. Lane wasn’t there alone. Physical evidence bears that out. The other person, rumor has it, was Billy’s girlfriend, Amber Martin.”
“The girl with the missing brother? That isn’t your doing, is it?” His voice sounded strained, annoyed.
I wondered if he actually thought that. “You really don’t think much of me, do you?”
“You have worked for Dick for nearly two years.”
“Point taken. Look, you know as well as I do a good defense is a good story. The burden is on the state. You just have to confuse the jury enough to have reasonable doubt.”
“Somehow I remember that from law school, yes.”
“What’s going on around here is confusing as hell, so doubt should be easy.” My tone strained civility. “Here’s your story. Two girls showed up that night in another girl’s car: Billy’s best friend and his girlfriend — who was being pimped out by someone, maybe Lane.”
“That doesn’t help.”
I kept going. “One stabbed him. One shot him. Or one had a gun and it accidentally went off when he reached for it. A sheriff’s office guy showed up before the locals. Murphy. He’s related to the Martin kids. Another deputy was with him. Probably Lamar.” I spelled out the rest of the connections and oddities I’d discovered.
“How do you know all this?”
“If you believe me, so will a jury.”
“So, you’re making it up?” He sounded exasperated.
“I’m telling you the things I’ve been told. Someone has a vested interest in making sure Lane takes the fall for Billy’s death. And she’s angry and guilty enough to think she should.”
“You talk to Dick like this, too, don’t you? It’s why you’re still around? You don’t take ‘no’ for an answer and you call him on his BS?”
“I also type real fast.”
• • • • •
Nik looked over at me after I hung up. “I thought you were dead back there.”
“Only inside.”
“This isn’t funny.”
“I didn’t say it was.”
“Now what?”
I bit my lip. “We go see Wright’s lawyer.”
“What does he have to do with anything?”
“Money. He has control over it and I’ve heard it’s the root of all evil.”
Chapter fifty-one
The weather was changing again as we drove across town. Clouds rolled in from the ocean and the wind chill dropped. The aging streets were mostly deserted. I followed Live Oak to an intersection just past the courthouse, turned, turned again, ending up on the same street as the police department. At the bridge end sat a pale yellow house with a blue and white historical plaque out front. The address Tom had previously given me for Wright’s lawyer gleamed above the door.
Rayford Jackson answered my knock, holding the squeaky screen open as we stepped inside. “Come on back. I made coffee and tea. Suppose you’d rather just have a Pepsi.”
I smiled and followed him, Nik close at my heels, down a dark hallway to the kitchen. “Coffee’s fine.”
I’d been expecting a movie villain, someone who instilled much fear in the hearts of men and teenage boys. Instead, I had an elderly man dressed like Mr. Rogers leading me to a kitchen, which was surprisingly bright even on a dim winter evening.
He poured coffee from an antique coffee pot. I must have been staring because he commented. “You like? It was my wife’s favorite.”
“It’s very pretty.” Nik smiled, playing the good girl.
He offered sugar in a tiny pot with a matching pattern.
“I have milk in the fridge.”
I declined both.
He dumped in sugar and went to the fridge. “Mr. MacQuayde mentioned you had some questions. I’m not sure how much help I can be.”
I sipped my coffee. It was good. Nik continued smiling.
“Would you like to move to the office or are you two comfortable here?” He put the coffee pot back on the counter. “Since my wife died, I’m afraid I haven’t been much of a housekeeper.”
I smiled. “I’m fine here, if that’s okay.”
“So, where should we start?”
I started to open my mouth but Nik beat me to it. “Your client is trying to kill my sister and I think you should tell him to stop.”
“My client?” He looked properly confused, appropriately stunned even.
“Yeah, Eric Wright.” Mama Bear protecting her cubs.
“I’m afraid there must be some misunderstanding.” He picked up his coffee cup and sipped.
I looked around at furnishings from the early 1900s mixed with appliances from the seventies and eighties. The wood paneling along the bottom wall of the kitchen weighted down the cheery yellow wallpaper on top and the green linoleum was faded and stained. “You make good money protecting Wright?”
He shifted his focus to me. “I beg your pardon, young lady. That doesn’t seem like polite conversation.”
I leaned back. “I’m not that polite.”
Nik added, “She’s really not.”
“Maybe you should leave.”
I didn’t budge. “So, about my question? You live in a pretty good house, but you’re not putting a lot into the upkeep. The car out front is high-end, but not late-model. Wright’s is faltering. Or it’s not. Depending on who you ask. Which is it?”
“I cannot discuss that.”
I glanced at the fridge again, and the photo under the Seafood Festival magnet. “He have the money to have me whacked?”
He set his cup down. “Hear me out, Miss Groves.”
“Davis. Please.”
“Davis, then. My client, Mr. Wright, is not who you suspect he is. He couldn’t do these things you’re accusing him of doing.” His accent was softly Southern, the kind where you can hear the British roots in it, but his phrasing kept borrowing from old gangster movies. It made me wonder whom he was trying to fool.