“First,” Lewis said, “keep the cussing to a minimum. Then take a message.”
“And when someone calls wanting a security system?”
“That’s still our job, right?”
“We need a second phone line.”
“It’s only going to be a few weeks.”
“Do you really want to be sheriff?”
It wasn’t a question Lewis had asked himself when Trip mentioned the idea, but now he was certain. Some hesitation had disappeared when he learned about his father’s gambling. The public perception of his dad would remain the same, but Lewis knew the truth about Lew Mattock. There was no more mantle to maintain.
“It’s the right thing to do,” Lewis said. “Maybe I’ll even deputize you.”
“No way. Writing speeding tickets isn’t in my DNA.”
John Tyler pointed over Lewis’s shoulder as Trip Gaines’s Mercedes pulled into the parking lot and sounded two honks hello. Sitting beside Trip was Arthur Blakeslee, a big-shot lawyer from Cincinnati and the doctor’s best friend. In the back Sophie sat with the girls. “Looks like the whole clan is here,” John Tyler said. “I’ll make myself scarce.” He avoided Trip whenever possible and tried his best to ignore the doctor’s passive-aggressive comments about how lucky he was to have befriended Lewis and become part owner of a successful business.
“Stick around,” Lewis said. “He won’t be here long.”
“Long enough.” John Tyler shook the keys to the van. “Besides, I have work to do.”
Stella scampered from the backseat, pulling Sophie along after her while Ginny followed a few steps behind. Sophie wore a plaid skirt that Lewis had never seen along with a white blouse and beige cardigan. She’d looped a scarf around her neck and styled her hair so that stray strands fell in arcs across one cheek. She looked stunning. Lewis stepped up to kiss her. Then he hunched over and pretended to be a monster tromping after the girls, all loose limbs and grunts. Sophie said, “Don’t you have a campaign to run?” but Lewis kept playing his part and growled in response. He caught Ginny in one arm and Stella in the other, snarled and snorted and zerberted them until they begged him to stop. Their lives seemed infected by new possibility.
Sophie pulled a box of his father’s MATTOCK FOR SHERIFF signs from the trunk of her father’s sedan and started attaching “Lewis” adhesives to them. “Isn’t this smart,” she said. Lewis wasn’t sure. He thought maybe it was disrespectful or maybe he wanted signs of his own, but when she handed him a sticker, he took pleasure in smacking his name atop the placard. She kept on with the stickers and recruited the girls to help her line the grass that fronted the building with campaign signs. Lewis had to admit it looked pretty neat, seeing them lined up there like a low fence.
“Have you met our future sheriff?” Trip asked as Arthur Blakeslee came up to greet Lewis.
“Great news!” Blakeslee exclaimed. “Great news!” He extended a thick hand bearing a white envelope. “For the campaign.”
“Go ahead,” Trip said. “Open it.” Inside Lewis found a check for twenty-six hundred dollars.
“When Trip told me, I was thrilled. Couldn’t get out the checkbook fast enough.”
“Thank you, Mr. Blakeslee,” Lewis said. “But I don’t know if I’m allowed to accept this.”
Blakeslee laughed and Trip put an arm around Lewis. “It’s not only okay to accept,” Trip said, “it’s necessary. You have a campaign to run and to run a campaign you need money. Arthur here is your first benefactor, and I’d like to be your second.” Trip pulled an envelope from his suit jacket. “I took the liberty of soliciting donations from other friends as well. Those are on the way.”
Lewis hadn’t considered raising money. “This is very generous,” he said. “But I planned on walking door to door.”
Sophie came up and wrapped her arms around Lewis. “Gifts make Lewis uncomfortable,” she said.
“I just don’t know what these gifts are buying.”
Blakeslee stepped back into the conversation. “They don’t buy anything, son. This is standard procedure. As a lawyer, I wouldn’t do anything that wasn’t legally on the up-and-up.”
Lewis tried not to laugh.
“And it’s not just about this election,” Trip added. “It’s about building a career.”
“I guess I don’t know what to say,” Lewis said.
“Say thank you.” Trip clapped his hands together to end the discussion and handed a piece of paper to Sophie. “Call this number, honey, and buy us a little time on the radio. We need to get the word out that your husband is going to be this county’s next sheriff.”
“Do I need radio ads?” Lewis asked.
“I don’t think it’s wise to go knocking on doors,” Trip said. “Your father’s passing is pretty fresh. It might not look right. We’ll record one spot where you talk about how you are inspired to pick up where your father left off, extend his legacy, and so on. Then Sophie can record another with the girls. Those, along with a speech to announce you’re running, should be enough. If it becomes necessary, we’ll send you to knock on doors.”
Sophie beamed at Lewis. “Don’t worry,” she said. “You’re in good hands. Daddy knows a lot about this sort of thing.”
Blakeslee grinned.
Lewis couldn’t help feeling he was getting sold something but what that was he didn’t know, so he said his thanks and didn’t ask too many questions.
Sophie hugged him and said, “I’m so proud of you.” Her eyes were shining.
Lewis had felt this way before—during that first year of marriage, when they’d found out Sophie was pregnant, the day he’d opened his business—but he’d begun to doubt he’d ever feel so good again. The times in between hadn’t been filled with discontent so much as tedium.
Trip’s pocket buzzed, and he stepped away to take a call on his cell before coming back to Lewis. “We should go to the bank and make a deposit,” he said. “Do you have the checks?” Lewis shook the envelopes. He’d never seen eye to eye with his father-in-law, but he was glad to have Trip leading the way. He felt confident he’d win the election, and then he could start building his own legacy. Lewis had thousands between his fingertips but little idea what they meant.
* * *
When Harlan mentioned Lew’s financial woes to Holly, she handed him an official-looking envelope. “What’s this?”
A smile slipped across her face. “A subpoena to look into Lew’s bank records.”
“When did you—?”
“I started on the paperwork after you had me look at those court records. If Lew was accepting bribes, you might find evidence at the bank.”
“How’d you get Craycraft to sign the subpoena?”
“Look close.”
Harlan examined the legalese, stopped at the signature line. “Lee Smoot? The judge over in Mason?”
Holly nodded. “I didn’t tell him my reasons, but he and Craycraft had a falling-out over a golf game, so he was more than happy to help out.”
Harlan smiled and called Paige in to cover dispatch so Holly could go with him to the bank. With Del and Frank in Cynthiana, there wasn’t a single sheriff’s deputy on patrol, but that wasn’t the end of the world. The Staties had kept a couple extra officers in the county since Lew’s death and the phone had stopped ringing off the hook and life had generally returned to normal just about everywhere except inside the sheriff’s department.
“Does this mean you’re on board with my investigation?” Harlan asked as they walked to First Federal.
“I’ve spent a couple sleepless nights thinking about Lew and the possibility he was crooked. If this helps us find who shot him, then we should do it, but I still hope you’re wrong.”
“And if I’m not?”
“Then you’ll track the leads that come from it. Regardless, it sounds to me like you need to get in touch with Little Joe O’Malley.”
O’Malley was a former flyweight who’d made a name for himself by taking punches and s
taying upright. Now he managed the Silver Spoon for an out-of-town conglomerate. Harlan asked Holly what she knew about him.
“Slow-footed,” she said. “But when he landed a left hook, it was over.”
The bank manager looked skeptically at the subpoena, adjusted his pale pink tie, and asked why Wesley Craycraft didn’t issue it.
“I guess he was busy,” Harlan replied.
The manager looked unconvinced and Holly spoke up. “I believe it has to do with where the account was opened,” she said. “But it doesn’t really matter, does it? Lew isn’t the subject of the investigation. He was the victim. We think these bank records might help us find his killer.”
The manager didn’t seem reassured—the law didn’t come asking for bank records without expecting to find dirt in the account. “We prefer not to disclose our clients’ private information,” he said.
“It is a subpoena,” Harlan said. “It doesn’t matter what you prefer.”
The guy faked a smile and called over a teller with horsey teeth that she tried to keep hidden. He explained the nature of Harlan and Holly’s inquiry in such a way as to tip the girl off that he wasn’t thrilled by their presence. The girl said for them to follow her and tottered toward a back office in a stiff skirt and heels she hadn’t perfected.
She logged on to a computer and brought up Lew’s account, asked if there was anything in particular they wanted her to find. Harlan had her scroll through the transactions. “This sure was a busy account,” she said as the numbers flashed on the screen. “Thank God for computers, right?”
Harlan found the data dizzying. “I don’t even own a calculator,” he said.
Holly giggled. “They have their merits,” she said and pulled a chair next to the teller, asked the girl if she could handle the mouse.
Harlan and the teller watched Holly methodically click through screens, occasionally making marks on a pad of paper. “You find what you’re looking for?” the girl asked.
“It’s not quite that simple, honey,” Holly said.
The girl started to make her own notes, wrote each time Holly stopped on a screen and made a mark. She was the bank manager’s eyes, but Harlan didn’t blame her. She was just a kid following directions and most people following directions have no idea what they’re doing. Harlan had been like that for years—just following Lew’s directions.
He didn’t feel comfortable talking in front of the teller, so he asked her if she’d get the manager for him. The girl was conflicted. Her boss wanted her to keep an eye on Harlan, but then again Harlan was the sheriff and you did what the sheriff asked. She looked once more at Holly, who kept scrolling through transactions. “Sure,” she said and picked up her notes. “I’ll be a minute.”
As soon as she was out the door, Holly said, “Lew’s financial situation was a mess. He kept zeroing his balance, bouncing checks, then adding large deposits. The cycle repeated.”
“That sounds like someone who’s taking bribes.”
“It does. Especially since almost every deposit that isn’t a paycheck is cash, which makes the money hard to track.”
“So what’s the verdict?”
“I thought we’d be out of luck, but three months ago a check from Lingg Pedersen bounced. I remember him from those letters. His son Adam had a drug charge reduced.”
Harlan knew the kid, knew his dad, a surly Scandinavian tobacco farmer. “By God,” Harlan said, reaching down and rubbing Holly’s shoulders. “I should give you this badge.”
“No thanks,” she said. “I don’t want the responsibility.”
Harlan could hear the teller returning with her boss, heels and wingtips clicking in an even rhythm, and asked Holly if she’d seen any checks from a Chapman.
“As in Doyle Chapman?”
“Yeah,” Harlan said. “As in Doyle.”
Holly reached up and took his hand in hers. “I looked, Harlan. There wasn’t anything unusual around the time of his release. I’m sorry.”
“I don’t know if it would have been better or worse.”
“I don’t think what happened to you and that girl could be any worse.” She squeezed Harlan’s hand once and let go as the bank manager pivoted on his polished Oxfords and asked Harlan what he needed.
“I was wondering if y’all have a john I might use?” Harlan said.
“Excuse me?”
“A restroom.”
Holly snickered.
“Down the hall on your right.” The manager glanced at the teller. “Amanda could have told you that.”
“I know.” Harlan soaked in the manager’s confusion, then said, “Holly here has some stuff she wants y’all to print out. She’ll tell you all about it.” He clapped the bank manager on the shoulder as he walked by and thanked him for his help.
On the way out, Harlan and Holly bumped into Lewis Mattock, who was with his father-in-law and a third man Harlan didn’t recognize. Holly gave Lewis a hug and told him not to be such a stranger. Harlan muttered something about making headway in the investigation. Lewis didn’t offer much response. It was awkward running into Lewis right after digging up dirt on his dad and soon everyone was standing around without much to say. The third man didn’t introduce himself, so Trip Gaines ended everyone’s discomfort and said to Lewis, “We should really get a move on.”
* * *
Mary Jane’s new tattoo worried Mark. Even though she’d taken it well when he’d come clean about his father, he didn’t know how long the calm would last. Mary Jane could become unpredictable if she wasn’t stoned or fucking or otherwise distracted and the clock was ticking. For the moment she was content, napping on the couch. The air smelled heavy with sex and Mark pressed his nose into the crook of her neck and breathed deep. If Mark couldn’t whisk her away that moment, the least he could do was keep Mary Jane happy in Lexington.
He slipped away to buy her flowers at the Kroger, and as he walked back to the apartment, he stopped in a boutique and scanned the racks of dresses. They needed every dollar he’d saved, but he considered the navy dress with a white collar more investment than gift.
“I love that one,” the salesgirl said from behind him.
Mark lifted the dress; he had no idea how to shop for women’s clothes. “It looks like it would be too small.”
“What size is she?”
“I don’t know. She’s my height. A bit rounder.” He hoped he hadn’t made Mary Jane sound fat. She was self-conscious about her weight, but how could Mark explain to the waif of a girl in front of him what fitting into clothes was like for Mary Jane? “She’d be about a medium in men’s.”
“So maybe a ten or twelve.”
“I really don’t know.” Mark was on the slight side for a boy—five-eight, pushing 140. Sometimes he felt that if he and Mary Jane fit better, their lives would be easier, not that he’d ever told her that. She’d take it too personally. It wasn’t an indictment of her size and shape any more than it was of his own.
“Give me one minute,” the girl said as she scanned the racks and pulled out the same style dress in black, along with a white leather belt. “This should be the right size and this belt would give the dress some shape, especially for a woman with curves.”
Mark hadn’t thought about a belt but it was a nice touch. A minute later, he was back on the sidewalk, heading home with flowers and the dress. He opened the apartment door and announced in his most gallant voice, “I’m taking you on a date.”
Mary Jane was sitting on the couch watching TV. “What’s that?”
Mark brought out the flowers and she jumped off the couch to hug him. “And…” He handed over a bag stamped with the boutique’s bird logo. “Something to wear.”
Mary Jane unwrapped the dress and blushed. She wanted to give Mark a fashion show and took her time changing. When she came out, she’d straightened her hair and done her makeup and the dress clung to her in all the right places, even flared out as she spun. “What do you think?”
Mark could
see the Mary Jane of his past in that dress, the vision he’d fallen for years before. She was almost stunning. “Beautiful,” he said.
Mary Jane cat-walked up to the couch and straddled herself over him. The dress lifted, and as Mark started to get hard, she ran her fingers through his hair and over his chest and grinded against his cock. “We’ll deal with this later,” she whispered and licked his ear. Mark wanted to deal with it right then, but Mary Jane stood up and told him to get dressed for dinner.
He changed into slacks and a button-down shirt, ran a comb through his hair. Tonight, he would be an admiring Romeo. So much of their relationship had been lived in the dark. Their first kiss had been in middle school at a basement truth-or-dare party, and for a couple of weeks afterward they’d “dated,” which meant making out in hallways and after school. Eventually Mary Jane broke it off. She could have had any boy she wanted.
Then, in high school, as other girls matured into their bodies, Mary Jane grew heavy. Mark would find her after parties and they’d go someplace hidden. Mary Jane wasn’t considered a catch anymore. By then, it was Mark who kept Mary Jane at arm’s length, who didn’t want people to know what he did with the heavyset girl who liked to say yes. Eventually they lost their virginity together, and even though he wanted to keep their coupling secret, Mary Jane never complained or tried to make it “official.” Mark felt closer to her because of that. He tried to date other girls but it didn’t work out. Other girls found him too quiet, too brooding, and in time he started to think of Mary Jane as something more than a fuck buddy, as someone he could trust—a girl who was smarter than she let on. During his lonely and sexless freshman year of college, he’d kept returning to Marathon to be with her, came to realize that she was the only person he’d ever confided in, came to realize that even though he wasn’t sure what it meant to love, this was as close as he’d ever come.
As he came out of the bedroom, Mark kissed Mary Jane deeply. On the way to the restaurant, he opened the car door, played slow jams, and piled compliments upon compliments. When the hostess at Chili’s asked how many, he said, “Table for two” and put his arm around Mary Jane.
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