Lacene Lords

by Fornataro, Nancy

  He sat on the edge of the bed. "Chad? Don't expect we'll ever know the why of it. Just gotta accept it and move on. Can only cry so much. We loved him, and we were good to him. That's what counts. We love each other. That counts too."

  Lila ran her hand down his back. "You're a good man, Jake."

  Spence sat in the exercise room, alone, thinking of all the events since he came to town. But, the one that just happened with Meg was the worst. He'd hurt her, with his impulsive actions. He wanted to go apologize, but she might be asleep.

  "I'll catch her tomorrow," he said to himself.

  But, Tammy's words, 'remember me' resounded in his brain. He had thought of her during his sexual play with Meg, remembered holding Tammy's hands hard against her back. The little twinge of something he'd never felt before, and never experienced. Usually, to him, the sex act was smooth and seamless, never rough and callous.

  He sighed and slung the towel over his shoulder as he headed for his bedroom. Tomorrow, he told himself.

  At eight o'clock the next morning, Detective Ellison checked his computer when he got to work. "Hey," he said to Smith, "got the profile from Stutgart on the letter writer."

  Smith was not a morning person and it showed in his bleary eyes and morose expression. "What letter writer?" he snapped as he took off his suit jacket and sat down.

  "Uh, hello. Anyone home? The Moorehouse murders, shit head."

  Smith still looked stymied.

  Ellison handed him the file. "The one Martinez wanted us to work on. Yesterday, dick brain."

  "Got it," Smith said, "twenty year old murder. Like we're really going to find anything on that one." But his voice trailed off as Martinez approached their desks.

  "How's the Moorehouse case?" the captain asked them.

  "Good, sir," Smith said quickly, "got the file right here. We'll go over to Lacene today and see what we can shake loose."

  "Such a big effort for so early in the morning," Ellison muttered.

  After Martinez returned to his office, Smith seemed to collapse and took small bites of his bran muffin. "So," he said finally, "what's the deal with Stutgart?"

  Ellison shook his head and continued reading. "Preliminary, the guy is romantic, physical, careful and people oriented. There's more, but it's really the same. Could be anyone of those jokers in Lacene."

  "Could be you," Smith countered, taking a large belt of his Starbuck's double-latte.

  "Right. After working homicide, I'm really people oriented. So, you ready to go over there?"

  "In this heat? Damn, it's hot over there, even at night."

  "Stop whining. We'll take my car. The air is gone in the unmarked."

  "Give me a minute," Smith said irritably, "I haven't finished the muffin."

  "Bring it with. Let's go, happy camper."

  Willie slammed his locker shut, and felt Joe's presence behind him. His shoulder was killing him now and the brace he wore felt too tight. It made him walk too upright, he thought, like he had a pole up his ass. He ignored Joe.

  "Ah, Willie listen--" Joe began.

  Willie whirled around. "Blow me." He started walking to first period, with Joe following a distance behind him.

  "Willie, you never played a joke on your family? Just for the hell of it?"

  After stopping dead in his tracks, with Joe almost ramming into him, Willie replied, "No. And, if you play jokes like that on your family, there is something way wrong with you."

  Joe muttered, "Whatever," and continued down the hall. And the only satisfaction to Willie was that Joe's face looked like hamburger warmed over.

  At lunch break, Dana came to sit across from Willie in the crowded cafeteria. He remembered her picture on Joe's phone, and he started blushing.

  Dana didn't seem to notice, though, as she ate her roast beef sandwich. "So Willie, I heard you were in a fight yesterday." She raised her eyebrows.

  His eyes roved to her chest, then back up to her brown eyes. "Yeah. Nothing real exciting. Joe got the worst of it."

  "I noticed," she said with a laugh. "Where is he, anyway?"

  "Who cares? I'm not hanging with him anymore. He's trouble with a capital 'J'." These were his mother's words as they'd sat at the urgent care the night before, but Dana didn't know that.

  He told Dana about Joe spiking his grandmother's tea with acid, and added, "I would have killed him if Deputy Davey hadn't happened along the road."

  "Wow," she began eating her chips, "I'm glad your grandma is okay. But didn't you buy dope from him? Where are you going to get it now?"

  "I'm not a big doper. He was the only reason I ever smoked pot, just like a guy thing. You know, on the way home, stuff like that."

  "I wonder where I could get some pills, like Darvon or Percocette. You know anyone, Will?" she asked absently.

  He liked that she called him Will. He seemed older with that name. "Heard Tom Jameson and Kaylee Peters deal pills. Sometimes Joe gets them from Tom or Kaylee. He marks up the price by a hundred percent though. Kids don't want to pay that much."

  "Yeah," she sighed, "he's pretty much of a prick that way. Kind of surprises me on Kaylee. Are you sure? I don't want to go asking a cheerleader for pills."

  Kaylee, with her red hair and freckles, Willie thought, didn't look like the type. "Yeah, I'm sure. Joe told me and generally he doesn't lie about that stuff."

  "Okay, great." Dana smiled at him. "Thanks, Will. I owe you one."

  He smiled back and realized it was the first time that day he'd had anything but a frown on his face.

  "Hey, Dana," he said as she collected her book bag and tray, "you think we could go out some time?"

  "Oh, I'm sorry Will," she said kindly, softly, "my uncle doesn't let me date too much and Joe has me pretty much tied up."

  He nodded. "Can't fault a guy for trying."

  She flashed him a grin. "Later, gator."

  Spence sat in the kitchen, after Maria had cleared breakfast dishes, and heard Meg come down the stairs. Jake had gone to work and Lila was out in the barn with Harv and her horses.

  Meg ignored him and went straight to the coffee pot. After pouring herself a cup, and opening the back door, she walked out to the back porch and sat on the wicker couch. Spence grabbed his coffee cup and followed her.

  He leaned against the porch rail and stared down at her, while he sipped his coffee.

  "So, are you not speaking to me?" he asked.

  She smiled briefly. "Oh, I'm speaking, you just don't want to hear what I'm going to say."

  "And, what's that?"

  She said dreamily, "I'm looking for a man. He's going to wipe away my tears and call me 'baby.' Other women would be jealous of what we have. He'll tell me he loves me often, and he'll really mean it. He'll kiss me all the time and he'll really mean that as well." Her voice trailed off.

  "Well," Spence said, "I guess I've been told. The blueprint for happiness, by Meg Cowell."

  "I need something," she answered softly, "to get me through the days and long, hot summer nights."

  Sunlight streamed across them both, and the porch grew uncomfortably warm.

  Spence looked up as he heard shoes crunching on the gravel driveway at the side of the house. "Well," he said to the two men sarcastically, "if it's not D and D, dumb and dumber."

  Detective Ellison wiped his sweating forehead with his shirtsleeve. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, kid."

  The two detectives, without being asked, sat in wicker chairs across from Meg, after Smith brushed the cushions off.

  "Come on down," Spence added, "our casa e su casa."

  "I don't understand," Meg said, confused. "What are they doing here?"

  "Ah, yes," Spence said, "how well we remember the good detectives and all their fine work." To Meg, he said, "They've reopened my parent's case. The black box showed up."

  Meg's hand came up to her mouth, and she looked sick. "So that's why, last night..." She looked up at Spence. "I'm so sorry."

  "I'm missing somethi
ng grandiose here," Smith said, "what happened last night?"

  "None of your fucking business," Spence replied pleasantly, "next question, dumber."

  Smith was impassive. "So, why didn't you tell us about the black box, Spence?"

  "It's Mr. Moorehouse to you, dickhead. And I forgot about it at the time. It was the last thing on my mind."

  Ellison chimed in, "So you took it from your parent's house that night and hid it somewhere?"

  Smith said, "And you found it again when you got back here a few days ago?"

  A muscle tensed in Spence's jaw as he replied, "I'm not the stupid kid I was back then. If you're going to charge me, then charge me. I don't have to answer any more of your questions."

  Ellison sighed. "It'll be easier on you, kid."

  Spence put his coffee on the side table and crossed his arms.

  The silence was heavy.

  "Spence Moorehouse," Ellison said quietly, as he stood, "you're under arrest for the murder of June and Oscar Moorehouse. Place your hands behind your back. You have the right to remain silent..."

  Meg gasped. "I'll call Simon Litsky," she said, as she ran inside.

  Simon received Meg's phone call at ten in the morning. He was stunned. This was one thing he never expected to happen. Spence? Killed his parents?

  He doubted the charge right off the bat, and wondered why and what evidence the Rushburg detectives had.

  Worse than that, his secretary was on break and he'd spotted Tammy in the waiting area. He opened the door to his office.

  "Tammy."

  She breezed in the room, hair down, wearing a tight red dress.

  After he closed the door, she ran a hand down his suit coat and smoothed the pocket handkerchief. "Such excitement," she said as she slowly walked around the room, touching this and picking up that. "Think he's innocent?"

  "What? How did you--"

  "Oh, Simon," she laughed, "you know I have my sources."

  "I can't discuss it. Haven't even talked with him yet. Couldn't discuss it anyway. Attorney client privilege.

  "My, we are the lawyer personified today." Her eyes narrowed as she gazed at him. "You haven't called."

  "You know why. I told you, Father Damien--"

  "Oh, spare me, Simon. We only go around once in life. Why spend it with a rhetoric spouting fool like him?"

  She crossed the room and put a hand behind his neck. Drawing him close, she kissed him deeply, thoroughly, the penetrating kiss he knew so well.

  But, he pulled away. "I need to help Spence. I have work to do."

  She just smiled up at him, and walked out the door.

  Meg stepped on the gas as she rounded the corner to Happy Trails Mobile Home Park. After skidding to a stop at number three, she ran to the door.

  She knocked loudly. "Pap...Pap, open up!"

  Davey answered the door. "Not a good time, Meg, he's--"

  "I've got to talk to him," Meg interrupted.

  "What's wrong--"

  Meg entered quickly and yelled, "Pap, where are you?"

  Hearing a sound, she went to his bedroom.

  Ashen faced, he sat part way up in his bed and nodded to her. "Meg."

  "Pap," she said, while Davey moved into the room behind her, "they've arrested Spence. For murdering his parents."

  "Christ," Davey said, while the old man just nodded and looked thoughtful.

  Meg told him the story of the two detectives and Pap chuckled. "Dumb and dumber. I like that."

  "What can we do?" Meg asked impatiently.

  Pap took a breath. "Well, you got Simon. He'll hold them off for a while."

  Davey said, "The two detectives were here earlier. That's why Pap is so out of breath. They wore him out with questions."

  Meg's look was piercing. "What did you tell them? What was not in the report that you told them this morning?"

  He paused to take a breath, before he said slowly, "Spence. He was covered with blood. Didn't include it in the report back then. They asked, I answered. But that's not relevant by itself. They've got something else on him. Don't know what."

  Meg was furious. "Why did you tell them? After all this time?"

  A smile quirked Pap's lips. "Girl, we're looking for the real killer. We'll try anything to get there. Any edge is fair game. Plus now, those detectives will most likely cooperate more with Davey."

  "I don't understand."

  Pap nodded to Davey who said, "The real killer will slip up now. Get careless. He'll get drunk at Red's some night and let it slip. Or he'll visit the graves and leave some prints. We're checking that daily. He may even try to kill Spence."

  Meg let out a long sigh. "Pap, your way of police work has me confused. But I'll trust both of you on this. I have to trust you. It's my only hope."

  "Don't let on that we talked," Pap said, drawing in another deep breath, "let them surprise you with whatever they think they've got. In the mean time, Davey and me will be workin' behind the scenes."

  Meg nodded and turned to Davey. "I'll call Daddy Jake. Maybe he can hurry up the arraignment and bail Spence out."

  Davey scratched his chin before he put his hat on. "Don't know. Capital murder case like this one..."

  "Dad has connections, don't worry. Everyone in town owes him favors, including Judge Franklin."

  After saying goodbye to Pap, they rode in their respective cars to the courthouse.

  A quick call by Meg to Big Jake had gotten the ball rolling. Judge Janine Franklin had arraigned Spence by the time Meg arrived.

  Meg's footsteps echoed in the hallway as she ran towards the bail room.

  Jake was there along with Simon Litsky.

  "Simon," she said breathlessly, "what do they have on Spence?"

  Jake finished up the bail amount while Simon led her into the hallway to talk.

  "I think they're blowing smoke, Meg. What they've got is that Spence was covered with blood. You can thank Pap for letting that little morsel go." But then he hesitated.

  "What?" she asked, "Tell me what else."

  "Well," Simon replied as he ran a finger around his collar, "I don't know if Spence even knew this or not back then."

  "Knew what?" Meg said impatiently.

  "It appears that Spence would stand to inherit a substantial sum of money on his eighteenth birthday, if the folks were dead."

  Her breath came out in a long gasp. "How much, Simon?"

  He sighed. "Five million dollars."

  *****

  The two men met at the graveyard at a time they knew the old man wouldn't be tending the plots.

  "Fitting place to meet, don't you think? I mean, considering what happened today."

  "So, is he pretty much out of commission now? He won't be snooping around anymore?"

  "Don't know. Hard to say."

  "What the hell do you know? We've got to either nail this thing or nail him. It's that simple."

  The other man sighed. "It's not simple. And with detectives snooping around, we don't want to be caught with our pants down. You've got to calm yourself."

  "I'll calm down when he's out of the picture. Can't take much more of this."

  "Since when are you such a wimp?"

  A harsh wind blew dust in their eyes, and clouds obscured the scorching sun momentarily.

  "Since a certain box turned up on Algonquin Road."

  The other man grinned now. "Can't help the monsoons."

  "Yeah? Well, think I'll help you to the end of my forty-five. Maybe then you'll sit up and take note."

  Still grinning, he replied, "You bring the check?"

  "Here. And this is an end to it. Take care of the situation. Before I do. And, if I have to take care of it, there will be hell to pay."

  *****

  Father Damien entered the confessional. "You may proceed," he said quietly.

  "Bless me father, for I have sinned."

  He waited. And, while he waited, he thought about his growing congregation. Luckily, when the new subdivision went up at t
he outskirts of town, there were plenty of Catholics there. Now, Sundays in his church were packed and the offerings substantial. His budget had never looked so good. And, with Simon's help, the services were smooth and the bills paid.

  But, then his mind drifted to Simon. A very troubled man. Father was trained to see it, and he saw it in Simon. His counsel seemed to be going in one ear and out the other with Simon. The man just wouldn't listen.

  Realizing the confessional silence was stretching, he cleared his throat.

  "Bless me Father, for I have sinned," the person repeated, "it's been twenty years since my last confession."

  Stunned, Father Damien sat, quiet for a moment, before he said, "You have done the right thing."

  Again, the silence stretched between them. Father's thoughts drifted to the accident at the morning Mass. The altar was splintered and, from what the carpenter told him, may need to be replaced at substantial cost. Just when things were turning around for the church, something like that happened. God was testing him. Again.

  "My sin...my sin is murder."

  Father's head bounced up at the revelation. "Then you have broken a commandment and murdered another human being?"

  "Yes, father."

  He searched his mind. The voice was muffled and he didn't recognize it as one of his parishioners. "You have asked God for forgiveness?" Father Damien didn't know what to do. People asked to be forgiven for any number of sins, adultery, wife beating, loss of temper, but this...this was a first for him. Should he look out the door to see who it was? He wondered. But, that wasn't permitted.

  "Yes," the person said, "I have asked for God's forgiveness."

  "But, you need to tell someone other than God. You need to tell the authorities."

  "Can't do it, Father. I have too much at stake."

  Now, Father Damien was really stymied.

  "Matthew 9," the parishioner continued, "Jesus said, take courage, your sins are forgiven."

  "Matthew 5:21," Father countered, "thou shall not commit murder, and whoever commits murder shall be liable to the court."

  "Matthew 7," the voice said softly, "judge not lest you be judged. Matthew 7:15, beware of false prophets."