No Turning Back

by Nancy Bush

  Rubbing steam from the mirror in the bathroom, she gazed at her solemn expression, recognized the anxiety in her eyes, and was pissed. She wanted courage and she wanted it now. Sixteen years was too long to wait. It was high time she faced Hawthorne Hart. High time she stepped into that long-awaited role of motherhood.

  Motherhood. She’d spent so few moments with her child that it felt like someone else’s dream. Her mental picture of her son was dim: all pink skin and wiggling limbs and a hoarse cry, the memory of which could still cause her skin to break out in gooseflesh.

  Brushing her teeth with more fervor than finesse, she ran the scene in the hospital delivery room over in her head—like she had a billion times before. She’d refused anesthesia of any kind, but the body had a way of doping itself. Everything seemed hazy and surreal, and when they’d pulled her son from her and whisked him away, she couldn’t summon a squeak of protest. The hospital staff was adept at keeping him hidden, too. All she remembered were green surgical robes, a tiny flash of rosy baby flesh, several bleating cries, and he was gone.

  Okay, you’ve gone through the guilt again. Try something more constructive.

  She would go and see Kristy. Maybe drive her to the doctor and await the final verdict. Something.

  Anything but face what she’d promised to do today.

  * * *

  “My mom wants me to get a job,” Brad complained, a wad of dip stuck in the side of his cheek making his words sound like he was talking underwater. With that, he spat a stream of brown stuff onto the ground near Jesse’s feet.

  Now Jesse wasn’t grossed out by much. Sure, the dead guy’s body had given him a scare, but thinking back on it just turned on the curiosity machine. All those little black holes. And the guy’s eyes had been kinda puffed out, like the explosion from the bullet had practically blown them from his head.

  He was definitely going to have to ask about that.

  But Brad’s new addiction bugged him to no end. In disgust, he watched Brad mangle the dip around in his mouth, spit once more, dribbling some down his chin.

  “That stuff gives you mouth cancer. Huge sores inside your lips.”

  Brad swiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “Yeah, well, you smoke, butthead. Wha’d’ya think that does to your lungs?”

  “I’ve given up smoking.”

  Brad broke into laughter, little black bits of dip sticking to his teeth. “Since when?”

  “Since we ran from the dead body, that’s when! Thought I’d die myself. Jesus, I can’t get it outta my head.”

  “Think they found it yet?”

  “Yeah.”

  Jesse had no doubt. With as little fanfare as possible, he and Brad had relayed the information to Chief Perry Dortner. Thank God Dad hadn’t been there. He’d tried to mention it earlier but just couldn’t bring himself to do it. His father was looking for a reason to be pissed at him—or worse—and Jesse knew finding a dead body would qualify. So, it had been a relief when Dortner had been there by himself. Jesse had dropped the particulars on the police chief, who’d stared him down as if he were an alien with three green horns sticking out of his head and an attitude to match. No matter. The deed was done and the body had probably already been tagged and bagged.

  As Brad pinched out another wad of dip and shoved it in his cheek, Jesse asked, “What kind of job does she want you to get?”

  He shrugged. “Something that pays good and keeps me out of trouble.”

  “Yeah right. Find one of those in Woodside.”

  “Thought I might check at Lannie’s.”

  Lannie’s was the local gas station and minimarket. It was also a great place to buy cigarettes because nobody gave a good goddamn what age you were.

  “That’ll keep you out of trouble all right,” Jesse said sardonically.

  “Better than cleaning out Uncle Roy’s houses,” Brad muttered. This was the job he’d had the year before: sweeping up and hauling debris from the homes Brad’s uncle built. It wasn’t actually that bad a job, but Brad and his uncle were constantly at loggerheads. Brad was naturally slow in his movements and he hadn’t appreciated it when Uncle Roy nicknamed him Sloth. Though Jesse was pretty sure Brad didn’t know what it meant, he was quick enough to understand it most likely wasn’t complimentary.

  “Just don’t light up while you’re pumping gas,” Jesse suggested.

  “That’s why I took up chewing.”

  “I didn’t figure it was for your health.”

  “What’s bugging you?” Brad demanded.

  Jesse couldn’t answer. He wasn’t entirely sure. He wanted to know more about the dead body, but he didn’t want to talk to his dad. “C’mon,” he said after a moment. “Let’s go see your shrink and find out if she knows anything more.”

  “Think Tawny’s still with her?” Brad asked, grinning like a devil. He knew Jesse’s weaknesses and loved to nail him.

  “Shut up,” Jesse answered good-naturedly.

  He certainly hoped so.

  * * *

  Late afternoon and nothing happening. Liz sat in her office and toyed with a pencil, knowing she should head home. She’d called Kristy and had learned surgery was scheduled for tomorrow, so Kristy was busy getting prepared. That left Liz unsettled and with time on her hands, so she’d decided to stop by after work. But there were no appointments scheduled, so when her thoughts weren’t on Kristy and Tawny, they were on the task she’d set for herself. She was scared spitless and she knew why. She was terrified her son would reject her.

  And why shouldn’t he? she asked herself, playing devil’s advocate. You abandoned him. You’ve never tried to contact him. You nearly aborted him. Why should he want to see you? Come up with one solid reason. He doesn’t want you. You weren’t there for the first sixteen years; he won’t thank you for trying to be part of the next fifty or so.

  Liz paced the room like a caged animal, frustrated and anxious. She had no appointments for this afternoon. She’d only come to work to avoid the whole issue.

  But it was time for action.

  Snatching up her hobo purse, Liz slung it over her shoulder. She would go to the police station and address Hawk face-to-face, then, depending on what his reaction was, she would take further steps.

  Such as?

  “I don’t know,” she whispered aloud.

  Determined footsteps sounded in the outside hallway. Liz half-turned, then jumped.

  Bang! Bang! Bang!

  Someone sure knew how to pound their fist on a door.

  “Come on in,” Liz said, fighting a certain amount of reluctance. An unscheduled caller with that kind of frustrated energy didn’t sound encouraging.

  The door flew open as if jet-propelled. In the doorway stood a young girl wearing a snarl. Carrie Lister. The same young girl Liz had seen the day before. Yesterday’s two o’clock appointment.

  “Hey, Carrie,” Liz greeted her, as if her sudden appearance were as common as summer rain in Washington.

  “I gotta see you ten billion more times, so I thought I might as well get it over with.” Carrie strolled into Liz’s office and plopped into a chair. She crossed her ankles on top of the desk, caught Liz’s eye, shrugged, and dropped her feet to the floor.

  “I thought we determined you’d come in next Thursday.” Liz sank back into her own chair. She’d been given a reprieve.

  “Why wait?”

  Carrie had been in some minor trouble with the law that had resulted in ten hours of counseling with Liz and thirty-five hours of community service. She was currently “employed” at the senior center, sweeping floors and cleaning restrooms, and everyone at that establishment couldn’t wait to be done with her. Carrie’s attitude stank. A perpetual scowl tightened her brow, and Liz had yet to scare a smile from those dark burgundy-painted lips.

  “So, basically, you’re interested in expediency over results,” Liz suggested, her mouth curving upward.

  “Huh?”

  “Never mind. Remember yesterday, wh
en I asked you about school this fall? Any more thoughts on that?”

  “I hate school.”

  “You said you might go back, though.”

  “Are you deaf? I told you, I can’t stand bein’ home! Sarah’s an insane bitch.”

  Sarah Lister was Carrie’s mother, and Liz privately felt half of Carrie’s problems stemmed from their relationship. A secretary for a local government agency, Sarah spent her leisure hours with a lover whom Carrie had tagged the asshole and quality time with her daughter appeared nonexistent. Not that Carrie was a dream companion by any stretch of the imagination, but Liz generally met with both Sarah and Carrie and suspected blame could be evenly divided.

  As if her thoughts had conjured up the woman, Sarah strode into Liz’s office at that moment, her face a thundercloud. “Carrie!” she bellowed. “I don’t have time to chase you all over the goddamn place. My boss is screaming at me, and you’re just leaving messages like I should jump when you snap your fingers. Next time you come by yourself. The doc there can just mark me absent. I don’t give a shit.”

  Carrie rolled her eyes. Liz, seeking control, said, “Unless there’s an emergency, it would be better if we could all stick to an appointment schedule.”

  “This is an emergency,” Carrie declared. “I need to divorce my mother.”

  Sarah swore under her breath. Her mouth tightened. Unhappiness surrounded them both like a dark cloud.

  “That old lady down the street accused you of stealing her trees,” Sarah said to her daughter.

  Carrie snorted and scratched her arm. Liz noted a series of bruises running from shoulder to elbow. She’d seen some before, but Carrie had assured her on more than one occasion that bruises were the price one paid for sneaking out the back window and carousing with friends at night. Liz wondered.

  “Trees?” Carrie repeated.

  “Mrs. Brindamoor’s trees. She’s been bitching about them. Told me you were probably involved.”

  “I ain’t involved.”

  Something about the way Carrie denied that perked up Liz’s ears. She might not be involved, but she knew who was.

  “What about the trees?” Liz asked Carrie.

  “She had trees linin’ her driveway and somebody took ’em all. There were quite a few, too.”

  “You mean someone felled the trees and actually took them away?” Liz asked.

  “Um . . . yeah, I guess.” Carrie shrugged.

  “Then it wasn’t straight vandalism, or else why would anyone bother?” Liz pointed out. When Sarah stared her down, Liz elaborated, “They must have taken them for a purpose.”

  Now it was Carrie’s turn to stare. “Yeah, you’re right. It ain’t vandalism at all. So stop thinkin’ what you’re thinkin’,” she ordered her mother. “None of my friends were anywhere near that old bitch’s trees.”

  “Watch your mouth,” Sarah said distractedly.

  Liz glanced from one to the other. Something was going on here and it had nothing to do with Carrie’s truancy and sometimes criminal behavior. Both mother and daughter were suddenly rather subdued and lost in thought—characteristics Liz had seen in neither of them to date.

  Before either of them could explain further, Brad and his friend, Jesse, appeared in the doorway. Spying Sarah and Carrie, Jesse looked about to bolt, but Carrie suddenly leaped up and threw him a brilliant smile—her first ever in Liz’s presence.

  “Hey there!” Carrie cried. “What’s up?”

  “Oh, nothing,” Jesse murmured, his expression Sphinx-like, almost stern. Something piqued Liz’s spook button. That was twice now that he’d reminded her of something or someone she couldn’t quite name.

  “We just dropped by,” Brad put in.

  Like hell. The Brads and Jesses of the world didn’t just drop by.

  “So did we,” Carrie said pertly. “My mother thinks I’m a tree thief.” She rolled her eyes.

  Jesse’s head turned swiftly. “Tree thief?”

  “Oh, it’s dumb. That old lady with the long driveway.” Carrie waved it aside. “Someone stole ’em all.”

  “She thinks I did it,” Jesse said, sliding a glance to Liz to check her reaction.

  “She thinks I did it.” Carrie laughed. “What would I do with a bunch of old trees? And how would I get ’em out of there? Like I drive a truck!”

  “She thinks every kid who ain’t on the honor roll at Woodside High did it.” Brad snorted. “That old bag’s been screamin’ at kids on the street. She nailed Josh Martin pretty good yesterday.”

  Liz thought of how Deanne Martin must have liked that. She would probably hear about it when, and if, Josh, and therefore Deanne, made another appointment.

  “She’s crazy,” Carrie said, circling a finger beside her ear to indicate Anita Brindamoor’s mental state.

  “Somebody probably took the trees to see if they could send her over the edge,” Jesse said with a shrug.

  “A lot of work to go to just to be ornery,” Liz pointed out.

  “Carrie, I’ve got to get back to work,” Sarah broke in sharply. Liz glanced her way. With the new arrivals, she’d almost forgotten about Carrie’s mom. Still with that same distracted air, Sarah left the office, snapping her fingers for Carrie to follow. Carrie, however, was in no mood now that the two boys had appeared. It didn’t take a rocket scientist, or even a fairly good psychologist, to figure out Carrie had a major thing for Jesse.

  “Carrie!” Sarah screamed from the hallway.

  “Did you want to talk?” Liz asked Brad.

  “Nah . . .” He hesitated.

  “You’re gonna mark me down, aren’t you?” Carrie demanded. “I came and saw you.”

  “I’ll mark you down,” Liz assured her dryly.

  When she still didn’t leave, Liz pointedly held open the door. “Next Thursday,” she told Carrie, who lingered beside Jesse long enough to make everyone feel impatient.

  When she was finally gone, Jesse and Brad both sighed as if they’d been holding their breath on purpose. “Did you find out anything about the dead guy?” Jesse asked Liz.

  “Not yet.”

  “Yeah? I figured you went to the station after we did.”

  Liz inwardly winced. That’s what she should have done. “I was thinking of going today.”

  “Is Tawny staying with you?” Brad asked.

  Jesse shot him a lethal look, which Liz translated to mean, I don’t want to be that obvious, you jerk.

  “I think she’s home right now, but she’ll probably be staying with me for a couple days starting tomorrow. Her mom’s going into the hospital,” she added for Jesse’s information.

  Now those blue eyes turned her way. He knew she’d seen his interest in Tawny, but she couldn’t tell what he thought of the whole thing. Liz carefully schooled her features to keep from giving too much away.

  “Well, if you hear anything,” Jesse muttered.

  “I’ll be sure and let you know. Stop by and see Tawny and I’ll update you,” she suggested.

  “Yeah . . . well . . .”

  “We will,” Brad told her.

  At the office door, Brad turned around and, with the guilelessness of youth, warned, “That Carrie’s a big pain in the butt. She’s a liar. I wouldn’t listen to her.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Liz said, fighting a smile.

  “No, I mean it. She needs professional help.”

  And with that, he and Jesse disappeared around her corner and Liz listened to their retreating footsteps. She considered facing Hawk, but cowardice ruled once more. Next week, she told herself, and this time the resonance of fate sounded around her.

  She would do it.

  * * *

  Hawthorne munched on a greasy burger and even greasier fries from the Elbow Room. What the place lacked in charm it lacked in everything else as well. Once upon a time it had been several rungs up the ladder from where it was now, but those days were long gone. A dump by even the most forgiving standards, it had one redeeming quality tha
t put it at the top of the list: It was the only game in town.

  Everybody knew Barn and everybody expressed shock about his untimely death.

  And then everybody said they pretty much expected it to happen.

  “He’d finally struck it rich,” a half-in-the-bag three-hundred-pound ex-lumberjack informed Hawthorne. “Braggin’, braggin’, braggin’. Bought the place a round last Friday.”

  “Bullshit,” the barkeep said around a toothpick. “He bought a couple drinks when you stuck it to him. Old Barn was cheap,” he said in an aside to Hawthorne.

  “This time he had money. It was in the bag. Barney was a real estate guy, but he was no good. Something else came along. He was flyin’ high.”

  Hawthorne looked from the lumberjack to the barkeep, who seemed to concur on this at least. “Practically giddy,” the man said. “Try to imagine that. Did you know Barn?” Hawthorne shook his head. “Well, he was this big football star in high school. Never got over it. Women seemed to go for him, though.”

  Lumberjack snorted. “Only the losers.”

  “Like you’d know the difference.”

  For a moment, it looked like Lumberjack might take offense, but then he shrugged and he and the barkeep guffawed.

  “Any woman in particular?” Hawthorne asked.

  Lumberjack considered. “Well, Barn was married once. Had a kid right away, but that lasted less than a year or two. She took off back East with the kid and married some hoity-toity guy in a suit. Barn used to brag that he didn’t pay nothin’ but nickels in child support.”

  “Anyone more recent?” Hawk asked.

  Barkeep sighed. “There’s always Lora Lee.”

  “Well, yeah.” Lumberjack nodded.

  “Lora Lee Evans,” Barkeep illuminated. “She’s been after Barn for years. Kinda pathetic,” he added with a trace of humanity. “She broke down when we heard the news. Was sitting right over there by the window. Started crying and crying. I drove her home.” He drew a sympathetic breath. “Her car’s still out front.”

  “Do you know where she lives?”

  “Little house in that development south of town. You know the one?”