by BJ Bourg
She hesitated, then sighed. “I was with Foster last night.”
“Foster Blake?”
She nodded. “He works weekdays at the bar. He told me his wife’s family was in town and he didn’t want to be around them, so he had rented a room in Magnolia Parish, where no one knows him, and he asked me to meet him there. I did and we spent most of the night together.”
I wanted to ask if anyone who worked at the bar was faithful, but resisted the urge. “What time did you get home?”
“Around three.”
“What did you tell your husband?”
“I told him I had to work extra because of the upcoming holidays.”
“And he bought that nonsense?” I winced inwardly. It had come out harsher than I intended, but I didn’t apologize.
“He trusts me.”
Instead of commenting, I scrolled through my notes. “Do you know where Foster lives?”
Joyce nodded. “He lives somewhere on Lacy Court.”
“Do you know his wife?”
“I’ve never met her, but he said they’re separating soon. They got into some kind of argument and he said it’s over for them.”
I spent another thirty minutes going over her story and gathering more information about Mitch. When I was satisfied she’d told me everything she knew, I ended the interview and walked her outside into the cool evening air. I glanced at my phone. It was almost seven. I wanted to speak with Foster and was halfway to his house when I remembered the call I’d ignored earlier. I pulled to the shoulder and selected the number from my recent calls list. Although I hadn’t recognized the number, I immediately recognized the voice that answered.
“Hey, Clint, how are you?” asked Detective Mallory Tuttle, who worked for the Chateau Parish Sheriff’s office. “I was calling about your murder case. I might have a suspect for you.”
CHAPTER 12
Later that night…
Susan and I took a lazy walk to the shelter while my mom cooked dinner for us. Achilles zigzagged along the street ahead of us, taking in the countless scents along the route.
“I keep telling your mom she doesn’t have to cook for us,” Susan said, “but she insists. When I got home this afternoon she was frying a pot of meat and cooking some rice. I won’t lie—it smelled delicious.”
“I think it gives her a sense of purpose,” I mused. “Since I left home as a teenager, she’s only had my dad to care for, but when he’s offshore she feels lost and lonely. She doesn’t have anything to do, you know? I think helping us out is making her feel useful.”
Susan walked in silence for a few seconds, and the only sound I heard was Achilles’ heavy breathing and her crutches scraping against the shell street. I knew something was on her mind, because she was way too quiet. Before I could ask, she brought up work.
“You got home late. Any breaks in the case?”
I told her about the phone call I’d made to Mallory Tuttle thirty minutes ago. “It seems Mitch Taylor testified against a fellow named Chris Jenkins ten years ago. It was a carjacking that took place at a convenience store where Mitch was getting gas. He was the only one who got a good look at the suspect and he was able to provide a license plate number of the stolen vehicle and a good description of the suspect.” I paused and shook my head. “Mallory said there were seven other witnesses in the parking lot, but they were all playing on their cell phones and didn’t see a thing.”
“I believe it,” was all Susan said as she continued walking beside me. It appeared she was listening to me, but I didn’t know if she was hearing everything I said.
“Anyway, Chris was released two months ago after serving only nine years of a twenty-year sentence, but Mallory didn’t find out about it until last week when his parole officer called to say he’d missed his meeting and there was a warrant for his arrest for violating the conditions of his parole.”
“How in the hell did he get out of prison early?”
“Thanks to the changes in the sentencing laws last year, he got credit for good time and was eligible for parole a lot sooner than he would’ve been under the old rules.”
“Who on earth had the bright idea to start releasing violent offenders early?” Susan asked.
“Beats me, but we’re going after him first thing in the morning.”
“What about Connie Taylor? I thought you told me earlier you were going to interview her first thing in the morning? How many ‘first things’ can you do in one morning? And I thought you were going to interview Foster Blake this afternoon?”
“I did tell you that, but now Connie will have to be the second thing in the morning, and Foster Blake will have to get in line. This Jenkins fellow seems to be a good lead.”
I could see the glow of light from the shelter when we stepped past the tall cane. The farmer who worked the land had begun harvesting his crop and he was at it every day, working his way across the property as quickly as he could.
When we reached the porch of the shelter, Susan fished out her key and unlocked the front door. We entered and she called out to Brandy Lewis. She called out a second time and Brandy appeared from one of the rooms down the hall. She wore a long night shirt and was drying her hair with a large bath towel. Her eyes were hopeful when she asked if we’d arrested Connie Taylor.
“Is it safe for me to go back home?”
“No, we didn’t arrest Connie yet,” Susan said. “We were just coming to see if you wanted something for dinner. My mother-in-law is cooking some pot fried pork and she’s making enough to feed a small army, so you’re more than welcome to join us.”
Brandy nodded, smiling warmly. “That sounds good. Can I come up to your house after I finish drying my hair?”
“Sure.” Susan and I went into the kitchen and checked the supplies to make sure Brandy would have everything she needed during her stay there, and we then began the long walk back to the front of Paradise Place, which was the street we lived on. The women’s shelter was something Susan had dreamed about doing all her adult life, and it was conveniently and securely located behind our house along the private lane.
Susan wasn’t saying much on the walk, and I knew something was still bugging her. “What is it?” I asked. “I can tell something’s eating at you. Is it your leg? You know it’ll be all healed up before long and you’ll be good as new.”
“It’s not that,” she said softly, her eyes following Achilles as he plunged in and out of the cane field rows, chasing ghosts.
“Then what is it?”
“I missed my period, so I took a pregnancy test today.”
My heart jumped in my chest. “Are we going to have a baby?”
She shook her head. “It was negative.”
My shoulders drooped. “Maybe you should’ve led with that last part, so I wouldn’t have gotten my hopes up.”
She didn’t laugh.
“There’s more,” I guessed. “What’s going on?”
“I didn’t think it before, but when there was a chance I was pregnant, I started to feel guilty.” She took a breath and exhaled. “I’d like for us to be married before we have a child.”
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me!”
Susan jerked her head toward me, and in the dim glow from the street lamps I could see that her eyes were wide. “I’m not—why would I joke about something like this?”
“No, I mean my mom must’ve talked to you.”
She scowled. “Talked to me? About what?”
“About having a baby out of wedlock.” I grunted. “She knows better than to say anything to me, so she goes to you…classic move. Growing up, nothing I ever did was good enough for her and her preacher. I listened to the wrong music, hung out with the wrong friends, watched bad movies…” I grunted. “She tried to mold me into the person she thought I should be, rather than allowing me to grow into who I wanted to become. Thank God my dad was around from time to time between work hitches because he interfered where he could and I was able to enjoy some bits o
f freedom.” I shook my head. “I knew she would have a problem with our living arrangement, but I never thought she’d go behind my back and try to tell you how we should live our—”
“Whoa, Tiger, simmer down.” Susan lifted a hand to stop me. “This has nothing to do with your mom. It’s me. I don’t want to have a baby out of wedlock.”
“Wait…she didn’t talk to you about it?”
“No, this is all my idea.”
Relieved, I laughed at myself. “Oh, hell, I need to apologize to her. I guess she’s changed her ways.”
“So, are you okay with waiting?”
While it was the new millennium and that kind of thing was commonplace, I liked that she cared. “I am—we’ll just have to get married sooner, rather than later.”
CHAPTER 13
After eating dinner and walking Brandy back to the shelter, Susan and I joined my mom at the dinner table and we all huddled around a large box of photographs that my mom had brought from her house. “Since you’re about to marry my son,” my mom began, “you need to know about every embarrassing moment he’s ever experienced.”
As she began flipping through the pictures in a red photo album, I snatched up a familiar blue one. I turned the pages until I found a picture of me and my dad with our white German shepherd, Winter. We’d lost her during a severe thunderstorm when a tree fell on her house and crushed her. My dad had been so upset over the loss that he never bought another dog.
“Mom, have you spoken to dad lately?” I asked. He was supposed to be working somewhere in Egypt, but I hadn’t been able to reach him when I tried calling two days ago. “I haven’t been able to get him by phone.”
Either she didn’t hear me or she was ignoring me, because she began telling Susan about this one time I tried jumping the bayou on my bicycle. “This is the picture of him trying to get the bicycle out the bayou,” she was saying. “I was screaming at him to hurry and get out of the water, but his dad just stood there laughing.”
“Oh, my God, he must’ve been such a hoot!” Susan began flipping the page on the album when I saw her frown. She began feeling the picture pocket with her fingers. “This one’s thicker than the rest. It feels like there’s a picture behind this one.”
My mom started to say something, but Susan wrestled a small stack of pictures out of the pocket. There were three of them and she spread them on the table in front of us. I glanced down and scowled. One picture was of a man and a baby, and the other two were of my mom, the man, and the baby. The man had his hand around my mom’s waist. The baby couldn’t have been more than a month old. What the hell?
“Mom, who in the hell is that man and why is his hand around your waist?” I asked. “And who’s that baby? Is it me?”
My mom’s face turned to ash and her mouth moved a bit, but nothing came out. After stammering for a few very long seconds, she finally just shook her head. “It’s an old picture. It’s from a long time ago. Let’s just keep going.”
I snatched up the picture of the baby and the man and held it closer to get a better look at them. The baby had some kind of bonnet on her head and the outfit she wore was pink. “This isn’t me,” I blurted. “This is a baby girl.”
“Well, if I didn’t know better,” Susan said slowly to me, “I’d swear that man was you. If you had a twin who went back in time, he would be it.”
“Who are these people?” I demanded again. “And I want to know why that man has his arm around your waist. Does dad know about this?”
Susan was an only child and, as far as I knew, so was I, but this picture was suddenly starting to make me doubt that fact. As Susan had pointed out, the man looked just like me, but my father was Ezekiel Wolf—and the man in the picture wasn’t Ezekiel. I felt my face flush. Had my mom been leading a double life?
“Please just put the picture back,” my mom said in a low voice. She was staring at the photo like it was a bomb. “I didn’t know those pictures were still in there. I shouldn’t have brought these albums. It was a bad idea.”
As she scrambled to gather up the albums, I suddenly realized there was something about the pictures she didn’t want me to see. I glanced down at the one in my hand and turned it over. We both gasped at the same time—my mom in fear and me in disbelief. The date scribbled on the back of the photo preceded my birth by five years, and there were three names written in faded ink under the date. I had to strain my eyes to read it, but the names were Nancy Montana, Garvan Montana, and Baby Crystal.
“Who in the hell is Garvan Montana?” My voice was more forceful than I meant it to be, so I asked the question again, but a little calmer. “Were you married before? Do I have a sister? Why were these pictures hidden? Does Dad know?”
My mom just lowered her head and sat there wringing her hands. She didn’t deny it. “Mom, were you married before?”
After another long moment of silence, she nodded her head. “I…yes, I was married before.”
“Shoot me dead!” My mouth dropped open as I wondered how I could’ve missed this bit of history. “This Garvan Montana fellow, was he your husband?”
“Yes.”
“And the girl…” I was afraid to finish the question, but I didn’t have to. I could tell by her expression that I had a sister. I sank back into the wooden chair and felt the spindles push hard against my shoulder blades. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I didn’t know what to say.
Finally, I asked if my dad knew about her previous family.
Mom nodded, but didn’t speak.
I stared back down at the picture of…of my sister. I had a sister. Well, a half sister. “Why didn’t I ever know about this?” I finally asked after a few long minutes. “Why didn’t anyone tell me about her? Where is she? Do you keep in touch with her? How old is she? Why haven’t I ever met her?”
A ton of questions were swirling through my mind and some were spilling from my lips, but my mom remained silent. It had been a while since I’d spoken to my dad and I didn’t want our first conversation in a while to be about this new information, but I wanted answers. I stood and walked across the room, pulling out my cell phone as I made my way out into the back yard. Achilles was relaxing in the far corner of the property, but his ears perked up when I walked through the door. He stood, stretched, and ambled toward me, his body swaying from side to side as he approached.
“Hey, Big Man,” I said as the phone rang, “what are you up to?” I scratched the space between his ears and frowned when Dad’s voicemail picked up. I turned and walked back inside, allowing Achilles to follow me to the dining room. He went straight to Susan and rested his head in her lap.
Mom’s face was twisted in anguish. “Who’d you call?” she asked. “Were you trying to reach your father?”
I nodded, tossed my phone on the table. “He didn’t answer.”
Mom went back to wringing her hands. “Clint, there’s something you should know, and I think it’s about time I tell you.”
“What is it?” I braced myself. Whatever she was about to say couldn’t be good, because it appeared she was about to pass out. “Is it worse than me having a sister I never knew about?”
“Your father and I…we should’ve told you this a long time ago, but we could never bring ourselves to do it. We could never find the right time.”
“What is it?” My patience was waning. “Just spit it out.”
She took a long and wavering breath. After blowing it out, she quickly said, “Ezekiel Wolf isn’t your father.”
CHAPTER 14
I could’ve been knocked over by a butterfly. “What’d you say?”
“I said,” Mom began, “Ezekiel Wolf isn’t your father.”
“I know what you said, but…what…how is that even possible?” I shook my head. “That’s not true. He’s listed on my birth certificate. His name is right there next to yours. I’ve seen it many times. You’re mistaken.”
“No, son, this is not a mistake.” My mom, her voice still quivering, pointed
to the picture on the table. “This man—Garvan Montana—he…he’s your biological father. Crystal is your older sister.”
The room seemed to spin. I’d heard of this happening to others—had even worked a case similar to this very scenario—but I’d never imagined I would find myself in this situation. I shook my head to clear it. “This isn’t happening. This can’t be real.”
“I’m so very sorry, Clint.”
“I…I don’t understand how this could happen. Does Dad even know?”
My mom nodded as tears filled her eyes. “He does know. Please understand, no matter what, he is your one and only father. Garvan abandoned us when I was pregnant with you. He took Crystal and ran away, leaving me to fend for us alone. He never offered support or even cared to check in on you.
“Ezekiel came along when I was about three months pregnant,” she continued, speaking rapidly as though fearing she’d lose the courage to continue. “Although I was carrying another man’s child, he accepted both of us as his own. He came to every doctor visit and he supported me like a real man should. I was six months pregnant when he asked if he could be your father. He didn’t want you to grow up a bastard child, so he wanted to give you his last name.”
She paused and got up to grab a glass of water from the kitchen. When she returned to her place at the table, she frowned and tears began rolling freely down her cheeks again. “Ezekiel has always been such a great father and provider. He held my hand as I gave birth to you. He was there when you took your first steps. He walked you to the school bus every morning when he was home. He taught you how to shoot a rifle and even took you on your first hunt.” She nodded solemnly. “While he might not be your biological father, he’s your real dad—and don’t you ever forget that.”
Susan scooted her chair close and hugged my mom. “It’s okay, Miss Nancy, let it all out.”