The Jennifer McMahon E-Book Bundle

by Jennifer McMahon

  A terrible possibility dawned on me then under the fluorescent lights of the day room, some studio audience laughing behind me, the shrew by my side, her head cocked with mild curiosity. It was there in the sour milky heat of this old man’s breath—a possibility equally as rancid.

  “Did you give her the M, Mr. Mackenzie? Did you give Del her M?” I forced the words from my mouth, dreading to know what his answer might be. Was it possible that I was face-to-face with Del’s killer, a senile old man in soiled pajamas?

  Ron Mackenzie smiled, began to rock back and forth in his chair, humming. The hum turned into a low moaning howl. My old bus driver was howling like a coyote, getting louder and louder each time he drew a breath. Mrs. Shrewsbury clutched my arm to lead me away, saying we should go before he got much more wound up. We turned to leave the room, but then his howling stopped and he gently called out to me, his voice shaky now, worn out.

  “Hey, Deputy!” he said. I stopped in my tracks. Cold crept up my spine. “You better give that monkey what she wants. You better give her back her star. Better give her back her sta-ar!”

  I turned back to look at the old man who once had worked for NASA in time to see a dark stain spreading across his lap. He looked at me and laughed as the urine trickled over the edge of the plastic chair, pooling on the checkered floor.

  I WANT TO GO HOME,” my mother said when we joined her at the art table. “You can’t leave me here.”

  Believe me, we’re getting the hell out of here as fast as our little legs will carry us.

  I turned and glanced back down the hall, sure I’d see that old Ron Mackenzie had followed me. There was only an aide in a pink uniform pushing a mop and bucket.

  “I’m not leaving you, Ma. We’re going now.” My voice was as shaky as my hands as I fumbled to get the smock off her. It took all the control I had not to grab her hand and run screaming from the place, dragging her behind me.

  “I made a painting,” my mother said. “It’s for Opal.”

  “That’s nice, Ma.”

  One potato, two potato, three potato, four

  She’s coming after you now, better lock the door.

  Was someone else singing the words now, or were they only in my head?

  “I’d hoped you’d stay for lunch,” Mrs. Shrewsbury said. “We could look over some of the paperwork.”

  “I want to go home,” my mother repeated.

  “I know, Ma. Me, too. Come on, put your coat on.”

  I apologized to the shrew, saying we had to leave but that I would call her as soon as we made a decision.

  I turned back to help my mother get her coat around her shoulders and glanced down at her painting. Once again, I found myself having to stifle a scream.

  There, on the large sheet of newsprint, was a giant sheriff’s star carefully painted in shades of gray.

  “Ma? Why’s this for Opal?”

  “What, Katydid?”

  “The painting. You said it was for Opal.”

  “Did I say that?” She mused for a moment, cocked her head. “Poor little Opal. Do you think she knows?”

  “Knows what, Ma?”

  “Who her father is?”

  “What are you talking about? Who is he?” I was sure she was going to say Lazy Elk—she had Opal confused with Raven, of course, who she confused with Doe half the time. God, it was hard to keep up with her.

  “Why, it’s Ralph Griswold, silly! The man with the eggs and pigs who lives down the hill. You knew that didn’t you, Katydid?” She eyed me quizzically, as if to say, Is something wrong with your memory?

  LISTEN KATE, I talked to Jim today and asked him about Mike Shane. Can you guess what the fucker does up in Burlington?”

  Nicky and I were sitting at the kitchen table eating tuna sandwiches. My mother was working on her painting. I’d called Nicky to invite him to lunch as soon as we got back from The Hollows Care Center. I wanted desperately to tell him what my mother had said about his dad’s being Opal’s father as well, but I decided to bite my tongue for the time being. It could have been some figment of her imagination.

  But what if it wasn’t? What if Opal was really Del’s half sister? I knew if I wanted the truth, I’d have to go to the one person who was least likely to share it with me: Raven.

  Nicky didn’t wait for me to guess about Mike. “You’re not gonna believe this. It’s perfect. Mike Shane is a fucking tattoo artist. He owns Dragon Mike’s Tattoo Emporium up in Burlington.”

  I let this sink in, considering the possibilities this bit of news brought with it. Maybe Del’s tattoo was one of Mike’s first attempts. A more permanent gift than the silver star. Maybe I was on the wrong track with my hunch about old Ron Mackenzie.

  “That’s quite a coincidence,” I admitted.

  “A coincidence—hell, I’d say it’s evidence. Didn’t you say it was a letter M on Del’s chest? M for Mike. I bet it was him. He tattooed her, then killed her and had to cut off the tattoo so he couldn’t be linked to her.”

  “It’s definitely worth checking into. But I can’t really see Mike Shane killing Del. He was like eleven or twelve years old. And he was in pretty bad shape that last day of school—I think he wound up in the hospital.”

  “But Kate, the guy’s a fucking tattoo artist!”

  “I know. It’s a hell of a coincidence. Like I said, we should check into it. But let me tell you what I found out today. What do you remember about Ron Mackenzie—the school bus driver?”

  “Not much. The guy had a temper, but he kept it hidden. He called us monkeys. I remember that.”

  I told him about my morning at The Hollows and what Ron had said.

  “Jesus, the tattoo could have been a way of branding her,” Nicky said. “M is for monkey. Like the scarlet letter or some such shit. Dirty fucker.” Nicky’s face twitched.

  “I don’t know…it was such a delicate and pretty M,” I said. “If it had been done in hatred by a guy like Ron, you’d think it would be crude, hurried. I’ve always had this idea that whoever did the M cared for Del.”

  “Cared enough to choke the life out of her and carve her up like some piece of meat. I think we should talk to both Mackenzie and Shane. Hell, maybe we should go to the police,” Nicky suggested.

  I shook my head.

  “With what? On the basis of something a senile old man mumbled just before he wet himself? If he is Del’s killer, he got what he deserved. He’s in a prison of his own. I almost pity him. And we sure as hell know he didn’t sneak out and kill Tori. The only proof we have about Mike is the letter M I saw that no one else seems to know about. Hell, they’d probably make me their number-one suspect, if I’m not already. Especially if they found out I had that damn star.”

  “What? The police never thought you were a suspect,” Nicky said.

  “Not then, but now. Judging by the way they’ve been acting, I think I’m at the top of their list.”

  “That’s just crazy! You had nothing to do with any of it.”

  “Yeah, neither did you, but you’re a suspect, too, aren’t you? Weren’t you the first one they went looking for when Tori Miller was killed? It’s just shit luck, Nicky.”

  He took this in a moment. I cleared the plates from the table.

  “And what about the star?” Nicky asked. “Now that you’ve heard it from Ron, too, don’t you think you better do something with it? If, like I’ve been telling you, it is Del we’re dealing with, she knows you’ve got it.”

  “Listen to yourself, will you? You sound almost as crazy as old Mr. I used to work for NASA and now I just sit around wetting myself. Yeah, I’ve got the star, but there’s nothing to do with it. We’d be better off if we’d left the damn thing in the ground. I never should have let you talk me into digging it up.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” he admitted. “You were pretty drunk. I kinda took advantage.”

  I laughed at this. “I’m not sure who took advantage of whom.”

  He gave me a shy little smile.
Blushing, I studied the lines around his eyes. Crow’s-feet. Like that bird he’d killed got him back somehow. There was something wounded, boyish, about him.

  “Nicky, I’ve gotta be honest. I’m not too good at the relationship thing. My marriage fell to shit pretty early. I’m kind of an emotional basket case.”

  I looked at the man before me and saw once again the fourteen-year-old boy, his skin dark brown from working in the fields, his eyes moist with need. He smelled of cigarette smoke and gasoline. He took off his John Deere cap and set it on the table.

  “Last night meant a lot to me,” he began. “And I sure hope that wasn’t the end of it. It’s not like I’m asking for some big commitment. I know you’ve got your life and I’ve got mine. I can’t make any promises about what this might or might not lead to, but shit, we’re all grown up now. We can’t go back, but we can move ahead, know what I’m saying? So take a chance on me, huh? Let’s just see where it goes.”

  His voice was smooth as whiskey, and when he whispered there was that raspy edge to it that made the back of my neck warm. I leaned in and put my lips against his.

  There was no clashing of teeth this time, no terrible force as there had been the night before. It was gentle and sweet. There was no desperation, only a hint of restrained longing. Longing, perhaps, not just for each other, but to go back. To go back and live things over again—to have our second chance. I put my hand on the back of his head, pulling him closer, trying to hold on. And just for one moment, we were kids up in the loft again, needing to come up for air, but loving the feeling of breathlessness.

  “Kate and Nicky sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”

  My mother’s singsongy, child’s voice jolted us back to the present, jerked Nicky and me away from each other. It was Del’s voice, and, glancing over at Nicky’s frightened face, I saw I was not the only one who thought so.

  Perhaps it was having a witness, perhaps it was the emotional exhaustion, or the hangover, or even the hormones, but it was in that moment that my subconscious fears came crashing forward into my conscious mind. Del was speaking through my mother, using her like one of those talking dolls, pulling some invisible cosmic string. That was simply the fact of the matter. She had found a way back, and, just as Nicky had warned, she was royally pissed.

  “When’s the wedding?” she asked. Hearing the voice of a vengeful child coming from my poor old mother’s mouth was obscene. She turned away, cackling all the way back to her studio, where she slammed the door. This was followed by crashing sounds, as if she were tearing the room apart.

  “You should go,” I whispered. “I’ll call you later.”

  “Kate, I…”

  “Just go. It’s okay. We’ll talk later.”

  So much for second chances.

  He picked up his greasy cap and put it on.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “Me too,” I answered, then he was gone.

  14

  November 17, 2002

  AN HOUR LATER, I was sweeping up broken glass in the studio when Opal arrived.

  “Holy shit!” she said. “What happened in here?”

  “My mother decided to do a little redecorating.”

  The room had been torn apart. It was mostly my things she’d tried to destroy. She pulled all the clothing out of my suitcases and ripped what she could. The cot I slept on was turned over and the covers scattered.

  “I came over to tell you I finished the Jenny. I just now glued the wing walker on and hung it up.”

  “She must be happy up there, especially when you consider that all her other plastic brethren are going to be stuck waving at toy trains going around in circles.”

  Opal nodded. She took a seat on the floor. “I’m supposed to stay away from you, you know.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “My mother says you could be dangerous,” Opal said.

  “Does she?”

  “And I bet you don’t know a thing about wild mushrooms.”

  “And I bet you still haven’t found whatever it is you were looking for in those woods. What is it, Opal? Is it something connected to Tori’s murder? It isn’t my knife, is it? Did you take my Swiss Army knife?”

  The color drained from her face, and she resembled the ghost she was so afraid of.

  Could she be Del’s half sister? The resemblance at that moment was staggering. And the overriding feeling I had was one of fierce protection. I wanted to protect Opal in the way I’d never been able to protect Del.

  “I can help you,” I said. “You just have to be honest with me. Please, Opal. You can trust me. What were you looking for in the woods? What is it you’re not telling me?”

  She opened her mouth to speak, to tell the truth at last, then something stopped her. I followed her gaze to the easel in the corner, where my mother’s painting stood, the only thing in the room that hadn’t been disturbed during her latest rampage.

  “What is this?” Opal asked, her face going whiter still as she walked up to my mother’s painting.

  “My mom’s latest work. It’s supposed to be the tepee fire.”

  Take no notice of the pair of roaming gray eyes in the corner.

  “But there’s someone in there,” Opal said as she reached out to touch the figure in the painting. “Someone with a sheriff’s star. Who is it?”

  “I don’t know, Opal,” I said.

  “It’s her, isn’t it? It’s Del. Did she have a star like this?” Opal’s voice was wavering now.

  “Opal…”

  “Tell me! Tell me the truth about this one thing and I’ll never ask any more about her. I’ll leave you alone just like everyone wants.”

  It wasn’t like Del’s star was some big secret. All Opal needed to do was talk to anyone who was around back then or go down to the library and look through old newspaper articles.

  “Okay, okay. Yes, Del had a silver sheriff’s star. Just some junky tin thing. A kid’s toy. She wore it all the time. She had it on the day she was killed, only it was never found.”

  “So the killer took it?” Her face twisted into a grimace of concentration.

  “That was the theory.” I waited for the barrage of follow-up questions, but there weren’t any. Opal just stood staring at the painting.

  “So now what, Opal? Does this really mean we’re all done talking about Del?” I asked.

  “Cross my heart,” she said as she turned from the painting and hurried from the room.

  I was grateful she’d left off the and hope to die.

  I DIALED THE NUMBER to the big barn and Raven answered on the second ring. I only hoped she hadn’t seen Opal coming or going.

  “Hi, Raven. I have to go out for a while. Up to Burlington. Would you stay with my mother until I get back? I’d ask Gabriel, only he was just with her yesterday. I should be back around suppertime. I’ll phone from Burlington to check in, just to make sure you’re okay.”

  Raven hesitated before answering, making it clear she didn’t want to do me any favors. She wasn’t going out of her way for this cat killer.

  “What’s in Burlington?” she asked suspiciously.

  “I want to look up an old friend.”

  She sighed. “I don’t mind helping Jean out. Before you got here I was with her every free minute. She never got lost on my watch.”

  I ignored the jab.

  “I appreciate it,” I told her. “Listen, my mom had kind of a bad spell a little while ago. I gave her a Haldol and put her to bed. She’ll probably sleep the whole time you’re here.”

  “I’ll be over in ten minutes,” she said.

  I THOUGHT WE COULD HAVE A CUP of tea before I go,” I said to Raven when she arrived, gesturing toward the kitchen, where I’d laid out the teapot and cups. Raven looked suspicious.

  “There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

  Raven took a seat at the table and poured a cup of green tea, carefully spooning in honey from the pot in the center of the table. I half thought she
was going to ask me to take a sip first to make sure I hadn’t poisoned it.

  “If it’s about Opal, I’m afraid the subject isn’t up for discussion. I think you’re an unhealthy influence on her at this point.”

  “As a matter of fact, it is about Opal, but it’s got nothing to do with me.”

  “What then? Do you have some terrific parenting advice? If that’s the case, I think it’s safe to say you can skip it.”

  “I want to know who Opal’s father is.”

  Raven looked truly blindsided.

  “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  Her face twisted into a disgusted scowl. “That is none of your business! Who do you think you are?”

  “Was it Ralph Griswold?”

  Her dark eyes turned a murky black.

  “Who told you that?” she demanded.

  “A reliable source,” I lied.

  “Was it Nicky?” She ran her hands through her hair. “I am going to kill that drunken jackass.”

  So it was the truth after all. And another secret Nicky had been keeping.

  “Opal doesn’t know, does she?”

  “Jesus. Of course not. Didn’t your ‘source’ tell you I was raped? I’m not going to lay that on her: your biological father was a disgusting redneck rapist, and probably a pedophile to boot, Opal. How is she supposed to take that?”

  “I really didn’t know how it happened. I’m so sorry.”

  Raven snorted. “I don’t need your sympathy. It was a long time ago and the son of a bitch did us all a favor and dropped dead soon after. I got a beautiful daughter who means the world to me. If you even think of telling her, I’ll make you more sorry than you could possibly imagine.”

  I suddenly understood why she’d been so adamant about not wanting to indulge Opal in stories about Del and the Griswolds.

  “Of course not,” I said carefully. “That’s your place, not mine. But I wonder if on some level she suspects. I mean, that would explain a lot about her obsession with Del, wouldn’t it?”

  She shot me an exasperated look.

  “Don’t you have somewhere you have to be, Kate? You’d better get going. The weather’s not supposed to be too great later on.”