by Stacy Green
The rain began to fall harder. Darren pulled two hundred-dollar bills out of his wallet and stuffed them into the pocket of her shorts. “I’ve got to go, but I’ll call you for that babysitting date.”
He ran for the car before she could react. Lightening streaked down so close the hair on Jaymee’s arms stood on end. Thunder immediately followed. Rain poured down. She waved at her brother and dashed into the trailer.
Jaymee leaned against the door, clinging to herself as the weather raged. The money burned in her pocket. Just another reminder of the mess she called life and how Darren loved her regardless. If he only knew.
She clenched her hands into tight fists. Her eyes filled with water. For years, she’d lived in half-squalor, struggling to get by and hating herself. Hiding in the shadows, afraid of the truth, and believing Holden’s lies about herself, her mother, and Darren.
No more. Whoever killed Lana and Rebecca needed to pay, and if their murders were connected to the adoption, Jaymee would find a way to prove it.
And then she’d finally bring her daughter home.
12
Nick sipped on a cup of coffee as he watched the sun rise over the Mississippi. The waters that had been a murky gray only moments ago now turned an iridescent blue. A hungry red-tailed hawk sailed a few feet above the water, its eyes focused on the shimmering waves. The sun inched higher, and the bird dived to retrieve a squirming silver bass. The hawk disappeared into the bluffs to enjoy its breakfast in the safety of his nest.
He’d barely slept, and when he did, dreams of Lana plagued him. At first, the dream was the same as it had always been: the life being choked out of his wife by a blurry attacker whose face Nick could never make out. But then the face morphed into Royce Newton’s as he clenched his hands tighter across her neck.
Jaymee appeared out of nowhere, standing over Lana’s body, sobbing, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” over and over. At the sight of Nick, she turned and ran into the shadows.
He crushed an empty sugar packet and drained the last of his coffee. He’d have to thank Annabelle for providing him with something other than generic rot.
Holden Wilcher, the man nicknamed the Saint of Jackson by his adoring flock, had fathered an illegitimate child with a seventeen year old. Wilcher had more to lose than Royce Newton, even if Newton was in on the scheme. The reverend was a suspect, and Jaymee knew it.
Nick wanted to be angry with her for not telling him, for getting Lana involved. For everything bad that had happened. But he couldn’t. Every time he thought of Jaymee, all he could see was an embattled woman weighed down with remorse and shame.
Noise on the street caught his attention. Cage locked his patrol car and waved to a passerby as he headed up Annabelle’s brick walk. He’d called an hour ago, jerking Nick out of the first bit of decent sleep he’d had all night, and demanded to see him.
A few minutes later, the deputy sat in the only chair in the room–an overstuffed wingback with stiff cushions. Clutching another cup of coffee, Nick sat at the edge of the bed.
“I talked to Jaymee,” Cage said. “She told me you figured out who Sarah’s father was.”
“Why didn’t she come clean the other night?”
“Embarrassment. Fear.”
Nick sipped his coffee. “We have to consider Wilcher as a suspect.”
“He hasn’t been to Roselea in months.”
“Doesn’t mean he’s not calling the shots. He’s got the most to lose, Cage.”
“What about Newton?”
“He clammed up when I asked about Lana and adoption,” Nick said. “He knows something.”
“You think he’s a killer?”
Nick blew out a heavy breath. “I don’t know. He seemed genuine when he talked about his wife’s murder. But I called a contact at Jackson P.D., the sergeant who was on patrol when Lana’s body was found. Kees was first on the scene, and she still has the case. When she got the note, she chewed my ass for not bringing it to her myself. She’s going to see what she can find out about the typewriter and check on Royce Newton and Paul Ballard to see if she can find anything.”
“And Wilcher?”
“I didn’t mention his name.” Nick had struggled with the decision during his restless night. “And I don’t like that.”
“Neither do I,” Cage said. “But we need to make sure every other angle is fully investigated before dragging Jaymee further into this.”
Nick finished his coffee and then rinsed the cup out in the bathroom sink. “Not much Kees can do,” Nick said. “Unless we find Wilcher’s associates, checking his financials for unexplained deposits would be her only shot, and she certainly can’t get a warrant based on Jaymee’s accusation. Right now the focus is on Newton and Ballard.”
“Yeah well, I might have some more information for her,” Cage said. “Meet me at Mom and Dad’s for breakfast in an hour. I’ll bring Jaymee.”
* * *
The smell of pancakes and cinnamon rolls set Jaymee’s stomach to begging as soon as she entered the Fosters’ house. Lorelai met her in the entryway and enveloped her in a tight hug. “Child, where have you been? It’s been a month since we’ve seen you.”
She held Jaymee at arm’s length, face scrunched into her motherly expression. “You’re too skinny. Get in here and eat.”
Oren was already finishing off a pancake when Jaymee sat down. “Started without you. Better hurry and catch up ‘fore I eat ‘em all.”
Jaymee laughed, the sensation almost foreign. Her chest had been locked up tightly since she’d found Rebecca, but the vice began to loosen. So many memories in this place. Lana and Jaymee had spent hours in the backyard helping Lorelai with the flowers and listening to Oren complain about all the work she forced on him.
A pang of remorse attacked. Lorelai’s hair was now white, and her mouth, once a perpetual smile, sagged with the kind of sadness that lingers after the loss of a child. She and Lorelai had that in common, and the older woman didn’t even realize it.
“How you been?” Oren asked as his wife set a stack of pancakes in front of Jaymee. She’d never eat all of them.
“Good. Working. The usual.” She smeared butter onto the warm cakes.
“Usual?” Lorelai’s voice lifted. “Finding that woman’s body was usual? Heavens, Jaymee.”
“Other than that.”
“It’s a hard thing,” Oren said. “Seeing someone that way, gone too soon.”
“I can’t get her out of my head.”
“I know.” Oren started on another pancake.
“Just lying there, like…she wasn’t worth anything.”
Damn. Her eyes ached as she struggled to hold back tears. Had Lana looked the same? Were her eyes wide open with shock when she died?
Oren chewed, looking just past Jaymee’s shoulder. He closed his eyes briefly, a dark flash of anguish on his face. “She was. She was worth a hell of a lot.” He opened his eyes again. “Don’t you ever forget that.”
He didn’t need to say Lana’s name for Jaymee to know he was referring to his daughter.
“Where’s Cage?” Lorelai’s overly cheery voice hurt Jaymee’s ears. “I thought you came with him.”
“I did. He said he was waiting on a phone call.”
The kitchen door opened with a squeal, and Cage stepped into the room. Her insides flipped. Nick Samuels hovered by the door, and Lorelai immediately began fussing over her former son-in-law, setting him a plate next to Jaymee. Scooting to the edge of the chair, Jaymee tried to focus on her pancakes, but it was impossible to ignore the man sitting next to her. He smelled like a rich blend of coffee and cologne, with just a touch of the summer air mixed in. She peeked at Nick out of the corner of her eye.
He sat straight in his chair, fingers tight around his butter knife. His voice was strained as he spoke to Lorelai. Good. He was just as nervous as Jaymee.
“Nick, you want coffee?” Lorelai asked.
“Thank you,” he said.
A spidery
rush of nerves crawled up the back of Jaymee’s neck. “What’s the news, Cage?” Her voice came out sharper than she’d intended. “Why’d you bring us all here?”
He shrugged. “We need to eat, don’t we?”
“Come on.” Nick set down his fork. “You said you had news.”
“What kind of news?” Lorelai finally fixed herself a plate. She stood as she ate. “Something about Lana?”
“No, Mom. About Rebecca.” His gazed lingered on Jaymee, and she suddenly knew she wasn’t going to like what he had to say.
“Spit it out, please,” Jaymee said.
Cage sighed and pushed his plate away. He took a deep breath, folding his arms across his chest. His biceps bulged, and Jaymee was hit with the ridiculous thought he was trying impress her. Or protect himself from her reaction.
“Mrs. Baker lives in the big Georgian mansion just behind Evaline. She told Detective Charles that Rebecca told her about your dad threatening her after the zoning meeting,” Cage said. “Paul warned Rebecca he’d smite his enemy. Sounds like he followed through, too.”
“Christ.” Oren’s square, chunky face turned red. “I’d like to smite him. Twice.”
“Long as I can watch,” Jaymee said.
“Stop it, both of you,” Lorelai said. “Cage, what do you mean he followed through?”
“Apparently Mrs. Baker and Rebecca had been joint-feeding a stray tomcat. When it didn’t show up for a couple of days, Mrs. Baker came to Evaline to check on it. She and Rebecca looked around the gardens and found the poor thing strung up on one of the trellises. Rebecca was sure Paul Ballard had done it.”
Vertigo washed over Jaymee. “Mr. Moonie.”
“What?” Nick leaned close, warm breath in her ear. “Mr. Moonie?”
“My cat. Remember, Cage? I was about eight, I think. He was a stray. Sonia let me feed him. Paul hated him.”
“Shit.” Cage rubbed his hand over his short hair. “I’d forgotten all about Mr. Moonie.”
“What happened?” Nick asked.
“I came home from school one day,” Jaymee squeezed her chin trying to hold back the sob. “I couldn’t find Mr. Moonie, so I went looking.” She covered her mouth. “I found him by the wisteria.”
“He was strung up to the trellis with an old rope. Dead.” Cage said.
Lorelai’s hand went to her heart. “I’d forgotten about that poor cat. Didn’t your father laugh when you told him?”
“Yes.” Jaymee’s hand fisted against the table. “He killed Rebecca’s cat just like he killed Mr. Moonie.”
Oren dragged his fork over his plate, gathering up the excess butter and syrup. He stuck the fork into his mouth, swallowed, and then chugged his coffee, setting the cup back down on the counter with a bang.
“I hadn’t forgotten. Lori came home and told me how Jaymee was beside herself, her father laughing at her, and Sonia not able to do a damn thing. I went over to good ole Paul’s work the next day. Told him what I thought.”
“You did?” Jaymee had no idea.
“Yep. Lana was with me, too.” Oren rubbed his big belly. “She woulda been about twelve, I think. She was even madder than me, and I let her go into the office.” He grinned, the devil shining in his eyes. “Actually, she did most of the talking. Told Paul he was a miserable, old codger who treated his daughter terrible. Said she knew damned good and well he killed that cat and most of the town would, too.”
“What happened?” Jaymee and Nick both asked.
“Oh, he got real mad. Stood up out of his seat, pointed his finger at her. ‘The eye that mocks a father and scorns to obey a mother will be picked out by the ravens of the valley and eaten by the vultures, Proverbs 30:17’ he hollered. Voice was so loud made my ears hurt.
“I told him she wasn’t scorning me; I agreed with her.” He looked at Jaymee. “Your old bastard of a father nearly jumped over his fancy desk and came at me. Woulda been a fight if Wilcher hadn’t intervened.”
Jaymee didn’t dare move or speak. Nick sat rigid beside her, his arm flexed with tension, his breathing too controlled. He drummed his fingers on the table. “Reverend Wilcher was there?”
“Yeah, he and Jaymee’s so-called father are good buddies,” Oren said. “Wilcher calmed him down. Smooth as silk, that one. No wonder he’s raking in the TV money for the church now. He could charm the panties off a virgin.”
Jaymee’s hand shot out knocking Nick’s coffee into his lap.
“Shit.” He jumped up, his khaki shorts soaked.
“I’m sorry.” She stumbled to her feet. Her hands refused to be still. She grabbed the towel from Lorelai and thrust it at Nick. “I’m tired. I just…”
The pressure in her head built. Air rushed through her eardrums. Every set of eyes in the room trained on her, but Nick’s were the only ones she was concerned about. She had to get the hell out.
“I’m sorry,” she said again. “I’ll replace them if the stain doesn’t come out.” As if she could spare a dollar. She hugged Lorelai. “I’ve got to get to work. Thank you for the pancakes.”
Cage stepped forward. “I’ll walk you out.”
The urge to run tingled though her legs, but she forced herself to walk to the front door. “Thank you.”
“You don’t work for another hour.”
“It’s fine. I’ll sit in the park and clear my head.”
“Jaymee.” His hands closed around her upper arms, thumbs gently rubbing the tight muscles. “It’s all right.”
“No, it’s not. Two women have been murdered–two women who knew too much about me. You know damned well Paul would do anything to keep his reputation safe and that includes his connection with Wilcher. If the reverend asked, Paul would jump.”
“That doesn’t mean–”
“Stop. Stop being my friend and be a cop. We both know what this looks like, and we both know the motive. Protecting Wilcher and their scam.”
Cage brushed a lock of hair off her lips. He inched closer to Jaymee with a look in his eyes any sane woman would warm to.
She stepped back.
Cage sighed. “You’re right. Way it looks now, Wilcher’s the ringleader, Newton’s the attorney, and your dad is the muscle. I’ll tell Detective Charles about Mr. Moonie, but you’re going to have to make some hard decisions. I can’t tell him our theory unless I expose you.”
Jaymee nodded and rushed out the door, wishing she could run out of town without looking back. Memories colored black and white from pain tumbled through her head. It was as if all the lies and manipulation happened only yesterday.
Sarah. Jaymee had held her only once, but she remembered her daughter’s pink skin, blue eyes, and the thick, black curls matted to her head. Something happened to Jaymee’s heart in the short moments she held her child. The heavy burden of shame that had covered her for months lifted, and she felt only love–undying, unyielding, and indescribable love–for the little being in her arms. As her innocent baby squirmed and snuggled into her breast, Jaymee knew pure contentment.
Wetness cooled her cheeks. The sun shined with the brightness of mid-day, and Jaymee had no idea if the wetness was made of tears or sweat. She rubbed the moisture off with the back of her hand. Her eyes watered, and she made a promise to have Cage check if her sunglasses had been gathered into evidence.
“Damn you, Wilcher.” Jaymee walked faster even as the heat made her lightheaded. “Damn you and my father to Hell.”
13
Miserable, stinking heat. Evening brought little relief to the sweltering southern summer. Nick had lived in Mississippi all his life, and most of the time the temperature didn’t bother him, but tonight the air was heavy and wet with humidity, the sky covered with smoky haze.
His running shoes beat against Annabelle’s cobbled stone walk as he left the Victorian. The windows were dark, Annabelle herself having long since retired. A brief, hot breeze wafted by, and a pink magnolia drifted from the tree branch. Nick scooped up the withered bloom and crushed it in his hand.
He was tired as hell. He’d spent half the day on the phone with Sergeant Kees in Jackson bringing her up to date on what he’d found out so far, which wasn’t more than a wadded ball of frayed kite string. He’d spent the other part of the day working his ass off–mostly out of guilt–for his father-in-law. Oren had conned him into helping break up the old brick walk in the backyard, and Nick’s muscles screamed in discomfort. As soon as the sun drooped into the western horizon, he’d gone back to Annabelle’s, showered, and crawled into bed.
But sleep evaded him. The window air conditioner in his room hummed loudly, and the sound matched the disquiet of his brain. He couldn’t stop thinking about Jaymee and of the pain she must have endured the last several years. She liked to think of herself as tough, but she wore her emotions like a heavy winter jacket.
Anger at her father and Wilcher gleamed in her dark eyes and constantly hovered on the tip of her tongue. Always ready to strike, to defend, to fight. And who could blame her?
Her father had been a bastard all her life, and she’d turned to the one man she’d trusted. He’d used her and left her miserable. At the very least, Paul Ballard and Holden Wilcher deserved a good thrashing. Likely more. One of those men had probably murdered Lana.
A breeze wafted through the town square, carrying the heady scent of magnolias. Lana had loved the sweet-smelling trees. She’d wanted to buy a house with at least two on the property, to remind her of home. Nick sucked back the sob of grief.
Coming to Roselea had brought more pain than he’d anticipated. Lana had walked these streets, marveled over the antebellum homes. She’d wanted to come back some day and raise their children in her hometown. They’d spent the Christmas before her murder here with her parents, and with reverence in her voice, she’d commented on how little the town had changed. She’d admired its stagnancy.
Yet its southern charm hid the typical small-town bullshit. Paul Ballard had yet to be hauled in for questioning despite the new information. Cage said Detective Charles had been told by the mayor to tread lightly, not to make the situation any more volatile than it already was. Unbelievable. Nick wondered if Ballard got a pass because of his threats or his connection to the town’s golden boy, Wilcher.