by Sala, Sharon
“What’s up?” she asked, as he caught up with her.
“Tate said you like shrimp po’boys. If you haven’t already eaten, we brought you one. We appreciate being able to bunk here, but we don’t want to use up the food that’s been provided for the victims, so we get our own. If you don’t want it, I’ll eat it along with mine.”
She wondered about the wisdom of fraternizing with Tate and his agents, then thought, what the hell. She was sleeping beside them. Surely she could share a meal, as well.
“I do like them, and I’ll take it, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind...but I’m not too proud to eat leftovers, either, if you can’t eat it all.”
Nola grinned. She liked Wade. He was easygoing and funny—like Tate used to be.
“Follow me,” he said, and led the way back to the cots.
Tate and Cameron had turned a box upside down to make a table and were digging sandwiches out of a big sack when they walked up.
“She wants one,” Wade said. “I tried to talk her out of it, but she stayed firm. However, I called leftovers if she has any.”
Tate accepted the jealousy he was feeling as inevitable and turned away.
Cameron handed her a sandwich. “Here you go. Have a seat. We have things to talk about.”
* * *
Back in the kitchen, Peg was looking for Nola as Leon took a bowl of chili from the counter and sat down away from the others.
“Where’s the girl? Doesn’t she know to come back here to get her food?”
“I told her,” Bill said as he added salt to his own bowl.
“That doesn’t need salt,” Mary said.
“Does so,” he said, and covered it liberally.
Mary glared.
Peg walked to the doorway and looked out across the gym, saw Nola sitting with the FBI agents and then went back inside.
“She’s eating with the Feds,” she said.
Mary frowned.
Bill snuck an extra handful of crackers, crushed them on top of his chili and quickly stirred them in before the women saw him.
“Why are the Feds here?” he asked as he took a big bite.
“I have no idea,” Peg said as Laura walked in.
“Do we have any left?” Laura asked.
“Enough for you,” Mary said.
A minute later Laura took a bite of her chili and then reached for the salt.
Bill laughed when Mary gave Laura a hard look, too.
“What?” Laura asked.
“Nothing,” Mary said. “So why are the Feds here?”
Laura shrugged. “It has to do with some of the bodies they recovered from the flood, but other than that, I’m not sure.”
Leon glanced up. “They’re here because of that Stormchaser dude. They were in Natchez, too. I saw them on the news.”
“So why is Nola eating with them?”
Laura smiled. “Now that I do know. One of the agents grew up here. They’re friends.”
Peg nodded. “That makes sense.”
“So, Laura, what’s on our to-do list tonight?” Bill asked.
“Just carrying out the garbage and that’s it for the evening. You’ve both been working like slaves, anyway. We’re expecting a new shipment of supplies tomorrow, so we’ll have to unload that when it arrives.”
Bill nodded. “Okay, thanks. At my age, I can use a couple extra hours of sleep.”
“Yeah, me, too,” Leon said.
“Where’s Judd Allen?” Peg asked. “He usually helps you with the lifting.”
“I don’t know,” Bill said. “I haven’t seen him all day. Have you seen him, Leon?”
Leon shook his head.
“Well, when he shows up, tell him I need to talk to him,” Peg said.
Bill waved his spoon to acknowledge the order and finished off his food. He dumped the plastic bowl and spoon in the trash, and headed out into the gym with Leon at his heels.
Mary eyed him curiously. “Leon’s a strange one, but Bill isn’t a bad-looking guy, if you don’t mind a bald head and a few wrinkles,” she added.
Peg frowned. “Bill is a little bit bowlegged.”
“And what does that have to do with anything?” Laura asked.
Mary giggled. “Peg’s first husband was bowlegged. He cheated on her, so she doesn’t trust bowlegged men.”
Laura grinned. These two women made her day. “I have some reports to write up, so I’m going to take my food back to the office. Great job, you two.” She grabbed an apple on her way out.
* * *
Across the room, Cameron saw Laura leaving the kitchen and watched her walk all the way through the gym until she disappeared around the corner before he turned back to the conversation in progress.
“After you eat, we want to show you some pictures,” Tate was saying to Nola.
She frowned. “I already told you I wouldn’t recognize him.”
“It’s still a shot we have to take,” he said.
“Fine, I’ll look. Are they here, or do I have to go to the police station?”
He tapped his laptop.
She sighed and took another bite just as Tate’s phone rang. When he saw the caller ID was the hospice in Washington, D.C., he frowned. She remembered that look. Something was up.
“Excuse me. I have to take this,” he said, and walked away.
She watched, telling herself it was curiosity and not a desire to sneak extra glances. It was obvious by his body language he wasn’t happy, but when he ended the call, she made a point not to stare.
Wade glanced up as Tate sat back down.
“Is it your mom again?”
Tate nodded.
“Sorry, man.”
Nola frowned. “What’s the matter with your mother?”
Tate’s shoulders slumped. “She has Alzheimer’s. They just called to let me know she fell and broke her hip. They’re taking her into surgery in the morning.”
Nola gasped. “Oh, my God. I am so sorry. How long ago was she diagnosed?”
He hesitated, then decided what the hell. “Almost nine years.”
Her mouth opened, and then she leaned back without saying a word. It had been eight years since their breakup. And she’d found out only after Tate was already gone that his mother had left with him. It hadn’t made sense then, and this made it even more confusing. At the time, everyone had wondered why Julia Benton had left her husband, and Nola had already been confused as to why Tate had all of a sudden wanted to leave town, so how did that tie in with what had happened, and what, if anything, did it mean?
“Uh...Tate.”
He heard the question in her voice and was afraid of what she was going to ask.
“Yeah?”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because I didn’t know.”
“Did your dad know?”
Tate pointed at her sandwich. “Are you through eating?”
“Yes.”
“I called dibs on the leftovers,” Wade reminded them.
She gave it to him.
Tate opened his laptop and then handed it to Cameron.
“Show her the photos. I need to run an errand.”
He strode out without looking back, leaving Nola with more unanswered questions. When she looked back at his partners, they both shook their heads.
“Don’t ask us. We didn’t even know his dad was a coroner,” Cameron said.
“I got the impression that his father was dead,” Wade added. “It’s sure a shame about his mom. So, scoot over here by me. They’re obviously mug shots, and we don’t want anyone to wonder why you’re looking at them.”
She did as Wade had asked, looking ca
refully through the array.
“I’m sorry, but none of these look even remotely familiar. Is that all?”
Cameron nodded. “It’s okay. We had to try. You’ve been up all day on shaky legs. Why don’t you have an early night? If you can sleep in this racket,” he added.
Cameron was right. The gym was like a nest of ants, so many people going in different directions and doing different tasks, with lots of noise and none of it decipherable.
“That sounds like a plan,” she said, and after a quick trip to the bathroom with her toothbrush and a washcloth, she emerged with dragging steps and all but collapsed onto her cot. She didn’t think she would be able to sleep with the constant murmur of voices, but when she rolled onto her side and pulled the blanket up over her shoulders, it felt so good to be horizontal that she was out before she knew it.
Five
Tate’s despair at the latest news of his mother’s condition quickly turned to rage. He knew the minute he started toward the house that had once been his home it was going to be an ugly confrontation, but the whole thing was ugly and way past due, so what the hell.
The light was still on in the living room, which was a sign his dad was still up. He skidded to a stop in the driveway, and in seconds was out and headed toward the house in long strides, wanting to get this over before he changed his mind. The moment his feet hit the steps, the hair stood up on the back of his neck. He hadn’t been here since the night his dad kicked him out, and this was a hell of a way to come back.
He rang the doorbell, then doubled up his fist and hammered on the door until the porch light came on and he heard the lock click.
The door swung inward. His father was standing there with his reading glasses halfway down his nose and the sports section of the newspaper dangling from his hand.
“What is the meaning of this?” Don snapped.
Tate pushed him aside and strode into the foyer.
“I didn’t say you could come in!” Don yelled.
Tate turned around and stabbed his finger against the button on his father’s shirt. “I didn’t ask!” he shouted.
“I’ll call the police!” Don shouted back.
A slow smile spread across Tate’s face.
“I am the police. Now shut the hell up and listen, because I’m not going to say this twice. I doubt that you give a damn, but Mom is dying. The nursing home just called me. She fell and broke her hip. They’re taking her into surgery in the morning, but in the long run it won’t matter, because she’ll be gone before the bone can ever heal.”
The newspaper fell from Don’s fingers as he staggered, then steadied himself with a hand against the wall.
“Is it that disease?”
“By that disease, are you referring to the one you refused to acknowledge she had? ‘That disease’ has already destroyed her, but it isn’t what’s killing her. She hasn’t known her name—or me—for over two years. She moaned and cried over you for five years, and then her Alzheimer’s kicked into high gear and she forgot the son of a bitch she’d married even existed, then she forgot me, and then, even worse, she forgot how to tell someone that she hurt.”
“Stop!” Don said. “Stop talking. I don’t need to hear this. She left me. I didn’t leave her.”
Tate’s hands curled into fists. “If you weren’t old, I would hit you where you stand. You know what you did. You are a self-serving, sanctimonious bastard who doesn’t deserve peace of mind. Mom had end-stage breast cancer before anyone figured out she was sick, and that was four months ago. The doctor who called me tonight isn’t sure she’ll live through the surgery, but they have to try.”
Don’s face was as white as the shirt he was wearing.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“I can’t believe you even asked me that,” Tate snapped. “I told you because you’re still her legal husband, you asshole. She made me promise years ago that when she died, I would tell you face to face.”
Don’s hands were shaking. “She’s not dead. You said she wasn’t dead. Why are you telling me now?”
“Because of a fucking serial killer, that’s why. There’s every chance we will be called away to a new location at any time, and when we’re through here, I won’t be back. Unlike you, I don’t break my vows.”
“She lied to me!” Don screamed. “And even then, I forgave her! I told her she could stay! I told her we would get past it! But she packed up and left me, anyway.”
“You lost her when you threw me away, and I hope the rest of your life is as miserable as your soul.”
Tate pivoted angrily and headed for the door.
“Wait!” Don shouted. “Wait!”
Tate turned around. “What?”
“Where is she?”
Tate shook his head slowly. “Oh, no, you don’t get to play that hand. You don’t get to make a last-minute run to her bedside to assuage your guilt by being there in the end. It doesn’t matter where she’s at.”
Don’s hands were trembling. “But you’re bringing her home to bury, right?”
“She issued orders years ago that she wanted to be cremated. It was her way of destroying the disease that was destroying her. I’m done here. Have a nice night.”
Tate slammed the door behind him when he left, but by the time he got in the car he was crying. He drove through the streets with tears on his face. He couldn’t go back to the gym like this, and he hurt so bad it hurt to breathe. Then he saw the spire of St. Andrew’s and headed toward it. He hadn’t been in church in years, but he had a sudden need to give his confession.
It was just after 8:00 p.m. when he pulled up to the church and got out. The lights were still on. The door was unlocked. When he opened the front door and stepped inside, it felt like coming home. He didn’t recognize the priest walking toward him, but it didn’t matter.
“Welcome, my son,” the priest said. “How can I serve you?”
Tate took a deep breath, wanting the rage in his heart to be gone.
“Good evening, Father. I know it’s late, but would you hear my confession?”
“Of course I will. Follow me.”
* * *
It was nearly midnight when Tate got back to the gym. The doors were shut, but the light was still on in the office. A stocky gray-haired man with two full sleeves of tattoos was on guard duty. He looked up as Tate walked in and stepped out to question him.
“I’m sorry, sir, but we’re shut down for the night. I need to see some ID.”
Laura was asleep on a cot in the back and heard the voices. She got up just as Tate was pulling out his badge.
“He’s okay, Judd. He’s one of the federal agents working the murders here.”
Tate eyed Judd curiously. “I haven’t seen you here. What’s your name?”
The man frowned. “Why?”
“We’re checking everybody out, that’s why. Can I see some ID?” Tate asked.
All of a sudden the tables were turned and the man was fishing out his wallet instead. “This is a hell of a deal,” he muttered. “I come here to help out these poor people, and all of a sudden I’m a suspect?”
Tate frowned. This was the first person they’d talked to who had complained. They were going to take a harder look at him.
Tate took down his full name, address and driver’s license number; then, before the man knew it, Tate had snapped a picture of him with his cell phone, too.
“Hey!” Judd said, then turned around and stomped back into the office and shut the door.
Laura frowned. “That was weird.”
“Do you know him?” Tate asked.
“Not really. He’s just one of the volunteers, but he was cleared by the home office before he showed up. He’s missed a couple of shifts, but we can’t complain. They don’t get pai
d, so we take what we can get. Is there anything you need?”
Tate sighed. He was tired—so tired. “Just a place to sleep, and I already have that, thanks to your generosity. And, don’t hesitate to tell us if you ever need the space we’re taking up. We’ll find somewhere else to bunk.”
“There are no other places to bunk. The motel in Queens Crossing is full, and there are no bed-and-breakfasts. It’s these beds or try and rent a motor home from some other city, then find a hookup at the trailer park, which I hear is also full,” she said. “So, you’re welcome to bunk here with the rest of the displaced.”
He smiled. “And we thank you very much.”
“You’re welcome. See you in the morning,” she said, and went back into the office as Tate headed toward the back of the room.
There were a couple of night-lights along each wall and one at the far end where the bathrooms were, so it was easy to see where he was going. His focus was the woman asleep on the cot between his bed and the wall. It wasn’t going to be easy, lying next to her tonight with his emotions this raw and exposed. He felt vulnerable, which wasn’t good for the job he’d come here to do.
Cameron roused as Tate approached.
“It’s just me,” Tate whispered.
Cameron gave him a thumbs-up and lay back down as Tate took off his jacket. He sat down on his cot, kicked off his shoes and then stretched out gratefully and pulled up the blanket. After a few uneasy moments he gave in to the urge and rolled over on his side to face Nola, and then lay watching her sleep.
Once he’d known every nuance of her facial expressions and what every hitch in her breath meant when they made love. Now she was an enigma. They had a past, but his parents had screwed up their future. Now he was just a man in the middle with a heart full of pain.
As he watched, her forehead began to furrow and her jaw clenched. She was dreaming—God only knew of what, but she’d been through hell, and if he could help it, he didn’t intend for her to be in danger again.
When she started crying, he reached out across the narrow aisle and took her hand.
She flinched as her eyes flew open and she found herself looking at Tate.
“You were crying in your sleep,” he said softly.