“Thank you for calling,” she said, her eyes following mine. “The boy is mine. The cats, too. The guns belonged to my pop.”
“FOP?” I asked, noticing the plaques on the wall.
“Was. Thirty years in the uniform. He was killed last year in a liquor store holdup. Wasn’t even on duty. Kid shot him three times in the chest through a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue. He was the first cop to get killed in JC since 1965. Some days I’m almost glad he didn’t live to see what’s happened to this street. I guess you noticed the place next door.”
“I noticed,” I said. “No luck getting them run off?”
“You know how it is. Cops come by every couple of months and clear them out. Pretty soon they’re back. Like shower mold. I’ve got to where I don’t let Eric here play outside so much anymore. We’d like to move someplace where the air won’t kill you, but this place is paid for.”
She led me to the kitchen. It was nicer than Mays’s. You could have raised Hampshire hogs in a corner of it for a year, and it still would have been nicer than Mays’s. It was bright and warm, and there was a big window overlooking a fenced yard with a tire swing hanging from a silver maple. Someone had set up a hay bale to take shots at with a bow and arrow. Mary-Kay put on coffee.
She said, “I got to tell you, I wasn’t sure at first I wanted to talk to you, seeing as how you’re working for Beckett’s wife.”
“I understand,” I said. “But the truth is, if I’m working for anyone, I’m working for myself, though her father was the one who got the ball rolling downhill.”
“I heard about what happened,” she said. “I won’t lie to you and say that I was tore up, exactly. That old man rode Guy pretty hard. Twenty-two years of treating him like a rented mule, making him feel worthless, unworthy of the princess. Made Guy just miserable, and I hated him for it. Still, I don’t like to hear anyone come to violence like that.”
“Me, neither,” I said. “So why did you agree to see me?”
“Didn’t know that I would, really. But I want Guy found and brought home, and I’m a big enough girl to not care who does it or why. Besides, you had a nice phone voice, and I figured I should at least get a look at you. And now that I see you, I see that you’ve got an honest face. You’re kinda cute, too.”
“Thanks.”
“Except maybe them black eyes. You in some kind of accident?”
“Some kind. Do you mind telling me when was the last time you saw Beckett?”
“About a week ago. It was Eric’s birthday. Guy took him to one of those pizza places with the singing animals.”
“You met Guy through some kind of work?”
She nodded. “Through the land reclamation project, yeah.”
“I didn’t know he worked with them.”
“Only from time to time,” she said. “When Dwayne or the newspaper didn’t have an assignment for him, or when he needed a little extra scratch. We were looking at a violator near Boskydell, a Big Eagle mine that was eating houses and road for miles around, and we brought on Guy to take pictures of it.”
I didn’t know the case, but I’d been around plenty like it. Mine subsidence, they call it. You’re going about your business, easy as you please, then wake up one day to find your house sinking into the earth. It was such a common peril in southern Illinois that people bought insurance against it, like other folks insured against rising waters in a floodplain.
I said, “Let me ask you, what’s your impression of this Beckett character? Everyone seems to have a different opinion of the man.” It didn’t seem charitable to add that everyone seemed to have a different bad opinion.
“Well, I don’t know. I sometimes have different opinions of him, too. Let’s just say I’ve had some long nights.”
I took a chance. I said, “Love does funny things to people.”
She looked at me. Her eyes were like stabs. “It sure does.”
“You ever meet this Dwayne Mays?”
“Couple times. Didn’t care for him much, I’ll be honest.” She looked up at me suddenly and made a gesture and frowned a little. “I keep speaking ill of the dead.”
“It’s okay.”
“He was always dragging Guy into one kind of crusade or another. A bit of a do-gooder, too, and not ashamed to let you know it. I’ll be honest, I prefer my homilies in church. Anyway, you know the kind.”
“I think I do.”
“And this latest business . . .”
“The meth story?”
“That. I warned Guy that getting wrapped up in that would lead to nothing but misery, but he wouldn’t listen.”
“You don’t happen to know of anyone making threats at him, do you?”
“Not directly, no. I think he tried to keep me out of it. He seemed worried and anxious, though, and that was before he took to carrying a gun around in his car.”
“Well, that could be perceived as a sign of something.”
“Yeah,” she said. “That’s the way I took it, too. This wasn’t a peashooter, either. You ever seen one of these Taurus Raging Judge Magnum things?”
“Can’t say as I have.”
“I know it sounds like a gas station prophylactic, but let me tell you, it’s enough gun to kill the Lincoln on Mount Rushmore. I don’t like to think what would have happened if Guy ever fired it.”
“When did he start carrying around the cannon?”
“Couple few days after he got into it with someone outside the house here. Car just pulled up out of nowhere, and Guy was out the door like a bat out of hell, and he and another guy were screaming at each other out there on the street. I’ll tell you, I was plenty worried about it, but Guy told me it was all just a misunderstanding.”
“A misunderstanding?”
“I know. Weak, right? But I guess that was something I wanted to believe, because I believed it until all this other business went down.”
I said, “Did you get a look at this person?”
She nodded. “Hell, I’m human. I admit I peeked. Guy told me to stay in the back of the house, but I squared Eric away in his room and came back and watched through the curtains. Big dude, with a head like a muck bucket and a beard. Any ideas?”
“Doesn’t ring any gongs,” I said. “Way I see it, there are a couple of possibilities here.”
“Okay. Let’s hear them.”
I said, “Number one, Guy ran into trouble while researching this story with Dwayne Mays. His wife tells me he’d gotten tangled up with a guy who calls himself Jump Down.”
“Jump Down? That’s ridiculous,” she said, interrupting.
“I think so, too, but that’s his coal mine nickname.”
“As in, he jumps down from high places?”
I shook my head. “More like he jumps down your throat. Anyway, he’s one of the bad ones.”
“You’re starting to worry me here.”
“I don’t mean to,” I said. “Means anything, my suspicion is that Guy is hiding, not hurt. Whoever killed Dwayne Mays and Luster left them out in the open for everyone and his Aunt Mabel to inspect their handiwork. The cops disagree, but I think someone is sending someone else a message. If someone did hurt Guy, I think they’d want us to know it.”
She nodded at that without looking too convinced. She said, “You said there was another possibility.”
“Maybe more than one. But the likeliest I can think of is that Guy’s run away from something completely unrelated.”
“Or someone.”
“Or someone,” I agreed. “You have any idea who or what that might have been?”
She knew, and she knew I knew. Or guessed that I knew. She didn’t look too thrilled about it, either. “I got a pretty good idea.”
“Is he eight years old and not allowed outside much these days?”
“You’re a pretty good detective.”
“Not really,” I said. “He and Beckett share a resemblance.”
“I guess he does. Why do they always look like the one you’d
like to forget?”
And I couldn’t help but think of Anci and how my bottomless love for her was forever mingled with painful reminders. “I honestly don’t know,” I said. “Except life is hard and hell is hot.”
“Who said that?”
“My daddy.”
“Sounds tough.”
“Tough as old boots,” I said. “And—much as it pains me to admit—a good man to have nearby when the chips were down. I once saw him stand down a herd of anti-union thugs with nothing more than rolled-up sleeves and grit.”
“Folks aren’t tough like that anymore, even the ones who are pretty strong. And Guy isn’t even that. His mother was a tiger but his father was a squish, and Guy took after him. I love him, and I’d like to have him around, but he’s the kind of guy you’d spend your whole life worrying about breaking.”
“Let me ask you this: how’d he seem the last time you saw him?”
“That’s what’s been bothering me. Something was on his mind. You can always tell when Guy has something on his mind. But he wouldn’t say what.”
“You ever get any sense of what it might have been?”
“Don’t know. I asked him. Pestered, really, but I couldn’t squeeze it out of him,” she said. “Let me tell you, that was uncharacteristic. This is a person who likes his chatter. A billboard keeps better secrets. My best guess is it had something to do with this story he was working on with Dwayne. Or maybe it was these idiots he’s fallen in with.”
“What idiots?”
“A group of liberal wackos he’d hooked up, probably to chase skirts. They call themselves the Friends of Crab Orchard, I think, but as far as I can tell they’re just a bunch of new age fruitcakes who want a little attention.”
That rang a distant bell. And then I remembered: Susan had mentioned them. Beckett’s environmental club. “You ever run into any of them?”
“The only way I’d do that is with the Ford,” she said. She must have seen my raised eyebrows. “Safe to say I don’t favor their view of the world.”
“I guess not,” I said. “Any idea who was in the group, besides Guy?”
“Nope.”
“He never mentioned any of them?”
“He never did,” she said. She shrugged her shoulders. “Well, Tony, I guess.”
“That sounds like a person to me,” I said. “Tony who?”
“Pelzer. Friend of Guy’s from way back.” She stabbed her palm twice with a forefinger. “Ass. Hole. But Guy thought he was a hoot. Tony used to do some private security work. At least that’s what he called it. Frankly, Tony’s office was out of his place at Bluegill Point, and there wasn’t much to it other than the occasional strong-arm job or mall security gig. But all of a sudden Guy had him around more and more, and he even followed Guy into this group of his. Well, that didn’t register. Tony Pelzer thinks the EPA ought to be turned into an empty office suite. I asked Guy if he was paying Tony to keep an eye on him. Bodyguard him, I mean, but he got angry and went off on a rant about what a great friend Tony was, which I took to mean that Tony was soaking him good.” She rolled her eyes. “Why do so many men have terrible friends?”
“I guess I don’t know,” I said. “Sympathy, maybe?”
She looked at me with pity. “Oh, honey.”
“Okay, maybe not,” I said. “You say Pelzer is out at Bluegill Point?”
“Round those parts, yeah.”
“Everything’s happening out at the lake,” I said.
“Well, the lake’s where things happen.”
I got up and thanked her for her time and the coffee, and she walked me to the door. Outside, the boys were still lingering on the front porch. One of them was flipping around a butterfly knife.
“Hey, one last thing,” Mary-Kay said as I made my way down the steps. “When you find Beckett, would you deliver a message for me?”
“Sure, anything.”
“Tell him there’s more to life than running away.”
That depended on who or what was doing the chasing, I thought but didn’t say. I walked back to the truck, thinking of all the people in my life who could stand to hear that same message.
NINE
Tony Pelzer was in the book. I phoned and left a message asking him to call me back as soon as possible. I didn’t want him to think it was a sales call or some other foolishness, so I mentioned Guy Beckett’s name. If he failed to call back after that, I figured that’d tell me something. What, I couldn’t yet guess. Next, I called Peggy. She had a free hour between 12:30 and 1:30, and that’s what time it was. She wasn’t as gruff as we’d left it before, but she wasn’t exactly friendly, either.
She said, “Well, at least you’re not dead yet.”
“There’s that.”
“You’re not, are you?”
“I don’t think so,” I said. “But I did shoot someone with a beanbag today.”
“Come again?”
“Nothing,” I said. “How’s Anci?”
“Checked in on her just a few minutes ago over lunch,” she said. “She wants you to know that she harbors a grievous dislike for John Knowles, but she’s otherwise fine.”
“Who?”
“The Separate Peace guy,” Peggy said. “The kids are reading it this year, and Anci’s not the least bit happy about it.”
“I’ll have a chat with her,” I said, but secretly I was proud. Like all good-hearted young people, I’d hated A Separate Peace, too. “And how about you?”
“Me? I’m nervous as the sacrificial goat at the GOP convention.”
“Me, too.”
“Not helping matters is knowing that, somewhere out there, Jeep Mabry . . .”
“Now that I think of it, maybe we should be careful what we say on the open line,” I said, interrupting her.
“What?”
“It’s something you hear people say, you watch enough television thrillers.”
“You’re kidding?”
“Only half,” I said, but maybe it was less than that. “And I’d say Jeep is maybe preferable to Jump Down or one of his gang sniffing around. Or Round-Face.”
“Assuming he or they have anything to do with it in the first place.”
“Assuming that, yes.”
“I got to tell you, darling, the more I sit with it, the more the whole thing sounds like a stretch to me.”
“Me, too,” I said. “Someone killed Dwayne Mays, and I don’t think what happened to Matthew Luster was a suicide, but it does feel like we’re missing a pretty big piece of the pie here somewhere.”
“We? Who’s this ‘we’ you speak of, white man?”
“Okay, okay. Fair enough. You’re not ready yet to join our firm.”
“Speaking of firm.”
“That’s one of my favorite benefits, too.”
“That and a full pension.”
“Hopefully, anyway. See you tonight?”
That was the question I’d been waiting to ask. Nervously, too, like that goat.
Peggy thought about it for a moment and then said, “I’ll bring Anci around after work, see what we can work out for dinner that doesn’t involve you two idiots eating Velveeta over scrambled eggs.”
“All right.”
“Someone’s got to look after you, after all.”
“They sure do.”
“It’s just no good leaving you to your own devices.”
“It’s just really not.”
“I love you, stupid.”
“I love you,” I said. “Should I call you a name now, too?”
“Not unless you want to wake up looking straight up at the bottom of your own feet. How about just call me beautiful?”
“You are that.”
“Well, I already knew it.”
There was a moment of silence on the line. Then Peggy said, “Okay, maybe we can stop acting like blushing teenagers now.”
“That would be a relief. I had a hard enough time the first time around.”
“Me, too. And I’m
not sure I ever learned my lesson. Probably I didn’t. Where are you off to now, Sherlock?”
“Believe me, you don’t want to know,” I said.
“Believe me,” she said, “you’re right.”
Indian Vale was along the way to my next stop, so I ducked in to check on the house. I had to feed the animals, one, but I also wanted to lay eyes on it again, even if we’d only been away a few hours. Everything seemed fine at first. The clouds had pushed off, and the sun had come out, and the Vale was bright and clear in the cool air. The wind pushed leaves around in the yard to swirl and rattle like they do. I parked the truck and walked around the house, and it took me a while to realize that someone had broken in.
It took me a while because they were good. They were awfully damn good. There was a measured calmness and professionalism about the thing that I found both terrifying and impressive. They hadn’t kicked down the door or smashed a window. They hadn’t sawed a creep-shaped hole in the outer wall and gone in that way. The southward-facing kitchen window had always had a loose lock, and someone had discovered it and prized it open and gone in, leaving behind just the barest hints of chipped windowpane. I didn’t follow suit. I went back around front and unlocked the door with my key and went inside to look around. Everything was perfectly still, and nothing seemed the least out of place, and let me tell you, that was disconcerting as hell.
After a while, I went upstairs and found the cats. Usually we were at odds, but for a change they seemed happy to see me, so I pet them and put down food and water before realizing that I wouldn’t be able to leave them to their own devices like that, even for a few hours at a time, as I’d been planning. I felt ashamed of myself and my species, and not for the last time, either. I called a vet’s office in Marion that also did boarding, then put the cats in their boxes and drove them into town, where I dropped them off and generally began to feel better about my human virtues. Funny how little it takes.
On my way back through, I had an idea. I returned to the Vale and went inside and upstairs to Anci’s room. I brought down her old computer and put it on a table in the living room, facing the front of the house. Jeep had showed me a program once that you could download to turn your computer into a surveillance camera—a kind of motion-activated thing—and I used it now to do just that. I opened the lid and switched on the little camera and set it to record. I put a big vase on one side of the computer and a framed photograph on the other side, hoping to camouflage it somewhat. It wasn’t a great job, to say the least, but maybe it would do.
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