Circled

by Anne McAneny

  I didn’t want to admit that I’d read a private card meant for her deceased daughter, so I went with an old standby, which happened to be true. “I have a weird thing for dates and phone numbers. Macy must have mentioned it when we were kids.”

  She smiled. “It’s true. Four minutes apart, Macy used to say, but in two different months. My husband would get jealous because his birthday was half a calendar away—in late October sometime.” She stifled a giggle. “You know, I can’t even remember which day now.” The last sentence came with a hint of pride; she really had moved on.

  I moved off of Macy-related topics, but we got cut short when the memorial began. Strike and Jacqueline Ryker arrived just in time to scoot in next to Chad. Jacqueline, always poised and gracious, gave Macy’s mom quite an embrace and welled up immediately. Then they all sat quietly as the music started.

  The preacher dominated the memorial, as Eric Elbee clearly had no intention of speaking. Toward the end, two of Grace’s bolder friends approached the podium and shared stories, reminding us all of the few times, long ago, when Grace had actually lived up to the spirit of her name.

  Chad spent most of the time staring straight ahead, a smirk covering his face, and his mind clearly occupied by murder, arson, and armed Feds swirling about town. Meanwhile, the sheriff held Jacqueline’s hand throughout and managed to look unfailingly miserable. It couldn’t have been easy for him watching his town spiral out of control like this.

  Afterward, everyone hustled out to enjoy the lowcountry boil provided at Mrs. Elbee’s expense. It may well have been the most generous thing she’d ever done, but I couldn’t bring myself to enjoy it. When Rafe began conversing with Mrs. LeGrange about Chicago, I drifted over to Chad who was struggling with a crab leg.

  “Is your dad going to talk to Richie Quail?” I asked. “About why he posted bail for Boyd?”

  Chad gave up on retrieving anything edible from the leg. “I don’t know, Chloe. Why don’t you do it? You’re so on top of everything lately.”

  “What’s eating you?”

  “Gosh, I don’t know. Here we are at a memorial service for a long-time neighbor.” He gestured to the crowd. “Guess I didn’t realize it was a date sort of thing.”

  “Seriously? That’s what’s bothering you? Rafe knew Mrs. Elbee, too, in case you—”

  “You know what, Chloe? I really don’t care. Rafe saved your life today. Maybe that’s your cue to jump in bed with him.”

  “Where’s all this coming from? You and I broke up almost a year ago.”

  “And I only recently found out why.”

  “Chad, please.”

  He picked up an ear of corn but only used it to point at me. “You and me, we had a great thing going. But when the relationship hit a point where it had to get serious or die, you headed straight for the off-ramp.”

  “People break up, Chad. It happens. Get over it.”

  “That’s rich, coming from someone who can’t get over a teenage crush.”

  My tattoo suddenly scorched and my ire erupted. I wanted to grab that corn and shove it in his ear. “That’s a new low, Chad. It was more than a crush, and you know it.”

  “Only because of how it ended.”

  “And you’re speaking from what? All your normal life experiences?”

  “Looks like we’re both hitting new lows tonight.”

  “News flash, buddy. You barely knew me, so there’s no way you loved me.”

  “You got that right. Because love goes two ways and we sure didn’t have that. But neither did you and Hoop. You wanted it to be love, but news flash back at ya—it wasn’t.”

  I stepped toward him, ready to lash out, but my anger suddenly receded while curiosity took its place. “Why is all this coming up now?”

  “Because seeing you with that Rafe guy really pisses me off. I didn’t get a fair run, and now he’s moving in when there might finally be an opening.”

  “An opening? Because Hoop might be dead? Is that how you’re viewing all this?”

  “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

  “What did you mean then? That it’s a job position to love me?”

  “Felt that way to me sometimes.” He dropped the corn back on his plate and sneered. “I got into your lockbox, you know. The one you keep in your closet. I mean, Jesus, is that what I was up against?”

  I shook my head compulsively, trying to prevent Chad from talking about the one item that laid bare my soul. I rubbed my arm, wishing it could scald him to keep him from revealing how truly barren I was.

  “You ever think about it anymore, Clo? Huh? So maybe you can join him in some warped way?”

  My eyes seared him. Then I put my lips within licking distance of his ear. “You know what, Chad? I do think about it. Every. Damn. Day.”

  He stepped back, his surprise dwarfed by his anger. “Honestly, Chloe, I don’t know how you do it. I don’t know how you keep the spark alive for someone who never lit theirs for you.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Yeah, I do. It’s like you’re the one who died that week.”

  I flashed a disconcerting smile. “At least you got something right.”

  I spun away and my eyes landed on Quail as he stuffed a sausage into his mouth. Why not? Wife-nikov was nowhere in sight—probably in line preparing another overloaded plate for her living, breathing ATM. If the sheriff and Chad weren’t going to do their jobs, I’d get the ball rolling.

  Chapter 39

  I marched over and scowled at Quail until he finally dismissed the junior councilman who’d blown enough smoke up his ass to set off an alarm.

  “Ms. Keyes,” Quail said, his greasy lips glistening. “I’m guessing you either want a word, or no one’s ever taught you how to mingle.”

  I unclenched my jaw. “You put up Boyd Sexton’s bail.”

  The duplicitous twinkle in his eye said it all: he sure had. “Not a big secret,” he said, shoving a potato into his mouth. “Anybody could trace it back to me if they wanted to.”

  “I wanted to. Tell me, why the big rush to get a lowlife drug dealer out of jail?”

  “Rush? There was no rush. Boyd was in there a good bit of time, you ask me.”

  “And you got him out just before he planned to spill his guts to the FBI.”

  “Did I?” He rubbed his bulbous hand along his chin and pulled his lips into a mound of bewilderment. “Didn’t realize that. Must be why he sounded so frantic when he called. ’Spect he didn’t really want to talk to those fellas.”

  “More likely, he was planning to tell them something you didn’t want them to know. What was he going to reveal, Mr. Quail?”

  “My goodness, Ms. Keyes, you’re filled with vim and vigor today. Or is it venom and vigor?”

  “It’s suspicion, and you didn’t answer the question.”

  He grabbed a large shrimp off his plate and took it with one bite. This seafood-as-stalling-tactic game was growing beyond lame. Couldn’t he at least fake a heart attack? Apparently not. He took his sweet, Southern time licking three portly fingers and then declaring, “Mm, mm, mm. That Grace sure knows how to throw a boil.” Eventually, he acknowledged my presence again by muttering, “Heck, Ms. Keyes, I don’t have the faintest idea what was running through Boyd Junior’s mind. The boy wasn’t exactly Nobel Prize material, am I right? All’s I know is he called and I answered.”

  “Of all the people he could call in town, why you?”

  “Why not me?”

  “Because you barely knew one another. You said as much in our interview.”

  “In my world, when the son of a good ol’ boy asks for help, you respond. But perhaps I put more stock in a promise than you do.”

  “What promise would that be?”

  “The one I made to Boyd Senior on his deathbed.” He leaned down to confide in me, his spicy breath doing him no favors. “Between you and me, Boyd Senior knew that Junior wasn’t the slickest fish in the school. So when his lungs were c
rackling like a spent log, he pulled me in close and said, ‘Richie, promise me you’ll take care of Junior. Not in a day-to-day way, but if he gets into trouble, I’m gonna need you to be there.’ So I gave my word, and I’m sure as heck glad I was there when Junior finally called.”

  What a load of meadow mayonnaise. I felt like the sucker opening a closet door and yelping at a harmless milk snake. “Your loyalty’s inspiring, Mr. Quail, but before he became gator mash, Boyd Junior said that you made everything square and that you’d checked with everyone. I need to know: what was square? And who did you check with?”

  Quail pulled himself up to his full height and forced an exhale through his nose, the stream of wet air repulsing me. “That sounds to me like a question a sheriff should be asking, not some podunk reporter for the local paper.”

  “The sheriff’s got his hands full. Podunk will have to do.”

  He lowered his voice, and the affable veneer he’d been wearing dissolved into one of cold hostility. “Are we on the record?”

  “Nope. Just you and me chattin’ it up at a boil.”

  He leaned down until his face blurred into a soft pile of gelatinous jelly. “Then screw off. You got nothing on me and I don’t appreciate your tone.”

  I didn’t back away and I sure as heck didn’t screw off. Not even a little. “I see your stripes, Mr. Quail, and I’m not buying what you’re selling.”

  “You’d be the first. Now if you know what’s good for you, little lady, you’ll take your leave.”

  “Know this, Mr. Quail. I do put stock in promises, and I promise that if you had anything to do with Hoop Whitaker’s disappearance, I will find out, and you will go down for it.”

  Melanie LeGrange suddenly materialized to Quail’s left. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said sweetly, “but I just had to say hello, Richie. Is this a bad time?”

  The abrupt change in Quail’s demeanor would definitely qualify as a freak occurrence of nature. His pallor returned to normal and his smile came across as genuine. He turned to Melanie LeGrange with a beaming expression. “Melanie, my goodness, you look as lovely as the first time I laid eyes on you in middle school.”

  “I owe that to your generosity, Richie. I’ve never forgotten what you did for me. Leaving Beulah turned out to be the healthiest decision I ever made.”

  “You know, there’s folks around here who find it hard to believe, but sometimes, old Richie Quail here’s got good instincts about the heart and soul—and how to heal them.”

  If he could have, he’d have patted his own back and topped it off with a hand-job.

  “I’ll spread the word,” Melanie said with a smile.

  “Tell me, Melanie, what brings you to town? ’Cause you can color me surprised to see you here.”

  “Oh, come on, now. I suspect you know why I’m here. A little something to do with a magic show?”

  Quail looked pleasantly puzzled. “Think I saw a flyer about that. You planning to attend?”

  Melanie smiled like a cunning co-conspirator. “Matter of fact, I am. I’ve been promised a delightful spate of shocking surprises, or something to that effect.”

  “All this way for a little show, eh?”

  “Of course. You paid—I mean, someone paid for my ticket.” A delicate frown marred the still-taut skin between her brows. “You know, if you’re really not the person behind all this, then I’m a mite concerned. Perhaps I shouldn’t have come.”

  “Nonsense,” Quail said with a chortle. “Fun to have a little mystery in life. You know, Melanie, I’d be honored to escort you to the show. Been curious about the goings-on in my pavilion myself, and it’s not the sort of thing my wife would be interested in.”

  Mrs. LeGrange narrowed her alluring eyes and grinned playfully, clearly suspicious that Quail was putting on a front. “Okay, then. As you may or may not know, I’m staying at the Hilton. Pick me up at eight?”

  Chad approached our trio without a single glance in my direction. He asked Mrs. LeGrange if she was ready to head to the hotel because he had to get going. As they said their good-byes and departed, Rafe came over and stuck his hand out to greet Quail, who looked surprised to see him.

  “Evening, Clive,” Quail said, using Rafe’s financial advisor pseudonym. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

  “I had the pleasure of meeting Mrs. Elbee shortly before her untimely passing.”

  Quail, still shaking Rafe’s hand, pulled him in close. “Everything go okay with our recent transaction?”

  “Of course, Mr. Quail, but surely, we shouldn’t discuss business in front of Miss Keyes here.”

  “Oh,” Quail said with a wicked twist of his lips. “You two know each other?”

  “Quite well,” Rafe said. “You might say we’re both swamp rats. We drove here together.”

  Quail looked down his nose at Rafe. “Then I suggest you keep your date under control.”

  Rafe cocked his head and took his time before speaking. “And I suggest you behave like a gentleman.”

  Quail snorted. “Now listen here, boy—”

  “I don’t think so,” Rafe interrupted, stepping into Quail’s personal space. “It’s you who listens to me. It’s you who heeds my advice.”

  Quail took his time wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Let’s be clear on one thing, Clive. In life, there’s the prize-winning stallion and there’s the lackey who picks up after him. The lackey might enjoy some of the glory, but at the end of the day, he’s still holding a bag of horse hockey.”

  “Well, as they say in hockey, Mr. Quail, sweat more in preparation, bleed less in battle. And I’ve been sweating.”

  Quail’s features bunched together. “Didn’t realize we were in battle, Clive.”

  “Then consider the lines drawn. With that bail transaction you asked me to post, you cost Miss Keyes here valuable information. I don’t appreciate being made party to deception."

  Quail’s nostrils went as wide as a pig’s stuffed cheeks. “Fortunately for you, Clive, I’ll consider this friendly social banter.”

  Rafe leaned forward. “Unfortunately for you, I won’t.”

  The pissing contest was growing too wet for my tastes. Besides, it wasn’t worth Rafe losing a top client; Boyd was already dead. “Come on,” I said, nudging Rafe. “Let’s get out of here.”

  He glanced at me, his expression a complete surprise. No coursing testosterone. No meteoric plunge from an adrenaline high. Instead, just pure joy.

  He extended an elbow in my direction. “Shall we?”

  I looped my arm through his and we showed our back sides to Quail as we departed. Just before we exited the tent, I glanced back and noticed the sheriff finally heading in Quail’s direction. About time. But from the sheriff’s slumped posture and lowered head, I sensed he was in for a losing round.

  Chapter 40

  One Day Before the Thump

  The morning sun promised an unusually hot March day. Macy couldn’t believe the beautiful weather they’d gotten for Spring Break from school. As she pedaled her bike faster than usual, the air whistled through the hole in her sneaker, cooling her foot. She sure wouldn’t mind an air vent in the other shoe, but yesterday’s practice on Ronnie’s skateboard had only taken a toll on the one. Besides, Momma would have a fit if she came home with holes in both shoes—not that Momma would notice things like that again for a while. Her sky-high mood of yesterday had vanished in a dark instant this morning, just after a call from a collection agency. She’d barely gotten the phone back in its cradle before returning to bed, complaining of a headache.

  In response to the complaint, Macy was now on her way to Boyd’s General to pick up some aspirin—the generic, her mother had specified. As she coasted around the final curve to Boyd’s, she checked her watch. Eleven minutes flat. A new record. Let’s see Hoop beat that! She parked her bike in the rack that Boyd kept in the rear of the lot. Glancing around, she was surprised to see no customer cars. For a split second, she worried about being alone in t
he store with Boyd, but she ignored the feeling, and it passed when she pushed the door open and heard the familiar bell overhead.

  No Boyd in sight, so she started her shopping. After locating the aspirin, she searched for birthday cards and found a small selection below the cleaning supplies. Hoop was right—Boyd did have a little bit of everything if you looked hard enough.

  Crouching down, she opened and read them all, smiling as she wondered which one Hoop had chosen for her.

  “Help you?” Boyd Junior said in a scratchy voice. Probably his first words of the day. He was standing at the end of the aisle, clearing his throat and averting his eyes when Macy looked over.

  “Morning, Boyd. Just picking out a card for Momma. Birthday’s tomorrow.”

  He grunted and cleared his throat again before walking away.

  Macy chose a card with pink flowers and water droplets that said Happy Birthday in bright green lettering. She brought her items to the register and then reached into her pocket for the crumpled dollars she’d grabbed from the kitchen counter. When she pulled out a ten dollar bill, she gasped.

  “Something wrong?” Boyd said, looking all caved-in on himself.

  Macy had completely forgotten about the money she’d earned babysitting last week. Finding it again was like getting paid twice. Her eyes grew huge, and she bit down on her lip while she debated. Finally, she fixed Boyd with a mischievous grin. “Is it too late to buy a lottery ticket?”

  “Drawing’s tomorrow,” he said.

  “I know.” She waved her ten dollar bill. “Can I buy a ticket?”

  “Uh, people can, but you can’t.”

  Macy looked down at her body, clear to her feet and then back up at Boyd. “Last time I checked, I was still people.”

  Boyd showed no trace of amusement. “You gotta be eighteen.”

  Macy kept smiling and sparkling, though her charms were mostly squandered on Boyd; his eyes stayed locked on the register. But heck, if Macy LeGrange gave up that easily, her report card would reflect the actual grades she earned rather than the ones she talked her teachers into.

  “Boyd, you know how sometimes you let Momma buy things on credit?”