He cut me a dark look. “Keep her out of this. She’s a good woman. Been through a lotta bad stuff in her life and she don’t need no more.”
Perfect example of how fourth-and fifth-hand information turned into personal speculation. Dale told me BD begged for forgiveness, but I’d bet Sunday’s collection plate it wasn’t for himself but for Beth McClanahan. I figured she wouldn’t talk to me since my father canned her biscuits, but maybe if BD was a buffer she’d consider it. “Would Beth talk to me?”
“Why?”
“To see if she had any dealings with Melvin Canter.”
BD’s gaze fell back to his coffee cup.
“She does have a job someplace around here?”
A moment of quiet, then he asked, “How’d you know Beth’s been workin’ here for me?”
I blinked. I hadn’t known.
“She’s a good secretary and I needed office help.”
Getting off track, Julie.
“What did you and Doug Collins fight about at Bevel’s Hardware?”
His mouth went hard and flat.
“Deputy John said you didn’t file charges.
Why?”
“To prove to Doug I can turn the other cheek.”
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Great. One-upmanship Jesus-style. “Did you overhear the fights Doug and Melvin were purported to have at Chaska’s?”
BD shook his head.
“So you don’t know what they were fighting
about?”
Another head shake.
“BD, do you have any idea why Melvin Canter is dead?”
“No.” His head hung so low I strained to hear him and he was a mere three feet from me. “And may Christ our Lord and Savior have mercy on my sinner’s soul, because I can’t find sorrow in my heart that he is.”
A chill rolled through me. I stood and offered my hand. “Thank you for the coffee. If I think of anything else I’ll be in touch.”
As I drove home I wondered if he realized I’d never given him my name.
Something weird was going on with Beth
McClanahan. Probably be worth it to run a background check on her. I called Trish. I hadn’t talked to her since Martinez’s shooting.
If my luck held we could have the whole damn 350
conversation on the phone. My energy started to lag and I knew I’d crash on the couch soon as the last cup of coffee wore off.
Trish insisted on coming to my place. I didn’t bother to pick up because I could give a crap about what she thought of my housekeeping skills; she wasn’t my mother.
I was smoking and cleaning my gun when she
barged in.
“I can’t stay.”
I bit back my response of good.
“I tried to call you for a couple of days. Where’ve you been?”
None of your business. I was punchy and I just needed to crawl in bed. “Out of town. Why? Did something happen?”
“No. Thank goodness. Did you find out anything?”
“Yeah, but I’m not sure you wanna hear it.”
“What?”
“The background check on Melvin Canter.”
She frowned but didn’t argue why I’d taken that tack.
“Why in the hell would you insist on hiring him?”
The question threw her. “He needed money to help care for his mother. Doug needed a hired hand. And it was the Christian thing to do.”
“Doesn’t my father know when he needs help?
Wasn’t he livid when you announced you’d just hired Canter on his behalf out of the blue?”
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“I resent—”
“—someone trying to tell you the truth?”
“What truth? Showing human kindness and compassion? The man needed a break.”
“Jesus, Trish, the man is a fucking pedophile. How in the world could you ever justify having him around your children?”
Trish’s face turned ashen. “What did you say?”
“You heard me. Melvin Canter is a convicted felon. Sexual assault. Three cases in three different states. He’s done thirteen of the last twenty years in various jails. He is a convicted sex offender.”
She leapt to her feet and stumbled to the bathroom. She didn’t manage to shut the door, so I heard her retching. I didn’t check on her simply because I couldn’t stand to be in the room when she looked at herself in the mirror.
After a while Trish shuffled into the living room. I handed her a glass of water.
“Thanks.”
I waited. Smoked. Watched her.
Finally she said, “How did you find out?”
“Like I said. Background check. But you could’ve known what kind of man he was if you’d only listened to the warnings.”
“What warnings?”
“BD Hoffman for one.”
Guilt put color back in her freckled cheeks. “I thought I was doing the right thing.”
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“No, you thought what you were doing would
elicit the ‘Trish Collins is a model Christian woman’
comments from the church congregation.”
She winced.
I didn’t care about her discomfort, and I didn’t stop hammering her. “Who would Brittney talk to if Melvin Canter touched her inappropriately?”
That sick realization distorted her face. “I thought she’d talk to me.”
“Not if you’d been reminding her again and again to be extra nice and extra helpful to Daddy’s new hired hand.”
She winced again.
“She’d avoid talking to you if you were piling on the guilt about maintaining a Christian attitude toward Melvin, no matter what. So who else would she talk to? DJ?”
“Maybe.”
“She wouldn’t talk to Dad, would she?”
Trish shook her head.
“A teacher? Her best pal, Shelby?”
“No.” She squinted at me. “What did she mention to you? Because if you’re trying to protect her—”
“At least someone would be.”
She covered her hands with her face and sobbed. I let her cry. Out of spite? Probably. But I’d been Brittney’s age when Dad began hitting me on the sly. I hid it from my mother because I’d been ashamed. What if Collins history repeated itself? I imagined 353
Brittney’s situation would be different because she had a protector in Trish. But Trish was as clueless as my mom had been.
And why didn’t I resent Annika Collins for that?
Because the childish part of me believed if she’d lived she would have stopped it? Yes. We all had our delusions about our past and that one was mine.
“What did Brittney say to you?”
“She said Dad’s hired man creeped her out. It felt like he was watching her all the time. Then she said neither she nor DJ felt comfortable doing chores with him around. But they couldn’t say anything to you.”
Trish dropped her chin to her chest. “Stop.”
She wasn’t getting off the hook that easily. “If either of them made a negative comment, you’d reprimand them, and make them both say a positive thing about Melvin.” I inhaled and exhaled. “Is that really how you want it to be? Your kids telling you what they think you want to hear? Instead of them thinking for themselves?”
“No wonder Doug was so livid. I totally screwed this up.”
Zero disagreement from me. “Let me ask you
this: what would Doug do if he found out Melvin was a molester?”
“Kill him.” When she realized what she’d said, she amended, “I meant—”
“You can’t take that back, Trish. But I will remind you that you swore to me Doug didn’t do this.” She 354
opened her mouth to protest and I held up my hand.
“No qualifications.”
I wasn’t asking her to submit to a philosophy I, myself, hadn’t embraced. Tony was a man who did bad things. I accepted that was as much a part of his nature as the part of him I saw that no one else did. There was no qua
lification for me either when it came to how I felt about him.
Heavy silence.
“What do I do now?”
“Dad needs to tell you how he found out about Melvin. You need to demand to know why he didn’t share the information with you.”
She thrust a hand through her unruly hair. “Does it matter? Will you share your findings about Melvin Canter with the sheriff? It’s apparent he doesn’t know.”
I doubted it. Sheriff Richards was probably biding his time waiting for me or someone else to make the connection.
“What if your suspicions land Doug in jail?”
“Whoa whoa whoa. How would I be responsible for Dad being in jail if he killed a man?”
Trish ignored my logic. “Because you’re supposed to be finding information to exonerate Doug, not incriminate him!”
I was tired. Tired of the drama. Tired of the games. Tired of the shitty things family members did to each other, especially in my family. I could feel 355
myself sliding toward the babbling phase from sleep deprivation. I managed, “Go home.”
After she left, I gazed out the screen door in the kitchen, swigging Don Julio and eating Ritz crackers, staring across that mantle of endless snow, my warm breath fogging up the cold glass, letting the alcohol lull me into thinking everything might turn out all right. 356
The next morning the remnants of my self-appointed sacramental communion lingered; I was hung over as hell.
“Really. Would anyone miss me if I didn’t go into the office today?”
Surprisingly enough, the coffeepot didn’t answer. I sighed. At least if I had a dog it’d bark a response. Right. Human companionship on a regular basis was a must if I actually considered a canine an alternative. Cold Hard Bitch by Jet serenaded me from the home theater speakers as I readied for another workday. The music wasn’t too loud; I still heard the thumps on the screen door. I turned the stereo off and checked the peephole. Don Anderson.
I ushered him inside. “Surprised to see you, Don.”
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He saw my coat and gloves on the back of the couch. “This a bad time?”
“I’m headed into work, but I can talk to you first. What’s up?”
“I’ll make it quick. You went to see BD yesterday afternoon?”
“How’d you know?”
“BD called me last night. Said some woman barged in and was askin’ questions ’bout Melvin Canter and he spilled his guts to her on that nasty business from years ago. Said he never caught the woman’s name. So it was you?”
“Yeah.”
Don’s shoulders slumped. “Good.”
“Why the relief?”
“Look, I doan want you to think we was lyin’ to you when we said we’d help with your investigation, but we, me an’ Dale, but me mostly, got what you might call a vested innerest.”
I pointed to the easy chair. “Park it and start explaining.”
He wiped his boots before he sat down. “Lemme say that I wasn’t involved in runnin’ Canter outta town them years ago, but I knew the guys who’d done it. BD’s dad, JR, Maurice Ashcroft, Buck Bevel, Red Granger, Clint Jenson, and”—Don looked at me—
“Dale Pendergrast.”
Don had come to me months ago during a case because he was worried his best buddy, Dale, had killed 358
a man. Ultimately Don had been wrong, but it didn’t change the fact he thought Dale capable of murder.
“JR, Red, and Maurice are all dead. Buck turned the business over to his son and moved to Arizona. Clint’s still around, up at the VA. So’s Dale. After that business with the preacher’s daughter was shunted aside, Dale quit goin’ to church.”
“Can’t say as I blame him.”
“Well, you know how Dale is. He was more of the
‘eye for an eye,’ and he wanted to make Canter disappear permanently.” Don’s Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed nervously. “Which is why I wanna assure you that Dale din’t have nuthin’ to do with Canter endin’ up dead.”
“You thought Dale might’ve been a murderer just last summer. Now you’re telling me he’s changed?”
“No. I’m tellin’ you in confidence that he ain’t strong enough to’ve killed nobody unless it was with a gun.”
“I can’t say as I disagree. So, back to BD. One thing I didn’t ask him, because I didn’t want to increase his suspicions of me, was the preacher’s name.”
“Why’s that important?”
“I don’t know if it is, but I want to be thorough.”
“Shoot. His name …” Don tapped his chin.
“Newman. Patrick Newman. Daughter … Lizzie?
Something like that. Anyway, Dale and his missus spent November, December, and January travelin’, and he din’t know Doug’d hired Canter until two weeks 359
ago. Dale paid Doug a visit right away and told him the whole story. Doug was ticked, rightly so, and that’s when he confronted Melvin outside Chaska’s. Apparently, that’s why they had the fistfight.”
“Does Trish know any of this?”
Don shook his head. “Doug said to keep her out of it and that he’d handle it.”
“Seems to be a theme because BD tried to tell Trish what he knew of Melvin’s past and Trish wouldn’t listen to him. But BD said he tried to tell my dad, too, and Dad accused BD of making problems.”
“Doug’s a stubborn cuss, but I doan gotta tell you that.”
“No. But you mentioned a vested interest. I’m not seeing one.”
He twisted his gloves in his hands. “Dale doan know I came to you last summer with my worries about him and Red Granger. He doan know I’m here now. This thing with Canter needs to be made right, and I figure you’re the only one who can do it.”
“Dale disagrees?”
“He thinks you got it in for your daddy so bad you’ll do anything to see him behind bars.”
I kept quiet. Arguing wouldn’t change a damn thing. “What else?”
“Well, BD is afraid you’re gonna track Beth down and ask her a buncha questions. He said he’d try to keep Beth away from you for her own protection.”
“Did you tell BD my name?”
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He snorted. “No. I do have some evasive skills. But I will say one thing, and you can take this however you want. Why’s that little gal need BD’s protection?
What’s she have to hide?”
I clapped him on the shoulder in a show of solidarity, because I’d been thinking exactly the same thing.
“Great minds, Don. I was wondering that, too. You’d make a fine investigator.”
“Really?”
“Yep. I just hope you don’t use your evasive skills on me.”
“If I was really good, you’d never know, would ya?”
I smiled at his sly grin. “Got me there. Lemme ask you something. How old do you think Beth is?”
“Somewhere around thirty to thirty-five, which was why I couldn’t understand why BD was protectin’
her.”
“She’s not married?”
“Nope. She’s divorced. Doug made a big deal out of her marital status I guess, durin’ that hullabaloo at the church.”
“Thanks for the info. Let me know if anything else pops up, okay?”
“Will do.”
If nothing else shook loose at the office, at least I had three names—Patrick Newman, Lizzie Newman, and Beth McClanahan—to run through the database. 361
Kevin showed up an hour after I did.
Much had happened in the last five days and I couldn’t tell him squat. I expected him to be standoffish; I wasn’t expecting him to envelop me in a big hug.
“What was that for?”
“Because I missed you, dork.”
“Missed you, too, doofus.”
He sidestepped me and plopped in the buffalo skin chair. “I tried to call a couple of times. Something wrong with your cell?”
“No. Martinez and I were out of town and I forgot my charger,”
I freely fibbed. “I wanna hear every juicy detail about what crazy fun things you did in Capital City.”
“Nothing besides ice fishing.”
“What?”
“I went ice fishing.”
“You don’t ice fish.”
Kevin leveled his gaze at me. “Yes, I do.”
“Since when?”
“Since always. You don’t know everything about me, Jules.”
What the fuck was going on with the men in
my life and their undisclosed love of winter sports?
Martinez—skiing? Kevin—ice fishing? Would
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Jimmer confess he was a closet pairs figure skater? I could scarcely wrap my head around the hidden sides of these men I thought I knew so well.
“Anyway. I needed time to clear my head.”
“About?”
“The business.”
“What about it?”
“It’s been too slow. We need to expand. With two of us … I’m thinking of trying our hand at bond enforcement.”
I blinked. “Like chasing bail jumpers and beating them up and shit?”
“Yeah.”
“I am so totally all over that.”
He sighed. “I thought you would be, so that’s why you’re not going to do it. I am. Besides, half the guys we’d be after probably are associated with your criminal boyfriend.”
“You’re fucking hilarious.” But it explained why Kevin had started bookmarking sites dealing with that skip trace stuff.
“I also had time to think about Amery.”
“I take it she wasn’t with you?”
“No. I went alone.”
Kevin didn’t sound particularly happy about that.
“Tell me something. Are you two officially broken up?”
“Wasn’t like I asked her to go steady and demanded back my class ring when she stopped calling me.”
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Probably unproductive to point out Amery was young enough for the scenario to be true. “You know what I mean. Are you?”
“Why?”
“Are we still working for her?”
“No.”
“Maybe I should rephrase that: are you working for her?”
He slouched in the chair and scowled at me. “Why the clarification?”
I smiled sweetly. “Why the evasion?”
“Touché. No, I’m not working for her. I’m not doing anything with her.”
“Good. I didn’t know how to bring this up, but guess who wants to hire me?” He lifted his eyebrow. Damn. Martinez had that little quirk, too. I found it sexy as hell on both of them. “Bud Linderman.”
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