“He was killed when his truck wrapped around a tree last December,” Janice said quietly. “Not two weeks before Highland Power closed its doors for good.”
Tish and I studied her without speaking; finally Tish asked quietly, “What do you think really happened?”
Janice’s face gleamed with a sudden sheen of sweat. She said, almost inaudibly, “I told Bill I thought Glen’s death wasn’t an accident, but he wouldn’t hear it. But I know that Glen had received a couple of threats already that winter, phone calls to his house, a man telling him to leave the power plant alone. Glen wasn’t easily bullied, and he didn’t stop. He used to come here and ride his horse out to the edge of our property, where you can see the plant itself. And now he’s gone and I have no proof other than a feeling that someone killed him. It’s not enough to go on…and it was a snowy night…oh God…”
I reached and took her hand in mine. She inhaled and closed her eyes, clutching my fingers.
“What about a wife, children, anyone who might be able to corroborate what you just told me, about the threatening phone calls? We could obtain his phone records,” Tish pressed, and I kicked her ankle.
Janice shook her head. “Glen lived alone since he and his wife divorced. His daughter Linnae is grown. She lives in Wyoming.”
“I’m so sorry,” I told Janice. My stomach was bunched in a tight little fist, sick with the notion of Marshall being the one making inquiries of the wrong people, those who would kill to protect their businesses. I looked hard my older sister, my sister who was openly calling out the Yancys here in Jalesville. Even if we had been unable to prove it, they had already sent her and Case an unmistakable message to leave off by destroying the barn.
Tish said, “I believe you, Mrs. Mayne. I would be willing to represent you if you decide to come forward.”
Janice shook her head, pressing her fingertips to her eyebrows the way someone would to contain a headache. She said, “No, I could never. I have four children of my own – I can’t risk my family because of a feeling. My brother was a good man, but I can’t be the one to avenge him.” She implored Tish, “I couldn’t do a thing to save Glen, but I can warn you. Let this go. There’s no way to win, and someone already came onto your property, burned your barn. They won’t stop if you don’t stop, Mrs. Spicer.”
Tish and I drove back to town sunk into our own thoughts. It wasn’t until we turned back onto Main Street that I said quietly, “Tish, she’s right.”
Tish smacked the steering wheel with both palms and said, “She’s right about her brother Glen, I’m certain. I can’t let this go, Ruthie, it’s too important. Someone has to stop the Yancys. And that fucker, Turnbull.”
“But not you,” I insisted. “Please, not you.”
Tish parked behind Howe and Spicer and turned to face me. She was completely earnest, utterly sincere in her convictions. She said, “It’s my job. I have the power of the law, if I can find a link, if I can find proof…”
“At least talk to Case – I worry so much about you guys,” I said. “And now Marshall wants to ask questions at the college…I bet one of his professors there knew Glen Westgaard and it will open a whole horrible can of worms…it scares me so much, Tish.”
My sister took my left hand between hers. She said, “That’s just what they want, don’t you see?”
“They’ll hurt you,” I said, and there were sudden angry tears in my eyes. I snapped at her, “They’ve already tried to hurt you, dammit. What are you willing to lose?”
I knew I’d hit a painful nerve. Tish released my hand and closed her eyes. She said, “I am not willing to lose anything. You know that. But I can’t sit idle and let those bastards bulldoze this town.”
We were at a stalemate, I sensed clearly. My chest rose with a deep breath; we sat in frustrated silence until I finally said, “Should we grab lunch at Trudy’s?”
It was going on noon and Tish agreed. I told her to grab us a table while I ran upstairs to collect my phone, which I’d forgotten on the counter. Inside my apartment it smelled of coconut body wash. The scent brought Marshall instantly to my mind (though he was never far from it anyway) and my stomach fluttered with delight. I saw as I entered the kitchen that he had arranged an enormous wildflower bouquet in one of the three water glasses I owned, and positioned it on the counter, along with a note. Despite everything, I raced to it with all the joy of a treasure hunter.
The note read, Hi angel, make your nose orange all you want with these. I can’t wait to see you later. XXXX
I traced my fingertips over the bold strokes of his handwriting, fingering the gorgeous wildflower blossoms with my other hand. I had given Marshall the second key to the apartment, which accounted for the bouquet. We’d left at the same time this morning, but he must have stopped in on the way out of town; he was joining Garth on a roofing job today. I recognized the flowers as those growing along the far edge of the parking lot, and smiled as I imagined Marshall making Garth wait in the truck as he picked these and brought them up here. The note was written on a piece of paper torn from a business pad – the top bore a logo from a local construction company.
I pressed his words to my heart.
I braved my phone to see if there were any messages from Marshall and found just one, as though he was purposely keeping his at a minimum to compensate for Liam’s excess. Over three hours ago Marshall had written, Just got to the jobsite. Dying to see you. Wish my face was buried in my favorite place on earth.
I flushed all across my body, responding, Thank you for the flowers. They’re beautiful. And then to tease him, You play your cards right…
His phone must have been on him, because he wrote back instantly, Woman, I’ll play every card I have to be with you.
I leaned my lower spine against the counter, hot and melting just imagining his voice speaking those words. I pictured him braced above me, gray eyes flashing fire, the way he stroked my lips with his tongue…
Ace in the hole? I texted, and swore I could hear him laughing as he read it.
Naughty woman, he responded. My delicious naughty angel baby.
I wrote, We made it nearly a month.
I’m surprised we had the will to make it 24hrs without touching.
Can we ride the horses tonight?
Of course. We should be done by 5.
I can’t wait to see you. I sent this and then added, I love you so much. So much there aren’t words.
“Ruthie! I’m starving!” Tish complained from the front door, startling me from my absorption with Marshall. She explained, “Trudy’s saving us a table. What’s taking you so long?”
“I’m coming,” I said softly, my face a thousand degrees; it grew even hotter as my phone glowed with a final text from Marshall.
I love you with all my heart too, angel.
Chapter Fourteen
September, 2013
“So Marshall’s birthday is tomorrow, and his party is tonight,” I reminded Tish on a rainy Friday that autumn. “He said he doesn’t want me to make a big deal, but he’s clearly lying.” It was so obvious to me that he hoped I would, and though he played it cool, I knew him well enough to see through that. We couldn’t exactly read each other’s thoughts, but I swore sometimes we came incredibly close. I had been making birthday plans for two weeks now.
“Case was just talking about that,” Tish said. “It’s always hard for Marsh since Faye died just two days later.”
“Clark told me the same,” I said softly.
We’d spent a lazy Sunday on the couch at Clark’s, Marshall showing me album after album of family pictures, at my request. I wanted to see Faye, with the same gray eyes I loved so well on Marshall, Faye who was always smiling in pictures, her long, graceful arms around her boys. That she’d been taken from them was devastating in ways I could only imagine – just seeing the aftermath, how it continued to affect all of the Rawleys, was painful.
It had deepened within Marshall the already-present well of tendern
ess, sharpened his senses to suffering. And though he did his best to control it, I knew he especially hated when I had to drive alone on the two-lane highway, the memory of a truck driver crossing the line and striking his mother’s car on that long-ago autumn afternoon still too raw. He drove us at every opportunity instead.
“Don’t forget,” I told Tish. “I’m so nervous! Do you think he’ll be surprised?”
Tish rolled her eyes at me. “Ruthie, don’t worry, of course he will. We won’t forget. Five-thirty sharp, right?”
“Yes, and Clark smoked pork for the barbeque potluck all day today. And there’s bread pudding for dessert, Marshall’s favorite. But Clark’s sister Julie is taking care of that. She makes it with yeast rolls…it’s so good.”
“Oh, yum. Well no worries, Case and I will be there to help eat. And celebrate with Marsh, the little shit,” Tish teased.
Despite the fact that Marshall and I made love constantly, which decidedly defied the traditional rules of courtship, we followed all others strictly. I delighted in all of the sweet, romantic things he did for me almost daily – and I loved finding ways to do the same, such as planning a surprise party for him.
He stayed with me in my tiny apartment every night, to the point that we referred to it as ours; Al hardly charged me anything for rent, but Marshall insisted upon paying it, while I took care of utilities; we split the grocery bill, and to be honest, ate most of our dinners at Clark’s, or Tish and Case’s, anyway.
Marshall’s first order of business had been procuring us a bigger bed – he, Quinn and Sean had hardly been able to wrestle it up the narrow outside steps. Marshall and I joked that we could now touch all the bedroom walls at once too, as the subsequent queen-sized mattress ate up every inch of floor space. But its wide softness was a luxury we appreciated on a nightly basis, most mornings and an occasional noontime.
I blushed hotly at the thought.
I glanced up at the old, classroom-style clock on the wall above Al’s desk; he was downtown, in court at present. The scent of rain came through the open screen on the side of the office and streaked over the glass of the wide front window. Thunder grumbled in the distance. It was already quarter to two and Marshall would be home from Billings in less than three hours; he’d started back to college for his final year.
“I’m leaving early, so we better get back to work, huh?” I said, hustling to my desk.
Tish and I worked in companionable silence for a time, the radio tuned to our preferred country station. One of my favorite old songs came on and I was singing along under my breath when Tish suddenly said, “Shit.”
I looked over to see her clutching her phone. Her tone didn’t convey extreme distress, but still I asked quickly, “What?”
“Robbie just texted me that there’s trouble between Dad and Christina Turnbull.”
“Trouble?” I repeated.
As though I hadn’t spoken, Tish went on, “We use code names for Christina and Ron. We call her ‘Fancy,’ which is what the dumb bitch once told Robbie she wanted her name to be. She was actually considering legally changing it. But he just texted me that Fancy Pants is pissed.”
“Pissed why?” I asked. Neither Tish nor I had yet confronted Dad with Robbie’s claims; in my opinion, our father was an adult and I felt no responsibility to or warmth for his current wife, Lanny, who had broken apart my parents’ marriage once upon a time. Tish still desperately wanted to call Dad out but acknowledged that it was better to let it go, for now, and not risk exposing her informant in Robbie.
Tish was busy reading her phone’s screen. At last she said, “Oh wow. Apparently Dad isn’t returning Christina’s calls anymore, like he’s maybe having an attack of conscience or something wildly out of character. Robbie only knows this because he ran into Christina at the office this morning and she told him, and I quote, ‘Jackson isn’t the man I thought he was.’” Grimly, my sister concluded, “Ain’t that the truth?”
“Is Fancy crazy?” I asked, totally serious despite the ridiculous-sounding nature of my question.
“No, I think she’s actually quite intelligent, for all of the mean shit I say about her,” Tish said. “She’s clever enough to have multiple affairs behind Ron Turnbull’s back. I can’t imagine that’s exactly easy. She clearly knows things. I would bet that she knows everything Ron’s doing, on and off the books.”
“I meant will she be angry enough at what Dad’s doing to take some sort of drastic measures?” I asked. “I’m sure she’s not used to hearing the word ‘no’.”
Tish tapped her fingertips against her lips and reflected, “That’s a good point,” just as her phone made a noise and she said, “Now Robbie’s calling.”
She answered and I went back to work, listening with half an ear, thinking about everything we had learned since last month. Marshall had made a few discreet inquiries (I absolutely insisted that he question as few people as possible) around the college in Billings, but had not yet turned up any solid leads. One of his professors, a former park ranger from Broadwater County, had known Glen Westgaard, but Marshall said he didn’t get the sense that this professor felt there was anything unusual about Glen’s death. Unexpected, surely, but not suspicious.
A grad student who occasionally taught Marshall’s Wednesday class said he’d heard that there were definite rumors about Highland Power, but that no one had put much effort into investigating. Janice Mayne and her husband had vacated their property; Tish had tried without success to contact Janice since then.
We were sure the Yancys were responsible for all of this, protecting their long-reaching interests, covering their tracks at every turn. Derrick made a point of driving past the law office almost daily; he did have multiple business dealings in Jalesville, and Main Street was really the only route, but still. Every time he rolled past Tish would clench her jaw, but she stayed put at her desk.
“The problem is, so far he hasn’t done anything illegal – at least that we can prove,” she had said the second week I started working at Howe and Spicer. “Above ground, he’s operating legally. Damn him. Slip up, Yancy,” she had muttered, as though addressing him. “Even just a little. I’ll be waiting.”
Her conviction both impressed and terrified me.
Working with my sister again was something I had missed more than I realized; once upon a time we’d worked alongside each other at Shore Leave every day, serving fried fish and frosty beers to regulars and tourists alike. Here in Jalesville, as adults, I found a new joy in working with her on a daily basis. Despite the daily busywork of the law office and the gravity of everything with Turnbull and the Yancys, she talked almost constantly about Case, with such radiant happiness in her voice and upon her face; I was so happy for them.
Marshall and I went often to their trailer for dinner (when we weren’t at Clark’s), usually riding Arrow and Banjo the short distance from the Rawleys’ house. Sometimes after we ate, Case and Marshall would play music for us, guitar and fiddle; Case still couldn’t sing like he used to, though his voice was slowly returning. At the party Clark had thrown in celebration of Tish and Case’s wedding, held in the newer steel-pole barn, Marshall and Garth had made music for hours, while everyone danced. Case joined them at one point to play the song he’d written for Tish years ago; the rest of the evening, Tish had been locked in his arms.
Some evenings they would join us on Cider and Buck, the four of us riding out into the foothills. I loved the sight of the mysterious T-shaped formation a mile or so away from their place, which Tish called the wizard rock. Back in July, she and Case had found evidence of someone digging at its base, but they had not yet discovered just what the trespassers were either burying or searching for.
Sharing these moments with my sister and our men touched me deeply, as nothing had ever before, even though I did miss my family back in Landon. I talked frequently to Camille, and Mom, and occasionally to my nieces and nephews, who did their best to convince me to move home in short order.
I gritted my teeth at this news, not to mention the fact that this meant the kids were still referring to him as their uncle. Mom told me the same thing about Liam nearly every time we talked. I said quietly to my niece, “I’m sorry for that. But he and I weren’t meant to be, Mills.”
“Well, I don’t think he thinks so,” she said, with an ominous tone.
There were two things that caused Marshall to get worked up, one far more so than the other. The first was Liam – though thankfully Liam had left off with the constant calling and texting (I’d spoken to him a second time back in August, to explain in no uncertain terms that I was sorry I’d hurt him – and I really was – but that he had to let it go).
The second, which Marshall could hardly even think about without his blood pressure rising, was what had happened the night we’d rode Arrow out to the location of the old Rawley homestead. We had talked about it exactly three times since that night – all of these in the dark of night, braided together in our bed, Marshall’s arms locked around me – and had come to the conclusion that whatever existed out there, just like Una Spicer’s letters, was better avoided at all costs.
“Wow,” my sister said from her desk, snapping me back to the present. Her face was somber and she was tapping her fingers distractedly on the surface of her desk, having set aside her phone. She said, “Robbie is braver than I gave him credit for. He’s planning to sneak into Ron’s home office tonight, during a dinner party. He talks in code so much I almost didn’t get what he meant – he thinks of himself as a sort of 007 these days – but he wants to look for something to connect Ron to Glen Westgaard’s death.”
Until Tomorrow Page 27