by Jen Blood
“Thanks for inviting us out,” Maya said. I glared at Diggs, who ignored me entirely.
“Sure thing,” he said. “This’ll be fun.”
Kat snorted, but otherwise kept her nose buried in her menu. I looked for the closest exit, and prayed for a diversion.
Diggs and Maya chatted like over-caffeinated schoolgirls through most of dinner. Kat and I, on the other hand, were silent through most of the meal. She was distracted, and more withdrawn than I’d ever seen her. She looked tired. Older.
“I’m working on a new story,” I announced finally, at a little after eight o’clock. We were almost through dinner and Kat had been eyeing the exit for a while. If I didn’t bring it up now, I knew I never would. “The Ashley Gendreau murder.” I directed the statement at Maya, who clearly didn’t have a clue what the hell I was talking about.
“She was still living out West when that happened,” Kat said. For the first time all evening, she looked interested in the conversation. “Did you meet Hank?”
“You know him?” I asked.
“Of course. Everyone around here knows Hank.” She returned her attention to Maya. “His daughter was murdered back in…” She looked at me.
“ ’87,” Diggs and I supplied at the same time.
“Right,” she agreed. “Hank was out doing mushrooms on the back forty when it happened. He confessed—well,” she amended, “they said he confessed, though I always thought that was bullshit.”
“So you think he’s innocent?” I asked.
“What idiot doesn’t?”
I looked at Diggs pointedly.
“I didn’t say I don’t think he’s innocent,” he said. “I just think you should tread lightly.”
“How do you know this guy, exactly?” I asked Kat. She was obviously playing for the other team now, but back in the day my mother had a reputation for loving and leaving men of all ages and economic persuasions. I was hoping we weren’t about to add another long-lost “uncle” to the list.
“Smartass,” she said. “I did a little work at the prison a few years ago. We hit it off.” Her eyes drifted from mine, a sure sign that she was lying. Interesting.
“Did you ever talk to him about his childhood?” I asked. “Or… You know, your time with the Payson Church?”
“I was checking his prostate, not doing a psych eval. And why the hell would I ever mention the Paysons if I didn’t have to?”
“So, you never mentioned Dad to him?”
Now it was Diggs’ turn to look baffled. “What does your father have to do with the Gendreau murder?”
“Don’t you know by now, Diggs?” Kat asked. “All roads lead back to Daddy with this one. Always have.”
Maya shot her a glare.
“Sorry,” my mother said. She even seemed sincere. Kat wasn’t the kind of woman who apologized easily... Or at all. She looked around the room restlessly. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Hank told me he and Dad grew up together,” I said. “Did Dad ever mention a place called Black Falls to you?”
“He didn’t.”
“He must have said something, though,” I insisted. “He never told you anything about his family? You never wanted to meet his parents?”
“He said the Paysons were his family, and I didn’t push. They were more than I could handle in the in-law department, anyway. He always said the present was what was important, not what came before.”
It was the most I could remember her saying about my father in years. I tried to think of a follow-up question that wouldn’t spook her, but Maya beat me to it.
“What about that story you told me—about the man who came to visit when you two were first married? You said you thought he might be family.”
Now it was Kat’s turn to glare. Maya didn’t even flinch. “I don’t know what his name was, though,” she said.
“Are you sure?” I asked. “What did he look like? Are we talking parent or sibling?”
Her lips tightened into a thin line. The waitress came by to take our dessert order. I waited impatiently for her to leave, knowing this new, chatty Kat wouldn’t last long. As soon as the waitress was gone, I pounced.
“What else can you tell me about this guy who visited Dad?” I looked at Maya. “Do you remember what she said when she told you the story?”
Maya started to say something, but my mom stopped her with a glance.
“I wish you’d let this go,” Kat said to me. She sounded dead tired, in a way I’d never heard before. “Your father loved you. You had nine good years together—that’s more than a lot of kids get. He’s gone. Trust me when I say he’s never coming back. You really want to ruin the good memories by digging up everything that came before, and obsessing over all the shit that came after?” She shifted in her seat again. I noticed a tremor in her right hand. “Just leave it alone.”
Maya put her hand over Kat’s, but my mother withdrew quickly. Diggs looked at me. I sat there for a second or two, silent, trying to figure out how to address the unexpectedly human stranger my mother had become.
“I can’t,” I said finally. It came out little more than a whisper. I cleared my throat, trying to get my voice back. “I have to know what happened. Where he is. Who he was. I can’t stop until I have some answers.”
She didn’t look happy, but she didn’t look all that surprised, either. The waitress came over with two plates of blueberry pie for Maya and Diggs, with two extra forks. Kat and I both declined their offer to share.
“This man who visited Dad,” I tried again. “Is there anything at all you can tell me about him?”
She shook her head. Her jaw was set, a look I knew well. “No,” she said. She stood and looked at Maya. “I think I’ll just walk back to the house—I could use the fresh air.” I expected Maya to argue, but she just nodded. Then, Kat looked at me again. “I know you won’t stop, but I’ll be damned if I’ll help you get yourself killed. You’ve seen where this road leads. I won’t be part of it again, and I sure as hell won’t be responsible for opening that door for you.”
If she’d screamed at me, threatened me… Hell, if she’d just made a joke, I would have known how to handle her. But there was no anger in her tone, and there was definitely nothing funny about what she’d said. I watched in stunned silence as she left the restaurant, noticing for the first time that she walked with a slight limp now. Maya waited until she’d gone before she said a word.
“She’s trying,” she said quietly. “Communication isn’t a gift of hers, but she cares about you. She wants you in her life.”
Rather than argue, I let that one go. “There’s a tremor in her right hand,” I said. “You never mentioned anything. How much longer will she be like that?”
“It might get a little bit better, but she’ll always have it,” Maya said flatly. “She didn’t want you to know, but frankly I think you’ve got enough secrets between you. She’ll never operate again. The clinic is good for her right now because she can stay here and do some good, make a difference, without constantly being reminded of what she’s lost.”
Steady hands, a good memory, and a strong stomach, I suddenly remembered my mother saying to me. I was maybe twelve at the time, assisting her in the dead of night after a boating accident in Littlehope. That’s all it takes to be an ace surgeon. As long as you know how to cut, you’ll know who you are. Your place in the world.
She’d been so steady, so sure of herself. I had no clue what to do with this new version of my mother—this damaged woman who would never hold a scalpel again.
“How long are you in town?” Maya asked, saving me the trouble of having to come up with an appropriate response.
“I’m not sure. Probably just another day or two.”
“Where are you staying?”
I hesitated. Diggs and I still hadn’t technically tackled the question. I started to panic at the thought of Einstein and me forced to bunk with my mother, new leaf or not.
“She’s staying wi
th me,” Diggs said, before Maya could offer their place.
I could have kissed him. His eyes caught mine and he gave me that little secret smile he’s been giving me for years.
“Yeah—I’m staying with Diggs.”
“Well, come by the house before you leave, would you? She’s changed… you’ll see that if you just spend some time with her. I know you have a long, complicated history, but she really is an amazing woman. She deserves a second chance.”
“I will,” I said. “I mean, I’ll at least try. I’ll do what I can.”
She gave me another hug, dropped a kiss on the top of Diggs’ head, and then left us to our blueberry pie.
◊◊◊◊◊
I left my car parked at the Trib and Einstein and I hitched a ride back to Diggs’ place in his Jeep. Darkness usually meant a welcome dip in temperature, but so far that hadn’t panned out. More of the same was in the forecast: high humidity, thunderstorms, and record temps. I wasn’t looking forward to any of it. That night, though, there was at least a moderate breeze, and the sky was filled with stars. Diggs’ Jeep smelled like leather and coffee and whatever the aftershave was that he’d been wearing for as long as I’d known him. I’m not a huge believer in the afterlife, but if heaven smelled half so nice I’d definitely consider giving up my heathen ways.
He’d barely turned down the rutted drive to his house before he started in with the questions.
“You really think Hank Gendreau knows anything about your father?”
“He says they grew up together.”
“And you believe him.”
“He has a picture of them…” I amended that. “Well—okay, he has a shitty shot of three boys who could be anyone. But he knew things about my father that no one else would.”
“Such as?”
“A birthmark on his leg. Scar on his arm, and how he got it—the same story my dad used to tell me. How would he know that?”
“So, I guess that explains the sudden interest in the Gendreau case.”
“You don’t have to sound so disappointed,” I said. “Gendreau said he’ll give me information about my father if I’ll investigate this link between his daughter’s murder and the bodies in Canada. I have to at least give it a shot.”
“I know,” he agreed. He actually smiled a little. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
He pulled up in front of the house, then grabbed my pack and hopped out without another word. I let Einstein out for a quick run around the yard before I went inside, still stuck on the conversation at Bennett’s. Maya might claim that my mother wanted me in her life, but I still couldn’t get my head around that one. For as long as I’d known her, it seemed that what Kat wanted most in the world was for me to just drop off the face of it entirely. Near-death experiences are supposed to change people, sure, but I doubted St. Peter himself could turn her around that dramatically.
Diggs was rummaging through the freezer by the time Einstein had done his nightly business and we’d meandered inside. He’d gotten furniture since I’d visited last—a grab bag of used, salvaged, and homemade pieces that would never make the pages of Better Homes. Somehow, he made them work.
“I didn’t have time to make the bed,” he said, looking over his shoulder at me. “But I got some fresh sheets out for you. And I’ll dig out an extra blanket in case you need it.”
“In this heat? Unlikely.” I came over and stood beside him at the freezer, letting the cool air wash over me.
“Wishful thinking, maybe,” he said. He glanced at me when I didn’t say anything. “You okay?”
“Yeah. I’m good. It’s just… I’ve never seen her like that,” I said. “Kat, I mean.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know—like an actual human being. She’s usually all sharp edges and smartass remarks. Now she’s all… ” He looked at me, waiting for me to finish. I waved my hand around inarticulately. “Weird,” I finally finished. “And not in the normal way she used to be weird.”
“That was a better way to be weird?” He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused.
I shrugged. “Maybe not. I don’t know… This whole lesbian thing is a pain in the ass. The worst the guys she used to bring home would do when I was a kid was make a pass at me or occasionally pee in the sink. No one ever tried to make me forge a friggin’ meaningful bond with the woman.”
He laughed. It sounded good—like a favorite song I hadn’t heard in too long.
“Come on. It’s cooler outside.” He grabbed a couple of popsicles from a box in the corner of the freezer and handed me my favorite—grape—without having to ask. Then, he led the way outside to a porch swing on the back deck that hadn’t been there when I’d visited last.
He was right, it was a little cooler outside. Einstein circled at our feet before he found a spot and settled with his chin on his paws, his eyes sinking shut fast.
“So, what about you?” I asked once we were both seated on the swing, looking out over a surprisingly well-manicured lawn. I’d never really pinned Diggs as a porch-swing-and-yard-work kind of guy. “How’s life in Littlehope?” I’d been back ten hours, and it was the first time it had occurred to me to ask the question. Nice.
He shrugged. “It’s good. Or the same, I guess.” There was a weight on his shoulders I hadn’t noticed before. “Nothing new to report, really.”
“The paper’s going okay?”
“It’s a dying industry in a long-dead town. What do you think?”
“Wow. You guys are a laugh a minute around here.”
He cracked a smile and looked at me sideways. “Sorry. Just feeling a little… bored, I think,” he said, to my great surprise. “I don’t think I was meant for the editor’s desk.”
“I could’ve told you that.” I took a couple of bites of my popsicle, careful to affect my most casual, do-whatever-you-want tone when I spoke again. “You could help with this Gendreau thing, if you want.”
“What about what Kat said?”
“What about it? She knows I’m not giving up—I’ll get my answers one way or the other. If I can’t get them through her, I might as well see what I can find out from Hank Gendreau.”
I could see his wheels turning. He set the swing rocking gently as he stared out into the night. “I do have a few Canadian contacts I could call about those other bodies,” he said after a few seconds. I did my damnedest not to appear too pleased with myself.
Diggs looked at me, just a hint of a spark returned to his baby blues. “Don’t kid yourself—you’re just as big a pain in the ass as your mother, you know.” He paused. “I’m still glad you’re back, though,” he said quietly.
“Yeah?” We were close enough to touch, but not quite there yet. “Me too,” I said.
His hand fell to my knee and stayed there as he leaned in. My eyes drifted shut and the night slowed to a sweet, bone-deep ache.
Until his lips brushed my cheek.
“We should probably get some sleep.”
My eyes popped back open as Diggs stood and extended his hand. I couldn’t read his expression—I was pretty sure there was regret in there somewhere, but there was also something veiled that I hadn’t expected. I took his proffered hand, thrown off kilter. It wasn’t like I’d been expecting him to fall all over me as soon as I hit town—especially since that had never been our M.O. before. I wasn’t sure what I had been expecting, though. Or what I wanted, even.
I let him pull me up, inadvertently brushing a little too close when I was on my feet again. Something that might have been desire or might have been indigestion flickered in his eyes.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then?” I asked. I sounded as befuddled as I felt.
“Bright and early,” he agreed. “You’ll find that extra blanket in the chest at the foot of your bed, just in case.”
I thanked him, particularly since what had started out as a steamy night had gotten unexpectedly chilly. I might need that blanket after all.
Chapter Three
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br /> I decided to run into town the next morning, because sleeping alone hadn’t been enough punishment the night before. I got a stitch in my side halfway there, and another ten feet down the road Einstein spotted a rogue golden retriever and took off running, pulling both of us into an overgrown ditch directly in front of the Mobil station, thus ensuring that my ass-over-teacup tumble be witnessed by half of Littlehope. I staggered into the Trib at a little past nine with a bloody knee, a couple of bee stings, and a hell of a lot less enthusiasm than I’d left the house with.
Diggs was at his desk with a pencil behind his ear and phone in hand. The wilted flowers had been replaced with fresh ones, and a snazzy straw fedora rested on top of a stack of papers to his left. He grinned when I came in—one of those wolfish grins with too many pearly whites that’s been known to undo women of lesser mettle—and nodded toward the couch.
“That’s great,” he said into the phone. “I’ll let her know. Yeah—thanks.”
He snapped his phone shut. “How was the run?”
“Super, thanks. Very invigorating.”
He eyed my knee, but wisely made no comment.
“Who was that?” I asked.
“Editor at the Quebec Chronicle.” He looked pleased with himself. “Ask me if I found anything out.”
I arched an eyebrow and waited without a word.
“Killjoy. Well, I did find something.” He nodded toward the door, refocusing his attention on his computer screen. “Why don’t you hit the showers, and I’ll fill you in at ten. I just want to make one more call.”
I started to protest, but my knee stung and my stings ached and my hair was definitely not doing what I’d intended when I set out that morning. Besides which, I might as well be trying to pry information from a Chia Pet when Diggs decided he didn’t want to share.
He called after me as I was walking out. “First aid kit’s still in the medicine cabinet, Flo-Jo.”
I made an impolite hand gesture in his general direction and hit the showers.