“Maybe she’s just warmblooded,” Pamela said, looking back for Jack, who was just opening the front door.
“No, she’s always freezing. Her teeth click together all the time.”
“Hey, wait for me, you crazy kids!” Jack jogged toward them.
“Well,” Pamela said, “why don’t we look tonight and see if we have one we don’t want. Is she your size?”
“She’s a bit plump,” Faye said.
“Faye, that’s not nice,” Rebecca said. “She’s just big-boned. But I have that one green coat with the fur collar-hoody thingy that I never wear. I’ve never liked it very much, and it’s toasty warm.”
Jack caught up with them, huffing and puffing to be funny. “Whew, you guys move fast.”
“You’re right we do,” Faye said. “We’ve got a bus to catch, mister.”
Jack laughed and looked at Pamela, who just shook her head.
Pamela could hear the bus chugging up the main road. “We’re going to be just in time.”
“Here.” Jack stopped and knelt. “Give us a hug. We’ll watch from here.”
“Good idea,” said Rebecca, who was clearly feeling too old to be walked to the bus stop.
They all hugged and kissed, and Rebecca led the way down the rest of the street, Faye right beside her.
The school bus rambled up the street and squeaked to a halt, its red and orange lights flashing. Pamela scanned the neighborhood. The bus let out a burst, its doors opened, and the girls climbed aboard. It was one of the newer buses with the tinted windows, so they couldn’t see where the girls sat. Pamela and Jack waved anyway. Jack turned to walk back toward the house, but Pamela watched until the bus was almost out of sight and gave one last wave.
The wave was damp and cold to the core, like Pamela felt inside.
Jack had waited for her. “What are your plans for the day?” he said.
Pamela told him she would go to the library and Target and pick up some groceries; all the while she was wondering if she should mention the pregnancy test. She didn’t even feel like taking it now.
“There’s a lot happening with this Demler-Vargus story. We’re supposed to interview the CEO and his son today.”
“Didn’t you just interview him?”
“Yeah, but that was a feature story. This is for an investigative piece.”
Pamela knew him so well. Just the way he looked down at the road and up into the sky. He was already at the newspaper in his mind.
“Oh boy,” he said. “Don’t look now. We’re being watched.”
It scared her for a second, but when she looked at Jack, he was grinning and scratching his forehead to cover his eyes.
Pamela glanced up at the house. The blinds in the guestroom were awkwardly spread open about three inches, and her mom was peering out.
“She never misses a trick,” Pamela said.
Jack chuckled. “Hey, at least we’ll know right away if you-know-who shows up again.”
Just walk, Pamela thought. Don’t say a word. It’s not even worth it.
They reached the end of the driveway. She removed a magnet sticker from the mailbox advertising a snowplow service. She was so frustrated. Nothing was working for them. Everything was off.
Jack picked up the copy of the Dispatch that had been thrown there in the wee hours of the morning. He took it out of the plastic bag, opened it, and examined the front page as they walked up the driveway to the front door.
Pamela glanced up at her mom’s window one last time; the blind dropped shut.
They got inside, and Jack tossed the paper on the steps. “I’m gonna get ready and get into work. Big day ahead.”
She lifted her head to acknowledge him.
He took several stairs and stopped. “Hey, what was that exciting news you were going to tell me last night?”
She stared blankly. No words came.
“Can’t remember?” he said.
She shook her head.
“Okay.” He took the steps fast. “Let me know if you think of it.”
He was gone.
She stood there; the house was quiet.
She was surprised she didn’t burst into tears. But she wasn’t even close.
And that scared her … more than Granger Meade ever had.
Chapter 17
Travis could barely keep his mind on the new muffler hanging over his head. Claire Fontaine had lit up his life like a Roman candle. She was funny and kind, sensitive and pretty—shoot, she had it all. Was it too soon to say she was the best thing that had ever happened to him? They’d spent the whole tooting day together Sunday, went their separate ways for a few hours, then met back up for chocolate cheesecake at Tiffany’s on the square.
All he wanted was to be with her again.
“Trav, you done yet?” LJ called from beneath a Ford Fusion in the adjoining bay. “We’re backin’ up here. You been on that Mustang the whole dern morning.”
“Almost,” Travis called.
“Look, it’s Monday, I’m tired, I’m ill. Don’t make me go off on you.”
Travis laughed. “What the holy fire is wrong with you? Didn’t you get enough of Daddy’s grits this mornin’?”
“That Mercury’s next. He needs it by three. Man, since when am I the traffic coordinator ’round here? We need to get Daddy back out here.”
“I’m goin’ to lunch when I’m done with this’un.”
LJ rolled out from beneath the Fusion, squinting with his one eye. “Lunch? What’re you talkin’ about?”
“Claire’s pickin’ me up. We’re goin’ for pizza.”
LJ rolled back under the car, mumbling and grumbling.
Travis snickered and tightened the last few bolts on the new muffler.
There was a knock at the side door.
He tossed the socket wrench, grabbed the dirty towel from his shoulder, and wiped his greasy hands on the way to the door.
Ralston Coon stepped in from the cold in his fancy black lawyer coat.
“I hope to goodness you come bearing good news.” Travis called for LJ to come out.
LJ took his time wheeling out, wiping his hands on his navy coveralls, grunting and groaning his way over. Coon held his pudgy hands up, not wanting to shake with either of the Randalls.
“Do you mind?” The lawyer moved over, rubbing his hands beneath the glowing orange space heater that hung in the corner. “I can’t get warm today.”
“Whatchya got, Mr. Coon?” LJ said. “We run a busy shop here.”
Coon took off his silver glasses, pulled a little cleaning cloth from his pocket, and rubbed the lenses. “Gentlemen, I have some very encouraging news. Should we go inside where your father can hear?”
“Just lay it on us. We’ll tell Daddy,” said LJ.
“All right then. First of all, our friends at Demler-Vargus admit absolutely no wrongdoing whatsoever—”
“Give me a big fat break.” LJ spit toward the corner.
“Wait.” Coon held up a hand. “Just wait. To a corporate giant like this, the amount they are offering to pay you is a mere pittance, if they can keep their name out of the news and squelch any bad press.”
“How much?” LJ said.
“Let me finish.… They require each of you, and your father, to sign an affidavit stating that you know of no wrongdoing on their behalf, and that you are accusing them of no wrongdoing and will not do so in the future.”
Travis began to protest, but the lawyer spoke louder. “… And that you will talk to no one, absolutely no one, about Demler-Vargus ever again.”
Travis dropped his head. The biggest bully on the block would get its way and would be able to continue hurting people.
“How much?” LJ squeezed the back of his long neck.
Coon evened his gaze with LJ, the
n Travis. “A cool two-point-five million.”
LJ and Travis went limp at the same time.
They would be taken care of.
Travis felt tears welling in his eyes. Anything Daddy needed, they could afford.
“Have ’em round it up to three, and that’ll be a million each,” LJ said.
“LJ.” Travis gave him a nasty frown.
“Shall we run it by Galen?” Coon said. “If all three of you agree, we need to pick an afternoon this week to meet with them. They’re ready to be done with it.”
“Oh, now they’re in a hurry.” LJ stomped over to one of the red tool chests.
“Well, they’re gonna git their way.” Travis headed for the door. “Pay us what amounts to a drop in the bucket for them and keep on killin’ people.”
LJ and Coon stared at him.
“Isn’t there a way we could cripple them more? Stop what happened to Momma from happening to other folks ’round here?”
LJ looked at Coon now too.
“Gentlemen, if … if you want me to ask for a bit more money, I’ll consider it. But if you’re talking about seeking some astronomical figure that you think is going to somehow impair this mega manufacturing giant or somehow pay them back for your mother’s death—that is not what I signed up for.”
The boys exchanged glances but said nothing.
“Now I suggest we go lay this out for your father and come to a decision,” Coon said. “I’ve been working diligently on this for weeks, and the iron is red hot. We need to strike.”
The house was toasty warm when Travis and LJ brought Coon inside. Travis made everybody take their shoes off, to the lawyer’s clear discomfort, and they pulled up chairs to the kitchen table. He rousted his father, who was snoozing in his recliner with his radio on.
Daddy poured himself a glass of prune juice and joined the others at the table.
Bo was poking around in the fridge, and Coon nodded toward him and addressed LJ. “Do you mind? This is just between the four of us.”
“Bo, take a hike for a few,” LJ said, but he gave Coon a nasty look.
Bo shrugged and wandered off.
It took only a minute for the lawyer to outline the offer. Travis followed up with his concerns.
Galen sat silently with his hands resting on the kitchen table.
“Well?” said Coon. “Are we going to do this deal? I can’t believe I even have to ask that question. I thought this was what you wanted. It is what you wanted.”
Galen cleared his throat. “You’ve done a fine job, Mr. Coon. We appreciate it.” He looked down at his hands and interlocked fingers. “I understand Travis’s points. By making us an offer, they are admitting their guilt—”
“But remember—”
“I understand about signing the affidavit, Mr. Coon. But we all know they’re guilty as the day is long. And if we accept this offer … well, let’s just say we’re not helping anybody but ourselves.”
Coon took in an enormous breath.
LJ crossed his arms. Travis waited.
“As much as I’d like to have a hand in bringin’ Demler-Vargus to its knees, and somehow get revenge for your mother’s death … that’s God’s doing.” Galen’s old eyes blinked toward Travis, then LJ. “I’ve got to think about you boys and your future. This’ll make your lives much better. You can keep right on doin’ what you’re doin’ out in the shop, there just won’t be as much pressure.”
“Then it’s settled.” Coon stood. “I’ll set the meeting up for one afternoon this week, the first available for them, if that suits you gentlemen.”
Without looking at Coon, Galen gave a nod and downed the remainder of his juice.
Travis and LJ got up and saw the lawyer to the door. He was on his way out when Bo spoke from the living room doorway. “Don’t forget your hat.”
Coon gave him a glare, grabbed his hat, and made his exit.
Travis kept his eye out for Claire as he scrubbed the grime off his hands at the kitchen sink. LJ was back at work in the shop and had put Bo on an oil change and lube job.
She rolled into the parking lot like a stockcar driver in her little blue Fiat, right on time. She was out in an instant, all carefree and looking around for which door to go to.
Travis opened the back door and stepped into the cold, his heart racing like a high school kid with a crush. “Hey, Claire,” he called.
She smiled, dodged several patches of snow with her leather bag swaying on her hip, and bounced right on up the back steps. “Hey there!” She patted his arm. “Are you ready for the best pizza you’ve ever tasted?” Her eyes twinkled beneath her white knit cap, and she gave her matching scarf a tug.
“Come in for a second.” Travis held the door. “You can say hey to Daddy, and I’ll grab my coat.”
Travis wished he’d had more time to spruce up. The kitchen looked like a pack of vagrants had been living there. But it didn’t seem to matter to Claire. She blew in like a summer breeze.
Daddy’s eyes lit up when she entered the TV room and Travis introduced them. They hit it right off, so Travis excused himself and hustled upstairs. He brushed his teeth, splashed on some Aqua Velva, and checked himself in the mirror. He’d shaved extra close that morning but acknowledged again that he needed a haircut.
By the time he got downstairs, Daddy had managed to lure Claire into his web. They were sitting in straight-back chairs over by the window. His father was rambling on about his rare coins, and Claire was examining one with his enormous magnifying glass.
Travis managed to roust them out of there, and Claire insisted on driving. She knew the east side as well as he did, taking turns and shortcuts to an old two-story house on Winston Avenue that had been converted into an Italian restaurant, Savelli’s. Travis had seen the place for years but never considered eating there.
The place was a true find. They sat across from each other in a cushy booth. The dark wood table featured a mini jukebox and a candle in an old Italian wine bottle, with dry wax dripped down the sides. Mr. Savelli himself waited on them, and Claire assured Travis that one slice would be enough. She was right; it was the size of the plate and mouthwatering.
They couldn’t talk enough, about the old days, the neighborhood, the people and places they shared in common, and about her experiences in social work. Travis told her about his family and his work, and when he finally got around to detailing the crazy events of the past week, Claire was shocked.
“Travis, your dad was poisoned. Your house was wrecked. That man was following you. Now, all of a sudden, they’re going to pay you two-point-five million dollars and leave you alone?” Claire shook her head. “I don’t believe it for a minute.”
“We don’t know for sure that Demler-Vargus was behind all that stuff.”
Claire shrugged. “Who else would it be? All they took from your house was your dad’s notes. They wanted that evidence.”
She was confronting him with things none of his family wanted to admit, because there was a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Her sober observations made him feel ignorant and greedy—and frightened about what Demler-Vargus might really be up to.
“What are the police doing?” she said.
He explained that they were trying to track down the silver Toyota, but that they didn’t have the time, interest, or resources to investigate a corporate giant. His ultimate hope was that Jack and Derrick would expose the harm and corruption spewing from Demler-Vargus.
But when he told her that the reporters were having a difficult time tracking down Amy Sheets, and that Spivey Brinkman was missing, Claire about went through Savelli’s roof.
“Travis, this is nothing to be taken lightly. You and LJ need to protect your dad. You need to talk to an investigator. This is dangerous.”
Travis glanced at Claire’s watch and did a double take. More than tw
o hours had flown past. LJ would be having a cow. Claire asked Mr. Savelli for a to-go box and insisted on picking up the tab. “After all, I invited you!” she said.
As she zipped them toward his home in the Fiat, Travis told her about the various leads Jack and Derrick were pursuing. When he mentioned that Amy Sheets had interviewed Emmett and Barb Doyle, Claire’s knee jerked off the gas, and Travis bucked forward.
She swerved to the side of the road, slammed to a stop, and turned the car off.
“What is it?” he said.
Claire turned to face him. Her face was chalk white, washing away the color of her lips and freckles.
“Are you sick?”
She nodded once and rocketed from the car into some weeds at the edge of the woods. Travis rushed to her but stayed back several feet as she ripped off her hat, bent over, and vomited. He dashed back to the car and grabbed the napkins from the carryout bag. “Here.”
She reached back and took them, steam rising from the wet weeds beneath her. She wiped her mouth with the napkins, then retched again.
She turned slightly and stuck the hat out. Travis grabbed it. Then she bent over and rested both hands on her knees.
After a moment, Travis bent down with her. “Take deep breaths.”
She did, wiping her mouth again. Then she stood, eyes locked on his. “My mom … our family … we were close friends with Barb and Emmett … they moved to Charleston …”
“Claire, take it easy.” He rested a hand on her back. “We’ll talk about it later—”
“No.” She shook her head. “You don’t understand …”
She was shaking badly. She stood up and grabbed both elbows to stop shivering. “This can’t be … it just can’t be.” She staggered and shot a fist to her mouth, and Travis thought she was going to be sick again. She swallowed hard and took a deep breath, her eyes searching him frantically. “My mom just heard, Barb and Emmett are dead …”
Chapter 18
“M is for Monday and M is for meatloaf!” Derrick had been going on about the lunch special at the Sparta ever since he and Jack met up at the paper that morning, so at lunchtime the duo hurried in to grab a bite. The crowded place was a throwback, with a long yellow Formica counter and barstools, several yellow booths, and a window that ran the length of the place, allowing diners to observe downtown Trenton City and passersby.
Poison Town Page 12