“Initial reports said suicide, but DeVry says it may have been staged,” Jack said. “Dude, this thing is real, and it’s happening fast—like right now. Demler-Vargus is scared, and they’re getting messy.”
A wave of fear practically knocked Derrick from the chair. His face burned. He wanted to be home, close to Zenia, not in this strange, dark city.
Jack continued. “Bendickson’s son, two lawyers, and a henchman were with him. I couldn’t get them to admit anything, but they are so dirty, man. I thought they might not let me leave. They ended up throwing me out, threatening me. They’re desperate.”
“You told DeVry all this?”
“Yeah, the police are fully engaged.”
“You think Zenia’s safe?”
Jack hesitated. “I don’t know if any of us are. You need to be careful. Amy said she thought someone was following her, and that makes sense; she’s the key witness in this whole thing.”
Derrick scanned the lobby. Several ladies were talking by a small fountain, and a man in winter garb was working on a laptop.
This was way more than he’d bargained for. He wasn’t some superman. He was a reporter. And he was scared.
“I’m not going back to the paper,” Jack said. “I’m going to get the family and go somewhere, a hotel or something. You and Z can come if you want, when you get back tonight.”
“What are you saying, man?”
“I’m saying Demler-Vargus is out to stop every leak, right now, no matter what it takes. They’re in crisis mode. They silenced Spivey and the Doyles. That leaves Amy and the Randalls, Coon, and Spivey’s girls.”
“And you and me!” Derrick said. “And Z and Pam … Shoot, this is nuts! I need to get back!”
“Derrick, hold on, man. We need Amy to talk. Can you hang in there a little longer?”
“Jack, I’m not cut out for this, man. I’m gonna call Z, make sure everything’s okay …”
“I can go get her after I get my gang, if you want. She can come with us wherever we go.”
Derrick didn’t want to scare Zenia if there was no definite threat. But he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if she was harmed and he had done nothing to protect her.
“I tried to get the Randalls to pack up and get out, but Travis said no way; LJ and Galen won’t budge. They’re getting their shotguns out.” Jack chuckled, trying to lighten things. “Their place might be the safest spot in town!”
“I gotta think this through,” Derrick said. “Let’s wait one more hour and see where we are.”
“You got it. Listen, watch your back. Of all the people involved in this thing, Amy might be the most dangerous to them.”
“Dude, don’t even say that …”
A rail-thin woman pushed with all her might to come through the circular doors. She stopped and looked back outside, the wind blowing her beige overcoat and scarf.
Derrick’s heart leaped.
“Hold on, Jack.”
Could that be Amy? She turned back around. Yes! But the belt around her waist was so tight … she’d become a skeleton.
“I see her.” Amy’s once shiny blond hair was dark and stringy. Her young face had aged fifteen years and was sickly pale.
Derrick stood. She noticed and turned toward him, like a scene from a movie, as if they’d planned to meet.
“I’ll call you later.” He put the phone in his pocket and walked toward her slowly, arms outstretched, like a trainer approaching a wild animal.
She shook her head. “No.” Her sunken eyes came alive, darting about the lobby. “Why did you come here?”
“Amy, please.” Derrick continued toward her, gingerly. “Can we go up to your place where it’s quiet, and talk?”
“This was not a good idea.” She scrubbed her forehead with her knuckles and ran the hand through her oily hair. Her lips were cracked. She looked as if she hadn’t eaten in days.
“Amy, things are happening really fast.” He scanned the room. “We need to talk in private.”
She trembled like a frightened dog, unable to get another word out.
Derrick wanted to sympathize with her, but the warning signals were blaring in his head.
“Amy, listen to me! Spivey Brinkman is dead. We need you to tell the truth, on the record. It’s time.”
Her scared eyes fixed on Derrick’s. “Spivey Brinkman? How?”
Derrick was approaching frantic. He sensed danger, sensed people watching. He needed Amy to snap out of it.
“He was hung from the Lincolntown Bridge. We don’t think you’re safe either.”
“Of course I’m not safe! I told Jack they’ve been watching me for days! They know my routine. They know everything about me. And they’re outside right now!”
Derrick wished he were anywhere else, but he was in the middle of it now; he needed to be calm—and smart.
“Look, Jack has the police involved.” He looked around and told himself to keep his voice down. “What if you pack a bag and I drive us back to Trenton City right now?”
Amy stomped her foot and shook her head, on the verge of tears.
“Just tell the truth!” Derrick said. “Who knows, maybe you can do some sort of a plea deal? You spill your guts about Demler-Vargus in exchange for a lighter sentence—or no sentence; maybe just community service or something. I don’t know, but I know we’ve got to move!”
“My brother was right.” She peered up at Derrick with watery eyes, her chapped lips quivering. “Why didn’t I listen to him? I’m such a fool.”
Derrick found it odd that the man on the laptop was still bundled up in coat and hat, yet working away on his computer. Could he be one of Demler-Vargus’s people?
“Greed.” Amy’s eyes were glazed, as if she was hypnotized. “That’s all it was. And ever since the very second I agreed—it’s been nothing but poison.” As if a hypnotist snapped her out of it, she gave a humorless laugh and looked right at Derrick. “Poison. Just as bad as anything Demler-Vargus is churning out.”
“Okay, look, Amy … I don’t feel comfortable out here in the wide open—”
“You’re right, you’re right.” Finally a tinge of color filled her cheeks. She sniffed and seemed to sober up. “If you help me, I’ll tell you whatever you want.”
“On the record.”
“On the record.” She began walking, fast. “Come on.”
Derrick grabbed his coat and bag. He couldn’t believe he was following this unstable, “wanted” woman up to her condo. He checked back. The sour-looking guy on the laptop was staring at them.
Hurry up, hurry up.
Derrick was revved up to the max. Part of him was anxious because the end of this nightmare was within reach. If he hurried and played it smart, he would be home soon. But part of him was so scared that he was actually shivering. People were dying. Amy was a prime target. And—if he dared to admit it—so was he.
Chapter 32
“How are you holding up?” Pamela asked as she maneuvered the Accord into a space in the snowy parking lot outside of Farley’s Home Store. She couldn’t help but wonder if her mom was going to be able to make it without a drink.
“Pam, please, it’s not like I’m some …” Margaret turned around to make sure the girls weren’t listening, then whispered, “… drunk or something. I’m fine. I’ll let you know if there’s anything to be concerned about.”
“Bundle up, girls.” Pamela eyed the Crafts Galore store right next door to Farley’s.
Granger could be working right now … literally within yards of you.
“Mommy, how long is this going to take?” Rebecca opened her door. “I’m starving.”
“Not long at all, peaches. MawMaw knows just what she’s looking for. Right, MawMaw?”
It was frigid outside. Pamela took Faye’s hand, and Margaret took Reb
ecca’s as they hurried through the parking lot toward the front door.
“Now, why would someone park there?” Margaret nodded toward a grimy old conversion van, covered in salt, parked and running at the curb off to the right of the entrance. The only clean part of the van was where the windshield wipers swiped periodically. “Smell that, for criminy sakes. Not only is he parked in a fire lane, but he’s trying to kill us with gas fumes.”
That was precisely the type of comment Pamela wished the girls didn’t have to hear—negative, negative, negative. Pamela had grown up with it. She didn’t comment but hurried them inside, out of the cold.
“Okay, where to, Mom? Let’s make this quick.”
“Well, at the one we have at home, the fabric is all the way in the back corner.”
“Let’s check it out.” Pamela continued to hold Faye’s hand and led the way through the bright store. She wanted to get this over with fast, get the pizza, and meet up with Jack.
In just seconds, Margaret and Rebecca were lagging way behind. Margaret could never just zip in and out of a store; she had to browse. Now she and Rebecca were lingering in the candle aisle.
“We’re going to keep going,” Pamela called. “Meet us back there. Don’t be long, Mom. We don’t have a lot of time.”
Margaret smiled and kept looking at the candles.
Pamela and Faye found the fabric section and asked a sales associate for help finding the material Margaret had in mind. Although a bit crabby and slow, the woman led them to a section with several dozen choices.
“Oh dear, Faye, I don’t know where to begin,” Pamela said.
“What’s this for again?” Faye said.
“MawMaw is going to make neat little curtains to go on those long windows on each side of the front door.”
“Oh. I like looking out those windows, Mommy. Will we be able to move the curtains and see out?”
“That’s a good question, honey. I’m not exactly sure how she plans to hang them.”
“Well, I like this one.” Faye fingered a swatch of sheer beige material.
“I like that too. Let’s run that one by MawMaw when she gets here. And how about this lacy one?”
Faye took the fabric, rubbed it on her cheek, then smelled it. “I like that one too.”
“Good. Let’s see if there are any more we really like, to show MawMaw.”
While they were looking over the cloth, Rebecca and MawMaw came around the corner, holding hands. Pamela showed them what she and Faye had found.
“This one is perfect,” Margaret said, pointing to the beige.
“I picked that one,” Faye said.
“It is exactly what I had in mind, Faye. You have an excellent eye for interior design.”
Margaret got the attendant busy cutting the fabric the size she wanted it.
“Mom,” Rebecca said, “did you get the poster board for my Clara Barton project?”
“No, I didn’t. Good girl to remember! You saved me a trip,” Pamela said. “Mom, let us go get that while you get the fabric. We’ll meet you up front.”
It took Pamela and the girls a few minutes to track down the poster board. Then, of course, Rebecca had to decide which color she wanted. She ended up choosing light green. They made it to the spacious area at the front of the store. There was a line of cash registers and quite a few people checking out, especially for such a chilly weeknight.
Pamela glanced around. “Girls, do you see MawMaw anywhere?”
Rebecca and Faye looked.
“Maybe she’s not up here yet,” Pamela said. “I supposed we could just get in line.”
“Oh, there she is. Row number six,” Rebecca said.
Pamela spotted her. “Excellent. Let’s go get in line.”
The next step she took, Pamela froze; the girls bumped into her.
It was Granger. In the line next to Margaret’s. Checking out.
She immediately looked down, turned away, her back to him, and put her arms around the girls. He was about forty or fifty feet away.
“What are we doing, Mommy?” Faye said.
Good question.
Pamela wanted to race to the car, but what about Margaret? Would she notice Granger?
“Let’s just stand here another second.” Pamela’s voice broke.
Would the girls recognize him? She turned them so they were all facing the opposite side of the store.
“Mom, why are we standing out here in the middle of the store?” Rebecca said. “Let’s check out.”
Pamela had begun to tremble. She ran a hand through her hair. What to do?
She took another peek back. Granger was still in line. He hadn’t seen them.
Good. Okay, just be calm, for the girls …
* * *
It had gotten dark early and was one of those crystal-clear, arctic winter evenings. The roads appeared free of ice. Jack drove toward home at a good clip, drumming the steering wheel, forcing himself to try to relax his neck and shoulders, which were tight as a drum.
Whenever Jack faced trying circumstances, as he was in now, he got the unmistakable notion he needed to have a clear conscience before God. And right now he knew he did not, and would not, until he forgave Granger Meade. It was something he needed to do, in person. It could be short and sweet, but it was time. Pam would be relieved to hear it.
Jack hated postponing their date, but that had become the least of his concerns. Something about speaking with Officer DeVry had made the severity of the situation chillingly real. And now that they had learned Spivey was dead, Jack knew the police would be all over Demler-Vargus. It was only a matter of time.
Getting a hotel room would seem drastic, but Jack had the distinct impression he needed to get the family away from the house, at least for the night. There was no way he was going to risk putting them through any more distress. Once again he thought about calling Pam to explain things and give her a heads-up, but this was way too explosive to discuss over the phone; he wanted to do it face-to-face.
He wondered what was going on with Derrick and Amy. Was there really someone after her? Were they in danger?
His phone rang. He looked at the screen.
Cecil!
Jack’s mind scrambled. Dare he answer?
When they’d last talked, Cecil had used the smokescreen about how the publisher was watching him, worried about lawsuits.
Had Bendickson or his cronies told Cecil about Jack’s interview? Had Cecil found out what Derrick was doing?
Jack decided to find out.
“This is Crittendon.”
“Jack … good, I’m glad I caught you,” Cecil said. “It’s not too late, you know.”
“Too late for what, Cecil?”
“You know …”
“No, I don’t.” Jack got a distressed feeling in the pit of his stomach. “What are you talking about?”
“You can still get in on the action. You’re not going to get anywhere with this. You realize that, don’t you?”
Cecil knew! They’d told him Jack was on to him.
“It’s not too late, Jack. I told them I could get you on our side. You can make some extra money. Keep your family safe. We keep things going at the paper, business as usual.”
“I can’t believe this.” Jack pushed harder on the gas, now within a mile of home. “How could you do this? What’s happened to you?”
“Don’t give me that Boy Scout crap. You know what kind of money we make. I’ve given the Dispatch eight years of my life, working eleven-, twelve-, thirteen-hour days, weekends, holidays; what have I got to show for it? A broken marriage and messed-up kids. Don’t give me your moral—”
“And you’re gonna take Amy down with you. Who else? Nigel? Is he in on it? What about Pete?” Jack’s whole body was trembling with fury.
“Where are you, Jack?”
He checked his rearview. Were they after him right now?
“Come in. Let’s talk about it face-to-face,” Cecil said.
“Yeah, right. What did Bendickson do, call you right after I left there?”
“Where’s Derrick, Jack?”
“Sick.”
“No … he’s not sick.”
Jack’s heart thundered as he finally wheeled the Jetta into his neighborhood.
“Jack, you don’t mess with these people.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Just what I said. They’re not going to let this get out, period. They’re too big and too powerful. They know there are leaks, and they’re in the process of patching those leaks. I’m calling you because I’m your friend—”
“Oh right, Cecil. Some friend you turned out to be.”
“That’s right! I don’t want to see anything happen to you—or Pam or the girls.”
Jack’s heads buzzed with alarm.
Could someone be at the house right now?
He should have called Pam!
He was almost there.
He touched the gun strapped to his ankle.
“You tell them if they come near any of us, they’re dead.” Jack flew around the corner onto his street, tires squealing.
Cecil laughed. “Jack, you’re one man. This is a machine. Trust me. You don’t want to keep going with this. Where are you gonna go? What’s your plan?”
“None of your business.” Jack floored the Jetta, and it roared up the street. “But you’re gonna go down.”
“One more chance. This is it. Come in now, talk to me, we work out a deal, we get Derrick in on it—everyone’s happy.”
“You know what, Cecil? Take a flying leap!”
There were no strange cars parked near the house. Good.
There was a long pause on the phone as Jack’s car bumped into the driveway. He hit the garage-door opener.
“You just made the biggest mistake of your short life, my friend,” Cecil said.
“I’m not your friend—”
Poison Town Page 21