by Nancy Bush
Thwarted, I wrote down my ideas on a scratch pad, circling them in different colors: green for Tess, blue for Heather, yellow for Cotton, red for Murphy, black for the real estate contingency which included Craig Cuddahy, Paula Shepherd and Brad Gilles. Also, Lorraine Bluebell, but only because I wanted to remind myself to call her again. She’d be a perfect source for information on current real estate goings-on in and around Lake Chinook.
I was admiring my color chart when a loose end popped into my head. Owen Bradbury, Bobby’s half-brother. How did he fit in? I could go to the Pisces Pub and learn something from his friends. Friday night would be a perfect time.
I gotta say, it’s interesting what I can come up with to fill my time. I was off this job. There was no more money in it.
My only satisfaction was coming from my insane pleasure in continuing.
What do you want, Jane?
I searched the corners of my own psyche, digging for the source of my interest. A niggling and painful realization surfaced reluctantly in my brain.
You’re doing this for Murphy. To make him see how smart you are. To make him want you. To make him not ask-but beg-you to come back to Santa Fe with him. To show him how exceptional you are. How much he threw away when he stopped loving, caring or even thinking about you.
I put my color chart away.
Self-realization is a bitch.
Chapter Thirteen
I went to Bobby’s memorial service alone, entering the domed room of the Pegtree Center with an already large group of attendees whose swivel-headed eagerness spoke of desire to gawk rather than show their respects. I’d half-hoped Murphy would call and ask me to join him, but he wasn’t over being angry with me. I should know better, but I don’t. Under "glutton for punishment," see Jane Kelly’s photo.
I’d almost bagged out entirely as I had no wish to stir up Cotton, Heather, Tess or anyone else. But I’d felt that was the chicken’s way out, so I’d thrown on my black skirt and a short-sleeved black top out of some kind of polyester material that caused you to sweat as soon as it touched your flesh. But it looked good, so here I was. I’d even managed a pair of strappy black sandals I’d pulled from the back of my closet. They were old enough to give me pause, but they were broken in and the only thing besides my new flip-flops that was reasonable. My appearance, I decided, was okay.
The crowd was large and the room was hot. People fanned themselves with the service programs. I realized with a distinct shock that Cotton wasn’t there. I realized with a second shock that Bobby’s wife’s family was. Laura’s mother and father and several of her brothers and sisters were seated on the opposite side of the aisle from the Reynolds/Bradbury contingent. They sat in a clan in silence, their faces collectively turned slightly upward. I couldn’t see their expressions from my angle at the back of the room, but I imagined they were imploring the heavens for help and guidance. I glanced at the ceiling myself, feeling suffocated and sad.
Murphy sat next to Heather who was studiously avoiding looking at Tess, who shouldered her way to the first row. Next to Tess was a man in his thirties with light brown hair and broad shoulders. An image of Bobby flitted across my mind before I realized I was probably looking at the back of Owen Bradbury’s head. He turned at precisely that moment to say something to his mom and I saw his face in profile. Nope. He didn’t look like Bobby...well, sort of...maybe. As I watched, Tess momentarily rested her head on his shoulder.
The minister led us all in a short prayer. I listened from a self-induced stupor, my gaze touching on Murphy, then over the congregation, then back again. Platitudes about Bobby, about his brief time on earth and how his life was unfinished came at me like waves, breaking over my forced detachment. I glanced at Laura’s family and felt a fresh surge of anger toward Bobby that receded as quickly as it rose. Bobby was gone. They were all gone.
The whole thing was over so suddenly that I started. I’d possibly fallen asleep. The somnolence and heat weren’t helping. I hurried outside ahead of the crowd into blistering sunshine and headed for my Volvo. No one tried to stop me, but then they were still all saying good-bye and whispering their sympathies. Who was I kidding anyway? I wasn’t part of this group. I was persona non grata.
"Jane..." I recognized the voice and turned to find Murphy, sober and looking more miserable than any human had a right to. He was halfway to my car. "Cotton’s in the hospital. Laurel Park. All of this has punched him in the gut. His heart’s weak."
And broken
, I thought. "I’m sorry."
"He wants to see you."
I stared at him. "Me? Are you kidding? Why?"
"He’s not still mad," Murphy assured me. "I’m sorry I told him about you working for Tess. I was angry, but I should have known better."
"Well, I don’t know why he wants to see me. I don’t want to stir him up. I think it’s better if I stay away."
Murphy looked off toward the horizon. "It’s not your fault or anyone else’s that Bobby’s gone. Cotton just flew off the handle because he’s upset about everything. He also knows Tess would have done anything for Bobby, so if she hired you it was just to help." His blue gaze turned to me. "If any-one’s to blame, it’s me. I screwed up, Jane. Just made things worse for you."
"Fuggedaboudit," I said lightly.
"I’ll go with you to the hospital."
"Uh, no." That didn’t sound like a good idea.
"He’s afraid he’s dying and he wants to make it right with everybody."
"If I’m going, I’m going by myself."
Murphy shook his head. "I don’t want it to be such a task. I’ll be with you."
"Is he dying?" I asked.
Murphy hesitated. I got the feeling he didn’t want to go there. Finally, he said tersely, "Yes."
"Imminently?"
"I didn’t want Bobby dead," Murphy responded, looking around as if for support. "But I thought it would be a relief to Cotton. It’s been just the opposite. I really don’t know how long he’s got."
I didn’t want to see Cotton, but if I did, I really didn’t want Murphy with me. But reading between the lines I felt like I’d better make tracks to see Cotton Reynolds or it might be too late.
People were surging around us, commiserating. Heather, in a dark blue suit whose short skirt showed off her shapely legs, glanced around anxiously. I could see Murphy was torn. He didn’t want to deal with Heather right now, but he didn’t feel he could just leave her. I mimed that I would call him later. Murphy nodded. He touched my shoulder gently before moving in Heather’s direction. I could feel the extra heat from his fingers long after I was on the road.
I drove directly to Laurel Park Hospital and asked for Cotton Reynolds’ room. Might as well get this over with. There was a brief moment of confusion until I corrected myself and asked for Clement Reynolds. The only way I’d pulled that out was because I’d read it in the newspapers recently. I was directed to his floor and I rode up the elevator, half-inclined to just bolt. I’m not good at this stuff. I have an urge to sing or whistle in hospitals and churches that defies explanation.
Cotton’s door was slightly ajar and I pushed it inward with trepidation. He lay on a bed with his face turned toward the window. Hearing my approach, he turned my way. Another distinct shock. He looked like he’d aged ten years since the last time I’d seen him.
"Jane Kelly," he greeted me in a hoarse voice.
I nodded. "Murphy said you wanted to see me."
Ill as he was, he caught my pique. "I sicced the police on you."
"Tomas Lopez."
Cotton held up a hand. "Murphy told me you were working for Tess. Probably said some things I shouldn’t have. I was mad at Tess, too."
"I saw her at Bobby’s memorial service."
A shadow passed over his eyes. "Heather was there."
It wasn’t a question, but it sounded like one so I nodded.
"Bobby was my son. And I’m going to miss him."
His voice had grown more raspy
with each word and when he fumbled for his plastic cup of water, I quickly handed it to him. It was an effort for him to place the straw between his lips, but he managed to take a few sips before I took the cup away.
"Maybe I should come back another time," I suggested uneasily.
"I want to tell you something."
"Okay." I shifted my weight, growing more uncomfortable by the minute.
"You told me you liked Bobby."
My heart sank. I wasn’t sure where this was going, but I’d definitely stretched the truth when I’d blurted that out. "We only met a couple of times."
"Murphy thinks a lot of you."
"Yeah ...well...we’re friends," I said lamely.
"I want you to know that Bobby was only missing a little while. I know Tess hired you to find him."
"Bobby was missing for four years," I reminded cautiously.
Cotton looked down at the tops of his hands. Blue veins pushed upward against pale skin. He stared at them as if they held the answers, then fisted them. "Tess knew where Bobby was until a few weeks ago. She gave him money. She kept him going."
"How do you know this?"
"I just know."’
A chill slid down my back at the pointed look he gave me. He’d seen Bobby. I was almost certain of it.
"Tess has funded him since the moment he called her from Tillamook. I think he told her to come get him long before he murdered them. She didn’t know why he wanted her to come. She just went. And she picked him up and took him somewhere. I don’t know. To a bus, maybe. I don’t know when he told her the truth ...maybe still denies everything. But she’s the one who’s hidden him."
"This sounds like conjecture." I wasn’t sure what I was hearing, but I didn’t think it was meant for my ears.
"Up until a few weeks ago there was an intermediary who collected the money and got it to him. I don’t know who that was, and I don’t know where Bobby was. He never said and I didn’t ask."
"You spoke with Bobby?" The hairs on my arms lifted. Dimly I realized this was some kind of deathbed confession whether Cotton died or not. But what was I supposed to do with this information? Go to Tomas Lopez? Viscerally I realized how much I did not want to be involved.
"The police asked me the same thing. I’ll tell you what I told them: no." Cotton inhaled deeply several times. His pallor was gray. "But I’ve talked to Tess a few times. Told her what I know. She’s screamed and screamed at me. Thinks I hate Bobby and her. Told me I was a crazy old man. But I know what I know. She loved him almost more than I did, if that’s possible."
He closed his eyes on these last words. A lump filled my throat. I said nothing. I glanced behind me, hoping against hope someone was eavesdropping. I didn’t want this burden. The room was close and my ears began to hear a distant humming sound. Not a good sign.
"Tess knows how to save money," he said at length, never opening his eyes. "She found ways to get her hands on it when we were married and hide it away. I don’t know how much she has, but it’s more than enough. It’s somewhere outside the banks, outside the government. She didn’t use it on that artsyfartsy gallery. Got loans for that. No, this money was meant for herself. She planned to leave me years before she did it. Then she soaked me good in the divorce." He smiled ruefully. "But I always knew about the money."
"You’re saying she used that money for Bobby?" "Yessirree. She didn’t mean to, but after Bobby did what he did...." He trailed off. "Do you have proof ?" I asked, already knowing the answer.
" ’Course not. But believe me, I’m not wrong. Bobby lived under an assumed name all this time and Tess funded him. He coulda probably kept it up his whole life, but Bobby got bored." He looked at me through reddened eyes. "I don’t think he wanted that small of a life, y’know?"
I wasn’t sure I did. "You mean ...a restricted life?"
"The life of somebody else. Somebody who didn’t matter. Just years of living, y’know? Years and years of living and nothing happening."
Mollycoddled.
Dwayne’s word came back to me. Bobby had been the best athlete, the doted-on son, the heir apparent, the only one who mattered. Would he be able to lead a "small" life, so to speak?
"What happened to him?" I asked softly. "Do you know?"
"Bobby was always no good. You could give him whatever he wanted and he just wanted more. He married that gal to get back at me. I told him she was too religious and that he’d regret it. I warned him, but whatever I said just made him do it all the more." He stirred restlessly. "I never thought he’d do what he did, though. Murphy didn’t think so, either."
Why are you telling me this?
"Maybe Murphy’s the one you should be talking to."
Cotton acted like he didn’t hear me. Maybe he didn’t. "I went to a lawyer to change my will, but I couldn’t make myself."
So, Jerome Neusmeyer had told the truth. I thought about asking, "What are you going to do now?" but there was no need as Cotton, once started, wasn’t about to stop.
"He was the disappointment of my life and I couldn’t cut him out of my will. What do you think of that?" He didn’t wait for an answer. "I told Heather I wasn’t going to change my will and she called me all sorts of names. She’s mad at the world right now." He grimaced. "Did she wear that blue suit? She’s wanted an occasion to wear it for a while now."
"Midnight blue?"
He almost laughed. "That’s the one. Don’t know why I married her. Was seeing somebody else but it felt like Tess all over again. Thought Heather might give me some fun. Maybe she did, in the beginning."
She married you for your money.
The thought must have shown on my face because Cotton said, "I’m not a fool, y’know. But it’s not her fault about Bobby. He was spoiled rotten. I never knew how true those words could be. Tess and I just weren’t good parents. We never said no, or stop, or you can’t. People are stupid who think you don’t have to parent your kid. If you don’t parent them, they don’t grow up."
His voice had softened with each syllable. I had to move closer to his bedside to hear him. A part of me wanted to stop him, but another part knew he needed to get this out. It was weird that he’d chosen me. I wished Murphy could be standing here instead. I probably should have waited for him. But then again maybe he was too close a friend. A confession is easier to a virtual stranger.
"If you want answers, talk to Tess," he said after a long time. His chest rose and fell unevenly, as if it were an effort to breathe.
"I’m not working for her anymore."
"You want to know." He’d started to wheeze.
"I think it’s up to the authorities now."
"No!" That came out as a harsh whisper. "They don’t give a damn about him. Talk to Tess. She knows him."
I felt like wringing my hands. I didn’t want to add to his anguish, but some things needed to be said. "You should know that she intimated you were the one supporting Bobby, not the other way around."
"We both wanted to help him."
I licked my lips. They were dry as sand. "Bobby came to you for help? He was on the island?"
Cotton’s eyes met mine. Something flickered in their depths and for a moment I thought he was going to answer me. The blood sang through my ears. I suddenly didn’t want to know. Didn’t want information that I should tell the authorities.
A nurse whisked into the room before Cotton could decide. "You need to leave, Miss," she stated flatly.
"Not yet . . ." Cotton’s voice was nearly inaudible.
"Oh, yes," she said, shooing her hands at me. I held my ground and she glared at me, letting me know I should never have pushed it with one of her patients.
But Cotton clearly didn’t want me to go. This was his confession and though I didn’t want to be the recipient, it was too late to change the circumstances. "Just a few more minutes?"
"Not a chance. Mr. Reynolds needs rest." She wedged herself between us. She was tall and tough and looked like she might want to arm wrestle me. I was
pretty sure I’d lose. She was also in my personal space. I had a mental picture of what we looked like, standing toe-to-toe, Nurse Ratched in white, myself all in black. Yeah. A skirmish here would not look good on my permanent record.
"Go," she ordered.
I gave her a military salute and backed into the hallway, pissed. I nearly bumped into a body which had moved to the doorway. Twisting quickly, an apology forming on my lips, I realized I was staring into the eyes of Laura’s father, Bobby’s father-in-law.
"Oh, hi," I said lamely. I felt like I’d been caught in some nefarious act.
"Is that Clement Reynolds’ room?" he asked politely.
Behind him was Laura’s mother. She had soft, liquid brown eyes and doughy skin. Both she and her husband had gray hair and neither was using Grecian Formula 44. She wore a gray dress with black flocking in the shape of tiny rosebuds. He wore a gray suit. Everything was gray.
"Uh, yes," I said.
"Are you a friend of the family?" The tiny voice came from Laura’s mother.
"Sort of." I felt completely out of place with them. "I’m a friend of Tim Murphy?"
She blinked. "Oh, yes. Our daughter knew him in high school. She called him by his last name, I think."
"Yes. He goes by Murphy."
"I’m George Monroe and this is my wife, Ruth."
"Jane Kelly."
We shook hands all around. I couldn’t have felt more awkward. It seemed as if we were on opposite sides of a battle. I wanted to stand up and shout that I thought Bobby’s actions were beyond reprehensible, but instead I stood by with a sickly smile.
"Mr. Reynolds called us," George revealed. "He asked to see us." He sounded nonplussed. I couldn’t blame him. "We said we would see him at the memorial service, but we learned he was in the hospital."
Nurse Ratched stepped from the room and scowled at the lot of us. "No visitors."
"Is there a better time to see him? Somewhere we could wait?" Ruth asked.
"Honey, you’re going to be waiting a long time. Mr. Reynolds needs a lot of rest. He won’t be seeing anyone else today." She made it sound like or maybe ever.