She asked, “Did you just buy this?”
“I’m not that stupid,” he told her. “I buy them online. You can’t get the cartridges local.”
Everyone else did, too. It was a pain in the butt, but the gift meant a lot, especially now that Jeffrey was gone. Lena had a stack of ten cartridges in a box back home.
Frank said, “We’re both in trouble on this.”
Lena didn’t respond. She was running through her time with Tommy, trying to figure out when he’d decided to take his own life. Had he said anything to her before she locked the cell door? Lena didn’t think so. Maybe that was one of the many clues she had missed. Tommy had calmed down too quickly after she’d left the room to get him some tissues. She had taken him back to the cells shortly after. He’d been sniffling, but he’d kept his mouth shut, even as she shut the heavy metal door. They always said the quiet ones were the ones who had made up their minds. How had she missed that? How had she not noticed?
Frank said, “We need to stick together, get our stories straight.”
She shook her head. How did she get into this mess? Why was it that the minute she crawled out of one pile of shit, she fell back into another one?
“Sara’s out for blood. Your blood. She thinks she’s finally found a way to punish you for what you did to Jeffrey.”
Lena’s head shot up. “I didn’t do anything.”
“We both know different from that, don’t we?”
His words cut straight through her. “You’re a bastard. You know that?”
“Yeah, well, back at you.”
Lena felt her hand stinging. She was gripping the plastic packet hard enough to cut into her skin. She tried to pry it open, but her nails were too short. She ended up biting the cardboard with her teeth and ripping it away from the plastic.
Frank asked, “How solid is that confession?”
She jammed the new cartridge into her pen. “Tommy admitted to everything. He put it on paper.”
“You better shout that to whoever listens or his daddy’s gonna sue you for everything you have.”
She snorted. “A fifteen-year-old Celica and an eighty-thousand-dollar mortgage on a sixty-thousand-dollar house? He can have the keys right now.”
“You’ll lose your badge.”
“Maybe I should.” She gave up on the pen. She gave up on everything. Four years ago, Lena would have been scrambling for a way to cover this up. Now, all she wanted to do was tell the truth and move on. “This doesn’t change anything, Frank. Tommy was my responsibility. I’ll take the consequences. But you’ll have to take yours, too.”
“It doesn’t have to be like that.”
She looked up at him, wondering at the sudden shift. “What do you mean?”
“Tommy killed that girl. You think anybody’s gonna care about some little retard murderer slitting his wrists in a jail cell?” Frank wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “He killed that girl, Lee. He stabbed her through the neck like he was taking down an animal. All because she wouldn’t let him get his pecker off.”
Lena closed her eyes. She was so damn tired that she couldn’t think. But she knew Frank was right. No one would care about Tommy’s death. But that didn’t mean it was okay. That didn’t change what happened in the garage today, or fix the damage that had been done to Brad.
She told him, “Your drinking is out of hand. I didn’t say anything about Brad being unfit. Maybe he’ll be okay or maybe my silence will end up meaning the death of him. I don’t know. I’m not gonna watch the same thing happen to you. You’re not fit for duty, Frank. You shouldn’t be behind the wheel of a car, let alone carrying a gun.”
Frank knelt down in front of her. “There’s a hell of a lot more you could lose than just your shield, Lena. Think about that.”
“There’s nothing to think about. I’ve made up my mind.”
“I could always put in a word with Gavin Wayne about your little boyfriend.”
“Be sure to brush the whisky off your breath before you do.”
“We both know the kind of trouble I could make.”
“Jared will know I made a mistake,” Lena said. “And he’ll know I stood up to take the consequences.”
“When did you turn so noble?”
She didn’t answer, but the thought of Tommy Braham sitting in those cells, scraping away at his wrists with Lena’s ink pen, made her feel like the least noble person on the planet. How had she managed to fuck up so much in so little time?
Frank pressed, “Does your little boyfriend really know you, Lena? I mean, really know you?” His lips curled up in a smile. “Think about all the things you’ve told me over the years. All those squad cars we sat in together. All those late nights and early mornings after Jeffrey died.” He showed his yellow teeth. “You’re a dirty cop, Lee. You think your boyfriend’s gonna forgive that?”
“I’m not dirty.” She had stepped right up to the line many times, but Lena had never crossed it. “I’m a good cop, and you know it.”
“You sure about that?” He sneered at her. “Brad got stabbed while you were standing with your thumb up your ass. You talked a nineteen-year-old retard into killing himself. I got a witness in the next cell who will say anything I tell him to as long as I let him go back to his wife.”
Lena felt her heart stop in her chest.
“You think I’m just gonna walk away from my pension, lay down my gun and my shield, because you’ve developed a conscience?” He spat out a laugh. “Trust me, girl, you don’t want me to start telling people what I know about you, because by the time I shut up, you’ll be lucky if you don’t find yourself sitting on the wrong side of a jail door.”
“You wouldn’t do that to me.”
“You strut around town like you’re some hot piece of shit wearing your bad reputation on your sleeve. Wasn’t that what Jeffrey was always warning you about? Too many burned bridges. Too many people in town with knives in their backs.”
“Shut up, Frank.”
“The thing about having a bad reputation is that folks will believe just about anything people say about you.” He sat back on his heels. “The chief could’ve gotten away with murder because no one thought he was capable of doing anything bad. You think people feel that way about you? You think they trust your character?”
“You can’t prove anything and you know it.”
“Do I need to?” He smiled again, his lips peeling back from his teeth. “I’ve lived in this town all my life. People know me. They trust me—trust what I tell them. And if I say you’re a dirty cop …” He shrugged.
Lena’s chest was so tight she could barely breathe.
“Maybe I’ll ask ol’ Jared out for a beer,” Frank continued. “I bet Sara Linton wouldn’t mind tagging along, either. What do you think of that? The two of them together having a nice chat about you?” Lena stared her hate into him. Frank’s rheumy eyes glared back. “Don’t forget what a son of a bitch I am, girlie. And don’t for a minute think I won’t throw your worthless ass under the bus to save mine.”
She knew he was serious. She knew the threat was as real and as dangerous as a ticking bomb.
Frank took out his flask. He carefully unscrewed the top and took a long drink.
Lena’s voice was barely above a whisper. “What do you want me to do?”
Frank smiled in a way that made her feel like she was something he’d just scraped off his shoe. “Just stick to the truth. Tommy confessed to killing Allison. He stabbed Brad. Nothing else matters.” Frank shrugged again. “You play by my rules until we’re clear of this, and maybe I’ll let you go over to Macon and be with your little boyfriend.”
“What else?” she asked. There was always something else.
He pulled a plastic evidence bag out of his pocket. Now that it was close up, Lena wondered how she’d ever thought it was real—the thick, dull blade, the fake leather handle. The letter opener.
He tossed the bag onto her lap. “Get rid of it.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
SARA SAT AT THE DINING ROOM TABLE THUMBING THROUGH A magazine while her sister and mother played cards. Her cousin Hareton had joined them half an hour ago, dropping by without a phone call as usual. Hare was two years older than Sara. They had always competed in everything, which was why he had made her go out into the pouring rain to look at his brand-new BMW 750Li. How he could afford such a luxurious car on a rural doctor’s salary was beyond her, but Sara had made the appropriate noises because she didn’t have the strength to do otherwise.
She loved her cousin, but sometimes it seemed as if his goal in life was to get on her nerves. He made fun of her height. He called her “Red” just to annoy her. The worst part was that everyone thought he was charming. Even her own mother thought he walked on water—a particularly sore point considering Cathy did not extend this rose-colored view to her own children. The biggest problem Sara had with Hare was that he never came across a situation he couldn’t make light of, which could be a heavy burden to those around him.
Sara finished her magazine and started over from the beginning, wondering why none of the pages looked familiar. She was too distracted to read and too smart to try to have a conversation with anyone at the table. Especially Hare, who seemed determined to catch her eye.
Finally, she asked, “What?”
He slapped a card down on the table. “How’s the weather up there, Red?”
Sara gave him the same look she’d given him thirty years ago when he’d first asked her that question. “Balmy.”
He put down another card. Tessa and Cathy groaned. “You’re on vacation, Red. What’s the problem?”
Sara closed the magazine, fighting the desire to tell him that she was sorry she wasn’t more upbeat, but that she couldn’t quite get the image out of her mind of Tommy Braham lying dead on the jailhouse floor. A quick glance at her mother told Sara that Cathy knew exactly what she was thinking.
“I’m expecting someone,” she finally confessed. “Will Trent. He’s an agent with the GBI.”
Cathy’s eyes narrowed. “What’s a GBI agent doing here?”
“He’s investigating the murder at the lake.”
“And the death at the police station.” Cathy spoke pointedly. “Why is he coming to the house?”
“He missed supper. I thought you could—”
“Am I responsible for feeding strangers now?”
Tessa, as usual, didn’t help matters. “You’re gonna be responsible for putting him up for the night, too.” She told Sara, “The hotel’s closed for remodeling. Unless he wants to drive forty-five minutes into Cooperstown, you’d better go straighten up the apartment over the garage.”
Sara held back the curse that came to her lips. Hare was leaning forward, chin resting in his hands, as if he was watching a movie.
Cathy shuffled through the cards again. The noise was made louder by the tension. “How does this man know you?”
“Police officers are always at the hospital.” Not technically a lie, but close enough.
“What’s going on here, Sara?”
She shrugged, the gesture feeling so fake that she had trouble letting her shoulders drop back down. “It’s complicated.”
“Complicated?” Cathy echoed. “That sure did happen fast.” She slapped the cards down on the table as she stood up. “I guess I’ll go tell your father to put some pants on.”
Tessa waited until their mother had left. “You might as well tell her, Sissy. She’ll get it out of you somehow.”
“It’s none of her business.”
Tessa gave a shocked bark of laughter. Everything was their mother’s business.
Hare picked up the cards. “Come on, Red. Aren’t you taking this a little too seriously? This is probably the most exciting thing that’s happened to Brad Stephens in his entire life. The guy still lives with his mother.”
“That’s not funny, Hare. Two people are dead.”
“A retard and a college student. The town mourns.”
Sara bit her tongue so that she wouldn’t cut him in two.
Hare sighed as he shuffled the cards between his hands. “All right. The thing about the girl in the lake was a cheap shot, but Tommy’s fair game. People don’t just up and kill themselves for no reason. He felt guilty for killing the girl. That’s why he stabbed Brad. End of story.”
“You sound like a cop.”
“Well …” He put his hand to his chest. “You know I did dress up as one for Halloween.” He turned to Tessa. “Remember the thong?”
“That was my birthday party, not Halloween,” Tessa reminded him. She asked Sara, “Why did you go to the jail in the first place?”
“Tommy needed …” She didn’t bother to finish the sentence. “I don’t know why I went down there.” She stood from the table. “I’m sorry. All right? I’m sorry I went to the station. I’m sorry for bringing this home. I’m sorry Mama’s mad at me. I’m sorry I came here in the first place.”
Tessa began, “Sissy—” but Sara left before she could say more.
Tears filled her eyes for the umpteenth time that day as she went down the hall and stood at the front door. She should go upstairs and talk to her mother. At the very least, Sara could try to come up with an explanation that would stop Cathy from worrying. Of course, Cathy would see right through any explanation Sara could come up with, because they both knew the truth: Sara was trying to get Lena in trouble. Her mother would take no joy in telling Sara that she might as well go outside and howl at the rain. She would be right—at least partially. Lena was good at lying, cheating, and doing whatever else it took to keep herself out of trouble. Sara was no match for the woman because she lacked the basic deviousness with which Lena approached every situation in her life.
And what about the dead girl? Sara was as bad as Hare. She had completely ignored Allison Spooner, treating her death as yet another springboard for attacking Lena. People around town who knew Allison were starting to talk. Tessa had been on the phone most of the afternoon and had the whole story for Sara by the time she got back from downtown. Allison was petite and cheery, the sort of girl with good country manners and a bright smile for strangers. She had worked at the diner during lunch and over the weekends. She must have a family somewhere, a mother and father who had just gotten the worst news a parent could ever hear. Surely they were on their way to Grant County right now, heavy hearts sinking further with every mile.
There were footsteps on the stairs behind her—Cathy, judging by the light tread. Sara heard her mother pause on the landing, then head toward the kitchen.
Sara let out a breath of air she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
“Sweetpea?” Eddie called from upstairs. He was listening to his old records, something he did when he was feeling melancholy.
“I’m all right, Daddy.” She waited for the squeaking floorboards to signal he was going back to his room. They took an awful long time.
She closed her eyes again. Her father put on some Bruce Springsteen, the needle skipping on the vinyl record as he found the right place. She could hear her mother moving around the kitchen. Plates and pans banged. Hare said something that must have been funny, because Tessa’s laugh rang through the house.
Sara stared out at the street, rubbing her arms to fight the chill that had come over her. This was silly, she knew, to stand at the door waiting for a man who might not even come. As much as Sara did not want to admit it, she wanted more than information from Will. He was from her Atlanta life. He was a reminder that there was something else waiting for her.
And thank God he was finally here.
For the second time that day, Sara watched Will hide the various electronics in his Porsche. It seemed to take longer this time, or maybe she was more impatient. Finally, he got out of the car. He held the file she had given him over his head to shield himself from the rain as he ran up the driveway.
She started to open the door, then reconsidered. She didn’t want him to think
she’d been standing here waiting for him. Then again, if she was trying to be covert, she probably shouldn’t have been staring at him through the window.
“Idiot,” she muttered, opening the door.
“Hi.” He shook the rain out of his hair, taking advantage of the cover of the front porch.
“You want me to—” She reached for the wet file in his hand. Sara suppressed a groan of disappointment. It was soaked through. Everything would be ruined.
“Here,” he said, lifting his sweater, untucking his undershirt. Sara saw the pages she’d given him pressed against his bare skin. She also saw what looked like a dark bruise fanning across his abdomen, disappearing into the waist of his jeans.
“What—”
He quickly pulled down his shirt. “Thanks.” He scratched his face, a nervous habit she had forgotten about. “I think we can just throw the folder away.”
She nodded, not knowing what to say. Will seemed at a loss for words, too. They stared at each other until the hall light snapped on.
Cathy stood in the kitchen doorway with her hands on her hips. Eddie came down the stairs. There was a brief moment of the most uncomfortable silence Sara had ever experienced in her life. She felt for the first time what a monumental mess she had made of the day. If she could’ve clicked her heels and gone back to the beginning, she would still be in Atlanta and her family would have been spared this awful situation. She wanted to melt into the floor.
The silence broke with her father. He held out his hand to Will. “Eddie Linton. Glad we can give you respite from this rain.”
“Will Trent.” Will gave him a firm handshake.
“I’m Cathy,” her mother chimed in, patting Will on the arm. “Goodness, you’re soaked through. Eddie, why don’t you see if you can find him something dry?” For some reason, her father chuckled to himself as he ran up the stairs. Cathy told Will, “Let’s get this sweater off before you catch a chill.”
Will looked as uncomfortable as any man would look if an overly polite sixty-three-year-old woman told him to undress in her foyer. Still, he complied, lifting his sweater over his head. He was wearing a long-sleeved black T-shirt underneath. It started to ride up when he lifted his arms and Sara reached out without thinking, holding down the shirt.
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