Mississippi Blues (31 page)

“She loved you, sir.” Trey's throat grew tight again. He'd never doubted their love for one another. They hadn't been great parents, but they had been good to one another. His father had always worshiped Emily, treated her like a china doll in a case. As if she were too good to be touched.

“Most men aren't so lucky.” The Chief looked at him with hate-glazed eyes. “I'll hunt down the man who did this to her and see him fry. You better make a choice, boy, whose side you're standing on. If it's mine, or it's with the Hills. There isn't room for any ifs, ands, or maybes.”

“Sir, Summer or MiLann can't be held responsible for something Jace may have done. We don't even know for sure he's the killer.” Trey knew he was wasting his breath. The Chief had made up his mind and nothing Trey could say was going to change it. If he pursued a relationship with Summer, he could forget about his father. He reached out to touch the Chief then dropped his hand midway. “Mother wouldn't want us to blame them.”

With unexpected violence, the Chief hurled his glass at the wall. “I don't want to think about anyone or anything except your mother right now.”

Before Trey could answer, the front door swung open and Etta rushed in, tears streaming down her wrinkled cheeks. “Is it true? Oh, God in Heaven, tell me it isn't so. Say my Miss Emily isn't gone. Oh, Lordy. I just stepped out for a minute.”

Trey rose and hugged her. “I'm sorry.”

“Why'd you leave her at all?” The Chief's voice was freezer cold.

“It was Lilah,” Etta explained through her tears. “I got a call from her house saying she was hurt and needed a ride to the hospital. I rushed over there fast as my ole bones could carry me. But when I got there, she was sittin' on the couch pretty as you please. Eatin' supper and watchin' her program. I was a little put out. I sure was.”

“Who did you actually talk to?” Trey asked.

Etta moved out of his arms and blew her nose into a crumpled hankie. “I don't know for sure. I was in the kitchen, cookin' a nice roast … well, that don't matter does it? The phone rang and I took the call. Someone told me to rush right over to Lilah's place, that she was in trouble. I didn't do more than turn down my stove and drove straight over there.”

“You didn't recognize the voice?” Trey asked.

Etta shook her head. “No, sir, I didn't. I was so afraid, I just took off. Miss Emily was sleepin'. I figured she'd be okay for a bit.”

“You thought wrong.” The Chief held not one ounce of compassion in his voice for the woman who'd been part of his family for three decades. “Dead wrong.”

“Chief. Sir. It's not her fault.” Trey understood his father's rage, but Etta wasn't to blame. If she had been here, she probably would've died, too. Someone had set her up, called her out of the house. He squeezed her upper arms then let her go.

“Sir? Chief?” The young policewoman stood at the door. “Will you come here, please? I need to show you something.”

When Trey would've gone with him, the policewoman shook her head. “This is an investigation. You can't be in here.”

The Chief plodded toward his wife's bedroom. At the door, he turned. “While I'm gone you best decide what matters to you.

• • •

Trey was up at dawn.

In truth, he hadn't slept at all. The Chief had refused to tell him anything the police had found. He had left with them and still hadn't returned. Trey figured he had probably spent the night at his office. He stirred his coffee without really seeing it. He'd been sitting in the kitchen for an hour or more.

A small figure moved at the corner of his vision, and he started.
Lindy?

“Didn't mean to scare you none,” Etta said, slipping out of the shadows. She trudged to the fridge and got out orange juice and a bowl of eggs.

“Why are you up so early?” Trey swallowed his disappointment and straddled one of the barstools, watching Etta pour two glasses of juice.

She handed him one and turned to the stove. “I'm sure the Chief will be needing a meal. He's got a busy day ahead of him. Soon as word gets out about Miz Emily, peoples will be comin' in droves. Everyone sure loved her.” Etta's small shoulders stooped forward.

Trey took two steps and enfolded her from behind. Sobs shook her small frame. He kissed the top of her cotton-white head. “Mother knew how much you cared for her.” She nodded and wiped her eyes with the corner or her apron. “I'm sorry, too, for the way the Chief spoke to you last night.”

It wasn't his job to apologize, but Trey knew how badly the Chief had wounded Etta. She had taken care of their family since the day Emily Devereaux married Samuel Bouché twenty-six years ago. This was her family. There wasn't anything she wouldn't do for any one of them.

“Oh, pshaw. He don't mean nothin' when he sounds off like that. He's just like an old hound who barks first and feels bad later.” She slipped out of his arms and picked up the eggs. “I just let it be when he snaps. I know he don't mean it.”

She was a better person than Trey was. The wounds the Chief had inflected on him would last a lifetime. The key was learning how to let go and not hold onto the bitterness. He watched Etta move about the kitchen, busy preparing a meal no one would have an appetite for. His mind was on Lindy. Somehow, he had to find her today. If she didn't hear about their mother and come home for the funeral, she might never get over it.

Etta set a steaming plate of scrambled eggs, ham, and toast in front of him and refreshed his dark chicory coffee. He had no appetite, but he picked at it to make her happy. He patted the chair next to him. “Sit with me. Please?”

Pouring herself a cup of steaming coffee, she sat across from him. Her small, gnarled fingers curled around her mug. “I can't linger. Your daddy will be needing me to pick out something for Miz Emily to be wearing. She'll want to look nice to meet her maker. Yes, sirree, Miz Emily did love her fancy clothes.”

“Yes.” He couldn't remember a time his mother hadn't been pulled together and elegant. Even during this last week, she had worn satin nightgowns and robes. No hospital garb for Emily Bouché.

Etta's dark eyes searched his face. “Your mama was so happy to see you.”

Tears formed in his eyes and he blinked them back. He'd almost been too late. For whatever force had guided him home, he was grateful. He couldn't wish his mother was still suffering, and he prayed she was at peace, but he couldn't help but wish he'd had more time with her. Whoever had stolen her life had also taken her family's last few days with her. A burning fury boiled in his belly. Whoever had done this would pay for their crime.

The Chief's words rang in his ears.
Jace Hill did it. He's the killer.
Trey couldn't believe it. The friend he had known would no more have murdered a helpless woman than cut off his right hand. A threat of revenge from prison was one thing, but to actually carry out a murder was something else all together. Trey was beginning to think the Chief had lost all rationality when it came to Jace. Why did the policeman hate his former family friend so much? Trey couldn't figure it out.

He wondered what the forensic evidence showed. Had the killer left fingerprints or other clues behind? Would the Chief tell him even if he knew? Maybe Jody would if Trey could catch him alone. He wanted to give Jody the hair he'd found, too. Although he wanted to know, to understand what had happened to his mother, it was more pressing to find Lindy.

The phone rang. Trey moved to get it, but Etta beat him to it. He listened as she answered “yes sir” a few times. When she hung up, he waited for her to tell him what the caller said.

“That was your daddy. He just left the coroner.” Her voice broke. In a minute, she continued. “He wants you to meet him at his office in twenty minutes.”

Trey nodded. He got up and kissed her cheek. “I'll see you later.”

“Take care of your daddy. This is the worst day of his life.” She swiped at the spotless counter with a dishrag. “Go on. Get. He needs you.”

• • •

Trey found the Chief in his office. He sat behind his desk, a pile of papers lying in front of him. He looked up with red-rimmed eyes when Trey entered, but didn't speak.

“Sir? You okay?” Trey moved toward the Chief, alarmed by his appearance.

“Sit down.” His voice was rough, like he'd been smoking and drinking all night. Or maybe crying.

Trey continued to stand. “What are you doing here? Why don't you come home with me? Get something to eat, try to rest.”

Ignoring the suggestion, the Chief said, “I'm going to get that motherfucker once and for all. I should've done it sooner.” He waved a hand over the letters scattered in front of him. “I ignored the truth when it kicked me in the face. Hell, I ignored all of them. I thought it was just smoke and mirrors. Look what's happened. Emily's dead. Doc Conner's all set to cut her open like she's a side of beef. And it's all because of my foolishness. I was soft, too soft.”

“Chief, slow down. I don't understand. What's your fault?” The image of his mother lying on the coroner's table made Trey's stomach churn. He wondered if the Chief had suffered some kind of breakdown from that same idea. He wasn't making sense.

“I didn't pay attention. That's what's wrong.” He swept the pile of letters off the desk with one hand. “And it was the biggest mistake of my life. Believe me now?” The Chief's voice went flat. “Are you ready to admit that your buddy sneaked in during the middle of the night and smothered your mother in her own bed?”

Trey didn't know what to think. He just couldn't wrap his mind around the idea of his childhood friend taking his mother's life. “I don't know,” he said finally.

“Believe it. I'm going to order my men to shoot on sight,” the Chief said. “An eye for an eye.”

Trying to distract him, to dissuade him from his crazy plan, Trey asked, “What did Doc Conner say?”

“He met me at the morgue last night. His first reaction was that the cancer finally beat Emily, but when I told him about the lipstick on the mirror he had a different idea. He's going to do,” the Chief's throat worked, “an autopsy.”

Trey forced away the picture of his mother's body being subjected to a postmortem examination. “Did the officers find any fingerprints or other evidence left behind?”

“Not a damn thing. Angola must have taught young Hill a few things about crime.” He was back in control, his voice again lacking any show of emotion. “But it doesn't matter. I know the truth. I know why he did it and I won't make the mistake of underestimating him again.”

“There might be another explanation for Mother's death than automatically assuming Jace did it,” Trey said.

“There isn't.”

“Have you heard any word on his location? Or anything about Lindy?”

The Chief shook his head. “Not yet. But with every lawman in the South on the lookout, I'm pretty certain we'll tree him any minute. When we do, we'll find your sister. I pray to God he didn't make her suffer too much. If we can recover her body, we can have a double funeral. Your mother would like that.”

Trey stared at him like he was a stranger. The Chief talked about Lindy as if she weren't his daughter. Maybe it was how he coped, but his emotionless tone was eerie. Trey knew if he didn't keep his own feelings under a tight rein, he was going to lose it. He had a lot of practice at forcing down emotions, and he fell back on the years of training he'd received now. Just get the job done, think about it later. He couldn't allow himself to hurt. He had to remain in control and find Lindy. The Chief didn't seem capable of making a rational decision right now.

Trey didn't have a lot of practice with planning funerals, but he knew there was a lot of work ahead of them. There were a lot of decisions to be made. Where to hold the service, who to conduct it, what kind of music and on and on. “Do you want Etta to do anything about arrangements?”

The Chief stared blankly at him for a minute. Then he said, “Tell her to go see Preacher Finn. Tell her to tell him your mother died, not how, mind you, but let him know that much at least. On second thought, you go.”

“No, sir.” Trey stood. “I'm not going to leave you until you've thought this through.

“No time for that now. I have a man to find.” The Chief's eyes glowed with a feverish glint.

“Make time.” Trey knew the Chief was crazy with grief and not thinking straight. “Or at least let me go with you.”

“No, I'm going alone. If you have something to say to me, you can radio me.” He stood and went to the locked cabinet in the corner. Unlocking it, he withdrew a shotgun. “I'll be in the field until I find what I'm looking for. I'm going to skin Hill like a rabbit.”

“Chief, you can't mean to go out and shoot Jace Hill in cold blood. That makes you no better than he is.” Trey didn't believe Jace had killed his mother, but if he had, he deserved all the law would do to him. But not vigilante justice. Jace had been wrong to deal it out, and this was just as wrong now. The Chief had tipped over the edge where Jace was concerned. Why?

Busy loading shells in the gun, the Chief didn't look up. “Don't you see? It's the only way. He has to pay.”

There wasn't a soul alive who could stop the Chief when he was rational, much less like this. Still, Trey tried. “No, sir, I don't see. What I see is a dangerous obsession with a man who has been paying his debt to society. You have no proof he killed Mother or took Lindy.”

“I have all the proof I need.” He hoisted the gun to his shoulder and aimed at the wall.

Trey changed tactics. “You're needed here. When word gets out about Mother, folks will want to see you, talk to you.”

“There'll be plenty of time for talking later.” He stood and carrying the gun, moved around the desk. “Go on, get now. I'm not going to sit around and wait for that boy to come to me. I'm going to set things straight myself. I've waited too long.”