Pitch Black (12 page)

Kate’s sobs were joined by other more discreet sniffles throughout the packed church.

The minister returned to the pulpit and said a concluding prayer. After the closing “Amen,” the organist began a subdued and somber tune. Then the mourners, one pew at a time starting at the front, moved forward to pass the casket for their final good-bye. The family remained seated, accepting condolences from people as they filed by.

She felt Ethan stiffen next to her.

Sliding her arm across the back of the pew, she put her hand on the center of his back. She could feel the faint moisture of nervous perspiration through his shirt. “It’ll be all right.”

Once the mourners passed the casket, they moved back up the central aisle, heading outside to await the removal of the body for the procession to the cemetery.

The first time Madison saw someone scowl at her as they passed, she thought it was her imagination. Grief and disapproval could look very much alike. But she soon reassessed her dismissal. Two or three other people cast looks of condemnation her way as they inched toward the rear exit. She could hardly believe they were bringing their issues with her articles to this funeral.

Fighter that she was, she squared her shoulders and stared right back.

That’s when she noticed it. They weren’t glaring at her. They were glaring at Ethan.

From the corner of her eye, she saw him fold in upon himself, as if he hoped to become small enough that no one would see him.

Then Colin Arbuckle and his family passed. Colin stopped and stepped close. He laid a hand on Ethan’s shoulder. A silent gesture of solidarity, a salute to shared hardship. Of all the people here, only Colin knew how Ethan was feeling.

Madison was more than a little embarrassed when Ethan didn’t look up or acknowledge Colin.

She smiled her thanks to the young man. He inclined his head and moved on.

Time finally came for their row to proceed to the front. After giving Ethan an encouraging pat on the back, she stood and followed the rest of the people in their row. She was all the way to the front when she turned to take Ethan’s arm.

He wasn’t there.

She said distracted condolences to Kate and Todd and Steve’s elderly mother, then paused appropriately at the casket. The line moved slowly toward the exit. Once out the door, Madison paused on the top step scanning the crowd for Ethan.

She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw him standing on the corner near where they’d parked the car. He had his hands shoved in his pockets and his back to her.

When she started down the steps, she passed Julia Patterson. She touched the girl’s elbow. “Hello, Julia.”

Julia’s expression was much more startled than friendly. “Ms. Wade . . .”

“Is everything all right?” The girl was pale and her eyes shifted quickly over the people around them.

She nodded and started away. Clearly everything was not all right. The poor kid just buried her boyfriend last week. Her eyes were red-rimmed and she looked like she hadn’t been sleeping. Her movements reminded Madison of a skittish wild animal.

Madison stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Julia?”

“I have to go.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t hear from you last night.” Madison kept her voice low.

“I made a mistake,” she said without making eye contact. Then she pulled her arm away and hurried off.

With a sigh of disappointment, Madison headed toward the Saab. This wasn’t the first time someone who was about to blow the whistle had gotten cold feet. She’d give the girl a day or two, then contact her and try to coax the information from her.

As she reached the outer edge of the mourners, she saw Gabe. He was dressed in a dark suit, white shirt, and blue tie, wearing sunglasses against the glare. He was turned away from the church. And even though she couldn’t see his eyes, she could tell he was watching Ethan.

She walked up to him, resolved to put on a congenial, yet not too friendly public face. Business as usual. “I didn’t see you in the church.”

He shifted his gaze away from her son and looked down at her. “I got here late. Stood in the back.”

“Oh.” She debated for a moment before she said, “Um, this isn’t the time or place, but I have something I need to discuss with you.”

Over the sunglasses, he raised a brow. “Now you’ve got me curious.”

“Don’t get excited. You’re probably not going to like it. Can I come by your office later this afternoon?”

“I’m taking the afternoon off. Why don’t you meet me for a drink at Killroy’s after you put the paper down for a nap.”

With a shake of her head, she said, “You mean put the paper to bed.”

“What’s its bedtime?” he asked with a grin.

“I’ll meet you there at five-thirty.” She started toward Ethan. “And stop grinning. I said you aren’t going to like it.”

Chapter 10

G
ABE HAD TOLD MADDIE he was taking the afternoon off. That was only half true. He’d promised his father he would spend a few hours schmoozing members of the local Chambers of Commerce in Forrest County on behalf of the Marcus Wyatt gubernatorial campaign. It was something he didn’t feel particularly comfortable about. He just hoped no one asked too many political questions.

It wasn’t that he and his father didn’t share the same fundamental ideals. But there was a major fork in their roads when it came to the means by which those ideals were to be achieved, and that made for a rough ride. All in all, he supported his father’s bid for office. Unfortunately, the lead Marcus had been enjoying in the polls was shrinking; thus Gabe’s capitulation on his staying-out-of-the-fray stance.

In a rural county like theirs, the constituents would undoubtedly receive him more warmly in khaki slacks and oxford shirt than his funeral suit. He changed and then left the house his mother fondly referred to as a “quaint cottage.”

Her terminology was far too kind. In reality this house—which he’d purchased last year—was a fixer-upper just short of needing demolition. He looked upon it as an act of mercy, adopting a house too dilapidated and forlorn to attract the attention of a family. The roof sagged and the gutters sprouted a botanical garden all their own. It seemed each time he was ready to tackle one job on his list, another demanded immediate attention—and cash. So far he’d personally installed new plumbing, new electrical wiring, and a new furnace. Those gutters were next on his list . . . as long as something else didn’t blow up, catch on fire, or spring a leak in the meantime.

He waved at his neighbor, Mrs. Caskie, as he walked to the garage. She was a retired elementary school teacher whose husband had passed away about the same time Gabe purchased the house. Consequently, he’d in essence adopted two houses. Luckily, Mrs. Caskie’s didn’t require as many emergency medical treatments as his own, which seemed to be on continual life support.

“Lovely afternoon,” she called, looking up from her roses with her pruners in one gloved hand.

“Yes, ma’am.”

As he swung open the double doors on his 1930s-era garage, she stood and looked with interest. “You getting Old Blue out? Haven’t seen him in a long while now.”

“Don’t want him to start sprouting vegetation like my gutters.” In truth, he couldn’t drive his department vehicle, purchased by tax dollars, on a political campaign.

She chuckled and returned to her roses.

The garage smelled like cobwebs and used motor oil. He carefully rolled the cover off his 1965 Ford pickup and then backed it out of the garage.

While in storage, the transmission leaked like a shirt carrying rainwater. He shut it off, got out, and checked the dipstick. It was its usual quart-and-a-half low.

Once he topped off the transmission fluid, he backed out of the drive, giving Mrs. Caskie one last wave.

He passed Mountain View Baptist on his way out of Buckeye. It made him think of the way Ethan had bolted rather than follow Madison past the casket. The kid had practically tripped over himself getting out of there.

He wondered briefly if Maddie had felt about Ethan the same way Gabe had felt about his house. Had she taken mercy on a boy unlikely to attract the attention of a family in search of a child? Had she seen past the rough exterior and seen strength and character?

The connection was suddenly undeniable. Maddie, a woman not prone to sentimentality, had been drawn to the need in Ethan, just as Gabe had been drawn to rescue a tumbledown house.

But would the rest of the world ever see Ethan as anything other than a throwaway? Would they see the strength, the character? Or, Gabe forced himself to ask, was there something else dwelling deep inside Ethan Wade? Something even Maddie hadn’t seen?

Gabe gave over to chewing on his suspicions in the McPherson murder.

He’d gone back up to Black Rock Falls on Monday; spent the better part of the day up there. And he’d found exactly what he’d expected—nothing.

Maybe something would come from the lab reports.

He didn’t like his current list of potential suspects: (1) Jordan Gray. (2) Ethan Wade. (3) Colin Arbuckle. (4) J.D. Henry. (5) Suspect or suspects unknown. Of those, he’d give his right arm for the murderer to be behind door number five. He’d been digging all week and he’d only added one name to that list: Bobby Gray—with an additional shot-in-the-dark possibility of his brother, Brooks.

Neither Gray brother seemed likely, but none of the other suspects did either . . . except for one. His stomach had nearly eaten itself up this week as he’d thought about it.

There was nothing about Ethan Wade to suggest he had a killer inside him. But then, Gabe admitted to himself, he really didn’t know much about the kid.

Maddie was smart and a woman of the world; not easily duped into believing the boy was something that he wasn’t.

Not that that argument would provide a viable defense.

And Gabe was beginning to worry that Ethan might need one.

Gabe had already begun to beat back rumors.

What would he do if the fear in his gut turned out to be reality?

THE DOWNTOWN BUILDING
that housed Killroy’s was much the same as all the others on the block: Italianate-style brick with ironwork columns and panels flanking the front windows and recessed entryway. The one differentiating factor was the colored leaded glass in those front windows that prevented those on the streets from clearly viewing the interior.

When Madison opened the door, she expected to find a place where Southern-style barbeque influenced both the décor and the aroma. Instead she stepped into an Irish pub. The dark wood bar was complete with brass foot rails and tall spigots for beer on tap. Leaded glass lamps featuring shamrocks and harps hung over the booths. Gaelic music played in the background. Hardly the rodeo chili impression Gabe had given her.

The place was fairly crowded. She looked around, but didn’t see Gabe.

For a few moments she hung by the door, hoping he’d arrive. But when the place started to fill up, she went ahead and took the last high-backed booth. It would afford more privacy than the bar and she didn’t think she and Gabe needed to add more fuel to the gossip wildfire.

Seriously, she should have insisted on his office; even if it meant waiting until morning.

At least they wouldn’t be seen walking in together. Once seated, she ordered a beer . . . a Guinness on tap, something she’d assumed she’d have to forgo in a town like Buckeye.

She’d sipped more than half of it by the time Gabe showed up. He slid into the booth across from her.

“Sorry,” he said. “I got held up.”

“Thought you were taking the afternoon off.” She looked at him over the rim of her glass as she sipped.

“I was doing a little campaigning for my dad.”

“Really?” She’d gotten the impression he didn’t want anything to do with his dad’s political campaign. “How’s that going? It looked like he was slipping a bit when I last checked the polls.” She couldn’t help but add, “Which, if I were guessing, would be because of his plan for eliminating prison overcrowding.”

He gave her an acknowledging grin. “That’d be my guess, too.”

Narrowing her eyes, she leaned forward across the table. “Seems like with a son in law enforcement, he’d have an excellent source to help design a
good
plan.”

He raised his palms in the air. “Hey, I’ve talked politics about all I can stomach for one day. Would you mind giving it a rest?” His words were delivered good-naturedly, but she could see in his eyes he meant it.

“My, my, with an attitude like that, how did you ever get yourself elected sheriff?”

Shifting uncomfortably, he said, “If you must know, I ran unopposed.”

She let loose a bark of laughter. “Seriously? How did you manage that?”

“Sheriff Elliot had a heart attack two years into his term; had to retire. I was appointed to complete his term—guess people just liked me after that.” He offered a schoolboy smile.

“I see.”

The server appeared and Gabe ordered a beer. “You want food?” he asked Madison.

She was seriously starved, since she’d skipped lunch in order to attend the funeral. Ethan had been so depressed after the service that she’d taken pity on him and delivered him home with a foot-long Subway sandwich instead of taking him back to school.

“Um, I’m having dinner with Ethan, but an appetizer would soak up some of this alcohol before my drive home.”

“Nachos?”

The hopeful glisten in his eye made her agree.

He told the server, “Extra jalapeños.”

Madison cut in, “On the side.”

As the server left them alone, Gabe lifted a challenging brow. “After that, no more nasty comments about my candy-ass taste in coffee. Who eats nachos without jalapeños?”

“Hey, I can take the heat. It’s just jalapeños make me drink too much beer. I have work to do when I get home.”

They spent the next minutes carefully avoiding any of the thorny subjects that hung between them, talking like strangers or old friends . . . saying a lot of nothing.

Gabe was enjoying it enough that he pretended there wasn’t a reason that she’d asked to meet with him—a reason she’d warned him he wouldn’t like.

Once the food was delivered, Gabe decided he’d better get his questions out there before she delivered whatever nasty news she had in her pocket. “So tell me about Ethan. I mean, what his life was like before . . .”

“Before me?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s an incredibly resilient and resourceful kid. He survived alone on the streets for over a year before I met him.”

“How old was he?”

“When I met him?” At his nod, she continued. “Twelve.”

“How’d he slip through child protective services?”

She smiled. “I told you he was resourceful. In that neighborhood, the population of street kids is in constant flux, impossible to tell who actually has a home to go to and who doesn’t.”

“No problems with the authorities then?”

With a dismissive shrug, she said, “Not really. Like I said, it was a rough neighborhood, lots of stuff going on.”

“What about his parents?”

She picked at a nacho chip and nibbled the edge. “Same story as thousands of kids. Born into a rough world. His mother died of a drug overdose, but Ethan was already on the streets by then. He said it was easier than going home every day and opening that apartment door to the unknown . . . violence, drugs, men . . . you’ve heard the tale.”

“His dad?”

“Never really in the picture.”

“Was there an issue getting his consent for the adoption?”

With a brusque shake of her head, she said, “That wasn’t a problem.” She brushed the salt from the chips off her hands. “Listen, the reason I asked you to meet me—”

“Ah, yes, the one I’m not going to like.”

Pointing a finger at him, she said, “That very one.” She lowered her voice. “Ethan said something to me that I think you should know.”

He set down the beer he’d been just about to drink and leaned his forearms on the table.

“He said that Jordan was afraid of Steve, afraid at home.”

“Meaning?”

She slumped back in the booth. “I’m not sure. He clammed up before I got specifics. He did say that Steve was always making Jordan do things he didn’t want to do.”

Gabe’s mouth went dry.

She read his face. “Not
those
kinds of things. Ethan said Steve pushed Jordan into sports and that type of thing. He said Jordan always acted terrified to disappoint.”

“Lots of kids feel that way.”

“This seemed out of the ordinary. Ethan was very worried about Jordan, even before the camping trip. He said there were bruises . . . and a broken arm.”

He rubbed his thumb across his lips. “Are you saying that Steve was physically abusive to Jordan?”

“It feels that way to me. And look at the shape Jordan is in right now. It certainly lends credence.”

“Is that why Ethan tore out of the church rather than pass the casket?” That was preferable to the other reason Gabe thought might have prompted it: guilt.

“Ethan is very protective of those he cares about. Jordan is his friend. He said he just couldn’t walk up there, knowing what he knows.”

“But does he really know anything? What you’re telling me is conjecture and circumstance.”

“I know.” She tapped her index finger on the table between them. “I just thought you should know so you can ask the right questions of the right people. Jordan might be a victim in more ways than one. You know as well as I do that the number of blows the autopsy indicated Steve took indicates a whole lot of rage.”

“You think he killed his own stepfather? The kid’s hardly a mass of muscle.”

“All I’m saying is that it’s worth looking into the possibility. Ethan is—” She cut herself off. “It could have been self-defense.”

He sat back and crossed his arms over his chest.

“I told you that you weren’t going to like it.”

“I don’t. I don’t like anything about this entire situation.”