The Line (14 page)

“You knew about this, Oliver?” Connor spat out.

“Yes. I contacted Adam to chew him a new asshole for upsetting Mercy. As it happened, they had just pulled this guy in. I went and visited Judge Matthews to see if we could arrange for the bastard to stay behind bars until we knew for sure.”

“And you didn’t share this because?” Connor continued.

“Because you and Iris have already done enough to hurt the detective’s case. I figured the less you knew, the less damage you could do.”

The two men stared at each other with all the warmth and kindness of junkyard dogs greeting strangers at the gate. Connor broke his gaze and turned to Cook. “So who the hell is the prick, anyway?”

Cook flipped open his black notebook. “His name is Martell Burke. Does the name ring a bell with anyone?”

“Never heard it,” Iris responded. “Have you?” she asked her husband. Connor responded by shifting his chair back and shrugging his shoulders.

Ellen frowned slightly as she tried to match the name with a face. “No,” she responded after a few moments of quiet consideration. “I don’t think so.”

“No,” I seconded Ellen. “Me either.”

Maisie said nothing, but Cook didn’t press her. “I didn’t expect as much,” Cook continued. “He was raised up north, came to Savannah a few months ago. Has a pretty long record, reaching back to juvenile, but mostly small time offenses. Nothing violent,” Cook added.

“So maybe he broke into Ginny’s not knowing who he was taking on?” Maisie asked.

“That is where it gets interesting. Burke may be new to the area, but he has people here. People with deep roots.” Cook paused. “I am sure you are all acquainted with Jilo Wills.”

“Mother Jilo,” Ellen exhaled.

The blood drained from my face as I remembered Jilo’s promise to work the spell I had requested of her. My feelings toward Peter had not changed since my visit to the crossroads, but even with Maisie’s assurance that Ginny’s death had had nothing to do with me, I felt sick. I forced myself to concentrate on what the others were saying, hoping my thoughts wouldn’t betray me. I felt as though I should say something about being with Jilo the night before the murder, but I couldn’t, at least not for now. I looked at Maisie, but her eyes warned me to stay silent.

“That’s right. Martell is Mother Jilo’s great-grandson. So it’s looking much less like this was simply a home invasion turned violent.”

“Well, I can’t imagine why Jilo would want to harm Ginny,” Iris said. “Ginny never interfered with Jilo. She never even took her too seriously.”

“And that could be reason enough for some folk,” Connor offered.

“Wounded pride,” the officer considered. “You could be right there, Mr. Flynn.”

“Have you questioned him? What is he saying about what happened?” Ellen demanded.

“He admits to being at Ginny’s, but swears he never stepped foot inside. We can’t get anything else out of him.”

“Well, let Oliver have a little time with him. That’ll get him talking. And if that don’t work, let me have him for a while,” Connor said, leaning back in his chair again.

“I already proposed that,” Oliver said. “The part about my questioning him, not the part where you try to hold onto the illusion of being a young cock. Detective Cook here would have none of it.” All eyes turned toward Cook.

“Listen, I don’t pretend to understand how y’all do this ‘woo-woo’ stuff that you are into, but I know it’s real. When I was a little boy my grandmother told me that if I couldn’t avoid you Taylors, I’d better make it my business to befriend y’all. I can’t let Oliver near this guy. If I did, I could never be sure that Oliver hadn’t influenced him not only to talk, but also on what to say.”

“You saying you don’t trust me, Adam?” Oliver asked.

“I’m saying I can’t trust you, and Mister, you know why.”

Oliver and Cook locked eyes, and a long moment of silence stretched out as we waited to see who would call chicken first. Cook let it drop. “Burke says he’ll tell us everything after he talks to Mother, but we can’t find her. No one’s seen her at her usual haunt in Colonial lately, and she’s done a good job of staying off the grid other than her appearances at the cemetery.”

“You won’t find her unless she wants to be found,” Iris said.

“That may well be,” Cook responded, “but I was hoping that perhaps Mr. Flynn would be able to give us a lead on where she might be located. Your reputation,” he addressed Connor, “for tracking things down is legendary, and with your vested interest in the matter, I thought perhaps you would be willing to do a little off the record investigating of your own.”

Connor puffed up with the praise, but his response was cautious. “Jilo is a slippery one, Detective. I’ll be happy to give it a go, but I suspect that if she don’t want to be found, I ain’t going to find her.”

“I’d appreciate any help you can offer in the matter—” Cook’s sentence was cut short by the ringing of his cell. He pulled the phone out of its holder, his gaze drifting back to Oliver. He seemed to have a hard time
not
looking at Oliver; it was as if his eyes were hungry for the sight.

“Cook,” the detective answered his phone. “Yes. That’s correct. I am here with the family now.” As he listened, his reaction indicated bad news—his nostrils flared and his eyes widened. “He what? How the hell could he do that? All right. You sure as hell had better. You tell March I want to talk to him the second I get there.” He turned off his phone and looked at us. “Martell Burke disappeared—literally disappeared—from his cell, and I want you all to tell me just how the hell that could have happened.”

“Detective Cook,” Aunt Iris said with raised eyebrows, smiling with only the right side of her mouth. “We want Ginny’s killer brought to justice. I certainly hope you’re not suggesting that we would free the man you suspect of killing her?”

“No ma’am, I don’t think you’d free him, but I sure as hell better not find myself stumbling over his body in a day or two. I need to get back to the station, but y’all can help me by getting me the names and contact information of any relatives who’ve been here for the funeral in case I need to get in touch them.”

He gave Oliver a cold and pointed look. “And don’t you even think of leaving town, Mr. Taylor. If my suspect turns up looking any less than healthy, you, sir, will be the first person I pay a visit. I would suggest you send up a little prayer for Martell’s prompt and safe return to custody.” Cook stared at Oliver for a moment more before slamming out the door.

“We should all keep an eye on each other until they catch this guy,” Connor stated flatly as the sound of Cook’s steps faded away.

“But how could this Burke fellow up and disappear?” Ellen asked. “Unless Mother’s behind it?”

Connor laughed. “Mother ain’t got the juice to pull this kind of stunt off.”

“It appears you are mistaken,” Emmet responded, “as it is unlikely anyone else would have had the motivation to free the man.”

Iris shocked us all by slamming her hands down on the table. “Oliver. Tell me you had nothing to do with this disappearance! You swear to me!”

Oliver’s eyes widened as he shrugged and tried to look innocent. For once he succeeded. “I didn’t Iris. I swear. I didn’t do a thing to Burke.” We all fell quiet and waited. “Nor,” Oliver continued in a somewhat hurt tone, “did I convince anyone else, including Burke himself, to do anything. I really and truly have no idea where he is, or how he managed his Houdini, unless Mother somehow pulled it off.”

“Damned shame.” Connor chuckled. “I would have respected you more if you had. But it is what it is, and we have bigger fish to fry. Let Cook try to round Burke up. We need to deal with the lot drawing. Once we get that handled, we can turn our attention to Burke.”

“He’s right,” Iris said. “We must deal with the matter at hand, and then if the detective still hasn’t apprehended this man, we can deal with the situation ourselves.”

“Wow, you light up the torches and I’ll grab the pitchforks.” Oliver smirked, but Iris’s expression told him she was having none of her little brother’s nonsense at the moment.

“We’ll give the law their chance, but if they can’t handle it, we will,” she replied, stressing the word “we” to let Oliver know that he was indeed part of that pronoun. “Ginny’s blood is crying out for justice, and I for one will not ignore its call.”

THIRTEEN

I had a lot of processing to do, so I took the first possible opportunity to excuse myself and go back upstairs. The nine families seemed scandalized that Ginny had kept me ignorant. I wondered what they’d think if they knew they were singing from the same song sheet as Mother Jilo.

Now that enough time had passed for the golem to understand that I was changing for my own reasons and not anyone else’s, I put on a light cotton dress and some comfortable shoes. Nice, not disrespectful by any standards, but also not making any more of a display in Ginny’s honor than was necessary. One of the cousins knocked tentatively at my door and told me that I had a visitor, a young redheaded man who seemed quite anxious to see me. I gave myself a quick look in the mirror and headed downstairs.

Freshly showered and dressed in jeans and white T-shirt, Peter was a fresh breath of air in the sepulchre that our home had become. He beamed when he laid eyes on me, and I noticed that the pulse in his neck became visible as he took me in.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be here today. I came as soon as I could.” I hurried over to him and kissed him on the cheek. As happy as I was to see on him, this wasn’t the time or place for more. His disappointed face showed that he’d been hoping for a more impassioned greeting, but he settled for it, placing a gentle kiss on the top of my head.

“Well if it isn’t little Peter Tierney,” Uncle Oliver said, walking up from the direction of the library. “All grown up, and nicely too, might I add.” He gave Peter a big theatrical wink.

“Will you stop flirting with my boyfriend?” I blurted out. It felt odd to call him that…but appropriate. Somehow he was so much more to me than a simple boyfriend; boyfriends could come and go, but Peter was a true friend, a fixture, someone I’d always want in my life in some capacity. It wasn’t passion, but a conscious decision that had led me to choose him as my own. But simply saying the word had made me see him in a more romantic light, as sure as if I had uttered a magical incantation.

“Oh, now, Mercy.” Oliver feigned hurt. “I’m simply appraising, perhaps complimenting, but never flirting.”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Taylor.” Peter laughed. “If I ever go gay, it will be for you.”

“I’m going to hold you to that,” Oliver responded. “But I’d rather you make that little girl there happy.”

“Gonna do my best to do just that, sir.”

“Sir.” Oliver chuckled and walked away.

“He can really be too much,” I said, shaking my head in disbelief.

“Ah, he isn’t that bad,” Peter responded. “And he sure does love you.” He wrapped his arms around me and nuzzled his face in my hair. I took a deep breath and let myself relax in his embrace.

“Yeah, I know he does,” I said. “In his own way at least.”

Peter spun me around in his arms. “I like the sound of that, you know. You calling me your boyfriend.”

“I kind of like the sound of it myself,” I responded and rose up on my toes to kiss his lips. I let my kiss linger, and then pressed my head into his chest. His T-shirt felt soft against my skin.

“Peter.” I heard Maisie’s voice call out as she descended the stairs. I turned just enough to see her coming down, Jackson following on her heels. Maisie had changed from her funeral clothes into a black cocktail dress. So she had chosen to go formal for the evening. Next to her, I would look totally underdressed, but next to her, I would always come in second place anyway. Even in an old gray T-shirt and cutoff shorts she was astoundingly beautiful. Dressed like this, it didn’t seem possible that any straight man could resist her. Flawless skin, a small straight nose, and heart-shaped lips that looked great even with no lipstick. Her honey blond hair hung loose, falling for a moment over her sapphire eyes. She brushed it back with her hand.

“Hello, Maisie,” Peter responded. I didn’t want to see his reaction to her—I was sure he’d be as dazzled as any other man—but I couldn’t help myself. I turned to look at him. And in his eyes I saw nothing other than an honest friendliness. Then he looked back at me, and I saw fire. Something rushed from my head all the way to the soles of my feet, and if he hadn’t been holding me, I could very well have keeled over.

“Jackson. Good to see you,” Peter said, his eyes still locked on me. I turned to face the staircase when I heard Jackson’s name. His beautiful features were twisted into a combination of jealousy and barely suppressed rage that I would only have expected if he’d walked in on Peter and Maisie going at it.

Maisie read something in my expression and turned in time to catch what I had seen on Jackson’s face. She swiveled around quickly, pretending not to have noticed, but I knew her too well. I had seen her angry often, and this kind of anger, the cold kind, was the most frightening. “If you are hungry, Peter, there are a ton of leftovers in the kitchen,” she said, descending the rest of the stairs. “You should hurry on back and have some before Iris chases you out of here, though. Family business is going on tonight, and Iris is very limited in her definition of family.”