Tin God (10 page)

Miserable, stinking heat. Evening brought little relief to the sweltering southern summer. Nick had lived in Mississippi all his life, and most of the time the temperature didn’t bother him, but tonight the air was heavy and wet with humidity, the sky covered with smoky haze.

His running shoes beat against Annabelle’s cobbled stone walk as he left the Victorian. The windows were dark, Annabelle herself having long since retired. A brief, hot breeze wafted by, and a pink magnolia drifted from the tree branch. Nick scooped up the withered bloom and crushed it in his hand.

He was tired as hell. He’d spent half the day on the phone with Sergeant Kees in Jackson bringing her up to date on what he’d found out so far, which wasn’t more than a wadded ball of frayed kite string. He’d spent the other part of the day working his ass off–mostly out of guilt–for his father-in-law. Oren had conned him into helping break up the old brick walk in the backyard, and Nick’s muscles screamed in discomfort. As soon as the sun drooped into the western horizon, he’d gone back to Annabelle’s, showered, and crawled into bed.

But sleep evaded him. The window air conditioner in his room hummed loudly, and the sound matched the disquiet of his brain. He couldn’t stop thinking about Jaymee and of the pain she must have endured the last several years. She liked to think of herself as tough, but she wore her emotions like a heavy winter jacket.

Anger at her father and Wilcher gleamed in her dark eyes and constantly hovered on the tip of her tongue. Always ready to strike, to defend, to fight. And who could blame her?

Her father had been a bastard all her life, and she’d turned to the one man she’d trusted. He’d used her and left her miserable. At the very least, Paul Ballard and Holden Wilcher deserved a good thrashing. Likely more. One of those men had probably murdered Lana.

A breeze wafted through the town square, carrying the heady scent of magnolias. Lana had loved the sweet-smelling trees. She’d wanted to buy a house with at least two on the property, to remind her of home. Nick sucked back the sob of grief.

Coming to Roselea had brought more pain than he’d anticipated. Lana had walked these streets, marveled over the antebellum homes. She’d wanted to come back some day and raise their children in her hometown. They’d spent the Christmas before her murder here with her parents, and with reverence in her voice, she’d commented on how little the town had changed. She’d admired its stagnancy.

Yet its southern charm hid the typical small-town bullshit. Paul Ballard had yet to be hauled in for questioning despite the new information. Cage said Detective Charles had been told by the mayor to tread lightly, not to make the situation any more volatile than it already was.
Unbelievable
. Nick wondered if Ballard got a pass because of his threats or his connection to the town’s golden boy, Wilcher.

He ambled toward Roselea’s historic square, hands in his pockets and his shirt sticking to his skin. The town seemed to have closed up after dark; the sidewalks were empty and most of the shops were closed. Only Sallie’s remained open. Was Jaymee still working? Had she calmed down enough to talk?

Mosquitoes swarmed beneath the street lamp. It looked to be a luminaire–an antique just like the rest of this town. Nick crossed the quiet street before the bloodsuckers caught his scent and found himself standing in front of the diner’s door.

He didn’t want to look like a peeping jerk, so he pulled out his phone and made a show of scrolling through his contacts. A mane of chestnut hair caught his eye through the window.
Jaymee
. She knelt in a booth, scrubbing the table with force. Her plump mouth was set in a tight grimace, and pink splotches colored her face.

His right foot jerked forward, but the left remained rooted. She probably didn’t want to see him. He shifted his weight backward, ready to turn around and head for Annabelle’s, just as Jaymee twisted and sat down in the booth, head in her hands.

Damn
.

An annoying, loud bell on top of the diner’s glass door signaled his entrance. Jaymee jumped to her feet. She wiped her cheeks and then turned around, a false smile plastered on her flushed face. It didn’t last long.

“What do you want?” Her eyes were narrowed, but her quivering lip and shaky voice made it clear she was struggling for composure.

“I was out for a walk and saw you in the window. You looked upset.”

Jaymee crossed her arms, her small fingers digging into her tanned skin hard enough to leave white spots. “Thank you, but I’m fine.” A beat of charged silence passed between them before she turned away.

“We need to talk.”

“Sorry, I’m working.”

“You don’t have to take all this on by yourself.”

Jaymee dropped the spray bottle she was using to clean and whirled to face him. “People I rely on have a strange way of getting killed, Nick. Might want to do yourself a favor and go back to Jackson. Forget about all this and move on with your life.”

“I can’t do that.”

Jaymee turned to scrub a table that already looked clean. Her jaw jutted out in an effort to hold back her tears.

“We can solve this,” Nick said. “Get justice for everyone. Bring Sarah home.”

Jaymee’s chin dropped to her chest as an older woman pushed through the swinging doors, her salt and pepper hair pulled back in a tidy knot. “I thought I heard the bell.”

“He’s a friend of Cage’s.” Jaymee started cleaning again. “He just stopped by to say hello, Sallie.”

“Maybe he’ll walk you home. I hate your running around by yourself at night, especially with what’s happened. When I think of Rebecca and what you saw…” Sallie gave a little jerk of her head.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Stubborn mule.” The older woman glanced at Nick. “Would you mind seeing her home for me, dear? I’m too old to be worrying like this.”

“Sallie, there’s no need for that.” Jaymee looked mortified.

“No problem.” Nick grinned at Sallie’s smug expression. She nodded and then bustled back into the kitchen. Nick faced Jaymee’s glare. “Come on. Am I supposed to let you walk home alone?”

“I do it every other night.” Jaymee grabbed a napkin holder and scrubbed furiously.

She hunched over the table, the muscles in her back rope-like with tension. She shoved the napkin holder back in place and reached for the saltshaker, nearly dropping it. “Why are you doing this?”

“I know you can take care of yourself,” Nick said. “But your friend’s dead, and her killer is still out there. Your father might be involved. I can’t just let you walk home in the dark. And I’ve got questions that need to be answered.”

He let the words hang in the air. Pushing Jaymee on the details of her affair with Wilcher might make Nick a cad, but he didn’t have a choice. He needed to know everything if they were going to knock Holden Wilcher off his pious mountain.

Jaymee chewed on her lip before the hard set of her mouth went slack. “I’m off in ten minutes.”

“I’ll get my car.”

###

Exhaustion rendered Jaymee defenseless. She slouched in Nick’s comfortable leather seats, eyes half closed. A jackhammer beat at her temples, pounding the same names into her brain over and over. Wilcher. Paul. Even Penn Gereau. Hypocrites of the cloth.

“They haven’t brought my father in for questioning, have they?”

“Cage said he’s supposed to come in tomorrow.”

Jaymee snorted. Unladylike as hell, but she wasn’t about to cry. Not over Paul. “I’m not surprised. He and his cronies are above the law.”

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” Nick said. “I didn’t mean to corner you into telling me about Wilcher.”

A ten-pound bag of tension crawled up Jaymee’s back and wedged itself between her shoulders. Her tongue raked her teeth, her toes tapping an uneven rhythm. “Don’t worry about it.”

“You’re punishing yourself for something that wasn’t your fault.”

Jaymee licked her dry lips. “I made the decision to get involved with him. I chose to trust his advice.”

“You were seventeen. Wilcher preyed on you. He knew your father treated you like shit. Hell, Wilcher was probably more of a parent to you and your brother than Paul. Am I right?”

“Close enough.”

“Then you grow up, turn into a beautiful woman,” Nick said. “Yet you’re still a kid with raging hormones and just looking for someone to make you feel loved. He pounced.”

A warm sensation shot through her at Nick’s offhanded compliment. “Good guess.”

Nick drove with his left hand, his right drumming against the center cap of the steering wheel. His fingernails tapped against the gleaming chrome.

“Go ahead.” Jaymee might as well answer all his questions now. No point in hiding anything.

“What about your parents?” The vein in the side of Nick’s forehead bulged. “Didn’t they give a damn about what Wilcher did to you?”

“I didn’t tell them who Sarah’s father was. Paul wouldn’t have believed me, and my mother…” Whatever energy she had left evaporated. Her muscles turned to heavy lumps. “My mother’s always been Paul’s scapegoat. I didn’t want to add to it.”

“Don’t you think she would have tried to help?”

“There was nothing she could have done.” Jaymee rubbed her eyes. “Paul always blamed her for any mistakes I made. Getting pregnant caused her enough pain. If I’d accused Wilcher–”

“Why didn’t she leave him?”

Jaymee had asked her mother that question once. Sonia had told her never to say those words again. “I think she’s afraid.”

“And Wilcher helped convince you to keep quiet, of course,” Nick said.

Bitter tasting, hateful regret fueled Jaymee’s words. “The people of Jackson needed him, he said. After five years, his show was finally taking off, contributions rushing in. Mississippi conservatives loved him, and even the liberals praised his efforts at taking the focus off right to life and bringing adoption into the forefront of the abortion debate.”

“Why didn’t you reach out to Lana when you found out you were pregnant?”

“She was in school, busy with her own life. And I was ashamed.”

Humiliated. Broken. Miserable. If Wilcher had stood by Jaymee, if her father hadn’t berated her, if her own mother had offered a drop of support, then maybe she could have summoned the courage to tell Lana and Cage. Finding out she was pregnant had been bad enough, but seeing Wilcher’s disappointment drained Jaymee of any self-esteem she had left. Of course he’d used her need for affection to seduce her and then manipulated her misery into doing his bidding. She understood that now.

“A black-market adoption was the perfect way for Wilcher to hide his paternity. Kept it all under his control at Hannah’s House.”

“That’s what Lana said.”

“So you get pregnant. Wilcher’s a coward, but he’s got connections. Finds an attorney willing to make some extra cash on the side. Which means he’s got at least one accomplice.”

“Two,” Jaymee said. “Don’t forget about Debra Davies.”

“Right.” Nick rubbed the back of his neck. “So we need to find her.”

“And we’re back to the same place I’ve been in for seven years.”

“What about Reverend Gereau? You think he knew about the fraudulent adoption?”

“I’m sure of it.”

Nick made a sharp sound in his throat. Heavy silence lingered between them, sucking up all the air until the car boiled. The ringing of his phone shattered the spell.

“It’s my contact at the Jackson P.D.” He tapped the phone with his thumb. “Hello?”

His eyes widened at whatever the caller was saying. “Hang on, I’m driving. Let me put you on speaker.” Nick held a finger to his lips. Jaymee nodded.

“Okay, Sergeant,” Nick said.

“I dug through our evidence notes. We’ve still got Lana’s planner,” Sergeant Kees said. “Six months before she was killed, Lana worked a case involving Royce Newton. Typical custody deal. She was the kids’ social worker. She had a few meetings with Newton scheduled.”

Jaymee looked at Nick. Was this supposed to help them? He shook his head. “Anything more?”

“Day she was killed, she had lunch with a friend at the Parlor Market,” Kees said. “Written down in her datebook. Scrawled just beneath the appointment, in a different color of ink, is Royce Newton’s name with an exclamation point. I called the friend Lana had lunch with that day, and she remembers what happened. Her last lunch with Lana.”

“Why wasn’t that done four years ago?” Nick asked.

“We spoke to Newton then, and he confirmed his dealings with Lana. No one thought to question the friend about Royce–just Lana’s everyday habits, relationships, hangouts. You know the drill.”

Nick made a growling sound deep within his throat. “What did the friend say when you talked to her this time?”

“Lana was stressed out about a ten year old being jostled around the foster system. All of a sudden, she stopped ranting mid-sentence. Friend said Lana’s faced turned white, then red. She started muttering about manipulative liars. When the friend saw who Lana was staring at, she didn’t know what to think.”

“Who was it?” Nick asked.

“Royce Newton, Reverend Holden Wilcher, and another man.”

“What did the other man look like?” Nick asked.

“Average height, blue button-up dress shirt, pot belly. Dark hair, trimmed mustache. Sour-faced, that’s what the friend said. She remembered the guy sitting next to Wilcher. Lana called him Paul.”

“Paul Ballard,” Nick said. “He’s a suspect in the murder of Royce Newton’s wife. What else did Lana’s friend say? And who was this friend?”

“Kara Butler.”

“I remember her,” Nick said. “Works at the courthouse, in records. Met her a few times.”

“She said Lana called Holden Wilcher a pig in a silk hat and wondered how much Royce and Paul got for being his lackeys. When Kara pressed the issue, Lana clammed up and wouldn’t talk any more about it. Just said the truth was going to come out soon enough.”

Sickness rolled through Jaymee’s stomach and into her throat. Her knee jerked, smacking the dash. She’d forgotten until now. “She left me a message at the diner the day she was killed.”

“What?” Kees said. “Who the hell is that?”

Nick slammed the brakes, and Jaymee shot forward, the seat belt digging into her collarbone. She braced herself for impact, but thankfully the road was empty. Nick hit the gas again and pulled off onto the shoulder.