Tin God (22 page)

“You and Holden,” Nick said.

“Jesus Christ,” Elaine said. “Of course.”

“I asked if there were suspects.” Debra’s cold voice grew shrill. “Answer me.”

“Theory is Holden and Royce beat it out of town, tails between their pompous asses.” That was only a working theory. Charles still feared something else had happened to Holden. “Cops got some interesting information from Royce’s financials. Took a while to discover since he’s got them hidden under RLN Enterprises. Not a great name for a doing-business-as operation, by the way.”

“I don’t care about that. I want to know what’s happened to Holden.”

“Seems Royce’s got a side business of sorts,” Nick said. “The fifth of every month, three thousand dollars is deposited to RLN Enterprises from New Life Baptist Church. Signee’s Gladys Wilcher, which makes sense. She handles the church finances and is probably clueless to her husband’s various dalliances.”

“Or maybe she ignores them in favor of ignorant bliss,” Elaine said.

Debra shook her head. The shark might be flopping on deck, but her eyes still glowed with hate.

“Forensic accounting traced RLN Enterprises back to Royce,” Nick said. “Seems he’s the primary owner, and I’m guessing the three grand is his monthly cut from the illegal adoptions.”

“So how does it work?” Elaine cut in. “I’m assuming you take the money from desperate prospective parents, and the three grand is Newton’s take for making sure the legal paperwork is up to par? RLN’s a dummy corporation, right?”

“Answer my question about Holden.”

“Isn’t it obvious? He and Newton bailed and left you to take the heat.”

“Holden would never do that to me,” Debra said. “This is our operation.”

Nick smiled at her mistake. Debra glared back at him.

“So who does the killing when people get too close?” Elaine said.

“Holden’s no killer.”

“My money’s on Paul Ballard, Holden’s lifelong ass kisser,” Nick said. “At Holden’s order. Which makes him an accessory at the least. Of course, he’s in the wind, and since it’s your operation, Debra, you’re an accessory too.”

“I don’t know anything about any murders. Neither does Holden. He’s not a killer.” Debra repeated her words with less conviction.

“But he’s a damned liar,” Elaine said.

“You can’t prove anything.”

“I can prove he fathered my baby–the first baby he sold,” Elaine said. “I’ve even got his signature saying as much. And now that you’ve admitted your part, I’m willing to go to the police. That should be enough to bring Holden in.”

“Then there’s the false adoption of Jaymee’s baby,” Nick said. “You know, the other child Holden fathered. Fun’s over with, Deb.”

She’d turned a frightening shade of puce. “Now you listen to me.”

“It started out as Holden’s idea,” Elaine cut her off. “He pulled it off with our son and then got greedy. Somewhere along the way, he met you. Perfect sidekick.”

Debra wrapped her arms around her chest and stared at the wall. The muscle in her jaw popped. Her lips were white.

Nick scooted his chair closer. Debra’s head snapped around, and she glared at him with such ferocity he almost laughed.

“Look. We want justice for my wife. Jaymee wants to find her daughter,” Nick said. “I don’t think you were involved in the murders. That’s not your style. You’re all about the con. Sophistication, manipulation, and greed. Killing someone doesn’t make you any money. I think someone like you would find a better way to protect her investment.

“But the police? They’re out for blood. Roselea’s a small town. Makes a lot of money off tourists. Murder’s bad for business. But if a favorite son like Holden Wilcher’s involved? That’s a death blow.”

“Get to the point,” Debra said.

“Quickest way to solve these murders is to pin it all on you, the Jackson outsider. A seductress. You manipulated both Holden and Royce into doing your bidding. That’s what they’ll say, if they’re even found.”

“That’s ridiculous. There’s nothing to tie me to any murder.”

“Except your previously confessed connection to Holden’s black-market scheme. Trust me, Deb,” Nick said. “You’re the easy suspect here. And a girl like you, in prison? Communal showers? Prison orange? No makeup, no hairstylist. None of the finer things in life. And life’s exactly what you’ll get if they manage to pin even one of these murders on you.”

Debra looked between Nick and Elaine, nerves making her left eyelid twitch. He waited, letting her chew on everything he’d told her.

“You tell us everything you know, we’ll get up and walk out of here instead of calling the police. Give you a head start on getting the hell out of Mississippi.”

The seconds dragged by. Debra’s heel tapped on the carpeted floor. Her once pink lips were now smudged from chewing and pale with anxiety. Spots of red dotted her fair skin.

“It’s up to you, Deb.” Nick tapped his pocket. “I can call the cops right now, or wait.”

She bared her teeth. “We met at the offices of Clark and Newton. Ten years ago, I was the firm’s secretary.”

“So you’ve got legal knowledge.”

“Paralegal,” Debra said.

“Hannah’s House opened ten years ago,” Elaine said.

“That’s why Holden came to see Mr. Clark. He wanted to procure a donation for Hannah’s. He got it. And me.”

“That easily?” Nick said.

“Took some time. But he’s persuasive. And well off.”

“How’d you two decide to keep stealing babies?” Elaine asked.

Debra sneered. She’d transformed from a sophisticated lawyer-vixen to a heartless, hard-looking shrew. “All his idea. There was a lot of money to be made. Worked out for the parents and the kids.”

“And when my wife came in and started talking about Jaymee, you knew you had to silence her. Who made the call, Royce or Holden?”

“Royce wasn’t involved until he stuck his nose in where it didn’t belong. And I didn’t work there when your wife showed up. I’d already quit, but I remember damned Lana. That woman changed everything.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Royce figured us out. He didn’t have any hard proof, but he did have pictures of Holden and me in compromising positions.”

“Cheating on his wife with a hot, younger woman. Not too good for the tin god of Jackson.”

“Excuse me?”

“Idol worshippers in Biblical times often prayed to idols made of metal,” Nick said. “Christians–worshippers of the one true God–believed these to be false gods. A tin god is a false god, an idol who’s worshipped by those too ignorant to understand his treachery.”

“Sounds like Holden Wilcher to me,” Elaine said.

“So Royce Newton blackmailed the two of you,” Nick said. “That’s where the routine three grand deposit comes in.”

“How smart of you,” Debra snapped. “Except I didn’t kill anyone, and neither did Holden. He wasn’t worried about Lana. She never had all the information. She was just a dog searching for an old bone.”

“She had information,” Elaine said. “I gave it to her. Proof that Holden fathered my baby. I even had copies of the cancelled checks for medical fees and testing.”

“I’ve never seen anything like that.” Debra slid back in her chair. “You’re full of shit.”

“Nope,” Nick said. “Elaine’s still got the copies. So does the murderer. Hey, does Holden have access to your place? You have a safe?”

Wild fear burst across her face. Debra searched the room as if an answer would suddenly appear, licking her lips raw. She scratched her face, digging her fake nails into her cheek.

“Holden wouldn’t.”

Nick kept feeding her the bait. He needed Debra to believe Holden had turned on her. “Ask yourself–who’s got the most to lose? Who’s got the TV show? The love of the state’s conservatives?”

“Newton has plenty to lose,” Debra seemed to be babbling to herself. “He’s a well-known name, has family money. His wife is one of the victims!”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Nick said. “But is it worth the risk?”

She shook her head, red hair swishing like flames.

Elaine nudged Nick and then took over. “Instead of running, why don’t you help us out–and yourself–by giving up Royce and Holden. Let the police figure out who the killer is.”

“No.” She reached blindly for her purse, jumping when she realized it was on the floor.

Nick tapped his pocket. “It’s going to be a race to the cops, Debra. Whoever caves first will get the best deal. Might as well be you. Lovely as you are, you’ll be in and out of prison in no time, especially if you can pin it all on Holden. And if you don’t, you’re going to be a suspect in a really tangled murder case.”

Wild-eyed and sweating, Debra made one last attempt at bravado. “Debra Davies isn’t my real name. I’ll disappear by the time you get this information to them.”

“Debra Rogers.” Nick enjoyed seeing the shock play out on her face. He tapped the business card she’d dropped to the table. “You were smart to use an alias, but you never should have had this number listed to your real name–not to mention the same initials. Easy enough for the phone company to track once they had the number. Thank God for my connections.”

All decorum and glamour had dissipated. Debra’s once smooth hair frizzed, sweat gleamed on her forehead, and stress hives erupted across her face. Standing up, she ran her hand over her hair, but only made it worse. “I’m leaving. You’re not the police. Don’t you think I’ve prepared for this? There was always a chance we’d be caught. Holden was too confident to consider it, but I always had an escape plan.

“Holden’s not a killer. And he wouldn’t frame me. I don’t know where he is, but I’m sure,” her voice wavered, “I’m sure he’s waiting for me. I’ll find him.”

“Maybe Holden’s not a killer,” Nick said. “Maybe you arranged the murders to protect your own ass. After all, you’re the one with the plan.”

Debra picked up her bag and slung it over her shoulder. “Good luck on catching your murderer, Mr. Samuels.”

“I don’t need luck. I’ve got proof.”

“You don’t have any proof of murder. All you’ve managed to do is bankrupt our enterprise. These women knowing our little secret isn’t enough to prove they were killed over it.”

“People have killed for a lot less, honey. And once Paul Ballard learns about his hero being nailed to the wall, he’ll talk.” Nick was confident. “He’ll turn on Holden faster than you can crawl under your rock.”

“Better Holden than me.” Debra’s smile was brittle, her lips quivering. “And tell Jaymee Ballard her daughter went to a good home.”

“You can tell her yourself. You’ll be seeing her soon enough.”

“I’ll move faster than you.”

Nick pulled a digital recording device from his pocket. “Not with this baby. It’s wireless. Not mine. Sergeant Kees of the Jackson PD gave it to me this morning when I told her what I was planning.” He waved at the stout woman making her way across the restaurant with two uniformed officers. “Nifty little thing. Streams right into their system.”

Debra’s head twisted around. She stumbled backward on her heels, falling into her chair.

“I’ll be giving my records to Sergeant Kees as well,” Elaine said.

“So Holden Wilcher is going down,” Nick said. “Too bad he didn’t call you when Jaymee confronted him yesterday. Maybe you’d have been able to stay out of jail.”

Sweat rolled down the back of Jaymee’s neck. In just a few days, she’d gotten used to the comfortable air conditioning at the Foster’s house, and the trailer’s window fans seemed even more lacking. Still, the oppressive heat and crappy furnishings were a welcoming constant in a world that had just been capsized.

The young patrol officer hadn’t argued when she’d asked to be brought back to the trailer. She didn’t want to face Oren and Lorelai just yet. Didn’t want to explain the latest drama in her life.

Numbness seized her overheated body. Standing in her tiny bathroom, she stared at the reflection in the mirror. The same heart-shaped face gazed back at her, same dimples, same full lips, same naturally rosy cheeks. And yet she looked completely different. All that she’d known–both good and bad–was a lie. Her real father didn’t hate her. He would have killed for her.

But he could have saved her a long time ago.

She had no words to articulate her feelings. On the surface, she boiled with anger at Penn Gereau. His cowardly acts had ruined her life. But beyond that, irritating compassion brewed. He’d been a young man in trouble and made the best decision at the time.

Heartbreakingly familiar.

Condensation clouded the mirror. Jaymee swiped her hand over the glass leaving an ugly smear. A perfect metaphor for her mess of a life. She was too tired to muster the energy to cry. Chaos whirled around her. Nick was closing in on the murderer, Holden was half-dead, his co-conspirators against the wall. And yet Jaymee stood still, toes on the edge of a virtual precipice, unable to leap forward or step back. Stagnant.

For seven years, her life’s goal had been to find her daughter and bring her home. But Gereau’s words, and Elaine’s before that, ate at her. If a mother’s first responsibility was the well being and happiness of her child, did Jaymee have the right to shatter that for her own personal needs?

She’d once thought Sonia had been a lousy mother, her courage beaten out of her by Paul. But Jaymee was wrong. Her mother was the strongest person she knew. She’d endured years of Paul’s abuse to keep her family together and their names out of the mud. She’d taken his beating as penance for her misdeeds and shielded Jaymee as best she could. She’d made the ultimate sacrifice for her children.

Could Jaymee do the same?

Someone banged on the trailer door. Jaymee gave her reflection a final glare, wiped the sweat off her face with a wet washcloth, and crossed the trailer to peek out the window. Her brother stood on the cracked steps.

Dammit.

“Hey.” Jaymee opened the door, bracing herself. She hadn’t spoken to Darren since crashing the family get-together and declaring war on Holden. Darren hadn’t believed her then, and he probably wouldn’t now.

His eyes were bloodshot, and he sported a couple days’ worth of beard. “Can I come in?”

“Sure.”

She sat down at the table motioning for Darren to sit. He leaned against the wall instead, in the very same spot Nick occupied just a few nights ago. Had so much really changed since then?

“How are you doing?”

Darren’s polo shirt was wrinkled, and his denim shorts looked grimy. For a few long seconds, he studied Jaymee. Finally, he drew a full breath and spoke. “How do you think I’m doing, sis? Our family is being torn apart.”

“I’m sorry about Holden.”

“Are you?” Emotion strangled his words. “After what you said, I would expect you’d be happy.”

“I hate him. But that doesn’t make this right.”

Darren rubbed his right hand over his face. His fingernails were dirty. “He’s still unconscious.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Detective Charles told me Reverend Gereau did this to Holden.” Darren drummed his fist on the wall in slow, deliberate rhythm. His eyes were almost vacant, and dark circles of exhaustion made him look slightly crazed. “Dad’s beside himself. And police spent half the night questioning him about Holden–his best friend. Our father would never–”

“He’s not my father.”

Darren slammed his fist against the trailer hard enough to rattle the windows. “Just. Don’t. He might not have treated you fairly, but he still put a roof over your head, fed you, clothed you. He’s still your father.”

“Actually, he’s not.”

“What are you talking about?”

She licked her dry lips and then gnawed at the corner of her mouth until her teeth broke the skin. Darren looked at her with angry, accusing eyes, and she tasted vomit.

“Speak.”

And she did. The story poured out of her, from the affair to Holden’s deception and Gereau’s confession. She told Darren about Sarah’s false adoption and imminent departure to Europe, about Elaine Andrews, about Nick’s trip to Jackson. Every nugget of truth jumped out of her mouth faster than she could think.

Her brother listened in silence. When she was finished, Jaymee fell back against the seat, spent and oddly relieved. Spilling her guts was liberating.

“So you’re saying,” Darren stepped forward, bracing himself against the bench seat, “that Holden Wilcher, the man who helped me get into college and get a good job, the guy who treated us both like his own, not only fathered your child, but sold her as part of a black-market adoption ring? And that she’s not the only one? There are more?”

“Yeah. Probably a lot more. Elaine Andrews has proof. Nick’s gone to Jackson to get it. Lana had it with her when she was killed.”

“And you plan to use this evidence to get a warrant for DNA, keep your kid from leaving?”

“I hope. We don’t have much time.”

“I see.”

“So you believe me, finally?”

Darren moved to the kitchen area. He turned on the water and splashed some on his face. He dried it with the dishtowel and then placed the towel back on the plastic hook hanging next to the window. His hair had gotten wet, and he slicked it back off his forehead. A long, exasperated sigh escaped him, the kind he usually reserved for Jaymee when she’d done something stupid.

A chill swept across the back of her neck. “You don’t believe me.”

He moved closer, reaching for something in his back pocket. “I believe every bit of this is your damned fault.”

Jaymee’s head snapped back as if she’d been slapped. “Excuse me?”

“Reverend Gereau beat Holden in your name. Holden’s blood might as well be on your hands.” The detachment in his voice should have made Jaymee cower in her seat, but instead, she stood up and closed the distance between herself and Darren.

“That’s ridiculous. I had no idea what Gereau had planned.”

“But you’re his child. A parent does anything to protect their child. And vice versa.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Holden was like a father to me.”

“Darren.”

“Stop.” He took his hand out of his pocket. He clutched a shiny hunting knife. “I tried to save him. But you did this to Holden.”

A paralyzing moment of clarity washed over Jaymee. Fresh sweat erupted over her hot skin. Her lungs expanded and then contracted painfully, cold terror filling them.

She stepped away from her brother.

He smiled.

“No.” Jaymee’s whisper was weak. Her rapidly beating heart sent blood rushing through her veins. It pounded in her temples, the pressure causing the room to sway. She stumbled, bumping against the table. She grabbed the edge for support.

Darren watched, his face an ugly mixture of amusement and sheer disgust.

“It’s not possible.”

“What’s not possible? That I would go to any length to protect the one person who’s always been there for me?” Darren grasped her shoulders, his fingernails digging into her skin.

“That’s what family is about, Jaymee. Protecting your own. But you never understood that. Everything has always been about you. No sacrifice for the greater good.”

“The greater good?”

“Holden served a higher purpose. He was a speaker of God, a champion for children. A good man.” He shook her hard enough to slam her tailbone against the table. She bit back a cry of pain.

“He helped so many people. Guided the confused, sheltered the lost, loved the abandoned.”

“Like he loved you.”

“He was the only father I had.” Darren’s spit hit her face. She didn’t dare move. “Paul treated me like a duty. Nothing was ever good enough for him. Only thing that did make him happy was my relationship with Holden. Gave me a purpose. A sense of worth, of self.”

“Holden manipulated you the same as he did me. He just used you differently.”

Another shake. Jaymee’s neck snapped back, and this time, she grabbed Darren’s shirt collar. “Stop. You’re hurting me.”

He dropped his hands. “Of course. And this isn’t the plan.”

Never taking her eyes off him, Jaymee rubbed her neck. “What is the plan?”

“You’re going for a little ride with me.”

“I don’t think so.” She slid around the length of the table inching toward the door, trying to remember what little she knew about self-defense. Go for the tender spots: the groin, the knees, the stomach. Kick. Scream. Run.

Her legs gained fifty pounds, weighed down with fear. Jaymee barely managed to lift them an inch off the floor.

Think
.
It’s Darren
.

Her brother. The one person who truly understood the hell and horror and heartache of growing up in the Ballard prison. Deep down, he still cared about Jaymee. He had to, or she was in deep shit.

“Darren, listen to me. I never meant for Reverend Gereau to hurt Holden. I only wanted the truth to come out and to get my daughter back. That’s all.”

“That’s all?” The high-pitched words bounced off the metal walls. “Never mind ruining his reputation and sending him to prison.”

“He broke the law. He sold children!”

“He gave them a better life. You think Sarah would be happy here with you? Living in this piece of shit trailer that could be demolished by the next storm? Wearing hand-me-downs from Goodwill and being left alone while her Mom slings slop at the diner?”

His cruel words registered and then evaporated. She’d never told anyone in her family what she’d named her daughter. Only Lana, and later, Cage. Finally, Nick. No one else.

“How do you know her name?”

His once-cherubic face turned ugly, the corner of his mouth angled up in a smile that made Jaymee envision putting her hands around his neck and strangling him until he pleaded for a breath of mercy.

“Her adoptive parents kept the name. Holden suggested it to them.” He smiled wider.

That did it. She lunged for him, fingers outstretched, reaching for his neck. He caught her by the wrists, spun her around, slammed her back against his chest, and pinned her in a sweaty embrace.

“You should be nicer to me. Your daughter’s leaving the country on Sunday, and I know where she lives. With Holden half dead, I’m the only one with the answer you’re begging for.”

Her pulse sped up to a marathon beat, but her rational mind spoke first. “If you’re not bluffing, you aren’t telling me.”

“Isn’t that a risk you’ll have to take? After all, your friends died for this information. They begged for their lives. Don’t you owe them a little faith?”

The realization that Darren had killed Lana, and then Rebecca and Crystal, cut Jaymee off at the knees. He’d stood next to her at Lana’s funeral, shed his own tears over drinks and memories of their lost friend.

Jaymee barely caught the rage that sparked and boiled in her veins. She stuffed it down into the recesses of her mind, reserved it for the later strength she knew she’d need. She’d never been a very good actress, but she would have to fool Darren if she wanted to take her revenge.

She went limp in his arms and then bit her lip hard as she could. Tears sprang in her eyes and dropped onto his fisted hands locked around her ribcage. Not bad.

Jaymee licked the metallic-tasting blood off her lip. “What do you want me to do?”

Minutes or hours later, they emerged from her trailer. Darren had her change into a fresh work t-shirt, the only one she hadn’t taken to the Foster’s house. She’d washed her face and brushed her hair, all with him shadowing her.

The nightstand had caught her eye. Last hope.

“You want me to change. Can you at least turn around?”

“I’m your brother. I’ve seen you in your bra before.”

The response she’d expected. She didn’t have to fake the shaking as she struggled out of her shirt. She tried to put it in the laundry basket, but Darren held his hand out. He folded it up and tucked it beneath his arm.

Last chance. She pulled the clean shirt over her head and then stumbled back a few steps. She hoped to God her bastard brother believed fear caused her clumsiness. Her butt smacked the nightstand, and she heard the clatter she was hoping for.

Darren didn’t stand the picture back up.

Outside, the humidity dropped a bucket of moisture on them. In the west, the sun began to drop, and an ugly looking storm cloud crept into the pretty picture. Darren held her elbow and guided her to his van.

His thumb dug against her bone. “Say goodbye to beautiful Ravenna Court, sis.”