Tin God (8 page)

“Oh!” Jaymee’s soft alto was husky with emotion. “I remember when Rebecca found this in the attic.”

She stopped in front of an oil painting displayed above the marble fireplace. A regal woman stared down at them with the unsettling eyes of a still portrait, her brown hair partially swept back in a knot with several pin curls flowing to her shoulders. The canvas was faded and cracked, but the woman’s features–an upturned nose, wide eyes, small chin, ruby lips hinting at a smile–were still discernible.

“She was so excited.”

“It’s an original?”

“Yes,” Jaymee said. “It’s Evaline Laurent herself. Historians told Rebecca it was probably painted around 1815, before the Laurents settled here. Isn’t she beautiful?”

Beautiful might not be the right word, Nick thought. Compelling, maybe. Mrs. Laurent looked too highbrow to be beautiful.

“Jaymee Ballard,” a deep voice called out.

Nick turned to see Royce Newton ambling out of a back office. He walked with a heavy step and stooped shoulders, and the forced smile he offered Jaymee made him appear even more miserable. Following him was a man roughly Royce’s age, probably in his mid-fifties. Dark hair, average build, understated clothes. Careworn face, tired smile. Nick turned to Jaymee, assuming this was Reverend Gereau. Her eyes were narrowed in hatred, and he hoped she’d be able to keep her cool.

She stepped forward, extending her hand and ignoring the reverend. Her hand trembled. “Mr. Royce. Rebecca was a great lady and always good to me. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“I appreciate that. I know she thought a lot of you.”

“This is a friend of mine.” Jaymee stepped aside deferring to Nick. She looked at him with such warmth and expectation that jitters raced through him, leaving his hands tingling.

With a strange pang of regret, Nick shifted his attention to Royce. He was a good-looking man. A good six feet tall with broad shoulders and a stern expression–no doubt an imposing presence in the courtroom.

He extended his hand. “Nick Samuels.”

Royce blinked once and then returned the handshake. “What a lovely lady Lana was. Did everything in the world for the families she was assigned to.”

“Yes, she did.”

The man standing beside Newton stepped forward and offered his hand to Nick. “Reverend Penn Gereau, Roselea Baptist. I had the privilege of watching your wife grow up.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” Nick had trouble matching the polite, soft-spoken man with the selfish monster Jaymee believed him to be.

“You as well,” Gereau said. “Lana’s loss is as tragic as Rebecca’s.” He cleared his throat and shook his head but never broke eye contact. “I’ll be praying for both of them.”

“Nick was in town to visit Lana’s family,” Jaymee said. “When he heard I was coming to see you, he wanted to pay his respects as well.”

Gereau looked down at Jaymee, reaching out his hand as if to touch her shoulder, and then quickly pulled away. His eyebrows knitted together making the wrinkles on his forehead more pronounced. “Jaymee, I’m praying for you as well.”

“I don’t need it, Reverend.”

The hatred in her voice was poorly disguised. Reverend Gereau seemed to shrink on the spot. “Royce, you know how to find me. I’ll see myself out.” He offered Nick a final nod and then turned down an adjacent hall to what Nick assumed was the private entrance.

Royce gestured for them to follow him. “It’s very kind of you both to come by.” He led them to an office in the back of the first floor. Bigger than Nick’s bedroom back in Jackson, the room boasted several expensive antiques.

“Thank you.” Jaymee took the seat Royce pulled out for her, and Nick took the seat next to her.

“You and Rebecca did a wonderful job of restoring Evaline.”

“It was her pride and joy.” The man looked down at his desk and swallowed. His lips pursed into a tight knot, and his chin trembled. “Now it’s all I have left of her.”

“She’s at peace now,” Jaymee said. “With God and watching over you, I’m sure.”

“I can only hope, my dear.” Royce laid a manicured hand on the oak desk. He drew a breath and squared his shoulders switching to what Nick assumed was a courtroom persona. “So, Mr. Samuels. Jonas tells me you’re writing a book?”

“Nick. And yes, on Mississippi antebellum homes.”

“Hmm. You’re still with the Clarion-Ledger?”

“You looked me up.”

“Of course. Given my current…situation, I have to be careful.” He traced his mouth with his index finger. “Considering your last story was about a murder investigation, I almost turned you out.”

“Why is that?”

“I’m sure you know I’m currently a suspect in Rebecca’s murder.”

Jaymee’s hand went to her heart. “You’re kidding. You weren’t even in town.”

“Yes, but the police seem to think I could have doubled back.” Royce sighed. “Evidently it’s the logical choice.”

“Husbands are always the first people the cops look at,” Nick said. “And I’m talking from personal experience. Soon as the detective is finished, he can move on to real suspects.”

“I truly hope so.”

Jaymee made a clucking sound with her mouth and shook her head, her expression a mask of disdain. Royce nodded in appreciation, displaying his palms in a tired, ‘What are you going to do?’ gesture.

“Still,” Jaymee said. “That must be difficult.”

“Yes. Knowing my wife’s killer is walking around out there while the police waste time on me is extremely frustrating.”

“Not knowing is the worst part,” Nick agreed.

Royce nodded. He rested his elbows on the desk and steepled his hands. “How long has it been since you lost Lana?”

“Four years.” Nick wondered if the rawness would ever heal.

“And police still have no suspects?” Royce’s voice rose in seemingly genuine surprise. “I had no idea.”

“There are suspects. Just not enough evidence. Yet.”

“You still hold out hope?”

“We’re closer than ever to her killer.”

“Really?” Royce reached for the large, silver-framed wedding photo sitting on his desk and placed it in front of him, scrunching up his face in such a strong grimace it almost looked comical.

“Yes.” Nick shifted in his seat, cast a quick glance at Jaymee, and then leaned forward. “I confess, I had a double agenda in coming here. I wanted to ask you a few questions about Lana.”

Royce swiveled in his chair so that his face fell into shadow. “Somehow I’m not surprised.”

“Nick, I really don’t think this is appropriate.” Jaymee played her role perfectly.

“I’m sorry. Just a few questions.” Nick didn’t give Royce time to argue. “Did Lana ever talk to you about adoption?”

Royce’s gaze darted to Nick and then to the large western window. “Not that I recall. Were the two of you considering that option?”

“No. But I’ve discovered she was looking into illegal adoption shortly before she was killed.”

Royce’s stare was hard. He rubbed his collarbone. “One of her cases?”

“Looks like it.” Nick didn’t break eye contact. “I found some notes. She was looking at Hannah’s House–the unwed mother’s home–as possibly being involved. She thought they might be funneling prospective kids.”

“That’s awful.” Jaymee lowered her head. Her voice trembled with the perfect amount of sorrow. “To have a child stolen from you–how would a parent move forward?”

“I’m not sure you could.” Royce faced them again. “Lana never mentioned anything to me. Then again, I practiced family law, but I didn’t handle adoptions. My specialty was divorce, paternity testing–things of that nature. I wouldn’t have been much help to her.”

“You never had any dealings with Hannah’s House?” Nick asked.

“No,” Royce said. His tone signaled the end of the topic. “Did you have questions regarding your book, or are we finished?”

“Of course he has questions.” Jaymee sounded contrite, but Nick saw her toes curling in her worn sandals. Her feet had nearly turned white. She’d had enough.

Thirty minutes later, Nick had plenty of ghost stories about Evaline Hall and very little information about Royce Newton. Every time he tried to pry into the attorney’s personal life at the mansion, Newton deflected. He said nothing more about his wife’s murder, but most of the paranormal experiences centered around Rebecca Newton.

“She’d hear things at night,” Royce said. “I’d tell her it was the old house settling, but she talked about footsteps and the rocking chair moving. Even set out a digital recorder to capture voices. She claimed she could hear someone saying ‘go away,’ but I couldn’t make it out.”

“I remember that,” Jaymee said. “That wasn’t too long after you moved in here. Rebecca played the tape for me. Awfully scary.”

Royce extended his hand to Nick. “It was a pleasure to meet you. Please let me know if there’s anything else I can add to your book.” He focused on Jaymee. “Do you mind if we have a private word?”

Jaymee glanced up at Royce, unable to hide her surprise. She recovered quickly and gave Royce a demure smile. “Of course.”

What could Royce want with Jaymee? Did he intend to pump her for information or threaten her? He wouldn’t be stupid enough to attack her with Nick in the house, but there were other ways to lash out.

Jaymee’s hand rested on his arm. Nick’s skin seemed to warm from the inside out. “I’ll be out in a few minutes, all right?”

He searched her face looking for any sign she wanted an escape clause. “I’ll wait for you in the main entry.”

Suspicion rooted Jaymee to her seat. She tried to relax, but her body was poised to spring.

Royce took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He pushed the gold frames onto the bridge of his nose and cleared his throat. “So, how are you doing?”

The conversational tone threw Jaymee off guard. Royce’s voice was too gentle. She didn’t trust it.

“I’ll manage, thank you.”

“I know finding her must have been horrific.”

More like gut-wrenching hell
. “It was. But I’m sure losing your wife is much worse.”

“Yes. But I’m concerned for you. Is there anyone you can talk to? I know you and Rebecca were close.”

Sugary sweetness layered his tone and made Jaymee nauseous. At the very least, Royce was an adulterer. Even worse, possibly the man who killed her friends.
Tread carefully
.

“She was very good to me.”

“I know she considered you a friend.”

Jaymee’s bottom lip stung from the force of her teeth. She licked the sore spot. “Is there anything you need from me, Royce?”

“I wondered if you could think of anyone who might have hurt my wife. She didn’t have a lot of female friends in town, you know. She probably spoke to you more than anyone. Did she tell you anything the last time you saw her? Anything she’d recently gone through? Anything to make you think she was upset?”

“Not that I can remember.”

“Someone had to have hated my wife to do what he did to her. Police are certain it was someone she knew, since there are no signs of a break-in. I can’t believe someone randomly decided to kill her. Something must have happened before to set him off. I thought perhaps Rebecca might have talked to you about it.”

Did he know about Paul’s threat to Rebecca? Is that what he was trying to get out of her? She struggled for the proper response. Jaymee had no interest in protecting her father, but she wasn’t about to align herself with Royce.

“Jaymee, think hard. Did Rebecca tell you about anything? Was she upset with someone? Had she gotten any bad news?”

Her jittering nerves flashed to heated irritation. Sonofabitch was fishing around to see if Rebecca had told Jaymee the dirt she had on Royce. She worked hard to keep her voice even.

“Not at all. Last time I saw her, everything was normal.” Jaymee stood. If she stayed in this room any longer, she’d start running her mouth and blow everything. “I’d better get back to Nick.”

His heavy chair scraped against the antique hardwood, and then Royce was at her side, hand on her elbow. Jaymee considered digging it into his ribs. “Of course. Let me walk you out.” His fingers pressed into her skin as he led her through the hall. “Please, if you remember anything, you’ll let me know.”

The walk to the foyer dragged to the point of being excruciating, and Jaymee was grateful to see Nick sitting on the grand staircase. Jonas stood to the side, busying himself with cleaning the gilded mirror hanging near the parlor. He was probably there to needle information out of Nick.

Jaymee pulled herself free of Royce’s hard grasp. She crossed the hardwood floor and stood next to Nick.

“Thank you for stopping by,” Royce said. “I really appreciate it. And Mr. Samuels, I hope I was of some help for your book. Rebecca would have been so excited to speak with you.”

“I’m sorry again. I hope they put her murderer behind bars very quickly.”

“Thank you.” Royce motioned to Jonas, who snapped to attention like a good little puppy. “Will you show our guests out?”

“Of course, Mr. Royce.”

Nick laid a gentle hand on Jaymee’s back, and she didn’t like the comfort it brought her racing nerves. Too frustrated to protest, she allowed him to guide her to the door.

“Jaymee,” Royce called out just as she reached the door.

She sucked in an angry breath and turned to face him so quickly her cheek brushed Nick’s shoulder. He didn’t move, hand still on her back.

“Yes?”

“Rebecca talked often of your private quest,” he lowered his voice as if they were speaking in confidence. “But she never told me what it was. I’d like to continue helping you out. There’s still a cleaning position here if you’d like it.”

She needed the money. But being alone in the house with Royce and Jonas…

“I’ll get back to you.”

“I look forward to it.” Royce’s eyes bore into hers. “Of course, if you want to keep the position, you’ll have to let me in on this quest of yours.” He offered a cagey smile in what Jaymee could only assume was an attempt at flirtation.

She smiled back. “That’s easy. I’m trying to get the hell out of the trailer park.”

He laughed. “Can’t blame you there. I know you and your father don’t get along, but surely Reverend Wilcher would be willing to help you. I know he’s been a close family friend for years.”

Jaymee’s stomach muscles retracted with the force of a sledgehammer. Her breathing accelerated, and she couldn’t stop the gasp that echoed across the marble foyer. She clamped her lips shut.

“Are you all right?” Royce’s stare was piercing. A challenge. The hint of a smile emerged then grew into a smirk.

Her body turned to stone. Pain radiated through her jaw. She’d been clenching it. Nick’s hand felt like an anchor against her back. All three men stared at her––Nick in confusion, Royce in triumph, and Jonas in contempt.

Sheer stubbornness willed her to speak. “I’m fine. I’ll get back to you about the job.” She turned around so fast she bumped against Nick’s chest. He caught her by the arms. She glared up at him until he let go.

Questions were etched in the creases between his eyes. She brushed by him and yanked open the oak door. Her feet pounded against the brick steps sending shock waves up her weak legs.

Get out. Keep quiet. Don’t answer Nick’s questions
. He was close behind, and she couldn’t think straight.

Jonas huffed down after her. “You shouldn’t be running around with Crystal Harns, Ballard girl.”

She stopped beneath the live oak and turned. Jonas peered at her from the bottom step. “Why do you bring up Crystal?”

“Mr. Royce’s had enough bad things said about him.”

“What on earth do Mr. Royce and Crystal have in common?”

His jowls quivered. “Mr. Royce is a good man. Crystal Harns is a jezebel. Her whole way of life is doomed; every step she takes brings her closer to hell. Proverbs 2:18.”

“Let marriage be held in honor among all, and let the marriage bed be undefiled, for God will judge the sexual immoral and adulterous,” Jaymee said. “Hebrews 13:4. I can trade Bible verses with you all day, Jonas.”

“Yes. But when was the last time you were welcomed in the church?” His chest heaved.

“Thank you for showing us out, Jonas.” She fell into the passenger seat as soon as Nick unlocked the door. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

###

Nick waited until Jaymee had her seatbelt on before peeling out of Evaline. Place gave him the creeps. Not to mention the two douchebags he’d just spoken with. Jonas was an ass-kissing idiot and not a concern. Royce was another story. His grief over his wife might be genuine, but his sharp answers and nervous body language over the adoption questions made Nick think the attorney knew more about Lana’s investigation than he was letting on. The only one Nick had gotten a truthful vibe from was Reverend Gereau. He’d seemed honestly moved by both the murders and Jaymee’s obvious hatred.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to go back in that house.” Jaymee’s hard words broke the silence.

“What did Royce say to you?”

“He was fishing. Trying to figure out if Rebecca told me what she’d discovered that had him so freaked out when he talked to Crystal.” She blew out a long, shaky breath and stared out at the sky. Dark clouds covered the sun as a threatening shade of purple decorated the southwest horizon.

“And that bastard Penn Gereau, praying for me. He’s done quite enough.”

“I didn’t think he seemed that bad,” Nick ventured.

“Of course you didn’t. He’s vanilla. Wolf in sheep’s clothing. He might not be directly involved, but he knows what Wilcher did.”

Jaymee’s face was bright red and shiny with sweat, her small hands clenched into fists and pressing so hard against her knees her skin had gone white.

Nick turned the air on full blast. “Take a deep breath and calm down.”

He wasn’t so sure Gereau was any more than a bystander caught in the storm, but he wasn’t about to bring that up now.

“What did you think of Newton? And Fat Jonas?”

“Jonas is a lackey.” Nick turned off Rosaire drive toward Jaymee’s end of town. “Newton’s another story. I don’t know if he killed his wife, but he sure as hell knew more about Lana than what he said.”

“I agree.”

Nick glanced at her again. She wound a lock of her wavy brown hair around her left index finger. Her movements were jerky, her eyebrows knitted in concentration.

“You were quite the actress back there. I almost thought you didn’t want to kill Jonas.”

“I’ve learned a lot about self-control over the years.”

“I bet.” Nick turned left onto Ravenna Street. He hadn’t realized until now just how close the Rosaire mansions were to the poorer part of town.

“You think Royce bought your answer about the quest?”

An enormous thundercloud closed in on the mobile homes.

“Hope so.”

Strained silence filled the space. Nick ignored the nervous bubbling of his stomach and forged ahead. “So what happened back there with Newton, in the foyer?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Come on. You nearly jumped out of your skin when Newton dropped Wilcher’s name.”

Jaymee started and then scowled. “Didn’t you hear the tone in his voice? Felt like he was dropping the gauntlet.”

“Maybe.” Nick stopped in front of her ugly trailer and let the car idle. “But Newton didn’t mention anything you didn’t already know. Just the sound of his name looked like it made you sick.”

“He makes me sick.”

She reached for the door handle. Nick pressed the locks down before she could jump out.

“What are you doing?” She twisted to glare at him.

“I need to know what you’re hiding. I can’t figure out who killed Lana and Rebecca–and why–without knowing the whole story.”

“I told you everything you need to know.”

“You’re lying.”

“Think whatever you want.” Jaymee looked up at the rapidly darkening sky. “Unlock the door, please.”

“No. You and Lana kept this from me, and now she’s dead. I deserve to know the truth. What else do you know about Wilcher? Did Lana find out something you’re not telling me?”

“You should have listened to her when she was alive.”

“You’re right. I screwed up. But I’m here now, and I’m asking you to be straight with me.”

“I have been. All we had was the lack of Sarah’s adoption record and Debra Davies vanishing. That’s why Lana wanted you to look into Wilcher’s financials.”

“There’s more.” Nick remembered the angry way Lana spoke of Wilcher after Jaymee had left Jackson. “She hated that man. I’d never heard her talk that way about anyone. Her hate was personal.”

“He stole my child. She knew it.” Weakness and something like fear tainted Jaymee’s voice. A strange thudding sound resonated from her side of the car–the passenger door armrest. Jaymee’s hand shook so hard it smacked against the plastic. Her once red face was now bleak and pale, her lower lip streaked with white from the force of her teeth. A small red drop oozed out of the sensitive skin.

“You’re bleeding.” Nick reached for her face. She blocked him with her forearm.

“Please.” Hoarse now, as though her throat had nearly swollen shut. “Please don’t ask me any more questions. I’m begging you.”

A hollow coldness shot up his esophagus. Lana’s voice, her words a long-forgotten memory, ricocheted through his foggy brain.

“Wilcher is the worst kind of evil. He’s a damned predator, Nick. He needs to be held accountable.”

“Lana said he was a predator.”

Jaymee gasped so quickly the air whistled between her lips. “Please let me out.”

Reality hit him with a heavy brick. The answer had been dangling in front of him all along.

God Almighty
.

“Holden Wilcher is Sarah’s father, isn’t he?”

###

Her muscles locked into place. Her jaw throbbed from the force of her clenched teeth. And her stomach threatened to reject the cereal she’d eaten a few hours earlier.

She tried to take a deep breath, but the air caught in her throat making her cough and splutter. The limited space between her and Nick seemed to evaporate until she could feel nothing but the heat of his body and the shock in his words.

Finally, she forced herself to meet his stunned gaze. “Very good, Mr. Big-City Reporter. What was your first clue?”

They stared at each other.

“I’m sorry,” he started.

Her watery eyes spilled over. “Please unlock the door and let me be.”

He obeyed. She darted into the spattering rain and whirling dust, racing for the sanctity of her trailer. She heard the crunch of gravel as Nick drove away. She slammed the door and let the sobs take over.

Now he knew. Knew how stupid she’d been, knew her darkest secret, knew her secret shame.

She’d been desperate for the love an older man, for some kind of acceptance from someone she looked up to. Holden doted on Jaymee and her brother. Her father was dark, hateful. Holden was light and kindness. He’d given her the kind of attention Paul never had. He made her laugh, made her feel smart, made her feel worth
something
. She’d idolized Holden growing up, and falling into a relationship with him had been easy despite the age difference.

The shame and guilt that were Jaymee’s constant companions reminded her she’d been a willing participant. Hell, she’d even been wanting. But he’d taken advantage of her weakness, manipulated the wounds Paul had inflicted. Simple, really. Holden’s infrequent visits from Jackson and the “outings” he’d taken Jaymee on had been the best moments of her life.

Until she got pregnant. Then Holden talked her into giving up their baby and keeping his name out of it. And he sold the child.