Two for Flinching (26 page)

Steven looked up. He was dressed for work,
black pants, black button down. I wondered if he wore one of those
white chef’s hats when he was working. Or a hairnet. Amazing what
the brain focuses on when it’s trying to avoid something.

“What do you want?”

“You killed her.”

“What?”

“You found out your wife was cheating on you
and was planning on leaving. You waited until she left the hotel
and you grabbed her.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Camp,” he said. “You
weren’t the first and you wouldn’t have been the last.”

“Bullshit. I talked to her friends. She was
never with anyone before me. You couldn’t stand it and you killed
her.”

“Is that the kind of thing you tell your
friends? You’re cheating on your spouse?”

“You tell me,” I said. “You’re the
expert.”

Steven shook his head.

“Amber told her friend about me. Why
shouldn’t she mention any others?”

An ugly smile. “You stupid bastard.”

“What?”

“Of course she talked about you. The
brazenness of fucking the next door neighbor. That is the kind of
thing she would have bragged about.”

“You killed her.”

“No,” he said. “I didn’t.”

“And I’m going to prove it.”

“No,” he said. “You’re not.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“You’re off the case.”

“You never paid me.” I laughed. “You can’t
fire me.”

“Stay away from me.”

“If you didn’t do it, why wouldn’t you want
me looking for who did?”

He cocked his head at me. His eyes were red.
I had seen many people like this under similar circumstances.
Sometimes they reacted with tears, some went hysterical. Some went
completely blank. “Because, Beason, according to the cops you’re
the number one suspect.”

“What?” My turn for shock. “They told you
that?”

“Not in so many words. But I could tell from
the questions they were asking, they’re going after you.”

“Questions? What kind of questions?”

A single nod. “I don’t want you out there
mucking up their investigation, trying to put it on me.”

“You can’t stop me.”

“Oh, yes, I can.”

“How?”

Another look, this one predatory. “Keep out
of it or I’ll tell the cops about the other night. You busting in
here with Madison and Sarah and then the gunshots.”

My daughter’s voice echoed in my head.
Daddy, I had a bad dream.

“This isn’t over.”

“Yes, Beason,” he said. “It is.”

***

“Are you at work?”

“No. Why? You finally going to take me out
for a proper date?”

“Have you talked to your brother-in-law?”

“Steven? Not lately.”

“You need to get to your mother’s house.”

“You’re starting to worry me, Beason. What’s
going on?”

“I don’t want to do this over the phone.”

“Unless you’re in my driveway, you’re going
have to. What is it?”

“I’m not sure how to say this.”

“Just say it.”

“They found Amber.”

“What? Where? Is she okay?”

“I’m sorry, Madison.”

“What happened?”

“They found her in her car.”

“Where?”

“At the bottom of a lake.”

Pause.

“A detective is on his way to tell your
mother. I think you need to be there.”

“Who could do something like that? Put her in
a car and drive it into a lake?”

“I don’t know. Yet.”

***

I put the phone in my pocket. I couldn’t
think of anything else I could do, anybody I could talk to,
somebody to call. I took a deep breath and pushed through the front
door.

Sarah was on the couch, watching television.
“Hey, daddy.”

“Hello, baby.”

“I didn’t go to school today.”

“I know.” It struck me that this was the
conversation my little girl would carry with her for the rest of
her life, something she would share with her children,
grandchildren and—God willing—her great-grandchildren. “We need to
talk.”

“What did I do?”

You weren’t there, daddy.

“Nothing, honey.” I knelt on both knees.

She gently put both hands on the sides of my
face. “Are you crying?”

That’s why I was afraid.

“Yes, baby.”

“I didn’t think you ever cried. Are you
sad?”

That’s why I was afraid.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

I didn’t like that.

“It’s about your mother.”

“What about her?”

I don’t wanna ever wake up and you be
gone.

“She is not coming home. Ever.”

Chapter Forty-Three

The word got out and the casseroles came in.
I had finally chased Gus back to his family. Dad sat napping on the
couch, waiting on the phone to ring. He and I had reached a
solution. He would answer the landline and I would take the cell.
Older friends and family called the house phone, that number
written down years ago or easily looked up. The people I was in
regular contact with called the cell, because somebody always
answers a cell. Usually. Erin had long ago barricaded herself in
the master bedroom and I didn’t blame her. Cousins I couldn’t place
or remember the relation stopping by to offer condolences, every
one wanting to hug my sister’s daughter and tell her how much she
favored her mother. Sarah was sleeping. Hopefully.

A tapping came from the front door, not loud
enough to wake dad—or even Blondie who was snoring in his lap. I
opened the door to find an old friend on my porch.

“Beason, I’m so sorry.” Hannah Strange
wrapped one arm around my body. Her hair smelled of fruity shampoo.
“I came as soon as I could.”

I stepped aside and closed the door behind
her. I took the casserole dish from her as she shrugged out of her
long black coat and hung it on the tree. I put a finger to my lips
and we crept past the sleeping man and dog into the kitchen. I
opened the refrigerator. It was a problem I couldn’t remember
facing; finding enough room for another dish. I pushed and pulled
plates of fried chicken, tuna casserole, hash brown casserole, beef
stroganoff, until there was space.

Hannah was standing over the kitchen table,
hands on her hips, looking down at the bottle of rum, two liter
coke, and lime juice.

“You want one?”

She frowned, finally said, “Why the hell not.
You better let me make it, though. One of yours and I’ll end up
under the table.”

I took a fresh glass from the cabinet, a tall
one, and filled it with ice. Hannah splashed about two drops of rum
into it and topped it off with coke. We sat across from one
another.

“How is Sarah?”

“It’s hard to tell,” I said. “Someone she
doesn’t know suffered a fate she cannot fathom.”

“You need to try and make everything as
normal for her as you can.”

“I’ll try.”

“And how are you, Beason?”

I shrugged.

“I’ve known you for your entire life. Don’t
even try that tough guy shit. You can tell me.”

“That’s the problem,” I said. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t know how I feel.”

She nodded wisely, sipped her drink, and made
a face. “When Rodney left, I had these horrible thoughts of him in
a car crash or having a heart attack or…something. Yet if it
happened, I’m not sure how I would have felt.”

“Yeah.”

“We were together a long time. Some good—a
lot of bad—but we were…connected. We share a child.”

I nodded. Unwisely. “I was devastated when
Stella left. I knew she was unfaithful and I loved her still. Every
day that went by, I loved her less, thinking she had traded what we
had, our home, our daughter—us—for some other guy. Now, though, I
realize that might not have been the case.”

“She was leaving you, Beason.”

“I know. But she could have changed her mind.
We could have had a shot at being a real family. Sarah could have
known her mother.”

“Would you have taken her back?”

I shrugged.

“Do you think the marriage would have
survived?
Could
have survived? She was what she was. Could
Stella have changed?”

I took a sip of my drink. Much more than two
drops of rum. Mostly rum, truth be told.

“We’ll never know.”

***

I walked Hannah out. She gave me a quick
peck on the cheek and went down the walkway. As she reached her
minivan, a pair of headlights flashed over her and a sedan pulled
in. Hannah and the driver exchanged words over the hood of the car
and she climbed into the vehicle and drove off. Another old friend
came up the steps.

“I’m not supposed to talk to you.”

“Lawyered up, did you? Can’t say that I blame
you,” Randy said. “Who did you get?”

“Eric Hendricks.”

“Smart move.” Randy had changed out of his
coat and tie and into jeans and a sweatshirt. “I’m not here in my
official capacity.”

“No?”

“Shelia made this.” He thrust an aluminum
foil wrapped plate at me. “Chicken tetrazzini, though I wouldn’t
eat it. Shit is toxic.”

I took the plate. “Thanks. I’ll give it to
Gus. It will be a step up for him.”

Randy grunted.

“Be quiet,” I said. “Dad is taking a
nap.”

We sneaked by the couch. Blondie looked up at
us, vaguely curious, before dropping her head back into his lap.
Dad did not stir. I sat the poisoned plate on the counter, not
bothering to make a place for it in the fridge. It was the thought
that counted.

“Grab me a glass, will you?”

I took one from the cabinet, a big one,
filled it with ice. Randy fixed himself a drink, about fifty/fifty
with a splash of lime. He said, “Helluva day.”

“Yeah?”

“Days like this make me want to look for a
new line of work. Telling two mothers their daughters are dead, two
husbands and a wife that their spouses are not coming home.”

I slid back the chair, the same one I had sat
in with Hannah. “How is Margaret doing? I should have checked in on
her.”

“She is in shock. I don’t think it has hit
her yet.”

“How did Mrs. Hogan take it?”

“Awful. Just awful. Fell to her knees
screaming. Luckily, her other daughter was there.”

“What did she have to say?”

“The mother? She said her no good son-in-law
killed her.”

“We’re in agreement on that.”

Randy shook his head. “Steven Noble couldn’t
have murdered his wife. There is no way.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I thought you said you weren’t supposed to
be talking to me about the case.”

“Who said I was?”

“Well, I can’t talk about it with you,” he
said. “Trust me on this, it wasn’t Steven.”

“We’ll see.”

Randy took a healthy sip of his rum and coke.
“I am sorry about Stella.”

“So am I.”

He nodded. “We go way back. You and me.
Hannah and Shelia. You, me, Stella, and Shelia.”

“Yeah.”

Randy appeared as if he could fall over any
minute. He looked me in the eye. “I was always proud of you. Real
proud. Your service in the Army, reading about your medals in the
paper.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I think.”

“It was hard for me to imagine the
goofy-assed kid I grew up with doing all those things. Charging
enemy positions, getting stabbed, surviving a fucking rocket.”

“You know newspapers.”

“Uh huh.” He sat the glass down, picked it
back up and took another drink. “It’s even harder for me to believe
the same goofy-assed kid could kill his wife and lover and dump the
bodies in a lake.”

“You know I couldn’t have done it,
Randy.”

“You see my problem? Your wife and lover end
up in the same lake—four years apart—and you find the bodies. How
can you explain that?”

“Coincidence.”

He took off the eyeglasses and rubbed the
bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “You’re a
detective. How much truck do you put in coincidences?”

“Not much,” I admitted.

“I just can’t get around that fact.”

“I didn’t kill my wife.”

“I hope not.” He finished his drink, put his
glasses back on, and stood. “I really do.”

Chapter Forty-Four

The next morning, I was in the office
drinking coffee. Sarah was at school.
Trying to keep everything
normal.
I didn’t have any semblance of a plan with what to do
with her.
Take it as it comes.
I figured at some point I
would take her to a counselor, work all that out. Maybe when she
was a little older or if she showed signs of trauma. I would have
to keep an eye on her, that much I knew. My daughter was a blessed
little girl. She had plenty of people who loved her. Me, Erin, dad,
Gus and his family. When I dropped her off at preschool, her
teacher had given me a sympathetic look and Sarah a big hug and
hadn’t asked about the tuition check.

The metal stairs creaked. Two men, maybe
three. I opened the side drawer of my desk. The drawer holding the
.45.

Starling pushed into my office, Fletcher
behind him. Fletcher moved to the side, his hands held open.
Starling said, “You found her.”

“I guess I did.”

“Now you’re out of it.”

I was speaking to Starling, but watching
Fletcher. “I am?”

“Yes,” Starling said. “You are.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

I nodded. “You know something, Big Bird?” I
said. “I could care less about what you say.”

“Nobody calls me that.”

“I did.”

Starling smiled. “Finally, I get a chance to
hurt you.”

“Both of you?” I asked Fletcher.

Fletcher shook his head.

Starling said, “It won’t take both of
us.”

“Yes,” I said, “it will.”

Starling laughed.

“I have your word?”