Poison Town Page 8

  “Look, Jack, I’m going to make an executive decision here. Amy was a star reporter and a good friend. I promised her I would keep her secret, and I don’t want to take any chances on messing that up. If she’d found anything, we would have known about it. That’s gonna have to be the end of it, as far as she’s concerned.”

  There were more ways than one to find a person. “Okay. I understand.”

  “Good. I’ll see what I can do about getting Whittaker more hours on the D-V thing.”

  One more quick call and Jack would get downstairs. He reviewed the items he wanted to discuss with Derrick and called his cell.

  There was a soft knock at the bedroom door. It opened, and Pam shuffled in, cradling a cup in both hands. “I come bearing coffee.”

  Jack set the phone down. “Ahh, what incredible timing. Thank you.”

  He set the cup down and put his arms out. They embraced lightly, but she quickly backed away a foot or two.

  “How are you holding up?” he said.

  She nodded. “I’m okay. Numb, but okay. Glad we came last night. Mom needed me. Thanks.”

  “Good. I’m glad we did too.”

  “Mom wants to have the funeral tomorrow.”

  “Wow, that fast?”

  Pam nodded. “Calling hours this afternoon and tonight.”

  “Man. Why so soon?”

  She shrugged. “You know her; she wants to get it over with. She’d already called a Realtor before I got up this morning. She wants to sell the house and move into St. Edwards, the assisted-living place I told you about, like ASAP.”

  “It’s too soon.”

  “I told her that. She’s convinced herself she can’t be alone. It’s her worst fear.”

  He paused. “And when she’s afraid, she drinks … more.”

  Pam was silent. Jack thought she purposefully ignored her mom’s drinking at times.

  He knew what they needed to do. He didn’t want to do it, didn’t think it would be good for their marriage—especially now—or for the girls. But he knew it was the right thing.

  “She needs to come stay with us,” he said. “At least for a week or two. Just get out of here, away from the house and memories. It’ll give her time to think, be with the girls, you …”

  Pam’s eyes filled with tears. She hugged him. “Thank you.” She held him for a moment.

  “I’ll talk to her about it, if you want,” Jack said softly. “Everything will be okay. We’ll take good care of her.”

  She nodded and broke away. “I’ll see you downstairs.” She ducked out of the room.

  Jack flipped the pages of his notepad, reviewed what he wanted to go over with Derrick, and called him.

  “I just ran into Cecil in the break room,” Derrick said. “Sorry to hear about Pam’s dad.”

  After small talk, Derrick said Cecil had instructed him to spend one hour a day on Demler-Vargus.

  “An hour? That’s it?” Jack said. “That’s ludicrous.”

  “He also wants me to give him a rundown of what I find each day, so he can—”

  “He’s not gonna hold you to that. He’s told me that before, and he never follows up.”

  “By the way, the police finally got back with Travis about the video footage from the hospital. It confirmed the guy in black leaving Galen’s room. He got into a silver Toyota Celica. They got partial plates. They’re working on it.”

  “Good.” Jack eyed his notes. “Here’s what I think you should do, top of list. Contact this Spivey Brinkman. He lives right by Randalls’.”

  “Dude, I already talked to him. Heading over there later this morning.”

  “Sweet. You are on it, dog.”

  “He wants to talk off the record first. He wanted to know all about me and who else is working on the story, so I told him about you. He wants to hear what we know, then go from there.”

  “That’s okay.”

  “He asked if Cecil was still editor.”

  “Why, does he know him?”

  “Not sure. He just seemed surprised we were reaching out to him.”

  “Hopefully he’ll talk.”

  “I’m also going to try to track down Barb and Emmett Doyle,” Derrick said.

  “Man, you’ve had your caffeine today; you’re two steps ahead of me.” Jack went down his list. “I’m going to try to set up a face-to-face with the CEO, Bendickson, for when I get back—and maybe his son, the kid that leads their green initiative.”

  “What about Amy Sheets?”

  Jack thought for a moment. “Cecil wouldn’t give me her contact info. This is between you and me—she got pregnant and left to raise the baby near her parents, probably in Columbus.”

  “Whoa, man, are you serious?”

  “We don’t mention that to anyone. You just need to track her down. We don’t have to bring that up with her at all.”

  Jack finished the call, got up, and knelt over his suitcase to find his shaving kit. The gun was in its black nylon ankle holster below some clothes. He felt its bulk. Should he get rid of it, apologize to Pam, make things right?

  But who knew if and when Granger would show up again?

  Jack found the gun’s loaded magazine in the side pocket. He put the gun and mag back in their places. He was not ready to go anywhere without them.

  Heading to shave and shower, he was determined to hang out with the girls so Pam could spend as much time as she needed with Margaret. Rebecca and Faye would love to play in the snow, make a snowman, maybe even find a cozy coffee shop for hot chocolate before the afternoon calling hours. For the next few hours, he would forget everything else and focus only on the family.

  At the sink, he dug for his razor and shaving cream.

  Leaning over, about to wet his face, he stopped and stared into his own tired eyes.

  Yes, for a few hours, he would be the model dad, the Christian role model—the one with the gun strapped to his ankle and the malice hidden in his heart.

  Chapter 11

  It didn’t take Travis twenty seconds to spot the silver Toyota Celica once he and Bo pushed Daddy in the wheelchair through the sliding glass doors of the hospital into the frigid Ohio air.

  So the guy thought the Randalls were stupid. Had no brains.

  Uh-uh, buddy. Wrong.

  The man in black was slouched in the driver’s seat of the Celica, backed into a space three rows beyond Travis’s Jeep.

  Who was the dumb one now, boy?

  Travis said nothing to Bo or Daddy about the man’s presence. He thought about going back into the hospital to find security, but that would take too long. And what did they have the authority to do, anyway?

  “Dang, it’s cold,” Bo said. “Granddaddy, you warm enough?” Bo removed his own black stocking cap and worked it over Galen’s white hair, which was dull gray against the snow.

  Galen bumped along in the wheelchair with his big green coat on, his hard old hands resting relaxed atop his thighs. His normally straight mouth curled up on the right side; he was glad to be heading home.

  Travis didn’t want to ruin it for him by getting sidetracked in a hostile episode with the stranger, but he wasn’t about to lose the guy, either. As they got closer to the Jeep, he thought about trying to drive around behind the car to get his full plate number, but he didn’t want to take any chance that the guy could pull out and lose him.

  Nope.

  That wouldn’t do.

  Even though it was freezing as he opened the passenger door of the Jeep, Travis’s face was on fire. He felt three times as strong as normal, like he could go over and flip the guy’s car. But was confronting him the smart thing? He could let the guy follow him, call LJ, and they could ambush him.

  “Can you make it, Daddy?” Travis locked the wheelchair.

  “I’m no invalid.” His
father stood with the help of Travis and Bo. Both of his legs were bent, and he was hunched over and unsteady. “Bo, you better git yer skinny behind in back.”

  “Yessir.” Bo leaned the seat forward and disappeared into the backseat like a lizard slithering into a hole.

  “Okay, Daddy, here we go.” Travis took his elbow.

  Galen shook his hand away. “I can do it, son.”

  Once in, he said the same thing when Travis tried to buckle his seat belt.

  Travis finally shut the passenger door, walked around the front of the Jeep, careful not to look at the stranger, and hopped in. He started the engine, cranked the heat, and glanced in the rearview as he looked over at the others.

  “Don’t turn your heads, and don’t move.” Travis spoke loudly and clearly. “The man with the black overcoat is in a silver Toyota behind us right now. Don’t look.”

  Bo’s neck craned toward Travis, and his brown eyes doubled in size as he made himself stay focused forward. Galen eyed Travis with the cool gaze of a codger who had been to war and back, which he had.

  Travis backed out of his parking space, his heart pumping like a piston. “I’m going to pay him a visit.” He put the car in first, a quick second, zipped around the lot, and jerked to a stop three feet in front of the Toyota, which was blocked in from behind by another car. “You boys get nice and warm till I git back.”

  Travis yanked the emergency brake, ripped his door open, jumped out, marched around the back of the Jeep, and made a beeline for the man’s door. He could see movement behind the reflections—the man was suddenly fully upright but couldn’t find the door lock fast enough.

  Travis ripped the door open. “What were you doin’ in my daddy’s hospital room?” He jerked the lapels of the black coat.

  “What are you talking about?” The man had food in his mouth. It was him, all right. Middle age. Curly blond hair. Cleft lip.

  Travis shook him. “What were you doing in my daddy’s room yesterday morning? I ain’t gonna ask nicely agin.”

  “Wh … who is your daddy?” The man shriveled up, a convincing question on his face.

  Travis looked quickly at the Jeep. “That man”—he yanked the guy—“right there.”

  Daddy was staring right at them, not smiling any more.

  “Room 411!” Travis jerked. “Yesterday!”

  “It … it was an accident,” the man said. “Wrong room. I had the wrong—”

  “What are you doing back here now?” Travis had him pinned to the seat.

  “My mother … She’s here. Audrey Jacobs. Check and see. I swear to you …”

  Travis’s heart sank, and he immediately released his grip.

  “I’m sorry … someone … my daddy …”

  “Get away from me before I call the police.” The man shook the intrusion of Travis away, brushing at his coat and shirt, scrunching a half-eaten biscuit in its wrapper and tossing it aside where there was more trash on the floor.

  “Look, I apologize,” Travis said. “I saw you leave his room. He was poisoned …”

  With mouth sealed shut, the man burned holes in Travis with his blue eyes and reached for his door handle. “Move. Your. Car.” He slammed his door.

  Debating whether to try to explain further, Travis thought better of it, held his hands up, walked back, and got into the Jeep. As soon as he got moving, the man in black gunned that little Celica for all it was worth, skidding sideways on some ice before gripping the pavement and zipping out of the lot.

  * * *

  Pamela stared out her mom’s back window. Pink-faced, runny-nosed Rebecca, Faye, and Jack were on their knees, bundled in bulky winter clothes, rolling the third large snowball for the snowman they were building. They had been laughing, eating snow, patting the big ball, and wiping their noses with mittens and scarves. Jack stood and pointed to where he wanted them to roll the ball so it would go right up to their snowman, which stood next to the small one the men from the funeral home had built the night before.

  It warmed her to see them playing together. Jack was such a good daddy. Although the whole Granger fiasco had done something to him, his passion for Rebecca and Faye had never wavered. He went out of his way to ask about their schedules and plan when he could spend time with them.

  Does he have that gun with him now?

  Her stomach ached as it always did when they argued. They were meant to be of one heart and mind, and it felt as if half of her had been torn away. She truly believed a counselor could help, but she didn’t have time to think about that now.

  The funeral home was due to call any second about last-minute details for the calling hours and graveside service. Although Jack had convinced her mom to stay with them in Trenton City, Margaret still insisted on putting the house up for sale immediately. The Realtor was due any minute to take photos, put the lockbox on, and stick the sign in the frozen yard.

  “You know, I’m going to need two suitcases if I’m going to stay more than a week.” Margaret’s sudden presence startled Pamela. “Will we have room in that little car of yours?”

  Her mom—who looked smaller, grayer, and more fragile—tidied the pillows on the couch. The pouches beneath her eyes were purple from all the crying; decades of fear were etched on her face.

  “We’ll find room, but if you can fit everything in one, that would be best,” Pamela said.

  “Well, winter clothes are just so bulky.”

  “Mom, I need to tell you something.”

  Her mom put her hands on her slender waist and tilted her head in anticipation.

  “Granger Meade got out of prison a few weeks ago.”

  Margaret dropped to the couch.

  “Pastor Evan is convinced he’s changed. He’s been counseling him the whole time.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” Margaret seemed to have fallen into a trance. “Where is he now?”

  No matter how Pamela couched it, it wasn’t going to be pretty. “Well, when he left the prison in Mansfield, Evan thought it would be best if they were close, so—”

  “Evan lives in Cool Springs, which is basically in your town.”

  Pamela nodded. “Granger’s in Trenton City.”

  Margaret gasped.

  “He’s got a job. He’s starting over.”

  Pamela wondered why she was the only one who seemed to have any sympathy for the man—and she was the one who had been kidnapped.

  Margaret turned away. “This isn’t going to work. I’m going into St. Edward’s.”

  “Mom, not yet.” Pamela went over and sat beside her. Her mom stared out the large back window. “Trust me. It’s all fine. Granger apologized. He’s not the same person—”

  “Apologized?” Margaret turned to face Pamela. “How? When?”

  “That’s not important.”

  “It’s important to me!”

  “Mom, please.” If she told her Granger had shown up at their house, Margaret would never come home with them. “This is already difficult enough … losing Dad. Please just trust me. This is not even a topic—”

  “You know, your father never said so, but he wanted you to press charges—so did a lot of people who didn’t have the courage to come out and say so. You could’ve put that monster away for the rest of his life—and you should have!”

  Margaret got up and went into the kitchen.

  Pamela followed. It hurt her to think her dad hadn’t voiced his opinion about pressing charges, but it wouldn’t have changed her mind.

  Her mom rifled through her address book. Pamela knew what she was looking for, and reached for the book, but Margaret jerked it away.

  “I am not about to go to your house with that fiend on the loose. I wouldn’t even stay here. Pamela, you need to think of Rebecca and Faye. Sometimes I wonder if you have any sense.”

  Let her go. Just let
her go into the nursing home! Maybe it would be best. They wouldn’t have to worry about her drinking around the girls, locking all the doors, freaking everybody out …

  “Mom,” Pamela said as calmly as she could, “we want you to be with us.” She gently squeezed her mother’s shoulder. “I need you. You need us. Believe me, Granger Meade is not going to bother us. I know it. I promise you.”

  Margaret pursed her lips and shook her head. “You know what happened to me … in college.”

  Pamela nodded.

  “I still think I see him.” Margaret spoke as if in a trance. “I imagine what he would look like now, all these years later. I can see him so clearly.”

  Her mother’s fear and hatred were palpable.

  “The smell of him. That gaunt face. Those crazy eyes.” Her head dropped. Her shoulders bounced.

  Pamela took her mom in her arms and let her cry. Margaret dropped the address book and embraced her. “Oh, Ben,” she moaned. “Why did you leave me? What am I supposed to do?”

  “Daddy would want you to be with us, Mom.”

  Margaret cried harder.

  “You know that. He wouldn’t want you to go right into St. Edward’s—not yet. He’d want you with Rebecca and Faye, with me and Jack.”

  Margaret leaned back and examined Pamela. “I won’t sleep.” Her mascara and tears mixed. “You don’t know what I’m like. You haven’t lived here in years. You don’t want the girls to see that.”

  “Mom, the girls adore you. They accept you, no matter what.”

  Pamela snatched a tissue from a nook in the kitchen and handed it to her. Margaret wiped the tears and blew her nose.

  “I can’t go.” She shook her head and her mouth curled into a frown; she fought back more tears. “I would have a nervous breakdown. Trust me. It would be much more trouble than you bargained for.”

  Pamela tried to reason with her, to assure her they could deal with anything. But Margaret bent down, retrieved the address book, and reached for the phone.

  Pamela’s heart broke.

  Chapter 12

  It had stopped snowing. Derrick relished the rays of sun poking through the dark gray sky as he drove to Trenton City’s east side once again. This time he was heading to the home of Spivey Brinkman, the man who was supposed to know a great deal about the alleged misdoings at Demler-Vargus.