For Your Love (17 page)

Two hours later, she got a text from Kyle.
THK U! Bringing yr sister home. B there shortly.

“Yes!” She threw a fist pump and dashed off a short text to Mal. After putting her robe on over her pajamas, she hurried downstairs to wait.

She didn't have to wait long. When she opened the door, the crying Diane was hysterical. “Oh, Bernie. We have to get Rance a lawyer. He's been arrested!”

“Really? Hi, Kyle.”

“Hi, Ms. Brown.”

“They're taking him to jail. I need you to call somebody.”

“I'm sure he and his partners can take care of it.” She focused on Kyle again. “How many warrants?”

“Ten.”

She froze. “That many?”

“Fraud, identity theft, larceny, bigamy—­and that's just the tip of the iceberg. Real name's Gordon Macy, by the way. Got a ­couple of hits on Interpol's database, too. We're waiting for them to get back to us.”

Diane stared between the two of them, and then, as if a lightbulb had switched on in her head, she yelled at Bernadine, “You did this!”

“Guilty, just like Macy is. I knew he was up to no good the minute he walked into my office.”

“How could you!”

“Have you not been listening? The man's a criminal, girl!”

“It's a mistake!”

Kyle took that as his cue to leave. “I'm heading back to the office. Thanks for your help, Ms. Brown.”

“Anytime, Kyle, and thanks for yours.”

His next words were directed at Diane. “Ms. Willis, we'll likely need to interview you as Mr. Macy's case goes forward. I'd advise you not to leave town.”

Eyes wide, she nodded.

He inclined his head and left.

Standing at the closed door, Bernadine eyed her sister's tears. Crystal stood on the stairs, looking confused, but Bernadine ignored her for the moment. “Di, I'm not going to apologize for trying to keep you safe.”

“You just don't want me to be happy, do you!”

She didn't respond. With any luck, by morning Diane would realize she'd been bamboozled and step back into the real world with the rest of humanity. “You should go on to bed and try to get some sleep. Things will be clearer in the morning.”

“I hate you!”

Bernadine sighed.

Sobbing, Diane rushed off to her room. Saddened by her attitude, Bernadine raised her gaze to Crystal, who asked, “What the heck is going on?”

After she'd filled Crystal in on all the sordid details, Bernadine turned out the lights and climbed the stairs to her room. Once there, she booted up her laptop, booked the trip to Key West for Mal and herself, and crawled into bed.

At breakfast the following morning, Diane entered the kitchen and sat down without a word. Her eyes were red and puffy, and the anger on her face was plain. Bernadine and Crystal were in the midst of the meal. They shared gazes, and Crystal rolled her eyes.

“Morning, Di,” Bernadine said.

Diane cut her sister a nasty look but didn't speak. Instead she reached for the bowl of eggs.

“Whoa, whoa. You don't come to my table and eat my food and not speak. Who do you think you are?”

Crystal chose that moment to get to her feet. “I'm going to meet Eli for school.” She gave Bernadine a parting kiss on the cheek. “Bye, Mom.”

“Bye, Crys. Have a good day.”

“You, too.” She didn't bother saying anything to Diane.

Once the door closed on Crystal's exit, Bernadine said, “Now, let's start over. Good morning, Di.” She refused to call her sister Diana, the fanciful name she'd adopted for herself.

Seemingly cowed, she replied, “Good morning, Bernie.”

“Better.” She felt like she was raising the gold-­weave version of Crystal all over again, except Crys had never been this out-­and-­out delusional.

“You had no right.”

“Really? Did you see his reaction when I told him you were a custodian?”

“He was just surprised.”

“Yes, he was, and after hearing the truth, had you driven him to the airport, you were never going to see him again.”

“You don't know that!”

Bernadine wanted to smack her. “Do you think the FBI arrested him just for fun? He had ten warrants, Di. Ten! Stop trying to sugarcoat this. You're smarter than that.”

Diane looked away with tear-­filled eyes.

Bernadine drew in a calming breath and gentled her tone. “There's nothing wrong with wanting someone to love you. After a divorce, it's the first thing many women look for to soothe the hurt. But this man wasn't the one, sis.”

The tears fell freely.

“And I wasn't trying to steal your joy. I was just looking out, like big sisters are supposed to do.”

After a long silence, finally she whispered, “I know. God, I feel so stupid. Marlon and Anthony tried to warn me.”

“You're not stupid. You're just trying to find your way, like everybody else. We all stumble sometimes. It's how we learn.”

“Just like the last time we had one of these talks, you're a much better sister to me than I am to you.”

Bernadine didn't respond to that.

“Thanks,” Diane said meeting her eyes. “And I mean that.”

“You're welcome. I need to get to work. Are you going to be okay?”

She nodded. “I'm going to look for a job this morning. It'll help take my mind off the fake Mr. Rance and get me back on track.”

“Good idea. I'll see you later.”

“What kind of schooling do you have to have, to be an engineer?”

Bobby and Trent were in the office, searching online for steeple designs for Reverend Paula's church.

“Depends on what kind of engineer you want to be.”

“How many different kinds are there?”

“Maybe thirty.”

Bobby stared. “That many? Really?”

“Yes. Everything from electrical and mechanical to marine and automotive.”

“What kind are you?”

“I have a master's in architectural and a bachelor's in mechanical.”

“And the difference?”

“Bachelor's is a four-­year program. A master's takes two more. Why the questions?”

He shrugged. “I like doing the stuff you've been showing me, but I'm not wanting to be in school that long.”

“Time's going to pass anyway.”

Bobby scanned him. “Never thought about it like that.”

“How's your math?”

“One of my best subjects, when I went to school—­which in high school wasn't a lot. Dropped out in the tenth grade. But I do like making numbers do what they do.”

“Then that's a plus. There's a ton of math requirements for any engineering program. How about physics?”

“No clue even what that is.”

“No problem. We have two of the best young physics brains around in Preston and Leah.”

Trent scanned him in turn. “Are you seriously considering this?”

He'd been considering a lot of stuff lately. “I don't know, man. I move here, and you all got me thinking so much crazy stuff, I don't know if I'm coming or going.” He paused and said honestly, “Makes me want to shoot higher.”

“Nothing wrong with that.”

“But isn't college expensive? Who has that kind of cash? I sure don't.”

“I do, and I'll make you a deal. If you really want to do this, I'll put up the money. I'll pay your tuition, spring for your books, and pay you a stipend every month so you and Kiki will have something to live on.”

Bobby froze.

“More than likely you'll have to do two years in community college to get yourself up to speed, but nothing wrong with that.”

“But why would you do that?”

“Because I can, and because I think it'll be a good investment.”

“Investment? In what?”

“In you. In busting open the stereotype that men who look like us aren't smart enough. In the future, so your kids can grow up and bust open other stereotypes. In you looking at yourself in the mirror on the day you cross that stage with your degree in your hand and marveling at how far you've come. I'm willing to invest in all of that and more.”

“But what if I don't make it?”

Trent shook his head. “Remember the last time you asked me that question? What did I say?”

Bobby smiled. “What if I can?”

“Yeah. So talk to Kiki. Think on it. Reverend Paula would say pray on it. After the holiday, let me know.”

“Okay.” He quieted. “I never knew my dad. Your sons are lucky to have you in their corner.”

“Now I'm in yours, too. Welcome to the family.”

Bobby dropped his head to hide the moisture in his eyes. When he got himself together, he raised his gaze to the most remarkable man he'd ever met. “Thanks,” he whispered.

“No problem.”

“One last thing.”

“Shoot.”

“Where can I buy a ring?”

 

T
rent drove home after work feeling pretty good about the day. That Bobby had been so affected by what Henry Adams and its citizens stood for that he was contemplating shelving his old dreams to pursue new ones that were both brighter and higher was moving. He had nothing but admiration for a young man willing to give an unknown path a try, and he'd support him in any way he could. Worries about the costs were negligible. The yearly royalties he received on the patents he'd filed back in his twenties were ongoing. He'd never be as wealthy as, say, Bernadine, but he was set enough financially to assist Bobby with tuition and books and still have plenty left over when it came time for Amari and Devon to journey toward their own dreams.

When he was growing up, his family had little extra money. Mal had used the GI Bill to get his degree in veterinary medicine, but after graduation, between the prejudice of some of the local farmers and the barely-­getting-­by status of the others, he was barely getting by himself. He and Tamar couldn't afford to send Trent to college. But he'd gotten excellent grades all his life and scored high on the SAT, and that earned him enough scholarship money to enroll. He covered the rest by working the entire six years it took him to get his master's. And he'd worked hard: pumping gas, mopping floors, cleaning restrooms and toilets, and spending his summers doing the grunt work at any construction site that would hire him. Back then he made a vow that if he ever had children, he'd find a way to pay for their entire education so they could devote themselves to their studies and not have to juggle school with employment in order to eat.

His sync sounded, and Jack's name came on the display. “Trent?”

“Yeah, Jack. What's up?”

“When you get home, I want you and Lily to take a look at the school's web page.”

“Something wrong?”

“Nothing dangerous—­just something to make you go
hmm
. It's tied to Zoey's band. Devon's got groupies.”

“What!”

“Yeah, man. It's crazy. Check out the page and then get back to me and let me know if you two think we need to do something about it. Talk to you later. Bye.” The call ended.

Groupies?

“Groupies?” Lily asked skeptically when Trent relayed the message.

“That's what Jack said. Groupies.” He'd booted up his laptop as soon as he got home, and they were now at the kitchen table, waiting for the school website to load. Once it did, Trent clicked around until he found the band's page. The kids had named the band HA. There were a ­couple of videos loaded. They'd been edited to make the group look and sound much more polished than Amari claimed they were. One featured Devon crooning the old school standard “Stand by Me.” He'd always been charismatic onstage, and although the video needed better lighting, the charisma came through loud and clear.

“The boy can sing,” Lily remarked.

Trent agreed.

“There's a link to contact the band.” Seeing it, Trent clicked, and when the link opened, they both stared. There had to be fifteen short videos—­each only seconds long—­from girls as young as eight and as old as fifteen, all saying “Hi” and “You are sooo cute!” and “Here's my number, call me!” and “E-­mail me please, you're amazing!”

Trent scrolled through. “Jack wasn't kidding. Look at this, Lil.” Three girls were posed in bikinis.

“I'm looking,” she said disapprovingly.

“Here, wait. A video from Devon.”

Their son's face appeared. Speaking in a voice several octaves lower than normal, he said smoothly, “Hi, ladies. Thanks for your awesome support. I'll respond to each and every one of you as soon as I can. Come see our first concert Friday night at the Henry Adams movies. Ciao.” And he winked.

His parents blinked.

Trent looked at Lily.

She said, “Damned if the boy doesn't sound like a tween version of Barry White.”

Trent laughed. She did too.

“So what do we do?” he asked.

“Lock him in his room until he's thirty-­five.”

“I think he found his swag.”

“Jesus be a fence . . .”

Trent continued searching the page. “Does that say ‘Book the Band'?”

Sure enough, HA was booked for two appearances over the Christmas break. One was a birthday party for a nine-­year-­old girl in Franklin, and the other—­another birthday party—­was in Topeka.

“Okay. Game over,” Trent said. “How do they plan to get to Topeka?”

Lily shrugged. “You know Devon loves the Greyhound bus.”

Trent read aloud: “ ‘Contact our manager: W. W. Dahl.' ”

“I assume that's Wyatt. Lord have mercy.”

“I think it's time to set some boundaries.”

“Yep. I'll call Gemma.”

“I'll call Reggie. Roni's underground at the studio. I don't mind them being in a band, but there'll be no traveling.”

“Or little hotties throwing panties.”

When he stopped laughing, he asked, “Do you think Tamar or Dad knows they're performing Friday night?”

She shrugged. “Send her a text.”

Tamar texted back that she had given her approval for one song.

“At least they had the good sense not to just show up on Friday saying they wanted to play.”

“You never know. She might have said okay. As tough as she can be on them sometimes, she really loves those kids.”

He agreed, but having grown up with her, he'd learned to never leave anything to chance.

After they talked to Jack and the parents involved, it was agreed they'd meet at the Julys' after dinner.

“Are we in trouble?” Devon asked worriedly when told about the meeting.

“No,” Trent said. “We're just getting together to set some ground rules for the band. There are some things on the school website we need to talk about.”

Amari cracked, “Sounds like trouble to me.”

Trent shot him a look.

“Sorry.”

Lily said, “We noticed all the girls sending you phone numbers and e-­mails.”

Devon grinned. “Pretty chilly, huh?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No. You're too young to have groupies, baby. Sorry. There'll be no e-­mails or phone calls coming in or going out. In fact, we're going to have Jack remove all those links.”

He pouted. “I thought you said I wasn't in trouble.”

“You're not. Your dad and I are just doing the responsible parent thing so that there won't be any trouble down the line.”

He didn't look pleased with that explanation. His parents weren't concerned.

When the band members and their adults arrived, they were ushered into the living room. Zoey was accompanied by Reggie, Roni, and her aunt Cassidy, who'd been helping them with their practices. Wyatt entered with his grandmother Gemma. Jack attended the meeting, too. The adults had all been given a heads-­up earlier on the website, and were in agreement on to how to proceed.

Gemma said, “I've called the family of the girl in Topeka and talked to her dad. He had no idea she'd booked a band for her party. Turns out she'd snuck one of his checks to pay the twenty-­five-dollar fee, which she mailed to Wyatt.” Gemma eyed her grandson, who squirmed a bit. “I told the dad I'd shred the check. He thanked me and said he appreciated my calling.”

Roni asked, “And the girl in Franklin?”

“Her parents didn't know she'd hired a band either, but no checks or cash had been sent, so they're fine. I've also let Mr. W. W. Dahl here know that from now on, any financial business tied to the band or anything else he's involved in goes through me first. Right, Wyatt?”

“Yes.”

“I removed the contact links,” said Jack. “When they asked me to add them I thought it was a good idea, but didn't know it had bloomed the way it did. My apology to the parents for not being as diligent as I probably should have been. I'll also talk to the parents of the band's sax man.”

Lily asked, “Who shot the videos of the band and uploaded them?”

Wyatt reluctantly raised his hand.

“You did a great job. The editing was awesome. You made HA look very professional.”

His eyes widened with surprise.

Trent took in the kids and said gently, “This meeting isn't about punishing you guys. We just need some rules of conduct in place.”

“And we're very proud of your initiative and enthusiasm,” Cass added. “It just needs guidance.”

“So we can still have the band and play Friday night?” Zoey asked.

“Of course. In fact, we're all looking forward to it.”

The kids grinned.

Reggie said, “But no more web presence without approval, and definitely no more bookings, okay?”

They nodded.

After a few more minutes of talk about Friday's upcoming performance, they all shared parting hugs and thank-­yous and left the Julys to return home.

“I think that went well,” Trent said to Lily when Devon had gone to his room.

“I agree. Now let's just hope they play by the rules. Be awfully tough having to paint Marie's fence in this kind of weather.”

“As a kid who's been there, done that: Not fun. At all.”

Bernadine was just preparing to leave the office for the day and meet Mal for dinner when a man and a woman appeared in her doorway. The man was Steve Tuller, who'd been Tommy Stewart's lawyer when Tommy tried to shake her down for his bogus roach-­in-­a-­sandwich debacle. She didn't know the nondescript woman with him, who was of average height and had short brown hair.

“Mr. Tuller,” Bernadine said, “what brings you here?”

“Hello, Ms. Brown. Something we'd like to discuss if you have the time. This is Sandra Langster.”

“Hello, Ms. Langster.”

“Hi, Ms. Brown. Call me Sandy.”

“Okay.”

Tuller said, “I know you and I didn't meet under the best of circumstances the last time, but I'm hoping we can look past that for now.”

She remembered how embarrassed and apologetic he'd been upon learning he'd been duped into taking Stewart on as a client, so she gave him the benefit of the doubt. “I was on my way home, but I have a few minutes. Please. Come on in and have a seat.”

After they'd made themselves comfortable, she asked, “Now what can I do for you?”

“I'm a PI,” Sandy said. “I've been hired by Tommy Stewart's mother to find him.”

A private investigator? That certainly got her attention. “And what have you turned up?”

“Truthfully, a bit of this and a bit of that. His mom's a distant cousin of mine, and she initially thought you might have had a hand in his disappearance.”

Bernadine eyed her. “Really.”

“Yes, but I've been watching you for the past few weeks, and I'm pretty sure you didn't.”

“I could've told you that,” she said, trying to decide if she was offended or not. She was, she decided.

“I never apologize for doing my job, ma'am. Tommy caused you and the ­people here a lot of grief, and in my line of work that's the folks you always look at first in a case like this. Nothing personal.”

“I understand.” Bernadine actually did. “So having scratched me off your list, who's at the top now?”

“Astrid Wiggins.”

“I could've told you that, too. Mr. Tuller, how are you involved?”

“I'm representing an interested third party.”

“Whose name you aren't going to reveal, again. Am I correct?”

He turned red for a moment. “Yes.”

She shook her head, hoping he wasn't being led down the garden path again. “So, how can I help, other than agreeing that Astrid is your prime suspect?”

“How much do you know about her?” Sandy asked.

“Not enough to get her out of my hair.”

Sandy smiled. “I've talked to a few ­people in town, and they all feel the same way. Does she impress you as a woman who eats fast-­food burgers every day?”

Bernadine paused. “I don't know anything about her eating habits, but she's one of those skinny Minnies. I don't see her doing burgers.”

“Neither do I. I've been watching her for the past two weeks, and every day she buys a sack of burgers. Even on the nights she meets Mr. Wingo at the motel up on 183, she gets a bag, takes it into the house, and then drives off.”

Mr. Wingo was the high school principal with the wife and five kids. “And your conclusion?”

“Maybe I'm clutching at straws, but my gut says, either willingly or unwillingly, Tommy's in her house.”

“So do you think she's right?” Mal asked as they ate dinner in their booth at the Dog, an hour after Sandy and Tuller left her office. They were keeping their voices down so as not to be overheard.

“Since this is Astrid we're talking about, I wouldn't be surprised if she has him tied up and gagged in a closet.”

“Is the PI going to talk to Will?”

“No idea, but my guess is, she doesn't have enough solid evidence yet. Law enforcement can't ask for a search warrant just because Astrid's been seen buying burgers. She did say she wished the mom would've contacted her earlier, so maybe she could have found out who torched his car and what happened to his phone. Apparently none of the towers can pinpoint it, and no calls have been made on it since he disappeared.”

“Any record of him calling Astrid?”

“Sandy said no.”

“This is pretty interesting.”

“It is. I'm also wondering who Tuller's client might be. Last time he wouldn't confirm it, but I'm pretty sure Astrid hired him for Tommy. We know she's crazy like a fox, so I doubt she'd hire him to look into the disappearance. Or would she?”

“Tuller would be a fool to work for her again.”

So many unanswered questions and no real answers—­unless one counted fast-food burgers as one, and at this point she couldn't see how.