Hallowed Ground (40 page)

Why had it taken me so much time to realize Kevin’s grief would be a personal matter he’d deal with on his own? Why had I thought trying to prepare him for Lilly’s death
before
she died would somehow be easier? Damn. That was just morbid. In hindsight, it was a good thing he hadn’t attempted to talk to me because I would’ve isolated him even further.

I couldn’t speed up the process, even if my sole intention had been to save him from the pain.

He’d loved Lilly, even when I didn’t understand it. Just because I didn’t
want
him to love her didn’t mean he hadn’t.

Maybe that’s what hurt the worst. Even when I knew Kevin loved me. He knew I loved him. But what did that mean?

Our friendship has always been hard to define. We’d relied on each other during the confusing transition from childhood to adulthood. We’d lost touch for some of the years we were married to other people. The underlying attraction we’ve never acted on, although the opportunities have always been there, constantly tugged at us. We both tended the tiny seed of hope in the back of our minds that someday, when the moon, the stars, the universe, my life and his were all in perfect synch, we’d take that chance.

Ironically, we had taken our relationship to another level, not an intimate one, but a business partnership. Lately I’ve wondered if that wasn’t somehow harder.

As I half heard the mechanical prompt, part of me grieved we’d only be friends and partners for the foreseeable future. Part of me was relieved to move on.

I hung up quietly without leaving any message at all.

I showered, even though I wasn’t supposed to. The stitches got wet even though they weren’t supposed to. I rationalized I’d needed to change the bandage and held my breath as I peeled away the gauze to gauge the damage.

An angry red gash stared back at me, a crooked line from the corner of my left eyebrow up to my hairline. Great. The zipper-shaped scar made me look like the
Bride of Frankenstein
. Maybe Kim could cut my hair to hide it. If not, I had Halloween covered for the next few years.

My cupboards were bare. Worse, I was out of coffee and soda and almost out of cigarettes. A quick trip to the store was a necessity.

The horror of yesterday hit me anew when I stumbled outside and didn’t see my Sentra. I went back inside and grabbed my gun.

My old truck ran like a champ. I’d made it about two miles down the service road when I glimpsed a black car in my rearview mirror.

Didn’t mean anything. Lots of people drove black cars.

To be on the safe side, I removed the Browning from the holster and shoved it down the crack between the bench seats.

After parking in the back lot of the convenience store, I entered through the front.

No angry men barreled in behind me. Actually, the store was devoid of customers, and anything resembling real, fresh food. Seemed Kell had influenced me after all.

Diet Pepsi, cigarettes, small can of Folgers, and a couple of packages of Twinkies in the bag, Melinda let me slip out the back door.

I’d just tossed the groceries on the floorboard when tires crunched in the gravel behind me.

Heart pounding, I pulled out the gun and the motion reminded me of the injuries I’d been ignoring. My ribcage protested, as did my neck, shoulders, knees, and everything in between.

I turned around, slid the gun in the small of my back and propped myself between the open truck door and the truck bed.

A vintage cherry red Corvette had parked sideways, blocking me in. Little Joe Carlucci unfolded from the driver’s side and beat feet toward me.

Christ, I was sick and tired of this. I wanted one day, one lousy fucking
hour
without drama.

“You stupid bitch. Where the fuck do you get off accusing me of stealing from my father?”

I held up my left hand to keep him from coming closer. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on a second, Junior.”

Reggie’s nickname appeared to make him more hostile. “I oughta—”

“You oughta calm down right now and stop right there.”

Amazingly, he did. Then he demanded, “What did you say to him?”

“First things first. How long have you been following me?”

“I don’t got to answer that.”

“Did you think it’d be funny to cut the brake lines on my car?”

He blinked confusion. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Don’t play stupid; answer the question.”

“No.” He hitched his shoulders back and pointed at me. “You owe
me
some answers.”

“I owe you
nada
. If your father wanted you to know what he and I talked about then he would’ve told you.”

“Yeah? Well, he’s been a little busy since Tommy was found wearing a bullet shirt. Between the cops, and the family, and all the other shit.” He scowled. “Big Joe asked me, he actually fuckin’

asked me if I’d killed Tommy.”

“And Rondelle and Luther,” I pointed out.

Little Joe didn’t catch the distinction. “He knows me an’ Tommy was like brothers. We played ball together, graduated together. It’s ripping me up that someone shot him like a goddamn mark and Big Joe thinks
I
coulda pulled the trigger.”

I couldn’t tell if he’d done it, if he was sorry he’d done it, or just sorry his father had figured out he’d done it.

“You and Tommy were pals? I thought Reggie and Tommy were tight.”

“Reggie and Tommy?” he repeated, confused, which seemed to be a natural state with him.

“Nah. They hadta work together at the casino, but that’s it.”

Not my overactive imagination that they’d been in synch when threatening me and torturing Kell. “But weren’t they—”

“What don’t you get? Big Joe ordered Reggie here from Jersey to keep an eye on me. Like I need a fuckin’ babysitter, especially an uptight asshole that thinks he’s better than me. All’s he does is bitch about bein’ stuck here, when he’s not runnin’ his big mouth off to Big Joe about how I fucked up again.”

He crossed his arms and glared at me. “But we ain’t talkin’ about that. Tell me why you told Big Joe I’d ripped him off and lied about it to cover my ass.”

“FYI: I didn’t accuse
you
specifically of stealing the money. I just pointed out to your father what a lame ass story you’d told him about how the money ended up missing.”

“How the hell do you know anything about what happened? You weren’t there.”

“Please. I didn’t have to be there to know the ‘She tied me up’,” I mimicked in a falsetto, “was a piss-poor attempt at putting the blame on Rondelle for what you really did to her.”

He didn’t say a word.

“
You
left the safe open.
You
forgot about the security cameras.
You
were too cheap to put in a decent surveillance system upstairs in the first place. Don’t blame her, me, or anybody else because
you’re
so stupid. And don’t think for a minute your father didn’t have doubts about it before I talked to him.”

“He sure didn’t act like it until you showed up.”

“Again, Junior, not my problem.”

“See, that’s where you’re wrong. You made it your problem when you stuck your nose in it. So, I expect you to make it right.” His lips twisted into a grotesque grin. “You can do it on your own, or I can make you.”

“Make me what?”

“Tell him I didn’t have nuttin’ to do with takin’ the money.”

I laughed. “Why would I do that? Someone got away with a whole pile of your daddy’s cash because of your deviant behavior. The shit is coming down on you, as it should.”

“Oh I see. You’re all bent out of shape about me givin’ it hard and fast to Rondelle.” He shrugged, a cocky roll of his shoulders. “Might’ve been a little rough, she fought at first, but in the end she liked it. She always liked it.”

And I lost any control I had on my temper. For Rondelle, for me, for every woman who’s suffered through the attitude that we secretly liked being forced.

“A little rough? You fucking raped her, you piece of shit.”

“So?”

“So, it’s all on the disk. The Lawrence County States Attorney’s Office would be very interested in it. You’re gonna do time for this one, Junior, and no one’s gonna enjoy watching you burn more than me.”

“
No one’s
gonna bother arresting me now that she’s dead.” He edged closer, as if he’d grown a spine. “And without the disk, no proof.”

I acknowledged my stupidity and the danger of the ultimate bluff even as the words tumbled from my mouth. “How do you know I don’t have the disk?”

He stopped. The smug grin fell away. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“You tellin’ me
you
have the disk?”

I didn’t answer. Let him draw his own conclusions, wrong as they may be.

“Bullshit.”

“Believe me or don’t, I don’t give a rat’s ass.” I placed my hand on my right hip. “But remember: If I’ve got the disk, then I also know who snuck into the office and ripped off the money.”

His pupils shrank. “Who did you see?”

“That’s between Big Joe and me.”

Slight pause.

“Wrong answer, bitch.”

He reached for me; I reached for the gun.

I had the safety off and the barrel pointed at his greasy face before he’d taken a single step.

“Back the fuck off, Junior. Now.”

He took a step back.

I saw the second his male ego realized he’d backed down from a woman. Followed by the mean glint in his eye when he decided to rectify the situation.

The ugly, violent part of my brain took over. In the back of my mind I wondered if I’d somehow died in that car accident and was having an out of body experience.

I watched myself embrace what I’d shunned in my father. I’d spent years controlling, suppressing this vicious, nasty side of myself to no avail; in the blink of an eye it filled me and fit like a second skin.

His nasal whine brought my attention back to him.

“Who do you think you are? Calamity Jane?”

“More like Annie Oakley. She was a better shot.”

He laughed; it oozed over my flesh like crude oil.

“You ain’t gonna shoot.”

Lightning fast, I sited the Corvette’s back tire and fired. Whatever noise it made as it deflated was lost in the deafening sound of close range gunfire.

Little Joe jumped back. “Jesus Christ!”

Anger burning, I calmly put another bullet in the Corvette, above the wheel well. The third shot right beside it.

Gunpowder hung in the air.

I aimed the gun at his head again. Had to talk loudly over the ringing in my ears. “Don’t think I’ll shoot?”

God. He was stupid. His macho side still wasn’t with the program. Back straight, he glared at me.

So I blasted the ground next to his feet. Three times. Dirt and rocks kicked up and mixed with the gray haze of gunpowder.

When he’d quit high stepping like a Rockette on acid, he gaped at me. With the barrel sited to his empty head, and my complete lack of conscience, I saw fear.

Finally.

“Stop following me,” I said. “You come near me or my house and I guarantee I’ll fire every fucking clip I’ve got into you, and then some. They’ll be picking chunks of you outta my lawn for weeks.”

He muttered something.

“What? Didn’t quite hear that.”

“Fuckin’ psycho. I’m callin’ the cops.”

“You do that, Junior. With what I’ve been through in the last few days, I’ll take a nice, quiet jail cell over dealing with assholes like you any day.”

“This ain’t over.”

“Wrong.” I motioned to the blacktop behind his car. “On the pavement. Now. I wanna see those fish lips kissing the dirt.”

He hesitated.

I fired so close to his loafers that the tassels smoked.

Little Joe hit the ground.

I backed up. Kept the gun trained on him as I climbed in and slammed the door. “Stay there, right like that until I’m gone. Then stay the hell away from me.”

I started the truck, threw it in reverse and burned rubber.

Without conscious thought I drove to the ranch. By the time I reached the turnoff I realized what an utterly asinine thing I’d done by taunting Little Joe Carlucci with the false information I had the disk, and then taking potshots at him.

I definitely had brain damage.

My dad was sitting on the porch, almost as if he’d been waiting for me. We hadn’t spoken since the day he’d been in the office. As usual, I had no idea how he’d react to me being there.

I climbed out of the truck and trudged up the steps.

“Heard you wrecked your car,” he said.

I managed, “Yeah,” before I sank into the fluffy cushions on the porch swing.

He didn’t ask if I was all right, just stared pointedly at the bandage.

Birkenstocks kicked off, I tucked one foot beneath me and used the other foot to push against the porch and set the swing in motion.

“Where are Trish and the kids?”

“She left to take ’em to church camp. She’ll be back later tonight. They’ll be gone for the rest of the week.”

The swing bumped into the railing behind me, rattling the chains. I slowed down the swinging motion to a gentle, easy glide.

A crow called an alarm; another answered.

I said, “Heard they arrested Viv Granger for shooting Red.”