Poison Town (16 page)

“Brendon said you know who the real criminal is …”

“I know, dog! Right? He sounded like a mind reader, like he knew we were investigating Demler-Vargus.”

Jack buried his head in his hands. The girls were calling him to come to breakfast; he didn’t want to miss them. Yet the gears were clicking, clicking, clicking in his head.

“I mean, let’s just brainstorm,” Derrick said. “What if Amy found some heavy dirt on Demler-Vargus? Let’s say she told her family …”

“Daaa-ddy.” Faye came around the corner. She reached out and tugged Jack’s hand. “Eggs are ready. Mommy says hurry up, we have to leave soon or we’ll miss the bus and then you’ll have to drive us.”

He didn’t have time for that. “Derrick, hold that thought. Keep running with it.” Jack went with Faye. “I’ve got to see the kids off. I’ll get back to you.”

They hung up, and Jack and Faye took their seats at the kitchen table. Pamela and the girls were almost finished eating. “Sorry about that,” Jack said. “Derrick found some new info he had to share.” Jack dug into the eggs.

“Daddy, you didn’t pray,” Faye said.

Rebecca stared at him. Pamela flashed one of her patented forced smiles that always made him feel like a terrible husband, father, and human being.

He closed his eyes and bowed his head, but all he could think about was Amy Sheets.
God, thanks for everything. Help Derrick and me figure this thing out.
“Amen!” he said.

“Excuse me.” Rebecca cleared her dishes. Pam did the same. Faye gave him a sympathetic frown and followed suit.

Jack ate quickly, finishing on the way to the sink.

He always tried to keep things light and fun before school. “Now, I want you girls to have a wonderful day,” he said as they got on their heavy winter coats. “Be alert. Pay attention. Stay on top of your game.”

Like a well-oiled machine, Jack handed them lunches and water bottles from the fridge. Pam was acting cold toward him, probably because he had taken the call from Derrick and missed breakfast.

Jack checked the thermometer outside the kitchen window. “Thirty-four degrees,” he announced. “Hats and gloves. Scarves and mittens.” He clapped his hands. “Bundle up. It’s gonna be coldy, coldy.”

* * *

Jack was so moody. Pamela longed for the consistency and stability they once had. Yes, he was funny now, but what about ten minutes from now, or ten hours? Couldn’t that call with Derrick have waited until he got to work? She threw on her winter coat. “Let’s go, girls.”

She appreciated what a hard worker Jack was, but it certainly hadn’t helped lately, as emotionally detached as they were. Rebecca helped hoist Faye’s pack onto her back, and the girls quietly followed Pamela to the front door. Jack had disappeared again.

“We’re leaving,” Pamela yelled.

After the Granger episode, she had phoned the school district and requested that the girls’ bus stop be moved from around the corner, out of sight of the house, to the end of the street, where she could see them. After much ado, the request had been granted. But ever since they found out Granger had been released from prison, Pamela and Jack walked the girls to the bus stop.

Before heading out the front door, Pamela took one last glance at the top of the steps and froze; the girls bumped into her from behind. Jack was bending over, adjusting the gun and ankle holster. Their eyes met. “Coming.” He stood and shook his leg. “Coming, coming, coming.”

Pamela unlatched the bolt lock and headed into the cold, hoping the girls hadn’t seen the gun. “I don’t think we’re going to see much sunshine today,” she said to them. “It’s going to stay pretty cold, and we might get some more snow.”

“Mommy, Maggie Hebert just wears a skimpy little pink windbreaker, even on cold days like this,” Rebecca said as they walked down the sidewalk toward the end of the street. “Maybe we could give her one of our coats.”

“Maybe she’s just warmblooded,” Pamela said, looking back for Jack, who was just opening the front door.

“No, she’s always freezing. Her teeth click together all the time.”

“Hey, wait for me, you crazy kids!” Jack jogged toward them.

“Well,” Pamela said, “why don’t we look tonight and see if we have one we don’t want. Is she your size?”

“She’s a bit plump,” Faye said.

“Faye, that’s not nice,” Rebecca said. “She’s just big-boned. But I have that one green coat with the fur collar-hoody thingy that I never wear. I’ve never liked it very much, and it’s toasty warm.”

Jack caught up with them, huffing and puffing to be funny. “Whew, you guys move fast.”

“You’re right we do,” Faye said. “We’ve got a bus to catch, mister.”

Jack laughed and looked at Pamela, who just shook her head.

Pamela could hear the bus chugging up the main road. “We’re going to be just in time.”

“Here.” Jack stopped and knelt. “Give us a hug. We’ll watch from here.”

“Good idea,” said Rebecca, who was clearly feeling too old to be walked to the bus stop.

They all hugged and kissed, and Rebecca led the way down the rest of the street, Faye right beside her.

The school bus rambled up the street and squeaked to a halt, its red and orange lights flashing. Pamela scanned the neighborhood. The bus let out a burst, its doors opened, and the girls climbed aboard. It was one of the newer buses with the tinted windows, so they couldn’t see where the girls sat. Pamela and Jack waved anyway. Jack turned to walk back toward the house, but Pamela watched until the bus was almost out of sight and gave one last wave.

The wave was damp and cold to the core, like Pamela felt inside.

Jack had waited for her. “What are your plans for the day?” he said.

Pamela told him she would go to the library and Target and pick up some groceries; all the while she was wondering if she should mention the pregnancy test. She didn’t even feel like taking it now.

“There’s a lot happening with this Demler-Vargus story. We’re supposed to interview the CEO and his son today.”

“Didn’t you just interview him?”

“Yeah, but that was a feature story. This is for an investigative piece.”

Pamela knew him so well. Just the way he looked down at the road and up into the sky. He was already at the newspaper in his mind.

“Oh boy,” he said. “Don’t look now. We’re being watched.”

It scared her for a second, but when she looked at Jack, he was grinning and scratching his forehead to cover his eyes.

Pamela glanced up at the house. The blinds in the guestroom were awkwardly spread open about three inches, and her mom was peering out.

“She never misses a trick,” Pamela said.

Jack chuckled. “Hey, at least we’ll know right away if you-know-who shows up again.”

Just walk
, Pamela thought.
Don’t say a word. It’s not even worth it.

They reached the end of the driveway. She removed a magnet sticker from the mailbox advertising a snowplow service. She was so frustrated. Nothing was working for them. Everything was off.

Jack picked up the copy of the
Dispatch
that had been thrown there in the wee hours of the morning. He took it out of the plastic bag, opened it, and examined the front page as they walked up the driveway to the front door.

Pamela glanced up at her mom’s window one last time; the blind dropped shut.

They got inside, and Jack tossed the paper on the steps. “I’m gonna get ready and get into work. Big day ahead.”

She lifted her head to acknowledge him.

He took several stairs and stopped. “Hey, what was that exciting news you were going to tell me last night?”

She stared blankly. No words came.

“Can’t remember?” he said.

She shook her head.

“Okay.” He took the steps fast. “Let me know if you think of it.”

He was gone.

She stood there; the house was quiet.

She was surprised she didn’t burst into tears. But she wasn’t even close.

And that scared her … more than Granger Meade ever had.

Chapter 17

Travis could barely keep his mind on the new muffler hanging over his head. Claire Fontaine had lit up his life like a Roman candle. She was funny and kind, sensitive and pretty—shoot, she had it all. Was it too soon to say she was the best thing that had ever happened to him? They’d spent the whole tooting day together Sunday, went their separate ways for a few hours, then met back up for chocolate cheesecake at Tiffany’s on the square.

All he wanted was to be with her again.

“Trav, you done yet?” LJ called from beneath a Ford Fusion in the adjoining bay. “We’re backin’ up here. You been on that Mustang the whole dern morning.”

“Almost,” Travis called.

“Look, it’s Monday, I’m tired, I’m ill. Don’t make me go off on you.”

Travis laughed. “What the holy fire is wrong with you? Didn’t you get enough of Daddy’s grits this mornin’?”

“That Mercury’s next. He needs it by three. Man, since when am I the traffic coordinator ’round here? We need to get Daddy back out here.”

“I’m goin’ to lunch when I’m done with this’un.”

LJ rolled out from beneath the Fusion, squinting with his one eye. “Lunch? What’re you talkin’ about?”

“Claire’s pickin’ me up. We’re goin’ for pizza.”

LJ rolled back under the car, mumbling and grumbling.

Travis snickered and tightened the last few bolts on the new muffler.

There was a knock at the side door.

He tossed the socket wrench, grabbed the dirty towel from his shoulder, and wiped his greasy hands on the way to the door.

Ralston Coon stepped in from the cold in his fancy black lawyer coat.

“I hope to goodness you come bearing good news.” Travis called for LJ to come out.

LJ took his time wheeling out, wiping his hands on his navy coveralls, grunting and groaning his way over. Coon held his pudgy hands up, not wanting to shake with either of the Randalls.

“Do you mind?” The lawyer moved over, rubbing his hands beneath the glowing orange space heater that hung in the corner. “I can’t get warm today.”

“Whatchya got, Mr. Coon?” LJ said. “We run a busy shop here.”

Coon took off his silver glasses, pulled a little cleaning cloth from his pocket, and rubbed the lenses. “Gentlemen, I have some very encouraging news. Should we go inside where your father can hear?”

“Just lay it on us. We’ll tell Daddy,” said LJ.

“All right then. First of all, our friends at Demler-Vargus admit absolutely no wrongdoing whatsoever—”

“Give me a big fat break.” LJ spit toward the corner.

“Wait.” Coon held up a hand. “Just wait. To a corporate giant like this, the amount they are offering to pay you is a mere pittance, if they can keep their name out of the news and squelch any bad press.”

“How much?” LJ said.

“Let me finish.… They require each of you, and your father, to sign an affidavit stating that you know of no wrongdoing on their behalf, and that you are accusing them of no wrongdoing and will not do so in the future.”

Travis began to protest, but the lawyer spoke louder. “…
And
that you will talk to no one, absolutely no one, about Demler-Vargus ever again.”

Travis dropped his head. The biggest bully on the block would get its way and would be able to continue hurting people.

“How much?” LJ squeezed the back of his long neck.

Coon evened his gaze with LJ, then Travis. “A cool two-point-five million.”

LJ and Travis went limp at the same time.

They would be taken care of.

Travis felt tears welling in his eyes. Anything Daddy needed, they could afford.

“Have ’em round it up to three, and that’ll be a million each,” LJ said.

“LJ.” Travis gave him a nasty frown.

“Shall we run it by Galen?” Coon said. “If all three of you agree, we need to pick an afternoon this week to meet with them. They’re ready to be done with it.”

“Oh, now they’re in a hurry.” LJ stomped over to one of the red tool chests.

“Well, they’re gonna git their way.” Travis headed for the door. “Pay us what amounts to a drop in the bucket for them and keep on killin’ people.”

LJ and Coon stared at him.

“Isn’t there a way we could cripple them more? Stop what happened to Momma from happening to other folks ’round here?”

LJ looked at Coon now too.

“Gentlemen, if … if you want me to ask for a bit more money, I’ll consider it. But if you’re talking about seeking some astronomical figure that you think is going to somehow impair this mega manufacturing giant or somehow pay them back for your mother’s death—that is not what I signed up for.”

The boys exchanged glances but said nothing.

“Now I suggest we go lay this out for your father and come to a decision,” Coon said. “I’ve been working diligently on this for weeks, and the iron is red hot. We need to
strike.”