The Last Death of Jack Harbin (18 page)

“But Jack enjoyed playing? What was his game?”

Walter grins ruefully. “He liked to play blackjack or craps, either one, and one of us would bet for him. Sometimes he'd listen so close when we played craps that I think he could hear what numbers came up on the dice.”

The sharp-faced boy is staring at Walter, his expression still angry. “That last time wasn't so good, though. Remember how pissed off Jack was when we left?”

“Never did figure out what got him going,” another one says.

Dunn tosses back the rest of his punch. “Well, we better gather up the ladies and head on out. I guess we'll see you around.”

Taylor sees me coming toward the group of people she's with. She steps away and hugs me. “I want you to meet my husband.” She pulls me over. “Alex, this is Samuel Craddock, the man who went to Waco with me.”

Taylor's husband makes a good first impression. He's my height, about six feet, with broad shoulders and he meets my eyes directly. His dark hair is cut neatly. His suit is probably expensive, but it isn't ostentatious. If anything, he looks a bit stuffy.

“I appreciate your helping Taylor out, going to Waco. I've got my hands full at work.”

“I didn't mind a bit.”

Taylor's mother lunges toward us. Taylor tenses. She's always been a little allergic to her mother, who is well meaning, but doesn't always curb her tongue. “Samuel, I haven't seen you in a while. When you called me for Taylor's number the other day, why didn't you tell me what had happened to Jack? And what happened to your leg?”

“Mamma, don't badger Samuel.”

I lean over and give Agatha a shoulder hug. “That's all right. Your mamma's right, we don't get a chance to visit much.”

“I'm just so stirred up about what happened to Jack, I don't know that any of us is safe in our bed.” She rattles on like that for a few minutes. I catch Loretta's eye and she cruises over and takes Agatha off our hands.

By the way Woody and Laurel aren't looking at each other, I expect they've had a fight. Seems like funerals either bring people together or shake them apart.

Some receptions go on all afternoon, but this one breaks up early. I wait for Loretta while she bustles around helping with cleanup. On our way out, she says, “That Curtis is awful close with a dollar. He argued with Annie Milton when she told him the usual donation to Methodist ladies' auxiliary is $100 for a reception. Annie told him to keep his money. Nicely, of course.”

“He didn't take her up on it, did he?”

“Gave her $50.”

“Just a minute.” She waits while I go back inside.

I slip some money in the donation box. Annie is still there, and sees me. “You don't need to do that.” She gives me a sharp look. “Loretta told you about Curtis, didn't she?”

“I know I don't have to contribute,” I say, “But when it comes time for my funeral, you all better do it up right.”

I've just gotten out of my funeral clothes and back into my blue jeans, and am putting on a pot of coffee when I hear someone coming up the front steps. Through the screen door, I see Taylor and her husband.

“Are you busy?” Taylor says.

“Not a bit.”

“With Mamma rattling on at the reception, Alex hardly got a chance to say hello.”

Alex's smile is strained. He has put in his time and is ready to get back up to Dallas. Why has Taylor brought him here? I offer them something to drink, but both of them say they had plenty at the reception. There's an awkward moment.

“Funeral went off okay,” I say.

“Those motorcycles,” Taylor says, shaking her head.

“Alex, you must think this is a pretty rowdy little town,” I say.

He doesn't reply, because he's staring at the Melinda Buie painting above the fireplace that I bought in Houston a few months ago. After a minute he moves onto my Wolf Kahn and then to each of the pictures around the room. Finally he turns his gaze to me. “Where in the world did you get these pieces?” He looks at Taylor. “This is why you wanted me to come here, isn't it?”

Taylor grins at him like a puppy who's done well. “Alex loves art. I thought he'd like to see your collection.”

Alex looks at me as if I've just sprouted wings. I'm used to this response. When Jeanne was alive, we sometimes had tour groups come through. Even though I dressed up in my good duds, to them I was just some old country boy. Me having a prize art collection was a wonder to behold.

I tell Alex how I got interested in art through my wife. “We just kind of fell into buying at the right time.”

I take him on a tour around the house, pleased to have somebody appreciate the works.

“I keep meaning to take a class on how to buy art,” he says, when we're sitting in the living room drinking coffee. “But I just don't have the time.”

“You don't need to take a class,” I say. “Let me get you the name of a good dealer in Dallas who can guide you.”

He thanks me and looks at his watch. “Baby, I have to get on the road.”

“You staying here for a few days?” I ask Taylor.

“I don't know. I should get back. My girls need me.”

“Take your time,” Alex says. “They'll be fine with Martha. You need to get this thing with Sarah taken care of.”

Some husbands wouldn't want their wife sticking their nose into a hornet's nest like Curtis's religious organization. But Alex probably knows that Taylor can't be held back, so he might as well get some points by giving his approval.

“We'll figure something out,” I tell him.

Taylor has to have Alex drive her out to her mamma's so she can pick up her car.

“After that,” I say, “if you have some time, how about coming back here and we can talk.”

While I wait for her to come back, I read Bob's autopsy report again. Why would he have had Benadryl in his system? Jack told me he never took the stuff, and as far as he knew Bob didn't have a cold or allergies. The report says there wasn't enough Benadryl in his system to trigger a heart attack. But it
was
enough to put him into a sound sleep.

So Bob's death looks innocent enough. But I'm not ready to let it go at that. I call T. J. Sutter's office and leave a message for him to call back. I don't know if he'll be any help, since he most likely believes that Bob died of a heart attack, but it won't hurt to discuss my doubts with him.

When Taylor comes back, she has changed into jeans and a T-shirt. “Sorry it took so long,” she says. “Mamma had a lot on her mind about the funeral.” She sighs. “She never liked Jack, but that didn't keep her from criticizing the way his funeral went—everything from the motorcycle brigade to the quality of the punch.”

I laugh, but I'm not feeling chatty. I didn't ask Taylor to come back here for small talk. I sit her down at the kitchen table with iced tea.

“I need some straight answers,” I say.

She smiles uncertainly. “About Sarah?”

“About Jack.”

“I don't understand.”

“About California.”

She puts her hands up as if to ward me off. “Oh, no. We're not going there.”

“Yes, we are. I'm investigating Jack's murder. And anything people don't want to talk about is of interest to me. I've pieced together that somehow Jack got out to California after he was injured. I don't know the how or why of it, or how he got back here.”

“Really, honestly. California has nothing to do with Jack's death.”

“You're going to have to let me be the judge of that.”

She squirms, looking at everything in the kitchen but me. “Have you talked to Walter Dunn? He can tell you everything you need to know.”

“I did. And he stonewalled me the same way you're doing.”

Fire flares in her eyes. “Right. So instead of pressing him, you figured since we know each other, I'd be easier to put pressure on.”

“We do go back a long ways.” I speak softly because there may be some truth in what she says. “But Dunn's not talking and Woody said you're the one to ask.” I pour us more iced tea and let what I've said sink in. “Now listen to me. I don't know what happened out there. Can't even begin to guess. But I need to have a complete picture of Jack's life. And this is one big gap. So whatever you know, I'd like you to tell me.”

She starts to protest, but I stop her. “Taylor, you know you can trust me.”

“And you can trust me! I'm telling you that what happened in California has nothing to do with Jack's death.”

She picks up her tea, and her hand is shaking. What in the world is she so afraid of?

“I asked Curtis what he remembered about Jack being missing. He was a teenager at the time. He says he came in one night when you were talking to Bob. You were crying, and he heard you tell Bob you'd ‘do what you could.' What did you mean by that?”

We sit silently, Taylor tracing the condensation running down her glass of tea, me watching emotions, from defiance to sadness, flick across her face.

“It makes me sick to my stomach to think about what happened.”

“It's a long time to keep a secret.”

More silence, but I'm ready to wait it out.

“You got anything stronger than beer in the house?”

I bring out the bottle of brandy Woody and I were sharing last night, and two glasses. You can't let a lady drink alone, especially if you've asked her to tell you things she doesn't want to talk about. Taylor throws back the first slug of brandy all in one gulp, and then shudders.

“We were so goddamn young.” Her voice is hollow. ”High school kids think the world will always stay the same. I loved Woody and Jack, and until senior year I thought the two of them and my girlfriends here at home were all I would ever need.” She smiles wanly. “I remember sitting in this kitchen with Jeanne, her telling me I might change, and me saying no, that my situation was different, that I had the best friends in the best town in the best state, ever.”

I picture Jeanne listening and smiling at Taylor's naïveté. A regret goes through me that I haven't had in a long while. Jeanne would have been a good mother.

“But Jeanne was right. In my senior year I started to get restless. Woody and Jack both seemed content to stay here in Jarrett Creek forever. I wanted more. I wanted to go to college and get out into the world. I suddenly felt like their big sister. They were like children that I would always love, and yet I wanted to move on.” Her mouth is smiling at the memory, but her eyes are sad.

I get up and put together a plate of cheese and crackers. She's laying into the brandy pretty hard.

“That's why you talked them into going into the army? You felt guilty about leaving them behind, and figured the service would give them a new focus?”

She nods and picks up a cracker and nibbles it. “You remember, when they signed up no one had any idea there was going to be a war. And then by the time Jack had to leave, we all knew the war was coming. If I'd known . . .” She trails off, shaking her head. “But as it was I was tickled to death when Woody and Jack signed up. I had this idea that we would all go out into the world, me to college, them to the army and we'd all come back here better versions of ourselves.”

“And then Woody got rejected by the army.” I don't want to rush her, but I'm wondering what this has to do with California.

Her shoulders slump. “All of us were devastated. Woody was hurt the most, though. He felt like a failure. Not only did he hate getting rejected, but he also hated leaving Jack on his own. He had always been an upbeat guy and he went into a horrible funk. When he asked if I would marry him, I didn't feel like I had any choice.” She throws her hands out in appeal. “I thought if I didn't marry him, he'd . . . what? Die of unhappiness?” She bolts up from her chair as if it has caught fire and paces to the window, leaning her forehead against it to stare out into the fading daylight.

“Taylor, did you talk to Jeanne about this?”

“She begged me not to marry Woody. She said she adored him and knew he was a good man, but she didn't think getting married would be good for either one of us. But I was in high school. I couldn't be told what to do. God, I wish I had listened to her.” She turns back to face me. “Now do you see why I blame myself? I ruined Jack's life. And by marrying Woody, I almost ruined his.”

“Give yourself a break. All of you were mighty young.” I pour her another shot of brandy and take a sip of my mine.

She comes over and takes up the glass. “You can't imagine the fights Woody and I had.”

“I'm still waiting to find out what this has to do with California.”

She eases back down in her chair, flashing me a crooked grin. “I thought maybe you'd forget about that.”

“It's a big piece of the puzzle.”

Her words are beginning to slur. “By the time Jack got hurt, Woody and I already pretty much hated each other. But when we heard about his injuries, it brought us back together. And then one day I got a phone call from Bob, wanting to know if I'd heard from Jack. Said he'd called the VA to find out when he could bring Jack home, and Jack had checked out of the hospital, and no one knew where he had gone. I told Bob I didn't know anything about it.”

She puts her head in her hands. I don't say a word. California is coming. Eventually she draws a deep breath, takes a sip of brandy and looks at me. “Then one night, really late, I got a phone call. It was from a guy who said Jack had asked him to call me.” She closes her eyes and shakes her head. “I'll never forget his words. ‘Jack said you'd come and help him out. And lady, let me tell you, he needs help.' I asked where Jack was, and he gave me an address in San Francisco. And then he hung up!”

“He didn't say who he was?”

“Nothing. I didn't know what to think. Whether it was some kind of joke, or what. I went straight over to Bob's and asked if he had heard from Jack. He said he hadn't. So I told him about the phone call. Bob was hurt that Jack had asked the guy to call me instead of him. Bob wanted to go out to California to look into things, but I thought it should be me. I didn't know why Jack had asked the guy to call me instead of Bob, but I figured he must have a reason.”

“That must have been the night Curtis heard the two of you talking.”

She nods. Tears are slipping down her cheeks.

“What did Woody have to say about all this?”

“He was fit to be tied. He didn't want me to go, thought it wasn't right for Jack to ask me.”

“Did Woody think about going himself?”

She shakes her head. “Even if Woody had wanted to go, we couldn't afford it. He was working construction and he knew if he left, he'd lose his job. But he sure as hell didn't want me going out there. He thought Bob should be the one. And he couldn't understand why I insisted. By the time I left, Woody wasn't even speaking to me. I knew that if I went to California, my marriage was over. In a way it was almost a relief.”

What she says troubles me. Could Woody have been carrying a grudge all these years? He said he and Jack buried the hatchet, but there's nobody to vouch for that. “Why do you suppose he was so dead set against your going?”

“Woody was always jealous of Jack. After the army rejected him, it got worse. Even after Jack was injured Woody couldn't get it out of his head that I loved Jack more than I loved him.” Taylor looks at me with sad eyes. “That was never true. I loved both of them, just not in a marrying kind of way.”

“How did you get the money to go to California?”

“Bob paid for it. Up to the last minute he wanted to go with me. You know Bob; he would have done anything to help Jack. But in the end, he was afraid that if he showed up, Jack would reject his help. He finally agreed with me that I'd be the best one to persuade Jack to come home.”