Holly Grove Homecoming (15 page)

In researching the incident, she’d soon discovered that the victims of that crime were the parents of well-known FBI agent Trooper Myers. She’d also learned that Trooper had left Holly Grove soon after the murders and never returned.

So, with the notion of a true crime book in the back of her mind and a contract for three suspense novels in her pocket, she’d made a quick trip to Holly Grove, picked out a house in an older part of town, and made up her mind to quietly look around for clues that might help her figure out where Eric could possibly be.

And she’d kept paying Jeff to search for Eric. Jeff wasn’t terribly expensive after all. He charged by the hour but didn’t spend a significant amount of time on the case because he’d already done about all he could before Carly moved to Holly Grove. Now he mainly kept an eye out for runaways who were the right age, who roughly met Eric’s description, and were anonymous. When he ran into boys who met that description, he brought pictures of them for Carly to see. He could have scanned and emailed them, of course, but Carly enjoyed having an excuse to visit with him.

She pulled into the parking lot of the mom-and-pop restaurant located in the nondescript strip mall where she and Jeff always met. She looked around for his vehicle. Spotting a huge black SUV, she nodded to herself and cut her engine. Jeff was always early, and she knew he’d be waiting for her at their usual table in the back. She wondered sometimes if she kept him on the case because they’d grown so comfortable with each other. If she ever let him go, it would be like cutting ties with an old friend.

But even more importantly, she and Jeff had formed a partnership of sorts. He did whatever he could to help the young people he found on the streets, and Carly paid most of the expenses involved. It was a working relationship that helped both of them deal with the tragedies those young people represented.

When Carly opened the glass door and stepped into the restaurant, Jeff stood and smiled. She acknowledged him with a quick wave, then paused to read the day’s specials that were hand-written on the small blackboard sitting on an easel just to the right of the door. “Yay,” she murmured under her breath. “Macaroni and cheese.” For some reason, she felt in need of comfort food today.

She hurried to the table where Jeff and a waitress awaited her. After placing her order, she settled back in her chair and flashed Jeff her brightest smile. “How are things with you?”

He grinned. “Not bad. I helped three girls and two boys get off the streets this past month.”

“Wonderful.” Carly knew that sometimes Jeff merely got them into a halfway house or some sort of foster care. “Did any of them return home?”

“Two of the girls did and one boy. And you only owe me for the boy’s bus fare. In the case of the girls, their families were so thrilled to know they were okay, they insisted on wiring the money for them to come home.”

“The boy’s folks weren’t that thrilled?”

“He was from a broken home, and it was his mother I talked with. She sounded too beaten down to be thrilled about anything, but she was willing to take him back as long as she didn’t have to pay any of his expenses. She said she couldn’t afford it, and I believed her. The bus ticket didn’t cost that much.”

Carly’s facial muscles tightened. This was the point during their meetings when Jeff always showed her the pictures. They’d both learned from experience that she couldn’t eat until she knew whether or not one of the pictures was of Eric.

Jeff glanced at her and raised his brows, obviously aware that she was tensing up. He reached into the seat of the chair located to his right, picked up a folder, and handed it across the table to Carly.

She opened it quickly. It contained just two pictures, both black and white, eight by ten inches. The first showed a boy of perhaps eighteen, younger than Eric would be now. Carly didn’t doubt that, assuming Eric had survived, he would look older than his years. Life on the street aged young people quickly.

She shook her head, then slipped that picture to the back and looked at the next. This one also appeared young, although the expression in his eyes showed a maturity that tugged at Carly’s heart. “You couldn’t get either of them to tell you who they were or where they came from?”

“Unfortunately, no. I suspect they’re wanted by the authorities somewhere, probably wherever they’re from. They wouldn’t talk.”

“But you gave them some money,” Carly guessed.

Jeff shrugged. “You would have too. And don’t ask how much, because these two are on me.”

“Okay.” Carly knew better than to argue with him. Jeff might not feel the same deep empathy for these young people that Carly experienced, but he’d learned to care for them during the years he’d worked for her. “Okay,” she said again.

She slipped the second picture to the back of the pile and picked up the sheet containing Jeff’s bill. She glanced at the invoice, then pulled some bills out of her billfold and slipped them into the folder before handing it back. She forced a smile. “It’s your turn to buy lunch today.”

Jeff’s brows shot up. “I think I remember you saying that the last time.”

Carly flashed him an impudent grin. “Some detective you are! I say that every time and every time you buy my meal. If you were a good detective, you’d keep track.”

Jeff laughed, just as Carly knew he would. This type of banter was the way they dealt with the stress of knowing there were young people out there they could never reach.

“Maybe I’ll fool you one of these days,” Jeff said. “Maybe I’ll start keeping track of who buys lunch.”

“If you ever do that, I’ll have to let you go,” Carly shot back. “The only way I can afford your exorbitant fees is because you feed me occasionally.”

Jeff was still laughing when the waitress brought their food. She set their plates in front of them and, having served them several time in the past, laid the ticket down at Jeff’s place.

Carly shot him another grin, then picked up her fork and dug into the large mound of macaroni on her plate. If she ever needed comfort food, it was on the days she met with Jeff.

* * *

T
rooper was convinced
that the spread Myrna set out on her dining room table for lunch that day represented the absolute ultimate in comfort food. “The better to bribe Tommy with,” he murmured under his breath.

Not that Tommy had needed any bribing when Trooper told him he was invited to Myrna’s for lunch that day. After all, as a boyhood friend of Trooper’s, Tommy had grown up eating Myrna’s cooking and understood the treat he was in for.

Myrna seemed as delighted to have Tommy at her table again as he was to be there. They visited as they ate, each catching up with news about mutual acquaintances while Trooper ate quietly, aware that most of the people under discussion were folks he’d never met.

But after the blackberry cobbler had been polished off, Myrna gave Trooper a surreptitious wink and excused herself from the table. Tommy leaned back in his chair, patted his belly, and raised his brows. “Why do I feel as though I’ve been brought here for a reason that has nothing to do with lunch?”

Trooper grimaced. “You’ve probably guessed that I was hoping to pin you down about when we could get together.”

Tommy sighed. “I know what you want to meet about, Trooper, but I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed. I wasn’t allowed in your parents’ house that day, so I didn’t see a thing.”

“So you didn’t get there until after the sheriff’s people had already closed off the house?”

“That’s right. Of course I knew something bad was up when I saw all the police cars, not to mention the ambulance. I’d ridden over on my bike, so I tossed it to the ground and took off running toward the house. I would have gone in the front door but the sheriff met me there and blocked the doorway.”

“Did you hear anything?”

Tommy paused and gave the matter some thought. “Some crying.”

“Crying? Who was crying, Mr. Graham?”

“Yeah. It was bad. I hate to hear a man cry, and he was sobbing out loud. I could hear a little of what he was saying, too.”

“You could?”

“Yeah. I can’t remember his exact words, of course, but it was something about wishing he’d gotten there sooner so maybe he could have kept Larry from shooting your folks.”

“So it had already been determined that Larry was the shooter?”

“I guess so. Nothing surprising there. From what I heard, the gun was in his hand.”

“Where’d you hear that?”

Tommy frowned, obviously confused. “Everywhere. You must know how much talk there was. Well, on the other hand, maybe you don’t. Probably people didn’t talk in front of you. But it was common knowledge in town that the gun was in Larry’s right hand and the letter was in his left hand. And he was right-handed, in case you’re wondering. I asked about that myself.”

Trooper nodded. “You’re right in thinking that people didn’t talk in front of me, but I tended to overhear things anyway. That’s pretty much what I heard people say about the gun and the note.”

Tommy sighed. “I wish I could tell you something you don’t already know, Troop, but I just didn’t see or hear much that day. The sheriff told me to get back on my bike and get out of the way, so I left before you got there. Frankly, once I knew what had happened, I had no desire to hang around. You know I’d always been close to your mom and dad. They were like a second set of parents to me.”

“I know.” Trooped sighed too. “And I know you missed them too.”

“Of course I missed them. Their loss hit me hard. But most of all, I hated losing my best friend.”

Trooper looked up quickly and frowned. “You mean me?”

“Of course I mean you. Not that I could blame you, of course, but suddenly you were gone too. I never even got a letter or a phone call after you left town. Myrna kept me in the loop for a few years. I knew you’d gone to live with her brother in Knoxville and that you’d started to college that fall. I even knew four years later when you went into the FBI, but after that, well, you know how it goes.”

“Yeah, I do.” Trooper picked up his iced tea glass and swirled the remaining ice cubes around in the bottom of it. “I suppose I should have…” He paused. This conversation was like digging at an old, scabbed-over wound, and he wasn’t enjoying it. But Tommy deserved as much of an explanation as he was able to give.

He tried again. “The thing was, I needed to cut as many ties with Holly Grove as I could. Just thinking of the town brought back memories of my parents of course, but I also kept picturing the things that I figured folks were saying about my mother. That nearly drove me crazy for the first few years.”

Tommy lifted his chin and stared directly into Trooper’s eyes. “Well, for what it’s worth, I never believed anything about your mother except that she was one of the finest ladies I ever knew. I don’t know why Larry Abbott killed your mom and dad, but I’m convinced his suicide note was a lie. And I think all the townspeople felt just like I did.”

Trooper suddenly felt as though a burden had been lifted from his spirit. “Thanks, Tommy. I’m glad to know that. But the thing is, I’m not sure Larry wrote that note.”

Tommy showed no sign of surprise. “Me either, to tell you the truth. It didn’t sound like him. Remember how he liked to talk so tough all the time, trying to hide the fact that he was such a momma’s boy? I don’t think he would have written that sort of mushy note.”

Trooper picked up his tea glass, tipped an ice cube into his mouth, and swirled it around with his tongue for a minute. He didn’t want his next words to come out as accusatory so he took a few seconds longer to munch on the ice cube and then swallowed before he spoke. “How did you see the note, Tom? They wouldn’t allow me to see it.”

Tommy shrugged. “A few days after you left, Dad brought home a copy of the note. I don’t think I was supposed to see it because he seemed a little upset that he hadn’t put it away before I got home. He said that somebody had obviously made a copy of the note but that it wasn’t supposed to be in circulation and so we shouldn’t show it to anyone else.”

“Was it signed?”

“Yep. Just with Larry’s first name though.”

“You wouldn’t by chance have hung on to that note, would you?”

Tommy scratched his ear. “Maybe, but even if I did, it would take a while for me to find it. I left a bunch of stuff from my high school days at Dad’s house and he may have thrown everything out. Or Mom might have before she died. We lost her a couple of years ago, you know.”

“Myrna wrote me. I was sorry to hear it. I liked your mom.”

“Thanks.” Tommy swallowed. “Anyway, Mom liked a neat house, and Dad said she would go on cleaning sprees before she got sick. However, she might have left my stuff alone. It was up on a shelf in my bedroom closet. I’ll have to check and see if it’s still there.”

“Would you?”

“Sure. I can go over there tonight after work. You want to meet me there?”

“Just give me a call and let me know what time. I’d like to see your dad again anyway.”

“He’d like that too. Just guessing, I’d say it will be around seven o’clock. I’ve got an appointment with a customer at five and then I need to grab something to eat.” He patted his stomach again. “Although I shouldn’t eat another bite today.” He pushed himself to his feet. “In the meantime, I’d better say goodbye to your aunt Myrna and get back to work.”