Holly Grove Homecoming (20 page)

Now, since he didn’t want to give Howard an opportunity to corner him at Carly’s, he contented himself with watching out the window. After only a few minutes, he saw Howard come out of the house, get into his truck, and head down the street.

Trooper had started to turn away from the window when another movement caught his eye. Carly dashed out her front door and hurried to her car, not even glancing across the street toward Myrna’s house as she backed out and then drove off in the direction of downtown.

Strange. He couldn’t imagine where Carly would be going so early and why she had appeared to be in such a hurry. He thought briefly of trying to reach her on her cell phone but then decided it was none of his business where she was going.

He shrugged one shoulder and turned away from the window, then quickly turned back when he heard a vehicle. Thinking perhaps Carly had returned already, he looked out, only to see a large black SUV pull up in front of her house.

He stepped closer to the window and watched a man climb out of the driver’s seat and look around as though he wasn’t quite sure he was at the right place. He stared for a few seconds at the house numbers tacked onto the clapboard near the front door, then bent and reached back into his car. When he pulled back and closed his car door, he held a manila envelope in his hand.

Trooper didn’t watch any longer. Since Carly wasn’t at home and the man was a stranger, Trooper was determined to see what the fellow was up to. He dashed down the stairs and out the front door. By the time he crossed the street, the fellow was ringing Carly’s doorbell.

“She isn’t home,” Trooper called as he started up the sidewalk toward Carly’s front porch.

The fellow turned quickly, a frown pulling at his brow. “Where is she, do you know?”

“Nope.” Trooper stepped up onto the porch and gave the fellow a quick once-over. The man returned Trooper’s gaze, then stuck out his hand to shake. “I’m Jeff Hearst.”

“Nelson Myers.” Trooper shook the man’s hand. “I saw Carly drive off a few minutes ago. I don’t know where she was going, but we have plans for this afternoon so I’ll be seeing her then. Can I give her a message for you?”

The man glanced at his watch, then shrugged. “I’d wait if I could but I’ve got an appointment in Atlanta and need to get on the road. If you don’t mind, give her this.” He held out the manila envelope. “Tell her I just got it today and had hoped to give it to her in person. She has my cell phone number if she needs to reach me.”

Trooper took the envelope. It was thin, as though it contained no more than a sheet or two of paper. “I’ll be sure to see that she gets this.”

“Thanks!” The man shot him a smile, then turned and hurried back to his vehicle. He looked back once before he climbed behind the wheel. Trooper watched as the fellow made a U-turn on Sugar Maple and drove away.

“Strange,” Trooper murmured to himself. He looked at the envelope, hoping to see a return address or some other identification to tell him something about Jeff Hearst besides his name. The envelope was completely blank. And it was sealed. Glued and taped. Apparently the man wanted to make sure no one saw the contents except Carly.

And Trooper didn’t know where Carly was. He didn’t want to take the envelope back across the street with him, and he didn’t want to risk leaving it on her front porch, so he ran his hand into his pocket, pulled out the door key, and let himself into the house.

The best place to leave the envelope, he decided, was propped up on the table just inside the door. Surely she’d see it when she got home. In the meantime, he needed to grab his cell phone and make a quick call to his friend George in the Philadelphia office. George would grumble, but he’d run a check on the license plate of that black SUV that had just left Carly’s house, along with the man who said his name was Jeff Hearst.

B
y the time
Carly got back with the supplies needed to fix her window, Howard James’ truck was sitting in front of her house. She turned into her driveway, rolled to a stop, and pushed the button that opened her trunk. When she stepped around to the back of the car, Howard was there waiting for her.

“I didn’t expect you back so soon,” Carly said.

Howard shrugged. “I got through with my other job quicker than I figured. Did Arlis get you fixed up?”

Carly picked up the paper bag Arlis Starr had said contained the items Howard would need. “Here you are. The ticket’s in the bag.”

He looked inside, then nodded. “Looks like Arlis had everything I needed. I’ll get to work now.”

Since Carly had already shown Howard the location of the broken window, she let him go upstairs by himself while she unloaded her trunk. After depositing her weed control chemicals in the storage shed, she recalled that she hadn’t mentioned the screen to Howard. She had headed upstairs when she met him coming down.

“The window’s fixed,” he said, “but the screen’s a different story. I’ll need to take it with me if you can spare it for a day or two.”

“That’s no problem,” Carly assured him. “I’m using my air conditioners day and night now anyway.”

“Don’t blame you,” Howard said. “I’m doing the same at my house. I’ll go back up and take your screen out. I’ll get it fixed and bring it back in a couple of days.”

Carly offered to pay him but he said they’d settle up when he returned with the screen.

She had no problem with that. In fact, at this point she welcomed not having to take time to write a check. The morning was getting away from her and there were a thousand things she needed to do before she and Trooper left for Knoxville at one o’clock.

B
y twelve thirty
, Carly was almost ready. She’d showered, shaved her legs, blow-dried her hair so it would have more body, and rubbed lotion over her arms and legs. She’d picked out a lightweight summer dress and sandals, hoping she wouldn’t get too cool in the restaurant.

Now all she had to do was double check to make sure her windows were locked. She didn’t want to come back this evening and wonder if Mrs. Abbott had been in her house.

She’d just started up the stairs when the doorbell rang. She turned back, looked through the sidelight beside the front door, and smiled when she saw Trooper standing on her front porch. He was early, but maybe that meant he was as eager for their afternoon together as she was. She hurriedly opened the door, but her smile faded when she caught sight of the scowl on his face.

“Hi Trooper.” She paused, waiting to see if he’d offer some explanation for his obvious anger, but he merely stared at her.

She opened the door wider, then asked, “What’s going on?”

He stepped inside but didn’t answer her question. Instead he looked toward the table beside the door. For the first time, Carly realized an envelope was propped up between a vase and the wall. An envelope she’d never seen before.

Trooper finally spoke, biting his words off in short, bitter snippets. “You apparently haven’t looked to see what your private investigator left for you.”

Carly felt the blood draining from her face. “What do you mean?”

Trooper nodded toward the envelope. “He came by this morning while you were away. I heard his vehicle and came across the street to tell him you weren’t home. He wanted you to have that envelope and he was in a hurry, so I offered to see that you got it. I put it inside where I thought you’d see it.”

Moving stiffly, Carly reached for the manila envelope. She looked at the front, then turned it over. It was still sealed, and there was no identification on the outside. “He told you who he was? He told you he was my private investigator?”

For the first time, Trooper’s expression changed. A portion of his anger appeared to fade. “No.” A flush touched his cheeks.

“You checked up on me.” Carly set her teeth and lifted her chin. She wasn’t angry. Well, yes, come to think of it, she
was
angry. But mostly she was hurt. “You could have asked me. I was planning to tell you anyway.”

“Oh? When?” If Trooper had been feeling any sort of chagrin, it now disappeared. His eyes darkened with renewed anger.

“This afternoon. I had intended to tell you this afternoon.”

“Oh come on, Carly. You expect me to believe that?”

She shook her head. “Don’t try to make this all about me. You went behind my back and checked up on me.”

“I’ve had a feeling for some time that you’ve been hiding something from me. Why did you hire a private investigator, Carly? What were you searching for that you couldn’t tell me about?”

She shook her head again, then nodded toward the door. “Leave, Trooper. Just leave.”

He stood staring at her for several seconds, but she merely returned his stare. She stared until her eyes began to burn, but she didn’t drop her gaze.

Finally he turned and walked out, allowing the screen to slam behind him.

She gently closed the inside door and watched through the sidelight as he strode down the sidewalk and into the street. Only then did she allow her tears to start falling.

Carly allowed herself to cry for ten minutes. She was hurt, but she knew she had to take into account the fact that Trooper was an FBI agent. She wondered if she wouldn’t have done the same thing in his place.

Besides, she didn’t have time for self-pity. If Jeff had made a special trip to Holly Grove to drop off information for her, it must be important.

Dreading what she was about to see, Carly carried the envelope into the kitchen and placed it on the kitchen table while she poured herself a glass of wine. Then she grabbed a small paring knife to slit the envelope.

Bracing herself, she pulled the picture out and stared down into Eric’s face. It was a mug shot from last December. His eyes were half closed, his lips a bit slack, his hair standing up in disarray. Obviously he’d been stoned when the picture was taken.

Under the picture was a copy of his death certificate. He’d died on the street in Des Moines, Idaho, in the month of February, just another lost boy with no known address and no known relatives. Drug overdose was listed as his cause of death. He’d been buried by the county in an unmarked grave.

Fresh tears rolled down Carly’s cheeks and she made no effort to halt them. Eric deserved this expression of her grief even though he was past knowing that she grieved for him.

Still, although she hadn’t seen him, hadn’t talked to him in years, knowing he was gone left a hole in her life. She’d always imagined somehow that she’d find the man who had abused him, who had sent him on the downward spiral that ended with him living on the streets. And once she had found the man, she would see that he was locked away where he couldn’t frighten Eric ever again. And then she would somehow find Eric and bring him home and show him that he didn’t need to escape into drugs any longer.

She’d known, of course, how unrealistic those daydreams were, but that didn’t keep her from dreaming them. But now, even if she succeeded in finding Eric’s abuser, Eric was beyond her help.

A tear dripped into her wine. She turned it up and drank the entire glass without stopping, as though drinking her tear would somehow internalize her grief in such a way that Eric, wherever his soul might be, would know that he was indeed missed.

Her tears flowed even more freely after she drank the wine, but the bitter ache of grief lessened somewhat, so she poured herself another glass. She’d just finished the bottle when her doorbell rang.

“It will be Trooper, I betcha,” she said to FluffBall, who’d curled up in her lap. Aware that the wine had gone to her head, she continued to address the cat. “Let him ring. Isn’t that what you say, Fluffy? Ring-a-ding-ding. I don’t care.” She laughed out loud.

“Carly?” His voice sounded from the front of the house.

She frowned. “Thought I’d locked that door,” she murmured.

“Carly? It’s Trooper. I let myself in. I need to talk to you.”

“Ish Trooper,” Carly told FluffBall, who now stared toward the front of the house. “He let himself in. Shoulda tooken, I mean took, his key away from him.” She cocked her head to one side and listened to his footsteps growing louder as he strode down the hall toward the kitchen.

She frowned when he paused in the doorway. “Why are you here?” she asked, enunciating each word carefully.

“Have you been drinking?”

“Course not.” Carly laughed and held up the empty wine bottle. “Nothing to drink.”

Trooper stared at her for a minute. “I hope this isn’t about me.”

Carly squared her shoulders and pursed her lips. “Not about you at all. Go away.”

“I need to apologize first. I was wrong to check up on you. Whatever you’re doing is your own business and I had no right to try to make it mine. The thing is—”

Carly interrupted him. “Apology accepted. Sit down. Have a glash—I mean a
glass
— of wine with me.” She tilted the bottle and peered down into it. “Forgot. Darn thing’s empty. Get more out of the cabinet.”

“I’ll pass,” Trooper said. “Thanks just the same. And thanks for accepting my apology.” He walked across the room. “I’ll take you up on the invitation to sit down.”

“Hokay,” Carly said. “Where’s the wine?”

“I didn’t want any and you don’t need any more. I’ll get you a glass of tea. It may not work as well as coffee, but it might help you feel better.”

Carly rested her head in her hands while waiting for Trooper to finish his chore. She heard ice clinking in a glass followed by the gurgling of liquid being poured over ice. She didn’t look up until he set the tea in front of her and took a seat opposite her.

What’s this?” He picked up Eric’s death certificate and Carly felt fresh tears build in her eyes, then spill over. She grabbed a paper napkin to wipe her face.

Trooper skimmed the certificate before placing it back on the table. “Friend of yours?” he asked with a frown of concern.

Carly shook her head. “No.”

Trooper’s frown deepened. “He’s not a friend, yet you’re crying for him. I assume this was in the envelope your private investigator left for you.”

Carly took a sip of tea, then sighed. She could feel herself sobering up, and she wasn’t crazy about the sensation. “His name is Eric Duran. He was from Holly Grove. Did you know any Durans?”

Trooper wrinkled his brow. “No, I can’t think of any. Does he have anything to do with why you moved to Holly Grove?”

Carly ignored Trooper’s question, then pulled in a deep breath and spoke slowly. “I gave him my word I wouldn’t divulge his secrets, but I was going to tell you this afternoon anyway. Then I get this.” She laid her hand on top of the death certificate. “It’s almost as though he’s telling me to go ahead and tell, that nothing can hurt him now.”

Trooper placed his hand on top of hers. “You didn’t tell me anything, Carly. You don’t have anything to feel guilty about.”

She looked into his eyes. “I would have told you though. I would have told you because you had a right to know. And I would have broken my word to Eric because it was the right thing to do. But I would have felt guilty about doing it. Now I won’t. I think Eric would be glad to know that. I think perhaps he
does
know that.”

Trooper continued to hold her gaze. “Carly, exactly who is Eric Duran?”

Carly sniffed, then sighed. “He was a runaway who was terrified of a man here in Holly Grove, a man who’d sexually abused him and then convinced him that if he ever told anyone, his family would be murdered. Eric believed the man because he confessed to Eric that he had already killed three people and made it look like a double murder and suicide.”

Because Trooper’s hand still rested on top of hers, Carly felt sudden tension stiffen his fingers. She turned her hand under his until they were palm to palm. “I don’t know the man’s name,” she said before he could ask. “I begged Eric to tell me, but he was terrified the man would find him and kill him. His fears weren’t logical, but he was usually high so his fears always outweighed logic.”

“How did you come to know Eric?”

Still grasping his hand, Carly told him the entire story, of how Eric had come to her attention when he came to the aid of a girl being accosted, of how she’d tried to help get him off the streets and of how, one evening when he was particularly high, he’d confided in her about his life in Holly Grove.

Trooper listened without saying a word while she repeated Eric’s story about the man who’d abused him and then threatened both Eric and his family if he ever told, about how Eric had turned to drugs and finally had run away and then, at last, how Eric had disappeared one night, another runaway who had run yet again, this time dropping far out of sight.

By the time she’d finished her story, Carly felt cold stone sober. She would have welcomed another drink but realized she needed to keep a clear head because she still had one detail to relate to Trooper and she didn’t want to mess it up.

Trooper had long since reclaimed his hand and leaned back in his chair, watching Carly without a modicum of emotion on his face. Finally she stopped speaking and waited for him to say something. He sighed before he spoke. “I understand your reluctance to tell me what you knew since you’d given Eric your word, but I’m glad to know you had decided to tell me. His story confirms some of my suspicions, and I’m very sorry you didn’t locate him while he was still alive.”

“Me too,” Carly murmured. “I had planned to ask him again to tell me the name of the man who abused him. Whoever he is, if he’s still living, he needs to be stopped. Who knows how many other young men he may have abused?”

Trooper shut his eyes and rubbed his forehead with the tips of his fingers. “A name would have been nice.”

“Well…” Carly began.

Trooper opened his eyes and stared at her. “What?”

“I may have the man’s nickname. Once, when Eric was really high, I asked him again for the name of the man and he said he couldn’t tell me the man’s name because Pap would kill him if he told.”

“Pap?”