Iris Avenue (23 page)

Maggie held out her hand and shook each of theirs.

“Pleased to meet you,” Maggie said.

“My mother says I have to wait to buy something when I come back with my father,” the boy said. “He’s coming on the bus tonight.”

The penny dropped for Maggie, but she looked again at the son to be sure, and immediately saw the resemblance.

“Your last name is Cortez, isn’t it?” she said.

“Yes,” Luis said. “My father is Gabriel Cortez.”

Lily gripped Maggie’s hand, but Maggie pulled it away.

“A phone call would have been nice, Lily,” Maggie said under her breath.

“Your line was busy all morning. I couldn’t very well keep them locked up in my house until I talked to you,” Lily said quietly. Then she said more loudly, “Maria and Luis came on the morning bus, although I wasn’t expecting them until next week. They’re enjoying Rose Hill, but wish they had brought warmer clothing.”

Maggie rose, and because she couldn’t help herself, she stared at Maria. The woman was lovely, and the son was as handsome as his father.

‘Twelve years old,’ Maggie thought, ‘twelve or thirteen at the most.’

“I hope you enjoy your stay,” she said, as graciously as she could manage.

Maria smiled and thanked Maggie again. Maggie didn’t look back at Lily as she walked away, and then ran up the stairs to her apartment. She slammed the door behind her and went straight to the telephone in the kitchen. Her hands were shaking as she dialed the voice mail service. She punched the numbers in by rote.

“Maggie,” Gabe said. His voice was the same, deep, warm baritone. A shiver ran through her body and her stomach rolled. She slid down the wall until she was sitting on the floor of her kitchen, stretching out the phone cord.

“I don’t know how much you know about what’s going on; I’m not supposed to talk about it and definitely not on the phone. I should be in Rose Hill on Saturday night, and I’ll come see you as soon as I can. There are some things I need to tell you in person. Things I’ve had on my conscience for a long time. I know I have no right to say this but I can’t wait to see you.”

Maggie dropped the phone in her lap, looked around the room, but saw nothing. She’d thought when Gabe disappeared that the bottom had dropped out of her world, and when she found out he was in prison for drug trafficking she felt like things were as bad as they could get. Now she’d discovered there was still a distance farther she could fall, and she was falling.

Drew went with Hannah to set the traps for the feral cats. She could tell he was down about Caroline, but she decided to let him bring it up. She gave him the map of the county with the trap sites marked in red. They were setting twenty today.

“We’re lucky with the weather right now,” Hannah said. “You don’t want to trap them only to freeze them to death overnight. A warm front is supposed to come through tonight, and we’ll put these in sheltered areas out of the wind.”

“So we set the traps today and pick them up tomorrow.”

“Yep. And half of them will have possums or raccoons in them. I caught a huge ground hog in one once. He was so fat he couldn’t turn around so I had to take the darn thing apart to get him out. We’ll let those guys go.”

“So, maybe ten cats. When do you want to check them?”

“It will have to be early because I have church and then Grandpa Tim’s funeral to go to. How do you feel about staying at my place and starting at four in the morning?”

“Fine with me,” Drew said. “I have nowhere else to go and no one who cares where I am.”

“Sorry about that,” Hannah said. “I debated whether to tell you or not.”

“I’m glad you did. I don’t think Caroline was planning to. At least it didn’t seem like it.”

“If it makes you feel any better, she always does this. It wasn’t something you did. She’s very impulsive.”

“I feel so stupid. All the signs were there, but I saw what I wanted to see and heard what I wanted to hear.”

“At least we got the check.”

“It kind of feels like she’s paying me off.”

“She owed me that money.”

“I know,” Drew said, “for finding homes for all of Theo’s dogs, on your own time.”

“With county resources,” Hannah said. “Now we can get the grant, the college has agreed to host the Vision workers, and I have tentative agreements with people in ten other states to help us redistribute the cats.”

“Who would want feral cats?”

“You’d be surprised. Farmers like them because they’re natural predators for vermin, and if they’re spayed and neutered there’s no fear of overpopulation.”

“Isn’t that what Anne Marie was talking about? ‘Keep some,’ she said. ‘Keep the balance,’ or something like that.”

“That lady is crazy.”

“So you aren’t pregnant.”

Hannah didn’t answer right away.

“You are?!”

“Yeah,” Hannah said. “But very few people know. Maggie doesn’t even know.”

“Hannah, if you’re pregnant you shouldn’t be working with feral cats. Toxoplasmosis is a real danger to pregnant women.”

“Toxowhatsits?”

“It’s a disease you can get from cat feces and uncooked meat. It’s dangerous for you and the baby.”

“How am I supposed to run this project if I can’t get near cats?”

“Maybe you can direct the project and the Vision workers can handle the cats. Tomorrow I’ll handle them. But please don’t work with any feral cats while you’re pregnant. Don’t even scoop a litter box for a domesticated cat. Wash your hands thoroughly if you accidently come in contact, and keep your hands away from your face until they’re washed.”

Hannah thought of the litter of kittens she’d recently rescued from under that house, and the local cats she petted whenever she came across them.

“Have you seen a doctor yet?” Drew asked her.

“No,” Hannah said. “But I did the stick test thingy.”

“I’m sure you’re fine, but you should see a doctor soon. You need to be on prenatal vitamins and have tests to make sure the baby is okay.”

“You mean that one with the long needle? I’ve heard about that. No, thanks.”

“Just go see a doctor next week,” Drew said. “You’ll feel better if you do.”

“Okay, okay,” she said. “I’ll go see Doc Machalvie next week. Heck, I think he delivered me.”

Ed Harrison picked up the puppy from the pen he’d constructed in one corner of the newspaper office, and took it outside to the alley to do its business. Tommy was still trying to decide on a name, so Ed was calling it ‘pup.’ He cleared an area of snow with his foot and put the puppy down on it.

“Hurry up, pup,” Ed said, shivering without his jacket, which he’d left inside.

“Whatcha got there?” Scott said as he walked down the alley toward him.

Ed told him about the puppy and Scott admired it. He followed Ed back into the news office, and watched as Ed put the puppy back into the pen. Hank was snoring on his bed by the stove.

“I missed you at the Fitzpatricks last night,” Scott said. “Everything okay?”

“Well, I’ve got my hands full with Tommy and the puppy now.”

“I heard you talked with the FBI agent. What did you think of him?”

“I’ve never met an FBI agent before,” Ed said. “I was surprised. He seems like somebody we’d be friends with. You think it’s an act?”

“He does seem like a regular guy,” Scott said. “I think he probably gets a lot more out of people that way.”

“Do you think Brian killed Ray?”

“No, I don’t,” Scott said. “Our good buddy Sarah was just in the station, meeting with Jamie in my break room. You know how I can hear everything through the vent in my office. She found out who killed Ray.”

“I thought she was off the case.”

“She was supposed to be. She went out to the Roadhouse to talk to Phyllis, and Phyllis said the caretaker up at the cemetery told her he killed Ray, to keep him from killing Brian and collecting the fifty grand.”

“The Machalvies own that cemetery.”

“I checked with Peg, who says they haven’t seen him in a couple days. Her worthless sons aren’t willing to do his work, which means Patrick is going to have to dig the grave his grandfather is going to be buried in.”

“That’s awful. Can I help?”

“They have this mini backhoe thing, and you know Patrick, that’s like a big toy to him. He says he doesn’t mind doing it. I’m going up there to give him some moral support, and I thought you might like to go. We’ll be done in plenty of time for the game.”

“So was Sarah in trouble for working on the case?”

“Yes and no. Jamie thanked her for the information, and then told her if she stuck her nose in again where it didn’t belong he would have her fired.”

“I really wish I could have been there for that.”

“I couldn’t see her face,” Scott said. “All she kept saying was ‘yes, sir.’”

“So this guy from the cemetery…”

“Duane something.”

“He’s after Brian?”

“Looks like it.”

“Heaven help him, then.”

“Which one?” Scott asked. “My money’s on Brian.”

Patrick Fitzpatrick picked up the keys to the cemetery maintenance shed from Peg Machalvie at Machalvie Funeral Home, and then drove out Possum Holler to the Rose Hill Cemetery. It was a small cemetery, arranged around a figure-eight-shaped drive on top of a gently rounded hillside. From the highest point, where the curving lines of the figure eight crossed, you could see all of Rose Hill, Eldridge College, the river, and the hills on the other side.

Patrick parked at this high point and took a moment to admire the view. It was quiet, with only the wind blowing and a few birds singing as if they believed spring was coming. He walked over the hill to the east side of the property, to a small stone building with a heavy wooden door. He unlocked it and swung the door outward. The stench almost physically knocked him backwards. He covered his mouth and nose with the sleeve of his sweatshirt and flipped on the light so he could look inside.

The room was hot from a space heater with glowing red bars, and the man was dead, that was for sure. He was seated in a chair with his head on his chest, and every inch of him seemed to be tattooed or pierced or both. There was no blood on his face or bald head that Patrick could see; it all seemed to be emanating from under his chin. From that point downward there was so much blood that it had spread over his chest and abdomen, and had dripped down his legs into a puddle on the stone floor.

Patrick backed out of the room, shut the door and locked it. As he walked back up the hill toward his truck he saw Scott’s Explorer coming up the drive. Ed was with him. He waited until Scott got out of the truck.

“Dead guy in there,” Patrick said, pointing his thumb back over his shoulder, as casually as if he’d said, “There’s a backhoe in there.”

Patrick led Scott and Ed back down to the maintenance shack, unlocked the door, and then said, “It’s pretty gruesome. You might want to hold your breath.”

Scott’s eyes watered as he surveyed the bloody scene in the shed. After they backed out and Patrick once again locked the door, Scott and Ed exchanged looks.

“Throat cut,” Ed said.

“Yep,” Scott said. “Just like Ray.”

“You gonna call Sarah?” Patrick asked him.

“Not this time,” Scott said. “This one’s for the feds.”

They heard a car engine as they walked to the top of the hill and saw Jamie had arrived, saving them a call.

“How much longer do you think we have to stay here?” Patrick asked Ed.

They were sitting in Patrick’s truck, with the motor running, waiting for the scene of the crime team to finish with the dead man in the shack. Ed had called Drew to meet Tommy after school at the newspaper office. Drew was going to take Tommy and the dogs home and then hang out with them until Mandy got off work.

“We still have plenty of time before the game,” Ed said.

“Yeah, but I have to dig a grave first,” Patrick said.

Scott came up to the truck and Ed rolled down the window.

“You guys can go,” Scott said. “Jamie said I could take your statements tonight and then he would follow up tomorrow if he needed to. I don’t think he thinks you had anything to do with this.”

“What about Grandpa Tim’s grave?”

“He said they’d be done in there sometime late this evening, and you could probably use the Bobcat first thing in the morning.”

“Cutting it pretty close,” Patrick said.

“The alternative is we do it by hand tonight,” Scott said.

“Nah,” said Patrick. “We have a game to play, and I’m not wearing myself out beforehand. We have to beat those rotten Pendleton bastards.”

Scott wasn’t surprised that Patrick was more concerned about the game than the dead guy in the shed or his grandfather’s final resting place. Patrick’s priorities may not have been admirable, but they were consistent.