Killer Moves: The 4th Jolene Jackson Mystery (Jolene Jackson Mysteries) (22 page)

Considering my track record with vehicles, I hated to throw caution to the wind with a hundred-thousand-dollar automobile. However, it had called to me and I was answering.

Settling myself in the driver’s seat, I rubbed my hands across the soft leather and inhaled the new-car smell. I admit I felt a little giddy. I fiddled around with the electric seat and adjusted the mirrors, getting things all set to my liking. Then, I contemplated the dashboard, which was not so easy to figure out, and I could have used some bigger hints on what all the buttons were for. I hoped more enlightenment was forthcoming, so I hit the garage door opener and then pushed the button to start the engine.

The hi-tech gadgetry glowed to life, which just made it more intimidating, but I managed to figure out how to wipe the windows and turn on the air conditioners—the one for my face and the one for my seat. All in all, I got the hang of things quickly and managed to pull out of the garage and glide down the hill without incident. I still wanted a little more time to get comfortable with my new ride, so I made the risky decision to forego the whole flower business and took the back roads directly to the cemetery.

The drive was quick and easy, but as I pulled through the familiar cemetery gates and wound my way to the far side, I felt the tension start to build. The cemetery was huge, and the only reason I could ever find my dad’s plot was because it was near the white stone mausoleum. I’d never paid much attention to it for any other reason, but now I wondered if I needed to. Maybe that’s where Bob and Glenda were. “First things first, Jolene.”

I parked by the walkway up to my dad’s spot, thinking and wondering. About two seconds of that and the general uneasiness had turned to a lump in my throat and a knot in my chest. These visits were never easy for me—I really missed my dad—but today was somehow different. Turning off the car, I opened the door and stepped out into the always blowing wind.

A few steps up the path, I heard myself start talking. I also sensed lightning fast answers and saw images. I’m very tolerant of my own craziness, but this didn’t feel crazy and somehow that was worse. I talked to my dad, begging him for help in dealing with Lucille. What I got in response was the distinct feeling that he was laughing. I also saw a flash of my dad dancing a little jig he used to do for the kids. “Not nearly as funny when you’re having to deal with it, Dad,” I said.

I also covered my conflicting emotions over the adoption thing—the good, the bad and the ugly—and then I felt guilty for it. One guilty thought led to another, and it wasn’t long before I found myself apologizing for everything under the sun, including car carnage and not bringing flowers as I’d been told.

Since I didn’t have a new floral arrangement, I knelt down and started straightening what Mother and I had put out not long ago. A few stems had blown out, so I stood to retrieve them. The closest one was lying on the marker across from Dad’s, but I was hesitant to go get it. The patch of bare dirt signaled a recent interment—a freshly dug grave—and those always bothered me most. The stark contrast of the blank red dirt against the green grass was so appropriately raw. I could feel the loss just by looking at it. It wouldn’t take long for the creeping vines of the Bermuda grass to cover the barren space, but the recovery of the hearts left behind was a different matter.

Thinking of how the years had only touched at the edge of my own grief, I walked over to get the stray flower. I quickly plucked it from the large bronze marker, turned around, and then I froze. “No…” I looked back. LITTLE. The name on the marker read LITTLE. I sucked in my breath. “It can’t be…”

But it was.

The marker had a big heart connecting the sides with the names: Robert John and Glenda Inez Hicks. There was no inscription under Bob’s name. Below Glenda’s were the words:
Beloved wife and eternal mother.”
I understood that part, however, there were a million other things I didn’t.

And then my eyes drifted to a small bronze plate below the main marker that I hadn’t noticed at first. It read, “Baby Little.” It was a jolt to realize there could have been other children before me. Did I have siblings somewhere? I couldn’t have or I wouldn’t be the sole heir. I shook that thought off and went back to the small marker. The baby hadn’t been named, so it obviously hadn’t lived long. I read the date of birth and the ground beneath my feet began to roll—it was my birthdate.

A storm of new questions and feelings bombarded me. Had I been a twin? Was it a boy or a girl? How long did it live? The world seemed to heave and fold around me, but I focused my eyes back on the marker. The date of death was a few days after birth…and the same date as Glenda’s. There was also an inscription:
“Someday this will all make sense.”

“No, really it won’t,” I said, feeling my body wobble and sway, ready to crumple. And then, I knew. “Oh, shit, it’s me.”

Solid ground turned to rolling waves and I lost my balance. Still, I had enough conscious awareness to know I couldn’t let myself fall, not with fire ants everywhere, and it was the fear of being eaten alive that kept me upright as I stumbled to the bench under the tree.

Slumping down, I pulled my legs up, wrapped my arms around them and rested my head on my knees. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to stop the world from spinning. All I could think of was, “But I’m not dead.”

More waves and images rippled through me. I felt like I was being flung up and down on a roller coaster, the twists and turns interrupted by occasional dark tunnels that blasted information I couldn’t process. After a few minutes, the imaginary ride slowed and I managed to grab on to some of the thoughts as they shot past. “That baby didn’t die.”

As the words left my lips, I realized it wasn’t really true—that life had died. A part of me—a different name, identity and history—had been buried right along with Glenda, yet death wasn’t the right word for it. Baby Little
was
gone and the marker was a way of validating that. Maybe it had been Bob’s way of dealing with his own overwhelming loss. Or maybe it was a way to protect everyone involved from the probing questions of others, including me…especially me. The small bronze plate was indisputable proof of an ending. But, wasn’t it also an ending that also brought a beginning?

A gust of wind blasted my face and rustled the branches of the tree behind me. The tinkling of wind chimes filled the air. A chill rippled throughout my body and I pulled my legs tighter, rubbing my arms as best I could. “I’m going to pretend that didn’t just happen,” I said to no one, or maybe everyone. My statement didn’t make my goose bumps go away, but it did help me focus my thoughts on the tree—The Chime Tree, as I called it.

The tree was an ornamental of some sort, with a full rounded shape and lush leaves that turned deep purple in the fall. Wind chimes of all kinds, shapes and sizes hung from the branches. The musical mementos were left by grieving loved ones, including me. I don’t know why others did it. I don’t even know why I did. But the combined effort had given the area a gentle background noise that was both soothing and cheerful. Today, however, the fluttery chimes were more of a transcendent confirmation, and it was a bit disconcerting. Another chill shivered through me. “Time to go.”

I took a deep breath, unfolded my legs, put my feet on the ground and slowly stood. Turning around to walk back to the car, I saw Jerry standing there, watching me. Dread and apprehension washed over me. What was he doing there? Not that he wouldn’t be thoughtful and supportive—he would, was, did… That wasn’t what was going on now though.

“Nice ride,” he said as I walked up.

I brushed back the wind-blown hair from my face. “I suppose you heard about the little issue with the Buick.”

“I called the house when I couldn’t get you on your phone.” He nodded toward the grave sites. “Are you okay?”

“Actually, I’m pretty good for being dead.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Long story and totally not related to why you’re here.” I sighed heavily and dragged myself back to the present-day real world, which looked like it was about to suck even more than the one where I wound up dead. “Okay, so what’s going on?”

“We need to go to the rehab center.”

I frowned. “What happened? What did she do?”

“Nothing yet, but when your mother finds out Perez is leaving in a few hours without resolving anything it probably won’t go well.”

“He’s leaving? Why?”

“There’s nothing suspicious and nobody’s died,” Jerry said, crossing his arms. “That’s a direct quote from my conversation with the captain.”

I rubbed a hand across my face. “What about the lab results? Can’t Travis explain?”

“He has, but there’s no other supporting evidence, nothing sinister or even suspicious, and therefore there is no reason to sully the reputations of fine people or slander a valuable community asset.” Jerry sighed. “That’s also a reasonable quote.”

“Well, that’s just peachy,” I said. “El Capitan was probably the one who tipped them off and gave them time to get the evidence out before Perez got there.”

“Jo,” he said firmly. “The director is demanding an official apology from the police department for the disruption, which she’ll get. She’s also insisting you be arrested.”

“I was kind of hoping she’d gotten over that.” It wasn’t a shocking revelation, but I was appropriately disturbed nonetheless. “I was also hoping I’d be vindicated rather than scapegoated.” I sighed again. “So, did you come to tell me I have to turn myself in?”

“No,” he said. “But you and I are meeting with Perez in her office in about a half hour to—”

“To what? Make it easier for them to arrest me? I don’t think so. This is not right, Jerry, and you know it.” The more I thought about it, the madder I got. “This is bullshit. Perez knows there’s something going on.”

“His captain has decided otherwise.”

“Who’s really pulling the strings here, Jerry, who?” I heard the anger and amplitude in my own voice, but I didn’t care. “Who’s pressuring them? The owner of the rehab center? Some politician? Who’s got the most to lose—legally and illegally? Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”

“Nice car,” he said, running his hand over the top of the silvery BMW.

“Instead of trying to distract me, you could be trying to help.”

“I am, Jolene.” He nodded to a cluster of people at a nearby gravesite. “Let’s sit inside for a minute.”

“Fine.” I walked around to the driver’s side and slid behind the wheel. While Jerry seated himself, I started the engine and the always helpful air conditioner. “You know, I’m thinking once I start rattling off all the screw-ups at her little facility, Miz Director’s going to be more worried about her jail time than mine.”

“That’s one of the problems,” Jerry said, shifting in the seat to face me. “Perez hasn’t given her any details of the investigation, but she’s answered enough questions with viable explanations, at least ones the captain is willing to accept, that nothing seems out of the ordinary.”

“And just what’s her excuse for Lucille’s unnecessary pills? The parade of dead people? Doris almost dying too? You can just ‘oops’ those things away.”

“The official position on Doris is that her daughter was interfering with her treatment, which was the cause of her problems.” He paused and looked at me, probably watching the steam boil out my ears. “I’m sure you can see where that line of thinking leads.”

Oh, indeed I could and it sent a ripple of rage right through me. “That lying bitch!”

“It’s a CYA stance and everyone knows it,” he said. “But until we have something more solid, there’s nothing we can do.”

“Oh, there’s plenty I can do,” I said, straightening in the seat and gritting my teeth. “And they can’t cover their ass enough to stop it either.” I grabbed the steering wheel and squeezed. “You just hop on out now and I’ll go get to it.”

“I can’t do that,” he said, entirely too officially.

“Well, you can’t arrest me, Jerry,” I said, reasonably confident it was true. “And I’m not going to be tricked into showing up for a group ambush either.”

“No tricks, Jolene,” he said. “This case is personal for Perez. His mom died unexpectedly in a nursing home under questionable circumstances. This is his chance to make up for it. He’s on your side. He doesn’t want to arrest you.”

“He may not want to, but he’ll follow orders, now won’t he?”

Jerry did not deny it, just sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Officially, Dan’s hands are tied. Unofficially, if someone brings him something the captain can’t ignore, no matter how much pressure from above, he can pursue it.”

“Great. Good luck with that.”

Jerry sighed. “He still thinks Lucille—and you—can be of help.”

“Uh huh, because clearly that plan’s been working out well so far.”

“There wouldn’t even be a case without your mother,” he said, stating an obvious fact. “She’s the one who realized something was wrong here—no one else had. You managed to get evidence to prove it.”

“Not well enough, apparently.”

“Perez needs admissible proof and staff connections and he can’t stay onsite to try to find them.”

“And you think I can?” I shook my head. “The stuff’s already gone, Jerry. And even if there was something we might find, overhear or whatever, Miz Director has other plans for me.”

“That’s what this meeting is about, making it clear that you’re not going to be charged and that she has to back off.”