Poison Town (18 page)

Jack knew instantly, but Derrick sat back, crazy-eyed. “By who?”

Marleen nodded toward the door. “It wasn’t the man who was just over here talking to you, but the one he was with. The tall redheaded gentleman. It’s your lucky day …”

* * *

It was a gloomy afternoon, a mix of rain and snow swirling. The meatloaf and mashed potatoes weren’t sitting well with Derrick. He reached across Jack for a Tums in the glove compartment. Derrick was driving them to Spivey Brinkman’s place to interview Jenness and Tatum.

Where could Spivey be in this weather?

Jack had been talking with Travis on his phone. He turned it off and looked at Derrick. “We gotta change plans.”

Derrick slowed down. “What’s up?”

“Travis has news about Barb and Emmett Doyl—he wouldn’t say what. He’s having a big powwow at the house. We need to be there.”

“Right now?”

“Yep.”

Since Brinkman’s place was right around the corner from Randalls’, Derrick phoned Jenness to tell her they would be late. “Don’t forget, we got Bendickson today,” Derrick said.

“We should make it. Let’s find out what’s going on with the Randalls and take it from there.”

They arrived at the Randalls’ place in minutes. Travis asked them to take their shoes off and walked them into the TV room, sockfooted. LJ was seated backward on a straight-back chair, tipping forward as he watched Dr. Phil. Galen reclined in his favorite chair, his frown increasing more with each new guest that arrived. Bo was at the very end of the couch, shaved head down, thumbing away at his handheld. Ralston Coon was seated on the middle of the couch, overdressed as usual, with a notepad opened on the coffee table in front of him, drumming a pen on the table.

“Everybody”—Travis stood at the center of the room—“this is an old friend of mine from the neighborhood, Claire Fontaine.” He extended his hand toward a cute, fair-skinned redhead who gave a nod and a smile from where she sat in the corner with her arms and legs crossed, bobbing a foot up and down.

LJ’s ex, Roxanne, swept into the room in a black ZZ Top T-shirt, tight jeans, and cowboy boots. “What can I get everybody to drink?” she said.

“LJ, turn that dern TV off.” Travis closed his eyes, as if to tell himself to calm down. “I’m sure we’re all fine, Roxanne.”

“Do you have any Alka-Seltzer?” Derrick whispered to Roxanne.

She leaned in close, smelling of cigarettes. “No, but Galen swears by ginger ale, and we got them little eight-ounce bottles in the fridge. Can I get you one?”

Derrick nodded, and Roxanne headed for the kitchen. A green-and-black butterfly tattoo peeked above the waist of her low-rider jeans.

“Okay, listen up, folks.” Travis turned to LJ. “Would you tell your son to take that dadgum headset off?”

LJ stomped loudly. Bo looked up. LJ squinted like Clint Eastwood and tapped his own ear one time. Bo removed the headphones.

“We got a ton a’ work to do in the garage,” Travis said. “But I wanted us to put our heads together. Claire here shared some news with me about Barb and Emmett Doyle. It’s … it’s a darn shame—and it’s troubling. See, her family and Barb and Emmett go way back. As it turns out, the Doyles moved to Charleston, South Carolina, because the doctors said the warmer climate would be good for Barb. She was having the breathing issues and skin trouble—”

“Same as Momma,” LJ chimed in. “Same dern thing.”

Roxanne returned with the ginger ale for Derrick, then plunked down on the floor next to LJ, who ignored her.

“Anyways …” Travis scratched his head and looked down at the floor. “Claire’s momma learned from a neighbor of the Doyles in Charleston that they had a house fire. Both of ’em perished, I’m sorry to say.”

Galen pulled the lever on the side of his chair and sat up. “I didn’t hear nothin’ about it on the radio.”

LJ stopped tipping his chair, huffed, and covered his mouth with a greasy hand.

“You’ll recall the Doyles went to Demler-Vargus asking for money to help with their medical bills.” Travis walked slowly about the TV room, pointing from one finger to the next, as if counting. “When they didn’t pay, the Doyles went to the
Dispatch
reporter, Amy Sheets
.”
He swung around to face Derrick and Jack.

Derrick felt a patch of sweat break out on his forehead. He looked at Jack, whose mouth was sealed and whose head was shaking ever so slightly. Derrick’s stomach churned.

“We’ve got some news about Amy Sheets.” Jack motioned to Derrick, who told the group about his online chat with Amy’s brother and how Amy’s parents had moved to an expensive home and might be lying about Amy’s whereabouts.

“It’s time to get the police more heavily involved,” Jack said. “I know an officer with the Trenton City PD, Dennis DeVry. He’ll know what to do.”

“Folks, we can’t do that.” Ralston Coon tossed his pen onto the coffee table and watched it slide off the edge. Roxanne snatched it and put it right back. “You have an agreement with Demler-Vargus that’s going to be signed
Thursday afternoon at two o’clock. It’s my job to get you the funds you deserve, and so help me, I’m going to do it. Until then, this thing stays under wraps. And you guys know this is off the record.”

Derrick’s face was red hot. “What about their safety?” He waved at Galen, LJ, and Travis. “These aren’t coincidences. Someone poisoned Galen and broke in here. Spivey Brinkman is
gone
. The Doyles are
dead
.”

Claire nodded, and so did Jack.

“Honestly, if I were you, I wouldn’t stay here right now,” Jack said, addressing the Randalls. “Go to some relatives or get a hotel—”

“Son,” Galen interrupted, “I know you mean well, but we ain’t goin’ nowheres. Boys, load them guns up and keep ’em handy. I’ll be darned if the crooks who killed Betty Jo is gonna run us out of our own home. By golly, they ain’t comin’ in my house agin.” He pointed at Coon. “You tell ’em to bring it on.”

“Cool down, Daddy,” Travis said. “Everybody cool down.”

“Look,” Jack said, “the thing is, even if you do get the police involved now, today, they’re not going to go busting down the doors at Demler-Vargus anytime soon. It’s going to take time. An investigation. My advice to you is, get that started now.”

“Thank you very much, Mr. Crittendon,” Coon said sarcastically. “We’ll take your advice into consideration.”

“I agree with Jack.” Claire’s words came as a surprise from her quiet corner.

“By the way, Mr. Coon,” Derrick said, “I just want to clarify, we
are
going to write about this. The Doyles were residents of Trenton City; their death is local news. Spivey Brinkman’s disappearance is news—”

Coon stood. “We agreed you would leave the Randalls out of this. And I am assuming you’re going to keep your word, or there will be legal ramifications.”

Derrick and Jack looked at each other.

“I just wish you were more concerned about the Randalls’ well-being than about the paycheck they’re going to bring you,” Jack said.

“If anything happens to them—” Derrick said.

“If anything happens, it’ll be our own fault,” Galen said. “I’m the stubborn coot who says we’re stayin’, and I think the boys agree …”

“Darn right.” LJ stood.

Travis eyed Claire, who pleaded at him with her eyes. But he said nothing.

Chapter 19

Pamela’s morning did not go as planned. Margaret awoke in pain soon after Jack and the girls left. She was certain it was one of her frequent urinary tract infections, so Pamela made an appointment for her to see their family doctor. The pregnancy test and talk with her mother about her drinking would have to wait.

Margaret was moving slowly, and by the time they got out of the doctor’s office, stopped at the pharmacy to get her meds, and grabbed some salads in town, it was well into the afternoon and getting colder.

“Be careful, it might be slippery.” Pamela held an umbrella over her mom as they walked from Tiffany’s along the wet sidewalk to her red Accord. This was the first time Pamela had ever felt the need to reach out and steady her mom, and she waited for Margaret to protest, but the older woman said nothing. The years and Benjamin’s death were taking their toll.

“This foul weather makes my arthritis so bad,” Margaret said. “I belong in a nursing home, I swear.”

“We’ll get you home and you can get your afternoon nap.” Pamela unlocked with the remote and walked her mom to the passenger door as the rain came harder, tapping the umbrella like sleet.

“I’m nothing but a burden,” Margaret said.

“Mom, you are not a burden. Just sit tight.” Pamela shut the door and walked gingerly around to her side. She noticed a man in a black overcoat seated in the driver’s seat of the car next to hers, reading a newspaper, and chastised herself inwardly for feeling suspicious. She’d been hypersensitive to everyone around her since Granger had invaded their lives.

It took forever to back out in the traffic. Once they were around the city square and heading toward home, the car got warm—and quiet.

Now was as good a time as any.

“Mom, can we talk about your drinking?”

Margaret turned and stared out the passenger window at the dark afternoon. “Here we go …”

“Well, I smelled it on your breath last night.”

Margaret wiped her nose with a wadded-up tissue. “It helps me sleep.”

“Mom, I’m concerned about you, and I’m concerned about the girls seeing you drink.”

“It was in the middle of the night. They were sound asleep.”

“Okay, I’m not bringing it up to argue. We just need to have some kind of ground rules while you’re with us.”

“Pamela, you make me sound like a child.”

She didn’t dare say what she was thinking: that her mom was exactly like a spoiled, self-centered child.

“I don’t mean to hurt your feelings, Mom. Look, why can’t you keep the bottle in the kitchen or in the pantry and just have a drink in the evening? You’re an adult. Jack and I are adults. There’s no reason to hide it. If the girls ask what it is, we’ll tell them you like your adult beverage in the evening.”

“You’re so religious … I didn’t think you’d want that.”

“Well, if you need to drink while you’re here, that might—”

“Let’s get something straight. I don’t
need
to drink. I enjoy it. It helps me relax. I look forward to it … You wouldn’t understand.”

Pamela drove in silence, debating whether she had said enough.

“Well, what would be wrong with doing it like I said? Have an evening drink and be done with it?”

“I can’t believe we’re talking about this.”

“Mom, I’m thinking about Rebecca and Faye. If you drink, you drink—do it in front of them.”

“What am I going to do, turn them into alcoholics?”

“You could have too much and say something, or do something …”

Margaret huffed. “I knew this wasn’t going to work. I told you that.”

“Okay, let’s put it out there, Mom. How much do you drink in a day? Is it more than one drink? Is that the problem? Is it three? Is it five? If it is, you need to get help.”

There, she’d said it.

“Pamela Anne … you have no right to speak to me like that. Your father wouldn’t want you to address me with such disrespect.”

“He told me you went to AA once. We could do that here. I can go with you.”

“It was a farce. That’s why I never went back. Those people were weak. Just pitiful …” Her voice trailed off.

“Mom, listen to yourself. Everyone else has the problem—everyone but you.”

Pamela knew she’d gone too far. Now she’d get the silent treatment. The only sounds were the windshield wipers and the rain and sleet drizzling on the roof.

Pamela maneuvered the car through a series of sharp curves near the sprawling water-treatment plant where Jack had covered stories before, and then pulled out onto the four-lane road that would lead them to Merriman Woods.

She took another glance at the small silver car that had been behind her most of the trip. The driver, a man, sat low in the driver’s seat.

“I started drinking after the … after the man broke into my dorm room that night.” Margaret looked straight ahead, as if in a trance. “I never told your dad what happened. Never told anyone.” Her head dropped, and her frail shoulders shook. She cried.

Pamela was surprised her mom hadn’t shut her out. Maybe they could make some progress after all.

Margaret took a breath and held it, as though forcing herself to keep going. “Anyway, after it happened, I couldn’t sleep. I just could—not—sleep. I was more awake in the night than in the day.” She sniffled. “I’d never drunk before. The first time, some of the girls in my dorm were going out. It was a weeknight, and they invited me to go. The place had dime beers, of all things. I got drunk. I got sick. But I slept!” She spoke those last words with such intensity, such victory.