Charlaine Harris (92 page)

I exchanged a quick glance with Victoria. So I hadn't been the only one to detect a note of resentment in Drex's monologue. By now I wasn't convinced that Victoria was as interested in Drex as she'd appeared at first. Victoria was playing a deeper game than I could plot and execute.

“She saw her role a little differently?” I asked.

“Hell, yes. She saw herself as a watchdog, I guess,” Drex said. He took a big swallow of his beer. He looked around to see if our server was within hailing distance. We'd placed our orders a few minutes before.

“Why did your family pay for her funeral and put her in the family plot?” I asked. It was a subject I'd wondered about a couple of times. “Where were her people?”

“We looked through all her stuff after she died, and we couldn't find anything with any names and addresses on it,” Drex said. “Lizzie asked all of us what she'd said about her family, where she came from, and no one could come up with anything. We asked Chip, and none of his kinfolks could remember anything.”

“What about her Social Security Number? As her employer, your granddad had to have that.”

“He paid her under the table.”

It baffled me why a man as rich as Richard Joyce would choose to do that. The Joyces had to have accountants and business people who would jump at the chance to be useful.

Drex said, “When Lizzie met Mariah, she told Granddad she thought Mariah wouldn't work out. Granddad thought she'd stay, but he could tell we didn't like Mariah that much. He didn't want to go to the trouble of setting something up, only to have to fire Mariah.” He sounded defensive, and I could understand why. I exchanged a long look with Victoria.

“So your granddad hired someone he didn't know, paid her under the table, and didn't know anything about her previous work history, and he had her living in his house with him.” If I sounded incredulous, pardon me. “Did you say you asked Chip to talk to his family after Mariah died?” I heard thunder and looked over at a window to see rain hitting the glass.

“Yes, they knew her. It was Chip who told us Mariah would be good for the job.”

There was a long silence, while Drex looked around some more for our server and Victoria and I were absorbed in our own thoughts. I didn't know what was going through Victoria's mind, but I was thinking that I hoped my family took better care of me than the Joyces had of their patriarch, Richard.

“How long has Lizzie been seeing Chip?” Victoria asked, as if she was introducing an entirely new topic, a little social side trip.

“Oh, man, years now. They knew each other from the ranch, of course. And they'd see each other when they were both rodeoing. After a few years, and Chip's divorce, they just clicked. He was at a rodeo in Amarillo, calf roping. She was barrel riding. She was having trouble with her trailer hitch, and he came up to help her.”

“So Mariah had worked for Chip's family?”

“They were foster kids in the same house, and when she got out on her own, Chip recommended her to his distant cousin, Arthur Peaden, I think that was his name. The cousin died just around the time the doctors told Granddad that he needed someone at the house all the time. Chip suggested it and sent her to the house, my granddaddy liked her, and that was all she wrote. After we got over the surprise, we felt kind of relieved that we didn't have to interview a lot of people for the job. And Granddad got someone who'd had experience, but she wasn't going around in scrubs all the time making him feel like he was incompetent. She was nice looking, and she was always smiling. She was a great cook, too.”

Drex got his fresh beer, and Victoria asked him some questions designed to get him to talk about himself. Drex was not the brightest guy I'd ever met, and Victoria was a sharp woman, so by simply sitting and listening it became easy to draw a picture of Drex's life. His dad had probably had a hard time accepting that his only son wasn't competent to handle the family affairs, but there was no denying that Lizzie was not only the oldest but the sharpest. Katie, the middle kid, was wilder than either of her siblings. At least Drex thought so.

I was relieved when our food came. I was not a private investigator, and I wasn't being paid to absorb all these long stories about the Joyce family. By the time I'd eaten as much as I wanted, I was tired to death of Drex Joyce, and I wasn't happy at being in league with Victoria to pump this moron for information. However irritating I found her tactics, I could understand why Victoria had decided to include Drex as a guest at dinner. It was easier for us to alternate in the conversation so he didn't seem to understand where it was going, and presumably he told us more than he might have otherwise.

I also thought of a few questions that Victoria didn't.

I decided that Victoria had wanted to give Drex a choice of attractive women, and I was relieved that Drex had decided Victoria was more to his taste than I. I took a malicious pleasure in excusing myself early, before the waitress had asked about coffee and dessert. Victoria looked dismayed for a fleeting second, and then she said she'd talk to me the next day.

I thought not, not if I could avoid it. I dislike feeling used, and I was sure Victoria had deliberately planned the evening before she'd invited me. She could have been honest with me. I couldn't understand why she felt the need to resort to such a thing. Surely, if the Joyce family had hired her, they would cooperate with her in the most extreme way. Why hadn't Victoria gotten all this information already?

I drove back to the hotel feeling disgruntled. Since the rain had stopped, I decided it was time for some activity. I didn't like to run at night, but I really needed to do something physical. I hadn't had time to explore the area in any detail, but a block behind the hotel I'd seen a large high school. Maybe I could run on its track, if the gate was unlocked. If I couldn't get in, there was a big bus yard across the road from the high school.

To my surprise, Parker Powers, the ex-football player turned cop, was sitting in the lobby.

“Were you waiting for me?” I asked, going up to him.

“Yes. Can we talk?” He gave me a very thorough look.

“What do you need?” I asked.

“I wanted to ask you a few more questions about your brother. There was a drive-by a couple of blocks away last night, and we're trying to find out if your brother's shooting was related. I hear he's doing well.”

If he hadn't said that, I wouldn't have bitten. I'd seen that gleam in his eye. But if he was genuinely investigating Tolliver's shooting, I wanted to help him. I wanted to know who'd shot my brother. I wasn't going to talk about it in the public lobby anymore, though, and with that gleam in his eye, I wasn't going to ask him up to my room.

“I'm going for a run,” I said. “Care to join me?”

“Sure,” he said, with only a brief hesitation. “I've got running shorts in my car. You know, you really shouldn't be going out by yourself if someone is gunning for your brother. We have no idea why he was shot, yet. Might be related to the drive-by, might not.”

“I'll be back in ten minutes,” I said, and went upstairs to my room. I had a lanyard from which was suspended a clear plastic rectangular holder, and I put my hotel key and my driver's license into it. I put on my running shorts and T-shirt, and my running shoes. I was ready. I tucked the rectangle down into my shirt and bounced up and down on my toes a couple of times to make sure it was secure. I tucked my cell phone into my shorts pocket, zipped the pocket shut, and went back down to the lobby.

Parker was there, wearing ancient shorts and a ragged sweatshirt. I gave him a nod, and we went out to the parking lot and began stretching. I got the impression Parker hadn't run in a long time; probably the shorts and sweatshirt were his gym clothes, because I could see he worked his muscles, though a paunch was gaining ground on his waistline. I could tell he wasn't enthusiastic about the exercise, but he was enjoying watching me.

“Ready?” I asked, and he nodded, his mouth set in a grim line. He looked more like he was going to face the guillotine than a pleasant evening exercise session.

Off we went, down the sidewalk past a block of houses, then another block of houses, then the high school grounds. The outside lights were plentiful, and everyone seemed to be inside tonight. It was chilly, and there were still puddles here and there from the earlier shower. Cars went by with fair frequency, some of them clearly exceeding the speed limit and some of them at a crawl, but with a sidewalk, that didn't present any problem. I wondered if any of the drivers recognized my running partner.

The cold air felt good to me. I went at an easy pace, enjoying the stretch of my legs and the increased rate of my heart. The high school track was surrounded by a high fence, and it was locked, no big surprise. I led my companion across the road to the vast lot filled with school buses. Parker kept up with me, and I glanced sideways to see that he was smiling a little, pleased with himself. I picked up the pace, and the smile faded rapidly. Within four blocks of really running, Parker was wheezing for breath. He kept going because he was fueled by pride.

Even his pride ran out in the next half mile. There were three rows of buses, and we'd run from the road to the end of one row, up the other row, and we were rounding the end by the road to start running the length again. I was really moving and feeling good, but Parker stopped, hands on his knees, chest heaving. I ran in place. He waved a hand at me to tell me to keep on going. “Stay in sight,” he said, biting each word out in turn.

I waved back at him and began running again. I wasn't half the runner my brother was, but that night I felt as swift and light as a bird, compared to Parker. I zoomed down the silent line of buses, smelling the puddles and the pavement, washed clean by the evening's rain. I glanced over my shoulder to see that Parker was walking after me at a good pace, but I was definitely getting into the “out of sight” range. With some regret, instead of rounding the bus line and starting up the middle again, I turned and began running back the way I'd come. There must have been another street beyond the bus lot, because from that direction, I could hear a car going slowly. At that moment, car lights came on behind me, shining in Parker's face and casting my own shadow in a long streak in front of me. I felt a jolt of fear, and I slowed down, not sure what to do. The sound behind me was definitely a car engine, idling . . . but it was drawing closer.

The detective, though it was clear his eyes were dazzled, picked up his pace and began trotting toward me. As he drew closer, he pulled up his sweatshirt and drew a gun. I didn't register that for a second, and then I thought he was going to shoot me. My steps faltered, hesitated. The car engine began to get closer.

“
Run,”
he bellowed.

I didn't understand anything, but I began moving faster and faster, my arms sawing the air to build up my momentum. When I reached him, Parker shoved me between two buses and swung to face the oncoming car, his gun at the ready. The car swerved as the driver presumably noticed the gun pointed in his direction, and then, with a screech of tires, accelerated madly, fishtailing out of the parking lot as it sped away.

“What?” I said. “What?” I jumped out from between the buses to confront my appointed savior, and threw open my arms.
“What?”
I yelled.

“Death threat,” he said. His breathing was still irregular. “You got a death threat today. Didn't want you going out on your own. Easy target.”

“Why the hell didn't you tell me that? So that's why you agreed to run with me.”

“I didn't know you were a health nut,” he said unfairly. “I was just supposed to make you aware of the situation, tell you about the drive-by.”

“So instead of . . .” I started to sputter. Then I closed my eyes, gathered myself, and stood up straighter. “Do you have a name attached to this death threat?”

“No, it was a man's voice. He was saying he thought your work was the work of Satan, and so on. Said he didn't think you ought to be in Texas, and he was going to take care of that the next time he saw you. He mentioned your new hotel by name.”

I was pretty offhand about the phone call until Parker Powers got to the “he mentioned the hotel” part. That was unnerving, and I knew I had to take this seriously.

“So do you think this car was his, or do you think you just scared the shit out of some teenagers parking back here?” My legs were getting stiff, so I bounced up and down gently on the balls of my feet, then stretched down to touch my toes.

“I don't know,” Parker said, his voice gloomy. “I got a partial license number, though, and I'll run the plate.”

I suddenly realized, actually understood, that this man had put himself in front of me when he thought someone was going to be shooting at me. The enormity of the act virtually smacked me in the face.

“Thank you,” I said. All of a sudden, my knees were shaking. “Thank you for doing that.”

“That's what we're supposed to do,” he said. “We're supposed to protect. Lucky I didn't have to do much protecting. I might have had a heart attack.” He grinned, and I was glad to observe that his chest wasn't heaving anymore.

“So, we should head back, huh? I guess this was pretty much a nonincident?” I didn't want to hurt his feelings, which was pretty absurd.

“No, I guess they left for good.” He seemed relieved about that. “Let's go back to the hotel.” He holstered his gun.

I knew there was no way I was going to get the policeman back up to a running pace. We were at least walking briskly when we left the bus lot and we passed the high school. Then we were in the residential area, and there was almost no traffic now. Everyone was home from work, no one was going back out tonight. The temperature had dropped a little, and I began to shiver. We had three blocks to go. We were in a little neighborhood where yards were a hobby. Even in the winter, there were trees with leaves, and bushes, and rock gardens decorating the small front yards. Parker Powers was asking me questions designed to calm me down, an inconsequential stream of inquiry about my running history, how long I ran each day, if my brother ran . . .