Death Threads (15 page)

Maybe.

Then again, some people were just born with certain qualities. Common sense was one of hers. And common sense couldn’t dispute what Gabe Jameson had just said. Rebuilding—better than new—after complete incineration was noteworthy and cause for celebration regardless of what lit the fuse. It was the tenacity that mattered, not the act that called it into play. Why couldn’t people see that?

She leaned against the side of the house, her hope of finding Colby Calhoun hidden somewhere on this man’s property beginning to fade as reality dawned. Gabe Jameson was no more responsible for Colby’s disappearance than she was, of that she was virtually certain. She slowly studied the man in front of her as he toed what remained of the tomato stains on his home, a sense of acceptance hovering over his actions. “It doesn’t bother you that this secret is out, does it?”

He met her gaze with his own, his head shaking slowly from side to side. “Nope, can’t say it does. If anythin’ it’s a blessin’. Carryin’ a secret like that your whole life is rough. Real rough. That Calhoun fella showin’ up at my door last week was a good thing in my book. Freein’.”

“You didn’t mind him showing up here and asking questions? Poking around at a secret your family’s kept for generations?” She pushed the tips of her fingers through her hair in disappointment. Not because she wanted Gabe Jameson to be capable of abduction, but simply because she’d wanted to find Colby.

“Nah. He got right to the point. No pussyfootin’ ’round. Can’t hold nothin’ ’gainst a man like that.” Pulling a flat can from his back pocket, Gabe Jameson unscrewed the top and removed a hunk of chewing tobacco, which he shoved into a corner of his mouth. “I’m glad it’s over. It is what it is. It’s up to folks in town how they deal with it. Shame though, if they focus on the moonshine ’stead of the fixin’ part. Real shame.”

Leona’s voice, quiet yet firm, cut through the silence that fell across the porch, her words reminding Tori that she and Gabe were not alone. “This secret . . . you don’t seem upset about the fallout”—she gestured toward the red stains beside the man—“now or in the future.”

The man shrugged, his mouth working the tobacco for a few moments before spitting some into the dirt just beyond the front of the porch. “It’s not like a few red stains makes a diff’rence. It’s not like I have a missus to protect unless”—his mouth parted revealing the gaps between his teeth—“you want to change that, Ms. Elkin . . .”

Leona straightened her stance, her shoulders rising majestically. “And break the hearts of so many women who want to fill that role? I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night, Mr. Jameson.”

“Now, Ms. Elkin. Are you tryin’ to make me blush?” The man shifted from foot to foot, Leona’s words bringing a rise to his chin and an endearing twinkle to his eyes.

Tori nodded ever so slightly at her friend. Leona Elkin could be a lot of things—some of which could be off-putting at times, but she was also a good egg.

“I imagine you do see all of this as freeing, Gabe. You really don’t have all that much to lose by this secret coming out now.” Peering over the top of her glasses at the shacklike house behind Gabe, Leona entwined the fingers of both her hands through the handle of her clutch. “But what about the person who stands to suffer a good deal because, unlike you, they do have something to lose . . . something they’ve worked long and hard to achieve despite considerable odds?”

Tori stared at Leona, her radar beginning to ping. What was Leona talking about?

“I didn’t answer that Calhoun fella’s questions to hurt Hank. I answer’d ’cause it was the truth.”

“A truth that you have to know will hurt him.”

“Whoa—wait. You two have officially lost me. Who is Hank? What did I miss?”

Gabe lifted his right foot and propped it on the wall behind him, his head shifting to the left long enough to spit out another round of tobacco. “Hank Joe, Hank Joe Jameson. He’s my brother, not that that means nothin’ to him anymore.”

Gabe’s brother?

Confused, she looked from Gabe to Leona and back again. “Okay . . .”

“Most folks don’t know him as Hank and even more don’t know he’s a Jameson on account of his changin’ his name to be somethin’ he’s not.”

“He’s accomplished a lot,” Leona interjected, her right hand rising into the air as her index finger extended in Gabe’s direction. “He made his choices and you made yours.”

“Choices?” Tori asked.

“He was too good for this”—the man pushed off the side of the house and stepped off the front porch, his feet kicking up dust clouds as he walked forward a few feet only to turn back to them—“for the very land our daddy worked his whole life . . . and his daddy b’for him . . . and his daddy b’for that. But he’s a Jameson. That’s somethin’ them fancy shoes, fancy clothes, and made-up last name ain’t ever gonna change.”

She watched Gabe as he continued to pace around, his feet shuffling through the dry dirt that seemed to surround his home for acres. Although she was out of the loop in terms of the sudden sparring match that had sprung up between the two, it was quite obvious it was a sore subject for both.

“You know Hank, Leona?”

“He goes by Harrison now, but yes, I know him. And so do you, dear.”

“I don’t know any Harr . . .” The words trailed from her mouth as her thoughts began to put two and two together, a picture emerging in her mind of a man wearing a dark blue suit, crisp white shirt, and a powder blue tie. A man who donated a number of law books to the library in honor of his career. In fact, if she remembered Nina’s words correctly, Harrison James Law Practice was the most respected law firm in the entire county.

Not bad for someone who grew up alongside the man still pacing back and forth in the dirt, spitting tobacco into the distance and wiping his hands on his ill-fitting white sleeveless shirt.

“I wouldn’t have known Mr. James was your brother,” Tori stated matter-of-factly.

“Most people don’t. ’Cept the folks who’ve lived in Sweet Briar most their lives. Hank prefers to keep it that way.”

She looked over her shoulder at the shack Gabe called home, scanned the grounds to the left and right that boasted the absence of money and pride, imagined the barn behind the house where generations of the man’s family made moonshine as their primary source of income and entertainment, and understood completely why Harrison James would want to keep his ties to this life hush-hush.

Who wouldn’t? Especially if you were trying to build a career by earning people’s trust and respect.

Suddenly she understood what Leona had been asking.

Sure, Colby’s public revelation may have served as a breath of fresh air for a man like Gabe Jameson—a man who’d lived his entire life with the secret of what happened on his property over a century ago. But for a man like Harrison James, who wanted to distance himself from this place and its people in favor of a better life, the revelation of what happened here could blow everything he’d worked so hard to accomplish right out of the water.

She tucked her hand underneath Leona’s arm and gently guided her off the porch and onto the dirt. “I think it’s time we round up Margaret Louise and head back.”

“Is everything okay, dear?”

“U-uh, yeah. It’s fine. It’s just getting a little late and we’ve taken enough of Mr. Jameson’s time.”

Gabe stopped pacing. “I didn’t tell to hurt Hank. I really didn’t.”

Leona stopped, the bejeweled fingers of her right hand reaching out just long enough to offer the man a gentle pat on his bare arm. “I know you didn’t.”

And, strangely, Tori did, too. Gabe Jameson was an open book, it was something you just came to believe and know as you talked to him. But Leona was right. He didn’t have too much to lose by telling the truth about Sweet Briar’s incineration.

Harrison James, on the other hand, had everything to lose—his respectability, his character, his name, and the very life he’d worked so hard to create. Men killed for far less than that on a routine basis. The only question that remained was whether Harrison James was one of them.

She pulled her knees to her chest and nestled back against the cushion, the crazy pace of her day finally loosening its grip as she took in the game of kickball that was winding down in front of her cottage. The workday had been a blur with a summer school field trip, a book club, and grant papers that had commanded her attention from the moment she’d walked into the library that morning until she’d closed the doors at seven.

The visit from the children had gone well, with most of the students eager to leave the confines of Sweet Briar Elementary in favor of something different. All twenty students had thrown themselves into the possibilities of the children’s room, acting out various stories with the help of the costume trunk and the small stage that had been constructed for just that purpose. The monthly meeting of the branch’s mystery book club had been a success as always, with many of its members flooding the shelves for the latest in their favorite genre before heading back home.

On any other day, Tori would have taken enormous pleasure in the large number of patrons and their intense enthusiasm for reading. It was, after all, everything she loved about her job. But no matter how much she’d tried to lose herself in the activity, her thoughts kept straying back to the same thing.

Colby Calhoun.

She hadn’t realized just how certain she’d been about the whereabouts of his body until the moment Gabe Jameson had started speaking and all hope had faded away. And as hard as it was to realize she’d been wrong, she’d been glad, too. Gabe Jameson was no more capable of harming another human being than she was.

Leaning her head against the wicker back, Tori closed her eyes and lifted her face to the early evening breeze that stirred the tops of the trees. Summer in the south was rough, with its high humidity and even higher temperatures, a combination that made dusk the most tolerable part of the day.

“Miss Sinclair, are you okay?”

Smiling wide, Tori opened her eyes and focused on the little girl at the bottom of her porch steps—a little girl with long dark hair, big brown eyes, and a smile that had stolen her heart the moment they met.

“Hi, Lulu!” She dropped her legs to the ground and spread her arms wide. “How did you know I could use a Lulu hug tonight?”

The child’s eyes sparkled as she hopped up the steps and skipped over to Tori. “Magic!”

“I like that kind of magic.” Tori wrapped her arms around the little girl and inhaled deeply, a curious potpourri of sugar cookies, Play-Doh, and dandelions bringing a lump to her throat. She glanced over the top of the child’s head and smiled at the woman lumbering up the steps with a covered casserole dish in one hand and a coloring book and crayons in the other. “You have no idea how much I needed this tonight, Margaret Louise.”

“Sure I did.” The woman stopped as she reached the top step, her breathing slightly labored. “I knew it yesterday . . . when we were in the car on the way to Gabe’s and you mentioned—”

She shook her head softly as she held her hand in the air. She could talk about any number of things at that moment—books, sewing, her suspicions about Gabe’s brother, dessert recipes, whatever. But Milo? No. Not yet. He’d popped in and out of her mind all day, her heart growing heavier with each passing hour that brought no contact.

Turning her attention back to Lulu, Tori tapped the child’s nose softly. “Have you been reading this week?”

The little girl nodded as she hopped from foot to foot in front of Tori’s chair. “I’m almost finished with a new Cam Jansen mystery and Mee-Maw is reading
On the Banks of Plum Creek
with me, too. Aren’t you, Mee-Maw?”

Margaret Louise nodded. “We just finished reading about Laura and Mary’s country party.”

“Oooh. Wasn’t that funny when Nellie got the leeches all over her?” she asked as she reached out and smoothed Lulu’s hair from her face.

“Uh-huh.” The child stopped hopping long enough to point at her grandmother before looking back at Tori. “Mee-Maw brought a coloring book for me to color while you talk. She even has some crayons for me, too!”

Casting a sidelong glance in Margaret Louise’s direction, Tori nibbled back a grin. “Let me guess . . . blue, red, and yellow?”

Lulu’s eyes widened in awe. “Wow! You could be a magician!”

“Or a distillery-map reader.”

“What’s that?” Lulu asked.

“That’s Miss Sinclair’s attempt at a funny, sweetie.”

“Oh.” Lulu pulled her gaze from her grandmother’s face and fastened it back on Tori’s. “Mee-Maw said if I color one real careful you might let me hang it on your refrigerator.”

“I think that’s a lovely idea.” Tori stood, tucked Lulu’s hand inside her own, and led the way into her cottage with Margaret Louise at their heels. “My kitchen table is the perfect spot for coloring.”

Once Lulu was settled in the tiny kitchen with her crayons and coloring book, Tori joined Margaret Louise in the living room. “I can’t tell you how much I needed that bright shiny little face tonight.”