First Family (28 page)

Her voice grew weak toward the end because these had been Cameron Quarry’s dying words. At her insistence Sam had recorded his wife at the end of her life, as she lay in bed at Atlee slowly passing on.

The last words were, “I love you, Tippi, darling. Momma loves you with all my heart. I can’t wait to hold you again, baby girl. When we’re both healthy and fine in the arms of Jesus.”

Quarry mouthed these last words his wife had spoken, ending exactly when she did. He cut the recorder off. As soon as the name Jesus had passed across her lips Cameron Quarry had taken her last breath and just died. For a God-loving woman, Quarry felt, it was
a dignified way to head on. He’d closed her eyes and put her hands across her chest, much like he’d done with his own mother.

Daryl and Gabriel had tears in their eyes. They both brushed them away while steadfastly not looking at each other.

“Momma was the best damn woman that ever lived,” Daryl finally said in a hushed voice while Quarry nodded in agreement.

Quarry touched Tippi’s cheek. “And this one here is right up there with her.”

“Amen to that,” said Gabriel. “Is she ever going to get better, Mr. Sam?”

“No, son. She’s not.”

“You want to say a prayer for her?” Gabriel put his hands together and started to kneel.

“You can if you want, Gabriel. But I don’t go down that road anymore.”

“Momma says you don’t believe in God. Why’s that?”

“Because he stopped believing in me, son.”

He stood and put the small recorder in his jacket pocket. “When you’re done I’ll be outside in the truck smoking.”

Quarry sat in his junk of a truck, the window down, an unlit smoke dangling from between his parched lips. The Alabama heat was in all its glory at nearly nine o’clock at night, and Quarry flicked a bead of sweat off his nose as a mosquito buzzed at his right ear.

The skeeter wasn’t bothering him too much. He was watching a meteor flame across the sky, the Big Dipper serving as a celestial backdrop to the show. After it was over his gaze dropped to the low cinderblock building that was his daughter’s home now. No husband, no kids, no grandkids for Tippi. Just a dead brain, a beaten body, and a feeding tube.

“You messed up there, God. Shouldn’t done that. I know the ‘work in mysterious ways’ crap. I know the ‘everything has a purpose’ BS. But you got it wrong. You’re not infallible. You shoulda let my baby girl alone. I’ll never forgive you for that, and I don’t give a damn if you never forgive me for what I got to do.” He spoke in a lurching, halting voice before he fell silent. He wanted the tears to come, if for no other reason than to relieve the pressure on his
brain. On his soul. But they wouldn’t bleed through his eyes. His soul apparently was scorched earth, no water left to give.

When the two came out and climbed in the truck, Quarry tossed his unlit cigarette out the window and they drove back to Atlee in silence.

Quarry went immediately to his library, sat behind his desk, fortified himself with a slug of 86-proof Old Grand Dad, lit the fire, thrust the poker into it, rolled up his sleeve, and held it against his bare arm, making a second mark perpendicular to and at the right end of the long burn already there. Ten seconds later the poker fell to the carpet, burning another hole in it, and Quarry collapsed back in his chair.

Breathing heavily, his eyes staring up at the sooty ceiling that had caught the flameouts and driftbacks of centuries of his ancestors, Quarry started talking. Most of it made little sense except to Quarry; he found it crystal clear. He started out telling folks that he was sorry. He named names and his voice rose and sank at odd intervals. He took another pull of Grand Dad, holding the bottle to his lips for the longest time.

More came from his mouth, his entire heart and soul poured forth. Planted on the ceiling up there were Cameron and Tippi, in each other’s arms. He could see each so vividly he wanted to rise to them, hold them both. Let them soar off together to a better place than the sorry one he was in right now.

He sometimes wondered what the hell he was doing. One little uneducated man against the world. Outrageous, unbelievable, foolish. It was all those things. Sure. But he couldn’t stop now. It wasn’t just that he’d come too far to quit. It was that he had nowhere else to go.

When he closed his eyes and then reopened them his wife and daughter were gone. The fire already crackled low; he’d built it up just enough to get the burn on the poker. He looked down at his arm again, at the intersecting lines. Hercules had had his labors. Ishmael the albatross of the whale. Jesus the burden of the cross and the lives of all resting on his weary shoulders.

This was Sam Quarry’s cross to bear. It certainly was. Not just
the square miles of Quarry land reduced to almost nothing. Or the ramshackle house that would never again see better days. Not just the dead wife, the ruined daughter. The dim son and the distant other daughter. Neither was it just the history of the Quarry family that was so wrongheaded in many respects as to be a shameful badge for any decent-minded descendant.

It was that Sam Quarry was no longer the man he once was. He was unrecognizable to himself. And not because of the burns on his arm. But because of the hellish scorch marks on his inner self. He’d lied to Gabriel. Maybe he’d lied to himself too. He didn’t
not
believe in God. He
feared
him. With all his heart and soul. Because what he’d done on this earth meant that he would not be reunited with his beloved wife or with his beautiful, resurrected daughter, when the time came. His price for justice was eternal separation. It was why he listened to his wife’s last words over and over. It was why he visited Tippi as often as he did. Because when it was over, it was really going to be done.

He looked back at the ceiling and said so softly it could barely be heard above the tired pop of the fire, “Eternity is damn well forever.”

Outside the closed door Gabriel skittered away. He’d come down to get another book to read, and heard far more than he’d wanted to. Far more than the little boy, smart as he was, could possibly understand.

He’d always looked up to Mr. Sam. Never knew a man who treated him any better than the current head of the Quarry clan did. And yet even with that, Gabriel ran all the way back to his room, locked the door, and slipped under the bedcovers.

And he never did fall asleep that night. It seemed the wails of Sam Quarry from down below were able to leach into every square inch of Atlee. There seemed to be nowhere that was safe or free from them.

D
ONNA
R
OTHWELL
didn’t think Sally Maxwell was having an affair with anyone, she told them. They were sitting in the woman’s vast living room.

“I think it’s a smear on your mother’s memory to even propose such a thing,” she said in a strident voice, hurling a dark look at Michelle.

“But someone did kill her,” Sean pointed out.

“People get murdered all the time. A burglary? A robbery?”

“Nothing was taken.”

She waved a hand dismissively. “So they got scared and ran.”

“The last time we talked you were terrified at the thought of a murderer running loose around here, and now you seem to have accepted it pretty readily,” noted Michelle in a voice filled with skepticism.

“This is a nice area, but crime happens everywhere. Sure, I’m scared, but that doesn’t mean I’m not realistic. I’ve got a good security system. I have two maids who live here with me. And I’ve got Doug.”

“Doug?”

“My steady. But I think you’re being very unfair to your mother by accusing her of something like that. Especially when she can’t defend herself.”

Sean put a hand on Michelle’s arm because he could sense she was about to come out of her chair at the woman, and it would hardly be a fair fight. At that moment a man wandered into the room holding a small bag of pretzels.

He was about six feet tall and very fit-looking. He had a TV anchor’s mane of silvery hair and a deep tan. A handsome man of sixty-odd.

“My
steady
I mentioned to you before, Doug Reagan,” said Donna proudly. “A very successful founder of a global IT company. He sold it four years ago and now lives the good life. With me.”

“Well, that’s the American dream,” said Michelle with a trace of disgust.

Doug shook their hands. “Really sorry about Sally,” he said. “She was a fine woman. A good friend to Donna.”

“Thanks,” said Michelle.

Doug looked at Donna and took her hand. “We’re going to miss her smiling face, aren’t we?”

Donna clutched a tissue in her hand and nodded. “But Michelle thinks Sally might have been having an affair.”

“What?” Doug looked at them. “That’s absurd.”

“Are you in a position to know for sure?” asked Sean.

The man opened his mouth and then closed it. “What? I…” He glanced at his
steady
. “Donna would know better than I would. I knew Sally but not like Donna did. But still, it’s a small community here. Someone would have known, wouldn’t they?”

Michelle said, “That’s what we’re trying to find out. But we need folks to be
truthful
.”

“I am telling you the truth,” snapped Donna. “Your mother was not having an affair with any man that I know of. And like Doug said, it’s a small community.”

“My mom bought a golf tournament couples package. My dad doesn’t play golf.”

“Oh for goodness sakes. She played with Doug,” said Donna.

Michelle and Sean looked at Doug, who had a pretzel up to his mouth. “Donna, you asked me to, remember? Because she didn’t have anyone to play with.”

“That’s right, I did.”

“Why didn’t he play with you?” asked Michelle. “You’re a golfer too.”

Donna said, “Because even though it was for charity it was a competitive
tournament and my handicap was too high to get in. Your mom was an excellent golfer and so is Doug.”

“About all I do anymore,” he said, smiling. “Hit the little ball in the little cup.” He added quickly, “And spend time with Donna.”

“My steady,” said Donna.

“Sounds like what everyone should aspire to in retirement,” said Michelle, while she scowled at Donna.

“Look, if you came here to insult us,” Donna began before Sean cut her off by saying, “This is understandably a very tense time for everyone. We appreciate your comments. I think we need to go now.”

Before Michelle could protest, Sean took her by the arm and propelled her out the door.

It took them a moment to realize that Doug had followed them out.

“I am truly sorry about your mother. I liked Sally a lot. Everyone did.”

“Well, one person didn’t,” snapped Michelle.

“What, oh, yes, of course.” They stood there awkwardly on the front porch with towering support columns done in the Corinthian style on either side of them. For Michelle they felt like elaborate bars on a jazzed-up cage.

“Is there something you wanted to tell us?” asked Sean.

“This is very awkward,” said Doug.

“Yes, it is,” agreed Michelle. Sean gave her a look.

“I didn’t really know your father, but Sally talked to Donna and me about him sometimes.”

“Is this where you tell me they weren’t happy and my mother was thinking of leaving him?”

“No, no, not at all. I think your mother was, well, moderately happy with your father. I… well…”

“Just say it,
Doug
.”

“I don’t think your father was very happy with Sally. They seemed to have grown apart. At least that’s how she phrased it.”

Michelle’s face fell.

Doug studied her. “Did you think that too?”

“It really doesn’t matter what I think. It just matters who killed my mom.”

“Well, she didn’t tell us about anyone bothering her, or stalking her. She led a very normal life. Friends, golf, gardening. There are no psychopaths that I know of running around here.”

“That’s the thing about psychopaths, Doug, with the really crazy ones, you never see them coming until they’ve stuck a knife in your heart,” she said.

He mumbled a hasty goodbye, and then Doug the steady almost ran back into the house. They heard the lock click into place.

As they were walking to the SUV Michelle said, “Do you think it was just a robbery that went down wrong?”

“It might be.”

They climbed in the SUV. “You feel like some food?” she said. “I know a place.”

Ten minutes later they were seated in a small restaurant and had ordered.

Sean said, “Okay, the cops worked the garage area and found no trace. The garage overhead door was down and the exit door from the garage onto the side yard was locked. But the killer could have secured it on the way out. It was just a simple button lock.”

“So anybody could have gone in, waited for her, killed her, and left that way. The ground was dry, no footprints.”

“And there was a privacy fence on the garage side. More concealment.”

She said, “ME reported the window of death was between eight and nine. You think someone would have seen something. Or maybe heard Mom crying out when she was attacked?”