Seeing the Light (A Marie Jenner Mystery Book 1) (36 page)

“Are you all right?” I asked. I was afraid to ask it. He had not been treated kindly, and it was because of me. “I guess we were kind of lucky the police were there. Kind of.”

“I knew they were there.” James’ jaw worked as he maneuvered through the traffic heading back downtown. “I heard it on the radio earlier this evening. I was hoping they’d stayed.”

“I’m impressed.” And I was. That was quick thinking on his part. “That could’ve gotten messy.”

“Yeah.” James sighed the word, and I could tell that as far as he was concerned, that had been messy enough. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Want something?”

“Sure.”

He pulled into a convenience store parking lot and stopped the car. Gravel rained out of the turned-up cuff of his pants as he got out.

“What would you like to drink? Pop or something?”

“Something stronger.” I pointed to the liquor store next door, and tried to smile.

“Scotch, right?”

“Yes.” I watched as he entered the convenience store, then turned to Farley.

“Jesus, Farley, he almost caught us. I was so scared . . .”

“He didn’t, though. Jimmy boy really came through.”

“He did, didn’t he?”

“You know he’s going to want an explanation, Marie. That freak wasn’t after him. He was after you. Now you got him in the middle of this.”

“He’s already in the middle of this, Farley. I think Arnie caused the fire at his place.” I leaned back, and felt truly miserable. I’d brought nothing but trouble down on James, and he was still buying me treats. Why couldn’t I be nice to him, at least?

“And he still doesn’t know what the hell’s going on with me?”

“No. What can I tell him?”

“Tell him as much as you trust him to know.”

That was the last thing in the world I wanted to hear. I covered my face with my hands, as though that would block the thought from my head. It did no good, of course. Thoughts like that can leak through lead.

“I don’t know if I trust him enough to tell him anything.”

“He keeps saving your life, Marie. Hasn’t he earned a bit of trust?”

“It’s not that. Yeah, he’s a good, honourable guy, but that doesn’t mean much in the long haul.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Well, they always leave, don’t they?” My voice had taken on a shiny, bitter tone, like the ring of a coin that had been polished in acid. I could hear it. It always sounded that way when I talked about my dad.

“They don’t always leave.”

“Sure they do. You did.” I could still hear the bitter tone, and knew, in my heart I knew I was attacking Farley so I didn’t have to think about my dad, but couldn’t stop myself. “You left your family, didn’t you Farley?”

“It was mutual. A different thing.” I’d stung him. I could hear it in his voice, and I wished there was a way to take it back, to really explain to him what I meant, but it was not in his best interests—and I didn’t want to talk about it with anyone.

“You’re not talking about me, I know you’re not,” he barked. “So who the fuck is it?”

“No-one.” I sighed, as I realized I never should have started this conversation with him. “Never mind.”

He lost it.

“Jesus, you remind me so much of Rose, I could kick you square in the ass!” he bellowed, throwing around ecto goo as he waved his arms angrily. “You give me some vague or impossible trail to follow in the ups and downs of the emotional roller coaster you all seem to love to live on, and then, when I don’t get the hint, you shrug, or sigh, and say, ‘Never mind!’ What is it with you?”

I didn’t have a chance to answer him, because James came back, laden with supplies. As he got into the car, Farley yelled, “That was horse shit, Marie and you know it!” as loudly as he could, and I know he enjoyed it when I flinched away from the noise. Luckily, he settled back, still looking pissed, as we drove back to the office.

I found the parking pass, and watched everywhere for Arnie’s truck, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Farley left as we parked and unloaded the car. I was staggering, I was so tired, but James didn’t seem to notice, just walked ahead of me up the stairs and to his dead uncle’s office.

“I have to call Jasmine,” I said when we were inside. James nodded without looking at me, and wolfed down a sandwich as I sat down in the small secretarial chair that felt like a bit of heaven to my overtaxed muscles, and dialed Jasmine’s number.

I’m lucky to have a friend like her. She wasn’t mad anymore. She kept asking me how I was, and how sorry things had gone the way they had. The police officer was still there, and was watching TV with her.

“He’s cute,” she whispered into the phone. “And he likes kids.”

I promised to talk to her the next day, to see how things were going, and put the phone down. Farley oozed out of the wall in a very disconcerting manner, and stared at me as I tried to get the strength up to get out of the chair.

“Are the kids all right?” he asked.

I nodded, glancing over at James to make sure he wasn’t watching me. He wasn’t, and I felt a pang of something close to dismay. Man, I had to get a grip—or at least some sleep.

“I want to see them again. Soon.”

I looked back at Farley again, surprised. I hadn’t noticed how attached he’d become to Jasmine’s kids, but things had been a bit topsy-turvy for me.

“I’m not kidding.”

I nodded, not knowing if that was the right thing to do, but unable to think of anything else to do at that point. I’d screwed up everything so royally with him, what could one more mess up matter? I’d think it through in the morning. After I’d slept.

“Good.” He faded back against the wall, only his eyes showing where he was.

I hoisted myself out of the chair, imagining this was how it would feel when I was fifty or something. I didn’t like the thought of it. I hurt everywhere, and all I wanted was sleep. James had poured me a small shot of scotch.

“How’s your friend?” he asked, handing me the glass and scooting over on the rollaway cot that he’d pulled from the other room and opened by the window. “She okay?”

“Yes. She sounds all right, anyhow.” I sat down on the cot, and leaned back against the window. “She’s entertaining the police officer that stayed with her.” I tried to smile. “I think she’s in love.”

“Good. That’s good.”

He glanced over at me, and I was certain he was going to start cross-examining me, so I took a big gulp of the scotch, enjoying the burn it made all the way down to my stomach.

“You know that flash drive Sergeant Worth asked you about?” he asked.

I nearly choked on my scotch as I tried to change mental gears. The flash drive holding all the information I’d gathered about Latterson and Carruthers was the last thing I thought he’d mention.

“Yes.”

“I found it in the ambulance after they took you into the hospital. I loaded it on the computer. In case you needed it.”

“Thank you.” Then I glanced at him. “Why didn’t you say something to Sergeant Worth?”

“Because I looked at some of the files, and I don’t think you want her to have all the information you have on that thing. Do you?”

“Not really,” I muttered.

“I get Carruthers’ files. You were trying to link him to Latterson, right? But what was all that stuff about Farley Hewitt?”

It felt like my blood was literally freezing in my veins. I knocked back the last of the scotch. It didn’t help.

“I was trying to figure out whether he’d done the deed himself,” I said. “You know, whether he’d committed suicide.”

“So what about the Three Stages of Acceptance thing?” he asked.

Oh God, he’d looked at a lot more than just a couple of the files. Why had I started that file on Farley? Why oh why?

“Just research,” I said, feeling desperate. “I just wanted to figure it out, James.”

When I glanced at him, he’d pulled one of the blankets up to his chin and was staring off into space.

“And about your mother?” He spoke nonchalantly, as though the words had no meaning. “Sergeant Worth really acted like there was something going on with her.”

“I don’t know,” I whispered. I grabbed the bottle of scotch and poured myself another shot.

“Or you do know, and you don’t want to talk about that, either. Right?”

“Right. I really don’t.” I turned toward him, trying to sound courageous and sorry, but sounding as tired as I’d ever sounded. “I know. Lots of secrets. I wish—”

“What do you wish?”

“I wish I was like everybody else,” I whispered. “No secrets. Everything out in the open.”

He frowned. “Do you really think you’re the only one with secrets?” he asked.

“No,” I said. “I’m sure others do too. Just not so many.” I pointed at him. “You, for example. Do you have any secrets?”

I honestly expected him to say no. Not one. My life is an open book.

“Of course I do,” he said.

“Stuff you haven’t told me about?” I asked, rather stupidly, but I was beginning to feel pretty stupid, I must admit.

“Yes.” He wasn’t smiling anymore. In fact, his face looked strained. Holy crap, he wasn’t kidding. He’d actually been keeping things from me.

“You mean to tell me you’ve been harassing me—”

“Well, I wouldn’t say harassing,” he mumbled. I held up my hand for quiet, and he shut his mouth.

“Harassing me,” I continued, “and here you are, with secrets of your own?”

“Yes,” he said, and had the good grace to look embarrassed.

“So, are you going to tell me?” I asked.

“Tell you my secrets?” he replied. I nodded my head. “No,” he said. “I can’t. Not now.”

“Oh,” I said. “Interesting.”

“You’re right. We’re both keeping secrets.” James stared at the far wall of the office. I could see sunlight beginning to crawl up that wall. It was almost morning. “How about this? When you’re ready, you will talk to me, right?”

“Right. And when you’re ready, you’ll tell me.”

He grunted something that could have been a yes, and pulled the blanket further up around him, closing his eyes.

I put down my glass, and did the same. The last thing I saw, before sleep finally took me, was Farley’s eyes, glowing in the early morning sun.

Farley:
Paying a Visit to the Good Sergeant

I decided to let the living sleep, because the dead had things to do. I was going to see what good old Sergeant Worth was doing with her day. That woman knew something about Marie that she wasn’t letting on, and I thought maybe I could figure it out.

The good thing was, the cop shop was only five blocks from James’ office, so I could actually get there. The bad thing? The cop shop first thing in the morning is not the most pleasant place to be.

They’re letting the drunks out—mostly young, mostly male, what is it with young men and drinking until you make a complete ass of yourself and get arrested for drunk and disorderly? Did it myself a time or two, and I still don’t know. I hope to God it’s not our version of a rite of passage.

Anyhow, I hustled through the maze of corridors and rabbit cage offices, finally finding Worth.

She was sitting hunched over her desk and talking urgently on the phone.

“What’s your big news, Lamont? I’ve had a couple of really shitty days, don’t even think about toying with me.”

She leaned back in her chair and stared at the ceiling as she listened to Lamont, whoever he was, spouting on. I was ready to leave, because it didn’t look like I was going to get anything good, past a quick glance at the framed photograph on her desk. A good looking guy in a uniform, probably the husband, isn’t that nice, crime fighting is the family business, with a couple of kids’ school pictures tucked into the edges, a boy and a girl, both at the gawky, awkward, just stepping into junior high stage. I realized Sergeant Worth—tough as nails Sergeant Worth—was silently crying. Whoever Lamont was, he wasn’t giving her good news.

“Really. That’s nice. Good for you. On with your life.” She threw open a desk drawer and brought out tissue, grabbing one and pressing it to her face. “Wish Sherrie good luck for me, will you? She’s going to need it.”

She glanced up at the ceiling again, probably to keep the tears from coming back, and nodded as Lamont—the ex-husband, see it doesn’t take me long—kept talking.

“We can talk about this tomorrow. Tomorrow. Come on, Lamont, keep the days straight, will you? It’s my weekend with the kids. I’ll pick them up around four. Four. Well, change the plans. I haven’t seen them in a month. I
know
the last time it was my fault . . . we can’t keep going over this pile of shit. Have the kids ready. Yeah. I mean it this time.”

She hung up the phone, then picked up the picture sitting on her desk. She carefully plucked the two kids’ pictures from the frame, then flung the picture at the wall as hard as she could. Way to go, Lamont. You pissed the woman off.