"I'm sorry," Jeffrey said, walking across the sticky carpet. He considered the chair, but remained standing.
"You sure do apologize a lot for things that ain't got nothing to do with you," the woman said, feeling around on the table beside her. He saw a plate of crackers, and wondered how she chewed them. She put one in her mouth and he saw that she didn't chew them so much as let them melt on her tongue while she talked.
She told him amidst a spray of crumbs, "Cable's been out for two days now. I liked to had a fit when it went off – right in the middle of my program."
Jeffrey started to say he was sorry again, but he caught himself. "Can you tell me about your grandson?"
"Oh, he was a good boy," she said, her whiskered mouth trembling for a moment. "They got him down at the funeral home still?"
"I don't know. I guess."
"I don't know where I'm gonna get the money to bury him. All I got is my social security and the little bit I get from the mill."
"You worked there?"
"Up until I couldn't see no more," she said, smacking her lips. She paused a beat as she swallowed the soggy cracker in her mouth. "That was four, five years ago, I'd say."
She looked about a hundred, but she could not be that old if she was able to work in the mill that recently.
"Luke wanted me to get that surgery," she told him, indicating her eyes. "I don't trust doctors. I've never been to a hospital. Wasn't even born in one," she said proudly. "I say take the burdens God gives you and go on."
"That's a good attitude," Jeffrey said, though he wondered at choosing blindness for the rest of your life.
"He took care of me, that boy," the old woman said. She reached for another cracker, and Jeffrey looked back at the small strip of a kitchen, wondering if that was all the food she had.
He asked, "Was Luke into anything bad that you know about? maybe hanging out with the wrong kind of people?"
"He made money cleaning people's gutters and washing their windows. Nothing wrong with an honest day's work."
She had said "win-ders" for windows, and Jeffrey smiled, thinking he hadn't heard that word in a while. "No, ma'am."
"He had some trouble with the law, but what boy around here hasn't? Always something he was into, but the sheriff was real good about being fair. Let him make restitution to folks." She put the cracker in her mouth. "I just wished Luke'd found him a good woman to settle down with. That's all he needed was somebody to look after him."
Jeffrey thought that Luke Swan had needed a hell of a lot more than that, but he kept this opinion to himself.
"I hear he was going with that deputy's wife."
"That's what they say."
"He always did have a way with the women." She found this hilarious for some reason. She patted her knee as she laughed, and Jeffrey saw her bare gums as well as bits of cracker in her open mouth.
When she had finished, he asked, "Did he live here with you?"
"Back in the back. I slept here on the couch or in my chair sometimes. Don't take much to get me to sleep. I used to sleep out there in that tree when I was a little girl. My daddy'd come out sometimes and holler, 'Girl, you git down from that tree,' but I'd sleep right through it." She smacked her lips again. "You wanna see his room? That's what the other deputy wanted."
"Which deputy?"
"Reggie Ray," she said. "Now, there's a good man. He sings in the choir at church sometimes. I swear, that man has a voice like an angel."
Again, Jeffrey held back his opinion, though he wondered why Reggie did not mention before that he had been to Luke Swan's house. Considering Reggie was a deputy, the visit was routine, but still, Jeffrey wondered.
He asked, "Did Reggie find anything?"
"Not that I know of," she said. "You're welcome to go back and look around."
"I appreciate it," Jeffrey told her, patting her shoulder before heading back into the trailer.
He had to close the bifold door to the bathroom to get down the hall, but before he did, Jeffrey saw the filthiest toilet he had ever seen in his life. The walls were molded plastic shaped to look like tiles, and there were splatters of God knew what all around the tiny room. Only a blowtorch could have cleaned it off.
The old woman called, "You see anything?"
"Not yet," Jeffrey said, trying to breathe through his mouth. He pushed back another bifold door, thinking nothing could be worse than the smell in the hallway. He was wrong. Luke Swan's room was a stinking mess. The sheets were pulled back and there was a stiff-looking patch at the center of the twin bed. A single bare lightbulb dangled over the bed, suspended from a wire looped across the ceiling. He could not believe Jessie could be interested in anyone who lived in a place like this. She was too damn picky. He hated to admit it, but Jessie had a little more class.
Two plastic storage boxes by the bed seemed to hold the bulk of Luke Swan's clothes. The plastic was clear, and Jeffrey was thankful he did not have to touch anything to see inside. Spiderwebs and the kind of dirt that took years to accumulate were under the bed, but except for a filthy-looking white sock, there was nothing else there.
The closet had a locker shoved into it, the same kind you would find in a school. Stained underwear and socks were thrown onto the top shelf, shirts and jeans on the bottom. Jeffrey strained to see into the back, not wanting to put his hand into the locker. Just looking at Luke Swan's room made him feel like he had something crawling on him. Finally, he gave up and brushed the clothes out, hoping nothing bit him. Other than a pair of Speedos with a tear in the crotch, he found nothing.
Jeffrey turned around, looking back at the room. He was not about to touch the mattress, even if there was a letter explaining everything that had happened tucked underneath. Reggie would have done that, anyway. If he had found something incriminating, he sure as shit would have thrown it in Robert's face a long time ago.
Using his foot, Jeffrey kicked Swan's clothes back into the closet. After he had shoved everything back in, he changed his mind and pulled it back out. Hoping he did not get some sort of disease, Jeffrey put his hands on either side of the locker and pulled it out from the closet.
The metal made a horrible groaning noise, shaking the whole room, and the old woman called, "You okay in there?"
"Yes, ma'am," he told her, but then, looking behind the locker, seeing what was hidden in the back of the closet, he suddenly was not okay at all.
"How…" he began, but could not ask the question. He could only sit on the nasty bed and stare, his mind reeling for a moment, trying to come up with some kind of explanation or story – something that would help put Robert in the clear instead of pointing the finger right back at him. He kept coming back to the same conclusion, though, and he wanted a drink, several drinks, so bad he could taste the alcohol burning its way down to his belly.
"No," he said, like saying it out loud would make it true. "No," he repeated, but he still could not stop himself from asking, "Robert, what have you done?"
Chapter Twenty-One
3:09 P.M.
"Jared?" Smith said, slamming down the phone. "Who's Jared?"
Sara looked panicked, and Lena tried to distract him, saying, "You said you'd let Marla go."
"Shut up," he told her, sauntering toward Sara. "Who's Jared?" he repeated. "Who is he?"
Sara kept her mouth closed, like she was wondering how far she could push him.
Smith placed the shotgun against her ear. "I'm'a ask you one more time," he said, his accent thicker as his voice dropped a few octaves. "Who's Jared?"
Jeffrey spoke, his voice thick with pain. "Jeffrey's son," he said, but even Lena could hear his uncertainty. He wasn't confirming it, he was asking Sara a question.
"He didn't know," Sara told Smith, her hand pressing to Jeffrey's good shoulder. "Jared has a father who raised him."