Mary smiled. “Let’s go inside, Jess. It’s hot out here.”
Jessie had been too awed at seeing her mother being chauffeured by a young, handsome FBI agent to ask any questions on the ride home from UT. She’d been in surprisingly polite form the entire way and spent the trip talking about how she’d been the only one in her class who’d solved some kind of challenging problem. “A hack,” she’d called it.
“Rudeboy did it in five minutes,” Jessie had explained. “Okay, I’m not him. I needed thirteen minutes, but at least I did it, Mom. I did the Capture the Flag hack. I’m as good as Rudeboy, and he’s the best.”
Mary shut the front door and walked into the kitchen, her daughters following like a lynch mob.
“Who was driving that car, Mom?” asked Grace.
“The FBI,” said Jessie. “Now be quiet. Mom didn’t answer my question yet. Who’s Tank?”
“He’s a reporter,” said Grace.
“For the Statesman,” said Mary, adding inadvertently, “kind of.”
“Kind of? What’s that supposed to mean?”
Grace giggled. “He’s really tall and he has messy hair.”
“Shh,” said Jess, her eyes never leaving Mary.
“He had some questions about your father. That’s all.”
“Was it about Dad’s voice message?”
There it was: the reason for Jess’s worry. Mary had been foolish to think her soothing words would allay Jessie’s fears that she’d been the one responsible for erasing Joe’s voice message.
“No,” she said, trying to sound light, breezy. “Just about his work. Nothing that concerns you two guys.” She took a bottle of orange juice from the fridge and poured two glasses. “Here you are. Why don’t you find something for all of us to watch on TV?”
Jessie didn’t budge. “Mom, something’s wrong. We can tell. You’re not acting normal.”
“Yeah,” said Grace. “I heard you talking to Tank before.”
“He was here?” demanded Jessie. “In the kitchen?”
Grace said, “What really happened to Daddy? What did he mean when he said that they were lying about what kind of gun shot him?”
“Who was lying?” Jessie looked from Mary to her sister. “Grace, what did the reporter say?”
“I’m not sure,” said Grace. “But he didn’t want them to take Dad to Virginia. That’s why Mom went with him downtown.”
“Mom, you need to tell us what’s going on. We’re old enough to know.”
Mary looked at her daughters. Chalk and cheese. She was at a loss for words. How much should she explain? Were they old enough to share her concerns? She felt cornered. She wished Joe were there to help.
“Tell us the truth,” said Jessie. “This is about Dad. We have a right to know.”
“What’s Semaphore?” asked Grace.
Mary snapped, “Shut up, Gracie.”
At once Grace’s eyes welled up.
“Mom!” shouted Jess. “You shut up.”
“Don’t talk to your mother that way,” Mary retorted.
“Both of you, stop.” Grace looked between them, crying. “Don’t argue with each other. I hate it.”
Mary wrapped her arms around Grace. “Come now, mouse. It’s all right. I didn’t mean it. Mommy’s just upset. I’m sorry.” She kissed Grace’s blond head and saw a shadow of resentment cross Jessie’s face. Mary opened her arm and motioned Jessie closer. “Come here, peanut.” Jessie shook her head, arms crossed.
“Please,” said Mary.
Jessie remained rooted to the spot, glaring at her mother. Mary sat down with Grace at the table and held her until she stopped crying. She noted that Grace had winced a few times since she’d come home. “What is it, mouse?” she asked. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” said Grace.
“You’re sure?”
“Don’t change the subject,” said Jessie. “She said she’s fine. Stop doting on her. She’s not some fragile piece of china.”
“I’m fine, Mommy,” said Grace with a smile, wiping her eyes.
“Really?”
“Promise.”
Jessie shrugged her shoulders and sighed dramatically. The only thing missing was a roll of the eyes. “Tell us about Dad.”
“First of all,” began Mary, “you have nothing to worry about.”
“Who said we were worried?”
“That’s enough, young lady,” Mary snapped, fire in her eyes. Jessie swallowed and appeared to shrink an inch. Mary drew a breath and spoke calmly. “After your father was killed, I had some questions about exactly what happened. Mr. Potter had some questions, too, but he and I aren’t going to be talking about it anymore. This is something only I can figure out.”
Jessie pulled out a chair and sat. “What do you think happened?” she asked, no longer the antagonist.
“I’m not sure. Just-”
“Did they take Dad to Virginia?”
“Yes.” Mary related her conversation with Edward Mason, making sure to pass along his words about their father’s heroism. She had no doubt that Joe had acted heroically, no matter the exact circumstances of his death. Still, she felt disingenuous.
“Sounds like bullshit,” said Jessie.
“No curse words, young lady.”
“Or what?”
Mary leaned forward and patted her leg. “Or I’ll wash out your mouth with soap.”
“Gross,” said Grace. “Soap tastes like poop.”
Mary smiled. Even Jessie laughed.
“So what are you going to do?” asked Grace.
“Mr. Mason told me that your father was working on an important case to help keep our country safe. He said we’d find out all the details soon. Your father is going to receive a commendation from the president.”
“Wow,” said Grace, beaming. “That’s amazing.”
But Jessie pursed her lips as if she’d chewed on a lemon rind. “You believed him?”
Mary looked at her older daughter, hair hanging in her face, eyes staring like lasers right through her. The problem was that Jessie was too smart. She never accepted a word as the truth until she could prove it herself. Her cynicism had come at a price. She’d heard too many doctor’s promises, seen too many medicines that didn’t work, sat by her sister’s bed too many days. Life had taught her to believe in deeds, not words.
“Maybe,” Mary answered finally. It was as close to a declaration of her own feelings as she was willing to make in front of the kids.
The answer satisfied Jessie. She nodded and her frown relaxed. Distrust was a safer place from which to view the world, and Mary realized that for now, anyway, she shared that same dark promontory.
“I’ll make dinner,” she said, standing, rubbing her hands together. “I’m starving.”
“Chicken fingers,” said Grace. “With French fries and mustard.”
“Barf,” said Jessie. “I want a hamburger.”
“Dog barf,” said Grace.
Mary smiled, happy for even that small measure of relief.
Order was restored.
For now.
51
Shanks slowed the van as it passed Pedro’s Especiale Bar and Grill on Barton Springs Road.
“Is he there?” The Mole poked his head from behind his work console.
“Like clockwork.” Shanks stared at the blue Jeep Cherokee parked in front. The lot appeared full. He turned at the corner and continued down the street. To his dismay, cars occupied every inch of curb space.
“Must be a popular place,” said the Mole. “Looks like half of Austin’s here.”
Shanks continued to the end of the street and turned around. The alley behind the restaurant was likewise packed. He stopped behind the bar’s back entrance. “Any cameras?”
“None outside. We’re good.”