“Hope,” Jake said her name as a weary sigh. “Can we wait and talk about this later in private?”
“No. I’m tired of waiting. I want my own house again. As half owner of this ranch, I’m also half owner of the Newsome place. So I’m moving into that house, whether or not any of you like it.”
The emphasized any was directed at Jake, not me. Had Hope brought up this crazy idea with him before?
Didn’t matter. Any negative comment would cement the idea in Hope’s head. We all had to tread lightly.
“I don’t think you understand that you can’t just pack your shit and move in. Especially with a baby.”
“Why not?”
My eyes narrowed at her. “How many years has it been since you’ve been in that house?”
“A long time,” she snipped, “but that’s not the point. You’re just trying to keep me here.”
“Hope. Listen to your sister,” Sophie cautioned.
As always, Hope listened to Sophie. “Fine. Tell me how stupid I am, Mercy.”
I ignored her taunt. “When the auctioneer came by with the appraiser, they said the house needed major updates. Not just cosmetic, but structural.”
“Like what?” she asked petulantly.
Jake paced to the sink and rested his backside against it. Arms folded. Legs crossed at the ankles.
I continued to detail the issues. “The porch sags because of water damage to the cellar. Which also means the foundation is cracked from one end of the house to the other. The heating and electrical systems haven’t been updated since the Newsomes moved in forty years ago. Some of the windows are painted shut. The ones that aren’t painted shut won’t open because of the foundation settling.”
“So? This house isn’t perfect either, Mercy.”
“If it’s so bad here, why haven’t you left it more than ten times in the last four months?”
“That’s not fair.”
“But it’s true. You’ve been so protective of Joy that you rarely take her out in public. Yet you’d drag her to a drafty old farmhouse with all sorts of serious problems and health risks to both of you… just to get away from me? Or to prove a point to me?”
Hope pressed her cheek to the top of Joy’s head, and a tear slid free. “I knew you wouldn’t understand.”
How many times had I heard that accusation? How many times had I fallen for the tears and the woe-is-me routine? Too many. But this time, I would not succumb.
“I knew you’d be like this,” she said with a bitter edge.
“Like what?”
“Pretending we’re all one big happy family when we’re not. How long did you last with all of us living together? Two months. Then you lit out for the cabin and haven’t looked back. You lasted barely a month working with Jake. But you’ve had no problem working at Clementine’s for several months. What is the draw? Free booze? Oh right, we all know how much you drink, but God forbid we ever say anything to piss off Mercy the almighty.”
“Hope. That’s enough,” Sophie snapped.
But Hope didn’t listen to Sophie for a change. “No. It’s time to get it out there instead of letting it fester. Are you running for sheriff because of Daddy? How do you think he’d feel
that you were blowing off your responsibilities to the ranch again?”
Hope knew right where to strike. I took the hits like a soldier. Bleeding and howling inside, but outwardly, standing strong, tall, proud, and bulletproof. Because no matter how hard she cried, no matter how many foul words about my character fell from her mouth, no matter how many accusations she lobbed at me, there was no way in hell I’d ever let my sister or my innocent niece live in that hate-haunted house. Ever. I’d die first.
In order to protect her, I had to go into full retreat. Appear contrite, appear to be giving in to her. In short, lie my ass off while I reconfigured my strategy. I softened my tone. “Look, Hope. I want you to be happy. But rushing into this isn’t the answer either.”
“But I’m not rushing into it. I’ve been thinking about this ever since the day we signed the papers buying the Newsome place.”
Jake and Sophie exchanged a look.
“Tell you what, sis. I know a couple of guys, Clementine’s regulars, who run their own construction business. Maybe they can look at the property and give us an idea on what it’d take, dollar-wise, to make the structure habitable.”
Hope’s head came up. She stared at me, eyes liquid, lower lip quivering. “Seriously? You’ll do that?”
Fuck no. “Sure. But it’ll be preliminary. There is no guarantee what they find will change anything.”
“I understand that. But if it’s about money, I have some left over
from selling the trailer, and I’m sure Jake is willing to pitch in.”
Not a question for Jake, but a statement.
“If we get the go-ahead, and the repairs are affordable, can we start fixing it up right away?”
“Absolutely,” I lied.
“Oh, this is the best news!” Petulant Hope vanished. Hope the conqueror beamed sunshine at Jake. “I know we didn’t talk about this, but it’ll be a good thing for all of us. A fresh start.”
Jake couldn’t muster a smile. Not even when he reached out and played with Joy’s tiny sock-clad foot.
“I’ll get her ready for her bath,” Hope announced, and flounced upstairs, jabbering away to her baby.
“Ah. I’ll help her,” Sophie said, and scurried out.
Neither Jake nor I spoke.
Jake’s hands tightened on the back of the chair. His voice was barely a whisper. “I can’t do it. I can’t live there. I just… can’t.”
“I know, Jake.” I had half a mind to squeeze his shoulder. Offer him reassurance. But actions spoke louder than a pansy-assed gesture. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.”
“How?”
“Do you really want to know?”
Took about ten seconds, but Jake shook his head and walked off.
Hope would get suspicious if a tragedy befell the Newsome house the very day she’d announced her intention to inhabit it. I’d give it another day.
Looked like John-John’s vision was about to come true after all.
In the meantime, I hit the ground running investigating J-Hawk’s murder. I locked myself in the office and took out the three lists I’d photocopied. Winona’s was the most detailed. I cross-checked the customers’ descriptions I’d jotted down. When an hour passed and I hadn’t made progress, I realized I’d have to ask for help deciphering the names. Hopefully Winona wouldn’t ask how I’d gotten ahold of a list that was supposed to be confidential.
The parking area at Clementine’s was deserted, except for Winona’s rusted-out Toyota Camry and John-John’s El Dorado.
But John-John wasn’t behind the bar; Muskrat was.
His eyes lit up. “Have mercy.”
Before I braced myself, Muskrat picked me up in a bone-crushing hug. When he set me down, I wheezed, “That couldn’t have been good for your back.”
Muskrat scowled. “John-John oughten been telling you stuff like that about me.”
“He was worried.” I straightened the collar on his plaid shirt. “And he didn’t tell me anything you wouldn’t have told me if you’d been around.”
He grunted.
“Where’s Winona?”
“Taking a smoke break. Why?”
“I need to talk to her.”
“Pull up a stool while you’re waiting. You want a drink?”
“A Coke.” As long as there weren’t customers around, I spread the lists out on the bar.
“What’re those?” Muskrat asked.
“The lists Dawson asked for, detailing who was in here the night Jason Hawley was killed. I don’t know everyone, so I’m trying to figure out who was who.”
“Why?”
“Because Dawson isn’t doing dick on this case.”
“So as the new candidate for sheriff you trying to solve the case and show him up?”