The agent told him someone always sees something. Latrell didn’t doubt that. Oleta had seen him. He went over everything from the time he stepped out of his house until the time he stepped back in, carrying Oleta over his shoulder. He was certain that no one else had seen him.
Yet the agent knew about the woman, asked him straight up did he know Oleta. Why would he do that? Then Latrell remembered the money she was carrying. He figured Marcellus had given it to her for her son being killed. It was blood money and he wanted no part of it. He took Oleta because she’d seen him. Didn’t matter that she thanked him. What mattered was that she’d seen him. That, and when he looked at her, he saw his mother. Saw his mother even now just thinking about her. How many times, he wondered, do you have to kill someone before they stay dead?
The agent had found the money under the tree. That’s how the agent must have found out about Oleta. He was smart not to have taken the money. That would have made sense to the FBI-someone killing Oleta for the money. Leaving it on the ground, that was the smart play. Maybe they found her fingerprints on the money. That’s how come they knew it was her. He was smart not to have even touched it.
Then there was story the agent told him about losing his son. Latrell knew a good lie when he told one, knew how important it was to feel it when he told it because a person could see the feeling in him. No feeling and it was just words. He felt it when the agent talked about his son; he saw the cloud in the agent’s eyes.
Why, he wondered, would the agent tell him about his son? Was it to make him feel sorry for the agent so FBI man could trick him? Was it because the agent knew about his mother and the men and Oleta and Jalise and everything else? The questions made his head spin, leaving him with only one certainty. This man who said he was an FBI agent, who came looking for a dog and who shook too much and asked too many questions, was dangerous.
Latrell went back inside and took off his shoes. He began in the kitchen, down on hands and knees, scrubbing the?oor, countertops, and tables. Moving into the living room, he swept the hardwood?oor, vacuumed the area rug, pulled out the sofa cushions, vacuumed them and the sofa, and wiped down the small bookcase filled with his alphabetized CD and DVD collections, double- and triple-checking that they were all in order.
The two bedrooms and bath upstairs were next, even though he hadn’t allowed the dog on the second?oor. He changed the sheets on his bed, turned the mattress, scoured the bathroom, and waxed the hardwood?oors until his face re?ected back at him. By three a.m., he had cleaned up after the dog for the last time.
Exhausted, he fell into bed. Latrell had planned to go to the cave tonight to make certain that everything was in order there as well, but he had to be at work in five hours and he was too tired. He’d go tomorrow night, probably sleep there in case any more FBI agents came knocking.
As he was falling asleep, he replayed his conversation with the agent. No doubt about it, the agent had suspected nothing. Latrell would have been able to tell. Still, it bothered him that they kept coming back to talk with him. Maybe they would leave him alone if he remembered something. Maybe the man the agent said had been seen running away. But not the woman. Definitely not the woman.
Chapter Twenty-two
Joy’s car was parked in front of my house when Ruby and I got home. It was a Hyundai Sonata. We were basic-transportation people, not?ashy-car people. There was a crease in the front fender from a too-close encounter she’d had with the center post in the garage. It had prompted one of the last fights we had had about her drinking before she left. “You don’t have to be a drunk to hit the garage,” she had shouted at me. “No, but it makes it a lot easier,” I had shouted back. By the end, we were shouting people, not talking people.
She still had a key to the house. I hadn’t changed the locks. It wore me out to see her car there.
Ruby?ew through the door from the garage into the house like she knew she was home, finding Joy in the kitchen before I did.
“Well, who are you?” I heard Joy ask. “Aren’t you the gorgeous dog?”
I found them on the?oor, Joy cross-legged, Ruby lapping at her face.
“It didn’t take you long to replace me, did it?” she said with a laugh, cuffing Ruby, who instantly rolled over on her back and offered up her belly.
Joy stood, brushing the wrinkles from her jeans. The lines in her face seemed to have softened and the gloom in her eyes was gone, a?icker of life taking its place. I hadn’t seen her since we’d separated, all of our communications passing through our lawyers or our daughter. I wasn’t certain, but her hair looked shorter, shaped differently, and colored a shade lighter.
“The dog and I are just friends,” I said. “You look different-in a good way.”
She smiled at my compliment. “Thank you, I think.”
We looked at each other, not talking, the dog racing in and out of each room, back to the kitchen, doing circles around us.
“So,” she said.
“So.”
“Thanks for not changing the locks.”
“Wasn’t necessary. What’s the occasion? Something you need to pick up?”
Joy swept her hair behind her ears with both hands, turning her head to the side, then releasing her hair. It was a gesture she’d used as long as I’d known her, a prelude to an unpleasant conversation.
“Wendy called. She’s pretty upset.”
I let out a long breath, the reason for Joy’s visit now clear. “I know. I really blew it, inviting Kate to dinner without giving Wendy any advance warning.”
Joy’s mouth opened wide, her eyebrows rising off the charts. “Tell me you’re kidding? You didn’t really do that.”
It was my turn to be surprised. “I wish I was. I thought that’s why you were here, to tell me what a lousy father I am.”
She chewed her lower lip, arms crossed over her chest.
“Nothing is easy with you, Jack. Wendy didn’t say a word
about Kate. That’s not why she called.”
I felt the fool again, heat rising in my neck. “Then what?”
The shaking started as the words left my mouth. I bent over, cursing between clenched teeth, waiting for the contraction to release me. Joy kept her distance, turning away until I could stand. When she looked at me again, her eyes were wet.
“That,” she said.
“It will pass.”
“From the looks of it, like a kidney stone.”
I caught my breath and laughed, not able to remember the last time she’d told a joke. “I see that you’ve been practicing your stand-up routine.”
“Actually, I’ve been practicing my sobriety routine. Fifty days as of today. My AA counselor gave me a gold star.”
The last time she’d tried AA, she stayed sober for a record 148 days, falling off the wagon on Kevin’s birthday. That was three years ago. The binge that followed wiped out that record with a vengeance. I was stunned but cautious, having seen her go down this road before.
“That’s great. One day at a time, right?”
“First thing they teach you.”
“Well, good for you. Keep it up.”
She stuck her hands in her jeans pockets. “I intend to. How long have you been like this?”
“A couple of months, but I’m not like this all the time. Sometimes, it’s nothing more than a shiver and I can go long stretches without anything happening.”
“Long stretches meaning like days or hours?”
I hesitated a moment, not wanting to concede. “Hours.”
“What are we going to do about you?”
“You don’t have to do anything. I’ve got an appointment at KU Hospital. They’ll give me a pill or a shot or something and I’ll be as good as new.”
“In November. Wendy told me. I’m certain she wasn’t pleased that you invited Kate to dinner, but all she could talk about was that you needed to see a doctor right away and what were she and I going to do about it. Those people at KU will give you the runaround, the once-over, and tell you to take it easy after making you wait two months for the privilege.”