Reems hurried through the rain to his car. Spinning his wheels out of the lot, she expected him to head north, to the sanctuary of the sheriff’s department or to his horse farm, farther still. But Reems swung his black Crown Victoria south, toward the overpass.
She ran to her own car and followed, staying well back when he turned east onto Poor Farm Road and disappeared around the bend. He was headed to the river. It was no surprise; Mac had seen him there, checking erosion, just yesterday. The tears started again. She wiped them away with the back of her hand. Not now. Now, she needed to see.
She slowed to a crawl, rounding the bend. He’d left his car across from the woods by the last cabin.
She parked and moved through the trees. The roaring river and the steadily beating rain covered the sound of her footfalls.
He was kneeling, checking the erosion at the partially uprooted base of a tree. The tree was dead, its leaves brown and curled, and had canted a few degrees toward the water, beginning a slow, perhaps months-long fall into the water. It seemed an odd thing to worry about when a man had just been killed in a fire.
She went back to her car to wait. Reems appeared ten minutes later. His hands and forearms were muddy. He’d been digging in the dirt.
She gunned her engine and sped forward.
He looked up slowly as she skidded to a stop on the wet gravel. His face was blank, confused. She powered down her window.
‘The river,’ he said slowly, almost as though he were in shock.
She stared at him for a moment, until she was sure he was barely aware she was there. And then she sped back toward the ruin of the Bird’s Nest.
SEVENTY-FIVE
Clutching everything so she wouldn’t have to risk another trip to her car in the rain, April eased inside Maggie’s front door. Maggie quickly shut it behind her.
‘I’ve been afraid to move the curtains,’ Maggie said. ‘Any reporters out there?’
‘Not so far, and none at my place, either,’ April said, ‘but two were at Mac’s house.’
‘They say anything about those?’
April dropped the shoes on the carpet and draped the blue suit and white shirt across the back of an upholstered chair. ‘Considering the condition of the body, they must have thought I was crazy, fetching casket clothes.’
‘Did you go by the Bird’s Nest again?’
‘It’s the same as when they first called me, a pile of black lumber, no more than six feet high, except it’s freakier in the daylight. It’s still smoking, even with the rain. A backhoe is picking through it, real slow.’
‘You’re sure the body’s gone?’
‘They scooped up what they could before they called me, Maggie.’
‘Found him fast enough, they did.’
‘Our cockroach of a fire chief knew what to look for.’
‘When will they say for certain?’
‘They said the body was bad. They’ve only got his frickin’ teeth, if they weren’t destroyed. You can bet those state people will take their time after the mess they made of Betty Jo’s case.’
‘Who else was down there?’
‘Hard to tell, under all the umbrellas. Roy Powell is still there, with a couple of state troopers. Maybe state arson investigators and probably an insurance investigator hoping to find anything that proves Mac set the fire himself. There are a few news people, including one van with a little broadcast dish that was packing up. I think Clamp had a briefing earlier, but he’s gone now.’
‘Jen Jessup?’
April shook her head. ‘Not to be seen.’
‘Who from the sheriff’s?’
‘Just one deputy, looking bored.’
‘Any strange car get towed into the sheriff’s garage?’
‘I didn’t bother to go to the courthouse because I didn’t know how to ask about a strange car. I heard the program this afternoon will be part memorial for Mac – our lost Mayor, and all that crap.’
‘Clamp – he’ll still be there?’ Maggie asked.
‘He’s the honoree. The live one, at least.’
‘And Luther Wiley?’
‘He’s a trustee,’ April said. ‘He’ll be up on the stage, too, dabbing at imaginary tears like the rest of them, no doubt.’
‘No matter that he’s spent the last few days getting ready to seize the Bird’s Nest, and the last few decades lying about Betty Jo Dean’s murder. Him and that Randy White are the only two left who know anything, other than Doc Farmont.’
‘Besides Clamp.’
‘Clamp, most of all.’
‘Luther’s got to be nervous as hell, thinking about Horace,’ April said.
‘Worrying whether he’s next.’
‘Mercy that,’ April said.
‘Mercy that,’ Maggie agreed.
They looked across the cramped little room.
‘Mercy that,’ Mac agreed, raising his coffee cup with bandaged hands to toast them both.
SEVENTY-SIX
‘I apologize for interrupting you on this most chaotic of days, but I assure you, it couldn’t wait,’ Jen said. Strangely, she felt calm.
Luther Wiley, rouged as always but seeming even more red today, got up from his desk. His hands shook as he pressed his fingertips to the desktop.
She forced a grateful smile and sat down. ‘It is a horrible day, is it not?’
‘Indeed,’ he managed, sitting down.
She noticed, then, the fine beads of sweat on his forehead. Perhaps Luther Wiley was delicate, incapable of a big sweat. She’d know, soon.
‘They brought the body here, from the Bird’s Nest?’ she asked.
‘We have the county contract.’
‘Was Mac Bassett murdered?’
He looked away. ‘The medical examiner will make that determination.’
She leaned forward. ‘It’s Mac, right? I mean, his truck is still there and no one’s seen him since.’
‘The medical examiner will have to say.’
She pressed on. ‘I’ve been trying to find Randall White – slick, oily creature, prone to running off at the mouth? You and he go way back, from when he used to assist Doc Farmont.’
‘I barely know him.’
‘Not according to him. He’s been telling everybody he was here, assisting the doctor and you and your drunken Uncle Bud with Betty Jo. Chopping away, were you, Luther?’ They were wild charges, meant to break loose the truth.
Luther’s rouge froze around a tentative smile. ‘I was never near the body.’
‘Dougie Peterson said otherwise. He said you invited him in for a peek.’
‘Dougie was lying.’
‘Dougie was drowned. That’s why I’m so concerned about Randy White. I can’t find him. Maybe he’s dead, too, because of what he knows.’
‘Disgusting rabbit of a man, really.’ Luther took out a white silk handkerchief and dabbed at his mouth. The white silk came away pink.
‘Think Randy White is bobbing like Dougie Peterson?’
‘My God, Miss Jessup.’ He reached for his handkerchief again.
He might have been sweating tiny beads, but they were coming fast. Encouraged, she went on: ‘Things keep happening to people who know about Betty Jo Dean. As I was driving back to town, bummed about Mac Bassett, bummed about never getting a statement from Randy, I recalled something from long ago. Do you remember my sister, Laurel?’
‘I’ve never had the pleasure.’
‘Really? She was killed, run off the road right after they found Betty Jo. Laurel was a darling, quite beautiful. I was always so envious. I was in sixth grade when she went, just like that.’ She snapped her fingers. ‘Anyway, you know how younger sisters are? They’re the nosiest creatures on earth. Always snooping. And… well, I’d blush if I wasn’t so insane with a new thought…’ She stared straight into his eyes.
He was looking past her. Ideally he was thinking about bolting for the door.
‘Little sisters are always listening,’ she whispered. ‘Like little mice in the walls, mice with big ears?’