The Redemption Game Page 12

  Fear gripped hold and held fast.

  Brock was forty-two when he fathered Bear; I was fifteen, away at a dog-training camp in Maine that Brock founded and ran. At the time, I’d been flattered by the attention—me, a skinny little Georgia nobody, attracting the eye of the dynamic, self-made dog trainer who had taken the world by storm. Of course, I knew now that his training theories were a lot of macho bull that had little to do with behavioral science or any kind of compassion for animals. But then...well. Then, I’d been a child.

  I knew why Brock was back—he’d as much as told me during the search in Bethel. He was back because he wanted me to pay for what I did. He wanted me to stand up and tell the world what had happened the night he died in his home almost ten years ago; that the image I portrayed to those around me was a lie.

  He wanted me to tell the truth: that I had murdered him in cold blood, while my son slept in the next room.

  “You’re not taking this from me,” I said out loud. Phantom looked at me, clearly uneasy. I forced myself back to my feet. Laughter, hard and mocking, surrounded me.

  We’ll see about that, James, Brock said. Think about it. Give me a little time knocking around in that pretty little head of yours. Then get back to me.

  I steadied myself with my hand resting on Phantom’s head, stomach rolling, and stared into the abyss.

  There had been days, weeks...entire months in the past nine years since Brock’s death, when I had thought it was done. I’d killed him. I never told a soul what happened that night—not Bear, not Monty. Not even Jack, and I’d told him more about my relationship with Brock than anyone. I could never find the words to tell him about that last night, though.

  But somehow, against all odds, I had gotten away with it. Brock was gone, and I was here.

  It was clear now just how deluded I had been. I was still here, but Brock had never really been that far away. The ugly truth had always been there, waiting for me to deal with it. I just wished I had the first clue how to do that.

  Chapter 12

  T WAS JUST PAST EIGHT-THIRTY by the time Barbara left Jack’s office. Once she’d gone, Jack ran through a long list of things he needed to do for the day, particularly now that he was suddenly in the midst of two apparent murder investigations. His first call as soon as Barbara was safely out the door was to Bear. He fought the urge to call Jamie instead—not when Bear was his client. This was something between the two of them, at least for now.

  Unfortunately, Bear didn’t answer. Jack left a message instructing the boy to get back to him as soon as he got the message. Then, he hung up. Should he call Jamie next?

  Not yet, he decided. First, he needed to do whatever he could to discuss the situation with Bear. At a loss, he paced the apartment twice before he decided he needed to shift gears to the new charges suddenly relying on him.

  He knew he could ask Jamie whatever he needed to about the cats, but there was a problem: if he asked her even a fraction of the things that were buzzing around his brain since Cash came to stay, Jamie would realize he was a complete idiot. At least, a complete idiot about this. In his entire life—at least, that he could remember from thirteen years old on—he’d never had a pet before. When he and his wife Lucia were married, they were both too busy. And after she was killed in Nicaragua six years ago, he never even really entertained the thought. Now, though…

  Well, now he realized he’d better learn pretty damn fast. These kittens were relying on him, and they wouldn’t feed themselves. The bag of Kitten Chow and pan of litter the Humane Society had provided was all well and good, but he’d seen the disdainful look Jamie had cast in his direction at the meager supplies.

  He surfed the internet for half an hour looking for tips on nutrition and care, but there was so much conflicting information that he eventually gave up. At 9:55 a.m., he peered out his window at the darkened storefront of the pet boutique across the street—the Loyal Biscuit. Erin Solomon swore by the place; when they’d been dating while she lived in Portland, Jack had known her to drive the eighty miles each way just to get store brands she could have gotten just as easily in Portland for her dog Einstein.

  It’s better if it’s from the Biscuit. Trust me.

  Jamie made most of the dog food for the animals on her team, but he’d seen her pick up treats there in a pinch, when they’d run out of homemade deer jerky or duck hearts or whatever it was she fed her crew. If it was good enough for Jamie, it should definitely be good enough for Cash and the kittens.

  So, at 9:59 exactly, just as a petite blond woman put a dog bowl of water out on the sidewalk, Jack was at his door. Cash meowed inquisitively after him, the kittens following with plaintiff yowls of their own.

  Who knew a cat could be this much pressure?

  To his surprise, the store was already in full swing when he walked through the door two minutes later. A pallet of dog food was in the middle of the floor, with a sign beside it.

  Donations for the Davis Animals

  A story, neatly typed and pasted on pastel construction paper, followed. The blond he’d seen outside looked up from posting more signage when he walked through the door, keen eyes taking him in with a single sweeping glance.

  “Jack Juarez!” she said, with a grin that suggested she knew something he didn’t. “Jamie said you’d be stopping by. I hear you got some babies you’re looking after.”

  “Who’d he get?” another woman asked—this one with glasses and dark curls, an air of competence about her that Jack found reassuring.

  “The one-eared tom and the kittens,” the blond replied. “You remember, Tracy was telling us about them.”

  Jack racked his brain for names to go with faces. Finally, the blond had mercy.

  “I’m Melody. Mel. Whatever. Trust me, whatever you call me, I’ve probably been called worse. And this is April,” she said, indicating the woman with glasses.

  April nodded to him. She had a clipboard under her arm, pen in hand. “That’s great what you’re doing with the kittens. God, what a mess it is over there.”

  “I told everybody how long ago that that old bat needed to be taken out?” Mel said. April rolled her eyes, with a smile at Jack.

  “We know.”

  “Not that I said someone should actually do her in. But the way she treated those animals? I still don’t get why the State didn’t do something sooner.”

  “They tried,” April pointed out. “Multiple times. She was pretty slippery about the whole thing. You can’t just take someone’s property from them—”

  “Animals—living creatures,” Mel interrupted. “Don’t give me that property crap.”

  “I feel the same way,” April said. “You know that. The law doesn’t, unfortunately.”

  Sensing that he might get something beyond just cat food, Jack stuck with the turn the conversation had taken.

  “So, do you have any idea who did it?”

  Before anyone could answer, a lean, good-looking man with a shaved head, dress shirt, and shorts came to the door pulling a wagon filled with pet food, blankets, and cleaning supplies.

  “This is just one side of Main Street,” he announced. “PJ and Frank got a bunch of blankets and bedding they said they’ll donate, plus a night’s stay at the inn for the auction.”

  He stopped short at sight of Jack, making no attempt to hide his curiosity. “Did you donate?” he asked Jack, nodding to the wagon of food behind him. “Two hundred animals, most of them starving.”

  “One hundred and seven,” April corrected him. He waved off the distinction. “Jack, this is my husband, Mike. Mike, Jack Juarez.”

  Sudden interest lit his eyes. He studied Jack speculatively. “The P.I., right? Moved here from DC?”

  “We were just talking about Nancy,” April interrupted smoothly. Jack got the feeling he was being saved from something, he just wasn’t sure what.

  “Ah—right,” Mike said. “Is this for a case you’re working on, or you just can’t shake the old habit?”
>
  Jack smiled. “Maybe a little bit of both.”

  “Nice,” the other man said. He leaned back against the front counter, but other customers were coming in. Mike frowned, as though they were intruding. “What are you doing for lunch today?” he asked.

  The question caught Jack off guard. “Me? Oh. I—uh—have some things…”

  “Leave him alone, Mike,” April said. She called the words over her shoulder as she inventoried the donations he’d just brought in.

  “You want to know who killed Nancy, and why? Nobody knows more dirt about this place than I do.”

  “That’s actually true,” April conceded. She took a bag of food still in Mike’s arms, plucking it from him as she passed by.

  “That’s crap,” Mel said. “I know a helluva lot more dirt than you do.”

  “It isn’t a competition,” Mike said.

  “The hell it’s not,” Mel said. She fixed Jack with a calculating gaze, one eyebrow raised. “Go ahead: what do you need to know?”

  #

  Jack left the store an hour later with a new cat carrier, a kitten condo on order, a case of kitten food more expensive than most human baby formula, and half a dozen leads to follow thanks to Mike and Mel.

  Had he known, for example, that Fred Davis and Barbara Monroe had once been a couple? Jack assured Mike that, no, he hadn’t heard anything of the kind. Not to be outdone, Mel told Jack in excruciating detail about every Loyal Biscuit customer who had made an official complaint to the police or—surprisingly common—made bodily threats against Nancy if she didn’t start taking better care of her animals.

  By the time Jack left, he had so many leads to follow he wasn’t sure where to begin. He opted to go back to the apartment, check on the cats, and figure things out from there.

  Whatever else he might have learned, Jack found it hard to dismiss the news that Fred Davis and Barbara had been a couple. Why hadn’t she mentioned that this morning?

  He tossed the revelation around in his mind for a short time before he dismissed it. Far more concerning than anything Mike and Mel had told him about Nancy Davis was the information Barbara had given him about the night Nancy was killed.

  Bear had been there.

  Barbara saw them fighting.

  Bear still hadn’t returned Jack’s call. Frustrated, he picked up the phone and put another call through. Though between the search for Albie and everything going on on the island, what were the chances Bear would actually answer?

  To his surprise, Bear picked up after the second ring.

  “Did you find anything?” Bear asked, without even saying ‘hello’ first.

  “No, not yet,” Jack said. “I got some interesting information, though. I was hoping you could shed some light on it.”

  There was a pause on the line. Jack could hear dogs barking in the background, and occasional shouts. “Hang on a second,” Bear said.

  “How’s the search going?” Jack asked.

  “Well, we’re still out here, so it can’t be going too great. We got a tip that some tourists had picked him up in Rockland, then dropped him off on a trail in Camden. We’re up on the mountain now.”

  “Well, if anyone can find him…” Jack said. He almost rolled his eyes at the cliché. Bear, likewise, seemed unimpressed.

  “You said you had a question?” Bear asked.

  “Right,” Jack said. “I heard from someone who seems to think you were at Nancy’s the night she was killed, around midnight. Do you know why they would think that?”

  This time, the pause on the line was so long Jack thought they had been disconnected. Finally, Bear responded. The tension in his voice was unmistakable, and Jack felt uneasiness settle in his own stomach.

  “I don’t know what they were talking about,” Bear said. “I was out on the island that night. I knew we’d have a big day dealing with the animals come morning—why would I go back to the mainland?”

  “That’s what I was wondering,” Jack said. “It doesn’t make a lot of sense to me, but this person seemed pretty certain of it. You sure you don’t know what they’re talking about?”

  “No,” Bear said. “No clue. Listen, I have to get going. They’re waiting for me. Just let me know if you hear anything else.”

  Jack frowned. It wasn’t that he was surprised by the boy’s answer, but he was definitely disappointed. He had an uneasy suspicion that however easily Bear might dismiss the allegation, the police wouldn’t be so cavalier. And there was no question in Jack’s mind that at some point in the investigation, probably not that far down the line, detectives would be knocking on Bear’s door.

  At shortly past noon that day, Cash and the kittens were sleeping, the apartment was clean, the kitty litter boxes were out, and Jack was ready to hit the road. Sophie Laurent had called and asked him to meet her at the lab at one o’clock, which meant Jack needed to get a move on if he didn’t want to be late. He was headed for the exit when a knock at the door stopped him. He frowned. He’d had more visitors in the past twenty-four hours than in the three months previous since moving to town.

  The frown vanished when he peered through the peephole, however.

  Jamie stood on the threshold when he opened the door, wearing dirty khaki pants and an equally dirty, lightweight white shirt. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and a smudge of dirt on her nose made him grin.

  “Hi there,” he said. “This is a surprise. Is everything all right?”

  A hint of pink touched her cheeks, intriguing him. “It is. I just—I was in the neighborhood. Kind of. I thought I’d just stop in and see how you’re faring with the cats.” She hesitated, taking in his appearance—jacket on, keys in hand. “I’m sorry, I should have called first. I just thought—”

  “No, it’s fine,” he assured her. “Normally I’d invite you in, but I’m just on my way out to talk to the medical examiner. I thought you were out on the search.”

  “I am—or I was. It gets too hot for the dogs during the day, so we usually break for a few hours once the sun is full up. We’ll hit the trail again this evening, once it’s cooler. Monty took the dogs back to the island to give them a break.”

  “But you didn’t need a break?”

  She shrugged. “I thought I could just do that here. Two birds with one stone and all that. You’re talking to the medical examiner?”

  “Yeah. I ran into a woman I used to work with—a forensic anthropologist who’s consulting on this case. She invited me to the M.E.’s office in Augusta, and said she’d go over some things with me there.”

  “Wow. That’s a lucky break, isn’t it? Just happening to find someone you knew well enough that she’d just invite you in on an autopsy. Or whatever they do with bones.”

  “It is,” he agreed. “You’re welcome to stay here while I’m gone if you want, though. You can get cleaned up, take a nap…. Whatever. Make yourself at home.” She was already edging toward the door—there was no way she would take him up on the offer, and he knew it. He silently cursed his bad timing. How long had he been waiting for her to stop in, and now he had to rush out the door?

  “Or, you could come with me,” he said impulsively.

  She looked at him in surprise. “To the medical examiner’s office?”

  “I’ll only be there for a few minutes. It would give us a chance to visit. I’ll take you out to lunch in Augusta.” He glanced back toward the window. The sun was shining, the sky clear blue. “It’s a beautiful afternoon for a ride.”

  “I’m not really in the best shape for the outside world,” she said, gesturing to her clothing and hair with a broad sweep of her hand. “And definitely not for lunch out.”

  “Let me call Sophie,” he said. Now that he’d come up with the idea, Jack found it too good to let go of. “I’ll tell her I’m running a little bit late. You can use my shower, get cleaned up. I promise to save any five-star restaurants for the next date.”

  “So, this is a date?” she asked. There was still color in her ch
eeks, and a curious light in her eyes.

  He risked a smile, holding her eye. “This is whatever you want it to be, corazón.”

  She raised an eyebrow at that, but Jack refused to be flustered or apologize for the endearment. A brief silence followed, weighty with unspoken tension, before she wet her lips and took a breath. “Can you give me ten minutes?”

  Jack’s grin widened. “Absolutely.”

  Fifteen minutes later, they were on the road. Jamie had showered and changed into clean jeans and a white button-up she’d borrowed from Jack—she’d already used her spare shirt earlier in the day, and Monty was supposed to bring her fresh search clothes that evening. Her hair was down, and still damp. Jack resisted the urge to brush it back from her face, but it took genuine effort.

  “Music, podcast, or conversation?” he asked as they set out.

  “Conversation,” she said. “We can always resort to music if we run out of things to say on the way back.”

  “Fair enough,” he agreed.

  They didn’t run out of things to say, as it turned out. Jack had been uneasy at first that conversation might veer toward the case he was working on for Bear, but there were so many other things to talk about that they never actually got there. Instead, Jack focused the conversation on the many animals now under Jamie’s care out on the island, and Jamie seemed more than willing to go along with that.

  “It’s pretty crazy right now,” she summarized, after giving him a few of the highlights of the past twenty-four hours, “but I think most of the animals we’ve got out there will pull through. There are a couple of sheep who are in hard shape, and the donkey isn’t looking too good. She’s eating, though, so that’s a good sign. Reaver’s my biggest worry at this point.”

  “The giant pit bull,” Jack said. She glanced at him with a smile.

  “He’s not that big.”

  “He looked pretty big to me.”

  “Of course, you looked ready to turn tail and run when Oswald looked at you cross-eyed.”