Hard Truth

8

The cardboard coffee container all but singeing the skin of the palm of her hand, Lorna sat it on the kitchen counter and grabbed at the ringing phone just in time to hear the click on the other end.

“Nuts.”

She took a mug down from the cupboard and poured the hot liquid into it, at the same time questioning her choice of a hot drink over a cold one when the temperature was climbing and the humidity was closing in around the house like a damp cloak after a night of pounding rain. Old habits die hard, she told herself, and went into the dining room to turn on her computer.

She watched out the window as a red-winged blackbird chased a hawk, the larger bird soaring ever higher, the smaller one flapping wildly to keep up. The blackbird swooped and pecked, harassing the hawk, who calmly continued to soar upward. The goal was to lure the hawk as far from the blackbird’s nest as possible, but in the process, the constant flapping of the smaller bird’s wings would wear it down, while the hawk rode the thermals and expended little energy. Once the blackbird had exhausted itself, the hawk could raid the nest to feed its young.

Lorna had to turn away from the window. She loved the hawks, loved watching them circle overhead, but hated that they preyed on the smaller, weaker birds. She understood all too well the ways of nature, but hated to watch when she knew what was inevitably in store for the blackbirds.

She read email from her closest friend back in Woodboro, who wanted to know how long she’d be staying in the sticks. Lorna smiled. Bonnie was from Los Angeles, and considered even Pittsburgh, where she was currently living, somewhat bucolic. She had no real conception of life in a small rural community like Callen, and so fell back on every farm and small-town stereotype she’d ever heard to tease Lorna. Today’s email contained a list of all the worst farmer’s daughters jokes she could find. Lorna laughed and shot back a quick response, then turned off her email and prepared to go to work.

The phone rang just as she opened her first files of the day. Roger the bail bondsman from West Chester had forms for her to fill out. He’d be there until ten. If she wanted Billie out that day, she had to get into his office before then. Since it was Saturday, he was taking the afternoon off to go to the track. Oh, and bring cash. Seven thousand dollars in cash.

Lorna showered and changed, then at nine A.M. drove to the savings and loan where her mother had kept her savings account. Mary Beth had added Lorna’s name to the account two years ago, so withdrawing the funds wasn’t a problem. What would be a problem would be explaining to her sister and brother where the funds went if Billie should bolt.

Lorna made it to the bail office in just under thirty-five minutes. Not bad, considering all the roadwork they were doing on Route 896. Roger had all of the paperwork laid out for her on the worn and pocked counter in the front room of his two-room office, and after a quick ten minutes, the deed was done.

“Your friend should be out by late this afternoon,” he told her.

“How will she get home?”

He looked at her as if she were speaking a foreign tongue.

“That’s her problem.”

“How will I know when they release her?”

“You can call the prison in a few hours and someone there should be able to tell you.”

“Well, how does this work?”

“I go to the courthouse-which, lucky for you, is open till noon-and tell them that bail has been posted. The clerk will give me what they call a Release of Prisoner form. I take that to the prison, they let her out. I don’t provide transportation home, though. That’s on her. Oh, and you just make sure she shows up at the preliminary hearing, or it’s bye-bye.” He held up the envelope containing the cash she’d handed over.

“She’ll be there.”

“She’d better be. Else I’ll have to go out and find her. I hate it when I have to do that.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” he muttered as she walked out.

Unsure as to when and where to pick up Billie, Lorna stopped at the Callen police station on her way home. Chief Walker would know what to do.

She could not have been prepared for her reception.

“You have your nerve, coming in here this morning.” Brad stood in front of the reception desk with his arms folded across his chest.

“What?” Lorna looked behind her. Was he talking to her?

“Who the hell do you think you are, calling in the fucking FBI?”

“What are you talking about? I haven’t spoken to anyone from the FBI. Why would I have called the FBI?”

“You’re telling me that guy who came here yesterday, you didn’t call him in? He wasn’t here on your account?”

“I spoke with a private investigator, yes, I did that. I still haven’t decided whether to hire him, but I spoke with him. What makes you think he’s with the FBI?”

He reached onto the desk and grabbed a fax and waved it in front of her.

She snatched it out of his hand to take a look.

“You telling me that’s a fraud and it’s not from the FBI?”

“It sure looks official, but I don’t know why…” She skimmed the typed request for copies of all the reports relative to the disappearance of Melinda Eagan and that of her brother, Jason Eagan, all reports relative to the discovery of the body of Jason Eagan, and the subsequent arrest of Billie Kay Eagan. She frowned, confused, until she came to the signature at the bottom. Mitchell Peyton, SA, FBI.

Regan’s friend.

“I don’t understand.” She shook her head. “Mr. Dawson, the PI, did say yesterday he was going to stop in here to pick up copies of the reports, so why Agent Peyton-whom I do not know and did not call, by the way-why he’s requesting the same reports, I don’t know.”

She handed the fax back to Brad. “You gave Mr. Dawson the copies of the reports, didn’t you?”

“No, we did not.”

“Why? At the very least, the reports on Melinda’s disappearance should be public record. Anyone can get a copy of a police report. Reporters do it all the time. Why didn’t you give him what he asked for?”

“Because it was late in the day when he came in, and Mrs. Rusk was working by herself, and didn’t know if she should give them to him.”

“She doesn’t know that the police reports are public record? No one’s told her that in the… how many years she’s been working here? Don’t you train your employees?”

“Don’t get smart, Lorna. She just didn’t know if she should give them out, that’s all.” He paused, then said, “Or maybe she didn’t know where the files were.”

“She couldn’t have asked someone? Maybe called your father or you at home and asked where the files were?”

“She was just concerned, what with all the papers calling and everyone talking about how you were bailing Billie out and that sort of thing. She didn’t know what to do, okay? He’d have gotten his reports if he’d come back this morning. He didn’t have to call in the fucking FBI.”

“Look, I’m sorry if you feel this puts you in an awkward position, but…” She held her hands out in front of her but he jumped in.

“Awkward position?” He snorted. “I’d say it’s awkward. It’s not enough that you’re hiring someone to check to see if we dotted our i’s and crossed our t’s, but now we’re going to have the fucking FBI looking over our shoulder.”

They stood and glared at each other for a long moment. Dotting i’s and crossing t’s was the least of it, but Brad wasn’t going to want to hear that.

Finally, she said, “So, did you fax over the reports?”

“Yes, we faxed over the reports,” he singsonged back at her.

“Okay, then. Asked and answered.” She turned and left the office, closing the door quietly behind her.

She dialed T. J. Dawson’s number on her cell phone as soon as she got into her car and found his business card in her wallet.

He answered on the third ring.

“What were you thinking, getting the FBI involved in this? What was the point of that?” she said without identifying herself.

“Well, hello, Lorna. Nice to hear from you.”

“Why did you feel it necessary to call in the FBI?”

“First of all, I did not ‘call in the FBI.’ I called a friend to request some documents because the local police department was not cooperating, and I had every right to see those reports. The receptionist wouldn’t even show them to me, and when she called the chief of police on the phone, he told her to put me off, not to show me anything. It pissed me off.”

“Couldn’t you have waited one more day to get copies of those police reports? Did you have to call out the troops immediately?”

“I thought if I was going to be working this case, I’d be better off establishing right up front that the local cops were not going to push me around.”

“But we hadn’t decided if you’d be handling this case, remember?” She blew out a long breath, then said, “Officer Walker didn’t mention that Mrs. Rusk had called his father.”

“Gee, that comes as a big surprise.”

“I understand that you felt you were being stonewalled, but I wish you’d called me instead of your friend at the FBI. You’ve put me in a very awkward position here.”

He was silent for a moment, then said, “I apologize if I’ve made things awkward or uncomfortable for you. I thought I was expediting things. It never occurred to me that it would have repercussions. I wanted to get the facts as soon as possible, so that you could decide what you wanted to do sooner rather than later. Again, I am sorry.”

She was still trying to decide how to respond when he said, “Mitch faxed over the reports an hour ago. I found them quite interesting. How ’bout I drop them off to you, point out the things I think you might want to take a closer look at, and I’ll just be on my way.”

“That would be fine, thank you.”

“Mrs. Eagan still in prison?”

“She’s supposed to get out this afternoon. I took care of the bail this morning. At least, I think she’s supposed to get out this afternoon.” She sighed heavily. “That’s what I was stopping at the police department to find out. How do I know when she’s going to be released? I don’t suppose they’ll provide transportation for her, so I thought I’d pick her up. But I don’t know where or when.”

“Call the warden at the prison and ask.”

“They’ll tell me? And I can just pick her up?”

“Unless she’s made other arrangements.”

“I don’t know if she has any other friends or relatives around here. I think her family is still in West Virginia. I’m not sure I remember where Melinda said her grandparents lived, exactly.”

“What would be a good time for me to stop by?”

“Depends on what time I’ll be picking up Billie.”

“How ’bout I plan on coming up around seven tonight?”

“I should be able to pick her up and take her home by then. That would be fine. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. And again, I’m really sorry to have caused problems for you there. I’ve never had a situation like that before. I guess I could have handled it better.”

“You’ve never had anyone refuse to give you the information you asked for?”

“No.”

“How have you managed that?”

“Must have been the old Dawson charm.”

“Too bad Mrs. Rusk didn’t fall for it.”

“Lorna?” The voice on the phone was thin and soft.

“Yes. Billie, is that you?” Lorna looked at the clock on her laptop. She’d called the prison twice to ask about Billie’s release, but hadn’t gotten a callback.

“Yes. I just got home, I wanted to call and thank you. For getting me out of there. I didn’t expect to be out for a long time. I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Don’t skip.”

“What?”

“Don’t leave town, or I forfeit the bond.”

“I got no place to go, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

“I’m not worried, Billie. But how did you get home? I left messages at the prison earlier for someone to call me when you were getting out so I could come pick you up.”

“They’re all screwed up out there. They told me I was getting out, then made me sit and wait for a couple of hours while they played around with the paperwork. I was lucky, though, ’cause Eileen Sherman was at the prison visiting her sister when I finally got the word I could go, and she offered to drop me off. Stopped at the supermarket for me, too, on the way home. Nice of her.”

“It was.” There was a bit of an awkward pause, then Lorna asked, “Did you talk to your lawyer? The one the court gave you?”

“Only that one time.”

“I think you should call him and let him know where you are.”

“It’s Saturday. And besides, wouldn’t they tell him I’ve been released?”

“I have no idea, but even if someone did, it doesn’t matter. He’s your lawyer-Saturday and every other day of the week. You need to communicate with him yourself, as soon as possible.”

“I don’t have his number.”

“I wrote it down, let me get it for you. Hold on…” Lorna searched the pile of paper scraps next to her computer until she found the one on which she’d written Joel Morgan’s phone number. She read it off to Billie, adding, “Call him now. Leave a message if he isn’t there. And if you haven’t heard from him by noon on Monday, call him again. Make sure you get to talk to him.”

“I hate to bother him like that.”

“Bother him. He’s your lawyer. He works for you in this, remember, not the other way around.”

“All right. I’ll call him.”

“Billie, do you know what the charges are against you?”

“Seems there were three things.” Billie was breathing heavily into the receiver. “Third-degree murder, that was one. Then some manslaughter. And something else… I forget what it was. My lawyer should know that, though.”

So should you. Lorna shook her head at Billie’s nonchalance.

“Billie, one more thing. I was thinking about hiring a private detective to look into this. I don’t know how much real investigation the police are doing. I’m afraid they just assume you’re guilty and they believe that having found Jason so near to your house is enough. If we’re ever going to find out the truth about what happened back then, we’ll have to do it on our own.” She paused to let it sink in. “How do you feel about that?”

“About finding out what happened to my kids?” Billie said softly. “I still wonder, every night. But that’s going to cost way more money than I’ll ever see. I appreciate the thought, Lorna, I really do, but I can’t see how I can pay for such a thing.”

“Let me figure that out.” She was thinking about using an IOU for some of her share of the proceeds from the sale of the farm. She wasn’t sure what the property was worth, but she knew it would be a substantial amount. She hoped T. J. Dawson would accept that, and figured anything she spent would be more than covered. “I’m sure it’s what my mother would do, if she were here.”

“I don’t know how I’ll ever thank you, I swear I don’t. And it’s too much for you to do.”

“Maybe we won’t be able to find out what happened back then, but I do believe it’s worth a try. I don’t know how much I can put into this, but once the investigator looks over all the reports and statements from back then, maybe he’ll have some ideas. If he thinks he can find something, we’ll give him a chance to do that. If he thinks otherwise, well, then, we’ll deal with that. I only ask that you cooperate with him.”

“I’ll do whatever he wants.” Billie started to sob quietly. “I don’t know why you’d do all this for me.”

“Melinda was my friend. It’s time we found out what happened to her.”

“You sure are your momma’s daughter, Lorna Stiles.” Billie blew her nose. “You surely are.”

“Thank you. That’s one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me. Now, don’t forget to call Joel Morgan,” Lorna reminded her. “It’s very important that you speak with him.”

Lorna hung up, wondering how hard Billie would try to track down her lawyer. It wouldn’t surprise her in the least if she had to call him herself before next week was out. The woman didn’t seem to have a lot of motivation, even considering what was at stake.

It occurred to Lorna that maybe Billie had expected to be arrested, sooner or later, that maybe she’d lived with that expectation for the past twenty-five years. Does she believe her conviction is a given? Are her expectations from life so low that she assumes she’ll be found guilty? Or does she expect to be found guilty because she is guilty?

Maybe Billie felt guilty not because of what she did, it occurred to Lorna, but because of what she’d failed to do. Failed to cherish her children, failed to protect them, failed to care for them when she had them. Billie Eagan had been a crappy mother, and maybe, after all these years, she expected to be punished for it.

Either way, it’s time to find out, Lorna told herself. No more second-guessing-should I commit to this, should I not. Just move it along, find the truth, then get on with my life.

The grandfather clock in the front hall chimed five. She saved her work and turned off the computer and went into the kitchen to scramble some eggs for dinner. She tossed in a handful of cheddar cheese and some hot peppers she’d picked up at the Amish farmers’ market stand two miles down the road. One of the best things about living out in the sticks, as Bonnie called it, was being able to buy directly from the farms, if you didn’t garden yourself. Her grandmother had had a wonderful garden, right out there past the magnolia. Her mother had kept it up until she’d fallen ill. Then all her energies had been diverted to beating back the tumors that seemed to come from nowhere to invade her body. Lorna finished eating and walked out the back door.

The bones of the garden remained, and she stepped through the gate and inside the white fence that surrounded it. She leaned over to pick up the pickets that had loosened and fallen to the ground over the past two years, and she stood them up in their places. The stakes her grandfather had cut to tie up the tomatoes were still lined across the back of the garden, though the plants were long gone. The weeds had grown out of control, and without thinking, she stooped and started to pull the tallest ones. Where her mother had planted green beans that last year, wild thistles now stood. They were thorny and deep-rooted, and her bare hands were no match for them. She went into the small potting shed and searched for a pair of garden gloves and a weed digger, then set out to annihilate the invaders. A large pile of the offenders lay on the pebbled path when she heard a car pull into the drive. She looked up to see T.J. unfold from the small sports car sitting so low to the ground. She wondered how he got out when the top was up.

“Hi,” she called to him while she hastily wiped her hands on her cutoff jeans. “I’m sorry. I lost track of time.”

“What have you got growing back here?” He asked as he walked toward her, a leather folder under his arm and a white cardboard box in his hand.

“A bunch of weeds.”

“Well, they certainly look robust. What are you feeding them?”

She laughed. “They’re apparently quite capable of feeding themselves. I’m afraid the plot’s gone unattended for two summers now. These things have taken over. My mother would be appalled if she could see it.”

She pulled off her gloves and tucked them between two pickets.

“There’s still mint.” He pointed to the far corner of the garden. “At least, it looks like mint from here.”

She went to the corner to check it out. “What do you know, it is.” She smiled up at him. “And I’ve been drinking my iced tea plain all week.”

She broke off a few stems and sniffed at them. “Nice. How’d you know what it was, from over there?”

“Hey, I grew up in New Jersey. They don’t call it the Garden State for nothing.”

She went through the gate and closed it behind her, making a mental note to come out tomorrow with a hammer and a few nails to mend the broken section of fence.

“Oh, here.” He handed her the white box.

“What’s this?”

“Peace offering.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“The best napoleons in Baltimore. Hands down.”

Lorna lifted the lid and peered inside. Four plump, sky-high pastries marched single file across the bottom of the box.

“How could you have known that this is my all-time favorite thing?”

“You look like a woman who understands good pastries.” He smiled. “My grandmother worked in a bakery back in Tuckerton, years ago. She used to bring these bad boys home for special treats. Good report cards. Winning touchdowns. Honor roll. Even college vacations, she’d drop off some before I left to go back to school.”

She held the box to her chest. “Well, I hope you bought a couple for yourself. I’m not sure I want to share.”

“Mine are in the trunk.”

“I was kidding. I’d share. Thank you. This wasn’t necessary, you know. You already apologized.”

“Some women like to drag that out awhile.”

“I’m not one of them.”

“So I won’t need to grovel?”

“Groveling is demeaning to the groveler as well as to the grovelee.”

“I’ll remember that. And thank you. I swear I didn’t mean to put you between a rock and a hard place.”

“We’re past that. Let’s just deal with what is, see what can be done.”

“Have you determined if Billie has used her get-out-of-jail card yet?” he asked.

“She’s home. I spoke with her earlier. She hitched a ride with someone who was visiting a relative out at the women’s prison earlier today.”

“Did you remind her not to leave town?”

“Yes, but she’s not going anywhere. Even she admitted she had nowhere to go but home.”

“I have the copies of the police reports, if you want to take a few minutes to look them over.”

“I would. Thanks. Come on in.” She waved him on and he followed her into the house. “I’m sorry it’s so hot in here. I’m pretty much dying without air-conditioning, but there’s only one old unit and it doesn’t work very well, especially since the humidity’s been so brutal.”

They walked into the dining room. She turned on the lamp on the sideboard, and hoped they’d finish up before it got dark enough that they’d need to turn on the overhead light. It was hot enough without it.

“Let me tuck this box into the refrigerator. Can I get you something to drink while I’m there?”

“A glass of water would be fine.”

She brought back two bottles of spring water, handed him one, and twisted the lid off the other and took a long drink.

“Thanks,” he said, setting the bottle on the table. “Where would you like to start?”

“You tell me.” She pulled out the chair at the head of the table and started to sit, gesturing for him to take a seat as well. He took the one to her left.

“I guess we’ll go in order.” He started pulling files from the leather folder.

“In order of what?”

“The crimes. Let’s start with the disappearance of your friend.”

“I remember that night very well.”

“Tell me again, everything, just as you remember it.”

She did.

“Was anyone with Jason when he arrived to pick up Melinda?”

“Not that I recall.” She chewed absently on a cuticle. “No, I’m pretty sure he was alone. I remember standing on the back porch and watching them walk out past the barn.”

“You lived here at the time?”

She nodded. “We’ve always lived here, as long as I can remember. My grandfather died when I was three, and my parents moved here so my grandmother wouldn’t be alone. We all grew up here.”

“Any chance anyone would have been waiting for Jason out near the barn?”

“I guess anything is possible. But I didn’t see anyone, and I was out there for a while.”

“Doing what?”

“Looking for a star to wish on.” She hesitated, then told him, “I was worried about Mellie’s mother finding out about the dress. We put it in a bag, and I was afraid she’d have trouble sneaking it into the house. That her mother would see it and punish her. I was looking for a star so I could wish that her mother wouldn’t hurt her.”

“You knew that Billie was rough with her kids?”

“I pretty much knew. I told myself that maybe I was wrong, but deep inside, I pretty much knew. If it turns out that it went too far that night, and that Billie really did kill her, I don’t think I could ever forgive myself for every time I suspected something wasn’t right but kept my mouth shut.”

“Is that what this is really about? You trying to decide if you have to carry that guilt around for the rest of your life?” he asked softly. “Because if it is…”

She brushed him off. “So what else do you have?”

“I have the police reports from the night Melinda disappeared. Everyone they spoke with. Billie Eagan. Your mother. Your father. You. Jason. Someone named Evie Kemp.”

“She lived next door to the Eagans. Died a few years ago.” Lorna held out a hand. “May I see what she had to say?”

He handed her the file. Lorna quickly scanned the Kemp report.

“She says she didn’t see Melinda at all that night. She saw Jason in the yard with his mother… heard Billie yelling at him. Never saw Melinda, though.” Lorna looked up at him and smiled. “And Mrs. Kemp would have known. She knew everything that everyone was doing, all the time.”

“Nothing like a nosy neighbor.”

“I guess sometimes that’s true, right? Sometimes the neighbors see things that can help out in an investigation.”

“Sometimes.”

She glanced over the other reports in the file, the early investigations following Jason’s questioning right through to finding the body in the back field. The clock in the hall chimed ten. No wonder she was tired. And T.J. still had to drive back to his home.

“I didn’t realize it was so late. May I keep this tonight?” she asked. “Then maybe we can talk tomorrow.”

“Sure.”

“I need to decide how much money and how much more time I want to put into this.”

“I don’t blame you. You take your time.” He stood up. “Actually, I’m busy tomorrow. Call Monday, anytime. I’ll be around.”

“I thought you said you sold the business. Will I be dealing with someone else?”

“No. If you go forward with this, you’ll work with me.”

She walked him to the front door.

“Thanks again for the napoleons. Unnecessary, but very much appreciated.”

“You’re welcome. Thanks for being so understanding.”

“You have any thoughts at all on this?” She went out the door with him and across the porch.

“One thing I was wondering. Was the dress ever found?”

“Her birthday dress, the one in the bag?”

“Yeah. I didn’t see any mention of it having been found that night, and it wasn’t on the evidence inventory. Actually, you’re the only person to have mentioned it.”

“I don’t know that anyone else would have been aware she’d had it with her. Her mother didn’t know she had it, and Mellie sure wouldn’t have told Jason. My mom and I knew, but I don’t recall that anyone asked me about it.” She shook her head. “I don’t really know if my mother said anything to the police about Mellie having a bag with a dress in it. But they wouldn’t have been looking for something they didn’t know was missing.”

He walked down the steps with his hands in his pockets.

“What are you thinking?” she asked from the top step.

“Melinda had to have disappeared somewhere between here and her house. According to Jason’s statement, he stopped off at a friend’s house, and his sister continued on through the field. So whatever happened to her, obviously it happened in that field. Or started in the field. Someone else had to have been there, someone had to have taken her from there. If we’re assuming someone grabbed her, chances are the bag with the dress in it would have been dropped someplace. I’d expect her to fight, wouldn’t you? And in fighting, she probably would have dropped the bag.”

“She would have fought. Melinda was tough, chippy.” Lorna nodded solemnly. “She would have fought like a demon if a stranger had tried to grab her.”

“Then where is that bag?” He opened his car door and stood next to it. The driver’s seat looked barely large enough to accommodate a man of his height and broad shoulders. “Where’s Melinda’s birthday dress?”

“I never thought about it. It never occurred to me that it might be missing.” She gazed off into the field. “Maybe it’s buried out there someplace, turned over into the field by the tractor when the field was plowed.”

“Or maybe,” he said as he got behind the wheel and started the car, “it wasn’t a stranger she ran into that night.”