Hard Truth

14

The early-morning air was steamy and dense. Summer was reasserting itself, and it wasn’t pretty. Lorna rolled out of bed and into the shower. Thirty minutes later, she felt as if she could use a second one. She’d dried her hair with the blow dryer, but by the time she reached the first floor, the strands around her face were already coils of light brown frizz. She turned on the air conditioner and her computer in the dining room, then followed the smell of brewing coffee into the kitchen.

“I was just debating with myself, whether it was too hot to make coffee,” Lorna said, taking two cups from the cupboard and setting them on the counter. “But you beat me to it, and it smells too good to pass up.”

“I hope you don’t mind,” Regan said from her seat near the window. “I’m such an early riser and it never seems too hot for me to drink coffee. It’s my addiction.”

“I don’t mind at all. I appreciate it. Nice to have it waiting for me.” She got out the half-and-half and a bowl of sweeteners, real and artificial, and placed it all on the table in front of Regan. “I feel like making breakfast this morning.”

She opened the refrigerator and peered inside. “Are you up for eggs? I bought some the other day at the Amish farm about a mile down the road.”

“I could always eat,” Regan replied.

“Scrambled all right?”

“Perfect.”

Lorna set about preparing the eggs while Regan poured two cups of coffee.

“So,” Lorna said as she added butter to the frying pan, “what’s the story with T.J.? Why’d he quit the FBI, do you know?”

“It has something to do with a case he worked on in Georgia, that’s all I know. All Mitch would tell me was that T.J. and his cousin, who was also an agent, both quit at the same time and started up their own business. He said they were really successful, apparently got a lot of work out of the DC area. Politicos and socialites. I guess they had a lot of contacts from being in the FBI. Anyway, the cousin got married last year and moved to some small beach town in Maryland with his wife. They sold off the business and now T.J.’s trying to decide what to do with the rest of his life. The only other thing I know is that the Bureau wants him back-bad. He was apparently very good at what he did.”

“Well, that’s more than I expected you to know.” Lorna smiled as she whipped the eggs in the bowl, then slid them into the pan on the stove.

“I ask a lot of questions.”

“Do you want toast?” Lorna walked to the bread box, passing the dining room door as she did so. She glanced at the computer on the table, and noticed the large reminder message on the screen. She went closer to take a look, then grimaced. “Damn. Damn.”

“What’s wrong?” Regan appeared in the doorway.

“I forgot I had a meeting today. Damn it.” She closed the reminder screen and quickly opened a file, then turned on the printer. “I can’t believe I forgot about this meeting. It’s with one of my oldest clients.”

“Where’s the meeting?”

“At my client’s office, back in Woodboro.” Lorna bent over the computer, selected several pages, and hit Print.

“Can you make it?”

“Yeah, if I leave within the next ten minutes.” She grabbed the coffee off the counter. “I’ll have to stop at my town house and change, all my business clothes are there. God, I completely forgot what day it was.”

“Well, you’ve had plenty to think about, these past few days,” Regan reminded her. “You go on and get yourself ready to leave. I’ll finish up the eggs and you can grab a few bites on your way out the door.”

“I’ll have plenty to think about on that long ride back to Woodboro,” Lorna told her as she raced up the steps. “Like how to tell my client he’s operating at a loss.”

She grabbed her handbag, stuffed in the little travel case containing her makeup, and found her shoes. She raced back downstairs, apologizing to Regan as she flew through the kitchen. Regan held a plate out to her and she grabbed it on the fly.

“Stand still for twenty seconds and chew,” Regan said, laughing.

Lorna took a bite. “Thank you. I wish I had time to sit and eat with you. I’m so sorry.”

Regan waved away the apology as unnecessary. “Do you need your laptop?”

“I do.” Lorna rolled her eyes. “Haste does indeed make waste.”

She started toward the dining room and Regan stopped her. “Finish your eggs. I’ll get your computer.”

“I am so sorry to bail on you like this,” Lorna said as Regan came back into the room with the white laptop in one hand and its carrying case in the other. “I should be back tonight. I’m so sorry…”

“Stop apologizing, and just go.” Regan slid the computer into the case and handed it to Lorna, who had just finished rinsing her plate in the sink. “I can lock up the house when I leave.”

“You don’t have to leave,” Lorna told her from the front door. “I know you’re really getting into this case, and I’d expect Mitch to be by later. There’s no reason for you to go, unless you have something else to do. You know where everything is in the house, so please feel free to stay. Besides, I’m just as happy to have someone here, frankly, what with all that’s going on. You don’t know what will turn up next. It might be better if someone is in the house.”

“Then I’m more than willing to stay.” Regan walked out onto the porch with Lorna. “You go take care of your business. The house will be fine, I’ll be here when you get back. Go do what you have to do.”

Lorna tossed her briefcase holding the files she’d hastily printed out onto the passenger seat along with the laptop. She’d never forgotten a meeting before, never let down a client, and she wasn’t going to start now. She hit the highway, determined to make it to Woodboro in record time. She listened to a book on tape for a while, then turned it off to make phone calls. One to another client who liked a touch-base call every few weeks, another to her friend Bonnie, to see if she was available for a quick bite after work. Since the meeting was at three, it made sense for her to grab dinner before she left to drive back to Callen. Bonnie, a criminal lawyer, was in court, so she left voice mail suggesting they meet at a favorite restaurant at five-thirty, if Bonnie was free.

She made it to her town house in just under five hours, which was a record. Plenty of time to change and to prepare for the meeting.

She parked in her garage and went through the door that led to the kitchen. She’d never been quite so aware of how still an unoccupied house could feel. It was as if all the energy had left with her last Sunday. She walked from room to room, each one marred by the memory of her mother’s pain. She opened the guest room closet and looked at the clothes. Her mother’s shoes were still on the floor next to the chair she’d last sat in; the last book she’d started reading was still on the bedside table. Lorna sat on the side of the bed and held her face in her hands.

“I miss you, Mom. I hate it that you’re not here anymore.” She spoke the words out loud, as if her mother could hear. “I hate that you had to die.”

She stared at the closet’s contents. Mary Beth had wanted her clothes to go to Goodwill or the Salvation Army. “Whichever is most convenient for you, sweetie. Either would be fine.”

“It’s not fine. It’s never going to be fine,” Lorna had replied.

“Well, I just hate the thought of clothes hanging here, when someone else could be wearing them,” Mary Beth had said softly. “Would it make it easier for you if I were to write things out, things I’d like you to do after, rather than discuss it with you?”

“Whatever is best for you, Mom,” Lorna had said, regretting the show of anger.

“No, honey. I’ve already accepted what is. You’re still fighting it. I need to do whatever is best for you now. Whatever will make it easiest for you when I’m gone.”

“I’ll never accept it. Nothing could make it easier. I don’t want you to die.”

“Well, nobody wants to die. But when you know how short the time is, you can’t cheat yourself out of what little you have left by pretending that things are other than what they are.” Mary Beth had struggled to sit. “I hate it, too, sweetie, but that’s what is. I don’t want to leave my children. I don’t want to leave my friends or the places I love. But the choice isn’t mine.” She had reached for Lorna’s hand and held it. “If I use my energy fighting against it, I lose what strength I have to enjoy what I still have. Understand?”

Lorna had nodded, unable to speak. Her mother had been so much braver than she had been.

She got up and left the room, closing the door behind her. It hurt to be here, more than she’d expected. If anything, she’d have expected to have felt the loss more at the farmhouse, where her mother had lived for most of her life, rather than here, in these small rooms where Mary Beth had lived for less than two years.

The message light was blinking on the answering machine, and Lorna paused to listen. The only one of the seven messages she listened to more than once was the message from Jack Corey. She’d dated Jack for six months before she brought her mother out to stay with her, but he wasn’t inclined to continue the relationship once she had Mary Beth’s illness to contend with. She’d barely seen him over the past year and a half.

“Hey, Lorna. Jack here. Say, just heard about your mother. So sorry, I know how close you were.” After what she thought he’d have imagined to be a respectful pause, he continued, “So, I just thought I’d give you a call and see if you were free for dinner one night next week, maybe we can pick up where we-”

She hit the Delete button.

What a colossal ass. Whatever had she seen in him?

She went into her bedroom and took another quick shower, tried to tame her unruly hair, then pulled on a dark blue skirt and a white cotton shirt, dark heels, and a red belt. She found earrings and put on simple makeup, then left for her meeting. She closed the door of the town house behind her and headed off to meet with Larry Myers to give him the bad news.

“Ugh.” Lorna shivered and took a sip of wine. “Remind me again why I dated Jack Corey in the first place.”

“Tall, good-looking, successful tax attorney.” Bonnie Jacobs rested her arms on the edge of the table and grinned. “And considering that the pickin’s out here in the badlands of western Pennsylvania are so damned slim, it must have seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“I should have saved the message to play it for you. You could hear the swagger in his voice. I’m sure he must think I’ve been praying he’d call.”

“Does this mean you’re not going to call him back?”

Lorna rolled her eyes, and her friend laughed.

“I’m sure I’ll hear about it in the coffee shop someday soon,” Bonnie said. “You seem to have forgotten, I work in the same building. Sooner or later, he’s bound to corner me.”

“Well, if he does, tell him I won’t be around for a while, I have family business to take care of. Tell him I’m…” Lorna swirled the wine around in the glass, then grinned. “Tell him I’m starting a winery.”

Bonnie laughed. “A winery? Where did that come from?”

“It just popped out,” Lorna said, taking a sip of her wine. “But there are the vestiges of an old vineyard on the farm. My great-uncle started it sixty years ago but it’s fallen into ruin.”

“The vines are all still there and everything?”

“A few random plants may have survived, but for the most part, I think the weeds choked them out. Most of the trellises are still standing, but there are trees and all sorts of things springing up among them. It probably would be really difficult to clear it all out. Not that I have any interest in doing that.” She grinned again. “But it does make a fun story for Jack.”

“Consider it told.” Bonnie stabbed at her salad and asked, “So, can you tell me what the hell is going on down there in Southern Bumfuck, for Christ’s sake? It seems as if every time I turn on the news, there’s another body being dug up.”

“There have been four at last count. And I’ll be damned if I know where they came from. It’s pretty horrific. Those remains have been there for years.”

“Well, it’s a farm, right? How come the tractors didn’t plow them up before this?”

“Until that parcel of land was sold off to a developer, it was all wooded. So it was never plowed. It’s only been recently, when they took out the trees to start building the houses, that the graves were discovered.”

“God, that is creepy.” Bonnie shook her blond head. “How are you making out with your plans to sell it?”

“I’m not.”

“You’re not selling?”

“I’m not making out well right now, but yes, I’m still planning on selling. Things have been so hectic this week. Plus, there are other factors involved right now.”

“Like what?”

“Like the police-and as of yesterday, the FBI-are investigating multiple murders and could probably block the sale of the property while the investigation is ongoing. I know they’re still looking for other graves. And like the fact that we’re not likely to get as good a price for it at the moment, since there’s so much notoriety attached to the farm. I’m afraid if we put it on the market right now, we’ll attract the curious and the morbid, but no serious buyers.” Lorna leaned back to permit the waitress to serve her entrée.

“You really think real estate developers care about that sort of thing?” Bonnie snorted.

“We-my sister and I-were hoping to not have to sell to a developer. We’d hate to see the family home be demolished and replaced with a row of town houses.”

“Maybe you should put it on the market and see what happens. You never know who might be interested. Though I suppose there are fewer and fewer people going into farming today.”

“True enough, though you’d be amazed at how many working farms there are in the area.”

“A good thing.” Bonnie speared a piece of yellow summer squash with her fork and held it up. “Someone has to feed us. I for one am happy someone is still in the business of raising veggies.”

“You, being a vegetarian, would be in heaven in Callen. You can go right to the farms and buy whatever is in that week. There are also several dairy farms, a few that raise organic meats, and, of course, the mushroom farms. And the vineyards. There are at least half a dozen within twenty miles of our farm.”

“It all sounds so… rural.”

Lorna laughed.

“So tell me what the police and the FBI are doing to find this killer who’s on the loose.”

“For one thing, no one knows if the killer is still in the area. There haven’t been any recent victims found-at least none that we know of. They’re still trying to identify the victims found this past week. Mitch-Mitch Peyton, he’s the FBI agent assigned to the case-is working on that.” Lorna paused, then asked, “Did I tell you I hired a private investigator to help determine if Billie Eagan killed her son?”

Bonnie placed her fork on the side of her plate, then looked up. “Why, no, you hadn’t mentioned that. How do you know Billie Eagan? And where did you find a private investigator?”

Lorna related the entire story. When she concluded, Bonnie shook her head and said, “And here I thought you were languishing down there in Nowheresville, and instead, you’re cavorting with possible murderers, FBI agents, an internationally known true crime writer, and a private eye.”

Bonnie paused, then asked, “Is he cute?”

“Is who cute?”

“The PI.”

“Very. Tall, blond, built. Drives a little sports car.”

“You’re making this up.”

Lorna laughed. “No, actually, I’m not.”

“Well, I suppose we might as well party tonight, because with all that going on in Bumfuck, I don’t see you hurrying to move back to Woodboro anytime soon.”

“I’ll be back. I just need to resolve a few things.”

“A few things like multiple murders and the sale of a very large property.” Bonnie shook her head. “Girl, we won’t be seeing you for another six months. Fortunately, you can take your business with you. All the joys of self-employment, and all the excitement of a juicy murder investigation and a hunky PI. Some girls have all the luck.”

“Hey, you’re welcome to come on out and join in the fun.”

“Well, if the case against Billie Eagan starts moving into dangerous waters, and you need a top-notch criminal defense lawyer, you know where to find me.” Bonnie tapped Lorna on the arm. “Scout around for another hunky PI and we’ll talk reduced fee.”

“Oh, right. I forgot how much trouble you have finding male companionship,” Lorna deadpanned. Bonnie’s great looks and personality, combined with her success, ensured she never had to be alone on a Saturday night unless she chose to be.

“There are lots of men around, but no one all that interesting. Most nights I’d rather be working.” She resumed eating. “At least with a criminal case, you can be assured that some of the reading will be good. As a matter of fact, a few of the statements I’ve read lately rival some of the best fiction on the market.”

“You need a vacation, Bonnie.”

“I just had a vacation.”

“You need another one,” Lorna told her. “Why not come for a visit sometime soon. Stay Friday through Sunday.”

“You’re planning on staying there, aren’t you?” Bonnie asked over the rim of her glass.

“For a while.”

“I bet you don’t come back.”

“I’ll be back. I just have to take care of some business there. It might take awhile, but I’ll be back.”

Bonnie took a twenty-dollar bill from her wallet and laid it on the table.

“Twenty says you stay in Bumfuck.”

Lorna matched the bill.

“My twenty says you’re wrong.”

Bonnie grinned. “You know, I never bet on anything less than a sure thing, Ms. Stiles. I say a year from now, we’ll be sending your mail to the farm.”

“The only way I see that happening is if they’re still digging up bodies. And if that’s the case, you can pretty much bank that twenty, because I’ll never be able to sell the place.”

“Maybe not such a bad idea, if you get to keep the PI.”

“Ha. Fat chance.” Lorna shook her head. “I don’t think I’m his type.”

“What do you think is his type?”

“The hot convertible sports car type,” Lorna told her. “Like you. You’re more his type. Sophisticated. Accomplished. Gorgeous.”

“Oh, please. Sophistication is a state of mind, and who needs it, really? And may I remind you which of us started a successful business on her own? How much more accomplished do you need to be?” Bonnie waved off Lorna’s attempt at protest. “And as far as looks are concerned, well, let’s put it this way: Jack always brags he’s never dated less than a ‘ten.’ What’s that tell you?”

“It tells me that my taste in men had dropped to a disturbing all-time low two years ago.” Lorna grimaced. “It also tells me I’m better off concentrating on work than on my social life, if that’s the best Woodboro has to offer.”

“Well, you can work wherever you are, and right now, the farm seems like the place to be. Frankly, I don’t know about you, but I always wanted to be Nancy Drew. You know, solve the mystery. Catch the bad guy. Adventure. Intrigue.” Bonnie sighed. “If I were you, I’d be in no hurry to come back here and leave that all behind.”

“I did want to be Nancy Drew,” Lorna admitted.

“Well, here’s your chance, if only for a little while. Besides, you never know what other secrets are still hidden on that farm of yours.”