Murder Past Due

FOUR

After that statement, Ezra stomped out of the room. Moments later, the door slammed so hard the windows in the living room rattled.

“I hate him.” Justin’s voice bore such loathing. What had Ezra done to this boy to make Justin despise him so?

“Come with me, son. We need to put some ice on your cheek. It’s swelling already.”

Justin blinked at me. I think he’d forgotten I was in the room. “Yes, sir.” He stood but didn’t move forward.

I took him gently by the arm and led him into the kitchen. After his last outburst, he appeared listless, watching me with dulled eyes.

He leaned against the sink while I got ice cubes from the dispenser and wrapped them in a dish towel.

“Here,” I said. “Hold this to your cheek. It will feel better.”

His cheek was still an angry red. He was going to have a terrific bruise there.

Justin accepted the towel and put it against his face. He winced, but he held the towel in place.

As I watched, concerned, wondering what else I could do for him, he started crying. Quietly, at first. Then harder and louder, the sobs beginning to wrack his body.

Poor kid. This was more than he should have to bear. I put an arm around his shoulder, and he hugged himself to me with his free arm.

I spoke to him, keeping my voice low and soothing, and the sobs diminished.

Feeling a cat rubbing against my leg, I looked down. Diesel had come out of hiding, and now he watched me, wanting to help.

“Justin, look. Diesel’s here. He wants to talk to you.”

Sniffling, Justin pulled away from me, gazing down at the anxious feline face. He sat down on the floor, towel still against his cheek. Diesel rubbed his head on Justin’s chin.

The cat climbed into the boy’s lap, his rumbling purr loud in the room. Head bent, Justin let Diesel lick his uncovered cheek.

Smiling, I left the kitchen, knowing that Justin was in good paws. Diesel could bring him comfort, and Justin needed it.

I used the downstairs bathroom, taking my time washing my hands. I stared at my reflection. For all my talk of minding my own business, I had walked right into a messy situation. How would Julia react when she found out what Ezra had done? She had a fiery temper as a young woman. She might light into Ezra the way he had lit into Justin. What a mess.

Finished washing my hands, I judged it okay to go back to the kitchen.

Justin now sat in a chair, Diesel in his lap. Boy and cat glanced at me. Justin seemed calmer, and Diesel no longer looked anxious. A bruise was forming on the boy’s cheek.

“How about some lunch, guys?” I went to the refrigerator. “Diesel has his crunchies if he wants them, but I need something else.”

I stared into the fridge, waiting for Justin to respond. He was probably embarrassed, poor kid. He might be eighteen in years, but he was still a boy in so many ways.

“There’s still plenty of that ham Azalea baked. I think I’ll make some sandwiches.” I turned to face the table. “How about you, Justin? I make a pretty good ham sandwich.”

Justin’s head dipped down for a moment. He rubbed Diesel’s head. “That sounds good. But I can make my own.”

“Tell you what,” I said. “I’ll slice the ham, and you can get everything else together. Okay?”

“Yes, sir,” Justin said. Diesel jumped down from his lap and padded off in search of his own lunch.

Justin came to the sink and washed his hands, still avoiding looking directly at me.

I set the plated ham on the counter, found a knife, and started carving thick slices. Azalea cooked a mighty fine ham, and my mouth was already watering.

Justin retrieved mustard and mayo from the fridge, along with a jar of Azalea’s homemade pickles. He set it all on the table, along with the bread and a big bag of potato chips. Next he found plates and knives, along with napkins, and arranged them.

“Would you get me a can of Diet Coke?” I asked.

Justin went back to the refrigerator, pulling out my Diet Coke and a can of regular for him.

He sat down at the table, waiting for me to finish. I had sliced enough ham for four or five sandwiches, I figured. That should do.

I brought the ham to the table and sat down, cater-corner from Justin. He held out the loaf of bread to me, and I took four slices. “I don’t know about you, but I’m betting I can eat at least two sandwiches.”

“I’m kinda hungry too.” He seemed surprised that he had an appetite. He waited while I helped myself to the mayo and mustard before making his first sandwich.

I poured some chips onto my plate, watching as Justin carefully spread a thick layer of mayo on two slices of wheat bread.

He still wouldn’t look at me.

“I want you to know, son,” I said, “that you can talk to me, if you want to. I’ll help you any way I can, and Diesel will, too.”

Justin smiled at that and looked me in the face finally. “Thank you, Mr. Charlie. I appreciate that.” He took a bite of his sandwich and winced. When he finished chewing—slowly—he spoke again.

“I’m glad you came home when you did.” He paused for a moment. His gaze shifted away. “He would’ve beat the crap out of me if you hadn’t.”

My stomach clenched in anger. “Has he beaten you before?”

Justin nodded. “Yes, sir. He doesn’t like it when I defy him.”

He said it so matter-of-factly that my heart ached for him. “You don’t have to put up with that anymore. Don’t let him in the house when I’m not here.”

“No, sir, I won’t.” Justin ate some more of his sandwich. He touched his bruised cheek a couple of times. I was sure it was pretty sore.

Trying to appear calm, I was stewing inside. I’m not normally a violent man—far from it—but violence against children makes me furious. My father had been, like Ezra Wardlaw, a devout Evangelical. Stern, demanding, but he never once raised his hand against me. I tried his patience often enough, but his firm and loving discipline taught me what I needed to know. I felt the back of my mother’s hairbrush on my bottom a few times, but she never struck hard enough even to bruise me.

Justin cleared his throat. “Um, guess I should explain why I said he isn’t my father.” He pushed some potato chips around on his plate. “Not my biological father anyway. But Mom is really my mother.” He watched my face carefully for a reaction.

Feigning surprise at this point would be ridiculous. Justin deserved the truth.

“I know,” I said. “Your biological father came to see me this morning.”

“You know him? I suppose you would, you and him both being from Athena.” Justin tried to appear nonchalant, but his curiosity was obvious.

“We grew up together. Same class in school and at the college, too.”

“That’s cool.” Justin ate in silence for a couple of minutes.

I could have volunteered information, but I thought it was better to let Justin ask me what he wanted to know. I’d have to be diplomatic, though. I didn’t want to tell the boy his biological dad was a jerk, in my opinion.

Finished with my first sandwich, I started on the second one after a sip of my drink. By this time Diesel had come back. He crawled into the chair opposite mine and sat, looking back and forth between Justin and me.

“It’s so funny how he does that.” Justin laughed. “Do you ever let him eat at the table?”

“No, because he doesn’t get people food very often.” I arched an eyebrow at my boarder. “Remember?”

Justin nodded, a guilty expression flashing across his face. “Yes, sir, I promise I won’t do it again unless you say I can.”

“Thank you.”

Diesel trilled a few times.

“Yes, we’re talking about you,” I said. “And don’t think you can con any ham or potato chips out of me or Justin.”

If cats could frown, I’d swear Diesel frowned at me then.

Justin snickered. After drinking some of his Coke, he set the can down and looked at me. “What’s he like? Godfrey Priest, I mean. I’ve, like, seen him on TV, and I even read some of his books. But I don’t know much about him.”

Definitely the time for tact. “We always knew Godfrey would do something big.” I sat back in my chair and regarded Justin. “Even as a boy, he made plans. Talked about traveling all over the world. At first he was going to be a reporter, and by the time he was a teenager, he decided he was going to be a famous writer.”

“That’s pretty amazing,” Justin said. His eyes glowed with the beginnings of hero worship. Godfrey might have a lot to live up to with Justin.

“When Godfrey set his mind to do something, he did it.” No matter what it cost anyone else, I added silently. “He always had the drive and the ambition. I don’t think anyone who knew him doubted he’d succeed.”

“Were you friends?”

“Not really. I was pretty competitive too, and we were always vying for the same honors in school.” With a rueful laugh I admitted, “Godfrey usually won. The only thing I ever beat him in was math.”

“Yeah, I know what that’s like.” Justin shook his head. “This girl in my class was always beating me for things. I hated coming in second.”

“I did, too,” I said. Odd how the memories of those many defeats still rankled on occasion. “But I had plenty of other accomplishments to be proud of. You will, too.”

Justin nodded his thanks. I could see he was burning to ask another question but was probably afraid to.

I wanted to set his mind at ease. “He’s looking forward to meeting you. I know he wanted to talk to your mother first, but I’m sure he’ll come to see you as soon as he can.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Justin said. “But he’s this rich, famous writer, and I’m a hick from a little town in Mississippi.”

I suppressed a smile. “He’s from this same little town. He knows he has a son now, and that’s the only thing that matters. You could be purple with seven eyes, and he wouldn’t care.”

Justin laughed at that, and Diesel joined in, chirping. The sound of a ringing phone interrupted their merriment.

“Excuse me,” Justin said. He stood and pulled a cell phone from the pocket of his jeans. “It’s my mom,” he said after glancing at the display. “Be right back.”

Justin walked out of the kitchen as he answered the call. “Hi, Mom.”

That was the last Diesel and I heard. Diesel stared hopefully at the potato chips left on Justin’s plate.

“No, siree,” I said. I picked up the plate and took it over to the sink. “That’s not Diesel food.”

I walked back to the table where Diesel sat. As I scratched his head, his rumbling purr started.

“Mr. Charlie.”

Justin stood in the kitchen doorway, a stricken look on his face.

“What’s wrong?”

“My father—Ezra, I mean—is in the hospital. He got in a fight, and now he’s in bad shape.” He paused, his body trembling. “Can you take me to the hospital?”