Twisted at the Root--A Jane Lawless Mystery Read online

  Marlo began to cry. She dropped down next to him. “I thought this was over, that we could put it behind us and move on.”

  “I know,” he whispered. “I know.”

  Looking him full in the face, she said, “I’m so glad I have you.”

  “I’m glad you have me, too.”

  “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “You’d be just fine, Marlo. You’re a capable woman.”

  She searched his face. “What are you saying?”

  “Just what I said.” She was always looking for subtext. Not that he blamed her. Most of life was lived in the kingdom of subtext.

  “Don’t leave me.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Really, George? Truly?”

  He drew her against his chest. “We should finish our popcorn. And then you should head upstairs and take your sleeping pill.”

  “That man on the TV really upset me.”

  “Better living through chemicals.”

  She snuggled close. “You always know the right thing to say.”

  No doubt about it. He was a whiz. Lucky Marlo.

  6

  The gallery had evolved. Once upon a time it had been a single room in a crumbling building in the warehouse district, scrubbed and polished to within an inch of its life by Eli Chenoweth’s father and mother. The year it opened, 1977, was the year Eli was born. He’d grown up in the gallery, crawled along the wooden floors, been tickled by his mother and tossed in the air by his father under the newly installed track lights. He knew these things not from actual memory, but from the hundreds of photos his parents had taken of their first child. Even now, the floors felt unusually friendly to Eli, and oddly exciting.

  After ten years of eking out a modest living, Eli’s parents had bought the building, which included the shop next door, with money from his dad’s inheritance. They’d torn out an adjoining wall and enlarged the gallery from one exhibition space to three. Eli had been in awe of that gaping hole, the most vivid, violent piece of art he’d ever seen. He remembered how relieved he’d been when the gallery was repaired and put back in order. Many years later, back down on the floor once again, in a corner under a Jackson Pollack knockoff, he’d made love to Kit for the first time.

  As Eli walked through the darkened galleries, he thought about last New Year’s Eve, a night when he hadn’t been alone. He’d had such high hopes that his life was finally on track. He wasn’t interested in doing a year-end retrospective, and yet it was hard to escape what had gone down, what he’d said, and most importantly, what he’d done. He craved a drink, or a hit of something that would alter his consciousness as fast as possible. Except he wasn’t that man anymore. He was the new and improved Eli, cleansed of his former bad habits. His peace was found through a slower, more difficult means—meditation, stillness, quieting the mind, the Noble Eightfold Path. Wisdom dictated that he go home, cook dinner, and spend the evening in some principled pursuit—or, at the very least, something normal and healthy; anything to distract him from all the things crowding the edges of his mind that decidedly weren’t either.

  He tapped ash into a paper cup, then took another drag. He’d been told that to be a good Buddhist he should quit smoking cigarettes. A man should be open to his cravings but not give in to them. Eli’s much-beloved Camels represented “giving in” multiple times a day. Even so, it was the one drug he refused to give up. As he stood at one of the bay windows, watching an occasional car go by outside, his cell phone rang. The picture of an angel popped up on his screen.

  “Hey,” he said, trying to work some cheer into his voice.

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m still at the gallery. How about you?”

  “Home.”

  “You two celebrating?”

  She groaned. “He had a few too many Manhattans and fell asleep on the couch. Listen, did you catch the local news tonight?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Sounds like the murder case against Rashad May may be reopened.”

  For a moment, he was almost too stunned to speak. “No,” was all he could squeeze out.

  “Ray Lawless is taking the case again.”

  It was freakin’ four hundred below outside, and Eli was sweating.

  “We’re fine, Eli.”

  “You’re sure of that?”

  “We did nothing wrong.”

  He let out a snort. “Right.”

  “The point is, we had nothing to do with what happened to Gideon.”

  He backed up against a wall, sliding down until he hit the floor. “If they reopen the case, that means they’ll be looking around for someone else to nail for his murder.”

  “But not us.”

  “Peter Lawless. He lied on the stand. And then he got real weird around me, don’t you remember?”

  “You’re not listening. Peter can’t hurt us. Besides, he left for parts unknown years ago. And even if he did come back and tell the truth, what does it prove? Nothing.”

  She was overconfident as usual, but he didn’t have the energy to argue.

  “You were a different person back then, Eli. We all were. If we stick together, we’ll be fine. Look, I just wanted to let you know. I didn’t want you to hear it from someone else and freak out.”

  “You mean like I’m doing right now? Maybe we should come clean to the police, Kit. Tell them what happened.”

  “Are you out of your mind? It would point a finger directly at us.”

  She was probably right. Why raise your hand and wave it around if you maintained you had nothing to do with the crime.

  “You okay? We in agreement?”

  “Yeah,” he said.

  “So I gotta go.”

  “No. Kit, please. Just talk to me a while longer.” He ached to tell her that he still loved her. That he’d never stopped. But what was the point? She’d moved on. So had he, though unlike her, his new life had crashed into a million pieces.

  “Oh, baby, just chill. Everything will be fine.”

  “Yeah,” he said weakly.

  “I’ll see you at work. We’re going to get through this.”

  As he tucked the phone back into his jacket, his thoughts turned to the restaurant down the street, the one with the long, shiny, ever-so-inviting bar. No, he told himself. Baby steps. Enlightenment might be beyond his ability, but he should definitely get up and get the hell out of the gallery before he did something he’d regret.

  After making sure that everything was properly locked up for the night, the security system on, he exited out the back way to his car. As he unlocked the door with his remote, he heard a tiny cry, something that sounded like it came from a small animal. Using the flashlight app on his cell phone, he swept the lot, which was mostly empty of cars, and then turned it on the alley. Under an icy drain spout, he saw two shiny eyes staring back at him. Switching off the light, he approached cautiously. Whatever it was, it had to be nearly frozen.

  “Hello,” he said, crouching down. “Who do we have here?” It was a small cat with white paws and terrified eyes. Since it was wearing a collar, he assumed it wasn’t feral. His mother had been a veterinarian, so he’d grown up with animals around the house, though they’d never had a cat because of his sister’s allergies. They had dogs. Mostly schnauzers. Eli didn’t really understand cats. This one wasn’t much past kittenhood. He remembered his mother railing about people who gave kittens and puppies as Christmas presents to their kids—and how many of them were dumped shortly thereafter.

  If this little thing were a dog, Eli would have offered his hand for it to sniff. He wasn’t sure how a cat would respond.

  It squeaked again, or cried, or mewed. Whatever it was, the sound was so desperate and lonely that it sliced right through him.

  “Will you come to me?” he asked softly. “I’d like to help you.”

  Very gingerly, the cat stood and moved a few inches away from the brick wall. Eli could see now that the poor thing was shive
ring.

  It was another full minute before the cat moved toward him again.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked, making sure he kept his voice low and soothing. His bent knees were starting to scream at him. He held out a finger. The cat moved toward it, allowing Eli to scratch its head. All of a sudden, it leaped into his arms. Eli couldn’t quite believe it. He tucked it inside his coat and carried it to his car, feeling it tremble against his chest. Tomorrow he would check around to see if anybody in the area was missing a pet cat. If nothing else, he’d put up a note on Craigslist and find it a home.

  7

  The sound of Cordelia’s New Year’s Eve party was still reverberating through the neighborhood when Jane ducked out the front door around one A.M. She’d insisted that Julia and her dad, both drooping pretty badly, wait inside until she brought the truck around. Hopping over a snowbank, she skidded her way down the center of the street, the night air feeling deliciously cold against her flushed face. Unlike Cordelia, Jane found crowded parties oppressive, overstimulating, and often downright boring. Nonconversations shouted over loud music made no sense to her at all. Perhaps it was the curse of the introvert. Whatever it was, Jane was glad to leave.

  After buckling her seatbelt, Julia closed her eyes, and Jane’s dad did the same. Glad to finally be free of the doo-wop, Jane rode home in glorious silence.

  When she pulled into the drive along the side of her house a while later, she saw that both her passengers were asleep. She ahem-ed a couple of times, finally waking them. As they headed inside, Jane took a moment to kick off the packed snow that had accumulated in the Ridgeline’s wheel wells. She was almost done when she heard a familiar voice call her name. Turning, she saw Evelyn standing on her stoop in bathrobe and curlers, waving to get her attention.

  Trotting across the street, Jane called softly, “What are you doing up so late?”

  Before she could respond, Mouse, Jane’s brown lab, charged out from behind Evelyn making a beeline for Jane.

  She crouched down to greet him.

  “I’m so sorry,” said Evelyn, catching Gimlet, a small black poodle, before she could make her own jailbreak.

  Jane had assumed Evelyn had already brought the dogs back. “Is everything okay?”

  Moving slowly down the steps, Evelyn said, “The dogs are fine. But when I opened the front door around midnight to bring them home, I saw this car parked in front of your house. The headlights were off, but there was exhaust coming from the tailpipe, so I knew someone was inside. Mouse started to growl, so I closed the door and watched from the living room. The car sat there for another ten minutes or so before the lights came on and it drove away. I have to say, it scared me. I decided to keep the dogs here until I saw lights go on in your house and I knew you were back.”

  Patting her thigh and telling Mouse to stay close, Jane took Gimlet from Evelyn’s arms. “Did you get a look at the guy’s face?”

  “I could be wrong, but it seemed like he had on a hood. Not one that covered his entire face, just the top and sides.”

  “Like a hoodie?”

  “Yes, that’s what they call it. The streetlight gives off good light, but I couldn’t make out much more than that.”

  “What kind of car?” asked Jane. “What color?”

  “It was light colored,” Evelyn said, looking distressed. “Maybe silver or gray. A four-door sedan, and I could be wrong, but I think there were some odd light-gray stripes down the front and back.”

  “Like racing stripes?”

  “I’m not sure what that is. Sorry.”

  “You did exactly the right thing.”

  “Do you have any idea who the man might be?”

  “None,” said Jane. “I do know that sometimes on holiday nights like tonight, people are out casing houses.”

  “Goodness, I hope that’s not it.” Evelyn hesitated, crossing her arms over her chest. “Well, I shouldn’t keep you. The dogs were perfect, as usual.”

  “Thank you,” Jane called to Evelyn’s retreating back. She waited until the door was shut and locked and then carried Gimlet to her house, with Mouse leading the way. She entered through the back door and found Julia in the kitchen.

  “I wondered where they were,” said Julia, getting out a box of treats. When the dogs saw the box, they instantly sat down and waited for Julia to toss them their nightly Milk-Bones.

  While they crunched away, Jane tugged on Julia’s belt and drew her close. “Happy New Year.”

  The kiss they shared gave Jane hope that Julia might be up for more, but Julia begged off, saying she was beat.

  Jane held her. She wished she could do more. “I’ll join you upstairs in a little while.”

  Julia whispered into Jane’s ear, “I have only one New Year’s wish. I want one year with you. One good year. And then I’ll go quietly.”

  Jane increased her grip. “I don’t want you to go at all.”

  “Mustn’t be greedy.” She pulled back, gave Jane’s nose a kiss and then left the room.

  Julia might be ill, but they still had time. And who knew? Perhaps there was a chance she could beat the disease. Julia spent most of her time these days searching the internet, talking to doctors—to researchers all over the world—looking for a magic bullet, a recent study, a new drug trial. She thought she’d found one in early December, though it hadn’t worked out. Barely two weeks after beginning the new drug protocol, she’d landed in the hospital with a mild but terrifying stroke. Nothing was going to be easy from here on out.

  After letting the dogs into the backyard, Jane went in search of her father. She found him in the living room, sitting on the couch.

  “Use the small bedroom,” she said. “Towels are in the linen closet. If you need anything else, just let me know.”

  “Thanks, honey.”

  She kept Evelyn’s story from him. No point in worrying him over what was likely nothing. She also kept her conversation with Sigrid to herself. They could talk about it in the morning.

  As her father rose to go, Jane wished him a good night’s sleep. She loved it when he stayed over. Tonight, she was especially glad for his presence.

  After letting the dogs in, Jane walked around checking all the windows to make sure they were locked and the blinds were drawn. The dogs trotted along beside her as she stopped in the front hall to switch on the security system. Gimlet was hard of hearing, so she wasn’t much of a watchdog, but Mouse—with his deep growl and a mountain of natural protectiveness—made up for it. And yet, even with all the precautions, Jane removed a baseball bat from the front closet before she went upstairs to bed.

  8

  As tired as she was, Jane’s mind wouldn’t stop churning. Checking the clock on the nightstand, she saw that it was just after two thirty. Julia was sound asleep, as was Gimlet, who was snoring away on the dog bed. Mouse was stretched out on the rug next to it. As Jane slipped out from under the covers, she caught his eye. Together, they descended the stairs into the living room.

  She spent a few minutes assembling logs, paper, and kindling in the fireplace. If she was up, she figured, she might as well be entertained. Once the birch bark had caught, she went looking for whiskey. She returned with the bottle and a glass. Hunkering down on the Oriental rug, with her back against the couch and her arm around Mouse, she sipped her drink, watching the logs spark and listening to the birch bark crackle.

  The act of worrying always made her feel like she was doing something, when in reality, she was wasting her time and emotional energy. Still, she couldn’t seem to stop. She gazed around the darkened living room, listening for any sounds that didn’t belong. She was going to feel jumpy for a while, she supposed, so she might as well get used to it.

  Sipping her whiskey, her thoughts turned to Peter. The longer she went without hearing from him, the more concerned she became. Where had he gone? Why didn’t he answer her calls or texts? Perhaps even more importantly, what was going on in his marriage to Sigrid? Jane should have kept in bett
er touch. Once upon a time, she’d been close to her brother. After their mother died, they’d returned to England, to Lyme Regis, where they’d grown up. They had craved that connection to their mother and to her family, people they’d left behind when they moved to Minnesota. Neither Peter nor Jane had regretted the time they’d spent in England, even though it had caused a falling-out with their dad that had taken years to heal.

  Jane had friends who didn’t get along with their siblings. She remembered feeling a little smug, sure she and Peter would always be close. And yet a year before he and his family had left the country, a rift had developed between them. Jane hadn’t been able to get a grip on her anger at his behavior—behavior he seemed proud of. They’d eventually worked their way through some of it, tried to bury their differences, and for the most part they’d succeeded, at least on the surface. And yet, before he left for South America, she’d felt that something was still amiss. In the end, Jane had put it down to a residual sense of disconnection. She let it go because she had no idea how to fix it.

  As the fire burned down and one glass of whiskey became two, Jane felt herself finally growing sleepy. She got up to stoke the last of the fire and then stretched out on the couch, pulling the quilt off the back and covering herself. Mouse moved over to the rug and gave a deep sigh. It wasn’t long before they were both asleep.

  * * *

  The familiar smell of coffee and toast woke her the following morning. Kicking off the quilt, she sat up, rubbing her eyes. Bright morning sunlight seeped in around the edges of the window shades. Mouse had disappeared from his rug near the hearth. Only one reason he’d leave she thought as she passed through the foyer into the dining room and then into the kitchen: food.

  “You’re up early,” she said, seeing her father at the kitchen table. He was already dressed in a pair of comfortable old jeans and a navy cardigan.

  “Had a phone call. Couldn’t get back to sleep.” His laptop was open in front of him. He gestured to the coffee maker on the counter. “Just made a fresh pot.”