Tough Love

  Jeannie shifted her weight. Her face was still red. “We just moved here. And the guys are looking for jobs and stuff. The economy is bad.”

  “That doesn’t excuse beatings. If you wanted to … make a change …”

  Jeannie’s eyes widened and Rhetta made herself shut up. Grace would kill her if she muddied up the investigation with this. And it would be justifiable homicide.

  Jeannie wrapped her hands around her waist. “No. Me and Hunter are in love. We have our bad times and all …” Her face turned a brilliant scarlet and her eyes welled. He split lip trembled. “But, you know …” She trailed off. She was trying very hard to smile. “Marriage …” She played with her ring.

  Rhetta was disappointed but not surprised. She slipped on a glove before she spread soothing salve over the tattoo. “Did you go to a good place to get this done?” she asked. Jeannie hissed and danced while Rhetta smoothed the salve over the irritated skin. “Did the artist change needles? Did he wash his hands?”

  “I don’t know,” Jeannie confessed. “I was pretty drunk.”

  It just keeps getting better, Rhetta thought.

  “Rhetta?” Grace called.

  “Oh, God,” Jeannie whispered. “Oh, God, if he sees me out here …” She jerked away from Rhetta and stuck her hands in her hair, as if she had just snapped out of a hypnotic trance, to find herself standing in front of an alligator. “Oh, God …”

  Rhetta dug in her purse and pulled out one of her business cards. She turned it over and began to write.

  “Look, there are people who can help you. There are shelters.”

  Jeannie opened the shed door, gazing fearfully back into the darkness.

  “He-he’d find me,” she whispered. “He said so. Find me and beat the tar out of me.”

  “People who love each other don’t beat the tar out of each other.” Rhetta held out the card. “Here’s the name of a shelter. It’s affiliated with my church. Here’s the number. See it?” She pointed to the second line, under GOOD SHEPHERD SHELTER FOR WOMEN AND CHILDREN.

  “Do you have a cell phone?”

  Jeannie shifted. “Kinda.”

  “Hey, Rhetta,” Grace called.

  Jeannie whimpered.

  Rhetta shook the card at her. “If things get bad, call them. They’ll help you. Promise me.”

  “All right. God bless you.” Jeannie’s eyes welled as she grabbed the card, glanced at it, and folded it over and over. Then she slipped the cardboard wad into her jeans. Rhetta hoped to God that she had the wherewithal to hide it where Hunter Johnson couldn’t see it.

  Then Jeannie bobbed forward and hugged her. Hard. “Pray for me, okay?” she whispered into Rhetta’s ear.

  Rhetta was moved. Deeply. She could see Mae in this girl. And Grace, too. There but for, well, the grace of God …

  “I will. I’ll pray for you. The church can help you,” Rhetta added hopefully. “I know a priest, Father John—” Grace’s brother.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Jeannie said, letting go. “But I have to go now. If Hunter finds out I been talking to you …” She backed away, as if she didn’t dare show her back to Rhetta. She looked like a frightened little dog. “I have to go.”

  “It’s okay,” Rhetta assured her. But it wasn’t. Her heart bled for this poor girl.

  Jeannie darted out of the barn. Rhetta paused, watching her race into a stand of elms and disappear. As if on cue, an owl hooted.

  The cow lowed again while Rhetta retraced her steps. Grace, who was with Ham, nodded at her. Butch and Bobby walked a distance away. Butch had a pair of binoculars.

  “Find anything?” Grace asked. Ham waited for her answer, too.

  Rhetta hesitated. Then she shook her head, feeling a pang of regret that she hadn’t tried harder to extract a promise from Jeannie to at least think about getting out of here. She was upset; no one seemed to be getting what they wanted. No truck, no farm, no shelter. And her glasses were dirty. Or else she was on the verge of tears.

  I need some sleep, she thought.

  “Let’s move on,” Grace said to Ham. “There’s no truck in this barn. Let’s take a nice slow drive around.” She stretched her arms. “That’d suit me just fine.”

  They walked back out of the barn. Tommy Miller was still on his cell phone, yelling and waving his free hand, and Hunter Johnson was talking to him. Grace slid a glance at the pair, then smiled brightly as Johnson reattached himself to Grace’s hip, metaphorically speaking.

  “Your Imperial Wizard is pissed off,” Grace said to him. “My guess is he told someone to ditch the truck and now he’s reconsidering. Since we’re here wandering all over your compound. Do you have a bathroom I can use?”

  “Sorry. We don’t have indoor plumbing,” Johnson replied. “We’re just a bunch of hicks.”

  Grace made a show of covering her mouth in dismay. “Why, Hunter, I’m shocked. I never did call you that. Racist bastards maybe, yeah, but not hicks.” She fluttered her lashes. “I’ll just go pee in the barn.”

  “All right,” he said unhappily. “I’ll take you to a bathroom.”

  Rhetta looked over her shoulder, wondering if Jeannie had successfully slipped away. It would go hard for her if the man beside Grace found out that she’d disobeyed a direct order and talked to one of the enemy.

  Grace pointed to a distant outbuilding sided with corrugated aluminum and roofed with turquoise fiberglass.

  “What about in there? There any bathrooms in there? Out there by itself … it’d be a hike to use the john if you were in there planning your next drive-by shooting.”

  Oh, my God, Grace, Rhetta thought, glancing at Ham to see how he reacted—he didn’t—and bracing herself for a response from Johnson. Instead, he looked straight at her. At Rhetta.

  “What do you think? Think we got a bathroom in there?”

  “It doesn’t matter what she thinks,” Grace said. “I’m the one who’s gotta pee.”

  He regarded her. “You’re probably one of them women who tries to pee standing up.”

  “Hold still and you’ll find out,” Grace shot back, and Johnson laughed. Ham grinned, too. Grace could do that, act like a chameleon to get what she wanted. She’d had years of pretending everything was fine while her priest and father confessor was raping her. It gave her an advantage as a detective. Due to the lack of trauma in her childhood, Rhetta was less versatile. Less wounded.

  My farm, she thought unhappily. My animals.

  My home.

  Grace called Captain Perry’s cell to give her the news: no truck. And everything of investigative value had been dragged out of sight, if the many phone calls Hunter Johnson and Tommy Miller both sent and received were any indication of a concerted effort to save their butts before the detectives spotted unregistered handguns or dead bodies.

  The Sons of Oklahoma saw them off pretty much the way they greeted them, in an unsmiling row, their womenfolk tucked away. Rhetta told Grace that Jeannie Johnson had found her, and she’d given the girl some salve for her arm. Rhetta seemed like she wanted to tell Grace something else, but then Captain Perry called back to order Grace to get her paperwork done first thing in the morning.

  “First thing. After our meeting,” Grace promised.

  It was a Sunday night, and the Monday-morning meeting in the conference room had been arranged so the squad could go over Henry’s full autopsy report and Rhetta’s progress so far. They wanted to lay out the three cases to see if they found connections, or if the information they were assigning to one case was a better fit for another. It was Bobby’s turn to bring in the coffee and donuts. Clay was safely with his dad. So it was time to pay Ham back some more for getting the warrant.

  As she ripped off her clothes and grabbed a bottle of bourbon, Ham lifted her up and carried her down the hall like a caveman. He smacked her bottom with more affection than aggression, and she arched up so she could take a swig of hooch. This late at night, Ham would probably wind up falling asleep. No one spent the night,
not even him—especially not him—but she’d worry about booting him out later. After all, it was only ten p.m. now.

  He unrolled her onto the bed; she held the bottle up like the Statue of Liberty’s torch and …

  … the phone rang.

  She looked at caller ID. It was Clay. At ten on a school night. She instantly went into concerned-aunt mode and Ham backed off, aware that something was up.

  “Yeah, Clay, hi,” she said. “What’s up, man?”

  “Forrest was supposed to e-mail me this evening. We’re working on a project in school. But he hasn’t done it.” He sounded very worried.

  “Is the project due tomorrow?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, that sucks. Did you call him?” She sat cross-legged and grabbed her cigarettes and lighter out of her nightstand.

  “His mom answered. She said he’s not allowed to talk to me.”

  Grace smiled gently as she lit a cigarette and took a puff. “Well, there you go, man. He’s been grounded.”

  “But I need his part of the project and he knows that. He could have e-mailed it. I know she would have let him.”

  Ah, the logic of kids. Urgency trumped the facts every time. She blew out her smoke. “Did you tell your dad? Maybe he can write you a note. When Forrest shows up tomorrow at school, he can vouch for you. Heck, I’ll talk to your teacher if you need backup.”

  There was a pause. Ham started sliding his hand between her crossed legs. With a silent laugh, she leaned back on one elbow and gave him some room.

  “I feel terrible, Aunt Grace,” Clay said. “He got in trouble because of me.”

  “No one forced him onto that ATV,” she reminded him. “It wouldn’t have been so bad if you hadn’t driven into that boulder.” She chuckled silently at Ham’s astonishment. “Just when that rocket started chasing everybody.”

  Ham mouthed What?

  “Yeah,” Clay murmured. Then he chuckled a little. “It was pretty wild, how it all happened at once.”

  “You think?” Grace said. “Hey, I’m pretty used to wild and it scared the tar out of me. Think how Forrest’s mom must see it. She’s probably going to make him wear body armor from now on.”

  Clay guffawed. “And a seat belt when he goes to the bathroom.”

  She snickered. “So when he comes to school tomorrow, just have him tell your teacher that he wasn’t allowed to use the computer and it’s all good.”

  “I’ll give you good,” Ham whispered. She kicked at him to shut him up.

  “Okay, Aunt Grace.” There was another pause. “I need to make some money. To pay that guy for the damage. Dr. Anderson.”

  “A doctor. Too bad he’s not a mechanic.” Grace took another puff. “Maybe you could start a dog-walking service. You could take Gus around the neighborhood and hand out flyers after school tomorrow. If you don’t have too much homework.”

  “Cool. How much should I charge?”

  “Let me think about that,” Grace said as Ham wriggled his way between her legs. “I’ll do a little research. But you should go to bed.”

  “Right. Thanks. I love you.”

  Grace smiled. “I love you, too, man. Now get some rest. And Clay?”

  “Yes, Aunt Grace?”

  “Let Forrest tell the story at school tomorrow. He doesn’t have many chances to brag.”

  “I will. G’night.”

  They hung up and Grace batted at Ham again while she tamped out her cigarette. It didn’t deter him, only made him crawl on top of her, while they both laughed and prepared for liftoff.

  “He drove an ATV into a boulder and got chased by a rocket?” he asked.

  “Something like that.” She rocked and rolled. “A little to the left, Detective.”

  “Shit. Are you kidding me?” His eyes were far away, even if his body was not.

  “No. I’m not kidding you. I want you to move a little to the left.” She roped her legs around him and applied pressure to his right cheek.

  “Jesus, Grace, you’re steering me,” he said, laughing.

  “Right into the explosion,” she promised.

  They began to move together, as only Dewey and Hanadarko could; partners, bedmates, all wound up after the trip to the compound, both looking for release from the Sunday-night blues: Tomorrow the official workweek started, not that they had taken much time off that weekend. They had to be ready; who knew what tomorrow would bring?

  Tough—

  “No,” Grace whispered, but it sounded like “Oh.”

  “Oh, my God, Grace,” Ham whispered, touching her hair, her cheek, her earlobe. He moved inside her; he moved her; she closed her eyes as white-hot ecstasy shot through her veins. If heroin was as good as this …

  And then all thoughts escaped her, which was the point, and she was pure, wonderful, blissful sensation. No Grace, no Ham, just …

  Pow.

  She fell asleep before she could kick him out, and she woke up because the rain was pelting her roof like hail. Maybe it was hail. Gus didn’t like it so she kneaded him with her toes and looked through the darkness at the male shape next to her. Ham, Ham, what was she going to do with him?

  She got up naked and walked into the kitchen. Grabbed a beer. Then she walked over to the case files she’d brought home—Malcolm’s was on top—and stared at the horrible, gruesome pictures. She felt nothing, only clinical interest. God, the job was hollowing her out.

  She pulled her throw over herself and listened to the rain. Thought about waking up Ham and making him go home. He’d squawk. She lit a cigarette, smiling to herself when toenails clicked on the floor and Gus approached with a questioning doggy moan.

  “Hey,” Earl said, sitting in her easy chair. Gus hurried over to him and sat down at his feet with a plop. Earl leaned forward and gave him a head scratch. “Can’t sleep?”

  “No, man.” She took a drag. “Who can sleep with all this shit going on? So is this it, Earl? My tough times?”

  Earl cocked his head. “Didn’t say they’d be yours, Grace.”

  “Why can’t you just talk like a normal person?” she snapped, rolling her eyes. “Maybe this is all fun and games to you but this is my life, Earl. My life that I have to live.”

  “I know. I wish I had all the answers for you. But I’m just a messenger.” He looked genuinely sorry. “I know that God has plans for you. Big plans.”

  “Maybe He doesn’t,” she said, blowing out smoke. “Maybe you’re just telling me that to get me to do what you want. The way I tell the criminals I flip that they’re special, that I can see they’re not just regular thieves and rapists. Sometimes I tell them the department’s had its eye on them for a while, and I’ve been sent to ask for their help.”

  Earl pondered her words. “And that works?”

  “You know it does. ‘Hail Mary, the Lord is with Thee.’ God’s special handmaiden. God’s chosen people. My chosen CI. I don’t pick them out because they’re special. I pick them out because I can get them to do what I want.”

  “So because you lie to them, you think I’m lying to you?”

  She leaned her head against the sofa and looked at him through her cigarette smoke. “Maybe all this talk about paradise after we die is like heroin. You dole it out to make me feel good, let down my guard. Maybe dead is dead, and all this shit is a lie.”

  He looked perplexed. “I thought we’d moved past all that. I thought you trusted me. At least a little.”

  “Maybe it’s a kind lie,” she said, her tone softening a little. “Like a pellet in a rat maze.”

  “You really are in a bad mood.” He hunkered forward. “That little escapade of Clay’s scared you more than you’re letting on, am I right?”

  She pulled the throw around herself. “Stabbings, murders, rapes … I see a world I never want him to see.”

  “He sees you trying to make it better.”

  “It’ll never be better for Malcolm. Or Haleem.”

  “It already is, Grace. In my Father’s House are
many mansions.” He did look honest, and he did look kind. “And I’ve seen a world I never want you to see.”

  “Hell.” It scared her to say it, even though most of the time she didn’t really believe it existed.

  “Yup.”

  “Maybe that’s a lie, too. An empty threat.” She took another drag.

  “It’s not. Trust me.” He grinned. “A little.”

  Lightning flashed across the glass side door. “It’s coming down like crazy,” she said.

  “I love the rain,” Earl replied. “It’s one of my favorite things in all creation.”

  “It washes away the evidence.” She yawned. “Do you know where the white truck is?”

  “Nope. And I’m telling you the truth. Now I really think you should get some sleep.”

  “I’m not sleep …,” she began, and then her eyelids closed.

  Gus gazed up at Earl and expressed his opinion. Earl took it into consideration.

  “I know she’ll wake up with a neck ache,” the angel told Grace’s concerned roommate, “but if she wakes up next to Ham …” He tsk-tsked. “She’s prickly about that.”

  Gus gazed over at Grace, then back at Earl.

  “Sure, you’d love to share your doggy bed with Peaches every night,” Earl said, “but Grace needs her space. Lots of space.” He pursed his lips. “It’s complicated.” He grinned.

  Gus made another suggestion. “You think Ham should give her a dead rat? That would definitely show his undying devotion. Yes, I do think Peaches would love one.”

  Gus shook and panted.

  “Sure, I’ll go hunting with you. One for Grace, too? That’s real thoughtful, Gus. We’ll see what we can do.”

  Gus was delighted. And grateful.

  But as for Earl, he felt a tad confused. Maybe angels did tell kind lies.

  CHAPTER

  ELEVEN

  “Hey,” Ham said.

  Grace jerked awake. Purple-gray light was washing her walls, literally—the shadows of heavy rains ran down the walls. Ham was staring down at her from behind the couch, naked, drowsy. She could see the hair in his armpits and his hairy chest. Nice view.