That Time with Sugar

  “But what motive could your father have had? What would drive him to do something so horrible?” she asked.

  “Pride.” It was all he said, and yet, it said it all.

  I peeked over at Sugar, trying to let her know to drop the questioning, but she’d already sensed that it was time to stop. She turned around and curled up into the seat, stifling a yawn with her fist. “Where are we going next, Tommy?”

  “I don’t know about you guys but I’m tired and hungry. I say we eat and find a cheap place to stay.” I sighed in surrender. “Then, I guess, I need to turn myself in, so we can straighten all this out.”

  I looked up into the mirror. Julian stared straight ahead. No reaction again.

  “Seems like this whole thing is pretty convoluted now,” I said, and glanced up into the mirror again.

  “Stop looking at me, Tommy,” Julian barked. “I want to be alone with my thoughts, and I can’t if you keep staring at me.”

  “Right, sorry buddy.” The car rolled along the highway. The rain had washed away the dusty residue of summer, and the brittle weeds on the side of the road danced in a breeze, as if that little bout of water was all they’d needed to become pliant and happy again.

  Sugar snuggled down and closed her eyes to sleep and I avoided glancing in my mirror. I knew Julian wouldn’t rest his eyes. I knew him well enough to know his super brain, his genius mind, his unorthodox and slightly dysfunctional thought patterns were shooting around at hyper speed. I wasn’t completely sure he could keep it together, and I couldn’t blame him at all.

  ***

  I was the only one still awake in the car by the time I reached a town with a motel and a steak house. Of course, since I was behind the wheel, it was a good thing that I’d remained awake. It hadn’t been easy. Straight stretches of highway, where the landscape hardly changed and there weren’t enough other cars to keep you on your toes, were always the hardest drives. Especially when the passengers were all curled up in deep sleep. Although, admittedly, Sugar’s occasional drowsy stretches and sweet sleepy sounds did help keep me stimulated, in every way.

  As if on automatic pilot, the car turned into the steak house parking lot. There were two other cars, a truck and two shiny black motorcycles sitting in front of the small restaurant. It was a little late for lunch and early for dinner, which I hoped meant a short wait for food. My mouth watered as the delicious smell of charred meat drifted through the open window of the car.

  Sugar was the first to notice that we’d stopped. Her hair was cluttered in every direction as she sat up and looked around, a little confused and lost, as if she’d forgotten that we were in a car. “Is that steak I smell?” she asked as she stretched forward her arms.

  “It is, and if I don’t eat soon, I’m going to waste away to nothing.”

  She reached over and made a point of spanning her hand across my bicep. “I think we’ve got time before things get really drastic. But I’m starved too.”

  Julian stirred in the backseat. He looked even more bewildered than Sugar. He wasn’t just dealing with mind-blowing ugly truths about his dad, he was having to deal with harsh physiological changes as well.

  “Hope you’re hungry, Jules,” I said. “We’re going in to have some steak.”

  No reply.

  “Oh my gosh, I’m so friggin’ giddy about the prospect of a plate of food, my hands are shaking.” Sugar lifted her trembling fingers. “Of course, that is probably more due to low blood sugar than excitement. I hope they have cheesy garlic bread.”

  We got out. Julian followed reluctantly and then shot back into the car for his computer and hat.

  In an overblown attempt to create a rustic atmosphere, the interior of the restaurant was dark and dingy. But as one food server walked past us with a tray of sizzling steaks, it seemed we could easily overlook the depressing decor. The hostess, who had more tattoos than I would have expected on a small town girl, showed us to a booth at the back of the restaurant, close to the kitchen and beneath a mounted deer head. We had to walk past five counter stools at the bar. The bike owners were easy to spot, two big guys with faded leather jackets, who both made a point of turning to watch Sugar walk past. My hands curled into fists. One of the bikers snapped his gum and my fists tightened more. My common sense told me to just ignore them. Shit, Tommy Jameson and common sense, weird combination.

  Sugar crinkled her nose up at the deer head. “Who in their right mind would have thought that a dead animal head was a good choice in a restaurant?”

  I pointed up to a bear skin rug on the side wall. “The same person who thought that a bear skin made tasteful wallpaper.”

  Julian hadn’t said a word. He sat alone across from us, inspecting the silverware. The steak knife had his particular attention. His brow furrowed in disgust. “No wonder it’s so dark in here. They don’t want us to see the spots on the silverware.” The guy discovers his entire past was a lie and his father was, if all turned out as it seemed, nothing short of diabolical, and he was worried about water spots on his knife. He picked up his napkin and began wiping the knife furiously as if getting off that spot was the most important task in the world.

  A server with a mass of curly red hair and a friendly smile came to the table. “Can I get y’all some drinks to start?”

  “I’ll take a beer,” I said.

  “A coke,” Sugar said.

  We all looked at Julian. He was still polishing his knife.

  “Jules,” I said.

  “I can’t use this.” He shoved the knife clumsily toward the woman. Her eyes popped open wide. I took the knife from his hand and shot him a scowl.

  “Sorry about that. Do you think you could bring him a new knife that has no water spots?” I asked.

  She smiled weakly, almost as if she’d already figured something wasn’t quite right with Julian. Sugar and I had always spent so much time with the guy, it wasn’t nearly as obvious to us. For us, he was just eccentric Julian.

  She took the knife from me. “Sure thing. Oh, and can I see some identification?”

  I looked up at her questioningly.

  “For the beer. Just need to make sure you’re old enough.”

  I laughed and went to reach for my wallet. Sugar elbowed me just hard enough to remind me that the face and name on my driver’s license belonged to a fugitive. “You know what, I forgot my license. I’ll just have a coke.”

  She walked away seeming a little less friendly.

  “Damn, and I really wanted that beer too.” I looked at Julian. He met my stare head on. It was something he rarely did. “Dude, nothing like attracting attention. If you don’t like the silverware just eat with your fingers, you know, like fucking Henry the eighth.”

  “Maybe you’re used to eating with filthy utensils, but I’m not.” He even punctuated his snobby tone with a chin lift.

  I glanced over at Sugar, she was looking around pretending not to hear and holding back a smile.

  “Fuck, it seems Little Lord Fauntleroy has joined us for supper tonight.” I smiled at him trying to loosen up his serious mood. “I’ve never heard you speak like an entitled rich boy.”

  “No?” he asked sharply. “You do it all the time.”

  I went to reply, but Sugar placed her hand on my arm. “Let’s just relax.” She cast a wink my direction. “It’s been a really long day. Longer for some than others.” She tilted her head toward Julian.

  I sat back with a sigh. “Yeah, yeah. Did you guys decide what you want? I need food soon.”

  “I’m not sure if I can eat here. This place isn’t clean.” Julian lifted his hands dramatically and looked at the table in disgust.

  “Suit yourself. But you’ll have to watch us eat because frankly, I can’t drive another mile without some food.”

  He sat back and crossed his arms in the same fashion as a spoiled kid refusing to eat his broccoli. The server returned and lowered the knife down in front of him gently, as if she feared he would find a spot and hurl it
at her.

  Julian plucked it up. The silver on the blade gleamed under the dim lighting. She’d obviously taken time to shine it up. Julian dropped it rudely and leaned against the seat with a grunt. “I’m not eating anyhow.”

  “That’s fine.” I tried to put on my most apologetic expression for the woman, but I wasn’t exactly skilled at being contrite. “I’d like the house special, medium rare with fries instead of the baked potato.”

  Sugar sat forward. “Can I get the chicken plate, please? And do you have garlic bread?”

  “We do, and it’s delicious.”

  “One order of garlic bread.” Sugar looked over at Julian. “Are you sure you don’t want something, Jules?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “That’s all then,” I said.

  “Julian,” Sugar said in a voice much sterner than I’d ever heard before, “don’t take your problems out on that poor woman. She’s just working. She doesn’t have to put up with that kind of rudeness.”

  Julian started shifting his jaw from side to side again, grinding his teeth purposely. Listening to the sound was making my teeth hurt, but I did my best to ignore him. I didn’t want to antagonize him or even interact with him at the moment. I was starved and tired and in a few hours I would have to turn myself in for a murder I didn’t commit. A murder, it seemed, that had all begun with Julian’s birth.

  Julian relaxed his arms and stopped moving his jaw. Another mood swing. “When you are done eating,” he said, sounding completely different than the arrogant, picky asshole from a second ago, “I need to find a phone.”

  We both looked across the table at him.

  “I need to call my mother and find out just what the hell is going on.” With that, Julian relaxed his head against the fake leather seat of the booth and closed his eyes.

  Chapter 23

  This time the roadside motel would have allowed three to a room, but since our adventure was going to end soon, I had enough money for two. And since I was about to hand myself over to police and since I had no idea how long it would be before things got straightened out, I wanted a night alone with Sugar. The two rooms were connected, a necessity, because we needed to keep a close eye on Julian. His mood changes had become drastic. The weight of what had happened was really starting to mess with his head.

  Julian didn’t glance around in revulsion at the cheap furniture and slightly tattered drapes that looked almost as if they’d been nibbled on by rats. Instead, he walked directly to the small table set up below the window that overlooked the parking lot and a trash bin. He set down his laptop and spent another two minutes adjusting its location on the table. Somewhere in his mind, he knew the exact position, and he wasn’t satisfied until he found it. He sat down on the chair and pulled the phone across the desk. As if Sugar and I were not in the room, he picked up the receiver and dialed.

  “Don’t tell her where we are,” I reminded him.

  He rolled his eyes. He’d never done that to me, or anyone else, for that matter. Even knowing full well that he was intellectually superior to almost everyone he met, he’d never acted condescending. But then, I wasn’t looking at the same Julian Fitzpatrick I’d known in Green Willow.

  Sugar motioned with her head for us to step into the next room. We kept the connecting door ajar. This conversation affected my life too. We needed to find a solid motive behind the murders at Green Willow. Julian’s mom might very well hold the key to it all. Besides Julian’s dad and Kirkendall’s mom, who was conveniently dead, Julian’s mother had been the only other person present at the birth. It was easy to assume that having delivered at home with a midwife, she’d gone through it naturally and was conscious during labor.

  Sugar kissed my cheek. “I’m going to take a shower.”

  “Now, how the heck am I supposed to concentrate on eavesdropping when you’re just ten feet away naked and soapy?”

  “It’s called multi-tasking.” She made a point of wiggling her ass as she sashayed to the bathroom.

  I stayed near the door and listened, hoping to gather information from Julian’s side of the conversation.

  “Yes, I’d like to make a collect call from Julian.” He was back in robot mode. His voice was cold and monotone. It could have been shooting out of a computer. “Mother, it’s me. No, don’t call Father. I want to talk to you alone. Please don’t cry. I’m fine. I’m not in danger. Now pull yourself together and listen.” He wasn’t messing around. “Mother, I need to know what happened at my birth. What do you remember? If you won’t stop crying, I’ll hang up. Now tell me.” Silence followed.

  I moved quietly and peeked through the opening. Julian was adjusting his laptop again while he listened. His jaw slipped back and forth as he moved the computer a tiny increment left then right and repeated the process. “You’re certain?” he asked finally. He sat forward. “Wait, don’t tell him it’s me.” He slammed the phone down but held his hand over it long after, as if it might jump back up to his ear and force him to talk to his dad.

  I pushed the door open and stepped into the room. He leaned back on the chair but didn’t look up at me. I was sure he wouldn’t say a word about the conversation with his mother. I was sure he’d shut down and refuse to talk.

  “Can I get you something, Jules? You didn’t eat. They have vending machines down the hall. Do you want some candy?”

  “M and Ms would be nice.” And there was the other guy, somewhat polite and a smidgen kid-like, a guy who was craving candy.

  “Right.” I searched in my pocket for the change.

  “She heard two distinct cries,” he said, still without looking at me. “Two distinct cries, but she was so exhausted she drifted off to sleep. When she woke, Father told her the bad news.” He turned to me now. “She never questioned it.” He shoved the phone. It flew off the table and bounced along the floor. “What kind of woman doesn’t question something like that?” He covered his face, but he wasn’t crying. He didn’t seem to have that level of emotion in him. This was rage and embarrassment rolled into a layer of shock. A sharp laugh came from behind his hands. “The joke was on him. I was born with defects too. He just couldn’t see mine.”

  The entire scenario was too ugly and shocking to believe. I’d spent my entire life pitted against my dad, thinking that the man had never done anything right when it came to me, and now I was feeling like a whiner.

  I pulled up the second chair and sat across from him. “Are you sure we aren’t jumping to some fast conclusions? Is your father really capable of something this awful?”

  Julian lifted his gaze from the laptop he’d been fixated on and looked at me. His eyes were bloodshot, and the rings beneath them were a dark rust color. For a guy who always seemed to have the answers to all of the universe’s questions coasting through his head, he looked lost, as if he’d just fallen off a truck in the middle of the Sahara Desert without a compass or a bottle of water.

  He leaned back and released a long, rattling breath. “When I was nine, my father brought me home a baby pig from the neighboring farm. ‘Take good care of this little piglet, Julian. She is your responsibility’. And I did take care of little Loki. I researched how to take care of a pig. I even built her a sty to live in. It was the best thing I’d ever done. As you saw, the family estate is quite far from civilization, and I’m sure you could guess, I had very few friends. Loki and I spent a lot of time together. She’d follow me all over the place.”

  I knew exactly where this was going, and I was pretty damn sure no spider named Charlotte was going to float in and save the ending of the story.

  “I don’t know if it was ignorance,” he laughed. It was about the saddest sound I’d ever heard. “I lived on a farm for fucksake. Even at nine, my I.Q. was off the charts. But, still, I assured myself that Loki was my pet and that was how she would stay. We’d grow old together.” For the first time since the story had begun, he looked over at me. The glassy faraway look had vanished, and Julian was back. “You probably have
put your own ending to this story, right?”

  I nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Well, if you were thinking my dad loaded Loki onto a stock truck one spring day and sent her off to the slaughterhouse, you’d be wrong.”

  I looked at him, looking for something in his expression, a glimmer of emotion that told me the ending wasn’t as macabre as I’d predicted. It wasn’t there.

  “My father’s moods could change drastically. Like me, he needed medication, but he was too damn proud. I think that was one reason my grandfather took such a profound interest in psychiatry. Mental illness ran in the family. I had an aunt who was plagued with schizophrenia, voices and all. So instead of my dad admitting he had a problem, we lived under the shadow of a man who could be normal one second and a monster the next. That monster showed up at the barn one bright sunny morning with a carving knife. He shoved it into my hand.” Julian focused on the computer again and took a second to readjust it. “It’s time, he kept saying, and I pretended not to understand. He wanted me to slaughter Loki. I refused, of course, and even temporarily toyed with the idea of slitting the throat of the monster standing over me with his disapproving glower.”

  I could hear Sugar moving in the next room. I hoped she wasn’t listening. It wasn’t anything she needed to hear. Hell, I wished I wasn’t hearing it.

  “He told me I couldn’t come out of the barn until it was done. I stayed inside that damn barn for three days. When, at my mother’s insistence, Father came back out, I was weak and tired. Loki had finished every scrap of food on the ground. As the door opened, she raced toward my father to get to her sty and look for scraps. How I wished at the time that she was a wild boar, charging the man, instead of trying to find more food. As she ran past him, he reached down and slit her throat.”

  “Fuck.”

  “So, in answer to your question— is my father capable of murdering his own son, a son that would surely be an embarrassment to him, the answer is a resounding yes.”

  Sugar stepped quietly into the room. She’d brushed out her hair, and it flowed over her shoulders and framed her amazing face. She didn’t say anything, but from her expression, she’d heard the story. “Jules, Tommy and I were thinking about going down to that crummy looking pool hall at the end of the road to shoot some pool and drink beer— if they don’t card us— that is. Why don’t you come along?”