Truth-Stained Lies

  When she decided to quit practicing law, Michael was the only one who understood. Their passion for finding justice for murder victims was stronger than ever. As she started her blog, Michael helped her in his spare time, investigating some of the things she was writing about, encouraging her and cheering her on.

  But their bond was like brother and sister, wasn’t it? She wasn’t supposed to fall in love with him. He would never stand for it.

  She pulled down her visor, looked in the mirror, wiped her eyes. Flipping it back up, she whispered, “Please forgive me.”

  She shook off the thoughts and went into the jail, signed in. She’d visited this place many times as a prosecutor, but she had gone in through the back door. Now she had to sit in the waiting room like all the other family members, hoping for fifteen short minutes with her brother.

  As she waited, she looked around, wondering what everyone here was thinking. Was this old hat to some of them? Did they come here week after week for years on end, trying to maintain some semblance of a relationship with an incarcerated loved one? She prayed that wouldn’t be the case with Jay. If he went to prison for murder, he’d be moved to a state facility miles from here. How would he maintain his relationship with Jackson? She hoped his attorney was working hard. They had to get him out of here.

  When they finally called her name, she went into the small room lined up with desks and chairs and found the one where Jay sat on the other side of the dirty glass. He looked pale and tired, and he’d already lost weight. She smiled at him, but he didn’t return it. He picked up the phone and so did she.

  “You okay?” she asked him.

  “No, I’m not okay,” he bit out. “Cathy, what is my attorney doing? Why hasn’t he gotten me out of here?”

  “He’s working on it,” she said. “Has he been by to see you today?”

  “Yes, but he’s moving too slow. I need to be with my son. Everything is crumbling apart!”

  “Try to stay calm. We’re all working on it.”

  “Stay calm?” he asked. “Are you kidding me? My wife is murdered, my son is taken away from me, I’m thrown in jail accused of murder … You think I can stay calm?”

  “We just have to keep clear heads and think. The best thing we can do for Jackson is get you out of here. I know you’ve racked your brain for the police, but if you could think of anyone else who might have it in for her or you …”

  “I’m thinking. I gave so many names to them, but what do they care?”

  She stared at her little brother for a moment, and sorrow overcame her. Before her mother died, she had asked to talk to Cathy and Juliet alone. “Watch over Jay and Holly,” she’d whispered. “Take care of them. I don’t feel like I finished raising them.” She and Juliet had promised they would, but they’d done a crummy job with Holly. And Jay … Who could have seen this coming?

  She burst into tears, rubbed her forehead to hide them, and looked down at the table where someone had drawn a profane picture. She felt her brother watching her. “Hey, look at me, Sis.”

  She looked up, met her brother’s eyes.

  “No crying, okay? I didn’t mean to upset you. I can’t stand to see you cry.”

  She tried to pull herself together. “It’s okay. I don’t know what’s going on either. It’s like God just has it in for our family.”

  Jay wiped his own eyes and drew in a long breath. Sitting straighter, he said, “Not God. Satan.”

  She breathed a laugh. “God isn’t putting up much of a fight.”

  “We don’t have any idea how much of a fight he’s putting up. There could be angels and demons slugging it out all around us.”

  Were they switching roles now? Was he the older, wiser sibling? She didn’t want to pop his bubble. Faith had gotten Jay through the last year. Who was she to douse it with her own doubts, when he needed it most?

  She forced herself to nod. “The truth will come out.”

  “I just need you guys to work as hard as you can from your end. Don’t leave any rock unturned.”

  “We won’t,” Cathy said, blotting her eyes. “You won’t believe this, but Michael recruited all three of us to be part-time private investigators.”

  His eyes rounded. “What?”

  “You heard me right,” she said. “Michael’s following up on a lot of leads, and he can’t do it all himself, so he asked us to help him.”

  “Holly a PI?” Jay asked. “Juliet?”

  “That’s right,” she said, chuckling. “Can you imagine?”

  “I can’t believe he talked Juliet into it.”

  “We all want to help you,” she said. “We’re doing everything we can.”

  “Thank you,” he said. “I knew I could count on my sisters.” Tears sprang back to his eyes again, and he rubbed his mouth.

  “Stupid clown,” he said. “It isn’t even believable to me. How can anybody else believe me?”

  “Well, we think we’ve got a lead on the clown suit. We found where it was ordered.” She told him about the name and post office box.

  “Thank God,” he whispered, clutching the phone. “If you can find the clown, that’s the smoking gun.”

  “We will find him. Holly and Juliet are watching the post office box as we speak. I’m waiting for another call from the judge about Jackson.” She switched gears. “So are you okay? Is it awful in there?”

  He shrugged. “I’ve had better digs, but it could be worse. Just trying to keep my head down.”

  Their time came to an end. Cathy left and went back to her car, sat and stared for a few more minutes. She’d never in her wildest dreams imagined she’d see her brother in jail. Her mother would have been so devastated. Cathy had gotten Holly out of jail a couple of times for DUIs, but she had been so mad at her that she hadn’t grieved over it. Holly deserved what she got those times. But not Jay.

  She closed her eyes. Through gritted teeth, she said, “God, I still believe in you, but I’m not sure I believe you care about me.” The words thrust her deeper into the pit of grief. “I need your help. You know Jay is innocent. You know who did this. We could really use a miracle.”

  If God only heard the prayers of the faithful, then he was certainly not going to hear hers, she thought. Her faith was as flimsy as a spider web. She expected nothing.

  Juliet had said so many times that God was there, listening, even when it didn’t appear that he was. Bad things happened because we live in a fallen world. Evil reigned. Satan was prowling around looking for someone to devour. He had devoured Joe and now he was devouring Jay and Jackson. Cathy couldn’t get her head wrapped around that. Why hadn’t God stopped these things? Why wouldn’t he answer the simplest prayers of a child whose father had walked out? Why wouldn’t he answer the prayers of a woman whose heart was breaking? Why did some families have tragedies over and over, while others sailed on without a blip?

  Sighing, Cathy started her car and decided to go home and try to call the judge again. If she could get him to answer the phone or call her back, maybe she could get Jackson back tonight. At least one thing would be settled.

  CHAPTER 30

  Holly left Juliet watching the post office at four, her boys in the backseat, munching on fries and playing video games. Holly was shaky as she drove up to the Haughton house. She hoped Warren hadn’t forgotten that she was coming. She went to the door, rang the bell, and remembered that she was supposed to have brought a toy for Jackson. She never thought to do the right thing. Her sister was the one known for her compassion and caring. Holly was always distracted by her own dramas.

  Anxiety twisted in her chest as she heard footsteps. The door came open, and she heard Jackson crying from deep within the house. Warren peered out. “Holly, it’s not a good time after all.”

  “Really? Because I was looking forward to seeing Jackson. Is he all right?”

  “He’s a little upset right now.”

  She looked past Warren, but couldn’t see the boy in the darkness of the house. “Maybe
I could calm him down.” Not waiting for an invitation, she pushed past Warren into the house.

  “Holly, I told you no!”

  “Jackson?” she called. “Honey, are you all right?”

  She heard the crying cease for a second, then footsteps as Jackson ran toward her. “Aunt Holly!”

  His eyes were swollen as if he’d cried for hours, and mucus crusted under his nose. He hiccupped sobs as he came to her. She stooped down and gathered him into her arms. “I want my daddy!” he said. “Where is my daddy?”

  Holly clung to him, wishing she could bring Jay to him. “Daddy’s still helping the police, honey.”

  “Uncle Warren said he was in jail. He said they’re never letting him out!”

  Shocked, she stared up at Warren. “Why would you tell him that?”

  “Because it’s true,” Warren said. “He was crying for his daddy. He needed to understand why he couldn’t come.”

  What else had he told him? Had he said that the police thought Jay killed Jackson’s mother? Was Jackson having to sort that out too? Rage burned on her face, but she tried to bite it back for Jackson’s sake.

  She took the child into the living room. Mrs. Haughton hobbled in from the kitchen, leaning on her cane and rolling her oxygen canister in front of her. She looked startled to see her. “Holly!”

  Holly didn’t care how sick the woman was; it was no excuse for cruelty. “Why have you let Warren fill Jackson’s mind with things about his dad? What good can come of that?”

  The old woman didn’t answer. Holly sat down on the couch and pulled Jackson onto her lap, and he buried his face into her chest and wept like an orphan. “I want to go home,” he cried. “I don’t feel good. My stomach hurts.”

  She stroked his hair and kissed his forehead, rocking back and forth. “Honey, Daddy’s gonna come back and get you. You just might have to wait a few days.”

  “He’s not in jail, is he, Aunt Holly? Uncle Warren lied.”

  Warren dropped into a recliner, his lips compressed in anger. Holly speared him with a savage look. “He’s just talking to the police, trying to help find the person who hurt Mommy.” A Kleenex box sat on the coffee table, and she grabbed one and wiped his nose.

  “I want to go back to Aunt Juliet’s,” Jackson said, hiccupping sobs. “I want to play with Abe and Zach and swim and sleep over.”

  As Mrs. Haughton lowered to the other end of the couch, Holly gave her a beseeching look. Mrs. Haughton turned to look at Warren, as if it were his call. “He’s staying here,” Warren insisted. “We’ll get through this.”

  “But why?” Holly asked. “When he’s clearly so upset, why would you make him stay?”

  “We do want him to be happy,” Mrs. Haughton said, stroking Jackson’s back with a shaky hand. “But he’s just having a rough spell. We all are. It’s understandable.”

  Holly looked at her closely. Her face looked gray, her lips, blue. Her face was as wrinkled as a discarded grocery sack. The woman was clearly declining. The house smelled musty, medicinal, and the only light was that from the windows. What must it be like for a young child to be trapped here — grieving for his parents while his grandmother’s life beat out of her?

  “I think you need to leave now, Holly,” Warren said.

  Holly wouldn’t let Jackson go. “I can’t leave him like this.”

  Warren stood up, tried to take Jackson from her. Jackson screamed an octave higher.

  Holly tried to shift gears. Flatter him, she thought. Do something! She racked her brain as Jackson clung to her. “Warren, I’ve always liked you,” she forced herself to say. “You’re a great guy, and I know you’re grieving. Don’t leave me with the impression that that’s not true.”

  “I don’t really care what your impression is of me,” he said over the boy’s cries. “My sister is dead. We’re keeping Jackson here.”

  She wanted to put her hands over Jackson’s ears. Why couldn’t Warren be more sensitive to him?

  “That’s enough!” Warren wrestled Jackson from her. “Time to go, Holly.”

  Mrs. Haughton looked as troubled as Holly. “Warren, you don’t have to be rude.”

  “Yes, I do,” he said. “This is ridiculous. She came over here to stir him up.”

  “You said I could come! He was already stirred up,” Holly said. “He was crying when I got here. I heard him.”

  “Of course he cries. He would cry if he was with Jay.” Still holding the fighting boy, he stalked to the front door, threw it open. “‘Bye, Holly.”

  “Warren, please.”

  “Leave!” he shouted.

  Reluctantly, Holly stepped through the door, turned back to say something, but he slammed the door in her face.

  She could hear Jackson’s wails through the door, and her heart shattered. How could a person willingly let a child suffer like that? How could he plant words in his mind that he shouldn’t hear, words that would keep him up all night?

  She went back to her taxi, sat behind the wheel, trying to pull herself together before she pulled out onto the street. She couldn’t tell Juliet what she’d found. It would break her heart, steep her in despondency. But Cathy could do something. She needed to know.

  She could work harder to get him back with his aunt. Jay had to have some say in this matter. She pulled a Kleenex out of her console, wiped her face, blew her nose, and took a few deep breaths as she drove to Cathy’s house.

  Ironic that she had such empathy for her nephew, when she had so little for her own child. She wondered if the abortion would hurt her baby, if he or she would have silent cries, if he would kick against the needle or whatever it was they used to pull it out of her womb.

  Nausea roiled up in her and she pulled over to the side of the road, vomited on the street. What kind of person was she? Was she just like Warren, putting her own needs ahead of her child’s?

  She closed the door, drank from her water bottle, trying to rinse the taste out of her mouth. Her hand went back to her stomach, to the little life that was growing there, the little trusting life who had no clue that its mother was considering snuffing out its future.

  But she couldn’t think about that now.

  Her phone rang. The agency. She hoped they wouldn’t realize she’d been crying. “Yeah, whatcha got?”

  “Pickup at the airport. They’re short on cabs today. Need you to head over there.”

  She drew in a deep breath. “Will do. I’m on my way.” There was no time to dwell on her sorrow now. She had to make a living. Rent was due next week and she barely had enough to make it.

  Pulling herself together, she headed to the airport and picked up a man who had a small carry-on bag. “Oceanside Rest Home,” he said.

  “Oceanside,” Holly repeated. Wasn’t that where Juliet said their father was living now? “Do you have an address?”

  “No, I’m afraid not.”

  “No problem. I have a phone book. I’ll look it up.” She found the address, then headed that way.

  “I haven’t seen my mother in a few months,” he said.

  Holly wished he wouldn’t talk. She wasn’t in the mood to be chatty. “Really? I’m sure she’ll be glad to see you.”

  “Yes, I’m sure she will.” Holly turned up the radio, hoping he’d take the cue to sit in silence. But he didn’t.

  “You don’t look like a cab driver,” he said. “How long have you been driving a taxi?”

  “About a year,” she said, embarrassed. “But I moonlight as a private eye.”

  “No way,” he said, amused and clearly impressed.

  Pride swelled within her. How long since she’d felt any sense of self-worth? It felt good.

  When they reached the nursing home, she told him the fare and waited as he paid. She sat, watching, as he walked in.

  Her father was just inside that building. She hadn’t seen him more than a couple of times in over ten years. Curiosity worked at her.

  What did he look like now? Would she even recognize him
?

  She pulled into a parking space and decided to go in. Juliet said he had Alzheimer’s, that he didn’t even recognize the daughter he knew best. He certainly wouldn’t know Holly.

  She went inside, looked around. There was a window behind which a woman sat at a desk. She leaned in. “Hi. My father is here, but I’ve never visited him before. Could you tell me what room he’s in? Ralph Cramer?”

  The woman looked him up among the hundreds of other names, then directed her to the Alzheimer’s wing. Holly went through the double doors. The hallway was clear except for a nurse’s aide coming toward her.

  “Hi,” she said. “I’m looking for Ralph Cramer.”

  The woman tipped her head toward the dining room. “He’s in there, eating.”

  Holly stepped into the doorway, scanned the faces of all the elderly women, and settled on two men at a table across the room. An aide was feeding them.

  “Don’t you see him?” the woman asked.

  Tears sprang to Holly’s eyes again. “Um … no. I’m not sure which one he is.”

  “You don’t know your dad?”

  Holly couldn’t look her in the eye. “No. I haven’t seen him in years.”

  “Oh, let me show you.” She pointed. “He’s the one on the right. Nice man. Real sweet.”

  Holly smiled. That was good to know.

  “Go on in. He may not know you, but he’ll be glad to have company.”

  Fear stalled her. “I … I don’t know. Maybe I’ll just stand here … I really just wanted to see him.”

  The nurse’s aide probably thought horrible things about her, but even that wasn’t enough to make Holly approach him. She just stood there, staring across the room at the man who had left her when she was a child.

  Mashed potatoes dribbled on his chin. The aide who was feeding him was rushing him. She looked bored as she shoved mixed spoonfuls into the men’s mouths. They chewed too slowly, obviously irritating her.