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“He said Chloe and Danny should come to Florida, too, so they could heal.”
“Chloe could use a bit of time away from here.”
“We’ll probably have to go to court.”
Popa B chuckles. “I reckon we’ll all be there.”
“Um, yeah, when did you get a gun?”
“Had once since I was about fifteen.”
“I’ve never seen one.”
“That’s because a responsible gun owner only brings it out when necessary.”
I want to ask him what Jesus would think, but I don’t.
“You need any more reason to go with John Paul other than he’s your husband? It’s best for Nora not to hear the gossip, and he wants you and Nora and Danny and Chloe who are lucky to be alive there. We’ve had news vans around our little neighborhood all day. Been able to keep Nora busy, but if they come knocking on the door, it won’t be easy.”
I nod and tell them, “I love you both so much. I hope you know that.”
“Whitley Mae, you’ve never given us a reason to question the depth in which you love us or anyone else.”
“This will all blow over soon enough, and you all can come home whenever you want. We’re always going to be here.” Popa B winks. “Always.”
I end the call and flip through screens as I head to the bathroom to fix my face and pull myself together before Danny and Chloe wake up and also to call Laurie and try not to start crying all over again.
20
Tuesday
Last night, when York went to the house, she spent hours going through Nelly’s phone.
Today, Marks and one of the State boys and their tech geek ran the numbers. Nelly never erased, pictures, messages, or her call history. Most of the numbers she’d called were no longer in use, all prepaid numbers connected to … no one. None of the numbers ever called or messaged were to Whitley or Pastor and Mrs. B. The phone was clearly a burner, just like the ones she’d contacted through it. The phone was last used the morning of the accident that took her life. Pictures still remained as well. Pictures of locations, like street signs or Now Entering signs and many of public parks. She also took photos of her dashboard, showing dates and times. On the morning of her accident, she took the only selfie on the device; it was of her and Nora. It was the only way to prove the phone was in fact hers, aside from fingerprints. The team York and Marks had put together were looking into those locations, hoping to find surveillance cameras that still had footage dating back that far.
They pulled up the accident report, which claimed she was at fault. With only one vehicle involved, it would be hard to prove otherwise, but not impossible, thanks to the evidence on the phone.
I didn’t like the fact that I was lying to Whit about the location change of the meeting, but I dislike her worrying even more. Marks had booked a room at the hotel, where he and the State boys, as well as a federal agent, prepared me with a wire for the meeting. I left my phone there as well, swapping it out for one that had a tracking device in case shit went sideways.
It’s not going to.
Stepping off the elevator that opens up to Kevin Seward’s offices on the top floor, I expected to be stepping into a bustling hive of volunteers buzzing about. But there isn’t. There’s not even a receptionist at the desk. Beyond reception are desks covered in flags, banners, and posters, emblazoned with the Seward name and slogan. One corner looks like a war room with maps and graphs of polling data. No doubt where they plot the campaign’s next move, like generals on a battlefield. Giant whiteboards and cork-boards are covered in sticky notes, charts, mapping out precincts, fundraising goals, and messaging strategies.
Another corner is a cobbed-up press area with cameras, lights, and microphone stands, ready to capture false promises.
“Come on back, John Paul.”
I turn toward the doorway Kevin Seward is standing in.
“They’re all out for the next couple hours, which will give us plenty of time to hash this out like men.”
I walk in as he sits in a large leather chair across a mahogany table. I unbutton the sport coat I’m wearing and pull the phone out of my pocket, make a show of scrolling through messages that are not there, and power it off.
“I’d prefer no interruptions.” I set the phone, screen up, on the desk.
He chuckles. “I leave my cell with my receptionist at eight o’clock and don’t pick it up until I leave the office. Just surprised to see you doing that with all the happenings in Walton. I heard some Spud character attacked a friend of yours and one of Whitley’s just last night.”
I feel my jaw tense and want to slap that fake-as-hell look of concern off his face.
