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“I don’t think she knew I was the father. I mean, you and her…” Zeke struggled for words, his gaze on Hudson, who’d gone unnaturally quiet. “You were together during that time?”
There was a long silence. Zeke’s anxiety and torture over wondering what Hudson was thinking and feeling filled the room. Becca felt light-headed and sank onto one of the kitchen chairs. The past consumed the present. You’re not pregnant, she told herself. You just want it so badly your subconscious is making you think you are.
But you haven’t used birth control, have you? Haven’t thought about it!
Hudson’s cell phone rang and Zeke and Becca both visibly jumped. He pulled it from his pocket and checked the Caller ID. “It’s Mitch,” he said.
“Maybe I should go.” Zeke looked to Hudson for confirmation, but his friend had turned his attention to his cell. Becca nodded to him. There wasn’t much more to say, and Hudson was clearly still processing.
Zeke hesitated, but when he heard Hudson say, “Hey, Mitch, what’s up?” he left, shoulders hunched, through the back door.
Becca glanced over and saw Booker T.’s empty water dish. She wondered when Hudson was going to put it away. The dog wasn’t coming back.
But maybe there’ll be a baby…
Hudson listened for a few moments, then said into the phone, “Why don’t you just tell me, Mitch? I don’t think anything could surprise me now. If you know who killed Glenn, just say it. And don’t tell me it’s Jessie, because I just learned those bones are definitely hers. Yes. For a fact.” His gaze met Becca’s and he said into the receiver, “That’s right. Jessie did not send the notes because she’s dead.” He listened a little longer, then half sighed and said, “You’re at the garage? How long are you gonna be there?” A pause. “Sure, I’ll stop by.” He shrugged to Becca as he hung up.
“Mitch is working late at the garage and wants me to stop by so he can talk to me about who killed Glenn.”
“All your friends are suddenly into confessions,” Becca murmured.
“You still feel sick, or do you want to go with me?”
“I’m okay. I can go. Think it’ll be all right with Mitch? Maybe he wants to see you alone.”
“To hell with that. I want to be with you.” He pulled her into his arms. She hugged him so hard he started laughing.
“Are you all right?” she asked, her face pressed into his chest. “After what Zeke said?”
He exhaled a short breath. “Y’know, I’m almost relieved. Thinking the baby was mine, and I never knew…pissed me off. I’ve been really mad at Jessie-and she’s been dead for twenty years! She never told me. I don’t know how to explain it, but I was goddamned mad at her.”
“I understand.” A whisper of fear swept over Becca’s skin. She’d kept that same secret herself.
“I’m not mad at Zeke. I would have been at the time, but a lot’s happened and I just don’t care.” He stroked her hair. “And I believe Zeke. He didn’t know she was pregnant. I don’t know why she was killed-maybe she just ran into the wrong person-but I don’t think it has anything to do with the pregnancy.”
“Neither do I.”
“Are you ready to go see Mitch?” he asked.
She curled her fists into his shirt and said, “Would it be bad of me to say, ‘not just yet’?”
“Did you have something else in mind?” She heard the thread of amusement in his voice.
For an answer, she took his hand and led him back upstairs.
The garage was full of the smells of oil, dirt, and stale cigarette smoke, though no one was allowed to smoke inside. Mitch swiped the sweat from his brow with a red cloth stained with grease. He was sweating like a pig and trying like hell not to freak out. The card he’d received had scared the shit out of him, but now he had other worries loading him down. He’d had stomach problems ever since Glenn had died in the fire at Blue Note. He forced a picture of Glenn trapped in that damned inferno from his mind, but hell, he missed him. They’d been good buds. He’d listened when Glenn pissed and moaned about Blue Note or Gia. He’d been there.
And he and Glenn had bonded over getting their asses kicked by The Third and Jarrett time and again. Jesus, those bastards could make life miserable if you had a few extra pounds or some other kind of weakness.
Good old Glenn.
He tasted acid burning up his throat.
“Just the medication,” he said, then clapped his trap shut. He didn’t want Mike, the owner of the garage, to have any inkling that he was on prescriptions. Mike, an ex-druggie, was death on anything put in a person’s bloodstream, even those prescribed by a doc.
So Mitch kept his pills on the down-low. No one but his doctor knew what medications were in his night table drawer or his body. But lately these new antidepressants coupled with his sleep aids had been playing tricks with his mind. He’d been hallucinating.
Or at least he thought he was. Who the fuck knew?
