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Jack’s anger was always slow to build, but once it reached a certain point, an explosion was inevitable. The tension had only grown between us since our earlier conversation, and I was wishing I could start the morning with a do-over. What I wasreallywishing was that I could stay in bed and pull the covers over my head for the next few hours.
Jack’s movements were controlled and his mouth pressed into a tight line as we transferred the contents of the Suburban down to the basement. I stayed silent and watched him stew, knowing I was the reason for most of his frustration. I just waited him out patiently and watched as he kicked the back tire of the Suburban.
“This is my fault,” he finally said. “You don’t need to deal with something like this so soon after coming back. The killers knew we’d start looking for them as soon as we found out what the symbol branded into Reverend Oglesby was. Cocky bastards. And it doesn’t get much plainer than this that you can’t trust anyone.”
“No more than I ever did,” I said, touching my finger to the paint. “It’s still tacky.”
“I’ll call the tow truck and have them take it in. I want you to keep the doors locked today. Stay inside until I come back for you, and make people use the buzzer.”
“I—”
“Don’t argue with me, Jaye. I’m not in the mood.”
My own anger was perilously close to the surface. I wasn’t going to argue, but I wouldn’t promise either. I had responsibilities to the dead man inside the house, and at some point I needed some personal time as well. I hadn’t expected to jump back into the fray quite so soon, and my nerves were begging to frazzle.
“I’ll have a patrolman do a drive-by every half hour. This group lives by their own rules, and we don’t know how many are involved or who. I’ve got an appointment to talk to the sheriff over in Westmoreland this morning, but I should be back by noon unless I run into complications.”
“I don’t mean to discredit your deductive reasoning,” I said between clenched teeth, “But this incident very well might have been done by someone who just doesn’t want me to come back home. I’m not the only one who blames me for what happened in December. It’s easier to point the finger in my direction than anyone else. It’s in the blood, you know.”
“If anyone wants you out of this town, they’re going to have to go through me first,” Jack said. “And we all have bad blood somewhere in the line. It all comes down to choices—right and wrong—and you’ll never convince me otherwise.”
Jack squeezed my shoulder once and then took out his cell phone to call George Murphy for a tow truck while I let myself in the side door. Jack had already checked the inside to make sure nothing had been tampered with, but I kept my gun close by just in case.
I put on another pot of coffee and jumped as Jack came in.
“George will be here in twenty. I’ve got to take off.”
“Okay then,” I said to the door after it closed behind him. “Still pissed.”
I bolted the door and then went to check my messages. There was one from Floyd Parker at the Gazette, wanting an interview about Reverend Oglesby’s death.Fat chance of that happening, asshole.And there were three other similar messages from reporters in King George Proper, Nottingham and Newcastle. They were all vultures, and I’d as soon as shoot any reporter rather than give them the time of day. Reporters hadnotbeen kind to me in the past. Especially Floyd.
And then blessings upon all blessings, there was a lone message from Deborah Perry, the daughter of Mrs. Perry. The same Mrs. Perry who’d been on Reverend Oglesby’s list of patients on his hospital rounds and had passed away the day before. I almost wept with gratitude when I heard she wanted Graves Funeral Home to take care of the body. She’d heard I was back in town just in time to make the decision. The only problem was I didn’t have a vehicle to retrieve the body from the hospital.
I called Deborah back and told her we’d retrieve the body sometime that afternoon, and that she could come in at the same time and handle all the paperwork. Mrs. Perry’s death was going to save me for a few weeks, as morbid as that sounded. She was also going to pay for the damage done to my Suburban.
I heard the tow truck in the driveway, the scrape of the bed being lowered and the rattle of chains. George Murphy stood at the switch, his white t-shirt and jeans already stained with fresh grease. His dark hair was pulled back into a tail at the nape of his neck and his icy blue eyes were covered with Ray-Bans. He worked with a graceful competence despite his size. And his temperament. George was a bastard by most people’s standards, but he was a damned good mechanic. Not to mention he owned the only shop in Bloody Mary, so public relations weren’t really a worry for him.
I gnawed at my lip in indecision. Jack would be back by noon, and I’d be perfectly safe in a public business in the middle of the day. I grabbed my purse and keys and locked up the delivery door, ignoring his order. Part of it was just stubbornness because he’d used his Lord of the Manor voice to issue the order. The second part was because if I didn’t go with George and wait on one of his men to do the work, I’d be lucky to see the Suburban sometime in the next week.
“Morning, George,” I said, slipping on my sunglasses. “Can I catch a ride with you?”
In all honesty, George Murphy scared the hell out of me. He was a big man with a quick temper and fast fists. He’d been a murder suspect when his wife had turned up dead, but it didn’t look like his attitude had improved any with the declaration of his innocence.
“No room,” he said tersely and hit the lever so the Suburban was lifted to the back of the truck.
I looked at the empty passenger seat and decided I’d have to play hardball. George could sense weakness a mile away, and I had a body to pick up that afternoon. Ineededmy vehicle.
“I’ll just ride along up front then,” I said, opening the truck door before he could say anything else. “And don’t worry. I’m sure I can find plenty of things to keep me occupied while someone is working on the Suburban. Jack said he’d be by before noon, so it’d be best if it was finished by then.”
I didn’t mind using the threat of Jack when necessary. Jack was the one person George could be intimidated by. George didn’t say anything to acknowledge I’d actually spoken, but he didn’t physically remove me from his truck and toss me across the lawn either, so I figured I was in good shape.
It wasn’t a long drive to Murphy’s Auto Shop, and I thought it best not to mention that George ran two stop signs and almost sideswiped Mrs. Meador on the two-mile trip. Most of the people out and about got out of the way as soon as they saw the tow truck, and I unclenched my fingers from the door handle when I saw George’s satisfied smirk. Nope. I’d been right about my initial observation. His wife’s death hadn’t softened him one bit.
As soon as he backed the tow truck into the driveway of his shop, I had my door open and feet on solid ground before the engine turned off.
“Mornin’, Doc Graves. Heard you was back.” Wormy Mueller spat a stream of tobacco juice and wiped the grease off his hands with a dirty bandana. Wormy didn’t weigh a hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet, and his age was somewhere between thirty-five and sixty-five. If he had a name other than Wormy, I’d never heard it.
“Back and making an impression, it seems,” I said, pointing to the creative vocabulary on the side of the Suburban.
