Roots of Murder (3 page)

“No, I don't want to talk to Josh. I want you to tell me what happened in school today.”

“Ah, Mom, just the usual stuff. I got a B+ on my math homework.

“That
is
pretty unbelievable. Why do I suspect that wasn't what you were so breathlessly going to tell Janet?”

“Mom!” Lizzie let out an exasperated whine, making the word two syllables. “It's nothing, okay? Why do you have to always question everything I do?”

It's probably nothing, Nell told herself; someone broke off the
three-week
-long,
love-of
-
their-life
relationship to date someone else. Nothing for moms to be involved in.

“We'll talk when I get home,” she said, not quite willing to let Lizzie win the point. Was that good mothering or just damn stubbornness? “I'll probably be a few hours more, so try … try to keep things calm.” In the past, she'd said “try to stay alive,” but that wasn't funny anymore.

Nell saw Kate come out of the store with a surge of mothers and children. She said a hasty goodbye—clearly Lizzie was waiting for a more important call—and headed to her car.

Kate had been to the camping section and gotten stakes, a long roll of heavy twine, a large plastic storage container, and enough water to replace all they'd already swallowed twice over.

“Sale,” she said as she loaded the jugs in the trunk.

“Good idea, although it's a struggle to get my kids to drink water unless it's disguised as lemonade.”

“At least it's not Scotch with it.”

“Yet. How much does the Crier owe you?”

Kate handed her the receipt. “I'll pay for the water.”

Nell glanced at the amount. “Don't worry, it was on sale. Did you … mention what we're doing?”

“To the thongs of
just-out
-
of-school
kids?”

Nell pulled out of the lot and headed back out of town. “I did some thinking while wandering the hardware store. Just because the murders happened years ago doesn't mean it's over.”

“‘The past is prologue.' But aren't you going to put this on the front page of the paper?”

“Eventually. I haven't decided whether to run it this week or not. Might be better to know more. We're a weekly paper—it's not like we can win the breaking news contest.”

“Do you think someone from here murdered those people?”

“Someone buried the bodies here. How could a stranger know where to go?”

Kate's cell phone rang.

As she drove, Nell listened to Kate's side of the conversation. It was Rebecca, Kate's graduate professor, calling back. Her colleague from LSU was interested in studying the remains, but probably couldn't get to Pelican Bay until a few days later.

The oak tree hadn't moved, nor had the purple bandana. Nell parked the car, Kate ended her conversation, and they got out.

The sun had gone, and clouds heralding the
soon-to
-come rain had appeared.

Kate packed the supplies into a canvas tote bag, leaving, Nell noticed, the lighter stuff for her. Kate slung the bag over one shoulder, then tucked the plastic storage container under one arm.

“What's that for?” Nell asked as they started down the trail.

“Jane Bone. It might be a good idea to take the skeleton we've mostly unearthed with us. Sheriff Hickson or Chief Brown—not likely, I know—should get out here and secure the site sooner than later, but I can't see that happening today and I don't want to leave the bones out overnight.”

“What do we do with them?”

“Got room in your refrigerator?” Kate said.

“Josh would love bones in the fridge. Lizzie would hate it and swear that I was trying to ruin her life.”

“Guess it's the morgue, then, and Josh gets to settle for pictures.”

The encroaching clouds darkened the day. The unmarked graves in the bright daylight had been unsettling; the gray gloom made Nell feel that at any minute, deep organ music would begin. She and Kate worked quickly, covering the ground with the tarps, staking the corners and weighing them down with rocks and tree branches. Kate carefully packed Jane Bone into the storage container as Nell took a final round of pictures, proof of how they had secured the site. Animals would be more than happy to gnaw on the old bones. But Nell felt a prickle that it wasn't animals they had to worry about.

three

Nell made the rounds,
dropped off Jane Bone with the amazed morgue staff. She and Kate had said little, merely alluded to a long-ago lost hunter. She wondered if they were both spooked by the bullet hole and chains, or taking reasonable precautions. After that, Nell dropped off Kate, and only now, with the gray of the day dissolving into night, was she heading home.

“Shit,” she said out loud as she turned into her driveway. “Shit,” she repeated because she knew how much it would annoy the person whose car blocked hers.

Her
mother-in
-law's big boat of an auto was parked there. Mrs. Thomas Upton McGraw, Sr.—Mrs. Thomas, Sr. as Nell thought of her—had busted Nell. Kids home alone, no parental supervision.

If she hadn't been sure at least one of the three waiting pairs of ears had heard her, Nell would have seriously considered heading back to the office. Not that it would have changed anything, but she was dirty, and tired, and wanting something to eat and a long, soaking bath.

She had gotten along well with her
father-in
-law, and he and Thom had been enough padding between Nell and Mrs. Thomas, Sr. for them to have a congenial relationship. Four years ago, when Thom's father died, the tension had increased. Nell's version was that Mrs. Thomas was lonely and wanted more attention from Thom and her grandkids. That had led to times when Nell was left without a husband, or stuck doing double parent duty. Of course, it didn't help that she never felt approved of by Mrs. Thomas. The McGraws were an old family. Nell was the daughter of a large
blue-collar
Midwestern family, her parents the first generation born in America.

With Thom's death, their fragile cordiality had shattered. When he had been alive, leaving Josh and Lizzie for a few hours while they worked late had never been an issue. The children were old enough to know better than to play with matches or stick their fingers in electric sockets, and not yet at the age where they might sneak out to buy drugs or have sex on the couch. They could be more or less counted on to do nothing more troublesome than forget to do their chores.

But with Thom gone, Mrs. Thomas had huffed and puffed about not leaving the children alone. When Nell was exasperated, as she was now, she called it controlling, meddlesome, and a few other choice words. On more charitable days, she saw it as a way for Mrs. Thomas to be needed and connected to her grandchildren without admitting any of that to Nell or herself.

But tonight—after Nell let out some of those choice words—there was nothing to do but go inside.

“Mom, you're home,” Josh greeted her.

“Nell, where have you been?” Mrs. Thomas asked, giving her dirty clothes a look. “Certainly not at the office.”

“Hello, Mother. Hi, Josh. Where's Lizzie? No, not at the office,” Nell said slowly, not sure how much she wanted to say. Her
mother-in
-law wasn't the reporter her husband and son had been—they would have quickly understood digging old bones in the woods for a story. Instead Mrs. Thomas, Sr. would see a single mother by herself (or almost, with only another woman for protection) in a place where people were murdered, and, most grievous of all, leaving her children home alone.

“I drove by, saw the lights on and that your car wasn't here, so I checked in.”

“Lizzie's in her room on the phone,” Josh answered. He was taking on Thom's role of mediating between them, Nell noted. Lizzie, on the other hand, was decidedly isolationist; she wanted to be nowhere near the battlefield.

“Lizzie is fourteen, Josh twelve. They're old enough to be by themselves for a few hours,” Nell told her
mother-in
-law in as calm and nonconfrontational a voice as she could.

“I'm not so sure,” Mrs. Thomas replied, using the same coolly nonconfrontational tone Nell had used; Nell noted that it was pretty annoying coming from the other direction. “Times have changed since you grew up. Even towns like Pelican Bay have their dangers.”

“Mother,” Nell said, the coolness slipping from her voice, “I can't follow them around
twenty-four
hours a day. Even when Thom was alive, there was no guarantee we could keep any and every bad thing from happening. Lizzie broke her leg with you, me, Thom, and Thomas all there.”

“Still, Nell, I don't see why you can't bother to call me when you know you have to be late. Or just stick to a regular schedule, like Thom and Thomas used to do.”

Nell could remember no such regular schedule, certainly not for Thom. He was often out at all hours, usually with his father. Between Thom and Nell, they managed to be home on a somewhat regular basis, but it was unreasonable for Mrs. Thomas to expect Nell to manage that and run the paper at the same time.

She was too tired to prevent the words from coming out. “If Thom kept such a regular schedule, we wouldn't have been on Post Road after midnight.” And I wouldn't be a widow and we wouldn't be standing here arguing like this, she silently added.

“Mom,” Josh said softly, taking her hand.

“Nell! You shouldn't say such things in front of … ” Mrs. Thomas trailed off.

“I think they know,” Nell retorted. Then she caught herself. This would solve nothing. She needed to find a way to
de-escalate
before it became really nasty. “Mother, I appreciate your concern, but I can't do the things two people did. I do call, I do check up on them; Josh and Lizzie knew I would be late.” She thought of ratting on her children, telling Mrs. Thomas they knew they could go to her place—Lizzie showed remarkable enough facility on the telephone that she could call her grandmother—but that Josh and Lizzie didn't want to go. However, even to avoid an argument, Nell couldn't be that venal. Whatever the petty satisfaction, it wouldn't make things better to tell Mrs. Thomas that her grandchildren preferred the dangers of being home alone to her company.

“I know we're all going through a hard time.” Mrs. Thomas regained her cool politeness. “But I do wish you wouldn't leave them home alone, especially when I can be over here so quickly.”

Agree, then do it your way, had been one of Thom's mottoes. Nell saw no reason not to apply it to her
mother-in
-law. “I will try to make sure that the kids are either with you or some other adult if things come up.” She wondered if TV would count as having adults around.

Lizzie finally came out of her room. In teenage obviousness, she rolled her eyes at the thought of having to call her grandmother to babysit if Nell wasn't here. Nell pretended not to see.

“However, I really wasn't coming over here to check on you,” Mrs. Thomas continued. Lizzie rolled her eyes again, even more obviously to make sure that Nell saw. “I wanted to know if you've been getting phone calls from”—she looked down at a piece of paper in her hands—“Tanya Jones.”

“She's calling you?”

“You know who she is?”

“Yes, don't you?”

“The name is … a little too familiar to me,” Mrs. Thomas said slowly. “What have you said to her?”

So I have to reveal all my dealings while you keep yours to yourself, Nell thought. Maybe it was how women survived in the South thirty years ago—never reveal an opinion until it was safe.

“I've told her to … ” Nell searched for a polite way to say it. “That I will do everything I can to see her husband in prison.”

Mrs. Thomas slowly nodded, still maddeningly not revealing her thoughts. “Mrs. Jones told me that her husband has had time to think things over in the jail—she said they just couldn't afford the bail, it was set so high and that it must be nice to be friends with a judge—that he was reading the Bible and had seen the error of his ways.”

“Nice to know he's seeing errors. To me she said he made one mistake and he shouldn't have to suffer years in jail for one minute of mistake.” They were standing in the kitchen; much as she wanted to sit, Nell was reluctant to do so as it might inspire Mrs. Thomas to do the same and extend her visit. But she was curious about Tanya and her new approach. Curious and angry.

“I gather she thought that appealing to the Christian in me might be her best argument,” Mrs. Thomas said.

“And did you find it ‘appealing'?” Nell asked.

“Perhaps if J.J. Jones has finally found God in jail, then that's where he should stay. The outside didn't seem to be leading him down a righteous path. But she didn't quite stop with his jailhouse conversion. She also mentioned that his brothers aren't happy about him being locked up. She said”—Mrs. Thomas again consulted the paper—“that they were really upset about not having their little brother to help at the garage and she didn't know what they might do.”

“They threatened us?” Nell almost shouted. Josh, still holding her hand, squeezed it.

“Not us. You. She said … ” Mrs. Thomas glanced at the paper but read nothing off it; she was avoiding looking directly at Nell. “She said they've always protected their little brother, and, as angry as they are, she wouldn't want to be you.” With that, Mrs. Thomas looked again at Nell. “Tempting as vengeance is, can you pursue it if there's danger?” She gave a bare nod of her head towards Josh and Lizzie.

Nell was silent, her outrage unspeakable—at least in words she could use in front of Mrs. Thomas, Josh, and Lizzie. Finally she said, “How dare she? A hint of a threat and I'm supposed to back down? Let him get away with his drunken murder?”

“What do you gain and what do you lose?” Mrs. Thomas asked, the same words, the same cadence, that had so often come out of Thom's mouth.

Seeing the echo of her dead husband in his mother took Nell to the hollow place where anger and grief seemed unquenchable. She burst out, “I lose my
self-respect
, I lose my chance to live in a moral world, I lose the rule of law if it can be overcome by a whisper, I lose … ” She faltered. I lose Thom's memory if it can be so easily sold away. She didn't say that to Mrs. Thomas. Nell continued, her voice harsh with fury: “What do I gain? The illusion of safety. Let's make the streets safe for drunk drivers. It can be Josh or Lizzie next time. Besides, it's the state vs. Jones, not Nell McGraw vs. Jones.” But she was the state's star witness. If she decided not to cooperate, the case would be hard to prove.

No one spoke. Finally Nell broke the silence. “I'm not angry at you, Mother. I know that you've just been tapped as the messenger. But I am angry at … ” At everything, certainly at Thom's death and the shallow people who didn't want their mistakes to interrupt their lives, but also at living a life that was Thom's dream, having to raise their two children alone, the implacable changes that had slammed into her life.

“I understand, but I thought you should know,” Mrs. Thomas said in the cool voice of hers that never let Nell know what she was really thinking.

“I do want to know. Tell me if she calls again. But it doesn't change things,” Nell answered firmly.

There seemed little else to say. Mrs. Thomas picked up her purse and with a hug and a kiss from Josh and Lizzie, and a brief, stiff hug for Nell, she left.

Lizzie revealed the real reason for coming out of her room. “Mom, what's for supper? I'm starving.”

“Mary's Pizza,” Nell answered. That would make Josh and Lizzie happy and it would get her out of cooking. It would also give her a chance to soak in the tub while waiting for the food to arrive.

While Josh and Lizzie were in the kitchen making the momentous decision of which toppings to get, Nell slipped behind the bar in the den and poured herself a generous dollop of Scotch. She put the drink in the bathroom before heading back to the kitchen to give Lizzie the money for the pizza. She told them to be vigilant for the sound of approaching food.

We now worry so much about each other, Nell thought as she started the bath running. She added water from the tap to the Scotch, then took a long swallow. One week after Thom had died, and four days after the funeral, she'd drunk herself into oblivion. It had been a moment of sheer
self-absorbed
self-pity
. She'd thought Josh and Lizzie were safely in bed and sat in the living room, refilling her drink time and again, attempting to slip into a void that didn't have sharp knives everywhere she turned: the desk in the corner with invitations replied to for events they would never attend together, a bed that seemed too empty and the groggy moments when she reached for him, the
sailboat-pattern
dishes he had liked so much—all the little details and moments that had been their life together were still so present in this house. In that lonely hour, Nell couldn't bear to look at them. So she'd refilled her glass again. But Josh and Lizzie weren't asleep enough to ignore her dropping the glass on the kitchen floor. They'd come running out of their rooms, too keenly aware that people close to them could get hurt to ignore the harsh shattering of glass. Nell was too drunk to hide it even from her children.

Lizzie had simply wailed, “Mom, I can't believe you've done this!” and stormed back to her room. Josh had silently cleaned up the mess even while Nell told him to leave it until morning.

The next day, Nell had simply said, “I'm sorry, I just fell apart. It won't happen again.”

Now they worried about one another. Too much? What was too much worry? Josh and Lizzie would worry if they saw Nell take a drink. She would worry about them worrying. Mom was all they had left and if Mom couldn't function … She took another sip, then stripped off her dirty clothes and stepped into the tub, with the Scotch carefully placed on the floor. Sometimes it felt like the days were made of these fragile moments—her
mother-in
-law stopping by, wanting to take a drink after a long day. These should be small moments in an average day, but now they had long shadows.