"Did I hear you right, that
you didn't find any evidence outside my house?" Lane asked.
Buddy shook his head. "No,
ma'am, we didn't find a thing, except a spot outside the kitchen windows
that looked like somebody had stomped on the marigolds planted in the
flower beds."
"Then, you have no idea who
shot Johnny Mack… in the back?"
"Sure don't." Buddy looked
everywhere but at Lane. His eyes darted to the floor, to the ceiling,
past her shoulder and even at Quinn. "How is Johnny Mack? Any word on
his condition?"
"He's been in surgery for
right at five hours," Quinn said. ''We haven't heard a thing in
three hours. A nurse told us then that the bullet wound in his arm wasn't
too serious, but the bullet that went into his back collapsed one of his
lungs and did some other internal damage."
"Well, that's too bad. I promise
y'all that I'll do whatever I can to find the person responsible."
Buddy glanced at Lane, but avoided prolonged eye-to-eye contact by letting
his gaze wander. "Tell me exactly what happened tonight?"
"I was walking up the back stairs
when I heard two shots. I ran down the stairs and saw Johnny Mack lying on
the kitchen floor. He'd been shot in the back and in the arm. He was bleeding…
there was blood on his shirt and on the floor." She gasped for air. Quinn
put his arm around her shoulders. She breathed deeply-in and out, in and
out-until she calmed. "I must have screamed really loud. Lillie
Mae came running out of her room, and when she saw what had happened, she
called 911. Within a couple of minutes, Will and Quinn came into the
kitchen." "Did you see anyone outside?" Buddy asked.
"Even a shadow?"
"No, I didn't see anyone, but
then my main concern was Johnny Mack."
"Of course." Buddy nodded.
"Do you have any idea who might have shot him? I mean, do you have a
good reason to suspect someone in particular. I know that Johnny Mack
made a lot of enemies before he left town fifteen years ago, so there's
probably more than one pissed-off husband whose wife Johnny Mack fu-er…
fooled around with back then."
"Fifteen years is a long time
to hold a grudge, don't you think?" Quinn asked.
"And you and I both know the real
reason why Johnny Mack left town, don't we, Buddy?" Lane raised her voice
just a fraction.' 'And it wasn't because some woman's husband had threatened
him."
Buddy's face flushed, and sweat
popped out on his forehead. "I'll need for you to come down to the
station… later on… and sign a sworn statement. With you already being
accused… well, it sure does look bad, your being found with a second
dead body.''
Lane gasped. Quinn's narrowed gaze
bored into Buddy Lawler.
"Johnny Mack is still alive!"
Lane said.
"Well, yeah, I know, but five
hours in an operating room doesn't bode well for his recovery, now does
it?"
Lane wanted to hit Buddy Lawler.
Hit him repeatedly. Smash the asshole's face in! He was a cocky little
son of a bitch who couldn't hide the pleasure he seemed to feel over the
possibility that Johnny Mack might the.
"Have you finished questioning
Ms. Graham?" Quinn asked. "If so, I suggest you leave. You
aren't wanted here, Chief."
"I'm finished. For now."
Quinn wheeled Lane around and walked
her back into the waiting room, then closed the door behind them.
"Lawler's counting on Johnny Mack dying, but he's going to be disappointed.
It would take more than a couple of slugs to kill him. No way would he
die and give so many people in Noble's Crossing that much satisfaction."
Lane chuckled softly. "You
know him well, don't you? You know he's a survivor."
Quinn squeezed Lane's shoulders.
"Got that damn straight."
The minute Lane sat on the tan
vinyl chair just inside the doorway, Lillie Mae came over and offered
her the canned cola. "Are you all right?"
Lane nodded. "I'm okay. But if
Buddy Lawler had stayed another minute, he wouldn't have been okay. I'd
have strangled the son of a bitch."
"What did he say to you to upset
you?" Will asked as he approached.
"Oh, sweetie, it doesn't matter
what Buddy said. And I didn't mean to curse. But I'm so angry, I could… I
don't care what anyone thinks; Johnny Mack is going to live." Lane
grabbed the cola Lillie Mae offered, took several hefty swigs and then
set the can on the wood-veneer table beside her chair. "Why don't
y'all sit down?"
"I think I'll go downstairs
and find a coffee machine," Quinn said. "I'm not much of a cola
drinker. Besides, I need to walk off some of this pent-up energy." He
glanced at Will. "Want to go with me?"
"No, thanks. I'll stay
with-" Will halted mid-sentence as he stared past Quinn.
"Ms. Graham?" A short,
stout, blond nurse stood in the open doorway.
Lane shot to her feet "I'm
Mrs. Graham."
"Dr. Gordon will be in to talk
to you in just a few minutes," the nurse said.
"How's Johnny Mack?" Lane
asked.
"Mr. Cahill is out of surgery
and holding his own.''
A collective sigh of relief resonated
throughout the room. Lane's stomach flip-flopped. When Quinn slapped
Will on the back, the two grinned at each other.
Lillie Mae said, "Thank you,
Lord."
A couple of minutes later, Dr.
Gordon spoke to them briefly, updating them on Johnny Mack's condition
and explaining, in layman's terms, the surgery and its aftermath. Once
Lane heard the words, There's every reason to believe Mr. CahiU will have
a complete recovery, the doctor's voice seemed to fade away as did the
rest of the world. Nothing else mattered. The man she loved was going to
live!
"The man has nine lives!"
Edith Ware complained, as she clawed her nails up and down the arm of the
Duncan Phyfe sofa on which she perched. "Obviously, he can't be killed."
"Seems you're right, my dear,"
James said. "The man is indestructible. You can't beat him to death.
You can't drown him. And apparently he's impervious to bullets."
James had assumed that Johnny Mack
would be dead by now, but instead he was recovering quite nicely in
the local hospital's SICU ward. But even if Johnny Mack was still a threat
to him, he could use the man's near-death experience to his advantage.
While Edith and Buddy were so consumed with Johnny Mack, it was the perfect
time to put his plan to leave town into action.
'If he'd died, it would have made
all our lives easier," Buddy said. "A dead man doesn't tell any
tales."
"If he ever breathes a word
about…" Edith lowered her voice. "About Kent having abused
Mary Martha, I'll find a way to shut him up. When I think of the scandal…
the shame… what people will think and say about Kent and Mary Martha. About
me.
James guffawed, amazed that his
dear wife could actually be concerned about scandal and shame, especially
when her son's murder was front-page news. "The Graham family seems
to have thrived on scandal. After all, Mr. John had a reputation as a
womanizer and a hell-raiser. And you, my dear, are notorious for being
a first-class bitch."
"The liquor has made you quite
bold." Edith sneered at her husband. "But I warn you, be careful
what you say."
James downed the last drops of whiskey
from the glass he held, then crossed the room and poured himself another
drink. Disregarding Edith's warning, he continued his assessment of
the Graham family. "Of course, you've done a rather good job of keeping
your… er… dalliances discreet. A few people may suspect that you have
a penchant for younger men, especially after you married me, but
they don't know the real truth, do they-that you've been whoring around for
years with guys young enough to be your son."
"Shut the hell up!" Buddy
lunged toward James.
"Stop it. Both of you."
Edith stood, her head regal, her spine stiff. "Fighting among ourselves
is stupid."
"My goodness, Buddy, you certainly
did seem to take personal offense at my accusations. You aren't by
any chance fucking my wife, are you?"
"You're drunk, James,"
Buddy said. "Why don't you just shut up before I knock you on your
ass."
James found the situation ludicrous.
But then his whole life had become a travesty. Sometimes he felt as if
he were trapped inside an insane asylum. All he wanted, all he had wanted
for several years now, was to escape, to run away with Arlene, before
he succumbed to the lunacy that plagued this house.
"So that's the way it is,"
James said. "You can't screw Mary Martha, so you've settled for screwing
her mama."
Buddy rammed his fist into James's
face. James went flying backward, into the wall. As he slumped over, slid
down the oak paneling and his butt hit the floor, he thought he heard
Edith cursing.
"I didn't hurt him much,"
Buddy said. "But if he ever says anything about Mary Martha again,
I'll kill him."
James wiped his mouth and felt something
sticky. Blood. His lip was bleeding. And he would probably have a big bruise
on his jaw. Damn, Buddy might be a small man, but he had a wicked right cross.
"Are you all right,
James?" Edith asked.
"I'll be fine." Bracing
himself by placing his hands behind him on the wall, James managed to
stand. "I suppose I went a bit far, didn't I? And for that I apologize.
Just the liquor talking, you know."
Get out of here, James told himself.
Leave the room before you spout off again and Buddy winds up knocking your
lights out permanently. The good police chief had a mean temper. And
when it came to Mary Martha, he was totally unreasonable.
"Think I'll go out to the kitchen
for an ice pack," James told them. "You will excuse me, won't you?"
Buddy glowered. Edith simply nodded.
James breathed a sigh of relief and headed toward the kitchen. While
he was rummaging in the freezer for ice cubes, his cellular phone rang.
For just a minute he thought about not answering, in case it was Penny
inquiring why he hadn't come in to work today. Or had she already called?
He couldn't remember. He had 1 definitely consumed too much alcohol
this morning.
After removing the phone from his
shirt pocket, he flipped it open and placed it to his ear. "Mayor J Ware,"
he said.
"Jamie?"
''Arlene?'' He spoke her name in a
hushed whispered. "I just had to call you when I heard about Johnny I
Mack getting shot. Is it true?"
"Yes, it's true. Last night, someone
shot him through the kitchen window at Lane's house. But the bastard's
still alive, and I'm in as much hot water as ever, maybe more."
"Oh, Jamie, you-you didn't shoot
him, did you?"
Chapter 24
Lane lay across her bed and listened
to the rain dripping from the roof, a soft pitter-patter blending with
the cadence of the slow, steady downpour. Outside her windows the sky
was gray and gloomy. A September steaminess filled the air, heat and moisture
combining as it does only in the South. This was languid, lazy weather
that sapped a person's strength and induced sleepiness. Lane had promised
herself that she would take a nap while Will was at school and Lillie Mae
was at the grocery store. Quinn had taken a flight to Dallas three days
ago to attend to some urgent business, and they didn't expect him back until
the weekend. So she and Johnny Mack were alone in the house.
Lane hadn't been sleeping much at
night, mostly tossing and turning as she thought about her upcoming trial.
Less than two weeks away. And they were no closer to discovering Kent's
real murderer than the police were to apprehending a suspect in Johnny
Mack's shooting. To hear Buddy Lawler tell it, the shooter might as well have
been a ghost, for all the evidence he had left. Not one clue, except the
bullets taken from Johnny Mack's body. Identified as.30 caliber, 180
grams, the bullets, according to ballistics tests, had been fired from a
bolt-action Remington 700. An Alabama deer hunter's weapon of choice.
T. C. Bedloe had commented that the shooter must have been an experienced
gunman to have gotten off two shots so quickly. Of course, in a town where
over half the men were avid hunters, that didn't narrow the field much.
During the two weeks since Johnny
Mack's return home from the hospital, she had smothered him with tender,
loving care, and Lillie Mae had pampered him like a baby. Trying to deal
with a man accustomed to living an active life, who had suddenly been
forced into inactivity, was like attempting to tame a wild beast. He
growled and grumbled and often roared with rage. Lane understood
that a great deal of his frustration centered on her-the fact that he
had yet to accomplish his objective and save her from standing trial
for a murder she hadn't committed.
Of course, they were all worried
about Will and concerned about his determination to remember everything
that had happened the day Kent died. He had undergone three hypnosis sessions
the week when Johnny Mack was in the hospital, but when all three attempts
failed to erase the last fragments of his amnesia, Dr. Agee had suggested
taking a break. She had told them that Will was pushing himself too hard.
And Lane knew why. Not only was her son desperate to save her, but he believed
that if he could remember the person he'd seen hiding in the shrubbery
the day of Kent's death, then they would discover not only Kent's murderer,
but the identity of the man or woman who had shot Johnny Mack.