Authors: Virginia Brown
Tags: #Fiction, #General, #Mystery & Detective, #Sagas
“Better for you, maybe, but not for me.” Mikey looked down at his hands, head bent and his voice so low Chantry could barely hear him. “Where will you go?”
“I’ll get a job, work construction, maybe. Landscaping. I learned stuff with Dempsey. I’ll be fine, and when I get some money together, I’ll come back to see you. You know I will.”
“I know you’ll mean to. Things have a way of getting all messed up, though.” Mikey lifted his head to look at him, eyes watery with tears. “If you leave me, Chantry, I won’t have no shark anymore. Who’ll I have to take care of?”
He knew what he meant, and stared at him helplessly.
Mikey stared back, and he looked so much like Mama right then that Chantry could barely breathe. The dog whined, and he looked over at him. His throat got all tight, and the hard knot in his chest got heavier.
“Shadow can be your shark. I don’t need him anymore,” he said. “Besides, he’d only slow me down on the road, and I’d worry about what to do with him while I’m working. You take care of Shadow now, okay?”
It was the best thing. He knew that. Maybe he’d always known it. He shoved away from the post and went to the backpack he’d left on the floor, hefted it up to swing over his shoulder. All it held was the box of letters and photographs, pieces of a past he’d never been part of but that still had the power to change his life. Sometimes it didn’t seem fair, and sometimes it seemed like it was all that made any sense. The past shaped the present, even when it wasn’t his own. His past would only end up hurting Mikey, hurting the dog, and he’d figured out that there were times it was better to let go too early rather than too late. He couldn’t wait any longer. He had to leave now before it was too late.
Mikey looked up at him, but he knew better than to touch him or he’d never be able to walk away. It was the hardest thing he’d done yet, but he loved him enough.
“
Chan-treee
,” Mikey wailed when he turned away, moving blindly across the flagstones to find the gate, find the way out before he made another mistake.
He was almost to the end of the curved driveway that dipped to the street when a white and blue car swung in front of him, blocking the way. A blue light flashed on top, a quick burp of siren sounded, and he knew he’d waited too late.
It shouldn’t have been such a surprise. When would he learn to pay attention to instinct instead of get bogged down in irrational emotion? The police here weren’t much different from those in Cane Creek, impersonal and efficient, bending him over the hood of their car, taking away the backpack and emptying his pockets, then cuffing him with his hands behind his back.
One of them said, “You Chantry Callahan? Well, we’ve got a warrant for you.”
By then, Miss Bettie had come out the front door, hurrying toward them with her hands out and shouting at them to stop. “No, no, you’re not supposed to do that.”
“Stay back, ma’am,” one of the officers said, “we’ve got a runaway here that needs to go with us.”
“Runaway? I’ll have you know that’s Doctor Callahan’s grandson, and I doubt very much he’ll appreciate you arresting him.” Miss Bettie looked furious. She wasn’t a tall woman, but she was sturdy, with reddish brown hair and dark eyes that spit sparks right now. “Mrs. Callahan’s in the house, and if you’ll just wait a moment, I’m sure she’ll tell you anything you need to know.”
Chantry didn’t think it’d make much difference. In his experience, the police still liked to ask a lot of questions and make up their own minds about stuff. Besides, even if she wanted to, what could his grandmother say that’d make any difference?
Maybe Mama had gotten her way of talking from her mother, because his grandmother did make a little difference. Whatever she said to the police when she came outside and spoke to them made them come inside to talk, and they all stood in the living room he’d seen only from the hallway. It had those big paintings on the wall of people in old clothes, with skinny dogs and muscled horses, and the furniture looked too spindly to hold the weight of a decent-sized man.
Standing with his hands still cuffed behind him, Chantry stared at a painting of a little boy in a dress and tried not to focus on this latest betrayal. Miss Bettie had disappeared back into the kitchen, he guessed, and it was just his grandmother and him and the police now.
“Ma’am,” one of the officers said, “we got a report that we’d find a runaway here. Mr. Bert Quinton down in Cane Creek, Mississippi says he stole a lot of money. Ten thousand dollars.”
Chantry turned to look at him. He hadn’t expected that.
The officer was polite but firm. “Apparently, this boy’s had a few run-ins with the law before. He’s got a record in Mississippi. Mr. Quinton wants him back in Cane Creek to face charges of theft.”
“Mr. Quinton is mistaken.” She sounded angry but controlled. “I spoke to him earlier this morning when I called to ask about the details of my daughter’s death. He mentioned nothing to me about stolen money, and in fact, had no idea that Chantry was even here.”
“Well, now that he knows, he wants him picked up for extradition to Mississippi. You’re welcome to have your attorney handle this, but the boy’s going with us for now.”
His grandmother turned to look at Chantry, eyes searching his face as if trying to decide if he’d done what he was accused of doing. Even if he had the words, he didn’t have the energy to deny it. He just looked back at her. After a moment, she turned back to the police.
“This boy is not a thief. My attorney and I will meet you downtown, but I warn you—if one hair on my grandson’s head is harmed, I’ll hold you personally responsible.”
The Memphis police weren’t as rough with him as those in Cane Creek, but then, he didn’t try to resist when they put him in the car, either, just did what he was told and didn’t argue. The irony of his situation didn’t escape him. He was being accused of stealing money that had burned up with Rainey, his mother’s insurance money that Quinton had helped steal. The old man probably really did think he’d taken it. Ten thousand dollars.
Like he’d want it. Like he’d ever be able to buy anything with it except what Mama had wanted for Mikey. He thought about that on the ride downtown, staring out the windows at the buildings they passed, thinking about Mama growing up here. Thinking about the fact that he was the reason she’d argued with her father and left in the first place. Maybe she’d stayed away for more reasons than that, though.
The place they took him was far different than the juvenile detention center in Mississippi. There were a lot more kids for one thing, and for another, it was a lot like adult jail, with bars and concrete block walls, and prisoners in jumpsuits and shoes with no laces. It was the stuff of his nightmares, with hard-eyed kids and indifferent guards. They put him in a room by himself for now, took his boot laces and left him cuffed to a chair, waiting, he guessed, on his grandmother and her attorney.
He didn’t hold out much hope for his future. Quinton was ruthless. Chris had warned him about that. Maybe he should have listened. He just didn’t know what he could have done different than he’d done.
Police tactics must be pretty much the same everywhere, he thought when an officer came in to talk to him, asking questions about the missing money, if he’d stashed it somewhere and how much easier it’d be for him if he’d just tell the truth.
“You mean easier for you,” Chantry said finally, “not for me. I know what happens once you find out what you want to know. Can’t help you out. I don’t have the money.”
“You had over two hundred dollars in your pocket when you were picked up,” the officer said, and leaned back in his chair to look at Chantry. “Where’d you get that?”
He didn’t answer. No point in betraying Dempsey when the outcome would be the same no matter what he said or did. The less old man Quinton knew, the better it was for everyone.
When the second police officer came in, Chantry began to think he’d been left on his own after all, that his grandmother had changed her mind about an attorney. It wouldn’t surprise him. And he wouldn’t blame her, either. Not really. She’d first met him less than twenty-four hours ago, and since he had a history of trouble with the law, she may well figure he was guilty in spite of what she’d said. If he wanted to get out of this, he’d better think of a way on his own.
This officer was fairly young, a black woman with a wide smile and sympathy gleaming in her eyes. He wasn’t fooled. If she could get him to confess, she’d do it without thinking twice.
“Welcome to Memphis, Chantry,” she said, and pulled out a chair opposite him. “I’m Lieutenant Johnston. I’m a lot nicer than Griffin here. He gets bitchy. How ‘bout those cuffs? Too tight? We could see about taking them off, if you want.”
Officer Griffin said something rude and glared at Chantry. “He’s just about to tell me how he managed to get away with ten thousand dollars. Leave the cuffs on. What you got to say to us, boy?”
“Can’t you come up with something better than good cop, bad cop?”
Lieutenant Johnston laughed, but Griffin reached out to kick his chair. Chantry looked at him, wondering if he should tell what had really happened, if anyone would believe him. Maybe they’d find some of the money, pieces of it, enough to know he was telling the truth. Maybe not. The explosion had been pretty bad. As far as he knew, Rainey was spread over half of Quinton County and the money with him.
“Look,” Johnston said, “I know you’ve got a lot going on right now. While I’d like nothing better than to give you plenty of time to decide what you want to do, there’re people who want you back in Mississippi pretty quick. We can avoid that if you just tell the truth.”
Part of him wanted to believe her, believe that she could stop the extradition, keep him out of Quinton’s reach, but logic whispered he should keep his mouth shut until he had a legal aid lawyer. It shouldn’t be that difficult to decide. But maybe he was just kidding himself. He’d been headed this way for a long time. There were consequences for what you didn’t do as well as what you did do.
He looked up, saw Johnston give Griffin a glance, then the door behind him opened and his grandmother came striding in with a tall, narrow-shouldered man right behind her.
“Chantry, don’t say a word,” his grandmother said. “This is Mr. Pace and he’s now your attorney.”
After that, it went a lot more quickly. Pace produced some paperwork, said a few things about the rights of a minor and lack of evidence, spouted a few Latin terms, and then the cuffs were off his wrists and he was given back his boot laces and shown out the front door. Mr. Pace and his grandmother exchanged a few pleasantries on the front sidewalk, and she said she’d have Chantry in his office first thing the next day. Then she turned to him.
Sunlight picked out some gray in her hair, but most of it was still a soft brown, like her eyes. “Well, Chantry, this has been a busy morning indeed. How hungry are you?”
He blinked. She lifted a brow at him when he didn’t answer. He fumbled for something to say, then just shrugged. “Not too.”
“Well, I’m starved. All I’ve had all morning is coffee. I’ve been on the phone trying to sort through things. We need to talk without Mikey nearby, and I need some food.”
She’d parked on the street in front of Juvenile Court, a four-story building of red brick, and he followed her to the silver Jaguar by a meter. He’d never been in this nice a car, not even Cinda’s mother’s or Dale Ledbetter’s. Leather smelled new and rich. He fastened his seatbelt and tried not to think about Cinda. He still had her bracelet, in the backpack along with his mother’s letters
. . .
damn.
“Where’s my backpack?” He shot his grandmother a quick look. “It has—stuff in it.”
“I know. I have it. It will be returned to you in the same shape, I promise. First, we have to talk.”
She took him to a small, quiet restaurant that overlooked the Mississippi River. It was hard to think that this was the same river that bordered Cane Creek; here it looked almost serene, with barges and riverboats nudged up against old cobblestones and sunlight glittering on the surface. It was deceptive. He knew how quickly the river could suck the unwary down with undercurrents and treacherous sandbars. Sometimes it felt too much like his life. Just when he thought he was going along pretty good, he’d hit a sandbar or undertow.
“Chantry,” his grandmother said when a waiter had served their food, “I need answers from you before I can make any kind of decision. Once I know where we stand, I’ll know what to tell Robert Pace.”
“I thought you were supposed to tell your lawyer everything.” Chantry looked down at his cheeseburger. It was as big as the plate, with thick fries at one side and a sprig of something green that looked like a weed.
“That can be tricky. It all depends on the truth.”
He looked up at her. She met his eyes and didn’t look away. “And if the truth isn’t what you want to hear?” he said finally.
“I’ll listen anyway. And we’ll decide what’s best to tell Robert. Now. Start where you feel comfortable, but tell me how you came to be accused of stealing ten thousand dollars.”
He didn’t know where to start. None of it felt comfortable. Maybe it’d all started with the dog anyway, because that’s when he’d begun to learn about far-reaching consequences.
“Chantry.” She leaned forward. “Nothing you can say or do will make me think less of my daughter, or change the fact that you’re my grandson and I’ll do for you what I should have done for Carrie. I can’t go back and make things right with her now. This is my opportunity to make things right for you and Mikey. Please. Give me that chance.”
Then he found himself telling her about Rainey, about Mama and how she’d just wanted Mikey to be okay, about how he’d let her down and how angry he’d been with her, and how sorry he was now that he’d never told her how much he loved her. He told her about Quinton, most of it anyway, except the secrets that weren’t his to tell, like Tansy and Chris, and Julia. He didn’t know if he’d said too much or too little, but it was more than he’d ever talked at one time in his entire life, and when he was done he felt sick and exhausted and thirsty. And he didn’t even know if she’d believe him.