Magnolia Wednesdays (17 page)

“He’s worried about you,” Marty said. “He seems to think you’re hiding something.”

She winced. “Who, me?”

“I just spoke to him a few minutes ago. He’s reachable on the satellite phone for the next few hours.” There was a pause. “The guy’s out in a war zone worrying about you, Vivi. I think you need to set his mind at rest so he can pay attention to what he’s doing.”

Her mind raced. Not talking to Stone was hard. Talking to him was even harder.

“Seriously, Vivi. Don’t jerk the guy around. Stone deserves better than that.”

That was for sure. “I won’t. “

His message delivered, Marty moved on. “So when are you coming back? Stone seemed to think you were coming up for some interviews?”

Vivi sighed. Lying to Marty felt almost as bad as lying to Stone. “I’m not sure,” she said. “I just don’t know yet. I’ll let you know if I get something firmed up.”

Vivien hung up. For a time she simply sat with the phone in her lap trying to figure out what to do; the secrets she was keeping loomed so large she couldn’t imagine how she could stop them from slipping out. Before she could chicken out, she placed the call to Stone.

Coward that she was, she almost hoped he wouldn’t pick up. But he picked up in the middle of the first ring.

“Greetings from the back of beyond,” he said.

Vivien closed her eyes the better to enjoy the sound of his voice. “How are you?” she asked. “Is everything okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said. “Things have been a bit quieter here than I expected.” He said this with regret, but Vivi was glad. The constant jagged-edged worry for his safety smoothed out ever so slightly. “We’ve been in villages so small they’re not on any of our maps. But once we get a little deeper into the border region things will heat up.”

“Just like you like it.” She knew better than to admit to the worry; they’d been together too long for that. It was simply part of their relationship, just as danger was part of his job.

There was a brief moment of silence in which she could practically feel him getting ready to question her. Not wanting to be forced to lie outright to anything he might ask, she took charge of the conversation.

“I met with Blaine Stewart and the agent in charge of J.J.’s case yesterday and I wondered if I could run something by you,” she said just as she had countless times over the years. She trusted his instincts more than anyone else she knew; Stone had often helped her pick apart and analyze the threads of a story she was trying to piece together.

“Always.”

She smiled. It was his stock answer to her request for help. “We went through the file.”

“Mmm-hmmm.”

She thought about how sure she’d been that she’d find something that had been overlooked. How eager she’d been to make Clay Alexander responsible. But it was hard to argue with the evidence. “There’s nothing inconsistent with the finding of accidental death. No cause for suspicion. The wound—well, calling it a wound is a gross understatement—was clearly self-inflicted and consistent with what would have happened if the rifle went off while he was cleaning it.”

Stone didn’t comment, knowing she’d want to lay it all out for him first, but even she could hear the disappointment in her voice. “When they interviewed him at the scene, Clay Alexander told them that he saw J.J. carrying his rifle over to the couch in the study just before he went outside; he’d told Clay he was going to clean it. Clay was still outside when he heard the gunshot.”

There was a silence and then, “And?”

“And he went running back inside and found a lot of J.J.’s head splattered all over the place.” She swallowed, glad they’d removed the photos before showing her the case file. Even more glad that Melanie would never see them. “They found bone fragments imbedded in the wall behind the couch where he was sitting. The only fingerprints found on the gun were J.J.’s.”

“So that’s it then.”

“Yeah. I guess so.”

“There’s that tone again,” Stone said. “You don’t think it was an accident? Or you don’t think he killed himself?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I don’t really know what else could have happened. Something just feels . . . off.”

There was another silence while they both processed her answer.

“I have a lot of respect for your instincts, Vivi,” Stone said carefully. “But you know cops. They’re suspicious folks—rightfully so. And if they didn’t see a need to look further, well, it could be because there is no reason.”

Vivi knew this; she’d been telling herself this since yesterday. But something niggled. Clay Alexander had been the only one there, and Clay Alexander looked awfully comfortable as acting head of his former best friend’s family.

There was another protracted silence. “So what are you planning to do next?” Stone finally asked.

“Who said I was going to do anything?” Vivien asked.

“Vivi,” Stone said, “I may be on the other side of the world, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still know how your mind works.” His tone was gentle, but there was something underneath it that Vivien didn’t want to address. As long as he didn’t come out and say that he knew she was hiding something from him, she wasn’t going to go there. “You certainly have the skills to look into this further. But the findings seem pretty clear. And you have to consider how Melanie would feel about you poking around in this.”

Vivien remained silent, but not because she didn’t know the answer. It had taken two years, but Melanie seemed to finally be moving on with her life. And Clay Alexander, for all that Vivi couldn’t define his role or motivation, was a part of it.

“This is not a work assignment, Vivi,” Stone reminded her. “You have a choice.”

But did she? Didn’t Melanie deserve to know the truth? Didn’t everyone?

Vivi had screwed up her chance to be there for Melanie and Shelby and Trip when they needed her most. She was not much of a caregiver, not then and not now. But she was good at hunting down information. She could give them the gift of knowing what had really happened if, in fact, the truth differed in any way from what the GBI investigation indicated. Surely there would have to be some peace of mind in that.

“I could look a little further without saying anything,” Vivien said. “Ask a few questions, see if there are any leads that weren’t evident at the scene. I don’t mean physical evidence necessarily, but maybe looking back at J.J. and Clay’s history might turn up something. If I’m barking up the wrong tree, Melanie doesn’t ever have to know. I can just satisfy my curiosity and that’ll be that.”

“I feel compelled to remind you what happened the last time you conducted an investigation that touched your family,” Stone said quietly. That was the thing about Stone; he had her thirst for truth, but he was able to weigh the pros and cons much more objectively.

“Good point.” She could still remember Harley Jenkins’s shock when she’d exposed the longtime senator’s illegal use of campaign funds, how much angrier her parents had been at her than at the behavior she had revealed. It had propelled her away from home and family. Relationships that had not been exactly great had become infinitely worse. Was she willing to take that chance again? Should she?

“The truth can only hurt her if I tell her. Which I wouldn’t have to do.” Vivien sighed. She missed Stone at this moment almost more than she could bear. “There’s something about Clay Alexander that makes me think he’s not exactly what he seems. At the very least he knows more than he’s said. I have this nagging feeling that he’s hiding something. I just don’t know what.”

“Frustrating, isn’t it?” Stone asked, reminding her again that it was much more than miles that stood between them. “Sometimes you have to wait for people to tell you things. Even when what you really want to do is wring it out of them.”

17

T
WO DAYS BEFORE Thanksgiving, Vivien, unlike Shelby, awoke to the blare of Shelby’s alarm clock. Pulling on an old robe of Trip’s decorated with cowboy boots and lariats that she’d found in the back of her closet, she pushed her feet into a pair of ancient slippers and rooted around in the back of her closet for the pot and spoon she’d hidden there. Her eyes popped fully open when she realized they were gone.

In Shelby’s room, Vivi crossed her arms in front of her chest and considered the sleeping teenager. “Verrry tricky,” she said to the tip of Shelby’s nose, which was practically all that stuck out from beneath the covers. “But not tricky enough.” After a check of both closets, Shelby’s laundry basket, and a pile of dirty clothes that Vivien had to hold her own nose to get close to, she was forced to acknowledge that Shelby had done a better job of hiding the ejection device than Vivi had.

Still, there was a mission to accomplish. With a flick, she silenced the alarm clock so that she could think. In the resulting quiet she could hear Shelby breathing, the sound of Trip’s shower and Melanie in the kitchen below. Unwilling to resort to brute force, she scanned the bedroom for a new means of ejection. Her gaze landed on a long discarded New Year’s Eve party hat. The feather in its crown drooped beneath a heavy layer of dust. Smiling evilly, Vivien applied it to the tip of Shelby’s nose.

“Aaaaaacchhhhooooo!” The force of the sneeze jack-knifed Shelby’s body upward into a sitting position. The second sneeze forced her eyes open.

“Bless you.” Vivi hid the feathered hat behind her back. “And good morning! Time to rise and shine!” Knowing just how annoyed Shelby was by perkiness of any kind, Vivien laid it on thick. “Today is the first day of the rest of your life!”

Shelby sneezed in response.

“We’re running a little behind this morning, so you might want to get moving.” Vivien smiled as she said this, then broke into an ultraperky rendition of “Tomorrow” from
Annie.
She’d barely belted out “The sun’ll come up . . . tomorrow. Bet your bottom dollar . . .” when Shelby threw off her covers and climbed out of bed. “How much would it take to get you to go home?” she growled. “I’ll get a job to pay for it. Just tell me how much!”

Vivien laughed, but she didn’t move. She’d learned the hard way not to leave the room until Shelby did. On Monday Shelby had doubled back, gotten into bed, and fallen back asleep. By the time Melanie got her to school, Shelby had missed her first two classes.

Vivien let herself enjoy today’s victory. She was still smiling with satisfaction when she reached the kitchen. The look on Melanie’s face wiped the smile from her lips. “What?” she asked, moving toward the kitchen counter where Melanie stood, a section of newspaper clutched in her hands. “What is it?”

“It’s not that bad,” Melanie said tentatively. “It’s just kind of . . . bitchy. Not really damaging or anything.”

Vivien held out her hand for the paper.

“It doesn’t even mention you by name,” Melanie said. “Hardly anybody will know it’s about you.” She handed Vivien the section of the
Atlanta Journal-Constitution
, which was neatly folded open to Just Peachy, by Matthew Glazer.

The lead sentence jolted Vivien completely and irretrievably awake.

What investigative journalist from Atlanta’s uber-connected political family has lost her network gig?
she read.

Oh, shit.

It has come to Just Peachy’s attention that one of our own is back from her stint with CIN with her tail tucked firmly between her legs. Although the former investigative journalist claims to have quit to pursue other opportunities, this reporter did not just fall off the turnip truck and knows that no sane journalist would willingly give up such a position.

Sources here say she’s just home to recuperate from the wound she received when she screwed up her last assignment. But New York folk say differently. Stay tuned for more as Just Peachy investigates.

“Oh, Lord.” Vivien dropped the column on the counter and slid onto the barstool. “Glazer thinks he’s got some real story here; he won’t rest until he makes me the laughingstock of the journalism world.” Not that her appearance on YouTube hadn’t already achieved this.

Melanie pushed a cup of tea and a croissant toward her. “Don’t worry about it, Vivi. No one cares why you left CIN. And I know when you’re ready to do something else, you will.”

Melanie’s faith in her made Vivien feel even guiltier about using her sister’s life as fodder for a column she was too embarrassed to put her name on. Not to mention her plans to look into J.J.’s death. “What is the circulation of the
AJC
, anyway?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Melanie hedged. “A quarter of a million? Maybe a little more?”

Vivien closed her eyes and covered her face with her hands.

“But probably only about half of those know our family well enough to have any idea who he was talking about.”

Vivien was still processing this when Melanie went to the back stairs and shouted up. “Hurry up, guys! You’re going to miss the bus and I don’t have time to drive you to school.”

Trip pounded down the back stairs into the kitchen.

“Just grab a breakfast bar or something,” Melanie said to her son. “I can get you to the bus but I can’t drive you to school today.”

Vivien looked up, noticing for the first time that Melanie was fully dressed and made-up. “Where are you going?”

“I’ve got an eight A.M. doctor’s appointment. I’m going to have to run in a few minutes.” Melanie poured Trip a glass of milk, then walked back over to the bottom of the stairs. “Shelby!” she shouted up again. “Get down here!”

Melanie got her things together and began to pace the kitchen floor. “That girl! If I don’t leave right this minute, I won’t even be able to get Trip to the bus. And I asked for this early appointment because it’s the only time you don’t end up waiting for an hour to be seen.”

Vivien looked more closely at Melanie, who looked ready to hyperventilate. “Go on, Mel,” she said. “Drop Trip at the bus stop on your way. I’ll get Shelby to school.”

“But she’ll be late again, she’ll have another tardy, she’ll lose her incentives, she’ll . . .”

“Melanie, stop it!” Vivien grabbed her sister by the shoulders and forced her to stop pacing. “Trip, go with your mother.” He looked up at her surprised by the note of command in her voice. “Now.”

The boy picked up his backpack. Rummaging through the piles of stuff on the counter, Vivien located Melanie’s keys and placed them in her palm. “Go. Stop worrying. I’ll get her there as fast as I can, but she’s going to have to learn the consequences of her actions, Mel. If all those things you’re worrying about happen, then you’ll just have to let Shelby deal with it.”

Melanie looked stricken, “But the bell is at eight fifteen and . . .”

“Just go.” She closed Melanie’s fingers around the keys then located her purse and slung it over Melanie’s shoulder. “Really.”

Melanie and Trip raced out the door at seven forty-five. Shortly before eight A.M. Shelby strolled down the stairs in a black corduroy skirt that barely covered her rear end and a low-cut sweater that she’d failed to put anything under. She seemed surprised not to see her mother or brother.

“Where’s Mom and Trip?”

“Your mother dropped Trip at the bus. She had an early doctor’s appointment. But I believe she mentioned that to you.”

Shelby shrugged as if it was of no concern to her. “What’s for breakfast?”

“Whatever you get for yourself after you go up and change.”

“There’s no time to change.” She took in the cowboy robe and slippers, Vivien’s lack of makeup. “How am I supposed to get to school?”

It was Vivien’s turn to shrug.

“But I’m going to be late. And I’m hungry.”

They glared at each other for a long moment.

“Fine, I’ll just drive myself,” Shelby declared, storming toward the hook where the spare keys were kept.

As she passed, Vivien held up her hand, from which Shelby’s keys dangled. “Not an option,” she said.

Shelby stopped. “So how do you suggest I get to school?”

“Personally, I’d like to see you have to walk after the way you blew off your mother.”

Shelby’s mouth tightened.

“But I’m prepared to take you after you change. You can bring something to eat with you in the car.”

“But I’m going to be late.” Shelby’s nonchalance had been replaced by panic. “Will you write me a note? Say I had an appointment or something?”

“No,” Vivien said calmly, though she was relieved that Shelby did, in fact, care about school, however hard she might try to hide it. “You had plenty of time. And if you didn’t have to be dragged out of bed every morning and change your clothes before you left every day, you’d have even more time. You’re freaking your mother out every morning for no reason. And it’s time for you to stop.”

Without another word Shelby stomped upstairs. Drawers opened and shut, doors slammed. Five minutes later she was back to take a granola bar from the pantry and a bottled orange juice from the fridge. “What are we waiting for?”

Not bothering to dress, Vivien got into the RAV4 and fired it up. She and Shelby made the twelve-minute trip to school in silence, and while Vivien wouldn’t go so far as to say that signaled a truce, she did hope they’d reached some sort of meeting of the minds. Melanie let Shelby get away with things because she was overwhelmed and alone and she was so busy racing from obligation to obligation that she couldn’t take the time to dig in her heels and make Shelby toe the line. Well, at the moment Vivien had all the time in the world. If nothing else, she could run a little interference for Melanie.

Vivien was on her way back to Melanie’s when the car began to slow of its own accord. By the time she reached LA Fitness, she was barely moving. Not understanding what was happening, Vivien pressed harder on the gas pedal, but the car continued to slow. Virtually at a stop, Vivien tried to pull over to the side of the road but glided to a stop straddling two out of three lanes instead. The Toyota’s front bumper edged up to the curb. The only open lane was a left turn only. She looked down and realized she was wearing only a cowboy robe and slippers.

Vivien didn’t know what she was supposed to do next. The laying on of horns all around her made it impossible to think, but not to forget that she was practically naked. Before she could decide what to do, a siren screamed above the blare of horns. A flashing blue light raced into view.

The line of cars stuck behind her shifted as best they could to let the police car through. Moments later the siren went silent in midscreech. A car door opened and slammed shut. At least the police car’s arrival had silenced the blaring horns. In the quiet she could hear boots thudding across asphalt, crunching on loose gravel. Vivien was thinking small, but it didn’t seem to be working any better here in the middle of Roswell Road than it had in the Wall Street parking garage. Through the windshield she watched the Vietnamese couple come out of the dry cleaner to see why traffic had stopped. The barber shop beside it began to empty out. A few drivers managed to make a right turn into the strip center parking lot and circle back in the other direction. Everyone else sat in their cars waiting for her—or the approaching policeman—to do something. The stress and irritation emanating from the crowd hung like a cloud in the chill morning air.

The boots made a final crunch against the grit on the road as they came to a halt. She lowered the window and felt the crisp morning air rush over her. There was a short bark of male laughter. “I should have known,” a familiar voice said.

Vivien turned to look at the policeman. It was the same one she’d met on her first outing. “Hello, officer . . . ” she said.

“McFarland,” he supplied. “License and registration, please.”

She handed them over.

“What seems to be the problem?” he asked.

Careful not to look out her passenger or rear window or anywhere else where she might have to see the pissed-off expressions of those around her, she said, “I don’t know. It just . . . stopped and I couldn’t make it to the side of the road in time.”

“Put it in neutral and let’s get you out of the way.” He commandeered the driver directly behind her to help him push as she steered over to the side, then he had her turn on her emergency flashers. With a wave of his hand, he started traffic flowing again. She thought she saw Catherine Dennison drive by and considered flagging her down, but the blonde’s gaze was fixed straight ahead and she had a cell phone pressed to her ear. Pucci gave her a good look though; she had the oddest impression the dog was laughing.

Officer McFarland leaned in through the window. “There’s no sign of smoke or overheating. Turn the ignition on and let’s look at your gauges.”

She glanced down toward the ignition and saw a bare thigh poking out from the robe. With a groan of embarrassment, she pulled the robe closed just as the instrument panel lit up. Vivien was too flustered to register what she was looking at. Officer McFarland wasn’t. “You’re out of gas, Miss Gray. It’s a funny thing, but these vehicles just don’t do well without it.” His tone was dry.

Vivien closed her eyes and hugged the steering wheel. So far this morning had completely sucked and it was only eight thirty. She would have liked to put her head down on her arms and cry out her frustration and embarrassment, but with her luck someone would whip out a camera phone and put her right back on YouTube. Or in another edition of Just Peachy.