Truth-Stained Lies (9 page)

I
want my son back with my sister!” Jay had remained relatively calm since being arrested, but since Cathy told him that Jackson had been removed, he’d begun to shake and pace the floor. Al and Max watched him carefully, as if taking mental notes about his behavior. “This isn’t right. I’m his father.
I
say where he stays. I haven’t lost my parental rights just because you guys are barking up the wrong tree!”

Cathy tried to quiet her brother. Insulting the police wasn’t going to do any good. “Detectives, I need a moment alone with my client.”

Al uncrossed his legs and slowly got up. “Let us know when he’s ready to resume.”

As they walked out, Cathy turned to Jay. “I know this is upsetting. I’m upset too. I’m working on getting him back.”

“How can you do that? You’re also working on getting
me out of here and solving this murder. You can’t do everything, Cathy.” Perspiration shone on his face. “I want to get another attorney. An experienced lawyer who can focus on getting me out of this.”

She gaped at him. “You’re firing me?”

“No, but I need a heavy-duty criminal defense attorney.”

She crossed her arms and threw her chin up. “You don’t think I’m heavy-duty?”

“Cathy, this is not about you. I want you to work on getting Jackson back with Juliet until I get out of here. And maybe you can follow some leads and figure out who killed Annalee. If you’re tied up in all these interviews with me, you can’t do that.”

She had to admit, there was wisdom in what he was saying. She wasn’t that experienced in murder cases, and she hadn’t practiced law for the last two years. He did need someone top notch. She couldn’t let her pride get in the way.

She sighed. “Then I’d recommend Lawrence Pratt. I can call him right now. He’s gotten a lot of high-profile defendants acquitted of murder charges.”

“I don’t need someone who gets guilty people off. I need someone who gets
innocent
people off.” He dropped back into the chair. “But right now, I don’t even care. Just go take care of Jackson. He must be so confused. Being told his mother is gone, that he’ll never see her again this side of heaven, and watching me being arrested. Then being forced to go to a house where his grandmother is slowly dying. Why does she want him?”

“I think she’s just not thinking clearly,” Cathy said. “Warren isn’t helping matters.”

“But Warren has never even spent time with Jackson alone as far as I know. He never pays any attention to him.”

Cathy shook her head. “Maybe he’s just trying to do something for his sister.”

“Don’t defend him!” Jay bit out.

“I’m not,” Cathy said. “But grief does different things to people.”

“The only person whose grief matters to me is Jackson’s. Why can’t they think of him? Cathy, don’t I still have parental rights? They can’t take my child away against my will until I’ve been convicted of something, can they?”

“They do have the right to make arrangements for a child’s custody when his only remaining parent isn’t able to care for him. And when his grandmother filed for custody … well, she’s the closest kin. She knows the judge really well. He’s a friend of the family. He probably thought he was doing the right thing, taking care of Jackson so he wouldn’t go into foster care.”

“
Foster care?”

“I’ll petition the court to put him back with Juliet until the hearing. Then we can present all the facts.”

But Cathy knew her reassurances were weak. They did little to calm Jay down.

As Cathy left the police station, she knew she had to get Jackson back to her sister’s. Even being charged with murder hadn’t upset Jay as much as his child’s plight.

She supposed that was how it should be. The best way to help him was to find this killer so Jay could have Jackson back.

She hurried home and made a phone call. Her first choice for Jay’s attorney, Lawrence Pratt, agreed to take the case. He would go visit Jay in the next hour or so, freeing her up to file a motion to get Jackson placed back with Juliet. But first, she checked her blog to see if she’d heard back from the killer.

There was nothing from him in the comments, and she quickly logged on to her email. If he contacted her, it would give them another clue to his identity. The police had taken the latest letter as evidence, but she doubted they were following up.

“It’s just a letter from a reader, Cathy,” Max had said. “There’s nothing threatening in this email. No reason to think it’s even from the person who left the note on your car. The signature isn’t unique. You could have dozens of emails signed ‘Your Friend.’”

“But not ‘Your
New
Friend!’ They both had the same kind of message. It wasn’t a coincidence.” She sighed. How could she prove it was the same person? He was able to hide now, because the previous correspondence had come from Annalee’s computer or through the mail. If she could lure him into emailing her, they could trace it back to another server, which would help them narrow their search.

But he was too smart to give them the satisfaction of an immediate answer. She had no doubt he’d read her message. Everyone had. It had even made the national news cycle. She hoped he was stewing over what she knew, watching out windows for the police.

She would just have to wait for the next message.

M
ichael pulled into a coffee shop parking lot and got out of his Trailblazer, stretching the fatigue from his body. He couldn’t slow down now. He needed coffee.

He went in and ordered a strong brew, black.

“How would you like it? To-go cup or a mug?” the woman asked.

“Got an IV?”

“No, sorry.”

He chuckled. “Okay, a to-go cup then.”

He waited as she poured the cup, then he dumped some sugar into it, paid for it, and went back to his car. What now? He should go back to his office and work on finding that clown costume. But something pulled him in another direction.

Michael had driven by Leonard Miller’s mother’s house a million times since the trial, hoping to find an unusual car
there that might belong to his brother’s killer. At some point, it only stood to reason that Miller would come back to see her. He wasn’t banned from coming into town. He was free to go wherever he wanted.

But Miller knew that if he did, he would be recognized by citizens who thought of him as a cop-killer, and the entire police force would be tailing him in hopes of catching him committing another crime. If he went one mile over the speed limit or let his tag expire by one day, he would be hauled in. His chosen vocation — drug dealing — would eventually land him in prison for sure.

Michael made his way to that neighborhood, where the commerce of drug dealing fueled the street thugs. As he turned onto the street, he saw at least a dozen cars parked in front of Miller’s mother’s house.

Were they having a party in the middle of the afternoon?

He drove in front of the house, slowed, and tried to see what was happening. Someone who’d just pulled up got out of the car with a casserole dish covered with tin foil.

Either someone was sick, or someone had died.

Michael’s heart began to race. Leonard Miller could be inside that house right now. If something had happened to his mother …

Hope clawed its way into his heart. Passing the house, he drove to the nearest convenience store and bought a newspaper. Before he’d even made it back to his car, he found the obituary page.

Leonard Miller’s mother had died. The funeral was going to be that afternoon.

So it was possible that Leonard Miller had left the notes
for Cathy and killed Jay’s wife. He was probably in town at the time.

Michael had to see him.

He went back to Mrs. Miller’s house and parked behind one of the other cars in the long line of vehicles out front. Miller wouldn’t know his car.

Michael ducked into the backseat, got his binoculars, and waited for someone to come in or out of the house. His side windows were blacked out so no one would see him, and the front seat looked as if no one was in the car.

As he waited, he got on his computer and listed phone numbers for all the places he found that had the kind of clown suit he was looking for. He made those calls while he watched to see if Leonard Miller had indeed shown up.

Finally, people began coming out of the house. It was probably time for the family to head to the funeral home. He waited, watching, but never saw Miller. Where was he?

Finally, when all of the cars had pulled away, Michael got back into the front seat and headed to the funeral home.

He pulled into the line of cars at a grave site and shoved his sunglasses on, watching as people surrounded the tent where the casket stood. He got out of his car and headed into the crowd.

As he got a glimpse of the people inside the tent, he saw the man he was looking for. Leonard Miller, with a pale face and a gold front tooth, the tattoo on the back of his once-shaved head now covered with hair. After he killed Joe, that tat marked him wherever he went. Now, with his hair grown back in, Michael saw the male-pattern baldness that Miller had been trying to hide. Clearly, that common baldness was better than the tattoo that so easily identified him.

Michael went back to his car, sat behind the wheel, and
waited for the funeral to be over. When it was, he would follow Miller and see where he was staying.

The funeral lasted a half hour or so, and the crowd broke up quickly, everyone walking back to their cars. Michael couldn’t find Miller and wasn’t sure if he’d missed him leaving, or if Miller had remained behind, shaking hands.

Suddenly, someone knocked on his window.

Michael turned and saw the man he’d been searching for standing at his passenger door. Old rage clamped like a vise around his chest. Setting his chin, he got out and went around the car, standing full height, eye-to-eye with the man who had changed his life. “So you’re here.”

“I’m a free man,” Miller said. “I came to bury my mother.”

“My condolences.” But Michael knew his voice lacked sincerity.

“You got a problem, dude? You watchin’ me for a reason?”

“I had a feeling you were back in town. You don’t own a clown suit, do you?”

Miller’s face twisted. “What? A
clown
suit?”

Michael waited for the full range of Miller’s reaction to the question.

“Dude, I don’t know what you’re trying to connect me with, but I been with my mother the last few days. I was with her when she died. You can talk to people at the hospital. I ain’t done nothin’ to nobody here.”

“I will talk to them,” he said. “Which hospital?”

“Bay Medical. Knock yourself out.” Miller started to walk away.

“When did your mother die, Miller?”

He turned back. “Sunday.”

“Then you were free yesterday.”

Miller stared at him for a long moment. “Whatchu tryin’ to pin on me? I was with relatives and at the funeral home.”

Right. Michael would check that out, though he doubted relatives would be forthcoming. He could have killed Annalee. But why? The question churned through his stomach.

“You better enjoy being a free man, Miller. One of these days you’ll get what you deserve.”

Miller laughed. “Are you threatening me?”

Michael glared at him. “Just making a prophecy, that’s all.”

Miller kept chuckling as he strode to a black Pontiac at the front of the line, and Michael watched him pull away. He couldn’t follow him, because too many other cars got between them, but he did get his tag number. Soon Miller had vanished.

But now Michael knew for sure that Leonard Miller was in town the day Annalee was killed. He had no idea what the man’s motive could be, but it was possible he’d done it.

If Miller was involved, Michael would make sure he didn’t get away with it again.

T
he burning, acidic knot in Juliet’s stomach kept her from eating with her family that night. Her husband Bob, who’d just arrived home after a week away at a medical conference, made conversation with the children, going over the steps Abe would take in approaching his science project.

He avoided looking at her, as if he knew she’d fall apart if given the least prodding.

When they’d finished and the boys had scurried away to pretend to do homework, Bob caught her in the kitchen. “Are you okay?”

“No, I’m not,” she admitted. “I’m worried about Jackson. I couldn’t do anything for my brother except take care of his son … and now I can’t do that.”

“Cathy’s on it. She’s going to get him back, and the police will sort all this out and let Jay go.”

She wasn’t sure she could believe that.

“Juliet,” Bob said, taking her chin. “Look at me.”

She met his eyes.

“It’s going to be all right. You have to believe that.”

She sighed. “I know. And that’s what I keep telling my sisters. But it doesn’t seem like it’s gonna be all right. It’s looking really bad.” She put the last of the dishes into the dishwasher and pressed the button to start it. “Listen, now that you’re home, I need to take a casserole to a friend. Can you help the boys with the rest of their homework?”

He gave her a narrow look. “You’re suffering over your brother, and you’re taking someone a casserole? Don’t you think you deserve a day off?”

“Mercy doesn’t ever take the day off. Will you watch them?”

“I have some work I need to catch up on tonight.”

She quenched the urge to repeat what he’d just said … that she was suffering over her brother and needed to be served instead of serving. He’d spent the last few days in a cushy hotel. Couldn’t he give her a break for a few hours?

As if he read the emotions on her face, he said, “No, it’s fine. You do what makes you feel better. I’ll take care of them.”

He probably hoped she wouldn’t take him up on it, that she’d insist he get his work done. But she didn’t. This was too important.

“I might be late. I was thinking of going to see Juliet and Holly afterward. We have a lot to talk about.”

“Sure, of course. We’ll work on the science project some more. We’ll be fine.”

“Thanks.” She took her purse and the casserole and headed out the door, knowing that if she took the time to tell the kids she was leaving, she’d burst into tears and get
them all upset. A thousand questions would follow … about Jay and his dead wife … about him being in jail …

She got into her SUV and pulled out of the garage. She thought of calling her sisters to go with her on her mission, but that probably wouldn’t be helpful. No, she’d go alone.

She drove the few miles to her dead sister-in-law’s childhood home, where Mrs. Haughton and Warren, and now Jackson, lived. It was a Tudor-style house with a once-beautiful Yard-of-the-Month garden out front, which Mrs. Haughton had tended with her own hands until she got too sick to get back up from kneeling in the dirt.

Though the yard was neat, since she probably hired someone to keep it, it had lost its former glory.

Juliet hoped she’d get the chance to check on Jackson, to reassure him, to give them some tips on how to care for him. Maybe she’d even talk them into letting him come home with her. If he’d cried and grieved, maybe they’d already seen how foolish it was to move him.

She rang the doorbell and waited. No one came, so she knocked on the door. Finally, she heard the creaking of footsteps moving across the floor … slow, plodding …

Was Mrs. Haughton coming to the door herself? She felt suddenly guilty for making her do that.

The door slowly came open. Mrs. Haughton stood looking through the six-inch opening, her oxygen tube pinched under her nose. She leaned on a cane, the tank on wheels beside her.

“Mrs. Haughton, I’m sorry I got you up. I’m not here to fight with you over Jackson. I just wanted to do what I’d do for anyone. I wanted to bring you a meal.”

The woman’s pale face seemed to soften, and she stepped back from the door. “Come in. I can’t carry that.”

Juliet nodded and stepped inside. The house was stale, stuffy, as if it hadn’t been open in weeks. She’d read somewhere that carbon dioxide had a way of building up in a home that hadn’t had a cracked window or open door. What was little Jackson breathing?

She looked around, saw the drawn drapes, the prescription bottles on the coffee table amid snapshots of Annalee and Warren as children. The drugs would be a hazard for Jackson. Why hadn’t they put them away?

“Mrs. Haughton, where is Jackson?”

“Warren took him to get a Happy Meal.”

Juliet nodded, disappointed. “Then … is he doing all right?”

“He’s fine. I’m his grandmother, Juliet. We’re not strangers.”

“I know.” She looked down at the casserole dish as the woman slowly lowered to the couch. “I’ll put this in the refrigerator.”

Mrs. Haughton nodded, and Juliet went into the kitchen. She hadn’t been in there since Mr. Haughton died and they’d gathered for his wake. The dishes were put away, and everything seemed relatively clean.

She put the casserole into the refrigerator, quickly assessing the contents for things Jackson could eat. Not much there. No fruit, no fresh vegetables. Just a few Tupperware containers with unidentifiable contents. Three two-liter bottles of soda, some jelly. She closed the refrigerator and went back to the living room.

Mrs. Haughton’s eyes had settled on the wall across from her, and in that moment, Juliet saw the mother’s grief. Her heart melted and she sank down next to the older woman. “Mrs. Haughton, my heart’s breaking for you. I can’t imagine
what you’re going through. Is there anything I can do to help with the funeral?”

Mrs. Haughton spoke in halting phrases, drawing breaths between them. “We can’t bury her … until after the autopsy and the … Medical Examiner releases her. When that happens … Warren will take care of the arrangements … I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

“I’m sure he’s been a comfort. But now, with the responsibility of taking care of Jackson, you might have your hands full.”

Mrs. Haughton didn’t answer, so Juliet changed gears. “How is he … emotionally? Is he upset? Crying?”

“He lost his mother. What would you expect?”

That would be a yes
, Juliet thought. “At his age, it’s probably best to distract him. That’s why I was playing with him, letting him swim …”

“Swimming won’t bring his mother back.”

“No, of course it won’t. But it’s a heavy load for a little boy to bear.”

The woman brought her chin up. “If you’ve come here to shame us … into letting Jackson go home with you … you’re wasting your time. He’s where he should be. He’s well cared for here.”

“I’m sure he is.” It was useless, this visit. Juliet looked at her hands. “His room … I’m sure it wasn’t set up for him. Is there anything I can do to help with that? Make up a bed? Change sheets?”

The woman blinked, as though she hadn’t thought of that. “No, we’ll manage just fine.”

“Okay. I just wanted to offer …”

Mrs. Haughton stared again, and silence fell heavy between them. Finally, Juliet spoke again. “I hope you’re
not talking to Jackson about his father having any part in this. That would only compound his grief.”

She could tell by the look on Mrs. Haughton’s face and the way she avoided her eyes that they had done just that. Juliet felt suddenly light-headed. She managed to get to her feet.

“I guess I’ll go. Mrs. Haughton, please be sensitive with him.” Tears stole out of her eyes.

Mrs. Haughton’s eyes filled too. “I know how to care … for my grandson. I’m not dead yet.”

Juliet went to the door, unable to continue this sham of a visit. As she stepped from the house, she prayed a desperate prayer for her nephew.

Back in her car, she sat for a moment, not yet wanting to go home. Bob didn’t provide any comfort, really, but she couldn’t blame him. He had an important job and had patients and his staff on his mind. Annalee’s death didn’t really affect him at all. Even Jay’s arrest hadn’t put a dent in Bob’s life. How could he be expected to understand what she was going through?

She checked her watch. Seven thirty. Still not too late to make a visit to the nursing home, where her stressful thoughts often sent her. She started her car and drove across town, pulled into the parking lot at the building with the sign Oceanside Rest.

She went in, saw a family visiting with an elderly grandfather in the lobby. She reached the hallway and stepped between wheelchairs, speaking to those who looked hopefully up at her as she passed. She reached the double doors that took her to the Alzheimer’s wing.

A nurse noticed her and smiled.

“Hi. Where is he?” Juliet asked.

“In the garden,” the nurse said.

Juliet went out the side exit door and saw him. Her father sat on a bench facing the ocean, staring vacantly in front of him.

She went to sit beside him. “Hi, Daddy.”

He turned and looked at her hard, as if trying to place her, but then he only said, “Hello.” There was no recognition in his eyes.

“It’s a pretty evening, isn’t it?”

He opened his mouth to answer, but then he faltered. He’d already forgotten the question. He gazed back at the ocean, no doubt forgetting that she sat beside him.

She didn’t know why she came. Her siblings knew he was here, but they had no desire to visit him. Cathy had such bitterness about the way he’d abandoned their family, she would never come. Holly had deep insecurities because of that abandonment. Though she’d spent much of her youth wishing for contact with their father, he seemed to have forgotten he had four children. Jay didn’t like to talk about him.

So Juliet came. She’d been fifteen when her father left, so she’d spent all of her formative years being molded by his values. Her love for him had turned to a deep hurt when he’d chosen his secretary over his family. But years later, when Alzheimer’s had robbed him of his faculties, that secretary had abandoned
him
.

The principle of reaping what you sowed had always saddened her. She didn’t want him to reap that. But she couldn’t do anything about it.

When Juliet found out where he’d been placed by the woman who’d meant more than his family to him, she began to visit him. Sometimes she sat here with him, not saying a word, just remembering the father he had once been.

“Jay’s in trouble,” she told him. He turned to her again,
his eyes revealing his effort to hold on to that statement. “The police think he did something that he didn’t do. But he’s a good man. He reminds me of you, when you were still at home. He loves his child.”

For a fraction of a second, there was a flash of recognition in her father’s eyes, then sadness wrinkled his face. Quickly, it emptied again.

“You’d be proud of him,” she whispered.

She didn’t really know why she’d come here tonight. Why did she expect to absorb peace and comfort from her father?

Her phone rang, and her father jumped. He looked at her as she got it out of her purse. Cathy. She answered quickly.

“Hey, Cathy.”

“Where are you?”

Juliet hesitated. She didn’t want to tell Cathy she was sitting with their dad. “I just visited Mrs. Haughton. Jackson had gone out with Warren. I thought I might come to your house now if you’re home.”

“No, I’m not,” Cathy said. “I just left the judge. He wouldn’t change the order until we have a hearing.”

“Oh no!” Tears sprang to her eyes. “You’re kidding!” Her father looked at her again, but he didn’t seem to see her.

“He’s hard-nosed and doesn’t like to admit he’s made a mistake. We’ll just have to convince him. I’m heading back to Michael’s. We need to put our heads together, figure this thing out. He’s been working on it and says he’s had some breakthroughs. You can come.”

Juliet wiped her eyes. Her hand was trembling. “Should we get Holly too?”

“Sure. Maybe between the four of us, we can think of something. I’ll call her.”

Juliet clicked off the phone and dug through her purse
for a Kleenex. She dabbed at her eyes. This was so unlike her. She was the one who carried on. The problem-solver, the positive one. The one who kept things in perspective and took care of everyone else.

Ever since their father had left the family, leaving her mother distraught and suddenly thrust into the workforce, Juliet had been a surrogate mom. She’d taken care of her youngest two siblings, and she’d worked hard to keep Cathy on track, though she herself was only two years older.

The faith her father had taught her echoed in her mind. “We trust in God, no matter the circumstances,” she repeated. “Isn’t that right, Daddy?”

Again, he seemed to ignore her.

Her father’s appetites had overruled his faith. He’d given up everything as a result … his career, his home, his children, his wife …

And now he’d lost his capacity to think or to make things right. Somehow, that was okay with her. But she couldn’t make it okay for her siblings.

She kissed him good-bye, knowing the intimate act disturbed him as much as a stranger taking liberties. Then she left him and hurried back to her car. As she drove to Michael’s, she thought of the fallout after their father had left. The church people who had always declared their love for the family wound up abandoning them as surely as her father had, and that had hurt all of them.

Unlike her sisters, Juliet had found solace in another church, where there were people who embraced her. Where it lacked, she had filled in the voids. If they didn’t serve, she served. If they didn’t love, she loved. If they didn’t care or take meals or give hugs, she gave them.

Funny thing. Once she started, others followed suit, and now she served among a sweet fellowship of believers.

Soon they would learn what she was going through, and she knew they would surround her with love and casseroles. But for now, she hoped they hadn’t made the connection.

Already the news had reported Annalee’s death and had even suggested that Jay was a suspect in her murder. Her church members knew her as Juliet Cole. It would take a little while for word to filter down that Jay was her brother. She should call them and get it over with. Ask them to pray. But she couldn’t make herself do it yet.