Don't Cry (9 page)

“You do?”

“Well, of course I do.”

“I—I like you, too.”

“Would you like for me to phone your father and ask his permission for us to set up your first appointment?”

“Oh, I don't know. What if it pisses him off?”

“Why don't you leave your father to me? I'll call him in the morning from my office and either he or I will let you know the outcome.”

“Thank you, Dr. Sherrod. Thank you so much.”

“You're welcome, Zoe.”

Ending her call, Audrey slipped her bag over her shoulder, picked up the plastic sack, and opened the car door. Before Zoe's phone call, Audrey's main concern had been her best friend. She'd heard an odd hint of desperation—almost panic—in Tam's voice. Now not only was she concerned about Tam, but her conversation with Zoe Davidson had aroused a barrage of mixed emotions. She felt a sense of kinship with Zoe, seeing some of herself at fourteen in the rebellious, unhappy teenager. Her desire to help Zoe went beyond the professional and into the personal realm. Would it be better if she referred J.D. and his daughter to another therapist? Yes and no. It would be better for her not to become involved with either the daughter or the father. But Zoe trusted her. She might not trust another counselor so easily.

All the while Audrey went from the parking area to Tam and Marcus's apartment, her mind focused on one thing—making the correct decision where Zoe was concerned. It wasn't until she rang the doorbell several times, waiting a minute or two between rings, that Audrey's full attention returned to her friend. Tam was expecting her, so why wasn't she answering the door?

Maybe she's still in the shower.

Audrey rang the bell again. No response. Just as she reached down into her purse to find her key ring, intending to use her key to Tam's apartment, the door swung open and Tam stood there smiling, the phone to her ear.

“It's Marcus.” Wearing her pajamas and a matching knee-length robe, Tam mouthed the words as she motioned for Audrey to enter.

Audrey returned her friend's smile. While Tam continued her conversation with her husband, Audrey headed for the kitchen. She placed her purse on one of the two bar stools and laid the plastic sack containing the chicken on the counter. After removing an unopened bag of fresh spring-mix greens from the refrigerator, along with cherry tomatoes, a cucumber, and bottled ranch dressing, Audrey set about preparing their salads. She sliced the chicken into small chunks, added it to the salads, and sparingly sprinkled the dressing over her creation.

When she heard Tam laugh, she breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn't often that Tam went into a blue funk, but when she did, it was usually a doozie. The last time had been more than a year ago and had been precipitated by two factors—Marcus was out of town and Tam had come face-to-face with her teenage sweetheart—factors that Audrey realized hadn't been repeated until quite recently.

Still smiling, Tam came into the kitchen. “Marcus said hello and sends his love.”

“Feeling better?”

“Much, thanks.”

Audrey studied Tam briefly, then set their salad plates atop the placemats on the small kitchen table. “Do you prefer herbal tea or water with lemon or another glass of wine?”

“Before Marcus called, I'd have said more wine. But now, I think water with lemon. You get the crackers out of the pantry and I'll take care of our water.”

Half an hour later, with their meal eaten and the dishwasher loaded, Audrey and Tam curled up together on opposite ends of the plush chenille sofa in Tam's living room. Each held a cup of herbal tea.

“Want to tell me?” Audrey asked.

Tam glanced down at the cup of tea that she cradled in both hands. “No. I don't want to tell you. I don't want to admit what a stupid, ungrateful bitch I am. I don't want to say it out loud.”

“If you don't want to, then don't. But if you think it will help, maybe release some pent-up emotions, then tell me. Whatever you say, you know I won't repeat it to another living soul. And I won't judge you.”

“You never have,” Tam said. “My parents think I'm practically perfect. And Marcus…oh, Audrey, he does think I'm perfect.”

“No one is perfect, but you come mighty damn close.”

“How can you say that when you know…? Oh God, you know me better than anyone else on earth. You know how far from perfect I am. If my parents knew how I'd let them down, they'd be so disappointed. If Marcus knew…”

“You have never disappointed Geraldine and Willie, and if they knew, they would be loving and supportive. And if Marcus knew, he would understand. You were barely eighteen. You did what you thought was best for everyone involved. And I was right there with you, agreeing with your decision and holding your hand.”

Tam looked at Audrey, her brown eyes filled with unshed tears. “If you had been in my situation, would you have…? Would you have killed your own baby?”

Audrey set aside her tea, then took the cup from Tam and set it beside hers on the coffee table. She scooted across the sofa, draped her arm around Tam's shoulders, and leaned her head over against Tam's.

They sat there in silence for quite a while, two friends remembering a tragedy from the past. Audrey understood that even after all these years, Tam still felt regret, remorse, and guilt. She managed to keep that long-ago heartbreak buried deep inside her, but occasionally it resurfaced.

“What do I tell Marcus when he wants to have a baby?” Tam asked. “He hasn't come right out and said he's ready, but he's dropped a few subtle hints.”

“Tell him the truth. Tell him about the abortion.”

Tam inhaled deeply and exhaled strongly. “I don't know if I want a baby. Hell, I don't even know for sure I can have one.”

“There is no reason to think that because of the abortion, you can't get pregnant,” Audrey assured her. “But being able to get pregnant and wanting to have a baby are two different things. If you don't want a baby because of what happened when you were a teenager, then I recommend some counseling to help you—”

Tam laughed, but when Audrey glanced at her face, she saw tears running down Tam's cheeks.

“Well, that was a really impersonal and rather condescending statement, wasn't it?” Audrey said. “I'm sorry, Tam. I let Dr. Sherrod inject herself into a situation where she had no business being. This talk is between you and me, Tam and Audrey, best friends since we were babies.”

“It's all right,” Tam said. “And it's not as if you haven't been trying to get me into counseling for years.”

“I'm a bossy know-it-all.”

“Yes, you are, but I love you anyway.”

“I know. Thank you.”

“Audrey?”

“Hmm…?” She didn't know if she was prepared for whatever Tam wanted to tell her. They had shared all their secrets over the years, trusting each other completely, but Audrey suspected there was one secret that Tam hadn't shared with anyone.

“You know that I love Marcus. He's the best thing that ever happened to me. He makes me so happy.”

“I know, and I'm very grateful to him. I love seeing you happy. I want only good things for you because you deserve only good things.”

“Do I?”

Audrey took Tam's hands in hers. “Yes, you do.”

“I love Marcus, but…”

“But?”

“I don't know if I can say it out loud. I don't know if I dare.”

She squeezed Tam's hands.

“A part of me—that stupid teenage girl—is still in love with Hart.”

Audrey released the breath she'd been holding and wrapped her arms around Tam, who clung to Audrey as she cried.

“How stupid does that make me?”

Oh, Tam, I knew. I knew, but I didn't want to know.

And she also knew that no matter how much Tam and Hart had loved each other, how much they still loved each other, there was absolutely no hope for them as a couple. Not then. Not now. Not ever.

Audrey balanced her briefcase in one hand and a mocha latte in the other as she approached her office. At the locked door, she maneuvered the latte out of her right hand into her left, then removed the key ring dangling from her clenched teeth and inserted the door key into the lock. Most mornings, she arrived before her receptionist, Donna Mackey, who usually arrived by eight-thirty, once she had dropped her twin grandsons at preschool. Her son-in-law, an army corporal, was stationed in the Middle East and her daughter worked the morning shift as a Burger King assistant manager. One of the reasons Audrey had hired Donna was because her grandmotherly appearance and personality immediately put patients at ease.

After making her way through the small waiting room and into her private office, Audrey dumped her briefcase in her swivel chair and set the latte on her desk. Just as she opened the window blinds to let in the morning sunlight, the phone rang. Before Donna arrived to take calls, the answering machine picked up and recorded messages, so Audrey continued moving through her office and back into the waiting room opening blinds and getting things in order for a busy Monday work schedule.

After the recorded message ended, a male voice said, “Dr. Sherrod, this is J.D. Cass.”

Audrey stopped and listened.

“I…uh…I was wondering if I could set up an appointment to talk to you.”

Audrey walked over to the telephone on her desk and laid her hand atop the receiver.

“It's about Zoe,” J.D. said. “She seems to have taken a shine to you, and since she did…well, I thought maybe you could help her.” He paused for a moment, and then added, “Help us.”

Just let the answering machine take the call. Donna can contact Special Agent Cass later and arrange for an appointment. J.D. and his daughter are simply potential clients. Nothing more.

Her hand tightened on the receiver and before she could stop herself, Audrey disregarded what her common sense had told her.

She lifted the receiver. “Special Agent Cass. This is Dr. Sherrod.”

“Oh.” He seemed surprised to hear her voice. “Yeah. Good morning.”

“Good morning.”

“I guess you heard what I said about Zoe liking you and how I wanted to talk to you about helping us work out some father/daughter problems.”

“Yes, I heard. And I'd be happy to check my appointment book and set a time for you and Zoe to come in for your first counseling session.”

“Thanks, but I'd rather see you alone before we bring Zoe into it. I'm not even sure she'd go for the idea. She might not want to try counseling.”

“She does,” Audrey said.

“How do you—?”

“Zoe called me last night. She and I had a nice chat.”

“She didn't say anything to me about calling you. But then she doesn't tell me much.”

“The truth of the matter is I promised Zoe that I'd phone you this morning and talk to you about the two of you beginning family counseling.”

“You're kidding.”

“No, I assure you that—”

“Tell me something, Doc, what kind of spell did you put on my daughter?”

“What do you mean?”

“You only met Zoe yesterday, and already you seem to have her eating out of your hand. How did you do it? She's been living with me for over a year, and I swear to God getting her to listen to anything I say is like pulling eyeteeth.”

“No spells of any kind, I assure you. All I did yesterday at the police station and last night during our phone conversation was listen to what she had to say.”

“Are you saying I don't listen to her? Well, I do, but everything that comes out of her mouth is ‘I won't' and ‘I'm miserable' and ‘I hate you.' Believe me, my listening to her has been a total waste of time.”

“Then perhaps that is the first problem we need to address in counseling.”

“Yeah, maybe it is,” J.D. said. “So, when can you work us into your busy schedule? It would be better for Zoe if I didn't have to take her out of school. And as late in the day as possible would work for both of us.”

“I'll check my appointment calendar and have my receptionist get back to you.”

“Couldn't you check your calendar now?”

Yes, of course she could. But she wouldn't do it. The fact that this man was practically demanding preferential treatment irritated her.

“I'm afraid I don't have time. I'm quite busy and—”

“Maybe I should check with another counselor who isn't as busy as you are.”

Damn him. She wanted to tell him to go right ahead, that the last thing she needed was to get involved with him, even on a strictly patient/therapist level. “After I promised Zoe that I'd contact you, I actually considered the option of putting you in touch with another therapist, but I decided that Zoe might rebel against the idea of seeing someone else. Your daughter trusts me.”

“And likes you.”

“Yes, she likes me and I like her.”

“You're one up on me, Doc. She doesn't like me very much.”

“Maybe that's because she knows you don't like her.”

J.D. didn't respond, didn't say one word.

“I'm sorry,” Audrey told him. “That was unprofessional of me.”

“Maybe so, but it was the truth.”

“I think you and Zoe have a great deal to work through before you can find common ground and possibly learn to like each other.”

“You might be right,” he replied. “So, how about that appointment?”

Audrey gritted her teeth as she picked up the appointment book and flipped through the pages. “The earliest appointment I have after three in the afternoon is Friday at four-thirty. It's the last hour-long appointment of the day.”

“I'll take it. Put me down.”

“I'll put y'all down, you and Zoe, for your first session of family counseling.”

“Okay, Dr. Sherrod, we'll do this your way.”

“Thank you for being so agreeable, Special Agent Cass.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, sure. We'll see you Friday at four-thirty.”

As soon as she replaced the receiver, Audrey released an exasperated breath. She was out of her mind to accept J.D. Cass as a client. She didn't like the man, and he knew that she didn't like him. Her personal feelings for him were a problem. Was there any way she could be objective where he was concerned?

You'd better be. Zoe needs you. If you don't suck it up and learn to put aside your dislike for J.D., Zoe's the one who will suffer.

 

The last thing Garth wanted to do was dredge up the past, a past he thought was long dead and buried. But these new kidnapping cases had dug up ghosts and all but resurrected the dead. God help him, he had no choice but to tell Hart. Sooner or later, the information about the toddler skeletons being found bundled in Jill Scott's and Debra Gregory's arms was bound to leak out and become front-page headlines. He couldn't let Hart learn about those skeletons from anyone else. There was no telling how his nephew might react. Blake's disappearance—Blake's death—twenty-five years ago had altered the course of so many lives, Hart's more than anyone else's.

Unfortunately, Hart had inherited Enid's emotional weaknesses. As a child, he had been quiet and shy and gentle. And Garth had tried to take care of him and protect him as he always had Enid, even though she'd been his older sister. Although physically, he and Enid had resembled each other just enough so that people recognized they were related, in every other way, they had been as different as night and day. He had taken after their none-too-handsome old man, a hard-drinking, womanizing son of a bitch. Their father's only saving grace was that he had taken care of his own, making sure his wife and kids never went without the necessities. Garth was like his father in that way, too. He'd done his level best to take care of Enid, and after her divorce from Hart's good-looking, worthless dad, he'd taken care of his nephew, too. Garth had inherited one redeeming quality from his sweet mother—his ability to love. He doubted his old man had ever loved anyone except himself.

Garth loved Hart as if he were his own son. Always had. Always would.

Glancing at his wristwatch, he noted that it was nearly eight-thirty. He had called Tamara to let her know he'd be running late that morning. She hadn't asked why, but he figured she knew. He never mentioned his nephew to his partner. No need to dredge up old memories for either of them. Tam was married now and appeared to be happy. He hoped she was. She'd always been a good kid. It wasn't her fault that things hadn't worked out between her and Hart. Of course, Garth knew that the two of them going their separate ways had been for the best. Hart hadn't been ready for marriage at seventeen, still wasn't, and probably never would be. Besides the racial factor—which, despite the gradual changes in people's attitudes, still mattered to a lot of folks—there was Hart's alcohol and drug abuse, his inability to hold down a job for more than a few months at a time, and the boy's mental instability.

Garth had hoped that Hart would wake up earlier that morning than his usual ten or eleven o'clock, but it seemed that unless he wanted to wait around and waste half the morning, he'd have to rouse his nephew.

He knocked on Hart's closed bedroom door, and to his surprise, the boy answered him.

“Yeah?”

“Are you up?”

“Yeah, just woke up and took a piss. Why?”

“How about having a cup of coffee with me before I head out this morning?”

Hart opened the door and looked at Garth. “What's up? You're usually long gone by now.”

“Come on in the kitchen and we'll have that coffee.”

“Sure.”

Barefooted and bare-chested, Hart followed Garth into the small galley-style kitchen and watched while Garth poured black coffee into a couple of mismatched mugs. When he handed his nephew one of the mugs, he took that moment to study him closely but quickly. The boy was every bit as good looking as his father had been, blond, blue-eyed, and almost too pretty to be a guy.

He noted that Hart appeared to be sober and alert and in a good mood.

“I need to talk to you,” Garth said.

“Yeah, sure. Shoot.” Hart took a sip of coffee. “This would be better if it was Irish.”

When Garth narrowed his gaze, Hart chuckled good naturedly. “Don't worry, there's no liquor in the house and I haven't had a drink in weeks. And I'm still going to my meetings every day.”

“Good for you.”

Would telling him about the skeletons send him off on a bender or to the nearest drug dealer?

“Is something wrong?” Hart asked. “Nothing's wrong with Audrey or Dad or—”

“No, no, they're fine. It's about the case Tam and I are working on.”

“How's that going? You're treating Tamara right, aren't you?”

“Tamara's a good police officer. She and I work just fine together.”

“I'm glad.”

“Hart, son…” Garth set his mug down on the counter. “I don't know any easy way to say this, so I'm just going to say it. The case I'm working on…the two kidnapping and murder cases are connected. We're pretty sure the same man kidnapped and murdered Debra Gregory and Jill Scott.”

“A serial killer?”

“More than likely. What I'm going to tell you is something we've kept from the press, something when I tell you, you're going to have to—” Garth growled with frustration. “I wouldn't be telling you anything because there's nothing to it, nothing to concern us, but God almighty, Willie Mullins took it upon himself to tell Audrey and Wayne, and Audrey's convinced herself of something that's impossible and Wayne's all torn up about it and—”

“For God's sake, just tell me.”

“You might've heard that both of our murder victims were found sitting in rocking chairs and holding a blanket-wrapped doll in their arms.”

“Yeah, I guess everybody in Chattanooga's heard the weird details.”

“You see, the problem is, in neither case was it a doll wrapped up in the blanket. It was the skeleton of a baby…a toddler, actually. The experts say the skeletons belonged to boys between two and three years old.”

Hart stared at Garth, his blue eyes wide with uncertainty, as if he thought he had misunderstood.

“What are you trying to tell me?” Hart asked, his voice a raspy whisper.

“Audrey and Wayne think there's a possibility that one of those toddlers might be Blake.”

Hart's coffee mug dropped from his hand and hit the floor with a loud crash. Hot liquid poured across the tile floor.

“That's not possible,” Hart said.

Ignoring the spilled coffee and broken mug, Garth reached out and grasped Hart's shoulder. “Of course it's not, and once the DNA tests are run, Wayne and Audrey will know neither boy is Blake.”

“But they hope one of them is Blake, don't they? They want to find him. How many times did I hear Dad say that he wanted to bring Blake home and bury him beside Mom?”

Garth squeezed Hart's shoulder. “Now, you listen to me, son. There's no reason to get upset about this. It'll amount to nothing. I wish to high heaven that this hadn't happened and reopened painful old wounds for all of us. Don't let this set you back. You've been doing real good lately. You're clean and sober and you're taking your meds and—”

“I'm sorry, Uncle Garth. I'm so sorry.”

Garth hugged the boy to him and held him. “You've got nothing to be sorry about. Do you hear me? You do the best you can, and that's all anybody can ask of you.”

Garth released Hart, forced a smile, and then cleaned up the coffee and broken mug before he left for work.

 

J.D. knew former Special Agent George Bonner, now retired and serving his second term as mayor of nearby Cleveland, Tennessee, only by reputation. The two had never met, not until now. Bonner carried three hundred pounds quite well on his six-four frame. He was a big, bulky guy with a shock of auburn hair streaked with silver and a set of keen brown eyes.