Countdown (22 page)

‘Maybe so they can have some time off from waiting on you hand and foot?’ Dru said.

Constance laughed. ‘Dru, darling, you are such a cut-up. Isn’t she, Megan?’

‘A cut-up?’ Megan repeated, appearing to savor the word for a moment. ‘I’m not sure, Constance. Of the three phrases that come quickly to mind with the word “cut,” cut-up, cut-above, or cut-out, the one I find most germane would have to be the latter.’

Constance laughed again, although it seemed strained. ‘You two!’ she said.

Jean balanced herself with one hand on the table as she stood up and found her crutches. ‘It’s been lovely, but I need to head back upstairs. I’ve a million things to do before the service,’ she said.

Jewel instantly followed suit. ‘So nice having this time with all of you,’ she said in her sweetly insincere voice. Then she followed Jean out of the room and away from Constance and her not-so-loving stepdaughters.

Harmon had to go to his car parts store outside Bishop, the one that had been hit by the tornado, so he took off right after I got back to the house. Johnny Mac was sitting in front of the TV in the living room, watching a PG-13 movie. I let it slide since he was eleven, even knowing his mother would have objected. Let’s face it, Mom wasn’t here and us guys needed to bond over
something
! I sat down with him and watched it through to the end. I don’t know the name of it but there were soldiers, robots and a lot of things getting blown up – even a few body parts. When it was over I took the remote and shut off the TV.

‘Thought maybe you and me could go do something today,’ I said.

‘Like what?’ he asked, not looking at me.

‘I don’t know. Fishing?’

He shrugged. ‘I don’t know how,’ he said.

‘I can teach you,’ I said.

Again, the shrug. ‘Whatever.’

‘OK,’ I said, ‘fishing doesn’t appeal to you. What would
you
like to do today? Other than play video games or be with your friends?’

I swear, if he shrugged one more time I was gonna make him lose a shoulder. He did – I didn’t. ‘I dunno.’

I sighed. ‘Well, you think about it. And I’ll go fix lunch—’

‘Can we go eat lunch somewhere?’

I stopped in my tracks. It was a start. ‘Sure, I guess,’ I said evenly. ‘Where were you thinking?’

‘Definitely not the Longbranch Inn,’ he said.

‘Definitely not,’ I agreed.

Johnny Mac grinned real big. ‘You got gas in the Jeep?’ he asked.

‘Full tank.’

‘How ’bout we go to that Mexican restaurant you like in Tulsa?’

‘That’s a drive for lunch, all right,’ I said.

‘Well, you know, while we’re there, maybe we could go see that Lego display that’s going on.’

I nodded. ‘Sounds like a plan. Go get dressed.’

And he was off.

Jean’s usual wardrobe did not lend itself to upper-class funerals, so she’d gone to Tulsa before she’d left Oklahoma to find something appropriate for her trip to Kansas City. Jewel, of course, had accompanied her. Although Jewel’s wardrobe could lend itself to almost any occasion – including a White House ball – her wardrobe was no longer available, being sucked up in the tornado and hopefully let loose on appropriately clothing-deprived women in some third-world country, or maybe Dallas. They could use some ingenuity in their wardrobes there, Jewel thought, that was for sure.

So Jean had picked out a navy-blue suit for the viewing and a black three-quarter-length sleeve wrap dress for the funeral. She wore her grandmother’s pearls and her black orthopedic shoes with both. Jewel had gone with a gray silk dress for the viewing and a black raw silk suit for the funeral. As the party met in the foyer for the trip to the funeral home, Jean and Jewel both looked appropriately lovely.

They were the first ones there and Jean found a bench in the foyer on which to sit while they waited for Constance and her stepdaughters to arrive. Ten minutes later they heard the slight pitter-pat of Constance’s kitten heels on the grand staircase, followed by the clomping of Dru’s hiking boots. Constance, of course, was lovely in a black and white Chanel suit a half-size too small, with black patent kitten heels with red soles that could only signify one designer. Immediately behind her was Megan in a short black lace minidress with long sleeves and lacy cuffs that practically covered her hands. She looked like a refugee from a 1960s English rocker movie. Although Megan’s attire might have seemed a touch inappropriate, she was Lady Di in comparison to her sister. The hiking boots were just the beginning of her thumbing-her-nose-at-the-world attire. She was wearing khaki cargo pants and a concert T-shirt from a band Jean had never heard of called ‘The Dead Kennedys,’ which was not just inappropriate, in Jean’s estimation, but downright disgusting – under these or any other circumstances.

Seeing Jean look at Dru, Constance said, ‘Don’t worry about her. She’s staying in the car.’

‘Why don’t I just stay home? That’s what I want to do!’ Dru said.

‘Because I’m not going to reward you for being a bitch!’ Constance spat at her stepdaughter. ‘If you don’t have the decency to dress respectfully for my sister’s funeral then you can sit in the car and twiddle your thumbs, but you
are going with us
!’

‘God, you suck!’ Dru said, then rushed past everyone and out the front door.

When Jean got to the front of the house she half expected Dru to be long gone, but the girl was leaning against one of the balustrades, arms crossed over her chest, her lower lip sticking out like the spoiled brat she was. The car came around the corner of the house, Vivian seated in the back.

She took one look at Dru and said, ‘I will not have this!’

Constance crawled into the car, taking the seat next to her mother. ‘She’s staying in the car.’

Vivian gave Dru a strongly disapproving look. ‘You hate us, don’t you, girl? That’s why you’re doing this. But what did your aunt Paula ever do to you to make you disrespect her so?’

Dru snorted. ‘I’m only here in the first place because that old bat,’ she said, indicating Constance, ‘threatened to cut off my allowance and not pay for my tuition if I didn’t come. She didn’t say anything about
dressing appropriately
,’ she said, attempting to mimic her stepmother’s voice but failing miserably.

‘I can see my mistake,’ Constance said in a deadly cold voice. ‘Next time I’ll have a list of rules for you to follow.’

‘Oh?’ Dru said. ‘Do you have another sister who’s going to get shot in a hostage situation while drunk on her ass?’

‘No, dear,’ Vivian said, her voice as icy cold as her daughter’s. ‘I believe she might have been referring to me.’

‘Mother!’ Constance said.

Dru snorted and looked away, while Jean and Jewel kept their eyes peeled out the windows as Kansas City flew by.

They stopped at a red light near a trendy-looking shopping center and Jean spied a dress shop with junior clothing on a window display. ‘Please ask the driver to turn into that driveway,’ she asked Constance.

‘Why on earth—’

‘Just do it, please,’ Jean said, not smiling.

Constance snorted but clicked on the intercom and asked the driver to turn in.

As the light turned green, he took the turn and Jean said, ‘Have him stop right here. Jewel and I will get out.’

They left the car and headed into the dress shop, returning in little more than fifteen minutes. As Jean crawled back into the car, she threw the bag at Dru.

‘Dress, shoes and appropriate underwear. Change your clothes now!’

O
K, La Margarita in Tulsa is the best Mexican food restaurant I’ve ever been to. It’s greasy and dark, and instead of tortilla chips they serve saltine crackers with the salsa, but the enchiladas are so good the grease runs down your arm and you’re like I don’t care ’cause this is so damn good.

I gotta say my boy did the place proud – he rolled up his sleeves, ate three tacos, beans and rice, and was ready for
sopapillas
at the end. We filled them with honey, which dripped and drooled all over the both of us. We ended up in the bathroom practically taking baths to get ourselves clean enough to be seen in public.

Then we went to the Lego thingy. It was terrific. I thought Johnny Mac was gonna pee his pants he was so excited. He rushed me through the entire place then went back to the start and we had to go slowly, checking out every display, figuring out how each was built, marveling at the giant things and the teeny-tiniest of things. As we were leaving I laid down about fifty bucks for crap he didn’t need. But I figured putting those Lego toys together would keep him off all of his electronic crap.

By the time we got home, he’d built a Lego Starship and lost half the pieces for the Lego dragon he just had to have. So we cleaned out the car, finding most of them and headed inside. I needed a Tums, but the meal had been worth it.

I was on my third Tums when the house phone rang. It was Jasmine. ‘Milt?’

‘Yeah, Jasmine?’

‘We got a possible attempted suicide at the hospital,’ she said.

‘Excuse me?’

‘Yeah, I know. Hell of a place to do it, but that EMT? The one from Tulsa? Drew something—’

‘Gleeson,’ I said, perking up in spite of the circumstances.

‘Yeah, well, the nurses caught him downing a whole punch of OxyContin he was stealing from their drug supply cabinet. So I guess we need to do something? He was stealing, and that’s a crime. And isn’t suicide still a crime?’

‘I think so. Where is he now?’

‘He’s having his stomach pumped. Should be good to go in a couple of hours.’

‘Call me when you’re on your way to the shop with him,’ I told her. ‘I’ll meet you there.’

‘Over and out,’ she said. Jasmine liked to do that kinda shit. I think it came from watching too much TV as a child.

Harmon still hadn’t returned by the time Jasmine called to say she and the prisoner (I liked the sound of that!) were on their way, so I packed up Johnny Mac and what was left of his Lego booty and we headed to the sheriff’s department.

I realized I needn’t have bothered bringing the Lego booty along as Petal, Jasmine’s daughter who’s just a year behind Johnny Mac, was already sitting in the bullpen doing something creative at one of the desks. Johnny Mac ran over to her as Jasmine said, ‘Well, I was gonna apologize for bringing my daughter to work, but now I guess I don’t have to.’ She smiled. That’s the thing about Jasmine. The first six or eight years I’d known her – all the time she was married to that no-good Lester Bodine – I never saw her smile. It first appeared shortly after the divorce – not a big smile, just a quirking of the lips. When she and Emmett got together, it turned into a grin, and when her daughter was born – well, now that smile was just something to behold.

‘Emmett tired of babysitting?’ I said, displaying my own grin.

Hers disappeared. I think I’d said something inappropriate. ‘It’s not “babysitting” when it’s your own child, Sheriff,’ she said.

‘I was just kidding,’ I tried, but she was back to business.

‘Another call came in just after I got the one about Gleeson. A wreck out in the far north of the county – dead bodies all over the place. We decided it would be best if he took that by himself and I took Petal with me to the hospital call.’

‘Well, that makes sense,’ I said, still trying to make up for my inappropriate statement. Come on, I’m old and I’m male. We’re not good at political correctness, or whatever the hell that was. ‘So where’s Gleeson?’ I asked.

‘Lying down in the cells.’

I went down the hall to the cell block and went in. I almost lost my shit when I saw that Drew Gleeson was in the same cell as the man I was pretty damn sure he’d murdered. Poetic justice, I thought, but then the chances were fifty-fifty that he’d end up in that cell. It was just pure dumb luck that both cells were empty. Eunice Blanton and her son, Earl, who had been our guests for several days, had been moved to the regional facilities near Tulsa to await hearings. It wouldn’t have been pretty if we’d had to put Drew Gleeson in with either one of the Blantons – more’n likely Earl, them both being men and all. But still, although I do believe Eunice might have inflicted more damage on her son’s suspected killer than her older son, I still think Earl coulda done some too.

‘So, hey, Drew,’ I said as I walked in.

He was lying on the bunk, his left arm over his eyes, his right at his side. He had his shoes off. He removed his arm from his eyes, raised his head and looked at me. Then he lowered his head, put the arm back over his eyes and said, ‘Hey, Sheriff.’

‘How you feeling?’ I asked, leaning against the bars.

‘Like dog shit. Ever had your stomach pumped?’

‘Nope. Never had the pleasure.’

‘It’s no pleasure,’ he said.

‘I’m thinking you and me need to have a sit-down, Drew. Work some things out.’

‘What things?’ he asked, still not looking at me or anything else but the inside of his arm.

‘I’m gonna have Jasmine come in here and take you to the facilities so you can wash your face, maybe rinse out your mouth. Hey, how about a Coke? Would you like a Coke? Or a Dr Pepper? Could even get you a Sprite if you’re so inclined.’

‘Coke sounds good. As long as it’s really cold,’ he said, taking his arm down and beginning to sit up.

‘Coke it is!’ I said and grinned. I reached through the bars and patted him on the back. ‘We’re gonna work this all out. Don’t you worry.’

I went back outside and waved my deputy away from the kids.

Once we were in our little lobby area, I gave Jasmine her instructions and went back to my office to review the notes I’d written down on why I thought Drew Gleeson was a killer. It didn’t take more than two minutes for me to remember all my theories, suppositions and bullshit. When I came back out I saw that the kids were loaded down with soft drinks, chips and chocolate, and that Jasmine was in the break room with the door partially closed. There was a TV mounted in the corner next to the two-way mirror that looked into the interrogation room where Drew was sitting at the table with a Coca-Cola in front of him – the same view that was on the TV screen. His hands were clasped on the table in front of him, uncuffed, like I’d instructed Jasmine.