Hot Water (15 page)

“If he wasn’t drunk how did this happen?” I wanted to believe in Jeremy—after all, I’d trusted him with Flora’s life and David’s—but I’d seen too many people in D.C. lead seemingly normal lives until their addictions spiraled out of control. Was he using drugs and I never noticed?

Ty read my mind. “No signs of drug use—we searched his truck and room and he’s got no tracks, of course he could be snorting or popping pills.” He lowered his voice. Suddenly he was Ty again instead of Deputy Stillwater. “Honestly, AJ, I’m not sure what happened. Not even Flora knows—”

“She’s okay?”

“Elizabeth said she was awake and talking. Doesn’t remember anything but falling asleep in her chair. Swears up and down that Jeremy didn’t give her any extra insulin. Not that anyone’s believing her. Jeremy’s real torn up over it, though.”

I didn’t have an answer for that. Nothing made sense. “What about those guys from Beckley who were harassing Jeremy?”

“Alibi—they were in a pool tournament all night long. Dozens of witnesses.”

“Did Jeremy think of anyone else?”

“Elizabeth is the only one who’s talked to him. I’ll ask him on the ride home.”

That left me with more questions than answers for now. And nothing to do except worry. “How’s David doing?”

“Just dropped him off at my mom’s place.” David loved visiting Ty’s mom—the Stillwater clan was large enough that there were always other kids over there. “He seemed okay—a bit quieter than usual. Except for asking me all kinds of questions about Jeremy’s case and forensics and stuff I couldn’t answer. I think I pissed him off—he accused me of treating him like a kid.”

“Join the club.” Still, my long-distance maternal instincts were abuzz with anxiety. “Ty. Do me a favor, will you?”

“Sure. Whatcha need?”

“After you get Jeremy home, would you stay with David? Until Elizabeth gets there?”

“What are you worried about, AJ?”

“I can’t help but think it’s a pretty damn convenient coincidence that both Flora and Jeremy are incapacitated the same night I leave David in their care.”

There was a long pause. “Who would do that? And why?”

I had to admit it sounded far-fetched. Ten years living in some not-so-nice neighborhoods in D.C. had honed my paranoia to a sharp edge—maybe too sharp. Or it could just be a long night spent without sleep and with plenty of crazy scenarios swirling around my brain. Finally I gave in and decided I’d let Ty judge for himself. “Masterson. He’s fighting me for official visitation rights.”

It sounded preposterous as soon as I said it. Ty’s doubt vibrated through the line, but at least he didn’t scoff out loud.

“I’ll watch out for him,” he finally said. “You’ve got my word on that. But, AJ, I really think you’re wrong about all this. Besides, I know for a fact that Kyle Masterson was in Charleston last night—addressing the Kiwanis at a fundraiser.”

“Still, I feel better knowing you’re watching David. I’m going to wrap things up here and get home as soon as possible.” I doubted I could fully swing the community in Grandel’s favor, not with only today and tomorrow to work with, but I could get things kick-started and come back after David’s birthday.

“Okay. I gotta go. You take care, now.”

“Thanks, Ty.” He hung up before I could say anything more—I’m not sure why, but “be careful” was on the tip of my tongue.

The sky was clear, the air heavy as I walked over to the café. Several Hispanic day laborers were waiting—looked like they were picking up packed lunches. Nice to know the place did some business. The counter was staffed by an older gentleman who had coffee poured for me before I slid into my seat.

“Hope you like it black, we’ve got no cream.”

“Black is perfect, thank you.”

He nodded, his eyes drawn to the TV behind him. On it the weatherman was showing a map of the predicted route of Hurricane Hermes, which had grown to a Category Three but was still not predicted to make landfall as it churned its way up the Atlantic coast. Colleton Landing sat just beyond the range of computer predictions painted on the map like a wide swath of red. Good. I didn’t want any stupid hurricane keeping me here any longer than I had to be.

“Fools,” the old man snorted, dragging a dishrag along the countertop. “Anyone can see it’s hurricane weather.”

Worried, I glanced outside the window where the sunshine was blinding. “Really? There’s no signs of any clouds.”

“Mark my words. By noon, they’ll be changing their story.”

A woman poked her head in from the kitchen. “Shut up, Henry, you’ll scare off the trade.” She bustled in, wiping her hands on her apron. “Don’t mind him, sweetheart, he says that every time there’s a storm within a thousand miles. Last time we got hit was almost sixty years ago. Now, what can I get you?”

She held a small notepad and pencil handy. I didn’t look at the menu. Since I wasn’t sure when I’d get lunch, I ordered a protein-heavy meal worthy of a long morning’s work: two eggs, sausage, hash browns. She gave me a brusque nod, seemed disappointed in my mundane selection, pocketed her notebook without writing down my order, and disappeared back into the kitchen.

“You all lived around here for long?” I asked as I waited.

The counterman tore his attention from the TV. “Yep.”

The woman brought a stack of Styrofoam containers out to the waiting workers, handed them out, then rejoined him.

“How do you like it?” I tried again.

The man stared at me like I was a dolt for asking. The woman answered, “Raised three kids here.” She nodded to the photos arrayed on a corkboard below the TV. “Did them just fine.”

“Nice looking family.” I smiled at a picture of the man, a decade or two younger, pushing a little girl in a swing. Two gangly but handsome boys wrestled off to the side. “They work here, too?”

The man shut the TV off in disgust. “What work? Ain’t been no work’round here since they put in the new highway.”

“Guess that hasn’t helped business much.”

The woman was silent, appraising me. “I know your name sounded familiar. I seen you on TV. You’re that lawyer—”

“No. I’m no lawyer,” I was quick to correct her. “I used to work for some.” I extended my hand. “AJ Palladino. I’m down here looking into the troubles out at the Colleton Landing nuclear plant.”

They both shook my hand—a little hesitantly, but I get that a lot.

“Floyd and Noreen Smalls,” she introduced them. “What troubles out at the plant? Something new happen?”

“No. But folks seem pretty riled up about the plant going to full capacity. When I was there yesterday, there was a bunch of protestors out front. You have any idea why? Seems to me the plant is the main place where folks around here can get work.”

The man spit a wad of tobacco juice into a mason jar. “They pay good, that’s for sure.”

“What do you think of the Grandels?”

“Owen—don’t got much use for him. Same as when he was a kid—all he wants is what’s good for him, itching to leave this place ’bout as soon as he could put both feet to the ground and take off running.”

His wife chimed in. “You know, when his folks died, the police almost arrested him?”

“Noreen, don’t go starting any gossip. You know how I feel about that. Boy was cleared of any wrongdoing.”

“They never did figure out what started that fire, and you know it, Floyd Smalls.” She hugged her arms around her chest. “I’m sorry, but I just never took a liking to that boy, not at all. But his brother, Morris? He’s a sweet boy.”

Floyd agreed, nodding and actually daring a smile. The ragged creases lining his face twisted sideways, revealing yellowed teeth. “Smart one, too. Fixed our walk-in without us even asking. Would’ve went out of business for sure without it. Woke up one morning and there he was, got the compressor in pieces all around him, smiling like a fool—”

“Floyd,” Noreen chided. “Don’t call him that. Morris is,” she hesitated, “special. But he’s done a lot for this community, don’t you let anyone tell you different.”

“No ma’am,” I promised. “So the plant doesn’t bother you?”

“Navy’s had nuclear stuff hidden up and down the coast for half a century. Did you know there is a hydrogen bomb buried right near here, off of Tybee Island? Been there since 1958. Could vaporize us all any old time, if it ever went off,” Floyd said. “Why should we be bothered now that we’re finally getting some money and jobs back from it?”

“Money? How so?”

Noreen explained, “Morris worked a deal with Palmetto Electric so the plant gives us electricity pretty near for free. A real lifesaver in these hard times, I tell you.”

“That sounds nice. So why do so many people want to shut the plant down?” I persisted. They hadn’t actually answered my question—not yet.

A buzzer in the kitchen went off and Noreen left to attend to it. Floyd leaned his elbows on the countertop. “They don’t really want to shut it down,” he whispered. “They just don’t got no other choice. What with the economy being so down and all.”

Before he could say anything else, Noreen returned with my breakfast. A huge soup bowl of cheese grits topped with plump shrimp.

“But I ordered—” Her glare shut me up. Made me feel like I was back home with Gram Flora. I hated grits—even Flora’s. Thinking of Flora made me homesick, so I took a timid taste anyway. A creamy confection of warmth melted on my tongue, rich and silky smooth. I dug in. Finally came up for air.

“These are better than even my gram’s,” I announced as I reached the bottom of the bowl. Noreen nodded like a proud mama.

“The secret’s the milk,” she said. “You tell your gram that. Don’t use water, you gotta use milk.”

“Yes ma’am, I’ll remember that. Thank you.” I paid the bill and got down from my stool, reluctant to go back out into the heat. Barely eight-thirty and already the parking lot shimmered like a desert mirage.

“You tell that Morris Grandel we say hey—tell him to stop being a stranger,” Noreen called after me.

I wanted to be prepared for anything, and it seemed like my stuff might be safer stowed in my car parked at the plant’s secure lot, so I quickly tossed everything back in my bags and threw them in the SUV. Then, lowering the visor as far as it would go and squinting against the bright morning sun, I headed east to Colleton Landing.

Bailing clients out of jail hadn’t been part of Elizabeth’s old job back in Philly. She tried her best to look like she knew what she was doing, following the leads of the other attorneys in the criminal court’s arraignment hearings. Just like on the civil side of things, the justice system seemed fueled by an inordinate amount of paperwork and lots of sitting and waiting.

Finally it was her turn before the judge. A deputy led Jeremy to stand beside her. He wore the same clothes he had last night, reeked of sweat and vomit, but other than blood-shot eyes and sagging shoulders, he looked okay.

The prosecutor, a thirty-something white man with an eagle-beagle glint in his gaze, started. “Your Honor, the police found the defendant alone in the house with the victim, obviously in an intoxicated state.”

Elizabeth leapt to Jeremy’s defense. “First of all, he lives with the victim, so of course he was in the house. And secondly, how do you explain the defendant’s blood alcohol level being near zero?”

“Point oh-three to be exact,” the prosecutor interjected. “And the police documented the presence of a large amount of vomit reeking of alcohol on the defendant’s clothing and the area immediately around his person when they arrived. We are awaiting further toxicology testing to determine if the alcohol was perhaps ingested after the defendant had already become intoxicated with some other substance. If they reveal the presence of an illegal substance, we are prepared to add additional charges when the tests results become available.”

Jeez, this guy had an answer for everything—and he’d just left the judge with the impression that Jeremy was some kind of drug addict. Great. “Your Honor, even the victim has stated that the defendant did not give her the extra insulin in question.”

“Your honor, we have not been able to interview Mrs. Hightower to verify the defense’s contention; however, I would like to point out that Flora Hightower is the very definition of a high-risk, vulnerable victim. She is seventy-three, legally blind, with severe diabetes, and until last night was totally dependent on the defendant for care. Therefore, we ask for bond at $50,000.”