Mystery Writers of America Presents the Prosecution Rests (21 page)

The melted remnants of a Mercedes-Benz sedan stood ten yards ahead, in what had once been the partially detached garage. Mary
Shawn had commandeered the car from Jimmy after his last DWI conviction six months ago. She’d wanted the Benz ever since Jimmy
bought it. Mary Shawn always got what she wanted.

I parked the rental car and stepped out into the hot sun. The convertible’s engine was running. I looked inside. The driver’s
seatback was fully reclined. A half-empty bottle of Grey Goose vodka lay on the floorboard. As I looked around for some sign
of the car’s owner, a cloud of bluish smoke wafted over the hood.

I walked around to the other side of the convertible to find Shawnie sitting on the ground smoking a cigarette. Even in the
heat and humidity, she still wore the black pants and jacket she’d had on when she showed up at my house yesterday morning.
She looked up at me through her sunglasses. The lenses weren’t dark; I could plainly see that her eyes were bloodshot. I wondered
if it was from the crying or the lack of sleep or the vodka. Her being so much like her mother, I’d put my money on the Grey
Goose.

Even now, after a night of hard drinking, Shawnie was stunningly beautiful. Her thick, sleek hair glowed golden in the sun.
Women would have killed for her high cheekbones, pouting lips, flawless skin. She was the epitome of classic beauty. Shawnie
took it all for granted.
Just like her mother.
My wife had been jealous of Mary Shawn’s looks. Throughout the years of our marriage, Elizabeth always wondered if something
had happened between Mary Shawn and me. Nothing had, of course, but I was never able to explain why Elizabeth’s suspicions
were unfounded. I couldn’t tell her. I’d given Jimmy my word.

I took Shawnie by the wrist and pulled her to her feet. “Where’d you go last night?”

“I couldn’t handle it anymore.” She took a drag from the cigarette in a theatrical sort of gesture, the kind of motion Mary
Shawn had made when she smoked. Shawnie exhaled and said, “I had to get away.”

“You left the rental car running in the parking lot. Couldn’t you have at least left the keys at the front desk? Someone might
have stolen it.”

She shrugged.

I took a deep breath and let it out. “Where’d you sleep?”

“Here. In my car.” She dropped the cigarette on the concrete and crushed it with one of her black stilettos. “The sheriff
put that yellow tape stuff across the door of Daddy’s apartment. I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“I got you a room at the Marriott on the interstate.” I reached into my pocket, pulled out the keycard, and handed it to her.
“You’re in four-one-one. Like the number you call for information. You can remember that, right?”

She rolled her eyes at me. Either the lenses weren’t as dark as she thought they were or she just didn’t care if I saw. “Where’s
Daddy?”

“Still in jail.”

Shawnie frowned. “What’d he tell you?”

“Not a word.”

Perspiration beaded on my forehead. I looked over my shoulder. The shade of a large pine was only a few yards away. Beyond
that, twin two-story chimneys stood watch over the rubble that had once been my brother’s house. When I offered to build the
place for him after I’d won my first big verdict, Jimmy said he wanted something made of brick, something simple that wouldn’t
require a lot of maintenance. I still had the blueprints of the house he wanted… and of the house that was actually built.
Mary Shawn had insisted that the place be a two-story wooden structure with a tall staircase, a wraparound porch, and lots
of gingerbread. She got what she wanted. Mary Shawn always got what she wanted.

I faced Shawnie. “I’m going to have a look around, try to figure out what to do until the attorney from Little Rock gets here.”

She squatted and rummaged through the Louis Vuitton purse on the ground. She pulled out a lighter and a cigarette, then stood
again. With the spiky heels she wore, it was an amazing feat of balance. She may have had a lot to drink last night, but she
was apparently sober now.

“Go to the hotel and get some sleep.” I turned to walk away.

She grabbed my arm and said, “I was hoping Daddy’d be out of jail by now…”

“And?”

She lit the cigarette. “The man at the bank won’t let me draw on Daddy’s trust. Mama had me on her account, but I used all
that money to buy my ticket out to California. There’s nothing left, Uncle Robert. I’m broke.”

I wondered why we had to do this in the hot sun when there was shade only a few steps away. I pulled my wallet from the pocket
of my jeans and fished out three one-hundred-dollar bills. “Will this do for now?”

She motioned toward the rubble with her cigarette. “All my clothes burned up in the house.”

I added two more hundreds and passed her the cash.

Shawnie didn’t say thank you. She stood there biting her lower lip.

I was sweltering. “If you need more, speak up.”

“The funeral home wants everything paid for up front.”

“Which funeral home?”

She took a drag from her cigarette and blew out the smoke. “There’s only the one.”

“I’ll take care of it.” I wiped the sweat from my forehead. “Anything else?”

“My car payment’s due.”

“Where?”

“At the bank.”

“I’ll take care of it. I’ll take care of everything. Just go to the hotel and get some sleep. I’ll come get you for dinner
later.”

Cigarette hanging from her mouth, Shawnie picked up her purse, stepped into the convertible, and drove away.

There was so little left of the house, it took a few moments for me to get my bearings. I stepped over the crime scene tape,
walked through what used to be the front door, and worked my way through the charred wood and broken glass to the base of
the staircase.

When Jimmy had finally started talking in the jail last night, everything he told me was clear, coherent, chronological. I
couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen my brother sober. I wondered when he’d last been more than a few hours without a
drink. Years ago, I imagined. Probably not since before he got out of prison.

Jimmy told me that Mary Shawn had called him from the house—it showed on the caller ID—threatening to tell Shawnie the truth
about her father if Jimmy didn’t come over right away. He’d put away several shots of Macallan by then, but it didn’t matter.
He didn’t have a license, and he didn’t have a car. He got one of his neighbors to drive him to the house and drop him off
at the end of the driveway. He found the front door ajar. Mary Shawn was at the base of the staircase. Dead. Broken neck,
as best he could tell. He figured she’d fallen down the stairs.

After Shawnie had started college, Jimmy finally got up the nerve to leave Mary Shawn. He moved into an apartment; Mary Shawn
stayed in the house. When Shawnie graduated, Jimmy filed for divorce. Mary Shawn asked for the house, but it wasn’t his to
give. The deed was in my name. Mary Shawn’s attorney told her as much. She was undeterred. She said she’d die in that house.

Mary Shawn got what she wanted.

Jimmy said that when he pulled his cell phone off his belt to call the sheriff, everything went black. He figured he’d passed
out. When he came to, the place was on fire. He barely escaped. He knew people would think he’d done it again, that he’d killed
someone in a fight, then burned down the house to try to cover his tracks. So he ran. The sheriff—the same sheriff he’d turned
himself in to twenty-four years ago—picked him up on the road out of town.

My brother might have done a stupid thing by running, but the reasoning behind it was valid. It would be almost impossible
to find anyone in the county who’d believe him to be innocent.

Twenty-four years ago, a justice of the peace pronounced Jimmy man and wife with Mary Shawn. Jimmy kissed his bride, walked
across the street, and turned himself in to the sheriff for killing Mary Shawn’s father and burning down his house with him
in it. He said it was an accident, that he’d gotten into a fight with the old man because Mary Shawn’s father had been roughing
her up. Jimmy said he shoved the old man, and he had hit his head and died. He said he’d burned down the old man’s house to
try to cover up what he did. It wasn’t the truth, but Jimmy stuck to the story. Shawnie was born while Jimmy was serving his
fourth month in the penitentiary.

After five years of prison and a nineteen-year drinking career peppered with three DWIs and several dropped domestic violence
charges, Jimmy had already been convicted in the mind of just about every potential juror. A change of venue or some other
legal maneuvering might help, but it wasn’t a certainty. If they sent him back to prison now, he’d die.

Elizabeth and Riley were gone, and as hard as it was to admit to myself, there was no bringing them back. Jimmy was the only
family I had left. He hadn’t passed out that night. Someone tried to kill him, and now he was being held for a crime he didn’t
commit. I had to save him while there was still time.

____

T
HE FIRST
E-Z Mart was a bust. I drove to the one at the other end of town and walked inside. The woman with the bad hair from the
county jail was behind the counter ringing up a carton of Camels and a bag of Funyuns for a sunburned man in paint-stained
work boots. She didn’t seem to notice me. I made my way to the back of the store and pulled a bottle of Perrier from the cooler.
I waited there until the man in the work boots left and we had the place to ourselves. I hurried to the counter. The woman’s
nametag read
Patricia.
I still had no recollection of her from high school, but I doubted she’d go by such a formal name.

I approached the counter and looked her straight in the eye. “Hi, Patty.”

She gave a yellow smile. “I didn’t think you remembered my name last night.”

“How could I forget?” I smiled back at her. “I take it this is your second job?”

She nodded. “It sure wears me out, but I have to do it. Got them grandbabies to feed and clothe.”

“Listen”—I leaned over the counter—“I don’t practice law anymore, but I’d like to help if I can. Would you like me to see
what I can do about getting some of your money back from Kenny Earl?”

Mouth open, she nodded.

“Do you have e-mail access?”

“At the library.” She spoke as if she were in shock. “I check my e-mails at the library.”

I passed her what would have been my business card if I were still in business. “Send me an e-mail with every scrap of information
you have on him. I’ll see to it just as soon as I get back home.”

“How long do you think that’ll be?” She gave an embarrassed look. “I mean, how much longer are you going to be able to stay
in town?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve got a criminal defense man coming down from Little Rock tomorrow. There’s really nothing else I can do
for Jimmy. My main concern now is Shawnie.” A mud-encrusted Chevy pickup pulled into the parking lot. “She won’t talk to me,
but I know there’s something going on. I’m worried about her.”

“A lot of people are worried about her.” Patty gave a smile. “Such a pretty thing—homecoming queen, just like her mama—but
she’s a drinker, just like her mama
and
her daddy. And she’s well on her way to becoming a big ol’…”

I remained silent.

Patty waved her hands in the air. “Forget I said anything.”

I stood upright.

“I really shouldn’t say any more.”

I nodded as if I understood.

She looked out the glass storefront. The man in the muddy pickup was still behind the wheel, talking on a cell phone. Patty’s
voice lowered to a near-hush. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but…”

It was hard not to smile. There’s nothing like silence to get people to talk.

She leaned in over the counter. “The night Mary Shawn died, Shawnie was supposed to have been down in Dallas. She’d won a
big shopping spree in some contest.”

I nodded knowingly.

“But one of the deputies spotted her convertible at a cabin up in the hills north of here. Sheriff went up to give her the
news about her mama. He found her alone, but there was no telling what she’d been doing up there before. Rumor is, she’s been
sneaking around with an older man, a doctor out of Hot Springs. Thing is, Sheriff didn’t mention where he found Shawnie in
his report. I think he kept it out of the record because it was an open-and-shut case… and the doctor’s married… and he’s
the sheriff’s cousin.”

____

I
T WAS DARK
by the time I left the jail. I returned to the Marriott, put on a suit, and walked up one flight of stairs to the fourth
floor. Light shone through room 411’s peephole. I knocked. The peephole light remained steady until Shawnie opened the door.
She wore an expensive-looking black dress. “Hi, Uncle Robert!”

“You should really see who’s there before opening.”

She just shrugged. A cigarette smell drifted out of the room.

“Were you smoking in there?”

Shawnie tilted her head to the side as if to say,
So what?

“This is a nonsmoking hotel.”

She shrugged again. “Can we go to dinner now? I’m starving.”

The Red Lobster was a hundred yards from the hotel, but Shawnie insisted we take my rental car so she wouldn’t scuff the soles
of her new shoes. She tossed down an endless stream of vodka tonics before, during, and after dinner. She ordered the most
expensive entree on the menu. She talked incessantly about the bargains she’d found while shopping. A few people in the restaurant
stared at us as if they were amazed she could act so carefree with her mother rotting in the funeral home and her father rotting
in jail. They also might have been wondering if I was the older married doctor out of Hot Springs.

We drove back to the Marriott, and I waited outside while Shawnie smoked what she said would be her last cigarette of the
evening. I knew she’d have a few more in her room. She was a liar.
Just like her mother.
We rode the elevator to the fourth floor, and I walked her to her door. “Well, I guess this is good-bye.”