No Way Home (11 page)

Pink had reiterated, loudly, his disapproval of the idea of a newspaper ad and gone off to work in a bad temper. After he left, Lillie had decided to call Brenda for moral support, but when Brenda answered she found herself talking about work and never mentioning the ad. She had a suspicion that Brenda would not approve either. Instead, Lillie chattered on about how she was feeling better and wanting to work, and Brenda finally agreed to let her try it on Monday.

Lillie looked down at the picture in her hand, took a deep breath, and opened the door to the newspaper office. She was greeted pleasantly by various staff members who recognized her. She often helped Pink out by placing his weekly ads for properties, and occasionally she and Brenda ran an ad when business was slow. Lillie walked directly to the classifieds and put the paper bag she was carrying down on the desk of a woman dressed in a turquoise-blue pantsuit and a ruffled blouse.

The gray-haired woman at the desk was on the phone, but she smiled and mouthed the words “You shouldn’t have” as Lillie unpacked a paper cup of coffee, and a Krispy Kreme glazed doughnut on her desk. The woman said her good-byes, hung up the phone, lit a cigarette, and took a sip from the coffee cup. Then she looked down at the doughnut.

“I’m gonna save this for break,” she advised Lillie in a deep, raspy voice. She moved the waxed paper to one side of her blotter with neatly manicured fingertips, never letting go of the cigarette.

“I know you like glazed, Rebecca Louise.”

The older woman nodded and exhaled a smoke ring. “Oh, I do, I do. I get a craving for them that is positively irresistible about twice a week.” She rested her deeply lined face in the palm of her hand, holding her cigarette out at an awkward angle. “How are you doing, sweetie? I have been thinking about you and Pink.”

“I’m all right,” Lillie said firmly. “But, Rebecca Louise, I want to put something in the paper.”

“Well, I surely can help you with that. What have you got there?” Rebecca Louise reached into the file folders on the desk and pulled out the forms for a classified ad.

Lillie pulled a photograph out of her purse and handed it to the older woman. It was the best, most recent photo she could find of Michele. She had a natural-looking smile in the picture and it really looked like her, unlike the stiff eighth-grade graduation portrait the paper ran when she died. Rebecca Louise held the photo gingerly and blanched beneath her delicate pink face powder. When she looked up at Lillie her carefully made-up eyes betrayed every year of her age. “She was a pretty thing,” she said.

“Thank you,” Lillie said calmly. “Now, I want to run kind of a…well, a card of thanks, you know, with a picture.”

Rebecca Louise took another drag on her cigarette. “Well, technically that would be obits, honey.”

“I know,” Lillie said. “But I want it to run in the classifieds, where folks will really stop and notice it.” She rummaged in her purse for a piece of paper. “I worded it this way.” She looked at the paper again and then handed it over. “Can you read my handwriting?”

The older woman frowned as she read it. Her lips mumbled the words as she read. “Thanks…kindness…information…the night of September 28, Founders Day, contact the sheriff or—Who’s this number. Y’all’s?”

Lillie nodded.

“You put this number in the paper you’re gonna get all kinds of kooks calling you up, Lillie.”

“Somebody had to have seen her that night. Somebody has to be able to tell us what she was doing down there. Who she was with.”

“That Partin boy, wasn’t it?” asked Rebecca Louise.

“No,” Lillie said. “I don’t believe so. Rebecca Louise, I want this to run every week until we get the one who did it.”

“Did the sheriff okay this?” the older woman asked suspiciously.

“The sheriff’s out of town. I want Monday’s paper. Please.”

“This is going to cost you, honey.”

“I don’t care,” said Lillie.

“No, I don’t guess you do.” Rebecca Louise lit another cigarette from the one she was smoking. “All right. I’ll get it in a good spot. Leave it to me.”

Lillie thanked her and received a sage nod in reply. “I’ll be in again soon,” Lillie promised. As she headed out toward the front of the building, she saw the front door open and a familiar figure walk in. She tried to avoid him but Jordan stopped her as she hurried out.

“Lillie.”

“Hello,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

“Being interviewed about the show. Actors. We try never to miss a chance for some free publicity,” he said with an awkward smile.

“Well,” Lillie said briskly, “you ought to get plenty of mileage out of this murder, then.”

“I’ll pretend you didn’t say that,” said Jordan.

A pleasant-looking girl in glasses, wearing a University of the South sweatshirt, snapped off the glowing screen of her computer and ambled over toward Jordan and Lillie. “Mr. Hill,” she said. “I’m the one who called you, Kendra Spencer. Glad you could make it.”

Lillie had pushed open the front door and started out. Jordan turned to the girl, who was pushing her glasses up on her nose.

“Can you excuse me for a minute?” he asked as he followed Lillie out the door and into the parking lot.

“Lillie,” he said. “Wait a minute.”

“What?”

“Is there any news? About Michele. Anything I should know?”

Lillie sighed and leaned against her car. “There may be. I was just putting in an ad, to try to get more information. Right now, it just seems like Ronnie Lee Partin was not responsible.”

“What? Well, if—”

“It seems like he has an alibi. That’s all I know right now.”

“Have they brought him in?”

“Not yet, I don’t think so. Look, I don’t want to go through it all again. It’ll be in the paper. If you’re around to read the paper, that is. What are you still doing here, anyway? Shouldn’t you be back in New York or Hollywood or somewhere?”

“Well, I haven’t been home in a long time. And I thought my mother might need me to stay around for a while.”

“How thoughtful of you,” Lillie said coolly.

“It takes time to absorb this,” he said. “For all of us.”

Lillie chewed on the inside of her mouth and avoided his eyes. “Well, that’s true. I know Miz Bessie appreciates your staying.”

“Lillie, I was hoping that while I was here, you and I could sit down and talk.”

“I don’t mean to be rude, but I don’t see that there’s anything for us to talk about,” said Lillie. “The only thing we had in common was Michele. She’s gone. What’s there left to say?”

“Well, I’d like to talk about Michele,” he said.

“What about Michele?” Lillie said defensively.

“Well, over the years, you know, I missed a lot of her growing up.”

“And whose fault is that?” Lillie asked.

“It’s mine, of course. But I find myself with so many unanswered questions about her. I’d like to hear about those early years. See pictures of her from those days.”

“Kind of a capsule summary of her life,” Lillie said with a flinty look in her eye.

“Look, Lillie, this may sound strange to you now. But I have memories of her too, and I have no one to share them with. If we could talk for a while…well, it would really help me to talk about her.”

Lillie stared at his rugged face, his serious expression, in disbelief. “Oh, it would help you, would it?” she said. “Well, by all means, then. I’ll just block out all the time you need. After all, you were such a great help to me and Michele. You helped us out a lot. Leaving me alone with an infant who was struggling just to stay alive.”

“Well, you weren’t alone for long,” he said coolly.

Lillie glared at him. “How dare you?” she exclaimed. “How dare you even think to bring that up to me?”

“Lillie, you’re right. I didn’t want to start an argument. It just seemed to me that we should try to talk. To help one another along. For Michele’s sake. For the sake of her memory.”

Lillie shook her head, her jaw clenched. “For Michele’s sake,” she repeated. “You’re unbelievable. Can’t you even hear yourself? You know, Jordan, I hope it was worth it. I hope you found what you were looking for. But I sure don’t want to talk about my daughter or anything else with you. I can hardly bear to think about it.”

“All right, listen,” Jordan said angrily. “I’m not going to try and justify my life to you standing here in the Radio Shack parking lot. All I’m asking you for is a little bit of your time.”

“Well, I can’t spare the time,” Lillie said bitterly. “I’ve got to go and buy some cream cheese. I guess people don’t have such mundane little errands like that to do in New York City. I guess you and I might just step on into some little cafe and have cappuccino and relive the good times, but I’ve got puff pastry to make for the Daughters of the Confederacy supper meeting. So, if you will excuse me, I have to get over to Kroger’s. And I believe you are about to meet the press.” Lillie looked back at the door of the Courier building. She could see the yellow sweatshirt behind the tinted glass as the young reporter peered out at them.

“All right,” said Jordan. “Okay. You don’t owe me any favors. I’ll grant you that.”

Lillie got into her car and slammed the door. She did not look back at him standing there. She pulled out on Route 31 and drove carefully to the first red traffic light, where she was finally able to get a tissue from her purse and wipe away the angry tears that were making it difficult to see.

FIRST THING MONDAY MORNING, ALLENE STARNES
was at the high school, stapling up the posters she had made for Grayson’s campaign. She had worked on them all weekend long, pleased that he had asked for her help. He had wanted to work on them with her, but he had to stay home most of the weekend. People were coming by to call because of his sister.

Allene understood. She told him not to worry and promised to make the posters perfect for him. And she did have an artistic eye, as Grayson said. She fussed over the lettering until it looked professional, and her father let her use the copying machine at his store on Sunday afternoon so they would be ready for Monday morning.

Now, as she hung the last poster on the bulletin board over the water fountain, outside the auditorium, she could not help but imagine how grateful he would be when he saw them. The posters had turned out exactly the way he wanted them. She closed her eyes and pictured the smile dawning in his eyes, his warm breath whispering his thanks in her ear, his body pressed hard against her, maybe right here in the hallway. Her face flushed hot and tingly as she thought of it, and she felt her nipples standing up under the soft fabric of her shirt. Embarrassed, she picked up her notebook and held it against her chest and she bent over the water fountain, took a drink, and waited for the evidence of her excitement to subside.

The doors to the auditorium opened and kids began to trickle out. Allene greeted a few of them distractedly. She knew Grayson was in there, and she wanted it to look casual, as if she just happened to be passing by when he came out. That soap opera star who was his sister’s real father was giving a talk and Gray had said he’d probably go.

Cherie Hatchett stopped and tried to engage Allene in a conversation, but Allene was not really able to pay attention to what the other girl was saying. She kept an eye on the doors, poised to cut Cherie off and saunter in Grayson’s direction as soon as she spotted him. Suddenly the glimpse of a golden head at the far door made her heart turn over with delight.

“See you,” she said to Cherie, and did not wait for a reply. She started toward him, mentally summoning up a calm, sexy voice to drawl out his name when she noticed that he wasn’t alone, or with the guys. He was standing very close to Emily Crowell, the new girl from Chicago with the black hair, the one she had talked to at the funeral.

Allene stopped short and stared. An icy feeling gripped her. Grayson was not touching the other girl. But he had his head inclined toward her in a certain way that made Allene feel like there was something sharp poking her in the heart. Her face was flaming. She tried to turn away but Emily spotted her and nudged Grayson.

Gray looked up and gave Allene a brilliant smile. He and Emily walked straight toward her, and Grayson reached out and gave her a squeeze at the waist.

“Hey,” he said. “How are you?”

His arm around her buoyed her like a life preserver to a person sure she was about to drown, but she was still shaken. “I’m okay,” she said coolly.

“Do you know Emily?” he asked.

“We met,” said Allene. As soon as she thought of the funeral, she felt immediately guilty for acting cold and jealous. It was so petty. “Hi, Emily,” she said in a friendly tone.

“We just listened to Jordan’s talk.” Grayson dropped the name proudly.

“He was fabulous,” said Emily, her shiny black eyes wide with excitement. “He told how he got his first part, and about learning to act and everything.”

“Emily wants to be an actress someday,” Gray explained.

“Oh,” said Allene, feeling suddenly embarrassed by her often expressed desire to be an occupational therapist. It suddenly seemed a frumpy choice by comparison.

“So,” said Gray, “I said I’d introduce her to Jordan. Maybe he can help her out.”

Emily craned her neck to watch the door. “I cannot wait to meet him. He is so gorgeous.”

“I finished putting up the posters, Grayson,” Allene said.

“Oh, good,” said Gray, keeping an eye on the door to the auditorium.

“Come and look.”

Gray frowned slightly. “Can it wait just a second?” he said.

Allene felt the coldness creeping around her heart again. “There’s one right here,” she said, pointing to the alcove where the fountain was.

Gray glanced back over his shoulder and then followed her to the fountain. He gazed at the bulletin board. “Hey, that looks great,” he said, and his eyes took on that gleam that Allene had imagined. The warmth of his smile enveloped her. “You did a great job, Allene. Thanks.”

Allene nodded happily. “Don’t you think? I put up two dozen around the halls.”

Grayson stepped up to the poster and touched his picture with his forefinger as if smoothing down an errant hair. “I just wish I’d been wearing my blue Tattersall shirt the day that picture was taken. That T-shirt doesn’t look quite right.”