Poison Town (17 page)

The house was toasty warm when Travis and LJ brought Coon inside. Travis made everybody take their shoes off, to the lawyer’s clear discomfort, and they pulled up chairs to the kitchen table. He rousted his father, who was snoozing in his recliner with his radio on.

Daddy poured himself a glass of prune juice and joined the others at the table.

Bo was poking around in the fridge, and Coon nodded toward him and addressed LJ. “Do you mind? This is just between the four of us.”

“Bo, take a hike for a few,” LJ said, but he gave Coon a nasty look.

Bo shrugged and wandered off.

It took only a minute for the lawyer to outline the offer. Travis followed up with his concerns.

Galen sat silently with his hands resting on the kitchen table.

“Well?” said Coon. “Are we going to do this deal? I can’t believe I even have to ask that question. I thought this was what you wanted. It
is
what you wanted.”

Galen cleared his throat. “You’ve done a fine job, Mr. Coon. We appreciate it.” He looked down at his hands and interlocked fingers. “I understand Travis’s points. By making us an offer, they are admitting their guilt—”

“But remember—”

“I understand about signing the affidavit, Mr. Coon. But we all know they’re guilty as the day is long. And if we accept this offer … well, let’s just say we’re not helping anybody but ourselves.”

Coon took in an enormous breath.

LJ crossed his arms. Travis waited.

“As much as I’d like to have a hand in bringin’ Demler-Vargus to its knees, and somehow get revenge for your mother’s death … that’s God’s doing.” Galen’s old eyes blinked toward Travis, then LJ. “I’ve got to think about you boys and your future. This’ll make your lives much better. You can keep right on doin’ what you’re doin’ out in the shop, there just won’t be as much pressure.”

“Then it’s settled.” Coon stood. “I’ll set the meeting up for one afternoon this week, the first available for them, if that suits you gentlemen.”

Without looking at Coon, Galen gave a nod and downed the remainder of his juice.

Travis and LJ got up and saw the lawyer to the door. He was on his way out when Bo spoke from the living room doorway. “Don’t forget your hat.”

Coon gave him a glare, grabbed his hat, and made his exit.

Travis kept his eye out for Claire as he scrubbed the grime off his hands at the kitchen sink. LJ was back at work in the shop and had put Bo on an oil change and lube job.

She rolled into the parking lot like a stockcar driver in her little blue Fiat, right on time. She was out in an instant, all carefree and looking around for which door to go to.

Travis opened the back door and stepped into the cold, his heart racing like a high school kid with a crush. “Hey, Claire,” he called.

She smiled, dodged several patches of snow with her leather bag swaying on her hip, and bounced right on up the back steps. “Hey there!” She patted his arm. “Are you ready for the best pizza you’ve ever tasted?” Her eyes twinkled beneath her white knit cap, and she gave her matching scarf a tug.

“Come in for a second.” Travis held the door. “You can say hey to Daddy, and I’ll grab my coat.”

Travis wished he’d had more time to spruce up. The kitchen looked like a pack of vagrants had been living there. But it didn’t seem to matter to Claire. She blew in like a summer breeze.

Daddy’s eyes lit up when she entered the TV room and Travis introduced them. They hit it right off, so Travis excused himself and hustled upstairs. He brushed his teeth, splashed on some Aqua Velva, and checked himself in the mirror. He’d shaved extra close that morning but acknowledged again that he needed a haircut.

By the time he got downstairs, Daddy had managed to lure Claire into his web. They were sitting in straight-back chairs over by the window. His father was rambling on about his rare coins, and Claire was examining one with his enormous magnifying glass.

Travis managed to roust them out of there, and Claire insisted on driving. She knew the east side as well as he did, taking turns and shortcuts to an old two-story house on Winston Avenue that had been converted into an Italian restaurant, Savelli’s. Travis had seen the place for years but never considered eating there.

The place was a true find. They sat across from each other in a cushy booth. The dark wood table featured a mini jukebox and a candle in an old Italian wine bottle, with dry wax dripped down the sides. Mr. Savelli himself waited on them, and Claire assured Travis that one slice would be enough. She was right; it was the size of the plate and mouthwatering.

They couldn’t talk enough, about the old days, the neighborhood, the people and places they shared in common, and about her experiences in social work. Travis told her about his family and his work, and when he finally got around to detailing the crazy events of the past week, Claire was shocked.

“Travis, your dad was poisoned. Your house was wrecked. That man was following you. Now, all of a sudden, they’re going to pay you two-point-five million dollars and leave you alone?” Claire shook her head. “I don’t believe it for a minute.”

“We don’t know for sure that Demler-Vargus was behind all that stuff.”

Claire shrugged. “Who else would it be? All they took from your house was your dad’s notes. They wanted that evidence.”

She was confronting him with things none of his family wanted to admit, because there was a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Her sober observations made him feel ignorant and greedy—and frightened about what Demler-Vargus might really be up to.

“What are the police doing?” she said.

He explained that they were trying to track down the silver Toyota, but that they didn’t have the time, interest, or resources to investigate a corporate giant. His ultimate hope was that Jack and Derrick would expose the harm and corruption spewing from Demler-Vargus.

But when he told her that the reporters were having a difficult time tracking down Amy Sheets, and that Spivey Brinkman was missing, Claire about went through Savelli’s roof.

“Travis, this is nothing to be taken lightly. You and LJ need to protect your dad. You need to talk to an investigator. This is dangerous.”

Travis glanced at Claire’s watch and did a double take. More than two hours had flown past. LJ would be having a cow. Claire asked Mr. Savelli for a to-go box and insisted on picking up the tab. “After all, I invited you!” she said.

As she zipped them toward his home in the Fiat, Travis told her about the various leads Jack and Derrick were pursuing. When he mentioned that Amy Sheets had interviewed Emmett and Barb Doyle, Claire’s knee jerked off the gas, and Travis bucked forward.

She swerved to the side of the road, slammed to a stop, and turned the car off.

“What is it?” he said.

Claire turned to face him. Her face was chalk white, washing away the color of her lips and freckles.

“Are you sick?”

She nodded once and rocketed from the car into some weeds at the edge of the woods. Travis rushed to her but stayed back several feet as she ripped off her hat, bent over, and vomited. He dashed back to the car and grabbed the napkins from the carryout bag. “Here.”

She reached back and took them, steam rising from the wet weeds beneath her. She wiped her mouth with the napkins, then retched again.

She turned slightly and stuck the hat out. Travis grabbed it. Then she bent over and rested both hands on her knees.

After a moment, Travis bent down with her. “Take deep breaths.”

She did, wiping her mouth again. Then she stood, eyes locked on his. “My mom … our family … we were close friends with Barb and Emmett … they moved to Charleston …”

“Claire, take it easy.” He rested a hand on her back. “We’ll talk about it later—”

“No.” She shook her head. “You don’t understand …”

She was shaking badly. She stood up and grabbed both elbows to stop shivering. “This can’t be … it just can’t be.” She staggered and shot a fist to her mouth, and Travis thought she was going to be sick again. She swallowed hard and took a deep breath, her eyes searching him frantically. “My mom just heard, Barb and Emmett are dead …”

Chapter 18

“M is for Monday and M is for meatloaf!” Derrick had been going on about the lunch special at the Sparta ever since he and Jack met up at the paper that morning, so at lunchtime the duo hurried in to grab a bite. The crowded place was a throwback, with a long yellow Formica counter and barstools, several yellow booths, and a window that ran the length of the place, allowing diners to observe downtown Trenton City and passersby.

They got a booth by the window. “It is meatloaf and mashed day, right?” Derrick said. “I didn’t see it on the board.”

“Calm down, dude. I’m sure it hasn’t changed,” Jack said.

“They season it so good. Best deal in town for four ninety-nine. Is Pam a good cook?”

Hearing Pam’s name reminded Jack of the friction between them that had been bothering him all day. He had called her midmorning to say hello and had gotten a cold response. All he knew to do was to continue to put one step in front of the other.

“Pretty good,” he answered. “She’s calorie conscious, though.”

“Zenia buys those budget TV dinners. I don’t think she knows what a spatula is.”

They laughed as a waitress in the standard Sparta uniform of yellow dress and white apron brought waters in clear plastic glasses. Her name tag said Marleen.

“I’ve got a craving for a grilled cheese and fries,” Jack told her.

“Well, you know what I’m here for, Marleen,” Derrick said. “I’ll have the healthiest portion of the meatloaf and mashed taters that you can scare up.”

Two men stood at the busy counter, waiting to pay for their meal. Jack recognized one, then the other—and his stomach turned inside out.

“Shoot.” His face flushed. “Don’t look now.” He quickly glanced out the window, hoping they hadn’t seen him.

“Who is it?” Derrick said.

“I’ll tell you in a minute. Just don’t look.”

Jack tried to find the men in the reflection of the glass. Yes, it was Granger, getting his coat on. Couldn’t miss him, the guy was so tall.

“Hello, Jack.”

Ugh.

Jack turned to find Evan McDaniel standing over them. “It’s been a while.”

Jack shook hands with Evan and reintroduced him to Derrick.

“Hey, any chance we can talk for a second?” Evan said.

Derrick slid out. “I need to use the boys’ room anyway, before the food gets here. You guys go ahead.”

The bell at the door jingled, and Granger meandered out to the street.
Good.

Holding his coat, Evan slid in across from Jack. He looked less gaunt and his face had much better color than the last time Jack had seen him.

“How’s Wendy?” Jack liked Evan’s wife, whom he had befriended when Evan disappeared a year and a half ago, with the intent of taking his own life.

“She’s wonderful, especially now that she’s out from under the pressure of being a pastor’s wife. Thanks for asking.”

“And the boys?”

“All fine. Growing up too fast.” Evan glanced around, then leaned over the table. “Look, Jack, here’s what I want to say. I’ve been meeting with Granger ever since he was arrested. We’ve become friends.”

Jack cleared his throat and looked back out the window. Granger loitered in the cold with his hands stuffed in his coat pockets like a kid waiting for his mom.

“When he wanted to apologize to you and Pam … well, it wasn’t supposed to happen like it did.”

Jack stared at Evan, trying not to look sour, just wanting him to go.

“I was going to call you and Pam, go with Granger when he went to talk to you—and not at your house. We’d discussed that, but … well, he decided he couldn’t wait.”

Jack could only muster a slight nod. He was concentrating hard on keeping his mouth shut, knowing that if he spoke it would be toxic.

“I’m sorry about the way it unfolded. Granger is too.”

Jack forced a smile and nodded again.

Evan closed his eyes, sighed, and slid out of the booth. He quietly put on his coat. “I hope you guys are healing from what happened. We’re all trying.”

When Jack said nothing, Evan nodded and walked away.

Derrick slid back into the booth. “What was that all about?”

Jack inhaled deeply and set his shoulders back. “He apologized for Granger’s visit the other night. Said he’d wanted to set up a meeting with us together, not at the house.”

Derrick shrugged.

Marleen arrived and set their plates before them.

“Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about,” Derrick said. “Beautiful, Marleen, beautiful.”

“Can I get you anything else?” she said.

Jack shook his head.

“We’re good, we’re good.” Derrick was already cutting his meatloaf.

“Gentlemen.” With a smile, the waitress smoothly slid a black receipt holder onto the table. “Your meal and tip have been taken care of today.”