Chapter Nine
Travis follows me to the kitchen and watches me prop Eddie’s metal doll next to my thermos where the other one sits.
I feel like Eddie’s trying to communicate something to me, like his little dolls should tell me something.
But what? And who doesn’t want to be alone?
His mother? Or is it he doesn’t want his mother to be alone?
And what is Doyle trying to tell me? Showing up here with a knife, waiting on me.
If I could get one hour with Eddie, I might be able to find out both.
But then what would I do with the information?
I need to stay focused on my own issues.
Now is not the time to analyze someone else’s.
I’ll save that for when I get back to Fort Worth.
Travis pops the cork from the wine he brought, and I place the bottle from the Sack and Save in the fridge.
It’s obvious he spends most of his downtime in a gym, and something about the way his hands handle the wine and the way his jeans fit tells me I could be in trouble tonight.
Stop, I tell myself. I don’t need another mess.
And that’s what my love life has been since my marriage ended, a mess.
Short flings that required little to no attention.
I convinced myself it was a way to keep things simple, keep my focus on my career.
And it worked . . . for my career. But my heart still aches for something more.
And Travis won’t provide that, the voice in my head reminds me.
Besides, I’m pretty sure any feelings I have for Travis are left over from another decade, lingering because he and I never got closure.
I don’t need an NFCS—need for closure scale—to know I’d score high.
Down here, closure seems to elude me in so many ways.
I find plates and napkins and paper cups and lead Travis to the parlor. We sit on the sofa. Travis sets the pizza box down and pours the wine. I take a sip. Where the hell do I start?
“Travis.”
“Look,” he says at the same time. He smiles. “You first.”
“First.” I take a sip. “The car.”
I set my wineglass on the table next to Travis’s, rub my face. The light in the front windows has faded to night. I stare at Travis. He stares back at me.
“You showed up at my house that night,” he says. “In that car. Told me you needed help. Begged me not to ask why. And I didn’t ask.” He shuts his eyes a moment, reopens them. “I was so stupid.”
“I’m sorry I got you involved. I was the stupid one.
I justified something I knew was wrong. And I included you in it.
” My mouth goes dry. I take another sip.
“My mother called it a favor. She came up with this ridiculous idea about hiding that convertible for insurance money. She told me Mabry wouldn’t get back in the car that night for some odd reason, so on the walk home, Mama decided to just get rid of it and get some cash.
I know it sounds ridiculous, but you have to understand; ridiculous for her was normal.
I told her to sell the car, but she said that’d take too long, and we wouldn’t get enough.
She told me it was up to me. I was a minor, so if I got caught, no big deal.
If she got caught, Mabry would go to foster care.
” I inhale, exhale. “She said we could use the money to help Mabry get the therapy she needed. Not that that ever happened. Said she hoped I wouldn’t let my sister down.
” I swig the rest of my wine. “She knew right where to aim her barbs.”
“Insurance money?” Travis says. “That’s what this is about?”
I nod even though the pit in my stomach from seeing the car in the impound earlier tells me that may not be all that it’s about. I touch my fingers to the sofa to steady my lightheadedness. Why wouldn’t Mabry get back in the car?
I’d used Travis’s truck to push the convertible into the bayou; then I’d driven it back to his house and left the key inside.
I’d walked back to Shadow Bluff with the security tape in one hand and a trash bag full of crap from the convertible in the other.
I should have slipped that tape into the convertible and dumped it, too, but I hadn’t.
Something told me to keep it, just in case.
“All right,” Travis says, jerking me back. “At least I know what we’re working with.”
“I knew it was wrong,” I say. “I even thought about calling the police, but Krystal Lynn would’ve killed me if I did that.
And then what about Mabry? I decided maybe hiding a car wasn’t so bad after all.
It’s not like I was hurting anyone. I told myself I was just getting rid of something we didn’t need in the first place.
To help Mabry.” I meet Travis’s gaze. “The problem was . . . I didn’t know where to put it. ”
“So you came and got me,” he says with a sigh.
“So I came and got you.”
I don’t tell him the other parts of the story. About hiding that security tape in a box of Mama’s recorded soaps. About Mabry shaking in her little bed. About Mama’s bruised and swollen face.
“I’m going to talk to the chief,” he says. “Tell him the truth. With all the other stuff happening right now, I doubt this is going to get his dander up. I’ll find out what needs to be done and let you know.”
He’s downplaying it, trying to make it sound less than it is. Or maybe it really is less than it is. Maybe you’re the one trying to downplay it, the voice in my head says.
I reach for the bottle of wine and refill my glass. Travis chews his bite of pizza and swallows it. Insects tap against the front windows.
“So Doyle and Eddie came over here to give you one of Eddie’s figurine things?” he says, breaking the silence. “That seems weird.”
“It was weird. Doyle had a knife.”
Travis sits up. “Did he threaten you?”
“No. It just . . . felt threatening.”
“Something’s up with him.”
“Didn’t seem like you two were getting along too well on the levee the other day.”
He gives me a look that says he doesn’t want to go down that path. And I don’t blame him. But it’s like the part of me that digs for answers won’t shut off, and my next statement comes out before I can stop it.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“It’s just brother stuff.” He grabs another slice of pizza and takes a bite.
“Actually, Doyle seems to be doing better these days. He’s managed to keep a job for once, which is a miracle.
Builds playground equipment. Simple and steady, which is exactly what he needs since he’s the one supporting Eddie and our mother. ”
The thought of Doyle handling equipment for children leaves a nasty taste in my mouth. “Well, that’s good.”
“And Eddie,” he says. “He’s doing okay, too, I guess. Who can tell?”
I can, I think. “How long has Eddie been nonverbal?”
Travis shakes his head. “Since he was a kid really. Then it got worse later, and he started making those dolls.” He takes another sip. “I don’t really want to talk about that.”
“I understand.” I shift to face him more and venture a little deeper. “What about your mother? How’s she?” I just can’t stop myself.
His eyebrows twitch but that’s the only movement on his face. “Same.”
“What does same mean?”
“Jesus, Willa. You on the clock or something?”
I shake my head and give him a small laugh. “Sorry. Hazard of the trade.”
“Look, she’s troubled, okay? She could probably do with a little of whatever it is you dish out. But I don’t really want to get into all that. I got enough on my plate right now.”
“Of course.” I clear my throat. “Sorry.”
I grasp at something to fill the silence and settle on the topic that’s got this town talking. “I heard a third barrel was found.”
Travis nods. “We’ve already confirmed the ID.” He leans back against the sofa. “Her name was Teri something. Mother of two. Last seen at Jazz Fest in 2006.”
“Not a runaway,” I say.
“Nope. Good thing she had an engraved watch. The state boys said getting a good DNA sample would have been tricky. Her barrel was pretty rusted out. Lots of holes. Big enough for aquatic life to get inside and go to town.”
“Travis!”
He looks over, unfazed. “Sorry. Hazard of my trade.” He takes another bite of his pizza.
I set my slice down. “Do you think there will be more?”
He nods as he chews. “Probably. Hard not to call it what it is now. Three barrels. Three women. It’s serial for sure.
” He wipes his mouth with his napkin. “Timing’s all over the place, though.
After we found the second one, the crime lab had to scrounge up that old DNA from the first one back in ’02.
That woman had a daughter who loved her.
Left a DNA sample back then that helped us match it up. Crazy.”
“So that victim wasn’t a runaway either.”
He shakes his head. “She’d been at a casino. There seems to be no pattern to this one. One old lady gambler, one runaway addict, one mother of two. Makes no sense.”
“Even if there was a pattern, it wouldn’t make sense.” My stomach sours at the thought of these women having families who loved them, worrying over them all these years. The thought there could possibly be more.
Travis studies me, raises his eyebrows.
“What?” I say.
“Raymond St. Clair said he recognized you by the bayou.”
What else did Raymond say? I suddenly don’t want Travis to know I was at that impound, digging around. It feels like a betrayal, like I’m hiding something. Which I am.
“Remember him?” Travis says. “Ran with those jackasses that used to hang out at the Dairy King.”
“I remember Raymond.” I shake my head. “So did all the juvenile delinquents in these parts become cops?”
“Well, yeah. That’s all there is to pick from.” His grin widens. “You either go to jail or put people in it.”
“So you and Raymond, cleaning up this town.”
He rolls his eyes. “Technically, Raymond’s with the sheriff’s office. Brown uniform. But, yeah.”
“What was the deal with you and Raymond back then? Seemed like there was something. Other than the idiots he hung out with.”
“Ancient history.”
“Tell me.”
“It’s nothing, Willa.”
Travis’s voice sounds playful, but his eyes look serious. A look that says if I keep going, he’ll leave. And I’m not ready for him to leave.
You’re getting out over your skis with this one, I tell myself. Stop. Put the wine down.
Travis breaks the tension. “I know something we can talk about.”
“What?”
“Oh, never mind. Maybe I shouldn’t say.”
I swat his arm. “You can’t do that. Tell me.”
“We may have our sights on someone.”
“Sights on someone?”
“A suspect,” he says.
“What!” The wine has me overanimated. I tell myself, again, tone it down.
He nods. “Person of interest, for sure.”
“Who?”
“You’ll know soon enough.” He sets his cup down. “Sooner if that fancy reporter gets her teeth into it. I swear that woman has a source in law enforcement. She gets information before the chief does.”
“Let me guess. Rita Meade.”
He smiles a crooked smile. “Bingo.”
I lean in, the wine tightening the hold on my curiosity. “Who’s the person of interest?”
“Stop.” He points a finger at me, trying to be serious but he’s smiling. “I can’t.”
“Who am I going to tell? Besides, if Rita knows, the whole world is going to know pretty soon.”
“Then you’ll see it on the nightly news.” He raises his glass.
I stare at it. “You seem more of a beer guy than a wine guy.”
“I’m an anything guy tonight.”
More silence; then he catches my gaze. “We used to have fun, didn’t we?”
I rub my fingers across my lips. “Yes, we did.”
What the hell is wrong with me? Don’t talk in that cooing, flirty voice. Don’t go to the past. But the warm buzz is nice, and he smells damn good.
“Remember the crop duster?” he says.
“Aerial applicator,” I correct, remembering what he told me all those years ago as he buckled me in. “You knew me in my wild days.” I tell myself it’s time to march into the kitchen and get a large glass of water. But I lean into the sofa instead and stare at him.
“My dad almost killed me that day.” Travis’s smile fades. Something in his voice changes. I hear a hitch in it, almost like I can hear his heart beating. He’s not joking.
“Travis,” I start.
“I bet you still are,” he says quickly, his voice returning to its normal banter.
I let the moment slide away. Now’s not the time. “Still are what?” I say.
“Wild.” He scans my outfit. “Despite that pressed dress and expensive shoes.”
“Maybe I am.” Brakes, Willa. Brakes.
“Maybe you’ll show me.”
And that does it. Electricity sizzles in my veins.
I feel that familiar impulsive urge. The one that says one night won’t hurt anything.
My hands react by reaching across the sofa and latching onto his shirt, pulling him toward me.
Our lips meet. His hands find my hair, and we grope at each other like two people flailing for a lifeboat.
Then Travis pulls away, his breathing shallow and fast. I tug my dress back into place.
“Wow,” he says.
“Travis, I—” My face flushes with heat. Idiot.
“It’s okay. That was just unexpected.”
“Yeah. Unexpected, all right. I . . . I don’t . . . Sorry.”
“No, don’t apologize. Look, we go way back. And I’m not going to lie. There’s a lot of stuff I still think about. But I can’t. I’m the one who’s sorry.”
I want to crawl into the corner and hide behind the curtains, like Mabry did every time Mama started yelling.
“I better go,” he adds.
“Of course,” I say in my professional I’m-the-one-in-charge voice. I cringe at its phoniness.
I walk him to the door, and he hugs me in an awkward embrace. He pulls back. “I’ll call you after I talk to the chief.”
As he drives away, I shut the door and bury my head in my hands.
I release my hair from its tight ponytail and tug until my scalp starts to itch.
What the hell is wrong with me? But I know the answer.
Like eggs, our childhoods are fragile. If your keepers don’t handle you with care, they can cause hairline fissures to snake through your shell.
And they’ll seem harmless, but they’re not.
Each crack has the ability to crack you.
I’d worked hard on acceptance. Acceptance of having an absent father, of a mother whose best mothering included three-day benders and slaps across the face.
Of a neurodiverse little sister who clung to me like I was a life preserver.
It’s no wonder I gravitate toward men who won’t be around long. Patterns can be hard to break, even for someone who gets paid to know better. I thought I could keep it all in its appropriate place in my mind. But tonight, I hear it scratching to get out.
It’s this town. This house. That fucking car.
I’m learning, in more ways than one, nothing stays buried here.