Chapter Thirty-Two
DAY EIGHT
MONDAY
Morning came early.
It always does for me, but today’s was compounded by a restless night.
Not because of the pizza, which went down fine.
Also not because of deep thoughts about the murder investigation.
Clara and I tossed around a few things, but kept hitting two obstacles.
The idea that the investigation might be over, with the potential of forensics or a witness or one of the other advantages the sheriff’s department possessed pointing directly at Bryon Georger.
The fact that, if it wasn’t over, we had more questions than answers.
Neither of those kept me awake, either.
It was this upcoming lunch.
To meet Quincy in Indiana, I’d skip yin yoga class with Clara.
I messaged Clara, reminding her I wouldn’t be at class.
She immediately responded that she’d let the teacher know and she’d take the dogs to the park after class.
I texted back that I thanked her and the dogs really thanked her.
I began my drive toward Lafayette, Indiana, to meet Quincy and his mystery person.
* * * *
The man who strode toward me across the parking lot of the small restaurant off the interstate was slightly shorter and broader than Teague, but the way they moved had an underlying similarity.
A dark-haired woman he’d been standing with followed more slowly.
“Sheila Mackey,” the man said. Not a question. He was sure.
“Yes. Quincy?”
“That’s me.” He shook my hand warmly. “Sheila Mackey, this is Riana. She’s my—” He looked at the woman and I knew before he said it. “—significant other.”
“Quincy,” she said, with mild teasing.
“What? My honey?”
Out of nervousness, I almost blurted out boopsie-doodle.
I felt an almost immediate connection to these two people at the same time I wondered why he’d included her.
Her strong jaw reminded me of—
“I’m also O’Teague’s cousin.” She reached out her hand to me. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, to meet someone important to him.”
“I . . .” I didn’t get past that.
“You two go and have lunch,” Quincy said. He looked at her. “Message me and I’ll be back.”
“You’re not staying—?” I asked, when the answer was obvious.
She touched my arm. “Let’s go in. I hear they have good sandwiches.”
“And fries,” he said from behind us.
At the door, she said in a low voice. “Hope you don’t mind. But this gives Quincy plausible deniability.”
“With his department?” Though I didn’t quite see—
“Not with his department.”
With Teague.
There was no time for more, because a young woman immediately led us to a table.
We ordered quickly. The server and menus gone, Riana rested her clasped hands on the table. “Quincy tells me you’re with O’Teague.”
“O’Teague? I—”
“Yes, yes, Teague O’Donnell. Sorry. It’s a family thing. There are two Teague cousins — if you can believe it.” She chuckled lightly. “Teague McMasters is McTeague and Teague O’Donnell is O’Teague.
“We were brought up together. My sister and me, McTeague and his brother and sister, and O’Teague. We went to different schools, but we lived close enough to spend every holiday, every birthday, every celebration together.
“We had other friends, of course, but if there was a problem or anything like that, we all—” She raised her hands slightly. “—closed ranks.”
Her hands dropped.
“I’m the oldest of the cousins. Back in high school, I thought that was a big deal, thought it made me the boss.
Or at least not someone who had to listen to the younger ones.
I got involved with a guy O’Teague and McTeague kept saying was trouble.
The harder they hammered it, the harder I resisted. ”
She gave me a smile that mixed rueful with other elements not as easy to identify. I thought self-forgiveness was in there. And . . . but it didn’t make sense . . . joy and grief tightly interlaced.
“I got pregnant and, of course, the guy vanished. I thought that was the worst thing that could happen. I can see you’re smart enough to know it wasn’t. All my family knew it wasn’t. Me, it took longer.
“With my family pushing, I graduated high school before Adam was born. Then, I said I was going to support us and be independent. You can imagine the kind of jobs I could get and how much I had left over after paying for day care.
“Finally showed the first signs of growing up by going to my parents and saying I wanted help to try to get a college degree. They supported us, Adam and me. And everyone helped look after Adam. My parents, my aunts and uncles, my little sister, my cousins, all supporting us. If it weren’t for them, I wouldn’t have made it.
And Adam was surrounded by all that love. He was such a happy little boy.”
My heart sank at her tone.
Our sandwiches arrived. Between bites, she chatted about the cousin pack, asked me mild questions about my family, then touched on Quincy connecting with Clara.
I participated, but left her to lead. I had to. She knew where we were heading. She knew why we were here.
She put her plate away and picked up her earlier account.
“After I graduated, I got into marketing. Moved up, made a good living. Adam . . . Adam was funny and smart and everybody loved him. He was also a daredevil. As a teenager he got into an older group doing what they call urban exploring. Exploring abandoned buildings. Adventures, he said.
“He loved it. Was proud to be accepted by the group, proud of what he could do. All I could see was he was sneaking into places closed off to the public. Taking risks. So many risks. The more I talked, the less he listened.
“O’Teague talked to him. They’d always been close, but Adam wouldn’t listen to him, either.
“One night, Teague got word the group planned to go to a building that wasn’t stable. And what they didn’t know was there was an implosion planned nearby . . .”
I noticed how she shifted between O’Teague and Teague — marking the difference between his personal life and his professional life.
“Most of the group scattered away when Teague showed up. Not Adam and one other, not much older than him. Teague went in the building to try to get them out, but he was too late.
“Or not late enough to keep him from thinking he was responsible for what happened.”
She swallowed with determination. “O’Teague was hurt trying to get them out. The other boy came through unscathed. But Adam . . . didn’t.”
She looked down, breathing in and out slowly.
“O’Teague blamed himself for Adam and he wouldn’t listen — not to anybody. We all told him— No, that’s not true. I tried to say the words, but I was so numb because of Adam . . .”
Her son she’d loved so dearly. Her son she’d lost so tragically.
Joy and grief inextricably interlaced.
“I tried to stay numb, because anything else . . . It seemed like the next time I looked around, O’Teague was . . . gone.”
That’s when he left his department. Stopped having family. As Quincy said, went into his hermit cave.
“You were grieving. You are grieving.”
She met my gaze. “Yes. It will never go, but it does change.” She expelled a breath. “When I did look around and saw that O’Teague was gone from our lives, I went to Quincy. I’d known him forever through Teague, but it was after that we really got to know each other and . . .”
Her face softened as she looked out the window in the direction Quincy had driven.
She faced me again.
“You have to know he has never betrayed Teague’s confidence — he never will — but he has told me enough to know O’Teague’s built a new life for himself, including moving and meeting you.
A dog, too, I hear. O’Teague always wanted a dog, but didn’t think it was fair with the hours he worked, the irregular schedule.
“I’m happy for him, but we miss him and I’m afraid . . .” She looked at me with tears again in her eyes. “I’m so afraid he can’t forgive me for not being there for him when he needed me.”
I took hold of her hands before I knew it.
“No. I’m sure not. He’s . . .”
“I know, I know. You’re right.” She swallowed. “He’s punishing himself. He convicted himself, and handed down a sentence of banishment. That’s not what any of us want. It’s not what he deserves.
“Only O’Teague has such a hard head, it will take a real jolt to shake him loose from that.”