“Yeah.”
He opened his mouth as if words trembled on his tongue, then shut it.
I suppressed a wince. Perry and I had known each other for years, yet he didn’t feel he could say what was on his mind? The subject separated us as tangibly as the slick green counter. Was he judging me for that newspaper article?
He concentrated on working the register, and I paid him. “Want a bag?” he asked.
“No, thanks. I’ll just stick it in my purse. After I take some.” I opened the top and dry-swallowed two tablets, then dropped the bottle in my handbag. With a nod to Perry I turned to go.
“Joanne?”
“Hmm?”
He shifted on his feet. “For what it’s worth, I think it looks fishy too.”
The words practically glowed in the air between us, as if Pandora’s box had been opened. My eyes locked with Perry’s. I wanted to say thank you, squeeze his arm to express how much his statement meant to me. Instead I blurted, “Why?”
His gaze wandered past me. “You know Linda was supposed to be on her way here that night? Baxter said she had a headache and needed some aspirin. Funny, huh. Just like you coming in here right now.”
Not so funny. More like prophetic. A link from my best friend on that fatal day to me here, now, pursuing the truth. “I remember that’s what Baxter told the police.”
Perry focused on me once more. “I always thought that was strange. You know I’ve owned this place for years, before Linda came along. Not once did she come here that late at night. During the day maybe, but once dinnertime hit…” He shook his head.
“Maybe a bad headache was enough to change that.”
“That’s what I told myself. What’s kept me quiet all these years. And after all, it’s Baxter, so who would doubt him? But then when Cherisse died…”
“You don’t believe that was an accident?”
He smiled wanly and tapped the paperback. Shrugged. “Maybe I read too many of these things.”
“Maybe you’re listening to your gut when others are refusing to.”
“But it’s Baxter.”
I’d had the same reaction on that fateful day when Linda first told me things weren’t right in her home. One day during a visit—shortly before Melissa came to live with her and Baxter—Linda had seemed sad, weighted. It was so unlike her. I pressed her to tell me what was the matter. After a succession of feeble claims that she was “fine,” she gave in. She lifted up her shirt, showed me a large purple bruise on her back. I gaped at it, my mind refusing to grasp her silent message.
Never would I forget Linda’s reaction. Her eyes closed in pain, as if my stunned silence had sealed her fate—who would believe Mrs. Baxter Jackson, if not her best friend? “I didn’t get that from walking into a door,” she said, her voice bitter and bleak. And she lowered her shirt.
I scrambled to apologize. Tried to explain I’d simply been shocked. I asked questions, begged for more information. How long had this been happening? How often? How could I help? We had to go to the police, our pastor. Somebody.
But Linda waved away my mea culpas and growing indignation. Before my eyes the victim side of her that I’d never seen, would not have believed existed, pulled back into its shell. Linda’s buoyant expression and laugh returned. But after that I saw through them, realized the mask she’d perfected. And I would wonder, Has Baxter hit her today? What might he do tomorrow?
If only I’d pushed harder, made Linda go to our pastor. But she wouldn’t hear of it. The last few weeks before her disappearance she couldn’t even hide the stress in her voice when we talked on the phone. Finally I threatened to go to Pastor Steve without her.
“No, Joanne. I’ll deny everything.”
“But—”
“It’s for Melissa. She needs a home. This will all work out. You’ll see.”
That had been the last time Linda and I spoke.
I blinked away the memories, startled to see Perry’s eyes boring into mine as if trying to laser into my thoughts. For a moment I wanted to blurt out everything. About Linda’s abuse and Hooded Man, my determined pursuit to finally see justice done. I had to bring Baxter’s horrible secrets to light. For Linda. For me. I’d let her down. I’d let her die.
The old sickening guilt washed through my stomach.
The moment passed. Perry was still staring at me. I couldn’t tell him his suspicions were wrong. Neither could I tell him the whole truth.
My head tilted. “You and I have lived over half a century, Perry. You’ve never seen anyone who surprised you? Who turned out to be something far different than what they claimed?
He gave a slow nod, as if acknowledging my underlying message. “Yeah. Sure I have. Like the Styx song.”
Styx. I thought a moment. “ ‘The Grand Illusion.’”
“ ‘The Grand Illusion.’”
“Yeah. Like that.”
Perry pulled his head back, his jaw moving to one side as he digested my response. He’d apparently learned plenty from those detective novels, the way he was pulling reactions from me.
He gestured toward the newspaper rack. “That article. It’s the first time I heard how much life insurance Baxter had on Cherisse.”
“It was a rumor I’d heard.” Via Dineen at the law firm where she worked. One of the lawyers there was Baxter’s attorney, and somebody leaked the information around the water cooler. “It sounded plausible, since Baxter had the same amount on Linda. But I didn’t know for sure until I threw it at Chief Eddington and he didn’t deny it.”
“Half a million is a lot of money, even for Baxter Jackson. And right now, with real estate in the tank—”
The automatic door whooshed open behind me. I glanced over my shoulder to see a young mother and her little girl hurry into the store, hand in hand. They barely glanced our way and made a beeline for the bread aisle.
I looked back at Perry. “Gotta go.”
A crinkly rustle sounded as the mother picked up a package. She swiveled toward the counter, pulling her child along. “Come on.”
“Take care, Joanne.” Perry gave me a firm nod. “Do what you have to do.”
I blinked at him, my mouth opening to ask what he meant, but the mother-daughter duo approached. Perry shot me a meaningful look, then accepted the bread from the young woman. “Good morning. This be all?”
My body turned toward the door, my mind lingering on Perry. As I slid into my car I thought about Hooded Man, his possible cohorts, and wondered if Perry knew far more than he’d let on.
EIGHTEEN
How different my house looked in daylight. Beleaguered and worn from the storm, yes. Some branches were down in my backyard, and water stood in puddles at low points in the grass. But inside the place was warm and lit, void of threat. It was hard to believe I’d sat trembling in the corner kitchen chair last night, waiting for the police.
How shadows horrify a mind.
I set down my purse and overnight bag, retreated into the garage to check the infamous rear door. Still locked and bolted. I opened it and looked outside, scanning the nearby ground for footprints. Nothing.
With the door locked once more I searched the garage for anything out of place. Again nothing.
My nerves bristled. Was it just from the memory of last night? Or a frisson at the thought I was overlooking something?
In the kitchen I pulled two fresh batteries from a drawer and replaced the old ones in Billy Bass. Switched him on to motion sensor. I waved my hand, and he went off, raising from his wood mount and singing. “Don’t Worry, Be Happy.” A picture of Tom flashed through my head. How he had laughed the first time he turned that thing on.