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“Storm’s a’brewin’” he a
Chris set a fresh cup of coffee in front of him and pointed to the darkish sky and the rain that was now bursting from it. “Reckon the storm’s already here.”
Chris pressed his own coffee cup to his lips and took a sip. Setting the cup down, he regarded Guitreaux who was silently re-positioning the cap on his head. “What can we do you for today, Detective?”
“Would like to have a few words if you don’t mind. Let’s step out back.”
Chris blinked. “Absolutely. Anything you need.”
Erica, closely watching the entire exchange, could swear his face went pale.
Chapter 29
OPENING THE DOOR to her mother’s bedroom, Haley was stu
For a moment, Haley wondered if she’d had too much to drink and was imagining things. But then she reminded herself that she only had one gin and coke. So far. Since sharing the wine with Erica and experiencing the exquisite numbness it had induced, she had taken to a drink or two each day. To cope. Her father had a sizable stash in the bottom of the pantry: gin, vodka, bourbon, scotch. She sampled them all and found that the gin was the easiest to get down.
Haley set a terra cotta bowl on the nightstand. “It’s chicken and dumplings. Your favorite.”
Her mother smiled. Not the relaxed, genuinely happy kind of expression Haley had grown up with, but the detached, obligatory, slightly drunk-looking one she’d grown used to over the last several months. “Thanks love.”
“Scrapbooking?” Haley asked, hopeful, moving toward the window. The windowsill was covered in dead love bugs and strands of Wrigley’s fur. The storm had stripped the air of the heat and humidity, and the room was in dire need of freshness.
Her mother shook her head. The tip of her nose was red and balled up tissues littered her lap. “No, just looking at some old photographs, honey.” She reached across the bed. “Haven’t seen these for a while.”
This time, for only an instant, her smile was one of the old, warm ones.
She picked up a photograph and handed it to Haley. It was taken at one of Haley’s swim meets when she was ten years old. The one against Chester Elementary, Theresa Elementary’s biggest rival. In her red one-piece, Haley was crouched in position, tense and focused, waiting to begin her 600-meter freestyle. Haley could still smell the chlorine and feel the cool pool water. She thought about the University of Louisiana, and how she might be swimming right now had she started classes on time.
Her mother set the photograph down and picked up another. In this one, her father was standing at the barbeque grill, a silly grin on his face. He held a slab of meat and wore a white apron that read Vegetarian, a perfect example of his cheesy humor. “That one was taken at Becky’s tenth birthday party,” her mother said. She pointed at the top left corner. “See the balloons?”
Haley nodded.
The woman glanced up at Haley. “I don’t know why this one didn’t make it into a scrapbook. Seems like a lot of them didn’t make it. I don’t understand why they didn’t.”
“I don’t know, Mama.”
Her mother’s eyes, now bleary, went to her neck. “That’s a pretty necklace. Is it new? Did Mac get it for you?”
Her mother knew good and well that the necklace wasn’t new. She was the one who had bought one for both her and Tiffany for high school graduation.
Haley fingered it and thought of Tiffany. “No, it’s not new. You bought this for me. And one for Tiffany, too. Don’t you remember?”
The woman gazed at Haley’s face for a moment, then reached for a pill vial on her nightstand. She opened it, popped two in her mouth.
Haley’s shoulders sagged. Every time she thought her mother was getting a little better, she was wrong. She wanted nothing more than for her to get better, and for Tiffany to come home. Two situations she had no control over.
Which reminded her of Mac. An entire day had come and gone since her discovery of the pornographic magazine in his truck. And he hadn’t called or come over. She wondered if she had been too hard on him. If she had overreacted. She wasn’t angry with him any longer, just confused that he felt he needed to lie to her. Maybe she should be the one to make the first call.
She remembered how loudly Becky and Seacrest had screamed when Charles tapped at Becky’s window early on Thursday morning. “Mama, why didn’t you come check on us the other night? Didn’t you hear the screaming?”
“Screaming? Who screamed? Is everything okay?”
Haley thought of the sleeping pills. But that wasn’t an excuse. She couldn’t just leave her and Becky alone to fend for themselves, no matter how much she was hurting. They were hurting, too. She needed to stop mourning and become their mother again.
“Did you know that Becky is hitchhiking now?” she asked, desperate to get the woman to express some sort of appropriate emotion.
“Hitchhiking?”
“Yes, Mama. You should say something to her.”
“Oh my! I will. It’s so unsafe,” she said. Then her eyes dulled and she seemed to be looking not at Haley, but past her, as though she were focusing on something only she could see. She took several shallow, raspy breaths.
“Have you called Mrs. Perron yet?”
Her mother shook her head, her focus still on whatever it was she was staring at.
“You should really call her. Tiffany’s still missing.”
“My goodness,” her mother muttered. But Haley wasn’t convinced she’d even heard her.
“Mama?”
“Yes, Darling.”
“You okay?”
“Yes. Your mama just needs some sleep, baby. Why don’t you let me get a little shut eye?”
Chapter 30
LATER THAT NIGHT, he lay in his bed, trying not to listen to the sounds coming from his sister’s bedroom. Laughter, both Allie’s and some boy’s. He scowled, staring across his room, out the small window.
He wanted to stop them. What were they doing in there? He hated when Allie brought boys home. She did it to humiliate him.
He could smell her from her bedroom. He’d always had a keen sense of smell. Whether he was detecting Allie’s sweet odor, his mother’s mustiness, or the coppery odor of blood, he could do it from a distance that most couldn’t.
Allie was so fragrant, just like a flower. Like an oleander, its beautiful pink blossoms disguising its fatal venom. Like the flower, she was poison. Most women were. Most, except for his angel, of course. . . and very few others.
He thought of Tiffany, his mother, and the man who lay rotting at the bottom of the pond out back.
In life, Tiffany had been attracted to him. She’d wanted him, wanted to be close to him. For weeks, she had come on to him, but he had ignored her—something that seemed to make her want him even more. Then she’d succumbed to his plans and willfully entered his house.
Allie squealed louder. He clamped his palms against his ears. His heart pumped angrily and his breaths came fast. His skin became warmer, wetter.
She squealed again.
Not able to stand it any longer, he sprang from his bed and yanked his door open. He barreled into the hallway and found her bedroom door wide open, candlelight flickering inside.
He moved into the doorway.
They were in her bed. Allie was naked and sitting on the boy’s lap. She moved back and forth rhythmically, her arms clasped above her head.