Jeff Abbott - Only Good Yankee

“You know, if I’d still wanted you, I would never have let you leave Boston. I didn’t have to get a job with Greg to try and get you back.”

Her voice grew sharp. “You’re just so full of yourself, Jordan.” “I can afford to be a little arrogant,” I snapped back, letting the pain talk before my brain edited. “I’m not the one who looks like a land-scam artist. What he was doing was horrible, Lorna, and you were helping him.” “I didn’t know! Honestly!” “I want to believe you.

Desperately. I don’t think you’re a liar, but right now-” “I’m not a liar!” “Then what were you hiding when you were talking to Billy Ray?

Maybe you knew about the land resale all along? What else was going on? Maybe you and Greg were lovers?” “Fine, I’ll tell you.” Her voice took on a strained, sad tone. She coughed once, as though the words were slabs in her throat. “Greg and I were lovers. For a short while after you left. But I cooled it down, because I knew it was a mistake to get involved with my boss. It was the stupidest thing I’d ever done, but you broke my heart when you left and I was entitled to make stupid mistakes. Satisfied?” She bolted off the couch, in tears, and stormed out of the room. “Hello!” Sister trilled as she came into the kitchen, laden with groceries. I quickly offered to help and she looked at my bad arm with a raised eyebrow. “Don’t bother, Jordy.

Where’s Lorna?” “She’s resting upstairs. She’s not feeling well.” I didn’t feel too hot myself. “Oh, dear.” Sister’s voice just dripped concern. “I think she needs a little company to brighten her day.

That’s why I invited Candace over for dinner.” I whirled to face her.

Sister smiled like an angel just getting her wings. I spent the rest of the afternoon lying on my bed, hearing Lorna’s vague movements in the next room, thinking about all the hell that’d broken loose. Greg might not have done anything outright illegal-that would be for a court to decide-but he was obviously an unsavory character. He didn’t deserve what had happened to him, but he’d obviously chosen a bad path. (Even now, thinking about his savaged throat made my bile rise.) I closed my eyes and images danced behind my lids. Wire taken from the fence that bisected the Louder-milks’ property from Bob Don’s ending up in Greg’s neck. Gretchen in Greg’s company. That mysterious phone number on the pad in Greg’s room. Greg being Lorna’s ex- or maybe-not-ex-lover. Greg’s long-standing animosity toward Nina. Tiny’s fury at the thought that Nina could be accused. The erased diskettes.

Greg’s neatly arranged files that indicated he was out to defraud the people of Mirabeau with this condo development. The letters he’d already drafted to send to the city council, even before his deals were done. His many meetings with people in the town: Miss Twyla, the Goertzes, Parker and Dee Loudermilk, Freddy Jacksill, Uncle Bid. He hadn’t met with me and I felt pert near left out. And who was the J. he met with at the end of each day? It hadn’t been me. I wondered, idly, if it was Jenny Loudermilk-she’d come in right behind Greg at the library meeting. Or another abbreviation for Freddy Jacksill. They were the only people connected to the case that I could think of. Of course, it could be someone else entirely. And to add to all this, the bombings. Tomorrow, I decided, I’d have to talk with Mr. Freddy Jacksill and the Loudermilks. I took some more Tylenol, wondering if you could get addicted to the stuff, and rewarded all my hard thinking with a predinner nap. I could have killed my nephew Mark. He’d ended up getting invited to stay at a friend’s for hamburgers for dinner, leaving me alone with three women, all of whom had their eyes on me for different reasons. It was really more than any one man should be expected to bear. Sister was the congenial hostess, being as sugary to me and Lorna as two-day-old sweet-potato pie. She’d insisted on doing all the cooking, while leaving Candace, Lorna, and me out in the living room with a life-preserver-shaped tray of cheese, fruit, and chips. (I felt like the dip.) She brought in our beers and patted Lorna on the shoulder. “Lorna, I know you’re probably not feeling like partying very much, but trust me-a relaxing evening with friends will make you feel better. Try and put all this dreadfulness behind you for just a few hours.” Good thing Lorna wasn’t diabetic-Sister’s cajoling tone would have put anyone into a sugar coma. Lorna wasn’t fooled for an instant. “That’s awfully sweet of you, Arlene. And inviting Candace, too, so I can make a new friend here in Mirabeau, well, really, you shouldn’t have.” I managed to choke down a chip. I could see the evening unfolding like a bad horror movie. Candace and Sister (or at least, Sister) had connived not to leave me alone with Lorna, not knowing that right now I was a bit tiffed at Lorna. Sister wasn’t about to have her baby brother get into a mixed marriage (and marrying a Yankee would be considered just that in Mirabeau-we didn’t trust genes that hadn’t been in nearby pools for several generations) and she was kind of stuck on the idea of me and Candace staying on a steady course. Candace had either gotten dragged into this or was a co-conspirator, but she was the person I was happiest to see. And Lorna, God help me. Lorna saw right through Sister’s charade and had determined to be as affable (at least outwardly) as Sister was being.

She wouldn’t look at me, given her latest confession, but when she’d come down to dinner she’d given me a sideways hug and patted my shoulder. I admit I had no clue as to where I stood with her, or whether I believed she didn’t know about Greg’s fraud. I shouldn’t be mad that she and Greg had been lovers, but I did feel a vague tug in my gut at the thought. Had she felt the same when she’d found out about Candace? At least, I comforted myself, I’d had better taste in companions. Far better, I thought with a smile as I glanced over at Candace. She was wearing an outfit of hers I’d always liked, a simple blue-and-white-stripe tanktop dress. I glanced over at Lorna. She’d changed into a Boston Marathon T-shirt, deliciously snug over her chest, and long navy walking shorts. Both these women were beautiful, in different ways. Any man should have delighted in their company, but the tension hung in the air like a hanged man’s ghost. They’d spend the whole evening fighting over me. A slight grin touched my mouth;

I’d never had two women fight over me before. It’d be hell to sit through, but it might also be kind of fun-at the least, a boost to my benighted ego. I sat on the couch with the tray of food before me.

Lorna had gracefully maneuvered to sit by me and Candace had retreated to a nearby wicker chair. Sister had already fed Mama and put her to bed, so she wasn’t there for me to talk to. I find it a comfort to talk to Mama sometimes even if she’s not paying me a bit of heed. “You must stay busy here in Mirabeau, Candace,” Lorna purred. “I mean, what with helping Jordan out at the library.” “That takes a lot of my time, yes,” Candace concurred. “And I do volunteer work for the Daughters of the Republic of Texas chapter, and the Bonaparte County Literacy Program, and the Mirabeau Historical Society.” “How sweet,” Lorna said. “Of course, that’s not really like having a career. Don’t you get bored?” “Not really.” Candace smiled tightly. “And you’re right, it’s not like a career. I’m not shackled to it.” “But then you don’t get all the rewards from a career.” Candace leaned over and patted my knee in a most proprietary way. “My work brings me all sorts of rewards.” God, they were just going to snipe at each other all night.

Over little old me? I tried not to smirk. After delicately arranging some cheese on a cracker, Lorna eyed Candace and me. “So what do you guys do for fun in town? If it’s just having sex, spare me any gruesome details.” Candace might have taken slight umbrage at being referred to as a guy, but she wasn’t put off by Lorna’s ribaldry.