Jeff Abbott - Only Good Yankee

Candace seized my wrist in a death grip and pulled me along into the kitchen. I glanced back at Lorna; she was staring intently at the uncooperative screen. I pulled free from Candace after she’d dragged me into the kitchen. She rattled the teapot under the faucet, turning the water on full blast. She jerked her head toward the living room and whispered, “She did it.” “Excuse me?” I wondered why we were whispering. “She did it,” Candace repeated. “She destroyed those files.” “Pardon me? What the hell are you talking about?” “I saw her do it,” Candace hissed. “I saw her select a bunch of files and delete them. I was getting us Cokes from the kitchen while she was trying to get into that Boston computer, and when I came back, there was this box on the screen that said DELETE SELECTED FILES? and she pressed OK.

I saw it all over her shoulder and she nearly jumped out of her chair when I came up behind her. It was only after that that she started whining about all these files being missing.” “Candace, are you sure?”

“Yes, goddamn it, I’m sure.” She switched off the faucet and banged open a cabinet, still speaking in a soft but smoldering tone. “I have been around a computer before, Jordy. She destroyed those files. Are you still going to stand by her side now and defend her to the death?”

“I can’t believe this!” “Believe it, Jordy. And now she’s gotten rid of her guard. You think maybe that’s so she can skedaddle out of here when she wants to? Or maybe she just wants to shame you into protecting her precious self.” Candace went back to the kitchen door and stuck her head into the living room, now all smiles. “You want some cookies with that tea, hon?” ‘Too bad Candace had to go,” Lorna said, munching on a peanut-butter cookie, her head leaning back on the couch. “Yeah, it is.” I stared out at the early-evening haze of heat.

Crickets and katydids raised their voices in the backyard, singing their midsummer oratorio, celebrating their brief lives. I tried to turn back to Lorna, but I was having trouble facing her. Candace had left shortly after serving Lorna her tea. I’d walked her out to the car, still stunned by Candace’s accusation. She wasn’t very happy with me for not throwing her testimony in Lorna’s face and seeing what stuck to those gray eyes and high cheekbones. “Why don’t you confront her?” I had demanded. “I’m not the one protecting her,” Candace had snapped back. “God, what does she have to do? Commit a crime in your presence? She is trouble, Jordy, and I am sick and tired of you taking up for her. I only loaned her the computer to help her, since you believe in her so much. And what does she do? Possibly commit another crime with it. I only get played for a fool once by Lorna, Jordy. You ought to adopt that motto for yourself.” “This is awfully circumstantial, Candace.” “Please. I think Lorna could climb up on the water tower with a rifle, blow away half the town, and you’d still cling to her innocence.” She got into her Mercedes, slamming the door.

“You come see me when you’ve decided what to do. I’m washing my hands of this whole affair, Jordy.” And that had been the end of the conversation. I’d skulked back to the house, feeling the slow throb of a headache in my temples. Assume Candace was right. Why had Lorna destroyed those files? To get rid of information. What kind? That she was in on Greg’s fraud? That she’d been in touch with the chemical waste company in Houston that’d planned to turn Mirabeau into another Love Canal? She’d stoutly proclaimed her ignorance of Greg’s duplicity. But maybe those files had been humming in computer memory in faraway Boston, and she’d had no way of getting to them until she’d talked Candace into getting hold of a laptop with a modem. And of course, suspecting Lorna of being a liar now meant I might have to suspect her of worse. Of far, far worse. I forced myself to turn back to her. She was licking the crumbs from one of Sister’s homemade peanut-butter cookies from her fingers. She caught my eye and smiled.

“Feeling better?” I heard my voice ask. “Sure am. I think your sister’s cookies have medicinal value. Let’s put one on your eye and see if the discoloration goes away.” I nearly laughed. It was the old Lorna, the Lorna I could laugh with and tell my secrets to and trust.

Surely Candace was mistaken. I knew Candace wouldn’t have fabricated the story about the files; she was not a liar. Right now I didn’t know if I could say the same for Lorna. “Why don’t you sit down, Jordan?

You’re going to pace a hole in that carpet.” “Sorry. It’s been an eventful day. I’m restless.” “Well, I think I should call Junebug and let him know about those files. And see if he tracked down Doreen Miller.” She lurched off the sofa and headed for the phone. I sat down on the warm couch cushion she’d vacated. My arm hurt and so did my eye. And most of all I felt mad at my own inaction. I wanted to talk to Sister, but she was working the night shift at the truck stop again, covering for a friend who was taking care of a sick kid. Mark was upstairs watching TV with Mama. I was basically stuck here alone with Lorna. Until the doorbell rang, followed by the gentle twisting of a key in the lock. “Y’all home?” Clo’s voice carried into the living room. Great. Now I had two visitors in the house that I had a ton of questions for, and no easy way to ask them. “Hi, Clo,” I called, feebly waving a hand from the couch. “What are you doing here?” She hovered above me, peering down at my face. She wasn’t in her nursing whites. “Good Lord. What happened to your eye?” “The mayor slugged me.” This announcement would have elicited shock from anyone other than Clo. She examined the eye critically, muttered “fool boy” under her breath, and sat down. “Arlene told me she had to go into the restaurant last minute, so I thought I’d stop by and see if y’all needed any help with Anne.” She leaned close to me. “Lorna still here?” I forced a smile on my face. “Yes, she is. Would you mind stepping outside with me for a minute, please?” A frown creased her face and she slowly rose to her feet. “What’s wrong?” she asked. I didn’t answer her as she followed me out onto the back porch. Thunder rumbled distantly, and I wondered if we were likely to get one of the tempestuous summer evenings that would keep a lightning show going the entire night, one to shake the floors and the walls. The air was heavy with the promise of storm. I gestured to one of the porch chairs and she sat, still frowning. “Anne all right?” “Yes, Mama’s fine.” I cleared my throat but didn’t say anything-I didn’t know where to start. I decided with someone as blunt as Clo, the blunderbuss approach would work. “I was told by someone that you were having a discussion with Greg Callahan, sitting in his car a couple of days before he died. I just wondered why.” Clo’s face didn’t betray any reaction to my announcement. I wasn’t surprised; she would make a world-class poker player if she ever decided to take up the game. “Who told you this?” “Does it matter? You’re not denying it.” “I didn’t think anything I did outside of this house was any concern of yours.”

Her voice held a grating edge that suggested I was on thin ice. “Look, Clo. You’ve always shot straight with me before. Please don’t stop now.” Her gaze rested on the newly mowed grass of the backyard. She wasn’t going to look me in the face anymore. “I don’t have to answer this, Jordy.” She stood. “You’ll have my resignation in the morning.

Or should I send it to Mr. Goertz, since he pays my salary?” I stood to face her. “Goddamn it, you are stubborn. Look. The man supposedly didn’t know very many folks in town. He talked with you. Privately. I assume from your attitude he hadn’t stopped you for directions to the Dairy Queen. Now he’s dead.” I held up my hands. “Wait, now two men are dead. You’re in this house, taking care of my mother. I think I have a right to know why you were talking to him, Clo. Unless you’ve done something wrong, it’s not an unreasonable question.” She sat, considering. Her fingers folded into the shape of a steeple and she rested her thumbs on her heavy chin. The chittering of the night’s creatures rang in my ears, and sitting like that she looked like a statue of some forbidding, unforgiving goddess. If she couldn’t tell me this, I could never trust her again with the simple duties I’d seen her perform so often: braiding Mama’s hair, coaxing her to rest during her fitful spells, washing her face with the gentlest of strokes. The steeple of her fingers folded. She looked at me with eyes of complete candor. “He wanted to talk to me about you, Jordy. He stopped me on the street, introduced himself to me, said he knew you, and said he had a business proposition for me. I decided to listen to him. “He sat me down in the car. I was kind of nervous about that, but I figured I could handle him. We talked for a long while. He wanted to know about my kids and he told me he knew times were hard for people, even honest hardworking folks like me. He wanted to know how much free run of your house I had. I got pretty suspicious at this point and started to leave. Then he offered me five thousand dollars. I decided to listen some more.” ‘To what?” I asked, my breath caught in my throat. “He wanted me to put a bag in your attic.” “A bag? I don’t understand.” “I didn’t either. Till I looked in the bag. Had chemicals and wires in it.” She didn’t blink. “And rods that looked like sticks of dynamite.”