Jeff Abbott - Only Good Yankee

Junebug muttered, and I could imagine him shaking his head in disbelief. “What the hell gets into folks? Why do they think murderin’s gonna solve a single problem? I got to get a search warrant out for his house and his business. Lord have mercy, will this be a mess.” I leaned against the cool concrete wall of the hospital lobby.

“I think I’m going home. Any luck on the Boston side?” “Nope. Doreen Miller seems to be made of air.” Junebug coughed, like he was coming down with a summer cold. “And you know, the whole setup with Intraglobal seems fishy. Their office space was leased in the name of Michael Beasley.” “Who’s Michael Beasley?” “He’s listed as some officer of Intraglobal. I called Lorna a few minutes ago, and she claimed she never heard of him.” I thought of those files that Candace claimed Lorna had obliterated. Was Lorna covering up for someone?

Herself? This mysterious Michael Beasley? “Am I the only one who thinks this is getting goddamned complicated?” I asked. “No, Jordy, you’re not.” “What was Lorna doing when you called?” “She said she and Mark were watching a movie. She was wondering when you were going to come home.” “She’ll have to wait a bit longer. I’m going over to see Candace.” “I think that’s a real good idea, Jordy.” Junebug’s voice sounded odd. “What do you mean by that?” “Just a good idea. I-well, hell, it ain’t none of my business.” “Say whatever you’re going to say, Hewett.” I call him by his first name whenever I get impatient with him. “Don’t take her for granted, Jordan,” he snapped back.

“That’s all I’m saying. Lorna’s a nice girl and all, but Candace-well, Candace is special.” My jaw worked. I hadn’t ever expected to hear such words regarding Candace from Junebug. I mean, they were friends and had known each other a long time, but I never thought that he thought she was special. “Yeah, Junebug, she is special. I’ve always thought so.” “Good. I’m glad to hear that. Well, if we find Parker I’ll give you a call.” “Thanks.” I hung up and stared at the phone for a moment. Then I hurried out into the hot summer night.

The lights were on in Candace’s house, and music drifted from the back porch. I paused at the side of the house, listening to Mary-Chapin Carpenter’s sweet-edged voice sing a lament of forsakenness. Not a good sign. Candace always played Mary-Chapin’s in-your-face songs when she was feeling mad. I tended toward Chris Isaak. And when we were feeling romantic, well, there was no one who could hold a candle to Patsy Cline. I thought I probably wouldn’t be hearing Patsy’s elegant voice tonight. She sat on the back porch, sipping sangria she’d probably mixed herself, the musk blaring without too much concern for the neighbors. I rapped on the porch’s screen.

She frowned at me and leaned over, turning the music down low. “Have they carted her off yet to the hoosegow? Are you here to have a celebratory drink with me?” Candace asked dryly. I sat down beside her on the porch swing, easing because of the soreness in my arm. “No, she’s still there.” Ice barely rattled in Candace’s glass as she sipped her wine. She set down her glass, went into the kitchen, brought out another glass, and poured me some sangria. She handed it to me and watched me take a sip. Sitting down again next to me, she said, “Jordy, we need to have a serious talk.” “I know. Would you like to go first or should I?” The rim of the glass was against my lip and I kept it there, afraid to drink, afraid to talk. I had a sudden fear: she’s had enough of this mess, enough of me, and she’s getting out. I sat frozen, not wanting to hear her, not wanting to say what was in my heart. “I will.” Candace swirled her sangria in her glass. “I take it you still haven’t talked to Lorna about all her lies?” “No.” “I see.

Since Lorna’s still roaming free, why are you here?” I told her quickly, about Jenny’s overdose and Clo’s duplicity. She didn’t say anything or look at me, watching the fireflies pirouette under the shadowy trees. Finally she spoke: “Clo is not the villainess here.

She’s a good person, and the best goddamned nurse you could have ever found for your mother.” This I was not expecting. “Listen, Candace, she lied to us! She was practically in cahoots with Greg Callahan to frame me.” “This is the way that it always is with you, Jordy,” she said softly, her voice an arid whisper above the wind that moved through the trees like a dancer through a crowd. “The trust starts.

You let yourself really get close to someone. And then you find fault with them, and you get the hell out. That way you don’t have to deal with them anymore.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You make it sound like I was in love with Clo or something.” ‘Trust and love are different things, I think, although trust is a simple kind of love. That’s something men just never seem to get.” Candace shifted in her chair and sipped at her wine. She looked at me with her piercing blue eyes. “You haven’t really trusted anyone since you found out that Bob Don was your daddy, Jordy.” I drank down some of the wine before answering her, collecting my thoughts. “That is absolutely ridiculous.” “Is it? I don’t think so. Sure, you’re upset with Clo, but having her gone means one less emotional connection in your life.

Looking at her situation, it would not be hard to forgive her. You keep alternating between thinking Lorna is as innocent as the new-driven snow and thinking she’s guilty as sin-maybe even Greg’s killer. You’re always bickering with Gretchen; God forbid you make peace with her and attempt to have a fully mature relationship with your father and your stepmother. And as far as you and I go, I’m really tired of only being your stout support.” She set her sangria down on the porch table and her gaze held mine. “You could have been killed when those mailboxes blew up. I came within inches of losing you and you didn’t seem to notice how upset I was. Now you run off helter-skelter, sticking your nose in where it has no business being, and I wait for you to get hurt worse. Like that black eye. What if it hadn’t been Parker Loudermilk beating you up but that crazy Tiny Parmalee? And now you’ve got your ex-girlfriend, who I know is a liar, shacked up in your house, trying to win you back. And I’m just supposed to sit here, not be bothered by this unholy mess, and watch.”

“She’s not trying to win me back,” I answered automatically. I breathed in as soon as I said it, trying to suck the words back into my throat. Lorna had tried. I closed my eyes. I hadn’t even thought what wear and tear these past few days had been on Candace. “Yes, she is, Jordy. I’m not a fool. She’s still in love with you. My only consolation is that she’s even more messed up than you are, so I don’t think she’ll succeed. She loves you and she’s more afraid of that than anything else.” A thickness sat in my throat, one I couldn’t swallow past or cough up. Believe me, I tried. “She did try to get me back.

She wanted me to go to bed with her. I told her no. I told her-I told her that I’m in love with you.” I’d never said those words to Candace.

I was afraid and there always seemed tomorrow. I wanted to reach out for Candace’s hand, feel her warm fingers against my palm, feel her life. And, God, I didn’t want her to turn away from me. “Goddamn you, Jordan Poteet,” she whispered. “If you were going to tell that to someone, don’t you think it should have been me?” “Yes, I should have.

But I’m not good at this love crap, Candace. I don’t know how to do it right; I mean, be a couple. Be in love.” I felt like a dunce, the uncoolest person to ever draw breath. “You’re such a man. Hopeless.”