Joel Goldman - No way out

“Why not just leave?”

“And go where? Do what? I’ve got to take care of my mom, and sooner or later, I’m going to have to take care of my grandma, and they will never leave. I’m stuck, so I’ve got to find a way to make it work, one way or the other.”

The doorbell rang. I looked at my watch. Quincy Carter wasn’t due for another fifteen minutes.

Roni left me in the receiving area, returning with an older man, his eyes beaming, grinning like a pauper who’d been invited to see the prince. He was tall, his hair sand and silver, his features fine and handsome. He was missing the top third of his right ear, his only visible defect. Roni made the introduction.

“Terry Walker, say hello to Jack Davis.”

“Lilly didn’t say anything about other guests,” Terry said.

“That’s because she didn’t invite me,” I said, extending my hand.

“I invited Jack,” Roni said. “Grandma and Mom are in the morning room. You can go on back.”

He brightened again, his smile stretching his face. “Nice to meet you,” he said, giving my hand a quick, firm shake, turning to Roni. “I’ll find my way.”

I waited until Terry Walker had disappeared into the house. “Who’s he?”

“An old friend of my grandmother’s. They knew each other when they were kids. He moved away. He’s in town on some kind of business. They haven’t seen each other in years.”

“Quincy Carter is on his way here to question you in a murder case, and your grandmother is having a reunion?”

“It’s not a reunion, and I didn’t tell her about Detective Carter until I got home a few minutes ago. I didn’t want her to worry. Besides, it’s a big house. Anyway, you might as well meet the rest of my family.”

I followed her through the living room with its intricate woodwork and fireplace flanked by matching sculptures of cherubs, into the kitchen where Queen Anne had given way to Frigidaire and Corian countertops and into the morning room. White wallpaper with a green leaf pattern gave it an outdoor feel. Sunlight poured in through large double-hung windows on the west side. A mirror hung over a fireplace, the reflection making the room seem larger than it was.

A woman in a wheelchair, her head held in place by cushions on either side of her face, sat in the center of the room. She opened her mouth wide when she saw us, a sound coming out I didn’t understand, though Roni did, bending to give her a kiss.

“Hi, Mama. I love you.”

Her mother answered. This time her gurgle was easier to decipher. “Love you too.”

“I don’t blame you,” Roni said, both of them giggling.

Terry Walker stood next to Lilly Chase at the windows, one hand on her shoulder, Lilly’s gaze fixed on the mid-distance; then she turned toward us, watching Roni and her mother.

Lilly was red-haired with an oval face, her green eyes not dulled by age. She must have been a beautiful woman when she was young, and she was still attractive, her back straight and her carriage square and confident.

Roni’s mother stirred in her wheelchair, raising her left hand, tapping the armrest, smiling a crooked smile. Lilly knelt besides her, squeezing her hand as they exchanged looks and murmurs.

“Martha needs to lie down. I’ll take her,” Lilly said.

“I’ll help you,” Roni said, following her mother and grandmother.

Terry circled the morning room, admiring the view from the windows, running his hand along the backs of the furniture, taking inventory.

“Good to be home?”

He looked at me, eyebrows raised, cocking his head to one side.

“Roni told me,” I said, answering his unspoken question. “She said you lived here as a kid but moved away. What’s it like after being away so long?”

“It’s more strange than good. Nothing’s what it was when I left, including Lilly and me.”

“What made you decide to come back after all these years?”

He shrugged. “I’ve spent my whole life on the road, always looking for the next stop and never thinking about where I’ve been. Now I’m of an age where there’s a hell of a lot less in front of me than behind me. Got me thinking that maybe it was time to circle back, see if any of my old crew was still kicking around. I lived down the street from Lilly. I came to have a look at the old neighborhood and saw her sitting on the porch. Hadn’t seen her in fifty years, but I never forgot that red hair of hers. Some things just burn into your memory.”

“You planning on staying this time?”

“Not likely. Wasn’t enough to keep me here when I was a kid, and I doubt there’s enough now. I imagine I’ll say my hellos and good-byes and be on my way.”

“What about family?”

“Had a brother, but Lilly told me he’s dead. Got shot robbing a liquor store thirty years ago, which isn’t much of a surprise since he was born bad.”

“In the DNA, huh?”

“Hard to say if it’s the blood or the time and place.”

“Probably some of both. I get the sense that you’ve been in a few scrapes.”

He fingered his clipped ear, smiling. “A time or two. How about you? What’s your small-world story?”

“Me? Roni is taking a look at some financial records for me.”

We traded smiles, the twinkle in his eyes reminding me again that the first liar didn’t stand a chance, but I had no reason to share a murder investigation with Northeast’s prodigal son.

“That’s so?”

“It is.”

The doorbell rang, and I heard footsteps clattering down the stairs. “More company?”

“Not for Lilly. It’s for Roni and me, a police detective who’s working on the same case I asked Roni to help me on.”

“Those financial records.”

“Yeah.”

“Well then, have at it. I’ll show myself out.”

Lilly Chase led Roni and Quincy Carter into the morning room. Judging from her stiff posture and stern glare, she wasn’t pleased to be entertaining the police. Mindful of the power that beauty and age bestowed, she clasped her hands, commanding the room with a bank robber’s brass.

“Detective Carter,” she said, “my granddaughter only just now told me you are here to question her. I’ve told her not to talk to you without an attorney.”

“With all due respect, m’am, that’s up to her.”

“You’ve no right to harass her. She’s done nothing wrong. If she hadn’t shot Frank Crenshaw, I’d be wearing black, mourning my granddaughter.”

Carter nodded. “I got the word a couple of hours ago from the prosecuting attorney. She’s in the clear. He agrees with you and me that it was straight-up self-defense.”

“Good,” she said, as if checking that off her mental list of deal terms. “That leaves the second shooting, the one that killed Frank. Not that he didn’t deserve killing after what he did to Marie, but you can’t think Roni had anything to do with that.”

“I’m just here to ask her a few questions.”

“I know how the police do things. You ask questions, insinuate guilt, and badger people who are innocent into confessing to things they haven’t done and wouldn’t do. I won’t have that. Not in my house.”

“We’re just going to talk, ma’am. No bright lights or rubber hoses.”

She glared at Carter. “Detective, I’ve spent my life selling houses owned by people who didn’t know they were moving to people who didn’t know they were buying, so don’t try to sell me. I told Roni that she shouldn’t say another word to you without having a lawyer here to look after her. But you’d have thought I told her the moon was pink. And, you Jack, for some unknown reason, Roni thinks you’re better protection than any lawyer I could hire, though in my experience a man who works for free is rarely as committed as the man whose next meal depends on making the sale.”