Pamela Tracy - Clandestine Cover-Up

Miles nodded. “What happened to your uncle, Vince, to make him like this? Such an empty life.”

“My mom says he’s always been like this. My father blamed Drew’s time in the military. Drew spent time in Alaska and then Vietnam, but he was over in Vietnam in the early sixties before anything really happened.” Vince thought about it for a moment. “Except maybe drugs.”

They worked silently for a moment. Then Vince asked, “Hey, Miles, do you know Tamara Jacoby?”

“I’ve met her a few times. Why?”

Vince waited a moment, hoping the minister would say more. When he didn’t, Vince continued, “Did Alex and Lisa fill you in on what happened back in Phoenix with Tamara?”

Miles stopped working. “They did.”

Vince checked to make sure the boys couldn’t hear. “She bought the old Amhurst Church. I stopped by there last night when I saw her standing on the sidewalk. Someone had painted ‘you’re not wanted here’ on the door. Then, she found a dead mouse inside.”

“Think it’s Massey?”

That the preacher remembered the stalker’s name told Vince how much the family had confided in their minister.

“She called someone she knows who told her that Massey’s still in prison. It gets worse. While she and I were both inside, someone left a threatening note on the door.”

“You tell Alex?”

“No. It didn’t seem my place. I was there when she called the police. This morning she went by the police station and filed a report.”

“That young lady’s been through enough,” Miles said.

“Can you talk to her?” Vince asked. “Maybe get her to stay with Lisa and Alex for a while.”

“I’ll try. She’s only been to church once since she’s been here. I started to welcome her, but she ducked away. Maybe you could bring her?”

“Nice try,” Vince declined.

The door to the trailer opened. Drew hobbled out and crawled into his old truck, muttering, “Miserable excuses for human beings,” before driving toward town.

“Must be grocery day,” Vince said.

“No,” Miles answered. “Grocery day is Monday. He’d never go to the grocery store on a Saturday, too crowded.”

They watched the ancient Ford truck disappear from sight.

For the past half hour, Miles sang a few more gospel songs. His voice was low, and the songs were poignant. They fit the mood. Vince had no doubt the minister would talk to Tamara, offer assistance and even maybe counsel. Problem was, Miles Pynchon was in charge of a whole congregation. Vince wasn’t sure of the number, but based by the size of the church building, Vince figured more than two hundred members. There was only so much time Miles could give to Tamara, especially if she wasn’t asking for help.

At just after five o’clock, the Pynchon boys followed their dad to his truck. They took enough parts to make either a lawn mower that ran like a motorcycle or a motorcycle that also functioned as a lawn mower. Either way, the boys looked intrigued. The minister took home a wooden cross, splintered in places, and a Bible so old its leather binding was all but in shreds.

One man’s junk was another man’s treasure.

As Vince headed for his truck, he took one last look at his uncle’s property. Thanks to his efforts and that of the Pynchons, the yard had a few clear areas and even something of a path. Not that Drew needed a path. Vince doubted the old man cared to walk in his backyard or even knew what all was in it.

Drew’s backyard was quite a bit like Drew’s life—filled with a lot of junk that no one really cared about.

Vince paused.

His own backyard consisted of sheds and tools and toys. Things that right now, during his prime, seemed important. It all could count as clutter; it could all eventually turn to junk.

Funny how thinking about Uncle Drew and then thinking about Tamara really made a man think about what should be important.

As Vince drove the streets of Sherman, he pondered just exactly what he was doing.

Adding one more worry to his life, he realized.

Worrying about and taking care of his family had been a full-time job since he was ten.

He didn’t want to feel responsible for even one more person.

Which, he told himself, was why he shouldn’t be thinking about Tamara Jacoby. Thing was, he couldn’t seem to stop.

All because she was a redhead with haunted green eyes, a quick tongue and a killer smile.

He parked in front of her house and knocked on her door a few moments later, trying to think of just what he’d say.

He’d never been at a loss for words with a female. He was the prankster, the stud, the man of the moment. Everyone’s friend, no one’s confidant. He’d never thought about what to say to a woman because he’d never had to. He’d never really cared much one way or the other. If he started thinking about a woman too much, he stopped—stopped thinking, stopped calling, stopped taking them out. He didn’t want to let any woman too close. He already had too many responsibilities to his family.

No one answered his knock.

He hurried down the stairs, trying to tell himself he was glad she wasn’t home. His steps slowed when he got to her car.

It didn’t matter how tired he was. Unless he found out she was okay, he wasn’t going to get any rest tonight. He took out his cell phone and called her brother-in-law, Alex. No answer. So, he tried Alex’s wife, Lisa. Surely, if anyone knew what Tamara was up to, it would be her sister.

As Lisa’s cell phone rang he tried to think of the best scenario. Maybe the reason Alex hadn’t answered and now Lisa wasn’t answering was because Lisa had gone into labor. Of course if that was true, maybe Tamara had run from the apartment, zoomed right past her own car, and made decent time—on foot—to the hospital.

Scenario two, she was actually inside the apartment sound asleep and hadn’t heard his knock.

He liked both ideas. They were so much better than the other options his imagination could supply.

“Hey, Vince, sorry it took me so long to answer. I didn’t hear the phone buzzing in my purse. What’s up?” Lisa didn’t sound stressed enough to be in labor. And in the background, he could hear the muted sounds of a softball game in progress. He looked across the street at the shimmering lights of a ballpark.

“Do you know where Tamara is?”

“Sure, she’s here with us. Alex’s church team is playing tonight.”

“I’ll be right there.” It made perfect sense, Vince thought. She’d not need to drive the car across the street to the park. It was just as quick to walk. Which was what he started to do. His steps quickened the closer he got because he didn’t see two redheads, just one.

Lisa Cooke, Tamara’s sister, nine months’ pregnant, and who should be taking it easy, was in the stands cheering on her husband.

“Hey!” Lisa called. She nudged her stepdaughter, Amy, whose nose was in a book, and they both scooted over, giving him some room to sit down. “So, you want to tell me what’s up with you and my sister?” she asked.

“Where is she?”

“She didn’t want to use her cell phone and watch the game at the same time. She’s been slumming behind the snack bar for the past half hour.”

“Can you see her?”

Lisa pointed. “The preacher already wants her for third base. He says if she shows that much passion for a phone call, just think what she’d muster for a play-off game.”

“Who’s she talking to?” Vince asked.

“I’m pretty sure she’s still on the phone with Terry, which amazes me since I thought they weren’t talking.”

“Terry?”

“Her ex-fiancé.”

Vince started to stand, then thought better of it. He patted Amy on the head. She giggled and went back to reading.