Clandestine Cover-Up

He followed her to the bottom of an outdoor staircase. When Lydia had moved into the brick house, she had converted the upstairs to an apartment complete with its own entrance. Vince’s mother said Lydia not only knew how to manage her money but how to create ways to make money.

Vince’s mother was too busy trying to manage her sons to manage her money. When Vince was ten, his father had abandoned the family. That same year Vince’s older brothers had moved out. For the next two years, Vince and his mother had moved from one apartment to another. They hadn’t had much money. During that time, his mother had remarried, had Vince’s little brother Jimmy, and got divorced. Vince became the man of the family.

When they got to the top of the stairs, Tamara unlocked the door, disappeared inside for a moment and then returned to relieve him of the bags.

“Thanks,” she murmured softly. “I was getting a little spooked back there at the church. You made some pretty bad moments not so horrible. I do appreciate your help.” Then she smiled and closed the door.

Leaving him outside, feeling as if he’d just missed an opportunity he hadn’t even realized was offered. That realization was followed by the certainty that his initial attraction to her flowing red hair was really nothing.

Nope, it was her smile that did him in.

For the first time in months, Tamara fell into bed without going through a paranoid routine of checking her front door’s lock and all the windows about a dozen times.

Tonight when she crawled into bed, her last thought was I’m tired. She didn’t make it to I wish I could fall asleep. Instead, she fell asleep.

For two whole minutes.

And then, her eyes went to the clock by her bedside.

Midnight.

It had all started at midnight. William Massey’s first phone call. Tamara burrowed under the blankets and, even though her clock didn’t make any noise, she covered her ears.

She almost wished she could blame Massey, but tonight what kept her from sleeping was the sudden realization that most likely Massey wasn’t involved with the threatening warnings she had received.

No, he struck at midnight.

On Saturday morning, Vince drove to Tamara’s apartment to check on her.

Her car was gone. There was no cause for worry, he thought. He headed for the church. But her car wasn’t there either. Okay, a slight cause for worry. He checked the only other place he could think of—her sister’s house. She wasn’t there. Finally, he spotted her car. It was the first time he’d ever felt relief at finding who he was looking for at the police station.

Checking his watch, he grimaced. Today was pretty much mapped out thanks to a promise he made his mother to help his great-uncle Drew. He turned his truck toward what used to be the outskirts of town.

Vince pulled into the dirt driveway leading up to his uncle’s trailer. Drew opened the front door once Vince started taking things out of the bed of his truck. Slowly, Drew stepped down onto his front step, glared and spit on the ground. “What are you doing, boy?”

In his younger days, according to those who remembered, Drew had been over two hundred pounds, six foot two and a contender with attitude. Now, past eighty, Drew was a walking advertisement for skin and bones and bad attitude.

Drew knew exactly why Vince had shown up this morning.

Vince answered anyway. “I’m cleaning up your yard. You only have thirty days, remember, before you start getting hefty fines.”

Drew clutched at the screen door. It kept him steady. “I’ll shoot anyone who comes on my land in thirty days.”

Sad thing was, Vince almost believed the old man. “Uncle Drew, just let me take care of this and then you won’t need to worry.”

Like his uncle had once been, Vince was over six foot, weighed just over two hundred pounds and had attitude. The difference was, Vince had learned to control his attitude. Not that a good attitude was helping to deal with Drew today.

Even with his missing weight, stooped height and outward frailty, Drew’s voice still had a guttural edge. “Ain’t worried. Don’t need any help. Git.”

“I’m not gitting.” Vince didn’t move, and Drew stomped into the trailer—no doubt heading to the phone to call Vince’s mother. He wouldn’t get far there. She was terrified at the thought of Drew winding up homeless and showing up on her doorstep.

Mom still had Jimmy at home, and right now Jimmy was at what his mother called an awkward stage. He still needed approval but insisted he could make his own decisions. From what Mom said, most of Jimmy’s decisions right now were wrong.

Vince wasn’t too worried. He’d survived puberty.

Come to think of it, maybe Vince should have a talk with Jimmy.

If nothing else, getting Jimmy out here to help pull weeds might be an opportunity that benefited both of them. Vince could pay Jimmy, and Jimmy could start saving for the car he wanted. One brief phone call later, Vince knew that idea was a bust.

Even at age sixteen, Jimmy was terrified of Uncle Drew.

Vince started pulling the weeds growing past his knees in the front yard. Every twenty minutes or so, as perfectly timed as a cuckoo on a clock, Drew would open the screen door, curse and spit and then retreat.

Things got even more interesting a few hours later when Miles Pynchon, minister of the Main Street Church, pulled up in a fairly new pickup and shouted, “Need some help?”

“I’ve got a handle on this,” Vince said. “You might not want your sons to hear what my uncle Drew has to say.”

“They’ve heard your uncle Drew many a time,” Miles said. “We live just over the fence. Drew’s inspired a sermon or two. Anytime you want to attend services and come listen, you’re invited. Now, the boys and I have about three hours to spare. Tell us where to start.”

“So far, I’ve been working with two guidelines. If it’s trash, throw it away. If it’s too heavy to move, leave it alone.”

“All of it looks like trash,” one boy muttered.

It only took five minutes for Drew to notice his visitors. Funny, Vince had grown up in a world where cursing was the rule not the exception. Never had he noticed just how bad it sounded, at least in front of kids. It made him wish more than ever that Miles and his sons would leave and let Vince work in peace.

Instead, Miles sang while he loaded old pieces of wood, broken buckets, all kinds of signs, cans of paint and smelly tarps into the back of Vince’s truck. He started with tunes from the Beatles, switched to James Taylor and, by the time the sun started to descend, he’d worked his way to gospel songs. Some Vince knew; others he did not.

In between songs Miles invited Drew and Vince to attend church on Sunday. Drew had two words for the invitation; the second word was no. Vince also shook his head. His mother had gone to church a time or two. She’d never felt welcome. He doubted he’d feel much different.

“I can even offer Drew a ride,” Miles offered.

The teenage boys gave each other the guarded look that all teenagers share when it comes to the actions of their parents. Vince couldn’t help it. He laughed.

“We all appreciate you cleaning up his yard,” Miles said. “He scares most of the neighbors. Some complain just because they hope it will somehow cause him to move.”

“That’s not going to happen. The more people complain, the more he’ll dig his feet in,” Vince commented.

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.

THREE

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.

The bleachers weren’t built with big men in mind. Vince found a place to stretch his feet and managed to knock over Lisa’s purse. After he righted it, he asked, “Did you know she bought the old Amhurst Church building?”

“Yes, and I think it’s great.”

“If you think it’s great, then she didn’t tell you about yesterday. Someone had painted a warning on the front door.”

Lisa glanced at her daughter, who wasn’t paying the slightest attention, and asked, “What did it say?”

“You’re not wanted here.”

Lisa’s lips tightened. “She didn’t say a word. She thinks just because I’m pregnant I’m made of glass. Did she say anything about William Massey? You think that’s why she’s talking to Terry?”

“She called someone yesterday. I’m not sure it was this Terry guy or not. Seems Massey’s still in jail.”

“Could he have—”

“Tamara said she’d find out. That’s basically why I’m here. I was with her at the church building last night. I even saw her safe into her apartment. Today, I can’t seem to get her out of my mind. I can’t believe she didn’t tell you any of this.”

“She didn’t tell me because I’d have insisted she come stay with us. She probably thinks she’d be in the way or somehow put us in danger.”

“I don’t think she should be in her apartment alone,” Vince said. “Not until the authorities find out who is leaving threatening messages.”

“Messages,” Lisa said. “You mean there was more than one?”

Before he could answer, the people around them screamed and jumped up. It didn’t take long to figure out the game had ended with Alex hitting a triple and bringing two runners in.

The remaining fans started gathering their kids and belongings. It didn’t look like tonight would be one of those lingering, “let’s go out for pizza” kind of nights. Glancing at his watch, Vince realized it was late even for a Saturday game. It was well past nine, it was dark, and there was church in the morning for most people there.

Lisa didn’t smile as she made sure Amy had everything and then carefully climbed down from one stair to the next. When they reached the bottom, Tamara stood waiting. The look on her face clearly showed her displeasure.

“Vince, when did you get here?” Tamara asked.

“A good half hour ago.”

“Long enough to tell me what you didn’t bother to tell me,” Lisa said.

“It might be nothing,” Tamara insisted. “Massey never sent me a ‘get lost’ message. It was always a ‘you’re mine’ kind of message. Besides, I’ve called the victim information and notification hotline three times, and they say Massey hasn’t been released. Terry says that Massey hasn’t left jail. He hasn’t had any visitors, either. And, apparently, his cellmate is a white-collar criminal who only wants to do his time and get out. Massey’s not a threat.”

“Someone’s a threat,” Vince reminded her.

Tamara nodded. “Only thing new in Massey’s life is some hotshot lawyer he’s hired. Terry says the guy’s trying to get some of my testimony stricken because of lawyer/client confidentiality.”

“Can they do that?” Lisa asked.

“Since I met Massey while I was assisting the attorney who was representing him on a separate matter, yes. Never mind that, after he started stalking me, my firm severed representation. His attorney is going to claim that while testifying, I had knowledge that I wouldn’t have had if I had not been present during the first case. He’s going to go over every transcript of my testimony and look for key phrases, similarities, any time I might have used legal jargon instead of acting like a witness.”

“It doesn’t seem right,” Vince said.

“It’s exactly what I’d be doing if I were his new lawyer. They’re scrounging for reasonable doubt,” Tamara said. “So, now, along with trying to figure out who painted the words on my door, I need to worry about the possibility of Massey’s release.”

“Vince.” Alex, out of breath, and still flying high from being instrumental in the winning run, chose that moment to join them. Grinning, he reached out to shake Vince’s hand. “Good to see you.” Alex let go of Vince’s hand and reached for his wife.

She didn’t move toward him. Instead, through gritted teeth, she muttered, “We’re going to have a little talk with my big sister.”

Concern flickered across Alex’s face.

“No, not about me,” Lisa quickly assured him.

He looked from Lisa, to Vince, to Tamara. His daughter was the only other one present who didn’t have a clue what was going on.

“Great hit, Dad,” Amy said, giving him a hug. She was soon skipping toward the parking lot with another little girl about the same age.

“Okay, what’s going on?” Alex asked.

“Tamara’s not safe,” Lisa said quickly. “She needs to move in with us for a while.”

“I’m not sure if I’m safe or not,” Tamara insisted. “But if I’m not safe, you guys are the last ones I’m going to endanger.” She looked pointedly at Lisa’s stomach. “In a few days, you’ll have another baseball player to worry about, and I’m certainly not going to let my problems become your problems.”

Alex turned to Vince. “Tell me everything.”

It took all of ten minutes, and Tamara only interrupted once a minute.

When they finished, Alex simply shook his head, dropped his bat bag to the ground and went back to the dugout. When Vince saw what Alex had in mind, he followed.

Behind him, he could hear Tamara’s protest and then Lisa’s voice beginning to rise. Tamara immediately hushed.

Jake Ramsey, Sherman’s sheriff, already had his softball gear packed and was ready to head toward his vehicle. He looked happy to see Alex—no doubt, anyone who could hit a triple during overtime had the sheriff’s approval—but he didn’t look as happy to see Vince.

No surprise there.

Vince and the sheriff were well acquainted thanks to the run-ins with the law of Vince’s uncle, dad and brothers. Okay, Vince hadn’t been completely immune to getting into trouble. He just happened to be the Frenci who learned from his mistakes.

“Tell the sheriff everything,” Alex ordered.

“I think the sheriff already knows everything,” Vince said. “Tamara was at the police station this morning. But that doesn’t mean he’s doing everything he can.”

“What do you think I should be doing, Vince?” Jake asked.

“More.”

“You’re right,” Jake said. “There is more I should be doing. Questioning you, for one. You arrived at the scene rather conveniently.”

“I got off work at five. The church is right on my way home. Plus, you know I work there.”

“What made you stop this time?” Jake asked.

“I saw Tamara just standing there, not moving. It wasn’t that hard to tell something was wrong.”

“Never took you for being a concerned citizen.”

Jake was cop through and through. His grandfather had been sheriff, then his father and now Jake. Vince’s family helped keep Jake’s family in business. Drew had been in and out of jail his whole life. Vince’s father, pretty much the same until he disappeared. Vince’s brothers, especially his next oldest brother, Mickey, knew the facility well.

Vince had already been behind bars once. When he was sixteen, he’d been caught stealing a car. His brother Darren had actually stolen the car, but Vince was driving it when the police cruiser had pulled up behind them.

Jake’s father had been the sheriff back then.

“Because of Alex, here, I knew some of what Tamara had been going through back in Phoenix. There’s not a chance I’d just drive by if she needed help.”

“And I’m glad you stopped, but I’m not glad you’re dragging everybody into my business,” Tamara said, walking over to stand next to Vince.

“Forewarned is forearmed,” Vince started.

Alex finished for him. “This is our business, too, and—”

“And I would have informed you about what’s going on once I figured out exactly what is going on,” Tamara remarked.

“It could be a month before that happens,” Vince said snidely. “Sheriff Ramsey, with all due respect, you need…”

Tamara put her finger to her lips, and Vince hushed.

“I can tell you what the sheriff’s doing,” Tamara said. “He’s assigned deputies to drive by my apartment every hour. He’s waiting for a call back from the detective in Phoenix who handled my case. He’s advised me to move in with Lisa and Alex. I’m the one who wanted to hold off for a while. If there’s something that can be done, he’s been doing it.”

Jake looked at Vince. “For years, you’ve been taking care of the grounds at that old church. I’d think you’d know if something funny was happening around the place.”

“Nothing funny has happened except for Tamara buying it and nobody, including me, realizing it was for sale.”

Before Jake could reply, he got a call and took off at a jog toward his car. Vince followed Alex and Tamara back to the bleachers. Lisa tapped her foot impatiently.