A Justified Murder (Medlar Mystery #2)(77)

“Just to mind our own business,” Jack said.

“Seems like she’d want your help.”

“I’m getting a lawyer for Tayla,” Sara said. “If you don’t mind, I need some time to...”

“Yeah, sure,” the sheriff said. “I need to go home and get some sleep. I’ll think more about this tomorrow.” He looked at Jack and Kate in a way that was almost threatening, a warning maybe.

“We’ll be glad to see you.” Jack opened the door and closed it behind the sheriff.



Seventeen


THE NEXT DAY was a Tuesday, a workday, but no one spoke of leaving the house. It was over a week since they’d seen Janet’s poisoned, stabbed, and shot body. Kate’s boss was in jail and a man they’d befriended was now dead. The stacks of boxes of files on an old kidnapping case filled a wall in the dining room. Sara’s eyes were red from a night of crying, while Jack and Kate were so down they could hardly lift their eyelids.

Kate made coffee and Sara managed to brew a pot of tea so strong you could almost stand a spoon in it.

They weren’t talking. But then, there was no need to speak of what they were thinking. It was their fault that Chet had been killed. If they hadn’t stuck their noses into the murder of Janet Beeson, he’d still be alive. If they hadn’t encouraged Everett Gage to keep looking... If they hadn’t...

“We’re going to the gym,” Jack said.

“No, I need to work on—” Sara began.

“You’re not,” Jack said. “Whatever you want to do, you can’t. We’re going to go to the gym and hit the bags.”

Kate went to her bedroom to put on her gym clothes. She could hear Jack in the living room of her suite. When she came out, he was in his workout gear and she nodded at him. She wasn’t sure she’d ever fully smile again.

“I texted Flynn and he’s sending a deputy over to get Chet’s personal things. We’ll leave the garage door unlocked.”

“What about the files?”

“It seems that no one wants them. Flynn said he was told—I quote—‘that old kidnapping case was Dakon’s bugaboo. It has nothing to do with the Beeson case.’”

“But—” Kate began then stopped. “Right. It’s their case. Has nothing to do with us.”

“Exactly,” Jack said.

Sara was at the truck waiting for them. Her sixteen-ounce red boxing gloves and gel hand protectors were in a Ringside sling bag. She had on long black pants and a green T-shirt.

Jack drove to the LA Fitness on University and they went into the basketball court to box. Kate was new at the sport but she’d picked it up quickly. “It’s DNA and anger,” Sara had said.

“I got the DNA from you and Dad, but no anger,” Kate said.

“Your mom’s depression bouts didn’t make you angry?” Sara asked.

“And your uncles saying your naked knees were inspiring lust in men didn’t do it?” Jack asked.

“How about your isolated childhood?” Sara asked. “And—”

Kate slammed into Jack’s pads so hard he had to remove them and shake his hands to relieve the pain. “Okay, so maybe I do have a teeny bit of strong feelings.”

Even with past experience, Jack wasn’t prepared for the strength that came from the two women. Brutally hard slams, left then right. Uppercuts so violent the pads almost hit him in the chin. He could feel the muscles in his chest crying out to stop.

But the women went on and on, taking turns in three-minute rounds of hard hitting, then switching to the bags. None of them rested.

Only Jack added kickboxing. After thirty minutes of holding the pads for the women, he tossed them down. He released some of his own anger by kicking the big hanging bag so hard it bent in the middle. When the bag touched the wall, Sara and Kate got behind it and held it with their shoulders. Jack’s strong kicks pounded into their bodies.

Leather hitting leather echoed through the gym. They didn’t realize it but they had an audience. Outside the glass doors were half a dozen trainers and gym rats, all watching in awe. It didn’t take much to know that they were witnessing a physical manifestation of fury.

Sweat ran down the faces of the three of them, the drops so big they could be heard hitting the wooden floor. Their eyes burned from the salt, but with the big boxing gloves on they couldn’t wipe it away.

When Jack’s legs were screaming in pain, he put the pads back on and the women starting hitting again.

It was two hours before they stepped away. Jack tossed the pads down and the women clasped the gloves between their legs and pulled them off. They looked at one another, dripping wet and shaking with fatigue. Jack opened his long arms. They went to him, arms around his hot, sweaty torso, and began to cry. Jack’s tears joined them. They were a huddled threesome of unhappy, weeping people.

Outside the door, the watchers left. What they were seeing was too intimate to behold.

It was a while before they recovered enough that they could separate. Silently, they picked up gloves and pads and put them in their gym bags.

They didn’t shower there. Sometimes they went to one of the big grocery stores nearby, but not today. Today they just wanted to go home and try to get back to lives that didn’t involve dealing with a murder.