Real Bad Things(22)

“Stepfather. Forgive me.” He placed a hand on his chest, as if swearing to an honest mistake. “I’m new in town.”

“Oh, it’s fine.” She threw on her best southern accent, though it’d been a while. When in Rome, especially when you’re likely to be arrested any minute on a murder charge. After she’d disembarked in Massachusetts courtesy of a string of relationships that steadily moved her from the center of the country to the coast, she’d taken great pains to scrub the diphthongs and intonations. Those notes of her youth rolled back onto her tongue with an ease that surprised her.

“I’m surprised to find you here with your momma,” he said.

Everyone assumed all mothers were mommas. That they loved and hugged and fed you. That they came home at reasonable hours and tucked you in. Diane was no one’s momma. Jane was usually quick to correct anyone who suggested differently. This time, she made an exception. Before answering, she glanced at each corner of the building in the event Chuck or Diane decided to make an appearance.

“Momma . . .” She hated the sound of it. “She asked me to help with the funeral.”

He smiled but didn’t offer an opinion.

“Are you here to arrest me?”

Another smile—no teeth, all business. “No. Not yet.”

She waited for him to explain. He didn’t. “Why? I confessed.”

“Why did you?”

“Confess?” she asked, confused. When he nodded, she continued, “’Cause I did it.”

He narrowed his eyes. “See, here’s the thing. I don’t think you did.”

She choked on her spit, and he whacked her good on the back.

“Jesus,” she said and jerked away from him.

“Sorry. Instinct. You okay?”

“Yeah,” she choked out. “Just got an itch.” She coughed herself into something more akin to normal. “I did it. So if you’re going to arrest me, get on with it.”

“I would love to. But like I said, I’m not sure that’s the case.”

“Is this about my alleged girlfriend? That’s a lie. She doesn’t exist. That’s just gossip. People letting their imaginations go wild.” Then she realized what was different about him. He wasn’t like other folks in Maud. He was like her. “You know how people are.”

This time, his smile came tighter and quicker. Bingo. A Black police officer? A Black gay police officer? Oh, Maud would have a fit if they found out. She imagined they had not.

“It’s not about that,” he said. “It’s about the fact they found no body, no evidence of a crime. Not one shred. And they looked. Allegedly.” He smirked. “Do you know of anyone else who might’ve had an issue with Warren?”

“I don’t understand.” Could they really be so dumb? But then, this was Maud. Most of their crimes were petty. Maud’s only other reported murder case involved two guys back in the late ’70s. The perpetrator had admitted he’d killed a guy who’d thrown a drink on him and then told him to “eat shit and die.” The jury decided that wasn’t so bad. Maybe they’d extend that courtesy to her. Maybe she wouldn’t even go to trial if this Benjamin character got his way. She supposed it helped to have “family” on the inside. Maybe he’d go easy on her. Sure, she thought. I’ll play along.

“There was this coworker. Warren and him had some trouble. You heard about him?” This had not been the plan. But why not use Warren’s friends and all that macho male posturing in her favor?

“Yep, they looked into him way back when.”

Was that good or bad? “I believe Warren was arrested for assault on that guy. What was his name?”

“Paul—”

“That’s right.” Details she’d forgotten rolled out of her brain and onto her tongue. They’d been at a company picnic. Everyone had been enjoying their free hot dogs and soda until Paul joked that Warren seemed to be awfully interested in the new press feeder, a young man named Thomas. The guy lied to his kids when they saw him after Warren got done with him, told them he’d visited the face-painting booth. That didn’t stop them crying.

She couldn’t stop herself, like her brain had decided to shit stories out her mouth now that he’d given her an opening. She blamed the heat, that oppressive Arkansas humidity. It made people stupid. “He always had trouble with folks. He’d invite them over to the house. They’d get to drinking and carrying on and then get into fights. Bad ones too. I hated my brother had to hear all that. All I ever wanted to do was run away. Even tried more than once but didn’t stay gone long.”

He leaned against the building, studying her.

Why wait for questions? Why not blurt out any old detail? “I think him and Paul became friends again, even after that.” Paul was hardly a good guy. Maybe he could take the fall for what had happened. He’d probably done something to warrant getting locked away. She’d google him first to be sure. She wasn’t a total asshole. “My grandpa was like that. He hit on his army buddy’s girlfriend, and the guy shot him. Went to the hospital and everything. Even went back to the bar after they stitched him up.” She’d stolen the story from an ex who liked to tell it to friends.

Benjamin chuckled. “What happened to the other guy?”