Due Process (Joe Dillard #9)(31)

“Yeah, life happens,” she said.

“I thought you might bring Greg,” I said.

She paused for a few seconds.

“I asked him, but he said he didn’t think you’d want him around.”

“Really? Why would he say that?”

“Because he’s a convicted felon. He said it might cause a problem with you.”

“Why would he think that?”

“You have a bit of a reputation, Joe. Some people think you run a little hot.”

“What did he do?”

“Robbed a bank over in Elizabethton almost ten years ago. He spent more than eight years in the federal pen in Beckley. He did five years in the medium security behind the walls and then they moved him out to the minimum security camp.”

“Why’d he rob the bank?”

“The same reason I stole from Mom and from you back in the day. The same reason Caroline’s nurse is stealing from her. He was an addict.”

“He’s clean now?”

“Yeah.”

“And you’re comfortable with him being around Gracie?”

She stopped peeling the eggs and turned around to face me.

“Isn’t the answer to that question obvious, Joe? Of course I’m comfortable with him being around Gracie. If I wasn’t, he wouldn’t be anywhere near her. He’s been great to Gracie. He’s been great to me.”

“How’d you meet him?” I said.

“He came into the diner and asked me if I had a job open. Said he’d do anything: wash dishes, sweep and mop, cook, clean the toilets. He was open about having just gotten out of prison. I liked him, so I gave him a job.”

“And things are heating up between the two of you?”

“We’re friends, Joe. We’re becoming closer friends, but I’m not sleeping with him or anything. He’s been a huge help around the house and with Gracie’s horse. He says he grew up with horses. He knows a lot about them.”

“Where’d he grow up?”

“Over in Carter County. Buck Mountain.”

“Pretty rough place, from what I’ve always heard.”

“That’s what he says, but he’s really nice. He’s quiet and polite and intelligent. He reads a lot. Not what you’d expect from somebody from Buck Mountain who’s spent nearly a decade in prison.”

I walked over and pulled a pan of baked beans out of the oven, set them on the counter, and covered them in aluminum foil.

“I’ll help you with those eggs,” I said.

“Are you satisfied with what I told you about Greg?” Sarah said.

“All I want is for you and Grace to be happy and safe,” I said.

“Did you already know about him before I told you?”

“Some.”

“How’d you find out?”

“I had a friend run his tag after I came down there last week.”

“And you’ve been waiting to have this conversation ever since?”

“Yeah, I guess so. I’m not trying to interfere—”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, really—”

“It’s okay, Joe. I know you’re just concerned. But everything is fine.”

“If you say so.”

“I say so. He’s a good guy who made a terrible mistake. It happens.”





WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 4

When Tracey Rowland showed up on Wednesday morning, I was waiting for him. The video very clearly showed that both times Tracey went into the bathroom, he turned on the water, grabbed the bottle of Oxycontin, poured a few into his hand, put them in his pocket, put the bottle back, and turned off the water. He didn’t even bother to wash his damned hands.

Caroline and I had battled heatedly over what I was going to do. I wanted to tear his head off, and I knew I was perfectly capable of doing so. She wanted me to call the police and have him arrested on Tuesday. We wound up compromising. I promised I wouldn’t assault him, but I wanted to at least confront him face-to-face. I’d also had to beg Jack to stay away. He desperately wanted to hurt this man who had caused his mother so much pain and anguish.

Caroline chose to stay in the bedroom with the door closed. Rio was raising hell in the garage. Tracey looked surprised when I opened the front door.

“Hey Joe,” he said. “Decide to sleep in this morning?”

“Nah, I was up around five, just like every other day. I have something I want to show you.”

“Yeah? What’s that?” I detected a bit of trepidation in his voice. He knew something was up.

“C’mon into the kitchen. It’s a short video on my phone. I’ll show it to you and we can talk.”

“What kind of video?”

I walked toward the kitchen and he followed me. I sat down and picked my phone up off the table. I pulled up the video of him stealing the drugs and showed it to him. To my surprise, he showed no reaction.

“I don’t understand what you’re showing me,” he said.

“Are you out of your damned mind?” I said. “That’s you stealing my wife’s pain medication. You know exactly what it is. Are you selling it or are you addicted?”

“No. That isn’t me. It just looks to me like some guy washing his hands. You can’t even tell it’s me.”