The Familiar Dark(48)

I shrugged, looked away. “Not as much as he wanted to. I think I broke his nose.”

A long low whistle from Cal. “Holy shit, Eve. Good for you.”

I laughed, a short exhale. “Between the two of us, we’re giving Jimmy Ray’s face a whole new look.”

Cal’s grin lasted only a moment before it dropped away and something more serious took its place. “You know he’s probably screwing with you, right? Winding you up?”

“Why would he do that?” I asked, but it was a stupid question. Jimmy Ray loved playing with people, loved having the upper hand and watching everyone dance while he pulled the strings.

“Because he can,” Cal said, exasperated. “Because it’s fun. Because he likes feeling powerful. Do you need me to go on?”

I left the dirty dishes soaking in the sink and grabbed a towel from the counter to dry my hands. “You’re saying he’s totally off base, money had nothing to do with it?”

“I’m not saying that. Up until now, we haven’t found that connection, but that doesn’t mean it’s not there. But if it is, it would be a lucky guess on Jimmy Ray’s part. He doesn’t know shit about what happened, Evie. He’s trying to get inside your head.”

What Cal was saying made perfect, logical sense. It was Jimmy Ray’s modus operandi from way back. But still, I couldn’t quite let the idea go. I kept thinking of Jimmy Ray’s face when he’d spoken to me, the swift flash of tenderness I almost hadn’t recognized because it was so unexpected. The light in his eyes that burned with something close to truth.



* * *



? ? ?

Grief hadn’t put a damper on Jenny Logan’s green thumb. The flower pots lining her front steps were a riot of early spring colors: Pink, white, and yellow burst forth, tiny faces tipped to the sun. I wondered if looking at the flowers made her pain more bearable, hope sealing up some of the cracks in her heart. Personally, I wanted to rip the flowers out of the dirt and grind them to dust under my heels. But I figured that might get our conversation off on the wrong foot.

If Jenny was surprised to find me on her front porch, she didn’t show it. She ushered me in with a gesturing hand and a promise of coffee. I saw her eyes flit to the pale purple bruises Jimmy Ray had left near my collarbone, but her good manners stopped her from asking any embarrassing questions. Or maybe she couldn’t bring herself to care.

We settled at her small kitchen table, tucked next to a window that overlooked her backyard. It was wilder back there, weeds and crabgrass edging out her half-hearted attempts at control. I guess she only worried about the front yard, the place everyone could see. The whole house was shabbier than I would have expected. The rooms I’d passed were cramped and claustrophobic under too-low ceilings, the light from outside somehow failing to penetrate the dim interior. Maybe it had always been this way, or maybe the house was in mourning, too. There were still three chairs at the kitchen table, and I imagined Izzy’s empty seat howling at them during every meal.

Jenny seemed content for the two of us to sip our coffee, pick at the edges of coffee cake slices she’d set out on a plate. She didn’t seem in any hurry to know why I was there. Made no attempt at small talk or pleasantries. I was beginning to realize that Jenny Logan had one face she showed the world—put-together, sweet, unfailingly polite—and another for behind closed doors. This private Jenny was less concerned with what people thought. I wondered what this Jenny would have done if she’d found out that Junie was Zach’s daughter.

I set down my coffee mug, cleared my throat to catch her attention. “I’ve been thinking about motive,” I told her.

“Motive?” She said the word like she’d never heard it before.

“Yeah, there are only a handful of reasons why people commit murder.” I realized I was parroting Jimmy Ray and shut my mouth with a click of my jaw.

“People commit murder because they’re evil,” Jenny said, pushing the plate of coffee cake away like it had offended her.

“That’s what they are,” I agreed, “but that’s not why they do it. There’s a reason.” I paused. “Are you and Zach having money problems or anything?”

Jenny cocked her head. She didn’t look angry, only confused. “No. We could always use more, but who couldn’t?” She ran her gaze around her kitchen, the old appliances, the out-of-date tile. “People forget Zach only works at the dealership. We don’t own it. And Zach’s got a lot of great qualities, but schmoozy salesman isn’t one of them. What’s money got to do with anything?”

“Someone suggested to me that money might be at the root of this.”

“You think someone killed them over money?” Jenny’s head wagged side to side in denial.

“I don’t think anything. I’m just asking the question. For the record, my money problems are the same as they’ve always been. Not enough of it. But I don’t owe anyone, other than occasionally the electric company.” I gave a weak smile that Jenny didn’t return.

“What about your mother?” she asked after a moment.

My hand froze, the piece of coffee cake I was worrying slipping between my fingers. “What about her?”

Jenny shifted in her chair, but she kept her eyes on me, not looking away the way most people did when my mama was the subject of conversation. “Come on, Eve,” she said. “Everyone in town knows about your mama. The crowd she runs with. The kind of stuff she’s mixed up in. If this was over money, it stands to reason that maybe it involves her.”