The first time it was sleeping pills. Then pills and alcohol. Five years ago when Maggie was in Nebraska, working a case, Kathleen decided to use a razor blade for a change of pace. Her therapist at the time called the cuts hesitation marks. After all, if she was really serious she would have cut vertically, slicing the veins open instead of across.
It had been three years since her last attempt. Julia Racine had been there that time, too. At a restroom sink in a Cleveland park, just before a rally for a religious organization.
Later Maggie asked Racine what it was that she said to convince her mother to stop. Racine told her, “I said I was already in a shitload of trouble with her daughter and maybe she could give me a break.” Of course Kathleen had laughed at that. She could relate. For the last twenty years she had felt like she was in a shitload of trouble with Maggie, too, because she had constantly let her down.
Maggie realized that ever since her father’s death, her mother had exchanged and swapped out her addictions like they were fashion trends, from Johnnie Walker to Valium to sex, then religion and health food and back to Johnnie Walker. The other day when Maggie walked in on her mother trying to get rid of Patrick, she recognized the signs that her mother was drinking again without needing to smell it on her breath.
When Maggie finally got to the hospital, a nurse in the ER directed her to intensive care. In intensive care a unit secretary told her she’d need to wait for the doctor and pointed out a lounge at the end of the hall. In the lounge, Maggie found Julia Racine.
Her sweatshirt had so much blood on it that Maggie thought Racine had been injured, too. Even when she realized it all belonged to her mother, when Racine looked up, Maggie asked, “Are you okay?”
It was the first time she had caught Racine speechless. The younger woman simply nodded and ran her fingers through her hair, leaving it more spiked than usual.
She shrugged and said, “I hate hospitals.”
CHAPTER 70
Sam knew she had done the right thing, telling Agent O’Dell and Patrick about Wes Harper. After Jeffery’s fit in her driveway last night something still nagged at her. Especially after she listened to a couple of his voice messages. The time stamps with him asking her to meet him at the shop fires last night were long before Sam heard the sirens while at the restaurant. How did Jeffery always know so far in advance?
After her mother and Iggy were in bed, Sam had plugged in the tape from the warehouse fires and started reviewing the footage, wanting to make sure it was Wes Harper in the crowd. That’s when it all seemed to come together. Harper was the firefly, and somehow he’d been getting messages to Jeffery. Maybe Jeffery didn’t even know it was Harper. Whatever was going on between the two of them, Sam was glad she’d shared the film footage with Agent O’Dell.
She wasn’t sure why she didn’t tell Jeffery about Harper. Even when he called her, excited—saying they were “back in the saddle,” was how he put it. He had managed to get an exclusive interview with someone who Jeffery said had intimate details about the fires.
This “someone” wanted to meet Jeffery in a remote place, “a safe house” was what Jeffery called it. And he was willing to go on camera, but only with Jeffery and Sam present. No one else. Jeffery said he wouldn’t even give him the address until they arrived at the location where he insisted they leave their cars.
Sam was certain Jeffery’s “someone” was Wes Harper. And as she drove and started seeing familiar territory, she wasn’t surprised at his choice of meeting place.
Although she arrived early, Jeffery was already parked exactly where he’d instructed her. When she pulled her car up behind his SUV, he had the liftgate up but he was in the backseat. It looked like he was changing his shoes. He was in shirtsleeves, rolling them down and buttoning his collar.
As she got out of her car, he stuck a hand out the door to wave his acknowledgment. She pulled out her shoulder bag and waited at the front of her car. When he stepped out of his vehicle, he still didn’t even have a tie on yet and she saw him unzipping a garment bag. Why had he waited to get dressed out here?
With the SUV parked right under a lamppost and with the liftgate open, she could see the mess inside. It looked like he had, at least, put down black trash bags to line the inside of the trunk space. Evidently he had spent the weekend doing some yard work, gathering up his recyclables, and washing his SUV. He had several stacks of newspapers, aluminum canisters, the jug of pool cleaner Sam had noticed the other day, a pile of old rags, and a red five-gallon can of gasoline.
Funny, she hadn’t thought of Jeffery as doing those kinds of household chores, but it made sense. The man was so picky he’d never find anyone to do the job to his satisfaction.