“I’ll be fine, Bren. Promise. I’ll call you if I need anything.”
She brightens so much at that I make a mental note to actually call her. Maybe I can ask Bren’s advice on something . . . like how to heat up noodles or whatever, because I’m pretty sure her head would twist off if I told her about how I’m going to use her time away to talk to my father.
In my bag, my cell buzzes with another text and, while Bren’s back is turned, I check the screen. Milo.
thanks
It makes me smile, but before I can respond, Bren’s hauling all her stuff out to the car. I walk with her, promise twice to behave, and watch her pull out of the driveway. Then I call forward the home phone number to my cell phone. Now, whenever Mrs. Ellery calls I’ll be home.
Even when I’m not.
Next step? Confronting Joe. I make the necessary phone calls from Bren’s front office—not because I need the desk or the computer but because I can watch Mrs. Ellery adjust her front yard’s garden gnomes. There are two of the grinning little suckers. I wonder if I could sneak over there tonight and put them in a compromising position.
Then again, she might just think they’re playing leapfrog.
I turn back to my phone, using the browser to search for the county jail’s phone number. The trick will be getting Joe to see me. This takes a little preparation on my part. I have to call the day before to schedule an appointment and then I have to call again to see if he accepted it. Sitting on the phone with the receptionist, I consider using one of the fake identities Joe’s given me over the years. In the end, I decide against it. With my luck, Carson will have friends at the Fayette County Jail and giving him identity theft as ammo would be the end of me.
Talking murder with Joe is condemning enough and I’m banking on budget cutbacks to cover my tracks. They used to video record all prisoners’ personal visits. Considering the county can’t afford new locks on the cells though, I highly doubt there will be decent recording equipment.
I call the jail during lunch the next day and my stomach does an uneasy flip when the receptionist confirms Joe agreed to the meeting. I don’t back down though and I show up, ten minutes ahead of time, to let a security guard sign me in and motion me through the metal detector.
I follow him down a rainbow-painted hallway where squat metal stools and black telephones sit in front of Plexiglas windows. It’s like a Very Special Episode of Teletubbies.
“Go to the last station and I’ll send him to you.”
I walk to the end, checking cameras as I go, and it’s hard not to grin like an idiot. Sure enough, the hallway is being monitored, but the cameras positioned above the visitor stools aren’t even on. Sure they’re plugged in. The little green lights that indicate activity though? They’re dark.
I only wait a minute or so before an interior door cranks open. I hear Joe’s shuffling before I see him and, briefly, my chest cranks tight. This might be a mistake.
Too late.
Joe doesn’t sit. He collapses. And for a moment, we stare at each other until he picks up the black telephone.
“I didn’t believe them when they said who it was.”
“Yeah, I bet you didn’t.”
Joe angles himself forward, propping both elbows onto the counter. “So what is this? You miss me?”
“Oh, yeah, totally. Seeing you in that orange jumpsuit is a thrill I didn’t know I was missing. I might have to do this more often.”
Joe’s eyes shutter. “What do you want?”
I want you to pay. The thought makes my heart surge against my rib cage. It bubbles up so clearly I realize I’ve wanted this all along. I just didn’t know it. “I want . . . you to know I know what you did to my mother.”
Joe doesn’t move.
“I saw the video. I recognized you.”
“No idea what you’re talking about.”
“Do you think my dad will?”
Joe’s eyes flicker with uncertainty.
Fear.
I lean in a little. “They separated you two, didn’t they? ’Cause they were worried about what you’d do together? Thing is . . . cops don’t realize you’re never really away from my dad, are you? Remember how you told me he always has friends?”
Another flicker in Joe’s eyes, and under the fluorescent lights, sweat breaks out along his upper lip. “Friends that belong to me too.”
Friends that belong to Jason now. “Maybe,” I say with a smile.
“Why would your daddy even care?” Joe shifts against the chair and casts a casual look behind him, scoping out the guards. “Your mother jumped. No one’s fault but hers. Your daddy always said she wasn’t right.”
“Getting used like a punching bag has a way of doing that to people.”
Joe’s laugh is belly deep. It shakes all the loosened skin on his face. “Fair enough. So what’s this supposed to be then? You trying to make me feel guilty?”
He leans in close, touches the glass with two fingers like he’s tracing my face.