Melia nodded. “What you didn’t tell me was how she ties in to your time in Iraq.”
“She died during those eighteen months when Satyr was in prison alone.” He sent her a meaningful look. “It wasn’t an accident, Mel. She took her own life. I’ve known Satyr for about ten years. I didn’t know what he did for a living. We weren’t friends, but we knew each other. Poker games, mutual acquaintances, parties, that sort of thing. I knew Julie from back in high school. We hung out with the same friends. Satyr didn’t meet her until we all turned up at a wedding. He fell in love with her on the spot. I knew they had some sort of relationship, because she would often show up with him when we played poker or went to the fights. Maybe, in hindsight, it seemed a little odd, but I never gave it much, or really any, thought at the time.”
Melia regarded him through narrowed eyes. “She wasn’t in love with Satyr, was she?”
“No.”
“But she was in love with you.”
He took his eyes off the road long enough to shoot her an incredulous look. “How can you know that after what little I’ve told you when I had no idea, and I’d been the one living it?”
She kept her reply patient. “One, I’m a woman. And two, I fell in love with you myself, didn’t I? I know how easy it is to do. My question to you is did you miss seeing it because you wanted to, or because you simply weren’t looking?”
“What do you think?”
She sighed. “That you weren’t looking. You weren’t dialed in to her emotions.”
“She left a suicide note, laid all her feelings on the line. I felt guilty as hell when I found out. I don’t know whether Satyr knew before she wrote the note or not, but he damn sure knew after. So that’s where the obsession started. He was stuck in prison while the woman he loved killed herself and I was free to go on with my life. To fall in love with someone new. Which I did, and which he resented. If he couldn’t have the woman he loved, he was going to make damn certain I wouldn’t have the one I loved, either.”
“Wow. That is…quite a story.”
“Tell me about it,” he murmured. “I don’t know how Satyr got out of prison the second time around. Money again, probably. He wasn’t working for Mockerie at the time, so even though they knew each other, I doubt there was any help from him. But according to McCabe, Mockerie would have admired Satyr’s persistence. And his newfound scars. Mockerie hates pretty people, with one and only one exception.”
Melia recognized the tone and stared in disbelief. “My God, there’s more. Does this exception have a name?”
“Rowena.” He took the Bellwater exit. “She’s dead.”
“Did Mockerie…”
“McCabe says he did. And that’s exactly all McCabe says in that regard.”
“So, a lot like you, then.”
“Hell, I’m a chatterbox by comparison. How’s Gomer doing?”
“His head’s up. I think he senses something.” She touched his arm. “Johnny, I’m sorry you had to go through all of that. It must have been pure hell for you when you found out how she felt, knowing there was nothing you could do, wondering if there was anything you could have done to change what happened.”
“It’s on my mind, Mel. It’s always there, and it always will be.”
What could she say to that? Giving his arm a squeeze, she leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I can’t make what you’re feeling go away, but I doubt there’s anything you could have done in the end. You can’t make yourself love someone, especially when that someone doesn’t tell you what they’re feeling. She was emotionally fragile, and you’re not responsible for that.”
“Maybe not.”
They drove in silence for the next several miles. When she saw the Welcome to Bellwater sign, Melia took the opportunity to move on. “I checked with the hospital this morning. Pappy’s doing well, but his foot’s still a mess. They’re treating the infection in a rather unorthodox way. Pappy likes it. You won’t.”
“What are they doing, soaking it in kerosene?”
This time, she gave his leg a pat. “No kerosene, no gooseberries.”
“Then what?”
Melia grinned. “Maggots.”
…
Johnny could shoot out brains and blow off balls, but picture a bunch of maggots gnawing on someone’s flesh? What the hell kind of hospital was this?
“Hotel fucking California all the way,” he muttered as they started down the corridor to the old man’s room.
It wasn’t even a private room. There were four beds in it. Curtained off, but still. How would Pappy’s neighbor feel if he woke up and found the cast on his broken leg was infested with bugs?
“Is this some kind of holistic treatment?” he asked Melia in suspicion. “Because if it is, I want it on record that no one’s ever going to make me a feast for any damned insect larvae.”
“Quiet,” Melia shushed him. “They’re contained. You won’t even see them.”
He shot her a grim look but said nothing.
Gomer was as good as gold. He trotted along beside Melia without a leash and with more energy than Johnny had seen him expend since, well, ever.
“Go,” Melia said and clapped her hands softly outside Pappy’s room. A passing nurse smiled as if all of it was perfectly normal.
“Afternoon, Dr. Rose. It’s awfully muggy today, don’t you think? Good luck inside. He’s in a really cranky mood.”
Melia waited until the woman was out of earshot before looking at Johnny. “Pappy wants liquor. They won’t give him any.”
But they’d given him maggots. Johnny braced for the worst.
“I swear to God, Mel, if I die, I’m holding on long enough to do it in a city.” He watched her dig a thermos out of her voluminous shoulder bag. “What’s that?”
“White lightning.”
He blew out a breath. “I hope you brought more than one cup.”
“Dixies are in the bathroom… Hey, Pappy.”
Johnny spotted the old man propped up in bed, sour faced but alert. He cackled when he saw Gomer. The dog jumped onto the bed and into Pappy’s outstretched arms and proceeded to give his owner a sloppy kiss.
“He been behaving?” Pappy asked.
Johnny noticed that his foot and whatever maggot containment system was being used were discreetly hidden beneath a white sheet. Even so, he checked the chair before he sat down.
Melia perched on the side of the bed. “Got a present for you.” She showed Pappy the thermos, gave it a shake. “Some of your own hooch. Linda and Carl have a jug. They gave me a little.”
The old man hooted, then clapped a hand over his mouth. “Now that’s what I call good doctoring.” He peered past her to Johnny. “You want some?”
“Wouldn’t mind.” He pushed out of the chair. “I’ll get cups.”
He grabbed two. Someone had to drive home, and given the situation, it sure as hell wasn’t going to be him. However, since he’d come prepared, he might as well take advantage of the situation. Before Pappy got too hammered to see straight.
“I’ve got pictures on my phone,” he said while Melia poured. “Police and FBI photos of problematic people. I need you to look at them and tell me if any of the faces you see belong to the guy who shot you.”
Pappy took a swig of moonshine, smacked his lips. “Can do, if you’ll promise to blast the bastard’s nuts off for me. Could be I only grazed him. My eyesight ain’t what it used to be back in the day.”
It wasn’t bad, though. The old man scanned the photos with speed, only pausing once or twice to hem and haw.
“Nope, nope, nope.” He shook his head for the umpteenth time. “The fellow I saw had his hair all slicked back with grease, and he was wearing that green and brown soldier gear. Not the real kind…the cheap stuff you get in stores.”
“Fake camo,” Melia said. “What color was his hair?”
“Couldn’t tell. He had bear grease in it, or something like. Had mud on his face, too. And some kind of ugly mark on his arm.”
Johnny stopped Pappy from flipping through the pictures. “A tattoo?”
“Nope. A splat. Sorta red, sorta black. Big as one of Gomer’s paws. Saw it on the inside of his right arm.”