“I appreciate it, Quentin.”
“Get a good night’s sleep, brother. Do whatever you need to about the Double Eagles, but leave Shad Johnson and Joe Elder to me. Those boys don’t want no part of my bad side. Now, Doris just opened the front door, and she’ll beat me like an egg-suckin’ dog if she catches me with this bourbon. You’d hear me holler all the way to Natchez.”
I hear a click, and then a female voice says, “Hello, Penn.” Before I can respond, Doris Avery continues in a voice that holds many emotions: regret, fear, foreboding. “I pray to God we make it through this trial.”
“I do, too,” I tell her, meaning all of us, but most of all, Quentin and my father.
After she hangs up, I get less than twenty seconds of silence to reflect on the conversation. Then Caitlin is standing in front of me with her eyebrows arched and her hands on her hips.
“Today we talked about our old deal,” she reminds me. “I thought we’d decided to throw it out the window in this case. How can I help Tom if I don’t know everything that’s going on?”
She’s talking about my father’s needs, but her eyes tell me that her hunger for a major story is already overriding all other considerations. My recognition of that hunger unsettles me. I’m about to reply when her gaze lights on the sofa back where Jewel’s file lay a minute ago.
“You moved that autopsy report so I wouldn’t pick it up?” she asks with disbelief.
I feel like I’m talking to an addict who’s rationalizing her need for vodka or pills. “I’m not even supposed to have that report. Jewel Washington put her career on the line to pass me that.”
Caitlin’s incredulity changes into anger. “You think I’d do something that could hurt Jewel?”
“No. But you might well find yourself on the witness stand before this is over. I don’t want you committing perjury to protect me or anybody else, even if you’re willing to do it.”
The familiar pink moons have appeared on her cheeks. Before she can attack, I add, “We’re in unmapped territory, Caitlin. I tried to use the picture on Shad today, but he and Billy Byrd had already figured a way to defuse that particular bomb.”
This gets her attention. “How?”
“Billy will swear Shad was working undercover for him when that photo was taken. I could still release the photo, but it won’t stop the case against Dad.”
“I still think Shad would be run out of office.”
“Maybe. But I’m not sure I want that.”
She’s grinding her teeth now, which isn’t good, but it’s better than yelling. God only knows what she told Annie to keep her in the kitchen. “You don’t trust me,” she says flatly.
“That’s not it. You know it’s not.”
“Henry was going to come to work for me. You keeping this stuff from me is just—insulting.”
I toss the autopsy report onto the sofa. “The preliminary report pegs Viola’s cause of death as adrenaline overdose, but all that really does is muddy the water. And you obviously can’t report it.”
She stares at me for several awkward seconds. Then she nods once. “Thank you.”
“Why do you think Henry was going to say yes to working for you?”
“I just know it. You’ll see.” She shakes her head again, as though words have failed her. “I’m going back to work.”
“Can’t you stay and eat some ice cream with us?”
I only asked this out of courtesy. There’s no way Caitlin will sit in this room after what just transpired—not until she’s had time to vent her frustration.
“Too much to do,” she says. “I’ll text you later.”
I’d normally give her a hug, but tonight she would be stiff to my touch. Thankfully, Annie sails in with a bowl of Blue Bell vanilla in each hand. Before she can speak, Caitlin kisses the top of her head, then heads for the front door.
“Bye!” Annie shouts, looking perplexed.
“Bye,” comes Caitlin’s halfhearted echo.
“What happened?” Annie asks me, staring worriedly after her future stepmother.
“The attack on Mr. Henry has upset everybody.”
My daughter shakes her head slowly, then turns anxious eyes on me. “Don’t you and Caitlin want the same thing? Aren’t you on the same side?”
I reach out and squeeze her forearm. “Yes. Sometimes it gets complicated, Boo, that’s all. But down deep, we are.”
Annie thinks about this for several seconds. I expect her to say, “I know ya’ll are,” or something like that. But when my daughter’s eyes find mine again, she says, “I hope so.”
TEN MINUTES AFTER WE finished our ice cream, I sent Annie to her room to work on her paper before bed. My conscious intention was to study Viola’s autopsy report, but not long after I picked up the photocopied pages, my mind was consumed by resentment that my father decided to confide his secrets—whatever they might be—to Quentin Avery. Why has Dad chosen to leave me in the dark? Is he that ashamed of having an affair with an employee? Is he afraid of something else? Or is he simply trying to protect our family? At this point, that’s about the only scenario I’d be willing to forgive. With Viola and Morehouse dead—and Henry Sexton close to death—there’s clearly information in play that people are willing to kill to suppress. The question is, does my father also possess it?