‘You don’t kill anyone else, Gooch,’ Whit said. ‘And Eve, you and me go to the police and you tell them everything you know. They get you into the witness protection program…’
She laughed. ‘No, no, no. That’s worthless. I’m not getting a new name, a bad hairdo, and a nice split-level in Boise to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder. I testify, I’m dead. They find you.’
‘What makes you think you have a choice?’ Whit said.
‘Ah. So this is the revenge on me for being a bad mother?’ She shrugged. ‘You can call the police, Whit, but you do and I’m not saying another word. Your testimony about the money is hearsay.’
‘Harry Chyme was a man I liked,’ Whit said. ‘I liked him more than I like you. And he died because I wanted to find you.’
‘It’s not my fault.’
‘But it’s your problem, Eve. Don’t threaten me with what you will and won’t do. I’m telling you what you’ll do.’
‘There’s my boy,’ Gooch said.
‘You gonna tell the cops Gooch killed a guy and fled the scene? Stops sounding like self-defense then,’ she said.
‘Still a bigger risk for you, sweetheart,’ Gooch said.
‘Why save me then put the screws to me?’ Eve turned to Whit. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘I’m not letting Bucks get away with Harry’s murder. You may be more casual in your attitude.’ And he thought again of the man she had possibly left Port Leo for those long years ago, the dead man in Montana. The so-called suicide. He tried to imagine her killing a man, sitting hunched in her rumpled, wet suit, with a bandage awkwardly taped to her head, her makeup smeared by the rain and him having wiped up her blood.
‘You wanted to meet me, right? That’s the reason you came looking for me. Or was it to bully me? Blackmail me?’
‘I don’t understand.’
She glanced at Gooch. ‘Gooch mentioned James Powell when he called me, said you would put the Montana police on me.’
‘Yeah. It was my idea,’ Whit said.
She looked at him with disappointment. ‘Oh, Whit. I didn’t kill James Powell,’ Eve said. ‘He killed himself.’
‘And you got custody of the money?’ Gooch said.
‘What money?’ she asked.
‘I don’t give a rat’s ass about James Powell,’ Whit said. ‘I wanted to find you so I could bring you back to Port Leo. To see my father before he dies. I’m not trying to screw you over.’
She crossed her arms. ‘Fine. I’ll go. You and Babe and the rest of the boys can tell me, to my face, what a sorry mother I was and I’ll take it without blinking. But I only go on my own terms.’
‘Don’t negotiate with her, Whit,’ Gooch said.
‘Let’s hear these terms,’ Whit said.
‘I have to get my name cleared with Paul. He has to know I didn’t take the money. That means either proving Bucks took it or finding the money and returning it to Paul. Otherwise, I’m dead. And I’m not spending the rest of my life on the run, Whit.’
‘Because you’re a homebody now,’ Gooch said.
‘Leave us alone for a moment, Gooch. Please,’ Whit said.
Gooch, without a word, got up and left.
‘I need a friend like him,’ Eve said. ‘He’s your personal pit bull. You’re lucky.’
‘So you want our help.’
She wiped the traces of lipstick away from her mouth. ‘I don’t want you in danger, Whit. But I have nowhere to turn. Frank is not going to stick out his neck to help me. Bucks has framed me, beautifully. And no one believes me. I can’t do this on my own.’
‘Fine. Then we call the police.’ He had to try it again.
‘In which case I say nothing, I don’t go back to Port Leo with you, and Gooch takes his chances with the Harris County legal system.’ She shrugged and opened the first-aid kit. ‘Let me tend your cuts.’ He let her, his back stiffening at her touch as she dabbed ointment on his skin.
‘You didn’t cry much when you got skinned as a kid. Not like Mark,’ she said. ‘He screamed like a cut banshee.’
‘Don’t go down Memory Lane with me. You don’t have a ticket.’
‘Look, I’m not going to be June Cleaver.’ She got up, filled a baggie with ice, wrapped a towel around it. She handed him the ice pack, sat back down across from him.
‘So how do we help you, Eve?’ Whit asked.
‘Your friend seems more than competent under fire.’
‘His brain got baked by the sun a long time ago; he doesn’t know any better.’
‘He was smart tonight,’ she said. ‘What do you do, Whit?’
He hesitated, at first thinking she was asking him what choice he was going to make but realizing she was asking what his job was. If she knew he was a judge she’d run, vanish again. He was an officer of the court. What he was contemplating, what he had done, would result in his immediate dismissal from office if it were known. He loved his job, but sitting across from his mother he thought: it’s a job. Nothing more. ‘I don’t want to talk about me.’
‘If you help me find the money, and clear my name,’ she said, ‘I’ll go to Port Leo with you.’
‘We should go to Port Leo now.’
‘I’ve given you the deal, Whit. Help me or let me go.’ She paused and, when he gave no answer, she stood.
‘Fine. Go ahead. Let them kill me.’
‘Now you sound like a mother.’
‘I know I was nothing as a mother. I know.’ Her voice grew hoarse.
‘Actually, my dad said you were a good one before you took off. I wouldn’t remember.’
She studied the warm wood of the kitchen table.
‘Were you bored? Decided kids were no fun?’ He kept his voice calm. ‘What was so wrong with us?’
‘You thought it was your fault.’ She passed her hand over her eyes. She went to the sink, ran fresh water in her glass. ‘Oh, God,’ she said, her back still to him. ‘I’m sorry. There was absolutely nothing wrong with you, Whit. Or your brothers or even your father. Nothing. It’s me. I’m the one that’s bent, I’m the one that’s broken.’
‘You broke everyone else by leaving.’
She drank her water, watched him over her shoulder. ‘You seem well-adjusted.’
‘I’m tough.’
‘But you came looking for me. You got a hole I’m supposed to fill?’
‘So you do have a nerve to hit,’ Whit said. ‘Now you’re sounding downright bitchy.’
‘Baby, I am downright bitchy.’
That probably served you well in your new life.’ He shook his head. ‘The mob. You traded your kids in for the mob.’
‘I hope you never have to make a really terrible decision, Whit. Most people don’t. They amble through life and they whine about moments of inconsequence.’ She finished her water. ‘I hope you get to amble.’
‘Don’t ask for pity. You made your choice. I doubt you’ve had years of sleepless nights worrying over us.’
‘I don’t expect you to understand,’ Eve said, ‘and I’m not going to explain to you. They’re going to kill me in the worst possible way to make me tell them where the money is.’ She steadied her voice. ‘I’ve never been more scared in my life, except on the day when I left you.’
‘You were scared.’
‘Very much so. You think it was easy? It wasn’t…’ She stopped. ‘I’m not going to try and explain it.’
‘You couldn’t.’
‘Then I won’t waste my breath.’ Eve went to the back door, opened it. The brisk, wet night lay outside, black under the arches of the live oaks. Rain dripped from the branches. ‘You won’t see me again. Thank you and thank
