Suggestion of Death Read online

  “I think the information could be useful even if it doesn’t make women more sympathetic.” Jim leaned toward Edgar Buck. “For example, the Texas Attorney General’s Office collects child support and could look at the article as a way to learn what the source of the problem is.”

  “That’ll never happen.” He tapped his cigar on the side of the ashtray. “They don’t care. They just want the federal dollars.”

  “I think it will. Even if you hire me, I’m going to keep working on it. There are some interesting things happening down in the Hill Country.”

  Edgar glanced at the yellowed windows as though reading a message on them. “Jim, I like a man who won’t back down. I’m not telling you not to do it, but it would have to be really catchy to be published. Now, you bring anything to show me?”

  Jim took out a portfolio of the best of his previous work. He’d assembled it himself, so it wasn’t the most beautifully arranged, but he’d done a pretty good job.

  Edgar stood at the side of his desk and thumbed through the plastic-encased pages. “Yeah. I remember this one. You should have won an award that year.” Edgar fingered an article Jim had done on the removal of a state appellate court judge from office. “Good work. I hadn’t remembered that was yours.” He nodded. “Educated the public—entertained them in fact—with information that could have been quite boring.”

  Jim’s stomach settled down for the first time in two days.

  When he was through, Edgar closed the portfolio. “I like your work, Jim.” He eased back into his chair. “Do you blog?”

  Jim shook his head. “Never have.”

  “Didn’t think so. Couldn’t find one. If you get this job, you’ll have to. And tweet. That a problem?”

  “Nope.” Jim kept his hands in his lap where Edgar couldn’t see them shake. He’d tweet, chirp, or sing like a bird if he got that job.

  “Tell me about your background. Give me stuff that’s not in your resume.”

  His hands sweated. Nut crunching time. Would it matter that he’d never gone further than his bachelor’s degree? “I don’t have my master’s. Never got around to completing my thesis. I wouldn’t mind finishing it if it was a requirement for this job, but personally it’s not important to me.”

  “Oh, hell, degrees look fine on the wall behind a desk, but they don’t make a good reporter. I don’t give a damn about that. I’m not supposed to ask this, but you want to tell me about your family?”

  “Two kids, a boy and a girl.” He wondered if Edgar already knew about Pat and was just trying to see how he’d react. Damn, he didn’t know what people wanted these days. He shook his head and blurted out, “I’m divorced. I still love my wife. I can’t pay my child support. And I really need a job to stay out of jail.” A hard knot formed in his stomach. He couldn’t believe how his mouth over-loaded lately.

  Edgar scratched at his sideburns. “I suspected your interest in child support was not just a passing fancy.”

  “The judge is really leaning on me even though I’ve given Pat as much as I can. I thought if people could see the way it is sometimes, they’d be more sympathetic. Also, I was searching for something that hadn’t been done.”

  “Still think you’re going to have a hard time selling it.”

  “I have another angle, too. I think something funny is going on in town. Can’t quite put my finger on it, but I’m starting to investigate some people on the QT.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I don’t really want to say, but it’s tied to the support issue. I don’t want to look like a fool. I’ll certainly let you in on it if it pans out.”

  “All right. I don’t want to put you on the spot.” Edgar’s eyes flickered back and forth, searching Jim’s face. “How soon could you wrap all this up if you had to? In terms of days or weeks.”

  Jim licked his dry lips. “I really should give a month’s notice to my landlord, but...”

  Edgar shifted the cigar from one hand to the other and stood. “Let me introduce you to some of the other people in the office, and then we’ll go upstairs. Later, I’ll take you to one of my favorite little joints for lunch.”

  Jim‘s pulse quickened. He rose from his chair and reached for his portfolio, zipping it up. The interview couldn’t be going better. There weren’t many like Edgar anymore where what you wrote was more important than how many degrees you could hang on the wall.

  Edgar led him into the large outer office and introduced him to the staff who appeared to be equally proportioned between men and women, old and young, seasoned and fresh out of school, all different colors. Jim talked with some of them and tried to figure out which ones might give him a thumbs-down if it were put to a vote.

  Afterward, Edgar drove him several blocks to a locally owned restaurant in a strip mall. On the outside, the place looked plain and shopworn, but inside, the atmosphere was cozy and close. The corned beef on rye that Edgar recommended came with thick slices of sweet onions. The beer, locally brewed, had just the right amount of kick. And the owner/bartender treated Jim, and everyone else, like a long lost close relation.

  He and Edgar talked and talked and talked until the early as well as the late lunch crowd had cleared out. Jim was flush with the feeling he’d found a fit, a home, a place where he could be comfortable with the people and with himself.

  Before Jim departed, Edgar said, “I can’t offer you the job today, son. I’ve got an obligation to the other two interviewees, but, frankly, I don’t see a better fit than you.” He stretched out his hand and when Jim took it, he nodded and squeezed and shook Jim’s hand in such a you’ve-got-the-job-if-you-want-it way that Jim left feeling light-hearted and optimistic.

  Over the miles and miles of flat Texas highway and well after he reached the rolling hills where he lived, Jim hoped and prayed that Edgar wouldn’t like the other two more than him. The next few days would pass slowly as he agonized over the interview, the conversations with the staff, the lunch. As much as he knew his friend Ethan would tell him to stay in the present moment, he wouldn’t be able to do that. He’d feel nothing but worry and angst as he waited for a phone call informing him that he’d been hired. Or not.

  Chapter Twelve

  As he pulled into town at almost eleven o’clock that night, Jim was still so wired over the interview he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep unless he told someone about it. And he wanted that someone to be Pat. When he arrived, the house was dark, locked up for the night. He parked across the street.

  The air was still hot, as was the norm for the Texas Hill Country in the spring, summer, and early fall. Breathing was easier after it got dark, but a sweat would still break until the air grew cool in the wee hours of the morning.

  A glow came from her bedroom window in the back of the house, reflecting off the leaves of the magnolia tree they had planted. Jim hopped the white picket fence and tiptoed around to the back of the house, scratching on the window screen next to the bed.

  Crickets, locusts, cicadas, and all the other insomniac insects were warming up the orchestra. The scent of honeysuckle filled the air. Their backyard had always been a peaceful haven where they’d share a beer at the picnic table and tell stories about their day.

  Jim scratched on the screen a little longer and tapped on it with his fingernail. He hoped he wasn’t scaring her. He would have called, but he didn’t have a cell phone. And truth be told, he just wanted to see his wife.

  Pat’s face appeared and, a moment later, she raised the wooden sill. “You’re lucky I don’t shoot your ass off. What are you doing here?”

  His heart flapped like it had wings. “You don’t have a gun. May I come in? I need to talk to you.”

  “Jim, honestly, I’m tired. Can’t it wait until morning?”

  “Aw, honey, I won’t be long. I just really need to share what I hope will be good news with you.”

  “God, I hate it when you whine like that. Come around to the back door, but be quiet.”


  Inside himself, he was smirking. He sure wouldn’t let her see that kind of look on his face. The door to his old tool shed hung open. Patrick used it to keep some of his large toys in and as a clubhouse when he had friends over. Even in the dark, he could tell the grass needed cutting. He should do that, cut the grass, and show her how he’d changed. He’d never been great at keeping up the yard before, but now things were different. He was different. He wanted to cut the grass, plant a garden, paint their house. If only she’d let him. He thought she would—she was weakening, he could tell. Deep inside she wanted them to get back together, too.

  The back door latch clicked.

  Jim slipped inside. Her hair awry, Pat stood in her nightgown with one arm hanging down by her side. Clutched in her fingers was a small semi-automatic.

  Adrenaline spiked his body. “You could have shot my ass off,” he whispered as he held the door handle and eased the door closed. “When did you get that thing, and where do you keep it so that the kids don’t kill each other?”

  “In my purse.” She let the gun dangle from her hand.

  “Damn, Patty.” A distant porch light barely illuminated the room and her face.

  “Is that what you came over here for, to cuss me out?” She stared up at him, her face very close to his, her chin at a challenging angle.

  “You could at least put that thing away.” He draped his arm around her shoulders, and she didn’t shrug his arm off.

  “Maybe I should use it on you.” She waved the gun around, pointing it at the ceiling and holding it with two hands like she would at a shooting range. “Say you were a prowler.”

  Had she been drinking? He didn’t smell alcohol. Maybe vodka? “Not funny, Pat. Could you put it away?”

  “Let me put it back in my purse. It’s next to the bed.”

  She padded back to what used to be their room in her bare feet, and Jim followed. Was she sending him a message by taking him in there? She must have thought it over and decided for sure that she did want him back.

  After she put the automatic in its small holster and snapped her purse shut, Pat turned and almost bumped into Jim standing near the foot of the bed. “What are you doing in here?”

  Jim held up his hands. “I thought you meant for me to follow you. You want to talk in the kitchen? The kids might wake up.”

  “I guess it’s all right. You sit over there on my vanity stool where I can keep both eyes on you.” She switched on the small, lace-covered bedside lamp.

  She sat him on the stool because she didn’t trust herself with him. At least that’s what he thought. She felt the attraction between them and putting him halfway across the room made her feel safe. Their sex life had, after all, always been very good. Maybe she was remembering that. Maybe she was thinking of the kisses from Friday night. She had kissed him back before she pushed him away. Maybe—

  “Now what is it you want?” She sat on the bed, pulled her knees up under her chin, and covered them with the folds of the long, green-flowered, flannel nightgown.

  “First, I want you to promise you’ll lock that gun away.” He raised his eyebrows and waited for an answer, not wanting to even think of what could happen with a gun lying around the house.

  “I will. I’ll lock it in my jewelry stand. Okay?” She scratched her head and pushed her hair behind her ears and yawned. “Now tell me why you’re here.”

  “I went on that interview today, in Dallas.”

  “Yes, I know.” She regarded him with a wide-eyed look. “I gave you the money, remember?”

  Jim flinched, and she grinned.

  “It sounds promising, Patty.” Patty had always been his favorite name for her. Would she notice? “Real promising.”

  “Don’t call me that.” She wrapped her arms about her raised knees.

  He crossed the room and knelt on the floor at her feet. “Honey, I’m sure they’re going to make me an offer. I fit in like the missing piece of a puzzle. Edgar Buck and I hit it off from the very start. He’s a classic, like—like—well, I can’t think of like what right now, but trust me when I say that. The staff liked me. We talked and talked, Edgar and I, for hours. We have the same philosophy about reporting, the same ethics. You know how rare that is, especially with print publishing in so much trouble.”

  “So you would move to Dallas?” Her hair fell over her eyes, and she brushed it back again.

  “In a millisecond.” The faint flowery aroma of her perfume filled the air. Jim tried not to think about sex. He studied her face. He would always love her whether there was sex or not. He wanted her, the whole person. He had never fully appreciated her until he lost her. She felt the same, he was sure of it. The question was whether she was ready to admit it.

  He wanted some indication that she would be sorry to see him go—that she wanted to go with him. He held her gaze. He hadn’t noticed before, but small lines had appeared at the corners of her eyes. He had always planned on their growing old together, and here she was doing it on her own. “Would you miss me?”

  She sighed and rubbed her eyes. “Oh, Jimmy—”

  “Patty, come with me.” The words rushed out before he got a chance to think of exactly what he wanted to say. He grabbed her hand and kissed the back of it. “Patty, I meant what I said last Friday. I’ve learned so much since we separated. It’s time for us to be a family again.”

  She jerked her hand away and pushed him back as she leaped over the side of the bed, rushing to the opposite side of the room like an animal fleeing its cage. “I can’t think.” She put her palms out toward him, as though to stop him coming close to her. Shaking her head, she said, “I just don’t know.”

  He knew she wanted him back. She just needed to come to the realization, to give herself permission to let him back into her life. “How long are you going to punish me—punish both of us? I apologized. You apologized. We can make it okay if we both work on it.” Jim stayed where he was, on the rug centered on the floor at the foot of the bed. He’d give her a moment. He hoped she would come to him, not retreat from him.

  He hated the stricken look in her eyes—that he’d caused that. “I know I was a bad husband—that I hurt you. But I’ve changed.”

  “I still feel confused inside,” she said and clutched her middle. “Like I ate a bunch of stuff that didn’t go together.” She backed up against the closet door, leaning over with her knees bent, her nightgown caught up with her hands between her legs, as if she were in pain.

  “I’m so sorry,” Jim whispered. “I didn’t realize what I was doing. I just got caught up in my job, the stories, and totally lost sight of what was important—you and the kids. Then when you started up with that man—Bob—I was just so shocked. So angry. I know I got unreasonable.”

  As he spoke, the lines softened around her eyes and her mouth. She chewed on her bottom lip, and her eyes shifted from his to the floor and back again. Hope filled Jim with a soft breath. If he reached out would she come into his arms?

  “All I can do is apologize over and over, and promise it’ll never happen again.” He was afraid to look anywhere but her eyes for fear she would realize what they were saying and throw him out.

  She crouched like a trapped animal. Did she feel that way? He was as much transfixed by her expression as she apparently was by his. “I love you, Pat, more than ever. I want you to love me, too. I want you to come away with me. Let’s take our little family to Dallas and make a new start. I promise you things will be different.”

  She exhaled and visibly relaxed, her body opening like a flower. “I just don’t know.” She slipped down on the carpet, her back still against the wall. “I don’t know what I would do if you abandoned us there. I have friends here. A life.”

  Jim reached out, wanting to put a finger up to her lips, to shush her, but he was too far away. “I would never do that.” He inched closer.

  “But if you did, I think I would die, Jimbo. Don’t you understand? I’m not tough. I’m weak. I need someone to support us—I
don’t mean in a financial sense—in a family sense. To want to come home and be a family. If you left us again—emotionally or any other way, I couldn’t take it. It would kill me.”

  “Honey, I guarantee—”

  “You can’t do that. Suppose you were sent out on assignment to some foreign land. To the Far East. To the Middle East—”

  “I don’t think Dallas Downtown Mag—”

  “Suppose they asked you to go there for a month then two months then three months—suppose they asked you to take a permanent assignment there?”

  Alarm riveted through him. “Pat. Come on.”

  “No, really, that could happen. You can’t tell me you’d turn that down. You’d jump at the chance to be a famous reporter, win awards, never thinking of your family—”

  “What are you talking about? Have those women at the WiNGS meetings been messing with your head? Where did you get ideas like that? When did you start talking like that?”

  “You would, wouldn’t you?”

  “Would what? Dallas Downtown Magazine is an urban magazine, not Newsweek or Time. I’d never leave the state.”

  “Well, it could lead to a job with one of those.”

  “No. I’d never consider a position we—you and I—didn’t agree on. I can promise you that.”

  “I don’t believe you. You never asked me before. You just took off to wherever.” She’d begun to pout and looked like an agitated child.

  Jim sat cross-legged on the floor. “I’ve learned so much—”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “I’m confused. What’s the question? About taking assignments? No, I wouldn’t go off to the Middle East without your blessing. I wouldn’t go anywhere unless we agreed upon it. Okay?”

  “I don’t know. Can I trust you? Could you really have changed?”

  Jim had to bite his lip to keep from smiling. He couldn’t tell if she was deliberately goading him so they’d have a fight, and she could get out of the situation, or if she wanted him as much as he wanted her and was hoping all this talk would serve as a prelude to foreplay.