rifled through her address book. Pamela knew what she was looking for, and reached for the book, but Margaret jerked it away.
“I am not about to go to your house with that fiend on the loose. I wouldn’t even stay here. Pamela, you need to think of Rebecca and Faye. Sometimes I wonder if you have any sense.”
Let her go. Just let her go into the nursing home! Maybe it would be best. They wouldn’t have to worry about her drinking around the girls, locking all the doors, freaking everybody out …
“Mom,” Pamela said as calmly as she could, “we want you to be with us.” She gently squeezed her mother’s shoulder. “I need you. You need us. Believe me, Granger Meade is not going to bother us. I know it. I promise you.”
Margaret pursed her lips and shook her head. “You know what happened to me … in college.”
Pamela nodded.
“I still think I see him.” Margaret spoke as if in a trance. “I imagine what he would look like now, all these years later. I can see him so clearly.”
Her mother’s fear and hatred were palpable.
“The smell of him. That gaunt face. Those crazy eyes.” Her head dropped. Her shoulders bounced.
Pamela took her mom in her arms and let her cry. Margaret dropped the address book and embraced her. “Oh, Ben,” she moaned. “Why did you leave me? What am I supposed to do?”
“Daddy would want you to be with us, Mom.”
Margaret cried harder.
“You know that. He wouldn’t want you to go right into St. Edward’s—not yet. He’d want you with Rebecca and Faye, with me and Jack.”
Margaret leaned back and examined Pamela. “I won’t sleep.” Her mascara and tears mixed. “You don’t know what I’m like. You haven’t lived here in years. You don’t want the girls to see that.”
“Mom, the girls adore you. They accept you, no matter what.”
Pamela snatched a tissue from a nook in the kitchen and handed it to her. Margaret wiped the tears and blew her nose.
“I can’t go.” She shook her head and her mouth curled into a frown; she fought back more tears. “I would have a nervous breakdown. Trust me. It would be much more trouble than you bargained for.”
Pamela tried to reason with her, to assure her they could deal with anything. But Margaret bent down, retrieved the address book, and reached for the phone.
Pamela’s heart broke.
Chapter 12
It had stopped snowing. Derrick relished the rays of sun poking through the dark gray sky as he drove to Trenton City’s east side once again. This time he was heading to the home of Spivey Brinkman, the man who was supposed to know a great deal about the alleged misdoings at Demler-Vargus.
Derrick went through a mental list of the odds and ends he had to tie up before the evening deadline at The Dispatch and his date with Zenia. He had finally talked her into trying La Gloria’s, his favorite Cuban restaurant. But he was running behind because he’d spent most of the morning trying to track down the whereabouts of Barb and Emmett Doyle and Amy Sheets.
He hadn’t had any luck on the Doyles but, oddly enough, had almost surely tracked down Amy’s mother on Facebook. With the help of the city search, he found a Rebekah Sheets in Columbus, Ohio. Although she had posted no photos and only had sixteen friends, she listed herself as the mother of Amy, Bruce, and Brendon.
Derrick sent Rebekah Sheets a message on Facebook, introducing himself as a Dispatch reporter and stating that he was trying to track down Amy for some input about a story he was working on. He sent a similar message to Amy’s brother Bruce, who also had a Facebook page; the other brother seemed to be invisible. If Derrick didn’t hear anything quickly, he would search further for phone numbers, but he had run out of time.
The nav indicated he was almost to Spivey Brinkman’s house. He recognized the street he and Jack had turned on the day before to get to the Randalls’ place. Sure enough, Spivey’s double-wide was just behind the
“I am not about to go to your house with that fiend on the loose. I wouldn’t even stay here. Pamela, you need to think of Rebecca and Faye. Sometimes I wonder if you have any sense.”
Let her go. Just let her go into the nursing home! Maybe it would be best. They wouldn’t have to worry about her drinking around the girls, locking all the doors, freaking everybody out …
“Mom,” Pamela said as calmly as she could, “we want you to be with us.” She gently squeezed her mother’s shoulder. “I need you. You need us. Believe me, Granger Meade is not going to bother us. I know it. I promise you.”
Margaret pursed her lips and shook her head. “You know what happened to me … in college.”
Pamela nodded.
“I still think I see him.” Margaret spoke as if in a trance. “I imagine what he would look like now, all these years later. I can see him so clearly.”
Her mother’s fear and hatred were palpable.
“The smell of him. That gaunt face. Those crazy eyes.” Her head dropped. Her shoulders bounced.
Pamela took her mom in her arms and let her cry. Margaret dropped the address book and embraced her. “Oh, Ben,” she moaned. “Why did you leave me? What am I supposed to do?”
“Daddy would want you to be with us, Mom.”
Margaret cried harder.
“You know that. He wouldn’t want you to go right into St. Edward’s—not yet. He’d want you with Rebecca and Faye, with me and Jack.”
Margaret leaned back and examined Pamela. “I won’t sleep.” Her mascara and tears mixed. “You don’t know what I’m like. You haven’t lived here in years. You don’t want the girls to see that.”
“Mom, the girls adore you. They accept you, no matter what.”
Pamela snatched a tissue from a nook in the kitchen and handed it to her. Margaret wiped the tears and blew her nose.
“I can’t go.” She shook her head and her mouth curled into a frown; she fought back more tears. “I would have a nervous breakdown. Trust me. It would be much more trouble than you bargained for.”
Pamela tried to reason with her, to assure her they could deal with anything. But Margaret bent down, retrieved the address book, and reached for the phone.
Pamela’s heart broke.
Chapter 12
It had stopped snowing. Derrick relished the rays of sun poking through the dark gray sky as he drove to Trenton City’s east side once again. This time he was heading to the home of Spivey Brinkman, the man who was supposed to know a great deal about the alleged misdoings at Demler-Vargus.
Derrick went through a mental list of the odds and ends he had to tie up before the evening deadline at The Dispatch and his date with Zenia. He had finally talked her into trying La Gloria’s, his favorite Cuban restaurant. But he was running behind because he’d spent most of the morning trying to track down the whereabouts of Barb and Emmett Doyle and Amy Sheets.
He hadn’t had any luck on the Doyles but, oddly enough, had almost surely tracked down Amy’s mother on Facebook. With the help of the city search, he found a Rebekah Sheets in Columbus, Ohio. Although she had posted no photos and only had sixteen friends, she listed herself as the mother of Amy, Bruce, and Brendon.
Derrick sent Rebekah Sheets a message on Facebook, introducing himself as a Dispatch reporter and stating that he was trying to track down Amy for some input about a story he was working on. He sent a similar message to Amy’s brother Bruce, who also had a Facebook page; the other brother seemed to be invisible. If Derrick didn’t hear anything quickly, he would search further for phone numbers, but he had run out of time.
The nav indicated he was almost to Spivey Brinkman’s house. He recognized the street he and Jack had turned on the day before to get to the Randalls’ place. Sure enough, Spivey’s double-wide was just behind the
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