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  Here, in this tiny community, these things carried extra baggage. Created deeper, longer-lasting ripples. She hadn’t known Jason well, maybe ran into him once or twice, but Emily she knew well. Saw her several times a week at the bakery where she treated herself to a blueberry muffin after her gym visit. She knew Sean, too. Part of the community.

  This killing, this execution, reminded her of a few of those over in Mobile. Mostly drug and gang related. Could that be in play here? Fairhope had no real gang presence. Drugs were small-time and could be traced to only a handful of people. And they mostly kept their noggins down.

  Could some unexpected drug conflict have raised its head? Here? Nothing along those lines had tickled her radar. Emily or Jason? She didn’t see either connected to such activities. Could she be wrong? Just last week she had been thinking about how pleasant her job was and her good fortune to be in a place where folks said please and thank you. Amazing how quickly things could veer off course.

  “Chief?”

  She glanced up. Sean Patterson. He looked like warmed-over hell.

  “Come on in. Have a seat.” She waved at the chair across her desk.

  He sat. “Sorry for my appearance. And smell. Didn’t want to take the time to stop by home and clean up.”

  “No apology needed.”

  He had the look of a rig worker. One down the food chain that had to do the dirty work. Grime, dried sweat, three-day-old beard, smudged blue shirt, grease-stained cuticles, chipped fingernails. Warren had seen it more than a few times. Out there on the water life was no vacation. Dirty, backbreaking work. Constant noise from generators and pipes and drills and pumps. And if the weather turned sour, a whole other batch of problems. Sleep was sporadic and restless. It took a toll. Sean showed all the signs.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss,” she said.

  “It’s a big shock.”

  “You okay?” Warren asked.

  “I don’t know. I honestly don’t. Been out on the rig for nearly two weeks. Bad food, lots of racket, no real sleep.” He sighed. “You’d think I’d be used to it by now, but I’m not sure that’s even possible. Always takes a couple of days to get my system back in order.” He shrugged. “Now, this. About now I don’t know nothing about nothing.”

  “I imagine so. But I appreciate you coming in to talk with me.” She tapped a pen on her desk. “Time is important here.”

  “I suspect that’s true.” He forked back his oily hair.

  “I don’t want to make it any more difficult than it already is but I do need to ask a few questions.”

  He nodded. “Sure. But first tell me what happened. I don’t really know nothing.”

  She told him what she could. Both shot. Apparently abducted from Emily’s house. Both their cars still there. Door open. Killed out on Fletcher’s Farm. She left out the execution part.

  “You got any idea who might’ve done it?” Sean asked.

  “That’s what I’m asking you. You know anyone who had an issue with Emily, or Jason?”

  “Not Emily. That’s for sure. Everybody liked her. She made friends, not enemies.”

  “And Jason?”

  “I don’t know him real well,” Sean said. “Seemed like a good enough guy.”

  “Tell me about your divorce. Any issues?”

  He stared at her. “Guess there won’t be one now.” He shook his head. “But no. Everything was going okay there.” He stared at the floor, spoke to it. “Truth was, we knew right about a year ago it’d come to this. Sort of drifted apart.”

  “Did you know she had filed this week?”

  He looked up. “No. Did she?”

  “She did.”

  “We been talking about it for months. I told her it was up to her. Whatever she wanted to do.”

  “You were happy to stay married? If that was her decision?”

  He seemed to consider that. “No. Not Emily either. We knew it was going to happen. It was the timing that never lined up.” He shrugged. “I told her to go ahead whenever it felt right to her. There wasn’t any real urgency as far as I could tell.”

  “You had no problems with Jason and Emily dating?”

  “Look, Chief, I know you got to ask these questions. Me and her heading into a divorce. The husband is always the prime suspect.” He scratched one ear. “I watch those TV shows. But the truth is we were over. We each moved on. To me, her seeing Jason was a good thing. I know she liked him a lot.”

  “That’s a very adult approach,” Warren said.

  He smiled. Half-hearted but a smile. “We actually laughed about that a few times. Seemed like most folks felt that one or the other of us should be mad. Or angry, or something. We weren’t. Sort of made people wonder if we were serious about it or not, I suspect.”

  “Any financial issues with the divorce?”

  “None. We cut all that up months back. She had her money and I have mine. Seemed to work okay.”

  “What about the house?”

  “That’s hers. From what I understand, it would legally go to her.” He extended and then flexed his right knee as if it were stiff. “And rightly so. Been in her family a long time.”

  “So you weren’t going to make a claim on it. Community property?”

  “Couldn’t according to the law. And wouldn’t. Like I said, it’s hers.” He sighed. “Was hers.”

  “And now it’s yours,” Warren said.

  He stared at her. “I suspect that’s true. I hadn’t thought of it that way.” Gaze back toward the floor. “There’s just too much to all this. I have no idea what I’m going to do.”

  “About the house?”

  He looked up. His eyes moist. “About any of it. I mean that, and all her stuff, and a funeral, and calling her brother, and …” He stared toward the window. “And all of it.”

  “It will be a lot. But take it one thing at a time. Don’t let it overwhelm you.”

  “It’s funny. While I was riding the copter in, you know what crossed my mind?”

  “What?”

  “What was I going to do with all the things she had collected? All kinds of glass doodads? Her family china?” He sighed. “She loved those things. And her clothes? I don’t even know where to start.” He looked at Warren. “Ain’t that some stupid crap to be thinking about?”

  “Not really. There isn’t a manual for how to handle these things.”

  “Wish there was.”

  “Friends will help. You’ll be fine.”

  “I suppose.” He fell silent for a few seconds, then said, “Chief, do you have any idea who would’ve done this? You must have some suspect or the other?”

  “I wish we did.” She dropped the pen on her desk.

  “Well, I guess I better get home and knock the grime off.”

  “One more thing,” Warren said. “What about a drug angle?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Two people shot. In a rural area. I have to at least consider that.”

  “Makes sense, I guess. But I’ll tell you this for sure. Emily wouldn’t use anything and wouldn’t be around anyone who did.”

  “Voice of experience?”

  Sean seemed to consider his answer for a few seconds. “Back then, when we first started dating, I smoked a little. But she put an end to that in short order. Wasn’t even open for discussion.”

  CHAPTER 12

  THREE DAYS LATER we were back on the road to Fairhope. This time for Emily’s funeral. Nicole followed Pancake’s truck, Ray ensconced at shotgun. Good news since that kept Nicole closer to the speed limit. Something she handled poorly. Impatient, fingers tapping the steering wheel.

  “Makes you crazy, doesn’t it?” I asked.

  “What does?”

  “Being trapped behind Pancake.”

  “I could pass. I know where we’re going.” She glanced at me. “I’m just being polite.”

  “I’m sure that’s it.”

  “Don’t be a dick.”

  “Me? Never.”
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br />   She passed Pancake’s truck.

  The three days between the murders and Emily’s funeral hadn’t been stagnant. Pancake had become obsessed with looking into what had happened. Even when Ray suggested they had plenty of other things on their plate, Pancake wouldn’t be deterred. The boy could be a bulldog. I understood. Emily had been his first love. Maybe the puppy variety, but those are often the most powerful. Last a lifetime. Her name had come up off and on over the years, and each time, Pancake had become wistful, played the what-if game. Yet, in all the years, he, we, never sought her out. Fairhope might only be thirty miles up the road from Gulf Shores, but it was worlds apart. By the time Pancake and I could drive, life had moved on. School, sports, other friends and girlfriends, and grammar school memories faded.

  And now Emily was gone.

  No way to rewind the clock.

  Woulda, shoulda, coulda.

  So, despite Ray’s complaints, Pancake dug. He uncovered a host of interesting facts about the players. He always did. Enough to fill a large three-ring binder. He made a copy for Nicole and me.

  Last night, after Nicole had used me for her pleasure, really, she had, and then rudely fell asleep, I read through Pancake’s research. Now I related the highlights to Nicole.

  She was excellent at multitasking. She could terrorize other motorists, check her hair, nails, and makeup—what little she used—for flaws—finding none, of course—this is Nicole we’re talking about here—and listen to my ramblings all at the same time.

  After Emily’s family moved to the Fairhope area, to the house where Emily had slept her last night on Earth, she finished high school and then attended the Fairhope campus of Coastal Alabama Community College. Majored in English. Stellar grades. No surprise there. Pancake and I had often copied her test answers. That tidbit drew a smile, a nod, and an “Of course” from Nicole.

  Pancake made good grades, me average, but neither of us were thrilled with the classroom. More a nuisance than anything else. Our focus had been sports, girls, and stealing beer from Ray.

  After completing two years at Coastal, also with stellar grades, Emily snagged a job at the library. A year later, she moved on to Mullins Bakery. That’s where she met her husband, Sean Patterson.

  Sean decided high school was enough formal education so as soon as he strolled out the schoolhouse door, diploma in hand, he took a job at Watkins’ Lumber Supply. Been there ever since. A couple of years later he added Chevron to his employer list and worked the offshore rigs. Two weeks on and two off. No legal issues that Pancake could find.

  Jason Collins was fairly new to the area. Originally from Laurel, Mississippi. Two years earlier, he had moved to Fairhope and took a job at Sharp’s Used Cars. Just north of town. He did fairly well, earning salesman of the month honors three times. He had had no run-ins with the law, but otherwise Pancake had found little on him. His photo revealed light brown hair, blue eyes, and a pleasant smile. Seemed like an ordinary guy.

  The cemetery sat along Highway 98 just north of Fairhope High School. Nicole swerved around the entry monument, white with maroon lettering that read “Memorial Gardens of Fairhope.” It squatted in a grassy oval planted with shrubs and flowers. An American flag hung limply above it. Noon, ninety degrees, and no breeze. Didn’t bode well for a funeral ceremony. She parked and we waited for Pancake and Ray. Ten minutes. She had left them that far behind.

  We stepped out into the stifling heat. The suit I wore seemed to melt to my flesh. I’m not a suit guy. Never had been. Neither was Pancake. He tugged at his collar as if to let in more air, maybe release heat. Ray was Ray. Nothing fazed him. Nicole, her black dress sleek and crisp, showed no signs of wilting. How does she do that?

  Expansive, mostly open, sparsely dotted with trees and headstones, the cemetery had ample plots remaining for future inhabitants. The grave sites of Emily Patterson and Jason Collins were toward the middle of the property, maybe a hundred feet apart. A casket suspended over each rectangular opening. I guessed a hundred and fifty people had showed up, most loitering near Emily’s site. The four of us headed that way.

  I saw a preacher, Bible tucked beneath one arm, chatting with Emily’s brother, Danny Rhodes, who wore his Marine blues. My how he had grown. Tall, fit, he looked like the poster boy for the Marine Corps. The preacher moved along to chat with who I recognized as Sean Patterson. The grieving husband.

  Sean did appear grief-stricken. His face drawn and pale. Maybe five-ten, thin, his suit oversized, collar limp from the humidity. Medium-length brown hair, dark, deep-set eyes. He mopped his forehead with a handkerchief while he talked with the preacher, who laid a fatherly hand on his shoulder.

  Danny saw us and walked our way.

  “Danny,” I said.

  “Jake. Tommy. Mr. Longly.”

  We shook hands. I introduced Nicole.

  “Sorry for your loss,” I said.

  He nodded. “I’m still in shock.”

  “We all are,” Pancake said.

  “Glad you came,” Danny said.

  The preacher moved to the grave site, indicating the ceremony was about to begin.

  “Let’s talk afterwards,” Pancake said.

  Danny nodded. “I’d like that.”

  The ceremony was short. Tears flowed, Danny spoke of his sister, of all he had learned from her, of how much she had meant to him growing up. Allison followed, saying how she and Emily had become close through their work together, and how she would miss her humor and “gentle nature.” Finally, the librarian, whose name I didn’t catch, told of how valuable Emily had been during her brief stint at the library. How everyone liked her, particularly the kids. Of how she inspired so many of them to put away the electronics and read. The preacher concluded with a prayer and the casket descended into the ground.

  Many of the mourners expressed condolences to Danny, thanked him for his service, and then the preacher and most of the crowd moved over to Jason’s burial site.

  “Want to grab some lunch?” Ray asked Danny.

  “Sure. I’ve been in the air the past twenty-four hours and haven’t had much to eat. Military transports aren’t known for their cuisine.” He managed a weak smile.

  CHAPTER 13

  LUNCH WAS AGAIN at Stella’s Bistro. Pancake insisted. Said there were things on the menu he didn’t get to last time. The aroma of the day’s special, spaghetti with meatballs, thickened the air and smelled too enticing to pass up. We each ordered it. Pancake added a massive plate of fried calamari topped with jalapeños and a side of polenta with marinara.

  The conversation was casual, mostly about old times, until the food arrived. Danny ate with little enthusiasm. He cleaned his plate, but more like he needed the calories rather than relished the food. He had a long flight with only military rations ahead of him. Soldiers in combat zones learn to tank up whenever the chance arises.

  Pancake, on the other hand, demolished the calamari and polenta, scoured his plate, and then marched through two-thirds of mine, which was fine as I had little appetite. He also ate an entire basket of garlic bread. Little interfered with his appetite. And today, he needed to soothe his pain.

  Danny addressed Pancake. “Emily brought up your name not infrequently. Tommy this, and Tommy that.”

  “Folks call me Pancake now.”

  Danny nodded. “Football?”

  “You got it. Did you play?”

  “Yeah. High school.”

  “What position?” I asked.

  “Receiver.”

  He was tall enough. An inch under my six-three and near my one-ninety. Of course, he seemed in better shape. The difference between a Marine and a bar owner. Even though I had been taking Krav Maga classes with Nicole.

  “I wasn’t good enough for college ball so the Marine Corps seemed a logical step,” Danny said.

  “How long have you been in?” Nicole asked.

  “Since the week after I finished high school. Ten years now.”

  “You must like it.”


  “It’s a good career. Scary as hell sometimes, boring others, but overall, it was the right choice for me.” He glanced at me. “I followed your career. You were something else.”

  “Long time ago,” I said.

  Danny caught Ray’s gaze. “Mr. Longly, I have to say you were part of the reason I joined the Marines.”

  “Call me Ray.”

  Danny nodded. “Ray.”

  “What did I have to do with your career?” Ray asked.

  “I always looked up to you. You seemed to have an answer, a fix, for everything. And you were a Marine.”

  Ray shrugged. “Sort of.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I was a Marine, for sure. But my career was mostly in the darker areas.”

  Danny smiled. “Things you never talk about, right?”

  Ray nodded. “What about you?”

  “Just a grunt.”

  “Where are you stationed now?”

  “Here and there. Lately in Saudi Arabia. That’s where I was when I got the call about Emily.” He stared at his empty plate for a few seconds. “My CO got me a pass. Flew into Quantico, then to the Pensacola Naval Air Station. Drove up here.” He took a sip of tea. “It’s been a crazy seventy-two hours.”

  “I imagine so,” Ray said.

  “I still can’t quite grasp it.” He looked at Ray. “I understand you guys were looking into Emily’s divorce? For her attorney?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Took her a long time to get to that point. She’d been thinking about it for the last year or so.”

  “She say why?” Ray asked. “Any issues?”