Page 135 of The Last Close Call

Rowan grabbed her phone from the cup holder and opened the page she’d found. It was a brief news story in the Sage Springs Ledger.

She glanced in the side mirror. “You need to pull over to look at this.”

Jack checked the rearview and then veered onto the shoulder. He parked and put the hazards on.

“This is Will Anderson’s birth father.” She handed him the phone. “Brett James Leary.”

Jack took the phone, and his expression hardened. He looked up at her.

“He’s fifty-nine,” Rowan said. “He was thirty at the time his son was born. Joy was sixteen. Her high school boyfriend isn’t the father—this fucker is.”

Jack looked down at the image. He scrolled past the photo to the article beneath it.

“He was the youth pastor at a church at the time,” Rowan said. “I looked him up. That was twenty-eight years ago, and now he’s the head pastor there. A fucking rapist.”

“Does Joy know you know all this?”

“No.” Rowan sighed. “Although, I’m sure she knows I’ll figure it out. She probably assumes everyone will eventually, that her whole life will be put under a spotlight.” Rowan took a deep breath. “So, I called her today to talk through all this, and I couldn’t reach her, so I went by her house, and that’s when I started to get alarmed. Something’s wrong, Jack.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Her maid answered the door, and she was worried, too. She said yesterday Joy told her she would be working from home today, but Joy hasn’t been there at all, and she missed an appointment with her landscape architect. And also—this is weird—she left two days’ worth of food for her dogs.”

Jack just looked at her. “Where’s her husband?”

“Out of town on business, according to the maid. So, I left another message at the house for Joy to call me and went home. I ate dinner and took a shower, and when I got out, I realized I had a voicemail from Joy. I almost deleted it, too, because I didn’t recognize the number. It sounds like she’s having an emotional meltdown. She’s weepy and slurring her words.”

“You think she’s drunk?”

“Probably.” Rowan picked up her phone and clicked into the voicemail. “And she takes prescription sleeping pills, too. Not a good combination.” She hit play and handed the phone to Jack.

“Rowan...” Joy’s voice filled the car. “I got your message. Messages. I got all three.” Ice cubes clinked against a glass. “I can’t come to the phone right now, unfortunately. It’s old-home week. I’m in my hometown taking a trip down memory lane. This whole thing has been... a tough journey. And the guilt...” Her voice trailed off, and Jack looked at Rowan. “The cycle... that I’ve allowed to happen is ending. Finally.” Her voice quieted. “We don’t want to become our parents, but it’s inevitable, isn’t it? I spent my whole life trying to be different from my mother. And I ended up the same in so many ways. Weak and cowering...”

Jack looked at Rowan, his face grim.

“But I need to thank you, Rowan, for doing what you did,” she continued. “Someone had to stop it—”

“Stop what?” Jack asked.

“I don’t know. Her son?”

“—I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough when I needed to be. That’s on me.” More ice cubes rattling. “So... if I don’t see you again... thank you, Rowan.”

Silence filled the car. Jack looked at her.

“See?”

“I don’t like the ‘if I don’t see you again’ part,” he said.

“I know!”

He handed her the phone. “She sounds volatile.”

“Volatile? More like suicidal.”

***

Joy tucked the paper bag into her purse as she left the gas station. Hunching her shoulders against the cold, she jogged to the other side of the street and crossed the parking lot of the Blue Iguana Inn. The light was on in the lobby, and she yanked open the glass door.

---