Page 6 of Justice Delayed

“Would it be okay if we took some photos of you working? We wouldn’t show your face.” Her movements didn’t slow. Brogan tried again. “My editor can be rather cranky, and he insisted the follow up story include a photo of you. After all, your quick actions did thwart the robbery.”

The door’s bell chimed as four firefighters came in. Brogan inched closer to her as she moved the racks back into place then picked up her spray bottle, her gaze still directed away from him. “Look, I won’t mention what happened here tonight in my follow up piece on the robberies.”

Melender threw him a look. The sadness in her eyes surprised him. He’d expected anger or frustration, not sorrow that ran deep below the surface.

“It doesn’t matter.” She moved past him toward the back of the store.

He followed on her heels, motioning to Seth to stay put for now. “What doesn’t matter?”

She put the squeegee and bottle into a supply caddy, then grabbed a push broom. “You’re going to go back and write the follow up story before Googling Jesse Thompson.”

“And what will I find?”

Melender gripped the broom with both hands, turning the knuckles white. “Please don’t bother me at work again. I have no interest in talking to you or any other reporter.” With that, she pushed the broom down the aisle.

As he rejoined Seth at the front, Brogan contemplated her words, telling his colleague no photo for now. As Brogan drove them back to the office, he mentally composed his lead to the follow up piece. Melender was right. He would finish the assigned story—and then find out what happened to Jesse Thompson.

* * *

Quentin Thompson utteredan expletive as his wife continued to sob against his shoulder in the back of the Lincoln. Ruby had been determined to confront Melender in the hopes the girl—now a grown woman—would finally reveal the whereabouts of Jesse’s body. It had taken nearly eight months for his wife to track her niece down. Quentin admired Ruby’s tenacity, but living with her grief for nearly two decades had eroded his patience. He felt the loss of their son just as keenly, but he hadn’t let it derail him completely. Why couldn’t the woman simply move on with her life?

He rubbed Ruby’s back again, his mind not on comforting his wife but on how to handle Melender. Even as a teenager, his niece had exhibited a stubbornness indicative of her Appalachian heritage, forged by generations of people eking out a hard living in one of the poorest places in the United States. Ruby had that same stubborn streak, although she loathed to admit to a comparison with Melender on anything.

“Quentin?”

“Yes, dear?” Glancing down at his wife’s beautiful yet tear-streaked face, Quentin recalled his first glimpse of Ruby at the reception desk of his company nearly twenty-five years ago. Her graceful movements as she answered the phone and greeted visitors had fascinated him. He smiled even now at the image of how the cream-colored linen sheath she wore accentuated her slender figure and tanned body. On impulse, he’d asked her to lunch, and within three months, he had married her. Only later did he find out about Ruby’s hillbilly past.

“She shouldn’t be able to go about her life as if nothing had happened.” Ruby righted herself, then flicked open a lighted makeup mirror she kept tucked into a seat pocket of the car. She dabbed at her mascara-streaked cheeks with a handkerchief she’d pulled from her purse. Her mercurial moods never ceased to amaze him. She retrieved a compact and began to repair the damage her tears had caused. “We need to bring Jesse home.”

As she applied fresh lipstick to her collagen-injected lips, a familiar stab of desire shot through Quentin. Despite her frequent bouts with grief, he still fiercely craved his wife. He brushed his hand over her smooth hair. “Don’t worry, my love. She’ll come around.”Even if I have to resort to more persuasive methods.

“There’s no reason why she won’t tell us other than pure spite.” Ruby recapped her lipstick and dropped it back into her purse. “She’s always hated me for taking her away from the homestead.”

Quentin didn’t contradict his wife, but not for the first time, he wondered at Ruby’s ability to see only what she wanted to see. It wasn’t that Ruby, as the only living relative with the means to take on a teenager, wasn’t partially right. Melender had been melancholy about leaving her beloved mountains. However, Quentin suspected Melender’s quietness stemmed more from losing her father and grandmother within months of each other than moving from the country to the city.

“That’s why she did it, you know,” Ruby continued, her voice taking on a peevish edge. “She wanted to punish me for taking her away.” Fresh tears sprang to her eyes.

He patted his wife’s hand. If only Ruby talked less, their relationship would be much more enjoyable. “My dear, I think you should take one of your pills. I hate to see you so upset.”

Ruby nodded. “Of course, you’re right. This has been a very trying time for me.” She reached into her purse and pulled out the bottle of pills her doctor had prescribed at Quentin’s insistence to help moderate his wife’s mood swings. After swallowing a pill with a sip from a water bottle, she replaced the medication container in her purse. Resting her head against his shoulder, she closed her eyes.

Within a few minutes, she drifted off to sleep, whether from the pill or exhaustion, he couldn’t tell.

Quentin gently leaned her head against the opposite door and pulled out his cell phone. The soundproof privacy glass shielded his conversation from his driver. Connecting the call, he held the phone to his ear.

“Montgomery speaking.”

“Quentin Thompson.”

A short pause, then Montgomery said, “What can I do for you?”

Quentin smiled. It was always good policy to have leverage over people from whom you wanted favors. In Montgomery’s case, he’d scrounged up some interesting tidbits a man with political ambitions would rather keep locked away. “My wife found her.”

“What happened?” Montgomery asked.

Quentin succinctly relayed the situation. “She’s not going to stop.”

“I’m not sure what you want me to do about it.” Montgomery’s irritation sounded loud and clear over the cell phone.

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