Resonance, J. B. Everett [the top 100 crime novels of all time txt] 📗

Main.”

 

“To the best of my knowledge.” Her casual shrug was lost in the movement of the jostling car.

 

Trees had closed in over the road, overgrown and hanging low, scraping the top of the small car. It was either romantic or horrifying and Jillian squashed the urge to look into the backseat for stowaways. She was searching desperately for road signs, and when she was ready to sigh with weariness and frustration, Jordan pointed low. A hand-lettered wood two-by-four was nailed to the base of an old tree. Parson Rd.

 

That was good enough for her. And she cranked the wheel of the Rav4 hand over hand, wishing that she was already at the house on Squirrel.

 

The road was even worse than Main, if that was possible. Branches whipped the windshield at a ferocious pace, slowing them even more. Just when she was ready to comment, Jordan broke the nearly rhythmic thwapping sound, “Landerly hates us. He does not expect us to return.”

 

Jillian had to laugh.

 

It was that or cry. She’d had no more sleep than Jordan, and while she was glad they weren’t fired, never had she imagined this kind of sick punishment.

 

Just then the trees broke, and a small house stood probably a half mile back off the road. No front lawn or porch lights illuminated the outside, but lights were on in the windows, and given that it was approaching eleven, Jillian was willing to turn the car down the gravel driveway and take her chances that this was the Hann residence. A porch light flashed on in welcome even as she pulled up next to the garage.

 

In the dying residuals of her headlights Jillian noted the dilapidated horse barn and matching shed tilting precariously in the background, but her attention was diverted by the older man walking down the stairs. He looked nicer than what she had expected in these parts. His jeans were clean and unpatched, like his red plaid flannel shirt. And his face was just enough weathered to appear kind.

 

She plastered on a smile and threw open the car door. But he spoke first. “You must be Dr. Brookwood.

 

Miss Greene didn’t tell me you were so pretty.” His smile reached his eyes and he held his hand out to her, somehow managing to convey comfort and friendliness with his remarks.

 

He held out his hand again as Jordan approached. “I’m James Hann. And I have a set of keys to our rental house. Just come inside and Melissa will get you a drink.”

 

Jillian started to protest, “Oh, thank you, but-”

 

Jordan’s elbow in her lower back cut her off and his voice overpowered her own, “That would be great. It’s been a bit of a drive.”

 

So she bit off her retort and followed the two men up the short stairs. The inside of the place reminded her of her Aunt Lenora’s house. There was a whipstitched cover for the Kleenex box in the shape of a church, complete with a steeple and open doors. Sampler pillows dotted the old brown couch in shades of pastel, broken only by the hideously yellow crocheted throw.

 

James introduced his wife Melissa, a woman who appeared to be in her fifties like him, who brooked no protest about popping out of her seat to get drinks even as he settled in. Jillian let Jordan handle all the talking, since he was the one who had accepted this invitation anyway.

 

She felt herself drifting asleep with her eyes open until James Hann’s voice cut through the filters she had thought were turned off. “Y’all are married, right?”

 

While she tried to hide the startled look she was sure had materialized on her face, all thoughts vaporized at Jordan’s immediate smile and knowing nod. “Of course we are.”

 

Snapping her jaw shut, she turned to stare at him. Then worked furiously to cover the expression that she knew had clouded her eyes. If there was one thing she had learned at the CDCP, it was that Jordan said some wild stuff, but he could be trusted. So she forced a grin, praying it looked less demonic than it felt.

 

His smile was far more genuine, and he reached across to lightly brush her fingers. “Jilly decided to keep her last name. Dr. and Dr. Abellard … well you’d never know who was who.”

 

Hann accepted the iced tea his wife was holding out to him without even acknowledging her presence, which of course prompted another negative reaction that Jillian fought hard to tamp down. Then she was discretely passed a bumpy glass full of tea and garnished with a lemon and a mint sprig. Garnish! At eleven thirty at night! And Jordan smiling and talking about them being married. It was the damn twilight zone.

 

“I noticed you don’t wear any rings.”

 

Jordan held out his hand for Hann to inspect. Could the night get any weirder? She just couldn’t wait to hear this. “I’ve got a bit of a mark from it.”

 

Jillian couldn’t see anything but a pristine ring finger, but she kept her mouth shut.

 

“We can’t wear our rings when we work. They get caught on the gloves.” He smiled at her again, and she saw genuine humor in his eyes. He knew that she had no idea where he was going with this and he wasn’t going to explain. “And Jilly here won’t let us bring them on trips. They might get lost.”

 

So she turned back to Mr. Hann and nodded as if she agreed. “You know. They’re too important.”

 

James nodded to her conspiratorially. “Melissa would have my hide if I lost mine.”

 

In a few minutes she had guzzled her tea, far thirstier than she had known she was. Then Jordan was taking her hand and pulling her up off the couch. He had the keys to the house on Squirrel firmly in his other hand and the Hanns’ blessings.

 

Mr. Hann watched from the doorway, while Jordan folded her into the passenger seat of her own car, then smiled as he held his hand out discretely for the keys. She slipped them to him, wondering even as she did it why she was going along with it all. A smile and a wave later Jordan had them turned around and bouncing back up the driveway, and Jillian could keep her mouth shut no longer.

 

“We’re married?”

 

He laughed. “This is not like Atlanta. They just rented us a house and they’d probably rescind the offer if they had known we weren’t married. Sin is sin.”

 

“What?”

 

“Did you see all the God stuff in there?” He looked both ways for the non-existent traffic at the end of the drive, “They would have insisted that you stay with them. Is that what you wanted?”

 

“You’re serious.”

 

He just raised his eyebrows and held up the keys to the house. The keychain read WithJesus all things are possible.

 

“Well, holy Mary, mother and Joseph.” She hated when he was right and she didn’t have the wherewithal to even catch on.

 

It was fifteen minutes of relative silence later that they parked the Rav4 in front of the rental. Jillian fought the urge to cry. It was straight out of the Apple Dumpling Gang. Weathered wood siding, hanging loose in several places, the porch had a slight tilt to it, and in the windows she could see curtains with red roosters prancing back and forth.

 

She prayed that the beds didn’t sag too much.

 

Jordan hopped out and reached into the backseat to grab both duffle bags and headed to unlock the front door. Following right behind him, she was assaulted by the stale smell and stagnant air in the place. Jordan made a face that must have mirrored her own and immediately dropped their luggage and went around opening the windows. The night air was a welcome addition into the house.

 

Jillian wandered the place, snapping on lights. The kitchen was a countrified hell - roosters covered every surface. Wire mesh lined some of the cabinets in a way that could have been charming were it not part of the whole overdone theme. The hallway boasted a linen closet that was stacked with chenille throws and a variety of outdated floral print sheets. The one bathroom was cramped and pink, but Jillian thought the sink looked about as good as any could right now.

 

The faucet handle didn’t give when she turned it. And so, with a much harder crank, she sent the thing spinning and started a horrifying series of moans and gurgles that culminated in a brown thick liquid spewing from the faucet.

 

“Now that’s what I call hard water.” Jordan laughed from behind her.

 

Jillian spun around, furious not at him, but that things could be this bad at midnight when she hadn’t slept in four days and hadn’t even begun to unpack. She started to turn off the offending spigot, but Jordan’s hand on her shoulder stilled her, “Let it run, it’ll clear up.”

 

With that she turned and left the faucet to its own devices and started opening the doors at the end of the hallway. One was a master bedroom, if the term was applied loosely. The bed was queen-sized and looked like it had been furnished from a barn somewhere. The other bedroom sported a single pressed into the far corner with only a lone pillow and no headboard.

 

“I’ll take this one.” Jillian went back for her bag, but Jordan beat her to it and argued chivalrously that he would take the smaller room. In a few minutes she got him to concede and he lowered her bag to the floor, then called from a little further down the hallway “The water’s good now, bathroom’s all yours.”

 

She’d have to see that clean water to believe it, but sure enough, when she re-entered the water ran clear and pristine. Except for a smudge in the bottom of the basin there was no evidence of the sludge it had been turning out a few minutes ago.

 

Rapidly she brushed her teeth and scrubbed her face before heading back to her room and changing into her flannel pajamas. The bed both called to her and repulsed her. But exhaustion won out over unfamiliarity and she lifted the layers of sheets and blankets to slide beneath. She was rolling over to punch the pillow when the world dropped out from under her.

 

Eyes wide, she sat up and promptly slid off the end of the bed where the foot of it had fallen out from under her. She just gave up. Mumbling swear words, she yanked the covers off, and tromped down the short hall dragging them after her. Jordan’s door was ajar and he was centered on the large bed in a draping sprawl, t-shirt and sweatpants bunched in a way that would be uncomfortable to all but the truly tired.

 

Jillian sighed. “Scoot over.”

Chapter 6

David reached into his pocket and felt like a fool. But he smiled at the stewardess and ordered a scotch even as he corrected his mental error to ‘flight attendant’. His fingers tightened around the three inch wide cylinder he had shoved there earlier. There were four more in his carryon, each with one end covered in plastic and tied down with a rubber band. He figured if he made so much as a false move he’d be shot by those plainclothes police officers