I met Jay for coffee at Mysa on a Friday afternoon. He was involved in some loose ends that needed tying up at Greensville Correctional, and he stopped through Tuttle on his way back home.
“The investigators think Tackett engineered the attack on himself,” he said, after Ridley brought us each a cup of black coffee. And me a cinnamon roll.
I shouldn’t have been surprised. I knew Tackett was a lying dirt bag—the fact that he’d go to those lengths to get what he wanted was perfectly in character for him.
“DNA evidence pegged an inmate named Sammy Parish as having been the one who beat Tackett to death. When they questioned him, Parish swore that Tackett paid him in cigarettes and ramen noodles to do it. He said Tackett told him he needed to make it look like the Romeros were after him,” Jay said. “Could be that Parish didn’t mean to kill him. The coroner said what killed him was one blow that severed an artery in his brain. Could have been an accident of bad luck or bad aim.”
“Do you think?” I asked, skeptical. If Tackett had arranged the attack himself, he was certainly playing at a risky game. Then again, Joe Tackett had never shied away from risky behavior before.
“Parish doesn’t have ties to the cartel that we know of, but we’re still investigating. I also think he could be saying that to reduce his charges from murder to manslaughter, but they did find a big stash of ramen in his cell.” Jay shook his head. “Prison currency is a strange thing.”
“If it is true, it’s almost too ironic,” I said, still stuck on Tackett having arranged the attack himself.
“How do you mean?”
“Tackett always was his own worst enemy.”
He smirked. “Ain’t that the truth?”
“Keep me posted, will you?”
He nodded. “You doing okay?” He gave me a meaningful look. He was obviously referencing my emotional state.
I smiled and said, “Pretty good.” Which was the honest truth. I didn’t mention the nightmares, which were becoming less frequent but always the same. We were back at the edge of Redemption Lake, and Megan stared at me from under the surface of the water, begging me through some silent form of communication to help her. I’d reach into the water and she’d instantly disintegrate into a million tiny grains of sand. The trauma of what happened to Megan—of all of it, really—would be with me for a while.
I offered Jay a bite of my cinnamon roll, which he politely declined. “I’m trying to cut back,” he said with a self-conscious laugh.
“Getting ready for Belize?” Jay and Chloe had planned a weeklong trip to an inclusive resort in the Caribbean. I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t still a part of me that had a hard time hearing about their relationship. Old jealousies die hard, I guess. But Jay was about as good a man as there was in this world, and he had shown me the sort of devotion and loyalty that earned him a forever-place in my heart. Because of that I truly wanted him to be happy—even if that meant being happy with Chloe.
“Actually,” he said, tracing the handle of his coffee cup with his finger, “the trip is off.”
“Off? Why?”
Jay’s cheeks started to color. “Well, she didn’t really want to go to Belize with me after I broke up with her.”
I didn’t know what to say. I was surprised and, without examining it too closely, pleased. But lest I reveal myself as a horrible person, I said the obligatory, “I’m sorry.”
“Thanks.” Jay shrugged. “But it’s better to be alone than with the wrong person.”
We shared a look. A second before it went on too long, he changed the subject. “How about you?” he asked. “Are you going to take any time off after all of this?”
“Nah,” I said, looking down. “I think the best thing for me right now is to get back to work.”
“You really love your job, don’t you?”
I smiled. “I can’t imagine working anywhere else.”
“You headed back there now? I can drop you off on my way out of town?”
I shook my head. “I’ve got a stop to make first, but thanks,” I said. “For everything.”