Deadly Revenge (Pearl River #3)

Chapter 47

47

Max offered to drive, and as they neared town, she said, “The library used to have old copies of our local newspaper on microfilm. Maybe we can access information about what went on during Carter’s tenure as mayor.”

He checked his watch. “It’s almost six. What time do they close?”

“Eight, I believe.”

“That will give us two hours.”

“I better make sure the library has either copies of newspapers from that time or has them on microfilm.”

She looked up the number for the library and punched it in, putting the phone on speaker. When someone answered, she asked to speak to the head librarian. When he came on the line she asked if there were microfilm copies of the weekly newspaper during Harrison Carter’s tenure.

“Yes, but I can do you one better,” he said. “A couple of years ago, the local computer class at the high school scanned them into a website you can access.”

“Great. Can you text me the link?”

While they waited for the link, she said, “We can go straight to my house and do our research. You can take the laptop, and I’ll use my desktop.”

“I have my laptop—I’ll use it.”

Once they were at her house, Jenna walked around it with Max looking for signs of disturbance. Not that she expected to find anything. Whoever was breaking into her house was like a ghost.

“It doesn’t look as though anyone’s been here,” he said.

Jenna grunted and checked the tape she’d put across the door. No one had entered through this door and the other one had a chair under it. That didn’t stop her from wanting to draw her gun, but Max already thought she was paranoid, so she left it holstered and was glad she had when everything looked as it had before they left.

“My office is back here ... or we can set up in the kitchen.”

“Is it much trouble to use the kitchen? Coffee would be handier.”

She laughed. “Sounds good to me.”

While they waited for the computers to boot up, she made coffee. “What do you think is going on at the Armstrong place?” she asked as the machine gurgled.

“I didn’t see signs of a meth operation. They’re probably using the place to counterfeit opioids, possibly using heroin and even fentanyl, which is cheaper and easier to get than oxycodone.”

“I agree. Maybe we can discover something when we knock on the door tomorrow morning.”

She turned as the desktop screen asked for a password. Jenna typed it in. “I’ll search for information on the dam and reservoir.”

Max set up his laptop across the table from her. “And I’ll search for the weekly papers published during Harrison Carter’s years.”

Jenna poured them each a mug of coffee then started her search. The kitchen became quiet as they worked. She found several articles, including one that detailed the history of the project with a timeline from applying for the grant to the completion of the dam. She printed it out. “Be right back.”

She walked to her office and returned with the printed pages and found Max leaned back in the chair.

“Find anything?”

He held up the notepad he’d been writing on. “Not a lot—there was a lot of opposition to the dam that was built during Carter’s twenty years.”

Jenna handed him the pages she’d printed. “You need to look at this. It confirms he applied for grant money a few years before he became mayor.”

Max scanned the document. “So he would have known that the dam and reservoir would be built before anyone else. Let’s say he formed a corporation—TerraQuest—and bought up what land he could.”

“That’s what I thought when I read the article, but we have no proof he owns TerraQuest.”

“Yet.” While he scanned it, Jenna checked her watch. Almost eight o’clock? She turned to Max. “Are you hungry?”

He glanced at his watch. “Where’d the time go? But sure ... want to grab something in town?”

“The only thing open is the pizza place, and I don’t think my stomach can take that. Let’s see what I have in the refrigerator.”

A minute later she opened her refrigerator and frowned. It was kind of bare. “I have eggs and bacon, maybe peppers if they haven’t dried up ... how about an omelet?”

“So you do cook?” His gaze ran over her, reminding her of their near kiss that seemed so long ago now.

Jenna ordered her heart to slow down, but it refused to listen. She gave him a wry smile. “It’s, ah ...” She would’ve had a quick comeback a second ago. “Uh, cook or starve—Granna won’t feed me every day.” She reined in her heart. “I make a mean omelet, though.”

“I’m game. What can I do to help?”

Get out of the kitchen unless he wanted her to burn their meal. “Write up a plan for tomorrow.”

“I can do that, but I can cook as well.”

Jenna eyed him. “You live two houses from your mother—you expect me to believe that?”

His smoking brown eyes held a challenge. “Tell you what, you take care of the bacon and I’ll make the omelet.”

She stared at him. The way her insides were shaking, that might not be a bad idea. “You have yourself a deal.”

First she poured another cup of coffee—hoping it would clear her head, especially of thoughts about Max. It still took everything in her to keep her fingers from shaking when she placed the bacon on the microwave pan. What was wrong with her? This was Max.

Jenna hadn’t figured on them cooking side by side, but since her microwave was over the stove and that’s where he was making the omelet, there was little choice. The faint woodsy scent she’d noticed in the truck earlier made noodles of her legs when he reached across her for the spatula.

“You might want to check the bacon,” he said, nudging her.

She yanked open the door.

“Ow!” Max said, rubbing his head.

“I’m so sorry—” A tiny trickle of blood ran down his temple ... suddenly she was in the alley behind James A. Henry School. No! Not now ... But there was no stopping the flashback.

Sebastian held the boy in one hand, a gun in the other. Gunshots rang in her ears ... the odor of gunpowder.

Jenna’s stomach churned, and she couldn’t breathe. Mouth too dry to swallow ... icy tendrils tingled her face.

The next thing Jenna knew she was in Max’s arms. He carried her to a chair and settled her in it.

“Are you okay?”

She nodded, her face flaming. It’d been a year since the sight of blood affected her this way.

“Hold on a sec, and I’ll get you a wet cloth.” Max disappeared down the hall and returned with a damp washcloth. “Put this on your face.”

She did what he said, and gradually her stomach settled.

“What happened?”

Jenna avoided looking at his head. “B-blood. Sometimes...”

“It makes you faint.”

“It only started after the night I was shot, and it doesn’t happen every time I see blood—certainly hasn’t happened since I returned home. The psychologist the department required me to see after the shooting said it was part of PTSD.”

“Are you feeling better?”

“Yes. I thought I was over it.” Jenna drew in a breath and blew it out before handing him the cloth. “You might want to use this on your head, and I have a Band-Aid if you need it.”

“I think it’ll be fine.” He pressed the cloth to his head. “It’s not bleeding any longer.”

Then she gasped. “Did I burn the bacon?”

He shook his head. “It’s golden brown. And I didn’t burn the omelets. Think you can eat while everything is still warm?”

She’d do almost anything to get his attention off what just happened, and that included choking down food. “Sure—these episodes never last long, but they’re terribly embarrassing.”

“Nothing to be embarrassed about. See if you can stand okay.”

She stood and there was no dizziness. “See, I told you. Let me get a plate for the bacon.”

Max moved the computers to the end of the table, and Jenna willed herself to stay upright while she laid out the plates and cutlery.

She took a bite of Max’s omelet. “You really can cook.”

“Shannon showed me how to make omelets. They aren’t that hard.”

“What happened with you two?” Jenna slapped her hand over her mouth. “That was none of my business.”

He stared at the cup of coffee he cradled in his hand. Then he looked up. “I don’t mind talking about her or the breakup now, and it wasn’t all her fault. Being a cop is hard on a relationship. We had a lot of good years, five of them, before ...” He sighed and looked toward the window.

Being a cop was one reason she’d shied away from relationships after Phillip. The hours were long sometimes, and it was hard to leave the job at the station. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too. Shannon was a good cook. Early on, she often made elaborate candlelight dinners—although I never quite saw the point in not seeing what you were eating.”

They both laughed.

“But then she broke her leg in a skiing accident. The doctor prescribed oxycodone.” He blew out a breath. “Unfortunately, she became addicted. I didn’t realize it until one night she overdosed. I called an ambulance and found out when it showed up on a drug screen the ER doctor ordered.”

“How in the world did you get that information from the doctor?”

“She’d put me on her HIPAA form because she had no family in Chattanooga. The ER doctor told me—he thought I knew. She finally admitted she was getting them off the street after her doctor refused to continue prescribing it.”

“I’m so sorry, both for you and her.” Jenna had seen what addiction did in her uncle, only his drug was alcohol.

“I tried to talk to her about getting help.” Max shook his head. “She didn’t believe she had a problem, and she eventually broke the engagement.”

She remembered when that had happened.

“Is she still doing drugs?”

“Actually, she went into rehab about a year ago. I haven’t talked to her, but I hope she’s still straight.”

It was plain he still cared about her.