Twenty-Nine and a Half Reasons
Page 75
“So after the man left, you grabbed the crowbar and left too?”
Bruce looked down, chewing on his pinkie fingernail. “There’s something else I never told anyone.”
Mr. Yates sat up straighter. “Why not?”
“Because it freaked me out and I tried to ignore it.”
“What happened?” I whispered.
His eyes looked wild and crazy. “After the other guy left, I walked over to Frank and his eyes were closed.”
That didn’t make sense. “But the pictures of him at the scene showed his eyes were open.” I’d never forget that blank stare.
“Yeah, they were in the picture.”
“But…how…?”
“After I walked over, his eyes popped open. Frank was still alive when I got to him.”
“And you’re just now telling me?” Bruce’s attorney bellowed.
Bruce shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “I was scared. And ashamed.”
“Why didn’t you call 911?” I asked, horrified.
“Because I wasn’t thinkin’ straight.” He looked up, his eyes filled with unshed tears. “He stopped breathing a little bit after I got to him. There was so much blood…” he rubbed his hands, as though trying to scrub it off.
“Did he say anything?”
He swallowed and nodded his head multiple times. “Yeah, he kept sayin’ Duane over and over.”
“Duane?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you know anyone named Duane?”
Biting his lip, he shook his head. “No.”
I glanced at Mr. Yates. “Can we tell the police this?”
He looked down his scrunched-up nose at me. “What exactly will we tell them and what do you expect them to do about it? They have their suspect and they’re damn near close to their conviction. There’s nothing to tell.”
Bruce’s head jerked up in alarm.
“But…”
“Thank you for your persistence, but let it go.”
“But…” He was really going to ignore this?
Mr. Yates stood, his face hardening with his obvious dislike of me. “We are due back in court so that will be all, Ms. Gardner. Tell Mr. Deveraux I look forward to the use of his fifty-yard-line tickets to the Arkansas-LSU football game this October.”
“What?”
“That’s what he offered to set this up. I hope it was worth it. Most people would gladly give up their firstborn for those tickets.”
Mr. Yates pulled Bruce out his chair and toward the door in the back of the room. Bruce glanced over his shoulder, fear in his eyes.
I stumbled from the room and into the hall, trying to absorb everything I’d learned.
One, Mr. Yates didn’t want my help.
Two, Mr. Decker wanted my help but was afraid of Mr. Yates.
Three, I didn’t know much about football, but according to William Yates, Mason Deveraux just gave him coveted tickets as a favor to me.
Why on earth would he do that?
Chapter Twenty-Two
I knocked on Mason’s office door, wondering if he’d even be there. Bruce Decker and Mr. Yates were headed back to court, and I was sure that Mason would be too.
But he opened the door, a grim smile on his face, walking past me and calling over his shoulder, “How’d your meetin’ go?”
I hurried to catch up, falling in step beside him. “I’m not sure. I’m still tryin’ to figure that out.”
“That bad, huh?” He stopped and pushed the elevator button.
I ignored his question. “Why’d you give him your football tickets?”
His face paled and he shifted his weight. “How’d you find that out?”
“Mr. Yates.”
Mason clenched his jaw. “That damn son of a bitch.” Then he glanced down at me, his eyes widening in embarrassment. He sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Excuse my bad manners. Again. That was unconscionable.”
“I dislike him too.”
His hand dropped and he smirked. “Well, he doesn’t like either one of us, so it’s one big love fest.”
“You still didn’t answer my question.”
The elevator door opened and I followed him in.
He pushed the number three. “That’s hard to explain.”
“Lucky for you this is the slowest elevator in the world.”
He turned to me and grinned, the grin that lost his stuffy-pants attitude. He looked approachable like this. “I guess the best answer is there’s lots of reasons. I’ve been inconceivably rude to you. And I gave Skeeter Malcolm your name, putting you in danger. While you shouldn’t have been there in the first place,” he narrowed his eyes, “at least you were smart enough to use an alias and I blew it. And finally,” he paused, watching me for a minute. “You have made this boring, backward town more tolerable with your antics. It only seemed fair and reasonable to give you something in return.”
I put both hands on my hips. My antics? Who did Mason Van de Camp Deveraux III think he was? Indignation and anger prickled inside me. “Let me get this straight. You’re sayin’ that you helped me because I’m entertaining? Like a show?”
His eyes sank closed for a second, then opened. “That’s not what I meant.”
“And is that why you came last night instead of sendin’ someone else? Because I’m entertaining?”
The elevator doors opened and his face tightened in indecision. “I swear to you, that’s not what I meant and that’s not why I came instead of sending someone else.”
Bruce looked down, chewing on his pinkie fingernail. “There’s something else I never told anyone.”
Mr. Yates sat up straighter. “Why not?”
“Because it freaked me out and I tried to ignore it.”
“What happened?” I whispered.
His eyes looked wild and crazy. “After the other guy left, I walked over to Frank and his eyes were closed.”
That didn’t make sense. “But the pictures of him at the scene showed his eyes were open.” I’d never forget that blank stare.
“Yeah, they were in the picture.”
“But…how…?”
“After I walked over, his eyes popped open. Frank was still alive when I got to him.”
“And you’re just now telling me?” Bruce’s attorney bellowed.
Bruce shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “I was scared. And ashamed.”
“Why didn’t you call 911?” I asked, horrified.
“Because I wasn’t thinkin’ straight.” He looked up, his eyes filled with unshed tears. “He stopped breathing a little bit after I got to him. There was so much blood…” he rubbed his hands, as though trying to scrub it off.
“Did he say anything?”
He swallowed and nodded his head multiple times. “Yeah, he kept sayin’ Duane over and over.”
“Duane?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you know anyone named Duane?”
Biting his lip, he shook his head. “No.”
I glanced at Mr. Yates. “Can we tell the police this?”
He looked down his scrunched-up nose at me. “What exactly will we tell them and what do you expect them to do about it? They have their suspect and they’re damn near close to their conviction. There’s nothing to tell.”
Bruce’s head jerked up in alarm.
“But…”
“Thank you for your persistence, but let it go.”
“But…” He was really going to ignore this?
Mr. Yates stood, his face hardening with his obvious dislike of me. “We are due back in court so that will be all, Ms. Gardner. Tell Mr. Deveraux I look forward to the use of his fifty-yard-line tickets to the Arkansas-LSU football game this October.”
“What?”
“That’s what he offered to set this up. I hope it was worth it. Most people would gladly give up their firstborn for those tickets.”
Mr. Yates pulled Bruce out his chair and toward the door in the back of the room. Bruce glanced over his shoulder, fear in his eyes.
I stumbled from the room and into the hall, trying to absorb everything I’d learned.
One, Mr. Yates didn’t want my help.
Two, Mr. Decker wanted my help but was afraid of Mr. Yates.
Three, I didn’t know much about football, but according to William Yates, Mason Deveraux just gave him coveted tickets as a favor to me.
Why on earth would he do that?
Chapter Twenty-Two
I knocked on Mason’s office door, wondering if he’d even be there. Bruce Decker and Mr. Yates were headed back to court, and I was sure that Mason would be too.
But he opened the door, a grim smile on his face, walking past me and calling over his shoulder, “How’d your meetin’ go?”
I hurried to catch up, falling in step beside him. “I’m not sure. I’m still tryin’ to figure that out.”
“That bad, huh?” He stopped and pushed the elevator button.
I ignored his question. “Why’d you give him your football tickets?”
His face paled and he shifted his weight. “How’d you find that out?”
“Mr. Yates.”
Mason clenched his jaw. “That damn son of a bitch.” Then he glanced down at me, his eyes widening in embarrassment. He sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Excuse my bad manners. Again. That was unconscionable.”
“I dislike him too.”
His hand dropped and he smirked. “Well, he doesn’t like either one of us, so it’s one big love fest.”
“You still didn’t answer my question.”
The elevator door opened and I followed him in.
He pushed the number three. “That’s hard to explain.”
“Lucky for you this is the slowest elevator in the world.”
He turned to me and grinned, the grin that lost his stuffy-pants attitude. He looked approachable like this. “I guess the best answer is there’s lots of reasons. I’ve been inconceivably rude to you. And I gave Skeeter Malcolm your name, putting you in danger. While you shouldn’t have been there in the first place,” he narrowed his eyes, “at least you were smart enough to use an alias and I blew it. And finally,” he paused, watching me for a minute. “You have made this boring, backward town more tolerable with your antics. It only seemed fair and reasonable to give you something in return.”
I put both hands on my hips. My antics? Who did Mason Van de Camp Deveraux III think he was? Indignation and anger prickled inside me. “Let me get this straight. You’re sayin’ that you helped me because I’m entertaining? Like a show?”
His eyes sank closed for a second, then opened. “That’s not what I meant.”
“And is that why you came last night instead of sendin’ someone else? Because I’m entertaining?”
The elevator doors opened and his face tightened in indecision. “I swear to you, that’s not what I meant and that’s not why I came instead of sending someone else.”
