Where There's Smoke

She was inordinately tired this evening. Her angry exchange with Key had sapped her energy. That, coupled with their conversation about Clark Junior, had taxed her mentally, emotionally, and physically. Even though he’d been dead more than two decades, thinking about her late husband always left her feeling resentful and depressed.

Immediately following her huffy departure from the dining room, she’d retired to her room to watch television and had barely managed to remain awake for the ten o’clock news. In fact she was in bed, propped against the pillows, dozing, when the story about Letty Leonard awakened her.

Instantly alert, she used the remote control to increase the volume on the set. It wasn’t a lengthy story. The only visual was a snapshot of the child and a floppy-eared dog sitting in front of a Christmas tree surrounded by heaps of unwrapped presents.

The anchorman solemnly reminded his viewing audience of the tragic accident that had recently occurred in Eden Pass and of the highly specialized surgery that had temporarily saved Letty’s life. Her sudden death had been caused by an embolism that had dislodged and moved to her lung. It had come as a shock to the attending physicians, as well as to her family, who had believed she was on her way to a full recovery. The story consumed no more than twenty seconds of air time.

Jody muted the sound, threw off the covers, and got out of bed. Then she lit a cigarette, and as she drew the smoke deeply into her lungs and exhaled slowly she began to pace.

The news story hadn’t mentioned Dr. Lara Mallory or Key. As far as the general public was concerned, their joint involvement was inconsequential. But it was like a pebble in Jody’s shoe, an aggravation she was unable to live with.

Dammit, she’d told Key to keep his distance from that woman. Not only had he disobeyed, he’d helped the doctor rescue a dying child. Jody couldn’t sit by and let Lara Porter become a local heroine.

But would she be considered a heroine now that the child had died? Exactly what was an embolism? What might have caused it? What could have prevented it? She didn’t know, but she would damn sure find out if Lara Mallory Porter was in any way responsible for the girl’s death.

She was still mulling over her strategy when Janellen came in to say good night. She didn’t return Janellen’s embrace. She’d never been comfortable with outward displays of affection, even token ones, and considered sentiment a waste of time.

It was foolish to cling to memories like the six dozen yellow roses Clark Junior had brought her the day Clark the Third was born. Her memory of them should have withered and died just as the petals had. Why didn’t she forget them? What good had they done her?

“Good night, Mama. Try to get some rest. Don’t get up again and don’t smoke any more tonight. It’s not good for you.”

As soon as she was alone, Jody lit another cigare

tte. Having one in her hand enabled her to think better. She often lay awake for hours, smoking in the darkness. What Janellen didn’t know, she couldn’t hound her about.

Janellen. What was going on with her daughter? she wondered. She seemed to be distracted these days, often staring into space for long stretches of time, a goosey expression on her face. At other times, she became upset over the least little thing. Small hazards that wouldn’t have ruffled her before now sent her into conniptions. She wasn’t acting like herself at all. It was probably something hormonal.

But Jody couldn’t waste worries on her daughter when fretting over Key was her full-time preoccupation. He was impossible and had been since birth, even before birth if you counted the twenty-six hours of difficult labor he’d put her through. Twenty-six long, agonizing hours that she’d endured alone because Clark Junior couldn’t be located.

Key was born the moment his father, reeking of another woman’s perfume, arrived at the hospital. That’s when her difficulties with Key had begun. She was mad at him before he had drawn his first breath, and even as a newborn he had sensed it. Their dislike for each other had intensified during his childhood when it seemed that he was incapable of staying out of mischief.

She had wanted him to be a replica of Clark the Third, but two boys couldn’t have been more dissimilar. Everything Clark did was motivated by an anxious desire to please her. Her approval was essential to his peace of mind. He was disconsolate if he thought he’d fallen out of favor.

Just as fervently as his brother tried to please, Key tried to provoke. Whatever Jody wanted or expected of him, he was bound and determined to do the opposite. He delighted in her disfavor; he nurtured it. She’d wondered many times if he had driven his car into that tree out of spite, just so he couldn’t fulfill her dream of having him play professional football. He was hardheaded enough to risk his life rather than bow to her wishes.

She was secretly proud of his success, but acknowledging it would be tantamount to conceding that he’d made a better life for himself than she could have made for him.

One of the reasons he loved his work so much was because it kept him away from home. Although they’d denied it, she knew Janellen had called him home to watch her die. She resented that. If he didn’t give a damn, he didn’t give a damn. Never had, never would. It was that simple. Why pretend their relationship was something it wasn’t? He and Janellen thought her death was imminent. She could see it in their eyes. They had another think coming!

She chuckled in the darkness, coughing on cigarette smoke. Wouldn’t her immortality come as a nasty shock to them? She’d made a career of taking people by surprise. It didn’t pay to be caught napping around Jody Tackett. They could ask Fergus Winston if they didn’t believe it.

Again Jody laughed, and again she coughed, harder, reminding herself that where her mortality was concerned, she might not have a choice.

Frowning, she viciously cursed fate. She wasn’t ready to die. She had things left to do, the main one being to drum that Porter bitch out of Eden Pass. Clark must have been out of his head or under the influence of some mind-altering substance to have purchased Doc Patton’s clinic and then deed it to her. What had he been thinking, for chrissake?

More than Janellen and Key guessed, as long as Lara Mallory Porter remained in Eden Pass, she posed a serious threat to them and to all they held sacred.

Jody hadn’t yet figured out the doctor’s reason for moving here. However, she knew with the same certainty that the sun rose in the east that it was for more than to accept Clark’s legacy. Unless she wanted something more, she would have turned that clinic for a quick profit and never set foot in Tackett territory. She was here for a reason. Jody dreaded learning what it was, but must before either she or one of her children walked into a trap laid by Lara Porter.

She, Jody Tackett, had come from poverty and married the richest man around. She hadn’t remained at the helm of an independent oil company for years, hadn’t become a woman to be feared and revered, by sitting on her ass trying to figure out other people’s motives. She acted first, before they were given a chance. A rattler struck before he was stepped on.

Jody remained awake for a long time, smoking and plotting. By the time she’d smoked her last cigarette down to the filter, she had formulated her next move.

Darcy lowered her car windows. The wind punished her hairdo, but it would blow away the odor of tobacco smoke that she’d absorbed in the bar. That might make Fergus suspicious. Smoking wasn’t allowed in the nursing home where her mother resided. Visits to the expensive facility provided her excellent excuses to go out at night. She’d been going out more frequently than usual because her ego needed boosting. Thanks to Mr. Key Tackett, her self-esteem was shaky.

Knowing that she’d been dumped gnawed at Darcy, eating away at her self-confidence like a vicious rat. That’s why she wasn’t having any fun lately. She couldn’t concentrate on any other man and wouldn’t until she’d repaid Key for slinging this shit on her.

She hadn’t even had the satisfaction of showing him how little she cared. Oddly, he hadn’t been hanging out at the popular watering holes. The word around town was that he was flying a lot, chartering flights for clients from Dallas to Little Rock and as far south as Corpus Christi. But he couldn’t be flying all night every night. Where was he going in between jobs? How was he spending his free time?