Free Tin God by Stacy Green Page A

Showed up to clean, found Rebecca dead.”
    “Damn.”
    “She’s pretty shaken up.” Cage made a right, veering away from downtown and into the thick hickory trees. The cemetery was this way. Lana’s final resting place.
    “I remember her,” Nick said. “She was Lana’s maid of honor. Came to stay with her for a while the winter before we got married. Always got the sense something bad had happened to her.”
    Cage’s eyes never left the road, but his grip on the steering wheel tightened. “That was a bad time for Jaymee. Don’t bring it up.”
    Nick’s instincts flared. Cage had a soft spot for Jaymee. Maybe more than that. “No problem. So she’s got information? Why’d she call you?”
    “We’re…old friends.” Nick caught the uneasiness in Cage’s words.
    “I see. Good old friends, no doubt.”
    Cage’s mouth twitched. “Something like that.”
    They drove onto a gravel road, and the throng of hickory trees thickened, live oaks adding to the canopy. With no streetlights to guide the way, the road was ominous. Nick couldn’t see the cemetery through the trees, but he knew Lana was there. They emerged into a circular clearing dimly lit with a couple of security lights, and about fifteen or twenty dilapidated mobile homes stretched out before them. Cage drove toward the end of the lot, finally parking in front of an old trailer. Instead of a porch light, a simmering bug zapper lit up the entrance.
    Cage stepped out of the cruiser, pushed his wavy, dark brown hair off his forehead, and wiped the beads of sweat off his brow. He chewed on his lower lip, gazing at the sorry-looking trailer with compassion. Despite his darker complexion, he looked so much like Lana at that moment, Nick had to turn away.
    “This is where she lives?” Nick forced himself to speak.
    “Home sweet home.” Cage led the way through the sparse grass. Dingy white on top and ugly, disco-gold on the bottom, Jaymee’s trailer looked like it had been sitting in the lot since the seventies. Two cracked concrete steps led to the front door, and wilted petunias clung to life in their wooden box beneath the window.
    “Let me do the talking,” Cage said. “She’s not going to be thrilled with a stranger showing up.”
    “I’m not exactly a stranger.” Nick stood at the base of the steps while Cage knocked on the cracked door.
    “Trust me. She’ll be pissed.”
    The door swung open, and a throaty female voice cut through the sweltering air. “Hey. Thanks for coming out here tonight.” Small arms slipped around Cage’s shoulders. Her bare fingernails were clipped short, her hands devoid of any jewelry. Her skin looked dry.
    The sound of her voice dredged a memory from Nick’s subconscious. Four years ago, in a darkened funeral home, Jaymee, dressed in black, standing before Lana’s white casket. She traced the pink silk lining, and then her hand came to rest on Lana’s stiff, clasped ones. “I’ll never forget what you did for me. And I promise I’ll keep going forward. For you, Lana Kay. For you.”
    Jaymee had turned to face him. Nick remembered the depths of pain in her hazel eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. He hadn’t seen her again.
    Now, standing on Jaymee’s cracked front steps, he forced down the sorrow as Cage removed the woman’s arms, squeezing her hands affectionately. “Listen, I’ve brought someone with me.”
    Jaymee pulled her hands away and pushed Cage aside. She was petite–nearly a head shorter than Cage’s six-foot frame–but her stature seemed larger than life as she honed in on Nick. He had only a second to appreciate her features: heart-shaped face; a slim, delicate nose; and round, wide eyes that flashed with the ferocity of a tiger.
    “Nick?” The anger in her gaze had faded into raw pain.
    Nick stepped forward, extending his hand. “Hi. Wasn’t sure if you’d remember me.”
    She shook his hand once with a tight, trembling grip. “I remember.” She turned back to Cage, her