What Doesn't Kill Us--A McKenzie Novel by David Housewright (most read books txt) 📗

afterward they drove Gerald’s car to a marina they knew on Lake Superior not all that far from where they lived and after that everyone pretended that nothing happened. Except that it did happen and even though Jenna and her cousin are the only ones alive who know what happened, not her brothers and certainly not her daughter, and they don’t ever talk about it to anyone much less to each other, it’s haunted Jenna every day of her life which is why she sometimes suffers from depression, why sometimes she does drugs. ’Course, what do I know?”

Marshall finished his drink while Shipman watched.

“You told all of this to McKenzie?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“What did he say?”

“He said he liked the first theory best—that Gerald King ran away from home, adding that he did it because he knew sooner or later people were going to find out about what he was doing to his female employees. He said if anyone asked, that’s the story he’d go with.”

“Anything else?”

“He also apologized. He said he was sorry for imposing on me and my family and he was sorry for dredging up an uncomfortable chapter in our lives but it didn’t change anything as far as he was concerned. He was still going to help Charles.”

“Then what?”

“He shook my hand and left.”

“Did he tell you that Jenna had delivered a message before you called him?”

“No.”

“Or what it said?”

“No.”

“Or that he was going to RT’s Basement?”

“I didn’t know anything about that until I read it in the paper.”

Shipman had a few choice words for me at that point, only she didn’t speak them out loud.

“Do you know where I can find Jenna King?” she asked instead.

“Why? So you can accuse her of murdering her father?”

“So I can find out what happened to McKenzie. Mr. Sohm, the killing that may or may not have occurred in Minneapolis twenty-one years ago—that’s not my case; that’s not my jurisdiction.”

The answer seemed to satisfy Marshall.

“She has a small house in St. Paul,” he said.

NINETEEN

Jenna King was sitting in a stuffed chair in her living room and staring at nothing while she contemplated the universe and her place in it. It was not a happy place, she told me later.

She heard her front doorbell and decided to ignore it. The chimes were replaced by a hard knocking. She decided to ignore that, too. Only the knocking became incessant. She leapt angrily from the chair and crossed the room to the hallway. She disregarded the spy hole and instead just yanked the heavy door open. Jenna didn’t even look to see who was standing behind it before she shouted, “What do you want?”

Jamal Brown was standing on her long porch. He smiled at her.

“Baby, you okay?” he asked. “You sound stressed.”

Jenna attempted to shut the door but Jamal used his foot and a shoulder to keep it open.

“What’s wrong, baby?” he asked.

“I told you that I didn’t want to see you again.”

“I know you were upset about the other night, saying things you didn’t mean.”

“I meant what I said.”

Jenna tried to push the door closed again to no avail.

“Baby, let me in,” Jamal said. “You know I have what you need.”

Jenna kept pushing the door. Jamal pushed back. After a few seconds, Jenna gave up. Jamal entered the small house and quickly closed the door behind him. He tried to embrace the woman; called her “baby” again. Jenna shrugged his arms away and stepped deeper into her living room. Jamal followed her. He had always liked her house; ninety years old in the heart of Summit Hill as close to the James J. Hill House as it was to the Minnesota governor’s residence—hardwood floors, built-in cabinets, ceramic tiles, glass knobs, coved ceilings, fireplace, porch. He had even entertained the idea of living there; brought it up to Jenna during one of their late-night sessions. She wouldn’t even consider the possibility.

“My daughter lives here,” Jenna said.

When she turned to face him, Jamal was right there, close enough to rest his hands on the woman’s shoulders.

Again, Jenna pushed him away.

“Please don’t,” she said.

“Baby, I know we can get past this.”

“Stop calling me baby. I’m not your baby.”

“You’ll always be my baby, Jen.” Jamal stepped closer again. Jenna moved away. “C’mon now, don’t be like that.”

“You shot him. You shot McKenzie.”

“I did it for you.”

“For me? How is this for me?”

“You said you didn’t want him prying into your past,” Jamal said. “So I stopped him.”

“No, no, no, God. That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

Again Jamal tried to embrace the woman.

“Stop it,” Jenna said.

“Baby, what’s done is done. It’s time for us to move on. Time for us to have the life we talked about.”

“What life? You’re my fucking drug dealer.”

Jamal didn’t like being called that and had to work hard to keep his voice low and relaxed.

“Hey, hey, hey, you know I’m much more to you than just that,” he said.

Jenna covered her face with both hands and turned toward the fireplace; her back to Jamal.

“You’re not, you’re not, you’re not,” she chanted.

“You know we belong together.”

Jenna refused to respond.

“I get that you’re upset about this guy, this McKenzie that you’ve never even met before. Only you don’t need to worry ’bout him no more. We can go back to the way things were between us. Tell me that this doesn’t change anything between us.”

“It changes everything.”

“Don’t say that. Jenna? Jenna, look at me.”

“No.”

“Think about it, Jenna,” Jamal said. “If you think about it, you’ll see that you’re as guilty about what happened to McKenzie as I am. You’re the one who delivered the message. Even used your niece’s name cuz you panicked when they asked you for yours.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Jenna finally turned to look at him. “I know what I did. Why do you think I feel so—to talk, you said. We’ll check him out, you said. Find out if he’s legit, you said. Bring McKenzie to RT’s Basement, a place I had never even