“Yeah, that’s what I said,” I admitted with reluctance.
Regina reached across the couch and pulled my face toward hers. “Not so easy when you are the one with the blisters and aching back, is it?”
I wiped a stray tear from my face and felt the flush in my cheeks. “No, it isn’t. I mean, Jack broke the vows of our love, but so did I. And I held a dark secret from him for much longer than he did from me. Now, he’s gone. I can’t look him in the eye and confess my sins to him. I can’t tell him how sorry I am for what happened. He isn’t here for me to tell him that not only do I forgive him but, most importantly, I hope he forgives me. My words, my choices, my decisions. They ruined so much. And I can’t tell the man God gave to me how ashamed I am for everything. How pathetic and weak I feel for letting him hold on to the false hope of children and all the money we wasted trying to get pregnant. For nothing. I can’t throw myself at the mercy of his love and hope he grants forgiveness, because he isn’t here to give it.”
Regina looked at me for a full minute before she responded. “Could you please tell me what happened to my best friend Melody?”
“What?”
“The Melody I know wouldn’t be spouting that bogus crap. She would know, right away, that all this negativity is coming straight from the bowels of Hell itself. She would also know that it isn’t her Meemaw’s voice she’s hearing inside her head, filling her up with lies. That’s coming out of the mouth of Satan himself. She would understand that her weaknesses are being exploited, her sadness trumping and blocking out God’s love. She would believe that her husband is in Heaven and can see and hear everything that is going on down here, and that he forgives her. And she would also believe that the ultimate forgiveness we humans can obtain is from God, not man.”
Taken aback, I felt a twinge of anger seep through my sadness. “Are you mocking my pain?”
“Of course I’m not. I’m commenting on the fact that the Melody I leaned on during my emotional breakdown didn’t let me stay in my guilt and sadness. She told me to give my pain over to the Lord and let Him handle it. And I distinctly remember her telling me that, as a believer, we are to rejoice when the sun shines on us and when it rains. Both are necessary for life.”
“I know that here,” I said, pointing to my head, “but my heart doesn’t. At least not yet. The eighteen inches between the two seems like light years.”
“You are being way too hard on yourself. And you are letting your sorrow cloud your vision. You aren’t just Jack’s wife. Or my best friend. Or the only child of your mom and dad. Or the woman who keeps the offices of Stanek, Overton and Smith running smoothly. Remember who you told me I was when I was full of doubt and pain?”
“Yes,” I sniffled.
“A child of the King, that’s what you told me. That I was a child of the King. And I know you weren’t lying to me or blowing smoke in my face, which means you are a child of the King, Melody. And so was Jack. Regardless of the mistakes made here on earth by the two of you, or anyone who believes for that matter, the debt was paid over two thousand years ago, remember? Nothing, not even death, can take that away from either of you.”
“I know. I just, oh I miss him so much. And I can’t spend the rest of my life being coddled by my friends and family. I mean, I can’t even go into our bedroom without falling apart. I can’t sleep unless I am holding something that still smells like him. And I can’t shake the voices in my head that keep telling me I failed him. That it’s my fault he’s gone. My fault he strayed. I know I need to be strong and lean on the Lord, but sometimes, it just seems easier to give up.”
“Give up? Again, I ask you, where is my friend Melody? You don’t give up. Never have. Why, Simba is living proof of that! Anyone else would have put the poor thing down, but not you. You wouldn’t give up hope that she still had a fighting chance. And me? Well, my sobriety is proof of your tenacity, too. How many trips to rehab did you encourage me to make before I kicked my little addiction? Everyone, including my doctors, told you to stop trying, that I was a lost cause. That I was nothing more than a hopeless addict who would never make it and someday die from an overdose. Yet, you didn’t. You stood by me and showed me the way, Melody. When no one else cared and the world was ready to toss me aside, you stood firm. How many nights did you pray with me? Read me scripture? Share your love of Jesus with me, and His love for us?”
She squeezed my hands. “You are the strongest person I know my friend. Even your own mother leaned on you when your dad was in the hospital. Why, she had you be the one to stay in the room with him after he was taken off life support because she couldn’t do it! Even your boss leaned on you when his wife was sick and dying. And, he trusted you enough to leave the day to day operations of his law practice in your hands while he took a sabbatical—after you’d been there less than a year. The Melody we all know and lean on may bend, but she doesn’t break. Just like your mom said, our Melody is kind of like a willow branch in the storm. That Melody is our earthly version of the Lord’s strength. A messenger of forgiveness and love, but also a warrior full of strength.”
I smiled at my best friend as fresh tears sprinted down my cheeks. “You know something? You are the most wonderful friend ever put on this earth. I love you.”
“Hey, I’m just passing along the advice that a friend gave me once. A really smart friend who never backed down from a challenge. A friend who was the champion for the underdogs of the world who wouldn’t turn tail and hide just because someone told her no or didn’t agree with her. You are the sort of friend who everyone, including yours truly, always came to when life’s problems seemed overwhelming and the advice given was full of hope and love. So, ready for my tip of the day?”
Smiling now, I said, “Hit me.”
“Buck up, suck it up, wipe those tears away, and let’s find Jack’s killer.”
We both laughed and I thought about all she had said. Her words made sense. If the situation had been reversed, they were almost verbatim what I would have said to comfort her. But my smile disappeared when the entire crux of the conversation seeped into my head. Her obvious slip made my stomach drop. “You mean Serena’s killer.”
“No, I mean Jack’s. If you are finished feeling sorry for yourself and listening to me pour out all that mushy goop, I have some more news to share from the ‘Justice for Jack’ site. I planned on telling you earlier but you wigged out on me and then sunk into a deep well of guilt. I’m hoping my little pep talk helped you climb out. If not, this little tidbit certainly will.”
My emotional state did a one-eighty, from abject sorrow to overwhelming dread. “Killer? What are you saying, Regina? Jack died from an allergic reaction to medication. How can that be construed as murder?”
“Let me show you.” Regina hopped off the couch and was across the floor in a flash, grabbing her laptop out of her bag and firing it up.
My heart felt like it was going to explode out of my chest. Murdered? Jack? In jail? How could that have happened?
My conversation with Kendal about Guy Powell drifted to mind. The crazed, drugged out ex-con with his long-seated grudge against Jack. Maybe he wasn’t an “ex-con” any longer. Was it possible that he had been inside the very same jail that Jack had been in? Did he orchestrate it that way? No, that wasn’t possible. Jack died from a shot of penicillin. That had nothing to do with Guy Powell, or anyone else for that matter. It was an accident. Even Jack didn’t know he was allergic to penicillin, so how would anyone else?
But was it possible that Guy had been following Jack and knew about his affair with Serena? Did he kill her and frame Jack and the reaction to the medication was just an added bonus, not part of his original plan? My mind spun as numerous, farfetched possibilities raced by.
Simba whined by the door. Funny, her bathroom breaks seemed to coincide with my need for nicotine. On shaking legs, I stood up and grabbed Regina by her elbow while she fiddled with her computer and ushered her, and Simba, ou
t the patio door. I snatched a smoke and the lighter off the table and sat down on the swing. Regina did the same while she waited for the page she was looking for to load.
“Look, see? This entry right here. No way is it a ‘coincidence.’ No way in hell.”
I blew out a plume of smoke and squinted at the screen. The words sent a chill of fear through me.
“Anyone remember Bill Witham? You know, the basketball player? My cousin knows him. Played on the same team. And he said Bill used to date Serena Rowland back in high school. Said Bill was tore up when she dumped him after his accident. He sort of fell off the radar for a few years, but my cousin ran into him a few months ago at a gas station in Markham.
"Guess where he was going all dressed up in his uniform? He was headed to work and get this: As a jailer at Pulaski County Detention Center. Doesn’t anyone think that’s an odd coincidence? The murder victim’s ex happens to work where the accused killer is locked up? Something stinks in Denmark. Stinks bad. I know that was months ago and he may not work there anymore, so does anyone here know someone who works at the jail? Maybe find out if he is still employed there? If he is, then that’s where the investigation needs to start.”
I took another swig and breathed out unsteadily, my hands shaking as I tried to make sense of this newest addition to my living nightmare. “I’m not sure there’s enough brain matter left in my head to grasp all this. I mean, I know someone else killed Serena. The question as to who that might be was possibly answered by Kendal last night. Makes sense. An old enemy from long ago comes back to seek revenge and make Jack pay. Maybe this Guy Powell character had been following Jack and discovered he was having an affair with Serena and decided to frame Jack. Okay, I can see that. And, if that’s way off base and it’s someone else with a grudge against Jack or maybe even Serena, I get that too. Now, we are going to throw in that Jack didn’t die from accidental allergic reaction and that someone killed him? Oh, dear Lord. I don’t know if I can handle anymore.”
“Mel, like I said earlier, the actions of others we can’t control. Someone decided to frame Jack for murder. And it looks like someone decided to end his life to keep him quiet. Silence his yelps of innocence. Or maybe he didn’t really die from an allergic reaction. If this post is right and this Bill Witham dude still works there, maybe he killed him some other way and the jail is covering it up? You know, to keep their image from being tarnished? Heaven knows the Pulaski County jail has suffered from major bad press for years now. Not only from overcrowding, shady employees, and staff and budget issues, either. Remember the uproar years ago when the jail wouldn’t accept any more inmates, so the cops just started chaining people to each other outside? That freak show made the national news! So, it seems much better to say ‘oops, an accident’ rather than ‘oh crap, we have a killer on staff’. I don’t know. Hell, maybe this Bill guy killed Serena? Maybe the torch for her never fully burned out and he was stalking her. It’s possible he found out about the affair and her pregnancy and then decided to kill her and make it look like Jack did. What I do know is I feel right here,” she said, pointing to her chest, “that something is very wrong with the entire picture.”
I felt it too. For the first time since Jack’s death, I felt the sensation of hope pound through my heart. Hope that his name would be cleared. Hope that the guilty stains of the past would be washed away. Hope that my last act of love for my husband would not just be to clear his name, but bring peace to us both for our mutual mistakes.
The sadness and despair vanished. I could almost feel my broken spirit mend back together. What replaced it now was raw determination to solve this convoluted puzzle. “Regina, when did you say this group is meeting at the capitol?”
“Friday at ten in the morning. Why…oh wait, are you…?” Regina’s eyes grew wide with excitement.
“Oh, you betcha I am. Do whatever voodoo you do on that thing and let the organizers know I plan on attending. If the police and Philip Rowland won’t listen to my lone voice, maybe a multitude will get their attention. I’m going to call Channel Eight and let Ms. Erin Corpian know I’m ready to talk to her. Wonder how long it will take to change that detective’s mind when the news airs a report on this?”
“Now that’s my girl!” Regina said, her fingers flying across the keyboard. “Justice for Jack!”
I closed my eyes and prayed, Yes, justice for Jack. Please, Lord. Grant justice for Jack.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - TUESDAY AFTERNOON
Craig Knowles tried to hide his impatience. He hated waiting. His ex-wives both told him on numerous occasions that he had the patience of a small child. He used to argue with his first wife, telling her he wasn’t impatient, just demanding. After their divorce and his remarriage to number two, he heard the same lectures almost verbatim and accepted the fact that it was just part of his personality. Unfortunately, wife number two did not accept it. The laundry list of reasons for filing for divorce was long, and one of the top five “flaws” she mentioned was his impatience.
In fact, he thought his childlike patience should be considered a good day. On one like today, when Craig hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours, the patience of a small child would have been an improvement.
For the last twenty minutes, he had forced his temper back and kept his mouth closed, except for an occasional slurp of water. He wanted to scream at the inept day manager but refrained from releasing his pent-up anger and giving him a piece of his mind. Since he wasn’t supposed to be working on the Rowland-Dickinson case, or any case for that matter, he decided not to bring any more attention to himself than necessary.
He sat inside a quaint booth inside The Duchess and played around with the few remaining ice cubes in his glass. It wasn’t even noon yet and the temperature outside was pushing one hundred, so he was glad that he was at least indoors while he waited. The place was empty at eleven in the morning; the rich young crowd that frequented the place wouldn’t start arriving until after five. By five thirty, The Duchess’ parking lot would be full of high-priced luxury cars driven by the young bucks in their three piece suits. Their quarry: the hot young females dressed to impress, looking for their next hook up with money.
Arriving at The Duchess earlier, he had maintained a low profile until the day manager poked his head out from his office. The last thing Craig needed would be to run into Philip Rowland, which was a distinct possibility since he owned the place. None of the other employees recognized him, which is exactly what he’d been hoping for. He had found a semi-comfortable booth in the bar and then called the main number, asking to speak to the manager on duty.
In hushed tones, he’d stressed the need for secrecy and the item he was requesting. He asked the manager to hurry and threw in the old “life or death” situation, hoping to speed things up. He grimaced at the realization that the ploy had not worked. The guy was as slow as molasses on a frozen morning.
He tried to ignore the questioning stare of the bartender from across the room. If the guy gave him one more odd look, he feared what he might do. He could see himself snapping and saying something that would give away the fact that he wasn’t just a patron. One quick flash of his badge and a few words to the nosy tool that he was an agent for the Alcohol Bureau Control, sent in to watch the place for underage alcohol sales, or planting his face on the bar if he didn’t plant his eyes elsewhere, would guarantee him better treatment—or at least stop him from being stared at like he was from another planet.
Distracting himself, he fiddled with his straw and thought about Jack’s widow. It took him a second to recall her first name was Melody, but he sure remembered everything else about her. She was a tall glass of water, probably about five foot ten without heels on. Curvy in all the right places like a woman should be. She had long copper hair and the greenest eyes he’d ever seen. When he first met her, he was so mesmerized by their bright color that he guessed they had to be contacts. They had peered at him during the meeting—waiting, watching. He
recalled he had felt almost like a mouse caught in a trap as the green-eyed hunter studied her prey. He’d felt the emotional weight behind them as she laid out the reasons why her husband wasn’t guilty of murder.
His pulse quickened at the memory. Even though he’d been drawn to her that day, it wasn’t only because of her looks. Yes, her features were pretty, but there was something else that made her irresistible, like a magnetic pull on his soul. Something he’d never experienced before. He couldn’t put his finger on it. He was attracted to her, but not only in a sexual way. He didn’t know what to make of the strange connection. Was it the undertone of strength and humility, mingled with intelligence and determination that drew him to her?
He’d pushed those sensations aside when she hit his ego hard as she presented her facts. Facts that he should have caught from the beginning when he was assigned the case, but didn’t. For a split second, he’d felt like he was a cadet at the academy and the instructor ripped his final to shreds in front of the entire class.
He’d been proven wrong not only by Melody’s gut instincts and undeniable love for her husband, but science as well. He couldn’t ignore the hard gut kicks any longer or deny that truth. He’d arrested an innocent man and set in motion a chain of events that would leave Melody a widow.
And a killer still on the loose in Little Rock.
He planned on contacting Melody later in the evening. He wanted to get the information he was impatiently waiting for first. He didn’t want to show up on her doorstep without a peace offering, preferably in the form of solid proof that not only was she right, but he was working on solving the case that had destroyed her life and ended Jack’s.
He owed her that.
His patience long gone, Craig felt some tension in his neck release when he saw the manager walk through the glass doors, his name tag announcing he was Dejawn Jones – Asst. Manager.
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