“I told you my husband hired a bodyguard to keep me under literal lock and key for the last year or so of our marriage.”
Ford nods his head.
“It went a bit deeper than that,” I continue. “He cut me off from the outside world in every way possible, including something as simple as getting my own mail.”
“Total domination,” he says.
I shake my head in agreement. “When my parents died, I expected the inheritance from my father. Of course, he knew about it and handled all of that. But the inheritance from my mother, that came separately – and it came six months after her death. He hired—”
“You never refer to your husband by name,” Ford interjects, as if the thought had just occurred to him.
“Preacher,” I breathe. “His name is Preacher Wells. Ironic, huh?”
“I’ll say,” Ford agrees, one silken eyebrow lifting north. “So you didn’t take his name when you all married?”
“I did. It’s still my legal name, but I go by Palmer after coming here. It seemed to fit, right from the start.”
“And it allows you to disappear.”
“That too,” I say. “At any rate, he had just hired a new housekeeper, who apparently didn’t get the memo that all mail – even those addressed to me – was to be put in my husband’s home office. So she brought it to me. I was shocked. Shocked not only to get mail, but shocked to get that particular piece of mail. It’s like the universe stepped in to make sure I received it. It explained my inheritance, and there was also a letter from my mother telling me to keep it to myself; that the property should never be sold. It is to be passed down to my children. There were also some other revelations; revelations about her that I never knew.”
“Like what?”
“Like the fact that my mother was adopted, and the name she went by wasn’t even her birth name. Apparently, this property belonged to my mother’s biological grandfather.”
“So your great-grandfather?”
“Yes. This was my mother’s hometown; where she came from. My mother’s mother was white, and her father was black. And at that time, of course, things like that weren’t acceptable around here.”
“Still isn’t,” Ford says, “only folks are less vocal about it now. But please, continue.”
“My mother was given up for adoption. She was adopted by a prominent, well-to-do black family in California.”
“About as far away as one can get from Chalice Bay, Alabama, huh?” Ford points out.
“Never thought about it that way, but that makes sense. My mother met my father when she was seventeen years old at a debutante ball. They married when she was eighteen.”
“And they had a good marriage?”
“I always thought so. But since I received my mother’s inheritance, I question that. I question everything about their life, and mine, as I knew it growing up. I married when I was twenty. Just like my mother, I was very young when I married, and had been very sheltered my entire life. One thing being kept under lock and key gave me, was time to think. And as I sifted through my mother’s things, I found more questions than answers. My mother wasn’t the kind of person to be overly joyed by anything. She just didn’t express emotion that well; good or bad. I just thought that’s the way she was. But the more I think about it, the more I think she was depressed. And knowing what I know now, she had a hell of a lot to be depressed about.”
“So that’s why you came here? To find more answers.”
“Partly. The other part is, I knew I already had a home here; at least a place I could call home until I figured out my next step.”
“And have you figured that out yet?”
Yip raises his head, as if he too is waiting for the answer.
“I fell in love ... wi—with the town,” I hastily add, should he misconstrue my message. But in that moment, I realize, I’ve fallen in love with Ford too. It doesn’t make sense. There is no rhyme or reason to it. It is way too soon. And I don’t really know him. But there it was. A simple fact. Love never waits for rhyme or reason, I think, remembering how hard and fast I fell for Preacher. But this is different. I am older, wiser. This love sits differently in my heart; in the pit of my stomach. It will remain my secret. Although I enjoy this newfound feeling, I realize I’m in no way ready to do anything about it.
“So you plan to stay?”
“I do,” I state, a certainty settling in my soul at the answer. The only way I will leave Chalice Bay is in a body bag.
“Have you found out anything about your mother’s people? You surely have some relatives around here.”
“Yes, I’ve started digging into the Secrets of Chalice Bay. But I’ve been doing it covertly because I haven’t wanted to call attention to myself. Besides, I need to figure out who I am before I go trying to figure out who my mother was, and why she was so secretive.”
“Insightful,” Ford notes.
I give him a rueful smile. “One thing I know is that secrets rarely serve victims; they almost always serve the oppressor. And, if you’re forced to keep a secret, it eats at you, which has shed some light on one piece of the puzzle of my mother’s life.”
“What piece is that?”
“My mother was always the nervous type. If she’d have grown up here, they might have referred to her as someone who always had the vapors. My father treated her like a fragile China doll. And I used to think it was kind of sweet. Now I know she most likely acted that way because the secrets of her past were gnawing at her.”
“Which makes you determined to learn more,” Ford says.
“It does. I know that Chalice Bay will give up her secrets when she’s ready; when I’m ready. I’ve had enough shocks in my life to last a lifetime. So to be perfectly honest, I’m in no hurry to go digging around. I’ve found a measure of peace here. I want to treasure it for a while longer; just be at one with what is for a while because I don’t know what I’m going to find once I really start digging. I’m willing to let sleeping dogs lie a little longer.”
“Makes sense.”
“You think so? You don’t think it’s weird that I’m not hankering to know all there is to know about my mother’s past?”
“Did you just say hankering? By golly, I think you’re growing into your roots lady.”
We both laugh at that, and settle back into listening to the duet of our rocking chairs. Yip’s snoring eventually joins the duet.
“I swear, this dog thinks it’s human,” I say, as he continues to snore.
“They are man’s best friend,” Ford laughs, looking over at the sleeping animal. “He’s a beaut; where’d you get him?”
“To be honest, I think I may be a thief. He just showed up one day and hasn’t left. I don’t know anything about dogs. Is that normal?”
“Dogs can sense kindness. He could have stayed because you fed him, because he was abandoned, or because he was unhappy with his previous family. Who knows. Maybe he sensed a need in you. Maybe he just wanted someone to love.”
“Don’t we all,” I say, looking tenderly at the snoring Shepherd. “Don’t we all,” I repeat, continuing to rock.
Chapter 14
Taz
“Did you really think I wouldn’t find you?”
The brush in my hand clatters to the floor as my eyes connect with the man in the doorway behind me. I swivel around to face him.
“Part of me always knew you would,” I reply, my eyes darting, measuring, wondering if I could make it past him and to the shotgun I keep beside the front door.
He holds up one hand and drops three red shells on the quilt of my bed. “You’d never make it, and even if you did, it’s empty,” he says, reading me like an open book.
He’d always had an uncanny ability to do that. But maybe it wasn’t so uncanny, as he’d planted every thought I should have. He’d written the outline of my life into a full-fledged book. Only, my story is no longer his. It is mine. And that is the only advantage I have.
“How long have you known
where I was?”
“About a week,” he states, advancing further into my rustic little bedroom. It is nothing like the luxurious suite back in the townhouse in New York. And that makes me love it all the more.
“Obviously, you haven’t missed me if it took you a week to come get me,” I say, my hands grasping the edge of the dresser behind me.
“Glad to hear you accept that you’re coming back home – where you belong,” he says, stopping in front of me.
“I didn’t say that.”
I didn’t see the backhand coming, but I do taste the blood it causes to ooze from my bottom lip. I swallow a chasm of pain, realizing how much a slap actually hurts. I haven’t been abused in eight months. It is amazing how the body adjusts to pain, because I don’t remember a slap hurting this bad.
“Shall we take our leave, darling?”
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” I defy, wondering where my courage is coming from, for I am terrified. And that’s what always led to my surrender.
He grabs a fistful of my hair, which I’d slicked back into a low ponytail. My neck is bared, as if it is about to be slit. For some reason, Henry VIII’s second wife, Anne Boleyn, comes to mind. I wonder if she felt the way I feel now, knowing she was about to be beheaded.
My ability to laugh in any situation rears its ugly head. It’s an inopportune time.
It’s the last thing I remember that night.
Chapter 15
Ford
A black western-style shirt. My best pair of jeans. My favorite black cowboy boots and a turquoise lariat rimmed with silver that acted as a necktie completed my Valentine’s dance outfit.
It has been a while since I’ve been excited about picking up a woman. I took the time to make ‘The Duke’ – my truck – spotless inside and out. I even bought a pink corsage on the advice of Luther.
“Ladies like flowers. You gotta get her some flowers. A nice little corsage will make her feel real special.”
I have to admit, it hadn’t occurred to me. I know how to treat a woman, of course, but it’s been some years since I bought a corsage. But Luther had been adamant, and I’d noticed the bulk of yellow fabric leaning against a corner in her kitchen. It had pink, red, and purple flowers on it. So I know she likes flowers. As Luther said, ‘What woman didn’t?’
I remember my sister, Erica and her love of wildflowers. Yep, ladies loved flowers. By the time I pull up to her place, I’m glad I took Luther’s advice. Anything to see her smile.
Immediately on hopping out of the truck, I know something is wrong. The feeling hits me like a Mack truck.
First, there is no Yip running to greet me.
Then, there is the stillness about the place. Too still.
Then, she isn’t at the door. One thing I’d noticed about Taz is that she always greeted me at the door, offering to get me a drink of something: beer, water, coffee.
None of this happens.
I tamp down my fear, but take the five steps up to her porch two at a time.
I knock.
No answer.
I go around to the back and peer into her kitchen window. I spot Yip in the middle of the floor, blood pooled around him.
Chapter 16
Ford
It seems like the whole town of Chalice Bay has been turned into a command center in under an hour. Road blocks are set up, a notice makes the evening news, and the annual Valentine’s Day dance is all but forgotten.
“I guarantee you she’s not in this town,” I say to the sheriff. “We’re wasting our time looking around here. We need to cast a wider net.”
“I only have jurisdiction here, Ford,” the sheriff explains.
“I know, but you know every law enforcement officer for a couple of hundred miles around. Call them. Get notices out. Hell, do your damn job!” I command.
“I know you’re upset, Ford. But if she’s still in these parts, we’ll find her.”
“But will we find her before it’s too late. He’s a diabolical motherfucker sheriff. He’ll kill her if she defies him.”
“And you think she would?” the sheriff asks.
“I don’t know. All I know is she was determined to stay here in Chalice Bay. And her stubbornness just may be what gets her killed.”
“Never understood men like that. Abusing a woman ... what kind of man does that? You have to be sick in the head to—”
“That’s the key,” I say to no one in particular.
“What are you talking about?” the sheriff asks. “What’s the key? The key to what?”
“Takes one to know one,” I say to myself. “Keep doing what you’re doing sheriff. I’ll be back in a few hours. And call me if there’s any word ... any word at all.”
“Where are you going, Ford? Don’t you go off and do something stupid. I’d hate to have to arrest ya. You won’t get off easy like you did the last time when you almost killed your—”
“Trust me,” I say, practically running to my truck.
“Sister’s husband,” the sheriff finishes. “Dammit I hope he heard me. The last thing I need is to arrest the town’s military hero for murder.”
Chapter 17
Ford
“Where would he take her? What would he do to her?” Will he—”
“After all these years, I can’t believe you actually came. You finally made the three-hour drive; the drive that’s been too far for many years.”
“Cut the small talk, Ernie. You said you’re sorry for what you did to my sister. You want to make it right. Prove it. Where would he take her?” Ford asks of his dead sister’s husband. “Only a sick fuck like you would know what another sick fuck might be thinking; how his twisted brain works.”
“You’ve ignored me for years. Why should I help you, especially when you come in here talking to me like this?”
I swallow the anger that boils to gush out of me like hot lava from Mount Vesuvius. “I’m taking you at your word Ernie. You said you weren’t that man; that you were sorry for what you did to Erica. All I’m asking is for you to give me some insight into where he might take her; what his next move is.”
Ernie crosses his weight-lifting swollen arms; his silver-white eyes narrowing to slits. They remind me of snake eyes – cold and lifeless. But there must be some good in him, because my baby sister had loved him. I hang onto that to keep myself from tearing through the glass that separates us, ripping his esophagus from his neck, and feeding it to him.
“He’ll take her some place where he can have some privacy. He won’t take her any place she’s familiar with. Not yet.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Because that would give her an advantage. He has to break her first; get her back under his control. That way, when he takes her back to familiar surroundings – like their home – she’ll be the compliant wife again. And, nothing anyone can do will make her leave him again.”
“So not back to New York?”
“Definitely not. For one, it’s too far. He’s itching to get that control back. If I had to guess, I’d say he’s within a two or three hour radius from where he took her. It’ll be luxury, cuz that’s what he’s used to based on what you’ve said about him. It’s the control thing again. It’s always about control. He has to have something familiar. So I’d guess some kind of fancy resort, lodge, hotel, rented cabin, something like that.”
“That narrows it down.”
“Yeah, not like areas around the Bay are teeming with places like that.”
“Thanks,” I manage, relief flooding through me now that I felt like I had some viable options to work with, instead of waiting around and hoping something comes in.
I stand up to leave.
Ernie knocks on the glass.
I put the phone back to my ear.
“If she resists him for too long, he’ll kill her. He won’t want to, but once he feels the power is gone; that he can’t get her back under his control, he’ll kill her,” he says, his gaze refusing to let mine leave
his.
And for a fleeting second, I saw what Erica must have seen in him: empathy, love, loss, sorrow, compassion.
“You better get going. If she’s coming into her own as a person, and he sees that, you ain’t got much time,” Ernie finishes chillingly.
Chapter 18
Taz
I awake to the sun shining through a window, directly into my face. I open my eyes; correction: my eye. I immediately close it because the glare of the sun sends pain shooting through my head.
“Where am I? What—” I spot the figure sitting in a chair in the corner of the room, staring at me. I fight the urge to vomit out of sheer fear and pain.
I lay my head back against the pillow and stare at the ceiling, hating myself for the fear that claws at my insides. All of my bravado goes out the window when I look at him. I know without a doubt that if I, by some miracle, manage to escape him again, I would run – again.
I am different on the inside, but I dare not let it show. The only part that will save me now is turning back into the woman-child he knew. The new me that has yet to fully form – I tuck her back safely into the recesses of my mind. One day, if I live, she can come out again. But not today. Not now. It’s too dangerous.
“I need to use the bathroom,” I say, not recognizing the sound of my voice.
“It’s through there,” he says. “And it’s windowless, so you can take your time,” he smiles.
As I throw back the covers, I realize I’m naked. I suck in a breath. Dear god, no! Not that. Please, not that.
“Your virtue is safe,” Preacher says. “I don’t want what another man has had; not yet anyway. I’ll decide when it’s time for you to properly become mine again.”
I stifle a sigh of relief. “Take a bath while you’re in there. Breakfast will be waiting when you come out.”
“PUT THESE ON,” PREACHER instructs, indicating a pair of Chanel sunglasses on the breakfast table in the over-sized suite. It seems to be some kind of luxury lodge we are in. “It will help with the light, and with ...” he lets his voice trail off, indicating the purplish-blue blob that is my right eye.
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