The Cost of Betrayal

by Dee Henderson

  The four looked at each other, and Paul said, “That’s probably realistic, Janelle.”

  “I know you don’t agree with us,” Ann said, “but you do need to keep your distance from Tanya, a good distance.”

  “After what I said to her at breakfast, that’s not going to be a problem,” Janelle replied. “I killed the friendship in spectacular fashion. I’ll accept what you believe could be true and live accordingly.” She turned to Greg. “I’m going down to the beach.”

  “Take Marco with you,” he suggested.

  Janelle got to her feet and held out her hand. “Thank you, Ann. Paul. For bringing the tape, for everything. I’ll say goodbye for now, as I know you’re heading back tonight. Maybe next time we meet, it’s a more enjoyable occasion for me to simply cook you a good meal, and we won’t have a single case-related question to talk about.”

  Ann smiled. “A nice plan. Take care of yourself, Janelle.”

  Janelle headed out. Ann watched her go, then looked to her husband. “So Tanya gets away with it.”

  Paul pushed to his feet. “At least an innocent person is no longer sitting in prison. Let’s go home, Ann.”

  Greg tried to find some good news in how things had ended. “Janelle needed this, the look back at what happened. She’ll close the chapter more easily now, having been through the details in such an intense fashion. The grieving can begin—for all that she’s lost, for both Andrew and almost seven years of her life. Why don’t you two plan to come for an actual vacation weekend in February, let her fix you that dinner? I predict you’ll find her in a much more content state of mind by then.”

  “We’ll plan to do that,” Ann said with a smile. “Thanks, Greg.”

  “‘You do what is possible, you live with the rest,’” he replied, quoting her words back to her.

  sixteen

  GREG SETTLED BESIDE JANELLE on the sand after driving Ann and Paul back to the airfield. “A tough day.”

  “Another one of them,” she agreed, using a piece of driftwood to drag over more sand for the sandcastle she was building. It now had walls and towers and a bridge. He nudged one tower into a more uniform shape, and Janelle stuck a twig atop it. She gave him a brief glance. “Has anyone ever considered that it might have been Andrew who took my pocketknife out of my purse?”

  Greg studied her face. “Go on.”

  “He would use that pocketknife, since it was handy for all kinds of guy things—cutting cord, tightening screws, stripping twigs—it’s why I carried something that bulky around in my purse. It wasn’t for Tanya. I think Andrew took it out of my purse for something he was doing and then put it in his pocket. Then we have a fight, he’s pacing the beach, and like any guy he shoves his hands in his pockets, realizes he’s got the pocketknife, pulls it out, opens the blade, and starts flipping it into the sand, at pieces of driftwood—just to have something tangible in his hand as he paces. He still has the knife in his hand when he starts up those stairs.

  “It’s late. He’s distracted. The stairs are damp, and he’s in a hurry. He’s moving too fast and catches his foot on a tread, trips and tumbles all the way down. With the knife in his hand, somehow he stabs himself by accident. The knife ends up buried under brush as it flips away.

  “Tanya finds it, and it’s like the video. She doesn’t think I had anything to do with Andrew’s death, so the only thing she can really do to help me is to not give the cops evidence that makes me look guilty. So she doesn’t say there’s video of the fight. She doesn’t say she found my pocketknife and there’s dried blood on it. She’s a friend. Tanya tosses the knife in a drawer, the camera with its tape in a cabinet. She gives me a chance at the trial, and a chance to win an appeal. Her testimony hurt me, but she was trying her best to answer the questions without a lie and couldn’t avoid some of what she said when she got asked a direct question. She told what she understood to be the truth of the matter, what Andrew or I had said to her.”

  Greg had been a doctor too many years to get surprised at what had now surfaced in Janelle’s thoughts. “You think it was an accident?”

  “You get stabbed with a pink pocketknife, a wimpy blade—no self-respecting robber carries that knife. So I accept Ann’s conclusion it’s not a robbery. I know it wasn’t me. That video—Tanya was horrified with the way he broke up with me, was reaming him out, and that was authentic outrage in my friend’s voice. Tanya didn’t do this. It wasn’t me, a robber, or Tanya. So who’s left? Andrew. He had an accident. He fell, stabbed himself, and he died.”

  Greg considered that statement. “You could probably convince me. I’ve flipped a knife more than a few times myself at driftwood. But what’s left is someone took his wallet and phone.”

  “A passerby finds a dead man on a beach, takes his wallet and phone, and leaves it to someone else to report the body.” She said it as a casual, verbal shrug, yet he knew how deep those words went because it was Andrew.

  “You should have mentioned this possibility during the trial.”

  “It never dawned on me before today.” Janelle sighed and dug in to strengthen her sandcastle’s bridge. “The thing is, we’re never going to know the truth.”

  He let the silence linger for a long time. “You okay?”

  “I will be. After I sit here for about a zillion nights watching the stars come out as the sunset fades.”

  He smiled at her word choice. “My beach is your beach.”

  “Thanks. I’m going to stick around for a few months, if it’s all right with you. I’m going to need to talk with you.”

  He was glad to hear she would stay and let him help. “You spent six years in prison because either your best friend framed you or Andrew had an accident, which the cops misread as murder. We’ll be unpacking this one for a while,” he agreed.

  She nodded.

  He was relieved the day was ending with such a matter-of-fact tone. “You’ll get through this, Janelle. And while we do that work, you can keep me well supplied in pies—cherry, apple, and that coconut one was particularly good. Whatever suits your baking mood.”

  “I’m thinking something dark suits this day, like a good chocolate pie with whipped-cream clouds.”

  “In that case I should mention I brought ‘good chocolate’ back with me from New York.”

  “You did?”

  “I figured there would be a day it was desperately needed.”

  Greg reached for a conclusion for both of them. “Tanya is going to show her true colors with time. A dozen years or so from now, you and Ann will probably know which one of you was right. I predict you two will be friends at least that long.”

  Janelle smiled. “I hope so. I owe her, Greg. I didn’t kill Andrew, but the only person who believed that until Ann came along was God.”

  “God tends to be enough,” he replied, thinking back to his time in Pakistan. “You okay?”

  “Exhausted, but okay. I’ll sleep better tonight than I have, as the past is no longer a mystery. It’s one of two things, and I can live with that. I’m ready to close this chapter and move on.”

  “It gets smoother from here. There’s a grief wave still to come, but it will pass.”

  “A grief wave—you’ve got a weeping woman ahead of you. That must be very unappealing.”

  “A good doctor doesn’t mind tears,” he reassured. “Some people grieve by crying, while others experience a period of melancholy when life loses its color. Sometimes the grief turns into creative expression, like making art that memorializes the people of the past. Yours will find its own rhythm, I’m sure.”

  “In all of this I’ve been avoiding saying I truly loved Andrew, and he’s gone.”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  “The wrong way to handle it?”

  He shook his head. “The deepest loss needs its own space, and for you, Andrew is probably the last and deepest grief you will carry. He was the future you wanted, and instead he’s lost forever. You can’t recover him. Keeping a mental distance has
been a way to talk about him with Ann without shattering. That will shift now, and you’ll start to let him go.”

  “Like your wedding picture on the wall. What you miss from your past. But you’ve moved on.”

  “Like that,” Greg agreed. He had learned this island gave people time to find their balance, space to move on. It had offered him that too, and it would do the same for Janelle.

  Marco joined them, feet wet from dancing in the waves, threatening the sand creation she’d built. She hugged him with a laugh. “I’d like to watch the last movie on my top-ten list, then call it a night. Tomorrow the sun comes up on another day of freedom. For everything else this has been, nothing takes the pleasure away from the moment when the early-morning sun touches my pillow.”

  Greg obligingly rose and offered his hand. “Let’s go do exactly that.”

  Epilogue

  GREG ENJOYED BEING THE SILENT OWNER of Paradise of Pies, for the tables were filled with customers and there was a long line at the front counter. Today’s special was apple cheesecake. He greeted those he knew, took time to chat with the oldest island resident at one of the window tables, then slipped through the staff-only door. The kitchen countertop remained half filled with freshly made pies ready to feed the unending demand out front.

  Janelle was in the office, reading a book and waiting for him. On Monday and Friday, the offerings in the shop were her own creations. Janelle started making pies in the morning when it was still dark outside, stopping at eleven o’clock. And when they ran out, the shop sign turned to Closed. Islanders knew to arrive early. She shared the business with two other bakers, who each took two days of their own. As far as profitable businesses went, this one was a gem. Three ladies baked pies, two sales clerks sold them, and a young man looking to become a manager for Greg one day supervised cleaning the shop each evening and set up for the next morning’s baker.

  “I brought lunch.”

  Janelle looked up from her book to consider the sack he carried. “For South Carolina barbecue, I’ll pause before finishing the last chapter of this mystery. Have a good trip?”

  “The weather cooperated, even if the reason for going turned out to be an opportunity I declined. The food from Carl’s Bar-B-Q looks as good as you promised, and the line was as long as you warned. I ordered us both double slabs of ribs and also coleslaw. They foil-wrapped the ribs and ice-packed the slaw, assuring me it all would make it here in good shape. Marco’s already angling for a few bones.”

  Janelle grinned. “Let me heat those ribs and then we’ll go find a picnic table.”

  “Kevin’s holding the picnic table out back for us and keeping an eye on Marco.” His cousin’s son was in town for a few days, hoping to find a charter-boat captain willing to hire him for seasonal work. “They said fifteen minutes under the broiler in the foil packages and the ribs will be like they just came off the smoker.”

  “That’s easy enough.” She switched on an oven broiler, opened a cupboard for a tray, unpacked the bag he’d brought, and slid the barbecue packages in to reheat.

  Greg gave her a thoughtful study as she pulled out a stool, shook the ice off the slaw container, and opened it. She still looked sunburned, windburned, and happy from yesterday spent out on the water—a good combination on her.

  “Want an early taste?” she asked.

  “Sure.”

  She pulled open a drawer to get spoons and opened another cupboard for bowls.

  In the last seven months, Janelle had found her footing. She’d moved into an apartment in town, joined this pie endeavor, and become quite adept at the sport of fishing in her off hours. Her smile was the norm now. The bad nights, the lingering grief, were easing off.

  Greg accepted the bowl of coleslaw, took a first taste. “Okay, this is incredibly good,” he admitted. Though not normally a fan of coleslaw, it did make a perfect side dish for barbecue.

  She turned her attention to her bowl, spooned out another scoop. “I don’t think the coleslaw will last until the ribs are hot. They’re going to need the full fifteen minutes in the oven.”

  “It’s not the first reverse-order meal you and I have eaten. How many times have I started with pie?”

  Janelle laughed. “Very true.”

  Greg went over to explore the refrigerator, opened the caps on two cold root beers, passed her one, and considered the moment safe to tell her a piece of bad news. “Tanya has gotten herself into some trouble with a designer she dated. He says she took part of his upcoming show collection with her after he broke up with her. She says the dresses in her possession were gifts he gave her while they were dating. It’s heading to court.”

  It was the first time Tanya’s name had been mentioned in a while, and Janelle paused at the news, her smile fading. “I’m sorry for her—that he broke up with her as much as the dispute.”

  “Ann thought you’d want to know.”

  Janelle nodded. “I appreciate your passing it on.” She drank part of the soda, then mentioned, “If Tanya’s ex-boyfriend does take her to court, wins the case, and he’s still alive a year later, Ann should consider changing her opinion of Tanya.”

  Greg simply smiled. The two women’s agreement to disagree about Tanya still held. A wise outcome, he thought. It was likely going to take years for the truth about Tanya to become apparent, if it ever did. “It would still be best if you didn’t make contact, didn’t send sympathy flowers or a card.”

  “I’ve accepted that Tanya and I have permanently parted ways. It’s reality that most friendships turn out to have a life-span to them.”

  Janelle was no longer in touch with friends from before Andrew’s death. That was just one of many items she and Greg had discussed in prior months.

  Greg tipped his root-beer bottle her way. “While that may be true, I’m hoping ours manages to endure.”

  She locked eyes with him and smiled. “I do too.”

  While he’d made it a rule not to date clients, the day was soon coming when she wouldn’t need him in that capacity any longer. She wasn’t sure if the island was her temporary home or where she wanted to settle long term, but she’d make that decision in the coming months. She needed time. He knew her heart was still letting go of Andrew. She’d been politely dismissing interest from some of the nicer single guys on the island. But she suited him personally. Falsely accused prison time changed perspectives on life in ways it was hard to explain, and that was a big rock to have in common. It created an appreciation of freedom, a contentment to simply enjoy life, a willingness to let go of what would otherwise turn a person bitter. Janelle instinctively understood that and shared those traits with him. And there were numerous small things they treasured in common: a love affair with good food, comfortable chairs and conversation, a preference for doors to remain open, an enjoyment of silence, the delight in a simple glass of ice water, all the way down to an intense dislike for the sound of metal on metal. Janelle thought like him and reacted like him in important ways that no one else had done in over a decade. It made for a vibrant relationship. And he wanted to know where that relationship might lead one day. If she was still on the island a year from now, he planned to ask her out on a real date, see what kind of reply he got. Greg eyed the oven. Those ribs smelled really good.

  “Friends tell each other to be patient,” she said.

  He grinned—she wasn’t going to last the full fifteen minutes either. “We should choose our pie before the best ones are gone.”

  “You’ll want the key lime pie.” She nodded to the second refrigerator. “Middle shelf.”

  He found it, cut two thick wedges, and slid over a pie plate. “Dessert course next. It’s best served cold.” He pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket, unfolded it, and pushed it her way. “Not that you need pie before you read it, but another offer came in if you’d like to tell your story in book form. I’m dutifully passing it along.” Ann routinely fielded such inquiries directed to Janelle.

  She looked at the fi
gure and the offering publisher, balled it up for the trash. “Still not interested.”

  He wasn’t surprised, yet it was useful to see. She’d moved on. The significant shift that always came for a client had settled in for Janelle. She didn’t see herself as primarily connected to the past. She now saw herself as connected to the present. She was sleeping soundly, handling relationships, enjoying work, and getting restless when bored. His work was about done.

  “Let’s go riding this afternoon,” she suggested.

  “Sure.” He kept Monday afternoons and Tuesday mornings open for whatever she wanted to do. They’d probably talk more about the scenery than they would about subjects from her past, which worked for him. It was conversations about the future that were the last part of the puzzle, and those were still a ways off, he thought, for they would come from her own dreams as she caught up with life again and allowed herself to look forward.

  She finished her pie, put together picnic plates and silverware, added a roll of paper towels to the basket, then reached for hot pads. “Those ribs smell wonderful—I’m declaring the main course ready to eat. If you’ll carry the basket and hold the back door, I’ll bring the tray.”

  Greg nodded as he swallowed the last of his pie. They headed out toward the picnic table behind the shop. Kevin was eagerly waiting, as was Marco. Janelle opened the foil packages and began dishing out the ribs.

  The entire year could repeat this kind of day and that would be fine with him. Contentment in life was vastly underrated. He’d found it, and so had Janelle. And if it took life’s quirks to bring it about, like a pink pocketknife being bought at auction, and curiosity on the part of the buyer, life was also showing the reality that it was watched over by God. Even impossible situations could change. He’d tasted that in his lifetime, and so had she.