“Fred.” Jesse’s voice was gentle but disapproving. “He’s changed a lot since the old days. Leigh wouldn’t have taken him back if he hadn’t.”
“Hmp. You can take the stripes off a zebra but that doesn’t make it a horse.”
She looked away, disinclined to argue. Sophie’s heart smiled. It was just like Jesse to possess the simple fact that some hearts have more pardoning power than others—and that it wasn’t up to her to judge the sheriff if his heart wasn’t quite as strong as her own. It was a virtue she’d always admired in her mother as well. Forgiveness. She used to say that as hard as it is to forgive someone, it took more energy to hate them—and the weight of hate on your soul was destructive.
“When did he find out about Cliff?” Drew asked.
“One of his kids came home from a sleepover at a friend’s house Saturday morning, around ten o’clock. He told them. Leigh said Maury was as shocked as she was at first, but the more questions he asked about it, the more he seemed terrified, as opposed to horrified by it—fearful, not sorrowful. She called him on it; asked him why and what he knew about. He got angry, told her to shut up and to mind her own business. But she was worried; she said she kept at him until he raised his hand to strike her.” Both women sucked in air and held it. “But he knew better, she said. He knew she’d leave him forever if he hit her again, even after all these years, so he shoved her away and slammed out the back door instead.
“He was gone most of the day. Next thing she knew, he was tearing the garage apart. Throwing things around, ransacking through boxes. He was clearly looking for something, but she was still ticked off and didn’t want to ask what it was. Eventually, she sent the kids off to bed, turned out all the lights in the house, and went to bed herself.”
“She went to sleep? After all that?” Jesse broke in.
Drew reached into his pocket for his cell phone, checked it and put it back as the sheriff said, “She didn’t sleep. She said she stood in the bedroom window for over an hour watching his shadow moving around in the garage. When she saw the light go out, she jumped back in bed and pretended to be asleep. A few minutes later, he stood in the doorway of their bedroom—he wasn’t fooled—he said he was sorry and that he was going over to Frank Lanyard’s place first thing in the morning and went back downstairs. He was gone when she got up for church on Sunday.”
Sophie stared up at Sheriff Murphy not knowing what to think—which left plenty of room for thoughts and images to form on their own. The first to take shape clearly: The officer was in over his head; not inept, but untested and afraid of making a mistake, hyperaware of the consequences if he did. She could see the torment and fatigue in his eyes; the curve of his shoulders from the buckling burden of responsibility, and the nervous flicking of his right thumbnail against the side of his pointing finger. She felt for him, but was still more concerned for herself and the people she’d come to care about—like Lonny.
“And last night Lonny is attacked with a cattle prod,” she said. “Presumably the one that belonged to Cliff Palmeroy.”
“Presumably.”
“And that completes a weird sort of circle of evidence that centers on me.” They were all looking at her, agreeing, but unwilling to say it out loud. Even the sheriff held off. There had to be a way out of it. “I . . . Do you think there might be some reason their friendship caused them to be targeted? Maybe because they both knew something that someone else doesn’t want anyone to know?”
His cell phone rang. He answered it with a quick what and an I’m on my way and put it back in his pocket as he addressed her. “Like what?”
“I don’t know—something about my birth mother maybe?”
“You still don’t know who she was, I take it. The lawyer was no help?” She shook her head while he considered her. “Maybe. I can’t see Lonny being in cahoots with the two of them in some way, for any reason, but . . . hell, who knows. We have a lot of territory to cover yet. Finding Maury is at the top of the list.” He turned and took the first step down off the porch.
“How is Mr. Campbell?” Sophie asked.
Fred Murphy’s chuckle produced warmhearted amusement in his eyes. “Let’s put it this way: he’s fighting an overnight observation at the hospital while the Dumpster he hit his head on is still unconscious.” His shot at levity went wide of the mark. He went back to being sheriff. “He’s fine. I got one of my guys babysittin’ him. He’s safe for now.”
“May I visit him? I— It’s not me. I promise. I’d never hurt him. Anyone actually.”
His nod came easily as he got to his feet to leave them. “If you could wait till dinnertime, it’ll save me having to send someone over to relieve my deputy so he can eat.”
“Sure.”
“I’ll let him know.”
“Wait a minute,” Jesse said. “What was he looking for? Maury. In the garage?”
It took only a second for the sheriff to realize he was already in for a penny. . . .
“So far, it looks like it might have been one of her school annuals. It could still be there, under something else, but that’s all that stands out at the moment. Fact is, it could be anything,” he said, slowly descending the steps as if reluctant to rejoin the rest of the world and his troubles therein. “Putting her garage back together isn’t exactly where her heart is just now.” Automatically and without hope, he added, “Let me know if you hear anything.”
He hadn’t pulled away from the curb before Jesse jumped up and pulled open the screen door, saying, “Leigh was my class secretary.” She gave them an I-just-discovered-gold-in-my-sugar-bowl look. They stared back and she rolled her eyes. “We have the same annuals! If there’s a clue in one of them, I’ll find it.”
Sophie barely noticed the soft bump of the screen door closing, the silence on the porch was so loud. Even Jesse’s bossy scolding of the deputies inside to clean up this and put that back where they found it were muffled as she lost herself in the void between knowing for certain that she was somehow involved and the how and the why of it all.
Logically it had something to do with her, her birth mother, and Arthur Cubeck, but all the obvious connections of that triangle had been cleared up. Add Clearfield High School’s scream team of bullies from twenty-seven years ago, and the waters muddied again with the dregs of something dark and disturbing. And yet, throwing Lonny into the mix pressed them back into a thick mysterious sludge worse than where they started.
She caught Drew’s movement as he pushed away from the pillar and closed the four-step gap between them with his hands extended for her to take—which she did without hesitating. He pulled her to her feet, drawing her into his comforting arms.
“I need to take off,” he muttered, his chin near the back of her neck as she lowered her head to his shoulder. Her sigh was of release, of finally grabbing onto something solid and real. “Don’t worry. It’ll be okay. We’ll figure it out. No one’s going to hurt you.”
She didn’t see it until she said it: “It’s not me. If he wanted to hurt me he’d have come at me directly. First. I’d be Cliff Palmeroy.” She pulled back enough to watch him add it up in his head and concur. It made sense. Why shoot all the ducks in the sky if what you want is the goose swimming on the pond, alone, in the open—an easier target? Returning to the safety of his embrace her voice went soft. “I’m more afraid for you. And Jesse and Mike.”
She felt the short shake of his head. “It’s not us, either. I don’t know how Lonny Campbell fits into it, but everyone knows Cliff and Maury were friends since they were kids. Add their old pal Frank Lanyard and a pattern begins to appear.”
“Bullies.”
“Hmm?”
“You said Palmeroy was a bully. Jesse said there were four of them in high school. Cliff Palmeroy. Maury Weims. Frank Lanyard . . . and Jeremy somebody—he moved to California. So the connection between them isn’t simply their friendship. They were cruel and intimidating together.”
“And that would point the fing
er of guilt at dozens of people in town who’d want to get back at them.”
“Sure, but why now?” Again she leaned away to see his face. “Why didn’t they take their revenge ten or fifteen years ago or last year or even last month? Why wait until I come to town to get back at them?”
And there it was. . . . As his brow furrowed his eyes filled with the understanding and compassion she’d found so appealing when they first met. The silent empathy that told her he was aware of the ache in her heart, the turmoil in her soul—and he was there for her.
“I don’t know, Sophie.” He braced the left side of her neck with his palm and caressed her cheek with his thumb. “I wish I did.” He kissed, first her forehead and then her lips—tender and caring. “I’ll come back about six-thirty to take you over to see Lonny.”
“Don’t be silly. It’s seven blocks away.”
“I don’t want you to be alone.”
“I told you—”
“I know what you told me. Humor me.”
“No. Thanks, but it isn’t necessary. I’m tougher than I look, you know. And I’m not afraid.” I’m flint. She took a step back. “Tell you what: I won’t walk. I’ll drive. I’ll lock all the doors and take Mike’s baseball bat—if the cops didn’t take it.” He wasn’t falling for her stab at humor. She slipped easily into frustration. “I don’t want to be driven! I want to drive! Alone, by myself. I want to be free to come and go. I want to be in control!” Her voice cracked and softened. “I need to be in control of something—even if it’s just for seven blocks.”
He saw it, and smiled with a relenting nod. “Sorry. There might be more of my mother in me than I want to admit—she’ll smother anyone who lets her.”
“No. You’ve been great this week.” Her hesitation was short. “Actually, you’ve been the best part—which might not sound all that special considering everything that’s happened, but even if I’d come here under happier circumstances and every day was a picnic or a party—or anything but what it’s really been—you’d still be the best part.”
She took a breath and he grinned. “So would you say we’re in mutual crazy-aboutness?”
Laughing softly, she settled her forearms across the back of his shoulders. “I think I would. Yes.”
“And would you agree that we should set some time aside to be alone, just the two of us, to explore this condition?” He eased her body flat against his; hands at the small of her back, fingers spread wide.
“Didn’t we try something like that before with, um, a shocking outcome?”
She felt his abdomen quaver with a silent laugh. “Yes, I believe we did—an unfortunate setback in my opinion.”
“Mm. Unfortunate.” She leaned in to touch his lips with hers. Soft, warm, and pliant.
“Whatdaya say we give it another whack?”
“Now?” she asked hopefully, only half kidding.
“Later tonight.” His voice came from deeper in his throat, like a growl. She liked it. “You haven’t seen my place yet. I’ll cook. We can take our time. Do it right this time.”
“I suggest we step over and ignore all the dead bodies on our way out the door, okay?”
“God, yes.” His delight slipped to desire when he lowered his mouth over hers—firm and hot. Urgent.
Chapter Eleven
In Marion she rarely locked her car doors. It never seemed necessary unless she had something of great value on the seat next to her—which was hardly ever—and it was more a matter of leading them not into temptation than believing someone might be actively looking for something to steal. And while she sort of automatically glanced more attentively into the shadows of the backseat before she drove at night, it was more for the presence of a boogeyman than a killer.
Though, she supposed a killer was actually a specific type of boogeyman for grown-ups—not unlike the kind that’ll bite off the fingers of children who suck their thumbs. Rapists might be the adult version of the fiends who wander in the dark looking for little children to snatch up and carry off . . . and thieves and bullies could be the hobgoblins that crawl under the beds of children who don’t go to sleep when they’re told to.
But they weren’t the imaginary goblins used to frighten children into being obedient. They were real, and they were her reasons for locking herself inside her Jeep as she drove to the hospital, parking close to the entrance, and locking it again as she scurried inside to visit Lonny.
While she didn’t believe anyone was trying to harm her directly, there was no point in taking foolish chances. And okay, so her inner child still had a healthy fear of the boogeyman. So what? she asked herself, walking, eyes forward, passing the metal door to the vacant stairwell—equally as bad as any dark cellar—to the hospital’s elevator bay. She was an adult. She could be as peculiar and as paranoid as she wanted to be and no one—
“Oh!” She startled when the elevator doors parted and a woman stepped into the opening. “Mrs. McCarren!”
“Sophie!”
They laughed, both relieved to know they weren’t the only jumpy people in town.
“Hi. It’s nice to see you again.”
“You too, dear. Ava and I were speaking of you this afternoon.” She was without a doubt the most put-together woman Sophie’d ever met. Even in simple slacks and a soft summer blouse, she looked like she’d just stepped out of Cate Blanchett’s closet. “We were hoping we could persuade you and Jesse over to the house for a light summer lunch on Saturday.”
“I’d love that, thank you. I’ll check with Jesse when I get back and let you know . . . tomorrow probably.” Because I’m hoping to be out very, very, very late tonight, she thought, smiling at her date’s mother.
“Excellent.” They switched places—Sophie into the elevator, Elizabeth McCarren out. “My, you look lovely and bright this evening.” She sobered. “You’re here to see Drew, if I’m not mistaken. Isn’t it lovely that his work is close enough for drop-in visitors?”
“No, no.” She waved a small but obvious fistful of deep purple irises and white peonies from Jesse’s garden. “I’m here to visit Mr. Campbell.”
“Lonny?”
The door started to close, Sophie held it open.
“You know he was attacked last night, right?”
“Yes, I heard.”
Guessing from the tone of disapproval in her voice, Sophie assumed the mere mention of . . . what had she called him? . . . the ornery old curmudgeon, brought to mind the accursed pile of tires behind Lonny’s shop—and probably any number of socially unacceptable faux pas he’d committed throughout his lifetime. And with hardly any guilt at all, she began to see the satisfaction Ava found in irking her mother.
“I, ah, he not only replaced my tires the other day but he cleaned off all the dust they used for the fingerprints, and I wanted to thank him. And to say hi, of course . . . well, actually mostly to say hi.” Apparently a good, deliberate irk required some practice.
“That’s very kind of you, Sophie. I can see you have a very caring spirit.”
Well, crud. Her caring spirit exhaled uncomfortably, embarrassed. “He was kind to me first. Visiting him is the least I can do.”
She smiled fondly at Sophie. “I believe in the corporal works of mercy, too,” she said, suddenly in the vein of a theological conversation. “I was brought up on the importance of feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, visiting the sick. And I don’t feel you need to be a particularly spiritual person to do what’s simply humane.”
Sophie wasn’t sure what to say to that, if anything, but the longer she said nothing, the more awkward the silence grew.
“No. I agree. People should care about one another.” And for bonus points, she added, “Seems like those things ought to be as basic as breathing, and yet we call them works of mercy.”
For a long somber moment, Drew’s mother studied Sophie like she was someone she’d forgotten. She seemed to be taking in the waves in her hair and the arch of her brows, the shape of her mouth and the an
gle of her chin. A faraway look came into her eyes for as long as it took her to blink, and then it was gone.
“Yes. Yes, indeed. Doing the right thing should come naturally.” She tipped her head to one side sympathetically. “But life isn’t ever as simple as that, is it?”
Sophie’s smile was small. “No, ma’am. Life isn’t simple at all.”
“And that’s why forgiveness is divine, isn’t it? Another virtue.”
Sophie assumed she was referring to the quote, ‘To err is human; to forgive, divine.’ She recalled fondly her mother’s views on forgiveness and said, “Yes, ma’am. My mom used to say that forgiveness is the choice we make so that our hearts can heal.”
Elizabeth gave a satisfied nod. “A wise woman. You’ve been taught well, dear.” Sophie agreed. “Good night, Sophie.”
“ ’Night, Mrs. McCarren.”
“Call me Elizabeth.” She turned to walk away. “Say hello to Lonny for me. And don’t forget about Saturday.”
The elevator doors came together.
“Oookaaay,” she said slowly, wondering if Elizabeth’s odd drift into the subject of charitable virtues was some sort of test she gave to all of Drew’s girlfriends . . . or just the ones from Ohio. She chuckled. Either way, she felt like she’d done well enough to pass. Next . . . the sex test. She squirmed with anticipation.
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