by Kate Young
Eddie scooted his chair closer. “Did you tell the truth about why Calhoun was with you when you found the body?” he asked when I had hoped he would divulge information on his investigation.
“Yes.” I shouldn’t have felt insulted, yet, on some level, I did.
“How many times have you met with the man and what was the topic of discussion when you were together?”
“He and I had only met on a couple other occasions.”
No surprise showed, despite his emotional fatherly tie to me. He was good at this. I had to give him credit. I recounted every single detail I could think of that Calhoun had shared with me. And his concern that someone in the Peach Cove Sheriff’s Department might be taking bribes to throw off the investigation. Had I been foolish to trust the man? Mr. Ledbetter had said not to trust anyone. But surely that was just the ramblings of a dying old man who had burned every bridge he had ever crossed. A young woman in my position had to confide in someone. Sometimes it was easier to unburden to a stranger. And dangerous. Time to come completely clean.
After I told him of my visit to the twins, I slid over the partial birth certificate. In my assessment, I had pretty much covered it all. “That’s everything.”
Silence seemed to stretch out for days. “You didn’t feel that you could come to me? Your own father?” His tone was low, his face set to stone.
I sighed. “I didn’t want to cause you any trouble with that detective in town. He obviously hated me.” Then I told him of the detective’s visit and his jaw clenched. “I mean, I suppose, from his perspective, I was at the scene of both crimes. I was the daughter of the sheriff, and if he was accustomed to being pulled by his strings like a puppet by people in power to protect their own kids, he would naturally assume you’d protect me.”
He and I both knew that he would. “He never should have come here in the middle of the night like that. He owed me the professional courtesy of coming to me first.” The vein in Eddie’s forehead made an appearance.
The scrap of paper I had given him was between his fingers. I don’t think he even saw it. His mind was obviously elsewhere. In Atlanta. With Detective Thornton.
“Do you think Felton could be swayed to derail the investigation?”
He whipped upright.
“I know he’s one of your guys, but is it possible?”
He rubbed the nape of his neck several times in succession, while he appeared to be contemplating his word choices. “If I’ve learned anything on this job, it’s that anything is possible.”
“Don’t be too tough on Alex. He felt I insulted his integrity.”
“That boy has a hot temper, but he’s solid and trustworthy,” Eddie said grimly. “We will have words.”
“With the risk of becoming redundant, I sincerely believe we may have a clue here,” I said in an attempt to redirect his attention to the more important matter.
“All the unlawful reasons Alex listed preventing us from gaining access to this document, plus establishing paternity, are accurate, pumpkin.”
I sighed, scrambling my thoughts in hopes of discovering a brilliant solution to the problem.
“That reporter, Roy Calhoun,” Eddie broke into my thoughts. “Where is he now?”
“He told me he had a meeting with his editor in chief and would be back in a few days.”
Eddie wasted no time. He pulled his cell phone from the holster on his hip and he tapped the screen.
I got up while he was making the call, nervous Calhoun had deceived me. Still, I hung around and listened while he asked for the editor by name. Cringing, I placed the mug into the sink when Eddie inquired about Calhoun and froze when Eddie said, “I see. Thank you for your time.” I wouldn’t lie to myself. It would hurt if he hadn’t been honest with me. Using me to get information would be an unforgivable offense.
“He’s there, or at least his editor says he is. And I see no reason why he would lie. It would be easy to confirm if he was,” Eddie said.
“Phew, that would have been a pisser,” Betsy said. Her face appeared and pressed against the screen door. “I need a ride home. I forgot I rode over here with Alex.”
Chapter 26
Doc Tatum’s waiting room was painted a cool pale blue. Green plants were strategically placed throughout to give her patients a pleasant room to sit in while they waited for an exam room for ages. I’d called first thing this morning and was able to get Mrs. Gentry, the receptionist/office manager, to squeeze me in. Mrs. Gentry had been on staff at this practice way before Doc Tatum took over.
“Marygene,” Mrs. Gentry called from the little patient window at the front of the room.
“Yes, ma’am.” I propped my elbows on the open window.
Mrs. Gentry’s hair always reminded me of a dandelion. One blow and her roots would fly all over the room. She had a puckered mouth, from her former years of smoking, I presumed, and large hazel eyes. “How’s Mayor Bill and Junior doing?”
Mrs. Gentry smiled warmly, “You know the mayor. Always up to his eyeballs in work. And my son is doing quite well. He’s working the docks this summer, training with the old fishermen. Thanks for asking about him. I’ll tell him you said hi.”
I nodded as she turned back to the computer screen. I’d always wondered about Junior. He was a few years younger than me and hadn’t gone to our schools. He’s been sent away to a boarding school in Savannah. His mother was so protective of him.
“Hon,” Mrs. Gentry brought me back into the present. “You haven’t been seen since we updated our record system, so I’m going to need you to fill out the new patient forms.” She handed me a clipboard with several forms attached, along with a pen.
“What happened to all the old records?” I had been hoping they wouldn’t have me on file. A perfect excuse to ask questions.
“Oh, we have them, most of them, anyway. But we only added active patients to the computer.” I wanted to ask where they kept the old records. Unfortunately, for me, another few coughing patients were behind me, waiting for their turn to sign in.
I held my breath as I took the forms and settled in a seat in the corner of the room. This would be a horrible time to come down with a cold.
To say I was surprised to see Ms. Brooks and Yvonne would have been an understatement. Yvonne settled next to me after she signed her mama in. “What are you doing here? You sick?”
“Headache,” I lied and rubbed my forehead.
“Oh, that’s a nasty bruise,” Yvonne whispered. “What happened?”
“I ran into the door,” I lied.
“Uh-huh.” Her brow wrinkled.
“No.” I put the clipboard aside. “This is not like before. I swear. We’re through, and I haven’t seen him since I moved back.”
Her brows relaxed and she squeezed my hand. “I’m sorry. It’s just . . .”
“No, I know. Never again.” Perspiration soaked my neck. I’d made that promise to myself on so many occasions. But the day it all came pouring out to Yvonne at lunch was the day it solidified within my heart. Since Yvonne still lived close to me, she had been the one I confided in first. It had taken me far too long to seek help, and if I was being honest, I hadn’t even intended to tell her. Shame is an awful damaging emotion and one I never should have owned. I’d been at my wit’s end the day we had lunch and it all just came out. She’d urged me to move back home to the island with her, and moving back together had been the moral support I needed to get me through. I loved her for it.
“How’s the house buying coming? You got a contract on it yet?” Need for a subject change was dire.
“Yeah, but with what happened to Judy, things have slowed to a snail’s pace.”
“Marygene Brown.” My name was called, and I stood.
“I’ll catch up with you later, okay?”
Doc Tatum examined my forehead, had me follow the light with my eyes, and checked all my vitals while I sat on the paper-lined table in the small examining room.
“Say,” I said c
asually, “what happened to all the old records you used to keep? I mean, I didn’t see any filing cabinets in the hallway. That’s where they used to be.”
Doc Tatum was an elegant woman in her late fifties. She was tall, slim and had the appearance of a woman ten years her junior. She regarded me with curiosity as she rolled the chair away from the laptop. “If you’re concerned about your file, we still have it. Inputting all inactive patients would be incredibly time-consuming. That’s why we made the decision to only include active patients.”
“What about deceased patients? Do you still have those records?”
“We always retain patient records. Why do you ask?”
“Like all the way back to your uncle’s practice?”
“I suppose so. Unless some of those files were destroyed when Hurricane Matthew struck.”
Oh, I’d forgotten about that.
She stood. “Well, you don’t seem to have a concussion. You do have a good-sized contusion, but the knot came out, so I wouldn’t worry. I’d just take ibuprofen for the pain. I can write you a prescription for eight hundred milligrams if you’d like.”
I hopped off the table. “No. That’s okay. I would like to ask you one more question, if that’s all right.”
Her head cocked to one side.
I took that as a yes. “Around the time I was born, or perhaps fifteen years before that, were all the island babies delivered in Savannah?”
“Some of them. My uncle assisted at some home births during his practice. And I’ve delivered a few babies right here in this office. Why do you ask?”
I glanced at my feet. “Losing Judy, I just got to thinking about the past. Our history and how something like this shouldn’t have ever happened here.” I raised my head. “The island has always been such a close-knit community. I remember Mama and Nanny packaging up meals for families after a new birth.”
She smiled. “Marygene,” her tone was gentle. Too gentle. “I noticed you have several healed fractures on your X-rays.”
I flinched. How had she gotten ahold of my X-rays?
She pointed to the computer. “With the new software, we’re able to share records and test results with other practices and hospitals.”
I bit down on my bottom lip. Hard. “I didn’t say you could gain access to those.”
She reached out and gently touched my shoulder. “You did. You signed the waiver in the new patient packet. It’s pulled when your name and social security number are entered into the system.”
My throat was dry. That meant that Mrs. Gentry would know. God, if she told anyone, I’d be mortified. “Well, erase it.” My tone rose. “Erase it all!” I wasn’t ready for this. A tremor ran through my body. I didn’t want my past to define me. Looks of pity from neighbors and friends would be excruciating.
“Honey, it’s confidential.”
“Nothing is confidential on this island.” I jerked open the door and bolted from the room. My chest constricted. I couldn’t breathe. Disoriented, I went the wrong way, knocking over a potted plant near the restroom. I plowed through the emergency exit, and the alarm went off.
“It’s okay.” Doc Tatum was at my side. She had calmed the staff down and had the alarm disabled. “Head between your legs and take long, deep breaths. In through your nose and out through your mouth.”
I did the exercise. I had done it many times before.
Her hand stroked my back. Tears blurred my vision. “No one will know. This is your cross. You can unburden when and if you decide to. But honey, there is an excellent support group for women that is run by a colleague of mine. It would help. You have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of.” The sobs grew and she held me to her. “I know it doesn’t feel like it now, but you will heal. And you have lots of family and friends who will support and love you through this. It is not your fault.”
* * *
The air blew full blast against my cheeks as I stared out the windshield across the street toward the diner. Lovebugs speckled across my line of sight as I continued my deep-breathing exercises. I had allowed Doc Tatum to phone me in a prescription. Panic attacks were something I’d like to avoid in the future. My chest still felt tight and my hands tingled. Doc Tatum had offered to meet me later, be a listening ear. She was one of the good ones. She genuinely cared about her patients. I wasn’t ready but promised that I’d consider the support group, and I would. Especially now that I understood that this sort of trauma proved more difficult to put behind me than I anticipated. This needed to be dealt with, faced head-on, and then, like Doc Tatum had said, I would heal. Being a perfectionist, I never wanted to admit that I wasn’t special enough to fix Peter and my marriage. Too full of pride, my nanny would have said. And I had been too prideful to seek help. And maybe on some level I felt as if I was partly to blame. Whether factual or not, I had to flush these feelings out.
One last deep breath and I began to calm. My hands were steadier now, a good sign. When a large Suburban pulled out of the space next to me, I noticed Betsy’s car parked on the far left side of the lot. I needed some normalcy and a friend. Without a moment’s hesitation I hurried across the street and into the diner.
* * *
“You still mad at me?” Betsy asked as we were wiping down tables and booths.
I’d taken solace in the mundane tasks. It was amazing how comforting menial tasks were.
“No,” I said. “Eddie wouldn’t have let you leave until you were completely forthcoming with any information you had.”
“He didn’t ask you about your mama. That was a relief.” She tossed her rag into the bucket of bleach solution.
“Why would he? I’m sure he thought it was your superstitious nature talking.” I tossed my rag in with hers.
“Guess so.” She scooped some ice in a glass and pressed it to the Diet Coke dispenser. It came out clear. “Yuck! It’s out of syrup.” She dumped the contents out in the sink.
“The truck’s coming first thing tomorrow,” I said.
It had been a long day but a good one. Betsy had relieved Jena Lynn, who had a meeting with the director at Sunset Hills. The contract we had with them for the delivery service was up for renewal, and my sister believed, after all the bad publicity, a face-to-face meeting was in order. Doc Tatum’s uncle, Doctor George, was a resident of Sunset Hills. Perhaps, I should pay him a visit later.
I leaned against the counter and examined the dining room, pleased to see it was ready to go.
“So, we’re backing off the case?” Betsy poured herself a cup of coffee.
“I think I have to,” I lied. “Eddie will be watching me like a hawk. Besides, I really wasn’t keen on getting shot at.” I picked at my cuticles.
“Eddie will be investigatin’ that, I’m sure. And with him in charge, you know Jena Lynn will be in the clear.”
Yeah. That was true. He’d spent a few minutes reading over what I had in my childhood bedroom. He didn’t ask me to take it down, either.
Even though when he left, we’d been on good terms, I could feel the tension thrumming through his body when he hugged me goodbye. Unfinished business and Eddie didn’t mesh well.
“They reopening the case?” Betsy wanted to know.
I shrugged. “If they do, I hope it stays hush-hush. It would really upset Jena Lynn. But, I don’t know for sure.”
“What about that detective? Think he’ll come back?”
“I don’t see a reason why he would. Especially if Eddie handles the shooting as a separate crime altogether. But I’m not in the loop.”
From her facial expression, I surmised neither was she. She hadn’t mentioned Alex, either, and I hadn’t heard from him.
“You ready?” I started cutting off the lights.
Morning would come early, and I was opening with my sister. So was Betsy.
“What about Calhoun?” Betsy asked as I closed the door behind us and locked up.
Poppy waved at us from down the block. She was walking to her car.
&nbs
p; We waved back.
I sighed. “Haven’t heard from him. He was supposed to be back yesterday.”
We walked toward our cars, which were parked side by side across the street.
“You didn’t really like him, did you?”
“He’s okay,” I said. “I’m not romantically interested in him, if that’s what you’re asking. I just ended my marriage. I need time.”
“He was kinda old, anyway.”
“He’s older, not old.”
“I really think Alex loves you.” She opened her car door. “See you tomorrow.”
Alex had been my first love, and Betsy had never held back on her approval of the two of us together. He would always hold that special place in my heart. But I’d be a fool not to be suspicious of Betsy’s matchmaking agenda. Besides, loving again would require a risk that I wasn’t certain I could handle yet.
Chapter 27
A black Chevy truck was parked next to Rust Bucket, under my nanny’s favorite oak tree when I got home. I gave the truck a once-over and recognized it as Alex’s. When I reached the back porch, Alex was sipping a glass of tea languidly and rocking on the porch swing. His face altered when he saw me, and he abruptly stood. The swing slammed into the porch railing.
“You left your door unlocked,” he said by way of explanation. “I, uh, I should apologize about the other day.” He set the glass of tea on the railing. Aware that he would be anticipating me jumping in and helping him out with the wording of his apology, I climbed the steps and said nothing, leaving him to tread water alone. He shoved both hands into his unruly hair and tugged. Did he believe he could extract information that way? “I don’t know what came over me. I say things in anger I don’t mean. You know that I—”
“We’re okay.” I cut him off. It was painful watching him flounder the way he was.
He blew out a breath. “Good. I hate being on the outs with you.” He held the door open for me. “Oh, I’m your protective detail.”
“What?” I shouldn’t have been surprised. Eddie was overprotective.