"I could have explained it better. I was looking at the article when he first opened practice here. I'm thinking about making a scrapbook."
Did the sheriff believe that any more than she did?
"I see. Seth says you was looking at the car he was driving. Somebody at the hospital said you visited somebody there, then asked a slew of questions." Ledbetter didn't sound happy. She waited to see who would speak next. "Just want you to know I'm well aware of what goes on around here."
"I'm sure you are." Will's voice drew tighter than fresh-strung barb wire. "Bet you can remember things that went on a long time ago. Before you got elected."
She cringed as Ledbetter's voice hardened. "Such as?"
"Football scores, old scores, that sort of thing. Hard to forget being a hero. Right?"
"Right. Be careful out there." The window hummed its path up, concealing him as he backed around and drove off.
Liza stepped back onto the porch, trying to appear nonchalant. "I'd fix us some supper, but the electric is still off."
His eyes flickered over her, but she couldn't tell what he was thinking except that it didn't seem to involve stealing her away to Bermuda. "Is that what you were checking in the kitchen? From the living room?"
"You knew I was listening?"
"One of the keys to being sneaky is not gasping when you're surprised." His eyes remained on her and she found herself wishing it was because he found her attractive, not because she was inquisitive.
She moved to the edge of the porch, still shocked by the storm damage. It had been a huge blessing for him and his crew to help begin the repair process. In some ways it was easier to face that than the present, just the two of them alone on the porch. Where their pasta prevented their moving forward. "You really think someone killed your uncle? And you're investigating things? Is that what the sheriff was talking about?"
"You've probably heard the rumors." He stepped up to stand beside her. "Anyway, since your kitchen is off, I'd be glad to take you out to eat."
"I'm too big a mess." She pointed at her disheveled appearance. And what would people think, being seen with someone this soon after her dad's death? Cold? Disrespectful? Conniving?
"I don't mind waiting while you clean up."
She turned to face him, became transfixed by his smile. "Look at me. It'd take too long to get dolled up."
His hands waved her words away. Did he practice the roughish smile or was it standard equipment? "You're dolled up just like you are."
"You need glasses." Inwardly, she softened. Before the storm, he mentioned she wouldn't look as pretty with eye patches and a white cane. That meant he thought she was at least some degree of pretty. Was he beginning to see her as a woman, not a client? Or did pity drive his behavior? Her emotions seemed to be strangers, not to be trusted.
"We could go to a drive through."
She chuckled. "Maybe you haven't noticed, but there's not a drive through to drive through. Besides that, I.." I what? I'm scared? Don't want people feeling sorry for me?
She sighed, weariness clamping her bones, milking out the last vestiges of civility. She massaged her temple, rolled her shoulders. Life held the upper hand, mashed her under its heavy thumb.
"Dr. Kilpatrick, I'm not trying to be rude, but I'd rather be alone for the rest of the evening. I appreciate the offer, but I hope you understand." She waved her hand at the surroundings. "There's a lot to figure out."
"Sure." Will paused, looking toward the field by the house. "I'd be glad to help you replant if you decide to. I'm not much good with a tractor, but I could probably destroy something else."
Does your warped sense of humor ever take a break? If you haven't noticed, there's not much left to destroy. Still, she had to wipe a hand across mouth to cover her smile. "Thanks, but I'll manage. You've got your own patch to tend to."
"OK." His eyes held hers. "But if I showed up anyway, would you shoot me?"
Her eyes returned his direct gaze. "Probably not. Leastways, not until we were done."
Will grunted a chuckle and looked away. "That's comforting. I feel we've made progress."
Progress towards what? Her emotions bounced like kids on a trampoline. Logic gained the upper hand, told them to sit down before they hurt themselves. "It'll be a few days before I get that far. Need to plow things under first." She handed him a box. "Don't forget the samples this time." She looked at the house. Her words were shy children shoved on stage by an exasperated mother. "Thanks for the help."
Only later did she remember he hadn't mentioned the receipts for the materials he had bought. She made a note to remind him about it.
And she still hadn't apologized for her meltdowns in the clinic and cemetery. Or for ducking out of having coffee yesterday.
***
The porch swing creaked when he plopped down. He had mailed the samples in time for them to arrive at the lab in Nashville tomorrow. The report would be back no later than Wednesday. After the morning's spate of cases that died, he had intended to leave. But remembering Uncle Bill's admonition to finish what you start, he decided to remain until seeing what happened with Liza's cows. And it would give him time to follow up on several questions concerning Uncle Bill and what linked him to the bone from twenty-five years ago.
Muscles long unused would be angry tomorrow after being forced to crawl over Liza's house.
His heart felt for her.
But he needed to keep it at one level. No use making overtures to someone who made it clear she wasn't interested.
The entire herd would need tested if these two checked positive. If she asked him to do it, he would give her the option of calling someone she might get along with better.
Chapter 26
After Will left, Liza wandered around the farm until darkness slipped in. It resembled a trip to the morgue to identify a corpse. The screen door's rude slap echoed against the night's staid reserve. Hungry, she ate a peanut butter and raspberry jam sandwich. The fruit's tartness squeezed tingles into her cheeks.
Before clearing the breakfast dishes away, she stared at the unused setting across from her chair. It might have been pleasant to have gone out, sat across the table from Will, despite their friction.
Especially his tendency to be headstrong. Funny he hadn't prayed about that in the cemetery. Strange, how people overlooked their own glaring faults, yet agonized over the specks in other's eyes. But his ability to make her laugh offset his stubbornness. If laughter was medicine for the soul, his sense of humor could make someone overdose.
She decided that genuine kindness, not pity, and certainly not pursuing her, had motivated his helping her. He had treated her the same way she'd seen him treat Bicycle Pete. Along with Jug Marlin today. She didn't know how to process that; decided she would have preferred his pursuit. In disgust, she snorted, breaking the silence. If there was any romantic pursuit in light of her behavior, she would be the one chasing.
The crunch of tires on gravel drew her to the door. PJ. She swooped in, all questions and answers. After being brought up to date, they sat on the couch.
PJ patted Liza's knee. "At least the vet didn't kill any of your cows today. From what I hear, the death angel seems to be his partner." She squinted in silence at Liza's frown. "He didn't hit on you again, did he?"
"Not hardly." She would keep her heart to herself, not share details with PJ. "Have they found who shot into your house?"
"Probably somebody spotlighting deer. Dr. Dudley is giving me a few days off. But enough of that."
"You don't seem too worried about it."
PJ leaned back. Liza hoped she wasn't going into one of her philosophical discourses. "You can only control what you can control. What I can do to help?"
"Not sure. Will, I mean Dr. Kilpatrick, helped with the house." She laughed at the memory. "Brought a crew. Bicycle Pete and Jug Marlin."
"What? I told you-"
"Nothing is going on between us. He swept glass up, put plastic on the roof and wind
ows, checked to be sure water wasn't dripping on the wiring upstairs."
PJ gripped Liza's forearm. "You should see your face." She shook her head. "Look at me. Don't be swept off your feet by somebody with a broom. Remember, no major-"
"Decisions for six months. Got it." Maybe. "He's not apt to stay."
"From what he told me, he has a few weeks to decide."
"About the same time my bank loan comes due. Are y'all seeing each other?"
"Just a coffee date. He's too plain for me. Plus, Skeets is chasing after him. And she carries a gun. And cuffs." She paused, ripped a PJ laugh, part bray, part snort. "More than we have to offer. They were a summer item years ago. Any closer to having the money?"
"Nope. But God will provide."
"I see the plan. By destroying all your crops. Killing your chickens. Making your cows abort." She nodded in agreement with herself. "Great strategy."
"You'll see."
Since power hadn't been restored, Liza lit an Aladdin. Match smoke and kerosene produced dark wisps of smoke trailing upwards, leaving smudges of bitter aroma. The lamp's soft glow hollowed out a comfortable hole in the dark. The Seth Thomas clock banged out eight strikes, solid and reassuring.
Liza sneezed at the musty smell steaming from the soggy cardboard box Will had lugged from the attic.
PJ covered her nose, made a face "What's all this?"
"Every bank statement, every receipt, every other form of correspondence ever sent to my dad in..." She leaned forward to read the date. Two years after her birth. "1963."
PJ jumped up. Her face lit up like a redneck winning Wheel of Fortune. "Let's dump it on the floor and go through it."
Liza hugged herself. "That's as blasphemous as walking across a grave."
"There could be treasure. Haven't you heard stories where people discover money? Secrets?" PJ loosed a tinny laugh. "Guess there's nothing like that in Mother Earth News."
Liza trailed fingers over the damp row of envelopes, arranged as straight as her dad's crops had been. She would show PJ her spontaneous side. At random, she plucked a handful, opened two. Bank statements and canceled checks from June and July.
"This one has my mom's name on it." PJ looked over her shoulder. "Huh. Look at this. In July, there was a change. Her name is blotted out."
"Must have been after she left, right?" PJ sat, placed her hand on Liza's knee. "I'm sorry. Must be hard to think about that."
Liza nodded, chewed at her lip. It had caught her by surprise. A slight dizziness followed the skipping of her heart. Despite her curiosity at various times, her dad had refused to discuss her mother's desertion. It seemed disrespectful to snoop now. Reluctant fingers opened several more bank statements. "He had new checks by August." She frowned.
PJ nudged her. "What?"
"Anonymous deposits every month. Starting in July. Dad cashed them the day after they arrived." She showed several to PJ. Fifty dollars a month. "And I've noticed one every month since dad died for five hundred dollars."
Twenty minutes later, she finished working through the top layer while PJ watched. She tugged at tightly packed envelopes in the next.
"Pictures." Hands shaking and heart banging her ribs, she fumbled an envelope open, anxious as a prospector hitting a vein of gold. She had seen some of her baby pictures. Solo shots or ones with her dad holding her. Never these, including her mother. The few times she asked her dad about photos with her in them, his face seeped a sadness wrung from dark recesses.
"Told you there would be secrets." PJ scooted closer on the sofa. "You ever looked through them?"
"No. I've never seen many pictures of my mom. Only in old school annuals at a girl friend's house." She held several prints up to the low light, hungrily imprinting the images on her mind as though her dad might still wrest them from her. She remembered times when she ducked into BW to sneak peeks at her mom's class pictures. PJ examined them after her.
PJ whistled. "Y'all look so much alike. I bet that was hard for your dad. Sitting across from her reflection every night."
PJ imported emotional implications into every situation. Some could be true. Unbidden tears wet her eyes. PJ noticed and gave her a hug. It lacked the comfort of Will's arm drawing her close during the storm. And the fire.
After a moment, she began flipping through others, dated in an elegant cursive she assumed to be her mother's.
Pictures from birthdays, Christmas, Easter. From daily life. On the kitchen floor while her mother snapped beans. Sitting in her lap on a tractor. Cradled in her arms as she petted a Jersey cow. In an old building she couldn't place but felt she recognized.
They were all pictures of her with a stranger. The photos didn't define her mother beyond the physical, didn't kindle a memory of how her laugh sounded, the timbre of her voice, the gentleness of her touch, her smell. Or whether she loved her daughter or not. Most certainly, they yielded no clue why she vanished one day. Left dishes in the sink, clothes on the line, beans on the stove, she had overheard her dad say to someone.
Fresh feelings of rejection made her acutely aware of her sequestered situation. Abandonment created so many questions, so few answers. So many doubts, so few certainties.
"God, just in case you're listening, I am not happy with you!" Her yell into the dark ricocheted off the wall unanswered. "Thought you'd want to know."
PJ gave her a light jab. "He probably figured that out last week."
"Just because I'm mad at Him doesn't mean I don't believe in Him. I got mad at things Dad did, but that didn't mean he wasn't real. Or that he didn't love me."
"We all have to find what works for us."
"If it doesn't work for me, it doesn't work for anyone."
The neat piles avalanched as she shoved the pictures to one side. She couldn't bear looking through them again. Like an amnesiac regaining memory, it would take time to classify them, find mental cubicles in which to file it all.
She yawned while grabbing a faded envelope. "One more, then it's bedtime." She stopped when she recognized her mother's handwriting on it. No return address, postmarked in St. Louis. She turned to PJ. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Its from my mom. To Dad."
PJ squeezed her free hand and smiled in support. For once, she remained quiet.
Though her chest continued to rise and fall, her lungs felt drained of breath. For so long she had yearned for some contact with her mother. Yet here she sat, frightened that what she read could flip her life even more upside down. Could reading it grant her pardon from the dark assailants claiming she was to blame for whatever had happened? That would be good.
But what if she discovered she really had been a pain as a child, a disappointment her mother couldn't handle, causing her to leave? Confirming suspected personal failings didn't seem to be a healthy mental choice.
"Should I read it?"
PJ's head snapped back and an incredulous look contorted her face. "Should you read it? Should I go on a date with Tom Selleck? Yes, read it." She reached to snatch it. "I'm going to if you're not."
She evaded her grasp and slid it out. The small cracks on the crease testified to its being handled many times. Amber spots she took for tear stains blemished the paper. She imagined her dad taking it out every day to read it and carefully returning it.
Dear Charlie,
This will be the only letter I send. It won't do any good to try to find me. I want you to know that I love you and always will. You've been a good husband to me, a great father to our Liza. But after what's happened, I couldn't stay. I've ruined our marriage. Maybe it's no consolation, but it was just a one-night stand. I want you to know that. But when you forgot your promise, I thought you didn't love me any more. I'd never been that angry in my life. I wanted to make you hurt. When it was over, I wanted to crawl back on hands and knees, confess, and ask your forgiveness. But I couldn't do it. So I carried my shame by myself and prayed you would never find out. I wish I had your faith that God would see us through this. But I didn't. Then I foun
d out I was pregnant. Perhaps you would have forgiven me for being unfaithful, but I know it'd be a trial for you, if you knew you were raising another man's child. And I'd never be able to show my face in town again if anyone knew. Or face my family. And as prideful as you are, I know you'd never set foot off the porch again. So I kept quiet. And lived in fear every day.
It made it easier, seeing how you loved Liza.
Then the truth threatened to come out and I couldn't deal with it. Not after our fight.
Whatever had happened, her mom had accurately predicted her husband's response. Until he died, he seldom ventured off the farm. Getting to participate in anything related to school or church had been a constant source of contention. She leaned toward the lamp, tolerating its heat so she could make out the words.
So I left and will try to make something out of the pieces. If you can, I beg you to forgive me. Raise Liza to be a good woman. You're a more fit parent than me. And leaving her behind is God's way of punishing me. Tell her I loved her and will always think about her. I'll love you until I die. I hate to think I've ruined our dreams for the farm. I know you counted on me working beside you. My going leaves you short-handed, so I'll try to send something every month to help out. If you won't use it on yourself and the farm, please, please use it on Liza. Or set it aside for her future. Promise me that.
I'll always remember our special times, sharing our special place.
Love,
Shelby
Tears spilled from Liza's eyes, fell on the letter, adding to the existing stains. Where was the relief she expected to feel when she discovered the desertion wasn't her fault? That her mother had loved her. Instead, anger and sadness and self-consciousness crashed over and around and through her.
How had folks viewed her all these years, suspecting her mother had left town after having an affair and becoming pregnant? Had it been common knowledge? How could it not be in such a small town? Snide comments from time to time at school, comments her dad assured her were untrue, surfaced. What taint did she carry because of the misdeed? How could a man ever be interested in her? If she hadn't already bathed, she'd jump in the tub.
X's and O's (Will Kilpatrick, DVM Mystery Series Book 1) Page 19