The Singing River

by R. K. Ryals

  “Then what?” I asked.

  “Vengeance,” Roman’s voice was even when he said it, frosty and unfeeling.

  Something heavy and cold settled in the pit of my stomach.

  I shook my brother. “What are you doing?”

  “Finding dad’s killer,” Roman replied. “I’m going to do what the police still haven’t managed to do.”

  Marissa’s gasp was as loud as the sudden roaring in my head.

  “The case may still be open—” Marissa began.

  I shook my brother again. “What have you found out?”

  Marissa approached us. “No, both of you—”

  Roman stared at me, his face calm. “My car.”

  Dropping my hands, I shook my head. “I won’t bend on that, Roman. Whatever your intentions, you’ll still find a way to get the drugs, too.”

  Roman stomped. “Damn you!” His gaze moved to Marissa. “Did you know golden boy here fucked a waitress while at the river?”

  The silence that followed was deafening.

  It was Marissa who broke it. “River—”

  “This isn’t about me,” I interrupted.

  Roman laughed. “No, of course not. Because when River does something wrong, it’s still okay. Because when River does something wrong, there must be a good reason behind it. Tell me, brother, what was the point of sex with Haven other than climax?”

  “Oh, my God!” Marissa groaned, her hands going to her forehead, her fingers massaging her temple.

  I lifted my fist, my eyes narrowed. “I’m not the one doing drugs and looking for a killer.”

  “No,” Roman agreed. “You’re too busy hiding and fucking waitresses.”

  Something ceramic slammed against the wall opposite the stairs, landing in shattered fragments at our feet. The jagged glass eyes of a penguin stared up at me.

  “That’s enough!” Marissa shouted. “You two need help! I just don’t know what to do anymore. I saw him, too, you know? I loved him, too …” Her voice broke. “He was too strong in life to look like that in death.”

  She stepped between us, one hand going to each of our chests, her eyes meeting mine. “What were you thinking, River? Did you use anything?” I didn’t answer, and she shook her head. “You know better. You at least know to use protection.”

  When I still didn’t say anything, her gaze moved to Roman. “And you,” she pressed her palm more firmly into his chest, “you need to let it go. It’s killing you. It’s killing us. It’s not our job to exact justice.”

  Her hands fell, her red-rimmed eyes moving between us. “Now, you two start being Braydens. Brayden’s don’t fall apart …”

  “We stand strong,” Roman finished with a growl.

  My eyes met my brother’s, and together we said, “Bullshit!”

  It was enough to make Marissa crack a smile.

  “You two are rock-headed and obstinate, you know that?” she asked

  I smiled, although my heart wasn’t fully in it. “Better obstinate than compliant.”

  Marissa moved toward a hutch on the side of the room, her fingers disappearing into a drawer before coming away with something small clutched in her fist.

  “And you,” she said, moving toward me, her eyes full of mirth and determination, “try this.” Pulling my hand in front of me, she placed her palm against mine, and I knew without looking down what she’d placed there.

  I groaned as she said, “Super Glue and condoms.”

  The word I uttered next belonged more to Roman than it did to me.

  “Bullshit.”

  Chapter 23

  Haven

  The trailer was dark when I entered it, the air stale.

  “AC out again?” I called.

  No answer.

  Dropping the Walmart bag on the floor, I scanned the living room.

  “Mom!”

  Still no answer.

  My stomach turned over, panic creeping through my chest.

  “Mom!” I shouted.

  A groan was the only response I got, but I followed the sound into the kitchen, my heart racing.

  “Mom?”

  The groan again. “Haven?”

  My mother sat on the floor against the bar, her knees pulled up, her head in her hands.

  I dropped next to her. “Mom, you okay?”

  A pack of cigarettes and a lighter lay near her hand, one butt pushed forward as if she’d been trying to light it. Her hands shook.

  “Mom?”

  Her head lifted. “Just got a little dizzy,” she mumbled.

  I touched her shoulder, my fingers digging into her shirt. “Mom, do I need to call someone?”

  Mom shook her head. “No, really. Just dizzy. It’s the heat. That’s all.”

  “Mom—”

  “You’re back early,” Mom interrupted.

  I sat next to her, my shoulder against hers, my eyes on the rusty gas stove across from us. The sound of rain on the tin roof was loud.

  “The weather,” I explained. “Are you sure you’re okay.”

  Mom nodded, her hand finding mine on the floor. Our fingers tangled. “Just got too hot, I promise. It’s already passing.” Her gaze met mine, her brow moist with perspiration. “Did you have fun?” she asked.

  I nodded, my gaze searching her face. “Mom—”

  Her fingers tightened around mine. “Really, Haven.”

  “Was it work?” I asked.

  Mom leaned her head back against the bar. “No, the job is great, and I’m catching on quickly. I’m just getting old. Heat’s too much. Makes my legs hurt.”

  I pulled my hand away and flicked her pack of cigarettes. “These don’t help.”

  Mom laughed. “No, they don’t,” she tugged on my arm, “but I’m fine. I want to hear all about the trip.”

  She stood, and I helped her, watching the way she hissed when she put pressure on her foot.

  “Maybe you should have that looked at, Mom. They won’t need insurance if we go to the emergency room.”

  Mom threw me a look. “I just pulled something. Nothing a little Tylenol won’t knock out. Now, the trip.”

  She clung to me as she limped to the recliner in the living room, and it took everything I had to bite back my concern.

  “It went well. Not quite what I was expecting. There wasn’t a lot of research into the legend other than Mr. Brayden attempting to capture the chant on recording. He seemed pretty obsessed with it even though anyone who’s ever heard the legend knows it can’t be heard until late in the summer.”

  Mom sat, her gaze moving up to my face.

  “Something happened there,” she said.

  I laughed. “And how do you know that?”

  She grinned. “Your eyes. I gave birth to you, kiddo. Trust me, I know.”

  Crawling next to her, I pulled one of my knees up to my chest, my other leg pressing into her side.

  Mom grunted. “We’ve outgrown this chair, you know.”

  Chuckling, I muttered, “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

  Mom pinched me. “Cheeky thing. So, what happened at the river? Which one of the boys was it?”

  Startled, my gaze flew to her face. “Mom!”

  She rubbed her hands together. “I’ve been hiding my crystal ball from you. It sees everything.”

  I blushed. “It was nothing. Stupid actually.”

  Mom stared at me, her gaze moving over my face before her hand came up, her fingers brushing a few strands of hair away from my eyes.

  “It’s never nothing with you, Haven.

  My gaze flew to the window above the couch, to the trees in the woods beyond. Mangy Beast barked at a car as it drove past on the road, but otherwise it was too quiet without the air conditioner on.

  “AC froze up again?”

  Mom pinched me once more. “Avoiding the topic won’t make it go away. I meant it. It’s never nothing with you. It’s one of the things I love most about you. You find connections with people where others miss them.”
<
br />   Sweat pooled along my forehead, and I pulled my long hair to the side, letting it hang over one shoulder.

  “That family has a lot of problems,” I said finally.

  Mom patted my leg. “You can’t fix everyone.”

  My gaze met hers. “I can try.”

  “At the risk of losing yourself in the process?” she asked.

  I curled up, making myself as small as possible so that I was leaning against her side. “You really believe that? What is it you’ve always taught me? That sometimes it takes losing ourselves while helping others to discover who we really are, to find out what we’re really made of.”

  Mom chuckled. “Now, why can’t you be one of those kids that never listens to their parents?”

  The grin I gave her was wide and full of love. “Because I have one of the smartest moms in the world. It’d be remiss of me not to soak up such awesome, wise teachings.”

  Mom snorted. “Now you’re just being a smart ass.”

  She lifted the lever on the side of the chair, inhaling as her legs were lifted. Her eyes closed, and I ran a hand over her moist forehead.

  “You sure you’re okay, Mom?”

  She smiled. “I’m okay. I’m glad you’re home.”

  Her breathing grew even, sweat beading up along her face. I watched her as she slept, my fingers massaging her forehead.

  “Stubborn woman,” I murmured.

  Climbing gently out of the chair, I snuck out of the trailer. A lot needed to be done before I had to go back to work. The air conditioner was my first priority, and then Mr. Nelson. Mangy Beast joined me in the rain as I walked into the road, my eyes going back to the trailer where my mother slept.

  Chapter 24

  River

  It only took three days stuck in a house with Marley, Marissa, and Roman before my sanity was gone. Three days of Marley’s crazy obsession, Roman’s constant pacing, and Marissa’s dogged determination to keep busy. She’d been to more Belle meetings than a woman should be allowed to attend and then some, but nothing was worse than her actually entertaining them.

  “It’s like being surrounded by rabid dogs with manners,” Roman mumbled.

  Turning away from the kitchen window, I threw my brother a look. “Just don’t let Marissa hear you say that.”

  Roman shrugged before opening the refrigerator door. Pulling out a jug of orange juice, he took a swig before replacing it.

  “Why?” he asked. “She has to know they are vultures by now.”

  I turned back to the window, my eyes going to the gardens beyond. A group of young women ranging in age from sixteen to fifty lounged delicately around decorated round tables enjoying catered tea and cakes. Their dresses were a sea of pastel colors, their large sun hats obscuring faces brushed delicately with makeup.

  “You mean wolves,” I mumbled.

  Roman joined me by the window. “Now you’re getting in the spirit.” There was silence followed by, “You realize I can still leave this house without my car, right?”

  I refused to look at him. “I do, but it’s enough for me to know I tried.”

  His gaze followed mine to the yard. “I have a lead on dad’s killer.”

  The rise he was trying to get out of me didn’t come. “And what would it do to find him, Roman? Do you plan to kill him? Or just turn him into the police?”

  “How do you know it’s a man?”

  I snorted. “I saw his body, remember? I’d be shocked if a woman could do that. Not because she wasn’t capable, but because it took a lot of strength to get that knife as deep as it went in some places.”

  Roman grew quiet, and I let him stew a moment before I asked, “You think Greg Hinkley was involved?”

  I didn’t see Roman’s startled gaze move to my face, but I felt it. “How do you know that?”

  My cheeks hollowed as I sucked them in. “Because I remembered you asking Haven if she knew him in the truck on the way to the river, and I did a little digging.”

  Roman’s hands went to the sink in front of us. “There’s a lot of evidence pointing in that direction.”

  “All circumstantial.”

  Roman grunted. “Which is enough for me.”

  I shrugged. “But not enough for everyone else. Keep digging if you want, but make it about justice, Roman. Not vengeance.”

  My brother sighed. “Justice doesn’t feel like enough.”

  “No,” I agreed, “it doesn’t.”

  In the yard beyond, Marissa approached a young woman in a pink dress, her hands gesturing at the house. The woman’s hat lifted, and I groaned.

  Roman laughed. “Cecily Davies. You’re in trouble.”

  Backing toward the kitchen’s exit, I threw him an amused look. “Not if they can’t find me.”

  Roman’s voice followed me as I moved into the hall. “You can run from them, but you can’t hide.”

  He was right. Daniel Davies had been after me for a year to date his daughter, and as much as I’d love to keep ignoring her, she would make a great high profile wife one day. It didn’t hurt that Daniel had a lot of connections in business and politics.

  My Mustang was hot when I climbed in it, and I rolled the windows down to let some of the heat out as I pulled out of the drive, my eyes on the white-washed colonial in my rear view mirror. Something in my heart clenched. Even as desperate as I felt in that house, it was still home. It was still my legacy. It was mine.

  “And a damned nuisance,” I mumbled, my affection for it obvious in my tone.

  My thoughts went to Haven Ambrose, as it often had the past couple of days, to the crumbling trailer we’d dropped her off at. There had been something beautiful about that trailer, something hopeful. There’d been plants on the leaning porch, some of them dying but not for lack of trying, and a white plastic chair with a romance novel draped on the armrest. It might be crumbling, but the home was loved, I had no doubt.

  I was so preoccupied by the thought it shouldn’t have surprised me when I found myself pulling up at Haven’s trailer. My dashboard clock read 5:15. The green Cadillac sat in the drive. A large, matted dog barked, his tail wagging hard, his beady eyes on the Mustang. He didn’t jump on the car, but he did lift his leg to pee on my tires, his barking never ceasing.

  The door to the trailer opened, and a middle-aged woman with blonde, poofed hair and big brown-framed glasses stepped out onto the porch.

  “Hush, Mangy Beast!” she yelled as she limped down the concrete blocks leading down to the yard.

  I cracked my door open. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

  When she reached the front of my Mustang, she paused, her black dress pants contrasting greatly with her buttoned-up red blouse.

  “River Brayden, right?” she asked.

  Stepping free of the car, I nodded, watching as her eyes perused me slowly.

  “You looking for Haven?”

  I nodded again. “Is she home?”

  Haven’s mom shook her head, shading her eyes with a calloused hand. “She’s down the road, first house on this stretch, helping Mr. Nelson with his garden. She often does that after her shift at work.”

  I slid back into my Mustang. “Thank you.”

  I was closing the door when a hand suddenly gripped it, and my gaze found Mrs. Ambrose’s face as she leaned into the vehicle.

  “She’s a good person, my Haven.”

  It was all she said, but there was a lot of insinuation beneath her words, some accusation, and even a little warning.

  “I’m not here to hurt her,” I answered.

  Her eyes searched mine. “Aren’t you?”

  She slammed the door closed before I had a chance to reply.

  Chapter 25

  Haven

  “Seriously! Where did you get all of these?”

  Mr. Nelson laughed. “At Granger’s farm.”

  I eyed the huge sacks of peanuts sitting on Thomas’ back porch. “And you plan to eat all of them?”

  He grinned. “No, I pla
n to boil them down and freeze them. I figured since you didn’t have anything else to do …”

  I threw him a look.

  He chuckled. “Right good one you are.”

  “Only because I plan to take a few bags with me,” I argued.

  He winked at me. “Of course, of course …”

  The sound of tires crunching on gravel followed by a slamming door had us both pausing. I walked through Mr. Nelson’s house, stopping just short of his screen door, my eyes widening at the sight of the Mustang in the drive.

  “You expecting company?” Thomas asked.

  I looked back at the old man as he hobbled toward me, his gaze on the drive beyond.

  “Not that I know of,” I replied.

  Pushing open the screen door, I stepped onto the porch, my hands rubbing my arms even in the heat.

  River Brayden stepped clear of his Mustang, his jeans dark against a white button-up dress shirt he’d pulled free of his pants.

  “Hey,” he called up to me.

  I took a step down. “Hey.”

  His hands went to his pockets, his shoulders shrugging. “Your mother told me I’d find you here.”

  There was something endearing about the way his dark hair fell over his forehead, and about the way the tails of his shirt were wrinkled where they were bunched around his hands.

  “Was there something you needed?” I asked.

  He didn’t answer, just shrugged again.

  I gestured at the house. “Wanna come in?”

  His gaze moved past mine to Mr. Nelson, who stood with his dark, wrinkled hand against the door.

  “Gotta lot to do here, young man. Hope you ain’t afraid of work,” Mr. Nelson said.

  River moved up the stairs, pausing next to me a moment before moving past, his hand out to shake Thomas’.

  “River Brayden,” he introduced, “and I’ve never been afraid of work.”

  Mr. Nelson nodded and held the door open. “Thomas Nelson, and I ain’t never turned a soul away for wanting to help. You ready, Haven?”

  I followed them in, my gaze going back to River’s Mustang as the screen door slammed shut. It was dark and beautiful next to Thomas’ small house.

  “We’re just getting ready to boil and bag some peanuts,” Mr. Nelson was saying as River accompanied us to the back porch.