Cold Waters (Normal, Alabama Book 1)

by Debbie Herbert

  The only friends I’d ever truly had were Ainsley and my sister, and those relationships had been complicated. I’d never phone Libby. Still, she’d been kind, so I merely nodded at her comment.

  The smile slid from Libby’s face as the faint scent of lily of the valley announced Delaney’s arrival. She sidled up to the table and gave a stiff nod to Libby. “Ready to go?” she asked me in a crisp voice that smacked of disapproval.

  “You haven’t finished your drink,” Libby pointed out. “I can run you home later if you want to stay.”

  I stood, eager to leave, conscious of everyone watching us. And no sense adding fuel to the fire with Delaney—our truce was too new. I well remembered her tantrums when she didn’t get her way about something. After yesterday’s fiasco with the burnt dinner, I was on thin ice. “Thanks, but I better run.”

  Delaney was already several paces ahead of me, her back ramrod straight and nose in the air. I gathered the newspaper and my purse, fumbling with my wallet.

  “It’s on me.” Libby waved her hand. “Better hurry if you want to catch up with Delaney.”

  I thanked her again and hurried after my sister, careful not to step on the sidewalk cracks. Step on the crack, break your mother’s back. Didn’t matter my mom was already dead; bad luck should be avoided no matter what.

  Delaney didn’t speak until we were ensconced in her car. “Libby Andrews isn’t the kind of . . . person . . . you want to associate with. She’s trashy.”

  “Don’t be such a prude,” I snapped. I could take her potshots at me, but Libby didn’t deserve that. “Libby was nice to me. The only one in there who was, by the way.”

  “So you’ll be friends with anyone who’s the least little bit friendly? That’s really smart. Are you that desperate?”

  “Yes, I am.” Perhaps I did need a friend after all.

  She pursed her lips and frowned, backing out of the parking space. “Am I going to have to take care of you too? I have enough to do without managing damage control over your choice of friends.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You hang around Libby, and people will talk.” She hit the accelerator, and we began zipping home at least ten miles an hour over the speed limit.

  Her snobby attitude floored me. Our father was an alcoholic, and I was generally believed to either have murdered my best friend or be in some way responsible for her disappearance. At this point, my choice of friends hardly mattered. “As if they don’t talk about us already? At least this would be a distraction from worse gossip.”

  “That’s my point. Our family’s been through enough. I’m tired of it. Don’t make life harder for me, Violet.”

  The car hit a pothole on the dirt road. The vehicle lifted and landed with a thud.

  “I’m not trying to make things harder for you. All I did was talk to someone who was nice to me.” I’d had no intention of calling Libby, but Delaney’s objection made me itch to do so. “Look,” I said, lowering my voice, striving for calm. “You aren’t my mother. And stop thinking of me as your little sister who needs protecting. I’m a grown woman now, capable of making my own decisions.”

  Her eyes slid sideways at me. “Are you really?”

  There. She’d cut right to the quick of the matter. I inhaled sharply, gathering my wits. My counselors and psychiatrist had deemed me capable of functioning in the real world, but I couldn’t help my own self-doubts. They pecked away at my core in a constant drumbeat of anxiety. I didn’t answer and turned my face to gaze out the window. The green-and-brown landscape grew wilder as we approached home.

  “You don’t need to worry about me, Delaney,” I said at last. She remained silent, so I tacked on my usual “I’m sorry.”

  We pulled into the drive, and she cut the engine, then placed a hand on my arm. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. I didn’t mean to imply that you’re, um, unwell. I’m just worried about you. Coming back here must be tough. I only want you to be careful in your choice of friends. Trust me—Libby Andrews is bad news. How about we forget her?” Delaney’s smile was gentle, and it appeased my ruffled feathers. “Now help me bring in the bags, and let’s check on Dad.”

  “You sure it was okay to leave him alone?”

  “He’s fine for brief periods at a time,” she assured me.

  I dutifully filled my arms with groceries and other supplies from town, and we made several trips back and forth to haul them inside. In the kitchen, Dad rummaged about until he found a bag of chips, settling in with the newspaper as Delaney and I put food up in the cabinets. Damn. If we’d gotten home ten minutes earlier, I could have thrown the newspaper away before he read it.

  With every paper rattle, I cut my eyes to see if he’d read the article and would comment. I knew the instant he found it. His hands trembled, and he dropped the paper to cradle his head. “Damn it to hell,” he muttered. He stood, voice rising. “Damn, damn, damn.”

  “What is it?” Delaney rushed from the kitchen. “Calm down. Everything’s all right. Why don’t you lay down and take a—”

  “Don’t tell me what to do, young lady,” he bellowed.

  Delaney grabbed the bag of prescription meds and nodded at me. “Bring a glass of water.”

  I hurried, my pulse racing. How bad did he get these days? His temper had been a thing of terror, but he was older now, thin and a bit feeble. I handed Delaney the water, and she held a small orange pill in her right palm, at the ready.

  Dad frowned. “I ain’t taking one of them things.”

  “You know what happens when you refuse to take your medicine,” Delaney said calmly.

  Something—unease?—flashed in his cloudy eyes, and he docilely swallowed the pill.

  Dad must be like me. If I didn’t take my medication at the first onset of anxiety, my mind and body plummeted into a vicious spiral that was difficult to pull out of.

  Delaney guided Dad by the arm. “Now, let’s go have a nice nap.”

  Alone, I picked up the paper from the floor and started reading. Hatchet Lake would be drained by the end of summer, and the extensive dam repairs would be completed over the fall and winter, allowing the lake to be filled and ready next spring for the townsfolk’s recreational pleasure.

  What would they find when the water was drained and the earth laid bare?

  Ainsley’s body?

  No, at this point there would be no body, only a skeleton. If it was there.

  Fear clogged my throat. What did all this mean for me? I wasn’t sure I wanted anything found. For years, I’d clung to a dream that Ainsley had been kidnapped, escaped her captors, and returned to Normal, unscathed. Then we could all move on with our lives, however damaged from the past.

  And if her bones were discovered?

  It would kill my dream, but maybe there would be a clue as to what had happened. They could finally find the guilty person.

  Or they could arrest me.

  But even that possibility wasn’t my worst nightmare.

  “Any idea what set him off?” Delaney asked, returning alone.

  I shoved the newspaper her way, and she sat down and spread it open. I couldn’t stand watching her face when she read the news, so I paced by the kitchen windows. Guilt weighed on my heart, as if every bad circumstance in our lives was my fault.

  At her sharp intake of breath, I faced her. “What do you think? Good news or bad?”

  The paper was clutched to her chest, and her eyes were every bit as wild and fearful as Dad’s had been. “I-I don’t know what to think.”

  “Same here.”

  The refrigerator hummed, and the disembodied noise from the TV continued, everyday sounds that gave no indication that our lives may very well have changed forever. My family might be concerned about their reputation, but my stakes were much higher. Yet again, I apologized. “I’m sorry,” I said softly, as if I were responsible for a matter out of my control. Was it truly a coincidence?

  She nodded absently, staring out th
e window. My mind pulled at the notion of swallowing a pill and taking a nap like Dad.

  No. Bad idea. I’d taken two yesterday and had been cautioned to only use them sparingly. But I couldn’t stay cooped up inside the stifling kitchen either.

  “I wonder if there’s a connection between your arrival and the dam repair,” she said, tapping her index finger on her lips.

  It was as though she’d read my mind. “How could there be?” I asked, quick to deny any link.

  “They’ve been talking about those repairs for years, but the county commissioners kept claiming it was too expensive. Funny how all of a sudden they found the money.”

  “Still don’t see the connection.”

  “I bet the Dalfreds raised a stink after seeing you. They don’t want you here. While you were away, you were out of their minds. Your homecoming was a slap in the face. More than ever, they want Ainsley’s remains found and to have you charged for murder. Get you out of their lives for good.”

  The truth of her words hammered stakes in my heart. I had to get out of the house and breathe fresh air. “I’m going for a walk,” I announced.

  Upstairs, I transferred a few handfuls of shelled peanuts to a lunch bag, and then I headed out. The late-afternoon sun scorched my fair skin, but as I entered the woods, the shade made the heat tolerable. I trod the old dirt path, crushing pine needles and twigs as I wove around the familiar twists and turns.

  And tried not to remember the last time I had walked the trail. Or think of poor, butchered Irma.

  The scent of water hung in the air, refreshing and alive. Of course I’d been drawn to this place, as painful as I knew it might be to recall the night Ainsley had vanished. Without a sound. Without a trace.

  I remembered that we’d collected our stashed flashlights from the shed. I had tried to be extra careful that night, since I hadn’t invited Delaney along. I’d wanted Ainsley all to myself without my sister’s dampening influence. She’d enjoyed the stolen swims as much as we had, but I had occasionally needed a break from her constant demands for attention.

  How was I to know that night would be any different? There’d been no premonition of evil. We’d laughed, stripped down to nothing, and swung out on the rope, over the running river. Back and forth, wild and free.

  Until Ainsley had landed on the other side of the river and never come back. I hadn’t even heard the sound of water splashing. Instead, there’d only been a terrible silence. At least, I thought that was how it had happened. We had climbed the cliff together to swing on the rope, and then later there’d been an ominous, profound silence.

  Even the crickets and frogs and owls had been mute. Local myth claimed that this eerie quiet preceded a visitation by Irma. As if the insect and animal worlds were steering clear of her dangerous aura.

  Ainsley? Where are you? I’d searched, finding nothing out of the ordinary—the extraordinary was in what was not there. I’d kept calling, each time more frantic and bewildered. Ainsley! This isn’t funny. Stop hiding.

  Something terrible had happened. I’d wandered the woods for what had seemed like the entire evening—although the police report estimated it had likely been only two hours—before my mother had found me. When we had arrived home, I hadn’t gotten the beating I’d expected from Dad—there had been too many cops swarming the house and grounds. That would come later, after the police stopped dropping by and before I was diagnosed with a dissociative fugue. That was the first of several mental health labels once I was sent away for treatment, but it was the most important and the one that eventually stuck.

  I sat on a nest of pine needles and stared at the sun reflecting off the water’s wide expanse, imagining what secrets lay hidden beneath. No telling how many skeletons might emerge from the lake’s muddy depths. Maybe even Irma’s ghost would be set to rest.

  Caw caw.

  I raised my head sharply and searched the shadows, spotting a tiny patch of white. Disbelief rumbled in my chest. It couldn’t be.

  Tux?

  I didn’t dare make a sudden move, afraid he’d fly off. I mentally calculated. He’d been a baby eleven years ago when I’d left. Considering the life span of a wild crow could last two decades or more, it was entirely in the realm of possibility this was Tux.

  No mistaking that triangular patch on his right breast, like a white handkerchief sticking out of a black tuxedo—hence the name. I smiled, wondering over the flock’s choice to make Tux their solitary sentinel with his unique marking. He didn’t blend into the shadows as much as an all-black crow. Still, if he hadn’t wanted to be seen, I’d never have noticed him watching me.

  As slowly and quietly as possible, I opened the lunch bag and threw out a handful of peanuts. Before I’d left years ago, Tux and his family would have flown over at once. I had lost that honor. But maybe, with time, I could regain their trust.

  I rose to my feet, scattering the rest of the peanuts from the bag.

  Tux never moved from his perch several trees over.

  “Enjoy, little one,” I said aloud. I left, knowing that he and the rest of the nearby crows would be enjoying the treat as soon as they judged I’d gone a safe distance.

  Ridiculous, but my heart was a little less heavy with the appearance of Tux. Around the bend, I sneaked a peek behind me. Three crows were underneath the tree where I’d sat. They returned my stare, unmoving and silent and always watching.

  Smart birds. Freaky-smart birds.

  Bet they’d witnessed what had happened to Ainsley.

  Chapter 6

  VIOLET

  Present day

  The smell of grilled burgers and onions greeted me as I stepped into Walt’s Drugstore. Libby was already seated, and I was relieved to see she’d chosen a booth at the back where no one else was around. Avoiding eye contact with anyone, I hurried over and slipped onto the worn red vinyl seat.

  Libby winked. “You scurried over here like a little mouse.”

  “Didn’t realize I was that obvious.”

  “It’s okay. Understandable after that earlier bout with Hattie Pilchard.” She slid a laminated menu across the table, and I scanned it quickly. “Have to admit I was a little surprised you called,” Libby said, pushing back an errant purple lock of hair. Despite the colorful highlights, she looked almost conservative this morning in her work uniform.

  “Me too,” I admitted. “You were right. A friend would be nice.”

  Not only that, but it was secret spitefulness on my part. Delaney had warned me to stay away from Libby, and I was determined not to let her have her way about every damn thing. This meal out would consume almost the last of my measly cash, but I had to get out of the house and away from Dad and Delaney.

  “How’s your morning been at work?” I asked, eyeing her pink smock and the medical ID tag hanging from her neck: LPN LILIBETH ANDREWS.

  “Busy,” she answered. “Two births already this morning, and a new mother in labor admitted to our wing.”

  I envied her. How paltry my own life was by comparison. All I’d managed to accomplish was an associate degree and a résumé of various minimum wage jobs that barely covered my modest expenses at the halfway house.

  “What about your morning?” Libby asked.

  I was spared telling her about my dreary morning of household chores when the server arrived to take our order.

  I gave him mine without looking up. “A grilled pimento cheese sandwich, fried pickles, and a Coke.”

  “Cheeseburger, french fries, and a chocolate malt,” Libby said, gathering the menus and handing them over.

  “What have you been up to?” Libby asked again when the server walked away.

  “Cleaning,” I admitted. “Delaney’s decided to put me to good use giving the whole house a deep scrub. Not that I mind,” I added quickly. “She has her bookkeeping job, after all.”

  Libby’s eyes narrowed. “What bookkeeping job?”

  “She works from home, keeping books for a couple of local doctors. I believe
one of them is named Ed Jemerson.”

  “Eddie?” Libby threw back her head and laughed. “Good one.”

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Eddie’s one of her . . .” Libby tapped a fingernail against her chin. “What should I call them? Lovers? Sugar daddies?”

  I blinked. “Maybe in the past, but she’s engaged now. Some guy in Birmingham named Sawyer Harris.”

  “What kind of a bullshit name is that?” Libby snorted. “I don’t believe it. I just saw her last night when I got off the late shift. She and Eddie were leaving the pub together.”

  My mind puzzled out that bit of information. I had gone to bed early last night, dead exhausted from going through boxes in the basement, discarding old papers, ruined clothing, and other junk Delaney had never gotten around to sorting in years. She’d been home when I’d gone to bed, but this morning, she’d entered the house while I’d been cooking breakfast, claiming she’d popped out to run an errand. Had she been out all night with Eddie instead? And I had to admit that I never once saw her crack open a computer and do any real work. All her time was spent in the garden, dispensing pills to Dad, or leaving to go visit Sawyer.

  “Even if that’s true, it’s her business,” I said slowly.

  “Sure, it is. Long as she doesn’t lie about working all the time and guilt you into waiting on her hand and foot.”

  Bingo. That was exactly what had happened. Libby had Delaney nailed. “Do you know my sister very well?” I asked. “I didn’t get the impression you were friends.”

  “I know her well enough. I see things, hear things. Word gets around in a small town.”

  “Don’t I know it,” I muttered.

  “Here you go.” The server handed us our food and drinks, his eyes lingering a second too long on me. I ignored him and jerked a couple of napkins from the table dispenser. “Need anything else, let me know,” he added, and I relaxed when he left.

  “Must be tough on you,” Libby said, eyes full of sympathy.

  I shrugged noncommittally and placed my hands under the table, unobtrusively making the sign of the cross to bless my food and drink. I wasn’t religious, but the ritual soothed me when eating in public. I sipped my soda. “Not like I come into town too often.”