Cold Waters (Normal, Alabama Book 1)

by Debbie Herbert

  “Well?” he asked.

  “It’s passable.”

  “Damn straight.” He returned to his desk and became absorbed with the Dalfred file.

  The kid thought I was archaic and dull. Wouldn’t he be surprised if he were aware of how much I really knew about the case—down to the exact details of most of what had transpired that night.

  Details that would never be filed in an official report.

  Details that could get my ass fired—and that would be the mildest of the possible repercussions if those details ever came to light.

  Hot liquid splashed onto my shaking hand.

  Play it cool. No one had ever so much as raised an eyebrow at my report. Josh Adams wouldn’t uncover anything earth shattering either. Only my guilty conscience foresaw trouble. Do you really expect to keep everything secret forever?

  The cell phone on my desk rang, vibrating the wooden tabletop like a Mexican jumping bean cranked on steroids.

  Bad news?

  The question bitch-slapped me as it always did when my phone rang or the boss called me into his office. This is it—this is the day, it would taunt me. Gonna all explode in your face now. And it would serve you right.

  I answered the phone.

  Dan Thornell’s booming voice sounded, loud enough that Josh overheard. “Get in my office right away,” he ordered. “I have big news.”

  “Should I bring Josh?” I asked. Not that I wanted my partner in there, but the kid would hound me for every detail if he didn’t hear the big news directly.

  “Sure.” The phone clicked off. Dan, the police chief and my boss for nearly a quarter of a century, was an impatient man, although a decent person. He was a straight-to-the-point kind of guy who saw everything in black and white. Suspects were either guilty or innocent. Extenuating circumstances and shades of gray weren’t entertained. The son of a Baptist preacher, he had an unambiguous moral compass.

  We entered the room, and he pushed back in his leather chair, his pale-blue eyes lit with grim satisfaction. He pressed an intercom button on his large landline phone, which harkened back to a 1980s version of high tech. If Josh thought I was archaic, Chief Thornell was still in the Dark Ages when it came to technology. “Alice, bring me the Ainsley Dalfred file.”

  I’d been expecting those very words every day for eleven years. And still, my gut nosedived.

  Josh rose. “It’s on my desk, sir. I’ll go get it.”

  At Dan’s raised brow, I filled him in. “Josh just started reviewing cold cases. This is the one he picked.”

  Of course he had—it was the biggest unsolved mystery in Normal. Solve that, and he’d slap a gold star on his rookie résumé.

  I gripped my old, familiar coffee cup in both hands, sending warmth to my numb fingers. “What’s up?” I managed to ask casually.

  “Construction workers found the skeleton of a young female at the bottom of Hatchet Lake. Her skull was crushed on one side. Harris was on patrol near the area, so I sent him over to the scene. They’re waiting for John Hill to arrive.”

  Hill was the county coroner. He’d bag the remains and make a positive identification.

  “Got to be the Dalfred kid,” Dan said. “Now that we know where she is, we have to figure out how she got there. The big question is whether her skull was intentionally bashed by someone before she entered the water or if she hit it against a rock when she went swimming.”

  “Hill’s good, but it’s doubtful he can make that determination after all these years.”

  Dan rose. “Word’s already leaked to Ronnie Lynn with Channel 12. She wants an interview ASAP. The Associated Press wants an interview as well. Meanwhile, I need you to notify Mac and Janine Dalfred about the discovery.”

  Right—I got the fun job while he talked to the media. But I had to hand it to my boss—he’d been chief for a long time and knew how to keep his job safe from the interlopers who cropped up after every election, eager for a public position in return for their campaign contributions.

  “I’ll take care of it immediately,” I promised.

  Josh gave me a nod. “I’ll go with you.”

  Dan’s walkie-talkie crackled. “Harris reporting, sir. Wanted to let you know a couple of cement blocks are located near the skeleton.”

  Dan and I stared at one another grimly. “Ten-four,” he said, stuffing the device back into the case on his belt.

  “We might have a murder case,” Dan said. “Those blocks must have been used to keep the victim’s body from rising to the surface.”

  “Unless the blocks were trotline anchors left behind by fishermen,” I suggested.

  Josh snickered, and I wanted to kick him.

  “Highly unlikely,” Dan said. “The Dalfreds are going to be out for blood now. They were sure this would happen. Raised one hell of a stink with me and the mayor last week, insisting the lake finally be drained.”

  Alarm jangled my gut. “You met with them and didn’t even tell me about it?”

  “Didn’t think the meeting would amount to much. Their displeasure with our investigation has never been a secret. But this time, the mayor finally put pressure on the utility company, and they agreed to proceed with the much-needed repairs.”

  Dan shrugged into his suit jacket and placed his uniform cap atop his thick silver hair. The official attire made him look more imposing and authoritative than usual. The reporters would eat it up.

  I headed to the door to proceed with my unpleasant task.

  “Boone, stay a moment.”

  I turned and faced him while Josh stepped ahead of me and shut the door on his way out.

  “Let your new partner go over everything from the past. Fill him in on all you remember. Adams came highly recommended from the Huntsville police chief, and I’m optimistic he’ll invigorate our department. Bring in fresh ideas. With any luck, he’ll pick up some detail on the case that we overlooked.”

  That I had overlooked, he meant. His words stung. Reinvigorate, my ass. Quickly, I tamped down the resentment. My pride wasn’t important at the moment. I had to face Ainsley’s parents again. While I was out, I’d also swing by Whispering Oaks and speak with Violet. I wanted her to hear the news from me first, and I wanted to prepare her for what was to come.

  I dug my keys from the desk drawer and left the room. In the hallway, Josh called, “Where are we going?”

  “Thornell’s headed to a community club meeting. Just go back to your desk and review your case.”

  “Why did the chief want to speak privately with you?”

  Did he not understand the meaning of the word private? “Nothing important.”

  “I’ll go with you to see the victim’s family.”

  “No. I’d rather do it alone.”

  The corners of his mouth tightened, and he stiffly took a step back. “Fine. Whatever you say.”

  I’d hurt his feelings, and some mean part deep inside of me was smug about it. But I’d deal with Josh later. Right now, I had to keep moving, keep thinking ahead to the next step.

  Because if I stopped, I might surrender to a crippling paralysis. Guilt and fear nipped at my soul, snarling twin wolves that smelled an opportunity to take me down. But I couldn’t let that happen. I’d made a promise to Hyacinth that I’d always protect Violet.

  Whatever it took, I’d make sure Violet wasn’t blamed. She’d suffered enough.

  Hell, it was the least I could do for my daughter.

  Chapter 20

  VIOLET

  July 2, 2007

  “I don’t have time for you anymore,” Ainsley says. “Sammy’s touch turns me on like yours never did and never could.”

  “Why?” I cry, unable to hide my anguish.

  “Oh, come on, Violet. Don’t take this so hard. We had a few good times, didn’t we? It was like an experiment. But now the real thing’s come along. I came tonight to tell you that. I’ll never meet you like this again.”

  Never again. I’m horrified.

  “What d
id I do wrong? Please tell me. Whatever it is, I’ll change. I promise.” I have no pride. Without Ainsley, I am nothing. As soulless and unimportant as the sand beneath my bare feet. I grab her arm. “Please,” I say again.

  “You’ve done nothing wrong. I’m sorry. Really. I didn’t know you took this so . . . seriously. We can still be friends. Just not . . .” Her voice trails off, and she points between our naked bodies. “Not this. Not anymore. Okay?” Pity flits across her face, and she begins to inch away from me, eager to bring this—bring us—to an end. And still I am begging. I fall to my knees and wrap my arms around her legs.

  “Stop it,” she says, a hint of impatience in her voice. “What’s wrong with you?”

  I stumble to my feet. Pity mixed with annoyance shines in her eyes and pushes me off an edge. Make it stop. I have to make the pain stop. Without thought, I strike at Ainsley. A primitive animal reacting blindly to pain. The crisp smack of my palm against her cheek startles us both. I step back, stunned.

  Now Ainsley is the wild beast, a black crow of vengeance. I see it in her flashing eyes and the outraged furrow of her brow. She hurls her body at me, her black hair lifting and rippling in the air, hands outstretched and fingers curled like talons. She means business.

  Without conscious deliberation, I raise my own hands, palms up, prepared for the onslaught. The rip of nails slashes the side of my neck and shoulders. My palms land on her shoulders. I push her.

  Push her with every ounce of strength in my body.

  Chapter 21

  VIOLET

  Present day

  “Violet Henderson, report to the front desk.”

  The disembodied voice over the Whispering Oaks intercom set my heart pounding faster, an unfortunate conditioned response that I’d developed. Friendless and practically without family since I was fourteen, when I was summoned, it usually meant bad news, never anyone wanting to chitchat or ask how my day was going.

  Not only that, but a black cat had crossed my path this morning when I’d driven past Ruth’s. It had darted underneath the Continental’s wheels in a mad dash to get to the dumpster, where an employee had been emptying trash. Protocol had demanded I return home and start the trip over to avoid bad juju, but doing so would have meant arriving late to work. I had driven on. All morning, the image of that scrawny cat had festered in the back of my mind. Should I have returned home and started the journey over? Was I about to be punished?

  I left the room I’d been cleaning and hurried down the hallway. Patients in wheelchairs lined the walls as they waited for the cafeteria to open for lunch.

  Had I done something wrong? I mentally reviewed the four hours I’d worked so far. I’d reported on time and performed the usual duties without incident. Still, the feeling of guilt and foreboding stayed with me as I approached the receptionist in the front lobby.

  “You called me. Violet Henderson.”

  The middle-aged woman intimidated me with her perfect bouffant and the icy, precise manner in which she routed incoming calls and bossed everyone around—visitors as well as staff.

  “I know who you are,” she said snippily, as if I’d insulted her competence. “Visitor for you.”

  “Me?”

  She pointed a bony finger, with its red-lacquered fingernail, to the corner of the lobby.

  Detective Kimbrel rose from one of the well-worn upholstered chairs. His tall presence dominated the room, and he walked toward me, his expression solemn and searching.

  “Miss”—he glanced at the receptionist’s nameplate on the desk—“Flanders. Is there someplace I can talk in private with Miss Henderson?”

  “Down the hall to your right. Third door on the left.” With that, she resumed clicking away at her keyboard. We’d been dismissed.

  He swept a hand, indicating that I should lead the way. I marched forward, conscious the entire time of Detective Kimbrel behind me, observing my every movement. At the designated door, I entered. Every wall in the residents’ library was lined with used paperbacks, mostly romance, medical, and self-help books—all used and hopelessly out of date. A large conference table dominated the center of the room, and I took a seat, folding my hands on its smooth wooden surface.

  Kimbrel seated himself across from me. “Sorry to disturb you at work, but there was an important discovery today in the Dalfred case.” He paused, letting his words sink in. “Thought you’d want to hear it from me first, before it’s broadcast all over the news.”

  A tightness squeezed my chest. Ainsley.

  Somewhere in the bowels of the facility, a dinner bell rang, followed by the sound of dozens of squeaking wheels. Another day, another meal in their long lives. It was all so ordinary and so wrong. I broke his gaze and stared down at my clenched hands. They were the hands of someone twice my age—red and calloused from scrubbing all day, every day. My “work therapy” at the state-run mental hospital had consisted of handling wet clothes in the laundry room and wiping down cafeteria tables. It had prepared me well for this job. The psychiatrists and social workers might even call me a success—that is, if their aim for patients was set incredibly low. I’d certainly hit such a target.

  Not that any of that mattered.

  The detective hadn’t come to deliver good news. My old, sweet fantasy that Ainsley was alive died, right here in the library with its musty books. Printed relics that no patients ever bothered to check out.

  He spoke again, abruptly shattering the silence. “After the lake was drained, construction workers—”

  “Stop! Please. I can’t bear it.” I jumped up, and the wooden chair toppled to the ground. I walked to the small window on the back wall and stared out into the bright sunshine. Just a few more seconds alone with my delusions of reuniting with my childhood friend. But his voice cut into the brief silence.

  “They found a young girl’s skeletal remains. Forensics hasn’t yet confirmed that it’s Ainsley Dalfred, but I have no doubt that it’s her.”

  A garbled sound erupted from my throat. Of course it was Ainsley. I closed my eyes, conjuring her laugh, her smooth, sleek body as she swam in the moonlight. All gone forever.

  Had I done this? Had I killed Ainsley?

  Surely not. I had loved my best friend.

  Oh, but you were so angry with her that last night. And what about all those lost hours when you roamed the woods? You must have killed her. Murdered your best friend, and when you realized what you’d done, you became so traumatized that you erased it from your brain. Locked it up tight and buried it so deep that you’ve lost the memory forever.

  Damn it. I wanted to remember. I wanted to know if I was a monster or a victim of some bizarre circumstance.

  The scent of leather and soap drew near. Detective Kimbrel was beside me. He reached out an arm as if he wanted to place it over my shoulders and comfort me, but then he let it drop by his side.

  “Have you told Ainsley’s parents yet?” I asked.

  “Yes. I stopped in on the way over here.”

  “Do they . . .” I bit my lip to stop the tremble. “Do they think I’m responsible?”

  “They’re grieving right now. Angry too. Give them time.”

  He’d skirted my question, but his meaning was clear. “They think I killed her,” I said dully.

  “Does it matter what they think?”

  I stared into his dirt-brown eyes, trying to understand him. Shouldn’t cops be suspicious and probing? Hell, I found it suspicious that he wasn’t suspicious. It made me uncomfortable, as though he had some secret knowledge I wasn’t privy to, seeing as how I must surely be a person of interest in the case. “You’ve always been kind to me. Thank you.”

  “I’ve never thought you killed that girl.”

  “Why?” I asked abruptly. “Seems like I’d be your most logical suspect, since I was the last one to see her alive.”

  “There’s no motive,” he pointed out. “And it doesn’t fit with what I’ve observed of your character.”

  “But you d
on’t know me,” I blurted. “Not really. You interviewed me as a child, after I’d experienced the worst trauma of my life. Hardly the basis to make such a judgment.”

  “I knew your mother. And I’ve consulted with your treatment staff over the years.”

  That took me by surprise, and not in a good way. “I thought my medical records were confidential.”

  “They are. But they did let me know you were well behaved and cooperative. No record of violence.”

  Me and the rest of the patients were mostly too overmedicated to get riled enough to fight. But if the reports were a check in my favor, I wouldn’t argue against it.

  “Plus, look at you now,” Kimbrel continued. “You’re working at a nursing home, helping the elderly. To me, that shows you have a compassionate nature.”

  “It’s a job,” I remarked dryly. “Helps pay the bills.”

  “Your supervisors say you do an excellent job here and that the patients like you.”

  “You’ve been questioning Cora about me?”

  “Only once, yes.”

  Anger and humiliation washed over me. I’d considered Cora a friend, or at least thought she liked me well enough, since she used to work for my family. She also had known me as a child before this black cloud of doubt had stained my reputation. An even worse thought struck. “Why are you really here?”

  “I told you. I didn’t want you to hear the news from television.”

  “Got to be more to it than that. Isn’t now about the time you warn me not to leave town?”

  “It probably would be for the best.”

  I’d had no plans to leave Normal until I’d saved money and knew Dad’s medications were aboveboard. Still, I’d liked having my options open.

  I paced the room.

  “What’s the problem? You weren’t planning to leave soon, were you?” he asked.

  “No. I just don’t relish the possibility of being put away again. I spent too many years of my life under forced confinement. Yeah, you can call it treatment instead of jail, but the fact is I couldn’t make my own decisions, not even something as simple as what I wanted to eat for supper. And I couldn’t leave either. So you can see why any threat to my freedom scares me, Detective Kimbrel.”