Cold Waters (Normal, Alabama Book 1)

by Debbie Herbert

  “Understandable.”

  “Do you think there will be new evidence? Is there any chance I’m in danger of arrest?”

  “We’re unlikely to uncover new clues after all the time that’s elapsed. But like I said, I never believed you guilty of murder. From all accounts, you two were close friends.”

  Had he never worked crimes involving betrayals of family or friends? I brushed the unbidden thought aside. If he considered me innocent, then lucky me.

  “Were her remains . . . I mean, was there much left of it? Was everything intact? Are you sure it’s Ainsley?”

  “Forensics will confirm from her teeth, but that’s only a matter of time. All that remains is the skeleton, and there’s evidence of blunt-force trauma to her skull on the right side. Far as I’m concerned, that doesn’t necessarily spell murder. She could have accidentally hit her head on a rock when diving and lost consciousness, and then the current dragged her body out from the river to where it empties into the lake.”

  “You make it all sound so . . . simple. So cut and dry.” I returned to my chair and crossed my arms and legs. “Anything else I should know?”

  He hesitated. “Cement blocks were found near her body. That’s problematic.”

  “Why?”

  “The body might have been weighted down.”

  His words drummed through me. I couldn’t have gone to such elaborate, calculating lengths, could I? If only I could remember. “What do you think the town’s reaction will be when word gets out?”

  “Not going to lie. Everyone will be talking and speculating. Might be rough for you for a few days or weeks.”

  “Or forever. If I stayed. Even if the coroner rules it an accidental death, people in Normal will always speculate that I killed Ainsley.”

  “Then leave.” Kimbrel rose to his feet. “There’s nothing to tie you down here, is there? Your mother’s dead, your father’s mind is gone, and your sister . . .”

  “What about Delaney?”

  “Like I said, I read some reports from your hospitals. Family visits were rare. It’s not like you’re close with the two who remain.”

  I followed him to the door on shaky legs. In the hallway, he faced me. “Didn’t Hy—didn’t your mother leave you any money? Rumor had it that she inherited a nice sum after her parents died.”

  “It’s all gone. Well, I take that back. There’s less than a hundred and fifty dollars remaining in the trust fund account she left me. But the money went to my care, and other things.” I was sure my bitterness must have shown.

  “What other things?”

  “Personal care items, trips.” My lips pressed together. I was talking too much. Wouldn’t look good for me to complain about my lack of money, considering the news he’d just delivered.

  “What trips?”

  I considered his question. Not a smart idea to lie. “Look, I’m not going to cover up for my sister. Delaney spent a lot of my money on herself. Clothes, jewelry, vacations—it all added up.”

  We reached the lobby, and he stopped abruptly. Anger flashed across his face. “Hy intended it for you. Not only is what Delaney did immoral, it’s illegal. She must have falsified receipts. I can speak to the bank manager on your behalf.”

  “I’ve already spoken to him. Let it go,” I said dully. “I don’t have money for a court battle, and even if I did, the trust money’s gone. My sister has had a lot of stress over the years taking care of our dad alone and keeping up that great big ole house. Hardly fair for me to show up and expect an inheritance.”

  “If your mother only knew, she’d—”

  “Forget it.” The news of Ainsley’s death was too fresh for me to quibble over the lost money. It was gone, and I’d have to make a fresh start in life using my own wits.

  He extended his hand. “This all must have come as a shock. Why don’t you leave work early today? Prepare your father and sister.”

  No sense in preparing family. Dad was wrapped in his own world, and Delaney thought the worst of me anyway. Yet I hesitated. Could I really do that—take an afternoon off just for me? It seemed so decadent. I wasn’t worthy.

  “Go on,” he urged. “Ring your boss. It’s worth a try.”

  “Maybe.” I slanted my gaze toward the receptionist, whose hands had stilled on the keyboard. Old witch was listening to every word.

  “I’ll call you if there are any developments.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. “If you need me—”

  “You already gave me one.”

  He tucked it back in his pocket. “Ah, right. Goodbye, then.”

  I watched as he exited the building, trying to pinpoint why he disturbed me. His appearance was like any other middle-aged man I’d ever met—except for his long legs, which placed him head and shoulders above most people. His manner was also common in older southern men—formally polite in an old-fashioned way.

  I shrugged and returned to my duties. Fine for someone in his position to spur-of-the-moment ask for an afternoon off, but my job was still too new, too vital, for me to risk any type of censure. I loaded steaming trays onto the meal cart and then began my familiar lunchtime duties, delivering them room by room. On the surface, the routine provided a modicum of comfort for the underlying turmoil churning in my gut.

  She’s dead. Dead, dead, dead. With every squeaky turn of the cart’s wheels, the refrain spun in my mind. It rutted into the deep recesses, impressing the finality of the situation to my brain and heart.

  Room 429, Emmeline Upchurch. The last delivery. In thirty minutes, I’d repeat the whole procedure in reverse, collecting trays and returning them to the cafeteria for washing.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Upchurch. Hope you’re hungry.” I pasted on a polite smile and placed the steaming silver tray on the table by her bed.

  Her faded gray eyes narrowed at me as she roused herself to a seated position. “For this rubbish? Not particularly.”

  “Should be something there you’ll like. A buttered roll, maybe?” Her complaints didn’t faze me. I heard a variation of the same from most patients. I lifted the top of the tray and started unwrapping the cellophane covering the Jell-O.

  “Don’t touch that!” Mrs. Upchurch scolded. “I don’t want the likes of you handling my food.”

  What the hell? I stepped back and faced her. Complaints I was used to, personal insults not so much. The woman was perpetually unpleasant, but not at this level of nasty. Maybe she was just a germophobe, though, and didn’t mean it personally.

  “Is there a problem?” I asked, keeping the polite, though forced, smile on my face. “I can assure you, I washed my hands prior to touching the trays.”

  She glared at the plate of roast beef and potatoes. “For all I know, you might have slipped arsenic in them mashed potatoes.”

  I snorted. Mrs. Upchurch was too ridiculous to take offense with. Poor lady must suffer from dementia, same as my dad. I kept my tone reasonable and cajoling. “Why would I poison you? Go on and eat your food.” I reached for the tray top. “I’ll leave you to it.”

  Mrs. Upchurch delivered a sharp slap against my knuckles. I pulled my hand back and shook out the sting. The old biddy was surprisingly strong. Pretty feisty for a ninety-two-year-old woman who must weigh all of 115 pounds.

  “Don’t eat it, then. Your choice.”

  I spun on my heel and grabbed the cart. Disproportionate anger blazed through me like a burn. Best thing for me to do was get out of there quick, before I said or did something that spelled trouble.

  “Hey, you! Miss!” Mrs. Upchurch called out. “I saw you on TV. Right before you came in. I know who you are now.”

  I slowly turned around to face her.

  “Thought yer name sounded familiar. Violet Henderson. You was the last person who saw that little girl alive. Alice, was it?”

  “Ainsley,” I whispered past the burn in the back of my throat.

  “She ain’t nothing but a bag of bones now.” Her crusty lips twisted in mali
cious pleasure.

  Horror pinned me to the spot, rooting my feet into the cheap linoleum flooring.

  “What’d you do to yer supposed friend? Hold her head underwater until she couldn’t breathe no more?”

  This wasn’t happening. This crazy ole witch wasn’t spewing evil accusations. Mrs. Upchurch licked her dry lips, as if she could taste my fear.

  “Or were you two fighting over a boy, and you knocked her upside the head?”

  A boy. Sammy Granger. Black floaters whirled across my eyes. My peripheral vision narrowed until Emmeline Upchurch became a tiny pinprick figure. She was so very far away from me, and I was alone with the encroaching darkness.

  I curled my fingers into my palms and made tight fists. Nails dug into flesh, until the pain grounded me to the moment. The here and now. Room 429. Emmeline Upchurch.

  Go.

  I left the cart in her room. In the hallway, I strode past the rows of doors, many of them open to reveal droning television sets. Before, it had been merely background noise, but today I imagined some well-groomed reporter saying my name while images of a barren lake and a body bag whisked into a state vehicle played in the background.

  Detective Kimbrel had been right. I should leave work at once. My legs broke into a sprint as I headed to the break room to gather my purse. I took deep breaths, but my lungs were a sieve that couldn’t hold oxygen. I bit the inside of my mouth, again concentrating on the pain. Get to the car. Take an anxiety pill.

  In the lobby, the receptionist frowned at me. “Where are you going?”

  “Family emergency,” I lied. “Tell Cora I’m sorry.” More deep breaths that couldn’t fuel my racing heart. “Gotta get home.”

  Outside, I scrambled to my car, locked myself in, and dry swallowed two pills. Cool air-conditioning blasted my face. I leaned back in the seat and shut my eyes, forcing myself to take long, slow breaths. I don’t know how long I sat there in the car’s safe cocoon, but eventually, my body calmed, and lethargy set in.

  On the downside, I didn’t want to move, much less drive anywhere. My temporary home held no joy for me, and I couldn’t go back to work and face Cora yet. Dispiritedly, I pulled out of the employee parking lot. With any luck, Delaney would be out, and Dad would be napping. I’d love a nap myself before delivering the news to them about Ainsley’s remains.

  Delaney was going to throw one helluva screaming fit. Might even throw me out on the streets.

  The way I felt, I wasn’t so sure I’d oppose being kicked out of the house.

  Chapter 22

  VIOLET

  Present day

  The house was, thankfully, cool and dark and silent as a graveyard at midnight. I slipped inside, shutting the door softly behind me. Dad was asleep on the couch. I tiptoed to the back window and spotted Delaney weeding her herbs and vegetables. My shoulders sagged in relief. I’d be able to sleep off the effects of the anxiety pills before the evening news, and then, with any luck, I’d calmly tell her about the detective’s visit.

  I started past the kitchen door, then stopped. Now would be as good a time as any to take new photos of Dad’s pill bottles while Delaney was occupied. Quickly, I opened the top-right cabinet drawer.

  They were gone.

  Nothing remained except a few odds and ends. I checked the drawer beside it, scrambling through more junk. Still nothing. Systematically, I checked every cabinet drawer and even opened the cookie jar—but Delaney had moved them. They could be stored anywhere in the damn house.

  I couldn’t deal with that right now. One problem at a time. I trudged up the stairs and then sank onto my bed, not even bothering to kick off my shoes. A familiar drowsiness settled into my body, and I gladly surrendered to the void of sleep.

  Bam bam bam.

  I startled awake at the pounding on my bedroom door. A second later, it flew open, slamming into the opposite wall so forcefully that the knob tore a hole in the drywall.

  Delaney’s eyes were wild as lightning, and her hair was frizzled into a tangled mess. Fury emanated from every inch of her taut body. “You,” she said in a loud, deep voice. She pointed a finger at me, advancing slowly toward the bed.

  I clutched a nearby pillow and drew it onto my lap. “Wh-what?” I asked.

  “You could have warned me. I heard that a cop visited you at work today.”

  I glanced out the window and saw that the sun had set low and the shadows had lengthened. “Guess you’ve already watched the evening news.”

  Delaney brushed aside my comment. “But no, you don’t say a word. You come home early and creep into bed. Just left Dad and me to hear it announced to the world.”

  “Sorry. I wanted to tell you before the news came on, but I overslept and—”

  Delaney stalked over to the bed and towered over me. Her index finger jabbed at the air, only inches from my face. “You’re nothing but a selfish bitch.”

  Her lips spittled my face, and I scrambled backward. But I wasn’t quick enough. She tried to grab my arm, and I slapped her hand away. Again, Delaney came at me, and I shoved her. She fell against my nightstand on the tumble down. Blood dribbled from a cut on her forehead, and she dazedly touched the wound, the blood coating her fingers.

  “I-I’m sorry,” I stammered. I hadn’t meant to hurt her; I’d only wanted to protect myself.

  I wasn’t sure my apology even registered with Delaney. The dazed look on her face was replaced by one of righteous anger. She rose and came at me again, grabbing a handful of my hair. My scalp burned, and I screamed in pain. Delaney let go and placed her hands on her hips, still clenching a clump of my hair that hung from her right hand.

  Angry tears tracked down my face, and I swiped them away as I stood. “Don’t you ever raise a hand to me again. You got that?” My voice choked on a sob. I sounded like a pathetic wimp, not someone to be taken seriously.

  “You started it,” she said, pointing to the blood on her forehead. “And if you don’t like it, get the fuck out of my house.”

  “It’s not your house. It’s Dad’s,” I shot back.

  “Fine. You want Dad to be the one to throw you out? I’ll have a little chat with him.”

  Her threat brought me up short. A little chat? In light of the huge quantity of pills and Dad’s warning of her herbal teas, I had no doubt that Delaney thoroughly controlled our dad. If I left him alone with her, how far would she go to finally own the house and all that was left in the bank? For all I knew, she might even have arranged an insurance policy as a bonus.

  I couldn’t leave him alone with her. He hadn’t been a great father, but he was still my dad. I’d gather information about all the damn medicine she gave him, and then I’d have him evaluated by another doctor. I stifled my pride.

  “Give me the rest of the summer, Delaney. I need to make arrangements. I need to draw a few paychecks. Then I promise I’ll leave here and never come back.”

  She glared at me, her chest still heaving in anger. “You’re an embarrassment to me. Always have been. You and your damn crows and all your sneaking out into the woods to meet Ainsley.”

  I lifted my chin. “I’ve done nothing to be ashamed of.”

  An ugly smirk twisted her lips. “We both know that’s a lie. You got into an argument with Ainsley, and you killed her.”

  “Stop saying that! I don’t remember what happened that night.”

  “But I do. You confessed to me that you did it.”

  Not this again. My ears burned, and a loud ringing echoed inside them. “You’re lying. Trying to poison my mind.”

  “Am I?”

  I stared at her, shaking with frustration. Had I killed Ainsley? That was the question that haunted my nights, and Delaney damn well knew my vulnerability.

  A beating of feathers rustled near the balcony. At the door, three crows cawed, and one of them tapped his beak on the glass pane.

  “It’s time for their night feeding,” I noted woodenly. I started to the door, hoping she’d go away, but Delaney grabb
ed my arm.

  “Is that all you care about? Those damn crows? I’m trying to talk to you.”

  I snatched my arm out of her grasp. “There’s nothing more to say.”

  “What are we going to do about the gossip? Now that her skeleton’s been found, everyone will be talking about that girl again. Dragging our family name through the mud.”

  “This is about me, not you and Dad. I’m the one they’ll gossip about. If we’re lucky, it will blow over eventually.”

  Delaney snickered at my half-hearted lie and began pacing my room, plucking at the frayed hem on the bottom of her shirt. She mumbled under her breath, the sounds so soft and garbled that I couldn’t understand her words. I wished she would just go. All I wanted was to feed my birds and be left alone. Suddenly, she halted and gave me a peculiar look.

  “What?” I asked warily.

  “I have a solution to our problem. Let’s sit down and talk.”

  Delaney again sat on my bed and patted the mattress, placating me with a smile. “Sorry. Just had to vent some. I’m not mad anymore.”

  Would I never get used to her mercurial mood swings? Delaney of the sunshine and the storms. I rubbed my aching scalp where she’d pulled out a chunk of my hair. No way I was getting in striking range again.

  “Ah, c’mon,” she urged. “Don’t you want to hear my great idea?”

  Not really, but she obviously wasn’t leaving until she’d had her say. I dragged the chair from my vanity and plopped it a good six feet from where she sat. I folded my arms across my chest. “Shoot.”

  “Okay. First, after all these years, if your memory hasn’t returned by now, it’s not happening.”

  “That’s not true. My therapist told me that coming home, where the trauma occurred, might help jog my memories. Sometimes, all it takes is for one of the senses to be reawakened—a certain smell, or a shifting of light, or the texture of an object. And then all the pieces of the puzzle come together in one fell swoop.”