Cold Waters (Normal, Alabama Book 1)

by Debbie Herbert

  “Then let me make you ecstatic. There’s a possibility I could be offered an early retirement.”

  “What? When?” As I’d suspected, she wasn’t overjoyed. Merely curious.

  “Another year or year and a half. I can buy out the time I briefly worked for the state before becoming a cop.”

  “Can we afford it? Money’s tight after paying for Brad’s and David’s college degrees.”

  “Let me worry about the money.”

  “I could go back to work. Just temporary until we’ve saved more money.”

  “No.” Ellie was unhappy enough in our marriage without returning to the old job she hated. If it came down to that, she’d become even more resentful and snippy.

  Ellie folded her arms and drew a deep breath, as if gathering her courage. “Is she yours?”

  My ears rang. Not now. Hadn’t I suffered enough crap in one day? We hadn’t discussed this issue in ages. “What are you talking about?” I hedged, gathering my wits.

  “You know damn well what I’m talking about. The woman at the center of controversy again. Violet. Your lover’s daughter. Is she yours as well?”

  My denial was swift and automatic. Why reverse course now? “No.”

  “Why should I believe a damn thing you say?” Gray eyes filled with angry tears.

  “How many times do I have to tell you that she isn’t?”

  “Until I’m satisfied you’re telling me the truth.”

  “In other words—never.”

  “If that Violet’s not your daughter, then why did you send money to her through the years?”

  Paralysis cemented me to the floor, and my lungs seized.

  “Yeah, that’s right. I know about it. Close to five thousand dollars slipped to her using prepaid credit cards.” Ellie huffed out of the room and stomped up the stairs.

  It hadn’t been my money. Not most of it, anyway. I’d merely been the channel to funnel funds. But I could hardly tell her that, either, without raising more questions.

  Alone, I didn’t know quite what to do with myself. Follow Ellie upstairs and continue lying as I had all these years? Or tell her the truth and risk losing everything?

  In the end, I did what was convenient and least emotionally taxing.

  I opened my cigar box and pulled out a Montecristo, then poured a glass of whiskey. Carrying both vices outside, I sat on the porch and lit my cigar, studying the cherry tip as it glowed. Another night of unmarital bliss at Casa Kimbrel.

  All my fault. I readily acknowledged my guilt.

  A strange feeling tore at my gut. I felt as though I were wavering on a precipice. One day soon, I’d have to pay for my many sins. I might have avoided a crisis this evening, but it was the proverbial calm before the storm. You couldn’t do the terrible things I had done and not expect to pay the price.

  Secrets and lies would always catch up to you, no matter how hard you worked to keep them hidden in darkness. And when they did, the truth would forever destroy my life.

  Chapter 27

  HYACINTH

  July 2, 2007

  A length of thick, frazzled rope hung from an oak limb. I’d been here thousands of times, even as a child myself, and had nothing but fond memories of jumping in the water to cool down from the blazing ’Bama heat. But tonight, the hanging rope appeared ominous. It twitched in the night breeze like a venomous snake.

  I rubbed the goose bumps on my arms.

  “Violet,” I called, “where are you?”

  Only the rush of water against rocks answered me. Maybe she was afraid to speak. Or maybe Delaney had sent me on a fool’s errand.

  “You’re not in trouble. I’m worried. You there?”

  Still nothing but the water and a cacophony of insects. I walked to the cliff, observing the fresh set of bare footprints in the moist ground. About the right size for Violet. At the embankment’s edge, I looked down. Moonlight sparkled like quicksilver on the dark water below. My eyes searched and located a lump of pale . . . something. It lay against a boulder, unmoving. Probably a piece of abandoned junk. And yet I felt compelled to get closer. Reluctantly, I picked my way downhill, descending into the liquid darkness. The slightly musty scent of water and mud, mixed with the sound of the rushing river, flooded me with memories of carefree summers as a kid. I pushed the nostalgia aside and concentrated on finding my child.

  In the flashlight’s path, more footprints dotted the shore. Barefoot impressions in the sandy soil. Flashes of yellow and pink cloth flapped on a tree limb. I made my way over and shined the light. Two T-shirts. The pink one I immediately recognized as Violet’s. I untangled it from the limb and held the soft fabric to my face. It still smelled of Dreft laundry detergent and the faint musky-sweet scent of my daughter. I wasn’t sure if finding her shirt was a good or bad sign. I turned my attention to the yellow shirt, picking it up and shaking it out. It was the right size and style for a teenage girl, presumably belonging to Ainsley.

  I shined the flashlight’s beam underneath the brush and found three sandals, one of them a familiar coral shade, bedazzled with pink and purple crystals. My heart beat faster. Unmistakably Violet’s. I searched a few more minutes but found nothing else. I draped the T-shirts on my arm and held the sandals in one hand, their straps interlaced in the crook of my fingers, and kept walking the shoreline.

  “Violet!” I called out again. Then, “Ainsley! Anyone there?”

  The tall sweet gums guarded the far side of the river like secretive sentinels of doom. Again, I had to shake off the dread. Violet was fine—probably home in bed by now. When I got ahold of her, she’d be grounded for at least a month for scaring me like this.

  But fear trumped anger as I again spotted something not quite right, that strange bundle of paleness that lay midway in the river. I kicked out of my sodden slippers and plunged in. Warm water flowed against my ankles, then my calves, as I gingerly walked atop bits of sharp pebbles and mud. A few more steps, and I was thigh deep. I raised my arms, keeping the T-shirts and sandals dry as I walked in up to shoulder level. I’d no clue why I’d brought the found items with me or why I felt it was important to keep them dry. Should I return to shore and leave them where I’d left my flashlight and cell phone?

  No, finding clues to Violet’s whereabouts was urgent, and I wouldn’t waste time. Another step, and my foot found no purchase on the river floor. The sudden deepening here was what made the rope-swinging dives possible, as shallow water would be much too dangerous.

  The pale form was only a dozen or so feet away, but I still didn’t recognize its shape or identity. I’d have to swim farther. I dropped my arms—to hell with keeping the shirts and sandals dry—and swam until I came to the boulder. I clung to the rock, my breath loud and labored, as though I’d run for miles.

  The thing was before me. Horror bubbled inside me, and I gasped for breath. It can’t be. It can’t be.

  But it was. The pale, naked torso of a young girl lay against a boulder, face pressed against its hard surface, the rest of her body still submerged.

  Not Violet. Dear God, not Violet.

  But I couldn’t be sure. The hair was wet and matted. I forced myself to lay a hand on her cold, wet shoulder. Slowly, I eased her body over, searching for familiar signs of my Violet as the girl’s face flopped into view.

  A long nose, oval face, and full lips. It was a familiar face, all right, but not my daughter’s.

  “Ainsley,” I breathed. Dark blood ran down her right temple from a jagged cut. I shook her shoulders. “Ainsley! Wake up! Where’s Violet?”

  Her head lolled to one side, her neck as weak and useless as a newborn baby’s. The eyes never opened.

  She must have swung out on the rope, misjudged her landing, and hit her head on this rock. Somehow she must have managed to cling to the boulder. And now she was dead.

  I released Ainsley and searched the darkness. If Violet had run home for help, she would have had to pass by me in the backyard. And she hadn’t. So where the hell
was Violet?

  Chapter 28

  VIOLET

  Present day

  The knock at the front door caught me by surprise. Dad continued eating his macaroni and cheese, unperturbed by the unexpected knock.

  I strode to the door and opened it.

  Purple hair glowed from the sun that backlit the tresses, rendering them as colorful as a mermaid’s tail.

  Libby met my gaze, chin lifted in determination and a squirmy Calvin wiggling on her hip.

  “Let me down,” the little boy demanded, breaking the silent deadlock between Libby and me. He slid out of his mother’s hold and dived at my knees, wrapping his small arms around my legs.

  I patted his dark curls and smiled. No fair of Libby, bringing Calvin along. He’d melt the coldest of hearts.

  “Couldn’t get a sitter,” she volunteered, as if reading my mind.

  Before I could even invite them in, Calvin streaked past me and ran into the living room.

  Dad blinked and stared at the child as if he were an alien dropped from outer space. Now would not be a good time for one of his profanity outbursts.

  “I’m hungry,” Calvin said, scrambling onto the couch next to my father and pointedly staring at his food.

  “Come on in the kitchen, and I’ll fix you a bowl,” I said.

  They both followed me to the kitchen. I nuked a serving of leftovers while Libby settled him into a chair.

  “Your dad’s not looking so hot,” she said in a low voice, coming to stand near me.

  “He’s getting old and has dementia.”

  “True. But still, his skin’s really gray. You ever find where Delaney stashed his prescriptions?”

  “No. I’ve looked everywhere.”

  “Huh.” Libby tapped her chin, thinking. “So how does this work out when Delaney leaves you alone to take care of him? It’s dangerous not to take the same meds at the same time every day.”

  I opened the nearest kitchen drawer and held up three plastic baggies. Libby peered at the array of pills lining the bottom of each. “She puts these together. One each for a.m., midday, and p.m., with only one dose per bag.”

  “Your sister really doesn’t want you to know what he’s taking.”

  “Claims it’s because she’s concerned I’ll either forget the meds or screw up the dosages and timing.”

  I took the plate from the microwave and handed it to Libby. “What does he drink? I have water, iced tea—”

  “Water’s fine. Thanks, Violet.” Libby stood still and smiled at me, a tentative upturn of her lips.

  I knew the question behind the smile and the stare. But I wasn’t ready to play nice and say everything was fine between us. If she’d betrayed me once, how could I be certain it wouldn’t happen again?

  I stared back, unsmiling.

  “C’mon, Violet. It’s true that at first, I might have only seen you as an opportunity to get under Delaney’s skin, but I’ve gotten to know you and really do like you. Okay?”

  I folded my arms and considered her words. “Why?”

  Confusion clouded her eyes. “Why what?”

  “Why would you befriend someone like me?” I asked flatly.

  “Seriously?” A snort of disbelief. “Is your self-esteem so low you don’t believe you’re a likable person?”

  “Actually, yes.”

  No one in Normal had ever thought of me as friend material before. Not after the business with Ainsley.

  I turned and opened a cabinet, retrieving a small plastic cup. “Go feed Calvin,” I said gruffly.

  A warm hand pressed down on my shoulder. “I like you because you’re a good person, Vi. Remember what I told you about watching you stick up for that kid in special ed? That’s the truth.”

  I swallowed hard, and the cup trembled in my hand.

  “Hurry up,” Calvin called out.

  Libby chuckled. “Besides, you like my son. Anyone who cares for Calvin is gold in my eyes.”

  A whoosh of relief swept through me as I poured Calvin a glass of water. I hated conflict, and I did need a friend, rusty as I was on how to act with one. “Back in a minute,” I told them. “Going to check on Dad.”

  Quickly, I stepped into the other room. “Dad, you okay . . .”

  He was gone.

  I stared stupidly at the empty sofa and the abandoned bowl of food on the tray. What the hell? He must have slipped out the back door.

  He’s fine, I kept assuring myself as I walked across the pine floors to the window.

  His stooped figure was huddled under the large pecan tree, a shovel in hand.

  Not again.

  I’d have to get him cleaned up before Delaney got home—whenever the hell that would be. Every day, her absences seemed to grow longer and more erratic. She’d turn up, breathless and mussed, talking a mile a minute about meeting Sawyer or getting together with friends.

  “Dad? What are you doing?” I called to him, rushing out the door.

  He didn’t bother looking up, just kept trying to shovel dirt between the knotty pecan roots. His face was set in that stubborn look I’d come to loathe. I placed a hand on his shoulder. “Dad?”

  He scowled and shrugged me off, mumbling incoherently as he thrust the shovel into the unyielding red clay.

  “Everything okay out here?”

  I turned to find Libby and Calvin a few feet behind.

  “Isn’t this just jim-dandy,” I muttered, running a hand through my hair. I pasted on a smile. “Everything’s fine. Y’all go on inside.”

  Calvin’s face lit with excitement. “Oh boy! Are you digging for treasure? I wanna dig too. Can I?”

  Libby winked at me. “That sounds like fun. Let’s all dig for treasure. Got any more shovels?”

  Wordlessly, I pointed to the half dozen shovels leaning against the house.

  “He’s going to have a blast with this,” Libby said. “We’ll make it an adventure.”

  An adventure. What the hell. I laughed, glad to not be alone with Dad. Glad to make a game out of an embarrassing situation.

  Glad to have a friend.

  “Let’s do it.”

  Libby gazed at me, a brow raised. “What do you imagine we’ll find?”

  “Old whiskey bottles, most likely.”

  “What’s whiskey?” Calvin asked. The kid was all ears.

  “A magical golden elixir,” I said ruefully.

  Dad looked up, regarding us all with surprise, as if he’d just noticed he wasn’t alone. “Whatever we dig up is mine, ya hear?” he said, eyes narrowing. “This is my property. Generations of Hendersons have lived here and worked this soil.”

  “Yes, sir.” With that, Calvin plopped down and set to work, his tongue slightly sticking out of his mouth as he concentrated on the task.

  In the deep gloaming, under the old pecan tree that had provided bounty for an untold number of pecan pies and Christmas fruitcakes, the four of us set to digging. Peace settled in, the likes of which I hadn’t felt since childhood.

  Why hadn’t I ever thought to join Dad in his hunt? So much more peaceful than fighting him like Delaney insisted on doing. I didn’t care if he got dirty. Digging gave him some exercise, a little healthy outdoor air, and a whole lot more purpose in his dwindling world.

  Metal clinked against roots, and the air grew cooler.

  “How about I make us all some hot chocolate?” I proposed. “Or bring out a pitcher of iced tea? There’s a bowl of fresh-cut watermelon in the fridge too.”

  “Yippee!” Calvin flung down the garden trowel and ran to the porch. Apparently, the thrill of the treasure hunt had already ended.

  “Sure. But we’ll have to eat and run. It’s getting near his bedtime.” Libby dusted her hands on her jeans and waved to my father. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Henderson.”

  Inside, it was dark enough that I needed to turn on the lamps and dining room chandelier. Warm ambient light glowed in pools of gold, and above us prisms of lights twinkled like fireflies. Magical. Like a swarm
of fairies sprinkling pixie dust. As a kid, I used to lie on the wooden floor in the middle of the room and stare at the light, trying to make out the detail of their fairy wings.

  Fairies. I laughed out loud. That memory hadn’t crossed my mind in years.

  I opened the fridge and took out the bowl of happy-pink watermelon chunks. “Iced tea or hot chocolate?”

  “Tea. Mister Big Ears has enough energy without laying on the chocolate.”

  Calvin scowled and slapped his hands over his ears. “Not big,” he said with a huff.

  My mouth opened, and just as I was set to laugh, the flash of headlights in the driveway choked away my mirth. Doused it quick as a match dropped in water.

  “Must be your sister. Fun time’s over,” Libby observed. “We’ll take a rain check on the refreshments. Calvin, time to go.”

  He stomped his feet. “Nooo.”

  I winced at his cranky wail, then tapped him on the shoulder. “How about I fix you a bowl of watermelon to take home?”

  The tears dried up immediately. “Okay.”

  Libby rolled her eyes. “Hurry. Delaney and I . . .” She cocked her head at Calvin, unwilling to elaborate.

  “Right. I’m on it.” Quickly, I scooped up some chunks in a take-home plastic container. But I wasn’t quick enough. Already, Delaney was walking up the lighted path, running fingers through her tumbled hair and then swiping away smudged red lipstick with the back of one hand. Her jaw was set and her stride determined. Which probably meant she’d recognized Libby’s old car parked in the driveway.

  Libby took the container and steered Calvin to the door.

  The door flung open, and Delaney exploded into the room, a blonde cyclone—one pissed-off psychotic storm.

  “What are you doing here?” she roared, pointing a wobbly finger at Libby. Calvin cowered into Libby’s legs, hiding his face.

  “I invited her,” I said with false bravado, but my face heated with shame. Libby would never, ever come back to visit our crazy house.

  Libby’s lips pursed, and her eyes flashed. She wasn’t a bit scared of Delaney, but she did have Calvin to consider. “We came unannounced. If you’ll step aside, we’ll go.”

  “We?” Delaney glanced down, eyes widening as she caught sight of Calvin. “Harley Simm’s son. Look at those dark eyes and hair. It’s him all over again.”