“In hindsight, there was a certain peace in the hospital that was missing at home.”
Mom’s eyes filled with tears. “Guess I deserve that.”
“You could have divorced Dad. Instead, you cheated on him and ran away.”
“But this way, I managed to hide my inheritance overseas, and now it’s all mine. Yours, too, of course.”
I stared at the woman I’d never really known. Mom had shown what mattered to her—and it wasn’t me. “I don’t care about your damn money. Where have you been all this time?”
“Portugal. It’s where I got that sea glass for you.” Her face glowed with a happiness I’d never witnessed before. “Algarve, to be exact. It’s one hundred miles off the Atlantic coastline, complete with sandy beaches, lagoons, and jagged rock cliffs. You would love it.”
“Portugal,” I repeated, momentarily caught up in her description of paradise. “It’s so foreign . . . do you speak Portuguese?”
“Don’t need to, although I’ve picked up a bit. There’s a huge number of expats and foreign retirees there.”
Hard to imagine that all these years I’d been hospitalized, she’d been lying on an exotic beach and having a grand ole time. The anger returned, doubled.
Mom continued on, oblivious to my feelings. “It’s paradise without the heavy price tag. I live comfortably on fifteen hundred dollars a month. I want you to go there with me. Leave this place behind.”
“Sounds like you haven’t been suffering the last few years. Congratulations.”
Mom reached out a hand for me, a silent plea for forgiveness. I jerked my body away to avoid her touch.
“How did you pull it off?” I asked, remembering the crushed, burnt frame of the car that I’d seen in photographs. “There was a body . . .”
“Boone helped me. He knew how desperate I was.” I tuned her out. I was sick of all her words. All her lies.
Enough. I’d had it. I’d forgotten how selfish she could be. How she wanted everyone to bow to her own wants and needs. Death and time did that—altered perception and put a rosy haze on a person’s past behavior.
“Stop talking and listen to me!” My voice rang through the room, and Mom clamped her mouth shut, finally. I drew a deep breath. “Why did Detective Kimbrel”—I refused to call him my father—“help you fake your death? Why would he put his career on the line?”
Now that I wanted her to talk, she’d gone quiet.
“Because he loved me. Still does.”
I gazed at her stupidly. Love? So it had been more than just an affair. Random bits and snippets of memory floating through the ether of my mind fell neatly into place—Dad’s constant jealousy and Mom’s dreamy, distracted retreats inside her head, no doubt thinking of her lover.
Needing space, I stood and paced the room, rubbing my temples. I suddenly stopped and stared at the woman who had birthed me, whose death I had mourned for so long. Shouldn’t I be ecstatic at the unexpected reunion? Where was the joy?
Honestly, I wished she’d stayed dead.
“Why did you come back?” I asked abruptly. “Why now after all these years?”
“You need me.”
“No, I needed you years ago. Not now. What’s the sudden urgency?”
“Delaney. She went to Boone two days ago.” Mom cocked her head to the side and regarded me quizzically. “With Ainsley’s bracelet.”
I sucked in my breath. I was too late, had postponed running away for too long. Libby’s detour of confronting and trying to force my sister into telling the truth and revealing all she knew about that night was for naught. Delaney had made good on her threats, and I was screwed. I sat on the bed and put my head in my hands. How long now until I returned to the state hospital—or worse, the Tutwiler Prison for Women?
“Anything else incriminating that Delaney might have found?” Mom asked.
I marched out to the balcony, careful of the missing planks, and retrieved the necklace from beneath the bird feeder. “One more thing,” I said, returning to my bedroom. “Here’s a necklace that belonged to Ainsley.”
“It’s okay, hon. We’ll take care of this.”
“We?” I gave a bitter laugh. “I can’t count on you. For all I know, you’ll disappear again. Having a grand time on some beach in Portugal.”
“Boone will fix it.”
Her absolute confidence gave me pause. “I forgot. He’s a dirty cop. What’s he going to do—destroy all the evidence?”
“He’s not dirty. And he’s not just any detective. He’s your father.”
“Excuse me for not entirely trusting either of you. Are you saying he’s going to get rid of the bracelet Delaney turned in?”
“Of course. But we need to know how Delaney got ahold of Ainsley’s jewelry in the first place.”
“Haven’t a clue.”
Mom tapped an index finger against her lips, like she used to do when in deep thought. Like she had done back when I was a little girl and loved her so much. Back when her touch would obliterate any sadness or disappointment and I’d feel secure in her embrace. My chest burned, and a scalding blurriness crumbled my vision into puddles of indistinct form.
Her arms were around me, and I held on to her, sobbing into her shoulders like a baby.
“Shh,” she whispered in my ear. “Everything’s going to be all right.”
I got myself together and pulled away. Mom’s comfort was too little, too late now. I wanted her out of my bedroom, out of my life. The easiest way to get her out immediately was to fabricate a half-truth. “I need some time to be alone. Tonight’s been a shock.”
“I understand.” She squeezed my shoulder. “Don’t worry. I won’t let any harm come to you ever again.”
How I wished I could believe that fairy tale.
She held out a hand, palm up. “But first, I need that necklace.”
Chapter 39
VIOLET
Present day
Room 429. My least favorite place in all of Normal. I rolled out my shoulders and raised my chin, determined to leave Emmeline Upchurch’s dinner tray with as little conversation as possible and end this long, tiresome day. My sleep had been fitful last night after Mom’s presence had exploded the world as I’d previously understood it.
Another thirty minutes, and I could leave Whispering Oaks. No, make that five minutes. For once, I was sneaking out early. The smell of cafeteria roast beef, spilled milk, and the ever-present, pervasive pine-cleaner odor had my stomach churning so bad I couldn’t even eat today. That, combined with no sleep—thanks, Mom—had me cranky and on edge.
I kept imagining Mom holding Ainsley’s necklace, and my future, in the palm of her hand. Even scarier, I wondered what Detective Kimbrel was going to do with the bracelet. Mom seemed to think he had some sense of loyalty or honor to me. Nope. Let’s see: he’d cheated on his wife, he’d committed a crime by falsifying a death, and he lied to his superiors at work. I didn’t trust him one damn bit.
On the other hand, with a long list of sins like that, why doubt he’d trash evidence in a murder case? Mom had no doubts he would, and she knew him lots better than I did.
I draped fresh linen on my right arm and pulled out the last tray from the cart. With a little luck, the old bag would be asleep and not even notice me when I set the tray on her bedside table. Wouldn’t have to change her bedsheets either. I could leave that for the night shift, claiming I didn’t want to disturb her sleep.
I entered Emmeline Upchurch’s room and stifled a sigh. Of course, she was awake.
“About time you got here,” Emmeline snapped. “You’re late.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I set down the tray and spread open the fitted mattress sheet. Without prompting, Emmeline rolled on her side. Through the thin cotton gown her spine stood out like corded rope. Her bare arms and legs were covered with sun spots and skin so transparent medical students could study her live body to observe the inner machinations of a human’s vascular system. With practic
ed efficiency, I unrolled the top of the dirty sheet from the mattress and fitted the clean sheet in at one corner, stretching it all the way to the bottom.
“Hurry up. My dinner’s getting cold.”
I snatched up the second layer of bed linen and tucked it under one side of the mattress. Biting my tongue, I went around the bed to the opposite side, and Emmeline rolled onto the clean linen so I could finish the job.
What if I accidentally pushed her a little too hard? That brittle body would splat onto the hard linoleum floor.
My hands started shaking at the casual violence of my sleep-deprived thoughts. It took me twice as long to complete the task as it normally did.
“Your shady past is bad enough; don’t add incompetence to the list.” Emmeline sat up and handed me her pillow.
I couldn’t even look at her, sure my anger would scorch her. I changed her pillowcase and placed the pillow under her head. Emmeline’s chin jutted forward, her sunken chest rising and falling, her breath rattling around in her old lungs. What if I pressed the pillow against her mouth? It would only take seconds. Quickly, I finished my tasks, horrified at the direction of my thoughts.
Longingly, I pictured Portugal. Days from now, I could be lying on the beach beside Mom, not a care in the world. Was it really possible?
I wasn’t sure how much longer I could live at home. Whether or not Detective Kimbrel covered for me, Delaney was a threat. My sister wouldn’t be satisfied until I was put away and Dad was dead. She wanted everything for herself. Not to mention she hated me. I’d never be safe as long as I lived with her.
Emmeline called out to me as I left her room, but I pretended not to hear. I pushed the empty cart down the hall, pausing when I heard Ainsley’s name. Heart thundering, I stood in a patient’s doorway and watched the TV news.
“—and it’s been confirmed by Police Chief Daniel Thornell. Gerald ‘Dinky’ Stedmyer has been arrested for the 2007 murder of fifteen-year-old Ainsley Dalfred. Police obtained a key piece of physical evidence tying the convicted sex offender to the crime. In a raid of Stedmyer’s home, police found jewelry that the victim was wearing at the time of her death.”
They cut from the news desk to footage of a short, scruffy man in handcuffs entering the county jail.
I slumped against the wall and drew several deep breaths. There was only one way that jewelry could have ended up in that poor, innocent man’s possession. What the hell was Delaney going to think when she heard the news? She was bound to think I was responsible for framing that man. Maybe it was time to take Libby up on her offer after all. I wanted out of that house before something else terrible happened. I glanced at the clock at the end of the hallway. If I hurried, maybe I could go home, rush in, and pack a suitcase and gather my crow-gift boxes, all before Delaney got wind of it. Right about now, she’d be occupied cooking supper, ready to slip out the door as soon as I got home from work.
Screw the cart. I left it in the middle of the hall and ran.
Chapter 40
DELANEY
Present day
Excitement built in my body with every tick of the grandfather clock. Detective Kimbrel should arrive within the next fifteen minutes, and then Violet about thirty minutes later. Wouldn’t she be surprised when she spotted his sedan outside. And not in a good way. My lips involuntarily curled upward, and my right leg violently swung back and forth. I was like a wired-up cat with a twitchy tail, ready to pounce. From my position, seated in a high-backed chair by the living room window, I’d know the second he got here. I drew back the curtain an inch, once again checking the road and anticipating the county sedan’s arrival.
“You expectin’ company?”
I dropped my hand to my side and eyed Dad. He could be observant at times, too mentally sharp for my liking. The raspberry glow of his herbal iced tea, heavily laced with valerian, was mostly untouched in his hand.
“Drink up,” I ordered.
The tea, along with his nighttime sedative medication, should keep him knocked out for a few hours. By the time he awoke, Violet would be gone, carted away in handcuffs, never to return again. I could hardly wait.
Obligingly, Dad lifted the glass to his lips, and I turned my attention to the window once more. Detective Kimbrel had asked that I keep Dad calm while he made the arrest. I’d do whatever it took to ensure Violet’s speedy arrest. Did she really think she could just show up on my doorstep, and I’d have to take her in? Apparently, yes. And then she’d had the gall to complain about the spent trust fund money and wanting to claim part of her mom’s inheritance.
That money was mine.
I jumped up and paced the room, needing to release more pent-up energy.
“Who you got coming over here?” Dad demanded.
“Just a friend. It’s got nothing to do with you.” I checked, happy to see the tea was almost gone. He’d downed that quick.
“I don’t want strangers in my house.” Dad’s eyes fluttered, and he leaned his head back against the sofa cushion.
This wouldn’t do. I wanted him in bed in his room, not lazing on the couch, where he might awaken when the detective made the arrest.
“Looks like you’re ready to call it a night.” I moved his TV tray out of the way and held out a hand. “Time for bed.”
“My western isn’t over yet.”
“Too bad.” Him and his western movies. It was all he ever watched. Once he was finally gone, I never wanted to see or hear another one of them.
He scowled. “Seems like bedtime gets earlier and earlier every day,” he mumbled. But Dad offered no resistance as I led him to his room and then shut the door.
Five more minutes. I poured myself a vodka tonic and downed it quickly. A little something to take off the edge. After Violet was sent packing, I’d break out the good stuff, the Grey Goose, mix it with chocolate and caramel liqueur, and then get smashed on chocolate martinis. Now that was a celebration well worth the resulting hangover the next morning.
The old-fashioned clock struck the hour. Five deep chimes that vibrated in the pit of my churning gut. The unmistakable crunch of tire on gravel sounded from the front yard, and I scurried to the window.
Detective Kimbrel’s black sedan rolled into the driveway, a hearse of doom for my sister. I opened the door as he walked up the porch steps, tall and lumbering, jaw set in determination.
“Right on time,” I commented, holding the screen door open. “Come in.”
He nodded and stepped across the threshold, looking around the den and kitchen with curious eyes.
I stayed at the door and frowned at the conspicuous sight of his vehicle. “Maybe you should park in the backyard,” I suggested. “In case Violet sees your car and gets scared off.”
“She won’t.”
At my raised brow, he shrugged. “She seems to trust me.”
“Okay, if you say so.” I shut the door and wondered if it was appropriate to ask if he wanted a drink. I’d never entertained a cop in my house before.
“Where’s your father?” he asked, strolling through the den and acting as if he owned the place. He switched off the television set as the evening news was about to begin.
“Dad’s asleep. Would you like something to—”
“Good. Before your sister gets here, I want to take a look around her room. Since you never found that necklace, maybe I can. Or I might find some other piece of evidence that could help solidify a case against her.”
I was taken aback. Shouldn’t he be presenting me with a subpoena or something? But hey, it wasn’t my civil rights he was trampling on.
“Sure. If you’d like. It’s upstairs.”
I started up the wooden staircase, conscious of Detective Kimbrel directly behind me, watching my every move. My spine prickled with foreboding. So ridiculous—Violet was the one in trouble, not me. The detective wasn’t searching my room.
At the top of the stairs, I gestured down the hallway. “Last room on the right.”
“After you
.” Kimbrel swept his hand across his body, motioning me to continue.
“Why? You don’t need me, do you?”
“It would be best. In case there are any questions later. You understand.”
Not really, but I quelled my misgivings and led him into Violet’s ridiculous pink-and-lavender bedroom that looked as though it belonged to a preadolescent girl. I edged near the dresser as Kimbrel brushed past me. He surveyed the room and, unexpectedly, strode to Violet’s nightstand and picked up the framed photograph of Violet and her mother mugging for the camera. It’d been snapped in a rare happy moment when we’d all vacationed in Gatlinburg, Tennessee. Of course, Dad and I had been excluded from that touching Hallmark moment. Mom and Violet had been so tight there was no room to edge into their relationship.
Not that I cared.
I studied the detective’s face as he examined the photograph. Something in the hungry look of his eyes and the intent stare as he gripped the frame sent bells ringing in my head. His preoccupation with the photograph was off, but I couldn’t explain how or why. It made me uneasy. I should have downed two vodka tonics instead of one.
Finally, he carefully returned the photo to the nightstand and set about opening drawers and making a cursory search. I’d expected him to practically upend furniture as he looked for clues, but he merely swished his hand in a couple of drawers. Hell, I’d searched more thoroughly than that.
The detective ambled to the french doors and opened them. “Nice view.”
Irritation replaced my unease. That balcony was a sticking point. Violet had gotten the best bedroom growing up—Mom had seen to that—and I’d considered claiming it as my own years ago. But in the end, I’d chosen the master suite.
“Yes, but my room’s bigger and has a private bath.”
He ignored that, frowning as he surveyed the balcony deck. “What’s all out there?”
“Nothing but a chair and a bird feeder. My sister is obsessed with crows. You remember. People around here used to call her the crow girl after that write-up in the Birmingham News. I don’t see the big deal myself. Just because—”
Cold Waters (Normal, Alabama Book 1) Page 26